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egcdeath · 4 months

Text

off the beaten path

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: what could go wrong with a non-refundable honeymoon and a broken engagement?

warnings: MATURE (mentions of sex but no sex scenes), exes to lovers, idiots to lovers angst, fluff, there was only one bed MULTIPLE times, jealousy!! (like a lot), slow burn, no use of y/n, so much use of the word fuck, a little toxicity, some facts about landmarks are inaccurate for the plot, lots of arguing and making up, miscommunication, seasickness, patrick & reader kinda have no social awareness, a lot of hotels and buses, alcohol, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

word count: 18.4k

author’s note: this was so much longer than i expected it to be, but i loved writing it so so much and i'm gonna be sad to see this pairing go! also, a special thank you to the tour website whose itinerary i used for their trip. i hope you enjoy!

JFK AIRPORT

You scrolled endlessly on your phone as you sat at your gate, trying your hardest to fight off the combination of sleepiness and anxiety that had been slowly creeping up on you for the past hour.

You should be happy—excited to spend the next month of your life traveling throughout Europe on the trip that you had dreamt about since you were a child. Instead, you were filled with dread at the prospect of your quickly approaching trip, leaving your leg bouncing and your eyes flitting between the device in your hands and the entrance of the gate, anxiously anticipating the arrival of a man that you really really did not want to see.

Once it was announced that first class was boarding, you quickly hopped out of your uncomfortable seat, hoping that if you boarded quick enough, you might be able to miss your unwanted companion. As you stood in line, you tried your best to be casual about your endlessly swiveling head and wondered if it was too late to simply call the whole thing off.

Boarding had gone smoothly enough, and as you settled into your seat, you still hadn’t seen any sign of your former fiancé. For a second, a spark of hope lit up in you. Maybe you’d get to experience Europe without that pest in your ear after all. Maybe you could even arrange a friend to come fly out and be with you for a few days, or find someone to have a romantic summer fling with.

But just as soon as your hope arrived, it departed with the sound of a familiar voice walking down the aisle and directly towards you.

“They wouldn’t let me switch my seat.”

You couldn’t believe that those were the choice of words the man you’d intended to spend the rest of your life with had decided to start with. After months of radio silence. No apologies, no awkward small talk, no sugar-coated words about your situation, just a complaint about the conditions the two of you would be in for the next eight hours. Classic Patrick.

“That’s too bad,” you replied, already annoyed by his presence. You had underestimated how much of a challenge this trip was going to be, solely based on the speed at which your negative feelings had come to the surface.

“Yeah, no shit,” he muttered under his own breath, putting some luggage into the overhead bin above your seats.

“You’re the one who insisted we still go,” you argued, not wanting him to get the last word—even if his last words were meant to be a snarky comment to himself more than anything else.

“The hotels, tours, and all the other tickets were non-refundable!” he argued right back to you.

“So?” you shot back like a petulant child.

“So I didn’t want to waste your money.”

“Oh, how considerate,” you scoffed sarcastically before beginning once more. “You’re rich! You don’t even have to be here!”

“Just because my family is comfortable doesn’t mean I want to waste my money.”

You openly rolled your eyes at his words. Comfortable was the understatement of the century. “So you didn’t actually want to waste my money. You didn’t want to waste your own.”

“Why can’t it be both?” he asked, sounding exasperated by your line of thinking. You hated when he did that. You kind of hated most things he did now. Maybe you just hated him.

“I never said it can’t be both, I just think you should stop trying to act like you’re so charitable for doing me a favor. As if our relationship wasn’t filled with me doing you favors.”

“Do you really want to be having this conversation right now?” he asked.

“Sorry, you’re right. We have the next thirty-five days to talk about it.”

The two of you sighed in a synchronized breath at the mention of the amount of time you had to spend together. You hated that the two of you were still in rhythm after everything you’d been through. Or maybe you just hated Patrick.

“Who plans a thirty-five day honeymoon anyway?” he huffed.

“Us, apparently. I mean, you were all for it, what? A few months ago?”

“Only because you wanted it.

“Oh, how could I forget. The ever-charitable Patrick Zweig. Taking a month-long break from hitting balls to be with me. I’m forever in your debt,” you mocked with a dramatic hand to your forehead. “At this rate, you’re gonna send me a list of all of the nice things you’ve ever done for me. What do you want me to say? Thank you for doing the bare minimum as a boyfriend?”

“Fiancé,” he corrected you, earning a very nasty side eye from you in the process of doing so.

You were beginning to get dirty looks from your fellow first class passengers, which temporarily shut the both of you up. It was never a good idea to piss off people on a plane. You didn’t want to end up on the no-fly list just because you couldn’t bite your tongue around your ex.

“Remember when you said we could still be friends after this?” Patrick spoke once more after your moment of silence.

“Of course I remember, but you stopped that from happening when you…” your voice trailed off as you made eye contact with a very displeased looking middle aged woman “Whatever. Let’s just… try to get through this flight. And try not to make any more of a scene.”

“Fine,” he replied, shrugging in your peripheral vision.

“Fine,” you said back, not wanting him to have the last word.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing where you think you win every argument just because you said the last thing.”

“I’m not doing that,” you lied. “You think you know me so well.”

A familiar agitated smile broke out on his face, something that you unfortunately missed seeing. “I do know you well, though. I see right through you.”

“You actually don’t, though.”

“I do,” he insisted, the smirk creeping onto his face telling you that he knew you were actively proving his point.

“Not really,” you dismissed and attempted to casually pull the headphones that were currently sitting on your neck up to cover your ears. You were always grateful to have noise-canceling headphones when you were traveling, but they were coming particularly in handy for you to win this argument. You tried to hide your self-satisfied smirk as you pressed play on your phone, but you could instantly tell that you were failing.

When you looked back up, Patrick was clearly saying words to you that you weren’t able to hear. Knowing him, he was probably saying something along the lines of, “Real mature.”

The truth was that he wanted the last word more than you did–which made it particularly rewarding when you gestured to your headphones before throwing your hands out in a shrug to indicate to him that you couldn’t hear him.

Your vacation was already off to a chaotic start. You couldn’t help but fear what the next thirty-five days would be like.

BARCELONA, SPAIN

Despite the flight only being eight hours long, you were absolutely exhausted by the time that you checked into your hotel room. So exhausted that you failed to remember to request to switch rooms to one with two beds rather than one.

This predicament only came to the forefront of your mind once you and Patrick had already swiped into the room, suitcases lying on the floor and one king-sized mattress presented in front of you.

“Should I go back down to the front desk?” he asked as he looked from you to the bed.

“I’m too tired to get a new room,” you replied. You could handle one night next to your ex. You’d slept in a bed together for years. Granted, during those years you were also sleeping together, but this wasn’t all that different.

“Fine. Don’t complain if I hog blankets, then.”

“Fine,” you replied. “Just stay on your side of the bed.”

You shucked your backpack from your shoulders and walked over to what was typically the side of the bed where you slept when the two of you had been a couple. Not wasting any time to get ready for bed, you began to take off your clothes and search for your pajamas. Once you glanced over your shoulder, you were quite displeased to find Patrick rather openly ogling at you.

“Stop looking at me,” you demanded.

“What? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” He said with a smirk.

“You’re such a creep,” you muttered, throwing on an old shirt and crawling into bed.

As you laid in bed and texted your friends and family that you’d arrived at your hotel safely, you took a peek of your own at your former partner as he got ready for bed. He seemed to be going with his classic bedtime attire of just boxers. Bold move.

Your eyes were momentarily stuck on his abs and enticing happy trail. You’d planned your trip during Patrick’s off season while he was training for his upcoming season, so you were pleasantly unsurprised that he was in such good shape. Your breath caught for a second as you thought about the rest of him, and you desperately tried to repress the low, fiery feeling rising in your stomach.

“And I’m the creep?” he asked with a laugh, pulling you away from your objectification as he got into bed next to you.

“Yeah,” you replied, as if you hadn’t just given him the same treatment he’d given you.

“Well… like what you see?”

You scoffed at his audacity, though you did like what you saw. “I’m not fucking you. Goodnight.”

You hit the light on your nightstand and you swore you heard a quiet sound of disappointment come from Patrick. Bastard.

You turned your back to him and closed your eyes, finding that sleep took you under surprisingly easily.

When you woke up in the morning, you were greeted by a far too familiar feeling. Despite your request for Patrick to stay on his side of the bed, the slow, steady breaths being breathed into your ear and the solid wall of body behind you indicated that he had not only traveled into your space over the course of the night, but was actively spooning you.

You were shocked to find that you didn’t necessarily mind it. Yes, you were mad at Patrick for everything that had gone down between you, and because he was such a pain in the ass, but you also hadn’t realized just how much you missed being held. Particularly, how much you missed being held by him.

The more alert you became, the more you realized that you couldn’t really move. Despite that, you found that you didn’t really want to move. Sure, you were beginning to get uncomfortably hot, and yes, you could feel Patrick’s morning wood pressing against your ass, but none of it was particularly unpleasant.

Part of you wondered if your trip would go differently than you expected. Regardless of how you acted towards one another, you clearly both missed each other.

Your shrill phone alarm suddenly went off, startling Patrick awake behind you.

“Mmm, fuck, sorry,” he sleepily slurred as he rolled away from you. You turned over to look at his tired face, eyes still lidded and speckled face looking far softer than you remembered.

Out of the blue, he opened his eyes, catching you in the act of looking at him with barely-concealed affection. Before he could make some sort of snarky comment, he shot out of bed, adjusted his boxers, and made an urgent beeline towards the bathroom. All of which would’ve been far funnier if his actions hadn’t been disrupted by the loud message ping of his cellphone.

You weighed out your options. You were curious about what was waiting for him on his phone, but you weren’t sure that you’d have time to properly snoop. As if the universe was listening to your thoughts, the sound of the shower began, telling you that you had all the time that you needed to do some adequate investigation.

You wondered who was texting Patrick so early in the morning. Knowing him, it was probably his mother, checking in to make sure he made it to his destination safely. You were sure that whatever message she left would also be inquiring about you. She’d always had a bit of a soft spot for you, especially compared to some of the other people that Patrick had brought home. That, of course, was an observation shared to you from Patrick, so you couldn’t be sure how much of it was flattery compared to truth.

Regardless, her fondness for you had carried into the end of your relationship, with her occasionally messaging or calling you to make sure that you were still doing well, and more importantly, to check in on the status of your relationship.

Much like you and your friends, she’d been holding out hope that your relationship may repair itself. With you and Patrick being as passionate as the two of you were, you were no strangers to seemingly serious arguments that resolved themselves in a matter of days. While calling off a wedding was far more drastic than any of your other disputes had been, after being together for years, it was hard to imagine a world where the two of you weren’t a couple.

But his call never came. You didn’t hear an apology or explanation or even an excuse from Patrick—just a suggestion of when you should pick up the items you’d left at his place.

You hated to admit it, but there was a naïve part of you that was still holding out hope that this trip would be exactly what you needed to reconcile. And maybe that naïeve part of you was less delusional than you might’ve originally thought. Surely cuddling into the morning and Patrick’s poorly hidden morning wood were signs that this vacation was already going in the right direction. Maybe being in such close proximity was exactly the push you needed to get your relationship back on track.

After a halfhearted internal debate, you grabbed his phone from the night stand on his side of the bed. Attempting the passcode he’d been using while you were together—the digits of your birthday—you were pleased to find that the password hadn’t changed and that you were granted access into his phone. What you weren’t expecting to see was Tinder on the homepage of his cracked device.

You paused for a moment and attempted to reason with yourself. Your former fiancé probably didn’t even use the app. He’d likely been pressured by his rebound-obsessed friends to download it, and hadn’t even opened the app since setting up his profile. Besides, you didn’t get on his phone to see what new apps he’d downloaded, you were snooping to see what his mom had to say about you.

When you opened his messages app, your mouth promptly fell open in shock. Patrick had always been loyal to you—at least to your knowledge—while the two of you were together. Seeing him be so openly flirtatious and suggestive with an attractive woman that you hadn’t ever heard of was more than jarring.

Your stomach churned as you scrolled through the conversation, flirty messages and images from both sides that left little to the imagination disturbing you in a way that you hadn’t ever realized was possible.

In the midst of your distraught state, you nearly missed the background noise of the shower coming to a halt, informing you that your time snooping had come to an end.

You set his phone back down where you’d found it and desperately tried to push down the bile in your throat that was tasting more and more like jealousy and anger by the second.

You knew it was irrational for you to be feeling this way, considering that the two of you had been broken up for a few months. Nothing legally or morally tied the two of you together anymore, but that didn’t make you feel any less unsettled by what you’d just seen.

It was just that… you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to fully move on from Patrick. He’d been part of your life for so long, and the way things ended had been so abrupt that it almost didn’t feel real. Even if you did move on, it was going to take you more than three months to do so. It wasn’t fair that Patrick’s name seemed to pop up every week in your therapy sessions, while he was sending pictures of himself in gray sweatpants to random hot women.

You wanted to shrink into the mattress and never come back up. You wanted to yell at Patrick the moment he stepped out of the bathroom. You wanted to turn on your side and wail dramatically, at least until all of your big feelings felt a little smaller.

But you were in Europe on vacation. You were on vacation, damnit, and you weren’t going to let one mildly disturbing text thread ruin your entire experience. Better yet, if Patrick was already moving on, there was no reason that you shouldn’t do the same.

You told yourself this as you rolled out of bed and dug in your suitcase, pulling out a sundress that had driven Patrick wild in the past. While you may have packed it with less than realistic expectations, your goal was far more grounded now.

Both of you could play this game.

You stepped out of the bathroom fully dressed after a shower of your own and instantly registered the almost cartoonish look he was giving you. You guessed that some things never changed, even when the two of you had decided to actively pursue other people.

“The tour guide said to meet in the lobby soon, so I’m gonna head down,” you explained, not giving him a second look as you began to search for your purse.

“The tour doesn’t start for another half hour?” he replied, sitting up from where he was laying on the bed.

“Well I wanna socialize with the people we’re gonna be traveling through Europe with,” you said a little snappily, still a little perturbed about what you’d found on his phone earlier. You conveniently left out the fact that you wanted to scope out any potential summer flings.

“I’ll come with you,” he insisted.

“You really don’t have to. Remember, this isn’t actually a honeymoon,” you slipped on some comfortable shoes and headed to the door. “I’ll see you around.”

You were probably being far more rude than you really needed to be, but your anger had only intensified as you showered and put on makeup. At this point, you were fully pissed—even if you didn’t have the right to be.

You made small talk with the people you met in the lobby as they began to filter into the room, and tried your absolute best to dispel the anger that was flowing through your veins. That proved harder than you anticipated, as Patrick was one of the last people to join you all in the lobby, and for the life of you, you couldn’t stop imagining him sitting in your shared hotel room and sexting his mystery girl.

Luckily, you couldn’t dwell on that ugly thought for too long, as your tour began soon after. Your friendly guide took your group around the city, explaining rather riveting information about the landmarks you visited and the city itself.

After being dismissed for a quick break, you found yourself sitting on a bench and chatting with a man in your group. He wasn’t really your type, but he was extremely conventionally attractive, and from the peripheral glances you caught of Patrick, you could tell that he wasn’t exactly pleased with what was going on.

While making him jealous, or annoyed, or whatever it was that he was feeling, wasn’t your expressed goal, it did feel nice to give him a taste of his own medicine. What felt less nice was glancing over and catching him typing on his phone furiously. You could only imagine whose boobs were on the other end of the line.

Reacting out of a bit of desperation and frustration, you began to play things up. You leaned over more to show off more cleavage, laughed a little harder at jokes that weren’t all that funny, and set a scandalous hand on his arm. You were determined to have that vacation fling now, and you were going to get it by any means necessary.

You laid it on thick for the rest of the afternoon, sitting next to him during lunch and flirting casually with him as your group walked through Park Güell.

You wondered if he noticed you throwing glances in Patrick’s direction after every interaction. You hoped that he didn’t.

It felt good to be getting even with Patrick—but not as good as you expected it to feel. The realization sunk in as a portion of your group visited a bar that was apparently very popular with the locals. Or at least, that’s what a very handsome man purred into your ear after sitting down next to you at the bar.

You’d been keeping an eye on Patrick as he socialized with a couple that he’d been talking to for the majority of your day, but you almost instantly lost track of him as you became consumed with this handsome stranger.

Everything happened in a bit of a blur—one moment you’d been nursing a Marianito, and the next you were holding the hand of a man whose name you couldn’t remember as he led you to his apartment.

By the time you’d left his apartment, you were nothing short of a mess. You were pretty sure that the only way you could’ve been more obvious about what had just happened to you was if you had the words “JUST HAD SEX” written across your forehead—and with the way the people in your hotel elevator were looking at you, you couldn’t be completely sure that those words weren’t on your face.

You made it back to your room safely, quietly opening the door and doing your best not to make too much noise, since at this hour, Patrick was surely asleep.

It did feel weird to be going back to his bed less than an hour after you’d been with another man, but you couldn’t necessarily say you felt bad. Patrick had started it, and you simply finished it off. If he didn’t have any issues with seeing other people, there was no reason for you to have an issue with it either.

Your efforts to be quiet had proved themselves to be for naught, as Patrick was very clearly wide awake, sitting up in bed and already looking at you disapprovingly.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to speak, rather than ignoring his presence and heading straight to the shower, but your mouth was open before you could stop yourself.

“Were you just gonna wait here until I got back, like I’m a kid who just snuck out or something?” you asked in disbelief, partially annoyed because of his action, but more ashamed to have been caught in such a state. It couldn’t have been more obvious to Patrick what you’d just done, considering that he’d seen you in a similar state hundreds of times.

“Baby, we are on a whole different, unfamiliar continent,” his tone was condescending and cold and it made you want to crawl out of your skin. “Why wouldn’t I wait to make sure you got back safely?”

“Don’t call me pet names. And I would’ve been fine. We were just at the bar,” you lied. Going to the apartment of a random man you just met probably wasn’t your brightest idea, but you made it out alive, and that was what mattered.

“Huh. The bar?” he smirked at you in a way that screamed that he was pissed, without really having to say a word.

“Yes, I- what does it matter to you anyway?” you hoped that the question would be enough to get you out of the situation. If you were going to argue, you at least wanted to argue after you were showered and in pajamas.

“What does it matter to me if you fucked someone else?” he asked, sounding like he was in complete disbelief.

“Yeah, Patrick. Why does it matter if I fucked someone else? We’re not together anymore. Did you forget? I mean, it seemed pretty obvious to you when you stopped speaking to me completely a few months ago.”

“Please, enlighten me. What did I have to speak to you about?”

“I don’t know! Maybe an ‘are you okay?’ would’ve been nice. Or something. Anything, really. We were together for six fucking years and you just dropped me like I was dirt!”

“I…” he trailed off, catching you by surprise. He almost always had a quick clever response that managed to piss you off in a way no one else ever could, so seeing him not knowing what to say next caught you off guard. “If our relationship meant that much to you, why were you all over that guy? I mean, seriously. I’ve never seen anything so desperate. You were practically rubbing yourself on him in the park like a bitch in heat.”

Contempt dripped from his words. You had never been so enraged.

“Are you joking?” you laughed out of sheer anger. “Patrick, you started it! How many Tinder girls have you seen since we broke up? And don’t you dare fucking lie to me. I saw everything you’ve been sending to Amelia. Amelia, I’m so lonely. Amelia, I’m so horny. Amelia, I love you so much,” you mocked.

“You went through my phone?” he asked in disbelief, not even bothering to address the rest of your statement. “Fuck. You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m unbelievable? How long did it even take you before we split for you to start seeing other people? I mean, knowing you, you were probably just waiting for the day we broke up to go get your dick wet.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” for a second, he looked genuinely wounded—something you were only able to recognize after years of being in a relationship with the man. You didn’t like that you were actively hurting him, but he’d been inflicting pain on you from the moment you broke up.

“Fine,” you conceded on that front, knowing that he was right. It wasn’t completely true. If you hadn’t gone through his phone, you never would’ve guessed that he had already moved on. “But you’ve still been seeing other people.”

“We’ve been broken up for months now,” he replied, as if that was supposed to make things any better or more reasonable.

“Then why do you care so much about me having sex with someone else? It’s fine when you do it, but suddenly it’s an issue for me?”

Patrick’s face immediately paled. “You really fucked him?”

“Well, yeah,” you paused. “Well, not who you’re thinking of.”

“You fucked someone else?!” The hurt and disbelief buried under his words made your stomach churn. “You were flirting with that other douchebag all day, I don’t-“

“You’re acting like I’m some whore for reacting to something that you did first!” you cut him off.

“And you’re acting like I wanted to get rid of you this whole time!” he shot back out at you.

“Clearly you fucking did,” you hissed.

“Fuck you,” he huffed.

“Fuck you,” you shot right back. “I’m leaving.”

“Good,” Patrick replied with a shrug as if he didn’t care, although you were very sure that he cared. “Go run back to your little fuck buddy.”

“Yeah, maybe I will,” you replied as you gathered your items back into your suitcase. “He was better than you, by the way.”

“Yeah, I bet,” he said snarkily as he watched you pack up your items. Luckily, you didn’t have much to pack up and were already heading towards the door.

“He had a bigger dick, too,” you said as you swung open the hotel room door, fully satisfied with a lie that you knew would bother Patrick.

While leaving your hotel room seemed like a wonderful idea in the moment, as you went down the elevator, you started to realize that you really did not have many options for where you’d sleep that night.

You figured your best bet was the hotel lobby. Maybe you could pretend to be someone who’d drank too much and passed out on the first floor before you made it up to your room. You sat down in a comfortable looking chair and grabbed your keycard—in case anyone asked you to verify who you were—then set a floppy hat on your head to cover your face from the bright hotel lobby lights while you attempted to sleep.

Sleep was already going to be difficult to accomplish, thanks to the argument that you were certainly going to be ruminating on for days to come. That was only made more difficult by the uncomfortable seating and position you’d found yourself in. Somehow, you managed to fall asleep, being woken up by a hotel employee and a friend you’d made from your tour group.

“Long night, huh?” she asked you with a playful smirk.

“Mm, something like that,” you mumbled sleepily.

“Well, you can sleep on the coach. It just got here, so we’ll have the best pick of seats. C’mon,” she extended her hand out to you and you gladly took it, in desperate need of something grounding.

You dozed off on the coach once you’d gotten settled, headphones securely on your ears and sunglasses covering your closed eyes. You were vaguely aware of people boarding the vehicle around you, but didn’t pay much mind to anything. Eventually, you heard the faint sound of someone taking attendance of the people on the bus, followed by the commotion of someone getting on the bus late.

Something compelled you to open up your eyes, and when you did, you were displeased to find that Patrick was the source of all of the drama. Likely thing for him to be. He scrambled down the aisle, looking desperately for empty seats. To your own horror, you realized that the seat next to you was vacant, and perhaps the only vacant seat on the entire coach.

As if your minds were connected, you watched Patrick face that very same dilemma as he eventually decided to sit down in the only empty seat, right next to you.

Neither of you said anything at first, not addressing your blowout argument the previous night, or your awkward current situation.

“You look like shit,” Patrick finally said as the bus took off.

“Thanks,” you replied, mentally preparing yourself for a continuation of the argument you’d had just a few hours ago. It was only a matter of time before he brought up your promiscuity or started blatantly texting his Tinderella.

But none of that ever came. In fact, he just looked a little sad. It was weird to see Patrick so openly defeated. He was always one to put on a smirk or a challenging smile when you argued, letting the façade fall once he was alone, or once the two of you finally discussed what the issue was like adults.

You weren’t sure that you liked it. You preferred annoying asshole Patrick to sad, moping Patrick.

“You look like shit, too,” you added. “Which is crazy, since you had access to a shower and I didn’t.”

“And whose fault is that?” he asked, looking at you with the slightest hint of that devious smile. You had to fight the slightest inkling of a smile on your own face.

You felt ridiculous knowing that your mood was still being influenced by your former partner. Even when he was insulting you. Even after he’d spent the night arguing with you. Even after you’d slept with someone else. Even after the two of you had a messy split.

You still loved him.��

“Yours, mostly,” you shrugged and put your headphones back on.

PARIS, FRANCE

Despite your brief conversation on the bus, you and Patrick didn’t speak to each other for the entirety of your commute. Although you clearly cared about him, it didn’t change the fact that he had upset and hurt you deeply. And even as upset as you were, you knew that you’d hurt him just as badly.

You had a particular dread for what awaited you in France, knowing that this part of the tour was very couples-activity heavy. When you’d scheduled your trip, this aspect of the tour felt like a major selling point. The two of you always seemed to be falling more in love with each other, and having a candlelit dinner by the Eiffel Tower felt like an exciting way to kick off your marriage.

Now, you just felt like an idiot.

The two of you did your absolute best to avoid getting paired up with each other for all of the activities that you could. You found yourself spending most of your time with a solo traveler who was close in age to you. She made a surprisingly fun companion to your cheese and wine taste test, popping cubes of fragrant cheese into your mouth and making a competition out of who could detect the most accurate notes in your wine.

While you found luck in your first few activities, you weren’t so lucky when it came to an evening ride of the Roue de Paris. Whether it was fate or just bad luck, after the pair in front of you had dipped out of line for reasons unknown to you, you had the shocking realization that Patrick had been in between them the whole time. So much for meeting new people on the massive ferris wheel.

You tried to look busy so he wouldn’t notice that you noticed, and did your best to think of some sort of game plan. Although you’d essentially been giving each other the silent treatment in the hours leading up to this moment, you’d caught Patrick looking at you multiple times throughout the day—something you only noticed because you’d been looking at him as well.

After a moment, the two of you were let into an empty passenger car. Sitting across from one another, it was hard to ignore the very obvious elephants in the room, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try.

At first, you simply looked out the window, not saying a single word as the ferris wheel began to move.

“You should put that safety belt on, just in case,” Patrick commented from his side of the car, pulling his eyes away from the window to look at you.

“I doubt anything will happen,” you shrugged. “It’s fine.”

He eyed you suspiciously for a moment, before leaning over and strapping you in anyway. Your breath caught in your throat, his simple action putting you into serious psychological pain. It wasn’t lost on you how much Patrick liked to take care of you. It was far more obvious when the two of you were dating, with him covering the bills for dates and doing your laundry for you. It had been so ironic to you at the time, how a man who could barely take care of himself always went out of his way to make sure that you were going to be okay.

Now, his small act of kindness just made your stomach turn. But it wasn’t like you could express any of those feelings.

“Thanks,” was all that you managed before looking out of the window once more.

An awkward, heavy silence filled the passenger car once more as the ride began to take the two of you higher.

