#and there were probably at least one or two people in the room who went to that school and were there on that day
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#i had a training today about how civilians need to act in active attack situations#and a school shooting that happened here a few years ago got brought up#the entire time the cop that was leading the training was really respectful about everything except during this one part#she said that it took some cops 6 months to a year to be able to return to duty after what they saw that day#which i respect and all that bc that shit is traumatic at fuck#but she didn't say shit about the students having to return#like i'm pretty sure the students had a week or two before the school opened again but they had to go back so fast#to the place where it happened#and she basically just dismissed that#i'm sure she didn't do it on purpose but it really fucking bothered me and hours later it still is#and there were probably at least one or two people in the room who went to that school and were there on that day#that training was really hard#we had to watch a video of this teacher from sandy hook talking and jfc man#a lot of us were trying not to cry for a lot of it#shit's fucked but all of us in that room work with kids so it was really hitting hard for us#it's forced me to think about what my experience was on the day of that local school shooting which is always really difficult#i was in high school and my mom called me while i was walking to the bus stop#and told me that there was an active shooter at this high school about 30 mins away#so i went to school that day knowing there was an active shooter at another high school so close to mine#the entire day every time i heard a door slam or someone run down the hallway i was flinching#it didn't really sink in how close that was to me until i got to college and started meeting people who went to that school#today's not a good day and i'm glad it's almost over
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The location of the sex shop I worked was a haven for spiders. We had tall ceilings and skylights and unused storage rooms. It was a spider paradise. We quickly sussed out which coworkers to call on in case of emergency. The Dorito lady was a solid ally for spiders but absolutely petrified of moths.
But thereâs actually a hierarchy of fear. Most people donât realize. The person least afraid is the one forced to deal with the bug in question. If coworker B was scared, but coworker A was petrified, well coworker B was gonna have to screw their courage to the sticking place because by the law of fear they were the most competent person on scene.
Thus enters Rick. Rick first appeared in the back storage room. This room doubled as a second bathroom so we went in on a semi frequent basis. The girl whoâd gone in to pee shot out again gibbering with fear about the biggest spider sheâd ever seen had just run across her boot.
We sicced Dorito lady on it. She returned, shaking her head. âHe was squatting on a power cord where it plugs in. I couldnât get a clean shot at Rick.â
âRick?â
She shrugged. âSpiders that big need a name. Seemed like a Rick.â
Rick, freshly named, became a store menace. Iâd normally say this was probably a case of multiple spiders being mistaken for one but everyone who encountered him swore up and down there could be no mistake. This spider was massive, fast, and distinct. A gladiator among arachnids.
I never encountered Rick. His exploits grew in the telling but the theme was consistent: no one could kill him. Heâd hunker in places that no one could reach and dart away when a strike missed. He also chased off the more faint hearted, charging them in bold dashes. There could be no benign cup transplant to remove Rick from the premise. He was not leaving.
The saga of Rick continued for two months. Not seeing him was almost worse, a fearful wariness when going to the bathroom or stepping into quieter areas. I waited with dread, hoping my eventual run in would have me on shift with Dorito lady to protect me.
It was not to be. There was a girl the same who hated my one moment of singing that was absolute piss-herself scared of spiders. Sheâd slam straight into a panic attack and couldnât think or speak. And so it was that one night on shift, I heard her scream.
It was unmistakable. I was in the front window turning off the open sign. Through an obstacle course of mannequins and lingerie I performed an acrobatic sprint out of the window, darting up to find her quivering at the front counter, fully crying. I radiated calm at her and said, âJust point.â
I knew it was Rick. Our destinies were intertwined and we had always been pulled toward the inexorable battle that was drawing nigh.
Her hand raised to point to our sandwich board sign at the front of the store. So Rick had the metaphorical high ground. There was no quick easy strike on the slanted signs surface.
I armed myself and marched into battle, my knuckles white on my chosen weapon. I would do this, because I must. Because there was no one else. And because I wanted to close and go home.
I saw Rick immediately and I honestly donât think Iâve ever seen a bigger spider since. Outside of a tarantula, he was truly the most massive spider Iâve ever beheld outside a zoo enclosure or terrarium.
We regarded each other. Rick launched off the sign toward me and I stomped my foot reflexively, making him pause in his charge. Then I raised my weapon. Anything else, I believe Rick could have evaded. Heâd bested most of the store thus far. But I had chosen chemical warfare.
I doused the shit out of that spider with cleaning spray, stunning him with a barrage of chemicals. While he froze, choking on the unexpected deluge, I dropped a paper towel over him. My foot came down.
I felt his exoskeleton crunch and I can feel it still to this day. The shattering was as of bones and I truly mourned that we had been forced into senseless war. If only he has cleaved tighter to the shadows. If only heâd crawled willing into a cup for relocation. I released a full body shudder of horror, fear, and adrenaline as I stepped back.
I took several quivering breaths. I donned a veneer of calm and tidied the battlefield of itâs corpse then went to reassure my coworker that all was well, while internally I still shook.
You fought well, Rick. I hope you sired many more monstrous children to haunt retail workers in the years to come. Rest in valor, you monster.
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àšă»ââââ TELL ME IâM A LITTLE ANGEL, SWEETHEART OF YOUR CITY ââââă»à§
pairing âžș satoru gojo x reader
teaser âžș as a child, you were taken in by the powerful gojo clan and raised alongside their heir, gojo satoru â but never as his sibling. now, at an elite school, your fragile bond is tested when an actual noble woman enters the picture, bringing in a marriage proposal.
content âžș fluff, reader is an academic achiever and has a good handwriting, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, cliff hanger ending, human auctions, implied slavery, jealousy, implied torture, shoko talks about using medical tools for torture (lol), blood, implied abuse, implied grape (not at reader), magic!au, historic!au, the ages of reader and gojo throughout the story: 3, 10, 12, 15, 17
count âžș 22k
authorâs note âžș thank you to everyone for waiting patiently! this is just the part one, i hope it does well to give me enough motivation to write a part two. i have so soo many ideas iâm hoping to incorporate.
đ§ ao3 wattpad
You sat next to the man, bowing deeply with him at some figure you couldnât care less about. It had to be someone important obviously, and you knew now was the time you were going to get kicked out of a place for the tenth time in your life, unwittingly dragging this poor man with you as well. He had seemed kind enough when he had bought you off at that auction.
He wasnât anything like you had feared. You had met other girls bonding with each other inside the cage; girls older and prettier than you, getting sold off one by one to old and creepy men who looked like they couldnât keep it in their pants. You had dreaded meeting the same fate as them. That was, until the man who kept increasing his offer for you looked younger and stronger.
He was probably like one of those army officers you had seen at your motherâs house, who would stand guard outside your small room each night she and her happy family went out to lavish parties, to make sure you didnât escape. Well, even if you did, you thought that was what they would have wanted, but they kept saying that they didnât want anyone noticing your existence. Not that they didnât have a good reason.
In your mind, you had hoped the man would win, and when he had, the triumphant look on his face made you sigh in relief; at least now you were sure you wouldnât be used as a hole for life. But were you, though? Because the thoughts kept creeping back; the looks on the other girlsâ faces when they were taken away by their new masters. But the mysterious man had made you sit on his pretty horse, taking you somewhere, away from the horrifying auctions that represented the worst atrocities made by humans.
You peered from under your hands, still in your bowing position. The person had now risen. He had dark hair and vivid blue eyes. He seemed to peer at you in as much curiosity as you were at him. That was, until a crisp voice had cut through the silence, knocking you out of your bow when it addressed your saviour to âpack his things and leaveâ.
âI understand, madam,â he said smoothly, getting up to leave, not before giving another curt nod. Then he turned to you. âThis is where my job ends, little one. Youâll be much happier here,â he whispered, nodding at you and standing up. You almost wanted to stop him before you remembered you were told several times that you didnât possess any human emotions. So you watched him leave, wondering how he was so sure this wouldnât be another one of your previous houses.
âAs for the child,â you snapped your head back to the dark-haired man in front of you who seemed to be giving commands, âwe must decide which family keeps her. From the looks of it, she needs to be tended to,â he eyed your wounds from previous struggles you wished to forget about.
You stared at the people he was questioning, and they all looked away. This seemed like a meeting room, and the people were lined up sitting parallel to each other. Some were glaring at you like you had come to raid their houses, fuck their wives and drink their blood. None of them seemed to realize you were only a child of ten. Nervous under all the gazes, you wished to find another person you could bow to, just to avoid all the staring you were receiving.
âWe will,â said the same voice you had heard earlier, and you finally looked at its source.
She had long, white hair that seemed to reach till the floor. Her eyes were light, and she looked pretty. She had a cold look on her face that made her seem frightening, though, and that was probably why you saw that none of the others could even muster enough courage to look at her eyes when she said those words.
âWell, itâs decided then,â the man said in a final tone, as if he had only bargained about the price of a few watermelons from his local vendor. âLove, if you will.â
Love? Oh, maybe they were married.
The woman stood up and everyone bowed at her again. You were about to sink back into the position before she crouched down in front of you, caressing your hair with a touch that made you look back at her.
âCome with me, daughter.â
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
âI have a sister now?â âShh, and donât call her that. Iâve already told you, sheâs not your sisterââ
âDoes she know how to ride horses?â âDo you ever do anything else?â
âShe should know how to ride horses.â âYou can teach her.â
âOh, wow, really?â
You scrambled away from the door at the sounds of footsteps returning and sunk back into the expensive bed the woman had had prepared for you. The âwomanâ who asked you to call her âmomâ, somehow losing the twinkle in her eye when commanding maids around, which she seemed to regain every time you spoke something.
You knew it was a trap though. If she really âadoptedâ you and wanted you to call her âmomâ, wouldnât that mean you were the sister to whatever child she already had? Yet here you were, all cleaned up and changed, almost believing the charade before realizing the child was being advised not to consider you as their sister.
You bit your lip, trying not to cry. At least you werenât at your old house thinking of ways to poison your family, or in that cage counting down for when it was your turn, or lying dead in some creepâs backyard. Maybe you could enjoy this while it lasted.
âMay I come in?â A polite, boyish voice rang out from behind your door. A hushed whisper of an older woman seemed to reprimand him for not knocking, and the two started to argue.
âYes?â You didnât quite know how to respond professionally to the request, so your answer came off more as a question. You sure hoped the man wouldnât scold you for your manners as well.
A boy stepped forward, and you immediately knew he was the son of the two clan leaders. Not because of his clothes, but because of his face. He had the same white hair as his mother, and the blue eyes he got from his father. Maybe blue eyes were a thing of the clan?
âHi,â he said awkwardly, and the door closed behind him. âMother sent me here for âbonding timeâ.â You kept staring at him, not realizing you were staring. He looked up at you and flushed. Only then did you realize, chuckling awkwardly and scratching your wrists, trying to get used to the expensive scents the maids had covered you with.
âCan I⊠uh,â he trailed off, staring at you, and you blinked back at him, not knowing what he was going to say.
â...sit on the bed?â You offered, and he raised an eyebrow before climbing on it, sitting in the most formal position you had ever seen.
âDo you like horse riding?â âWhat?â
He flushed even more. âMother said we should ask each other questions to get to know the other better.â
âOh.â âYeah.â
There was another silence.
âSo itâs my turn to ask a question now?â You asked. âYeah.â
âDo you like potatoes?â
âWhat?â He processed your question for a solid five seconds before bursting into laughter. You kept staring at him as if he was stupid. Did you say something stupid?
âI like you!â He said in between giggles, his old formal, uptight position long lost. It was your turn to flush now. No one had ever said they even wanted you alive, let alone say that. Well, no one except for three people in the past few hours, and now this guy. You had a feeling you might prefer this over anything else for now.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
The soft hum of celebration still lingered in the air. Lanterns flickered outside glowing warmly across your room. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the wrapped gifts and trinkets the Gojo family had insisted on presenting you earlier. It had been strange, the idea of sharing a birthday with Satoru. You didnât even know your real birthday, so his â no â your mother announced it would be shared.
Satoru had, of course, embraced the attention, dragging you along with him to cut the massive cake. You had never seen anything like this before, and it might have shown on your face, because he had held your wrist tightly as if annoyed you were taking so long, and cut the cake with you. That was what made it impossible to shun the feelings of belongingness.
Now, the house was quiet, and the festivities had faded. But just as you were about to pull the covers over yourself, the faint sound of your door creaking open made you pause.
âHey,â Satoruâs voice whispered, followed by the soft padding of his feet. You turned your head to see him, still in the formal robes mother had fussed over earlier, though they were now slightly askew. His hair was a mess, his face flushed from excitement â or maybe all the sweets heâd devoured.
âShould you not knock?â you asked, folding your arms. You inwardly cringed at the noble accent you had unknowingly adopted from the Gojo family. âAnd what are you doing here?â
âEscaping,â he said, as if that explained everything. He plopped down without invitation beside you on the bed, leaning back on his hands and gazing at the ceiling. âMotherâs got the maids cleaning up. I was bored. Figured youâd be awake.â
You rolled your eyes, but he caught the faint smile tugging at your lips. âYouâre going to get us in trouble. Again.â
âWhatâs the point of having a birthday if you canât even cause some trouble now?â He shot you a grin, then leaned closer to the window. âLetâs go outside.â
âWhat? No.â âPlease, please, pretty please?â
âI am not letting my first birthday become my death day,â you scoffed at him. Taking one look at the pout on his face, which seemed to stretch all the way down to his neck, you sighed, and he knew he won. âFine. But weâre only looking outside.â
âWhat!? But whatâs the fun in that?â âThen go alone.â
He pouted again, but you merely looked away trying to shield yourself from his cuteness. Soon after though, Satoru relented. He slid the window open and climbed onto the ledge, grumbling for you to follow. You joined him, settling beside him as the smell of night air filled your room. The stars were brilliant tonight, like silver dust across an ink-black canvas.
âTheyâre so bright,â you murmured. âItâs almost⊠too much.â
Satoru snorted. âThatâs the problem with you. You overthink everything. Just look at them â theyâre pretty, thatâs all there is to it.â
You rolled your eyes again but couldnât suppress a small laugh. âFine. Theyâre beautiful. Happy now?â
âVery,â he said, grinning. Then he tilted his head, closing his eyes and mumbling something to himself. He opened his eyes, looking at you expectantly. âNow itâs your turn. Make a wish.â
âWhat?â You frowned.
âA wish! Like for your birthday. I know we already made some during the cake thing, but this oneâs private. Just for us.â
You hesitated, unsure of what to wish for, before finally closing your eyes. Satoru watched you intently as if trying to guess your wish, but when you opened your eyes again, he pretended to be fascinated by the sky.
âOh, done already? What did you wish for?â he asked after a moment.
âYou said it was private,â you shot back. âWhat did you wish for?â
âNot telling,â he replied smugly, crossing his arms. âWhat if you laugh?â
âWhy would I laugh?â you asked, raising an eyebrow.
âBecause youâre you.â âAnd youâre stupid.â
The two of you fell into another argument, but when it finally died down, it was followed by a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional sound of distant crickets. Then, out of nowhere, Satoru blurted out, âDo you think the stars can hear us?â
âWhat?â You stared at him.
âThe stars,â he said seriously, pointing upward. âDo you think they grant wishes, like gods or something?â
âThatâs stupid,â you muttered, but you couldnât hide the faint curl of amusement on your lips. âTheyâre just balls of gas.â
âWell, maybe those gas balls are listening,â he said, sticking his tongue out. âYou donât know everything. Maybe they are hearing us right now.â
You opened your mouth to retort but froze. A memory seemed to resurfaceâŠ
âI still donât know why you decided to keep the child!â a deep voice was screeching at another, soft one.
âI donât know what came over me, I swear!ââIt is the spawn of Satan himself! I respect you for what you have been through, but it is time to dispose of her.â
âDispose? You donât meanââ
Large hands came your way to muffle the screams from your mouth.
Your fingers clenched the windowsill.
âThey didnât hear me before,â you said quietly, almost to yourself.
âWhat?â Satoru noticed the change in your tone, and turned to look at you, his brow furrowing. âWho? The balls?â
You shook your head quickly. âNever mind. Forget I said anything.â
But Satoru wasnât one to let things go. âHey,â he said softly. âYou can tell me. I mean, if you want.â
His sincerity made your chest tighten. Normally, after the word âballsâ, he would have made a bad joke about male anatomy. But he seemed to have read the room enough to shut up. You looked at him, his bright blue eyes watching you with genuine concern. For a moment, you thought about telling him. But then, the weight of it all felt too heavy to share. He was too young, too shielded from the horrors of the world to be able to handle any of it anyway.
âItâs nothing,â you muttered. âJust something dumb I used to believe.â
Satoru opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he smiled gently and nudged your shoulder. âOkay. But if you ever want to talk about dumb things, Iâm here. You know, Iâm dumb, soâŠâ he tried making the joke you always did.
You didnât know how to respond to that, so you simply nodded. The two of you sat in silence for a little while longer, watching the stars. Finally, Satoru stretched and hopped down from the ledge.
âGoodnight,â he said, giving you a lopsided grin. âAnd happy birthday.â
You blinked at him, caught off guard by the warmth in his voice. âYou too,â you said softly.
As he closed the door as softly as he could behind him, you stared out at the stars, wondering if maybe, just maybe, they had started listening after all.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
The sound of hooves clattering against the cobblestone path filled the air as the royal carriage swayed gently on its way to the prestigious School of Royalty. The morning sun cast a golden glow on the lush green fields outside, but inside, the atmosphere was both tense and excited.
âYou know,â Satoru began, leaning lazily against the plush velvet seat, âI heard thereâs a whole batch of new exchange students joining today. Rumor is, one of themâs from the Silver Crescent Kingdom. Ever seen anyone from there? Theyâre supposed to have that, uh⊠âethereal glow.â You think thatâs real, or just something people say?â
You barely glanced up from the notebook in your lap, furrowing your brows as you paused your incoherent babbling of equations. âIf you spent half as much time studying for the exam as you do gossiping, maybe you wouldnât need to cheat off me later.â
He smirked, unbothered. âCheat? Me? Iâm offended. Iâm just naturally brilliant.â
âAnd naturally annoying,â you muttered, flipping to another page of hastily scribbled notes.
Satoru ignored the jab, his grin widening. At fifteen, heâd grown into someone who couldnât step into a room without people swooning for his attention. You guessed it was just a Gojo thing he inherited from his mother. The girls adored him â some from afar, others more boldly (you still cringe remembering that one time a girl with a sorry excuse of a top was taken away by your guards for trying to get a kiss from him last year) â and the boys either envied or wanted to be him. The name âSatoru Gojoâ seemed to be whispered wherever he went, and he couldnât be happier.
You, on the other hand, had decided that the attention you receive at your house was enough to satisfy you for a lifetime, and you would rather spend your time learning something new â at least, thatâs what you told your mother; that you would rather cry over your grades than guys, to which Satoru had cleverly remarked, âWhy not both?â earning a glare from his mother. While you did have friends, and you did seem to be friendly with everyone around you, you would watch in dismay when most of these friends would recite their love stories, and you had nothing to share. The boys barely noticed you, too busy being gay over Satoru. But you had your books, your achievements, and the satisfaction of knowing you didnât need anyoneâs approval.
âAnd get this,â Satoru continued, his excitement growing. âI heard one of themâs some kind of prodigy. Like, they mastered advanced magic when they were ten. Can you imagine? Finally, someone who might be able to keep up with me. Theyâre a senior too, so I want to see the look on their face when they realize Iâm better than them.â
âMhm,â you replied distractedly, not bothering to look up. You were too busy with the definition of archaic spellcasting principles and the formulas for mana stabilization to muster a reply of more than a single syllable. The exam was in less than an hour, and the thought of failing even one question sent a jolt of anxiety through you.
Satoru leaned forward, peering at your notes upside down. âWhatâs that? Something about magic circles? Youâre still on those? I mastered those ages ago.â
You snapped your notebook shut and shot him a glare. âYou didnât âmasterâ anything. You just wing it and hope for the best.â
âHey, it works, doesnât it?â He shrugged. âBesides, youâll cover for me if I mess up. Thatâs what partners are for.â
âWeâre not partners.â
âSure we are,â he said breezily. âPartners in crime. Mischief-makers extraordinaire. The unbeatable duo.â He winked, and you rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didnât fall out of your head.
The carriage hit a bump, causing you to clutch your notes tighter. Satoru, unfazed, lounged back in his seat and stared out of the window. âYou know, you should relax a little. Exams arenât life or death.â
âFor you, maybe. Some of us donât have a safety net made of charm and raw talent.â
He laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. âWow, you really think Iâm charming and talented? Thanks, baby.â
You didnât dignify that dumb statement with a response. Instead, you turned your attention back to your notes, determined to make use of every second you had left.
The carriage began to slow, signaling their arrival at the school gates. Satoru straightened, his excitement palpable. âHere we go. Time to make an impression. Think the exchange students are going to swoon over me?â
âOnly if they have no taste,â you muttered, gathering your things.
He grinned, standing and offering you a hand as the carriage came to a stop. âCome on, donât be such a poopy.â
You cringed again before taking his hand, letting him help you down. The moment your feet touched the ground, the buzz of the school grounds surrounded you. Students swarmed the entrance, chattering excitedly about everything from the new arrivals to last-minute cramming for the exam.
Satoru strode ahead confidently, while you lingered a step behind, clutching your notes tightly. He glanced at you, running back to catch up with you. âWhereâs Kuro? Heâs supposed to be part of the dramatic entrance I had planned.â
âI sent him away. He was annoying me with the confetti.â âYouâ WHAT?â
You ignored him, continuing to walk up the stairs leading to your exam hall without looking up at anyone. Satoru jogged beside you.
âWe havenât met with any of the exchange students yet!â âSatoru, if you want to, then leave.â
He pouted, planting your face in front of yours above your notes. âYou know I wonât leave you.â
âThen stay quiet and let me study.â âAlright, alright,â he said, sighing. He stared at you for a few moments, pacing around the hall with you while you muttered curses under your breath. He smiled. You always hated this one subject but felt the need to excel in it anyway. âHey,â he said softly. âYouâll do great, you know.â
The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, but you masked it with a scoff. âYouâd better hope so. If I fail, youâll fail too.â
He laughed again, a sound as effortless as everything else about him. âThatâs true. Canât impress anyone with an F on the paper, can I?â The loud bell rang, and Satoru moved to cover your ears with the palms of his hands. âIâve got you covered, princess. In return, you must guarantee that I pass.â
You smiled a genuine smile at him, something you had gotten quite used to doing in the past four years you had spent with your new family. âI canât guarantee that. Letâs go, Iâm done now.â
His eyes widened comically, âWhat do you mean you canât guarantee that?â You laughed at him, and he snatched your notebook from your hands. âGive me that! Oh god. Iâm doomed, arenât I?â
âYup, letâs go now.â
The exam hall echoed with the sound of faint murmurs and the occasional nervous coughs. While theory had been nerve-wracking, at least you had been able to cram for it. But the practicals? They were a whole different beast. No amount of late-night revisions could prepare you for actual spellwork.
You clutched your wand tightly, its polished surface cold and smooth against your clammy palms. The examiner called your name, and your stomach flipped. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward. What were the steps again? Swing your wand, say the words, and hope for the best.
You stood before the enchanted apparatus. It was a simple magical round glass that would respond to the accuracy of your spell, changing its colour accordingly. The orb pulsed softly, steams of gas floating stilly in its interior, waiting. You were supposed to transfigure a cactus into a goblet full of water. The room was silent, dozens of eyes boring into your back.Â
Why did they have to make everyone do the practicals individually, and on stage?
You closed your eyes briefly, mustering every ounce of focus. With a flick of your wand and the carefully practiced words spilling from your lips, you executed the spell. Wand still in the air, you waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing happened. Then, the orb glowed a brilliant gold.
âPerfect!â The elderly professor cried, clasping her hands together. She really liked you. âNext, please.â
Relief washed over you, and you felt a disbelieving smile creep onto your face. Scooting off the stage, you climbed down the stairs to your seat. You caught Satoruâs eye and mouthed, Good luck. He was slouching on his chair, winking at you and giving you a lazy thumbs-up.
Just as you sat down, you noticed your gaze didnât leave him. You kept looking at him, how effortlessly good he looked in his outfit, sunglasses perched languidly on his nose. He was looking straight ahead at the stage above, and you glanced at the front too. Shoko got a pale yellow glow from the orb, an easy B.
Your eyes wandered to the girl in line ahead of Satoru. You recognized her instantly, how could you not? Wavy chestnut hair that caught the light just so, impeccable posture, an air of confidence that bordered on smug, and her pink lips upright looking behind her. She was from one of the distant kingdomsâbrilliant in class, annoyingly charming, and unfortunately, quite pretty. And right now, she seemed pretty happy about being positioned so close to Satoru.
It was the way she was smiling at Satoru that irritated you. Not the polite, fleeting kind of smile youâd give a classmate. No, this was different. She tilted her head slightly, her lips curved in a way that made even you highly uncomfortable. You saw her fingers brush a strand of hair behind her ear â twice, because apparently once wasnât enough â and she leaned just a fraction closer to him.
You squinted. Was she flirting? She was flirting. Yuck. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but your jaw tightened. Getting up sneakily from your seat, you joined the crowd they stood with to spy on the two.
âI hear the examiners this year are super strict,â she said, her voice soft and lilting. âNot that you need to worry. Iâve seen you in dueling practice â youâre incredible,â she sighed at him dramatically, eyes turned to hearts.
Satoru blinked at her, then scratched the back of his neck. âUh, thanks? I guess?â
She laughed â too loud for a casual compliment. âYouâre so modest! Thatâs so rare, you know.â Her eyes sparkled as she stared up at him, clearly hoping heâd reciprocate the energy.
He didnât. âModest? Me?â Satoruâs tone was laced with genuine confusion, his brow furrowing slightly. âYou sure youâre talking about the right guy?â
You saw Geto, his best friend, stifle a laugh at that, but you didnât find any of this funny. Geto caught your eye and immediately stopped laughing, trying to inch closer to Satoru to warn him of your incoming wrath.
But the girl kept blocking his way.
âOh, absolutely,â she said smoothly, leaning in even closer. âI bet youâll get top marks, as always. You must have so many admirers.â
Your grip on your wand tightened. You might not be as violent as Satoru when it came to dueling, but you couldnât care less about that at the moment. Nor did you seem to notice the sheer number of students surrounding you.
Satoru, as usual, was utterly oblivious. âAdmirers? I sure hope so,â he said with a shrug. âBut thanks, I guess?â
You wanted to shake him. How could he not see what she was doing? The way her voice softened whenever she said his name, how her lashes fluttered just a bit too much when she looked at him â it was painfully obvious. And yet, Satoru treated her like he treated everyone else: polite, casual, and just detached enough to make it clear he wasnât interested.
âNext!â called the examiner, and the girlâs name echoed through the hall.
She turned to Satoru with a dazzling smile. âWish me luck?â
âUh, good luck?â he said, scratching his head.
You were half a second away from gagging, Geto slipping from beside Satoru to join you, both of you dissing the situation in hushed whispers.
As she walked away, you muttered under your breath, âUnbelievable.â
Geto muttered, equally frustrated, but this was pointed towards Satoru, âUnbelievable indeed.â
Your eyes followed the movements of her wand, and you tried to calculate the exact angle by which she tilted her wand too high, the length by which her hand movement went wrong and the distance between her wrist and the cactus assigned to her. Geto shook his head at your overly focused expression.
A loud pop filled the air, followed by startled squeaks. Your eyes widened. The examiners scrambled around, now very much turned into rats! The girl froze, her wand dangling uselessly at her side as laughter rippled through the room.
You bit your lip. What were you supposed to be feeling right now? Secondhand embarrassment or vindication? Serves her right, you thought, though a small part of you almost pitied her. Almost.
The headmaster, who had been watching the whole ordeal with an amused expression, quickly restored order, probably glad he wasnât turned into a mouse or something. He dismissed the rest of the students and awarded automatic Aâs to those who hadnât gone yet.
You groaned and Geto laughed at you, a grimacing Shoko dangling from his arm. Together, the three of you were about to leave the hall when Satoru caught up with you, grinning like heâd just won the lottery. âWild. Best exam ever. I didnât even have to do anything!â
You shot him a sideways glance, your mood souring again. âYeah, lucky you.â
âWait, are you mad?â he asked, peering at you. âYouâre mad. Why are you mad?â
âIâm not mad,â you said shortly, walking faster, waving goodbye to Geto, who was now left alone to deal with a hungry kitten, Shoko.
âYouâre definitely mad,â he teased, catching up. âWhat, is it because I got an A without lifting a finger? Donât worry, youâll get to cheat off my usual genius self next time. Maybe youâll even get an A+++++++ because of me⊠or whatever the highest grade is.â
âRight,â you said, rolling your eyes. âYouâre so modest,â you mimicked the girl from earlier, but he didnât get the reference.
At break, you sat under the shade of a tree, quietly eating your snack and watching the courtyard buzz with post-exam chatter. Across the lawn, the girl was crying into her boyfriendâs shoulder, her wails loud enough to carry. You frowned, unsure whether to feel sorry for or annoyed at her.
Her boyfriend, a tall, broad-shouldered guy from her kingdom, seemed to be comforting her, rubbing her back and murmuring reassurances. Weird, you thought. He doesnât even know heâs worse than Satoru in her eyes.
The suspension had been swift: four months for reckless and dangerous spellcasting. Watching her now, you couldnât muster much sympathy. It was one thing to fail; it was another to fail so dramatically. Itâs what she deserves.
Satoru plopped down beside you, unwrapping a burger heâd somehow acquired (probably chased after Shoko to steal her food). âHey, isnât that, uh... Britney? No, wait, Bridget? Or... Burger?â
You raised an eyebrow. âBurger?â
âYeah, burger,â he said, taking a huge bite and gesturing vaguely in her direction. âSheâs got layers, yâknow? Like a burger.â
âYouâre ridiculous,â you said, shaking your head.
âCâmon, you gotta admit itâs funny,â he said, his grin widening. âShe tries to turn on the charm, and bam! Instant ratification.â
You groaned at the pun, but laughter bubbled up anyway. Satoruâs dumb humor always had a way of disarming you.
âHeyyyyyyyy!â A voice dragged out, and you were met with a flash of dark blue hair before you were hugged tightly. âI heard your exam went great, but then, of course it did.â She patted your head. âWell done.â
âThanks, Utahime.â
âNo need to thank me,â Utahime pulled out your favourite chips from her bag and handed them to you.
âHey, nothing for me?â Satoru wailed.
âWho the fuck are you?â âRude.â
She ignored him and turned back to you. âAnyway, did you see any of the new exchange students? Theyâre good-looking.â
âSo?â You munched on your chips.
âSo,â she said loudly, shooing Satoru off to sit in his place next to you, âwe can finally get you a boyfriend.â
Satoru snorted. âBoyfriend? Why does she need a boyfriend?â
âAnd,â she stepped on his foot with her heel and he skipped away across the courtyard, foot in his hand and muttering curses under his breath. âThereâs that prodigy guy. You two could have been academic rivals if he was in your grade. Ugh, this is so annoying. Couldnât he repeat a few classes? Dumbass.â
âUh, Iâm not interesââ âYes, you are,â she looked at you with a wide, crazy smile as if daring you to disagree, and you gulped.âNo wasting time watching couples break up,â she pointed at the girl in front of you, whose boyfriend seemed to have heard of the real reason she messed up her spell. Utahime lifted you by one arm and practically flew the yards to reach the main hall, where your assembly would take place to welcome the exchange students.
The assembly hall buzzed with anticipation, the crowd of students shifting restlessly as they filled the rows of wooden benches. Your arm still ached from Utahime dragging you all the way here. You, on the other hand, couldnât help but feel drainedâphysically and emotionally.
The morningâs drama was still fresh in your mind, particularly the girlâs humiliating display. The idea of someone so brazenly cozying up to Satoru still gnawed at you. And now, you had to sit through an assembly to greet some mysterious prodigies who probably thought they were better than everyone else. Perfect.
âSit here,â Utahime ordered, pointing to a spot near the front. âI need a good view.â
âOf what?â you asked, dropping onto the bench with a huff.
âDuh, the new guys. Maybe one of them will be your destined academic rival-slash-love interest,â she said dramatically, clasping her hands like a cheesy romance novel heroine.
You rolled your eyes. âIâm fine without one, thanks.â
âOh, donât be boring,â she said, plopping down beside you. âYou need some excitement in your life. Besides, I heard some of the new guys are supposed to be really good-looking,â she whispered, leaning in as if discussing a conspiracy theory involving the Monarchy of Mars. âLike, model good-looking.â
You let out a noncommittal hum, tracing the edge of the seat in front of you with a finger. Utahime nudged you. âDonât you care? Come on, arenât you curious?â
âNot really,â you lied.
Utahime rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. âSure, sure. But if someone walks in here looking like a movie star, donât say I didnât warn you.â
Your gaze wandered to the double doors at the front of the hall, where the new students were supposed to enter. You didnât care much about the guys. But what if there were girls? Pretty girls. The kind with perfect skin and perfect hair and that effortless grace you always seemed to lack.
Your stomach churned. Why were you even thinking about that?
You glanced at Utahime, still chattering away about rumors sheâd heard excitedly. She was bouncing slightly in her seat, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk. But you couldnât shake the thought â what if everyone thought the other girls were prettier? You could almost smell the break up stories your dozen friends would fetch for you because the new girls seemed hotter to the dung-nosed guys of your school.
âFor the next few months, I will be stuck amidst boy troubles,â you muttered, glancing across the hall. Satoru had finally joined the crowd, sauntering in late as usual. He spotted you almost immediately and shot you a wink before sliding into a seat with Geto and Shoko.
Your stomach did an involuntary flip, but you shoved the feeling down. He was just being Satoru like always. Thatâs all it was.
Right?
The headmasterâs booming voice filled the hall. âWelcome, students, to this yearâs exchange program orientation!â
The crowd settled as the headmaster launched into a long-winded speech about tradition, excellence, and the importance of collaboration between kingdoms. You zoned out almost immediately, your eyes drifting back to Satoru.
He was whispering something to Geto, who smirked and nudged him in the ribs. Shoko looked utterly disinterested, flipping through a medical journal sheâd smuggled in. Typical.
You pulled your eyes away from them. The last time you had zoned out in class because of him, your mood had been soured for the whole following hour. The sound of applause gave you an excuse out of your reverie. The exchange students were being introduced now, stepping onto the stage one by one. They were all polished, confident, and, admittedly, quite impressive.
Utahime elbowed you sharply. âLook at that one!â she hissed, nodding toward a tall boy with striking blond hair and piercing brown eyes.
You blinked. âLooks like he walked out of a painting.â
âExactly,â she said, smirking. âHeâs perfect for you.â
You groaned. âCan we not do this right now?â
Utahime ignored you entirely, listing off reasons why heâd make a great boyfriend: âSmart, handsome, probably good at magicââ
âDefinitely better at cactus transfiguration,â you muttered, earning a snort of laughter from her.
Meanwhile, Satoru had twisted around in his seat, craning his neck to see what the commotion was about. When his eyes landed on you and Utahime, his expression soured slightly. He didnât like being left out, and it was written all over his face.
âWhoâs better at cactus transfiguration?â He suddenly appeared behind you.
âNone of your business,â Utahime shot back, sticking her tongue out.
âWow, mature,â Satoru deadpanned.
The assembly droned on, with each exchange student introducing themselves in turn. You tried to pay attention, really, but your mind kept wandering. Utahimeâs ridiculous matchmaking schemes. Satoruâs infuriatingly perfect smile. The girlâs earlier meltdown. It was all swirling together into a chaotic mess of emotions you didnât have the energy to untangle.
Finally, the headmaster wrapped up his speech with a flourish. âLetâs give our guests a warm welcome!â he declared, prompting another round of applause.
As the crowd began to disperse, Utahime grabbed your arm again. âCome on, letâs go talk to him!â
âTo who?â you asked, bewildered. âThe blond-haired guy, obviously!â
âAbsolutely not,â you said, digging your heels into the ground.
But before you could argue further, a familiar voice interrupted.
âLeaving without saying hi? Rude.â
You turned to find Satoru standing behind you still, his trademark grin firmly in place.
Utahime groaned. âGo away, Gojo.â
âCanât. Iâm here to rescue my friend from your matchmaking madness,â he said, draping an arm over your shoulder.
You tried to shrug him off, but he held on tight, his presence annoyingly comforting.
âWhy do you care?â Utahime shot back.
Satoruâs grin widened, but his tone was surprisingly serious. âBecause she doesnât need some random guy when sheâs got me.â
He tugged you away, leaving Utahime fuming in his wake.
âThanks for the save,â you mumbled once you were out of earshot.
âAnytime,â Satoru said lightly, though there was an edge to his voice you couldnât quite place. âAnd besides, didnât want you to end up with an annoying motherââ
You raised an eyebrow at him. Did he forget he was in a royal school where all the students and teachers were high-class nobles and the mere mention of vocabulary outside of the poshed-up ones exclusively for the rich would make him an infamous wreck in everyoneâs eyes?
He caught your eye and continued, ââtrucker.â
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
The dining table was as extravagant as ever, its polished surface reflecting the golden glow of the chandelier overhead. Plates were neatly arranged, and bowls of steaming food were placed in a perfect line down the centre. Mother sat at the head of the table, her posture so upright it made your back ache just looking at her. Across from her sat Father, whose stern expression was an almost permanent fixture at meals.
You occupied your usual spot, tucked between Satoru and his mother, a position that felt both safe and stifling. Satoru, of course, lounged in his chair as if it were a throne, pushing peas around his plate with one chopstick, clearly uninterested in the discussion at hand. It was peaceful and calm. But as soon as Satoruâs father set down his chopsticks, you knew this tranquillity wouldnât last.
âSatoru,â his father began.
Satoru didnât even look up, lazily poking at his food. âUh oh. Here we go.â
âDonât start,â his mother said sharply, and Satoru sighed dramatically, dropping his chopsticks like they were too heavy to hold.
âFine. What is it this time? Did someone see me napping in class? Because, for the record, I was listening with my eyes closed.â
âYour instructor tells me your theoretical scores are excellent, as expected,â Satoruâs mother began, her sharp gaze sweeping across the table to land on him. âBut your duel with Suguru during last weekâs practice was... undisciplined.â
Satoru shrugged, not bothering to look up. âItâs not my fault Suguru got cocky.â
His fatherâs goblet hit the plate with a sharp clink. âAnd whose fault is it that you refuse to follow proper form? Youâre not dueling for fun, Satoru. These exercises are meant to sharpen your skills for real combat.â
You could feel the tension grow, so you instinctively focused on the rice in your bowl. Satoru, however, leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed.
âReal combat isnât about sticking to the rulebook,â he said lazily, resting an arm on the back of your chair. âItâs about adaptability.â
âThat is not an excuse to showboat,â his mother snapped. âYou might think youâre untouchable, but arrogance will get you killed one day.â
For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes â irritation, maybe, or defiance â but he masked it with a grin. âNot likely.â
âOnly because youâre naturally talented,â his mother interjected coldly. âTalent will only carry you so far, Satoru. You lack discipline, respect, andââ
âManners,â his father finished, glaring at him.
His mother pinched the bridge of her nose. âAll weâre trying to make you understand is, this isnât a joke, Satoru. Youâre supposed to be the strongest, and yet youâre constantly underperforming. Meanwhile, look at her.â She gestured to you, and your heart sank.
âOh no,â you muttered under your breath.
âLook at her,â his mother repeated. âTop marks in every subject, excellent dueling reports, and the teachers canât stop praising. Why canât you be more like her?â
Satoru threw up his hands. âBecause sheâs a robot! Have you seen her handwriting? Itâs terrifying!â
âI just have neat handwriting,â you mumbled defensively.
âNeat? Itâs like a calligraphy competition on every page,â Satoru said, jabbing a chopstick at you. âShe probably practices writing spells for fun.â
âSheâs perfect,â his father said firmly, as if it were an unshakable fact of the universe.
âExactly my point!â Satoru exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. âHow am I supposed to compete with that?!â
âYouâve been doing wonderfully,â his mother interrupted warmly, and you almost choked on your water. She reached to kiss your forehead and you felt fuzzy all over.
âReally?â you said hopefully.
âYes,â his father agreed, nodding. âWeâre very impressed with your progress. And your last dueling performance was flawless. Keep it up.â
Satoruâs jaw dropped. âWhat? Thatâs it? No lecture about being even better? No existential guilt trip?â
âShe doesnât need one,â his mother said simply.
âSheâs already self-motivated,â his father added.
Satoru gawked at them, then at you. âWait, are you seriously not going to roast her? Not even a little?â
His mother held up a hand to silence the banter. âEnough. Weâre not here to discuss her. Weâre here to discuss you and your inability to take anything seriously.â
âI take plenty of things seriously!â Satoru protested.
âName one,â his father challenged.
Satoru opened his mouth, paused, then pointed to you. âHer.â
You nearly choked on your rice. âWhat?!â
âSee? I take her academic success very seriously,â he continued smoothly. âSheâs basically my tutor at this point. Without her, Iâd probably be failing food transfiguration.â
âFood transfiguration is not the metric for success,â his father said dryly, but his lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh.
âAnd yet, itâs a class!â Satoru shot back. âA class I pass, thanks to her.â
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. âPlease stop talking.â
âNever,â Satoru said cheerfully, ruffling your hair like you were a pet.
The room went silent for a beat, and then his father muttered, âPass the rice.â
You couldnât help but snort, quickly covering your mouth to stifle your laughter. Satoruâs grin widened, clearly taking your reaction as a victory.
âIâm serious about the food transfiguration, though,â he whispered to you as the conversation shifted. âYou saved me from flunking that one.â
âBy telling you to stop turning the chicken into a dinosaur?â you whispered back, rolling your eyes.
âExactly. Genius advice.â Satoru sighed, slumping dramatically. "I swear, if I werenât so charming, Iâd be useless."
âYou are,â you replied, teasing him with a grin.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
The foreign exchange students filed into the classroom. You hadnât met any of them yet, but the instant you saw a giggling pack of girls, dressed in a way that clearly screamed âIâm a tourist, please give me attention,â take seats scattered around the room, you knew this would be a long class. They were chatting loudly, condescending smiles on their faces and prissy postures to back it up. One of them locked eyes with you and stood up.
The girl scanned the room, perhaps trying to find something to shift the attention of the bustling and noisy class to her. Sitting beside you, Geto didnât even flinch as the girl cleared her throat loudly. You could feel it. She was about to open her mouth.
And open it she did.
âDo you guys feel,â she addressed her fellow exchange people, âthat the culture here is a bit⊠Well, I donât know what you'd call it. Primitive, I guess? Itâs like they just dug it up from some ancient ruins," she said, waving a hand dismissively, as if she were talking about a dusty artefact. âThis wholeâ uhmâ âhonourâ thing? So outdated. I didnât find any such codes on how to behave in the culture of the South, or the West, or the South-West. Maybe it is because the people here still need to be taught manners, I suppose.â
The other students, contrary to what she had hoped, didnât pay any attention to her. They didnât seem to have heard her, because if they had⊠well, all of them were from noble clans, of course they would have a problem with it.
The girl didnât seem to notice. Or care.
âYou there!â She screeched at you, coming to a halt in front of your desk after pacing around like she was delivering an important lecture. âI heard youâre the top student. Representative, or something, they told me. Likeââ she turned to face you more directly, suddenly noticing the lack of a surname on your badge ââwow, you donât even have a last name. I heard you were from the Gojo clan. But, I mean, you donât even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch or something?â
You flushed. Most of the students were tactful enough to not point that out to you, and if they did, they would return with a bruise soon after, credit to Satoru. But Satoru was in the hospital wing right now, and thankfully so, because you didnât want him making a scene here in the middle of your Charms class. Getoâs fingers brushed lightly against your arm; he was trying to calm you down. He didnât need to say anything; you already knew what he was thinking.
Shoko, sitting in front of you, shifted in her seat. Her fingers twitched toward her coat pocket, and you could swear you felt a chill run down your spine at the look she had on her face. Shokoâs glare was murderous, and her hand slowly moved to her doctorâs tools â just a few inches away from hurling them at the girlâs smug face.
