#bottom passports

[uglyandtraveling]

Explore 2024's top passports that open global doors and the struggles of the world's weakest passports in our latest rankings guide.

[yutamayo]

[ohdeargodwhy]

white south african in the eurostar getting increasingly apoplectic about unrealisingly booking standard class seats instead of first class 😬😬😬😬

'well this is a new experience, never sat in standard class before, there's no space, this is terrible, never doing this again, how could this happen, i always book first class' 😬😬😬

[ladyimaginarium]

[fastandcarlos]

When He Carries An Item Specifically For You : ̗̀➛ F1 Reaction

» Max Verstappen

If there was one thing that Max loved, it was your hair, and when he loved playing with it as much as he did, it meant that he absolutely hated when it got ruined. To save that from happening, he always carried a hairband around his wrist so that he could offer it to you when you needed to move your hair out of your face and tie it back. As soon as he saw that it was annoying you, Max would hold the band out, or sometimes even decide that he was going to be the one to tie your hair up instead. 

» Lando Norris 

There were often times during the long race weekends when you found yourself getting pretty bored, using your phone to keep you entertained. The one thing you often forgot to pack with you though was a charger to keep your phone going throughout the day leaving you feeling a little lost as the screen went black. After one too many groans that your phone was dead, Lando decided that he was going to make sure that he kept a phone charger in his driver’s room at all times so that you always had easy access to one and could keep you happy whilst he raced. 

» Charles LeClerc 

When you were in the paddock, Charles loved to make sure that everyone knew which family you were a part of, and so usually had an item of Ferrari merch on him somewhere to pass onto you. Whether it was a top, a bracelet, a cap or a scarf, Charles loved to dress you in red. Even if it was a piece of merch that wasn’t realised to the fans, if he had access to it then he made sure that you did too so that everyone knew exactly who you were cheering on whilst at the back of the garage. 

» George Russell 

With all the travelling that you did, your bag was often filled with different things to keep yourself entertained, one of your favourite things being your latest read, the story usually gripping you. However, one thing you weren’t quite so good at remembering to take with you was a bookmark. After watching you fold pages for many weeks, George ended up going out and buying a bookmark on a day off and slipping it into his bag so he always had one that he could hand to you to use when you wanted to make sure that you didn’t lose your page. 

» Oscar Piastri 

To say you were clumsy was an absolute understatement, and so simply to survive, Oscar was always the one to carry your passport. After one too many near misses at airports, he decided that he would take it instead so you both knew exactly where it was. He had a safe space in his bag where yours and his sat, unlike you who tended to just hold it in your hand. You tried to protest that you were capable of carrying it, but after being responsible for several missed flights you knew that it was probably for the best that Oscar looked after such an important item. 

» Carlos Sainz 

Although he tried his best to convince you that the hairbrush that he usually carried in his bag was for you, you weren’t entirely convinced, and neither was the rest of Carlos’ team either. When you watched Carlos pull the brush out, quite often you’d catch him brushing quickly through his hair to fix his messy locks before handing it across to you to use. He was far too proud to ever confess to carrying a brush for himself, but you knew that he loved having it on him just as much for his benefit as it was for your benefit. 

» Daniel Ricciardo 

Just like Daniel, the cold was not your friend, especially during the tricky winters at some of the races. You were like holding onto an ice block sometimes with how cold you were, which Daniel was not particularly a fan of when he wanted so often to hold your hand. To counteract this, Daniel often kept a pair of gloves in the bottom of his bag when the two of you went out into the chilly air, making sure that you had a nice thick layer on to keep you warm, and make holding your hand much more comfortable for him too. 

» Lewis Hamilton 

It was a nervous habit of yours to mess with your lips, you often picked at the skin whenever you began to get worried which Lewis usually picked up on. Luckily for you, Lewis was always on hand to make sure that your lips were well taken care of though, with a lip balm safe in his pocket most of the time when you were out of the house. Every so often he would remind you to put some on so that your lips were nice and smooth and make sure there wasn’t any skin for you to tug at and risk making your lips sore. 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[redflagshipwriter]

Fast Car Masterpost and Prologue

dead on main fic, intro + four chapters.

Summary: The Red Hood starts off his righteous campaign with a lot of nerve but no legal identification that will let him behind the wheel of a car. Public transportation really doesn't have the panache he needs to start off as a fearsome crime lord, so he needs a driver. He finds Danny Fenton, a grungly college student trying not to be noticed by any government agencies or vigilantes.

to subscribe to this post, on mobile open the notes and click the bell on the upper right hand corner of the post. on desktop, open the notes at the bottom and press the bell on the right edge of the notes.

Links will be added to chapter list as the story posts. Chapter one will go up on July 14th. Updates are approximately every other day.

LINKS/ chapter count

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

prologue

���No, Habibi,” Talia said calmly into the phone. “I will not falsify you an American non-commercial driver's license for motor vehicles. If you cannot prove yourself to Gotham without American motor vehicle operating permissions, you will never prove yourself. Rise above this challenge.” Talia covered the phone for a second but he could hear her talking to someone else about tile options.

“It's an unnecessary challenge,” Jason argued, doing his level best not to let his tone go up. It was undignified to whine. He was a man now. “The important parts of the challenge are the tactical planning and the skills.”

Talia sounded like she was filing her nails. “Tactically plan to take the bus. Or walk. Walking is free and healthy.” 

Jason made an indignant sound but she mercilessly hung up. The worst! She made the top three of his worst mother figures, easily.

“She's just doing this so I can't go drinking.” He scowled into the air. “I don't even want to!” His voice broke mid whine, which was an insult to add to all the injuries visited upon him by the cruel whims of women who weren't even his legal guardian. He was an adult in most countries!

The worst part was that Talia didn't care about underage drinking. She just didn't want to hear shit about enabling him from Bruce when he eventually figured out that Jason was alive, 19, and in Gotham. His passport claimed he was 21 because it had to for him to travel alone, but she knew damn well no one used their passport as ID in bars. 

He couldn't just go get a license. Jason sulked viciously and threw himself into fixing his plans to accommodate for this. 

He was legally dead and living under a fake name. If he tried to sign up for the driving exam, it'd be too much scrutiny on his paperwork. But he was not taking the bus around as a crime lord. It lacked panache. More importantly, it didn't go where he wanted it to go.

Fine. He didn't need her help. He didn't need anyone's help. He just needed to download Uber. 

That was how Jason wound up wiping a mob lieutenant’s blood off of his hand onto his pants so that he could use the guy's touch screen phone. Victor Woodward's account put in a request for a ride to the Gotham police headquarters. He killed time kicking ass in all the Words with Friends games that Victor had ongoing, which was really gonna surprise anyone who normally played with that boob. Victor’s last ever play was ‘cat,’ for fuck’s sake.

A few minutes later, a skinny teenager pulled up in his clanker and opened the door. Jason put on a smile and hefted his duffle bag a little higher on his shoulder. 

“Hi! Victor?” The guy, Danny, waved his phone at Jason.

“That's me!” Jason lied breezily. “Can I put this in the trunk?” 

“Go for it.” Danny popped the trunk open from inside the car. He watched Jason with his big blue doe eyes.

For an instant, Jason thought that Danny might have seen something. Paranoia reared up. Was there blood visible? Was it easy to tell that the shapes in the bag were heads?”

The moment passed. Danny cleared his throat and whipped his face forwards again. “Normally I say to sit in the backseat, but I'm not sure that's enough room for your legs. Either is fine.” 

Jason got in the car and let satisfaction wash over his body as the weirdly timid kid pulled them out into traffic at a snail’s pace. Whatever. They wouldn’t get stopped for a traffic violation when the driver was cautious.

He’d done it. His debut as the terrifying Red Hood, hunter of the wicked and bane of the Batman, was launched. And he didn’t need a license to do it.

[imjustapoorboi]

oooh the classism disguised as hatred for the United States is back on my feed lmao.

[suppermariobroth]

Top: world map seen in the prototype version of Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga. Unlike the final version's faded in-universe paper map, this one appears as a traditional video game world map that is simply a zoomed-out view of the Beanbean Kingdom. As such, this map actually shows the true colors of the environment.

Bottom: the finished game's map, for comparison. This was likely changed to fit with the game's "travel" theme (which includes menus styled after suitcases, passports, etc.) to a paper map of the kind that would be used during travels.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source

[iinsertblognamee]

the streets of barcelona

summary; yn foord and alexia putellas meet

spanish | english translation

"You got everything packed?"

A small nod was all you responded back to your sister, as you let yourself get one last look at your shared apartment. The room looked practically the same from a simple glance, the discoloured paint on the walls mixed with the old posters you had found at a garage sale when you first moved in. The kitchen sink holds the dirty plates from breakfast, alongside the empty wine glasses from last night's celebrations.

You let yourself study the room further, the missing objects standing out to you like a sore thumb, the rooms somehow seeming bare without all your personal items that were now packed away and about halfway towards your new apartment.

Your eye caught Caitlin's at the last second, a small frown appearing on her lips, her eyes still red from last night. It doesn't take long for her eyes to well up once again, her bottom lip wobbling.

The distance between you two becomes extinct in an instant, as your arms wrap around each other. Your grips are so tight that neither of you can't make it if it's you or the younger woman who is shaking, but you don't dare to let go. Your lips press kisses in her hairline, as you mumble 'It's going to be okay' mixed with 'You're gonna be okay'.

It couldn't have been a few minutes before the timer on your phone filled the silence, Cailtin tenses in your embrace, before sniffling.

You give yourself one last squeeze, before pulling away. Bringing your hand up to Caitlin's cheek to wipe away her tears.

You had both said your official goodbyes last night, hoping to avoid all of this, this morning.

"I'm gonna miss you chicky" She sent you a small smile at the nickname, before grabbing your suitcase from the front door as you grabbed your passport and plane ticket.

You had arranged a pickup service to take you to the airport, wanting a few moments before you were thrown into the madness that was about to come. As excited as you were, you couldn't deny the anxiety that followed. The idea of a new team was always nerve-racking, but the added stress of moving to a country with no one you know, as well as speaking very little Spanish was keeping you on edge.

The driver met you at the steps of your apartment, taking the suitcase off your sister, as she pulled you into one last hug, squeezing you extra tight before letting go - a small wave and a 'good luck' and then she was gone.