“The view is so beautiful,” you commented, unable to remain silent anymore and hoping that your words were neutral enough not to stir any pots.

“Yeah, it’s really nice,” his gaze remained fixed out the window, before he looked at you once more as if there were words on the tip of his tongue.

“I honestly don’t know how we managed to get in line in time to see the sunset,” you continued with your boring, neutral small talk.

“I’m glad we did. This is the perfect spot to watch it.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, continuing to look out the window instead of at the man across from you. “It’s so pretty tonight, too.”

“It is,” he agreed.

The two of you sat in silence again, only the sound of a soft whirring filling your ears. Then suddenly, all at once, the whirring stopped—and so did your passenger car.

“Are we stuck?” you asked, looking out nervously at the very tall height that the two of you were currently definitely stuck at.

“We can’t be. It’ll probably start back up in a second.”

It didn’t start back up in a second. In fact, after a series of announcements in French, an announcement in English suddenly declared that it would be at least an hour before the ride could be fixed.

At the sound of the announcement, both you and Patrick sighed aloud, still synchronized even after everything you’d been through.

“Maybe this is a sign,” Patrick piped up.

“What are you talking about?” you laughed at him, hoping desperately that this didn’t mean that he wanted to continue arguing with you. You genuinely did not have it in you to do so again. You also didn’t have it in you to sleep in another hotel lobby.

“Well, I’ve been wanting to talk to you all day,” he confessed.

“Is that why you were staring at me all day?” you teased, a weak, slightly hopeful smile creeping onto your face.

“I was looking at you because I could feel you staring at me,” he clarified, as if he was setting the record straight. “I don’t want things to be like this between us anymore.”

“Yeah?” you asked, the pit of nerves in your stomach tightening at wherever he was going with his spiel. The anticipation of his words alone made you nauseous.

“So I think that we should talk about last night,” he suggested.

That was exactly what you didn’t want to hear him say. You had barely processed the argument yourself, let alone think about anything else that you had to say to Patrick that didn’t involve trying to hurt him as much as he hurt you.

“We don’t have to. It’s fine. The past is in the past,” you dismissed.

“It’s not fine, though. Not really,” he countered, all earnestness. You didn’t detect any harshness to his words or any blood in the water that indicated to you that he wanted to do anything more than have an honest conversation with you. “I was so out of line. I can’t- I don’t want you to think that I really believe the things I said about you.”

“Patrick, please…” you trailed off, hoping that he would understand that you didn’t really want to talk about this. Though, you were relieved to learn that he’d only said those things out of the heat of the moment.

“No,” he stood his ground. “We need to talk about this if we ever want our relationship to improve.”

“Fine,” you gave in. “But you start, so I can collect my thoughts.”

“Of course,” he leaned forward so he could get a better look at you, and you were immediately drawn into some intense eye contact with him. “I’m sorry for acting like a dick yesterday. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did, and I really shouldn’t have let you leave our hotel room. That was really stupid of me. I worried about you for the rest of the night and spent the morning looking for you.”

This was surprising information to you. While you did find it to be a bit of a dick move that Patrick would just let you leave like that after lecturing you about being unsafe in a new country, you hadn’t realized that he’d been late to boarding the coach because he’d been searching for you. You could only imagine the sick feeling he had as he realized he couldn’t find you anywhere.

“I’m sorry for what I said, too. Insulting you for trying to move on was really unfair of me. I was just… hurt, I guess. When I don’t even have the right to be.”

“You do, a little. We were together for a really long time, so it’s gonna feel weird that we’re starting to see other people,” you shrugged. “That was an excellent apology, that I accept, by the way.”

“Thank you. I really got a chance to practice my apology skills with the last woman I was with,” he explained. You tried to repress the feeling of jealousy that was already bubbling up in your stomach at the mention of another woman.

“Yeah?” you asked, hoping that he didn’t notice the brief twitch of your eye.

“Yeah. She’s super opinionated and outspoken, so we would butt heads a lot. But that was always something I really liked about her. That, and her magnificent ass.”

Finally, it occurred to you that he was talking about you. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, despite the fact that you were secretly very flattered by the way he was speaking about you. “Ew. Shut up,” you laughed.

“Well, if you’re done objectifying me, I would love to apologize to you too.”

“All done objectifying you. For now, at least. Go ahead.”

You were a little nervous about the words that were about to come out of your mouth. You just had so much to say, and you weren’t sure that it was all going to come out correctly.

“I’m sorry for the things I said last night. I genuinely did not mean what I said, I just got caught up in the moment. And I’m really sorry for going through your phone, because that’s seriously none of my business. It was such an unnecessary violation of trust, and I understand if you’re still pissed at me for that. And it was really ridiculous for me to overreact the way that I did over you seeing someone else, because again, it’s really not my business. I feel like I’m kinda the worst,” you confessed.

“You’re not the worst,” he countered.

“Fine, I guess. Maybe you just bring the worst out in me,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood slightly.

“That sounds more accurate. We bring out the worst in each other.”

“Right. That’s why we’re such a good pair,” you paused, then corrected yourself. “Of friends.”

“Is that what we are now?”

“I never said we were good friends.”

“Frenemies?”

“Something like that,” you said, before the familiar whirring sound of the ferris wheel began once more.

“Huh. Who would’ve thought that the only thing the wheel needed to function was an apology to each other?”

“You’re so annoying,” you laughed and shook your head. “How are we gonna make it through the rest of this trip?”

LONDON, ENGLAND

Your final few days in France had been made far less awkward by your conversation on the ferris wheel. Deciding to fully embrace the couples activities the tour had reserved for you, the two of you were having a good time re-establishing your friendship.

Your trip to London had gone mostly without a hitch, with your group arriving in the city in the evening and immediately checking in to your hotel. At this point, you had given up on even attempting to get separate beds. It seemed like every morning now you woke up cuddling with Patrick, but you weren’t necessarily mad at the unintentional intimacy.

In some ways, your relationship was beginning to feel similar to how it felt before the two of you broke up. While you were sure that things wouldn’t be exactly the same—especially since you still hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room that was your breakup—it was nice to return to the comfort you’d found in your relationship with Patrick.

Like clockwork, the morning after your arrival in London, you woke up with Patrick pressed up against your back, nose buried in your hair. As he woke up, he pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline out of what you were sure was just habit rather than genuine affection.

“Morning,” he greeted you groggily, rolling away from your side.

“Morning,” you replied, turning to face him. You ran a hand through his messy morning hair and looked at him fondly. It was taking far more self control than you had to not lean over and kiss him. “What time is it?” you asked, in part to distract yourself, but also because the digital clock was on his side of the bed.

“It’s…” he trailed off as he went to read the time. “Oh shit, we’re gonna be late.”

“What?” you asked, shooting up from your relaxed position.

“It’s 8:25,” he explained, already rolling out of bed.

In a rush, the two of you got dressed in record time, making it down to the lobby in the five minutes that you had to make it on time. You shared a high-five in the lobby, and tried your best not to dwell on how the simple action felt far more domestic than it needed to.

Your tour began not too long after that, getting your day off to a strong start. Your day of exploring London was by far your busiest. You were sure that you’d accumulated thousands of steps as you went between large museums, beautiful parks, and massive landmarks. By the time that you returned to your hotel room, you were pretty sure that your legs were mush.

You returned earlier than Patrick, who had gone out to a gastropub with a group of tourists in your group that he got along well with. You took this as an opportunity to have some alone time, taking a long and steaming hot shower, frolicking around the room in a soft hotel robe, and watching a movie while you waited for your room service to arrive.

After you’d thoroughly enjoyed your alone time, finishing off your room service and opting to scroll on your phone, the door cracked open and Patrick strolled in.

“Looks like you made yourself right at home,” he observed.

“I had to after today’s tour. So much walking,” you groaned.

“It wasn’t all that bad,” he shrugged, sitting down next to you in bed.

“Well, not all of us are professional athletes,” you laughed. “How was the pub?”

“Fun. It’d be better if you came.”

“I’m sorry, I was exhausted,” you sighed. “You could’ve stayed in with me and had a spa day.”

“We can have a spa day anywhere. We can have a spa day right now.”

“Mm, I’m all spa’d out. But the water pressure in the shower is excellent, so you should definitely check that out.”

“I will in a little bit,” he said. “Did you try out the actual spa here?”

“They were closed when I checked, which really sucks, since I was in desperate need of a massage.”

“Do you still want one?” Patrick asked.

“Yeah. I’ll probably try to stop by when they’re open tomorrow and get one.”

“No, I mean, do you want a massage now?” he added.

It had been a long time since Patrick had offered you a massage—or to put his hands on you in any capacity—but you remembered him being criminally talented at giving them. You also remembered his massages usually making for great foreplay that left your knees weak and your brain a pile of jelly, but that clearly wouldn’t be the case now, and you needed to get your head out of the gutter.

“I mean, sure. That would be nice,” you tried not to sound too excited, though the prospect of a massage from him sounded very, very nice.

While the prospect of a massage sounded nice, the actual massage was heavenly. You were sure that years of having personal trainers and physical therapists work knots out of his body had made him an expert at finding knots and kinks in your own, which was now leaving you sighing happily as he ran his hands over your back.

You tried your best to ignore the dull, fiery feeling growing in your lower stomach that was surely a result of experiencing a type of intimacy that you hadn’t in quite some time. As you let out an involuntary soft sound at a particular knot being rubbed out of your shoulder, you wondered if this massage was affecting him nearly as much as it was affecting you.

You promptly received an answer to this question when something hard and phallic brushed up against your leg. You turned your head to glance back at Patrick, and his face immediately grew red.

“Sorry. I can stop, if you want. It just happened because of the noises you’re making and- whatever. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Part of you felt a little satisfied knowing that you still had that type of impact on him. It gave you a tiny glimmer of hope to know that you were still, at the least, physically attracted to one another.

“It’s fine. I’ll shut up.”

“You don’t have to. I want this to be as relaxing as possible for you.”

“Well you’re doing a great job, if you couldn’t tell from all of the moaning and groaning on my end.”

You both somehow made it through the rest of the massage without spilling all over the bed, but as you melted into the bed, feeling every muscle in your body relaxed from your excellent massage, you couldn’t help but note the suspiciously long time Patrick was spending in the shower. And maybe it was just your imagination, but if you listened hard enough, you swore you could hear the sound of a soft chanting of your name coming from the other side of the bathroom door.

While part of you regretted not suggesting that the two of you help each other out with your mutual problems, you were pretty sure that it was for the best. You genuinely didn’t know where the two of you stood, as far as your relationship went. Hooking up would surely further complicate an already complicated situation, since you were pretty sure that ex-fiancés didn’t typically sleep together. But then again, ex-fiancés also didn’t usually go on a honeymoon despite not being together. Your complicated feelings on the matter only further proved to you that you made the right choice by not giving in to your baser desires.

By the time Patrick joined you in bed, you were already half asleep. Yet, even in your delirious state, you didn’t miss the way he came up behind you, pulling you into a loving embrace. It brought warmth to your chest to know that he couldn’t even wait for your automatic sleep routine to hold you, and that he felt the need to take matters into his own hands.

You were pretty sure that exes didn’t do that either.

AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS

You didn’t know what you expected from your first ferry ride, but being face deep in a barf bag while soothing circles were rubbed into your back was certainly not it.

Given that you weren’t a frequent rider of large vessels on bodies of water, you had no clue going into the ride that things would go so sideways so quickly for you. If anything, you thought you might have the opportunity to stare peacefully out into the water, or to force Patrick to take a few cute pictures of you. Unfortunately, you were currently doing neither of those things—and it didn’t seem like you’d be doing them any time soon.

You heaved once more, now almost totally sure that you had nothing left to give. Patrick continued to hold your hair out of your face with one hand and use his other to comfortingly rub your back, not at all fazed by your sickness. If you weren’t currently fighting off another wave of nausea and didn’t have the taste of bile lingering in your mouth, you probably could’ve kissed the man.

Once your brain finally told you the coast was clear, you leaned your head back and took several deep, gasping breaths of air.

“You alright, honey?” he asked you, and you didn’t even have the strength—physical or mental—to correct his use of a pet name.

“I could be better,” you replied, pinching the bridge of your nose as you tilted your head back. “There’s medicine for this, right?”

“Yeah. Let me go see if I can find some.”

As you fought off a war of nausea and headache that was currently beating you on all fronts, you could faintly hear the sound of Patrick asking the people around you if they had any medicine for motion sickness. He eventually returned after what felt like a lifetime, but was probably more like a few minutes, carrying a bottle of Dramamine.

He helped you take the pill, putting it in your mouth then holding a bottle of water up to your lips to help you swallow it. The action felt oddly romantic, though it was more of a matter of practicality compared to anything else. You were clearly not in a stable enough space to get the pill down on your own, so his assistance wasn’t really anything for you to be over analyzing.

“Look at you, keeping that down,” he teased, running his hand up and down your arm. The motion was soothing, a bit of bodily comfort amongst a plethora of other awful physical pains you were experiencing. “You’re doing great.”

His soft caresses turned into a full-blown hug, with Patrick pulling you into a tight embrace. While the action itself was rather cute—especially since it seemed to be completely impulsive on his part—it instantly brought on a new wave of nausea.

“Pat?” you squeaked.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“You’re sweet. But if we stay like this, I am going to be sick all over you.”

He pulled away from you with concern, careful not to move too quickly to set off another bout of sickness. While he let go of your body, he continued to hold your hand, as if he were attempting to ground you. With how anxious he was looking, he might’ve been trying to ground himself as well.

It was cute seeing him so worried about you. You tried your best not to read too much into it, and luckily, your slowly fading nausea was the perfect distraction from doing so.

“Thank you for the drugs. It was fun watching you scramble all around asking people for help. You’re such a good…” you paused, not really knowing what you were or what to say. “Ex.”

Now wasn’t exactly the ideal time to have the, ‘what are we?’ conversation, but Patrick didn’t seem to mind. And if he did mind, he was doing a damn good job at hiding it.

“Only the best for my ex.” Maybe you’d just been imaging it, but you swore you sensed a bit of hesitation on his end as he called you his ex. Admittedly, it would be significantly easier for both of you to be calling each other spouses, or even partners. But alas, you weren’t either of those things to each other anymore.

As if you’d read each other's minds, the two of you quickly moved on from that conversation.

After you’d arrived and gotten settled into Amsterdam, you set off to explore the city. When presented with a few options of things to do, Patrick insisted that the two of you go on a bike tour, much to your own chagrin. As much as you weren’t sure your legs could handle any more strenuous physical activity, you’d known that Patrick had wanted to take this bike tour since your trip was an actual honeymoon. Who were you to deny him of that?

As the two of you toured the very beautiful city, Patrick made sure to make a show out of his biking skills. While he was no professional cyclist, he certainly had the ego of one—which translated to him going a little too hard at times and nearly falling off of his bike more than once.

Each time he almost fell, you found yourself also almost falling, the onset of laughter at the ridiculous man riding next to you nearly being too much to handle. Without fail, every time the two of you did your almost falling, then break into a howling laughter routine, you were given dirty looks by your fellow tour mates. Unfortunately, that only made the situation funnier to you and Patrick.

By the time the tour had wrapped, it was clear that everyone was sick and tired of you. But at least this time, the people around you were sick of the girlish giggles Patrick pulled from you, rather than the rude words he provoked you into saying, like he’d done on the plane.

It was refreshing to be spending time with him like this. In the time that you’d been so upset about your break up, you forgot about just how good it felt to be around Patrick when your relationship was going well.

It was also nice to be spending some alone time with him, away from the rest of your tour group. As the two of you looked at strange knick-knacks in an antique store, you realized just how much you missed being alone with him. While it was nice that the two of you had made friends within your group, your dynamic as a duo was obviously something really special. Maybe that’s why the two of you had been together for so long.

You spent the majority of the afternoon doubled over in laughter, playfully teasing Patrick, or being on the receiving end of subtle, gentle touches. As you really began to think about it, this day of travel had been your favorite—by a long shot. It also happened to be the day that felt most like one from a honeymoon.

Although it had already been clear to you for some time that you still had feelings for Patrick, the day you had spent together had completely sealed the deal. Once Patrick had surprised you with a beautiful bouquet of flowers over dinner, you’d only been more sure that you were sick with love for your ex.

It was a small miracle that you’d rounded out the day without confessing your feelings, particularly since you ended the evening with a movie playing on the television of your hotel room that the two of you barely paid attention to, as Patrick held you and talked about some of the things you’d missed while the two of you were separated.

In the morning, you woke up to the soft sound of chatter, rather than your loud alarm clock or the sound of deep breaths in the shell of your ear.

From what you could faintly make out from the words and the lack of a warm body beside you, Patrick was on the phone with his mother. You wanted to feel bad for eavesdropping, especially since you’d just had an argument with Patrick over your snooping habit just over a week ago, but it was far too difficult not to listen in.

“I’m glad you liked the picture,” you made out from the muffled words behind the doorway. You were sure he was referencing the selfie the two of you took in front of Big Ben a few days ago. You also liked the photo a lot, with the two of you looking particularly good and particularly happy. You’d also taken a more baity photo of him kissing your cheek, specifically to send to his mother who he knew would be overjoyed to see you. While Patrick had explained the idea behind the picture as his mom simply wanting to see you, you knew the more accurate statement is that his mom wanted to see the two of you together.

After a beat, there was a soft chuckle. “No, we’re not back together. No mom, there’s no ‘yet.’ I know. I’m an idiot, I know- aren’t you supposed to take your child’s side? Well, I don’t know if you know this, but we never ended up getting married, so no, she’s not your daughter. How could she possibly be your favorite child! We just talked about this. I’m gonna hang up. I’m serious. Alright. Love you, bye.”

When Patrick returned, you were already sitting up in bed.

“Can you tell your mom I say hi next time?” you asked with a cheeky grin on your face, still coming off of the high that was the romantic outing you’d had the day prior.

“I’m sure she’d love to hear that,” he replied, getting back into bed beside you. “She probably wants to hear from you more than she wants to hear from me.”

You laughed and shook your head, not bothering to argue with his words since you both knew they were pretty accurate.

“I mean, I’m sure she’ll be inviting you to Thanksgiving and Christmas long after we’ve moved on with other people and have our own families.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. You were sure of it. You thought you could genuinely feel the movement of your most vital organ slowly sinking into a pit of stomach acid.

You tried not to let your smile falter, considering that Patrick was looking right at you with a sweet look of his own plastered on his face. You wondered if this was some sort of test, to gauge how you felt after a day of rekindling the love the two of you thought had burnt out.

Or maybe, more realistically, he’d already come to accept the reality that you’d been stalling on accepting: your relationship was truly over. One fun day wouldn’t change the fact that your wedding had been called off, and that the two of you said things to each other that would alter the foundations of any solid relationship for years to come.

Your heart was such a traitor. She refused to accept the simple fact that Patrick wanted to move on, and that your relationship was a thing of the past. Maybe, if you couldn’t convince your heart to accept that truth, you might be able to force your brain to.

“And I’ll still be accepting that invitation, thank you very much,” you stated, trying to sound confident in your words. “In the meantime, let’s get ready before we miss this bus. You can tell me what your mom’s menu is gonna look like this year on our ride over.”

SOMEWHERE IN CENTRAL GERMANY

It was stupid for you to be torn up the way that you were over just a few simple words, but the more you thought about it, the worse you felt.

In reality, it wasn’t just what Patrick had said to you in the hotel room. It was the fact that he’d been actively trying to move on with other people since who knew when, and the way he seemed to frequently verbally reiterate the fact that your relationship was over. By holding out hope that you might somehow be able to repair your relationship, you were being much more naïve than you even realized.

You felt stupid. But you also felt confused, because as much as Patrick swore he was over you, and pursued other people, he was also far too comfortable acting like nothing had changed between you two. After all, he was the one flirting with you, and trying to attach himself at the hip to you as you traveled. He was the one who always managed to end up spooning you over the course of the night and woke up kissing whatever part of your body he was closest to. For god's sake, he’d just told you yesterday about how he’d searched high and low to find a bouquet of flowers that he thought you would genuinely like. And most damningly, you hadn’t forgotten the look of hurt on his face when he found out that you had slept with someone else. That wasn’t the behavior of someone who was over their partner.

To say you were receiving mixed messages was a complete understatement. You couldn’t understand how it was possible that the man who was currently leaning against you very affectionately, despite being on a cramped bus, was also totally over you and wanted to move on.

You didn’t know what you wanted to do about the situation, but you were sure that you couldn’t keep going like this.

Your bus stopped somewhere in Germany for the evening, letting you all out to have dinner and do some light sightseeing before regrouping in the morning and heading to Prague. Somehow, that translated to going to a bar to try out German beer for you, Patrick, and a few of the friends you’d made while traveling.

After a brief intermission of checking into your hotel room, your small group met up in the lobby, then set off to find a bar.

Drinking while you were feeling a little upset probably wasn’t your brightest idea. The speed and volume at which you were consuming alcohol was a little concerning, but not nearly as concerning as how much Patrick was drinking. Eventually, even in your drunken state, you realized that you should probably slow down—if nothing else, to take care of him.

But the two of you continued on, going from bar to bar, getting drunk at a level that probably would’ve been acceptable when you were younger, but was certainly going to take a major toll on you now.

Forgetting about the repercussions of the future, you two were having a great time. Despite you being out with a group, it felt a little bit like the two of you were in your own little bubble. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter as the two of you took shots and danced together. Not the people around you, not the fact that you had to be up early the next morning to make it onto your coach, not even the fact that Patrick had implied that the two of you would move on and have families with other people only a few days ago.

By the time that the rest of your group had called it quits, explaining that they wanted to be up and functional in time for your ride the next morning, you and Patrick were still in your own little world. It was only after you’d shared a few drunk cigarettes that the two of you decided that the fun should end, and that it was time to head back to your hotel.

Unfortunately for you, midway through your trek back home, your drinking buddy had given up on walking, leaving you tasked with literally dragging him all the way back to your hotel. While a sober version of yourself would’ve been annoyed by the inconvenience, all you could really think about was how nice it was to have his body so close to yours.

After a tumultuous journey back, the two of you finally made it back to your hotel room. You had only been in the room for a matter of seconds before Patrick collapsed onto the bed and let out a loud sigh of relief, followed by an even louder yawn, as if he was the one who had just carried you down the road.

It was annoyingly endearing.

You had half the mind to at least get somewhat ready before getting into bed, shedding your outermost layer of clothing before joining Patrick in bed.

“Thank you,” he said to you once you laid down next to him.

“Mhm,” you hummed, your head still pleasantly buzzing from the alcohol. “But I’m never doing that again.”

“Aww, why? We had so much fun,” he practically whined. “I always have so much fun when we’re together.”

“I had fun, but you’re so heavy. You’d never guess it. All those muscles,” in the midst of your complaining, you reached over to grab his bicep to demonstrate his point.

He laughed, which made you laugh, though you didn’t exactly know what you were laughing at. Then, out of the blue, he randomly said your name in a very serious tone.

“Can you help me with something?” he asked, sounding very genuine and giving you a look that you couldn’t quite place in your drunken state.

“Anything,” you replied earnestly and meant it. You would probably do literally anything that he asked you to do at that moment. Move a mountain? You’d start pushing. Marry him? You’d wake up an officiant and come up with vows on the spot. Help him hide a body? You were sure you could find a shovel somewhere.

“Can you help me get my shoes off?” he lifted a foot as he spoke to demonstrate his point, a little pout on his lips. You were a little disappointed that he hadn’t asked you for anything else, but you also weren’t quite sure what it was that you wanted him to ask you for.

You groaned playfully, a long and drawn out sound that you hoped would communicate that you were exhausted after dragging him through the city and comfortable where you were laying. Still, you leaned over and untied his shoes before gently slipping them off. When you looked back up at Patrick, his pants were newly half undone and halfway off, but it looked as if he had given up fully taking his pants off.

“Need help with that too?” you asked, though you were already working on slipping the article of clothing off of his legs.

Though you tried to push the thought out of your mind, you couldn’t help but recall a similar night the two of you shared several years ago. Your relationship was still relatively new, but you were already very obviously in love. So in love that you’d gone out of your way to set up a surprise party to celebrate a particularly successful tennis match, decorating your apartment with photos of him with trophies and other tennis paraphernalia and inviting as many of his close friends that you could track down. Still riding the high of winning and his all-consuming adoration of you, Patrick had partied a little too hard, leaving you in charge of tucking him in at the end of the night.

After bringing him a glass of water, the man snuggled into your sheets and slurred out a comment about how they smelled like you. You felt your cheeks warm as he continued on in a disjointed ramble, talking about how much he appreciated you and how no one had ever gone out of their way to make him feel like that before. He ended his monologue with a request for you to help him take his clothes off, and you happily obliged. It was tender and far more intimate than you’d expected, and ended in a drawn out kiss that left you giggling as you told Patrick that he tasted like Smirnoff Ice.

Even as inebriated as you currently were, the nostalgia made you feel a little dizzy.

By the time you’d finished helping him get his pants off, Patrick had clearly given up on getting his shirt off, too. Once again, you moved your hands up his body and helped him out with the piece of fabric.

“Look at that. All ready for bed,” you commented, setting a hand on his bare chest. The small action made your heart soar, and you promptly decided that it was probably better for you to avoid touching him altogether.

“My watch?” Patrick asked, lifting his wrist up to show you the accessory.

“You can take your watch off yourself,” you replied, leaning back into bed and finally laying down.

“Fine.”

“Night, Patty,” you said, reaching over to turn out the bedside lamp.

“Wait,” he paused pensively, as if he was digging deep in the recesses of his mind to conjure up what he was about to say. “A kiss?”

“Patrick!” you gasped, sounding far more scandalized by the proposition than you actually were. Of course you would give him a kiss, you just weren’t sure you were ready to open up that can of worms, especially after you’d had a minor crisis at the realization that he genuinely wanted to move on.

“No goodnight kiss? C’mon. Fully commit to tucking me in,” Patrick insisted, as if it was the most logical thing ever. As if either of you had the self control to not let something as simple as a kiss spiral out of control.

“Fine,” you sighed before pressing a gentle peck to his forehead, figuring that was the safest place to do so. A forehead kiss was about as platonic as it got with you. “Sweet dreams.”

“Thank you,” he said, rather sweetly as his eyes shut. “Love you.”

Those words instantly gave you pause, causing you to suddenly feel very alert and very sober.

“Sorry, what did you just say?”

“I said I love you?” Patrick repeated, looking at you with confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” though it was very much not nothing. In fact, if his confession was true, it would change everything. “Go to bed.”

“Wait, what?” Patrick grabbed your arm, looking very worried in the low light of the room. “You’re mad. You’re mad that I love you?”