âDonât bother,â Geto murmured under his breath. âLet her go on. Sheâs not worth the energy.â His eyes never left you as he spoke, a detached smile tugging at the corners of his lips. âIgnore her, Shoko.â
The girl leaned on your desk as you continued to determinedly stare at a spot on your notebook
âOh, but wait,â she continued haughtily, âyou mustâve been a mistake. I mean, the Gojo clan leaders, right? They couldnât possibly have any sense of judgement, could they? Considering who their son is, who heâs raised by. They probably just took in anyone, huh? Just to fill the numbers. I bet they didnât even care to see if you had any real worth.â
âYou donât know what youâre talking about,â Geto interrupted her calmly, his smile widening, a maddenned look in his eyes. âIf you donât stop right now, you might have to deal with a curse or two, because Iâm not exactly one to be afraid of duelling in front of teachers.â
Alina was unfazed, leaning back in her chair with a smirk plastered across her face. âOh, I so do. You canât silence me. The Gojo clan is only famous because they have money and influence â nothing more.â She leaned forward again, her eyes narrowing. âAnd the leaders? Theyâre a joke. All that power, and they still let their precious son â whatâs his name? Satoru? âplay around like the child he is. Tell me, do you ever wonder if heâs actually good for anything besides being the âchosen one?â Or is it just another piece of their precious familyâs empire?â
No.
That was it.
You snapped. Your body moved before your brain could catch up. Pulling out your wand from your pocket, you let the cold tip touch her throat. The girl immediately shut up, caught off guard and not having the time to reach her own wand, which was kept on the table her friends were sitting at.
âWhatâs wrong? Canât speak? Iâd love to hear more from that croak of a voice you possess. Please, go on with your pathetic guesses about my lineage.â
âDonât,â Geto warned, but you were too blinded by the ringing echo of her words about your family. Shoko was already gripping the side of her desk, looking like she wanted to step in.
âYou want me to speak more?â The girl said. âI can speak more. Because I know what you are. I would have felt sorry for you if you werenât so stuck up though. As they say, no power, no future.â
Before you could retort, or even say a quick charm to freeze her throat so it snapped in half, the door flew open, and a voice interrupted your anger.
"Both of you, in my office. Now."
It was the teacher, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, clearly fed up. Without missing a beat, you spun on your heel, flicking a glance at Geto and Shoko.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
It was oddly quiet in the headmasterâs office. You sat alone at the desk, gloves pulled snug over your hands, a rag in one and a half-polished trophy in the other. The cleaning did little to distract you from the frustration you felt.
The headmasterâs words still rang in your ears: âDetention builds character, and perhaps a lesson in self-control will serve you well.â
Self-control. As if it was your fault someone had insulted your family.
The soft creak of the door interrupted your thoughts. You stilled, expecting the headmaster to return and scold you for slacking off. Instead, a familiar white head of hair peeked around the doorframe.
"What theâ" you hissed. "Are you insane? If someone catches you hereâ"
âWow. You, of all people, getting detention?â
Satoru leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a lazy smirk on his face.
âWhat are you doing here?â you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.
âCame to pick you up,â he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. âKuro was freaking out because he didnât know why we werenât at the gates, so I told him to head home without us.â
âYou didnât have toââ
âRelax. Heâs used to me pulling stuff like this.â Satoru strolled into the room, glancing around with mild interest before his eyes landed on the pile of trophies waiting to be polished. âSo... whatâs the story? Did you finally snap and hex someone?â
You rolled your eyes, turning back to the trophy in front of you. âShouldnât you be hiding somewhere? I mean, youâre not supposed to be here after school.â
âOh, Iâm cutting it. I figured detention with you would be more fun.â
You ignored him, hoping heâd get bored and leave, but Satoru was never one to take a hint. He perched on the edge of the desk beside you.
âCome on,â he said, nudging your arm lightly. âTell me what happened.â
You bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to look at him. âNothing. Just... a disagreement.â
âA disagreement?â he repeated, raising an eyebrow. âThatâs all youâre giving me?â
You stayed silent, scrubbing furiously at a nonexistent smudge on the trophy. But your hands were shaking slightly, and he noticed.
His teasing expression softened. âHey,â he said quietly, leaning closer and nuzzling your hair. âWhatâs wrong?â
âNothingâs wrong,â you said quickly, but the crack in your voice betrayed you. You cursed under your breath, setting the trophy down harder than you intended.
âRight,â Satoru said dryly. âYou know lying is a sin, right?â
Before you could stop him, he reached out and plucked the rag from your hand. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a firm look.
âEnough,â he said, tossing the rag onto the desk. He grabbed your hands, tugging the gloves off gently, his touch warm and steady against your cold fingers.
âSatoru, what are youââ
âHelping,â he said simply.
You stared at him, your breath hitching slightly as he held your hands in his. His grip was firm but gentle, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles.
âYou shouldnât have done it,â he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. âGotten detention, I mean.â
Your throat tightened, and you looked away. âI didnât even do much. I just threatened her, âs allââ
âI know,â he said. âBut you didnât have to stand up for me like that.â
âYes, I did.â The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didnât care. âShe had no right to talk about your family like that. Or mine,â you added quietly.
Satoruâs expression softened, and he sighed, letting go of your hands only to pull you into a hug. Your breath stopped. It was so sudden and unexpected, but his arms around you were so warm and secure, and for a moment, you forgot just how cold the office was.
âThank you,â he murmured against your hair. âFor putting us first.â
You swallowed hard, your face pressed against his shoulder. You could feel his heartbeat. His vanilla scent filled your nostrils, and you couldnât help but sigh at the sensation.
Just what were you feeling?
He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. The gesture was so gentle, so unexpected, that it sent a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps prickled along your arms, and your breath caught in your throat. Eyes widening on his chest.
Satoru pulled back slightly, his hands still resting lightly on your shoulders. He studied your face for a moment, his gaze searching, before giving you a small, crooked smile.
âAlright there?â he asked softly.
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. His smile widened, and he gave your shoulders a reassuring squeeze before stepping back.
âGood,â he said, picking up your gloves and the rag you had abandoned. âBecause I think itâs my turn to polish these things. Youâve done enough.â
You blinked at him, confused. âYou canât justââ
âToo late.â He waved the rag dramatically, grinning. âGo sit down and relax. Perfect students need to take a break to be imperfect once in a while.â
Despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. âYouâre ridiculous.â
âYeah, yeah.â He waved you off, already humming to himself as he began scrubbing.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
You sat with your detention homework in your garden after the headmaster had insisted on giving you some more âpunishmentsâ for letting Satoru in his office. On the stone bench, you glared at the crumpled detention slip in your hands. The words from earlier still rang in your ears.
Wow, you donât even have a last name. I heard you were from the Gojo clan. But, I mean, you donât even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch or something?
You must've been a mistake
The nerve of that girl, whatever her name was. She had no right to talk like that. But as much as you hated to admit it, her words dug deep. Why didnât you have the surname? Why were you even here?
You sighed, staring down at your hands, throwing the slip away and watching it skid between bushes. The gate creaked, pulling you from your thoughts. Satoruâs mother stepped into the garden. She always seemed to know when something was wrong.
She smiled warmly as she approached. âTrouble at school?â
You let out a small huff, tossing the detention homework onto the bench. âSome girl decided to remind me I donât belong here,â you muttered. âSheâs not wrong. I mean, I donât even have your family name. Iâm just... here.â
Her expression softened, and she sat down beside you. âSuguru told me it was someone from the Kamo clan. She said that, did she?â
You nodded. âShe made it sound like Iâm just some random stray you all picked up out of pity.â
A shadow flickered across her face, but she stayed silent for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully. Then she sighed softly and folded her hands neatly in her lap. âYou donât carry the Gojo surname yet because... you arenât meant to. One day, you will.â
You were confused. âOne day? What are you talking about?â
Her gaze softened further, and she reached for your hand. âYouâre not here because of pity. Youâre here because I care for you deeply. Youâre family to me. And... well, youâre engaged, my dear. To Satoru.â
The words hit you like a thunderclap. âEngaged?â you whispered.
She nodded gently. âIt was my decision. Not to strengthen ties or fulfill some tradition â I couldnât bear the thought of marrying you off to anyone else. Youâre important to me, and to this family. No one else would cherish you the way you deserve. No one else would love you the way I know he can.â
Your head was spinning. Engaged? To Satoru? The same Satoru who stole your dessert, teased you relentlessly, and drove you up the wall with his arrogance?
âDoes he know?â you managed to ask.
A small, amused smile tugged at her lips. âNot yet. Iâm waiting for the right time to tell him. You know how he is â heâd probably react with some ridiculous joke or dismiss it entirely without thinking it through.â
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. âYou mean Iâm supposed to sit on this bombshell while heâs running around like an overgrown child?â
She chuckled softly, reaching over to pat your shoulder. âItâs not so bad. Youâve already grown close to him, havenât you?â
Close. You couldnât deny it. In the past few years, you had gone from tolerating his antics to â well, something. The butterflies in your stomach betrayed you every time he smiled or stood too close.
But this? This was too much.
âWhy didnât you tell me sooner?â you asked weakly, peeking through your fingers.
âI wanted you to have time to figure out your feelings without the weight of this hanging over you,â she admitted. âAnd... I wasnât entirely sure when youâd be ready to hear it. But seeing you upset, questioning your place here, I couldnât keep it from you any longer. Forgive me, darling.â She stood then. âYouâre exactly where youâre meant to be,â she said gently. âNever let anyone make you doubt that.â
And with that, she disappeared back into the house, leaving you alone with the truth.
Engaged. To Satoru.
The butterflies in your stomach werenât just fluttering nowâthey were staging a full-on rebellion. You let out a groan, slumping back against the bench.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
Over a year had passed. The two of you were turning seventeen the next year, and with the increase in your age, the load of schoolwork increased too. The School of Royalty had seen so many changes. They were rebuilding the duelling grounds and organising even more clubs than before. Girls were mysteriously beginning to drop out of school, and you didnât want to know why. There were less than ten girls in your class of fifty, and you figured this number would reduce even more as women in nobility were hurriedly married off to distant kingdoms, forced to give up their education to serve as a showpiece for the men to flaunt.
You were thankful the Gojo clan saw you as more than that, or you wouldnât have been in the same class as your friends this year. You couldnât bear not seeing Utahime, Shoko, Suguru and of course, Satoru.
Satoru.
The one you had realized you didnât want if he wasnât looking at you at all times, if he wasnât talking to you at all times, or cracking jokes to you at all times. The one you had realized you wanted more of, more than what the two of you are now, more than what you two have ever been, more than friends, more than best friends; you wanted him more than anything in the world. Him, him, him, him. You wanted his eyes on you, his hands on you. You wanted everything about him. Everything. Every single thingâ
âHey, you alive?â His voice snapped you back to reality.
âHuh? Oh yeah.â
âI was saying,â he pulled a girl towards him by her hands and she landed on his chest with a dull thump. âThis is Alina.â
You stared at her. Triumphant looking face, lips giggling into the broad layer of his front.
Wait.Wasnât sheâ?
âYou might remember her,â Satoru pressed. You did. Vividly.
Oh.
âShe needs some duelling practice apparently, so sheâs gonna be watching us from there,â he points at the stands. âHope you donât mind.â
âOh, yeah, itâs okay,â you said in a voice you didnât know you owned. The words felt so heavy on your tongue, as if it was an entirely different person speaking them.Â
âGreat, thanks,â he ushered the girl back to the stands and leaned down to kiss the top of your forehead again. You blinked.
Oh, no, he didnât see it like that at all.To him, it was just a gesture he had grown used to doing. Yeah.
You stood across from him on the training field, your stance ready and tense. The sunlight was bright today, almost too bright, and you didnât know if it was the heat or the sudden emptiness you felt. Satoru smiled at you, but it didnât quite reach his eyes.
âYou ready?â he asked, voice nonchalant. It wasnât the usual teasing edge. The spark was missing.
You nodded.
âIâve got you today, Gojo,â you tried making the dumb jokes he used to make. You werenât sure if it was working, but you tried anyway.
The sparring session started, but something felt wrong. Satoruâs movements were slower than usual, his focus elsewhere. He kept glancing at the stands from time to time, as if trying to see if she was watching him. He didnât block your attack in time, letting you knock him down with ease.
âYou alright?â You bent down to help him up, but he just waved you off, a tight smile on his face.
âYeah, yeah. Just⊠tired, I guess,â he shrugged, avoiding your eyes.
Alina came running down the stands, her hands clutched on her chest, fussing over him while he waved her off too, getting up.
âAnother one?â âNo, thank you.â
That was the first time you had ever said no to him.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
Later that week, you walked into the cafeteria, hoping to find Utahime and grab a quick meal before your History class. You were halfway into the queue before you realized Utahime had Charms class right now. After all, she was a senior of yours; she would have more schoolwork than you. So you were about to take the tray you got to one of the empty tables alone, hoping to find someone else.
And you did find someone. Satoru sat across from Alina as comfortable as ever. They looked like they were on a date. Was this why he had skipped a class he had with you?
âOh, hey,â he greeted you when you approached, but his voice lacked its usual warmth. There was a coolness in it, like he wasnât really there.
The girlâs voice broke into the silence, bright and too eager. âI was just telling Satoru about how Iâm finally starting to get the hang of wand control now. I know heâs been busy with other stuff, but heâs still managed to help me out.â
You felt the hairs on your neck prickle.
âThat's great,â you said, keeping your tone neutral. âI'm sure Satoru is happy to help.â
You tried to keep your expression even as you sat down on their table. Wrong choice. Satoru, oblivious or indifferent, didnât seem to notice any sort of tension in the air. He smiled, nodding along to whatever the girl was saying, while you forced a smile and picked at your food.
You felt like an outsider.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
That same week, after a banquet of the noble families held at the Gojo clanâs immaculate residence, you were walking alone towards the girlsâ dorms when you overheard two voices seemingly arguing calmly. You pressed an ear onto the door hiding the people.
âYou donât seem to realize your Alina is the same girl who was insulting your own family,â Suguru was saying. âShe got us into trouble too. You werenât there so you donât know how bad she talked aboutââ
âI know sheâs not like how she was before,â Satoru interrupted loudly. âAnd I know you guys still have a problem with her, but youâve got to trust me, okay? Sheâs changed.â
Your heart sank. âChanged?â Suguru repeated bitterly. âReally? After everything she said about the Gojo clan?â
He didnât reply right away, but when he finally spoke, it was with that soft, almost apologetic tone.
âI get it. I really do. But sheâs⊠trying, okay? Sheâs not the same person.â
You clenched your jaw, your hands trembling slightly at your sides. You felt numb all over. Uprooting one leg from your position, you walked backwards, away from your heartbreak.
âI donât know if I can believe that, Satoru. Not after everything she did.â âI know, but please. Try, for me?â
Your back hit the pillar and you stopped. Slowly lifting feet one after the other, you walked. You didnât know where you were walking to, but you just walked. You didnât know what hurt more: the fact that he was asking you to trust her, or the fact that you wanted to â because you trusted him so much.
âThere you are!â Utahime caught up to you. âWhere did you go? How can you get lost in your own houseââ You lifted your face up to her, and she looked taken aback. She inhaled, wiping tears you never realized started falling after stinging your eyes so bad, and she asked in an uncharacteristically soft voice. âBaby, whatâs wrong?â
âUtahimeââ your voice broke.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
You were walking down the school halls, your mind preoccupied with your own thoughts as you made your way to the classroom. The noise of chatter and the shuffle of students faded into the background, making you realize you were starting to zone out again. You seemed to do that a lot these days.
âAnd I just know it will be you!â Alinaâs voice cut through, syrupy, too sweet to be sincere. You froze, stopping behind a pillar. They were standing conveniently near the same path you had to cross to get to your class. Great. Now you had to bite back any snide remarks you had because poor Satoru would be upset if you didnât.
You peeked out. Alina was leaning against the wall, her laughter light and airy as she spoke to Satoru, who was right beside her, looking at her with that familiar, careless smile he used to reserve for you, one that you had now grown to hate.
You could hear her complimenting him, the way she laughed too loudly at every word of his. âOh, Satoru, your technique today was amazing, as always! I honestly donât know just how you do it.â Her tone was sugary, and you cringed. You wanted to look away, but something held you in place, as if some invisible force was gripping you to that spot, making you watch the scene in front of you with red eyes and darkness underneath them.
Then you heard his voice. âCome on, Alina, youâre making me blush,â he chuckled playfully. He was oblivious, as usual (or maybe he wasnât, and he truly trusted this woman more than his friends). But you werenât. You noticed how her hands lingered on his arm a little too long, how her fingers curled around his sleeve possessively.
You couldnât breathe.
You turned, hoping to slip past unnoticed, but of course, she caught sight of you. There was a flicker of something dark in her eyes before she forced a smile onto her face, calling out in that voice that made your skin crawl.
âOh, hey!â she chirped, calling out your name. âYou donât mind sharing, do you?â
The words hit you like a slap. You were caught between disbelief and anger. How dare she speak to you like that? You glanced at Satoru, hoping he would interject, but he didnât. He was too busy focusing his attention on her like a complete idiot.
You looked down at the floor, clenching your teeth. âYou can have him,â you muttered. You didnât want to show her how much it hurt, but it was all too clear in your voice and actions.
Alinaâs smile faltered for a split second, her eyes narrowing. âOh, are you sure?â she said, âIâm sure Satoru wouldnât mind at all. Heâs such a generous guy.â
You could hear her subtle challenge, the way she was almost daring you to react. But you didnât give her the satisfaction. Instead, you straightened up, forcing the words out with a calmness you didnât feel.
âIâm sure,â you said simply. Not waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked away as quickly as you could, your heart pounding in your chest.
Behind you, you could feel her eyes on your back, but you refused to turn around.
You hated her. You hated the way she acted so confident. You hated how she was so entitled. And you hated how Satoru, in all his charm and glory, refused to hear a word against her; how he couldnât see the way she was trying to wedge herself between not only the two of you but also your entire friend group.
It was always this way, wasnât it? The more you wanted him, the farther he seemed to slip out of reach.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
After a three hour long soak in your bathtub, you decided it was time to go back into your room without anyone noticing. You spent most of your time hiding away from everyone; your parents, your servants, and him anyway, so you doubted anyone would miss you. With a sigh, you wore your nightdress and pushed your bedroom door open.
Satoru was sitting on your bed, his chin in his palms as he stared at the floor, clearly deep in thought and waiting for you to return. The moment you walked in, his gaze snapped to you, and the tension in the room tripled.
âYouâre back,â he said. There was something in his voice â you couldnât point out what exactly it was, but you didnât like how it made you feel.
âWhat are you doing in my room?â The words came out harsher than you had intended them to be.
He didnât answer right away; just sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face before standing up and facing you fully. âWhy are you always so mean to her?â His voice was quieter now, more frustrated than usual.
You blinked, taken aback. "Mean to whom?" you asked, trying to play dumb.
âAlina,â he said. âWhy do you always treat her like that?â
You controlled the urge to roll your eyes, though you knew Satoru expected you to. You wanted to scream, but you held it back, just barely. âOh, you mean the girl whoâs been constantly hovering around you? The one who acts like she owns you?â You crossed your arms defensively. âSorry, I didnât realize I was supposed to cheer her on and clap for every little thing she does.â
Satoru scoffed, taking his face in his hands before looking up again. âYou donât have to be so cold all the time! Canât you just try to get along with her? Sheâs changed. Why canât you just see that?â
âChanged?â You couldnât stop yourself from laughing at his innocence. âSheâs the same girl who insulted your family. She insulted everything you stand for, everything you care about, and you think sheâs changed? Are you seriously that blind?â
His eyes darkened, and he gritted his teeth. âYouâre always so hung up on the past! Why canât you just move on?â
You shot him a look, disbelief swirling in your chest. âMove on?â Your voice was shaking with the effort of holding back everything you wanted to say. âWhy is it that youâre the only person who sees that she has changed? Why is it that everyone else around you swears she hasnât?â
Satoru didnât respond right away. Then, he took a deep breath in, as if it was taking every bone in his body to control his emotions to hit you at that very moment. âWhy do you care so much? Why canât you just give her a chance?â he asked, almost pleading with you.
You stared at him for a moment too long. âBecause,â you bit back, âSheâs using you. And youâre too caught up in your own world to even see it.â
He took a step toward you, voice rising now. âThatâs not true! Sheâs not using me! Sheââ
You threw your hands up in frustration. âYou donât get it, do you?â You were shouting now. âShe is using you, Satoru! And Iâm the one whoâs supposed to stand here and watch while you defend her? While you act like sheâs some saint whoâs done nothing wrong?â
Satoruâs patience snapped, and his expression hardened. He couldnât stand anymore of you making assumptions about her anymore. âYou donât even belong in this house! Why do you think you have a say in anything Iâm doing? Youâre not even part of this!â He took a step toward you, his eyes dark with anger, a final insult.
The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you couldnât breathe. The blood drained from your face as everything came crashing down around you.
âOh,â was all you managed to say, your voice barely a whisper as your eyes filled with tears. You couldnât speak. You couldnât even look at him. You felt your heart shatter into a thousand pieces in your chest.
Satoruâs expression faltered, but it was too late now.
âLeave,â you whispered through gritted teeth.
He hesitated for a second, looking like he wanted to say something more. But he didnât. With a sharp breath, he turned and walked toward the door.
The second the door slammed shut behind him, you collapsed onto your bed, your hands clutching at the sheets as sobs wracked your body. You cried harder than you ever had before â louder, deeper, until you felt like you couldnât breathe. Your chest ached with every gasp, every sob, the pain of his words echoing in your mind.
You donât even belong in this house!
He was right.
You donât even have their surname? Were you picked up from some ditch?
She was right.
It is the spawn of Satan himself!
They were all right, all absolutely right, werenât they?
Come with me, daughter.
It was a lie.
You know I wonât leave you.
Lie.
She doesnât need some random guy when sheâs got me.
Lie, lie, lie!
You know lying is a sin, right?
You clutched your chest hard. You didnât know how long you cried, but when the tears finally stopped, all that remained was emptiness. A hollow space where something you had always held onto seemed to disappear.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
âWhat are you doing here?â you asked coldly.
He shrugged, his usual smirk flickering to life. âJust passing by.â
âPassing by my room?â you shot back, though your voice was devoid of any emotion.
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. âMaybe⊠I wanted to talk.â
âWhat do you want?â
He hesitated, just for a moment, before forcing a laugh. âI donât know. How are the studies? Still out to prove youâre the best in the room?â
Your expression didnât change, and the awkwardness between you grew even more.
âAlso,â he chuckled nervously, âwhat did you say to Utahime? I was almost killed thrice in the last two days.â
âIf you donât have anything important to say, Gojo, move.â You stepped past him, unlocking your door. You had begun locking it since the incident that night, to avoid him sneaking in when you were away and to avoid anyone walking in on you bawling your eyes out, trying to drown the repetitive voices in your head with theories about spells and charms.
âWhy are you being like this?â His voice stopped you. He paused, watching you fiddle with the lock, clearly taking the hesitating actions as a cue to continue. âLike⊠like you donât care.â His eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, they werenât the Satoru you knew. There was no smugness, no teasing â just guilt.
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep your voice steady. âYouâre imagining things,â you said, pushing the door open.
âAm I?â His tone sharpened, and he took a step closer. âYouâve been avoiding me for weeks. You wonât even look at me.â
âMaybe I have nothing to say to you,â you replied, turning to him to see his expression one last time before sorrow overtook your senses again.
His shoulders were stiffened, and for the first time this night, he couldnât meet your gaze.
âThatâs what I thought,â you said, your voice quieter now. âYou know exactly why, Satoru. You just donât want to admit it.â
He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. âI didnât mean it,â he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
âGoodnight, Satoru,â you said, slamming the door in his face before he could say anything else.
The silence that followed was deafening, and on the other side of the door, he lingered. You waited, holding your breath as you leaned against the wood, but no sound came.
And just like that, the distance between you grew wider.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
Your school year was nearing the end, and summer was around the corner. The days before that had been a blur. You had avoided Satoru like the plague, throwing yourself deeper into your books and classes. Even your classmates had noticed the change, though none dared to bring it up to your face.
Except for Shoko.
âAre you okay?â she asked one afternoon, cornering you in the library.
âIâm fine,â you lied, not looking up from your Curses: A Guide to Identify the Weakness book.
âNo, youâre not.â She pulled up a chair, crossing her arms as she stared at you. âYouâre avoiding him, heâs avoiding everyone, and the rest of us are stuck in the middle of whatever this is.â
âI donât know what youâre talking about,â you said flatly.
She groaned, leaning back in her chair. âYouâre lucky this is me and not Utahime. Just so you know, he sent a message.â
That caught your attention. Slowly, you closed your book and looked at her. âWhat message?â
âHe said heâs done with Alina,â Shoko said softly. âSaid he wouldnât talk to her anymore.â
âWhy are you telling me this?â you asked quietly.
âBecause,â Shoko said, standing up, âyouâre both being stupid. And Iâm sick of watching my friends tear themselves apart over something that could be fixed with one honest conversation.â
âHonest conversation?â you repeated bitterly. âWhatâs there to say? He made his priorities clear, Shoko.â
âDid he?â She raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. âOr did you just decide that for him because youâre too scared to hear what he actually thinks?â
Your jaw tightened. âYou werenât there, Shoko. You didnât hear the things he said.â
âYouâre right, I wasnât. But Iâve seen how miserable heâs been these past few weeks,â she countered. âHe wonât say it, but heâs been beating himself up about it. He knows he messed up.â
âAnd what about me?!â you snapped, your voice harsher than you intended. âIâm supposed to just forget everything? Pretend like I wasnât the one he hurt?â
Shoko sighed, her expression softening. âNo. But youâre not giving him a chance to make it right. Heâs been trying to talk to you â hell, he even took all the hits heroically when Utahime nearly ripped him apart.â
You blinked, caught off guard. âUtahime â what?â
âOh, yeah,â Shoko said. âShe had a few choice words for him. Mightâve included running him over by her carriage horses. Not my place to repeat them, but letâs just say she wasnât thrilled with how he handled things.â
Despite yourself, a small, bitter smile tugged at your lips. âGood for her.â
âLook,â Shoko said, softening her tone again, âyou donât have to forgive him right away. But at least talk to him. Heâs done with Alina, and itâs obvious youâre not over him. Donât let this thing between you two fester any longer.â
You stared at her for a long moment, her words sinking in despite the stubborn walls youâd built around yourself. âIâll think about it,â you said finally.
âGood,â Shoko said with a satisfied nod. âJust⊠donât take too long. Weâre not kids forever, you know.â
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
The knock on Satoruâs bedroom door felt louder than you intended. You had rehearsed this moment in your mind a dozen times already. What were you supposed to say again?
Hey. Itâs me. Haha.
No no no. Hey, how have you been?
No, ugh. Hey, nice weather?
Still, when the door opened and his bright blue eyes met yours, every word you had prepared seemed to vanish. The two of you only stared at each other, he in surprise and you in embarrassment.
âHey,â he said, trying to break the silence.
âHey,â you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.
The silence stretched between you for a moment before he stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in. You did, though your fingers fidgeted nervously at your sides.
The room looked messy. The bedsheets were sprawled around as if he had been tossing and turning all night earlier. The curtains were closed so the room was in utter darkness. Yet, you needed no amount of light to see the look of sleep-deprivation he carried on his face.
Was it because of you? Because you had acted this way? Was it because he was regretting what he said to you earlier (he should, a voice in your head said, but you pushed it away)? Or was he failing his classes again? His stream was different from yours so you couldnât meet him in school either. Or was it perhaps because ofâ
âI wasââ you both started at the same time, cutting each other off awkwardly.
You let out a breathy laugh, and for the first time in weeks, his lips pulled upward, a glimmer of the boy you knew. âYou first,â he offered, stepping closer.
âI was going to say that IâŠâ Your words faltered as he reached for your hand. His fingers, warm and tentative, brushed yours before interlocking gently. âOh. Wow.â He smiled at you, pulling you closer to kiss the top of your head. âI missed this,â you admitted finally, your voice breaking slightly.
âIâm sorry,â he said immediately, softer than you had expected him to be. âFor everything. For being such aââ
A sudden knock interrupted him, and a servantâs voice called from the hall. âYoung Master, Miss â Madam requests your presence in the meeting room immediately.â
Satoru groaned under his breath, but you let go of his hand, smiling as well now. âWeâll talk later,â you murmured, turning to leave.
The Gojo clanâs meeting room was one thing, but the Gojo familyâs meeting room felt even more imposing. High ceilings, ornate woodwork, and an air of superiority â that was the only way anyone could describe it. Mother and Father sat at the head of the low table, their expressions unreadable.
âYouâre here,â his father said. He gestured for you and Satoru to sit, and you did, sitting in a formal position with your hands on your knees, feet touching the soft pillow under you. His mother only nodded at both of you. âWeâve received an invitation from the Kamo Clan.â
Kamo Clan? You had read about a legend of theirs in your history class. A man who had dropped himself to the bottom of the hells indulging with curses to create powerful heirs. The Kamo Clan had an awful reputation â ancient, powerful, and, if rumours were to be believed, sinister.
Beside you, you felt Satoru stiffen, and whisper only one word.
âAlina?â
Of course! How could you have forgotten that? The girl who had been plaguing your school ever since she set foot in it was Kamo Alina. Suddenly, what his father said didnât matter anymore. The way his mother was staring between you and him didnât matter anymore. What was about to happen in his room that time didnât matter.
âThe banquet,â Satoruâs father continued, and it took a lot of effort from you to keep listening, âis an exclusive gathering of noble families from across the globe. It will take place in the south, and attendance is mandatory for representatives of our house.â
You gathered the courage to steal a glance at Satoruâs expression. The look on his face was enough to tell you he wasnât surprised by the connection. He knew. He had known it all this time. Your hands curled into fists under the table, your nails biting into your palms, probably leaving marks too.
His motherâs voice said coolly. âPrepare yourselves. Youâll leave at the end of the week. Dismissed.â
You didnât wait for Satoru as you stood abruptly, your pillow gliding across the floor. You made your way back to your room, trying not to look back at his face, but you didnât make it far before he caught up with you.
âWait!â He grabbed your arm, spinning you around to face him. âItâs not what you think.â
You yanked your arm free, glaring at him. âItâs not what I think? Really, Gojo? Because I think you lied to me.â
âI didnâtââ
âYou said you werenât in contact with her!â you snapped.
âIâm not! This isnât me â itâs her family. Theyâre the onesââ
âOh, so her family conveniently sends in an invitation to us to attend their stupid gathering at somehow the right time?â
âI donât know? Look,â He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, not at you, no, but at that darn family. âI told you, Iâm not in contact with her. That is the truth. I havenât spoken to her sinceââ
âSince when?â you interrupted, stepping closer. âSince you told Shoko you were done? Or since you got caught? Because it feels like right now, Iâm finding out the actual truth.â
âThat is not the truth, please just listââ
âStop,â you cut him off. You had had enough. âItâs okay. I donât know why you think I even care. I âdonât belong hereâ, remember?â
âThatâs not what I meant!â he shouted, his voice echoing in the empty hallway.
You stepped back, shaking your head with a sigh. âDonât follow me.â
âPlease,â he pleaded, his voice softer now, desperate. But you didnât look back as you turned and headed for the courtyard, away from him and his stupid, stupid noble traditions.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
The journey to the Southern estate was agonisingly long, but then again, you were from the East, and crossing entire landmarks took more than weeks by unruly waters. After the travel on the Gojo estateâs huge ship, your family was met with a stout, snotty man representing the Kamo clan, in charge of dropping you to their estate by comfortable carriages. The carriage rocked back and forth, and the countryside unfolded before you, but you couldnât bring yourself to appreciate any of it. Your focus remained on the window, your reflection glaring back at you. Anything to avoid looking at him.
Satoru sat beside you, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently against the carriage floor. The silence was so oppressive it practically screamed at both of you to make up already. His mother sat across from you, but her usual composed expression faltered slightly as she glanced between you and her son.
After what felt like an eternity, Satoru let out an exaggerated sigh, his head lolling back against the seat. "Are you seriously going to do this the whole trip?"
You didnât move. âDo what?â
âThis,â he said, waving a hand vaguely in your direction. âActing like I donât exist.â
âIâm not acting,â you replied coldly. âYouâre still breathing, arenât you?â
He bristled at your tone, his foot tapping faster. âWow. Real mature.â
You didnât dignify that with a response, instead shifting slightly in your seat to angle yourself even farther away from him. The silence returned, heavier now, and his mother finally cleared her throat, breaking it.
âIs everything all right?â she asked delicately, her eyes lingering on you longer.
âYes,â you answered quickly, too quickly. âEverythingâs fine.â
Her brow lifted slightly, but she said nothing, her gaze darting to her son. He sat rigid, his jaw clenched as he poked his head out of his own window, refusing to meet her eyes.
âFine,â Satoru muttered after a beat, as if to echo you. His tone was harsh, though he didnât look at either of you.
His motherâs lips pressed into a thin line, but she didnât press further. The realisation seemed to dawn on her that her carefully curated plans for her sonâs life â whatever they might be â were starting to crack at the seams.
Satoruâs foot finally stilled, but his irritation hadnât seemed to disappear yet. After another stretch of unbearable silence, he tried again, his voice softer this time. "Look, Iâm not going to apologize for something I didnât do.â
âGood thing Iâm not expecting one, then.â
He groaned, running a hand through his hair. âCan you at least try to meet me halfway here? This is ridiculous.â
You finally turned to look at him. âWhatâs ridiculous is pretending any of this matters. I shouldnât even be here, right? So why donât you justââ
âThatâs enough,â his mother cut in, her tone sharper than you had ever heard it. Her gaze pinned you both in place. âWeâre almost there. I suggest you both compose yourselves before we arrive.â
You bit the inside of your cheek, retreating back into silence, but not before catching the slight smirk on Satoruâs face. It wasnât amusement, though â it was frustration barely held in check. He didnât say another word, leaning back against the seat and staring resolutely at the ceiling as the carriage rocked along. You pressed your lips together and turned back to the window.
That was when you saw it.
The estate loomed in the distance, its dark silhouette framed against the dusky sky. It wasnât grand in the way the Gojo mansion was. No, this place had an oddly familiar air of foreboding. Its high walls and shadowed towers looked like they were whispering secrets and things long forgotten in history. The closer you got, the more a strange chill settled over you, prickling the back of your neck.
Goosebumps ran down your arms as the carriage rolled closer. The gates opened with an almost eerie slowness. There was billowing mist surrounding the entire area, and it made the scene even more creepy. You couldnât explain it, but something about this place just felt⊠wrong. It wasnât just the estateâs imposing presence or the way the evening light seemed to bend around it â it was something you couldnât place at all.
You felt like something bad, really bad was going to happen here, or perhaps had already happened. A chill ran down your spine when you recalled the pages of absolute horror you had seen attached to the restricted books in your library, and their vibes seemed to match that of this place.
Beside you, Satoru shifted uncomfortably. You glanced at him for a moment and saw that his confident facade had slipped. His eyes lingered on the estate, as if trying to figure out just what it was that made the place seem so uncanny and unreal, like it was something straight out of a horror novel.
As the carriage came to a stop, his mother stepped out first, poised as ever. She didnât seem fazed by the oppressive air of the place, but then again, she rarely showed any cracks in her demeanour.
You followed, your legs unsteady as they hit the gravel path. The chill hadnât left you, clung to your skin. Satoru came last, his usual swagger dimmed.
âRemember,â his mother murmured as the servants approached, her voice low and pointed, âappearances are everything. Do try not to embarrass the family.â
You nodded stiffly, but deep down, all you could think about was how much you wanted to leave this place. Sighing and ignoring the tremble of your gut, you held your own hands and entered the estate.
The estateâs grand entrance hall was vast, its high ceilings decorated with intricate wooden carvings that spiralled into ominous shapes. A line of servants stood on either side, their heads bowed low in synchronised precision. âWelcome to the Kamo estate,â they chanted together, their voices echoing.
A servant stepped forward, addressing Satoruâs father (and not batting an eye to his mother) with an apologetic tone. âWe regret to inform you that our â that is, the Kamo clanâs â leaders could not greet you in person. Urgent matters required their immediate attention, but they send their sincerest apologies and look forward to meeting you tomorrow.â
Satoruâs father met his wifeâs eyes, and she nodded curtly, and the servant's eyes widened as if he realised the error he made by ignoring her and addressing only the male leader in your group. âIt is of no consequence,â she replied coolly.
As the servants moved to escort you all further inside, you couldnât help but glance around. The estate was undeniably grand, but there was something cold and uninviting about it. The polished marble floors gleamed under flickering chandeliers, and the thick, musty air clung to your skin. It felt more like a mausoleum than a home.
The servants led you through endless corridors, the silence broken only by the sound of footsteps on stone. Every now and then, you passed ornate doors or shadowy alcoves, each one looking more foreboding than the last. You tried to shake the feeling of being watched, but the creeping sensation never left.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a door, and the servant gestured to it with a bow. âThis will be your room,â he said before retreating with the others.
You stepped inside hesitantly. The room was smaller, far removed from where they were escorting Satoru now, and you had a feeling his would be uncomfortably close to Alinaâs. The room was smaller, colder, and had an air of neglect, as if it hadnât been opened in years. Dust coated the surfaces, and the faint scent of damp wood lingered in the air. There were faint scratches on the walls as if someone had clawed at them long ago. The wallpaper had started peeling in places, and the furniture looked untouched, as though someone had decided only yesterday to disturb the fifteen year old cobwebs. The architecture, the layout, even the faint smell of mildew â it was unsettlingly familiar, though you couldnât quite place why.
Satoruâs mother appeared behind you. She took one look around the room, and her eyebrows twitched into a carefully concealed scowl. âWell,â she said. âThis is... quaint, to say the least.â
You turned to face her, unsure of how to respond. She gestured vaguely at the room, the bare walls, the dull, muted colours. âIf you find this unsuitable, arrangements can be made. Iâm sure a clan as proud as Kamo wouldnât want their guests to feel...â She paused, her lips curling in distaste, âuncomfortable.â
You swallowed hard, shaking your head. âNo, mother,â you said, forcing a polite smile. âThis is fine.â
Her brow arched, as though she didnât quite believe you, but she didnât press. âAs you wish,â she said softly, turning on her heel and leaving without another word.
The door closed behind her with a heavy thud, and the silence of the room enveloped you. You exhaled slowly, taking in the sparse furnishings, the musty air. You hated the idea of being a burden, but now, as you sat on the bed, watching it creak loudly, you wondered if you had made a mistake.
Late that night, you lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to get yourself to sleep.
âOne sheep, two sheep, three sheepââ
What would he be doing right now? Was he still upset?
âFuck, lost count again.â You sighed loudly. This was probably the sixth time you had tried but failed to sleep. All because of him. You closed your eyes tightly to try again.
âOne sheep, two shââ
Shit. Natureâs call.
You widened your eyes and glanced at the door, dreading the thought of stepping out into the pitch-black halls of the manor. Your room didnât even have a washroom, which seemed absurd for a house of this size and considering who it belonged to. Clenching your jaw, you tried to distract yourself from the pressure in your bladder by examining the room, but there was nothing to look at. No paintings, no books, no trinkets â just plain walls and dull furniture.
With a sigh, you finally pushed yourself up, deciding to find a maid to help you find the washroom. You lit a candelabrum sitting next to your bed to help you navigate the area. The hallway was dimly lit, the flickering lights casting eerie shadows across the walls. You tried to stay calm, but every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet made you jump.Â
You walked, and walked, and walked. The layout of the house was like a maze in itself, and every turn seemed to lead to another identical hallway. Within the span of minutes, you found yourself descending a set of stairs you didnât remember seeing before.
The air grew colder. The scent of damp stone and decay was thick in your nostrils. You paused at the bottom of the staircase, realizing with a jolt of horror that you were in what looked like the basement of the manor. The little light coming from your candles barely illuminated the space.
A wave of nausea hit you. The place smelled like dead rats, but somehow, despite your lack of sight in the room, a lot of scenes seemed to cross your mind. Shadows in the halls. Muffled screams. The overwhelming fear of being dragged into this very basement to be punished for something you couldnât understand. Your eyes caught on the walls, and you lifted your candelabrum up and stepped closer. There were faint marks carved into the stone. Tally marks. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.
Your hand reached out, trembling, brushing against the ridges. A flash of a memory hit you â your hand gripping a piece of stone fully covered in blood, dragging it across a surface, one line after another. But where had it been? In a classroom, on the board? No â this was something else, something darker. Your stomach twisted, and you stumbled back, the nausea overwhelming.
âMiss?â A voice shattered the silence, and you whipped around to see a maid standing at the top of the staircase. Her face was pale, her brows furrowed, as if you had offended every fibre of her body by stepping down into this basement. âWhat are you doing down here?â
You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out. The smell of the basement, the tally marks, the scenes â they clung to you, and you could only shake your head.
âLet me escort you back to your room. You shouldnât ever be hereâ
You nodded mutely, following her up the stairs. She led you back through the winding halls. By the time you reached your room, the trembling in your legs had mostly subsided, though the chill of the basement still remained. She opened the door for you, offering a rigid nod before disappearing back into the dark hallways. You stepped inside, closing the door behind you, and exhaled shakily.
Your hands were still trembling slightly as you sat on the edge of the bed, trying to steady your breathing. The scenes â fragmented, disjointed â played on a loop in your mind. What were they? Forgotten memories? Flashbacks? The tally marks, the muffled screams. They were just like something out of your worst nightmares. You buried your face in your hands, feeling the sting of tears prickling at your eyes.
A soft knock at the door startled you. You hastily wiped your eyes, rising to your feet. When you opened it, Satoruâs mother stood there. Her expression softened slightly when she saw you.
âYouâve been crying,â she said matter-of-factly.
âIâm fine,â you said quickly, stepping aside to let her in.
She swept into the room, her gaze flickering briefly to the empty, barren space. âThis room is unacceptable,â she said bluntly. But then, as she turned to face you, something in her eyes looked gentler, almost human â something she had always carried around you. âYou should have asked for it to be changed, darling.â
You shook your head. âI didnât want to be a bother. Itâs fine, really.â
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she studied you. Then, to your surprise, she stepped closer, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. âYouâre far too used to accepting the minimal,â she said quietly. âThatâs not what you deserve.â
You blinked, startled by the tenderness in her tone. Before you could respond, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, her cool hand lingering briefly against your cheek. The gesture was so unexpected, so maternal, that your throat tightened with emotion.
âI will speak to the servants in the morning,â she said, straightening but not pulling away. âAnd if you ever feel uncomfortable â ever â you will tell me. Do you understand?â
You nodded wordlessly, unable to trust your voice.
âGood.â She adjusted the edge of your sleeve with a small, practised motion, as if tidying you was a second nature for her. âGet some rest. You look exhausted.â
She turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back over her shoulder. âAnd whatever it is that has you so unsettled tonight... I will see to it. Do not let it weigh on your mind. The past has a way of creeping into the present, but you are stronger than it.â
The door closed softly behind her, leaving you standing in the middle of the room.
For the first time since you had arrived at the estate, you felt a sliver of comfort.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
Over the next week, your efforts to blend in with the household paid off in more ways than one. Most of the maids, initially wary of you as a noble guest, had warmed up to your presence. They appreciated your willingness to help with menial tasks and often joked that you were more reliable than some of their own peers. Soon enough, their dislike for the Kamo family began to slip into their conversations.
It started one evening when you were helping two maids, Haru and Tomoko, carry water from the wells. They spoke in hushed voices, glancing around nervously as though the courtyardâs walls themselves might eavesdrop.
âIâve always said the Kamo family has skeletons in their closet,â Haru muttered. âWell, in this case, theyâre probably in the basement. Youâve seen it, havenât you?â
You nodded. âI have. Itâs disturbing. What were those tally marks on the walls?â
Tomoko sighed, setting her bucket down with a huff. âNo one really knows for sure. Some say itâs the number of people tortured down there. Others think itâs the number of people who died. Either way, nothing good ever happened in that place.â
Before you could press further, another maid, Aoi, cut in sharply. She was older, sharper, and rigid. Yet you had watched her pull the buckets back up from the walls with such brute force that it was no wonder she was still working for the clan despite her age. âEnough! You shouldnât fill her head with stories. Sheâs a noblewoman; this isnât her concern.â Her eyes avoided yours, fixed firmly on the stone path.
