#i cried like a baby through the whole movie its very good

[unprofessionalclownery]

summary of thrice upon a time

[tonycries]

Corpse Groom - G.S.

Synopsis. Till déath do you part…or does it when a déathly error leads your newly-wedded husband to be from beyond the gráve?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, CÓRPSE BRIDE!AU, arranged marriages, period-typical mísogyny, Naoya is awful, accidental marriage, ángst, major character(s) déath, HAPPY ENDING, talks of déath, kníves, poíson, reíncarnation, Gojo YEARNS, he loves you sm I cried, hándjobs, fíngering, spítting, cúmplay, BRÉEDING, creampíes, mentions of having kids, pússydrúnk Gojo, overstím, oraI (fem rec.), pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 12.7k (ohoho)

A/N. K!nktober isn’t over until I had to make a rewrite of my favorite Halloween movie mhm <3

“Mother, I refuse-”

“Nonsense, child!”

That sharp snap! of your mother’s feathered fan is loud enough that the whole carriage rattles on its hinges, creaking you noisily to what seemed like your very doom. 

You gulp when she’s tilting her head down as far as her best, high-collared gown would allow, eyes narrowing. “The Zenin’s are the only nobles left in this wretched town, and I will not have my daughter marrying some commoner.”

The unsteady cobblestone pathway jostles you in your cushioned seat ever-so-slightly, a pertinent little reminder of that fact.

In the deafening silence, your father pipes up - ever-the-pacifist, “Now now, why don’t we all calm down, especially before such a glorious wedding.” But his words wither out into nothing but a whisper in the simmering tension. “Like your mother said, dear, the Zenin’s are a good family, with a uh-” Coughing nervously, “-good son. We just want you to be taken care of.”

As if that was the only thing.

But there was no use arguing. 

Facing back to the gray window with a sigh, and you can only whisper. “I’d rather die than marry Naoya Zenin.”

---

“With this hand-”

“Louder.”

“With this-”

“More passionate.”

“With this damn hand-”

“Not a threat.” The older woman in front of you wrings her satin gloves, turning towards your fuming parents with a tone that matches their expression. “Honestly, I know that you new money people find it hard to adjust but this is our special tradition! My poor baby Naoya is going to be heartbroken tomorrow.”

Dutchess Zenin had a cruel sort of beauty to her, high cheekbones, and cutting eyes that picked apart every fray at your dress - the spitting image of her son.

And her “poor baby Naoya” was currently finding it impossible to hide his smirk. Swiping away invisible dust from the velvety-clad shoulder of his overpriced suit, he sets down his wine bottle from the vows.

“Don’t be too harsh, mother.” Naoya’s smooth voice comes out in a dangerous purr, and you jolt when one of his strong arms slither around your waist. Possessive. “After all, it’s this one’s face that’s what’s important.” 

God, if it weren’t for your parents’ pointed looks you would have shoved this overly-perfumed bastard away from you and bolted through those high doors faster than you could say “I do.” 

The Naoya Estate was as beautiful as its occupants could never be, brutal, looming architecture intended to make you feel smaller than you were. All those high cemented pillars, plush furniture, and gleaming chandeliers spoke of exactly what your parents wanted - power. 

It wasn’t the sort of home you’d like to call your own, but then again, you didn’t have any choice in the matter. 

“My deepest apologies on behalf of my daughter, madam-” your mother’s gritting out the words, painted lips curling ever-so-slightly towards the end with a bitter taste. “-or should I say, co-mother-in-law? Ah, come now, we might as well be family already, right?”

“Sure.” Dutchess Naoya turns, arching a needle brow. “Might as well, thanks to your family assets- if your daughter doesn’t make a joke of the vows, that is.”

The wisened officiary standing at the altar nods solemnly towards you. “Do you even want to get married tomorrow, young lady?” No, you want to answer, but bite back. “Zenin house traditions dictate that the mark of a good wife is one to follow the vows to its every syllable.”

You wince - and your features sting where they’d been perfectly stretched into a plastic smile. Your next words come out small, strangled in a way that makes your future husband smile. “I apologize, I know how important these vows are, and I’ll- I’ll do better next time.”

“Good.”

With a click of Dutchess Zenin’s fingers, a hushed, swirling piano melody fills the hall once more. 

Your wedding ballad. 