You didn’t even know how you were supposed to react to that admission. While it had been exactly what you’d been dying to hear from him for months, it only further complicated your already very complicated situation.

“I’m not mad, I’m… I’m just tired. Let’s go to sleep, okay?”

Your explanation seemed to placate Patrick enough to let it go and go to sleep. He shuffled around to get comfortable behind you, before pulling you in to hold you as he’d done for the entirety of the trip. Except, tonight, it didn’t feel quite right. The mixture of his frequent rejections of you, paired with his casual confession that he still loved you made your head spin.

The following morning, you woke up with a pounding in your head and a gross taste in your mouth—only one of which, you could fully attribute to the drinking you’d done last night. You clumsily reached for your phone, and found yourself pleasantly surprised to find an announcement about the delay of the next bus you would be getting on.

You got out of bed with a grunt, your entire body aching with the reminder of having to drag Patrick through the city last night. Somehow, the sore muscles didn’t hurt nearly as much compared to the memory of being told that Patrick still loved you.

You slowly paced back and forth around your hotel room, desperately trying to organize your racing thoughts. Did Patrick actually mean what he said last night? Or had been caught up in the heat of the moment? If anything, the latter seemed more likely, since he’d been very obviously trying to distance himself from you. But had he really been distancing himself from you, or just talking about distancing himself from you? If his care for you on the ferry had been any indication of how he really felt about you, it was possible that his drunken words were more honest than you were trying to convince yourself that they were.

Finally, you decided to stop annoying the person staying in the room under you with your increasingly frantic pacing, and to go outside to walk. Some fresh air would be good for you anyway.

“Where’re you going?” a muffled voice, heavy with sleep asked. You paused the tying of your shoes to look over at the bed, where Patrick was currently squinting at you.

“I’m just going for a walk,” you told him. “Go back to sleep. The coach is coming late.”

“Wait for me. I’ll come with you.”

That was probably the last thing you needed or wanted. After all, the whole purpose of your walk was to help you sort out your thoughts about Patrick. To say he wasn’t a welcome addition to your trip was an understatement.

“Okay,” you said anyway, against your better judgment. It seemed like you hadn’t been using much of your judgment at all on this trip. What was one more poor decision on top of a series of poor decisions?

You watched him get ready from where you were sitting, quietly impressed with his ability to get up and be functional despite surely being just as hungover—if not more—than you. He also seemed wholly unaffected by the conversation you’d had last night, which was something that you certainly couldn’t say for yourself.

With sunglasses perched on your nose and the weight of your entire relationship placed on your shoulders, the two of you headed out into the city, walking on the same sidewalks that you’d practically carried Patrick down the previous night.

“Last night was fun,” Patrick commented, making small talk with you as you began to head down the street.

“Some parts,” you agreed, hoping that he’d recall you grunting as you lugged him down the street, rather than your shock when he told you that he still loved you.

“I honestly don’t remember most of the night,” Patrick said with a chuckle that almost sounded a little forced. You couldn’t be sure if he was being honest or searching for a cop out for the things he’d told you before you went to sleep, but you weren’t sure that it really mattered.

“Unfortunately, I do,” you replied.

“Oh no. I hope I wasn’t too much of a pain.”

“You were like, slightly above average in terms of being a pain. Nothing I’m not used to.” You figured that maybe you could banter your way out of this situation. Perhaps if you just pretended that everything was okay, things would magically become okay.

But that didn’t feel alright. In fact, it wasn’t alright. If you ever wanted to improve your relationship with Patrick, you had to stop beating around the bush with him. You were both adults. You’d been together for years, yet you felt like you wasted far too much time not being straightforward with your thoughts and feelings. If there was going to be a next time for the two of you, you wanted things to be different.

“You did say something kinda interesting last night, though.” While it had been easy to talk up a big game in your head, you immediately regretted the words that came out of your mouth. Regardless, it was too late for you to back out.

Patrick laughed nervously before asking, “what?”

“You just… you kinda told me you still have feelings for me, or whatever. I just think, maybe we should talk about it. Or at least talk about us.”

The man next to you paled at your words. Your regret for bringing the topic up immediately grew exponentially.

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” Patrick said, though he was lying through his teeth and both of you knew it. You wanted to approach this topic with civility and an open mind, but his blatant lie was making that a rather difficult task.

“Are you kidding? We’ve been tip-toeing around it this entire trip.”

“We’re broken up. You called off our wedding. I don’t think it gets any more straightforward than that,” he dismissed with a gross simplification of the state of your relationship.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. And even if it was, all I said was that I didn't think I was ready to get married. You put the final nail in the coffin when you told me you fell out of love with me. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to interpret you not being in love with me anymore when you still act the way that you act with me.”

You could tell the direction this conversation was going, your discussion quickly veering into argument territory as Patrick began to invade your space as he always did when you argued.

“And how exactly do I act with you?” he challenged, though you were sure he knew exactly what you were talking about.

“Do you want me to give you a list or something?” you asked, his anger becoming contagious.

“Sure, why not,” he said drily.

“Fine. Let’s start with the cuddling, then. Please enlighten me, do you know any exes who spoon regularly? I mean, I certainly don’t. I don’t even touch my friends like that. So I don’t know what that really makes us. Or maybe how jealous you got when you saw me with someone else. I really can’t think of any sort of platonic explanation for that, and trust me, I’ve tried. And while we’re at it, I guess I should mention those showers. I respect the hell out of your faith in the thickness of these hotel walls, but I actually can hear you moaning my name while you’re in there. I’m honestly a little flattered, but I’m mostly confused.”

“Like you’re not doing the same,” Patrick scoffed. You knew him well enough to recognize that he was masking his true feelings with hostility, and though you wanted to engage in an actual conversation with him, you weren’t sure you would be able to take the high road in this conversation.

“Sure, but I’m not the one in denial of what’s going on here!”

“I’m not in denial. Have you ever considered that maybe I want to move on?”

“Do you, though?” you asked, pausing on the sidewalk.

“Clearly, I do,” he stopped right along with you, now really getting in your face.

“Clearly,” you repeated with a laugh. “Maybe you should start acting like it.”

“Maybe you should stop clinging to the past.”

His piercing gaze was unwavering as he waited to read your reaction. You knew how he liked to play this game, looking for an indication of any sort of weakness from you. You refused to give him that, though his words cut deep.

“Okay,” you said calmly, though you were very much not feeling calm on the inside. “Well, thanks for letting me know how you really feel. Or how you think you feel. I don’t really know anymore. And I don’t think you know either.”

PRAGUE, CZECH REPUBLIC

If you had known that telling Patrick that he drunkenly confessed to loving you would’ve broken the already very delicate relationship the two of you had built back up, you never would’ve said anything at all. As it turned out, having some of Patrick was better than not having him at all.

The contempt he now felt for you had become so strong that he didn’t even seem to be able to look at you. He sat next to a different person on the bus to Prague, not even sparing you a glance. When you arrived at the hotel, he made it a point to ask for separate rooms—something the two of you hadn’t done the entirety of your trip. As your tour began, he seemed to make a strong effort to separate himself from you, standing in the back of your group when you were in the front and vice versa.

Usually, even after your worst arguments, you’d been able to find the time to talk out your feelings, but now it seemed like Patrick couldn’t even find it in himself to give you that.

You wanted to be mad at Patrick too. You were mad at him. But you missed him more than you were angry with him, and you yearned to be with him, no matter how crazy his constant antics drove you.

Part of you felt frustrated that your relationship had become so cyclical since your breakup. You weren’t sure you could handle another cycle of fighting to the point of real anger, then making up with your relationship still a little more strained than it was in the past. You just wanted Patrick. Why did things have to be any more complicated than that?

You desperately clung on to any bits of hope that your relationship might persist, coming out of this argument altered, but still existing. You snuck peeks at Patrick while you toured a beautiful castle and tried to bite your tongue until you stopped thinking of how badly you wanted to grab him and joke about his home looking like that castle. You wondered if he wanted to put your initials on a lock and put it on a bridge as much as you did. You wished you could ask him if he missed the warm body in bed beside him the way you did.

But every time you looked at him, he was pointedly not looking at you. As your group paused on the bridge to allow couples the time to make their own locks, Patrick didn’t even spare a glance in your direction. You were sure that even if he did miss you in bed, or wherever else, he would never tell you about it.

You didn’t want it to be over—but you couldn’t keep clinging to hope that it wasn’t.

GENEVA, SWITZERLAND

Getting to view the breathtaking scenery of the Swiss Alps as you sat on a cable car had been a dream of yours for years. What wasn’t included in that dream was dodging the glare of your ex-fiancé as the two of you sat in silence on that very gondola.

Unluckily for the two of you, you were stuck together for the afternoon. Private skiing lessons in the Swiss Alps sounded like a great, even romantic, idea while you were planning the trip, but it was far from romantic now.

The two of you stood on opposite sides of your instructor, the tension between you so thick that in the midst of his safety spiel, he paused to ask if everything was okay between you. After a stilted reply of yes, your instructor looked at you both skeptically before carrying on.

Seeing as Patrick was an athlete who spent his childhood school breaks in Aspen, he was pretty decent at skiing already. Far better than you, a novice who was moving a little bit like a giraffe standing on its feet for the first time.

While it wasn’t your first time skiing—that had been on a family vacation you’d tagged along on with the Zweigs—you certainly were not experienced enough to be keeping up with Patrick, who had the experience and the ego to give even your instructor a run for his money.

It was entertaining to watch him in his element, his competitive side coming out despite the fact there was no competition anywhere to be found. He was significantly faster than you wherever you went, and skied with a confidence that you doubted you would ever be able to exhibit. In the past, this behavior may have been slightly endearing to you, but right now, it was mostly a little annoying.

You and your instructor stood above Patrick, watching him effortlessly glide down the mountain in front of you. If you weren’t so agitated, you might actually have been impressed. As if your instructor was actively reading your mind, he leaned over to say something to you.

“I think he’s trying to impress you,” he said quietly, though the subject of your conversation was an entire slope away.

You nearly choked on your own saliva at the observation. “No way.”

“What do you mean no way?” he laughed. “Trust me, I’ve been doing this for years, and I’ve seen it all. Couples, crushes, friends, coworkers. I know posturing when I see it.”

“Trust me, he could care less.”

He looked at you with a doubting squint. “Why don’t we go down there and ask him?”

“Absolutely not,” you laughed. The thought of asking Patrick anything after the interactions you’d had seemed absolutely ridiculous. At this point, you wouldn’t even ask him what time it was.

“Sorry. Let me rephrase that. That was me telling you that it’s time for you to go down the slope.”

You looked downhill at where you needed to go, noting that it was far steeper than what you’d been practicing on leading up to this point. You had been looking for an excuse to stall going down it, but now that your instructor had said something about that, you couldn’t not go.

After taking a deep breath, you began to go down. Gaining a bit of speed, you also found yourself growing slightly more confident, closing your eyes and feeling the cold air press against your body. While you were enjoying your speed at first, it was quickly growing out of hand, and you began to panic as you realized just how fast you were going. Desperately trying to pull your skis into a V shape to slow down, you were horrified at the realization that you were far too late, and actively heading towards a cluster of trees. You didn’t know what to do other than to accept your fate, and everything had happened so fast anyway that you found yourself tumbling into a tree, a searing pain on your ankle and tailbone as you laid out on the rocky ground.

Everything felt like it was moving slowly and quickly at the same time. One second, you were alone in the snow, and the next, Patrick and your ski instructor were hovering over you, goggles on their foreheads as they looked at you with concern.

“Are you okay?” you were finally able to make out once the slight ringing in your ears had ceased.

“Did you see how hard she crashed? Of course she isn’t fucking okay,” Patrick’s voice huffed, though slightly muffled from your helmet covering your ears.

“My ankle,” you said, as if that gave them enough context. You wondered if they could see the tears beginning to pool under your goggles. The pair looked at your limb, though with your snowsuit covering it, they really couldn’t see much.

“Can you walk?” your instructor asked you.

“I haven’t tried, but I’m gonna go with no.”

“We’re gonna have someone check you out. Don’t worry, they’ll be here soon,” your ski instructor told you. You blinked a few times and mustered all the strength you could to nod.

The longer you sat, the more you began to realize how badly everything hurt. From your head down to your surely swollen ankle, you weren’t feeling too hot. You closed your eyes, suddenly feeling very exhausted. Maybe a quick little nap was exactly what you needed to feel a little better.

“Hey, don’t do that. You hit your head pretty hard when you fell, so you might have a concussion.”

“I don’t, I’m just tired,” you explained, though you didn’t know for a fact that it was true. In fact, with the pounding in your head, you more likely than not had a mild concussion.

“Well, you kinda have to stay awake,” Patrick told you, though he surely knew it was easier said than done. You were surprised when you felt his gloved hand take yours and squeezed your hand softly. “Hey, why don’t you tell us a story?” he suggested, clearly just trying to keep you awake.

“Do you wanna hear the story about how he proposed to me?” you asked the instructor. You weren’t sure why that was the first thing to pop into your head, but it was a long enough story to keep you awake until help arrived. You wished your goggles were slightly less tinted, so you could at least see the scandalized expression Patrick was probably making. You loved when you made him react like that, since the roles were usually reversed.

“Well, yeah. Of course,” your instructor responded with a hint of a laugh. “You guys are engaged?” he directed towards Patrick.

“This is our honeymoon,” you replied before Patrick had an opportunity to respond. You wished you could see the confused look that your instructor was surely making.

“So what happened?”

“When he proposed?” you asked to clarify.

“...Sure.”

“Well, for a little context, Patrick here is a professional tennis player. He’s really good too. So given my athletic ability, as you got to see today, I never really played with him. Like, he would always ask me to just play a fun, quick little round and I would always tell him no. Mostly because I knew he would crush me. I did play a little bit back in the day, but I was nowhere near his level. I mostly preferred to be on the sideline while we dated. I mean, I came to every single one of his games. I’m pretty sure my office introduced remote work to us because of me, since I was traveling all the time to see him.

“Anyway, one day, after a day of buttering me up, and I mean, he was really laying it on thick. I don’t know how I didn’t think something was up,” you laughed as you recalled the day, how Patrick had scheduled a nail appointment for you, then wined and dined you during a very romantic midday picnic. “But he asked me to play a little bit of tennis with him. I think I just thought he spent the day buttering me up so that I would play tennis with him, not that I would agree to marry him, but I digress.

“We get to the tennis court and Patrick’s nervous like I’ve never seen him. He was a little jittery all day, but this was a different beast. Looking back, I really don’t understand why. He should’ve known I was going to say yes. Anyway, we’re playing, and somehow I win, even though I’m extremely rusty and have absolutely awful form. Obviously I knew Patrick threw the match for me, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t gonna gloat at him.

“So I’m doing my victory spiel and I walk over to his side of the court, where he’s digging in his bag. He’s so quiet, which should’ve been a sign that something was up, and I’m thinking he’s about to pull out more tennis balls and tell me we’re doing a rematch, so he can really crush me. Instead, he pulls out a box and gets down on one knee. He gives me a speech about how he didn’t care if he never won another game of tennis in his life, because as long as we were together, he was a winner. It was really sweet. Obviously I said yes.”

You finally looked over at Patrick, though you couldn’t perfectly read his expression through the darkened lens of your goggles. You wondered if he felt any of the same feelings that were currently simmering in your own chest. Though, you didn’t get to stew too long, as help arrived just as your story came to a close.

You were taken to an infirmary and given a series of tests, some to see the state of your head and other to see how the rest of your body was doing. Surprisingly, you made it out without too much serious damage. Your ankle was sprained, but nothing that would make it take too long to heal. You had a concussion, which surprised you, given your ability to recall so many details earlier in the day, but it was a very mild one. At least you’d made it back into your hotel in one piece.

You really just wanted to relax for the rest of the evening, and you had plans to do exactly that, when there was suddenly a soft rapping at your door.

You got up, and with help from the crutches you were provided, you hobbled to the door and opened it. On the other side was Patrick, who you were both surprised and unsurprised to see.

“Hey. I got your room number from the front desk,” Patrick told you. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Sure, but I’m probably going to sleep soon,” with some effort, you sidestepped the doorway to let him in.

“Do you need anything? Want anything?” he asked as he made himself at home in your room, evaluating what you already had.

“I’m good, I think.”

“How’re you feeling? They wouldn’t let me see you at the infirmary.”

“I’ve been better,” you shrugged, sitting down on the foot of your bed to take some pressure off of your aching ankle.

“I bet. Are you icing that?” he asked, gesturing to your most obvious injury.

“I haven’t been able to make it out to the ice machine,” you confessed, though the doctor had suggested ice for the inflammation.

“Let me go grab some for you,” he said before disappearing out into the hallway. Once he left, you laid back in bed, letting out a sigh of relief at how much better being flat felt.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like being taken care of this way. It seemed like no matter how bad things got between the two of you, you would always care for one another in some capacity. You wondered what had gone through Patrick’s mind when he saw you hurt yourself. You wondered if that changed anything in the way he felt about you.

He knocked on the door once more to tell you he was back, though the door was already unlocked.

“If there’s anything else you need, I mean anything at all, just call me. I’m just down the hall from you,” he told you as he bagged up the ice he retrieved.

He sat down on the foot of the bed, where you’d previously been sitting, and tenderly set the bag of ice on your ankle, clearly not wanting to hurt you any more than you were already hurt. He looked at you a little sadly before standing back up, not wanting to linger in your presence too long.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” he explained, already turning to head towards the door.

“Thanks, Patrick,” you paused, looking for any other words you had for him. “Good night.”

“Night.”

SOMEWHERE IN ITALY

The next few days in Switzerland had been extremely boring. Due to doctor’s orders, you mainly stayed in bed, avoiding screens by reading books, and looking out the window to view the mountains that you were currently missing.

Although you had to miss a lot of the fun your tour was going on, like a cheese and chocolate tour, you somehow still received an anonymous delivery of cheeses and chocolates—though, you were pretty sure you knew who was responsible for that.

Patrick didn’t seem like he wanted to overstep any boundaries, which you respected, though you really could’ve used some company whose ear you could talk off. Hell, you’d even take another nasty argument over the resounding silence of your room.

Luckily for you, by the time your group was traveling once again, you were starting to feel slightly better, concussion and ankle-wise. Though, your head was starting to hurt from listening to a person at the front of the bus go on about how much they needed the bus to pull over somewhere.

After a period of incessant complaining from someone on your bus, the vehicle finally came to a stop at a small rest stop in the middle of the Italian countryside.

Not willing to pass up an opportunity to stretch your legs, you got off at the stop, briefly stopping inside the building to look at what they had to offer before stepping behind the building, watching the wind blow through the overgrown weeds.

Your attempt at enjoying the quiet, idyllic countryside was disturbed when you were joined by a smoking companion.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he said.

Before you could stop it, a sad smile appeared on your face. The two of you hadn’t spoken since your brief conversation in your hotel room, despite the mystery snack deliveries and the promise of coming if you called.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he said plainly.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” you dismissed.

“You’ve spent the last few days all alone in a room with a concussion.”

“It’s mild.”

“You fucked up your ankle.”

“It’s healing. It’s not all that bad.”

“Well, I’ve been worried anyway,” he passed you his partially smoked cigarette and you took a drag from it, though you were sure that was one of the things you shouldn’t be doing with a concussion.

“Thanks, I guess.” you said. “So is this just a wellness check, or…?”

“No, well, yes. Obviously I was worried about you physically, but I also was wondering about how you were in general.”

It was strange to see him clumsily mince his words, given how bold he usually was.

“Oh? What changed between here and Germany?”

“What changed? What changed was that I watched you almost die.”

You laughed aloud at his over dramatization of the event. “Patrick, I did not almost die.”

“How would I have known that? I just saw you flying downhill out of control and crashing and it terrified me. I couldn’t imagine a world without you in it.”

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to interpret his words, especially after the wild ride you’d been on throughout the trip. You weren’t sure you could handle another emotional bait and switch.

“Pat, maybe we should talk about this later. The bus is probably taking off soon.”

“No,” he stopped you with a hand on your arm, calling you back with a desperation you hadn’t seen in him in a long time. “I don’t want to waste another second without you.”

“Okay,” you said, though you weren’t sure that you should buy into it yet. “Go ahead, then.”

“I can’t keep pretending that I don’t want you or don’t want to be with you,” he confessed, which genuinely took you by surprise. With the way he’d been dodging your attempts at building a connection, you certainly didn’t think he’d tell you something like that.

“Then why have you been pretending?” you asked, hoping that your somewhat harsh words didn’t betray your genuine curiosity behind his behavior.

“I don’t know,” he said. It was a terrible, unsatisfying answer. One that didn’t explain a single reason behind his behavior. “I guess I just can’t wrap my head around the idea that anyone would want to keep me around long-term.”

You looked at him with shock in your eyes, your mouth slightly agape at the confession. You couldn’t imagine Patrick, overconfident, bold, and self-assured, who you’d been dating for years, not feeling secure in your relationship–to the point where he’d been actively trying to push you away out of anticipating how you’d feel about him.

“When you told me you weren’t ready to be with me, it just confirmed everything I’d been worried about—that one day you would wake up next to me and realize that I wasn’t the guy you wanted. I guess it just happened sooner than I anticipated.”

You almost couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “If you felt like that, then why’d you tell me you weren’t in love with me anymore?”

“I thought if you were gonna leave me anyway, I might as well beat you to the punch.”

You were giving it your all to keep it together at this point, feeling slightly vindicated to know that Patrick was lying about no longer loving you, but mostly devastated that your whole relationship had been uprooted over an assumption that Patrick had made about you.

“I… I don’t even know what to say,” you looked out into the grass, then back at Patrick. “I wish you’d stop assuming that you know what I want all the time.”

“Hey you two, last call for the coach,” your tour guide suddenly interrupted, looking very obviously annoyed that the two of you were holding the bus up.

“Sorry. We’ll head back now,” you apologized to the guide. “We’ll continue this conversation later?” you directed towards Patrick.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

VENICE, ITALY

Putting a hold on your conversation probably wasn’t the wisest idea you’d ever had, considering that your next few days in Italy were set to be your busiest this far.

Between gondola rides on different boats and exploring historic palaces, the two of you didn’t have much time to stop and have as serious of a talk as you wanted to have. Even if you did somehow manage to pick up where you’d left off, there were so many people around you that it didn’t even feel worth it.

Luckily for you, your hotel had a private beach attached to it, and as you spent your evening by the beach, watching the sun go down, you were pleased to find that you were joined by familiar company.

At first, Patrick didn’t say anything as he sat down on the same chair next to you. The two of you enjoyed the serene sunset and privacy that the beach afforded you in silence, though you were sure that things wouldn’t stay that way for long.

“I love you, you know?” he finally piped up, breaking the silence with a very bold declaration.

You looked at him calmly, though you weren’t feeling very calm on the inside. You’d been waiting to hear those words from him from the moment that the two of you broke up. You weren’t sure how you were supposed to react to it now, though the confession was better late than never.

“I love you too. I never stopped,” you told him simply, as if the realization that you were stuck on him hadn’t been haunting you for months now.

“I never did, either. It was cruel of me to ever tell you that I did.”

You nodded in agreement, wondering if Patrick would ever understand the full extent of the damage his words had done to you. “It was, but I understand where you were coming from. If I had known that you didn’t think I was going to stick around, I would’ve gone about what I did differently,” you began to explain. “I think it came across as me not wanting to marry you at all. Of course I wanted to marry you. There was just so much else going on in my life then that the timing didn’t feel right.”

“But the timing might be right someday?” Patrick asked, a hopeful lilt in his voice.

“The timing will be right someday. Maybe sooner than either of us know,” you shot him a wink, then broke into a grin as he pulled you into a firm, loving embrace.

ATHENS, GREECE

The rest of your time in Italy mainly consisted of making up for lost time, with the two of you partaking in far more PDA than what was ever necessary and thoroughly documenting your time abroad together as a couple.

Thanks to your injury, you were slightly slower than the rest of your group. But that certainly didn’t stop Patrick from lagging along with you, letting you lean on him for support when you needed it and pausing to sit and take breaks with you whenever you noticed that walking was taking too much of a toll on you.

It was nice to be back with him, to not have to feel stupid for feeling what you felt or feel the pressure of knowing that you should probably be trying to move on. The only unfortunate part was how little time the two of you had left on vacation, with you heading home after spending a few days in Athens. If only the two of you had been upfront about your feelings earlier, then you could’ve been having as great of a time as you were having now during your entire trip.

The two of you briefly floated the idea of having somewhat of a shotgun wedding, but scrapped it after realizing that you would prefer to have your family and friends there to celebrate with you. After all, many of them had been on the emotional rollercoaster that was your relationship right along with you.

For the time being, the two of you were perfectly content with being together, and knowing that neither of you had any intentions of leaving.

Somehow, that made your last few days of vacation feel infinitely better.

ATHENS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

You scrolled endlessly on your phone, sending out a few messages to friends and family to let them know that you were heading back home. While you typically felt a few nerves before boarding a plane anywhere, you couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of excitement, both at the thought of being able to go back home and sleep in your own bed, and at the potential your newly reformed relationship had.

Your scrolling was interrupted by Patrick’s presence, carrying a coffee and a breakfast sandwich in his hands with a slightly goofy look on his face.

“Sorry for taking so long. I think everyone and their mother wanted coffee today,” he explained as he sat down, passing you your items as he got comfortable next to you.

“No worries. I’m just glad you were running late to grab us breakfast, instead of trying to switch our seats like last time.”

The two of you shared a laugh before Patrick said, “That feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It basically was,” you dismissed.

Once it was announced that your group was boarding, the two of you stood up quickly, attempting to gather your bearings before getting on the plane.

“‘Till next time, Europe,” you bid the country goodbye as the two of you made your way to the line.

“Should we come back to Europe? I was thinking our next honeymoon should be somewhere else. Maybe Bali.”

“Oooh, Bali sounds nice. I think anywhere warm and with a beach is good,” you explained, though you really didn’t care where you went, as long as Patrick was there by your side.

#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig fic #art donaldson x reader #challengers #challengers fanfic #josh o'connor x reader

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itadodori · 7 months

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professor!gojo who could sense your jealousy every time he had a conversation with his coworker, utahime. the type of man gojo was, he’d do it on purpose. just to see if he could get a rise out of you. sadly.. his plans always worked. every single time you saw the two of them talking the only thing you wanted to do was smack both of them, but you couldn’t.

your relationship with him had to remain a secret or you’d be kicked out of uni, and he’d loose his job. that’s the reason gojo loved ticking you off so much.. he knew there was nothing you could do about it.

well.. he may have forgotten the fact that you were one petty woman. you were sick of gojo’s little mind games so you thought why not play along? maybe this would get him to stop toying around with you.

all it took was for you to say one word to professor toji, who was at the top of gojo’s most hated list. when he saw you in toji’s class after hours giggling and wearing that short ass skirt of yours.. he lost it.

toji fushiguro? did you really have to go that low?