Haru rolled her eyes dramatically. âOh, relax, Ms Aoi. Sheâs not like the rest of them. Sheâs helped us more than half the family ever has. Why shouldnât she know whatâs really going on?â
Tomoko nodded enthusiastically. âExactly! And sheâs already seen the basement. Itâs not like weâre revealing some great hidden treasure. Besides, itâs about time someone outside this house knew what the Kamo family is really like.â
Aoi crossed her arms, her frown deepening. âAnd what good will it do her to know? The Kamo family isnât to be trifled with. Youâre putting her in danger â and yourselves, too, for that matter.â
You cut in gently, trying to defuse the tension. âI appreciate the concern, Ms Aoi, truly. But if the Kamo family has nothing to hide, then why should talking about it be dangerous?â
Haru smirked. âSee? She gets it.â
Tomoko leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. âDo you want to know what I heard? Years ago, when the punishments in the basement were still happening, the head of the house would personally oversee them. And sometimesâŠâ she trembled visibly. âSometimes, they werenât even punishing people who broke the law. Just anyone they didnât like. Servants who fell out of favour. Merchants who got on their bad side.â
Haru shuddered. âThey say the screams would echo up through the floorboards. Thatâs why most of the older staff refuse to even talk about it. Too many bad memories. There is also the ghost of that little girlââ
âThatâs enough!â Aoi snapped. âThe girl doesnât need every grisly detail.â
âOh, come on, Aoi. You hate them as much as we do. Donât act like youâre above this.â
âWhether I hate them or not is irrelevant,â Aoi huffed. âYouâre still being reckless. If anyone hears about this...â
Tomoko grinned mischievously. âAnd whoâs going to tell them? You?â
Aoi gave an exasperated sigh but said nothing.
That night, you wrote letters to Shoko and Utahime, recounting the strange conversation and the haunting basement. You might have mentioned a glimpse of Satoru, too, though your thoughts on him were far more conflicted.
Shokoâs reply was predictably blunt.
Sounds grim. Torture rooms, tally marks, mysterious deaths â real classic Kamo vibes. Maybe theyâre compensating for their familyâs lack of charm. But, you know, not my circus, not my corpses. Still, were they tortured with surgical precision? If so, let me know which tools were involved. Iâve got a scalpel set if you want to reenact it. Besides, Iâve always wanted to see how far someone could go with a bone saw and no anaesthetic. For science, of course. Stay alive. Bye.
PS: If you find any good booze down there, bring some back for me.
Utahimeâs letter was far less chill.
That two-timing bastard is probably off doing handstands to impress some girl who can't tell her right from left. Honestly, Iâm waiting for your mother to tell him the truth already. If he doesnât start acting like your fiance, Iâm going to come over there and bury him in that damn basement myself. If I had to spend more than two breaths in his company, Iâd kill him. Actually, Iâd kill him for free. Just say the word.
PS: If I didnât love you, I wouldâve told you to go into that basement again just for fun. But I do love you, so stay safe.
The Kamo clan leaders remained an enigma. Somehow, their presence was so secretive that their portraits were absent from every book and document in the library. You wondered if even the servants themselves had seen these people. âMaybe theyâre so ugly theyâre too ashamed to show their faces?â Shoko had suggested in one letter, and you still snorted remembering that.
From all your time in the estateâs library, you could only find their names â Kamo Daijiro and Kamo Akane. Creepy. You also learned they had two daughters: Alina, the eldest, and her twin who had married into another prestigious family and no longer lived at the estate.
You still hadnât caught so much as a glimpse of Daijiro or Akane, but that would change soon. A grand gathering was scheduled for the following night, and the maids were already preparing for their arrival in the estate.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
The Kamo maids worked on you, dabbing floral scents to your neck and pulling a corsage on your hands. Behind you, Aoiâs hands deftly pulled at the laces of the corset you were reluctantly being tied into. Earlier, an unexpected scuffle had broken out between the Gojo clan maids and the Kamo maids when the latter had shown up, intending to tend to you.
âSheâs our priority,â one of the Gojo maids had sniffed, her arms crossed.
âNot anymore,â retorted Tomoko. âShe is living in the Kamo residence right now. Your loyalty isnât required here.â
âWell, sheâs from the Gojo clan!â snapped another maid, her tone haughty.
âYes, and?â Haru shot back. The Gojo maids had given up after a reassuring smile from you, muttering about how they are only leaving because âthe Lady asked soâ.Â
Now, Aoi was tugging the corset strings tighter. The conversation had shifted from the petty bickering of maids to something far darker.
âYou wouldnât believe the stories this house holds,â one of the younger maids murmured, a shiver in her voice. âDo you know about the little girl?â
âWhat girl?â you asked. You hadnât seen the story of any little girl mentioned in the books you had read, but you had distinctly remember a mention of her story in an earlier conversation with these maids.
âMs Aoi knows about it best!â Haru exclaimed.
Aoiâs face darkened as she let out a long sigh. âIt happened about a decade ago,â she began. âA child had appeared on the doorstep, barely an year old, mind you. The family had taken her in, but of course, they did not treat her like a daughter. They had left her in the care of us servants. I was like her mother,â she said proudly. âShe had turned three, I still remember, it was her birthday that night. She spilled a glass of expensive red wine on Lady Akaneâs dress. It wasnât even the girlâs fault. She was just a baby, carrying a tray too big for her tiny hands. But Sir Daijiro⊠he doesnât forgive mistakes.â
The other maids exchanged uneasy glances as Aoi huffed loudly, pausing her hands on your laces to wipe stray tears. âThe girl was dragged to the basement, where they lock away the disobedient. She⊠she never came out.â
Your breath caught in your throat. âShe was⊠killed?â
âYes,â whispered one of the younger maids, her voice trembling. âItâs said her ghost still lingers. Sometimes we hear her cries late at night. And the mist that hangs over the estate? They say itâs her curse â her anger at the clan.â
Aoi nodded grimly. âI was here. I wasnât much younger than I am now, but I couldnât do anything to save her. All I could do was sneak her scraps of food and try to mend her torn dresses after⊠after the punishments.â
You were horrified. âPunishments? For a child?â
Aoiâs tears couldnât be held back anymore. âShe was just a baby,â she croaked thickly. âIâd hear her cry at night, calling for her mother. And when⊠whenâŠâ Haru handed Aoi a cloth to wipe her face. âWhen she died⊠it was the moment I stopped believing the Kamo family had any humanity left.â
The room fell silent for a moment, save for the sound of Aoiâs sniffling and your shallow breathing. âHow can someone be so cruel?â you murmured.
âThatâs why weâre all so terrified,â Tomoko confessed. âIf they could do that to a child, what chance do we have? Everyone here walks on eggshells, afraid to make even the smallest mistake. The leaders havenât changed. Theyâre still the same people who let that little girl die.â
Aoiâs hands resumed their work, tying the last knot on the corset. The maids stepped back. You glanced at the mirror, seeing not just your reflection but the haunted expressions of the women around you.
The little girlâs story stuck with you, her cries echoing in your mind. If the Kamo clan could be so ruthless to a defenceless child, what horrors could they unleash on those who dared to cross them?
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
The grand gathering was suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of incense and expensive perfumes, the soft hum of conversation occasionally punctuated by bursts of laughter. You had probably sent about fifty letters in all to Shoko, Utahime and even Geto asking them if they would come to the South, and they all had replied with repetitive noâs. You had tried to keep your head down, avoiding the heavy gazes of the Kamo guests. But you were glad to see that Satoru, for once, was sticking close to you, uncharacteristically quiet. He hadnât so much as glanced at Alina all evening, and perhaps even all this time during the visit if you were lucky. Not that you cared, of course.
Earlier, when you had overheard his mother asking him to keep his distance from âthat Kamo girlâ, and you remembered how he had rolled his eyes so hard you thought they would have gotten stuck.
âFine,â he had said with mock drama. âBut only because Iâm such an understanding guy. And because I want you to stop looking like youâre ready to shank me with a chopstick.â
Now, true to his word, his focus was entirely on you. Every time you caught him looking elsewhere, it was never in her direction. He had even waved off her attempts to engage him, subtly turning his back to her as though she didnât exist.
âSee?â he murmured, leaning down to your ear. âHavenât even looked her way. You believe me now, right?â
You arched a brow, unimpressed. âYou donât get points for doing the bare minimum, Gojo.â
âBare minimum?â he gasped, and you smiled a little. His response reminded you of the âold timesâ, as they were now. âThis is maximum effort for me! Have you met me?â
âHush now, both of you,â his father interrupted. âTheyâre here.â
The Kamo clan heads arrived, and the air shifted. The room quieted, all eyes turning to the doors as Daijiro and Akane Kamo entered. Their presence was magnetic, commanding. As they moved through the crowd, the guests bowed slightly, parting to make way. You moved your eyes to the carpeted floor. You didnât want to introduce yourself to someone who would torture a little girl to death, for Godâs sake.
But then curiosity overtook your senses. You had been thinking of what they would look like for ages. They were like a mystery you had been picking apart ever since you stepped foot into that basement. Now was finally the moment you would get to see the leaders who hid from newspapers, books and even their own servants. You finally looked up. And the moment you saw their faces, the world seemed to tilt.
Sharp cheekbones. Piercing eyes. Their very presence struck a chord you hadnât felt in years. Distantly, hauntingly familiarâŠ
Your parents.
âHush, little baby, everything you need is right here,â your mother cooed, and you walked to where he was leading you. âYes, thatâs it. There are your favourite snacks here, and all your favourite toys. Come on. Go there.â
But you found something else to interest you. Aoi, the maid, was standing right there, watching everything, and you wanted to walk to where she was instead of your bad mother.
âStupid girl, where are you going?â your father pushed you from behind into the basement, and you fell over its many steps. Falling, falling, falling. By the time you reached the bottom, your face felt hot with some weird liquid.
âThis is your new house â for now,â your mother said finally, walking down the steps. âYou have given me enough trouble. From the moment I was cornered in that dark alley, alone and frightened, till now â you have been nothing but trouble. You are a constant reminder of what happened to me that night. You shall die, die!â
âThere, there, now, Akie,â you watched your father cradle your motherâs head in his chest. You tilted your head, and the force almost made you fall back to the ground. âThe child will no longer remain here. I have the most secretive merchants arriving from the North to here. They will be taking this⊠thing away from us, away from you. And then you shall finally be free.â
The realisation hit like a crashing wave, pulling the air from your lungs. Your vision blurred, and your chest tightened. It was too much. Too much. It was unbearable.
Without thinking, you reached out, your trembling hand finding Satoruâs mother instead of him. Her warm, steady grasp grounded you back to reality, and she turned to you immediately in concern. She studied you for just half a second before realising something was wrong, horribly wrong.
âCome,â she said softly, guiding you out of the hall without a momentâs hesitation.
Satoruâs voice trailed behind you, confused. âWhere are youââ
âStay with your father,â his mother ordered firmly over her shoulder.
Once outside, the cool night air hit your face, and it made you realise the warm wetness flooding your cheeks and stinging at your eyes. She led you to a quiet corner of the garden, still holding you as tightly as possible.
âWhatâs wrong?â she asked gently, her eyes scanning your face. âAre you unwell?â
The words tumbled out before you could stop them. âTheyâre my parents.â
Her brow furrowed. âWho are?â
âThem.â You swallowed hard, finally breaking down. âThey! They left me. They sold me. I didnât know their names but⊠Iâve seen them. TheyâreâŠâ
Her expression shifted from confusion to horror. You looked at her face. You had never seen a look like that on her ever before. She released your hand only to pull you into a tight embrace.
âYou poor thing,â she whispered, her voice trembling. âI had no idea. But I swear to you, theyâll never hurt you again. Not while Iâm here.â
You cried on her shoulder loudly, and you could feel she was crying softly too. âWhy? Am I not worth raising⊠Mom?â She pulled back slightly, cupping your face in her hands. âWhy didnât they come back for me?â
âI donât know, and I donât care what their reasons were. You will be a Gojo soon. It is only a matter of time now. And you will forever, forever, Â be a part of our family. I will not let the Kamos stain your history, ever.â
You sniffled. From somewhere in the hall, you could hear Satoruâs loud voice, probably causing some kind of scene.
âSee?â his mother said softly, trying to distract you. âHe hasnât looked at their girl once, just like he promised. That boy might be infuriating, but when it comes to you, heâs surprisingly reliable.â
A faint smile tugged at your lips.
Satoruâs mother stood behind you. Her fingers were combing through your hair softly, as if to sooth your emotions with her caring rhythm. She adjusted your corset strings next, pulling them tighter, not harshly, but enough to make you focus on the present instead of the roaring panic threatening to take over.
Beyond the ornate doors of the gathering, voices rose and fell. You strained your ears to pick out the words, leaning slightly toward the source. And then you heard it.
A deep, booming voice. The same voice from your nightmares. The one that haunted your memories. Your breath hitched. It felt as though the walls were closing in to suffocate you.
Satoruâs motherâs hands immediately moved to your shoulders to steady you. âBreathe, darling,â she said firmly. âIâm here, am I not? You are safe.â
You nodded, though tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. âIâm trying,â you whisper, clutching the fabric of her dress tightly.
And then, the voice spoke words that made your blood run cold.
ââŠa marriage between Kamo Alina and Gojo Satoru.â
You froze. Your heart seemed to have stopped. The room seemed to have crashed down onto you. You tried to process what you had just heard. Satoruâs mother stiffened behind you, her hands pausing mid-movement.
âWhat did they just say?â you whispered.
She didnât respond, though her head tilted slightly as she listened intently to the conversation happening inside the room. You caught snippets of whispers as noble families exchanged their astonishment at the bold proposal.
Surely, Satoruâs father knows. He knows that Satoru is supposed to be engaged to you.Right?
But then you heard him speak. His voice seemed proud and approving. âAn excellent proposal, Daijiro Kamo. This alliance shall strengthen both our families. I accept.â
The words hit you like a slap. Your stomach churned, and for a moment, you thought you might be sick.
âMom?â you whispered and turned to Satoruâs mother. âWhyâŠ?â
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing dangerously. âThat moron,â she hissed under her breath. Her hands fell away from your shoulders furiously. âHe didnât consult me. He didnât consult anyone except Daijiro. Of course, he didnât. Men like to think their decisions are final simply because they made them.â
The applause from the other side of the door grew louder. The sound vibrated in your ears as the nobles toasted the âunionâ. Your panic surged again. âWhat do we do?â you asked desperately.
Satoruâs mother exhaled sharply. âI shall handle it.â
When she threw the doors open roughly, the room fell silent. The silence following her entrance was not mere courtesy; it was submission. Her presence demanded it. Yet Kamo Daijiro, standing near the center with a goblet of red wine in his hand, immediately stepped forward with a smug smile. âAh, my lady Gojo,â he began, his voice filled with condescension. âI was just about to inform you of the wonderful arrangement your husband and I have come to. My daughter, Alina, willââ
âWill do nothing,â she cut him off coldly.
Daijiro blinked, clearly taken aback by the interruption. âI beg your pardon?â he said with mock-politeness.
âYou heard me,â she said, stepping further into the room. Every eye in the room was on her. âYou dare discuss an engagement for my son without consulting me?â
Daijiroâs lips curled into a patronizing smile. âWith all due respect, Lady Gojo, this is a matter for the men to decide. Your husband and I both agree that this alliance is mutually beneficial. Surely you trust your husbandâs judgment.â
She laughed humorlessly. âTrust his judgment? You think Iâm going to stand by while you play politics with my sonâs life?â
She turned to glare at her husband. Satoruâs father cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable under her piercing gaze, but Daijiro waved him off. âLady Gojo, your anger is misplaced. This is a matter of strategy. You may oversee the household, but these are decisions of power â something women cannot fully comprehend.â
The room grew deadly quiet now, and Alina seemed to have understood that what her father just said had been a mistake. Satoruâs jaw tightened at the insult at his mother, but he did not say anything yet. You were still frozen in the doorway, but you could feel that he was about to snap at any moment now.
Satoruâs motherâs eyes narrowed dangerously. âWomen cannot comprehend power?â Every word was pronounced clearly, and she took a single step closer. âYouâre standing in my authority. Under my presence. Having begged for my appearance at this folly of an event. And you think I donât comprehend power?â
âBut this is an allianceââ Daijiro started.
âAn alliance that disregards my authority,â she interrupted sharply. âAn alliance that treats my son like a pawn in your political game of blind chess,â Her eyes flicked briefly to Satoru, who watched the exchange with a furrowed brow.
The room erupted in whispers. The many noble families exchanged shocked glances. Even Satoruâs father looked uncomfortable now, though he didn't dare interrupt.
Daijiro straightened, his tone hardening. âLady Gojo, I understand you may feel... emotional about this. But this is for the good of both our families. Surely you donât mean to disrupt an agreement between two patriarchs.â
Her expression darkened further. Without breaking eye contact, she reached for a glass of wine from a nearby tray. In one swift motion, she threw it to the ground, and the crystal shattered into thousands of shards. The sound echoed in the silence.
âThe marriage is off,â she declared, her voice unwavering. âBecause Satoru already has a fiancee.â She turned and gestured to you, standing awkwardly in the doorway having followed her from outside. âMy future daughter-in-law, her.â
The room erupted into chaos. Gasps and furious whispers filled the air. Kamo Daijiroâs face turned a deep shade of red. The Kamo clan, the maids (who were standing outside, peering through the gates you left open, having not been allowed to enter the prestigious ceremony) and leaders alike, looked mortified at her words.Â
âYou cannot be serious,â Akane said through gritted teeth.
âIâve never been more serious,â she countered.
âYou have humiliated my family!â Daijiro growled, stepping closer threateningly.
At this, Satoru stood up, his sword in his hand as he placed himself between his mother and Kamo Daijiro. He tilted the weapon slightly to make sure the threat of blood was sent across to Daijiro, and blocked the way to his mother. Her eyes softened at his action, and she straightened. âThis discussion is over. Take your child and leave, Kamo. I will take mine. There is no alliance to be forged here. Gojo clan!â She called to the maids, soldiers and workers of the Gojo clan who had come along with them on the journey. âWe shall set off back home right now. Prepare.â
Daijiro stared at her with rage and humiliation. But when he glanced at the sea of judgmental eyes surrounding him, he knew he lost. With a barely concealed snarl, he turned on his heel, motioning for his family to follow.
Satoru fixed his sword back into its scabbard. His mother turned to you, softening again. She rested a hand lightly on your shoulder. âCome. We shall leave this place now, for good this time.â
She led you out of the hall, her grip steady and reassuring, even as the whispers behind you grew louder.
ââââ àšà§ ââââ
The journey back home felt strangely fast compared to the painstaking crawl southward. Perhaps it was Satoruâs motherâs fiery words that had lit a spark of patriotism among the servants, and maybe even the horses. Whatever the case, you arrived at the Gojo estate far sooner than expected.
You barely had time to set foot inside when Satoru found you. He cornered you in one of the quieter hallways. The first thing you noticed was his face; his usual, easygoing expression was clouded with something you had never seen before.
âDid you know?â he asked.
You blinked, thrown off by the abruptness. âDid I know what?â
âThat youâre my fiancee.â The words came out bitter and flat, as if he couldnât believe he was saying them aloud.
Your breath caught in your throat. You had been bracing for this conversation, but not so soon. Not like this. âYes,â you admitted after a moment.
He reeled back, as though the admission had physically struck him. âYou knew?â His voice rose, echoing off the corridor walls. âHow long? How long have you known?â
âA year,â you said hesitantly, feeling guilt rise up in your throat. âI mean⊠last year, your motherââ
âA year?â His voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. âYouâve known for an entire year, and you didnât think to tell me?â
âI thought she would tell you,â you stammered. âShe said sheâd handle it.â
âWell, clearly, she didnât!â he snapped, spinning to face you again. âSo what, you were just going to wait until the wedding invitations went out?â
âThatâs not what I meant!â you shot back. âI didnât even agree to this in the first place. I was just as blindsided as you when she told me!â
âBut she did tell you, and you did know,â he repeated coldly. âAnd you didnât think I had a right to know?â
âYouâre acting like I had a choice!â you said, your voice rising to match his.
âThat doesnât excuse keeping it from me!â he shouted too. âYou and my mom â both of you â went behind my back. You made me feel like an idiot standing in that room today.â
âOh, we made you look like an idiot?â you scoffed. âWhy? Because you were actually planning to agree to her proposal? Because you wanted to marry that witch of a woman?â
His eyes widened in disbelief. âAre you serious? I barely even looked at her if I didnât have to!â
âThat was because mother had told you not to!â you countered. âDonât stand there and question me when youâve been acting like you have other options.â
âI didnât know I didnât have other options!â he shouted. âBecause no one told me! The two people I trust the most in this world, you both kept me in the dark!â
You sighed. âSatoruââ
âNo,â he cut you off. âDo you have any idea what this feels like? To know that the people you rely on the most didnât think you were worth the truth?â
âThatâs not fair,â you said softly, trying to find the right words. âI was just obeying motherââ
âObeying mother?â he laughed incredulously. âBy lying to me?â
âI didnât lie!â you snapped. âI just⊠didnât know how to tell you.â
âWell, you should have figured it out,â he said bitterly. âBecause now, all I can think about is how little I actually know about you. About us. About⊠anything.â
The air between you felt heavy, suffocating. You wanted to say something, anything to fix the look of betrayal in his eyes, but your mind was blank.
Finally, he shook his head, his voice dropping to a strained whisper. âLook⊠Iâve never thought of you that way before, okay? Youâre⊠youâre pretty, but youâre like a sister to me. Thatâs how Iâve always seen you. Nothing more. Nothing less.â
Oh. Of course.
âI need space,â he muttered, stepping back. âI need time to think.â
© chuulyssa 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.
#prince!gojo ââ â
#gojo x reader#prince!gojo#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru#jjk satoru#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo#jjk gojo#jjk#jjk x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo fluff#jjk x you#jjk imagines#jjk fic#gojo angst#gojo#angst#fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo fanfic#clanleader!gojo#clan leader!gojo#prince au#clan au#jjk au
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Between Friends
Summary: Bradley and you donât talk about that Spring Break. But a single question asked during a night out at the Hard Deck might just change things between the two of you forever.
Pairing: Bradley âRoosterâ Bradshaw x Female Reader
Length: 11K
Warning: smut (including loss of virginity), brief mention of underage drinking, and college!bradley in a backwards hat
(Author's note: Happy Birthday Jordan! I wrote this just for you! Look at me keeping secrets from you! Enjoy!)
đđđ
Rooster couldnât control his bouncing leg.
That night at the Hard Deck had started out like any other: good music, good drinks, good people. Over the course of the evening, heâd found himself seated between you and Bob in a lopsided circle with the rest of the Daggers around a few tall tables that had been pushed together just shooting the shit.
It was all fun and games until swapping stories about embarrassing middle school moments turned into cringing over first kiss stories turned into Seresin grinning like a shark asking about how everyoneâs first time went down.
Rooster felt his pulse kick up with every collective laugh and groan as his friends went one by one sharing how theyâd lost their virginities. Because with each passing story, it meant that you were one person closer to going. And for the first time in his life- even after over two decades of friendship- he didnât know what your answer was going to be.
So he is just as shocked as his teammates are when you tentatively reveal, âSo, um, my first time was with Rooster.â He doesnât miss the way all his friendsâ heads snap towards him.Â
All eyes are on the two of you, and youâre pointedly looking anywhere but him.
Rooster had been anxiously waiting to hear the story of your first official time, the one that was with someone who wasnât him. He didnât realize that you still considered him your first. Heâd figured that part of your history had long been overwritten by whoever had been lucky enough to catch your eye and make your heart race in a romantic way.
The two of you had never talked about it in the after.
Not once, not ever.
He didnât care that people knew, he just wasnât expecting it.
Jake starts the group out of its stunned silence by slapping a heavy hand on top of the table, nearly sending some bottles to the floor, âI knew it! I knew yâall couldnât have been friends all this time and not have tried it out at least once.â
âJesus Christ, dude, chill,â Javy mutters. Heâs always been the better of the two about reading the room.
Trying to spare you from being put on the spot even more than you already were now, Rooster mumbles through the way heâd lost his to a girl from his AP Econ class after a playoff baseball game.
He stares at the way youâre nervously picking at the label of the Blue Moon heâd grabbed for you when he went to get a refill of his own. He can practically hear the way your brain is buzzing. He wonders if you wish you could take back the words from where they are sitting on the table with the collection of bottles and peanut shells for everyone to see.
Bob being the team player that he is starts talking about how heâd lost his one summer in college to another camp counselor, going into more detail than heâs ever given before, probably trying to redirect the attention to himself to give the two of you a moment to regroup.
Rooster makes a mental note to tell Penny to put all of Bobâs cream sodas from now on on his own tab.
He doesnât know what heâs supposed to do here. Or where to look. Or where to put his hands. He wants to talk to you, but thereâs no good way for him to go about it without drawing even more attention to the two of you.
You were supposed to be going on a first date tonight, but heâd talked you into canceling to hang out with him instead. He likes having all of your attention on him. And maybe heâs been a little selfish with you, because he doesnât like to share you with anyone else. Youâve always been his best friend.
Rooster likes that he gets to talk to you whenever he wants now, and that it doesnât feel like a never-ending game of catch up anymore. In the year since the Uranium mission, heâd felt like all the fragmented pieces of his life had finally come together. Heâd reconnected with Mav, he was living in the same city as his best friend, and he had a place he could finally call home.
He didnât just want the highlights with you, he wanted everything in between too. Thereâs no more distance due to time zones and scheduling times to call because now you only live 20 minutes away from him. And the next time he comes home from a deployment, he knows heâll get to look forward to seeing you there waiting for him.
He feels like heâs learned so much more about the grown-up version of you over the last year than he has in the last ten.
Jake jumps in barely a breath after Bob finishes telling his story. âWell, we all know itâs not the first who matters, but who was the best.â Rooster doesnât trust the gleam in his eyes or the sharp smile on his face. âSince Bradshaw cut you off before, howâs about you go first this time, darlinâ. You can tell us about who knocked your socks off. Maybe this time heâll let you finish, if you know what I mean.â
Itâs thinly veiled snooping disguised as chivalry, and it doesnât fool anyone. Natâs eyes dart to him briefly, trying to get a read on him.
Heâd been 21 at the time. And while he knows more now that he did then, he also knows his name isnât going to be coming out of your mouth for a second time tonight.
Rooster takes a sip of his beer, needing something to do.
He knows youâve been with other people. Youâd lived with your ex for over a couple years, for fuck's sake. But it was like an unspoken agreement between the two of you to not talk about your sex lives with each other.
His leg starts bouncing again and he realizes he really doesnât want to hear this. Not because of his ego, but because he doesnât know what to do about the knot thatâs formed in his stomach.
Your mouth opens and closes a couple times before you speak, âThat title would also go to Rooster.â The admission is soft, but sure.Â
Where his heart had been pounding before, now it feels like it had stopped completely.
Itâs been 13 years since that Spring Break. 13 years and heâs still your best?
Barely five minutes ago, he hadnât known where to look. But now? Now he couldnât stop staring at you.
He just didnât understand why you still wouldnât look at him back.
đđđđđđ đđđđđ, đđđđđ đđđđ
When youâd floated the idea by Bradley about visiting him at UVA for Spring Break during your weekly phone call, youâd been braced for the disappointment of him already having plans. It was his Senior year, it wouldnât surprise you if he wanted to go out with a bang and make the most of it. Especially since he would belong to the Navy soon enough.
But heâd taken you by surprise when he started enthusiastically listing off all the places he wanted to show you, planning out your trip like a well-seasoned travel agent before youâd even booked a plane ticket.
Youâd started looking up airfare before youâd even hung up the phone. And thirty minutes later you had a confirmation email flagged in your inbox after elatedly charging that aisle seat to the credit card you only used for emergencies.
It had been close to a year since youâd last seen him. He usually spent his Winter Break with your family, but this year heâd stayed on campus for the holidays and it was the longest the two of you had ever been apart since youâd first met him when you were 8.
And maybe thatâs why it took you so long to spot him in the Arrivals area of the Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport.
Youâve always prided yourself in being able to pick Bradley out of a crowd anywhere, but in your cursory glance you hadnât recognized the tall, broad guy with the UVA shirt pulled taut across his chest and wearing a baseball hat backward on his head. It wasnât until your third searching pass that youâd caught the lips that were quirked up in amusement and those familiar brown eyes trained on you as he leaned ever-so-casually against the faux wood paneling on the wall waiting for you to notice him.
Heâd filled out in the months since youâd last seen him. He was more toned than you remembered him being with definition in places where there hadnât been before. His face had more distinct angles and less baby fat cushioned curves. Still a bit boyish, but he was well on his way to looking like a man.
Bradley raised his hand like he was going to wave, but then heâd mimicked casting a fishing line in your direction and reeling it in. And it was so endearingly stupid- so him- that you couldnât help but take the bait and made your way towards him with the biggest grin on your face.
Youâd ignored the jittery flutter in your stomach as youâd weaved between people and luggage. Youâve never been nervous around your best friend before. There was something that had on your mind a lot as the days to your visit inched closer, but youâd shoved that out of your mind, because you were finally standing in front of him in person for the first time in months.Â
âHey, kid,â heâd greeted you, taking your bag, âCharlottesville must have known you were coming, because sheâs going to be sunny for you all week.â As soon as you were within armâs reach, he tugged you right into his chest for a hug. You could feel the unspoken I missed you in the way he squeezed you just that bit tighter before releasing you.
Then he was dropping an arm over your shoulders and steering you towards the exit and driving you into town in the beat-up car heâd bought after selling his prized Montero, the car that Mav had given him for his birthday.
Youâre only there for a week and Bradley doesnât waste a single moment of it.
After dropping your things off in his dorm room, he takes you straight to campus where he gives you the Official Bradley Bradshaw Certified UVA Tour. He buys you lunch from one of the food trucks in the Amphitheater âfor sustenanceâ before taking you to see the highlights. You start with the Rotunda and then the academic village, making a special pitstop at the Whispering Wall for you to tell it a secret. And then he takes you on a more historical tour, like showing you the exact route he used to streak The Lawn and pointing out the place heâd puked after his 21st birthday.
Itâs clear heâd put so much thought into your visit because it seems like there is never a down moment. By the end of the third day youâre more surprised that you don't wake up every morning with a printed itinerary on your pillow.
He sneaks you into the Slaughter Rec Center to rock climb, claiming he had a person on the inside with the right connections. But really from what you could tell, the pretty girl at the check-in counter clearly had a crush on him. He takes you to the batting cages he likes to go to before Dead Week, and spends the time there equal parts making fun of your power swing and trying to fix it.
You get your revenge the next day standing outside of the imposing columns and massive doors to the Fralin Art Museum. Skeptically eyeing the sculpture in the front of the building that kind of looked like a giant wisdom tooth, you mentioned, âI didnât realize youâd become such a patron of the cultural arts.â
âHey now, I like artsy shit,â heâd said, only mildly affronted.
You snorted at that. âIs there an exhibit on beer pong and blunt rolling you wanted to see?â Through the window youâd spotted some large landscape oil paintings in ornate gilded frames and carved marble busts of what you assumed were probably of some of the Founding Fathers.
âYou just missed that one, it was last month,â Bradley lobbed back, opening the door for you.
âWhat a pity,â youâd said with a dramatic sigh, âGuess weâll have to settle for some tasteful nudes instead.â
âIf weâre lucky,â heâd muttered under his breath, as you passed under his arm.
And then youâd felt the corners of your mouth kick up.
Turning around youâd pressed your finger to his chest, whispering so the person behind the ticket desk didnât hear you, âTwenty bucks says you donât make it thirty minutes in there.â
He narrowed his eyes, taking in your sly grin, âYouâre on, kid.â
Itâs the easiest $20 youâve ever made.
The two of you call it a truce only after he tips your kayak into the still chilly Rivanna River.
Later that night, he takes you to a party on âMad Bowlâ that one of his frat friends was hosting. The backyard was all strung up with red and green Christmas lights like they had been too lazy to take them down after the holidays and decided it added to the outdoor ambiance instead of packing them away.
He was still just as protective over you as he was back in high school. Spending the whole night keeping an eye on you and handing you drinks that heâd uncapped himself using the opener that he had on his keychain, the one that still had the little fighter jet charm youâd given him ages ago dangling from it.
The days pass all too quickly as he shows you all of his favorite spots.
You knew UVA wasnât where heâd originally wanted to be- where he thought heâd be- but you were happy that he seemed happy here.
But in between the late-night microwave ramen and movie watching and crossing off all the things on Bradleyâs Spring Break To-Do List, thereâd been something youâd been wanting to talk to him about. But you were having so much fun with him, youâd missed your best friend over those long months apart, and you didnât want to ruin the time you had left with him here.
It lingered at the back of your mind like a phantom hair that you can feel, but canât ever seem to brush off no matter how many times you attempt to. You felt like you were waiting for the right time that you werenât sure would ever come. And if you were being honest, you werenât entirely sure you would even be brave enough to ask if the time came.
The two of you had woken up way before the sun this morning.
If anyone other than Bradley had asked you to wake up before 5 AM to go hike to watch the sunrise, you would have laughed at them. But because it was Bradley, youâd set the alarm without comment. Even though he did have to gently pry you out of his roommateâs bed- with the fresh sheets he told you he bought especially for your visit- and lace up your shoes for you.
The views at Humpback Rock had been worth the hour hike up to the outcrop of craggy rocks. The sunrise painted them a stunning shade of soft orange as the rays illuminated evergreen covered hills and valleys that extended in front of you to the skyline. You and Bradley watched it in silence, shoulders pressed against each other as you took it all in.
Youâre cozied up on your bed for the week, flipping through a book youâd brought with you, but hadnât touched at all until now when Bradley comes back from the showers. His hair is still damp and the ends are starting to curl a bit. Â
He drops a Styrofoam cup of coffee on the nightstand next to you.
You hadnât been sure what rooming with him would be like, the two of you together 24/7 since his roommate had left to go home for the break. But it felt like you were two kids at sleepaway camp getting away with mischief rather than two broke college students only pretending to get away with mischief.
He sits down at the edge of his bed, his elbows resting on his thighs, âSo.â
âSo?â you repeat, blowing on the hot coffee before taking a sip.
âAre you going to tell me whatâs been up with you?â
You wince, and itâs not because the coffee tastes like tar.Â
âWhat do you mean?â you try to ask casually.
Bradley gives you a look that says you donât fool me, kid. âYouâve been squirrely. I didnât want to press it, but I can tell thereâs something on your mind.â He takes a sip of his own milky battery acid. âAre classes going better since you switched majors?â
You nod, looking anywhere else other than at him.
âHow are things with your Dad?â
You offer him a shrug.
He sighs your name in exasperation. You can tell he is trying to tamper his frustration at your lack of cooperation.
âIs it a guy?â Bradley tries again.
You swear you feel your heart stop, because you knew what you wanted to ask him, but you didnât know how he was going to take it.
You fiddle with a string on his roommateâs comforter. âThereâs something I wanted to talk to you about,â you admit, tentatively, âBut Iâm nervous.â
Bradleyâs eyebrows pull together as he sets his coffee aside, âCâmon, itâs just me. You can talk to me about anything.â
âItâs more of a question.â One youâre still deflecting from asking.
âOk, well you know you can ask me anything.â His tiny dorm room feels even smaller as the two of you try to read the otherâs face.
Taking a deep breath, you ask the question thatâs been rattling around in your brain for weeks.
âBradley, I was wondering if youâd be my first?â
Less than ten words. Thatâs all it takes to tilt Bradleyâs world off its axis.
Heâs loved getting to show you around UVA this week. It wasnât where he thought heâd end up, but he hadnât lost sight of where he was going. He was going to be a Naval Aviator one way or another. He just also got to have a normal college experience too, one heâd been excited to share with you.
Bradley had originally been invited to go stay with one of his friends at his familyâs beach house, but when you called and asked about coming to visit Charlottesville, it was an easy choice for him. Heâd pick you every time.
It had been even better getting to cross off some of the things on the bucket list heâd made for his Senior Year with you in tow, like the hike heâd taken you on this morning.
He loves the views from up there and thought it would be something youâd like too, but heâd never done the hike early enough to catch the sunrise before. It was actually something he was planning on going the morning of graduation as a symbolic way to end his time at UVA, but getting to do it with you was special in its own way.
And while heâd caught you lost in thought more than a few times over the last few days as he showed you around, he never in a million years would have ever expected you to ask him that.
Bradley knows all the words you just used, but they donât make sense to him in that order.
His brain is working in overdrive trying to figure out if there is any possible way he could have misinterpreted you.
âYour firstâŠâ
You take another deep breath and tip your chin up in resolve before looking him dead in the eye, thereâs so much vulnerability reflected in them, âI havenât had sex before, Bradley. And Iâm really hoping that my first time can be with you.â
Bradley wants to tell you to put your Styrofoam cup down because heâs worried the tight grip you have on it might crush it, but he feels like the wind has been knocked out of him.
He didnât realize when his leg started bouncing until he sees you glance down at it.
Shooting to his feet and off his bed, he goes to lean against his recently decluttered desk. Thereâs too much restless energy coursing through him to just sit like he isnât completely reeling.Â
âShouldnât you want to do this with someone special? Like with rose petals and all that shit?â He scrubs a hand over his face. Rose petals and all that shit? God, he sounds like such a fucking dumbass, but heâs struggling to keep up.
And if heâs being entirely honest, heâs pretty surprised to learn youâre still a virgin. Not that thereâs anything wrong with it, but he knows youâve had at least one serious boyfriend since youâve gone to college. He figured that you got asked out all the time. He saw the way that some of the guys in his buddyâs frat were looking at the pretty girl with the dimples and big smile.
The girl who just asked him to be her first.
He hates the way your shoulders have slumped forward, like youâre trying not to cave in on yourself, âSo, you donât want to?â
âI didnât say that.â His answer takes him by surprise.
The only other sound in the room other than his pounding heart is the whir of the air circulating in his dorm.Â
âWould it help to make a pro con list?â you offer, less than helpfully with a little shrug.
âJesus Christ,â Bradley mutters under his breath, looking up at the speckled ceiling trying to decode the flecks like tea leaves. âSheâs cracking jokes like she didnât ask me to make her come.â
âTechnically, I didnât say anything about that. I just asked you to be my first.â
âIâm not taking your virginity and not giving you an orgasm,â he states, and your eyes get wide. He runs his hands through his hair. âSex makes things complicated, kid. Weâve got a good friendship.â
You sit up straighter on his roommateâs bed and bring your knees to your chest. It exposes the backs of your thighs and he has to shake the mental images of skin on skin out of his head.
Thereâs a look on your face that tells him you feel ridiculous even asking him, âDo you think youâre going to fall in love with me or something?â
âNo,â Bradley says, honestly.
He knows youâre just trying to make a point.
The two of you have been friends for over a decade. He knows he cares about you- he always has- but he couldnât imagine what anything other than just friendship would look like with you.
You nod in agreement, like you had been anticipating the answer before youâd even asked him the question.
âAnd do you think Iâm going to fall in love with you?â you ask, your head tilting to the side.
He doesnât even blink, âYou can do better than me.â
And he means it.
Even if there was something more between the two of you, youâve always been too good for him. And knowing him, heâd find a way to fuck it up. Youâre the last person in the world heâd ever want to hurt. Heâd let you down before, he doesnât want to do it ever again.
You shoot him a disappointed look, like you donât like hearing him say that about himself. And heâs oddly touched that youâre defending him against himself.Â
âYouâd literally be doing me a favor.â
Bradley is still surprised that he hasnât ended this conversation yet. The two of you were supposed to go to the movies, but that definitely wasnât happening now.
âIâm not saying no,â he says, âBut I need you to help me understand. Why me? Why now?â
âBradley, I want it to be with you because thereâs no one else Iâll ever feel as comfortable with as I do with you,â you explain.
He watches as you unfold yourself and climb off the bed, coming to stand in front of him. You gingerly reach out and put your hand on his forearm, like you donât want to startle him. Not that heâd be able to move anyways since it feels like the soles of his feet are cemented to the floor.
âI keep waiting for it to not feel like such a big thing, but every time it seems like itâs going to happen, I freeze. And I know youâd take care of me, and Iâm not talking about orgasms.â You stumble over the word a bit, not fully meeting his eyes as you say it. âItâs scary enough as a girl and Iâm worried Iâm going to be too in my head with anyone else. But I also donât want to look back and have any regrets, and I know I wouldnât have any with you.â
The mention of regrets makes his stomach twinge. His heart feels like itâs hammering in his chest. He doesnât know what to say.
You are looking at him with such open sincerity. He has never been good with talking about his feelings, heâs always been the type to bottle things up, while you have always worn your heart on your sleeve. It was just another way that you were braver than him.
âI know itâs a lot,â you say, letting go of him to take a step back, like you want to give him breathing room, âSo if itâs too big of an ask. Or if itâs not something youâre comfortable with-â
Bradley shakes his head cutting you off, âItâs not that at all, kid. I just havenât done this before.â Your eyebrow scrunches together in confusion. âI mean, I have,â he corrects, âBut itâs not the same. All the girls Iâve been with had already had experience. And if we were going to do this, I would want to make sure itâs as nice for you as it can be.â
âSo youâd be my first and Iâd be yours? Well, kind of.â You give him a little smile, itâs a shy but hopeful thing. Thereâs only a hint of your dimples, but itâs enough. And he feels that practical part of him that had been holding back soften at the sight of it.
He doesnât think heâs ever said no to you, excluding the times you tried to get him to give you his beer at the house parties he took you to in high school, and that was more out of self-preservation from a healthy fear of your mom than anything else.
When you wanted to learn how to drive a stick shift? He took you to the abandoned parking lot, it didnât matter that you didnât have your learnerâs permit yet. When you wanted to learn how to throw a punch? He was making sure you knew not to tuck your thumb under your fingers, so that you didnât break your own thumb instead of someoneâs nose.
Heâs always had your back and youâve had his. Thatâs how it was between the two of you.
Youâve already said it, but he needs to hear it again, âYou really want to do it?â
âI really want it to be you, Bradley. I really want to do this with you. I trust you the most.â
Heâs always been willing to help you with anything youâve ever asked of him, why should this be any different? Whatâs a couple orgasms between friends?
âOk,â Bradley nods. If itâs to reassure you or himself, he couldnât say. âIâll do it. We can do it.â
Your eyebrows raise in surprise, like you were fully prepared for him to let you down gently, âReally?â
You didnât ask for his why he was agreeing, but he was going to give it to you anyway.
âI donât think Iâve told you this, but I lost mine to Samantha Prescod after the game against Centennial that got us a spot at State that year,â he waits until he sees the recognition cross your face before continuing, âBut I had also just learned about my momâs diagnosis and I was trying to find anything I could do to not think about it.â He rubs at a spot underneath his collarbone, it never got any easier talking about his mom. âI think she assumed that Iâd done it before, because we didnât really talk about it. She was there and into it, so it just sort of happened. Actually, Iâm pretty sure she only slept with me because she wanted to make her ex-boyfriend jealous, because they got back together like three days later.â
Itâs probably for the best that Samantha Prescod lives on the other side of the country now because you look livid. Your eyes spark with anger and disbelief on his behalf.
âIt was years ago, itâs fine, kidâ he shrugs, trying to brush off your concern. âBut if I had a do-over, I donât know if Iâd make the same choice again. And thatâs not something Iâd ever want for you.â You deserve the rose petals, but heâll do his best for you. âSo we can do it, but I have one condition.â
The relief on your face and the way the tension in your shoulder releases only solidifies his decision.
âTell me,â you say, taking a half-step towards him, âI want you to be comfortable too.â
Bradley pushes off his desk and meets you the rest of the way, âIf you even think youâre feeling uncomfortable- about any of it- I need you to tell me. And weâll stop and figure out where to go from there. If itâs a change of position, if itâs a full stop and order pizza instead, weâll do that.â He pauses and reaches out to tip your chin up. âIâll do whatever you need, got it?â
You throw your arms around him, and his wrap around you just as easily. Your hair smells like the travel sized shampoo heâd picked up for you, figuring you wouldnât want to use his 2-in-1. You murmur your thank you into his shirt followed by a fuck Samantha Prescod that makes him squeeze you just a bit tighter to him in affection.