The car ride over was nerve-racking, your knee bouncing as you watched the houses outside go by. The traffic was decent enough, the sun shining down on the airport as you thanked the driver once more, before making your way through the entry.

You gave one last look outside, taking in the sunny London that you had called home for the past three years, the crumbling thought finally hitting you.

London was no longer home.

―

The sight of Barcelona was a sight for sore eyes, your suitcase trailing behind as you attempted to move around the groups of people surrounding the waiting bay.

You had been contacted by the management team a few days prior organising a driver to pick you up from the airport and take you to your new apartment, figuring the last thing you needed was to get lost on your first day in Barcelona.

You looked out for the number plate you had memorised, walking past car after car - apologising to the people you bumped into along the way. It would have been one of the last cars parked on the strip, a woman dressed in familiar colours, sitting on the hood with her arms crossed.

She had thick sunglasses on, dark so you couldn't tell if she was watching you or not but as you got closer, her attention seemed to shift from the skyline to you. Her arms don't uncross, as she stands up - her head visibly looking you up and down before a calm, but detached look appeared on her face.

"Miss Foord?"

"Sí-" 'Yes'. You blame the flight for the way your voice cracks, coughing a little before nodding your head "Yes, yes. sorry." She nods her head but doesn't add anything else, opening the back door for you before taking the suitcase out of your hand and walking towards the boot.

The awkwardness doesn't help your beating heart, wiping your palms on your track pants before dipping your way into the car. Making sure to close the door behind you.

The lady makes her way into the front of the car a few seconds later. The radio plays softly in the background, your attention glued out your window as you watched the city fly by - attempting to remember every street sign and building you see.

"¿Cómo estuvo tu vuelo?". 'How was your flight?'.

Your head whips right around, the lady looking towards the road, you almost think you might have imagined she spoke, your mouth opening before closing again.

The silence fills the space in an instant, a frown appearing on your lips. The car comes to a stop at the lights, the driver turning her head towards you with a look on her face that you take as confusion.

"Uh. Lo sien" 'uh. I'm sorry'. The sudden realisation that you have no idea what she's asked, and now you can't even remember the basic Spanish you taught yourself since the transfer was confirmed. "Uh no. no entiendo?". 'uh no. I don't understand'. You wince at your attempt, the confusion clear in your voice as the driver tilts her head a little before turning her attention back to the road.

"How was the flight?" Her English is a hundred times better than your Spanish, Her voice seems softer in English, not as deep.

"Good. Uh. Buena. It was Buena. Fast, Which is always good" 'good'. your attempt to bring some Spanish into the conversation isn't missed by the driver, her lips curling into a small smirk before disappearing almost as fast.

"Sí, eso es bueno" 'Yes that is good'. As limited as your Spanish knowledge may run, you pick up 'yes' and 'good', nodding your head with a small smile as she catches your gaze in the rear mirror.

Feeling a little more confident, you give yourself a few seconds to think up what other Spanish you have learnt before attempting to start up a conversation again.

"What's uh, um. ¿Su nombre?" 'Your name?'

"Camila"

"Camila" You repeat, looking out the window again.

"I help get the transfers settled" She adds, turning a corner before catching your gaze in the rear mirror once again. "It's a beautiful place but can be very daunting".

"Sí. Sí" 'yes. yes'. You agree before adding "But very exciting. My, um, my hermana is very jealous" 'sister'.

"¿Tienes una hermana?" 'you have a sister?'. She catches herself before you can ask, "You have a sister?"

"Sí. Sí. A younger sister. She's a footballer too" 'yes. yes'.

"Maravillosa. Maravillosa. Wonderful". 'wonderful. wonderful'.

Before you could respond, the car came to a stop - your attention pulled away from Camila and out towards the modern building.

You recognised it in an instant, the many photos and emails that you and management had been exchanging over the past couple of months came down to this.

"Hogar dulce hogar" 'home sweet home'. You couldn't find yourself asking what Camila had said, too engrossed with the building in front of you, it seemed bigger than in the pictures, prettier too.

You take a deep breath in, glancing at the building once more before taking a deep breath and opening the car door.

"Welcome Home" and for once you wished Camila had spoken in Spanish so you wouldn't understand what she had just said.

―

Camila didn't stay for too long, handing over your keys and helping you bring up your suitcase, she had written her contact details on a piece of paper that was left on your kitchen bench. Explained that she would be back tomorrow to bring you to training and then left.

Your furniture had arrived before you had, placed through the apartment alongside all your boxes. If you hadn't been so emotionally drained for the past 24 hours you probably would have attempted to start unpacking but your hunger won this round, and with some newfound confidence you decided to check out the supermarket that was just down the street.

The walk was nice enough, a slight breeze filling the streets as people passed by.

Getting to your destination, 'tienda de comestibles' 'grocery'. written out the front, buckets of fresh fruit outside brought a smile to your face before walking in. The smell of many different flavours fills the air, and two children giggling and chasing each other almost run into you, before quickly yelling out 'Lo lamento' 'sorry'. You only smile and shake your head, taking yourself further through the store.

You pick out some cold meats, before grabbing yourself a couple of bread rolls, a small jar of pesto and a chocolate bar. Making your way towards the checkout, your attention purely on grabbing some notes out of your wallet, before slamming into a body.

"¿Adónde vas?!" 'Where are you going?!'.

Your head snaps up, an apology on the tip of your tongue, before sucking your breath in, her eyes widening as they meet yours.

Your brain seems to short-circuit, working overtime to say something, anything. Your limited knowledge of Spanish has completely gone, your mouth opening and closing before you practically choke out

"La Reina" 'the queen'.

You feel the heat rush through your cheeks instantly as your eyes widen.

"Como me llamaste?" 'what did you call me?'. she choked out, her cheeks almost matching yours. You take a step back, suddenly realising just how close the two of you were to each other.

"I am so sorry. lo lamento. lo lamento" 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry'. You splatter out, taking a few more steps back, attempting to get away as fast as possible but a hand stops you. Her hand.

"Ey. No hay necesidad de disculparse" 'hey. there's no need to apologise'.

Her words are missed by you, although her eyes soften - your confusion clear as you try to think about to all those Spanish classes you took. Concentration seemed to be your biggest fault at the moment, especially with the way she was looking at you.

"Don't apologise" Her voice was softer that you almost missed what she was saying, her hand rubbing your arm distracted you once again.

"Sorry," you reply, your cheeks heating up further as she lets out a small laugh, shaking her head with a smile on her lips. "Tan linda" 'so cute'. she mumbles, but you manage to catch it with how close you are once again.

"I-I don't know what that means" you mumble back.

Her cheeks heat up once again, her eyes suddenly interested in anything but yours.

She shakes her head, before her gaze catches yours once more, dropping down to your lips and then back up. She goes to say something else before a cough brings you both back, a mother with a baby on her hip looking at the pair of you with annoyance.

"Estoy tratando de pasar" 'I'm trying to get through'. Her voice is sharp, the footballer in front of you moving you both out of her way, a small "Lo lamento" 'sorry'. leaving her lips, as the woman just scoffs and walks past the pair of us.

The silence fills the space instantly, your eyes finding hers once again. The moment is gone, as you bite your lip - unsure what to say next.

A quick glance at the clock on the wall creates a chain reaction, a yawn leaving your lips as the events of the past twenty-four hours finally catch up to you.

You bring your hand over your mouth, yawning once again.

"Perdóname" 'forgive me'.

The Spanish leaving your lips brings a smile to her face once again, her eyes lighting up.

"¿tú hablas español?" 'you speak spanish?'. Her voice light, a small laugh finishing the question off.

"un poco. aunque no muy bueno" 'a bit. although not very good'. You struggle a little, your pronunciation not perfect, but the smile on her face as her eyes watch your hand indicate 'a little bit' is enough to bring a smile back to your face.

"It's okay, I'll teach you" Her switch to English surprises you, her voice lighter than her native tongue. Your excitement at the thought fills, your eyes widening at the thought, "Really?"

"sí, claro. sería un honor para mí" 'yes of course. It would be an honour for me'. You catch enough of the sentence to understand she's true to her offer.

"Thank you, Alexia"

"No hay problema mi amor" 'no problem my love'.

The blush that attacks your cheeks at the sound of 'amor' 'love'. coming off her lips only widens her smile.

She vowed for that day on, she would always call you 'mi amor' 'my love'.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Where to Run

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @deansobssessedgirl

Synopsis: you’re on the run from the British Men of Letters, and you meet your big brothers for the first time.

Entering the United States unnoticed had gone better than you thought it would. As soon as you got through passport control, you dug into your backpack—the only luggage you had brought with you, and it contained all you owned—and pulled out two pieces of paper. You considered them both for a long moment—one, an over a decade-old letter with the name of a small city in black ink in the middle of it, and the other a list of cities, one circled in red.

The list would take you to a nearby Men of Letters bunker in Lebanon, and the letter…

The letter might just lead you to your father.

…

“And you’re sure we haven’t already been to this one?” Sam asked his big brother as they pulled up to a storage facility.

“Of course I’m sure. I would’ve remembered one so close to Lawrence,” Dean said.

“What do you think dad kept in here?” Sam questioned, his curiosity getting the better of him as Dean led the way to the right storage room.

“Who knows?” Dean shrugged. “Let’s just hope one of these works.” He jangled a small set of keys on a ring that John had left in the car—they contained a spare key for the Impala as well as John’s old truck, and several storage facility keys. Dean had thought that he and Sammy had been to all of John’s secret storage places, but after scanning John’s journal for the hundredth time, he caught sight of an address scratched in the corner of a page with a storage number.

“It’s this one,” Sam spoke up, grabbing the keys from Dean and trying a few before one finally worked.

The room was small, but packed full. Sam and Dean—after carefully scanning for traps—split up and began to go through their father’s things.

“Hey, I think this file cabinet’s locked,” Sam said from one corner. Dean lifted his head, but didn’t go to his brother’s aid, too busy going through a box of odds and ends.

“Or you just didn’t pull hard enough—maybe if you had any muscle in those noodles—“

“Ok, ok,” Sam interrupted with a scoff. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t dismiss Dean’s theory—he yanked hard on the file cabinet, and it jerked open in a cloud of dust. Coughing, Sam reached down to shuffle through what was inside. “Hey, there’s only one file in here.”