“quit the cryin’ already. you did this to yourself.” gojo had you bent over his lap— ass in the air as he delivered a stinging slap.

he’s been at this for hours. you lost count of how many times he spanked your ass, but from the excruciating pain on both your cheeks.. you’d say about over 20 times.

“’m sorry baby.. but you made me mad!” you croaked, hands quickly flying to his as he tried to deliver another smack.

but of course.. he was gojo. so you couldn’t hold him off for too long.

“grab my hand again and im gonna start spanking that pretty little pussy instead..” he found himself slipping his fingers through your folds— toying with your throbbing clit. “would you like that, baby? hmm?”

he wasted no time slipping his fingers into you, yanking your hair in the process, forcing you to look at him.

“who’s pussy is this? better answer me before i get upset pretty girl.”

“y..yours- aw fuck! it’s all yours daddy!” you didn’t notice it at first, but from the position he forced you in, you had a clear view of his neck.

the black ink was too hard to miss. your name, in big bold letters was tattooed on the side of his neck. anyone that walked passed him would see it if they looked close enough. he’d have to hide it during work.

“oh.. you like my new tattoo mama?” gojo chuckled lowly— sliding his fingers out of you just to slam them back in a second later. “i got it just for you.. so everyone can know who i belong to.”

those words alone made your pussy flutter, and you couldn’t stop yourself from getting tighter around his thick fingers.

“g..gojo please.”

he completely ignored your cries as he watched your pussy suck his fingers in, mesmerized by the sight. right now any sense of logic he once had was gone, and the only thing he was focused on was drilling it into your dumb little head that you were his.

“but don’t worry baby.. daddy’s got some other ways to prove his loyalty to you.” you had no clue what he could be hinting towards— nor did you care. right now your body was too overstimulated to think straight.

“maybe i should put some babies in this cute lil tummy.. let everyone know you’re my wife?”

#𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 jays creation’s #jjk smut #jjk drabbles #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujustu kaisen #jujustu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen x reader #anime #anime smut #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk gojo smut #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n

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astupidweeb69 · 9 months

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The Roommate (Dark!Ticci Toby x F!Reader)

NSFW One-shot

Author's note: This is my first time writing smut, so sorry if this turned out bad. It's also way longer than I thought, hopefully there aren't any spelling errors. Cross posted on my AO3 account.

Warnings: Swearing. Toby being creepy, he hurts the reader, blood kink? unprotected sex, creampie, biting, it's just... a lot. (4,519 words) - Minors DNI!

___________________________________________________________

Your brother hated his new roommate.

From what you gathered from the phone calls you two had, you knew he kept to himself, was kind of creepy and left the occasional mess in the kitchen. Your brother had tried to include him when he went out with his other college friends, but he always refused. The guy was gone at odd hours during the night, and smelled like dirt and pine.

You told him it was his own fault for posting an ad for a roommate on Craigslist.

It wasn’t all bad though. He paid his rent on time, always in cash - which he slipped under your brother's bedroom door at the end of every month. Plus, he had insisted on not signing any formal documentation. The lease they had was just a last minute document drawn up for a short term stay.

Your brother would only have to put up with him for 6 months. Then he’d be gone.

But hey, beggars can’t be choosers. And your brother needed someone to pick up part of the rent last minute.

After a few months it had seemed like he’d grown accustomed to the strange ‘twitchy’ man he lived with, that is, until you told him your plans to visit.

You finally got some time off, and it was the only chance you’d get to see him. So when all the hotels in the area were fully booked you were not about to give up. And….your brother’s place had a perfectly good couch available, right?

He was reluctant at first, but after much pleading, he finally agreed.

On one condition.

Stay away from Toby.

You figured he was just being overprotective. It was kind of sweet, but he’d never been that adamant about you not talking to someone before. There must have been something seriously messed up with the guy. And to be perfectly honest, it made you second guess whether you’d actually go through with the trip out there.

But you already bought the plane ticket, and you couldn’t let that money go to waste.

So now you sat in the passenger seat of your brother's truck, the two of you making idle chit chat as he drove you back to his place from the airport.

He talked about school, the classes he was taking, what parties he’d been going to, and fraternities he’d been considering joining. That last part earned him some of your teasing about becoming a beer pong loving, “Frat Bro”.

Only after a few beats of silence, you decided to ask him something that had been bugging you since your arrival.

“Your roommate knows I’m staying at your place, right?”

It was a simple enough question. The last thing you wanted was to intrude on someone else’s living space after all.

You saw your brother grip the steering wheel harder. “Yeah. Toby should know you’re coming.” His response was curt and lacking his previous joyful tone.

“You two fighting or something?”

Your brother sighed. “No just,” He paused for a moment, and glanced at you. “He’s been acting weirder than usual.”

“Weird how?”

He didn’t say anything for a while, instead mulling over his choice of words. Not wanting to scare you, but still wanting to give you a heads up of the situation. “He’s been talking to himself. A lot.”

“That’s not that bad. Lots of people do that.” You don’t know why you felt the need to defend a person you hadn’t met yet.

Another pause. This one is longer than before.

“You haven’t heard what he’s been saying.”

______________________________________________________________

The road ahead was dark, lit up by the dim headlights of the car. The only thing out here now was trees, broken up by the occasional house. It was definitely far from campus.

The driveway was gravel, the truck rocking back and forth from the potholes and uneven terrain, finally coming to a stop in front of the house. Painted a dull plain white, one story, rather small, but it would do. It’s not like you were expecting a mansion.

After the car came to a stop, you grabbed your luggage from the backseat, following your brother to the front door where he quickly unlocked it.

The living room was sparsely decorated, with an old brown couch in the center, a small television and a coffee table littered with cans and half finished drinks.

It completely lacked a homey vibe. Definitely felt like a typical bachelor pad. You nudged his shoulder. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Hey, I’m not majoring in interior design.” Your brother shot back, beginning to walk away past the kitchen, calling out to you. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

Your eyebrows furrowed with a look of disappointment. “Already? I thought we’d, like…. watch TV or something?”

“Next time don’t get such a late flight.” His face stretched into a yawn. “There’s plenty of blankets in the closet. Try not to make too much noise.” Disappearing behind the door of his bedroom, he left you standing in the room alone with your bags.

Time for bed I guess.

You sprawled yourself out on the couch, placing a pillow on the armrest, and rolled out the fuzzy blanket you’d found over your body. You turned to face the front door. The room was pitch black, with a few beams of moonlight split up by the venetian blinds.

You picked up your phone from the coffee table by your side, figuring you could watch a few videos before you fell asleep.

The screen lit up, temporarily blinding you before your eyes adjusted. Mindlessly, you scrolled through youtube to find a thumbnail that would spark any interest.

You were about to click one, when you heard someone at the front door. Your eyes widened briefly, and you quickly shut your phone off. You don’t know why. It wasn’t like you were a kid and your mom was coming into your room to see if you were actually asleep. But it felt like you needed to shut your eyes.

So you did.

The door opened slowly, whoever it was trying to remain undetected.

However, the scent that followed gave them away immediately. You actually had to stop yourself from reacting. It was a mixture of BO, dirt, and something else. Something dead.

Without even having to look, you knew it was Toby.

Footsteps, careful and calculated. The floorboards creaking.

You waited for him to walk by, expecting him to go to his room so you could continue playing on your phone.

But he didn’t.

The movements stopped halfway through, and you heard him, on the balls of his feet, making his way over to the couch you were on.

The fuck?

You felt your throat dry up. You wanted to swallow down your nerves, but you couldn’t react. You had to continue pretending, right?

You could hear him, his voice low and soft, like velvet. A boyish tone, the occasional word being broken up by some kind of stutter, muttering things you couldn’t make out.

He stopped when he got to your side, standing right in front of your face.

If you opened your eyes right now you’d probably see him peering down. His jeans dirty and torn, honey brown stare filled with curiosity, looking at the glimpses of your curves that peaked through the blanket on top of you.

A hand reached out.

Cold, yet somehow clammy… texture rough and calloused.

He was touching you.

He was touching your face.

Don’t move. Don’t you dare even flinch.

“M-must be the ssss-sister…”

That was the first clear sentence you could understand.

He retracted his hand. But you could still hear him, the heavy breathing.

His whispering.

“Soft”

Then he left.

Only afterwards did you realize you’d been holding your breath.

______________________________________________________________

“You look awful.” Your brother commented when he saw you the next morning.

It was true that you barely slept that night, made obvious by the bags under your eyes, and the change in your complexion. The interaction with the stranger, the one you’d been warned of, had plagued your mind, stirring up thoughts that kept you awake.

You grabbed a coffee mug, pouring yourself a glass, before joining your brother at the kitchen table.

From this angle, you had a clear view of the hallway. There were three doors, one must have led to the bathroom, and the other remaining two were the bedrooms.

You only stared at one of the doors though. The one leading to Toby’s room.

You knew, at some point he’d emerge and you’d finally be able to put a face to the name. A face to the hand that touched you.

For a moment, you wondered if you should tell your brother what happened. He’d probably flip out, maybe even confront the man.

So, despite your better judgment, you decided to keep it to yourself.

He only touched your face. Sure, it was creepy as hell, but you didn’t want to cause a fight during your vacation.

Your brother clapped his hands together, getting your attention.

“So listen!” He grinned widely. “We gotta plan out the strategy for tonight.”

“Strategy?” You asked hesitantly.

“Yeah strategy. There’s a party I want to go to. Kappa Alpha is hosting it.”

You tsked, sipping your coffee. “You realize I don’t know anything about the frats here. Is that like… a popular one or?”

He nodded. “Yeah it is. I’ve been trying to get into this one for a while now, so getting the invite is a big deal.”

You frowned. You were already so tired, and the idea of going to a kegger was not exactly on your ‘to do’ list. But it was important to him. So you complied.

“Okay. What time does it-”

A door opened. You stopped talking.

Your eyes widened to look over towards the sound.

Toby was up.

The first thing you noticed was a mop of dark brown hair, unkempt, with curls that went in every direction. It was slightly greasy too, he clearly hadn’t showered in a while. There was light stubble on his jawline, and his skin was a sickly, almost gray color. A snake bite graced his lower lip, and there were a few more pieces of metal sticking out the cartilage of his ears.

He shuffled forward, looking tired, still in a pair of plaid green pajama bottoms and a t-shirt with little alien faces on them.

Once he made it into the kitchen, Toby finally glanced over. You looked away immediately, embarrassed that you were caught staring.

He was handsome. You hated to admit it. But he was. You pushed the thought out of your head, reminding yourself of who he was.

“Muh-morning….” He croaked out.

Your brother gave a little nod, just enough to acknowledge him, turning back to you while Toby started toasting a poptart.

“It starts at 9, but we should show up at 10 o'clock. I don’t want to look too eager.”

“Whuh-what starts at 9?” Toby interjected.

Both you and your brother looked at him, before nervously meeting each other's gaze.

“Oh uh!” Your brother stammered. “Just another party.” He motioned over to you with his thumb. “This is my sister, (Y/N), by the way.”

Toby’s eyes bore into yours. You swallowed, trying to give him a polite, reassuring smile.

“Nice to meet you…. Toby, right?”

You acted unsure. Like you didn’t know his name by heart. Like you hadn’t had your brother vent to you about him for hours over the phone.

“Yuh-yeah. That’s right.” He looked back at your brother. “Is the puh-party tonight?”

“Yeah it’s at a frat house. Did you…” He hesitated, before finally asking him. “Want to come?”

Toby bit his poptart, shrugging his shoulders. “I've guh-got nothing better tuh-to do.” The twitching man looked back at you, wiping some crumbs from his lip. He didn’t have emotion behind his eyes, just a weird intense focus on your face.

You pretended to be unbothered.

It didn’t work.

He noticed.

And he liked the way you squirmed.

______________________________________________________________

Toby stayed in his room the rest of the day. Occasionally going into the kitchen, grabbing a snack, usually some kind of junk food, before he’d scurry back into his little cave.

You started getting ready as soon as the sun went down. It’d been a while since you’d been to a party and you wanted to look your best. Or look like you got a full 8 hours of sleep at the very least.

Toby said he’d meet you guys there. Saying something about how he needed ‘to take care of something first’. No one questioned him. Both you and your brother glad not to have to share a car ride with him.

Loud bumping music, the kind that shook a house and pounded in your chest, enveloped you when you walked inside the frat house.

Flashing lights, a crowd in the middle of the dancefloor jumping up and down. The air was hot from too many people in a room at once. You could barely move through them all to get to the bar.

God you were going to need a drink to get through this.

Maybe even a couple.

Especially after your brother left you alone to go mingle.

One tequila shot, then two maybe three rum and cokes later. You didn’t even know how long you’d been there. Time seemed to freeze. There was only the music, only the dancing, only the bodies moving against you.

You felt hot. Your cheeks burned, and it wasn’t just from the temperature of the room anymore. The room spinned a little when you walked forward. Not enough to consider yourself completely wasted though. But enough to feel…. Friendlier.

More social.

Less inhibited.

Numb.

After a lot of struggling, you made your way to the back of the room.

You leaned against a wall, catching your breath, holding a red solo cup in your hand. You could hear people trying to hold conversations by shouting over the music.

And there were plenty of people making out. In fact, you’d say the majority of people were just straight up groping each other.

It made you a little jealous if you were being honest with yourself.

You looked around, wondering if maybe you could find someone cute. You didn’t intend on getting lucky or anything, but it would sure beat just standing there like an idiot. When was the last time you even kissed somebody?

Finally, you locked on to someone across the room. Someone with honey brown eyes. Someone familiar.

Toby.

He grinned when your eyes met. It was the first time you’d seen him do that. Large toothy canine’s, that bandage on his cheek shifting slightly.

Oh god you felt your heart flutter.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. There was something wrong with him. Your brother didn’t like him. Nobody did.

He creeped you out.

He didn’t shower.

He smelled like death.

You listed the reasons out, and damn if there weren’t a lot of them. But in the end it didn’t matter. In the end, it was painfully, woefully, obvious what was going to happen.

And you were already walking over there.

You slithered over to his side, sweating, peering up at him through your eyelashes. Trying to look cute. Desirable.

It was working.

He could’ve eaten you up if you gave him the chance.

But you didn’t know that.

You fiddled with the end of your skirt, the jacket you originally wore tied around your waist. A flush on your cheeks, you let your hand gently touch his shoulder.

“H-hey… glad to see you made it.”

He tilted his head to the side, leaning down to hear you better. It made your stomach stir with excitement, he made you feel small kneeling down like that. But you liked it. Liked that he was paying attention to you, and only you.

“Whuh-what did you say?” His breath was hot on your cheek. Using the loud music as an excuse to get closer, to touch your skin. Making the hair on your neck stick up.

You breathed heavily in his ear on purpose. “I said, I’m glad you made it.”

Toby’s lips parted, not responding at first, but not moving away either. “Oh? Yuh-yeah?” He sounded amused, voice lowering an octave. “Excited to suh-see little ole’ muh-me?”

It was kind of a stupid, cheesy thing to say. Like he didn’t really know how to flirt, but maybe saw a couple movies and memorized the lines. But it somehow worked for him.

“Oh, I’m sure nothing about you is little.”

Why did you say that?

Why?

It just came out naturally. Oh god, now your face felt flushed from embarrassment.

You felt him touch the side of your face. He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, it sounded heavenly.

“Yuh-you know, I’m having trouble huh-hearing you.” He paused looking around, making sure no one was watching. You wondered why.

“Do you want to go somewhere more private?”

That was enough to make heat travel between your thighs.

Fuck.

One meek nod from you was all he needed, before grabbing your wrist tightly.

Too tight, like he was unaware he could hurt you. Or maybe he liked causing a little pain?

He dragged you upstairs, practically lifting you with one arm, you felt like you were gliding over the steps. The muscles of his arms barely flexing under that hoodie of his, as if you were weightless.

He was strong.

You both traveled through the hallway, careful not to bump into anyone loitering in the hall. Some of the other party goers shooting you looks, but they were mostly directed towards Toby. They weren’t judging you or anything. In fact, they looked worried, maybe even a little scared. You started to wonder more about him. What was his reputation like if this was everyone’s reaction to him? Or perhaps he really just looked that scary.

So why did he turn you on?

He pushed you into an unoccupied room and flicked the light switch on.

You barely registered him locking the door behind him.

With one shove of his palm he pushed you backwards onto the bed. Your arms flailed a bit out of instinct, falling down on the mattress with an ‘oof’.

You swallowed thickly, watching him eye the way your legs had parted slightly. Your skirt hiking up dangerously on your thighs. You had to fight the urge to close them.

“Yuh-you look scared.” That velvet, sweet, voice of his was twisted by something sick.

“Are you?” His head cocked to the side, a wolfish grin on his face.

“Yes.” Was your reply. You didn’t feel like you could lie to him now. Feeling too exposed to even think straight.

He licked his lips, slowly approaching you. His fingers danced across your shoulders, traveling down your arms, sending goosebumps down your spine. They were cold and calloused, just like you remembered from the night before.

“Then whuh-why did you follow me here?” He cupped the side of your face, his thumb grazing across your bottom lip. You were going to respond, but he quickly shoved his finger in your mouth, gagging you. He wanted you to suck on them, but he didn’t communicate that well. “Why duh-did you….approach me?”

You let your tongue glide over his finger. His eyes narrowed, watching your face, before he started talking to himself. “Fuckin’ stuh-stupid.”

You paused. Was he talking about you?

“Should be whuh-working tonight…” He muttered. “Target just downstairs…. Ssss-so easy…this better be worth it…..” Toby chuckled to himself like he just told a joke.

You didn’t understand what was going on. Should you just ignore him and continue?

Toby retracted his hand from your mouth.

“Sss-so pretty….” He pushed your back onto the bed, crawling over you, his broad chest heaving, face pink and eyes lidded. Pupils dilated with lust. “So…. suh-soft….(Y/N)....”

You shivered when he said your name like that, feeling your panties dampen even more than before. Especially when he started running a large hand up your inner thigh.

You let out a shaky breath.

“Yuh-you like it when I touch you…. I know you do…” Your eyes flickered down at him, letting him continue his ramblings, Toby’s face breaking into another evil looking smile. “Luh-letting me touch you last nuh-night…. Pretending to be asleep.”

Your stomach dropped. You couldn’t hide it in your face, he fucking knew.

He fucking knew the whole time.

He burst out laughing at your expression. “Yuh-you’re still not even telling me to stuh-stop now!” Toby gripped your hip with one of his hands, lifting up the hem of your shirt with the other.

Before you knew it, he tossed the fabric over to the corner.

Your bra was next.

In any other circumstances you might’ve found it cute, or funny, when he struggled with the clasp. But something told you pointing it out to him wouldn’t have been a good idea.

He groaned at the sight of your exposed torso, immediately diving into your tits. Your nipples perked at the attention.

He was right. You weren’t stopping him. Your body screamed at you to. The smell of dirt and grime, of all things dead and decaying, it permeated off of him the more he touched you.

Toby’s mouth latched on to your left breast, the other gripped tightly in his hand. You knew you’d have bruises there tomorrow. You didn’t care.

He licked and nipped at the tender flesh, the swell of your tits heaving, your head thrown back and lips parted, letting out soft moans here and there.

A noticeable bulge grinded against your leg, as he huffed, humping himself against you like a dog.

After a while, he finally lifted his head up.

Toby looked you in the eye, grinning, licking your nipple teasingly one last time, before his attention moved to your skirt.

His hands searched your sides for a zipper, he grunted out of irritation when he couldn’t find it immediately.

You took the opportunity to gently put a hand over his, guiding it to where it was. “Here.” You said softly. “Let me help you.”

His eyes snapped up to your face when you touched him.

Immediately, his lips crashed onto yours. Needy, desperate, quickly shoving his tongue down your throat. You kissed back, swirling your tongue around his, ignoring the weird taste of metal coming from his mouth. His breath was hot and heavy, kisses sloppy. You doubted he got much practice, but he seemed to be learning quickly.

He made up for it with enthusiasm.

Finally pulling away, you both unzipped your skirt together. Lifting your hips off the bed, you shimmyed them down your legs, Toby watching in fascination.

“I’m guh-gonna fuck you.” He stated matter of factly. Then he whispered something that made your blood run cold.

“...Fuck you bloody.”

Shit this guy was scary.

In a few seconds, he ripped his hoodie off, along with his shirt. His chest was heavily scarred, a noticeable slash starting from his left side over to his shoulder, and a dark happy trail rising up from the waistband of his jeans.

You didn’t comment on it, but it was worrisome. You could only imagine what would cause someone to get hurt so badly and so often.

That said, Toby was definitely toned. A bit sickly looking, but his muscles had just a hint of a six pack formed. Maybe he did more exercise than you initially thought.

He kicked off his jeans next, unceremoniously pulling his boxers down, revealing himself to you. Lazily, he stroked himself, a thick layer of precum smearing down his shaft. It was long, veiny, but not very girthy. A flushed red tip, looking painfully hard.

You pulled down your panties slowly, already soaked, and ready. The anticipation was killing you, but you wanted to make him wait for it. His Adam's apple bobbed watching you, and you liked reveling in his stares.

“Guh-gonna split you in two…” Toby murmured, to no one in particular.

He hooked his arm under one of your legs, his body shivering with need, pulling your hips against him. He glided his shaft over your cunt, rubbing your clit slowly. He noticed you tense, how you whimpered slightly, and how your slick covered him more at the action. Looking in awe like it was some revelation to him.

Toby licked his lips, before finally enveloping himself in your heat.

It was quick. Like he was slamming a drawer shut, but he immediately bottomed out. You gritted your teeth in pain, before crying out when he started viciously pounding into you.

It fucking hurt. It hurt a lot.

“Shit..! Tuh-tight!”

Obviously, your muscles had tensed around him, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden fullness of his cock stuffing you. Unable to adjust.

You whimpered when he didn’t let up, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. A dull ache between your legs as he continued thrusting. The wet sound of skin slapping together coming from where the two of you were joined, burying his face in your neck, breathing in your scent.

Toby inhaled sharply, before you felt his mouth open wide.

Teeth broke through your skin instantly, a warm liquid dripping down your neck.

You screamed.

You screamed louder than you ever have in your life.

You screamed bloody fucking murder.

“Toby!” Clawing at his back, trying to get him to stop, you started crying. “Toby! Please!”

Luckily for you, he released his jaw to call out “(Y-Y/N)!” Not understanding your cries weren’t from pleasure.

It egged him on, encouraged him. His pelvis slamming into yours, with no let up, your tits bouncing at the force. Itching his fingers to your clit, he rubbed it in harsh circular movements, making you tighten around him.

You babbled nonsense. Finally some of the pain subsiding for pleasure, and maybe it was the lingering effects of alcohol, or the slight blood loss, but you felt a buzzing in your head. Basically incoherent, the faster he went. The brutal, bruising speed.

The way he gripped your breast, the way his hand remained on your pearl, trying his best to get you to finish, but not quite knowing how.

Something started to build.

More and more.

Hearing him growl, pant, like an animal. It was doing something to you.

You moaned loudly, wrapping your legs around him. The coil snapping, muscle spasming, pulling his cock in deeper, triggering his own climax.

His hips stuttered against you, letting out a gasp. A warmth filling you, Toby completely emptying himself inside with a deep groan, eyes rolling back in his head.

He gave a few sloppy, slow thrusts, before finally rolling off, and onto the bed next to you.

His cum leaking out of your cunt and staining the sheets.

Everything went blank for a moment, realization only just settling in. The gravity of the situation, the blood on your neck.

And an arm wrapped around your shoulders, drawing you close.

“I knew you’d be worth the truh-trouble.”

#creepypasta #toby rogers #ticci toby x reader #my writing #ticci toby smut #creepypasta smut #fanfiction #ticci toby x you #ticci toby #creepypasta x reader #ticci toby x reader smut

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wild-jackalope · 1 month

Text

summary :: Yuji decides to take his friends lack of sex life into his own hands (quite literally).

warning :: Normal AU, Yuji is extremely forward (highkey yandere), fingering, hand job, public sex, jealousy, also fighting.

note :: collage/univeristy AU. Reader and Yuji are in their second years of studying. This took way longer than what I thought it would.

“Who’re you texting?” Yuji asked.

“Nobody.” You giggled.

“C’mon, tell me.”

“This guy.” You grinned, tapping away at your phone. “He’s taking me out tonight.”

“Oh yeah, where’s he taking you?” Yuji asked, hands hidden deep in his pockets, peaking over your shoulder at the phone in your hands.

“Stop looking Yuji.” You twisted your body away from him, but he followed you.

“Come on, I should know where you’re going. What if this guy is a total jerk?”

“He won’t be,” You sigh, shaking your head. “He might even be the one.” You simply state. Though, ‘the one to take you to bed’ might’ve been a better description.

“You seriously think that?” Yuji’s tone goes limp, but his face still hangs a smile.

“You know that fancy place next to KFC? On the main road?” He nodded. “We’re going to be eating there.”

“That’s crazy, ‘cause I’m going to that KFC with Choso tonight.” He turned from your gaze. A telltale sign of fibbing that caused you to lift your brow.

“That so?” You asked, elbowing his side. He shrugged then nodded, his lips threatening to grin. “I can take care of myself, you know.” You added.

“You think so?” He jested, however the comment struck a heart string.

“Yes. Don’t you?” You carefully questioned.

He choked on your serious tone. “I, I guess. Well, maybe? You’re not super strong.”

“But I’m not a baby. I’m not helpless.”

He seemed to find that implication funny, because he laughed. “Is that why you call me when you’re scared to walk home in the dark?”

“Yuji that’s— that’s different. I’ve been talking to this guy, I know him.”

Seemingly confused by how this conversation lead to you being offended but not willing to back down he commented again. “Then why have I never heard about him?”

“You’ve never heard of him because I don’t like telling you about this stuff.” You added, softer, retracting your lips into a thin line when you saw how it made Yuji’s eyes narrow.

“Why not?” He asked, now taking offence himself.

“Because you mess things up for me.” You broke contact with his eyes, darting down to his shoes. “I don’t like being upset with you, Itadori, let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“Don’t call me by my last name.” He stated. You hiccuped at his harshness. "I just don't want you to waste your time on trash men."

Yuji had, without a doubt, been a stain on your dating life and by proxy, your sex life. Most commonly, he’d stall you to make you unfashionably late to a date. Other times he’d ask you to cancel them and spend time with him instead. Most recently he’d made the impression that you two were already a couple to a boy that pucked up the courage to tell you, you were cute.