Something that Naoya had prattled on and on about being an esteemed tradition in the Zenin household, a tender tune to accompany their sacred vows. Modeled after the long-lost royalty of this kingdom, and this was the closest you’d get to a taste of it. 

It was your one initiation into power - saying those sweet, special promises - and the one thing you found impossible to get right.

“-for I will be your wine.”

Shit.

You didn’t even realize that Naoya had polished off his own vows, before you jolt at the hefty weight of wine being poured into your cup. 

And you could practically feel the burning stare of every eye in the room. Watching. Waiting. 

You’re fighting against your intricate corset to gulp in a deep inhale of the stale, thickening air. Clearing your throat ever-so-slightly, you raise the hand holding onto his wedding ring. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Y-your cup will never empty-” Fingers tightening around the silver goblet in your other, your breath hitches at the bile rising to your throat already. “-for I will be your- your uh- wine.” 

In the corner of your vision, you could spot Naoya’s smug smirk already. You could hear his tiny “As if you have any other choice.”

You knew what he was thinking.

That whisper is enough to make your jaw grind, your hand clench in a way you’d been taught by your mother not to - in a way that she’d unfortunately forgotten to tell you was for the cup’s sake, rather than your own.

Because it only takes one harsh squeeze before it just bursts.

Red, red wine trickling all down your wrist, splattering onto the gauzy curve of your gown - but more importantly, onto Naoya’s crisp suit. 

It bleeds through the velvet in thick smears, seeping into the fabric as if catching on fire. Only staining further and further with each second he’s flailing frantically to wipe it off. 

“Shit- My apologies- oh, shit-” you’re gasping, but there’s no one paying enough attention to tell you off for your unlady-like profanity right now. Body moving before your mind, you snatch some of the officiary’s papers from him, “Wait, it will only get worse- let me-”

Only to forget what was in your hands.

Honestly, if this was any other time you would have laughed watching the rest of the wine nestled safely in your cup come gushing down onto whatever was left of his unmarred suit - every single inch. 

It’s chaos.

Then it’s silence. 

Every single breathing being in the room can only watch as the last few crimson droplets drip! drip! drip! onto Naoya Zenin’s lapels.

Wordlessly, you look to the aghast officiary, your stony-faced parents, and finally, your gaping fiancé. You’re the first to speak - to hold back your chuckles, more like. “I- I cannot apologize enough…”

“You- you witch! This was on purpose, wasn’t it? Do you know how much this custom suit cost? How it was worn by the late highness himself.” Naoya’s screeching, voice shrill. Pointing a finger accusingly at you, it would be menacing if it wasn’t for the big, fat droplets of red dripping from his angry features. More of a drenched cat than the gentleman he pretends to be. “Remember that I’m doing you a favor by marrying you-”

You cross your arms, struggling to keep composure. “I shall reimburse-”

“-and acting all haughty as if you were from the royal family itself.” he’s frantic, mouth running a mile a minute. Tugging at his wet strands, “And my hair, oh my beautiful beautiful hair-”

“I shall reimburse the emotional damages, too!”

Dutchess Zenin tackles her son into a soothing embrace you find almost comical, granting you with a venomous glare that you were sure if looks could kill, she’d be lowering you into your grave and waltzing over it with Naoya already.

Simpering, “It’s quite alright my poor boy, this wedding cannot take place! We can find another-”

“No no no- no, I still want to marry her-” His greedy eyes sweep your trembling figure up and down, “Doesn’t matter if she’s an unfit wife, I’ll fix her up-” You’re quirking a brow, “Swear I’ll marry her and fix her up into-”

THUD!

You’re throwing the cup remaining in your hand as hard as you can, hitting Naoya right in the bullseye of his chest. And as soon as the air leaves his lungs, they leave yours too - in a stubborn, infuriated hiss, “Well, I’d never marry a spoiled, pompous brat like you.”

And with a flick of the stray beads of wine on your fingers at his face for good measure, you lift your heavy skirts as scandalously far as they’d travel to dart out of the door.

Out of the winding corridors. 

Out of the Zenin Estate. 

Ignoring every call of your name, every arm reaching out for you - urgently following your feet wherever they took you. Honestly, you’re so busy gasping in deep lungfuls of the cool, fall air embracing you that you’re half-surprised you only crash into a few people on the streets. 

Again. And again. And again and again, yet never stopping. Afraid of being followed by Naoya. Or even worse - your parents.