“Fascinating,” Dean said in a tone that said exactly the opposite.

“There’s a birth certificate inside,” Sam said, and suddenly his voice caught. “With…with dad’s name on it.”

“Dad’s birth certificate?” Dean asked, mildly intrigued.

“Dean…not dad’s.”

“What?” Dean was by Sam’s side before Sam had even seen him move.

“Y/N Winchester, born to John Winchester and…Jane Doe.” Sam frowned, his brow crinkling. “I wonder why dad would use his real name when the mother used a fake.”

“This can’t be real,” Dean insisted. “I mean…I know with Adam…but another one?”

“Let’s see,” Sam mumbled, putting the certificate inside and checking the rest of the file. “Pictures.” Sam held up a stack, which Dean immediately snatched from him. Sam ignored this, because he’d found his own details to focus on. “And letters.” Sam grabbed the first letter from a stack of dozens, and began to read. “Dear John…our girl turns one today…”

Dean tapped Sam’s shoulder and held up a photo of a little Y/H/C girl blowing out a singular candle on a pink cake.

Sam moved onto the next letter, skimming it.

“Dear John…I put Y/N in gymnastics because it’s the only way I can get her to work on strength training and endurance.” Sam’s brow crinkled in confusion, but he was distracted when Dean held up a photo of the same girl, a few years older, in a gymnastics leotard on a balance beam.

“What do you think she meant by training?” Sam asked. “Do you think she was a hunter?”

“Could be.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe that’s why she signed her letters Jane Doe.” Dean pointed to the bottom of the letter, where “love, Jane Doe” was written.

Sam was about to pull out another letter when his fingers froze on the paper.

“Dean…”

“Hm?” Dean asked distractedly, still going through photos.

“Dean look at this.” Sam flipped the paper around, and on the back of it was a watermark—an indicator of who made the stationary.

It was the Men of Letters insignia.

…

“Lebanon, please,” you said to the taxi driver. “I’ll direct you to a more specific location when we get there.”

The man shrugged, unbothered, and began the journey.

You desperately wanted to go to Lawrence in search for your father, but you had to be realistic—you hadn’t eaten all day, you were jet lagged and exhausted, and you needed a plan of action. You needed to recover and regroup, and you needed to do it in a secure location; you needed to feel safe. In fact, you were so wound up that you flinched when the radio came on.

“—o one seems to have any information on who is causing the recent string of murders. The chief of police has offered no comment, other than a warning that the people of Lawrence should stay indoors when possible, and be alert. But there’s no denying the oddity of the case—the mass murderer seems to have some kind of vampire ideologies, with each of its victims drained completely of their blood. In other news—���

“Hey, driver!” You called out, and he glanced over his shoulder to indicate he was listening. “I changed my mind. Take me to Lawrence.”

…

“It’s gotta be another djinn.”

Dean would’ve groaned if he didn’t have a mouthful of hamburger to swallow first.

“Not those again,” he said after a gulp of beer washed down the last of his burger. They’d finished going through John’s things—Sam taking the file of your pictures and documents with him—only to leave and stumble upon a case. Dean had wanted to stop at a diner on the way back home, but he hadn’t expected to walk past a news stand to see a paper with “vampire killer” written across the front. It took Sam less than ten minutes of reading the paper, as well as a little time on the internet, to render the paper completely wrong.

“It doesn’t fit with a vampire. No teeth marks, no signs of struggle, the bodies were found in a different location from where they were taken—it’s definitely a djinn.”

“Ok, so silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood.” Dean sighed. “We happen to have one of those?”

“I think we still have the one we used last time in the trunk,” Sam said.

“Then let’s get going.”

…

You picked up a machete after being dropped off by the cabbie, hoping beyond hope that the radio had been right (even if they were kidding) about it being a vampire—there were several monsters known to drink blood, and if it was anything other than a vamp then things might get tricky. Normally you would be more prepared, but it wasn’t like you could get your weapons through customs when traveling to America, and you’d had to travel light so you could move more quickly. The British Men of Letters worked quickly, so you couldn’t take any chances. And buying up strange kinds of weapons near an old Men of Letters bunker was definitely too high a chance to take, so all you could do was hope that it was a vamp.

You’d done so much research about Lawrence that you barely even have to wonder where the creature might be hiding out—while researching Lawrence, you’d almost automatically noted the places where a supernatural being might be inclined to hide, so all you had to do was see which one was closest to the bodies that were dropping.

Then you were ready to hunt.

…

“I’m telling you, this has to be it. It’s nearly equidistant to all the bodies, and it’s the perfect place for a djinn to hide out.”

“You don’t have to sell me on the location, I believe you,” Dean told Sam. “But you do have to tell me how to get there.”

“Turn right here…yeah, and a left at that stop sign, and then we’re there.”

“So are we just not gonna talk about it?” Dean asked after a beat of silence as he followed Sam’s directions.

“Talk about what?”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe our little sister?”

“I don’t know what to say, Dean,” Sam sighed. “There’s no address anywhere in the documents or the letters, and we don’t even know her mother’s name, or if Y/N even goes by Winchester. Her mother used an alias, it makes sense that the kid would go by one, too. We have no reason to believe that she’s going by the name on her birth certificate, so we don’t have the first clue on how to find her.”

“Well it feels like we have to do something,” Dean argued. “I mean we don’t even know if this kid knows about dad—for all we know, she thinks he’s still alive. She deserves to know.”

“Why the sudden interest?” Sam questioned. “You didn’t seem all this interested when we found out about Adam.”

“That was different,” Dean sighed. “With Adam…Adam was just some normal, innocent kid who saw dad once a year for a baseball game and knew nothing about the life. This kid—Y/N—with the talk in those letters about training, and the Men of Letters insignia…she’s in this life, Sam, I can feel it. And since dad’s not around anymore…I think it’s our job to make sure she’s ok.”

“And I’d be happy to do that,” Sam insisted. “If only we knew how to find her. But for now, let’s do what we can do—take out this djinn.”

…

The sight of a car in the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse worried you—even if it was a beautiful car.

“Chevy Impala,” you mumbled to yourself. “67, I think.” You shook yourself, moving your mind back to the task at hand, rather than the conversation you were having with yourself. Hopefully the car here didn’t mean that its owners were anywhere near the warehouse—the last thing you needed was some innocent people getting in the way and getting hurt.

Seeing no one around, you hefted your machete and headed inside.

…

Dean gestured at Sam to be quiet as he peaked around a corner. Signaling that the coast was clear, Dean led the way through the warehouse, the silver dagger gripped in his steady hand. Dean was just signaling Sam to wait so he could check around another corner when—

“Hey!”

“Jeez—what?”

Dean stopped himself just short of cutting not a djinn, but a Y/H/C girl wielding a machete that was aimed at him.

“Hey, easy.” Dean took a quick step back, raising the knife and his hands in the air. “We’re not—“ Dean’s words died in his throat when he got a good look at your face.

“Dean,” Sam breather from beside him. “It’s—“

“No kidding.”

“What are you talking about?” You demanded, lowering the machete just a little bit. “Who are you guys, what are you doing here?” You didn’t want for an answer. “You have to get out of here, there’s a—“ your eyes fell to the silver dagger.

Sam’s gaze followed your own to the weapon in Dean’s hand before he looked back at you.

“It’s not a vamp,” he said, gesturing at your machete. “It’s a djinn.”

You lowered your machete completely.

“You’re hunters?”

Dean couldn’t keep the astonished smile off his face.

“And you’re Y/N Winchester.”

The machete was back up in an instant.

“Who are you?” You demanded for the second time. “Men of Letters?”

“Easy, easy,” Dean said, taking a step back as you advanced on them. “I’m not—“

“Guys!”

Sam’s warning proceeded the arrival of the djinn by a split second—just enough time for Dean to dodge the blow that the djinn tried to land on him.

“Hey!” Your call turned the attention of the djinn, who grabbed hold of your arm before you had the chance to move away. He twisted your arm behind your back until your machete was crashing to the ground and you were crying out in pain.

“Here!” Dean’s call came a second before the silver dagger was hurtling at your face. You snatched it up with your free hand and twisted it so it was facing the djinn a moment before you plunged the dagger into the djinn’s side. He howled with pain and released your arm, giving you an opportunity to spin around and stab again, this time in the neck.

The djinn went down without a sound, and the thud of his fall echoed through the empty room. For a long moment, only the sound of heavy breathing could be heard. That is, until Dean took a step towards you.

“Back off!” You yelled, raising the blood-soaked dagger.

“Are you serious?” Dean scoffed. “Hey, I just helped save your life.”

“I’m not going back!” You were starting to look panicked as you backed away from the brothers. “So-so just tell Lady Bevell, or Ketch, or Mick, or whoever recruited you that I’m done! I’m not a part of the Men of Letters, and I never will be!”

“Hey, hey, easy,” Sam soothed. “We’re not Men of Letters.”

“Then how do you know who I am?” You challenged.

“Because of John Winchester.”

Sam’s response froze you in your tracks.

“J…John Winchester?” The dagger was slowly lowering. “You know him? You know where he is?”

The hope in your eyes was like a punch in the gut to both brothers. However, it was gone in an instant and replaced with a harsh suspicion as you raised the knife higher again.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“That’s how we know who you are, kid,” Dean insisted.

“Here—“ Sam’s hand was halfway to his pocket when you pointed your knife at him and he froze. “Easy, ok? I’ll go slow.” He slowly reached in, and you relaxed slightly when he pulled out a small bundle of papers. “We’ve got letters that your mom sent to him, with some pictures.” Sam held them out, and you hesitantly took them, thumbing through the stack while occasionally glancing warily at the boys.

“They stop,” you mumbled.

“What?” Dean asked.

“The letters, they stopped…at least ten years ago.” You looked back up at the boys as you spoke. “Is…is there more, or…”

The despair on the boys’ faces spoke for itself. Your lip was already quivering as you tucked the letters away, still holding onto the knife but keeping it pointed down.

“Is he…is he dead?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “About ten years ago.”

Sam could tell you were trying not to cry, trying to act like they hadn’t just ripped the rug out from under you.

“You know, I—I didn’t even know him—“ your voice cracked. “But I…gosh, I re-I really wanted to.”