It felt like you were being suffocated by his attention, and starved of other men’s.

“I need to leave soon, Yuji, let’s finish hanging out and not let this ruin our fun.”

Despite his unusual clinginess, you hated to fight with him.

“You know Itadori has the hots for you, right?” Nobara grimaced.

You laughed. “Don’t be stupid. He’s literally my bestie.”

“Just because you feel that way, doesn’t mean he does.” She warned. "Don't you see the way he clings to you? The way he hates when you hang around me or Megumi?"

"I guess. He's just like that though."

"He's like that for you, girl."

"But I feel that way about him, too. I don't love it when he spends all his time with his brother, or watching movies. I prefer when we hang out." Nobara stared at you with narrow eyes and an expression that could only be described as her trying to figure out if you were dumb, or just blissfully ignorant. Or both. "When you're super close with someone, that's just the way it is."

"Sure, girl. Sure."

To say Yuji was your friend would be an understatement. Best friend wasn’t quite right either. If there was another a higher title, it would belong to him. He was the first to call when you had some tea to spill, first to text when you didn’t know what to wear out, your go to man in an emergency.

To Yuji, the term best friend didn’t even come close to describing how he felt about you. You were his everything.

Later in the day, his phone pinged, you'd posted something. It was an image of you in a glimmering dress on your Instagram story. The hem ended just above your knees, and clung to your body like wet fabric.

The sight was utterly cloying, though his heart squeezed painfully to know you were dressed that way for a man he didn’t even know. He screenshotted the image, adding it to his photos.

What Yuji hadn't thought to consider, was the lace set hiding beneath the dress. You were hoping for the best. That was all.

Upon arriving to your date, you were greeted with an aloof ‘hello’, a small peak into how the rest of your date would continue.

Yuji hadn’t managed to convince his brother to join in stalking your date. Suggesting that he leave you to your date and that he shouldn’t get involved in your love life, citing that it’ll messy your friendship.

He promptly ignored Choso’s advice.

So, Yuji sat next door to your restaurant chewing on some hot chips with an unimpressed look on his face. He opened his photos, gazing at you in your dress. He swallowed thickly, forcing his phone down. He just wanted to be sure you were okay. That was it. He wouldn't get in the way. He'd rather see you with someone else, than be mad at him.

His churning gut seemed to disagree with that thought, though.

After being seated at a booth, you smiled kindly at your date. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” He answered curtly. You grimaced. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to suggest a last minute date to a guy you’d only been texting for a day (yes, you'd lied to Yuji about know him). But God you just wanted to get laid.

“What did you get up to?”

“Nothing much.”

This was going nowhere.

It had taken an hour before you’d finally given up on making conversation. You ate, spent some minutes in the bathroom to kill time, paid and left. How embarrassing, you'd come all this way and put so much effort into how you looked only to be blown off. It made you wish you'd been kinder to Yuji.

You picked up your phone, and sent a text to him.

‘Hey, did you end up eating next door? I’m finished with my date.’

‘I did yeah. How’d it go?’ He responded.

‘Average.’

Yuji’s chest filled. He'd been blessed with a second chance and now was his moment to swoop in and cheer you up.

You sat outside, the night air whipping at your exposed skin. You hadn’t prepared for the cold. A cardigan would’ve ruined your look, after all. You assured yourself before leaving that you’d be in a warm restaurant for half the night, then be spending the rest in his or your bed. There was no need to layer up.

Yuji spotted you, calling your name before taking a seat on the bench you sat at. “Hey, how’d you go?” He beamed. His brightness felt like a layer of warmth around your skin.

“Hey Yuji.” You sighed, finding his smile contagiously reaching your lips.

“Where’s the guy? Didn’t he wait for you?” He looked over the streets, glazing over the lack of strangers around.

“Nope.”

“What an asshole.” He pat your knee, leaving his hand there as a supportive contact.

"You can say it now." You murmured into the palm of your hands.

"Say what?"

"I told you so."

He chuckled, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “Don’t let it get you down. Yeah? His loss.”

“I know. I know.” You nodded, tiredly. “He’s not worth my time. I just- ugh.” You rubbed your eyes tiredly, not caring to maintain your eye makeup any longer.

“You’re really upset, aren’t you?” He asked, the hand resting on your knee clenched.

“Not for the reason you think, Yuji…” You shamefully murmured.

“So he wasn’t the one?”

“Of course not. I just… wanted to be with someone tonight.” You exhaled, letting the confession rise off your chest.

“You can be with me.” He added, a cheerful sombreness to his tone. “We’ll hang out.”

“Not like that, Yuji.” You cleared your throat. “I- uh. Never mind.”

“What?” He pressed, searching for the confession in your eyes. The hand cradling your knee edged inward to the softer side of your thigh, the movement went unnoticed by you.

“I’m- well.” You exhaled. The two of you were best friends, you could be honest with him. “I’m horny, Yuji. I haven't been able to get laid in forever because- well.” You reframed, now wasn’t the time to bring up an old argument. “I wanted to fool around with this guy.” You finished.

“We can do that too.” He cut, quickly. His hand fell further, you noticed only because it made you burn.

“What?” You shifted, but his hand still remained.

“That guy wouldn’t have gotten the job done. He was probably a loser.”

“Yuji- what did you just say?”

“If you just want to feel good, I can help.” Again his hand inched inward, now flirting with the hem of your dress. Your legs flinched open, the quick reflex tightened Yuji’s chest and his pants.

“Itadori…” You warned, though it passed your lips as a weak willed relent.

“Don’t call me by my last name.” He’d come so close now, breath patting your nape.

"We're in public." You huffed, eyeing his thick, tanned hand. His fingers cratered against your skin, kneading the flesh with a stunted hunger. He was attempting to be smooth, but he'd yearned for this too long.

"Nobody is around. Its dark. You said you're horny, didn't you? I can help. Let me help." He trailed further.

Yuji made contact to your clothed sex. His pinky finger pressed into you cautiously. You’d immediately lost all reserve. Your pussy grabbed at your brain, shoving away the regretful thoughts and forcing your legs to open wider.

With nothing but your body’s reaction to guide him, Yuji’s fingers began to rub up and down your cunt outline, focusing on the bump that was your clit.

“How does that feel?” He asked quietly.

“Weird.” You uttered, grasping at your own thighs, struggling to keep your legs open to him.

“Why?” He leaned closer.

“You’re my friend, Yuji.” You looked anywhere but at the boy.

“Why should that matter?”

You fumbled an answer. “Because friends don’t do this.”

“Some do.”

“But not us…” You drawled.

Yuji ignored you and nosed your cheek, closing in on your lips. By this point, he leaned so close that you had no room to back away.

His tongue licked your bottom lip and you grunted at the thought of it being further south. He swallowed the sound, having his free hand cradle your neck and pull you into him.

With a shameless passion, Yuji overran your mouth. His hand stunted at your pussy, his thoughts wrongly focused on your locked lips. You whined and he devoured that sound from you too.

“Yuji,” You pushed against his hard chest.

“Sorry.” He licked his lips, wiping away your shared saliva that lingered on the back of his sleeve. He gazed at the area covered by your dress. “Can I see?” He asked. Unsureness flashed in your gaze. "Please?"

You’d become completely obsequious to his advances. “Just for a second.” Anything to get him to start palming you again.

Yuji leaned, pulling up your dress and revealing the sight he’d only dreamed of. He moaned. You gaped, now keenly aware of your surroundings.

“Fuckin’ hot.” He murmured. The words made you gush.

Now his eyes couldn’t be ripped from your underwear, mentally taking screenshots to save for himself. He’d never need to watch porn again.

Another thought crossed his mind and his brow furrowed. He sat up, coming dangerously close to your face.

“You were going to let another guy see you like this?” His palm pressed hard against your clit. You twitched.

“You’re acting like I cheated on you, Yuji…” You wearily commented.

Shit, he’d almost ruined it.

He kissed your neck, running his tongue cross your pulse. It hadn’t completely distract you from his possessive question. “Maybe we should stop.” You whispered.

emphatically, his hand pushed past the fabric of your underwear. His index and middle finger parted around your clit, drawing this thick fingers down with your nerve bundle sandwiched between.

“Yuji!” You breathed, hands shooting to grasp his forearm.

“Shouldn’t say things if you don’t want them.” He murmured. His fingers dove to your entrance, pulling slick up and around your clit, rubbing the juices into your skin. “You want this, don’t you? Want me?”

You avoided the answer and his hand halted.

“Say you want me.” He uttered coolly.

Your hips stuttered, but Yuji didn’t budge. Holding you at orgasmic gunpoint, your lips parted. “I want you, Yuji.”

He continued with a new found passion, drawing his fingers up and down your clit with a kind pace, no longer tantalising you.

His lips pressed against your jaw and cheek until they found your mouth. He tongued you once more, loving the way you opened yourself to him and how he utterly devoured you. You couldn’t keep up with his passion.

Your legs clamped, but he pulled you open again with one hand, continuing to slide between your clit and eating the moans it ripped from you.

The orgasm hit you quickly, faltering fast through your legs and feet. You groaned into Yuji’s mouth, body going limp. His hand quickened, adding pressure to your suddenly raw clit. Your hips retracted.

“I came! I came.” You broke, tapping on his forearm. He halted, wide eyes gazing at your post-orgasm state. He wished he could’ve recorded every second of him making you cum.

You pushed against his forearm and, regretfully, he pulled his hand away from your sex. You watched with wide eyes as he brought his pruned fingers to his mouth and licked at the slick covering them.

You were too staggered to utter a word.

“Do you feel better now?” He asked.

“I, uhm, yeah.” You nodded, staring at the ground with glazed eyes. You'd just cum on the hand of your closest friend.

“Good.” He added.

“Yeah.”

Awkward tension stabbed at the both of you. As if knowing your thoughts would start to circle around regret, Yuji continued to speak. “I’ll drive you back to my dorm, we can hang out now that you're done with your date.”

“Okay, yeah. Sure.” You spoke breathlessly.

The ride home was ear ringingly silent.

Yuji couldn't find an excuse to talk and you were too booked out with the thoughts racing your mind to respond with anything but a 'mhm.'

Nobara was right. Yuji wasn't the type to help a friend get off just because, right? He must've liked you or at the very least lusted after you. Were you okay with either of those options?

Inside his dorm room, you planted yourself on his floor, mind still wrecked. He eased next to you, finding the words to break the glass-like silence.

Worry creased his face. He came onto you too soon, too fast. "Do you want to pl-"

"So do you like me?" You asked, eyes wide with tension.

"Yeah." He grinned shyly. "Wasn't that obvious?"

Yes. It was. It fucking was. You were just as blind as a deaf bat with cataracts.

"Do you... like me too?"

"I, I don't know." You threw your head back and grunted. "Shit."

"Don't stress, it's fine."

"Not really." You couldn't stop thinking about the fact he made you cum less than an hour ago and you didn't know if you liked him? You loved him, sure, but did you love him? He was handsome, funny, good with hands apparently. "How long?" You asked.

"A while." He scratched the back of his neck. "A long while, actually."

You were surely going to hell. Here your friend was, spilling his heart out to you and all you could think about was having his hands touch more of you. You couldn't help but eye his crotch, was he still hard from before? You couldn't tell.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked. Your eyes darted to his face.

"Well," You fiddled with your index finger. "You never got off, so I feel bad."

His cheeks flushed. "Me? No, that's fine. We should talk. Don't worry about that."

"Okay," Your hand slipped to his hip, resting on his side. "Keep talking, then." Hell for sure.

"Well I, uh, I always thought you were pretty," Your fingers skimmed over the elastic of his pants. "And hot." He added, eyes lidding.

"Does anyone else know?" You asked.

"Probably." He sucked in through his teeth as your hand began to retreat. "I mean, Fushiguro is pretty perceptive. I think Choso knows too."

You traced his v-line with your fingernail. He'd already gone hard.

"kugisaki, probably. Are you-?"

"Just keep talking. I'm listening."

"I… I realised maybe a year ago." You slipped a finger under his pants. "You started dating. I hated it. I thought I'd get over it but-" You raked through his pubes, inching closer to his shaft. He exhaled steadily. "I heard you started having sex. I tried to butt in whenever I could after that."

"Jealous." You stated, finally sliding over his dick.

"Big time." He attempted to steady himself again, hands clenching into white fists. "Was it good with them? The sex?"

"Don't ask stupid questions, Yuji."

"Fuck. Sorry." He exhaled. "We got super close, I just, needed more of you."

You gripped him and he rutted into your hand.

"Love you a lot." He huffed. You gripped him harder. "F-Fuck."

He fucked your hand carefully. Scared that if he did it too fast or hard, you'd let go and leave him. You joined in the motion, spreading the pre from his head over his shaft and pumping him.

He'd gone wordless, mouth hanging open whilst uttering gasping grunts. His eyes rolled to you, deep brown's watching you.

"Stop staring..." You muffled, hand covering your face.

"You're so beautiful." He grunts. "Kiss me."

You do, and just like before he pashes you with greedy intent. You pull away before he can kiss you too deeply, he follows you, grunting against your parting lips.

"Feel good?" You ask.

"Feels amazing, baby. A little faster, please." He bucks his hips again until you comply, stroking him quicker. "Perfect, that's perfect." His grunts become breathy, turning into weak moans.

You've never seen Yuji like this before, the only comparison being him puffed after working out too hard. But this, you've never seen. You loved every twitch of his body and every noise spurting from his mouth.

You rubbed your index finger over his head and his hand grabbed at your thigh, squeezing you hard. "Fuck." He cursed.

Tortuously, you began to focus on rubbing up and down his tip. His breaths became rapid, chest rising and falling ridiculously fast.

"Fuck baby, don't stop."

You mewled at pain his tight grip caused you and his dick twitched. You leaned against his shoulder pressing your face to his neck. "Love you, Yuji."

Those words sent him over the edge. He cursed again, louder than before and you knew by the way he squeezed your thigh it would bruise tomorrow. You felt hot spurts of semen leak onto your fingers as you let him fuck your hand until his orgasm passed and his loud curses settled into fucked out whimpers. He'd gone limp now, panting.

You let go of him, causing Yuji to utter another weak groan. Pulling your hand out, you gazed at his cum coating your skin.

He watched you bring it up to your mouth and lick some with the end of your tongue. He was suddenly hard all over again. He grunted at the arousal.

Salty, you thought.

"Let's date." He stated, still breathy. You opened your mouth to speak but he continued. "I don't have to be your boyfriend, not yet. We'll just go out. On dates."

"Yuji,"

"You could stay over more often, we could watch movies, cuddle." His eyes slipped over your cum covered hand. "We could do this more. You don't have to love me right away, but at least give us a shot. I-"

"Yuji, shush," You sighed, grinning. You laid against the floor, somewhat breathless yourself. "Let's date." You nodded.

He pumped a fist in the air, quietly uttering a victory. You laughed. "You're going to wish you fell for me sooner, I promise. You'll see what a good boyfriend I can be."

"So you are my boyfriend now?" You jested, raising a suspicious look at him.

"I will be." He stated. "You'll see."

#yuji itadori #Yuji x reader #itadori x reader #Yuji itadori x reader #Jjk #Jjk x reader #jjk itadori #jujutsu itadori #itadori x you #itadori x y/n #yuji x you #yuji x y/n #yuji itadori x you #yuji itadori x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen

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tealvenetianmask · 4 months

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Thoughts about Striker being a "supremacist:"

On the surface, he's sort of a social class activist/ Robin Hood archetype. I think he truly thinks of himself this way. But when Blitz calls him a supremacist, who's he a supremacist against exactly? It's imps. This guy hates imps (and also identifies as one, even though he's clearly some sort of hybrid, which is interesting).

Let me show you what I mean. The short version is that he's the self-hating minority bigot trope, and it's executed really well.

"Blue Bloods"

"Disgusting, rich, pompous goetia"

"Some of us have everything we care about taken away by fuckers like you."

"You don't get to talk over me. . . all you ever do is try to talk over us."

"Once I split your neck open and let you choke on your own blue blood, you won't be worth any more than the tomb stone you'll be buried under."

So . . . first, he doesn't actually say a lot that's solely about royals, and ALL of the quotes above are about how royals look down on people like him, NOT about any inherent flaws that they have. They're about class, not race, unless you count "blue blood" as race. I don't. It's tied directly to money. "Disgusting" comes up in reference to Blitz's relationship with Stolas, but the words "rich" and "pompous" follow immediately. Striker hates royals because he hates that society places them above him.

Imps

"Pathetic."

"You little things aint worth the cleanup."

"Oh I remember how easy you are to choke the life out of, little one."

"Blitz, come on. You know the two of us are superior to most of our kind."

"I still think it's embarrassing. You're wasting a lot of potential relying on a weak little . . ."

"Vermin"

I think that this is where Striker's worldview comes into clearer focus. He thinks that Moxxie and Millie (and by extension MOST imps) are inferior to him. The word "vermin" is particularly telling. There's something visceral about his disgust for "lesser" imps.

I think Striker worries that they reflect who he really is. I think he truly believes that imps are inferior to higher class demons, and he fears that if he doesn't prove himself to be special (through violent dominance), he's vermin himself.

Notice how in the image below, his edge over Moxxie is all about size and physical strength- the things he implies throughout the episode make him the superior being. Look at that wide smile. He loves the feeling of being superior.

Relationships between imps and royals

"You are so above sucking on a disgusting rich pompous goetia . . ."

"kill the unkillable . . . starting with the one that treats you like a plaything."

"Blitzy"

"You two are both embarrassments to our kind for meddlin' with blue bloods to begin with. But at least loud mouth here has the sense to only fuck his rich bitch, instead of being a little purse dog."

"This worthless little pet reeks of his over bloated master. I'll at least enjoy getting rid of him."

Striker clearly sees these relationships as imps lowering themselves. It doesn't seem to occur to him even for a moment that these relationships might involve genuine care because he sees all interactions between social classes as being about power and "who wins."

Notice that despite in theory caring about the power dynamics, Striker puts most of his shaming language on the imps in the relationships, and uses demeaning language to do it- "embarrassments, purse dog, little pet," as if they're at fault (for being used, in his view . . .?) and should be ashamed.

I thought about delving more into why Striker sees Blitz as closer to his own level, and I think it comes down to the things he values (physical strength, willingness to kill, detachment/independence), which are not the things that we the audience end up liking the most about Blitz. He misses the point of what actually makes our boy great, basically. 😍

I've spent a lot of time reading and watching videos about real life white supremacists because I like to be miserable, and . . . yeah, this character really shares their view that some people are inferior to others, and that the traits that make them inferior are inherent and immutable. The people he hates just aren't the ones he'd have us believe he hates.

#I saw a reaction video a while back that described Striker as extremely cool but also extremely uncool at the same time #and it really stuck with me #stiker #helluva boss #stolitz #fizzmodeus #moxxie #millie #blitz #blitzo #stolas #villains #i love well written authentically detestable villains <3 #my helluva meta #been cooking in the back of my mind for a while #Now edited #Ugh why do I post without rereading?

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barcaatthemoon · 29 days

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my best girl || georgia stanway x reader ||

georgia comforts you when social media comments get to be too much for you.

there had never been a backup plan for you. football was your life, and it always had been. you'd been at the bottom of all your classes in school, and for the longest time you had no clue why. your parents had berated you for being stupid, and it wasn't until you signed to the manchester city developmental program that someone finally figured out why it was all so hard for you.

it should have come as a relief that you were dyslexic, but instead, you hid it away. your parents words about you being stupid still echoed around in the back of your head. and as your career blossomed and grew, more and more fans began to notice. at first, it was a small comment here and there about a misspelled word in a caption, and then you and georgia began openly dating.

the so-called fans started getting nasty with you. each comment under your posts was a reminder that your parents were right, you were an absolute idiot. georgia deserved someone who could spell simple words and write in complete sentences without having to repeat their words out loud. it wasn't fair for her, and maybe if you broke things off, you wouldn't deal with so much of the hate.

you flew all the way from manchester to munich with the intention of breaking things off. georgia loved the impromptu visit, but of course, she could tell something was up. she knew about some of the comments, but not the private messages. it was nothing crazy like death threats, but to have hundreds of strangers calling you horrible things did a lot to the psyche.

"are you okay love?" things had been quiet. you'd been over for three days, and georgia could tell that you were depressed again. usually, you loved exploring germany with georgia. there were spots that some of her teammates had told the two of you about that georgia knew you usually would have been all over. "can we talk about it?"

"i really don't want to," you said with a sniffle. georgia tilted your head up so that you were looking at her. there were tears in your eyes, and georgia hated that she let this go on for so long. "i don't think i'll be coming back to germany again. i think it's time that we end this."

"is that what you want?" georgia asked calmly. the two of you had taken a break when she transferred, and georgia had been absolutely miserable. in her mind, that was the biggest mistake that she had made in a long time. she loved you unlike she had ever loved anybody else.

"no, but i can't take it anymore. nobody cared about me when we weren't together. i was just a reserve player, but now i'm your girlfriend and people know that. they know that you deserve someone better," you said. georgia scoffed quietly as she sat up, causing you to also have to sit up on the couch. "i'm not good enough for you."

"why not?" georgia crossed her arms over her chest. your insecurities had been bad before, but never to the point where you wanted to break up with her. if anything, georgia had hoped that she loved you enough to help you love yourself a little more.

"because i'm an ugly idiot who can't make the starting xi to save my life. i'm a waste of space, and why keep me around when we both know you've got options, g." you threw your arms up as you began ranting. georgia carefully moved in and pulled your arms down to your sides. "i don't understand why you love me."

"because you're the best person i've ever met. nobody is going to be perfect, but i think that you're perfect for me. you're kind and caring to everybody, even our opponents. you have a smile that brightens every room that we're in together. you're so smart, but you don't realize it. if you have the chance to make someone feel better about themselves, you take it without hesitation. just because some strangers on the internet say some bullshit, doesn't make it true. listen to me, listen to everybody who has taken the time to get to know and love you. let us help you feel the way we feel about you."

"you're not letting go of me, are you?" you asked as you started to relax in georgia's hold.

"not in the way that counts," georgia promised you.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #georgia stanway x reader #georgia stanway imagine

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crguang · 2 months

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wasted with longing, part 2

You have never been so bothered in your life. Why? You refuse to admit it to yourself yet.

friends with benefits, afab!reader, gp!kafka, smut, mutual masturbation, facetime/video call sex, 6k words

A/N: after two whole months… we’re so back (im sorry). i giggled a lot writing this because the simple concept of fuckboy kafka is so ridiculous but i swear there’s a plot somewhere

part one part three

The bright light of your laptop screen starts to burn your retinas, and you blink quickly to chase away the fatigue building up under your eyelids. The words on the page stopped mattering over an hour ago yet you’re in no position to throw your work to the wind; you’ve already made it this far and this presentation is due in exactly 12 hours and 33 minutes. You’re at a stage where you blame everything and everyone that has ever contributed in leading you to where you sit against your bed’s headboard, lights dimmed low as your fingers brush over the keyboard in clicking sounds you’re deafened to. Your anxiety is the only thing keeping you awake, and if you cared about your job just a little less, you would have quit right then. You thought you’d left all-nighters in the past with boring college classes and tiny dorm rooms but life has an irritating way of repeating itself.

You let out the hundredth sigh of the hour and take a moment to breathe in slowly through your nose, head tilted to the ceiling and eyes screwed shut, before exhaling loudly. You steel yourself for what you know is at least another hour of bullshitting statistics that you will do your best to present confidently this afternoon, but you can’t even pretend to like what you do anymore. Working in research has never been the most exciting career despite the occasional interesting discoveries you’ve been a part of. Still, you needed a job that would allow you to afford to live on your own in a city far away from your nagging parents and you were getting good at denying the fact that it is sucking the soul out of you. Your days are mundane, your routine unsatisfying, and you long for something more like most adults your age. You can’t quit until you find a better alternative that will pay you the same or more, so you bite back another exasperated groan and go back to your slides.

You wouldn’t be in this position eight days ago. You’ve had a week to come up with this presentation and instead of working on it like the diligent employee you usually are, most of your time was spent with your head in the clouds, preoccupied by someone who isn’t thinking about you. It makes you sick how bothered you are. It’s not like anything changed between the last time you talked and the one before that, and you were never as distracted by the lack of response as you have been this past week. You ignored your responsibilities, went out with friends four days in a row to convince yourself of your fake nonchalance just to find yourself in trouble that could have easily been avoided, anxious over the career you’ve worked so hard to earn.

Nothing good comes out of allowing that woman a bigger place in your thoughts than the three square feet corner she deserves, you know that. What frustrates you the most is that you don’t understand where this sudden concern for her lack of honesty comes from. Lies flow out of her like she was born with them on her lips; again, you know that. Then, what is the issue? Without identifying the root of the problem, you’re left a snowball of jumbled thoughts and insecurity steadily getting bigger as it nears the foot of the mountain until it inevitably crashes into a tree and falls apart completely. Why say things she doesn’t mean? Are you disposable? You hate her. Does she hate you? You should block her number. Why do you care? Screw her.

…You wish you could.

Your laptop screen turns dark and snatches you back to reality. You got lost in thought again. You run a hand over your face, using two fingers to rub the inner corner of your eyes. You’re pathetic. Even now with this feeling of impending doom looming over you, your mind drifts to her and attempts to find reason behind her actions when there is likely none. Your work is important to you, she is not. Yet, you’re incapable of focusing on the PowerPoint in front of you. You start to wonder if you should lie down, rest your eyes for a few hours and finish the presentation when you wake up, right before you get ready to leave for the office. It would be cutting it extremely close, but you can’t think clearly anymore and the stress gets more paralyzing as the minutes go by. Another tired sigh escapes you. Maybe you simply need to relax a little, perhaps with some scalding tea.

You push your laptop aside and stretch your body on the covers, arms over your head like a lazy cat. You’ll prepare a cup of tea to soothe your muscles then you’ll finish your work and go to bed. If you lie to yourself enough times, you believe you can make it. You straighten up and smooth down your hair. You’re about to stand up when a familiar ping! near you announces a new text message. You reach for your phone on your nightstand, thinking perhaps one of your friends got drunk again and needed a ride home, and tap the screen to open your notification center.

You stare at the screen until it turns black, tap it so it lights up again and repeat the process a couple more times as your mind processes what your eyes are seeing and the implications behind it. You almost can’t believe the message you just got and have to click the notification to open up the private conversation; there, at 2:29 AM, Kafka sent you a video. You can’t make out much from the blurry cover, though the lightning seems low like it was filmed during the late evening. Your thumb hovers over it for a moment, wondering if she even meant to send that to you since she hasn’t texted or called since the last time you hooked up. In hindsight her behaviour is not so unusual, you thought you were used to her elusive ways but if the past week has taught you anything, it’s that you obviously expect something from her. Honesty, basic human decency— to not leave you feeling like a wet towel discarded in the laundry bin after she’s used it.