When you step back and look at him, your lips twitch upwards, âWhatâs with the look, Bradshaw? Donât tell me youâre going to lie back and think of England?â
That makes him chuckle, your joke lightening the mood in only the way that you can do. He rolls his eyes in equal parts exasperation and fondness.
âGod, I havenât been this nervous since I lost my own virginity. I was so stressed I was going to blow my load in two pumps and lose my street cred.â
You snort and send him a smirk, âWell, you must have done just fine. I overheard some glowing reviews in the girlâs bathroom on more than one occasion.â
âI maybe lasted ten trusts, but I had the good sense to eat her out after,â he admits, and then tacks on for good measure, âIâve gotten better since then.â
âWhat a stud,â you tease.
This is easier, this feels like the two of you. This should be fun, it shouldnât feel serious. He can make it good for you.
You look up at him shyly from under your lashes, âSo how do we do this?â
He feels like he only just wrapped his head around the idea of it, but now he was facing the very real possibility of seeing you very naked very soon.
âYou want to do it now?â Bradley blinks.
âI mean, if youâre up for it.â You scrunch your nose when you realize youâve made a terrible double entendre. âNo pun intended, I promise.â Â
He wipes his hands on his pants.
âYou sure?â he asks again.
âIâm sure, Bradley. As long as you are too.â
He nods, âThen I guess we justâŠâ
Heâs not sure where he was going to go with that. But heâs spared from being roasted by you for making some sure to be lame birthday suit joke because youâre untying the bow on the soft lounge shorts youâd thrown on after your shower from the hike, and all the words get trapped in his throat.
You donât look at Bradley as you slide your shorts down your legs. And you definitely donât look at him when you pull your shirt over your head, leaving you in only a soft green mesh bra and your cotton underwear. Theyâre mismatched, but sex with Bradley wasnât originally on the Spring Break To-Do List agenda for today.
In fact, you hadnât even been sure you were going to go through with asking him until he brought up the point that he knew you had something on your mind because you apparently had no poker face.
While it felt like you had a swarm of butterflies whirling in your stomach, you also knew wholeheartedly that this was the right choice for you. Everything he had said had solidified that for you.
You werenât sure how you were ever going to thank him for this, but you had a lifetime of friendship with Bradley to figure it out.
His room cast in the soft afternoon light, the blinds only partly closed. There are little streaks of gold that line the plaid comforter on his bed. Heâd been right, Charlottesville had stayed sunny just for you.
As you climb into it and situate yourself against his pillows, you can help but notice just how much his bed smells like him. Itâs not the spicy scent you associated with the High School version of him. The woodsy and warm scent embedded in the threads of his sheets suits this grown up version of him.
You feel equal parts overdressed and underdressed in your bra and underwear. You know the latter are going to come off eventually, so you make a split-second decision to just take them off yourself under his covers. The idea of Bradley helping you to pull them off later seems like it would be too intimate based on the way the thought of it makes your cheeks heat up.
Itâs practical, youâre being practical, you think to yourself.
You chance a peek at him and are surprised to see that he hasnât budged an inch. Itâs almost like he is waiting for you to get completely settled before he dares to move a muscle. His eyes are trained on the pile of your clothes on the floor, he looks lost in thought.
âBradley?â
The sound of your voice seems to kickstart him into action.
He shucks off his shirt in that kind of reckless way that seems to be ingrained in boys and then unbuttons his pants. Youâre torn between feeling like you should give him privacy and wanting to watch. What you were expecting is the way he takes the time to pick his clothes up before folding them over the back of the chair at his desk.
Your mouth goes dry as you take in the sight of his body, the diffused light perfectly outlines the shape of him. His broad shoulders are rounded with the muscles heâs gained from whatever exercises the NROTC has been putting him through. Your eyes dip down to his defined chest and over the ridges of his abs. Youâve seen him in swim trunks plenty of times, but seeing the way the muscles of his thick thighs fill out the black boxer briefs he was wearing was entirely new to you.
Bradley approaches you and then pauses as he bends down to collect your pile of clothes on the floor, his hand hesitating only for a second when he reaches for your underwear. He drapes all of your things on top of his on the chair and makes his way back to you.
The gesture makes you melt a little like a soft serve ice cream cone on a summer afternoon.
You lift the corner of the cover for Bradley and he climbs in next to you. You move closer to the wall, trying to make more room for the bulk of him in his small bed, and he shifts in even closer into you until your bodies pressed tight against one another. The curves and angles of the two of you slotting together like pieces of a puzzle.
It feels like the two of you are teetering there on the edge of something. You both know exactly where itâs going, but are unsure of how to make it from Point A to Point B. Both waiting on the other person to make the first move.
He rests his warm hand on your stomach, the muscles there jumping on their own under his touch in anticipation. Your faces are close since youâre sharing his pillow. His brown eyes are searching yours, probably looking for any sign of hesitation that you donât feel.
âTell me how youâre feeling.â Itâs not a question, but a request.
âOverwhelmed,â you admit, âBut in a good way.â He runs his palm lightly up your stomach and back down, soothingly.
âGood, thatâs good,â Bradley says, clearing his throat, âYouâre supposed to feel a little âoverwhelmed, but in a good way.ââ You feel your lips pull up at his gentle teasing.
He smiles softly at you. His face has always been so familiar to you. The pink from his scars have finally faded, but you wonder when his eyes start crinkling around the corners.
You let go of the comforter to run a finger down the top of his nose, âI donât know how this has stayed so straight.â Heâd been in more than a couple fights in his teen years, including one that had sent him through a sliding glass door.
âProbably the combination of a little luck and the fact that none of those guys could throw a punch,â Bradley smirks. He shifts on his side, propping himself up on an elbow looking down at you, still running his hand along your stomach. âWhat have you done so far?â
His fingertips circle your bellybutton and your stomach swoops like itâs on the swing carousel ride at the fair.
âSome over the clothes stuffâŠâ you stammer. Youâre having trouble focusing because all your attention is on his big hand and how it feels against your oversensitive skin. âAnd I have a vibrator, but ahâŠâ
Youâre so keenly aware of his hand. With every lazy circle he makes, he has you wondering if this is going to be the one where he finally moves his hand lower. That part of you in flutters in expectation because you know itâs coming.
You let out a shaky huff when his fingers trails back up your stomach.
âWhat is it?â Bradleyâs hand stops moving. âWhat are you thinking?â
âHonestly?â you say, trying not to squirm, âIâm getting really horny and you keep teasing me.â
He presses his lips together like heâs trying not to laugh at your overshare, and thereâs amusement in his eyes.
âYou know, some people call it foreplay,â he drawls. Youâd roll your eyes but his fingertips are by your bellybutton again and you want him to keep going. âYou ready for more?â You nod a few times because if he doesnât touch you soon you might just crawl out of your skin. âOk, gonna stop âteasingâ you now.â
This time his hand doesnât stop at your bellybutton, it keeps moving down, down.
You stutter over a breath when Bradleyâs fingers touch your clit. You feel yourself melt a little further into his mattress. Heâs making easy circles, letting you get used to someoneâs fingers other than your own on the most sensitive part of you. Your hands are clutching tightly to his comforter, unsure of what else to do with them.
âSpread your legs a little wider for me,â he murmurs. You feel your face heat up. Heâd just given you a direction, but it sounds almost indecent coming out of his mouth.
You shift, moving your legs apart further for him, until he secures your left between his own, opening you up even more. You know youâre wet and now he does too. Bradleyâs fingers slide easily over you as he increases the pressure on your clit. You can feel the intensity of his gaze on you watching for your reaction as he figures out what you like the most.
It doesnât take him long to learn your body. You donât know whether to be impressed with him or embarrassed with yourself at how quickly heâs worked you up.
Your breathing feels so loud in your ears in the quiet room, every breath and sigh is amplified. Thereâs a certain thrill in not knowing how heâs going to touch you next, your own fingers pale in comparison now.
His warm breath coasts down the side of your neck causing you to shiver at the sensation. It makes goosebumps break out along your arms and your nipples pull taut.
He notices. Of course he notices.
âAre you cold?â His voice is low in your ear.
âNo, I-â Oh god, youâre right there. âB-bradley, Iâm-â Youâve made yourself orgasm plenty of times, but youâve never shared that part of yourself with anyone else before. No one knows what you sound like or what you look like when you come. But now, Bradley was going to have the piece of you too. A whine escapes you without your permission.
âItâs ok, kid, Iâve got you.â
Youâre seeking and searching, but itâs Bradleyâs fingers that have the answer.
And you come with your stomach twitching and hips jerking as he murmurs praise in your ear.
His fingers slow down, featherlight on your clit, but your heart is still racing when he rasps, âThereâs one, you up for another?â
Bradley loves that moment during sex when he hears that first gasp or moan. He loves learning what sounds of satisfaction he can pull from his partner. He loves knowing he earned it. But he never in his life could have ever anticipated hearing those sounds from you.
In his bed. Because of him.
He didnât expect the lick of heat that curled up his spine at the shape of your legs and the curve of your ass as you were stepping out of your shorts. Heâd never seen anything so strangely endearing as it was watching you shimmy your underwear off under the shield of his covers.
Every hitch in your breath made his blood run hotter in his veins. He was trying to control his cock, but heâd started getting hard the second youâd pulled your shirt off. Your bra was some kind of sheer thing that left nothing to the imagination, and while he wasnât trying to check you out- because thatâs not how it was between the two of you- he couldnât help the way his eyes flickered down.
Youâre slippery, wet, and warm. And he knows he can make you come again.
âDo you want me to use my fingers now?â
You crack an eye open at him, itâs the first time youâve opened your eyes since he first touched you. Your eyes are bright in that way that only comes with an orgasm. âI thought you already were.â
âSuch a smartass,â he grins.
Bradley changes the unhurried circles heâd been making on your clit to the upstroke that made your hips jerk up into his hand the first time heâd tried it. The little noises youâre making have him fighting the urge to grind himself against you for some relief of his own. Heâs still got your knee tucked between his own; where there had been a hint of polite space between your bodies, the way youâre writhing now has him pressed up against your hip.
You gasp, breathily, âOh, youâre hard.â The disbelief is evident in your voice, but itâs the look in your eyes that he doesnât know what to make of, something like surprise.
Heâs been trying to be a gentleman, this is about you and not him. There might not be anything romantic happening between the two of you, but this was hot and he was more than a little turned on. And he knows you are too because he can feel how wet you are under his fingers.
ââCourse I am,â Bradley says, nudging his nose against your temple, âIâve got a pretty girl in my bed half naked.â He didnât want you to feel like you were in this on your own, so he lightly rocks against you. He wants you to feel him, he wants you to know he is into this too. âAre you ready more?â
âIâm ready, I want more,â you confirm, wrapping your hand around his bicep.
Your breath hitches as he teases you with just the tip of his finger.
Heâs been told before he has big hands and thick fingers, heâs always taken it as a compliment in the past, but now heâs scanning your face for any trace of discomfort as he sinks one into you.
Your eyebrows twitch then smooth out and your mouth drops open as he starts pumping his finger into you in a smooth rhythm.
âThat feels nice,â you sigh, airily.
He knows you like it when your hips tip up just a fraction. His comforter is bunched around your waist and your nipples are peaked against the see-through fabric of your bra. He gets his thumb on your clit and you whimper as you tentatively roll your hips against his fingers.
Bradley hums his approval, âAtta girl. There you go, find what feels good for you.â His voice sounds low even to his own ears, a throaty rumble. He feels you clench around his fingers and it sets his pulse racing. Itâs a piece of information he tucks away for himself.
Heâs gentle on your clit, but now that he knows youâre into it heâs setting a more purposeful pace with his fingers.
Youâve got your bottom lip pinned between your teeth, like youâre trying to swallow down your sounds. He didnât realize how much he liked hearing these new sounds from you until you started trying to muffle them. On the next slide of his finger into you, he knows exactly what heâs looking for.
You suck in a sharp breath of surprise when he finds it.
âIs that the right spot, kid?â He sounds so smug. You curse and your hand clutches at his shoulder. âYou want to try a second finger?â he murmurs into your ear.
âYes,â you rock into his hand, âYes, please.â
âWhatever you want, Miss Manners.â His chest feels like heâs taken a shot of Fireball. âYouâre so polite when youâre trying to get your way.â
âIâm always polite,â you challenged weakly, pressing your head further into his pillow.
âMhm,â he indulges, fondly, âYouâre the sweetest girl I know.â
And then he fills you with two fingers.
âJesus, Bradley,â you gasp, offering more of yourself to him.
Your nails dig into the muscle of his shoulder as he lets your whimpers and whines guide his hands.
The two of you have your eyes fixed on the way the tendons of the visible part of his forearm are flexing before it disappears under the covers as he works you.
Bradley curls his fingers into that spongy part of you and your hand flies to his wrist, gripping him tight. It makes him pause, worried that he might have pushed you too far too fast.
âNo, no. D-donât stop,â you plead, desperately, âIâm so close. Keep going, please.â You squeeze his wrist encouragingly.
âSorry, sorry,â he soothes. He focuses his efforts on that spot again now that he knows you werenât wanting him to slow down, but rather trying to hold him in place. His fingers inside of you and his thumb on your clit working in tandem to get you there again.
âI just- yes. Like that. Oh fuck. Keep doing that. Oh my god. Please, Bradley.â
Heâs heard you say his name a lot of different ways, but never like this.
Your back arches and you twist yourself towards him, burying your face against him and keening into the hollow of his throat as you come around his fingers.
You jerk and writhe into his hand, your knee slips free of his and your thighs clamp together around him. Bradley rolls off the arm heâd been leaning on and brings it to cradle the back of your head, pulling you closer and holding you to him as he steadily works you through it until youâre loose-limbed in his arms.
He waits until your rapid pants have evened out before he slips his fingers from you. The displeased sound that you make makes the corners of his mouth twitch. He should have known youâd be bossy. He rubs gentle circles into the divots at the base of your neck as you come down.
Bradley can feel your lips graze the side of his neck when you finally speak, âSo, um, let me know if you need a letter of recommendation or anything. Iâd be happy to pass one along to your next partner.â You languidly prop yourself up on his chest and he notes with pride that you look a little flushed. âBut, seriously, I get it now.â
He huffs a laugh as he toys with the end of your hair, âIâm glad it lived up to the hype. Well, at least that part of it.â
You press your lips together like youâre deciding something, tracing idle shapes on his stomach, and he canât decide if he thinks youâre doing it without realizing it or if youâre the one doing the teasing this time. Your eyes flick down to his visibly hard cock and he feels his face heat up, âCan I?â
âDo you want to?â Bradley wants this experience to be everything you need and want it to be, but something about the tables turning here and the idea of you being the one to touch him like that makes his heart pound.
âI want to make you feel good too,â you softly tell him, resting your chin on your shoulder. The tender way youâre looking at him makes his teeth ache.
âOk, but only for a little bit,â he agrees. Bradley knows heâs walking a tightrope with this, heâs aching and more than ready to be touched, but he doesnât want to come all over your hand.
He plants his feet into his mattress and lifts his hips enough to pull off his boxer briefs, sighing in relief as his cock bobs free.
âThat canât be average,â you mutter under your breath.
He doesnât know if you meant to have said it out loud but he smirks all the same, âIâve never been average a day in my life, kid, Grade A student here.â
A groan slips out of him as your tentative fingers grasp his cock. Thereâs a lack of finesse in the way you touch him, your hand isnât nearly as well-practiced as his own. He wraps his hand over yours, guiding your strokes as he shows you just what he likes.
âYou can grip it a little firmer,â he coaches. You nod studiously, like youâre going to be tested on it later. Together the two of you work him from root to tip.
Bradley had never given much thought to his size until now. He knew he was big, but seeing that your thumb couldnât reach the tips of your fingers when your hand was curved around him was an ego boost he didnât know he needed.
You get more confident with every glide up and down the length of him. Your tricky thumb sweeps over the tip, collecting what precum had gathered there, and it makes your hand slide easier over him. When he accidentally thrusts into your hand, you grin and there are those dimples again.
âOk, ok,â he blows out a shaky breath, stilling your hand with his. âWe gotta stop or Iâm going to come. And Iâm not about to be a one pump chump.â
âIt sounded like youâre more of a ten pump chump, if I remember correctly,â you tease, looking all too pleased with yourself. âDonât worry, Bradshaw, your street cred is safe with me.â
He shakes his head in amused disbelief, âYouâre such a goddamn menace. I knew I shouldnât have told you that part.â He surprises the both of you when he wraps an arm around you and rolls to pin you under him.
And itâs like all the air is sucked out of the room because your thighs are cradling his hips and his cock is resting heavy on your stomach.
Neither one of you dare to move. Heâd give anything to know what youâre thinking right now, he feels out of his depth as he watches you watching him.
His tongue feels thick in his mouth, âAre you on-â
You nod before he even finishes the question.
âDo you have-â
He nods before you finish yours.
âWhat did you promise me?â he prompts, squeezing the dip of your waist.
You hold up your pinky to him, âIâll tell you.â He wraps his own crooked one around yours and gives it a shake.
Bradley doesnât know what comes over him, but he drops a kiss to your shoulder as he reaches over you into the drawer of his nightstand to fish out what he needs. Heâs thankful when you donât comment on it because he wouldnât even know how to explain it.
He leans back on his knees and rolls the condom on with practiced ease, then flicks open the cap to the bottle of lube heâs also grabbed and drizzles it over his cock.
âAm I notâŠâ you trail off. He doesnât think heâs ever heard you sound this shy with him before.
âYouâre plenty wet,â he assures you, pumping himself- once, twice- just enough to coat himself, âBut thisâll be good too. I think youâll like it.â
Bradley settles back over you, one arm braced by your head and the other on your hip, as your hands come up to rest lightly on either side of his ribcage. He rocks against you to demonstrate; the head of his cock nudges your clit with each silky pass. You exhale heavily at the sensation as he eases you into the motion of it, as he shows you what itâs like with another person.
Youâre holding him close, and in just a moment the two of you will be the closest two people can be.
He makes only enough room to reach down between your bodies, only looks away from your face long enough to line himself up with you. There is such trust in your eyes as you gaze up at him, itâs not something Bradley takes for granted.
You nod, your fingers stroking his sides.
God, does he want this to be good for you.
He takes a breath.
And then heâs shifting forward and pressing in.
Bradley thrusts into you with all the careful gentleness youâd expect from him.
His thumb skimming along your forehead as he pushes in, in, in.
When he found that spot inside of you with his fingers, you thought you were going to fly away from the intensity of it, but then heâd pulled you into the safety of his arms and you felt like you could fall apart because heâd be keeping the pieces of you together.
Heâs been so good to you. He is so good to you. Heâs the best person you know.
The more of him he gives you, the less you feel like you can catch your breath.
You feel hot, hot all over. And much fuller than youâve ever been.
Some sound must make its way out of you because Bradley offers you a low soothing noise before you feel his lightly chapped lips against your temple.
Thereâs something about this that reminds you of the time he tried to teach you how to skateboard. Always waited until you told him you were ready, until you found your balance. Heâd held your hand as you cautiously rolled along the sidewalk, you were less worried about falling with him by your side. Only this time, his hand is on your waist and the only movements are his hips against yours as he rocks into you.
Little by little. Inch by inch.
You clutch at his biceps at the slight stinging sensation and you feel him hesitate.
âItâs just a lot,â you whisper. His fingers flex on your waist.
âYouâre doing so good, just a bit more,â Bradley murmurs, encouragingly.
Thereâs pressure, thereâs a give, and then thereâs relief when his hips finally, finally meet yours.
âShit,â he curses under his breath.
Your eyes had flickered shut somewhere along the way. You open them to see that Bradleyâs face and chest are flushed pink, the muscle of his jaw flexing. The furrow between his eyebrows is so deep that you release your grip on him to smooth out the lines with an unsteady fingertip.
He reads the question in your eyes.
âYouâre just really tight,â he grits out, voice strained.
You assumed that was a good thing, but heâs holding himself so tense above you that now youâre not sure. âDo I-,â you fumble over the words, âDoes this feel good for you?â
He huffs an incredulous laugh, and brushes back some hair from off your face, âYou feel really fucking good, sweet-â
Your whimper cuts him off when he pulls out a fraction and then pushes back in.
His brown eyes take you in as he does it again, more this time. Pulling out just a bit- just enough- and then filling you again. The discomfort fading more with each thrust as he guides his hips to yours until yours are tilting up to meet his seeking more.
Itâs a conversation between your bodies, the give and the take of it all as Bradley introduces you to this new unspoken language. You feel yourself flutter around his cock, stretched wider than youâve ever been.
You feel that heat spreading underneath your skin again as he surely and steadily pumps into you. It feels like your nerves are on fire. You didnât expect to even come once and youâre well on your way to a third.
He reaches down and hooks your leg over his hip. His hand slides up along the outside of your thigh and under your ass, tilting your hips up towards his even more. Heâs so much deeper like this. Your hands slide into his hair, tugging at his curls.
âBradley, I-I think⊠I feel-â
 âYouâre gonna come,â he rasps, nodding at you. Encouraging, coaxing.
He grinds his pelvis against your clit with every deliciously slow roll into you.
Your mouth drops open at the feel of it, itâs better than anything youâve ever imagined. You donât think your faces have ever been closer than they are now. Bradley is breathing your air, and youâre breathing his. Bradleyâs pupils are blown wide, his heavy-lidded eyes are locked on yours. You didnât know there could be so many shades of brown. His curls are a mess and itâs all because of you. He licks his lips and your breath catches in your throat when his eyes dart down to your parted mouth.
His next thrust into you hits that spot inside of you just so right that it has you gasping.
Itâs so good, itâs too good, itâs overwhelming.
You wrap your arms around his neck clinging to him, your face buried against him. Bradley drops his head to your shoulder, you feel his lips brush against your clavicle. Your head moves away on instinct, making more room for him if he wants to do it again.
You get lost in the feeling of his cock hitting you in all the places youâve heard about and read about, but have never felt for yourself until now. Heâs still got your ass gripped in his hand, whereas your hands canât stay in one spot. Theyâre tangled in his hair, running over his shoulders and down his abs, gliding over his back aided by the sheen of sweat heâs worked up.
Youâre not trying to hold yourself back, but it feels like youâre standing on the tallest diving board at the pool, your toes curled around the edge, but still too nervous about the drop to jump.
âCâmon, kid. Youâre right there,â he breathes hard, âI need you to come for me. Just one more.â
He gets his fingers back on your clit and itâs the end of you. Your back is arching so much you think you might snap. Your toes curl so tights they may never unfurl. The force your orgasm overtakes you, demanding everything you have up to offer and then some.
You hear Bradleyâs moan as you pulse around his cock, trembling under him as the waves of pleasure wash over you. His hips stutter against yours, finally losing that steady rhythm heâd set, you pull him tighter to you and itâs not long until he comes too.
Itâs all white noise. All you can feel is your heartbeat pounding, until little pieces of the world come back into focus.
The hum of the fan.
The beam of warm afternoon light through the blinds.
The smell of the now cold coffee on his nightstand.
In the after, youâre all too aware of every place your body is touching Bradleyâs.
Heâd somehow managed to roll on his back and had taken you with him. He was literally just inside of you, but yet it feels like your leg draped over his thigh is somehow more intimate. A prickly self-conscious feeling settles over you. Unsure of what the rules were for friends who just had sex, you attempt to peel yourself off of him, but the heavy arm over your waist keeps you in place.
âCome back here, kid,â Bradley mumbles, his eyes still closed, âI need to cuddle after I come, so Iâm gonna need you to indulge me here for a moment.â He strokes a soothing hand down your back. And while he says itâs for him, you know heâs still trying to take care of you.
He hums when you lay back down. You set a hand on his chest. He reaches for it with his free one and threads your fingers together. It makes you melt further into him.
You feel a little different. But mostly, you feel like a weight you didnât know youâd been carrying had been lifted off of you.
Your first time was everything you hoped it would be. You were safe and cared for, and you already knew, youâd never have any regrets about it. And it was all because of him.
âThank you, Bradley,â you say, softly.
âAnything for you, kid.â
Your early morning catches up with you as you lay there, warm and secure. Your eyelids get heavier with each pass of Bradleyâs hand along your spine. And you drift off to the sound of his heartbeat under your ear.
Youâre still you. And Bradley is still Bradley.
It was just⊠something between friends.
A few hours later the two of you are still in his bed.
Only now youâre clothed and swapping the cartons of Chinese food that heâd ordered while youâd napped against his chest, and fighting over the fortune cookies watching some reruns of old sitcoms. You couldnât hear their laugh tracks over your own.
The last couple of days you had at UVA fly by just as quickly.
You donât know how, but the two of you managed to cross of all the things on his Spring Break To-Do List. And before you knew it you were back at the airport.
Bradley had insisted on walking you in, wanting to see you off.
Neither one of you has ever been good with goodbyes. So you donât give him one, instead you reach for your bag and tell him, âOk, see you in June.â
Bradley doesnât let go, clearly confused, âWhat the hell are you talking about?â
You grin because it feels like a checkmate.
âYou didnât think youâd be getting that diploma all by yourself, did you?â
He looks thunderstruck.
You and your mom already had the plane tickets and hotel room booked. Your stepdad wouldnât be able to come, but he was planning on sending your mom with one of the cakes from his familyâs bakery. Youâd been tasked with finding out what flavor, carrot cake or peanut butter- Bradleyâs two favorites- but you could iron out the details with him later.
Youâd had a busy week, plus it was more fun this way.
Bradley tugs you into his arms, yours wrap around him just as easily as they always have.
âJune?â he asks into the crown of your head.
âJune,â you promise.
And when he lets you go- for real this time- itâs with a smile that takes up his whole face.
He doesnât say goodbye either, âBe good, kid. See you in June.â
đđđ
You avoid Rooster for the rest of the night.
And Jake too, for that matter. Bless Javy for finding ways to distract him because you could tell than man was chomping at the bit for more details. But youâd already given him more than enough.
You could have lied, you probably should have lied. It might have been easier than feeling like youâd hung up part of yourself on the drying line for everyone to see. But in that moment, the thought of lying and saying anyone elseâs name other than Roosterâs had made your stomach turn.
Because it was the truth, he was your first, but he was also your best.
When you come out of the bathroom, thereâs no missing Rooster. Heâs leaning against the wall by the entrance. It takes him a moment to notice you since he looks lost in thought, but when he does you feel pinned to the wall by the intense look in his eyes.
He stands to his full height as you approach, you know he wants to talk about it.
You shake your head at him, âWe donât need to do this.â
âNo, kid, we really do.â He takes you by the arm and leads you to a quieter spot away from everyone else.
âIt was just a game,â you start before he can, âAnd now I know more about everyoneâs sex life than I ever wanted to.â He crosses his arms over his chest at your attempt at deflection. âLook, Iâm really sorry if that was something you wanted to keep a secret or just between us. I should have asked you first if that was ok to share.â
âI donât care about that.â Rooster waves you off and takes a step closer to you, his eyes searching yours. âAll this time and Iâm the best youâve ever had?â
âAre we really doing this? Here and now?â
You peer around him to look and see if anyone is watching the two of you, it feels like a showdown. But all the Daggers are occupied, probably on purpose. Youâve never seen Mickey with such a serious look of concentration on his face.
âHere and now,â he confirms.
You feel flustered, âRooster, itâs been 12 years and we havenât talked about it once-â
âBradley,â he cuts you off. He takes another step towards you, so youâre toe to toe with him. âIâve always been Bradley to you.â
The tension that had crept up in your shoulders releases a bit.
âBradley,â you say, softly. âListen, Iâve had a lot of good sex since then. Great sex even.â He presses his lips together and nods. âAnd with other men, if I felt like they werenât putting in their best effort Iâd kick them out because the bar was set very high early on.â
You see him fight back a smirk.
âThatâs my girl,â he murmurs, with pride.
Your breath gets caught in your throat, you know he hears it because his eyes take on a richer shade of brown. You both feel the shift, tension churning between the two of you.
Taking a deep breath, you continue, âBut I was telling the truth when I said you were my best. Probably because of the way you made sure I knew that you cared. I donât know how to describe it. It was just different with you.â
You feel his finger graze the back of your hand.
The sounds of the Hard Deck fade into the background as you stare at each other. Entire conversations are being had as you look into his eyes and he looks into yours. Words and sentences spoken with glances.
Just friends donât look at each other like this.
âItâs never been like this,â you whisper, âWeâve never been like this before.â You gesture at how close he is to you.
How heâs almost got you backed up against a wall.
How heâs looking at you like youâre his.
âI know.â
He says your name and your heart somersaults in your chest.
âI want to see your tattoo. I keep finding myself looking for it when weâre all at the beach. And then I get annoyed, knowing that people have seen it and I havenât.â
âMy tattoo? Bradley, what-â
âI want to see your tattoo,â he repeats like itâs a fact. âAnd I want to punch Seresin in his smug face every time he flirts with you.â
You roll your eyes, âJake doesnât flirt with me, not really. He just likes riling you up.â
âWhat if I said I wanted to try this as more than friends.â Bradley settles a large hand on your hip. âWhat if I said that since youâve moved here Iâve had a hard time keeping my head on straight.â
âBradley.â His name falls out of your mouth so easily now that it can.
âI want to take you home with me. I want to kiss you. I want to make you come. I need to know if you sound the same in my bed. And then I want to take you out for breakfast and buy whatever fancy coffee you want and as many pancakes as you can eat.â
Youâve been told that you wear your heart on your sleeve, but he has always worn his on his face. Thereâs no mistaking the open want on his face.
âBradley, itâll be different this time.â For so many reasons.
Because itâs not a favor being asked. Itâs not some new experience being tried with the person you trust the most, with everything. Youâd be on equal footing. It wouldnât be a friend helping a friend, the two of you would be crossing that line between friends and more because you want each other in that way.
âI want it to be different, sweet girl,â he says, cupping your face in his familiar hand, âIâm ready for it to be different, if you are.â
He looks from your eyes down to your parted lips.
âWe didnât do that last time,â you whisper. Feeling brave, you reach out and run your fingers along the buttons of his shirt.
âNo, we didnât,â he agrees. His eyes are trained on his thumb as he skims it under your lip. âAnd thatâs a damn shame.â
Bradleyâs face is all you can see. Warm eyes, a still-straight nose, and a soft smile that is for you and you alone.
He dips down and your eyes flutter closed, your head tipping up on its own in anticipation.
His lips brush your cheek. Itâs not enough.
You tug on his collar, but he chuckles and kisses your cheek again, lingering longer this time.
âIâm not kissing you for the first time around the corner from a bathroom,â he rasps.
You open your eyes and see the amusement in his. He always did like teasing you.
âOh, where do you plan on doing it then?â
âOutside your front door, like a gentleman,â he says, like itâs obvious.
You canât help but grin because Bradley Bradshaw canât wait the extra 10 minutes it would take to drive to his place instead of yours. He wants that kiss just as badly as you do. You watch as a matching smile to yours blooms across his face.
It feels normal to slide your fingers between his much larger ones. It feels right as you lead the way out of the Hard Deck with him only a step behind you.
As it turns out, he only makes it as far as the Bronco before heâs spinning you back towards him and pressing you against it. His hands are on your hips and yours are wrapped around his neck as he kisses you for the very first time.
Bradley kisses you like a man who knows what he wants. And what he wants is you.
Itâs not tentative in the way that first kisses usually are.
He kisses you like he knows you.
Because he does.
Later, when he closes the door to the Bronco for you, it feels like the end of one thing. But as he slips his fingers into yours when he backs out of the parking space it feels like the beginning of something new.
That night tangled in Bradleyâs sheets- heâd kissed you at every light which made those extra 10 minutes it took to get to his home worth it- he makes your back arch and your toes curl as he makes you come with his fingers and mouth and tongue and cock. His lips dropping kiss after kiss on every part of you that he can reach. Because he can, because you want him and he wants you.Â
The way he touches you tells you that he remembers it all.
He was you first, but what you wouldnât learn until later, is that he would also be your last.
And heâd be the only man to ever have your entire heart.
Happy Birthday Jordan! An AU just for you! đ I adore you and I hope this year is the best one yet!
A big thank you to @callsignspark and @ofstoriesandstardust for their help and beta reading and their woogirling! I appreciate you two so much!
Author's Note: this was a "what-if" AU set in the 'Like I Can' universe! If you want to read about what really happens you can read it here!
You can read more of my stories here!
Taglist:
@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader
#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x female reader#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw smut#top gun imagine#topgun fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x you#bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader#bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw imagine#rooster x reader#rooster x you#rooster x female reader
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Love Me Harder
Hi guys :)
Still working on my WIP! This is a request I got here, so I hope the person asking for it will be happy with what I wrote :)
I'm sorry for the delay by the way.
But please enjoy â„
TW : Head injury, concussion, jealousy, angst with happy ending.
Leah and you have been a couple for almost two years now, even if you managed to get it hidden for now. You always had something for the girl to be honest, but when you met Leah, she was already with Jordan and you werenât really a couple breaker. Sure, it hurts sometimes to see her happy with someone else, but at least she was happy and thatâs all that matters for you.
You tried to forget her by sleeping around or having a girlfriend yourself, but nothing really worked. You usually dated people away from the football world, not wanting to mix your professional life with your private life. It happened that you slept with other players though, but never in your team or with them being friends with one of your friends.
With that state of mind, it was hard to find someone to sleep with, but at least you were out of trouble.
Well, thatâs what you thought until today.
Leah and you arenât playing for the same team, she was born at Arsenal while you travel a lot during your career. You started in Manchester City, then you went to Lyon, then to Bayern and since last season you have been back in Manchester City. You like it here and it was easier to live your relationship with Leah that way.
You are together when you are playing for your national team though, you have been the number one goalkeeper of the team for years now. Leah is back from her injury and is now back in national camp too.
Sarina knows that you are together, like all your teammates. The only people who donât know are the public. You are friends with a lot of Lionesses, so when you are spotted with Leah and some of your friends, no one really puts two and two together. Meado tease you a lot about it, but in reality, you arenât fan of PDA anyway and so is Leah. Maybe not like you are with your friends, but itâs another discussion.
Back to today, you are playing against Italy for the qualification of the next international championship. After your World Cup and the fact that you werenât qualified for the Olympics Games, all your team wants to show that you are still here and deserve to win the Euro back in 2022.
You were doing the pitch inspection, casually talking with Lucy and LJ when you heard someone calling your name. Leah, as always, wasnât far away from you with Keira and Georgia.
âY/N?â
You turn without really thinking in the direction of the voice, just to be faced with a girl that you actually slept with several months ago. To be honest, it was just before you got in a relationship with Leah. You hate to admit it, but you kind of ghost that poor girl after that, way too happy to finally be with the girl you were in love with.
âOh, hi Milenaâ you say nervously.
You even have forgotten that sheâs in fact from Italy and you will be facing her today. You can see Lucy exchanging an intrigued look with LJ next to you while the girl keeps walking in your direction.
âIâm happy to see youâ she says when sheâs in front of you.
You donât have time to answer before she hugs you and your arms automatically surround her waist to give her back her embrace. If your arms very quickly drop from her body, one of her hands stays in your arm.
You probably never have been so uncomfortable during the rest of your life. You can feel Leah burning gaze on your back.
âHow are you? I think we haven't talked for like two yearsâ she laughs.
âOh, uh. Iâm good thanksâ you mumble.
âYou look good indeedâ she smirks.
You deal very badly with cringe, to be honest. So, you are particularly relieved when Lucy passes her arm around your shoulders before talking.
âWe have to go back insideâ Lucy says, nodding towards the locker room.
In fact, when you look around, you realise that almost all your teammates are already inside. That excuse is perfect after all. You mumble a âSee you laterâ before letting Lucy take you out of the pitch.
Lucy and LJ manage to wait to be out of your exâs ear before bursting into laughter. You suppose you must be grateful to them for that.
âWhat was that?â Lauren asks while Lucy is still laughing like crazy.
âNothingâ you roll your eyes.
âShe doesnât look like nothingâ Lucy smirks when she can breathe again.
âBe careful with what you say, or Ona will receive a strange text from me, explaining how you find other girls not nothingâ you frown.
She suddenly shuts up, her face becoming way more serious. It makes you smile. You never saw Lucy so whipped for a girl before. But you know that your friends deserve an explanation. You sigh softly before starting your explanation.
âItâs a girl I slept with before Leah kissed me at that party, and we got together. I was still in the process of forgetting her. I met that girl before the Euro and well⊠You knowâ you shrug. âBut then after the semi-finales we got together with Leah, after that she hurt her ACL and I kind of totally forgot that girl.â
LJ hums after your explanation, nodding softly. You can see that your explanation makes sense for both of them which is great because itâs nothing but the truth.
âLeah was boilingâ Lucy informs you.
You grimace at this. You were pretty sure that she would react that way. You never realise how Leah can be jealous before being with her. You like it actually, fond of the way she wants to be sure that you are hers and no one can take you away from her.
But here and now arenât exactly the right place to show her that she is your only one.
You are nervous when you enter the changing room, looking for your girlfriend. You finally see her sitting in Georgiaâs cubby. Her eyes are burning when she crosses your gaze after you enter the locker room.
Lucy goes sit on her cubby, just next to yours, while LJ goes on hers too. You want to talk to Leah, but Georgiaâs non-verbal language makes you think that you better not approach Leah for now.
That girl is really scary when she wants to.
Keiraâs gaze is softer and itâs what makes you walk in their direction. Lucy was right, Leah seems furious.
âCan we talk?â you ask softly when you reach them.
âNoâ Georgia answers harshly.
âGeorgiaâ Keira sighs.
âLeah?â you try again, trying to cross your girlfriendâs gaze. âPlease?â
She sighs and throws the towel she was holding in the cubby while standing up. She doesnât answer really, but you follow her anyway when she walks to leave the room. You donât really know where you are going at first, until she turns to enter in a closet.
âWhat do you want to talk about?â Leah asks harshly just after you close the door.
You are a little bit taken aback. You know what you want to talk about of course, but you donât know how to start. You are sure that if you say that you know sheâs jealous, she will deny it and that it will be the end of the conversation. This is not what you want.
âI just wanted to know if you are okayâ you tentatively say.
âWhy wouldnât I be?â
She has now her arms crossed and her famous frown on her face. You know how hard it would be to have something from this conversation.
âBecause you seem angryâ
Leah snorts and looks at the handle of the door. She putted her hands on her hips now and is shaking her head.
âAm I supposed to be happy when my girlfriend is getting flirted with by someone else?â
âNo, that is why I wanted to talk to you too. I justâŠâ
âDo you know her?â Leah cuts you.
This time her eyes are deep inside yours and you know that you canât lie to her. It wasnât something you wanted to do anyway, but with her eyes scanning your soul, it would have been impossible.
âI⊠We slept together some time agoâ you finally sigh.
âWhen?â
âJust before the Eurosâ
You know that Leah knows perfectly that your first kiss happened after the semi-finals against Sweden and the happiness of the victory. You were the first shocked when she kissed you after some naughty dancing, but you kissed her back and the rest of the night probably made her understand very much how much you were fancying her already.
Itâs even stronger now, of course.
But Leah is looking at you like sheâs going to kill you.
âDonât look at me like that, Le. I didn't know that several weeks later you would kiss me. I didnât know you were interested in me at this point.â
You try to take her hand with yours, but she takes it away from you, before opening the door again.
âWell you can go back fucking her in that caseâ
âLeah!â
She slams the door, almost pinning your fingers inside. When you manage to get outside too, Leah isnât here anymore. You decide to go back to the training room and try to talk to her again, but when you arrive, Sarina is right behind you, asking you to go training.
You arenât really concentrating during the training to be honest; you keep looking at Leah, but she doesnât. She doesnât even share a look with you when you are right behind her at the beginning of the game.
You really hope that a win will ease her mood and help you to reconcile with Leah. You turn when you feel a tap on your shoulder, turning your bigger frame towards Keira. She just smiles at you, and you nod only. You are too nervous to smile, but you are glad to know that you have at least one of Leahâs friends on your side. You are sure that Leah explained everything to them.
You take a deep breath when itâs time to go on the pitch, trying to focus on the game. The national anthems help you and you keep a straight face when you check all the Italian players, even Milena.
You do your usual check with Lucy too, looking for good luck before starting the game. England is supposed to be the favourites, but Italy is fighting with all their strength. Your forwards manage to have good opportunities, but without being able to score for now.
After the first half, no one scored, and you had to use some of your best moves to avoid taking a goal or two.
You just nod when Sarina congratulates you in the locker room. Leah is still not looking at you, as if you werenât even here. It creates a strange feeling in your throat. You are happy that Lucy is just next to you, even if sheâs not talking, your friendâs presence is good for you.
When the game starts again, you realise with anxiety that Milena and her other teammates change their side, meaning that Leah is the one marking Milena from now.
But Leah manages to take the upper hand on Milena every single time, using with ability her slide tackles. You are happy when Alessia finally manages to score around the seventy minutes.
Five minutes later, Sarina made all the different changes she was planning to, leaving Lucy and Leah in the defence but changing Millie and Maya in the same move. You donât have a lot of time to get used to that though, because soon Italy won a corner, and you have to focus again on the game.
You canât really explain what happened. Your eyes were on the ball when the Italian player shot it in the middle of the surface. But the knock you received on your head suddenly makes everything dizzy and you fall on the ground without really realising it.
There is a wheezing and everything else sounds like you were underwater. You feel hands on you, someone slapping your cheek, two fingers looking for your pulse in your neck.
You donât know if itâs because itâs Leah or if itâs because sheâs screaming right above your head, but you hear her distinctly shout
âDonât fucking touch her! Let her breathe!â
And the panic in her voice finally makes you open your eyes. Itâs the same feeling when you are sleepy, and Leah wakes you after you fall asleep in front of a movie to go to bed. Your eyes are heavy, the light is too bright too. You wince and close your eyes almost as soon as you open them, pressing your hand on your head.
âY/N? Hey Baby, can you hear me?â
Leahâs voice is softer than you ever heard it, and you groan for only an answer. Your head is pounding.
âCan you roll on your back?â
You recognize the voice of one of the people from the medical team. You groan once more and roll on the ground, lying now on your back. You warily open your eyes, thankful that someone is hiding the lights of the pitch with their frame. You frown softly when you realise that itâs Milena
âIâm sorry Y/N, I wasnât looking where I was going andâŠâ
âItâs okayâ Leah cuts her harshly. âShe needs to get looked at; can you leave?â
You perfectly see the staff member smile at each other before turning their attention to you again.
They ask you several questions, make you sit, look at their fingers and look at a light too. Itâs not an enjoyable experience to be honest, it hurts, and you have trouble staying focused.
âI think itâs a concussionâ one of them finally says. âIt would be better for you to get out of the pitch.â
âNoâ you frown. âSarina made all the substitutions already. I canât leave.â
âOf course you canâ Leah interjects. âNo one would blame you. Itâs safer like thâ â
âLeah. Iâm playing.â
Her light blue eyes went right into your eyes. You donât look away, Leah might be stubborn, but you are too when you really want something. And you want to play, you want to prove to her that she can count on you no matter what. You know you have hurt her and maybe bummed after your revelation earlier. You want to take amend of that.
When she opens her mouth to answer, you look at the medical staff.
âAm I allowed to play?â
They hesitate for several seconds, looking at you silently.
âIf I let you play, you have to swear that if you donât feel good, or dizzy, or tired, you will stop the game and get out of the pitch. Can we make this deal?â
You nod and he nods back, before helping you to get up. You take some water from the bottle he gave you, splashing some of it on your face too. You feel tired to be honest and the lights are killing you. But you are determined to end this game.
âY/N.â
You turn in Leahâs direction and itâs easy to see the concern in her eyes. You smile softly at her while your teammates and the opposite team are coming back on the pitch.
âIâll be fine, Leahâ
She sighs and you feel her gaze on you when you go back to the goal. You donât see her or hear her turning to the players around her, telling them not to let anyone come near your goal.