You let Dean take the knife from you after he put a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Um, so.” You wiped your hand over your face, trying to brush away any stray tears as you tried valiantly to pull yourself together. “So how did you two…”

“He’s…he’s our dad, too.” Sam said. Your eyes widened slightly as you absorbed this information.

“Wait, you…were you…from his wife?”

“You knew about her?” Dean asked.

“Not really,” you admitted. “John…dad, he…he never liked to talk about his past, but he did mention his wife in one of his letters…he said her death was what made him become a hunter.” Your lips quirked up as you remembered. “He said if I ever saw a yellow-eyed demon, send it to hell for him.” Your eyes went back to Dean and Sam. “Is…is that how he died? Hunting demons?”

“Kind of,” Sam said. “It’s…it’s a long story.”

“What about you?” Dean said suddenly. “If you know Lady Bevell and the rest, and you know they’re here recruiting, then you’ve got something to do with the Men of Letters. Not to mention their insignia on the back of those letters.”

Just the mention of the Men of Letters had you on edge again.

“Maybe we should talk about this at a more secure location,” you suggested. “There’s an old Men of Letters bunker not far from—“ you cut yourself off when you caught the look between the two brothers. “What?”

“We know,” Sam said. “We’ve been living in it.”

Dean noticed your fingers twitch, as if you were thinking about reaching for a weapon.

“And I’m supposed to believe you’re not Men of Letters?”

“Our grandfather was one,” Dean said. “He left us a key.”

You seemed to consider this. Dean watched as your eyes got a faraway look, and he knew you were trying to remember something.

“Mom said that John was from a line of the Men of Letters. It was one of the ways she tried to get him to join.” You shook yourself of the memories. “Fine. I’ll go with you, but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

Dean couldn’t help the way a smile twitched just slightly on his lips before he dropped it.

“Fair enough.”

…

You were quiet the whole way to the bunker, and although your brothers had questions they sensed you were tired and on edge, so they refrained. Dean kept glancing at you in the rearview mirror the whole way, and he was happy to see the way you slowly put your guard down—mostly out of exhaustion—as you relaxed into a light slumber.

You awoke with a start when Dean pulled into the bunker’s garage, the echo of Baby’s engine reverberating loudly.

“Home sweet home,” Dean crowed as you stepped out of the Impala. You didn’t say a word as he led you inside, but the moment the three of you settled down around the kitchen table, you finally started to talk.

“John met my mother on a hunt. She was just visiting America, vacation or something, but she happened to stumble on a case. They met…and well, I came along.” Both brothers noticed you skipping over the details, for which they were grateful. “But while mom was still pregnant she tried to convince dad to join the Men of Letters.” Sam noticed the way you kept switching between dad and John, as if you either weren’t sure what to say, or you weren’t sure what the boys were comfortable with. “He didn’t like the idea, and he didn’t want that for me, either. They fought about it, and mom left the country to go back to England. She was still pregnant…” Dean saw your fists clench and unclench as you blinked rapidly. “Dad, he…he never saw me in person. Any-anyway, she still wrote to him, and she let me read his letters. She said he deserved that much, at least. Dad was always telling me hunter things—I think he was hoping I’d end up a hunter, like him.”

“Why did you?” Sam spoke up. “I mean, if your mother raised you with the Men of Letters…”

“She kept a lot from me,” you said. “The…morally ambiguous parts.” At Dean’s strange look, you scoffed. “Ok, let’s be real, the straight up evil parts.” This got a grin from both brothers. “But she, uh…” the lightheartedness in the room was gone in an instant. “She died last year, and well…people stopped lying to me. I realized all the crap they really did, and I ran.”

“And what, they’re after you?” Dean questioned. “I mean it’s not like the mafia, right, I mean you can just leave.”

You nearly laughed out loud.

“I wish they were as sloppy as the mafia. No, you can’t just leave, especially not me—just because I’m a kid, doesn’t mean I couldn’t have over a decade of Men of Letters’ secrets stored in my brain. That’s why I came here, I…I wanted to find dad. To find family, protection.” You took a deep breath. “I want to be a hunter, not a Man of Letters.”

Dean found himself speaking before he even thought about what to say.

“Why do you have to be either?”

“What?” You said at the same time as Sam. Dean glanced between you before continuing.

“You’re just a kid—you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You don’t have to be either, you could be whatever you want.”

You blinked up at Dean, as though the thought had never occurred to you.

“I…I don’t…”

“Look,” Dean began. “Don’t decide just now. John may not be here, but we’re family too, kid. There’s an empty bedroom down the hall, you should get some sleep, get settled in…then maybe we could talk about this hunting stuff, ok? The important thing is, you’re safe here. Let’s just say we don’t like the British Men of Letters anymore than you do. They’re not getting in here, and they’re not getting to you. Everything else can wait for later.”

You felt a smile—a true smile—etching its way into your face for the first time in so long. You looked up at this man—your big brother—and you couldn’t help but feel that everything was going to be ok. Whether you decided to hunt or not, or whether the Men of Letters came after you, you knew one thing for sure—

You really had found your family.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe

[iguessweallcrazyithinktho]

𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 • 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐦

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Jude having to leave his daughter for away games and it’s the hardest process

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐚𝐝! 𝐉𝐮𝐝𝐞

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 800+

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐡𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐥

𝐉𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲

--

The day has been off since you all woke up. 9am and Jude was packing his bags. He dreaded these days; leaving you and your daughter for away games were always the hardest. Ever since she was a baby he hated leaving her, but now she was older and he hated it even more because she begs him to stay.

“phone, passport.. ok I got everything I need.” Jude sighed, turning to you. You were standing there, holding your daughter who was still very much sleepy. She knew it was time for Jude to go and she was starting to get cranky about it.

“Just need to say goodbye to my favorite girls.” Jude walked over to you two. He kissed you first , a couple on the lips and the cheek before turning to your daughter.

Her big brown eyes looked up at her daddy and her bottom lip pouted out. Her little breathing became uneven as she began to tear up. She knew he was about to leave. This made Jude heartbreak.

“no, don’t cry darling” Jude took her from you, kissing her cheek as her tiny cries filled the foyer.

You watched his face turn sad as she cried against him. No matter how many times he did this it never got easy seeing his baby girl cry.

“Daddy will be back home before you know it.” He rubbed her back. “I promise peanut.”

Jude placed a few more kisses on the toddlers head. He tried to pull her away from him, but she wasn’t happy about it. The room filled up with her screams as she tugged at his hoodie.

“No daddy no no.” she yelled out. Tears flowed from her eyes, but Jude held it together and handed the squirming baby back to you.

He muttered a few sorrys to her before painfully picking up his bags with a sigh. He walked over to the door looking back at the two of you. Your daughter was still crying, mumbling daddy stay into your chest.

You gave Jude a sad smile, muttering go before he ends up staying due to guilt. Jude didn’t waste any time, walking out the door.

--

Later in the day you were in the kitchen making lunch for you and your daughter. She had eventually calmed down and now she was in the living room playing quietly with her toys.

While you were mixing vegetables in the pan your phone rung. You looked down to see that Jude was calling you.

“hi.” You said. You sat the phone on the counter so he could see you as you continued mixing.

“hi darling. How is she?” Jude asked first before you could say anything. You smiled knowing his baby girl is his number one priority.

The sound of feet against the floor stopped you before you could say a word. You smiled turning to see your daughter standing there, looking at you with her big doe eyes.

“Come here, daddy’s calling.”

At the mention of her dad, she ran over to you letting you pick her up. Her eyes found the camera and she smiled.

“Hi darling.” Jude returned the smile your daughter gave him.

“She’s finally calm.” You looked at your daughter. Her eyes never left the phone screen. She’s without a doubt a daddy’s girl.

“Just a little bit more tears after you left then she tired herself out and fell asleep.”

Jude nodded. “ I’m sorry bubba. Daddy will be back soon and I’ll bring you back sometime. I promise.”

Your daughter nodded her little head. “otay.”

Jude blew her a kiss to which she returned with her little kiss you taught her how to do.

You let her back down and she waddled off back to the living to her toys. Happier than ever.

You turned back to your phone. “well I’m going to let you go. I heard time goes by faster when you’re busy.”

Jude nods. “ I’ll send you pictures of your little princess so you don’t get deprived of her..”

Jude laughed. You both bid your goodbyes to one another before Jude hung up the phone call.

-

The next three days flew by in a flash and Jude was on his way back. Your daughter was excited. She stood by the door waiting for his car to pull into the driveway.

Around 12pm you heard her squeals and a car pull into the driveway. Jude was home.

You walked over to the front door opening it to let Jude in. Instantly your daughter ran over to him hugging Jude’s legs. You smiled watching Jude pick her up and attack her with kisses making her giggle.

“I haven’t forgot about you.” Jude said to you when he was done giving your daughter all his attention. You walked over to him. He hugged you, kissing you deeply and passionately.

That was all ruined when your daughter pushed you away from Jude with a frown. Your family was back together and all was well.

--

Ok need some Jude smut ideas

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Devil Wears Armani 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

—posting to the correct blog lol—

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

The appletini at girls' night does little to ease you through a restless night. You’re not a traveller. You’ve never flown before. The only reason you have a passport is it was required for the job. You didn’t expect to actually use it. 

You give into consciousness around 3am and double check your bag for everything you need. You forego your usual coffee as you fear an anxious bladder adding to your addled state. You still can’t figure out why Mr. Stark told you to come along. You don’t have anything blocked into his calendar. He’s had weekend meetings before but you usually pop into zoom to take notes and nothing else. 

You spare the fare for a cab as the streetcar isn’t in service yet and you don’t feel like venturing into the underground at this hour. The ride is swift in the dead streets of the city. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them so empty. 

You arrive at the airport and realise you’re missing a very important piece. A boarding pass? Terminal information? Any sort of direction to find where you need to be. Well, it never hurts to ask for help even if you don’t get it. 

You enter and go to the counter. The woman behind it looks tired as dark rings stain her sockets and she fixes her smile to greet you. You nervously clench your jaw and exhale through your nose. 

“Hi, I... I’m supposed to be flying, er, private? I work for Tony Stark?” You creak out through your dry throat. You need water. 

“Mr. Stark?” She lowers her brow, “do you have proof of employment?” 