“…Fuck it.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you despite your self-pity at the prospect of always making yourself available for her no matter the time. It’s a coincidence, you tell yourself. The two of you have many of those. You press the play icon on the video and it expands to the full screen. The camera shakes a little, then steadies to show half of Kafka’s body from an inclined angle and part of her face, peach lips on display. She’s wearing a strapless dress, the kind only worn to impress, with a pearl necklace over her collarbone; it’s your first time seeing her in something other than casual clothes. You have to admit that you wish you could’ve seen the whole outfit, if only to… You don’t know.

Kafka is sitting on a bed judging by the white sheets you can spot, and you blink several times at the unmistakable outline of her cock and hard nipples through the material of her dress. You watch in disbelief as she pulls the fabric up to her waist, revealing the garter belt around one of her thighs. Her hand slithers between her breasts and down her stomach to finally disappear under her clothes, but the way she begins stroking herself is purposely obvious. The head of her cock creates a tent meant to remind you of how big she is, and she pumps her shaft steadily, her lips parting slightly to let out low hums of pleasure. You stare, unmoving, unaware of your pulse’s quicker pace as Kafka jerks off on video, the erotic tone of her long moans filling your bedroom, and you don’t register turning up the volume a bit more. Her hand speeds up a touch, you think she must have already been hard before recording because she clearly won’t last much longer, but instead of rolling your eyes at the absurdity of it all, you find yourself hoping she’ll take off that dress and give you a real show. Kafka’s breathing becomes heavier, her moans less controlled, and from this angle, you notice the movement of her hips eager to meet each stroke along her cock. Her thumb swipes over her sensitive tip and her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth at the pleasant sensation. Not a single word is uttered, you can’t hear anything in the background either— not that you were listening for it— it’s just the sinful sounds of her throaty hums and her fingers around her dick. Half a minute passes before her breath hitches in a sharp gasp, and you know she’s going to come right before she does. Your thighs squeeze together at the breathy moan that spills from her mouth, her hand still gently stroking herself. Her lips stretch into that teasing smile you can picture with your eyes closed, and the video ends.

You’re harshly pulled from the daze you were in, staring at your phone. You don’t know what to think, she ignores you for a week then sends you a video of her masturbating at two in the morning with nothing else attached. You can’t deny that it had the desired effect on you; your body feels hotter under your sleeping clothes and your thighs are still pressed together to ignore the throb between them, but once again you attempt to figure out the reasoning behind what she does and come up empty. There’s no use in trying to pry open a steel safe that is sealed shut, so why do you try over and over like you have nothing better to do? Why show up with blowtorches and lock picks when your presence is unwanted inside?

Kafka uses you for pleasure, and you use her the same. That is the nature of your relationship. So, you decide to take that video at face value and press replay. Leaning back against the headboard, you bite your cheek as Kafka’s hand travels up and down her veiled cock while your own restlessly traces shapes into the skin of your thigh. It wanders up your body to cup one breast under your shirt, thumb softly circling a stiffening nipple. You pinch it between two fingers at the same time Kafka lets out a pretty moan and you feel arousal dampening your underwear at the various stimuli. The video ends before you can move on to your thighs and you have to replay it again, and again, to properly build up your orgasm before you’re needy enough to slip a hand under your sticky panties. Your middle finger applies pressure on your puffy clit in tight little circles, jolts of pleasure shooting through you and tightening your stomach.

Eyes half-lidded, you forget all about your work to prioritize the need in your cunt, unconsciously matching Kafka’s pace and wishing she was there to take care of you the way only she knows how. Your hips move with the fingers that rub between your wet folds in a messy pattern. You breathe in sharply through your mouth when one of them finds your clit again and firmly toys with it. You’re so aroused, so wet and needy, but watching Kafka’s playful performance through a phone screen with only half of her body shown and her cock hidden from sight isn’t enough. Desperation builds within your lower belly as you inch a finger past your entrance, barely biting back a breathy moan at the feeling. It sinks in effortlessly, so you add another after adjusting to the slight stretch of it rubbing your inner walls. Your other hand holds the phone closer to your face like that will make Kafka seem more tangible. You pump two digits into your pussy, coating them in your arousal, and it feels so good, has your thighs spreading further apart, but it’s not enough.

A frustrated sigh leaves you. You don’t think before exiting the video and pressing the video call button. The line rings once, twice, and your fingers slip out of you as you wait to see if it’ll connect. After a few more seconds, you choose to save face and go to hang up just as it connects with the other line and Kafka’s smirking face comes into view. You blame the stutter of your chest on your arousal. She blows smoke through her mouth and faces away from the camera for a moment to put out the cigarette you caught her smoking. She’s in casual clothes once again, and by the lightning, you infer that it’s likely afternoon wherever she is. That video she sent must have been filmed earlier than the time it was received, it might also be an older one from before you met. You mistake your disappointment for annoyance.

“What is wrong with you?” Your stern voice has a shaky edge to it that Kafka definitely notices. Her smile widens an inch.

“You look a little… flushed. Saw something you like?”

“Fuck you. It’s almost three in the morning.”

“Is that how late it is there? Mmm, it slipped my mind.”

“Like I’m supposed to believe that,” you put down the phone for an instant, pulling your pyjamas down your legs to toss them onto the bed. You bring the device back up and recline on the pillows, holding it high enough for Kafka to have a view of your torso and the stiff nipples poking through your half-ridden shirt.

Kafka’s lowered gaze unapologetically trails down your upper body. You cup your breast, softly kneading the soft mound between your fingers, and watch her eyes darken with desire.

“I can’t come over.”

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t ask you to. Just need to hear you.”

“Cute. What if I’m not alone?” Her tone is teasing but she does look up from the screen as if someone could walk by and catch you touching yourself.

“Figure it out.”

“Bossy… And so aroused, aren’t you? From a simple video, no less.”

You let the confident drawl of her words wash over you, ignoring her attempts at riling you up further to focus on the familiar pitch of her voice. It’s rough, intentionally slowed to keep people’s attention solely on what she has to say and control the pace of the conversation, dripping like syrup. You relax into the mattress and let your hand wander down the valley of your breasts, caressing the curves of your stomach. You’re already turned on and aching for release, each brush of your fingertips against your skin requires restraint not to slip a hand between your thighs and circle your clit. Your little show seems to give Kafka a taste of her own medicine, she observes you for a while, her gaze piercing through the veil of lust over her irises.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“I would if you talked me through it,” you reply, expectant, lips parting as your hand teasingly disappears below the camera to massage the flesh of your inner thigh.

Kafka hums, amused and intrigued. You’re sure she can tell how worked up you are and is debating helping you or leaving you wanting. Then she moves, the camera following her every step, and walks somewhere you hope is a secluded room. You don’t recognize her surroundings, she seems to be inside a building but the phone is too close to her face to show anything else properly.

“Did I wake you?” She asks on the way, barely looking away from the screen to watch where she’s going and instead focusing on how your hand travels back up your abdomen, lifting your shirt and revealing more of your chest as it goes.

“No, but it was a welcomed distraction. Walk faster.”

Kafka laughs at your impatience, the sound lighter than her usual arrogant or mocking chuckles and betraying her genuine amusement. There’s a fluttering sensation behind the walls of your heart like the wings of a panicked bird.

“Why? You in a hurry?”

“Yes.”

Kafka enters a room drowning in sunlight, brighter than wherever she was before. You hear the sound of the door closing, then a lock turning before she walks further into the room to sit at what you presume is a desk. The phone is placed far enough from her frame to allow you a full view of her upper body over the wooden surface and the twin-sized bed behind her. The covers are unruffled, the walls barren and white, and you think she might be in a simple hotel room. She leans back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other and resting her cheek against the back of her hand. The index finger of her free hand absentmindedly taps the desk’s surface, mirroring her steady heartbeat. She gazes at you like you’re the most interesting sight she’s seen in days.

“You look so needy… desperate for my touch.” Kafka drinks in the image of you sprawled on your bed, the lower half of your left breast exposed to her hungry eyes. Her mind conjures up many ways she would touch you if she were there, feeling your stumbling breaths in the crook of her neck. “What’s the matter? Can’t come without me anymore?”

Irritation swirls in your gut, mixing with the arousal pooling in your belly at her nonchalant arrogance. Her self-assurance infuriates you mostly because it’s not entirely unfounded; you do wish she was present in person to fuck your worries away but she could be on the other side of the planet for all you know, doing Aeons know what. You don’t have a retort, and you’re in no mood to be teased any more than you felt watching that short video of Kafka stroking herself.

“It goes faster this way,” you lie.

“Mmm… Show me how you touch yourself when I’m not there.”

Her words make your pussy throb. You bite your lip, adjusting your hold on the phone and lowering the camera so she can’t see past your mouth but has a better view of your body. From this angle, the waistband of your underwear is visible just under your stomach. Your fingers dig into your pliable breast, kneading the mound like she usually does to you, occasionally toying with the nipple for the pleasant sensation that ripples through you and causes your thighs to twitch. Kafka’s intense gaze, deeply pleased at your immediate compliance, excites you like nothing else. You know she’s not as unaffected by the sight as she seems to be, her finger drums on the desk a tad faster when you twist your nipple and part your lips to exhale audibly. Your hand leaves your chest and you lower your phone further to follow its path across your torso until it reaches the band of your already slick panties. You sneak a finger under the thin material and Kafka speaks up again.

“Take them off. Let me see you.”

Hesitation takes hold of you for a second, and then you obey her sultry command, shifting to pull the underwear past your hips and down to your ankles. You angle the phone to provide her with a clear view of your wet cunt, breath hitching as Kafka unconsciously wets her lips and the drumming noise stops completely. She’s a statue of desire on the other side of the screen, her heavy stare locked on your fingers spreading your lower lips apart, puffy clit on display. You don’t wait for any other instructions, your need is too great to go unchecked a minute longer; you use your index to circle the bud in quick, desperate motions. Your body’s temperature rises a few degrees and a short, involuntary moan spills past your lips. Your eyes are tempted to close under such stimulation but you want to see Kafka’s every microexpression, every twitch of her mouth and fall of her chest, the flex of her hand against her cheek and the movement of her irises following your ministrations.

“Are you picturing me? My hands on your body, touching you just how you like it?”

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth to seal another soft moan. “Yeah…”

Kafka’s fingers are skilled and precise, stimulating the most sensitive parts of you, some of which didn’t exist before she touched you. She’s learned you by heart as one does a music sheet and makes you sing in a way impossible to replicate alone, an artist missing their accompaniment. You imagine her palms brushing across your chest, teasingly squeezing one breast while her lips ghost over the skin of your jaw, trailing wet kisses up to your cheek. You imagine her slender fingers sinking into your inner thighs to keep them spread before her, drinking in the erotic sight you create under her. You swipe at your clit, each breath heavier than the one before, and observe her body language; how she uncrosses her legs and her hand on the desk disappears beneath the surface, how she tucks away a stray strand of hair so it doesn’t obstruct her vision, the apparent lust in her eyes almost turning their color a shade closer to magenta. Her attention feels like the many cocktails you drank this last week, smoldering down your throat and intoxicating your every nerve. It tightens your lower belly and makes you throb, entrance gushing even when she’s likely thousands of miles away. Your orgasm builds and builds, pleasure steadily mounting and promising salvation the closer you get to the edge.

If her camera was positioned better, you would have seen her pointer and middle fingers drawing circles on her thighs not unlike how you’re stimulating your aching clit, slowly inching higher until they softly stroke the prominent swell over her shorts. You would have been privy to them slipping under her clothes, past her boxers, to caress along her cock from tip to base and draw a sharp intake of breath from her. You’re too lost in the pleasure to notice her next swallow as she wraps a hand around herself and masturbates in tandem with your heavy exhales. Just as you did, she pictures your wandering hands, your warm tongue licking broad stripes up her cock and the quiver of your brow when you struggle to take her into your mouth. You look up at her prettily through wet eyelashes, eager to please, and you suck her dry as she paints your throat white.

Your camera trembles, you struggle to keep it still while you work to make yourself come, digits stuttering on your clit with quiet moans on the tip of your tongue. You’re so close that you barely compute what Kafka is saying.

“You look about ready to come. Are you going to come just from the sight of me?”

She sounds way too pleased for your liking but you can’t bother to care at this moment, all that matters is your impending release. You nod quickly.

“Yeah? Let me hear you.”

“Fuck…” you manage to breathe out, hips desperately bucking into your hand, chasing relief from the pressure building in your belly.

You don’t contain your pitiful sounds of pleasure at Kafka’s request and a soft cry rips from your throat as you finally burst. You come hard, thighs closing together and trapping your hand between them, jolts of pleasure running down your body like a thousand little shivers until you’re a shaking mess on the bed. Eyes screwed shut with the intensity of your orgasm, you miss Kafka’s parted lips and unyielding stare roaming over your arching form, her thumb applying mind-dizzying pressure on her leaking tip under her shorts to tease herself. You take a minute to calm yourself, she takes in the movement of your breasts rising and falling with your chest, imagining wetting them with her tongue so they glitter stunningly in the light when she pulls away. She strokes herself faster and the sound of her satisfied hum helps you realize what she’s doing.

“Hah… This is what you wanted, huh?” You bring your phone higher, circling your areola with two cum-coated fingertips and relishing in the way her eyelids droop. “Sending me that little video to tease me so I’d call and help you jerk off?”

Kafka’s low chuckle turns into a pleased sigh at the end as she touches herself just right, smearing pre-cum all over her throbbing cock.

“I wanna see.”

She picks up the camera and angles it so you have a view of her cock straining against her clothes. The silk of her glove is heaven along her skin, and with the microphone closer to her face you can hear the shallow breaths she releases on her journey to relief. No doubt the friction is dulling her mind, reducing her to her urgent need to come. Your tongue flicks over your upper lip and Kafka almost groans, still watching you intently like she’s making up scenarios of you on your knees with your head bobbing up and down her thick cock. The next time she takes you is already planned out in detail, you’ll be so utterly ruined that you won’t be able to beg her for more.

“I’d get you there quicker if you were here.”

“Mmh… Soon.”

You refrain from rolling her eyes at her obvious lie. Spoken words out of her lips mean nothing, especially with pleasure fogging her mind. Kafka’s following sharp gasp lets you know she’s close to falling apart; you lift your sticky fingers to your mouth, making a show of licking them clean how you would her shaft, and this time she doesn’t suppress the throaty, blissful noise that was sitting on her tongue. She sears your performance in the back of her eyelids and pumps her cock with purpose, orgasm imminent. Her hips jerk upward as her release crashes into her in toe-curling waves of pleasure, hand stuttering around her length and cum staining her underwear and glove. She moans unashamedly, knowing what it does to you, and her eyes flutter shut only for the instant it takes to compose herself afterwards. Her hand leaves her shorts, she brings her wet fingers to the light and smiles up at you.

“Thanks.” Without any underlying cockiness, there’s nothing but appreciation when she addresses you.

You don’t meet her gaze, averting your eyes while you sit up and smooth down your hair. Now that the tension in your muscles has dissipated, you’re reminded of why you were up this late in the first place and the work that still needs to be completed before work some hours later. You sigh tiredly, but your mind is clearer and you feel a spike of energy to finish your presentation, invigorated from your previous orgasm. Maybe you should be the one thanking her.

“What’s wrong?”

You look back at Kafka. “I hate my job.”

“You should quit, then.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Isn’t it?”

“…And do what?” You ask flatly.

“Whatever you want.”

You stare at her momentarily, wondering what kind of reality she must live in where everything is available for the taking. Your studies were largely influenced by the constant pressure your parents put on you to get a sustainable income, and you were too preoccupied with your grades to ponder the what-ifs. They sacrificed quite a bit to have you enroll in one of the Intelligentsia Guild’s schools, your academic success was the least you could do to settle that debt somehow. You don’t care for mechanics but it was a relatively easy subject to study, so you picked it. You’re good at what you do, despite this job not being what you dreamed of doing for the rest of your life. Now, you’re not sure if you even have dreams. You have some skills, sure, but what do you want?

Kafka’s looking at you like she’s figuring you out. You don’t know what she aims to find but a childish part of you hope she likes it. You shake your head as if the thoughts would evaporate with the movement and stand from the bed.

“I should finish my work,” you say on the way to the bathroom, flicking the light open.

“I need to go too.” Kafka pauses, seemingly considering something, then continues, “Do you have plans on Thursday?”

The question is unexpected, it takes you a few seconds to come up with an answer. “Apart from work, I don’t think so. Why?”

“You should stay home. Skip work.”

“Why would I do that…?”

“Do you trust me?”

“No.” The reply leaves you before you can think about it, but it’s the truth. Kafka has never given you any reason to trust her up till now, you don’t even believe half of the things she says. Trusting her for anything would be incredibly foolish.

Her eyes narrow a bit, though that small smile stays on her lips. Your confusion must show on your face, and you have the impression that her demeanor has gotten more serious.

“Trust me now. I have to leave, but I hope you take my advice. If not… Well, I’ll see you soon.”

“Wh—?”

The video call disconnects. Did she just hang up on you?!

After a quick shower and a change of sheets, you end up completing your assignment in around 40 minutes and getting a few hours of sleep before you have to leave for work. The day is long, and your anxiety intensifies with each passing hour but you present your project idea with little to no problem. The rest of the week passes quickly with no further messages from Kafka, but you stop expecting her to hit you up for anything other than sex so you get better at hiding your disappointment, enough that you’re able to focus on your job like the development of the past two weeks never happened. On Thursday, you wake up for work and sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone open on the private conversation between you and Kafka, debating with yourself whether you should ask her to clarify her last words to you. You try to recall her expression when she said them. Reading her is hard, her behavior is too well-rehearsed to be peeled to pieces by anybody— and you guess that is what you are; anybody. You feel like an idiot as you dial your office to call off work.

With nowhere to go, you spend the day at home watching shitty TV until the sky begins its descent in the sky, catching up on shows you previously had no time for. You do go out for groceries in the afternoon to cook something nice for yourself once dinner comes around, but your day is mostly boring and uneventful. You’re lying on the couch, half-lidded eyes barely focusing on the bright TV screen as it plays the same sitcom you’ve been watching for almost two hours when your phone rings. The noise wakes you, you blink rapidly and reach for the device, accepting the call without looking at the contact ID.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” Himeko’s musical voice sounds from the other line.

“Hime?”

“Were you expecting someone else?”

You rub your eyes with a hand and sit up to pause your show. “No, not really. How’s trailblazing going?”

“It was kinda tough the last few weeks but nothing we couldn’t handle. What about you? Last time we talked you were pretty busy too.”

“I’m good, work has been a bit demanding lately because of this secret project thing I can’t really talk about, but nothing eventful has happened, except…” You cut yourself off.

“What is it?”

“You won’t like it.”

“Oh? Now I definitely want to know. Let me guess… It’s that lady again.”

“Lady?” You repeat with a laugh, “There is nothing ladylike about the way she f—”

“Ew. I get it.” You hear shuffling on the other side, like Himeko is walking from one place to another. “You were complaining about her last time, what happened now?”

“More complaints.”

“I can’t understand why you won’t end things if all you’re going to do is get annoyed every time you see each other. Learn to walk away from unnecessary grievances, they only pollute your thoughts.”

You stand from the couch and walk towards the kitchen, opening the fridge to pull out the stuff you’ll need for dinner. “The sex is really good. Like, great. Like, mind-blowing. Toe-curling, even.” You can almost hear Himeko’s eye roll. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, I don’t know why she has to be so infuriating. It’s obviously a case of big ego, but there’s something more in there. She just won’t let me see it.”

“You’re practically strangers. No wonder.”

“She’s been inside me. I wouldn’t call us strangers.”

“Do you know anything about her apart from her name?”

You pause with one hand around a carton of heavy cream. A door slides shut on the phone. You don’t have to think long to know the answer to that question, but you’re a little ashamed of it. Ashamed and disappointed, because it’s not by lack of trying; Kafka treats every attempt at getting to know her beyond the bounds of your relationship like a battlefield where she has to lie to survive. There’s a constant distance between you no matter how physically close she gets and it’s beginning to drive you mad. It was hot at first, the air of mystery around her is what drew you to her in that clothing store. Months later, it’s simply an obstacle you can’t jump over.

“Fine,” you reply with a sigh, closing the fridge and putting the carton on the counter, “you have a point. But it’s not like I haven’t tried, she just…”

“Doesn’t value you for anything other than sex?”

You don’t respond, mouth curving in a frown. That hurt your feelings, even though you know Himeko is only being honest because she hates this situation for you. She disapproved from the start, said you weren’t the type to have no strings attached, and she was right. You didn’t listen; Kafka is a splash of excitement in an otherwise pretty boring life, unraveling her takes skill and effort, and it is much more gratifying than a research well done. However… perhaps it’s time you do.

“Was that too far?” Himeko asks, voice soft. “I’m sorry. You deserve better than someone who brushes you off constantly unless they want something from you.”

“I know…”

There’s a sudden knock at your door and you furrow your brows as you look at the time on your phone. You’re not expecting anyone and you’re not a fan of people showing up unannounced in general, still, you start making your way out of the kitchen to the front door.

“We had an agreement, though,” you continue, “so it’s not like she owes me anything. I’m the one asking for too much.”

“You want to make connections with people and that is a beautiful thing. If she can’t see that, then she isn’t worth your time.”

You reach the front door, unlock it and turn the handle. “You’re probably r—”

The rest of your sentence dies on your tongue. In the hallway of your apartment building stands a panting Kafka, coat in one hand while the other is pressed hard against her bloodstained shoulder. Her white shirt is tainted with the seeping liquid which turns her glove a deep violet color, blood spatter over her torso and some spread onto her cheek as if she attempted to wipe it off. She’s hunched forward instead of her usual straight posture and the sunglasses over her tussled hair are cracked. You’re frozen where you are, a dozen thoughts buzz inside your head like restless bees and keep you from uttering a word; dread, worry, confusion, you can’t name them all. You have trouble computing what you’re looking at. Kafka looks up at you with the small smile she wears like armor. Even now, her nonchalance annoys you.

“Hey.”

The sound of Himeko calling your name over the phone and asking you if everything’s alright shakes you from your stupor. Your movements are slow, delayed, as you turn your head towards the device close to your ear and speak, “I’ll call you back.”

You hang up without hearing the response.

#honkai star rail #hsr kafka #kafka x reader #hsr x reader #kafka smut #hsr smut #kafka x you #hsr x you

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sp0o0kylights · 6 months

Text

There were a lot of things Mike hated in life.

The demogorgon, and how it had essentially destroyed his life.

Brenner, and the madhouse laboratory El had survived.

How each and every one of his friends now did something weird--were weird, because flashing lights or fireworks or some stupid tune a toy horse played dragged up memories that made their eyes flat and faces hollow.

Most of all though, Mike hated how much they relied on Steve.

There was no reason he should be the person to call when it started pouring and no one wanted to bike home from AV.

Steve wasn’t Nancy, or Jonathan, or a parent--he wasn’t even dating anyone related to any of the Party anymore so what excuse did he have to keep hanging around?

(Even if Jonathan was always working, and Nancy was always busy with some club or homework, and everyone’s parents all seemed to be in a race of who could get back to normal the fastest…)

They should at least try to get a hold of other people, instead of constantly going to Steve first.

“Why?” Dusitn had scoffed at him the last time this had happened, feeding quarters into a phone and staring at Mike like he was the one being unreasonable. “I’m not gonna waste money just to hear your sister tell us no again when we all know Steve will do it.”

Which was perhaps the most infuriating part of it all.

That Steve would do it.

Show up and help them, even if he bitched the whole time.

Hell, Steve Harrington knew more about Mike’s life offhand than Nancy did, and that made him want to punch a wall more days than it didn’t. Why the hell was Steve so involved?

It was stupid.

Weird, even! They weren’t friends, (even if Dustin and Max and El of all people said the opposite) he wasn’t being paid to babysit, (Mike had double checked; going round to ask Ma Henderson and Mrs. Sinclair, only to get an earful of how wonderful Steve was from both.) he had no reason to hang around!

It didn’t make sense that Steve could be harassed into picking them up from school.

Would take them to get ice cream, or hand over extra quarters for the arcade. He even gave out advice like some kind of--brother that Mike had never wanted.

Above all?

Mike hated that when he needed someone, the number he punched in on automatic was Steve’s.

“I need you to come get me.” He said into the receiver, mad at himself and the world, but mostly mad that beyond the normal amount of squawking Steve did, he shut up and came.

Drove up in his rich boy car, stepping out and herding Mike into it like the rain hadn’t already seeped into his bones.

“You wanna tell me why you snuck into a bar two towns over?” Steve asked, long after Mike had slung himself into the passenger seat, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“No.”

One of Steve’s hands went right to his hair, running through it before adjusting the mess he’d just made.

It was a nervous habit, and Mike hated that he knew that too.

“Okay, well.” Steve’s hand fell back to the steering wheel, clenching tight around it. “Next time you want to do something dumb could you at least come talk to me about it beforehand?”

“What the hell would that do?” Mike bitched, staring firmly out of the window.

“Not waste my gas for starters.” Steve bitched right back. “But I dunno man, we could have taken some bats and gone and wailed on cars in the junkyard and talked or some shit, not--whatever this all was.”

‘This all’ was accompanied by a wave of his hand, indicating not just the bar Mike had been standing in front of, but his general sopping wet state.

“You’d actually go to the junkyard with me?” Mike challenged, doubtful.

Steve made a face. “Did you lose your hearing in there? I just said--.”

“Why?” Mike interrupted. “Why the fuck would you come out with me?”

Matching his entire aggressive tone, Steve said; “Because it’s better than trying to sneak into the one local gay bar when you’re barely fourteen, Michael.”

And that?

Steve being oddly aware of shit he really shouldn’t have?

Mike hated that too.

“You knew what the bar was?” He asked, his voice coming out much smaller than he intended.

“Everyone knows what that bar is, except it’s more of a biker bar than a gay bar.” Steve shot back--which did actually explain about ten different questions Mike had about the place. “Also, language you little shit.”

Under his breath, Steve continued in a muttered; “I swear I’m going to start carrying around soap.”

“You cuss more than we do.” Mike responded, and if his own voice was a little strangled as he fought back the sudden swell of tears, then that was between him and God.

He was not crying in front of Steve Harrington, he outright refused.

“The point I’m making is that there are way better bars to sneak into. That one’s not nearly as welcoming as people make it out to be, probably because they’re sick of all the rumors.”

Steve seemed to realize what he was implying because he quickly added; “Not that you should be sneaking into any bars at all!”