They manage to do it greatly to be honest, and you are glad for it. You have to make some intervention, like grabbing the ball in the air for example. Jumping was fine, but the shock when you fall on the ground is harsh.
When the whistle of the referee finally sounds, signalling the end of the game, you are more relieved than ever. Closing your eyes, you let your tired body sliding along one of the two posts on your goal.
âYouâre alright mate?â
You donât open your eyes but nod at Lucyâs question, feeling her hand on your shoulder without seeing it.
âDo you need help to get up?â
âPleaseâ you mumble.
She makes you stand as easily as you were a 5-year-old child, making you smile softly. You thank Maya with gratefulness when she gives you your things waiting behind the goal and slowly make your way to the locker room.
You look around to see where Leah is, which isnât missed by Beth who is walking on your other side.
âSheâs answering some questions for the TVâ the blonde informs you.
You groan and drink more water, still walking. Pretty slowly, you must admit. But you feel dizzy, and you sigh internally when you see Milena running in your direction.
âHeyâ she says, with her Italian accent. âLook, I'm very sorry. How are you feeling?â
âIâll be okay, donât worryâ you answer with a soft smile. âIâll need some rest tonight and maybe tomorrow, but other than that itâs okay.â
You watch her bite her lips, like if sheâs thinking about something to say. And how to say it. You really hope that she wonât ask you out now, because you donât have the energy to deal with it right now.
âCan I write to you tomorrow? To know how you are feeling. I really feel very guiltyâ
You were going to answer something, but you were interrupted by an arm sneaking around your waist and a body suddenly pressed against yours.
âShe will post an update on her Instagram tomorrow. And donât worry for her, sheâs between great handsâ Leah says, before looking at you. âAre you okay to leave, Babe?â
You repress a smile and take a small breath.
âYeah, letâs go. See youâ
You give a smile to Milena, who you feel sorry for. You know that she never meant to hurt you, but Leah seems to take her for the only responsible of the accident.
âYou know that I wasnât looking either?â you mumble to Leah.
âIt doesnât matter. Sarina told me we can leave now; the staff asked for a taxi so we donât have to wait on anyone. Would you like to shower in your hotel room rather than here?â
âSounds goodâ you mumble again.
In a record time, Leah manages to take all your things and put them in your two bags, change herself in a training suit and help you to do the same. You are starting to feel tired and dozens in the cab on Leahâs shoulder.
âBaby you have to wake up. I canât carry you in your roomâ Leah whispers when you are in front of the hotel, gently kissing your temple.
Usually, you love the fact that you are higher than Leah. You love how she easily fits in your arms, how you can hold her and feel like you are protecting her from everything and everyone.
But right now, you really would love for her to be able to carry you.
She does a bit though, holding you firmly against her while you are going to the lift and then to your room. You let yourself fall on the bed when you arrive inside your room, letting Leah deal with your bags and everything else.
âCome on Baby, we have to wash the game out of you. Then you can go in bed until the staff members come againâ
âI just want to sleepâ you groan.
âI know. But you will feel better.â
You do feel better, Leah is right. She helps you to take your shower, affectionately dry you with a towel after, help you to put fresh pajamas on and then even brush your teeth and your hair.
She then takes a quick shower too and itâs with wet hair and in one of your t-shirts that she opens the door of your room for the staff. The t-shirt easily covers her smaller frame, the tissue going until her knees.
They make some more tests on you, asking several questions to Leah too. You have trouble staying focused, but only because you are very tired. You donât hear them leaving, opening your eyes again when you feel the bed move when Leah crawls on it.
âAre you sure youâre not in pain?â
You hum, snuggling against her warm body. They gave you some morphine earlier anyway. Leah lets you do it and you sigh happily when she starts to stroke your neck with her fingers.
âIâm sorry for the way I reacted because of your exâ
Leahâs whisper takes you by surprise. You probably almost never heard Leah saying that she was sorry for something so serious. Opening your eyes again, you search hers.
âIâm sorry for the way you learned itâ you whisper back. âBut it has nothing to do with you. It was before knowing you could be in any way interested in me. I was still in my âForgetting Leahâ eraâ
Leah chuckles and you smile hearing that sound. You close your eyes again, the tiredness being more and more hard to fight against.
âIâm glad you never managed to get over meâ Leah says after some silence, playing with your hair.
âI will never be able to get over youâ
You feel like your voice is low and your words arenât very well articulated, but Leah seems to understand very easily what you are saying.
âI was hoping toâ Leah mumbles too. âNow sleep, you little menace.â
You groan softly once again, making Leah smile. You happily let her kiss your face several times, finishing with your lips. You manage to whisper that you love her and it seems to you that Leah say it back, but you are not really sure. Because you are already asleep then.
#woso imagine#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso one shot#leah williamson x you#leah williamson imagine#leah williamson x reader#leah williamson
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Unraveled- Bob Floyd
Summary: Bob Floyd likes to think he can keep it cool. Then along comes a sundress.
Warnings: friends to lovers, smut, so much pining, language,
Bob Floyd didn't like to brag, but he considered himself pretty dang smart and sensible.Â
He knew the ins and outs of every jet he has flown. Hell, he could break it apart and put it back together again within a few hours, if that. He was able to quickly assess a situation, weigh the pros and cons, and come to a sound decision. Itâs why he was the top WSO for the mission in Miramar.Â
So why has a piece of fabric thrown him for such a loop?Â
All Bob was trying to do was be polite. You had mentioned taking an Uber to the Hard Deck tonight and Bob knew the polite thing to do was to offer a ride. After all, he wasn't going to drink. You would save money. It's what any good friend would do. It had absolutely nothing to do with the crush he had been harboring since your first debriefing.Â
He was just trying to be courteous. The gentleman his Mama worked hard in raising. Getting to spend time with you, without the other members of your shared squadron around or loud music, wasn't even near the forefront of his mind when he made the offer. Bob was just trying to be a good friend. A good friend who just wanted to help. A good friend who was forcing himself to look at you through a platonic lens, not a romantic one.Â
Bob liked to think he was doing pretty well at that.Â
That is, until a dress came along and unraveled him.Â
Perhaps you said hello when you opened the door. You probably did, considering how polite you were. But all Bob could focus on was the way the fabric of your dress hugged your curves.Â
And what little fabric there was. He had seen you in civilian clothes before. But never anything like this. His mind absolutely went blank when you hugged him and he could feel how much of your bare skin was exposed. Due to the halter style of the straps, nearly your whole upper back was now perfectly visible.
âUm you-you look um nice,â Bob barely got out. He was too busy trying to burn the feeling of your soft skin into his brain. You were warm, like a walking ray of sunshine.Â
âThanks! I got it yesterday and I figured with the weather being so nice, today was the perfect day to wear it!â you said, giving a little twirl. Bob tried to focus on the pattern of dress; how the green brought out your eyes.Â
But all he could focus on was the curves of your body, now being highlighted. The way the halter style made your breasts swell and the lack of a bra very apparent. How the fabric stopped at the top of your thighs when you spun, giving Bob a peek of what he often thought about late at night.Â
This was bad.Â
âI take it you came early to watch an episode of Love Island before we leave?â You asked as he stumbled walked in.
The truth was, Bob wasnât a fan of reality TV. But he watched because it gave the two of you a chance to talk to one another. Just as friends, nothing more. When watching the silly show, you two could make jokes, talk about things other than work.Â
âYeah! Ready to watch hot people make poor decisions again,â Bob said with a nervous laugh. The joke failed to put him at ease. If anything, it reminded him that he was about to spend at least forty minutes with you and that did not include the drive to the Hard Deck.Â
âYouâre using my tagline!â your smile lit up your whole face. Bob was certain it could light up the whole turmac. All he could do was nod, his heart fluttering when you grabbed his hand, leading him into the living room.Â
"I have some kettle corn in the microwave for you! I also made cherry seltzer water!" Bob could feel heat rush to his face. You always remembered the little details that no one else seemed to pick up on; that he loved salt but had an even bigger sweet tooth. How in an attempt to cut back on soda, he switched to sparkling water. His favorite flavor was cherry because it reminded him of cherry coke.Â
"Did you see the video I sent you?" You gently squeezed Bob's hand as you two sat down.Â
"Y-yeah. You're absolutely right, having three otters would be my dream." Ever since learning about Bob's favorite animal, you had sent him every otter-related video you came across while scrolling the internet. You even got him a pair of Otter socks for his birthday. It was the fact you paid attention to seemingly minor details that made Bob fall head over heels for you.Â
But alas, you were a coworker. The problem at hand wasn't whether it was allowed, âincestâ (as Jake unfortunately called it) happened all the time in the Navy. After all, there were only so many things you could do on a ship before switching to people. No, it was the potential issues that came with dating. Rejection being the main one. Bob had no trouble believing you and he could be professional should you two date and it not work out. That happened all the time. What worried him was rejection. Having to go to work everyday and put on a facade, that things were fine. When deep down, he knew he'd be heartbroken. And even worse, he'd no longer have your friendship.Â
So Bob settled, as he often did when it came to love. He took comfort knowing he'd still have you, albeit as a friend instead of a partner. That should be more than enough. For the last few months, he had convinced himself that it was enough.Â
But God was it difficult when you bent over right to grab the remote.Â
The hemline of your dress inched upwards, showing off the backs of your upper thighs and-Â
he could see the swell of your ass. He could see the flash of red lace. Your skin looked so soft and supple and you were so close he could just reach out and-Â
Oh God he was hard. Oh no.Â
This was bad. Worse than that time he popped an erection during sex ed in middle school. There, he at least had a jacket and a desk to cover it.Â
But here? He was a full grown adult and San Diegoâs seventy degree weather didn't give him any additional layers. Bob looked around, desperate for something, anything, to hide his cock that was currently straining against his jeans.Â
Thank fuck for your love of decorative pillows.Â
He grabbed the closest one, shaped and designed like a pomegranate. You were so excited the day you picked it up from some Facebook Marketplace deal. He had driven you, partly out of wanting to spend time with you, partly because he wanted to ensure you were safe. It was adorable and definitely shouldnât be used for nefarious purposes, such as hiding a boner. This was wrong, so fucking wrong.  Â
Bob was trying to think of anything and everything that would kill this boner. But his spot on the couch aligned perfectly with the entranceway of the kitchen, where you currently were, rummaging around to fix Bob a drink.Â
What ever happened to doors? Why were people so opposed to doors? Doors were lovely. You could close doors. Every time he tried to think of something, you were right in his line of view, turning every thought into something more devious.Â
His family? His family would love you. If you two got married you could make  your own family.Â
Work? You worked with him, in that damn flight suit that clung to your every curve. No one else could make that god forsaken green fabric look good. Â
School? God, you were so smart. The top of your class. And witty, always ready with a clever, underhanded comeback. Itâs how you two originally bonded, both having muttered something about Jake under your breath.Â
Bob Floyd was screwed. Thoroughly.Â
He tried to comfort himself with the fact that soon you two would be watching people in their early twenties making the dumbest decisions over dating. If anything were to be a boner killer, that had to be it. He just needed to make it through then.Â
âBob?â Your lithe voice broke him out of his thoughts. Not that it was much of a reprieve, with the way you were standing at the kitchen entranceway with a glass of sparkling water in each hand, âYou good?â
âMe? Oh yeah, Iâm great!â He said with an all too eager nod, desperate to convince you this was truly the case. Fuck, you were so beautiful. And you were showing so much skin. He had seen you on the beach before, adorned in athletic shorts and a sports bra. But this was different.Â
The dress was far too nice for the Hard Deck. No, you deserved to be taken to a nice restaurant, one with a lovely outdoor patio. The image of you sitting on a lovely chair with a glass of wine in your hand came easily to Bob. It was also the perfect dress for a picnic, particularly at the nearby park, specifically in that little secluded area. God, the idea of you laying down on a red and white checkered blanket, the hem of your dress pushed up your thighs as he leaned over you, ready to take you-
Bob leaned forward, clutching the pillow as he tried to will himself the strength to get it together.Â
âBob? Are-are you okay?â You quickly placed the drinks down on the coffee table, rushing over to kneel in front of him on the couch.Â
Oh what a sight that was, you looking up at him with big eyes, full of concern. Your hands were on his biceps, and Bob knew if he looked down he would have the perfect view of your breasts.Â
 It was so hot and also the very last thing Bob fucking needed.Â
âIâm good. Stomach doesnât agree with what we had for lunch, thatâs all.â Lying was never good, his mother instilled that in him at an early age. But in this scenario, Bob was certain the truth was much worse.Â
âIâll go get you a ginger ale!â Bob opened his mouth to protest, though no words came out due to seeing not only the tops of your thighs, but a flash of your ass as you spun around to go back into the kitchen.Â
For a few seconds, the supple, plump flesh was so close to him. Practically within armâs reach.Â
Maybe he should just leave while you were in the kitchen.Â
But that would be rude. Not only rude, but it would raise your suspicions if they werenât high already. Plus, he had already promised you a ride to the Hard Deck. He couldnât just leave you hanging, not after you brought a dress for the occasion. He may be in dire need of a cold shower, but the last thing Bob Floyd was going to do was hurt you. He squeezed the pillow, knuckles turning white as he tried to find strength. For once, he couldnât wait to start an episode of Love Island. Hell, he would even take an episode of The Bachelor at this point.Â
âHere ya go,â You sat down on the couch next to him, glass of ginger ale in hand. You even remembered how much ice he preferred in his cold beverages. You were perfect.Â
âThanks,â Bob slowly took one hand off the pillow, the other still holding onto it for dear life.Â
âYou uh, like that pillow?â You chuckled, though your nerves still shined through.Â
âHuh? Oh yeah,â Bob looked down, ensuring his big problem was still covered, âIt uh, helps my stomach!â
You raised an eyebrow, though you didnât further question it. Instead, much to Bobâs delight, you reached for the remote, clicking through until you finally landed on the desired episode. With a shaking hand, Bob gulped down the ginger ale, promptly placing it on the coffee table so he could have both hands on the pillow.Â
The room was silent, saved for the ridiculous conversations happening on the TV screen. Normally you and Bob would be shoulder to shoulder, laughing as you both narrated your opinions on the contestants. But today Bob was rigid, his fingers still clutching to the pillow on his lap. He hadnât even touched the bowl of popcorn.Â
"Do you like my dress?" It took everything in Bob not to groan at your question. The last thing he needed was a reason to look at you. But how could he deny himself such a chance? So he put on his best smile as he turned to face you.   Â
"Uh yeah it's lovely. I'm sure everyone will love it-"Â
"I got it for you.â Your voice was soft as you hit the pause button on your remote, eyes remaining on the screen.Â
The words hit Bob like a freight train.Â
"What? Why would you-"
You shrugged, fingers toying with the short hem of your dress, "I thought maybe, if you saw me in something different, something that wasn't my flight suit or a tee shirt, that maybe you would finally notice me?âÂ
You finally looked him in the eyes, âMaybe you'd finally notice that I've been trying to flirt with you for the last few months?"Â
Bob opened his mouth just to promptly close it. He thought back to the last few months, now analyzing every seemingly ordinary interaction he had with you.Â
The way you insisted on sitting next to each other during lunch. As well as during briefings. And when you went to the Hard Deck. Whenever a guy tried to flirt with you there, you turned them down, focusing your attention back on him, continuing your conversation about his latest D&D campaign or a Lego set you had found that reminded you of him. The way you always touched his arm, your hand lingering on his skin as you bore your eyes into his. How you always texted him. How you baked a cake for his birthday. The little trinkets youâd bring him.Â
Oh god, he was a fucking idiot.Â
The tension in the room was thick. You, sitting restlessly as you waited for Bob to acknowledge what you had said. Bob, processing your words and what they meant.Â
âHow long?â Bob asked, his voice soft yet firm.
You chuckled as you shook your head, âHonestly? First day. We hadnât even spoken yet. I saw you walk in and you just wereâŠ.not only handsome but also looked so kind? Then you offered me a spare pencil, made that comment about Jakeâs driving and IâŠ.was a goner.â
âI saw you talking to Halo before the briefing room was open,â He confessed, âShe said something that made you laugh and itâŠ.it was the prettiest sight I had ever seen.â
âWeâve wasted a lot of time, huh?â You both stared ahead at the TV, still too fearful to face each other.Â
Bob dryly chuckled, âYeahâŠ.a lot of time. Months, if weâre being more exact.âÂ
The two of you remained in silence, your words sinking in. Neither sure what should be said, if anything should be said. Until finally, you spoke up.Â
âBob? Whatâs underneath the pillow?âÂ
His hips shifted, involuntary, âWhat?â For a moment, he forgot about the darn pillow and the erection he was covering with it.Â
The cluelessness in his voice brought a giggle, âThe pillow? Why are you using it to cover your lap?â
Bob sighed, âCan I at least kiss you first?âÂ
You nodded, moving to close the gap between you and Bob. Pillow be damned, his hands cupped your jawline, giving you a sweet smile before leaning in, closing the gap between your lips and his.Â
Bob Floydâs lips were soft, no doubt due to the sweet mint chapstick you'd watch him apply countless of times. You didn't want to admit how often you'd wondered about the taste, what his hands would feel like on your body. God, they were huge. His thumbs rested comfortably on your jawline, but you could feel his other fingers spanning your neck, down to your collarbone.Â
The first kiss was gentle, practically modest. Your lips were only apart for several seconds, if that, before connecting again.Â
You easily found his shoulders, grasping them for purchase. The gap between your bodies was too much, Bob wanted to be as close as possible. So his hands trailed down your body, skimming along until they found the back of your thighs. Using his strength, he moved your body, situating you onto his lap.Â
A high pitched gasp fell from your lips upon feeling the bulge that was straining against his jeans. Good god, he was thick. You had heard whispers, chalking it up to typical locker room talk.Â
Nope, those rumors were one hundred percent true.Â
âIâm sorry,â Bob groaned, hands exploring your soft curves. Worst of all, he sounded earnest, only making you want to touch him more.Â
âI-I wore this on purpose ah-after all,â you confessed, finding it difficult to speak as he pressed open mouthed kisses along your exposed chest.Â
Right. You wore this on purpose. To entice him. To see if perhaps he felt the same burning desire. Once realization hit him again, Bobâs hands moved along your back, just stopping above your ass.Â
Wait, he was about to touch your ass.Â
âWe-we shouldnât,â Bob mumbled, retracting his hands from your body. You stilled, a crestfallen look painting your face.Â
âWe shouldnât?â Repeating the words felt like driving a knife through your heart. Had regret finally emerged, beating the rush of adrenaline? Was he going to regret this, ask that you two never speak about it ever again, pretend it never happened?
âIâŠâ Bob sighed, âI need to take you on a date first.â
Bless his heart.Â
Sighing, you relaxed your body into his, resting your head in the crook of his neck, âYouâre too sweet, yâknow that?â
Bob chuckled, âThat's supposed to be my line.âÂ
His hands gave your hips a loving squeeze, causing you to nestle further into him, until your bodies were nearly molded as one. Your lips searched for his, trailing up his neck, his jawline, along the side of his button nose until finally reaching his soft lips. Bob shifted in his seat, causing you to do the same. As a result, you could feel his erection, despite the layers of clothes.Â
âGood lord Bobby, you've just been walking around with all that?â Bob groaned, but not due to your words. No, it was because you had started moving your hips in circles, his erection now pressed against your covered core.Â
âIâm- Iâm trying to be a gentleman.â Bob couldn't even look at you. He didn't want to stop. He should stop. Maybe you two could skip the Hard Deck and go out to dinner. Then he could take you home and not feel as guilty.Â
âYou can be a gentleman later,â by throwing your arms over his shoulder you finally had access to his neck. His skin was so soft, so delicate. How could you not sink your teeth into his neck?Â
Normally you'd have better self control than this. But you were ovulating and had six months of sexual frustrations and wet dreams-Â
âYou had dreams about me?â Uh-oh. That wasn't meant to be said out loud. Granted, maybe it was for the best to get everything out in the open.Â
Timidly nodding, you explained, âYeah. The days I didn't sit next to you were becauseâŠ.I had a dream about ya the night before.âÂ
A band had snapped within Bob, no doubt due to the numerous times you didn't sit next to him during briefings.Â
Within seconds, you found yourself on your back against the couch, the bespectacled WSO hovering over you. There was a fire flickering in his blue eyes as he remained laser focused on your face.Â
âAfter this, you're putting this dress back on and I'm taking ya out to dinner, is that clear?â his voice was gruff and deep, similar to when he did a hundred pushes that one day (that you definitely didn't think about while masturbating).Â
Chest heaving, dress pushed up to your upper thighs, lips kiss bitten, God, you looked like an angel to Bob. He remembered learning about angels in church growing up. How pious they were, that seeing them was a sign of comfort, that they would guide one to safety, to a holy life.Â
There was nothing holy about what he wanted to do to you.Â
His mouth was hot, searing kisses along your skin. Your back arched into him, desperate for me. But he always seemed to pull away before you could get enough. Would you? Ever get enough of Bob Floyd?Â
Finding an answer would have to wait, for now you wanted to relish in the feeling of Bobâs hands kneading your breasts. It was obvious you weren't wearing a bra, a fact Bob ob had spent forty minutes trying not to think about. He still felt a smidge of guilt, as though the newly drawn line between friends and more hadnât quite sunk in yet. Was he even supposed to be doing this?
âYou can keep going. I want you to.â You sensed his hesitation. In all the time you knew Bob, he had never taken someone home for a one night stand. He wasnât like that. He needed time to build a connection, to feel comfortable enough to be himself. Thatâs why he loved spending time with you. With you, there was no need to put up a front, no need to be fearful of judgement.Â
âAnd then afterwards, we can order some Thai food and continue watching the episode, if you want. Or we can just do that now,â your hands cradled his jaw, gently forcing him to look at you. He found a sweet, reassuring smile, similar to the one that made him smitten six months ago.Â
âI think Iâm falling in love with you.â Bob could be blunt, and often was when it came to his colleagueâs shenanigans. But with his own feelings? He always chose his words carefully.Â
Hence why his admission took you some time to process. Bob could see it on your face; first your eyes widened, lips slightly parting as if driven by the need to respond immediately. But then your lips closed, your brain quickly gaining back self control.Â
âIâm falling in love with you too Robby.â You were the only one who could call him that. It was that familiarity, that intimacy, that gave him the courage to move his hands to your hemline up to your hips, revealing the thin, lacy red fabric underneath.Â
You were breathtaking. Always were. But this? This solidified things for Bob. You two had made a step forward in your relationship. Many things would still be the same. But there were now new things to experience. Simply another layer of intimacy had been added.
His long fingers skimmed over the fabric of your panties, every touch sending a spark of electricity along your spine. Every stroke caused a small gasp to fall from your lips, music to Bobâs ears. Lowering himself, Bob decorated your hips with opened mouth kisses. Finally, gaining enough courage, his fingers pushed your panties to the side.Â
Fuck, you were wet.Â
If there was any hesitation left in Bob, it died upon seeing how visibly aroused you were. He had done that. No one else. Lowering himself even more, he was now at eye level with your wet cunt. This wasnât some vivid wet dream.Â
When his touch licked a broad stripe up your slit, a broken moan fell from your lips, echoing off the walls. It was the prettiest sound Bob had heard. He wanted to hear it again. All the time.Â
With more confidence, Bob begins lapping up your arousal, determined to taste every inch of you. His fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you closer. Looking down, you see his glasses are now crooked, though you highly doubt Bob cares, given how his eyes are half closed in pleasure.Â
Wait, was he grinding against the couch?Â
The discovery caused your thighs to clamp over Bobâs ears, your hips thrusting upwards to get more of his talented tongue. Bob wasn't reserved around you, never had been. But this was a new side to him that you had wondered if it ever existed. Animalistic. Devouring. Loud.Â
His groans vibrate against your core, only heightening the pleasure. Slowly, his right hand goes from your hips to your core, mouth moving to your clit as the long digits trace your opening.Â
âOh my God, please,â you all but beg, not quite ready to admit how often you thought about his fingers and how they would feel inside of you.
Always thinking about your comfort, Bob started off with just one finger. You tried to fuck yourself with it, your own fingers gripping the soft strands of his hair for better leverage. The thought of making you beg crossed Bobâs mind. Would you like that? Would you be open to that? There were so many new topics to discuss, so many new boundaries to explore now.Â
You happily welcomed the stretch of two, three fingers. Bob found the little moans you let out to be quite adorable. He could feel his cock throb against his jeans, but pleasing you took priority.Â
âCâmon honey. Wanna feel you come on my fingers.â His voice was low, husky even.Â
âC-can you be inside me? Like yourâŠyour cock?â A broken groan fell from Bobâs lips at the very thought of being inside of you.Â
âI don'tâŠ.I don't think I'll last long,â he admitted sheepishly. Hell, he could probably come just from eating you out. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it sounded pretty good- bringing himself to the height of pleasure just from ravishing you.Â
âI don't think I will either,â you giggled, âBut weâllâŠ.we have lots of other times to go slow.âÂ
Bob helped you sit up on the couch. âYou wanna go to the bedroom?â He asked, thinking about how this could be more comfortable for you.Â
Instead, you shook your head, hands moving to his jeans, hastily undoing the buttons.Â
Now it was your turn to explore, to discover. There was a dark trail of hair that went past the waistband of his jeans. He wore boxer briefs. And Bob Floyd had the prettiest cock.Â
His face turned bright red at the compliment, âOh it'sâŠI mean it's like fine, but it's not-âÂ
âTake the damn compliment Robert,â you all but scolded, eliciting a laugh from him, your favorite. The high pitch, near giggle one. The one that made your heart flutter.Â
Feeling at ease, you moved so that you were hovering over Bobâs lap. Your fingers moved to the base of his cock, making you realize you would have to ease yourself into it.Â
âI gotcha,â his hands found your hips, slowly easing you down. His sapphire eyes never left your face, searching for any sign of discomfort. He went slow, waiting until you made it vocally known you were ready for more.Â
By the time you reached the base of Bobâs cock, you were a mess. You wanted him to move, to fuck you within an inch of your life. But he was also so big. The stretch was nothing you had experienced before.Â
âHey, we can take our time, okay? I know it's, that it's a lot,â he assured you, as though he could sense your internal conflict. His lips found yours, and in that kiss you found comfort. Bob grounded you, always had, whether it was up in the air or right here on your couch.Â
How much time had passed, who was to say? You could recall both your phones vibrating a few times, no doubt messages from the rest of your squad. Those messages could wait.Â
âI think I'm ready,â you whispered against Bobâs lips. He needed, digging his fingers into your hips to gain a better grip. With his help, you lifted yourself no more than a couple of inches off his cock, returning to the base.Â
âFuck, you feel incredible,â Bob moaned. You just made Bob Floyd curse. Something not even a bird strike could do. That four letter word gave you the confidence to lift your hips up on your own accord, returning swiftly. Slowly, just an inch or two, which became several inches. Up and down motions turned to swiveling your hips in a circular rhythm. What was once a quiet living room, saved for a few small gasps and the static from the TV, had now become a symphony of melodic pants and groans.Â
Bob could tell you were close. Your pussy was tightening around his cock more and more, your fingers dug into his broad shoulders, as if trying to anchor yourself. You practically whined at the sight of Bob taking two fingers into his mouth, wetting them with his tongue. He lowered them to where your bodies connected.Â
Upon first contact with your clit, your head dropped to the crook of his neck, unabashedly moaning his name, hips moving in a now frantic motion.Â
âThat's it, I gotcha.â Fuck, we he going to talk you through it? Was Bob Floyd a talker? Ironic, considering at work he was known as a man of few words.Â
âFeels sâgood, being inside ya.â Fuck, he was a talker. You were doomed, âWanna, wanna make us cum. Bet ya gonna feel even better when ya soak- fuck- soak my cock.âÂ
Your brain was hazy. Was this real? If it was a vivid wet dream, you never wanted to wake up. Was it wrong to hope that you were in a medically induced coma, so that if this was indeed a dream, you wouldnât have to wake up so soon? Surely, your friends and family would understand upon meeting Bob.Â
Then he pointedly thrusted his hips upwards, reminding you that no, this wasnât a dream. No, you wouldnât wake up feeling frustrated and unable to look him in the eye. After this, you two could go out to eat, on a real date. Not some hey letâs get dinner that feels like a date in everything except in name. You could also order delivery and cuddle up on the couch. Maybe you could even shower with him beforehand, and see his bare body, find out what was truly hiding underneath that flight suit. Oh, he was deceptively strong, you always knew that. But to see it, to feel the hard planes of his muscles? Oh, that would be quite the joy to experience.Â
âSweet girl,â you clenched at that nickname, you wanted him to continue calling you that for eternity, âLet go. Know ya want it.â
âI-I do,â you all but whined. Bob found the noise cute. What other sounds did you make? What would you sound like if he kept fucking you after you came? What about if he ate you out for hours? Or teased you until you were teetering on the edge?
There were so many questions, so many areas to explore. But for now, Bob was satisfied with experiencing how tightly you clenched his cock, how you practically sang his name as you came. Your release triggered his, pulling your hips down until they were flushed against his. His lips smashed against yours, swallowing your moans.Â
Then there was silence. No words spoken. Only the sounds of panting, you both clearly trying to catch your breath, and kisses exchanged, ones that neither of you could resist giving.Â
Realization hits you like a freight train. âIâm on birth control.â
Bobâs eyes widened, âOh thank God.â He was usually so good about asking, about pulling out. But youâŠ.you made his brain feel like cotton.Â
âYou saying you donât want to have kids with me?â You giggled, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek to let him know you were only saying it in jest.Â
âNot yet.â You sat up to find he had an earnest smile on his face, cheeks rosy and eyes shining in adornment.Â
Bob Floyd was going to be the death of you.Â
So you brushed several strands of sandy brown hair off of his forehead, replacing them with a kiss, "Gotta get me a ring first."
Luckily, you were going to be the death of Bob Floyd.
#my writing#bob floyd#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x you#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd fanfiction#bob floyd fic#robert bob floyd#robert bob floyd x reader#robert bob floyd imagine#robert bob floyd x female reader#bob floyd x y/n#bob floyd x female reader#bob floyd smut#robert bob floyd x you#robert bob floyd fic#robert floyd#robert floyd x reader#robert floyd imagine#robert floyd x you#robert floyd fluff#bob floyd fluff#robert floyd smut
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Wreck my plans || Art Donaldson x reader
Rating: Explicit (18+) Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, fingering), drinking, family drama, very slow burn, maybe too slow, I really don't know what's going on here
Word Count: 8.5k
Wreck my plans
Parties were never your thing. Parties are Jenny's thing. But she went away for the weekend with two friends from Harvard and didnât even think to invite you. So Jenny can go to hell. And you can go to the party.
Luke Thompson's house is huge, and it doesnât surprise you since you've spent two evenings a week here over the past few months trying to teach him algebra and literature. He had to repeat senior year after his complete failure last year. The party was in celebration of him finally getting his diploma and being accepted to a local college nearby.
"Little (Y/L/N)!" he shouted, spreading his arms wide, inviting you for a hug. "The only reason I managed to finish school," he added, yelling, making you roll your eyes. "Youâre the only reason you managed to finish school, Luke," you said, taking a step back. "To be honest, I didnât think youâd come," he looked around, causing you to do the same and start recognizing familiar faces from your grade and the one above you (Jennyâs). "I've never seen you at a party before." "I've been to parties. we just donât hang out with the same people," you said as the two of you moved towards the kitchen so you could grab a drink.
The conversation continued for a few more minutes, but your attention drifted to the blond guy in the kitchen- Art Donaldson. Dressed in a pink button-down shirt and jeans, holding a red cup just like the one Luke put in your hand, drinking the same warm beer you're drinking. You hadnât thought about him for almost a year. Your gaze wandered from him to the living room, where you saw Dave flirting with someone you couldnât identify, and you found yourself rolling your eyes at the scene. You tried to listen to Luke for a few more moments because it felt like the polite thing to do, but you lost interest, and, like a magnet, your eyes were drawn back to Art Donaldson, who was busy looking you over from head to toe. You wonder if it made you blush or if it's just the cheap alcohol. You left the kitchen with a certain sense of saturation, looking for people you actually enjoyed being around more than Luke, who, as nice as he was, was too sociable for your taste. Tried too hard. You also try hard, mostly to stay out of everyoneâs way.
You ended the evening with Chloe and Ron- ironically, friends of Jenny's, since Lia refused to come. They asked about Jenny and told you about their college experiences. Ron finished his first year at Yale, and Chloe went to a local college not far from here. Maybe itâs time to go home, as you feel like youâre suffocating and the place is closing in on you. The thought of staying close, like Chloe, to this suburb made your stomach turn. Chloe loved it, though. She didnât see anything wrong with it. She planned her life right here. Just like this.
"Can I sit?" A familiar voice stood above you as you stared at Lukeâs pool. A few people were in the far corner of it, but otherwise, the yard was empty. You shrugged without saying anything as Art sat down. He took off his shoes and folded up his jeans a bit, dipping his feet into the pool- something you hadnât even thought to do. You looked at him for a moment as he took another sip from the drink in his hand. Heâs probably the most handsome guy you know- a childish thought thatâs crossed your mind since you were young, since you remember him. Blond with eyes that could make stars feel embarrassed with how they shine. Thereâs nothing ordinary about him. Heâs exceptional. You donât think thereâs any girl your age whoâs known him and hasnât had a crush on him, at least for a moment.
"Congratulations on finishing school. I heard youâre the reason Luke can celebrate," he said casually, looking at you and causing you to turn your gaze back to the pool in a split second. "He really needs to stop telling people that," you replied, hearing him chuckle. "How was your first year in college? Stanford, right?" you asked, trying to shift the focus from yourself to him. "Yeah, tennis, you know. Itâs nice. Iâm supposed to choose a major next semester. My mom wants me to pick business management. Iâm considering sports management," he said offhandedly, as if it werenât too personal. As if this wasnât the longest conversation youâd had since kindergarten. "Then you have to choose sports, of course," you said quickly. "Sorry, itâs none of my business," you added just as fast, realizing youâd stepped into his complicated relationship with his mom. "If only it were that easy, huh?" he chuckled. "To choose what I want," he added.
At that moment, Art Donaldson had no idea that what he was saying touched the deepest parts of your heart, nearly crushing it. Stroking an open wound without knowing the area was sensitive. Jenny decided at the last moment that she didnât want to study at Yale and preferred Harvard, which meant financially you couldnât study out of state. It would just be too much. And it surprised no one that you were the one who had to give up your dream. It surprised no one, because Jenny was the first to decide, and you received the scraps of something that might have been hers. Like wearing an old shirt, she no longer wanted. Itâs never the other way around.
"Arenât you planning to go pro?" you asked after a few seconds, trying to shake off the emotions flooding you. "Iâm not sure yet, my mom really wants me to finish my degree," he explained, taking another sip. "Patrickâs really suffering on his tour. donât tell him I told you that." He added information you hadnât asked for. As if you were in daily contact with Patrick Zweig. As if youâd ever exchanged a word with him. You only know Jenny slept with him a few times, but itâs not something you two talk about, so whatever. "Iâm going to Wesleyan," you said suddenly and looked at him; his gaze was already on you. "Damn," he smiled a half-smile, and maybe it was the first time youâd felt a certain pride since you applied there. "Jenny went to Harvard, so itâs complicated for both of us to study out of state, you know how it is," you felt the need to explain the situation, even though he hadnât asked, and he certainly didnât know how it is. "Itâs a good school tho, Iâm glad I got in," you werenât sure who you were trying to convince, but he furrowed his brows as if he didnât believe it, as if he had something to say about it. But he kept it to himself, and you appreciated that.
"I have to say, distancing myself from Jenny (Y/L/N) was one of the best things thatâs happened to me since I left," everyone knew about Art and Jenny's relationship. They couldnât stand each other. They competed in every possible subject. From student council to tennis. You donât think Jenny even likes tennis. She just likes the first place. And without realizing it, you laughed, which a good sister shouldnât do, but you felt it too. Distancing yourself from Jenny was a relief. The difference is that youâre not allowed to say that out loud, and Art Donaldson doesnât really care. He doesnât need to be at family dinners during holidays.
You looked at him for another second and thought this could be a good moment to kiss him. It was as if he hadnât taken his eyes off you for a second since he sat down. You could lean in a little and press your lips to his. Itâs not like youâd see him much again. You wouldnât see him at all and in six weeks, you will move into the dorms in college. and in few years, maybe after school, heâd probably be a professional tennis player or a lawyer or the president. You think you can picture him as the president. You'd vote for him. "Well, it was nice seeing you, (Y/N)," he smiled another one of his captivating smiles. "Talk to me if you ever find yourself in California," he gave a small nod, grabbed his shoes, and walked away. Maybe one day youâll manage to actually do something you really want to do. . . . You regretted what you did about three minutes after you politely turned down the full scholarship to Wesleyan. and accepted what they offered you at Stanford. But in your defense, it was late at night, youâd just come back from Lukeâs party very tipsy, and you had no real intention of talking to Art when you got to California. Youâd never seen your parents so angry. Your mom cried. Your dad said you were inconsiderate. Jenny sat on the couch, watching you with a raised eyebrow. They said they wouldnât pay for anything, that if you made this decision, youâd have to deal with the consequences. The scholarship covered your tuition, but for housing and books, youâd have to use your savings. Two jobs you picked up over the summer and a part-time job youâd had for three years of babysitting. They didnât speak to you for weeks. From the moment you told them, all communication between you went through Jenny.
"Tell her dinnerâs ready," "Tell her to go down and buy eggs," "Tell her Uncle Barryâs coming over tonight, to act like she still cares about this family."
"They'll come around," Jenny mumbled when she climbed into your bed one of those warm August nights. "I donât know," you answered with your eyes closed, exhausted from the day at work and the hostility you returned to at home. "I know," she concluded. In the morning, you woke up alone.
You think theyâll never forgive you. Maybe youâll never forgive them. But you donât know. . . . The empty bed in your dorm was beneath the window. You didnât complain for a moment because everything could have been much worse. Jenny bought you the flight ticket to California for your birthday. You cried. You remembered that small moment when Art said he was glad to be away from her and you giggled, not defending your sister. Sheâs not to blame for being born first. Sheâs not to blame for needing more attention. Her intentions are good. That should be the only thing that matters.
You only met Billie in the evening when she came back from what she described as a date. She spoke about 50 words a minute, so it was hard to follow. She asked why you came a week late, you wanted to say that you were on time and she came early, but all you managed to get out was "work." It wasnât a lie. You worked at a camp and an ice cream parlor all summer, trying to save as much as you could because you didnât know how long it would take to find a job near the university. Turns out, very quickly. The diner across from the university was looking for waiters, and you showed up without experience but with a convincing smile and some recommendations from previous employers, as if anyone cared that you were great with kids. Three shifts a week, and the savings would help you keep your head above water. Thatâs all you need.
A week after you arrived at the dorms, Billie and Summer, your roommates, forced you to go with them to a party. And it wasnât too hard to convince you because you werenât at home. And sometimes, you need to remind yourself that you at home isnât the same you whoâs at Stanford. Here, no one knows you or Jenny. No one expects anything from you, no one will call you "Little (Y/L/N)." Here, you are whoever you choose to be. And thatâs enough. Enough to wear almost burgundy lipstick and a tight dress, but still sneakers. After all, something of you stays the same.
Someone named Dean hit on you most of the night, and Billie told him you had a boyfriend. "Babe, anyone but Dean. Iâve been here two weeks, and heâs slept with the entire building already," she whispered in your ear, and you laughed. Someone else hit on you during the night, but you didnât remember his name. When you lay in bed, you tried calling Jenny to tell her about your night, but she didnât answer. And maybe thatâs okay. . . . The first time you saw Art at Stanford, he was the one who actually saw you. "(Y/n)?" He lifted his sunglasses to his hair. He wore a Stanford T-shirt and pants that made you wonder if they were also Stanford coded. He had a racket bag over his shoulder. He looked confused. "Hey," you didnât know what to say as you leaned against the only free tree you could find and tried to read one of the books from your syllabus, preparing for your first class. "Hey?" He almost chuckled as he sat down next to you, not taking his eyes off you. Like youâd disappear the second he blinked. He didnât seem disappointed by your presence. "Shit, I was joking about California," he looked amused, still studying you. He took the book you were reading, like it was his, ran a hand over the cover. Like he knew everything he needed to know about the course just by looking at it. "Stanford was on my list, and it just felt more right," you tried to justify, to explain that it wasnât because of him. He didnât think it was because of him tho, not really. "How did they take it?" he asked, probably remembering details from your conversation at the party. "I donât know, because theyâre not talking to me," you said it in the same casual tone, like it didnât bother you. "Damn," he muttered, "that bad?" he asked. "Itâs whatever," you shrugged. "Iâve got to get to class, but Iâll see you around, yeah?" He stood up and walked away. You didnât know if youâd actually see him around again, but the interaction had been nice. You think that maybe Art Donaldson wonât judge you. And thatâs an interesting thought. . . . The next time you see him, you're in the middle of a shift, wearing a ridiculous apron and a ponytail that makes your hair look greasy. Needless to say, youâre embarrassed, but he doesnât act like itâs a big deal. He says hello, which is surprising because heâs with friends, and you look, wellâŠridiculous. You say hello back, because youâre polite, and itâs the right thing to do. They sit down at one of the tables, and you hear his voice from a distance saying, âI know her from back home.â You think itâs a half-accurate description, because you donât really know each other- not like he knows Patrick Zweig or Luke. Not like he knows Jenny. You also think the girl sitting next to him is very pretty. Pretty enough to hate her, but nice enough not to.
Casually, before they leave the diner, Art asks if you're going to a party someone in his dorm is throwing. You shrug in response because you hadnât heard about it until now. âItâll be fun, you should come,â he calls out, mentioning the building he lives in before he leaves with his friends. He didnât have to invite you. He doesnât have to invite you to places. Youâre not his responsibility. You donât want him to think you are. You donât know if youâll go. . . . When you received the email from the registrar notifying you that your account had already been paid and that there was no need for the duplicate payment youâd tried to make, you found yourself confused. When you realized your parents had paid the bill despite saying they wouldnât, you ended up crying for two hours. Itâs not fair. Itâs not fair. They havenât spoken to you in almost three months. They let you stew in guilt but are willing to pay your bills? Itâs ridiculous. None of them answered when you tried to call to say thank you. You cried for another hour. 'Busy. Do you need anything?' -Jenny-
You think you need a hug. But that feels childish, so you send her an orange heart emoji. . . . You go to the party Art invited you to with Billie and Summer because, why not? You donât mention that you got an invitation, just casually say you heard thereâs a party and that it might be fun to check it out.
You decide to put on the dark lipstick again, you liked how it looked last time, and honestly, the feedback was great. This time, you stick with a thin shirt, ripped tights, and shorts- keeping it low-effort was part of the actual effort. You think itâs silly. But you look cute, so fuck it.
Art spots you before you notice him again. He comes up to you in the middle of a conversation, gently swiping the beer bottle from your hand, making you look at him as he takes a sip and hands it back. âYouâre the hot guy from the posters,â Billie says shamelessly, looking straight at him. âArt,â he chuckles, introducing himself, making you roll your eyes. âMind if I steal her for a bit?â He asks permission, which is ridiculous and funny, making you feel embarrassed as he hands you back the beer and leads you to another corner of the apartment by your other hand.
âHey,â he says, brushing your hair back behind your ear. âHey,â you reply with staged nonchalance. âYou look good,â you add, because itâs true. The few times youâd seen him on campus, he was in Stanford sports gear. Seeing him again in a button-down and jeans felt like a privilege. âThatâs what Iâve heard,â he responds, referencing Billieâs comment from a few minutes ago, taking the beer from you again. Maybe itâs over the top, sharing the same bottle. Itâs relatively intimate for two people who donât actually know each other.
One of his friends comes over and starts talking to Art about tennis, his gaze lingering on you. You wonder if Art realizes heâs standing closer to you in a slightly possessive way. That his hand is lightly brushing yours, that he keeps taking the bottle from you to drink from it, openly displaying that sense of intimacy.