You barely even slow down until your tailored shoes crunch against gray snow, eyes taking in lines upon lines of towering trees in front of you. Tall, towering. Weaving their branches with the sky - ominous, almost, against the steadily darkening night creeping its way in.

The forest, you’re realizing with a gasp. Have you really come this far? 

Taking a glimpse over your shoulder at the twinkling lights of the town in the distance, you think of the vows that were waiting for you, and the town rumors you’d definitely sparked. Well, a walk to cool off wouldn’t hurt…

And despite wanting to relax, your thoughts only churn with each step. Replaying the scenes from earlier over and over and-

“And your cup will always- fuck- they probably think I’m such a fool.” you’re spitting, kicking at a pile of snow. “Fuck Naoya and his vows, fuck that stupid wine, should’ve shoved it up his-” 

Just then, a sudden gust of fall air puffs up against your ear, sending goosebumps careening down every bit of your exposed skin. You shudder sharply, hands shovelling for warmth inside your gown’s pockets, “Ugh, today’s such a horrible-” Only to cut yourself off with a gasp- “This is…”

You feel for that metallic cold again, hastily pulling out that solid, silvery ring. Meant for Naoya Zenin.

Admittedly gorgeous, an intricate band with a delicate sapphire embedded in its middle. Your mother had spent months tracking down the best jeweler in the country to forge a ring that even the Zenin’s would be impressed with. 

Fit for a king.

You scoff, “An unfit wife, my ass. It’s not even that difficult.”

Still feeling highly insulted, and only slightly embarrassed for it, you clear your throat. Speaking clearly into the stiff air, “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” Determinedly you stride your way into the middle of a slight clearing, “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.”

Grasping a stray branch, you mock lighting the altar candles. “With this candle, I will light your way in the darkness.”

Before setting down on one knee - customary for the groom, yet feeling so right when you gaze down at a tree root sticking up from the blanket of snow. Poised like the prettiest of fingers at the foot of a towering oak.

“With this ring,” You’re sliding it down easily as you would have to onto the man you hated the most. “I ask you to be mine.”

.

.

.

You don’t expect the sudden shift. 

You don’t expect the wind to pick up, you don’t expect for a murder of crows to materialize from the midnight darkness and crowd on a tree right behind you. Letting the tree root slip from your fingers, you whirl around - what- a storm?

But before you can think of any answers, that withered branch shoots further out of the ground. Barely giving you a split-second to jump backwards before cupping your cheek, gently. 

And you could’ve sworn that one twig glides across your cheek - just the way one’s thumb would have. Like the softest of lovers. 

Gasping in fear, you fall backwards, splaying out into the uncomfortably bone-chilling snow below.

You can only watch as the tree root twitches once. Twice. And your ears thunder with the high-pitched howls of the wind, and a sudden, booming bang! bang! bang!

Shit. 

Your eyes widen, it was coming from under the ground. 

The ground that was splitting open before your very eyes. 

Wider. And wider. Like something was baring itself before you. Something was clawing all the way from hell, that tree root only surging up, up, upwards in a long, limb-like fashion. Branching out into five fingers that dig their way into the ground. Hard. 

And if you didn’t think you were about to faint from just this - you were definitely on the verge of it when the fingers lead their way into a forearm, a shoulder. Miles upon miles of skin - a person, towering above you, silhouetted by moonlight.

He looks at you with sapphire eyes. Close. 

A man.

Beautiful. 

Whispering, “I do.” Nose to cold nose, thick white lashes fluttering shut. “You may now kiss the groom.”

---

You’re barely half-awake when you realize that that was probably the strangest dream you’ve had in your life. 

Groaning, you rub blearily at your eyes - yet, through the bursts of stars and pounding flashes of headaches, all you can think about is him and his chilling lips on yours.

Soft, like a leaving lover.  

Even in your most feverish of dreams, you’d never conjured up anyone so ethereal. Tall, powerful despite the almost-sickly air about him, and the deep circles underneath his gleaming eyes. 

But so gorgeous - sorrowfully so. 

The image burned permanently into your mind, like your most favorite of memories. Every tiny detail down from the almost-blinding reflection of the moon against his cloudy hair, to how that illuminated his soft smile - that tiny dimple at the corner of his pert, pretty mouth. 