“Erm, yeah,” you unhook your keyring from your purse and shove it towards her. Your company ID is hooked onto the cluster of novelty attachments and keys. 

“I need to make a call,” she says as she examines your identification. 

Great. 

You bob nervously on the other side of the counter as the attendant speaks quietly into the speaker. Your phone buzzes and you jingle the keys as you find it. Stark has sent you a simple message; ‘Terminal 1, tarmac. Now.’ 

As you peek up over the counter, the woman hangs up. “You need to head up to Terminal 1. Find an employee there, in a white shirt like mine, and show them this.” She kits a few keys and her printer grinds with great effort. She hands you a boarding pass but most of it is empty. There’s only a code at the bottom. 

You thank her and head off. You scramble through security, walking through the scanner as your bag rides the conveyor through and x-ray. You retrieve your things on the other side and run off to reach Mr. Stark before he gets too impatient. He’s probably already agitated. 

You check your watch. It’s only 5:01am. You’re on time, right? 

You follow the signs to terminal one and find a large man standing by a ramp entrance. You approach him and show him the pass. He points you to another employee at the far end as he talks over his walkie talkie to them. You cross the tiled floor to meet the man and he beckons you towards another ramp. 

You’re led down to the tarmac and left to shuffle across it on your own. You’re only told to approach big jet waiting by a tower set of stairs. There’s an attendant at the bottom who greets your brightly and you show the pass again.  

“Mr. Stark is expecting you. May I take your bag?” She offers. 

“No thank, I can handle it,” you nod and lift the bag off its wheels. 

You climb a stair at a time and pass another attendant at the top. She directs you to leave your bag in the front carriage and you roll it behind the wall of webbing there. You turn to the ivory curtain and peek through tentatively. The movement of fabric draws Mr. Stark’s gaze from his phone. 

“Get in here,” he demands, “about time, George. I was about to fall asleep.” 

You push through and near him, “sir, did you need coffee?” 

“They got the long-legged ones for that,” he waves away your offer with his lecherous allusion to the pretty, tall attendants. “Sit.” 

You look at the chair on the other side of the table, across from him, and you hesitate. You lower yourself into the cushy seat and cross one leg over the other, your foot bouncing anxiously. You clutch your hands together and stare at Mr. Stark. 

“You look tired as hell,” he cackles. 

“Sir, it’s early.” 

“Ah, don’t let that ruin an all-inclusive. Tell me, Georgie, a girl like you, are you jet-setting every weekend? You got billionaires flying you to the Caribbean on the reg? Didn’t think you were the popular type.” 

“No, sir, I--” you try not to wince at his insinuation. You are all too aware that you’re on the bottom rung of the ladder he sits atop of. “Thank you for this. It’s very nice of you to bring me along.” 

“You are very welcome,” he says smugly, “move.” 

He points to the seat next to him. 

“Oh, uh,” you pull your hands apart and push yourself up with the armrests, “sorry.” 

He grunts, irritated, and signals with two fingers. As an attendant approaches, you sidle around the table and in front of Stark to get to the other seat. You feel a brush on your thigh but ignore it. It’s a tight squeeze.  

He asks for an espresso as you lower yourself down. He reaches over and pinches the fabric of your pants, just at the top of your knee. He sniffs. 

“This isn’t very Caribbean-friendly. You’re gonna sweat your tits off,” he derides. 

You try not to show your embarrassment, ignoring the urge to cover your chest at his comment. Out of habit, you put on your usual attire. A cardigan, a tidy blouse, and slacks. He huffs again and tugs at the sleeve of your cardigan. 

“Get rid of this,” he demands. 

“Oh, uh...” You sit forward as you undo the single button and you shrug out of the wool. He swipes it away and tosses it on the floor.  

The attendant returns with his espresso and gathers up your cardigan as you send her an apologetic look. Stark takes his coffee and tastes it before setting it on the table. He turns to you and clucks again. You let out a squeak as he reaches to pop the top button of your blouse, then the next. You flatten yourself to the seat helplessly. 

“Better, gotta let those things breathe,” he winks and sits back with a smirk. 

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 11

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Though this is where the c.ai help ended because I was breaking the bot's pea pickin' mind. 😆

Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!!

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten.

Eleven. 十一

You wake with a start. 

You’re naked, and Donaka is sprawled out in his bed beside you. Your eyes roam over the long lines of his powerful body, taking in his angles and curves. His broad muscled back, and tapered waist.

A more bitable little ass was never created by God or man. 

That bit of sanity you’d been hoping for once the hormones subsided mercifully returns to you. No matter how gorgeous this man is–no matter how good he fucks, or how many times he made you cum the night before with his hands and his cock and his tongue (sweet Confucious, Buddha, and baby Jesus, his tongue)–you have got to get out of here. 

It’s early morning, the blue light of pre-dawn. You slip out of bed, nearly dying of a heart attack when he stirs beside you–but does not wake. Quickly you throw on the tatters of your dress, and on bare feet you race as quickly and quietly as possible out the door, and down the hall. 

With your heart thundering in your ears you start rummaging through your drawers for that most essential of travel documents: your passport. The servants were not given access to lockers or any way to secure their belongings, so you’d hidden it in the bottom of your suitcase, inside a slit in the lining. As you stick your hand in it, fishing around, your hopes drop like a stone.

It’s gone. 

You feel again, frantic this time, finding once more–it’s not there. 

 “Missing something?”

Donaka’s voice from the doorway makes you start; you lose your balance, tumbling over on the floor. 

Anything you might say turns to ash on your tongue, as you look up at him, forbidding in a pair of black lounge pants, and nothing else. Why oh why does he have to be such a beautiful bastard? 

You realize there’s no lying to him, so you stick out your chin. “Where is it?” you demand. 

“In a safe place,” he answers, his lips pursing as he tries not to smile. “You have to admit…that wasn’t exactly secure.” He nods at your suitcase, and you clench your fist, the desire to hit him burning real in your bones. He made sure you didn’t have a safe place to put it. 

“How dare you?” He just rolls his eyes, and crosses the floor to you in two strides, pulling you up off the floor. 

“Come back to bed, darling. I was sleeping so peacefully before you had to go skulking around.”

“You can’t do this.” 

You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince–him, or you?

He just lifts an eyebrow, sweeping one of those big hands across your cheek, into your hair. His hold on you is just this side of menacing.  “There’s not a place in the world you could hide from me, y/n. Remember that.” 

He tugs on your hand…and fuck you, if you’re not so flabbergasted, you don’t follow him like a starstruck idiot, absolutely flummoxed by his nerve. 

Fine, you think. No passport? You just have to make it to your embassy. Surely they would put you in protective custody or something?

“You’ll never make it that far,” he tells you conversationally, his arm around your waist as you walk together down the hall. 

“Where?”

“The Embassy, of course.” 

Motherfucker. 

He makes you pause at the window in the living room with him, the first rays of dawn beginning to shine through the massive windows. The forest looks like a gilded emerald; the water beyond it a blanket of diamonds. He follows your gaze, taking in the marvelous sight. Shouldn’t it be storming outside? Rain falling down, on this bleak day? 

“How can you live with such an awful view?” he asks wryly, turning your attention back up to him. Before you can answer he kisses you, claiming your mouth for his as he presses you back against the window. His hand makes its way beneath your skirt, unimpeded as you did not take the time to even pull on your panties before making your escape from his bedroom. 

“Donaka…” you protest, feeling utterly exposed like this, in the big open room, with nothing but glass behind you. The rest of the staff will be waking soon. The thought of one of your colleagues walking in on you like this makes you want to die all over again. “Please not here…someone will see.” 

He scoffs at you, of course. “No one will interrupt us. This is my house. You are the only one here who never knew your proper place. We’re fixing that now.” 

A small sound escapes you, something between a whine and a growl. All it earns you is a hushed, dark laughter, and this terrible man lowers himself to his knees before you, pinning you against the glass with one large hand spanning your torso. He smirks up at you, delighting in your self-righteous rage, your tears of frustration glittering in the corners of your eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” he taunts you. “Isn’t this what you wanted all along? The bad man on his knees for you?” His smile is like a baring of teeth, and you both know who holds the real power here, no matter who is on their knees. His other hand has made its way up your thigh again, cupping your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you squirm against him, almost hurting you. 

“No,” you whimper, fighting the urge to cry, your legs about to collapse out from under you. 

“No?” he demands. “That’s not what I read.” His long fingers reach to test your center, finding your treacherous little cunt has cast her own vote for him yet again, moist and willing. You try to shy away but he pins you with his superior strength, utterly and completely.

“You missed the subtext,” you choke out, your heart breaking all over again. You were so resolved to fight the night before. That fire seems to have suffocated under the wet blanket of hopelessness again. 

“Were there underlying themes in all that filth?” he asks incredulously. 

Feeling idiotic all over again, your words lodge in your throat. But Donaka has paused in his ministrations, looking up at you with that laser-sharp gaze. “This isn’t what you wanted?” he asks with a deceptive gentleness. “My hands?” He pops the last buttons at the bottom of your dress, the garment gaping to bare all of you to his possessive gaze. “My mouth?” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of your lower belly, those plush lips upon your flesh making you tremble, curling your toes. He strums at your slick center, his sultry voice dropping low. “You didn’t want my cock to fill that aching emptiness inside you?” 

You writhe against the window, crying out as two of those clever fingers press up inside you, pleasuring you and pinning you as his tongue seeks out your needly little clit. You could murder him, for the way he makes you hate him and want him all in one breath.  

He stops as suddenly as he started, looking up at you expectantly. “Well?”  

You feel like the dumbest woman who ever walked the earth–but then, you suppose he already knew that about you. He’s had your measure from day one, and has simply been playing with you like a cat with a mouse ever since. Yet now, you would rather die than tell him what you’re really thinking. You shake your head tearfully, locking your heart up tight.

It doesn’t matter, because it seems this man can read your fucking mind. 

“Did you hope I would fall in love with you, y/n? You young, sweet thing.”

His words slide past your ribs and pierce your heart, deadly as a stiletto. You really were a fool. 

“Maybe I did want your love,” you admit, voice rough as you force it past the lump in your throat. “But all you want is submission.” 

He told you as much, over and over the night before. 