âDo you want to get out of here?â Youâre not sure where the courage to ask came from. Maybe itâs the tequila shots you took with Billie and Summer before heading out to the party. Maybe itâs the joint you passed between each other. But Art looks amused as he nods. You catch Summer out of the corner of your eye, giving you a thumbs-up and making exaggerated kissy faces. If Art saw her doing it, he didnât say anything. The contrast between the noise in the building and the quiet outside surprises you. The silence between you wasnât awkward, but you hoped heâd say something by now. He seemed to be enjoying himself too much to talk. âWant to head to the lake?â he suddenly asked, though you were already walking that way. You hadnât actually been there yet, but you didnât want to reveal that you didnât know the area that well.
âHey, give me your phone,â you said, stopping in your tracks. He stopped too, raising an eyebrow as he pulled his phone from his pocket. âSo bossy,â he muttered with his signature smirk, but you entered your number and sent yourself a flower emoji so you could save his number later. When you reached the lake, it almost took your breath away. It looked like something out of a movie. You know it sounds like a clichĂ©, but it really was like that- like an old movie, but not too old. The moon reflected off the lake, and a few people were sitting on the grass nearby. You sat on a table instead of the bench next to it. Art raised an eyebrow at the choice but shook his head like youâd done something funny.
âIâm glad youâre here,â he said, looking at you as if confessing a secret. âIâm glad Iâm here, too.â You knew thatâs not what he wanted to hear, but he laughed anyway. He sat on the bench below you, between your legs. You felt as if you had some kind of power. Your hand automatically moved through his curls. You thought about apologizing but decided not to. âHow are you?â he asked. âIâm okay, I think. How are you?â you tossed the question back at him. âSeriously, how are you?â His fingers brushed over yours, like it was the most natural thing in the world. âWith your parents and everything?â he added. âIâm fine,â you replied. You didnât want to talk about it, and he didnât push as much as you expected. His hand squeezed yours for a moment, as if he had more to say. Instead, he nodded and stood up, starting to walk with you just behind him.
You're walking alongside the lake, wondering if this path has an end, or if you even want it to. You think you might feel those butterflies in your stomach. "Do you know my first memory of you?" he asks suddenly, and youâre surprised. Part of you doesnât want to know. Itâs probably related to Jenny. Art has so many memories of Jenny, and theyâre all negative. Deep down, you hope he doesn't remember you as this girl being attached at her hip. "The day after my dad's funeral, you gave me a daisy you picked from someoneâs garden." He chuckles, but it sounds bitter. You donât remember this. You do remember, though, that for years, until you both drifted and each found your own group of friendsâhe called you "Daisy." You never knew why. "Oh." You donât know what to say, so thatâs what comes out a bit pathetic. "I didnât even know it was a daisy, if the story details matter," you try to lighten things up. "I asked my grandmother," he says, and the two of you chuckle. "Thatâs why you called me Daisy for three years straight?" you ask. "God. Why do you remember that?" He puts a hand over his face, as if heâs embarrassed or something. "I thought maybe you didnât know my name, and since I was Jennyâs sister, you just rolled with it." You laugh. "It suited you, Daisy," he says, and his hand moves your hair behind your ear. This isnât the first time heâs done that, but this time he also looks at your lips. You feel like heâs looking at your soul if that's even possible.
"I really wanted to kiss you at Luke's party," you admit, because it feels like the right moment. "Oh yeah? So why didnât you kiss me?" he asks, wetting his lower lip with his tongue. "Iâve wanted to do it since eighth grade, and then I had the chance and didn't know what to do" You look at him. His smile is still plastered across his face, and you wish he wasnât so smug all the time. "Maybe I wanted you to kiss me at Luke's party," he says, almost ignoring what you just said. "Little Daisy, sitting by the pool alone. Maybe I approached you with intent? Maybe I was goi-" You donât give him the satisfaction of finishing his sentence, as you crash your lips onto his like youâre possessed. His smile lingers for a few moments. His hands pull you closer to him as he presses you back against a light pole you didnât know was behind you.
Art Donaldson is a good kisser. No one can take that from him. Heâs an amazing kisser. His tongue is way too skilled. His hands have found their way under your shirt as if thatâs their natural place. His lips move perfectly in sync with yours, and when you both pause to catch your breath, he presses his forehead against yours. He places small kisses on your cheek, then on your neck, and only when you lean your head back and bump into the pole do you remember that youâre in a public space. People could see you. This is not your style. "Okay, weâre good," you tap his chest lightly, making him laugh the most delightful laugh youâve ever heard. "Is this everything you dreamed of before starting high school?" he asks, planting another small kiss on your cheek, as if he just canât help himself or something. "I didnât dream about kisses like this, Donaldson." You roll your eyes, thinking itâs pretty ridiculous that youâre smiling right now.
When you reach your dorm, you wonder if you should invite him in. You think heâd say yes. But you also think thereâs something beautiful about leaving the night as it is- two people who used to know each other, kissing by a lake. He gives you a small kiss and takes out his phone as he turns to leave, while you head inside, unable to resist leaning against the door.
'Since eighth grade, huh?' -Unknown Number-
'Shut up.' -(Y/N)-
He replies with a flower emoji. You think the intention is daisy. Maybe youâre overthinking it. . . . You donât expect Art to text you the next morning. You had that night together; it was great, and maybe it was exactly what you needed to get him out of your system. Maybe it was what you needed to finally move on from that endless crush on Art Donaldson. Youâd be lying if you said you werenât a bit disappointed when he didnât reach out at all, as if heâd disappeared from the face of the earth. But thatâs probably fine. He doesnât owe you anything, and you donât owe him. You each have your own lives at Stanford. Youâre trying to juggle work and studies. Youâre supposed to submit a thirty-page paper after Thanksgiving, and youâve only written three. Clearly, you have enough to keep you busy.
Your mom called a few days ago, and you cried. Because you hadnât really talked in almost four months. She said Jenny convinced her. Itâs kind of messed up, but you donât say that. Youâre just glad someone convinced her. Youâve been thinking a lot lately about how strange it is- how you never behaved outside of what was expected of you, and the one time you did, they reacted as if youâd committed a crime. You think about it even when youâre trying not to think about it. Your mom asked if youâre coming home for Thanksgiving. You said no. You wonder if it made her sad only after you hung up. . . . The next time you see Art, heâs flirting with a redhead at a Thanksgiving party Summer convinced you to attend. Honestly, you couldâve skipped this party, but Summer said she wanted the girl who invited her there. So you bit your tongue and told her youâd meet her there, because thatâs what friends do.
Itâs easy to tell when Art is flirting; itâs basically exaggerated hand gestures and a level of closeness heâs never tried with you. Youâve seen him in action before. You try not to stare, because it doesnât really matter. Instead, you look for Summer, whoâs on the opposite side of the room, directly in Artâs line of sight. It makes you smile, knowing heâll see that youâre here. Youâve decided youâre going to ignore him. You made that decision when you passed by him on your way to Summer, feeling his eyes on you but not meeting his gaze.
When Summer slips away to sit with Caitlin -the girl sheâs interested in- a guy you donât recognize approaches you. He introduces himself and offers you a drink. You politely decline, youâre smarter than to accept punch from a complete stranger. Heâs nice, but standing a little too close for your comfort. He leans over you, and you feel a bit trapped between him and the wall youâre leaning against. You could walk away, of course, but the whole situation feels uncomfortable. You wonder where Summer is, unable to see her in the crowd.
"Donât you think youâre a bit too close?" Artâs voice is firm and unyielding as he positions himself next to you, raising an eyebrow at the guy. "Sorry, man, thought she was single," he says, disappearing like he was never there. Neither of you bother to correct him about the two of you not actually being together. You roll your eyes at Art and head toward the kitchen, feeling his steps following behind. You spot Summer with Caitlin on one of the couches, and she gives you a nod, signaling that sheâs fine and that youâre free to leave if you want. "Hey, you didnât go home," he says behind you, as if everything is normal. "Quite the observation, Donaldson," you say, knowing youâre being mean. But, fuck it, he deserves it. You grab a beer from the kitchen and head outside, with him trailing beside you. "Youâre mad at me because I didnât text you," he sighs, prompting you to stop and raise an eyebrow at him. "You really think youâre something special, huh?" Maybe a bit too harsh, but itâs all youâve got right now. "I donât think Iâm anything special. I just didnât know what to say." He sighs again as you start walking away from the building. "It was a good night. I didnât want to ruin it, you know?" You think he sounds almost shy. His voice is softer than usual, and you remind yourself that you also labeled that night as a good one, as a nice experience you didnât want to spoil. So maybe itâs unfair to be angry- after all, you could have reached out to him, too. But what would you have even said? The three weeks since then passed quickly, and most of the time, you didnât think about him at all. So itâs fine. Everythingâs really fine.
"Itâs ok, Donaldson, I wasnât sitting by the phone waiting for a message from you. You can let it go," you sum up, trying to sound amused and light-hearted, though it comes out a bit too bitter for your liking. "So why didnât you go home?" he asks, changing the subject. "Iâm working." You shrug. He raises an eyebrow, like someone who knows thatâs not the whole truth but also understands heâs treading on thin ice right now and shouldnât push for more. "Why didnât you go?" you throw the question back at him, trying to show him that itâs all good. "Iâve got a match tomorrow, plus my mom doesnât really care," he replies, and you nod, understanding a bit of what he means. You knew his mom- she always struck you as the coldest person in the world. "What are you doing at a party if you have a match tomorrow?" you ask, raising an eyebrow, wondering if itâs too harsh, because youâre trying to steer the conversation onto calmer ground. "Itâs in the afternoon," he shrugs. "You donât have to walk with me, my dorms are really close," you say after a few moments of silence. "Weâre good? We're friends and youâre not mad at me anymore, right, Daisy?" he asks, nudging his shoulder against yours. You roll your eyes at the silly nickname, but you donât find it in yourself to correct him.
"Weâre good," you conclude, walking into your building, leaving him behind. . . . The next day, you decide to go to his game after your shift, only to find out that Patrick fucking Zweig is also sitting in the small crowd. Most of the students eager to see Stanfordâs star in action probably love their families more and decided to go home. You sat far from Patrick, but it didnât stop him from giving you a puzzled look as he whispered something to the girl sitting next to him, who was fully focused on Art's game. You remembered her from the diner the other day. Sheâs beautiful.
Art won to the applause of the crowd that stayed to watch until the end. Two hours of the ball going back and forth and sounds that were almost erotic. Whatever. You consider heading back to your dorm without saying anything just to avoid talking to Patrick. But Art smiles at you and gives a small wave, so you know there's no way to get out of at least saying hello. You need to suck it up. âCongratulations, Donaldson,â you mumble, and he gives you the smuggest smile he can find. âLittle (Y/L/N), long time,â Patrick says to you with half-loudness. He doesnât say anything bad, but you shrink a little. Trying to remember the last time someone called you that. Probably at Luke's party. Art looks at you with an apologetic look as if he knows. He probably doesnât know. But that's okay. âHowâs the tour?â you ask politely because itâs the right thing to do. âGood, good,â he says, shifting his gaze from you to Art and back to you. Like a man with a plan. âWant to have dinner with us?â he asks. In any other situation, youâd laugh, because the odds of you sitting at the same table with Patrick Zweig would be slim, especially considering his history with Jenny. âI wish, but I have a paper due in a few days, and I really have to work on it. Maybe next time,â you smile the most genuine smile you can find and quickly move away.
âDude, you didnât tell me Little (Y/L/N) was here,â you hear Patrick laugh. âShut up, Patrick,â youâre almost sure you heard Art reply.
'You wish?' -Art Donaldson- He sent it half an hour later when you were already sitting at your computer with a cup of coffee in hand.
You turned off your phone. You need to focus. . . . Art came to your work far more often than you expected. He probably tried every dish on the menu, including the pancakes with the âsecretâ sauce that you suspect is just chocolate mixed with overly sticky jam. He sometimes studied there or came with his friends. He talked to you but not too much, and you texted each other from time to time. Were you friends? It felt strange to think that Art Donaldson and you were friends- not because he wasnât someone youâd want to call a friend, but because youâd finally let go of the idea of him as someone out of reach.
One day, when he walked you home, he asked why you took on a fourth shift, since you usually didnât work Mondays. âAre you keeping tabs on me, Donaldson?â you asked with a half-smile. âDaisy,â he sighed, as if you were being ridiculous, even though he was the one who knew your schedule and which days you didnât usually work. âIâm saving up for a ticket home for the holidays, so,â you shrugged like it wasnât a big deal. âYou havenât bought a ticket yet?â he asked, looking at you with raised eyebrows. âIâm buying it myself, so itâs taking me a minute.â Your parents had made it very clear they were only paying for your dorm. You bought your own books, and you had to cover your own flights. You didnât look at him when you said it, afraid he might judge you- even if it was silly.
He stopped and looked at you. âThatâs fucked up, (Y/N).â Whenever Art said your name like that recently, you knew he was serious, and that the conversation was drifting somewhere too deep. Like the time you talked about his grandmother, or his dad. âIt is what it is,â you replied, continuing to walk, hoping he would keep walking too. You didnât want to dwell on the fact that they bought Jenny her train ticket. You didnât want to dwell on the thought that even if it was cheaper, no one made her feel guilty for the only choice sheâd ever made in her life. âI could get you a ticket,â he said, and this time, you stopped. âWhat the fuck?â you asked, your voice going up an octave. âI donât need you toââ âFor the miles. You can pay me back later,â he shrugged like it was no big deal. âI donât need you to buy me a ticket. I donât need your money, Art, let it go.â Your voice shook a little; you wondered if he heard it. âItâs not out of pity,â he said, voicing what you didnât say. But you kept walking as if you hadnât heard him.
âI wonder if weâll find a spot in the library tomorrow,â you changed the subject to the first thing that popped into your head. Art didnât say anything, but you knew it was the last thing he cared about at that moment. . . . A week before your flight, Billie cut your bangs. Itâs not a cry for help, you told everyone who gave you a weird look. Itâs cute. Itâs fucking cute, ok? Art watched you from across the room at Patrick's party. You wondered if he'd say hello or if you'd both act like, at best, casual acquaintances- or, at worst, like you were just Jenny's little sister. You missed Lia and a few others who were fun to drink with and gossip with. You found out that Michelle was pregnant, which was a fucking scandal.
âHey, stranger.â Art said when you walked into the kitchen. His eyes were redder than usual, and his smile was mischievous but tired. âI didnât think youâd come,â he said, making Lia glance between the two of you. âDid you see she cut her bangs?â she asked, taking a sip from a drink you couldnât quite identify. âItâs not a cry for help.â âItâs not a cry for help,â you both said together, but Art used a screechy voice, like he was imitating you, making Lia laugh. âSheâs been yelling that at people all week,â he said to her, as if you werenât standing right there. You considered grabbing a glass of wine and leaving them to talk alone. âDaveâs here,â Lia said suddenly, and you saw Art tense, his smile fading as if he sobered up instantly. If it werenât for his telltale red eyes, thereâd be no trace of it.
You and Dave had been together most of your last year in high school. He was the first guy you slept with, which was fine. It was just that everything felt a bit weirder whenever he was around since you broke up. It felt like youâd gone from friends to lovers to people scared of catching some incurable disease from each other if you'd even look at one another. âItâs totally fine,â you rolled your eyes, because, well, it really was fine. You hadnât felt anything for Dave for almost a year. You regretted not knowing how he was doing or how he was handling college, but thatâs life- you win some, you lose some.
âLittle (Y/L/N),â Patrick Zweigâs voice grated in your ear. âWhereâs (Y/L/N)?â he added quickly, probably drunker than usual, though you werenât surprised. âPatrick,â Art muttered toward him, almost whining, like a man shocked by his best friendâs crudeness. âSheâs at home, wasnât feeling well.â You wondered if that was a convincing excuse for Jenny skipping Patrickâs party. But it was the excuse she left with you, and thatâs what youâd stick to. âWell, at least weâve got one family representative. What can you tell us about Art in California?â he asked, and you wondered why he was so desperate to put you in the spotlight. âPatrick, leave her alone,â Artâs tone was defensive, giving the guy next to him no option to dig any further. Patrick just flashed a mischievous grin and raised his hands in feigned surrender. âI like the bangs, you wear a mental breakdown well,â he chuckled and left the kitchen as chaotically as heâd entered, yelling something to Luke about beer pong. âSorry, heâs an asshole,â Art said, sighing. You wondered when Lia had disappeared from your view. âHeâs⊠Patrick,â you rolled your eyes. And it was true, you knew he didnât act this way out of malice, he was just like that. âWant to get out of here?â Art asked. âDonât you want to spend some time with your friends?â you returned the question. âI could use some air. Besides, whoâs my friend here?â he shrugged. And as you both headed outside, you thought that was the saddest thing Art Donaldson had ever said to you.
"How does it feel to be home?" he asked. You want to say itâs ok, that itâs exactly what you dreamed, but itâs more like what you expected it would be. Your parents arenât mad at you anymore, but they donât approve of your decision either, and they remind you at every opportunity that they think you made a mistake. âItâs fine.â You shrugged. âI hate it when you say that,â he had this bitter laugh. âWhat?â You stopped for a moment and looked at him. âEvery time you say somethingâs âfine,â I know itâs not, and I have no idea how to get you to tell me.â He sighed, sitting down on a bench that hadnât gotten wet from the rain that fell earlier in the afternoon.
âIâm not lying to you,â you tried to defend yourself, searching through your mind for other times youâd said something was âfine.â You think heâs exaggerating. âI donât think youâre lying. I think you donât want to say things out loud,â he said. You think that if he werenât a little drunk, he wouldnât have brought up this conversation. âItâs weird, being home,â you said after a few seconds. He looked at you with wide eyes, waiting for you to say more. âI hate it when people call me âLittle (Y/L/N).â It feels like I donât exist without Jenny,â you said, sharing something you hadnât even told Lia. âI know,â Art said. âThatâs why I get mad at Patrick when he calls you that.â He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. âHow did you know?â you asked, surprised by the nonchalance with which he said it. âHavenât you figured it out yet?â he asked with a half-smile, âI just know you, Daisy.â And if you didnât know he was drunk and tired, youâd think there was sadness in his eyes. . . . A few days later, you saw Patrick at the grocery store, which was strange in itself because you were pretty sure Patrick Zweig had assistants to go grocery shopping for him. âLittle (Y/L/N),â he said, and youâre fairly sure the smile on his face was genuine; he was actually glad to run into you. âHappy Christmas,â he said, stopping in front of you, holding a carton of orange juice and what looked like a frozen pizza. âIâm Jewish,â you rolled your eyes, only making him smile more. He knew that- he could deny it all he wanted, but Patrick knew Jenny very well, and you and Jenny shared genes. You both paid quietly for your items at the checkout, and as you stepped outside, he lit a cigarette, looking at you with an expression that seemed to expect you to stop and stand with him.
âIâm really glad youâre there with him at Stanford, you know?â he said after a few puffs of smoke. âYeah? Why?â You tried to avoid smiling at him. You didnât think he deserved a smile; heâs a jerk. âBecause heâs better when youâre around,â he said softly, with a kind of depth you hadnât seen in him before- something that made you think you understood what Jenny saw in him, how he managed to break her heart. âAt tennis?â you asked. Because thatâs all Patrick cared about- tennis, girls, and maybe Art. âAt everything.â He shrugged, all the depth disappearing as he began to walk away. âHappy Hanukkah, Little (Y/L/N). Say hi to your sister for me.â You could see a wink. Patrick Zweig is defiantly an asshole. . . . You and Art went together to the New Yearâs party at Stanford. Billie and Summer havenât returned yet, and youâre almost certain Art moved his flight to catch the same one as yours, but you didnât ask him about it because you think it would make you seem too smug. And youâre not. You really arenât. You just think that if anything had changed from the last time he asked if you two were friends, he would have told you. But he hasnât, soâŠwhatever.
He sat on your bed today while you did your makeup, never taking his eyes off you through the mirror. Someone watching might think youâd hypnotized him. You donât think you saw him blink once in the fifteen minutes he stared at you. âYou like what you see?â you asked with a half-smile, still looking at his reflection. âWhat if I do?â he shrugged, as if this ridiculous flirtation was the truest thing heâd said in ages.
You decide not to linger too hard on his hand holding yours all the way to the party. Or on the fact that he kept you close to him while talking to people you didnât know. On the effort he put into participating in a conversation with a friend you met in one of your courses. You try not to blush when he leans in and asks if youâre planning to kiss him at midnight. He's being bold. You think heâs acting like a brat. It should bother you. It doesnât bother you.
You kiss him at midnight. Or maybe he kisses you. Youâre not exactly sure, because youâre both so wrapped up in your own bubble, ignoring the drunken students around you. Your foreheads touch, and in an instant, your lips are on his, or his are on yours. It doesnât matter. The result is the same. Beer and gum, and something else you canât quite identify, maybe desperation. You like the mix. Maybe you shouldnât, but you could get used to it. âItâs not silly, right?â you ask quietly while you both catch your breath. âItâs anything but silly, Daisy,â he says with certainty. And you donât think youâve ever heard Art Donaldson sound so resolute.
He kisses you all over when you get to your room. You thank the holiday gods for keeping your roommates away. Your red dress finds itself on the floor much faster than you expected. Heâs too good at this. Youâd feel much less confident if he didnât look at you like you held the sun in your left hand and the moon in your right. You find yourself sitting on top of him in your bra and underwear, his hands on your hips steadying you. Youâve never felt sexier than you do right now. A little voice in your head screams at you to engrave this feeling. But you silence it; itâs insecure and reminds you of Jenny, the last person you want to think about when youâre at second base with Art Donaldson.
âYouâre so beautiful,â he murmurs as his lips trail down your neck to your chest, unclasping your bra with one hand like a pro. âShut up,â you manage to say, and he chuckles into you, as if heâs trying to bury himself within you. It's hot, stupidly hot. In a few minutes, he half-gently tosses you onto the bed, stripping down with a speed you didnât think possible. He leans over you in boxers, and you close your eyes for a moment, knowing you have to remember this. Because he really is a work of Art. Youâve never known anyone whose name suited them more.
His lips were everywhere on your body at once, if thatâs even possible, and his fingers slid in and out of you before you even realized youâd lost your underwear or when youâd started making that sound from your throat. Everything embarrassed you but also felt natural. Youâve never experienced such a range of emotions with anyone else, and the second that thought crossed your mind, you found yourself on the edge, and Art was above you, pressing soft kisses to your stomach, whispering soothing words while you caught your breath.
He entered you, and you felt like he was enveloping you from every angle, your moans blending together. You think a tear slipped down your cheek. Youâre almost sure Art kissed you right where it fell. He was both gentle and rough at the same time. You donât think that makes sense, but a lot of things tonight donât make sense. You almost laugh at that thought but decide against it. Instead, you look at him, only to find his eyes already on yours, and heâs so beautiful, with his blond curls and that smile stretched across his face. âFuck, Art,â you manage to mumble as you feel another orgasm building within you, you didnât know you were capable of more than one. To be honest, even one was rare until recently. âI know, Daisy, I know,â he says in a half-strangled voice before his lips are back on yours, his hand wrapping around yours, and you think itâs incredibly intimate. Youâve never had sex like this before. You donât think thereâs any trace of your old crush left. You think it might be love. After he cleans you up with a towel he soaked with warm water, he lies beside you, and the small bed forces you to stay close. Maybe itâs Art who refuses to let go. Youâre not sure why, but your legs are tangled together and your head is resting on his chest. âAre you going to break my heart again?â he asks, and you donât know what he means because youâve never broken anyoneâs heart, least of all Art Donaldsonâs. But heâs so certain in his question, he doesnât take it back. He doesnât correct himself. âWhen did I ever break your heart?â you asked. âWhen didnât you?â he replies with a half-laugh. âYou gave me a flower when I was eight and then didnât talk to me for ten years,â he says quietly, like heâs sharing a secret you already knew but never understood.
Itâs definitely love. You think youâre okay with that.
Hey? I don't even know what's going on but i'd like you to tell me what you think about that? that's it. Talk to me I guess.............
#challengers fic#art donaldson#patrick zweig#art donaldson x reader#patrick zweig x reader#challengers#wreck my plans#art donaldson smut
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Hello! couldI ask for a headcanon on Rosies, Alastors, Husk, Lucifers, Vaggies, Lutes, Vox's, and velvettes(all separate) reactions to Getting in an argument with the reader(whom they're in a relationship with)
Reader leaves to clear their head for a bit but doesn't return.
About a week later, they find they the reader, bleeding in an alley.
big fan of your work btw, sorry if my request was to complex but thank you for at least reading it.
have a lovely day!
Alastor
Alastor knows he can be an infuriating person to argue with.
He will just continue to smile and speak in a steady tone, as if heâs unaffected even if thatâs anything but true.
You donât get into fights often but when you do, itâs not unusual for you to leave to clear your head.
Normally youâre back the next day. By day two he was concerned. Day three he was worried.
He sent his shadows out to find you.
As soon as one of them saw someone who even resembled you in the slightest, he appeared there even if you werenât.
When he found you wounded, he was furious.
Not at you, but the person who dared touch you.
His anger nearly consumed him but he pushed it to the side in order to tend to your wounds.
You appeared in his radio tower where he quickly patched you up.
His touches were quick, a bit painful, and precise.
But he got you patched quickly and efficiently.
The argument you had was quickly put aside in favor of the more pressing matter, finding his next guest for his show.
Husk
Heâs a pretty reasonable guy most of the time. It takes something pretty big in order for either of you to yell much less storm out.
When Husk woke up with a hangover and you no where to be seen, he cursed himself as he remembered what heâd tried to forget.
He sent you a message, just asking if you were okay.
He followed it up the next day by calling and leaving you a voicemail. He explained that you could take as much time as you needed but please, just let him know youâre okay.
It was Charlie who found you, the princess far more willing to take action than he was. Too afraid of pushing your boundaries himself even if he was worried.
He immediately went into assistant mode as Niffty went into mini-nurse mode.
When you were stable, he took you up to your room and tucked you in bed.
âDonât worry âbout the argument, baby. We can talk about it later.â
He kissed your forehead and laid beside you in bed, hand on your pulse.
Lucifer
Heâs not a fighter. Heâs an avoider.
Heâs not even really conscious of the fact that he does it. He just isolates.
Thatâs probably what caused the disagreement in the first place.
When he found you, immediately in panic mode.
Just wants to make sure youâre okay.
Being the first Angel cast out of heaven, he knew how to tend to wounds and quickly attended to yours.
Stroking your hair the entire time, just begging you donât leave him.
Lute
Lute can be stubbornly loyal and it was probably something to do with work or Adam that caused the fight.
Whatever, go ahead. Leave. Itâs not like she cares.
She lies to herself so well she believes it until she finds you bleeding.
Which, what the fuck? You werenât in Hell. These things didnât happen.
She doesnât know how to take care of wounds. She doesnât know what sheâs doing. Sheâs never seen someone bleed.
She takes you to Emily. Reluctantly.
Emily doesnât really know what sheâs doing but she quickly gets in contact with people who do, being so well contacted to the winners.
She is by your side, fight entirely forgotten, the entire time.
Will actually punch Adam if he says something about her going soft.
Rosie
Rosie is a problem solver.
Thatâs what she does.
She actually takes off work to try to figure out how to solve your problems and brain storm.
Itâs only when sheâs figured out several solutions she thinks will work that she tries to find you.
When she does, oh is she absolutely pissed.
But first, sheâs stitching you up.
Very gentle but very honest.
A lot of âthisâll hurtâ might give you something to bite on.
Will go out and find the poor soul who did this to you and serve their bloody heart on a silver platter to you.
Vaggie
She immediately goes into work mode.
She just overworks herself. She doesnât know what to so she just tries to be useful.
When she finds you she feels her stomach turn and heart drop. Immediately yells for Charlie to get help as she bursts through the Hotel doors carrying you.
Sheâs holding your hand the entire time muttering how sorry she is.
Sheâll pull you into her lap and stroke your hair.
Her hand will end up resting atop your pulse as she gets sleep for the first time since you left.
If you so much as breathe wrong, sheâs calling for someone more experienced to check on you.
Velvette
Velvetteâs a ruthless person to get in an argument with.
Itâs not surprising when you leave and donât come back.
Sheâll act like sheâs not worried but secretly is.
When she finds you, sheâs swearing up and down and she scoops you up.
She basically dumps you with Vox. Trusting him to get you to stop bleeding and you to pull yourself together in the end.
Sheâs going on a hunt.
She comes back bloodied and with a mania in her eyes that is rarely seen.
You donât leave her side for a while.
Vox
Vox has eyes everywhere.
Heâs keeping one on you at all times.
He doesnât need to find you even when you storm out because he always knows where you are.
You need time away from him? Thatâs fine. Heâs watching you the entire time though.
You donât even get the chance to start bleeding anything severe because as soon as you get nicked, heâs there.
The soul who dared to hurt you is electrocuted and fried before you even realize itâs Vox who entered the scene.
âHot as it is watching you fight, I do hate to see you hurt.â
He stroked right beneath the place where you were cut, smearing the blood.
#vox x reader#hazbin vox x reader#alastor x reader#hazbin alastor x reader#hazbin husk x reader#husk x reader#hazbin rosie x reader#rosie x reader#hazbin lucifer x reader#hazbin hotel lucifer x reader#lucifer x reader#hazbin hotel lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer morningstar x reader#hazbin lute x reader#lute x reader#hazbin vaggie x reader#vaggie x reader#hazbin hotel velvette x reader#hazbin hotel velvette
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Jeez Louise This is a Mess
Sleepy King (Nenna edition) Master Post
Apologies in advance, I'm not very familiar with John Constantine, trying to do anything from his perspective is definitely an unwise decision. I have chosen it anyway. He's almost definitely OOC.
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John watched the Fentons and the mayor just saunter through the brand new hole in the mayorâs wall like this was just a normal Friday for them. Considering how weird the town was as a whole, it probably was. And he meant that by the old meaning of the word and as literal as one could possibly interpret it. Heâd never been anywhere where the veil was so thin over such a large area, with ĂŠther so thick in the air of course it was affecting the locals. Probably had something to do with whoever or whatever had cloaked the whole town.
John turned to Tall Dark and Broody, âSo, what happened to all the bugs and trackers you put on them originally?â
Batsy frowned, âDannyâs are still in the Fenton residence, expected since he clearly changed his clothes. His parentsâ trackers and bugs all went offline not long after arriving home, the ones I placed inside the residence are malfunctioning.â
âAnd thatâs not the least bit suspicious?â John asked.
âItâs incredibly suspicious,â Batsy said with a completely straight face before turning and also walking right out the brand new hole. âI suggest you actually use the comm I gave you earlier, theyâre explaining the situation to Masters.â
Unfortunately Mr. Gargles Gravel for Breakfast had a point, John sighed and did put in the comm, though he knew it would be spotty with the use of magic to follow the group. Batsy and Wonder Woman could follow however they liked, John did not have the energy for that.
The comms were staticky, cutting in and out even without Johnâs abuse of the thin veil to quick step around town. Not surprising, the amount of pure death magic radiating off the two dead-alive people in that tank would be enough to mess with most electronics even if the veil werenât practically non-existent.
âSomehow this place feels cozy,â Boston commented as he followed John.
âYou would think so.â
The conversation on the comm was getting worse, the bugs were clearly slowly giving up the ghost. John only caught a few words here and there, and those were only because they were Ghost Speak, something that shouldnât be possible for flesh and blood mouths to speak. Itâs just bits and pieces, names and titles mostly, but if heâs understanding this rightâŠ
âHuh, that may change the situation a bit.â
âWhat are you going on about?â Boston asked.
âIt sounds like Pariah isnât the Ghost King anymore. But Batsyâs bugs are losing the war against ĂŠther, so when we get there youâre gonna need to go spy on them.â
âWill that work?â
âTry to keep out of sight, but even if you get caught the worst theyâll do is kick you out. Undead solidarity.â
Boston grumbled, but when John met back up with Batsy and Wonder Woman staring through a window right to where the group was talking, Boston did as he was asked and slipped right through the wall and inside. John cast a quick spell to spy through Boston.
Boston floated slowly into the room, seemingly becoming braver as the Fentons looked right past him without reacting. Unfortunately, he got a little too close to the one person in the room that could definitely see him. The kid jumped out of his seat in surprise.
âDon't sneak up on me like that!â The kid whined as he picked himself up off the floor. Then he froze, eyes glaring at Boston. âHow did you sneak up on me? You didn't activate my ghost sense at all.â
âOh, you can see me? And ghost sense?â
âYou don't know who I am?â
âUh⊠Daniel Fenton?â
âWell yes, but ghosts don't usually call me that.â
âThen what do they call you?â
âHow about you tell me your name first?â
âIâm Deadman.â
The kid burst into laughter. âAre you for real?â
âDanny, is it Youngblood?â The sister asked.
âHuh?â The kid looked to his older sister, then back to Boston. He gestured, âYou can't see him?â
The Fentons all shook their heads.
The creepy mayor came back into the room holding a cardboard box, knocking a thin layer of dust from the top. âHere it is!â He looked up and frowned. âWho are you, and why are you in my home?â
âIâm Deadman and Iâm uh⊠lost?â
âHe didn't set off my ghost sense,â the kid added. He turned back to Boston, âAre you even a ghost?â
Batman, whoâd spent the last few minutes getting into the perfect position while he waited for the most dramatic moment chose then to crash through the window. John started cursing as he rushed to climb in after the loon, already prepping a spell. The moment he had a clear line of sight he shot off the revelation spell at the kid.
It did⊠well not much.
Really about all it did was give the kid a couple extra accessories. He expected them, but he also expected it to somehow reveal the kidâs undead status too. Make him look all glowy and ghostly like he had when heâd first arrived last night, because John was pretty sure the kid hadnât been kidnapped after all. Or at least not how they originally assumed, he was pretty sure some spirits considered an unwilling summons a kidnapping.
Still, there the crown was. Just floating over the kidâs head, toxic green ĂŠther flames around it like a death energy aurora. And like any teenager the kid seemed completely oblivious, having to be told the crown was even there. Once he got a hand on it though he said something odd, âOkay, crown retrieved.â
John just tucked his hands in his pockets, waiting to see what they were doing. Why did they think they needed to find the crown?
âWe may have a problem,â The creepy mayor said as he pulled an identical crown from his cardboard box.
âWhat.â The kid looked back and forth between the crown in his hand and the one in the creeperâs. âWhy are there two?â
And, well, John agreed. Why the fuck were there two? He already started muttering an identification spell as the kid turned to him.
âWhat did you do?!â
âI didn't do anything,â John protested, âthat was purely an identification spell, it can't duplicate things!â
âWell clearly you did something wrong,â The kidâs mom said while glaring at the him.
Of course things got dicey after that, the kid and the creepy mayor got into a fight over the second crown, things turned into a right mess, and John was quite content to let them squabble among themselves. He moved to go stand next to Batsy and Wonder Woman, Boston with him, waiting to see how this went.
Of course the tussle then turned into fighting over the ring on the kidâs finger, still blaming John for just revealing the crown and ring the kid had apparently had this whole time.
âAlright, thatâs enough. Shut up!â John may have put a bit of intent into that, and it worked beautifully. The whole group stopped and stared at him, finally shutting up. The parents managed to get between the kid and the creeper, each one still with one of the crowns.
The crowns he now knew were both, somehow, legitimate.
John pointed at the kid, âJust call the crown, itâll listen.â
The kid gave him a disbelieving look. âOh sure, Iâll just,â he hunched forward a little bit, clapped his hands, and whistled like he was calling a dog, âhere Crowny, Crowny, Crowny.â
For a brief moment nothing happened, then the creeper mayor jerked forward as the crown yanked itself from his hand. It went to go join the other crown floating over the kidâs head, one of them grew wider so the other could nestle inside it, both spinning in place but in opposite directions.
Everyone was staring at the display.
âWhat uh⊠what are they doing?â The kid asked nervously.
âThey⊠like each other?â The sister asked skeptically.
âGreat, wonderful, fabulous, just what I need in my life.â The kid sighed and turned to glare at John. âWhat. Did. You. DO?!â
âI didnât do shit,â John replied, much to the parentsâ combined horror. âLooks like somehow theyâre both legit, my best guess is one of them isnât from this timeline.â
âOh,â the sister said, grabbing everyoneâs attention. âThe Nasty Burger explosion happened after the fight with the king, right?â
âThe what?â the kidâs parents asked.
âOh,â the kid responded, âIâm starting to see why the council of eyeballs hates my guts.â
And wasnât that a concerning sentence. John desperately needed a drink, thankfully he had a flask on him and chose that moment to take a swig. âAlright, so there should be a second ring too, no point leaving that on Darkâs finger in case he gets out again.â
âVlad did it,â the kid said while pointing at the creeper.
âExcuse me!â Creeper actually put a hand to his neck, like some fainting Victorian lady.
âVlad tried to steal the ring and crown, so he let Dark out of the sarcophagus and I had to go clean up his mess, like always.â The kid glared at the creeper, it was starting to paint a really concerning picture.
âIâm sure Vladdie was just trying to keep these powerful artifacts safe,â the kidâs dad said loudly and happily. Yeah, there was the concerning picture again.
âIâd believe it if all he took was the ring, but the crown was safely sealed away with Pariah and he let the guy out to steal it.â
âJust call the ring,â John said gruffly.
âHere Ragey, Ragey, Ragey.â The kid whistled and clapped his hands again. The ring showing up on the kidâs other hand was expected, the glowing green hell hound that came sprinting through the wall and practically tackled the kid wasnât. âCujo! Hi! Whoâs a good puppy?!â
Keeriest, John needed a stiffer drink.
#nenna writes#sleepy king#dpxdc#danny phantom#fanfic#fanfiction#dc comics#dc stands for disregard canon#justice league
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regarding the post where every lantern corps wants billy as a member. What if billy vibes with dexstarr and the JL is super nervous hes gonna take a red lantern ring but hes just petting a kitty
Billy was going about his business as usual. As of now, he was bored, and he was sitting on the curb in front of his apartment complex watching two crackheads duke it out on the other side of the street. Miss Bambi was next to him smoking a cigarette and also watching. Suddenly, a strangely blue cat came out of nowhere.
Billy and Ms. Bambi: *watch the cat trot over*
Dexstarr: *meows and a red ring floats over to Billy*
Billy: âOh, thank you, kitty!â *just shoves it in his pocket and just picks up Dexstarr and starts petting him*
Ms. Bambi: âCareful, bud. Try not to get scratched or bitten. Who knows what it could have.â *thinks this is just adorable*
Dexstarr: *stiff in Billyâs hold and letting himself be pet, honestly expecting the boy to have at least a little anger or sadness or at least something*
Billy: âIâll go see the nice doctor guy and see if we can see why youâre blue, kitty. Then, Iâll get some money so we can get you some food!â
Dexstarr: *confused by the very sudden adoption*
Billy learned that Dexstarr was a pretty angry kitty. It scratches Billy sometimes and scratches other people a lot of times. Billy takes pride in the fact he gets scratched slightly less than other people. As for the ring the kitty gave him? He still hasnât worn it yet. Heâd moved it into his pocket dimension after it fell out of his pocket and he nearly left it in a gas station. It was probably safer there. Anyways, heâd honestly forgotten about it until one day he and Dexstarr were lounging on a roof in Fawcett. Billy then felt a small buzz from his pocket dimension, signally he got a notification from his comm. So he transformed, rightfully spooking the kitty.
Marvel: âDex?â *trying to sound placating*
Dexstarr: *pulls out a bunch of energy constructs so he can attack Marvel*
Marvel: *dodging any attacks* âDex! Itâs me! Billy!â
The cat obviously didnât listen seeing as that was a grown man, not the ten year old boy itâd been hanging out with for the past couple weeks.
Marvel: âKitty, I have proof! Look!â *pulls out the ring from his pocket dimension* âRemember how you gave this to me?â
It took some more convincing despite the fact he had the ring. Thankfully, Dexstarr calmed down enough for it to allow Marvel to scratch under its chin just the way Billy knew it liked. Marvel put the ring back into the pocket dimension and sat down so he could keep scratching under its chin. He was finally able to look at the comm. Something about a meeting. Billy didnât really want to leave Dexstarr alone, not to mention he wanted to familiarize the kitty with his Marvel form. So, he took it to the Watchtower.
He saw Hal when going to the meeting room.
Marvel: âHey, Hal! Meet my cat, Dex!â *holds Dex up for Hal to see*
GL: *stares for a solid minute* âIs that Dexstarr?â
Marvel: âNo, his name is Dexter.â
GL: âUhmâŠâ *looks over Dexstarr* âNah⊠Iâm pretty sure thatâs Dexstarr.â
Marvel: âNuh uh.â
GL: âUh yuh huh. Thatâs a Red Lantern.â
Marvel: âNah, he just looks like that.â
GL: âI- wha-â *takes a deep breath* âCap, give me the cat.â
Marvel: âWhat? No, heâs my cat!â *holds Dexstarr up because heâs way taller than Hal*
GL: âDude, no he isnât!â *tries to reach before just flying to try and grab him*
They spent a solid five minutes of Marvel moving Dexstarr away from Hal while the Green Lantern tried to get the cat. Eventually, they got into what was basically a tug of war with the cat.
Marvel: âDefend yourself Dexstarr!â
Dexstarr: *vomits blood-plasma-acid on the floor*
Marvel: âYeah!â
Dexstarr: *makes some super dangerous constructs with his ring to kill Hal*
Marvel: âNO!â
It took a lot to convince Dexstarr to not attack. Soon after that realization, they both also realized they were extremely late to the meeting. They both went in and sat down. The entire meeting consisted of Hal side eying him from where he sat next to Billy. He even did the âI got my eye on youâ sign. Billy didnât even bother to be subtle with the way he stared back. His head was directly looking towards him as he rubbed under Dexstarrâs chin. Meanwhile, Flash, who sits on the other side of Marvel, is looking at the blue cat in Marvelâs lap in confusion. And Supes can smell a cat somewhere and heâs also confused.
Later after this, Hal gathered the other Green Lanterns and went to go confront him.
Marvel: *turns around in his chair, petting Dexter like the Godfather* âWhat can I help you gentlemen with.â *has the Red Lantern ring Dexstarr gave him on the hand petting the cat*
Billy doesnât know why he was being so dramatic right now, but what he does know is that this ring doesnât really do anything. Sure, he feels a little bit more irritable, but oh well. To be honest, he just feels like Billy. As for the blood thing and replacing of the heart, Billy is pretty sure Marvel doesnât have either of those things. Heâs just magic.
All three GLâs: *dramatic gasps when they see the ring*
Guy Gardner: âHand over the cat, Cheese. Heâs super dangerous.â
Marvel: *shrugs* âIt was probably self defense.â
John Stewart: âThat might be true, but that doesnât change the fact.â
Marvel: âSo? You think Iâll just hand over my son like that?â
Guy: âYour son?â
Marvel: âHeâs practically my son.â
Hal: *shares a look with Guy and John* ââŠRight. Listen. Captain, if you donât hand him over, weâll have to take him by force.â
Marvel: *sounds distinctly colder than any of them had ever heard* âDo you really think you three could beat me?â
Thatâs how Marvel ended up getting 21 v 1âd and somehow ended up winning. As for where the other 19 people came from. They called in reinforcements from nearby sectors. Thats how badly they were getting beaten.
Moral of the story, bro really likes his cat-son. Ha. Catson. Billy Batson and Dexstarr Catson.
Marvel also holds Dex just like this because I say so.
#billy batson#shazam#dc captain marvel#captain marvel dc#fawcett city#fawcett#fawcett comics#Dex-Starr#dex starr
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Deku Dating hc!! àšà§
Pairing(s): Izuku Midoriya x Gn!Reader
Creds ~ first divider: @/khaer 2nd divider: @/strangergraphics-archive Art: @/xuune/kaiihuna or @/_kaiihua on twt
HE IS SO FLUSTERED OMG
Not even an exaggeration, the moment you confessed it was like blud went into cardiac arrest
Once he regained his wits he reciprocated your feelings all in a couple of stutters and accidental muttering
How charming
All sarcasm aside, it really is endearing
Yknow how most of the people in class 1-A are unnecessarily weirded out by his muttering
Plus how Deku is more often than not, called names by his own fandom đ
Well he thinks that way about himself too
Sure you get along more than just fine but seeing him apologize for being more than a little nerdy is shocking to say the least
I mean if anything his âweirdâ and nerdy self is literally part of his charm and you make this known
Reread that first bullet point for a hint to how he reacted to you telling him that
Anyway
Itâs likely you guys met at UA
I mean itâs where heâs made the most friends at (if any) and the only reason he talked to you was either it was inevitable or he absolutely fan boy-ed over your quirk
If you guys had some sort of romantic connotation and you had to fight against each other in the sports festival heâd be pretty conflicted
Although, youâd probably not want him to hold back
If anything heâs just sorry about the whole ordeal đ
As a boyfriend Deku is shy(?)