“You’re not my mom.” Mike’s voice turned wet as he lost his battle with his throat, voice cracking as he failed to choke the tears back.

“No shit Wheeler.” Steve said, and at least he was good enough not to call attention to Mike’s crying.

If he had, Mike was pretty sure he’d just up and die of embarrassment, right there.

“I don’t get why you care.” He muttered, angrily swiping at his eyes.

“I didn’t keep you alive this long just so you could die of something stupid.” Steve countered easily.

Which was kinda fair, if you thought about it.

Mike very much did not want to think about it.

Any of it.

Ever.

“Are you gonna tell my parents?” He asked after a painfully long moment.

Long enough that Steve had begun fiddling with the radio, trying to find a station as they drove back that wasn’t wailing country or gospel music.

“I’m not a narc, so no.”

“Not about the bar.”

Now Steve just looked confused.

Probably because he was, because he was without a doubt the stupidest almost adult Mike knew.

(Not that he could say that out loud--last time he had, Max had made one of her pissy faces and then El got mad because Max was, which led to a break up, which led to Mike having to beg his way back into his girlfriend’s good graces while explaining that he hadn’t meant it like that.

“How did you mean it then?” Max demanded, and Mike wasn’t sure how he managed to dodge that entire conversation but he had, on grounds that untangling his own emotions regarding stupid Steve made him want to pull his hair out and scream.)

“What about then?”

“You know. Don’t make me say it.” Mike absolutely didn’t plead, even if it did sort of, kind of, sound like pleading.

Steve flicked his eyes away from the road to give one long, weird look at Mike. The same one he gave Dustin when he went off on a rant about Cerebro or Lucas when he started discussing the stats of different D&D weapons.

Unlike those times, Steve’s face cleared.

“Oh.” He said, blinking, and Mike could practically see the light bulb flash above his head.

Then;

“Nah.”

Mike waited.

And waited.

And kept waiting as Steve went back to searching through radio channels, as if that was the end of the conversation.

It couldn't be the end of this conversation.

Not when this was the part that was eating Mike alive.

He didn’t know if this was Steve repressing it on purpose or if this was what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life if he kept trying to figure his own head out, but either way, he knew he had a choice to make.

To let the unspoken part of today die quietly. Go unsaid, and remain unsaid, for all eternity--or he could let it out.

Shove the “gay” part of “gay bar” in Steve’s stupid, jock face.

Make him acknowledge it, even if it got Mike kicked out of the car, and who cared if it did?

Steve wasn’t the person who should have picked him up anyway.

The anger climbed higher and higher in his chest, tears and rage combining until Mike spat it all out, furious.

“You’re not going to ask if I’m gay?”

Steve didn’t turn to face him, but Mike saw his eyebrow cocking anyway, given how he was currently glaring a hole in the side of the older teen’s head.

“Do you want me to?”

“No.” Mike bit out automatically. “Yes. I don’t know!”

Steve’s hand found its way back into his hair.

“Okay then.” Steve paused, clearly fishing for something to say.

Gleefully, Mike watched him struggle.

“Do you like guys?” He managed finally, looking like he was navigating a minefield more than just talking.

“I don’t know.” Mike stressed, sinking lower in his seat. “Why do you think I was at the bar? I was trying to figure it out!”

“Honestly I assumed this was some sort of stupid dare--but!” Steve held up a finger, before Mike could interrupt, “But let’s--shit, hold on, I had a speech for this but I kinda wasn’t expecting to use it this soon. Um.”

“You have a speech for me being gay?”

“Not for you.” Steve rolled his eyes. “For--in general! It was an in general, just in case speech!”

He rounded on Mike, for longer than the younger was comfortable with given Steve took his eyes off the road to do it. “Okay--you can like boobies, you can like, uh--not boobies, and that’s fine! It’s all totally fine!”

“You are not making it sound like it’s fine.” Mike said, feeling like he’d been taken out by hearing Steve say the word “boobies.”

Gross, gross, gross.

“Well it is.” Steve said, in a tone that felt like he was two seconds from adding in a smarmy ‘so there!’ at the end.

“But I’m dating El.” Mike whined, which really, was both the heart of the matter and the eye of the storm that had been growing in his head for months now. “I can’t be gay if I like her.”

“Don’t you guys break up and get together like four times a week?”

“No, that's Max and Lucas, El and I are stable.” Mike scoffed. “Or we--we were stable.”

Before he started to have thoughts about people that weren't his girlfriend.

Or women.

“Stable for being in middle school, sure.” Steve snorted. “You don’t just have to like one or the other you know. You can like dudes and chicks at the same time.”

Which Mike did not know, on account of being fourteen.

He did his absolute damndest not to show that realization, instead adding that to the list of reasons why he hated Steve Harrington too.

Steve shouldn't be the one teaching him about who you could like!

“The point is that who you end up loving isn’t a problem.” Steve finally looked back to the road. “Other people might be an issue, and those people we can punch in the face so long as the cops aren’t looking, which isn’t part of the speech so let’s not tell people I said that part, but whatever you do choose, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Steve’s voice went firm, as he apparently recalled his speech or something close enough to it because his next words sounded a little rehearsed. “You have people who are here for you, no matter what. Okay?”

Oh God, Mike was crying again.

He wanted to punch Steve in his stupid face.

Wanted to hold onto the fury he'd built inside himself. Thrash around, throw himself out of the car, get away from the emotions that felt too big for his chest to contain.

Instead he felt it all break on Steve's acceptance. On word's he didn't know he needed to hear until they'd been spoken, and sniffed out a quiet; “Okay.”

Steve of course had to take it too far by reaching over and patting his knee, which they both regretted judging by how quickly Steve took his hand back and the face Mike made at his hand--but it…

It was appreciated, even amongst all Mike's rage.

Steve was appreciated.

Not that Mike would ever, on pain of death, tell him that.

Neither said a word for a while, Steve finally landing on a radio that was playing some Top 40 hit, Tears for Fears singing about ruling the world while Mike found himself trying to rebuild his own once again, tired of it having shattered so many times over.

At least he finally felt better, even if he refused to admit Steve was the reason for it.

He wasn’t quite done though.

There was a piece Steve had skipped over, that Mike felt was critically important, if only because it was partly the reason he was having thoughts about being gay in the first place.

He had to know if Steve saw it too.

That it wasn’t just him and his stupid head, making up things that weren’t there.

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Who was the speech for?”

Steve sighed.

“Rule one of the whole queer thing Wheeler, you don’t out other people.”

Like there were written rules or something.

(Maybe there were, it wasn't like Mike knew.)

“Was it Will?” Mike asked, and pretended like he didn’t desperately want the answer to be yes.

Steve didn’t say a thing, but the fact he nearly took the car off the road was a pretty solid answer in itself.

“We’re not playing guessing games about other people’s sexualites!” He yelped, hands gripping the steering wheel as Mike felt a wave of relief crash through him.

Will was--maybe, possibly, also--queer too.

Which didn’t make this any better but it--wasn’t the not preferred outcome, either.

(It wasn’t just Mike struggling alone, trying to figure out if his best friend wanted to be more than that, if El was breaking up with him and more and more because she wanted to be less than a girlfriend, if things were changing and he would have no one--)

“I’m not out here picking Will up from a gay bar dipshit, I’m picking you up, and this is your reminder that next time, you should just come talk to me!” Steve ranted.

Mike snorted.

He absolutely hated Steve Harrington, but--

“Fine.” He said, talking so low he could barely be heard. “I will.”

--maybe Mike did have someone in his corner after all.

Even if it was just Steve.

xXx

Bonus:

“Between you and me, that kid is gayer than a two dollar bill.”

“Wow Robin,” Steve teased, “Isn’t that like, a slur or whatever?”

He snickered when she rolled her eyes and threw a roll of stickers his way.

“I’m just saying. Did you see the way he was looking at you when you were showing off your stupid biceps?” Robin said, nudging her shoulder into Steve’s. “Will’s gonna have a rude awakening later if he hasn’t already.”

Steve nudged her back, but kept his gaze on the Party as they trooped their way from Family Video to the arcade next door, the realization that they now had connections for free rentals making them downright gleeful.

Will was the last one in, and Steve watched him hurry so as to not be left behind.

He didn’t like to worry about the dipshits, but Robin was just putting voice to a thought Steve knew he wasn’t the first person to have.

And if he noticed it, then it didn't exactly bode well as being kept a secret.

“Should we like…talk to him about that?” He asked after a long moment, turning to face Robin.

“Us?” She pointed at herself, before turning her finger on Steve. “Why us?”

“Well you’re into girls.” He gave her a pointed look, glad that the store was empty of everyone but them so he could actually voice all this. “And I’m fine with it.”

“Yeah I’m sure he wants to know you’re fine with it.” Robin taunted, but she had her thinking face on, eyes out to the middle distance. “I barely know him. You barely know him--he’s the quietest out of all your kids.”

“They’re not my kids.” Steve argued automatically. “They're like a weird cross between shitty siblings and that kid in your class who never leaves you alone.”

A fact Steve no longer took for granted, even if he made it sound like the worst thing ever.

“I just think it’d be nice if he knew that he had people in his corner, you know? Who supported him and shit.”

“Steve, you compared my crush to a muppet, that wasn’t supportive.” Robin countered, but it too was on automatic.

Softer she admitted; “You’re right though. If I had known other queer people, if I had known people would accept me...it would have made things a lot easier.”

A very long pause, in which both of them stewed for a moment, before Robin abruptly slapped her hand down on the table.

“Okay, you got me. We're doing it, and I'm making us a speech.”

“A speech?”

“Yes dingus, a speech. I know you, you’re terrible when you’re put on the spot with this kinda thing, and trust me with things like this the moment will be spontaneous.”

“It’s Will, how spontaneous can it be?” Steve challenged back. “Getting a dinner order out of him is a chore.”

“Stop whining and hand me that notepad. Im telling you its gonna happen when you least expect it and then you're gonna thank me later.”

“It better not happen without you.” Steve sighed, but passed the notepad over.

God the things he did for those stupid kids.

Bonus x2

Steve would later go on to use the speech on himself, in a gas station bathroom mirror, eyes wide and freaked out after Eddie Munson called him Big Boy in a van they stole, while Robin snickered behind him.

He would turn on her, snapping that she; “Help me with this dammit!”

In return she’d remind him that Tammy might sing like a muppet but Eddie was the guy who stepped on lunches while giving speeches at lunch and sticking his tongue out, and “Really Steve, I think I won best gay awakening, here.”

Which would promptly start an argument regarding how it wasn’t a competition, which would continue for another fifteen or so odd years before finding its way as a reference into both of their speeches as each other’s best man.

Nancy and Eddie wouldn’t get it at either wedding, but Mike would.

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wannaeatramyeon · 9 months

Text

Jake Kim x Reader: Cinema

G/N. Soft and fluffy feat Big Deal a lil.

"You on a date, boss?"

Jake says yes without missing a beat, flashing you a grin and snaking his arm around your waist.

He sees the smirk on Jason's face, the light nudge Lineman gives Brad, and the pride and approval on Jerry's face.

The grin soon melts away though, when Brad follows up with "You going to see Rocky XX too?" and Jake only just manages to hide his grimace.

The answer to that is also yes. But he would prefer to not have a date crashed by the rest of the crew.

Heavens above, you're patient enough with Big Deal and so sweet to everyone. Gotten to know the street and the occupants like the back of your hand, spending more evenings and weekends there than not.

However. Even with how much Jake lives and breathes Big Deal, he misses some one on one time with you.

Away from everyone, he thinks as he takes in the sight of his boys in front of him. He can't exactly tell them to go away though, can he? A rare weekend off work where they get to just be.

He succumbs to his fate.

Imagines everyone huddled on the one row together. Seated next to each other. Cosy. A family affair instead of a romantic date. Probably won't be able to sneak you some kisses here and there-

"We're not seeing Rocky!" comes the unmistakable sound of Lua's voice. "We're going to watch The Boy and The Pigeon! Enjoy your film!"

She disappears as quickly as she arrives. A whirlwind of hair and a force of nature. Giving you both a small wave, mind laser focused on reading the goddamn room and shoving the boys towards a different screen.

"B-but we already got the tickets!"

"I wanted to see Rocky XX!"

"Why does Jake think seeing Rocky is romantic anyway?!"

Why?

To be honest, the Rocky franchise died off somewhere along V. Who knows how the hell these films are still being greenlit. Nevertheless, the newest one is a low stakes film where Jake doesn't care what happens apart from you cuddling up to him and some kisses if he's lucky.

It's calculated and planned and Jake mentally pats himself on the back for how things have turned out.

Except-

What he didn't expect was the score to be good, the script to be great, the choreography to be amazing, and the acting to be even better. Neither of you could take your eyes off the screen. You laughed and cried and gasped together.

Thoughts of cuddling and kissing and even making out completely out the window as you're both on the edge of your seat for the entire two hours.

It was fantastic. Perhaps the best movie he has ever seen (and he could practice some of those moves too).

You're both still talking about it as he walks you home-

"When he came back as a zombie to fight that vampire?"

"And the lizard joins the fight to win the title?" Jake chuckles, at your enthusiasm more than anything else, "Yeah. I liked that."

But as your apartment appears on the horizon, he can't help but think that maybe this was a bit of a waste. That the day is over and as good as the film was, maybe he should have arranged something else, after all it’s been a while since both your schedules have aligned. A date where you can actually talk and be in each other's company. Instead of being captivated by the screen, your attention could have been held by him.

Jake tries to shake off the doubts and recapture the lighter mood from seconds ago.

He's not entirely successful.

You realise something is amiss.

You peer over at your boyfriend. His sudden subduedness. The small line forming between his eyebrows that you hate so much, because it means he's unhappy about something. You pause mid step and he stops alongside you.

"Don’t overthink it. I had fun," you tell him. You always have fun with him. "Thank you."

Jake's smile returns when he sees the expectant look in your eyes. The way you stretch up towards him. press yourself into his space, and he leans down; meeting you halfway.

Your lips lightly press to his, eyes closing, eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks and his own falling shut. Strong arms encircle you, pulling you ever closer, deepening the contact.

There'll be a next time, your kiss reassures him.

You tastes like popcorn. Sugar and butter and salt. Sweet and savoury and perfect.

#admiring respectfully once again #respectfully might be a lie #lookism #lookism x reader #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #lookism fic #jake kim #jake kim x reader #kim gimyung x reader #kim gimyeong x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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iznyangwoni · 2 months

Text

EASY TO LOVE | chapter eleven !

“I would’ve much preferred to have your brother here instead.” God, he’s starting wonderfully. You and your father never had that good of a relationship, he has always liked your older brother more than you, only because he is a man. “But i feel like you’re going to be useful to catch some attention.”

Useful. Of course he’s talking about you as a tool. You know you’re pretty, you did grew as a beautiful woman and that’s probably the only thing he is proud of you for. “Is your dress different from the one i gave you?” You’re surprised he noticed, but its probably nothing good.

“I did alter it a bit.” These are the first words that come out of your mouth after minutes of silence in the car. Your dad takes a better look at your dress, he sighs right after, starting to walk towards the entrance of the huge mansion the gala is taking place at. “What a shame. Such talent wasted in woman. You know this can only be a hobby for you, right?”

“Yes.” You follow behind, your voice monotone, you’ve gotten used to these kind of comments in the twenty years of your life. You hate this, you hate being here, you hate being showed off, you hate having to smile at whoever he introduces you to and not being able to talk freely.

“Mr. Choi! Isnt it delightful to see you?” You turn around as you hear a woman call your father. She is definitely a beautiful, beautiful woman, and she kind of looks familiar, but you cant really tell why.

“Y/n, why dont you introduce yourself to the lovely Mrs Yang?” You smile at the woman in front of you. “Its a pleasure to meet you, i love the dress you’re wearing sweatheart.”

That honestly makes you want to cry. She’s complimenting your dress? The dress you spent a whole night on? “Thank you so much, i actually altered it myself and-“ You stop when your father puts a hand on your back to stop you. You fucked up. The woman looks at you with a smile on her face, then looks at your father.

“I didn’t even know you had a daughter. Where did you hide such a gem?” You bite your inner cheek, your father is not going to like this. A woman thinking good of you? This couldn’t go worse. You’ve heard of Mrs Yang here and there during dinner, and you know he despises her and only sees her company as competition.

Your father laughs at the woman’s words, and pats your back roughly, it may seem innocent from the eyes of someone else but you know all these pats are gonna leave a mark at the end of the night if you keep fucking up like this. “I usually bring my oldest son, he is the real gem of the family, he is now in New York to close a deal. Don’t you have a son too?”

“Oh yes! He’s finally back from the boarding school he went to in Europe. Where is he…” The woman looks around until she smiles, probably finding her son and calling him towards us. “Here he is, Jungwon is a really hardworking young man.” You freeze when you see Jungwon in front of you. Looking at them side by side.. they look identical, no wonder you found the woman familiar.

Jungwon smiles at you and then introduces himself to your father. You’re about to panic, Jungwon is the son of your father’s rival. This couldn’t go worse, you take a deep breath, your mind starts to get foggy, fuck fuck fuck fuck why did this had to happen to you? Jungwon is about to say something to you when suddenly Sunghoon appears, he puts an arm around the younger.

“Jungwon! My friend! Its been so long, should we catch up?” The woman smiles, probably thinking Jungwon has a good friend with him so Sunghoon doesnt think twice before taking him outside. You honestly feel like throwing up, this night couldn’t go worse. Your father pats your back one more time, in the same rough way as before. “Why dont you also catch up with your friends? Mrs Yang and I have some business to talk about.”

You nod and say a polite bye to the woman. You honestly dont know what to do, your head is spinning and your stomach has never hurt more. You look around for Wonyoung, but she is also busy talking with some other parents, you could go to Jay, but if your father saw you with a man it would probably make things even worse.

The best thing to do right now is just go to the bathroom and wait for all of this to end. So you walk outside, deciding that the farthest bathroom is the safest choice. Once out, you notice Sunghoon and Jungwon fighting, they’re still not throwing hands but its obvious they’re mad. You dont want to get too close, but you need to hear in case this turns out badly.

“I told you, you need to leave her alone. You’re just going to bring her more troubles, you don’t know Y/N. You dont know anything about how things work here.” “I dont care about how things work or how you built your fucking spoiled kids empire.” You sigh, thats enough, you dont need to hear more, you just need to be alone for a second.

You keep walking towards the bathroom, knowing damn well that they could see you, but its not like your care anymore. “Yn” you hear Jay call you, but you just shake your head, not wanting to talk with them. “Yn where are you going?” Jungwon takes you by your wrist, but you immediately get off of his grip, the fear of your father seeing this making you panic even more.

“Leave me alone!” You blurt out quite loudly, your legs are definitely shaking by now. “All of you, i need you to leave me alone, dont speak to me, dont get near me, and don’t touch me!” You take another deep breath, walking a few steps back. “Y/n…” “If you want to help just call Wonyoung.”

And that said you finally reach the bathroom, barely being able to breathe. You try to calm yourself down putting water on your wrists and neck. Maybe you really need to just get away from Jungwon. First it was Minji’s threat, now you just found your father despises his mother to death, this couldn’t get worse.

The second you start crying is when Wonyoung opens the door of the bathroom, the panic taking full control of your body as you sit on the floor. Your friend rushes to you. “I fucked up, Wony i fucked up so hard.” “Calm down, calm down yn its fine. Just tell me what happened, okay?” She sits in front of you, taking your hands in hers.

You take deep breaths, wanting this excruciating pain in your chest to finally end. You let the tears fall freely, not caring about your friend seeing you like this. “I think my father is mad at me and… and Jungwon, fuck. Everything surrounding him is so damn wrong i.. i don’t know what to do..”

“You dont have to do anything, Y/n. Right now lets just calm down, mh?” I nod, resting my head on the wall and closing my eyes. I’m glad Wonyoung is here, i’m sure she is the only one who can calm you down so easily. She sits next to you, letting you rest your head on her shoulder.

“And its not like you need Jungwon. I’m sure you’ll know what to do.”

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TAGLIST @unhakki @firstclassjaylee @en-verse @mxxninthesky @seunghancore @heeseungmyman @jiamini @yoonzns @wonswondrland @50-husbands @leaderwonim @aloloveswonie @f3rraribabez @jwonistic @ribbioniki @kyanmeai @ilovejungwonandhaechan @nat123c @yjwsgf @gyuvision @realrintaro @glxzillx @qettalos @rairaiblog @sakanelli-afc @nodiotter @haohaoshoe @vixensss

#enha #enha fluff #enha imagines #enha scenarios #enha x reader #enhypen #enhypen smau #jungwon #jungwon smau #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen smut #jungwon x you #jungwon imagines #jungwon x reader #jungwon smut #jungwon scenarios #yang jungwon

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box-off · 14 days

Text

Hey guys, as much as I HATE internet drama and personally have a lot of stuff to worry about in real life instead of wasting my time here, discussing WHATEVER. I have to come here and talk about this.

First of all, I personally LOVE postal. All of the games, I own merch of it, I own the games, I even own the movie. I drew and will draw a lot of stuff about the game. I enjoy playing it, I enjoy creating for it, I just like it. And when I came around here I was pretty excited, there were a lot of people who share my interests and there still are BUT there's a bit of a problem.

I haven't been posting much stuff related to the games, mostly because I just didn't have time and I do other stuff that is not always related. And while I was away I kinda started noticing a bit of a shift in the fandom, maybe it's just me watching it from the perspective of someone who doesn't interact with it that much by now, but damn it does feel strange.

I'm going to dedicate this post to my dear @mayonnara, and if you want to see their point of view on this, please go check their recent posts.

True crime. True crime is interesting, if you think about it well enough, all human history is true crime but there's a bit difference between "Wow, this story is interesting, I wonder how that happened" and "Wow, those guys are hot and thanks to that we'll dismiss what they did, which is, killing people". You guys??? Are dumb. Sorry to say it, but don't put people who are genuinely interested in just crimes that happened and idiots who worship killers. I don't like when people worship real life people in general, but come on, those people specifically?? Why not go for Hitler straight away? He killed more people! Go to a fucking cult if you need to worship weird people so bad.

On other hand, you're not welcomed in the Postal community. When you enter any of the games the first thing you see is.... drum roll... A DISCLAIMER. That says what? "No violence in real life", "violence should stay in video games", and hey, did we all forget what is one of the reasons postal redux doesn't end the same way postal 1997 ends? Guys... sorry to tell you this... The devs DO NOT like people like you.

Reminds me a lot of how some smart-ass decided to make an edgy joke about a worker from RWS who had a really serious health problem. The game might be edgy, the RWS made it that way, yes. But I doesn't mean they enjoy you dumb fucking idiots who think that what is normal in a fictional world is okay in real life. Sick and twisted all you want, but have some dignity, keep your bullshit to yourself

#sorry for grammatical errors i have no time to correct shit #box talk

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marksbear · 2 years

Note

hate sex with patrick bateman? perhaps 🤔

patrick hating reader for being "better" than him (contemplates killing him), they fuck, patrick turns into a desperate mess

i <3 seeing these cocky "alpha males" turn into whiny desperate sluts <33

Anon we both think like great request my friend! Cocky men becoming a slut is one of the things I live for. And sorry for taking so long I fell asleep writing this

Warnings! SMUT, brat taming, teasing, talking about killing, about to kill, Patrick is a asshole, swearing

PATRICK BATEMAN X MALE READER

"Hey did y'all hear that Y/n got another big promotion?"

"Oh my fucking God." Patrick thinks to himself. He feels like hes gonna puke if he hears your name being mentioned one more time.

"Yeah! The man is gonna have it all. He already has the women dropping to his feet and the bosses practically worshiping the man." The guy next to him says causing Bateman to clench his fist.

He never met Y/n personally but he has to hear about him all day long. "Y/n this. Y/n that. Y/n.y/n. Y/n." Patrick says mentally feeling a headache coming from hearing about the things he did.

"What about you Bateman. What do you think about L/n?" All of the men's heads turning around giving Patrick their full attention.

"That hes a annoying son of a bitch. And he makes me wanna kill him with my bare fucking hands. And he's a waste of space in this damn earth"

Well of course he didn't say that but he only imagined he did and says this instead.

"I never met him, but he seems like a great guy." Patrick gives them a short lie making them all pleased. "You never met him!?! That truly can't work. How about I schedule a dinner for you both to meet?" One of the men offers his co-worker.

"Yes, for I can finally kill him." "Sounds good how about tonight?" Patrick says instead of his first thought. The co-worker gets the phone calling up Y/n so Bateman can hear. "Hey L/n, are you busy tonight? I have someone you should meet. You are great! I know you're gonna like him. Meet at the restaurant where I always take you. Okay bye."

"I just changed your life for ever Bateman! Get ready to meet the greatest man in your lie."

TIMESKIP

Patrick arrived before Y/n checking his watch impatiently and slightly annoyed.

"You're here early."

Patrick looks up at the figure that he's guessing is Y/n.

"Fuck hes handsome. And he looks sharp wearing a suit that hasn't even gotten released yet. Y/n looks exactly like hes described from the stories he heard. Why the fuck does he look better than me!?!"

Bateman rambles in his mind and sticks his hand out. "Patrick Bateman."

"Bateman? I heard of you. And seen you around at work a lot just never made an effort to go up and talk to you. Y/n L/n nice to meet you." Y/n says with a smile and takes a hold of Patrick's hand giving it a tight shake.

The dinner was far from quiet. Y/n almost had every single conversation starter under his sleeve. Some sparked a short topic and some sparked a long conversation and some even started a debate or an argument.

"Hey L/n it's getting late. How about we continue this in my place?"

"Good idea Patrick. How about I pay?"

Right when Patrick opens his mouth about to argue about how Y/n doesn't need to pay Y/n hands the waiter his card.

TIMESKIP AT PATRICK'S PLACE

As soon as the two step inside the place Y/n pins Patrick on the wall by the front door. "Patrick. Tell me what do you want from me? Because I know you hate me. I know we were not friends, so why invite me here?"

Y/n backs away from Patrick slowly with a smirk on his face before heading into the living room. "You think you're better than me don't you Y/n?" Patrick says in his mind before quickly follows after the man. Patrick stops in tracks fighting with himself mentally just to get his axe and drive it through the other man skull.

Patrick snaps himself out of his thoughts and goes to the living room. "Nice place you got Patrick." Y/n says looking outside through the window watching cars and other things. Patrick finds a knife and walks up to Y/n slowly raising it.

Y/n turns his head around slowly and Patrick throws the knife somewhere else becoming nervous. "For a man who hates me you sure do love being close." Y/n puts his hands on Patrick's hips bringing him closer.