Yet he does not laugh at you, the way you expect him to. He looks up at you with such a weight in that dark gaze, you cannot breathe. “What is love, y/n? Do I not provide for you? Protect you? I let you talk to me with insouciance I would never tolerate from anyone else. I am not a tender man, but what little I have, I have given to you. Tell me, what is love, y/n?”

It’s almost as though he’s truly asking you.

Suddenly you feel as though the floor has dropped out from under you. Does he love you? Or is he just fucking with you, the way he has been the whole time you’ve been here? You need to make up your mind about this, because the whiplash of wondering is going to be the end of you. 

“Donaka…”

Then he narrows his eyes, that fire returned therein. “You are the one who taunted me with talk of leaving. Do you love me?”

“You scare me,” you finally answer, which should be a no…but isn’t exactly.  

“You knew all along what I am, deep down. You sensed it, even without proof. You could have fled, but you stayed. You know why, bunny?”

You make a keening sound as he curls his fingers inside you, tormenting you with another wet kiss to your clit. “Do you know why?” he demands again. 

You can hardly find your voice. “Why?”

“Because I fascinate you, the same way you fascinate me. I’m more than willing to try to fuck it out of our systems, but I suspect–” He presses your clit with his thumb, tearing a sob from your throat, stealing your ability to think, to breathe. Your head rocks back against the glass, hard enough to bruise.  “I’ll be keeping you for a long time.”

Then his tongue dips into your slit, lapping at your clit, and you forget everything for a long while.

[satorusugurugurl]

I Think He Knows: (Chapter Ten)

Summary: When your novel takes off and becomes a best seller, doors of opportunities open for you. You can work on the series you have dreamed about all your life. And you’re also given the chance to stay in a tiny cottage in Europe for two years to help with inspiration! Your best friend, Geto Suguru, shatters at the news. How could he tell you how he feels when you leave him? His opportunity appears right before him when you confess that your editor thinks a change of scenery will help with your not-so-steamy romance scenes. They’re lacking a particular spice because you’re a virgin. So, Suguru does what any best friend would do. He offers to teach you how things work. Will you cross that line as friends? Or will you both say goodbye?

Pairing: Geto Suguru x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 5,445

Warning: smut, love making, unprotected sex, cream pie, goodbyes

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I took a bit of a break! So I lied. We have one more part after this, followed by the epilogue!! I can’t believe this is almost done!!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Eleven

Suguru sighed, his eyes looking over to the clock on the wall, the frown pulling out his lips. He would have to wake you up soon. Your plane to Europe left in four hours, and he still needed to help you pack. He hated to let you go. But at the same time, he wasn’t going to hold you back or make you give up on your dreams. You had spent a month with him, helping him through the trauma that still hurt with each passing day; it got easier to deal with.

You had helped break him from the chains that bound him down in grief. It was all thanks to you. So how could he knowingly keep you in Okinawa when you could live in the cottage you had dreamed about, which had become your muse over the years? The same cottage you had spent hours looking for?

He couldn't be the one to hold you back from that dream.

You stir next to him, humming as you push your face into your pillow before turning your head to look into Suguru’s eyes. There’s a gentle yet almost melancholic grin tucking at the corners of his mouth. You move in closer towards him, cupping his cheek in your hand, gently stroking it, savoring the warmth of his skin against your palm.

“Are you okay?” You noticed how he leaned into you, his eyes shut tight as if he was savoring your touch like you would disappear when he opened his eyes. “Did you have another nightmare?”

‘No, I’m just losing you,’ Suguru thought as he tried to muster his best smile. ‘But we’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of that.’

“No, there were no nightmares. But whenever you’re ready, we need to get up and get you packed.”

“Packed for what?”

“A surprise.”

You perked up, pulling Suguru close to your face, your lips inches from his, gently grazing over the soft skin. “I love surprises.” You kissed him hard, taking control and being the assertive one. Suguru's eyes shut as your teeth over his bottom lip before you gently ran your tongue, easing the slight stinging sensation left in your wake, begging him to let you in.

Your boyfriend knows that if he lets you take control, you will be cutting time short. He needs to get you to the airport, where your agent will be waiting at the gate with your documents, passport, and additional bags for your journey to Europe. He had taken the time all day yesterday evening to set this up so you could finally be at your cottage. Was he going to let you have your way and risk not getting you to the airport in time?

Absolutely.

You whine softly, smiling as your boyfriend grabs the back of your head, pulling your face closer to his as he opens his mouth for you. As you took control, dominating the kiss, stealing his breath away, his eyes shut tight, savoring the way you tasted how soft your body was pressed against his. He embedded the sounds you made into his memory: the soft cries and sharp intakes of breath as he ran his hands over your skin. Your best friend and boyfriend wanted this to last forever.

The way his hand gently stroked your hair while his other hand pushed your (his) shirt up your hips, allowing his hand to rest on your bare panty-clad hip. His fingers began toying with the waistband legally, not rushing to get it off you. That gentle teasing sensation had you melting as you felt his fingers gently graze over the band before moving further down to tease your upper thigh. It was the perfect kind of lazy foreplay that you’ve loved. It drove you crazy, having him touch you but not in the way you wanted, and while you love the romantic gestures and sweet, soft caress and lingering kisses, you also craved Suguru in a carnal way.

“Baby.” the sigh that brushes against your boyfriend's mouth nearly has his resolve shattering like a porcelain doll. You always made the prettiest sounds, especially when you needed him. But he shoves down that hungry field beast that is roaring at him to take you to push your face into the mattress and fuck you from behind. That was a tempting idea, but he didn’t want the last time you were intimate to be rough and greed-driven. He wanted it to be a time he could look back on and get off while you were away. “I need you.”

“Then have me.”

His words are so soft. You might've missed it if he hadn’t whispered them against your mouth. You can feel yourself clenching around nothing, your slut coating the inside of your panties as you moan, straddling his hips. Your boyfriend‘s dark raven hair pulls against the pillows like ink spilled against paper. His eyes are narrowed with lust as his hands, your hips settle on them. Will you pull his shirt up and off your body? Since you both had to confess to how you felt about each other, your boyfriend had seen you naked underneath him over a dozen times, but this was the first time he had you on top.

Your breasts were the perfect size for him. God, he loved how pretty they were. They slightly jiggled with every movement as you sat back, tugging your panties off and throwing them somewhere across the room. Suguru made a mental note to find them when you were both done so he could shove them under his pillow. It would be like keeping a piece of you with him because he was going to miss you so fucking much that he needed a reminder of you.

Humming in pleasure, you ran your hands over his chest, grazing his nipples with your thumbs. His hips jerked up instinctively as his mouth fell, while your manicured nails continued, trailing further over his muscles, tracing over the large ‘X’ scar on his chest, a reminder of the accident. You loved your boyfriend‘s body as much as he loved yours. In this position, you could genuinely worship every inch of him and plan on doing just that.

Your soft touches and the hunger in your eyes fuel your boyfriend's desire. Suguru let out a grunt; his hips buck up against yours with every gentle touch, his eyes remaining shot. He was trying to somehow have his body record the sensation of your skin slowly trailing over his.

“Suguru, are you sure you’re okay?” He seemed out of it, like he had a lot on his mind. If he didn’t want to have sex, he didn’t have to force himself to please you

Suguru gently squeezed your hips. "I'm just memorizing every inch of you, remembering how beautiful you look and how warm your skin feels against your spine.” His eyes cracked open a sliver, and he found your flushed cheeks and face of awe looking down at him.

“Sugu—”

“ I just love you so damn much, princess.”

“I love you too.” Your hips slowly begin rocking against his already stiff and throbbing cock. “I wanna show you just how much I love you.” your pretty hands tugged down his pajama pant just enough to release his cock. “So why don’t you just relax, and I’ll take care of everything?”

Suguru wasn’t sure if it was possible, but he felt like his heart was beating inside his throat, making it dry and difficult to swallow. Watching you grinding your wet pussy over his throbbing erection was almost pornographic. From where he was, your breast continued to bounce with each lazy roll of your hips. Smearing you’re already sucking Cunt against him. Your arousal rubbed over the sensitive vein that ran down the underside of his cock had pre-dribbling out of the tip, smearing against his happy trail.

“Fuuck yes—” your boyfriend digs his fingers into your hips, “just like that princess, just like that~!”

“Haah~Suguru~ Suguru!” Words can’t even describe how good he feels against you. “I wanna ride you, please, pretty please?” How your voice breaks and your eyes flood with tears is almost too arousing. He wants you to beg and plead for more until the point that you are crying for his cock. Unfortunately, he found himself short on time and would have to save that fantasy for another day.

“Yes baby, please ride me, use me.”

You feel giddy, eager to try yet another position. You were reaching for the condom box so fast that you almost fell off your boyfriend, but he quickly caught you holding your ass, massaging it as he pulled you back up against him. Suguru watches you lick your lips as you reach into the box, but you pull out nothing. He stares at your face as you look inside the box with the pout.

“We’re out.”

Those two words did not just come out of your mouth. Your boyfriend sits up, staring at the box as if you were playing some cruel, impractical joke on him. Sure enough, to emphasize your point, you turn the box over and shake it. No shiny foiled packages fall out. This had to be one of the coldest jokes the universe has decided to play on him.

It’s not like you would never have sex again. He planned on coming to see you in Europe eventually. But who knew when that was going to be? Suguru would be stuck in Okinawa for another three months, and when he got home, he'd probably have a new commission before he had the chance to see you.

Why was life so cruel?

“Fuck.” Suguru grunted, falling back against the bed with a sigh. “That sucks.”

“Baby.”

“And we don’t have time to go get more; your surprise is time-sensitive.”

“Honey—”

“I’m sorry I ju—mmhm!”

Your hand clamped firmly down over Suguru’s mouth, preventing him from continuing to ramble anymore. “I have the IUD.” You whisper, rocking your hips slowly over his still-hard cock. “We can still do it if you want.” Suguru’s eyes widen as he sits back up, wrapping his arms around you as you pull your hand away from his mouth.

“You have the IUD?”

“Yep.”

“Since when?!”

You smirk, cock a brow at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I got it in high school. My cramps were so bad, they recommended it.” Suguru’s face is a dusty rose color as he swallows hard. “I’m just saying it’s an option; I’m clean, obviously—but if you don’t wanna do it, that’s fine.” Dark hair falls on Suguru’s face as he shakes his head.