I mean just look at how he reacted to technically a none romantic gesture and just interaction - heâs definitely going to be flustered for the majority of you two hanging out
Overall heâs really sweet
Like genuinely itâs surprising that heâs never actually been with someone in a real relationship before
If you disagree⊠look at him in the beginning of the anime đđ)
At most he was probably jokingly asked out or asked out on a dare in the past
I do think that hero life would sort of interfere with romantic relations for you both(assuming ur attending UA)
So thereâs times where meeting up or just hanging out would be difficult
But when you two can hang out- itâs really nice
Youâre either going to fast food restaurants, going shopping or doing anything really-
These outings are similar in the fact that they all often end in you both fighting some villian đ
There is this one instance where before the dorms were introduced- you and Izuku had stayed to train or clean- whatever it was at school
He got a call from inko and upon finding out you (someone he does nothing but yap about to her) were around, well, she figured sheâd invite you for dinner
Queue you finally meeting Inko and if youâre nervous and want to get a gift of some kind Izuku is kind of laughing but also happy that you want to âimpressâ her
Even though she loves you already
When you meet inko, sheâs is buzzing with as much nervous energy as Izuku is
Funny how similar they are
The dinner goes smoothly and if anything she just approves of you more
Now eventually dorms get introduced and so does sneaking around
Donât tell me no one in class 1-a wouldnât sneak around- theyâre high schoolers and you canât tell me they wouldnât just want to have stereotypical sleepovers
Among those who would sneak around is you
Izuku is less likely to because heâs a bit shy and if heâs ever caught- God kill him now đ
So ofc you end up sneaking to his room
Which sorta backfires because he loves all might and all might is just staring at you in every direction you look.
The merch is just too excessive
Even then, a sleepover is too much for him and in Izuku fashion- he gets flustered
It takes awhile for him to chill đ
Holding hands? In the hall way?
If you manage to hold hands for 5 seconds before Iida or Bakugo mention it then youâve got a personal best!
(Iida because he says no PDA, and bakugo cuz him and his big ass mouth always got something to say)
ââââââ
A/n: hope u liked! ^^
#fanfic#gn reader#male reader#fluff#fanfic fluff#female reader#fluff headcanons#deku#mha deku#bnha deku#deku x reader#izuku midoriya#mha izuku#bnha izuku#izuku x reader#izuku midoria x reader#izuku midoriya x reader#mha#mha x reader#mha x male reader#mha x female reader#bhna x reader#bhna headcanons#mha x you#dating headcanons#relationship headcanons
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Heart On Your Sleeve Part 10
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9
-----
The town is a wreck, but there's still space for them at the hospital.
Nancy recognizes a few of the doctors - ones who know about the Upside Down - and they're all whisked away into two private rooms. One for Eddie, and one for Max.
Steve is stuck with Eddie. He hates thinking of it like that, because he wants to be with Eddie, but he wants to be with Max, too. He wants to prowl back and forth between them, like his presence will make any difference.
But Eddie's heart is still in his chest, and while the doctor had praised his quick thinking in helping his friend, it's too risky to have Eddie's heart far away from his body while he's healing.
So Steve's in the chair next to his bed, hooked up to the heart monitor and listening to the faint but steady sound of Eddie's heart as he feels it beat in his own chest.
Dustin and Robin go back and forth, one of them always with him and the other giving updates when they come to switch out.
It's Dustin in the chair next to his now, and he feels the echo of his own heart next to Dustin's, knows the kid must be feeling what he is - and probably a little bit of Eddie's, too.
Three hearts, all entwined. Robin could make something poetic from that, he thinks.
All he can do is let Dustin pillow his head on his shoulder, press his hand to his own chest and think come back to us.
Eddie's hand twitches.
Steve jolts up, reaching for it automatically.
âSteve?â Eddie asks, even though his eyes are closed and his expression hasn't changed. âDustin?â
Dustin makes some kind of strangled noise, fumbling for Eddie's other hand. âCan he feel us?â
âI've got his heart, and you've got mine, so yeah, he has to, right?â Steve asks, aware he sounds a little desperate and not really caring.
âCome on, Eddie,â Dustin pleads. âYou have to wake up, okay?â
Eddie wakes up.
â
âI should have died in there.â
Steve feels his jaw tense. âNo, you shouldn't have.â
âNo, I meant - doc says I would have died, if you hadn't taken my heart,â Eddie says.
Oh.
âI know,â Steve admits. âThat's why I asked for it.â
Eddie exhales, long and slow. âWhere'd you learn that?â
âEighth grade science,â Steve replies, shooting a little grin at him.
Eddie gives a surprised little laugh. âSeriously?â
âEh, kind of.â Steve considers for a moment. He's never talked about this with anyone, but - âMy parents used to lock their hearts in a safe in my dad's study at night. When I was little, and I got upset at them leaving, they told me they put their hearts in there when they went on trips, too, and I had to stay behind to watch over them.â
Eddie looks at him, soft and tender. Steve'd think it was pity, if it wasn't for Eddie's heart in his chest. It's just sad, and a little angry.
âI told Mr. Clarke about that, and he said it was hogshit.â
Eddie snorts. âMr. Clarke said hogshit?â
âWho's telling this story?â Steve retorts, then laughs when Eddie mimes zipping his lips closed and throwing away the key.
âIt was hogshit,â Steve continues. âBut then he told us that people could survive potentially fatal injuries with heart exchanges. Then, after StarcourtâŠâ
He trails off, not sure how to say it.
âRobin told me a little,â Eddie admits. âThat it was the Russians and the Upside Down, and you let yourself get caught to cover for Dustin and Erica. That you tried to draw attention away from her.â
Oh.
That makes him sound more heroic than the moment felt, but at least it also makes this easier.
âThe Russian spies, they had this thing that could open your chest. They didn't believe I was telling the truth, so they took my heart out.â
Eddie reaches out to take his hand, squeezing it tight. There's a faint trickle of horror and guilt and affection, and he knows that Eddie's put it together with the changes in his heart.
âI healed a lot faster because we were doing heart exchanges,â he finishes. âSo I figured it'd keep you safe.â
Eddie's grip on his hand tightens. âI really am sorry,â he mutters. âAbout last summer. After - after that, you needed a friend, and I just left.â
Steve licks his lips, considering his response for a moment, before he goes with honesty. âI had friends. I had Robin and the kids, and they were enough. I didn't really need anything else. But - I wanted you.â
Eddie looks at him, and Steve can feel - hesitation, uncertainty, does he really want me?
âEddie,â Steve says, slow and thoughtful. âI don't want you because I'm lonely, or I have no one else. Maybe there was a part of that when it first started, but - I'm okay, I'm happy. I want you because of you, not just because I want anyone.â
Shock filters through Eddie so hard that Steve feels it like an almost physical blow.
His heart aches.
He doesn't have to ask if that's something that Eddie hasn't been told before - he knows it already.
âI'm not letting you go,â Steve tells him, only because Eddie's heart is still beating in his chest and he's confident it will be well received. âNot this time.â
âI can live with that,â Eddie says, only a little shaky.
â
Dustin takes a turn swapping hearts with Eddie, and Steve heads immediately for Max's room.
Lucas is there, sitting by her bed and holding her hand.
âHey,â Steve says softly, pulling up a chair to sit next to him. âHow's she doing?â
âSame,â Lucas says flatly. âBut she's in there, I can feel it.â
âYou can feel it?â Steve asks.
âWe swapped before - before. Just in case. To give her another tether to the real world.â
Shit, that was a great idea. It gives him more hope, and he sags a little in his chair.
âJesus, you kids are smart,â Steve says, impressed.
Lucas looks at him funny. âWe learned that from you, Steve.â
He doesn't really think that's true, considering he learned it from them just as much, but he lets it be, just gripping the back of Lucas's neck and giving him a little squeeze.
Lucas unwinds, just a little bit, and Steve gets a better look at him - notices his swollen eye, his puffy jaw, and feels a cold surge of rage.
He waits for a moment to let the worst of it pass, then asks, âSwap?â
Lucas looks over at him, clearly hesitant.
âThe three of us are kind of banged up,â Steve says. âFigure it can't hurt to have more heart power at work here.â
Lucas snorts. âHeart power?â
âHeart power,â Steve confirms, radiating as much confidence as possible.
He's not sure if it works, but Lucas does open his chest up and carefully pull out Max's heart. Steve's extra gentle as he swaps them, tucking her heart into his chest.
It's immediate, what Lucas was talking about. There's only the faintest sense of Max, and an equally faint sense of a fear and guilt and love that he recognizes as Lucas - the residual of what Max is feeling from him, he guesses. Even stranger is an echo he can feel of his own emotions - from him to Lucas to Max and back to him again, apparently.
âHuh,â he says, at the same time Lucas goes, âWoah.â
They sit there, together, and Steve must fall asleep at some point because the next thing he knows, there's the shifting of a chair as Lucas jumps up. Steve startles, only to see El and Will and Mike come flooding in. They sweep Lucas into a hug, and Steve watches them hold on, clinging and desperate.
Eventually, they peel apart, and El goes to Max's side, taking her hand. Her eyes close for a long while, then open again, looking sad.
âI can't reach her,â she whispers. âNot even with my powers back.â
âShe's there, though, right? I can still feel her,â Lucas says.
El's brow furrows.
âMax and Lucas swapped before this happened,â Steve explains. âTo keep her tethered here, so Vecna couldn't take her.â
Mike frowns. âVecna?â
âOne,â El says, which - okay, yeah, clearly there's a story there, but not the time. She holds her hands out to Lucas. âMay I swap?â
Lucas looks over at Steve, and he takes Max's heart out and offers it to her.
âWe figured the more helping, the better,â Lucas says.
El exchanges her heart for Max's, looking thoughtful. It's an even bigger rush, with El in the mix, and - even though Max's heart isn't in his chest anymore, he can feel the echo of her even more clearly.
Lucas sucks in a breath. âIt's working,â he says. âShe's stronger.â
âThe more, the better,â El says thoughtfully.
âEddie woke up from me and him and Dustin sharing,â Steve says, the realization coming over him. âI mean, it wasn't a real circle, but he was just regularly unconscious, not creepy wizard unconscious.â
El looks at Mike, who immediately turns on his heel and leaves. He comes back a few minutes later, with Dustin and Robin and Erica.
âWe made Nancy and Jonathan and Argyle stay with Eddie,â Mike announces.
âUh, yeah, do you want to tell us why?â Dustin asks.
El's eyes flash. âWe're going to get Max back.â
Hearts change hands quicker than Steve can keep track of, but in the end, no one has their own heart in their chest. It's an avalanche of emotion that Steve can't make out - so much itâs almost overwhelming - until he feels something like a guiding hand, firm and insistent.
âMax,â El whispers.
Steve turns his thoughts completely on Max, focusing on her - on taking her to the arcade, on the skate park, on her hanging out in his kitchen as they cook dinner. One by one, everyone's emotions start to take focus - on how Max makes them feel, how much they care, how they need her here.
Max's eyes open.
â
They set up another rotation schedule, this time for Max, who looks a little shell shocked and overwhelmed by all the attention.
âDid you think we wouldn't do this for you?â Steve asks quietly when it's his turn, when Lucas and El are sleeping and it's just him and Max awake in her room.
She doesn't answer for a while, but he can feel her conflicted confusion and then unsteady acceptance.
âNo,â she says after a while. âI knew you guys would.â
He breathes out, and they sit in silence for a bit.
âDid you read my letter?â she asks, purposefully not looking at him.
âNah. You said it was just in case, and there wasn't going to be an in case. We weren't going to let Vecna have you.â He manages to keep his voice steady, though he knows she can feel the edge of the fear he'd had for her. âI wanted to hear what was in it from you.â
She makes a face, and he thinks she isn't going to tell him, but then she blurts out, âI said I wished you were my brother, not Billy.â
Oh.
His stomach drops out, and there's a rush of vertigo that leaves him breathless for a moment, but - not in a bad way.
He doesn't know how to respond to that, other than, âI am your brother.â
She scoffs. âIt doesn't work like that.â
âSure it does,â he counters, growing confident. âBilly was your brother just because of a piece of paper your parents signed, right?â
She frowns, finally looking at him again. âYeah, I guess.â
âSo what's stopping us?â He taps his chest, over where her heart beats. âWe have each other's hearts. We'll always be family.â
Max looks away again, then, very quietly, says, âOkay.â
â
âHeard you call Max your sister when you were talking to the doctor earlier,â Eddie says.
Steve feels a little smile tug at his lips as he takes Eddie's hand. It grows when Eddie laces their fingers together.
âYou know Dustin's going to throw a fit when he hears it, and insist that you were his brother first, right?â Eddie teases.
âOf course he is.â Steve rolls his eyes. âWelcome to my family. You sure you still want to stick around?â
He's joking, but Eddie's expression goes soft and contemplative.
âWelcome to your family, huh? You planning a proposal soon, big boy?â Eddie asks softly.
Steve's mouth goes dry. He thinks he should say something - anything - but nothing comes out.
âSwap?â Eddie asks, after a few minutes.
Steve's not sure if someone told him or if he figured it out himself, and part of him wants to ask Eddie if he's sure, but he decides to take Eddie at his word. He opens his chest up, holding out his heart.
Eddie copies him, and - it's his first real look at Eddie's heart. There's silver lines all over it, delicate scars mottling its surface, but it's almost as deep red as Steve's still is.
âOh,â Steve breathes once Eddie's heart is safely tucked inside his chest again.
There's a love there so strong he almost doesn't know what to do with it - isn't sure if it's Eddie's or his for a moment before he realizes it's both of them feeding off each other.
âYeah,â Eddie says quietly.
Steve lifts Eddie's hand up, presses a kiss to his knuckles. âI know what I want my future to look like,â Steve admits. âAnd I want you in it.â
Eddie swallows, and Steve can feel an edge of trepidation before it solidifies into something sharp and determined. âOkay.â
âOkay?â Steve asks.
âI'm sticking around, this time,â Eddie confirms. âFor good.â
âOkay,â Steve agrees.
He knows it's a risk, but - right now, they're alone, and so he leans in to seal the promise their hearts are making with a kiss.
-----
And that's the final part for now! I do have a sequel planned down the road for what happens after they get out of the hospital, folding Eddie into the heart sharing and settling Eddie and Steve and Robin into a trio - I plan on using the tag "hearts out steddie" if anyone would like to follow it for when it comes out!
Thank you so much to everyone who commented, reblogged, liked, or otherwise interacted with this! Everyone's reactions were so amazing, and I really love reading your thoughts!!
Final taglist: @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt @makewavesandwar @cryptid-system @ajeff855 @mae-liz @the-fantastical-asexual @jettestar @warlordess @persnicketysquares @samsoble @my-love-of-books @mydysfunctionallife @dreamercec @holyangelstudentuniverse @breealtair @shunna @xtraordinarally @thatdamnfan @justalittledrainbamage @strangerfolks @disrespectedgoatman @amber-ambience @anxietyfulloption @thepossummoldypasta @irregular-child @th30ra3k3n @powdeeee @theohohmoment @5ammi90 @ominous-pool-light @beeeeeeeeeeeeeeens @rebellatlas @blackpanzy
#steddie#steve harrington#stranger things#eddie munson#steddie fic#robin buckley#dustin henderson#max mayfield#lucas sinclair#eleven hopper#steve and dustin#steve and dustin and eddie#steve and max#lumax#im not saying elumax but im also not NOT saying elumax#hearts out steddie
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You got me worried
pairing: Max Verstappen x reader
summary: You get into a car accident when you're on the phone with Max, who immediately leaves to see you. Charles finds out what's wrong and offers to go with him. Those few days in the hospital change a few of his personal relationships.
warning: accident, serious injuries. (no death.)
note: My Lestappen heart wanted me to write this.
word count: almost 5.3k
âYouâre stalling,â you said on the other end of the line, and Max could tell you had that adorable smirk on your face that he loved so much.
But he wasnât stalling, at least not intentionally. He wanted to answer your question, but he honestly didnât know what to say, so he decided to take his time to figure out what to tell you. Your mother wasnât very fond of him, she believed that you made a mistake by dating someone whose job was so dangerous, and she always had this bad feeling about him. When he asked you what it meant, you just shrugged as said not to look for logic in this. So he put his own bad feelings aside and played nice every time they were together somewhere.Â
And now? Now you wanted to take her on a trip to New Zealand and asked him to tag along if he didnât have anything else to do. Well, it was clearly a trap. One, he had no official obligations around New Yearâs Eve which you knew perfectly well, and two, he wanted to enter the new year on your side, he wanted to kiss you at midnight, so he had no choice but to follow wherever you were heading.Â
Letting out a sigh as he leaned back on his bed in the driverâs room, Max decided to yield, something he was only willing to do because of you. âFine, Iâll go with you,â he told you, trying to keep his annoyance out of his voice. âBut why donât we invite a friend of hers? This way she would be entertained while we spend some time alone. Come on, you owe me this much.â
It was your turn to remain silent, but it only lasted for a few seconds. âI mean, sheâs dating this guy nowââ
âSomeoneâs willing to date her?â Shit, this sentence wasnât meant to slip out. Clearing his throat, he pinched the bridge of his nose and went, âSorry, I mean, she didnât seem like she was ready to date just yet.â
âI get what you mean. I donât know much about him, maybe this could be the perfect chance to get to know him a little better. And youâre right, he could keep her company while weâre having fun on our own,â you said with a laugh.Â
Despite the idea being presented for the first time a few minutes ago, Max was already thinking about this trip as the perfect chance to put his plan into motion. Because heâd been planning to take your relationship to the next level, to start a family with you. And what would be better than a proposal in another country and maybe his not so secret attempt to get you pregnant? It would be great, he knew you would be happy.Â
But before he could say anything, he heard scream and a loud noise, one that sounded eerily like cars crashing and glass breaking. âWhat happened?â There was no answer, and he couldnât help but sit up with his heart ready to jump out of his ribcage. âBaby, please, say something,â he begged, but there was still no response.Â
Then he heard people buzzing in the background, talking loudly, screaming for help, telling someone to call the emergency number. One person who was probably close to your car told someone you werenât moving, but they also said they couldnât tell if you were dead. Dead. He wanted to shout, he wanted to cry, he felt like throwing up, but somehow he managed to keep his cool. Panicking wouldnât solve anything, he had to listen for now. But your carâs multimedia system gave in and ended the call, leaving him there with his fears and thoughts.Â
Max tried to call you, but no one answered, so he quickly made a few calls to ensure his jet was available the moment he got to the airport. Because the race was over, he only had one or two interviews left, but he couldnât care less about those. After throwing his things into his backpack, he hurriedly left his room and looked for the press officer to tell her he was leaving right now. She tried to ask him what was wrong, but he just shook his head and waved goodbye, his eyes fixed on the screen as he typed in the address where your phone was at this moment.Â
He found a few posts about a crash there, and one of them had a photo as well. It was your car, he knew that right away, but the sight made his heart clench. The other car t-boned yours on the left side, right where you were sitting, which made him afraid there was no way you could survive that crash. But then he found a post about the drivers being taken to the hospital, so maybe it wasnât so bad, maybe it was just looking bad.Â
Suddenly he bumped into someone, which finally made him look up from the screen of his phone. âSorry,â he said automatically.Â
Charles gave him an unimpressed look, motioning towards his phone. âWhatâs so interesting?â
âAn accident,â he replied, having no idea why he answered the question instead of just leaving him there. This caught the other driverâs interest, because he quickly said goodbye to the person heâd been talking to and moved to his side to look at the screen of the device. âThatâs my girlfriendâs car on the right.â
âThis looks bad. How is she?â he asked, sounding genuinely worried despite only meeting you once.Â
Max gulped and shrugged. âI donât know. IâI was on the phone with her, then I heard a loud crash and a scream. The call ended and no oneâs picking up her phone. I donât know whatâs going on, so Iâll just pack my suitcases and head to the airport to get home as soon as possible,â he said without stopping to take a breath.Â
Yes, he was panicking, he was losing his cool, but that was the least of his problems right now. All he could think about was the worst case scenario, the possibility of the doctor not being able to save your life. What would he do then? How could he move on from losing you? How could he live his life without hearing your scream all the time? It was all too much, especially after a frustrating race like the one today.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when Charles put a hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes with a serious expression on his face. âOkay, take a deep breath. Are you sure you can drive like this?â For the very first time, he actually considered what he was planning to do, and after a few seconds of thinking, he came to the conclusion that he was definitely not in the right state of mind to drive, so he shook his head. âAll right,â the Monegasque began slowly, looking over his shoulder for a moment, âweâll find someone who can take care of your car, then Iâll give you a ride to the airport. How does that sound?â
It was a long day, Charles had to fight his own battles during the race, mostly with his own team, but there he was, offering to chauffeur him around so he would stay safe. A small, thankful smile crept on his lips as he nodded eventually. Maybe this was for the best, the last thing he wanted was doing something stupid because he was distracted by his fears.Â
âOkay. You should get someone to pick you up when you get to Monaco, you shouldnât drive there either,â Charles told him as they headed back to the Red Bull motorhome.
A desperate laugh left him at this. âWell, she wasnât there, she was visiting her family, so sheâs in a country where the only ones I know are her relatives, and theyâre in the hospital with her. But Iâll call a taxi, itâs not a problem,â he explained with a sigh.Â
A thoughtful hum from Charles caught his attention as he looked over at him. âWell, in this case Iâll have to drive you around there too,â the other man declared with a kind smile. When Max opened his mouth to tell him it was unnecessary, he just raised his hand to stop him. âI donât take no for an answer. Sheâs nice. Hell, itâs easy to tell she has a good influence on you. Now I want to make sure sheâs okay too.â
Max could hardly wrap his head around why he offered to help. He surely had better things to do than traveling to a country other than his home, meeting strangers who were the closest to someone he only met once, and providing emotional support to someone heâd been battling with since they were kids. This was beyond him, but he was too afraid to ask for the reason. A little voice in the back of his mind said he was planning something, but then he looked into Charlesâs bright eyes and realized he was just being nice.Â
They were sitting in the car on the way to the airport when his phone began to ring, and the screen lit up with the name of your mother. Gulping, he swiped his finger and raised the device to his ear. âHi, Laura, do you know anything about her? Hoâhow is she?â he asked, eagerly waiting for the older womanâs reply.Â
âI guess you know about the accident then. Iâm at the hospital with her. Sheâs still in surgery and they said it will take a few more hours before they can take her to the ICU. Do you want to come here?â
Did she really ask him if he wanted to be there? After all that time they spent together, after everything they had gone through, she dared to ask him if he wanted to be by her side? Outrageous. âIâm already on my way to the airport, I just need to know which hospital sheâs in,â he replied, forcing himself to stay relatively calm. He didnât want a fight with her, not when they were both in a very fragile state of mind.Â
The woman on the other end of the line remained silent for a few seconds, then he heard muffled voices, which was followed by the sound of her clearing her throat. âIâll send you everything you need to know.â
âThank you. And if you hear anything, call me. Please.â
âOf course. See you later, Max.â
Once the call ended, he glanced down at his phone and waited until it buzzed again, the notification of a new message showing up. He had a location, although funnily enough, it was sent by your cousin, not your mother. It was a smaller miracle that she called him herself, a part of him expected her to make someone else do this. But at least her dislike for him became obvious once again.Â
Charles glanced over at him with a questioning look on his face. âHow is she?â he asked, the tone of his voice making it clear that he was walking on eggshells around him.
Max leaned his head against the seat and looked out the window. âStill in surgery, and she will probably be in there for another few hours. Even though she's probably in good hands, I'm not⊠It's hard to stay positive,â he admitted with a gulp.
âMaybe it will take a while, but she's gonna get better. You need to believe this, otherwise you'll go insane,â the other driver tried, his voice quiet, but confident.Â
He was trying to help, and he was right, but his mind was full of thoughts about the worst case scenarios. What if you end up in a coma you don't wake up from? What if there's serious brain damage? What if you can't live the same active life you used to? He knew you would be devastated, and it's not like he would leave you for that, he just didn't know how he could handle it emotionally.
So yeah, he was already going insane.Â
âWhy are you doing this?â Max asked, voicing the question that had been in the back of his mind for a while now.Â
Charles responded with a questioning hum, and despite the pair of sunglasses he wore, it was easy to tell he was watching him with a raised eyebrow. âWhy wouldn't I? Look, maybe we're not friends outside the track, but I can imagine how hard this situation must be for you. Just accept the help for once, okay?â
After taking a deep breath, Max nodded. âThank you.âÂ
The Monegasque had a smirk on his face when he returned his attention to the road. According to the sat nav, the airport was only five minutes away, so Max unlocked his phone and saw a message from Lando that told him to check Xâs trending topics. When he opened the app, he saw his name at the front, and the posts were about some anonymous source leaking information about you being in the hospital.Â
âFuck,â he muttered under his breath as he scrolled through the flood of posts.Â
âWhat?â
Looking over at him, Max let out an annoyed groan. âHer accident made it to social media. From what Iâve seen so far was based on a post from someone who either works at the hospital or is a first responder. And someone kept digging until they put the pieces together, so now thereâs a photo of the car wreck circling around,â he explained.Â
âItâs not that bad. Unless theyâre celebrating. Please, tell me theyâre not celebrating.â
Max shook his head. âNo, itâs not that, but whoever wrote the original post made it clear her life is hanging on a thread. So people are now getting ready for the worst case scenario.â
âHer not surviving this?â Charles guessed as he glanced over at him. When there was a quiet nod in response, he gulped and looked back at the road. âShe wonât die. Donât even think about it. Sheâs young and strong, and Iâm sure sheâs a fighter. Okay, weâre here.â
For the first time in a while Max looked up and noticed they had indeed arrived. After getting their suitcases, they got on the jet and sat down to wait for the takeoff. During the flight Charles tried to avert his thoughts by talking about the race and bringing up old memories from their carting days, and Max realized that he had absolutely no idea how he would say thank you for his help.Â
For years he assumed their long history of rivalry meant they could never be friends, and their conversations would be nothing but casual chats based on mutual respect. But now he was here, providing the kind of emotional support he so desperately needed.Â
Two hours later they entered the hospital building through a big crowd of paparazzi, reporters and fans, trying to navigate through the maze to find where your family was waiting. It took some time, but eventually they found them. Your cousin was the only one who jumped up and ran over to him, her arms sneaking around his body to pull him into a hug as she cried. The poor girl was only sixteen, and despite the age difference you two were the closest, as if you were siblings. His eyes fell on your mother, but she was simply staring ahead with a neutral look in her eyes.Â
Charles decided to sit down not far from them, sending a message to his girlfriend so she would know where he was, but Max knew he was paying attention. âAny news?â he asked Sophie, your cousin.
âYeah, sheâs in the ICU, just until they know sheâs really stable. She has a badly broken leg, a few broken ribs, one even punctured her lung, and⊠Yeah, severe concussion, and I think thereâs a fracture in her cheek.â
Max gulped as his fingers ran through his hair. âThatâs a lot,â he noted, earning a nod. âBut sheâs relatively okay, right?â
âYou can say that,â your mother suddenly spoke up, finally acknowledging him.Â
For a few moments they were just staring at each other, and Max was beginning to think she would start blaming him for the accident. Even if she didnât know about the call they were in at the time, she would sure as hell find a reason to put the blame on him. She always did, whenever you had a bad day, it was surely his fault, even when you werenât even in the same country.
But to his surprise, thatâs not what happened, because she suddenly walked over to him and pulled him into a tight hug. He didnât even know what to do at first, his eyes were moving back and forth between Sophie and Charles, but they both shrugged to tell him they had no clue what he should do. So he wrapped his arms around her too, soon hearing her crying into his shoulder.Â
âIâm glad youâre here, Max,â she said when she took a step back and looked up at him. âI had my doubts, but⊠Knowing you rushed here after finding out what happened means a lot to me.â
With a sad smile, he nodded. âWhere else would I be? IâI donât know if you knew, but I was on the phone with her when the accident happened. She told me about the trip to New Zealand youâre planning, she was trying to convince me to go with you, and⊠Would you mind if I tagged along?â he asked, as if he needed her permission.Â
But maybe he did. Maybe this hug was the olive branch heâd been hoping to receive one day, the least he could do was make sure she was okay with the plan. And maybe him going with you wasnât the only thing he should talk to her about, maybe he should mention the most obvious decision he had made during that call. When she said she wouldnât mind if she joined them, Max took a deep breath, then cleared his throat.Â
âThereâs something else. Iâm planning to propose on New Yearâs Eve. A few hours ago I thought your opinion was irrelevant and itâs her decision, but⊠now Iâd like to hear what you have to say. Would you be okay with it?â he asked hesitantly, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another.
Your motherâs lips curled into a smile all of a sudden, then he reached out to take his hand in hers. âIâm sure that would make her really happy. And if sheâs happy, Iâm happy. You know what? My idiotic ex-husband used our family heirloom, a beautiful engagement ring, to propose. How about giving that to her?â
âAre you sure?â She nodded without hesitation. âThank you, that would be great.â
Since the doctor said they would tell them when they could go and see you, Max sat down next to Charles and waited there in silence. The other driver glanced up from his phone every now and then, but eventually he had enough of the silence and decided to pay full attention to him.Â
âYou okay?âÂ
He honestly didnât know the answer to this simple question. You were alive, your mother gave him her blessing, what else would he need? Still, he couldnât get himself to say yes. âI donât know,â he admitted quietly.Â
Charles nodded as he supportively patted his back. âIâm sure youâll be better once you see her,â he noted with a small smile. âYou heard her mother, the worst part is over, now all she needs is time to recover.â
And that was a problem he had to solve. He knew your mother would be more than happy to help you, he could hire a live-in nurse to take care of you, he could send you to the best rehabilitation facility in Europe, but nothing would make him feel good enough if he couldnât be there by your side. Because he still had half a season left, he was expected to travel around the world, away from you, and the thought was killing him.Â
âWithout me,â he eventually said, so quietly that he hoped Charles didnât catch it.
But he did, and he clearly understood what was bothering him. âI know itâs hard, but she will understand that you canât be by her side all the time. Once the seasonâs over, she wonât get rid of you,â he said with a laugh, nudging his side with his elbow. âCome on, letâs get some coffee. We could all use it.â
Max nodded, and as Charles took the orders, he asked Sophie if she would like to come help them. He knew she was a traitor who supported his rival, but she was young and nice, so he chalked it up to teenage stupidity for now. While they waited for the coffees, Charles and Sophie got lost in a conversation that was conveniently in French âso she could practice.â They seemed to get along, and he was glad your cousin had a reason to smile for a while.
This is why he spent this time checking his phone and found a bunch of messages from friends and family, all telling him that they were there if he needed help. Knowing so many people cared about them warmed his heart. It was mostly you, he knew that, your charming personality had everyone wrapped around your finger. This gave him the idea to send a message to his mother and sister, telling them he would propose the moment you were feeling well enough to make a decision.Â
A few hours later Charles said goodbye and promised to be back the next day, and soon your family left as well. Your mother wanted to stay, but Max promised to call her if there was anything to know. So he slept on the couch in the waiting room, ignoring the weird look some people gave him the whole evening. A nurse was nice enough to bring him a pillow that made it a bit more bearable, but he wished you could be transferred to a regular room where he could ask for a bed to sleep in next to you.Â
In the morning a doctor gently squeezed his shoulder to wake him up, and he groggily rubbed his eyes as he sat up. âMorning, Doctor,â he said, trying hard to fight back a yawn. âDid something happen?â
The man sat down next to him and turned to him with a small smile. âSheâs ready to be taken to a normal hospital room. You mentioned to our staff yesterday that you want her to be placed in the VIP section, preferably with an extra bed for you, so we took care of everything. I can walk you there if youâd like,â he offered.Â
âSure, sure, thank you. How is she?â
âA little better. Sheâs strong, sheâs breathing on her own, so Iâm confident sheâll pull through. Just be patient,â the doctor replied.Â
Once he was in the new room you were being taken to, he sent a text to everyone about your new location, then impatiently waited for your bed to be wheeled in. His foot was tapping fast on the linoleum floor, not stopping until the door opened and a young man stood there with a shocked look on his face. Max raised his hand to say hi, to which the poor man only reacted by going out to continue his work to get you inside.Â
A nurse walked in behind him with a kind smile on her lips, then moved her attention back to you as she got you settled in the room. He wanted to go there and take your hand, but he knew he had to wait. He would have time, there was no need to rush, they had to do their job first. You were hooked on machines, your body bandaged all over, and the sight brought tears to his eyes. If he didnât know you were through the worst part, he would assume you were still between life and death.Â
Soon everybody left and he sat on a chair next to your bed, gently taking your hand in his. He had no idea if you could hear him, but he talked to you nonetheless, telling you about him making peace with your mother, about Charles being here with him, about your whole family being here, and about how much he loved you. He even begged you to wake up, to come back to him.Â
âGood morning,â came Charlesâ voice about an hour later as he walked inside with two cups of coffee, from which he handed one over. âHere, I guess you could use it.â
With a thankful smile, Max took it, then leaned back in the chair and watched as the other man looked down at you with a sigh. âThe doctor said sheâll pull through, she just needs to rest,â he told him.
The fellow driver looked up with a smile. âSee? I told you.â He sat down on the edge of the other bed and took a sip of his coffee. âYour suitcase is in the back of the car. I didnât know which hotel you wanted to stay in,â he added.
âNeither. Iâm staying with her,â Max was quick to clarify.Â
âYeah, but you need to take a shower, you need to sleep.â
âThereâs a bathroom and youâre sitting on my bed. Iâll be fine.â
Charles followed his gaze and let out a tired groan. âShe wouldnât mind if you left for a few hours. Look, why donât you talk to her mother to take shifts by her side? Iâm sure she would understand that you need proper sleep,â he explained, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.Â
Silence followed his words, mostly because Max didnât feel like arguing about this. He was here to stay, by your side, right until he had no choice but to leave for the next race. âIf it was Alex, would you leave her side?â he eventually asked.Â
âNo,â came the response right away. âI probably wouldnât.â After sipping their drinks in silence, the Monegasque stood up at one point and threw his now empty cup into the trash can, and turned to him. âOkay, Iâll go get your suitcase so you can freshen up before her family arrives. And Laura is bringing us breakfast, so youâd better look presentable by the time she gets here.â
âLaura? Since when are you on first name terms with her?â
The other man laughed and shrugged. âSince I took the time to have a chat with her yesterday. All right, letâs get you cleaned up.â
For the next few days, this is how things went. Charles was always the first to arrive, then he left to get lunch, and stayed until four or five in the afternoon. Max had told him to go home, that he would be fine now, but he didnât care about this. He said he wanted to be there, at least until you finally woke up so he could tell you that almost dying just to get an emotional reaction out of your boyfriend was an overkill. And maybe he mentioned one day that Alex would stop talking to him for a few days if he left him alone, so he decided to be a good boy.Â
One night he was woken by a strange sound coming from you, as if you were trying to speak up. Ever since you were brought in, he became a light sleeper, so he immediately picked up on the change in the atmosphere of the room. He turned on the light above his bed and moved over to you, his hand falling on your face right away, thumb gently brushing your cheek.
âHey, baby,â he said as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. âIâm here. What do you need?â
Your eyes turned to him, immediately locking with his blue ones, as you registered that it was truly him. Your fingers squeezed his hand, the feeling of you being awake making him smile. âCan I⊠get some⊠water?â you asked hoarsely.Â
He immediately reached out for the glass and filled it from the bottle next to it. He helped to put the end of the straw in your mouth and held the glass for you. âIâm so glad youâre finally awake. You almost got me worried,â he explained.Â
âHow longâŠ?â
âFive days. How are you? Does anything hurt? Should I get a doctor? I should get a doctor, right? Yeah, you justââÂ
He only stopped talking because you gave him a tired look and laced your fingers with his. âMax, relax... Itâs fine,â you said weakly. âI need a minute⊠before you call them.â
You didnât want to talk, you just wanted to be there with him, holding hands while your brain caught up. But eventually he apologized and left to find a nurse, because he was too afraid that something would go wrong if he waited too long. He needed confirmation that you were okay, that it was safe to let you talk, to touch you, to kiss you. He wanted to know when and what you could eat, when he could bring you your favorite coffee. His brain was in overdrive, but he didnât mind.Â
Not when he finally had you back.Â
The next morning he was sitting by your side, having a conversation with you about something trivial. Speaking went well now, the soreness in your throat quickly faded with practice. Sure, you still werenât a hundred percent, but it was much better than what he heard in the middle of the night. He told you what happened, he told you everything he had mentioned while you were unconscious, and your conversation went so well that he didnât even notice Charles coming in.Â
âYouâre awake!â the Monegasque said with a bright smile as he handed the usual cup to Max. âHow are you feeling?â
You returned his smile, but when you tried to take a deep breath, you couldnât help but wince. âMy ribs hurt like hell when I breathe or talk too much,â you replied. âThank you for staying with him.â
Charles looked over at Max, then his eyes returned to you. âIâm staying by his side because I donât want my girlfriend to kick me out.â
After all those days it was hard to tell if he was serious, or if he was just saying this to hide the fact their relationship did change lately. Max surprised himself, because he wanted to believe it was the latter. His gaze returned to you, choosing to stay out of your conversation for now.Â
âStill,â you began, but fell silent when you looked over at your boyfriend. âWhy canât you be like Charles?â He gave you a confused look, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed the other driverâs evergrowing smile. âHe gets proper sleep. He shaves. He doesnât live in a hospital room,â you added with a stern look.Â
Shaking his head, Max placed a kiss on your temple. âIâm not leaving you. Donât even think about it.â
âBut sheâs right,â Charles told him with a shit-eating grin.Â
âGo to hell,â Max told him with a roll of his eyes.
#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen#f1#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 imagine#formula 1#f1 fanfic#charles leclerc#lestappen
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Family Reunion
word count: 6.5K
Summary: y/n reluctantly goes to a family reunion that may or may not be a disaster
TW: adoption hate, No y/n used
You were sitting in the living room reading a book when Alfred walked into the manor with the mail. He placed it on the table behind the couch and went into the kitchen to start dinner. Jason came running into the room and jumped on the couch next to you.Â
âHey, mom, whatcha doinâ,â he asked, laying his head on your shoulder.
âJust reading,â you answered as you turned the page of your book. Jason snuggled closer to you and let out a sigh. You put your book down and looked over at your son.Â
âWhat's the matter, J,â you asked, placing your book on the table behind you.Â
Jason sat up straight and looked at you. He gave you a serious look, which made you worry a little. Jason was one of the least serious of your kids; well, they are all less serious than Damian. âNothing, just bored,â he said, looking at you with a smile.
âMom, did the mail come in yet?â Tim yelled, running up from the cave.Â
âYes, Alfred just brought it in,â you replied.Â
Tim ran into the living room and searched through the mail. He was so excited that he dropped the rest of the mail on the floor. Your husband walked in and sat down on the couch between you and Jason.Â
âHey honey,â Bruce said, kissing your temple.
âTim, make sure you pick up your mess,â you said, cuddling into Bruce.
It was moments like these, where Bruce and the boys stayed home that made all the drama of marrying Batman/ Bruce Wayne worth it. Just as Tim came and sat on the chair next to you, Dick and Damian walked in through the front door. Dick walked over to you and kissed your cheek while Damian stood in the living room with a grimace.Â
âGrayson, just because I asked a question about your job didnât mean I wanted to spend the day with you,â he exclaimed.Â
Dick went to throw his keys on the table, but they landed on the floor. When we bent down to grab them, he noticed an envelope under the couch.Â
âHey, Mom, thereâs mail for you,â he said, handing it over.Â
Your name was handwritten on a baby blue envelope. Just from the writing, you knew what was in this piece of mail. Your mother was trying to get you to come to a family reunion, but we were not interested. You loved your family, but there were some people you just didnât want to talk to anymore. âIt's nothing.â You said, placing it on the table and opening your book back up to finish the chapter you were reading when Jason interrupted you.Â
âNothing, Mother, it looks important. Itâs handwritten,â Damian said, opening it up.Â
Before you could stop him, he started to read the invitation, which you had already gotten about seven times. Bruce looked over at you and gave you a questioning look as your son finished reading the invitation.Â
âLike I said, it's nothing,â you said, getting up from the couch and grabbing the invitation from Damian.Â
âFamily reunion. That sounds fun, Mom,â Jason said, grabbing the card from your hands.Â
âSure, but not when itâs my family that is reuniting,â you replied, grabbing the invite again.Â
This time, before anyone can grab it from you again, you rip it up and throw it in the waste basket in the living room. You knew you probably should have burned it, but you had hope that your sons and husband knew to leave it alone. You went to your office to do a couple of things for work when you got a call from your mother.Â
Hey Sweetie
âHey, mom. Whatâs up.â
 Nothing, I just wanted to talk to my daughter.
âIâm not going mom.â
We miss you
âI miss you too, Mom. You know you and Dad are welcome to come visit whenever you want. The kids miss you.â
Sweetheart, please
âIs she going to be there?â
Yes. Sheâs a part of this family.
âThen just let me know when you and Dad want to come visit.â
Itâs not just me who misses you. It's in two weeks you still have time to change your mind.
âUgh, Mom, if I say I'll think about it, will you stop sending the invitations?â
Yes, only if you consider it
âOk, Mom, I will consider going to the reunion.â
Great, well, Iâm going to let you go and let you get back to work Tell my grand-babies I love them and tell Bruce I said hi.
âAlright, mom. I love you bye.â
Love you too, baby. Bye
You hung up the phone and looked up when you heard a small knock at your office door. Bruce was standing in the doorway, waiting for you to finish your phone call. He walked over and sat on the edge of your desk.
âMom says hi,â you said, placing your phone on your desk and walking to stand in front of your husband.Â
Bruce gave you the face he makes when he wants you to tell him whatâs wrong, but he wonât ask.Â
âI donât want to talk about it,â you told him, placing your head on his chest.
âI didnât say anything,â he responded, wrapping his arms around you tightly.Â
âI would love to see everyone, but every time Iâm in the same room with HER, it doesnât end well. You remember,â you opened up.Â
The memory of the last time you had a run-in with your sister. It was before you and Bruce adopted Dick. It was also the last family reunion you went to. The night just went downhill as soon as she walked into the house. It ended with her calling you a gold-digging whore and Bruce having to hold you back from attacking her.Â
âOh, I remember. You were scary,â he said with a smile as he kissed your head.Â
âMom. Scary? Impossible,â Damian said, walking in to check up on you.Â
You knew that going to the reunion was a terrible idea. No matter how much you would love to be around everyone again. Bruce looked at you, and you knew whatever you decided, he was going to support you no matter what.Â
âYour mother can be very scary,â he responded to Damian but still looked at you.Â
âDemon, ask her about the letter,â you heard Jason âwhisperâ from the hall.Â
You laughed and shook your head as you stepped out of Bruceâs warm embrace. Damian tried to act like he had no idea what Jason was saying or that he couldnât hear his brother from the hall, but you knew better. When you walked past him to go to the door, Damian avoided eye contact and acted innocent.Â
âWhy donât you ask her yourself, Jay,â you said, poking your head out of your office and looking at Jay.Â
He quickly stood up and caught your other boys off balance, making them either stumble back or fall on the ground. You motioned with your head to come in while you walked back to your office.Â
âGrandma says hi,â you said, sitting on your desk.Â
âYou talked to grandma,â Dick asked excitingly.Â
Just seeing Dickâs reaction, you knew that you had to go for your sons. You looked over to your husband, and he knew what you were going to do.Â
âThat letter was from Grandma about a family reunion in two weeks,â you explained. âI didnât say anything about it sooner because last time I was at a family reunion, it didnât end well.â
âYour mother almost got into a fight,â Bruce explained further as he took out his phone and rearranged his schedule so he could go with you.Â
âMom getting into a fight. I would love to see that,â Jay said, sitting in one of the chairs in front of your desk and putting his feet on your desk.Â
âYou might jay bird,â you whispered.Â
âSo, are we going,â Tim asked.Â
After taking a deep breath to calm your already anxious mind, you told them yes. You grabbed your phone to call your mother to tell her that you will be attending, so Bruce and the boys left your office. Your mother was super happy that you would be going home. She told you how she wasnât going to tell anyone, so it would be a big surprise. After you hung up, you were heading back to spend time with your family when you overheard Bruce and the kids talking.Â
âI canât imagine mom getting in a fight,â Dick stated.