"Tell me Patrick. Do you love being close to me?" Y/n uses his right hand to bring it to Patrick's chin then uses his thumb caressing Patrick's bottom lip.

Patrick hated you. He hated how you talk, how you walk and even how you breathe. He hated you with his life. But now why is he acting like this, His body became putty by your touch. The way you look down at him, the grip you have on his hip, your hand on his chin and your thumb lazily on his lip.

What are you doing to him?

Patrick gives Y/n a weak nod as an answer to his past question. "Use your words." Y/n smirks moving his thumb off of Patrick's lip and back to his chin. "Yes." "Good boy Bateman."

Y/n pushes Bateman away from him and walks around looking for the bedroom. Patrick quickly picks up the knife from the floor and follows after Y/n.

Y/n stops in the hallway turning around at Patrick staring at him like a predator like hes taunting Patrick to come closer to him. Patrick clenches his jaw tightly setting the knife on the nearest flat surface. Patrick's blood boils and his veins pop once he's the smirk on Y/n face.

"After you Patrick." Y/n opens the bedroom door inviting Patrick in. Slowly Patrick walks into the bedroom already knowing where this is leading. Y/n shuts the door after he goes inside walking up behind Patrick. Y/n takes off his shoes and socks then takes off his suit jacket. Patrick watches the men take his clothes off.

"Can you just strip and stop being a brat." Y/n says catching Patrick a bit off guard.

Patrick takes off his clothes and shoes. After hes done Y/n attacks his lips with his own.

The kisses are rough and a bit painful because Patrick refuses to be the submissive one. Y/n groans in annoyance and tackles Patrick on the bed so hes under him. Patrick tries to push Y/n off of him but fails just ending up scratching his arms. "You're such a brat Patrick." Y/n says pulling away from the harsh makeout,

"What? You don't like underneath a man like me? Well you better get used to it." Y/n laughs at Patrick before using one of his hands going down to Patrick's cock.

"You're already hard? Wow and the only things we did were just kiss." Y/n doesn't waste anytime jerking off Patrick. "Fuck! L/n s-stop touching me!" Patrick tries to contain his moans but some fall out. "Ohh~l-let me go! fuck!"

Y/n hand doesn't slow down anytime soon he even goes faster up and down every time Patrick begs.

After a while Y/n stops moving his hand with a smirk on his face. Patrick doesn't even notice Y/n's hand not moving and raising his hips up and down into Y/n hand. Y/n lets go of Patrick cock and puts two fingers on Patrick's lip."Suck them."

Patrick didn't want to. At first he bit them because he didn't want to look weak and desperate. Y/n watched him bite his fingers and let out a sigh. "If you keep acting like this i'll just fuck you dry and you get no prep." Y/n warns Patrick but lets out another sigh when Patrick tries to flip him over.

"I warned you Patrick. Now your just getting me fucking irritated." Y/n flips Patrick over so his belly and chest are on the bed but Y/n holds Patrick ass in the air.

Y/n spits a few times on Patrick hole making him mad. "Stop spitting on me Y/n! You're a dirty disgusting bastard!" "Don't you fucking dare put that disgusting cock inside of me---- fuck~" Patrick insult was cut of by his own moan once he felt Y/n cock pushing inside him. "Oh!~ fu-- oh gOD~" Patrick holds the sheets tightly as he feels Y/n moving inside him. "Ju-just shove it in already!~ please just gi--vie me your cock." Y/n decided to be nice and answer Patrick begs by thrusting his cock fully inside him.

Patrick lets out breathy moans feeling Y/n cock go up and down inside of him. "Fa-faster! fuck me faster Y/n!" Patrick hates himself for begging but god Y/n felt too good inside of him he couldn't help it. Y/n snaps his hips into Patrick at a face pace abusing his hole like he was a toy.

Patrick sneaks his hand down to his cock jerking himself off as hes getting fucked.

Y/n take Patrick's arm harshly holding it above his own head pinning his hand down. "Sluts like you aren't allowed to touch themselves without permission" Y/n thrust became aggressive using his free hand to Patrick hair.

Patrick feels Y/n cock twitch inside him and he panics. "No no no! Don't cUm~ inside of me! fu-fuck no!" Patrick's own cock twitches from imagining Y/n cumming inside of him but his mind feels disgusted at the thought.

Y/n thrust quickness searching for Patrick prostate. "Shi~ FuCk oh fuuck~! agaIn hit it again!~ more more please." Patrick screams into the sheets when he feels Y/n cock push against his prostate.

Y/n hits that spot over and over again until Patrick cock is twitching rapidly and aching precum leaking out of the tip. Patrick feels the knot in his stomach become tight and moans words and sentences that don't even make sense. "I'm cumming! fu-fuck i'm cumming! ahhHh!~" Patrick cums hard on the sheets and his head is in full bliss not even feeling Y/n hot cum inside him.

After Patrick gets out of his high he feels something hot and sticky leaking out of him and getting onto his thighs. "Y-you asshole! you dirty bastard I told you not to c-cum inside!" Patrick shouts.

Y/n laughs and says "I couldn't even pull out. Your slutty hole kept me inside~" Y/n teases letting go of Patrick's hand and hair putting both of his hands on Patrick's hips. Y/n snaps his hips deep inside Patrick causing him to yelp out. "fuck~ Y/n give it to me please! I-im your desperate slut please! keep fucking me until I pass out please! Fuck me like that slut I am!~"

"Fuck I hate you Y/n for making me like this!~" Patrick thinks feeling Y/n cock inside of him moving slowly.

"Be a good slut this time Patrick. Then I may let you suck my dick."

THE END

#patrick bateman #american psycho #slashers x male reader #x male reader #male reader #Patrick bateman x male reader #x top male reader #x dom male reader #slasher x male reader #american psycho x male reader #the bear club

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bibibbon · 1 month

Note

*JJK LEAK SPOILERS, please ignore if you haven't seen them*

THE QUEEN IS BACK

I have seen the leaks and chapter translation and while yes the queen is back (I do have some concerns and problems with the way gege executed this)

It makes sense for nobara to come back and we have been teased from the begining that there was a clear chance that she could come back ever since she died. Nitta says that while she died and doesn't have a heartbeat she very much could be revived if she got help in time (and he literally suspended her condition at the moment)

The problem is that it took gege a really long time to actually bring her back or imply that she is alive, approximately 4 years and a 100+ chapters for her to come back.

Chapter 144 and chapter 210 were from yuji's perspective who didn't know nobara's fate and we never got actual confirmation of her fate (all we got was yuji missing her) in asking about her.

These are good moments in my opinion that definitely adds uncertainty and show how nobara's "death" has effected characters like yuji and even megumi (a bit).

However, the problem comes in from other characters. Were they aware of nobara's fate? Is that why they didn't comment on anything? Is that why we never saw maki's reaction to nobara's death? Or is that why we never saw Gojo ask about nobara after he escaped the prison realm? Or is that why we don't see much of the second years reactions about her in general? Is that why we never see yuji say her last words to others? In all honesty I can't help but almost feel like gege may of forgotten about nobara (and just brought her back because he remembered her and she is a fan favourite just like he did with Todo)

I have talked about the wasted potential of nobara's character here and the direction I think would of been suitable for her character.

I think we should of gotten more hints about nobara coming back and being alive in the manga (Iam aware some may say we have gotten clues but they're all in arts and not inside the manga) heck i think we should of gotten confirmation that she was alive and working in the background while the others thought that she was dead (I love a bit of dramatic irony within the story and it definitely adds stakes without having anyone dead)

Other than that I really enjoyed her first appearance around the characters specifically what she said to itadori and how it's a clear reference to when itadori first died and came back. I also enjoy the fact that we are getting to see her back and using her cursed technique however, i still hate the fact that she miraculously woke up 30 minutes ago when the plot needed her most (it would of been better if she woke up and went back to her home town found out something about her CT and done more self digging then came back to help with the fight after seeing mei mei recording it)

Lastly, my biggest worry is how gege is going to handle her character development (theres only 4 chapters left ) and tie in the loose ends like the thing about Jujutsu society hating women with scars and how nobara did value her beauty (jjk could very much delve into the insecurities she may have or her actually going back on the things momo told her and learning a lot more about intersectionality feminism instead of the girl boss one that she displayed earlier on in the story) I also think it would be interesting to handle nobara maybe feeling left out like shoko in her trio (and how that cycle might change)

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yuri-is-online · 4 months

Note

I kinda wanna hear more about Azul! Yutu if you are willing

Very. He is long overdue for a proper post. I'm going to skip over some of the stuff that happens while he is in the bad future as I am a big fan of what Archivist has been writing, and would encourage you to look at their posts (here, here, and here) They've been a huge inspiration for this ayuu and finally gave Yutu some friends! I am really really attached to them and their dynamics with the various Yutus and might have written some stuff where they hang out but didn't post it because idk if you folks would be interested...

notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here. You can find even more stuff for it on my masterlist under the series section.

Yuu started removing mirrors from the house when he was around nine. They did so slowly, and Yutu had been avoiding them for so long he barely notices when their gone. It's not like he was born hating himself, he remembers playing with Yuu in the garden hose or the bath tub and feeling... happy. But that was when he was a little kid, he's almost double digits now he shouldn't be feeling sick to his stomach about this. It feels hard to walk some days, like his balance is wrong and his body is made of the incorrect material. It isn't normal for a kid this young to hate his own bones because it is the bones isn't it? They're hard until their not hard enough and he's stuck in a cast for the summer. Yutu tries to be grateful it's on his arm and not his leg, but it doesn't keep his mind off of things. He feels unwhole every time he tries to walk, and he has no words to express what's missing other than to say he feels unsafe. And it's hard to say that when he knows there's no solution you can give him for what he's feeling. If you could cut off your own limbs to make him whole you would, but then that would leave him just as alone wouldn't it? The last cost Yutu wants to pay to fix himself is the life of parent who loves him.

But that's what the price ends up being. And as he lays there trying to scream only to be rejected by the air he'd spent so much time wasting as his body churns on the floor into the form he'd spent so much time dreaming of he has to wonder why he ever thought the outcome would be different. He should have known that he was never meant to be anything other than alone.

Yutu was a chunky baby, and for the first bit of his life no one minded that at all. He was so cute, Yuu had a bunch of pictures of their precious baby boy and even though there were questions about how he came to be those were sort of shoved to the side in favor of cooing over his cute nose and chubby cheeks. But the cooing turned to concern when he started having some problems reaching his developmental milestones; it took forever for him to learn how to walk, even when Yuu helped guide him through the motions it somehow just didn't seem to stick. Talking was difficult, he'd learned how easily enough but he just preferred not to, wanting to communicate through noises and looks instead. Yuu would try to calm their worries and focus on how he at least slept through the night, but they never did get a solid opinion on why Yutu was so slow to learn from any doctor they saw.

His slow development cause Yuu to really focus on going over his lessons with him at home, it fosters a love of learning in him that evolves as he grows. At first it's very innocent, his eyes are wide with childlike wonder at the world around him and his smile is as bright as his eyes. "Unfortunately" (because it's not truly unfortunate that his parent can still afford to feed him) he's still a chubby little boy, and one who is missing a parent so he's an easy target for his peers to isolate and tear into. He feels like a beached whale, or a dried up octopus, his self esteem is severely hurt as is his outlook on the world. Yuu feels like they are seeing a familiar sight when their child hiccups through recounting his day as they desperately try to hold back their anger and think of a way to deal with this logically.

"Your daddy went through this too." Yutu blows into the tissue you hold for him and tries to hide his surprise. He's always eager to learn about his father, you wish you could think of more to tell him but the words you're saying don't fully feel like you are thinking as you say them. It's like you are briefly being possessed by someone else, just that the "someone else" is... yourself from when you were whole. "He was really hurt by it, and he was one of the strongest people I knew. So it's ok if you need to cry about how you feel."

"I dooon't want to feel." He pushes his face up against your chest like he's a baby again trying to soothe his nightmare against yoru heartbeat and you squeeze him as tight as you can. "I want it to stop, can daddy tell me how to make it stop?" Your mind screams that however daddy handled it must have been bad, it turns to look at someone, you can just see the outline of him. He's handsome, well put together and he's... worried.

"I don't want them to be scared of everything; suspicious,̸̮͉͓͔͎̭̜̦̽̄̆̇̿̈́̍̉̽͌̍̕ͅͅ ̶̰̙͔̝͕̞͍̭͙͕̇͆͌̋̿̌͐̂̿͘̚͝y̷̨̪̳̳͉̮͚̅͗͗̽̔̂͐͌̽͠ę̶̩̣̤͚͎͔̯̖̭͐̃̏̓͐̾͐̓̎̇̅̊͐̕s̸͚̖͙̗̣̩̼͎̼͇̝͂̿̉̌͛̈͜ ̴͔̟̤̩̗̯̦̀͐̄̽̊͛͑͋͊͒̓̕͝b̵̧̧̡̰̪̫̤͔͚͕̝̠̹͈́̀̈́͌̄͋̔̿́̕͘ǘ̵̢̼͖̪̱͖̼̼͎̲͈͙͆̀̎͌̍̎̂͐͗̇͌̎̊̚ț̶̛͖̹͚̾̆̂͑̌̊̕ͅ ̴̢̛͇͙̱͇̝̺͇̗̫̘̥͛̀͊̅n̸̢̥͕͗̓e̴͙̹̹̘̮̫̦͐v̶̡̡̧̡̛͓̮̝̺̮̜̳̠̜̅͊̒̄̔͂̋͋͋̊̔̈́͆͘ë̷̟̳̲̰̗͉̬̘̘̣̳̼͙́̑͜ŗ̸̳̹̺͔̦͔̮̖̔͆̊̈́͆̈̔̊͠ ̶̧̢̩̺̗̗̲̠̬̰͇̣̦̈́͑͜͜p̶̱̗͔͔͌a̴̰͓̎͂̅̓̈̎͝r̶̯̰̪̟̾̾̓̂̈́͆̈̀̒̓̕͠ ̴͇̖͉̯̖̞͍͐́͊͛̐̂̐á̵̢͎̙͎́͝ ̸̨̙̞̙̩̮̺̦̻̗̭̩͉̱̠̐̓̿͘ń̷̡̡̡̧̨̪̜͕̠͐̄̉̐͝͠ő̸̥̹̣̙͛̏̏̃̋̍͝͠ḯ̶̢̛͍͔̯̤͊̈́̉̑̂̈̐͊̚̕ḋ̸̦̘̮͍͙̜͈̙͉͖̭͚̊͌͗̊̊̈̾̄͌ͅ ̵̛̛̠̫͙͎̘̣̘͕͗̒̈͒̓̅͊̔͘͝"

Yutu's silence brings you back to reality, he's mercifully fallen asleep against you and missed the aftershocks of your migraine. It's nothing new, but somehow this little scenario makes you feel that much more tired, and that much more alone.

I've mentioned it before but Yuu decides to enroll Yutu into martial arts classes as a way to help with his self confidence and the bullying. In my mind the end up doing it out of a worry that the bullying could get physical, and in the hopes that maybe Yutu will make friends with the kids in his class. It sort of works, Yuu enrolls them in a parent-child class and they certainly make some connections. Yutu finds some inner peace from the class, but his experiences at school make him very shy and keep him from truly opening up to the people around him. The friend groups he finds his way into never seem to fully accept him, a lot of it comes down to petty rivalries over sport and school. Yutu is smart sure, but he knows that no amount of talent makes up for hard work and he's a very hard worker. He's too proud to do something like throw a match or fail a test just for a little social acceptance, and not afraid to say as much.

That's not to say he doesn't want to be accepted, he does. He really deeply does he just doesn't think he could live if that acceptance was fake. Part of that, not that he ever tells Yuu this, is fueled by their descriptions of his father and of how much they loved him. If his dad was in the same position and found you then one day, he hopes, he'll find someone who accepts him too. And he'll make sure to stay alive and do all the little things with them they have ever wanted to do, no matter how out of his comfort zone or weird he finds them to be. Azul! Yutu is a bit of a hopeless romantic underneath his jock appearance, so he's one of the yutus that assumes his dad died in a tragic accident that left your memories in shambles. He's willing to fight people on that point, but Yuu made him promise not to and while he's fussy about listening to other people, he always listens to Yuu.

Which makes the trip between worlds that much harder on him. He might have been alone, but he wasn't exactly lonely. Not when he had a home to come back to and a parent who loved him, he could handle waiting for people who would accept him when he already had someone who did but now... It doesn't help that from his perspective he immediately does something stupid by getting put in Savanaclaw. Crewel already told him his dad was the dormleader of Octavinelle, that he was an exemplary student but not very... athletic so why would he be any different than anyone else. This isn't helped by the reception he gets from his dormmates. Yutu never starts fights, but he sure as hell finishes them and the amount of people left on the floor by the end of his first week makes everyone aware of that.

It earns him respect, and it would have immediately made him his first friend if he had been willing to take Sav at his word when he asked him to show him how he fought so well. Instead he insists on acting like Saitama and making the guy "prove" himself, something that Crewel watches from the sidelines with a weary expression. So his grandson wasn't lying, he really does take more after his dad than you.

He does not so much make other friends as they do make him theirs... two Heartslabyul students and an overly enthusiastic gamer from Ignihyde who sticks to him like a wet cloth and he hates the realization that he's worried about these guys. Sav, Thrush, Fiore, and... Mori. He loves these people. He hopes they never die, but everywhere he looks he sees omens. It hurts, he never knew he had three hearts or that he could fill them up with so much love that it wants to bleed out of him but he refuses to let it. He's learned that he's stronger than he ever thought possible, he'll squeeze a good outcome out of this, for you and for them it never had to be one or the other.

Traveling back in time and being separated from his friends terrifies him. Sav is always refusing to use his brain, what if he got lost because he decided not to read a sign somewhere? Fiore is a little shit and Thrush can't be assed to keep his brother in line what if they get thrown in jail and Yutu has to actively stop himself from thinking about Mori. The muscles in his chest go taut and he forgets to breathe until little black dots prick at his vision from all the ways things could go wrong for the self proclaimed "white mage of the FC party." The guy is just too much of a flight risk... he needs to fix this fast.

But does he? Having you alive again is like a dream, sure you're younger now and don't know him from a hole in the ground but he gets to see all of the memories he was so curious about. He's especially happy to have met Ace and Deuce, they remind him of his own Heartslabyul friends. His world feels a bit more full when he sits to eat a meal with you, guys who he guesses he'll probably end up calling Uncles at some point, and Grim. He's got mixed feelings about Grim, but the little guy really seems to like him now and it's funny to think about whether or not he's the older or younger brother. He's starting to remember what it's like to have a family again, speaking of which...

"Aww looks like you're a real dorm leader now ain't ya shrimpy?" Floyd's voice sounds fun, and it's all Yutu can do to keep from smiling. He instantly understands why Jade must have missed him so much, they looks alike but the difference in tempo is apparent from their stance and dress, and just looking at the younger version of his Uncle he can see how much more alive he feels.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Yutu was it?" Jade's smile suggests danger, he thinks the name is funny that's his guess. The glint in his eyes suggests he wants to tease, and Yutu prepares to make some comments of his own before he notices that his Uncle's attention is not on him but rather- "Floyd told us about your unexpected arrival," he has been avoiding this for so long he almost didn't see the familiar stranger next to Jade, the rest of his words are heard but not noted as he looks directly at his father for the first time. What a painful realization that is.

"Hey hey grouper, you ok?" Floyd's tone very much does not suggest worry but it brings him back to the present. Or would it be the past?

"Grouper? Might regret calling me that pool noodle. Yeah I'm fine, just surprised you came over here yourselves. I thought I was doing good keeping my nose where it belongs." Yutu swears Azul looks genuinely hurt for a second, but it disappears under his glasses and his patented grin.

"Well you certainty don't pull any punches do you?" If Yutu didn't know any better he'd assume his dad was... excited.

He is, he's very excited. Yuu is a kind hearted person and Azul loves them for it, but Yutu has some of that hater energy he knows he can work with. A second set of eyes on Yuu's world is just what Azul needs to win their ha- expand his business, so he keeps finding ways to talk to Yutu. He ends up learning a decent bit about him despite Yutu's best efforts: he's lying about his unique magic to catch people off guard when he uses it, he's not a muscle head nor does he take particular pride in his physique despite the intense amount of effort he puts into staying strong. It's interesting to watch the sort of things he likes to eat... sure a lot of it is healthy food but none of it is health food. That ends up being the first real conversation they have and it throws Yutu for a bit of a loop. It reminds him of that conversation he had with Yuu all those years ago when he was crying about being bullied. About how his dad gone through the same thing he did and suddenly his dad seems a bit more like a person and less like a shadow that's haunting him.

The way his dad looks at Yuu is breathtakingly soft. Azul is ambitious, talented, hardworking, and oh so desperate to impress that Yutu finds it hard to hear their doubts about the way he feels because he can see all of the signs clear as day about how Azul feels about Yuu. Uncle Jade's stories about how Azul was silly in his affections, the little ways he got excited when Yuu complimented him or how much of a show off he insisted on being around them are happening right in front of him and while he wonders about that little thing he always tried to avoid. The "could have been." Would his dad have agreed with Yuu's decision to enroll him in martial arts? Or would Azul have put him in a different school, would that even have been nessecary or would people be too afraid to make fun of his son? That promise Jade said Azul made to Yuu about never having to go hungry again... would he have kept it? Yutu never starved but he knows his parent did, what would Azul say if he knew? Would it break him? Would he even care?

These thoughts take a toll on Yutu. He can't keep pretending he isn't worried about his friends when he is trying to avoid thinking about his parent's relationship, and vise versa so he puts more effort into finding them. Thrush and Fiore are the easiest, they made their way to Craneport and established a base pretty quickly and are surprisingly not complete shits about him taking his sweet ass time to find them. Sav is though, the Scalding Sands is a long way away and getting him to Sage's Island proves to be tedious and expensive, of course he's going to complain and pick a fight when Yutu shows up again. He hates to admit it but it feels good to have his sparring partner back, it perks up his mood a tiny bit. But time beings to drag on with no signs of Mori, Yutu is getting more restless in his worries and clumsier in hiding where he's going. Sure he knows how to shake off a tailing eel, but an octopus? The only one he's ever known is himself.

Azul learns from his various contacts that Yutu has friends. He keeps his appearance under the hood, but his friend group is close and clearly working towards some sort of goal. None of the names he gets show up in any systems he has access to, Jade does his best to find a shred of evidence that these are people who exist and can't. It worries all three of the octotrio, this is a problem they need to get to the bottom of and fast. But before that can happen another one of those portals opens, this time outside Ramshackle Dorm while Azul is trying to spend some precious alone time with you. And the thing that comes out of it is terrifying.

The blot phantom is unlike anything Azul has ever seen, not in a textbook or in person. It's a misshapen mass of a person, clothing real but foul smelling and stained with ink.

"Use my phone to call the twins and get out of here as fast as you can." Azul doesn't like his chances alone, but he likes yours even less. You don't run, it brings just a bit of a smile to his face, but you still call Jade as Azul weaves ice around it's legs to try and keep it down. The monster howls squirming against the ice and screaming at him like he should understand what it's talking about. Azul tries to stare it down, tries to appear like he's a mage that belongs on the front lines and not a support. The best support but still, he's slow. Too slow to dodge the vine that whips out of the creature's back and speeds towards his heart but fast enough to catch the scream that tears from Yutu's throat.

"STAY AWAY FROM MY DAD YOU FUCKING PIECE OF TRASH!" Eight cosmic tentacles rip out of the ground and tear into the monster, Yutu's chest is heaving with the strain of bringing his full strength to bear as Azul pauses to collect himself. As Yutu finishes off the monster he goes over what he knows, looks at the boy in front of him and traces parts of himself in him and forgets his previous plans to expose him to Yuu as a fraud. When his child looks back at him, disguise knocked off and fear clear on his face the reason for the previous distance Yutu has been trying to maintain suddenly makes sense. Before Azul overblotted he was quiet. There's a similar quiet over him now, a similar look of tense surprise, but Yutu- no- his child doesn't know that. His child is looking at him in fear, in worry for his reaction or his safety he doesn't know but he knows the way those tears start to form. Azul knows the quiver of the lip and the shriek, of all the things he could have passed on to such a treasure.

"You deserved better from me." Because it's true. He might think of himself as a work in progress but he still thinks he has quality; he would have done research, read every book he could get his hands on, taken classes, anything he would need to do to be a good father, a worthy partner. Anything. "You deserved to have the world within your grasp, not whatever shadow of a future and a father I left you with. I am so sorry." He does not expect Yutu to grab him and hold him like he's still somehow worthy of his love, but Azul can't fight the urge to grab back, to stroke his son's hair and let the tears fall on his suit without any care at all. I'm here. It's ok, daddy's here, daddy's got you, he won't let anything happen to you.

Azul likes to make plans. He planned how he would confess to Yuu (it did not go as planned but he still planned it) and he has clear ideas about the future he wants to have with them. Yutu was already a part of it, he's dreamed of having somewhere safe and full of love to come home to since he realized what his feelings for Yuu were. So to see that dream come to life, to have it crying in his arms about how someone else corrupted it into a nightmare and stole what he'd worked so hard to earn- Oh Azul is a petty and vindictive little bitch once he has gotten his own tears out of his system. He's extremely proud of all the work Yutu has already done towards ending the bad future, and while he is disappointed that he didn't think to ask for his help he is understanding. If he was in Yutu's position he doesn't know how he'd react, but he could see himself making similar choices.

He insists on having a family dinner so he can get to know all of the real things about Yutu from him instead of just observing them. He wants the three (and a half since Grim's there too) of you to cook together and just talk before getting down to the sad business that's brought Yutu here. Some of it's instinct to feed his child, but mostly he wants to prove to his son that he's worthy of being his father. That you chose him out of everyone for a reason, something Yutu sort of knows already but he's wanted to have his father in his life for so long that he plays up his nerves just a little bit so he can be spoiled by him.

Azul's reach is long, and combined with the twins finding where Mori is should be much easier. What worries Azul is the bad future and the little information Yutu tells him about how it started. He's never had any real reason to doubt what he knows about overblots, or to distrust the Headmage, or to think Grim could kill him. But if the world ends the economy does too, and he is not about to die before he's achieved everything he's been dreaming of. His ambition is almost scary, but Yutu can't bring himself to be afraid. This version of his father is the nicest one he's seen yet, and if it means anything to anyone, he'd like to keep him just as much as Azul wants him too.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #future kid au #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto x yuu #idk if i like this post :/#bleh as i told archivist i accidentally got attached to doomed yaoi w mori and azul! yutu to the point the only way i could convince yutu #to let me finish the last half of this post was putting on the fucking our life soundtrack #otherwise i was stuck drawing a blank #what a little jerk >:c

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