“N-No, I want to, it's just—I’ve never done it without a condom before. So it’s uhm,” His cock throbs eagerly at the idea of feeling your warmth wrapped around him without any latex. “It would be a new experience.”

“One you would want to experience with me?”

You feel your heart racing in your chest, like the wings of a hummingbird. Seeing Suguru blush, watching him slowly smile as he reaches down, grabs your ass, and massages it, leaves you aching for him. You grind down, finding his still-hard cock rubbing eagerly against your slick folds.

“I wouldn’t want it to be with anyone else.”

Your lips are on his the second he stops talking and kissing him in a frantic, needy way. Your moans flood his mouth as he lays back down against the mattress, his hips bucking up into you, feeling your pussy twitch. He groaned out a needy laugh, tilting his head back as you broke the kiss to trail kisses along the side of his neck. You nip and suck at his skin, trailing your tongue down over his broad shoulders before you place both your hands on his chest, lifting yourself.

Looking down at him, you feel a certain fire kindling in your lower abdomen as heat pulls between your legs. You feel every inch of your body, every nerve screaming at you to take him. To have the most primal sex with him. Without any hesitation, you reach behind you, sitting back just enough for you to position his cock with your entrance.

The instant you begin sliding down on his cock, Suguru exhaled a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in. You were so tight, warm, and wet. So wet, nothing could have prepared him for how wet you were. It was taking everything in his power not to blow his load like he was seventeen.

“O-Oooh.” The soft sound that came from your mouth had Suguru’s eyebrows knitted together. “Oh fuck.” Your mouth was agape, your eyes narrowed, and a pretty flush dusted your cheeks and chest. “S-Suguru, your cock feels so—warm.”

Suguru felt multiple things in the span of zero point two seconds. His heart and cock swelled, his eyes went wide, pupils dilating as he stared solely at you, and his hands grabbed your hips, forcing you down further. You gasped, sliding further down his girth, your head falling forward as your nails dug into his shoulders as he stretched you out like he had done countless times in the last month, only this time was more intense.

You could feel him, how soft and warm he was. You could feel his veins that grazed over the deepest parts of you as Suguru continued to pull you down into his length. Only stopping one, your hips were flesh against his. He twitched and throbbed inside of you, wild. His fingers gently squeezed your sides, slowly trailing over the fantastic curves of your body. Each inch of skin he traveled across made your skin more sensitive, making you twitch around his velvety smooth cock, making you wetter.

“You’re wet.” hearing him say that while he laid underneath you made you wetter. “Fuck~ fuuuck Princess so fuckin’ wet.”

You slowly ease yourself off his cock with a whine before slamming back down. “Hnngh~ Suguru~” Nails dug harder into his skin, leaving crescent moon shapes in your wake as you tilted your head back, bouncing yourself up and down his cock.

“Princess~” he tensed his jaw, holding your hips tight as he whispered to you. "Fuck, Princess—just—just like that—"

You whimpered and lowered yourself further onto him faster. "F-Fuck." You breathed out lightly as you looked at your sweet boyfriend.

“Babe—fuck, fuck, fuuuck.” He hissed out, lifting his head slightly to watch you take his cock with each bounce. “Fuck, haaah, fuckin wet—so goddamn wet.” He was trying so hard not to thrust up into you, letting you have complete control.

Your eyebrows knitted together, and you gasped out slightly, rolling your hips back and forth. Making the tip of his cock rub perfectly against your g-spot. A warmth began spreading through your stomach as you peered down at Suguru with glossy eyes that were lost in pleasure. "Suguru~” The wet sounds of your fucking yourself on Suguru’s cock filled the room, making him dig his hands into your side harder.

Suguru looked glorious underneath you as he panted hard. He was getting drunk off of you and your tight walls as his eyebrows knitted as much as yours, if not more. "Princess." He growled, desperately trying not to fuck into you. "You're so pretty." He whispered as you laughed breathlessly, trying so hard not to cum.

You took a deep breath before pulling back, allowing yourself to start riding him faster. Your eyes were shut tight as you cried out with each rock of your hips. You were rolling them faster and harder against him. Seeing you so into it, the way your lips fell open, eyes rolling back, you looked so fucking pretty. Suguru was so happy he would get to imagine you like this while you were gone.

Suguru grunted softly, trying to hold on to himself. "F-Fuck— I-Im close already.—! Y-Youre taking me so deep." You could tell you weren’t doing much better than he was. Using all of the strength you could muster, you pulled yourself up and off his cock before slamming yourself back down on him.

“Then cum~ fill me up, Suguru~”

“Haaah! Nngh! Fuck!”

His eyes shot wide, and he let out a choked moan, loud enough for your neighbors to hear as he jerked up into you. His eyes rolled back into his skull as his thumb quickly found your clit rubbing it harshly as he fucked into you. You felt so full of his cum, so much so you were quick to follow him over the edge, body going rigid as you stared into each other's eyes as you came.

Suguru’s cum felt so hot inside of your lips pressed against his. He growled, sitting up, holding you tight against his chest as you both basked in the afterglow. He wanted this moment to last, for it to never end; Suguru wanted to flip you over and fuck you into the mattress without any remorse, to make love to you, to have you stay by his side. But he knew he couldn’t do that.

So, despite wanting to listen to what his body and heart wanted to do, he broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours as he shakily sighed against your mouth. You giggled, running your hands up and down his back as he smiled.

“Talk about a good morning.”

Was it a good morning? Not when he was about to watch you leave. There was nothing good about letting you go. But it was the right thing for him to do.

“Yeah,” he pressed a kiss against your cheek, “but we need to get going.”

“Oh! Right, the surprise!” You felt your boyfriend nod his head as he shifted underneath you. “I guess I should go shower.”

“Yeah.”

The next hour is weird. It’s not the excitement you often get when spontaneous trips are planned. This bizarre feeling had your heart in your stomach, all because of how Suguru acted.

For the first time in weeks, he seemed down. He was quiet as he helped you pack your bags, his eyes focusing on everything and anything but you as you got ready. Dressing in comfortable clothes as he instructed, he did not give you any more clues about what was happening. Not knowing what was happening when your best friend, who you could typically read like a book, was acting so standoffish had your anxiety on high alert.

Different scenarios of what could happen played through your mind like a bad sitcom on repeat. Was he angry? Upset over the fact you had done it raw? Or was he getting irritated with how close you guys were? Saying that you spent almost every day together, you could see if you wanted some space. If that were the case, he could ask you to stay at the condo. So, for him to pack your bags and a new laptop that you hadn’t even finished setting up, let you know something was happening.

You didn’t want to question what was going on in his head. You didn’t want to come off as some clingy, overly suspicious girlfriend. Especially since he was your best friend, Suguru would never do anything malicious, and you would hope that if he had an issue with something you were doing, you would come out and talk to you.

You could not deny the fact that his behavior was strange. And it continued to grow more with every minute. His eyes continuously darted towards the clocks, checking the time on his wrist on the wall. He had planned time-sensitive things, which you can see as clearly as day. What exactly was sensitive thought? You had no clue. Instead, I’m asking point-blank what was going on. Instead of questioning what was happening, you sat in the back of the car next to him as your driver began heading down the road.

Suguru could quickly feel the tension building between you. Since you had showered, his stomach had been in nothing but knots. Those not twisted into unbreakable bonds the second you both loaded into the car. He could feel your eyes lingering on him for an eternity. When he glanced at you, you quickly focused on your hands.

Was this the right way to go about this? Should he have told you what he had planned to do at the beginning of the day? Or was this just the easiest way to get through letting you go?

His second-guessing came to an abrupt stop as the driver took the exit to the airport. For a second, all of the anxiety and worry plaguing you for the last hour evaporated into the air. Fear was replaced with excitement as you pressed your hands against the window, eyes sparkling as you stared at the airport that was drawing closer.

“Are we going somewhere?”

‘You are.’ Suguru thought to himself as he shook his head.

“Oh, are our friends here?” When your boyfriend shook his head for the second time, you pouted, pursing your lips and thought as you glanced towards the car's roof.

There was a certain cuteness about your frustration trying to figure out what he had planned. But you would never figure this out. Not in one million years have you ever guessed what he was about to do.

The car pulls up to the curb, and Suguru is the first to get out, rushing into your side to open the door for you. You grab his hand, allowing him to help you out of the car as the driver grabs your bags from the trunk. When the driver finally pulled away from the curb, Suguru grabbed your stuff and headed into the air-conditioned airport.

“So we are going on a trip?” You laugh nervously, following him up to the elevators. “Are you just trying to psych me out?”

“Yes.”

Everything made sense, and you felt your shoulders relax as you rode the elevator up to the second floor, where Security was. As you looked to tease him for being so secretive, you saw the warm brown and dark hair of your editor waiting near the security check. She has two large suitcases by her side, and she’s typing away on her phone with one hand while holding a folder in the other.

“Utahime?” you question, your voice like a whisper as you cock an eyebrow at your agent and friend.

Suguru grabs your chin with one hand, lifting it slightly so you can look into his eyes. “You’re taking a trip.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out an envelope. “You’re going to Europe.” Time stands still as your eyes land on the envelope.

“What?”

The background noise of bustling travelers and messages being announced on the intercom is nothing more than white noise to you. You can hear the sound of your throbbing heart, and your ears, your chest; your eyes linger on your boyfriend’s hand. Europe? Why were you going to Europe, and more importantly, how the hell did Suguru know about Europe?

“Suguru, look I—“

“I had Utahime send in your acceptance letter last night. You’re going to stay at the cottage.”

The large airport seems to begin closing on you like a shrinking box. Your eyes dart towards your agent before up at your boyfriend, who has the softest yet saddest smile on his lips. The cottage is the same cottage you would have to stay in for two years. Two years away from your best friend who had just become your boyfriend after nearly two decades of being friends.

When Suguru notices the hesitation in your eyes and your whole demeanor, he gently takes your hand and turns it face up. Without so much as a word, he plays the envelope in your hand before placing his hand on top of it. That small, gentle gesture hurts like a thousand knives to the chest.

You open your mouth to speak to protest to do anything other than stand there like an idiot, but the words seem to fail you. The cottage is something you have always dreamed about. It was your inspiration. It had been your muse for years. You found that cottage in a magazine years ago had been the inspiration for your book series. But is it worth leaving Suguru for two years to stay there?