âYou havenât seen your mother with her sister,â Bruce responded, taking a sip of his drink.
âAunt Lilah?â Tim asked.
âNo, Sophia.â
âShe has another sister,â Jason exclaimed.Â
You walked into the living room, and the boys stopped asking questions because they didnât want to make you uncomfortable or angry. You sat down next to your husband and Jason and put on a movie.Â
The next two weeks consisted of your mother texting you how excited she was to have you, Bruce, and the kids back home. You also spent those two weeks learning some kind of calming technique Alfred knew in hopes it would help you not go crazy. The night before you left to head back to your hometown, the boys kept talking about how they were excited to see where you grew up and hopefully learn some embarrassing stories about you.Â
In the morning, you woke up before Bruce and just watched the love of your life sleep. You trace your name over his chest when you hear a small laugh escape your husbandâs throat. Your hands stopped as your eyes met his blue eyes. He grabbed your hand, brought it to his mouth, and placed a small is on the palm.Â
âYou donât have to mark me. I'm already yourâs,â Bruce said, pulling you onto him.Â
âShut it,â you smacked him.Â
The two of you just lay there til Alfred knocked on the door and came in with two cups of coffee and the newspaper. He placed the try on Bruceâs nightstand and opened the curtains before leaving. Bruce handed you your cup, and you just wrapped your hands around the mug, absorbing its warmth. A light kiss on your right shoulder brought you back to reality.Â
âPenny for your thought,â Bruce asked, leaving more kisses on your naked shoulders.Â
âWow, only a penny. When did you get so cheap,â you joked, placing your coffee on your nightstand and turning towards your husband.Â
He let out a chuckle, pushing you on your back, and hovered over you. âWhen my wife got so expensive,â he joked, leaving love bites on your neck and collarbone. You slapped his chest at his comment. âI hate you,â you said, pulling him on top of you so youâre being crushed by his weight.
âSure you do.â Bruce pried himself from your grasp to get ready for the flight. âAs much as I would enjoy you staying like that for the trip, it might traumatize the kids,â he joked, staring at your naked form still lying in bed.Â
âOr we can just forget the reunion and abandon our kids and just go on another honeymoon,â you suggested as you got out of bed and joined Bruce in the bathroom.
âThey would find us,â he replied after giving your idea a moment's thought.
âAnd whose fault it is that they are great detectives,â you asked, getting into the shower.Â
While you and Bruce were taking a shower, Alfred was in the room packing your bags for the trip. Since the boys havenât seen your parents in a long time, you decided to spend a week at home. The boys were excited to get to spend so much time with their grandparents.Â
âYour flight is scheduled to leave in an hour, so I suggest you two hurry up,â Alfred yelled as he left the room.Â
âLast time I checked, it's my plane,â Bruce called back as he was helping you dry off.Â
âThe sooner you leave, the sooner I can find some actual peace,â Alfred replied, causing you to laugh.Â
The boys were waiting in the living room with all their bags when you and Bruce finally got dressed. You saw how excited they were for the reunion, and you understood. You come from a giant and mainly loving family. Theyâve heard a few stories from your childhood, and you noticed how there was a longing look in their eyes. So, you decided to push past all the drama and try your best to make this the best weekend for your kids. You want them to have a happy, normal family experience.Â
âYou guys ready to head out,â you asked, interrupting their conversations.Â
They all jumped up, grabbed their bags, and ran to the car. You laughed at their antics as you followed them out. During the car ride to the airport, the boys were planning all the things they wanted to do during the week. Bruce pulled you against his side as you watched the kids.
âI brought some of the jokers laughing gas if you need it,â Bruce whispered into your ear.
âI'm gonna need it later, Iâm fine now,â you laughed.Â
âWe can just drop the boys off and go do something just us,â he suggested, kissing the top of your head.
âNo,â you exclaimed, jumping up and turning to him.
Bruce looked at you with concern and questioning. âWhatâs wrong,â he asked.Â
âWe are all going as a family,â you replied, ignoring his question.Â
âMom,â Dick asked.
âIt's nothing, ok. I promise,â you replied, rubbing his back.Â
As soon as you got on the plane, your outburst was forgotten by all except Bruce. As soon as the pilot said we were free to roam the plane, Bruce unbuckled your seat belt and pulled you into his lap.
âB, the kids are right there,â you lightly scorned as you tried to get out of his lap.
âAs much as I would like to. Iâd much rather talk about your outburst in the car.â
âI donât want them alone around Sophia,â you told him.Â
Before he could ask why, you pulled out your phone to show him the family bulletin email chain. You showed him the edition where Sophia announced the birth of her son, Aaron. And her reply to why the title was a new addition to the grandkids instead of the first grandchild.Â
âShe constantly refuses to acknowledge the boys as family. Because they are not blood, they donât count,â you explained.Â
âSounds like Damien when he first came to us,â he joked, pulling you closer to him.Â
âYeah, but Damien matured and realized he was wrong. She never has. Iâm worried sheâs going to open her mouth and ruin their trip,âÂ
âTheyâve heard all that before, especially when the world wants to know if/when we are going to have a baby. But they know the truth.â
âBut thatâs coming from strangers. This would be from family.â
âDoes anyone else think that way?â
âNo.â
âThen there should be nothing to worry about,â You relaxed in his arms and rested your head on his shoulder. âBut if something does happen, Iâll release the laughing gas, and we can book it out of there.â
You let out a loud laugh, causing everyone to look at you. Bruce buried his face in your neck and just enjoyed the sound of your laughter. He only pulled away when Damien came over and glared at you.Â
âUmmi, father, please, do not join the mile-high club while we are right here,â he said with a deadpan look on his face before going back to the video game he was playing with Jason.Â
âOh my god,â you said, trying not to laugh as you looked at your husband.Â
âDamien, really,â he asked, turning to look at his youngest.Â
âThatâs your kid,â you said, getting back into your seat.
âMine,â he laughed, quickly checking his phone.Â
You nodded your head as you took a sip of your drink. The rest of the flight, Bruce did as much work as he could finish before the plane landed, and you read more of your book. When the plane landed, instead of a town car, your mother was standing by her minivan, jumping up and down.Â
âShe insisted on picking us up,â Bruce explained, helping you down the stairs.Â
âJida,â Damien yelled, jumping over the railing and running over to your mother. Your heart melted at the sight of Damien jumping into your motherâs arms. She spun him around and then put him back on the ground. As soon as she took a step back, Jason wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground.Â
âOh my, baby, what are you feeding this one,â your mother laughed, hugging Jason back.Â
âJay, put Granny down before you hurt her,â Tim warned as he started putting the bags in the trunk of the minivan.Â
Bruce helped Tim while you tried to greet your mother. Before you could get your hug, Dick stepped between you and stole your hug. âOh my, look how tall youâve gotten. Your being safe,â she asked, pushing him back slightly as she looked over him.Â
âYes, Granny, I'm being very careful at work,â he said, pulling her into another hug and kissing her cheek.Â
Once he released her, you finally got your hug. âThat one worries me all the time,â she whispered in your ear.Â
âMe too, but I get texts after his shifts, so I know he is safe.â
âI need those too,â she said, looking at Dick and Jason as they smacked each other on the back of the head.Â
âOh, my favorite son-in-law,â your mother said as she pushed you aside to hug Bruce.Â
âHey, ma,â he said, kissing her cheeks. âYou look amazing.â
âYouâre already my favorite, no need to suck up,â she joked, slapping his arm.Â
Your mother loved Bruce. As soon as you told her you were dating, she warned you to be careful cause of his reputation. But after she met him, she would always say, âDonât do anything stupid to mess that up. Iâll choose him in the breakup.â Sometimes, sheâd just randomly call Bruce, and they would chat for a couple of hours.Â
Once all the bags were in the car, Bruce insisted he drive so your mother could relax and catch up with the boys. You sat in the passenger seat so your mother could sit between Tim and Damien.Â
While Bruce was driving, he kept one hand on the wheel and the other was holding your hand. You just watched him drive as you listened to the lively conversation in the back of the car.Â
âNever thought Iâd see THE Bruce Wayne drive a minivan,â you joked, drawing circles on his hand. âI should send Clark a pic so he has an exclusive.â
Bruce squeezed your hand in response. âDonât make me tell Ma that youâre being mean to me.â
Even though he whispered it, your mother still heard, and she slapped your arm. âLeave my baby alone,â she scorned, gently shaking his shoulder, then she returned to Timâs story.Â
You quickly stuck your tongue out at Bruce, then quickly made sure your mother didnât notice. When Tim finished his story, your mother leaned forward and told you how the rooms were made so you could stay with her.
âMom, there is not enough room for all of us.â
âPlease, unless you had planned on wasting money on five different hotel rooms, I have enough room. The boys will double up,â she said, playing with Damienâs hair.Â
âWhat about everyone else.â
âI kicked them out. Told them they couldnât stay the night. Besides, unlike you, everyone else lives close by.â
Deciding against arguing with your mother, you accepted that you were staying at home. When Bruce pulled into the driveway, your father was mowing the lawn. As soon as everyone got out of the car, Dick and Jason went over to your father to mow the lawn for him.Â
âThey donât do that at home,â You commented, watching Dick push Jason to the ground and start up the lawn mower.
âOur lawn is too big for a normal lawn mower,â Tim said, getting the bags out of the car.Â
âAh yes, the plight of the rich,â you joked, ruffling Timâs hair.Â
Your mother carried in your small bag and carried it up to your room. Then, she showed Tim and Damien the guest room and Lilahâs room that she made up for them. Tim refused to share a room with Damien, so they went their separate ways.Â
âYou guys freshen up, and Iâll start dinner,â your mother said, leaving you in your room.Â
âAbsolutely not. You set everything up for tomorrow. I'm taking us all out for dinner. You just relax. And make sure to utilize the 12 hands you have to help with tomorrow,â Bruce said, holding her hands.Â
âYouâre too sweet,â she replied, gently patting his cheek.Â
âHeâs right, Mom. Why is no one here to help.â
âI didnât ask Lilah 'cause sheâs got her hands full with the kids and with Henry being deployed. I asked Sophia, but she said she couldnât. But now I can put those boys to work. You baby them too much,â she replied, ignoring your look of disappointment.Â
âMom, you are the one that spoils them,â you joke.Â
âThey are my grandbabies it's my job. Now, why donât you two hurry up and unpack? I'm ready to eat you out of house and home,â she joked, walking down the hall.
âIf those boys couldnât do that, I doubt you could,â Bruce joked back.Â
After dinner and a lot of butt-kissing done by the kids, you and Bruce got ready for bed. You were doing your nighttime routine when Bruce came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you. Bruce took the moisturizer out of your hands and, just held you and stared at you in the mirror.Â
âI can feel your tension,â he said, kissing your neck.Â
âI'm worried about tomorrow,â you admit.Â
âIâll fake a work emergency if you want.â
âWonât be as effective since we are staying here.â
He chuckled and placed another kiss on your neck before telling you to hurry up and come to bed. Your mother never changed a single thing in your room, so it looks exactly like it did when you left for college. Same embarrassing posters. Same stuffed animals. Same book. Same twin-sized bed you were supposed to share with your gigantic husband.Â
There wasnât a single inch of room for you to lay next to him. Not that it mattered at home you have a California king yet seem to still sleep on top of each other overnight. You were going to lay on top of Bruce, but he moved, so he was on top. His head was on your chest, and your legs were tangled together. Even though you knew his feet were hanging off the edge, he quickly fell asleep. You, on the other hand, stayed up longer, running your finger through his hair, praying to anything and everything that nothing terrible happens tomorrow.
âLet her sleep some more,â you heard someone whisper before the door closed.Â
Since you didnât feel the 200-pound man on top of you, you figured that Bruce already started his day. You knew you should get up and help, but unlike the rest of your family, you are not accustomed to minimal sleep. But your plan to get more sleep was thwarted by a tiny body getting into the bed and jumping on your stomach.Â
âTete, wake up,â your niece yelled, trying to force your eyes open.Â
âRobin,â you heard your husband whisper and pick the little girl off you.Â
âIt's morning time. Tete needs to wake up Ruce,â she said with her adorable lisp.Â
âTete is very tired.â
âBut it's morning.â
âI'll give you candy if you let her sleep more.â
â5 dowars AND candy,â she said with as stern of a voice as a four-year-old can have.Â
âYouâre just like your aunt,â Bruce said before carrying the little girl out.Â
Another 5 minutes passed by before you heard the door open. Someone walked in and sat at the foot of the bed. âI know you're awake, dummy,â your sister Lilah said, slapping your feet.Â
âFirst, your kid jumps on my stomach, then you slap me. Your violence is spreading,â you joke, sitting up to hug your sister. âI didnât know youâd be here this early.â
âYeah, I figured mom was super busy and forgot to call me, but imagine my surprise when I find out the prodigal daughter returned.â
Lilah handed you a cup of coffee and climbed into bed next to you. It felt like the old days when you two would sit in your bed and talk about anything and everything.Â
âYou know Iâm surprised you showed up,â she said, gently nudging your side.Â
âMe too, but the kids missed Mom, and I canât just keep hiding,â you admitted.Â
âHowâs Henry,â you asked, changing the subject before she was mentioned.Â
âHeâs good. Safe. And excited to hear what happens.â She laughs.
Robin opened the door and ran into the room laughing. Your husband came in after her and lifted her off the ground.Â
âYou promised,â he said, holding her upside down.
âIt's been hours.â
âIt's been 7 minutes,â he said, turning her rightsize up. âOh, morning, sweetie.â He walked over to kiss you while holding a wiggly child.Â
âTete, you sleep forever,â she said, slipping from Bruceâs grasp and getting between you and Lilah.Â
You handed your cup to Bruce and attacked Robin with tickles. Robin laughed and cried out for her mom to save her, but Lilah watched and said she should have listened and let Tete sleep.Â
âRuce, save me,â she laughed.Â
âI got you, princess,â he said, pulling her from my grasp. âCome one, let's go help with breakfast.âÂ
Before he left, Bruce looked at you and blew you a kiss. You heard your sister laugh and gently kick you. Lilah caught you up on her life and what Robin has been doing and showed you pictures of baby James, who was snatched from her by your mother as soon as she stepped inside.Â
You wanted to stay in bed longer, but the smell of cinnamon rolls filled the house. You and Lilah looked at each other before racing each other down to the kitchen.Â
âMorning, sleeping beauty,â your father greeted, looking up from baby James.Â
âMorning, Dad,â you said, kissing his cheek and then making faces at James.Â
You took a seat at the dining table, and Robin came to bring you a cinnamon roll drenched in icing. âI made this one for you, Tete.â
The roll had so much icing that when you bit into it, you couldâve sworn that you got a cavity. Your mother came out of the kitchen and plopped down in the chair across from you. She looked exhausted.Â
âAll the food is prepped we just need to throw it in the oven,â she said, picking at a cinnamon roll.
âMom, did you wake the kids to help you,â you asked, slightly scorning her.Â
âThey need their sleep they are growing boys,â she said.Â
Before you could scorn her some more, she got up and said she was going to take a nap. Your father came over to you and handed you the baby, and dragged your husband outside to help set up the tables and chairs.Â
After everything was set up and you put a couple of dishes in the oven, you brought James to the floor and played with his toys with him. Your kids sat on the couch watching TV while you got up with James every couple of minutes to switch out the dishes.
âHow do you do that,â Dick asked, helping you put a dish in the oven.
âIâm a mom. Itâs a mom superpower,â she said, closing the oven with her hip and starting the timer.Â
âI can take him to make it easier,â he offered, holding his arms out.Â
âIm fine, Dick. Besides, Im soaking up all the baby time I can get,â you said, blowing raspberries on Jamesâ arm.Â
At noon, people started showing up. First, it was your aunt and uncles, then your cousins. The next thing you knew, the house and backyard were filled with family members.Â
âIm going to try and put him down for a quick nap,â Lilah said, taking James from your arms.Â
âOkay. You can use my room. I think Damien and Jay are in your old room.â
You tried to find your husband but were suddenly being hugged by someone. âI canât believe youâre here,â your favorite cousin said, hugging you.Â
You turned to face them and gave them a proper hug. They dragged you outside and grabbed a drink. Just chatting with your cousin lifted your spirits, but then you heard Sophiaâs voice and could have sworn there was the noise of a record scratch, then she stepped into the backyard.Â
Aaron stepped from behind her, and his face lit up when he saw Dick entertaining the kids with his acrobatic skills. He ran to Dick, and luckily your son was done his flips when Aaron latched himself to his left leg.Â
âHey, nugget,â Dick said, picking Aaron up and tossing him up in the air.Â
Just as Sophia came up to you, Bruce appeared by your side and kissed your temple. Sophia looked between the two of you and smiled. âOh, you two are so cute. Im so glad it worked out so far,â she said, hugging you. Â
Bruce wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you to him. âShe canât get rid of me.â He gave you another kiss on the temple before hugging Sophia.Â
âHow have you been,â he asked since you couldnât open your mouth without saying something mean.Â
âAmazing, itâs hard with three kids under ten, but itâs so adorable watching them grow up,â she said with a condescending smile.Â
âSophia,â you heard her husband call as he came up behind her with a look of apology. âI was getting the kids out of the car, and you just disappeared.â
âI heard my sister was here I just had to come see her. I havenât seen her in years,â she pouted. âHow are the kids,â she asked, glancing over your shoulder.Â
âMy kids are great. They are over there with all the other kids,â you said, turning to wave at Damien.Â
âOh right, thatâs Bruceâs son. I read about that in the news. So glad you two worked through that issue.â
âDamien is my son, too. And thatâs none of your business,â you said, flexing your hand.
âUmmi, I'm hungry,â Damien said with a fake smile, trying to act like a normal 10-year-old.Â
âUmmi,â your sister questioned.Â
âIt's Arabic for mother,â you said, grabbing Damienâs hand and bringing him inside to get him food. As soon as you got inside, you let his hand go and turned to him. âWhich one put you up to that,â you asked, hugging him.Â
âFather, he gave us signals so we could be a buffer. But I donât understand why I had to act like an idiotic fool,â he scowled as he crossed his arms.Â
âI love you,â you said, ruffling his hair.Â
âI love you too, Ummi,â he said, grabbing a plate and grabbing his food.Â
With that freedom, you decided to walk around and converse with anyone else. You were talking with weird Uncle Bert when Sophia found you again. Everyone in the room got quiet and just watched the two of you.Â
âIâm so proud of you, little sis,â she said, rubbing my arm.
âWhatever for Soph,â you asked, slowly turning to her.Â
âFor putting on a brave face with Bruceâs affair and accepting the consequence with open arms,â she said with a genuine smile like nothing she just said was wrong.Â
âExcuse me,â you exclaimed. âFirst off, that consequence is my son, and Iâve already told you to mind your own business in the matter.â
âSorry, I guess youâre still sensitive about it. I thought you and Bruce were in a good place.â
âWe are,â you replied, confused about where she was taking this.Â
âOh good, so when are you finally going to have a kid,â she asked giddily.Â
âI have four kids. But Iâm not sure when we are going to have a baby,â you replied through your teeth.Â
âYes, of course you have âkids,â but like an actual kid. You're the only one without one,â she said, playing with a string on her sweater like she didnât just insult you.Â
âWhy the air quotes, Sophia,â you asked, clenching your fist.Â
âCause they're not your kids. You didnât give birth to them. They are not your blood. So they donât count.Â
Outside, Bruce was looking around for you when he saw Sophiaâs husband looking around, too. âScott, whereâs your wife,â he asked with a small bit of panic in his voice.
âHopefully not by your wife saying something very stupid.â
âExcuse me,â they heard you yell.Â
âI think I found them,â Scott groaned, rubbing his face in annoyance.Â
âBoys code red,â Bruce shouted before going inside.Â
When he got to where you were, your face was red and cracking your knuckles. He could tell you were pissed.Â
âWhat the hell do you mean they donât count,â you asked, fuming.Â
âLook, if it means that much to you, I'll let them get into the family photo,â Sophia said, holding her hands up.
âOh, thank you so much for letting my kids join my family photo,â you said sarcastically.Â
âYou know how much mom loves her grandkids I just hope she gets some from you.â
âShe has 4. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damien.â
âReal grandchildren.â
âOk, thatâs it. Just because they are not my blood and I didnât give birth to those boys doesnât mean they are not my kids. I love them with every ounce of my being. I came to this for them cause they missed Mom, but you came and opened your mouth, spouting ignorant shit once again. And if Bruce and I have a baby, I'm not going to love those boys any less. Cause I chose to love those boys, and they chose to have me as their mother, and nothing could top the feeling of hearing them call me mom for the first time. Now, please, for once, keep those thoughts to yourself. No one cares about your Etsy shop or how you're trying to start a media business.â
âI was being nice before, but since you want to be a bitch I can too. That little one is a freaking psychopath, and I donât want him around my kids. The oldest is a terrible influence cause now Aaron wants to join a circus. The other one, Jason, is even worse. What kind of kid fakes his death at 13 years old? Guess you're not that great of a âmother.â I mean, look at his scars, and heâs probably on drugs. The only one I feel sorry for is Tim. He looks so sleep-deprived I'm not sure what youâre doing to that poor kid, but CPS needs to take him and the psycho away from you,â
Before you could attack her for threatening to take your kids away, you heard Damien yell out in pain. You pushed through the crowd that formed and went to him.Â
âWhatâs wrong, dami,â you asked him.Â
âI hurt myself outside,â he said with a tear falling down his cheek.Â
You saw your mom staying in the kitchen and told her you were taking Dami to the hospital and werenât coming back til Sophia was gone. When you stepped outside, you watched as Damien popped his shoulder back in place.Â
âDamn, mom. I'm a bit scared of you now,â Jason said, scratching his head.
âGood. Not stop using Damien and a buffer, and donât dislocate his shoulder again to do it.â You said, making sure Damien was okay.Â
âYeah, I could have faked it.â
âAre you okay,â Bruce asked, hugging you.Â
âNo, I hate her so much,â you said before turning to your boys. âI'm sorry about that. I hope you donât take what she said to heart.â
âI mean, the demon is a psychopath,â Jason joked, earning him a kick in the shins from Dick. âNo, mom. Weâve heard that kind of stuff before it doesnât bother us cause you are our mom.â
You were hugging all your kids when the front door opened, and Sophia stormed out angry, and Henry followed with their three kids. Sophia sat in the passenger seat while Henry put the kids in the car.Â
âI'm so sorry,â Henry said, coming over to say goodbye. âIt was nice seeing you two again, and nice meeting your kids.â
âHis wife is nuts, but he seems like a cool guy,â Tim said as the car pulled out of the driveway.Â
Your mom came out of the house and saw that you guys were still here. âIs he okay,â she asked, looking over Damien.Â
âYeah, he just dislocated his shoulder. We popped it back in. Is Jen still in there so she can give him a quick look over,â you asked.
Your mother nodded and went to grab your cousin, the pediatric doctor. âMother, I'm fine. Iâve done that hundreds of times,â
âI know, but I would still like a medical professional to check it out since your brother actually hurt you,â you said, glaring at Jason.Â
âI was trying to stop a fight.â
Jenny came out and checked Damienâs arm. She said it seemed perfectly fine, but she would prefer to have it x-rayed to double-check, but for now, an ice compress at the joint will do.Â
âCome on, boys, Iâve got to show you your mother's baby pictures. Have I ever told you about the time she went missing from home and we found her 3 hours later in the fireplace,â she called from the entryway.Â
âOh no,â you groaned, covering your face.
âNo,â Jason laughed as he ran inside to gather some leverage for the next time he was in trouble.
âFireplace,â Bruce asked, laughing.Â
âYou might as well go listen to see what you're getting yourself into if we have a baby,â you said, pulling him inside.Â
âWhy does a mini-you terrify me more than my night job.â
âCause I was terrible growing up.â
âWas,â he asked, pulling your back towards him.Â
âListen here, Mr. Wayne,â you started to scorn before he pressed his lips to yours.Â
âOh my god Mom you started a fire at 3,â Dick laughed.
âIt was an accident.â
âYeah, I'm terrified for our future children.â
âOf baby. You should be terrified of our future children,â you said right before Damien yelled about how you told a police officer your mother kidnapped you cause she wouldnât get you a toy. Â
Bruce laughed and shook his head as the two of you walked into the house.Â
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Eight Deadly Mistakes [Yandere Alastor x Reader]
Title: Eight Deadly Mistakes [Yandere Alastor x Reader]
Synopsis: You've made a lot of mistakes in Hell, but this one has to be the worst.
Birthday fic for @absolute-flaming-trash who is absolutely awesome!
word count: 1899ish
notes: yandere, abuse, obsessive behavior, humiliation, I'm joining the 'alastor yanks reader by a chain' club
Hell was full of mistakes, and you figured that yours amounted to a sizable chunk--particularly since meeting Alastor. Of the countless mistakes within that particular bucket, there were at least seven distinct mistakes that led you to this very moment.Â
One. It was a mistake to thank Alastor for holding the door open for you, the day you entered some run-down market in search of a book. Your voice had been surprised and sweet and ever-so-thankful.
Two. It was a mistake to let him strike up a conversation with you a few minutes later, and not pay attention to the horrified looks that even the most hardened patrons in the shop gave you.
Three. It was a mistake, later on, to think he was your friend; to believe that the shared meals, the late night discussions about music and books and little topics youâd forgotten you enjoyed, were a sign of pleasant companionship.Â
Four. It was a mistake to sell your soul to Alastor, after his honeyed offers of protection from the seedier elements of Hell, his casual assurance that your friendship would go unaltered.Â
Five. It was a mistake to move into the Hotel when Alastor asked, and not think there was some ulterior motive behind it all.Â
Six. It was a mistake to think Alastor was actually kind, just because he was helping Charlie with her hotel, and seemingly protected those within it.Â
Seven. It was a mistake to, on this day, ask Alastor if he would give your soul back, now that youâd decided to aim for heaven. Because you were friends, and he cared about you, and therefore, he should want whatâs best for you--which is to get (you pardon yourself the phrase) the hell out of Hell.Â
Every one of these seven mistakes--the last, you must admit, being the most significant--led you to here.Â
To you, trembling on the floor, the tangy copper of blood in your mouth from where your teeth rattled against the end of your tongue when Alastorâs palpable anger made your knees literally buckle.Â
âI⊠I donât understand,â you spit out, voice trembling as much as your body. âI thought--I thought youâŠâ The words donât need to be spoken for Alastor to know them.
I thought you liked me, I thought you were my friend, I thought you would be happy to do it.
âYou thought what, exactly, my dear?âÂ
A low electric current buzzed in the air, making the lights flicker once, twice, and again before he continued.
âThat I would simply let you go?â He laughed, but there was nothing pleasant about the sound. It was full of mockery and something else, something metal and cold.Â
Your stomach squirmed awfully. It was not a feeling youâd ever experienced around Alastor, despite some otherâs trepidation around him. Heâd never given you a reason to feel that way.
Until today.
Until you asked Alastor to let your soul go, and the room seemed to fizz with electrical interference that left the lights sparking andÂ
Your eyes went wide. And your brain, stupid thing that it was, pieced things together that you had been all too naively eager to ignore until now.Â
The stories of Alastorâs past that youâd heard in snatches and dismissed as jealous fantasy, probably all deriving from Vox and his ilk. The way people who knew Alastor from before his sabbatical tended to steer as clear of him as possible.Â
Or how Alastor always insisted you try the things he liked--clothes he left in your room (even before you told him where you lived, before the Hotel); music he insisted youâd admire more than your current collection of alt-rock CDs; foods that were tastier, he said, than your favorites.Â
âI didnât think--â The words stuck to your mouth until you forced them out. âI didnât think youâd be mad that I wanted to get better, repent and--and get out of here.â
Alastor, despite his smile, did not look impressed.
You didnât have time to flinch as he swung his microphone down and out, pressing it against your throat.
âDonât act surprised now. After all,â The microphone dug into the flesh of your neck, lifting your chin until you were looking at him through blurs of oncoming tears. He continued, voice softer, missing most of its usual radio sound. âYou made me like this.âÂ
You wanted to shake your head, but the microphone kept you only capable of looking up and straight at him. His smile made you sick.Â
âI didnât do anything,â you said, voice light, but not quite naive anymore; you didnât fully believe the words now, and your voice wavered.Â
Even if you didnât mean to do anything to draw the attention of the radio demon, that didnât mean Alastor wasnât clearly--wasnât clearly⊠affected by you. In some way that you didnât understand; moreover, you didnât want to understand it.Â
What you thought had been a surprising friendship made in the bowels of hell was something else entirely, and you hated the newfound knowledge.Â
Whatever it was that Alastor actually felt for you, it was dark and awful, like sprinkles of mold you find underneath the bathroom sink. Damp and rotting and unwanted.Â
âYou,â he said, pressing the microphone harder into your throat for emphasis, âhave been quite the busy bee when it comes to me, my dear.â He sighed in a way youâd heard him do a hundred times before. But now it feels wrong; sticky, oozing. âIâd never given much thought to⊠certain endeavors before you. And now I find myself distracted.â
His neck turned again, cracking, and a song began to play from somewhere.Â
âDistracted?â You asked, feeling sicker and sicker.Â
âOh, yes,â he answered, dragging out the word. âQuite unlike me, if I must admit it. And yet thereâs something about you thatâs been making meâŠâ
He didnât finish. The song got louder, mingling in with the ambience of the room. It was almost soft and wistful, except for the lyrics that made your skin feel cold, repeating on a loop.
And youâre mine⊠mine⊠mineâŠ
âAnd you thoughtâŠâ His voice continued, each word punctuated by an awful radio crackle that made goosebumps blossom up your arms. âThat you would get to simply leave me after all Iâve put into you?â
All heâs put into you.
The dresses, the food, the guidance on what to listen to and how to dance; who to talk to and who to avoid. Advice from a friend, you thought. Advice from someone stronger and maybe smarter.
âWell,â he said, almost cheery now, pulling the microphone away from your sore and probably bruising throat. âI trust youâve learned your lesson and we can avoid thisâŠâ A crackle, short and low. âUnpleasantness in the future.â
You should have said that yes, you learned your lesson; yes, you wonât ask again. But you didnât. Instead you swallowed hard, feeling the ache from where his microphone pressed in, and added an eighth mistake to your list.
âWe can avoid it if you release me from my contract--if you give me back my soul.âÂ
âWell,â he repeated. And this time, his voice was muffled by a brief, shrieking radio frequency. âPerhaps a reminder is in order.â
The reminder came with cold metal choking your throat; a vivid green chain led straight from your imprisoned neck to Alastorâs hand.Â
One trembling hand came up to feel the collar. It was real. It was there. And the chain, too, was solid and unbreakable.Â
It was a shocking sight.Â
Youâd seen the chains of other owned souls before. Angelâs, in particular, when youâd accidentally witnessed an argument between him and Valentino. But there had never been a singular thought given to the fact that you, too, must have had chains. Alastor never showed them to you and until now, had never seen fit to remind you about your lack of freedom.
Until today.
Your surprise and fear made you stupid, and you tried to yank yourself away from him; he held fast to the chain and began to wind it around his hand, forcing you to look upwards, speaking all the while.
âYou are never to ask me to release your contract again. And you are certainly never to even entertain the silly notion of leaving me, now or in the future. Do you understand?â
An awful, slimy feeling overtook your gut. He owned you, and he had owned you for some time. You just had been closing your eyes to that reality.
A reality that was now choking you.
âWell?â
You nodded. You didnât think you could speak, not now. Not to him.Â
But it wasnât good enough. He yanked on the chain, choking you.Â
âI donât believe I heard you, dear.â
âYes.â The word was spoken through gritted teeth. It tasted like tears.Â
âYes what?â The grin on his smile widened deceptively as he yanked against the chain, jerking your head upward. It hurt inside and out.Â
It was so unfair, that your heart could hurt like this, even after you were dead.Â
âYes, sir.â
That should have been the end of it. He should have let go of the chain and let you slink off in fear and shame, off to sob in your bedroom over the sudden turn of events.Â
Instead, he leaned down, and for a moment, his eyes glowed in a painful flash.Â
âYou can do better than that, my dear, canât you, to the person that owns your very soul?âÂ
His hand wrapped around the chain, shortening it even further as he leaned in so close you could smell the rot around him. But it didnât matter that you wanted to pull away from it, because he held you--literally, held the chains that kept you bound to him. Forever.Â
Yes, he owned your soul. He owned you.
âYes, boss?â you murmured, copying what Husker sometimes said; you were unable to look at him anymore as humiliated, hot tears spilled down your cheeks.Â
In an instant, the chain was gone, and you fell to the ground with a clumsy thud. Your chin hit the hard floor before you could brace yourself with your hands.Â
âWonderful,â he said, praising, almost cooing. His neck cracked to the side and you imagined his bones shifting in impossible ways to achieve it. âI suppose I should remind you who you belong to when you get out of sorts like this, my dear.â His smile widened. âA healthy reminder now and then is good for the soul!âÂ
He laughed. Whether he thought it was a joke or not was unclear.Â
âAlthough, I hope I wonât have to remind you too soon. I do so enjoy your company more when youâre not beingâŠâ He waved his hand in the air, glancing up at the ceiling for effect. âStubborn.â His eyes darted to you, accompanied by the faint sound of a radio hum. âDonât you agree?â
âYes,â you breathed out without hesitation, unable to stop shaking from your position on the floor.
âGood girl,â he said, patting the air above your head. You watched his footsteps until he paused at the threshold of the door. You heard his neck snap as he turned it back around--you didnât dare look up to see.Â
âDonât forget to tidy up before dinner. Iâve left a dress in your bedroom that Iâm sure will look lovely on you.â
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âStop wiggling around, Iâm trying to sleep! Wait⊠whatâs tha⊠oh!â
Forced proximity with best friend Bob?
A chance to do friends to lovers with Bob? Say no more!
"Remind me to never let Javy book the Air B&B again."
Bob chuckled at your comment, despite agreeing, "Well at least we have an actual bed. Reuben and Mickey have bunk beds."
"So all the single people have to suffer?" You scoffed, continuing to shuffle through your luggage.
The annual lake trip was going well, until the room arrangements were revealed. It wasn't that you minded sharing a room with Bob.
It was the lack of a second bed.
Twenty years ago, when you were both eight, this wouldn't have been a problem. But then puberty, high school, and base camp occurred, which brought to light the crush you had been harboring on your best friend.
"We'll make it work. And if it's that bad, I can take the floor," he offered, always the considerate one. It was one of the many traits you adored about Bob.
"Robert James Floyd, absolutely not!" You scolded, eliciting a chuckle out of him. It was deep and low, just like his voice and you didn't want to admit how it made your knees nearly shake.
"I've slept in barracks before, it's the same thing."
The comment would have gotten a laugh out of you. In fact, you would have even made a remark back, probably about how you've also slept in truck beds and underneath a wide open sky.
But then Bob Floyd took his shirt off.
It wasn't even your first time seeing him shirtless, far from it. But now he had filled out, with muscle and a dusting of hair that trailed down from his chest, past his stomach.
God, was he always this hot? Had to be and somehow you just didn't notice it until later. Perhaps that was the worst part; you fell for him because of who he was. It wasn't as if he had some type of glowup over summer break, like you'd see so often in those stupid teen movies you'd watch to feel better about yourself. No, Bob Floyd was always a beautiful soul, inside and out.
And he wasn't yours. Couldn't be. The risk of him not reciprocating was too high. Plus, your family was friends with his'. That meant Thanksgiving, Christmas, Fourth of July, hell, even fucking Memorial Day gatherings would be tainted. All thanks to you.
The pressure was too high, the risk was too great.
But you could look, right?
"Sunshine?"
Bob's childhood now turned adult nickname for you broke the spell. Your wide eyes met his oceanic's. His hair, which had gotten darker over the years and now had threads of early greys, was mussed from taking off his shirt, some curls over the front of his forehead, others to the side. White shirt in hand, highlighting how massive they were when clutching the alabaster fabric. Brow's knitted together, combined with his narrow eyes and titled head created a downright adorable look of confusion.
"You,,,," he briefly turned around, to see if there was something on the wall behind him and that's why you wouldn't look at him, "You okay?"
You nodded eagerly, probably too eagerly, "Yeah sorry....I uh spaced out. Probably thinking of ways to get back at Javy."
Bob smiled, despite it never reaching his eyes when he nodded. You had turned around so quickly, unable to make such an observation.
"I'm going to go take a shower," grabbing the top and bottom you could find the quickest in your suitcase. You avoided eye contact with him, too busy feeling shame for getting caught doing something so lewd.
Rushing, you turned the water on in the showers. Focusing on ensuring you grabbed the correct products. Get the water to the perfect temperature and pressure, it exists, it has to exist because if it doesn't then you'll think about the dark body hair that went past the waistband of his jeans.
For about twenty minutes, it worked. You did your skincare routine, brushed your teeth for nearly two minutes, even blow dried your hair. Applied a lip mask, that stupid lash and brow serum the worker at Sephora conned you into buying. Moisturize every inch of your body, even though it was the dead of summer and you would sweat it all off before sunrise. That stupid reusable eye mask that you got because it was on clearance. Have you done the Wordle today, you should do the Wordle. You should do anything other than thinking about sharing a bed with your shirtless best friend.
It worked. Even put on some music, not too loud, just enough to hear and hum along.
It worked. For a while. But then you had used nearly every product in your cosmetics bag and it was time to get dressed.
Fuck.
You could never match a pair of socks, not even if your life depended on it. But tonight, fucking tonight of all nights, you had to grab a whole matching set.
The pale pink lace trimmed cami, paired with joggers. An oversized T-shirt that went further down than the pair of matching satin shorts.
You had brought the set when you were talking to a guy and thought you would be able to move on from the wonder that is Bob Floyd. What a fucking joke.
Maybe you could wear them, run back out to grab something else and run back in to change. No, why would anyone do that? If anything, it'll just make it more obvious that you didn't want to wear it in front of him. But what if you didn't change and Bob thought you had worn essentially casual lingerie on purpose? What if he found that weird? What if-
"You okay in there Sunny?" His voice always calmed you, always able to break you out of whatever self inflicted spiral you were on.
Taking a deep breath, you nodded despite Bob being unable to see you, "Yeah, I'm good. Just developed a more extensive skincare routine."
A short burst of laughter was released on the other side of the door, "You don't need all that. Already pretty."
"Bob Floyd, you are....." Charming. Amazing. Too good to be true. The love of my life,
"....too kind."
"Just telling the truth," his feet audibly stepped away. The butterflies in your chest were still exploding from his words. He made you feel safe, that this was Bob you were talking about. He'd never think you'd do something lewd or negative on purpose. Bob knew your intentions to be good. After all, he was your Bobby.
Just not in the way you want.
Your head cleared long enough to walk out the door, into the well lit bedroom. When he first made eye contact with you, you didn't even falter, simply smiling at him.
But Bob didn't say anything at first. Usually he'd make a teasing but well meaning comment about you taking so long. His thin pink lips parted, yet no words came through.
"Are you okay Bobby?"
The concern in your voice broke the trance. His features soften, his lips quirking into a half smile, "Yeah, I'm good. Just gonna shower and then head to bed."
Tension had left the room. Flopping down onto the bed, you scrolled through social media, watching all the videos and photos the squad had posted today.
"Uh, Sunshine?" You turned and lost your breath. Bob's hair was freshly washed, ends beginning to curl. A white shirt that was barely translucent and grey sweatpants that hung low on his lithe hips.
Bob Floyd had downright slutty hips.
"I don't think the bed is big enough for both of us to lay down."
Your brow crumpled in confusion, "Javy said this was a queen."
"Javy thinks anything that isn't a single is a Queen." Bob explained, not phased at all by this mistake.
Clearly it wasn't the first time. But you were still going to kill Javy Machado tomorrow morning.
"Here, if we both sleep on our sides, it'll be good."
"Like spooning?"
"Uh yeah," a hand came up to rub the back of his neck, "That's one way to think about it."
You supposed it was better than feeling his ass against yours, "Alright, well....come on in, the water's fine."
It took some time to figure out the arrangement. What was one supposed to do with their other hand? The final agreement consisted of your hips flushed against Bob's, his arm slung over your waist.
Zero awkwardness in the air. It felt....natural.
"Night Bobby."
"Night Sunshine."
Things were looking up. There was no way this would change your friendship or threaten to reveal your well kept secret. Sleep was well within your reach.
Then Bob moved. And kept moving. Due to his closeness, you felt every maneuver, no matter how subtle.
"Floyd, do you mind?"
His movements continued, as if he was trying to avoid your body while somehow simultaneously hang onto it.
A loud huff left your lips, "Stop wiggling around, I'm trying to sleep! Wait, what's that...."
Oh.
Your hips were flushed against his, your ass perfectly fitting the space formed by his thigh meeting his hip. Right against his hardened groin.
The sweatpants were thin. He didn't have anything underneath. Thanks to the flimsy fabric of your shorts, you could feel him greatly.
You were in bed with Bob Floyd. Bob Floyd was in bed with you, rocking an erection. You were being held by Bob Floyd, in bed. Bob Floyd had a huge cock, a grower.
Silence filled the room, tension thick enough to be cut with a butter knife. Neither one wanting to move, for fear of making it worse.
He let out a shaky breath. He developed a rhythm, almost imitating one sleeping.
You shifted, just enough for your thigh to rise, but subtle enough to play off as nothing.
His breath hitched.
Inch by inch, your hips began to gyrate, rubbing against his clothed cock.
"B-Bobby," you were panting, as if having run a marathon. His fingers sank into your hips, gripping the plush flesh as he flipped you onto your back, towering over you.
You moved to sit on your elbows, to raise yourself up to argue. From years of play fighting, he was fast as lightning, pinning your hands above your head.
Bob slowly lowered himself down until his nose brushed against your, his soft hair brushing your forehead.
"Twelve years." Was all he said, gritting through his teeth, squeezing your hands in hopes it would tethered him to Earth.
All that came out of your mouth was a hum of confusion. In the moonlit light, you searched for his eyes, trying to read them.
"Stuart Hendricks asked you to prom. You had been hoping all month he would ask you. Hell, I even helped him. Told him your favorite musical and which song to sing. I was excited for ya. And then you said yes to him and I wanted to punch him. I never had thought about fighting someone until then. Took me a week to realize why I was so angry."
Oh my God.
"Eight to ten years ago," you confessed. It was Bob's turn to knit his eyebrows together.
"Eight to ten?" He repeated, "Why is there a range?"
"I remember feeling....funny when you came back from boot camp. You had filled out a bit and had on those adorable military issued glasses. But it took me some time to accept what I was feeling," you explained.
How you found those glasses endearing was beyond Bob's understanding. But it didn't agitate him, it was just one of the many things he loved about you.
"That's a lot of time lost," his voice was barely a whisper.
You nodded, "Can we.....can we start making up for it?"
"Yes," he nodded, dropping his head lower, "one hundred percent yes."
His lips were like heaven. He molded his body to yours, chests flushed together, limbs tangled within one another. A hand that spanned the entirety of his neck, his thumb guiding your chin upwards so he could deeper explore your mouth.
"Heard you singing....and it just felt....felt like we were living together," he confessed in between kisses, "felt so right, like that's what it's supposed to be like."
Nodding feverishly, your hands found purchase in his thick hair. Tugging on the sun kissed locks, earning a groan from Bob that made your thighs clench.
"Can....can I touch you?" Always the gentlemen, your Bobby.
"As long as you don't stop."
"Wouldn't dream of it sunshine," his mouth latched onto your neck, leaving open mouth kisses along the side, teeth gently grazing your sensitive skin. A hand grabbed your leg, hitching it to wrap around his waist.
Bob Floyd was fucking heaven.
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