“Hey,” Suguru’s smooth, gentle voice pulls you out of the spiral you were spinning in. “We’re going to be okay.”

“I-I—but,” you sniffle, “what about you? I need to stay here with you. I want to be here with you to support you.”

“You have supported me.” Suguru quickly adds, easing some of the pain and doubt. “I’m going to be okay. You have no idea what your support, words, and shared truth has done for me.” He pressed his forehead against yours, sighing softly as you choked on a whimper. “You helped me realize I can heal. It’s going to take some time, but I know if I need to talk to you and hear that reassurance that everything is going to be okay, you’re just a phone call away. And I can’t thank you enough for that Princess. What I can do is encourage you to take an opportunity that comes once in a lifetime.”

There’s no doubt in his mind that he’s making the right choice. However, there is a tremble behind his voice as he desperately tries to hold himself together like a million pieces of microglass, which is much harder than it looks. Because he can see the hesitation in your eyes. You’re loyal; you don’t want to leave him. If you were given the chance, you would stay. But giving up on your dreams is something he wouldn’t be held accountable for.

“But it’s a two-year lease; I can’t get out of it if I go; I don’t even think I can’t get out of it now that the papers are signed.” You feel the tears in your eyes as they blur your vision.

A thumb reaches up and brushes away you’re straight tears. “I know it’s a two-year lease. But I promise you that we’re going to make this work.” you lean into his touch, chasing the warmth of his hand. “Like I said, I’ll call every day. I’ll see you. We can video chat. We’ll make this work.” You cry softly, leaning your face into the palm of his hand. “I waited almost two decades to be with you. Talking to you and telling you how much I love you will suffice me enough rather than waiting another two years to confess to you. I’ll take what I can get.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you more than you’ll ever know. But you have to go and see your muse.”

Your muse, the cottage, your inspiration. “Suguru.” He’s so selfless, telling you to chase your dreams even though he loves you. “I-I—” he nods, bringing you closer to his face.

“I know, Princess. I love you too.” He pulls you in and kisses you deeply, making you choke on a sob as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

The kiss had to be the most passionate kiss you’d ever shared. Love, desire, and agony were all conveyed in that one singular kiss. It hurt, god, to be saying goodbye. You deepened the kiss, holding onto him tight, not wanting to let go, not wanting to say goodbye just yet.

However, Suguru pulled away first; if he let that kiss continue, it would end up with him begging you to stay. Contradicting everything he had told you up to this point. His forehead presses against yours as he stares into her eyes with the softest gaze.

“You need to go. Utahime has everything for you. Text me, please. I want a tour of that little cottage the second you get inside. I want to see that smile on your face. I want you to be happy.”

“Hey, love birds, can we get a move on? We still have paperwork to sign, and I can’t do that here at the security checkpoint.” Utahime interrupted your goodbye.

Suguru sighed, nodding his head as he helped put your backpack on. “Iori is right; you got stuff to do before your flight.” This wasn’t right. Saying goodbye so quickly felt like a nightmare. “Text me!” the love of your life shouts as Iori hurries forward, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards security.

The entire time you walked, you glanced back at Suguru, who was waving as you stood in line waiting to be called next to check your ID and passport. You felt your heart pounding in your ears as people got in the line behind you, blocking your view of your boyfriend, who was standing there watching you fade away. He smiled, holding his hand up and waving, but you could see the pain carved into his features.

Was this the last time you were going to get to see him? God knows how long until he could come down to see you. Suddenly, it felt too hot, your chest tightening as you tried to peek over the shoulders of the people behind you to glimpse Suguru. Your best friend, boyfriend, and your—everything.

He was your first friend in the strange city you had just moved to. He was there when you had a crush on flat-out refused to take your confession letter. He held you in his arms that night, comforting and telling you everything would be okay. Suguru always made sure to hold your drink if you went to the bathroom at the club. He always walked you home, even though you lived in the same apartment building.

Geto Suguru had been your first true love, your first for everything. You were willing to put everything you wanted to do on hold for him. You were so happy to come to Okinawa with him, to be by his side when he needed you. Just like he had been there for you when you needed help with your book. Suguru was more than your lover and boyfriend—Suguru was—your—.

‘And I love you more than you’ll ever know. But you have to go; you have to see your muse.’

You stopped, eyes going wide as reality hit you. You stood on your tip-toes, watching as Suguru turned, disappearing into the crowd of people lining up for security. Iori kept talking, dragging you closer toward the security agent, rambling on about everything you needed to do. All while Suguru drifted further and further away from you.

“When we sit down for lunch—” Utahime rambled on, only to gasp as your suitcase was tossed along with your backpack. “H-Hey!”

You were shoving your way through the crowd, ignoring the dirty looks and curses shouted your way. Not once did you lose your stride as you pushed further through the crowd, trying to keep your eyes on your dark-haired boyfriend, who slipped further and further away. He was getting too far! You had to get him to stop. Taking a deep breath, you did the one thing you could do: you screamed as you ran, breaking free from the line, your hair flowing as you stumbled forward.

“Suguru!!”

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[hugejk]

2 years

pablo gavi x singer!yn

cw: mentions of drug usage, smoking, drinking, addiction.

quick a/n: sorry i’ve been VERY inactive lately, i do want to write more so i’ll accept any footballer reqs!!! :-)

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“it’s been 2 years since we’ve seen or heard from y/n, where could she be? Most people assume she decided to quit making music, some assume she gained too much weight and is too ashamed to step out in public. But i guess we won’t know for a long time now, leave a comment below on what you think about this.”

you sigh and put down your phone. It’s been 2 years since you’ve even been in the studio at all. A 2 year hiatus from the world. Flashbacks start to play in your head on how you even ended up here.

. . .

sitting out on the edge of balcony watching all the glowing stars surrounded by the darkness of the night. You life was a mess. Parties every other night, surrounded by people who didn’t care if they ruined their life. Taking random drugs whenever you could. Drinking most of the day. The joint inbetween your fingers burning into ash. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You were just tired of everything, and the comments on every little thing you did made everything more worse.

“maybe y/n should take a break from all the parties..”

“look at her eyes, they look dead.”

“she’s just a drug addicted psychopath. Hope she stops soon and gets some treatment.”

you were tired of all eyes on you. Biting the inside of your bottom lip, the tears started to accumulate in your eyes. Taking a big hit of the joint, feeling the burn but not feeling anything anymore. You knew there was only one way to stop getting so much attention.

Putting out the joint and heading into your apartment and opening up your laptop. You log into the device and search for flights to Barcelona. Little did you know, this small decision would change your life forever.

you didn’t tell anyone about this. You packed your bags, reset your phone, and went to bed. The next morning you had ordered and uber. Covering your face with a hat, mask, and sunglasses. You didn’t want the spotlight anymore. It took a good 30 minutes to get to the nearest airport. You wonder if anyone will even care if you disappeared, stopped making music, stopped replying to texts, stopped calling, stopped everything.

you didn’t want to live the life you had anymore. what you once thought was a blessed now had transformed into a curse right in front of your eyes. Becoming something far more evil than you thought. You remember a little y/n looking up to famous singers, wanting what they wanted. Wanting the light, wanting the eyes, wanting what they had.

but now that you had finally grasped it after years of putting everything into it, it felt like a living hell. You look up from your lap, and you were at the airport. The driver looking back at you to let you know that you had arrived, taking out your wallet fast and tipping him 15 bucks, you scurried out the black SUV, grabbing your bags from the back and trying to avoid eye contact with anyone.

A new start. You walked into the front doors of the airport, not ready to start the tedious process just to get checked in. You sighed and headed straight for check in. You just wanted to get it done and over with, but unfortunately you were in america and going to another country. They needed to identify who you were.

“trip to barcelona? can i see a passport please?”

the blonde headed lady behind the counter asked, you handed her the passport and leaned in to whisper into her ear,

“you didn’t see me here.”

as you lifted the glasses and took down the mask, a serious look on your face. You could see her eyes light up as she saw the world’s most known singer standing in front of her. But she obliged to your words and wished you a good flight as she handed the passport back.

after the whole process was over, you sat in those uncomfortable waiting seats in your terminal. Tapping your finger on your already shaking leg. You didn’t have a plan for barcelona. Fuck. Do you go seek professional help like all the comments had said? Do you stop making music? Do you take the time to heal and finally find yourself? Your mind running at a pace you couldn’t keep up with. You took a deep breath.

After a few hours of waiting they finally started calling for your flight. You couldn’t even feel nervous or excited, you were just so numb on the inside, dissociated from the world you stand on. time was flying by, one second you were waiting to be called, the next second you were in your seat, and in the blink of an eye…you were in barcelona.

Stepping off the plane, going through another tedious journey just to hit the streets of barcelona—and cry. You didn’t know what the fuck you were doing in that city. You had no house, barely enough money to hold you over for a few nights, because when you packed you thought it would be smart to only pack a little bit of your funds. Fuck. You had nothing and nobody.

Walking around the streets like a lost child, luckily for you, you knew spanish, most of it. Your mom’s side was hispanic. So from a young age she made it her duty to teach you. Thanks mom.

you manage to find a hotel, you walk in puffy eyed. Thank god for those glasses.

“do you have any available rooms?..”

you said silently, the poor lady who was working that night nodded. it looked like she needed a break more than you did. she asked for how many nights,

“uhm…just like…just a few nights.”

“im gonna need an exact number honey this hotel is going to be booked by fc barcelona soon. we need all the rooms we can take.”

you knew some stuff about football, when you were younger you would watch matches with your dad. You were even on your towns small team, hoping one day you could make it big. Other things got in the way of that.

“uhm..just 3 nights is good..”

“that’s better, that’ll be about 400. do you want room service?”

“no thank you.”

she nodded, as you handed her your card, she charged it and slid you your key. Now you were on your own. you had taken your sim card out your phone so nobody could contact you. But now you were staring to regret it. You sat on the edge of the hotel bed. You knew you had to take some time to reset, it started now.

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a/n: plsplsplspls let me know if i should make a part 2, this was kinda just like a starting point, also inbox is very very VERY open for ideas ;-) also this is a little bit darker than what i usually write, but for what i have in mind it does get fluffier the more it goes on.