You remember how he wore a wedding suit, the kind that nobles these days wouldn’t dare touch with a six foot sword with how it looked centuries out of fashion. Stark white, with fine silver detailing down the velvety fabric for you to admire.

How ironic, somehow, the thought made you sad.

But most of all, you especially remember the way he looked at you.

Just like he was right now.

“Ah!”

“Now that’s not usually the reaction I- fuck!”

He was real. So painfully real.

And clutching his face where you’d claimed a swat at one of high cheekbones.

“Ouch, my wife has a real good arm on her, huh?” Blinking back the haziness in your eyes, you catch sight of that same summer blue gaze, eyes crinkled slightly at the ends. Tender, despite being attacked by you less than a minute after gaining consciousness. “Though, I love a strong woman.”

“New arrival! Looks like we got ourselves a breather-”

“Looks like she fainted, is she alright? You know we can’t keep her long-”

“Can I touch her? Looks so soft~”

White - white fills your vision, too-late are you realizing that you’re being pressed into the soft coat of his chest. Inching you away from a hulking, four-armed creature, he mutters, “She’s my wife, you curse.”

“What-” It takes you a few more seconds to finally find your voice. In those moments you look up to take in his boyishly pretty features - about your age. Human, had it not been for that otherworldly faint blue pallor. “Is this a joke? Where am-”

Choking on your words as you take a sweeping look around the - tavern? Realm? It looked like the very same one in your own town, except bright. Musical. Everything that your home wasn’t. Finding faces you could never imagine looking at you - some beautiful, some mere skeletons, all taken out of your wildest dreams. 

And all dead, it hits you with a jolt. 

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt safer in his arms. 

“Something wrong, my love?”

You pinch yourself, “I need questions- now.”

“You mean answers.” One from the pub crowd scoffs - a towering man, handsome. He’d look ever-so-ordinary if it wasn’t for the completely skeletal arm on his left side. And of course, that same death-like serenity. “Honestly, Gojo, you picked an airhead or what?”

The man that still held you - Gojo, you assume - whines in protest, “Shut up, Toji. I’d always love her regardless- and she said her vows so perfectly.”

“I did…” you breathe.

Shit. 

Shit shit shit- you did.

Cocking your head, you ask. “Who are you?” 

He’s rolling his eyes, gifting you a crooked grin of pearly whites. “Your husband, obviously?”

And before you can pinch yourself again to make sure you weren’t dreaming, and that last time was a fluke - or perhaps smack him again - Gojo shows off one slender hand. Naoya Zenin’s ring adorned proudly across his ring finger. Your ring. With your vows. 

“So…” you let out a giggle of still disbelief. “You’re the tree-”

“Not quite but-”

“Oh! I love this story- could make a skeleton cry.”

“Heh, yeah yeah sing it, king of curses.”

“Please don’t.”

“You see, welcome to the Land of the Dead, doll.” A man with pink hair sets down his drink to throw one of his four arms around your shoulder, much to Gojo’s chagrin. Words dripping with taunt,  “N’ lemme tell you the story of our lovely corpse groom.”

You’re dragged along through the crowded, eerily lit tavern, everyone jostling each other to better get a look at you. Poking and prodding, some even gasping at the feeling of your thundering pulse. 

He hums, “Here we have a pompous prince known miles around-” And you could tell him and Gojo had already known each other long, with how he was toying with the other man. “-fell hard and fast for a cute lil’ peasant girl much like yourself-”

“Sukuna, stop it.” Gojo grits, jaw clenched. 

“-but, alas. When dear ol’ dad the king said ‘no’, he jus’ couldn’t cope. So our dear lovers came up with a plan to elope-”

You’re thrust into the arms of an attractive blond man, almost half of his entire face held together with stitches and bone. Heaving out a sigh in a way you could very much feel akin to, “Meeting up late at night is always a stupid plan, even with all the wine and riches for the road. You might not need much when you have love, but you never know what’s lurking. And, well, on that dark night, our prince here paid the price.” When you look back at the white-haired man his eyes seemed significantly softer, if that was even possible. 

Toji’s the one by your side this time, “Poof! Dropped dead as dust waiting for his dear girl, no evidence, no body, no bride. What a crybaby he was when he arrived. Didn’t even want to stay here-”

“-because then he made a promise to wait upstairs.” Another man - with such gorgeous, long hair makes himself known this time. Forehead littered in strange stitches, as if it’d been opened and fixed many, many times. “And waited and waited asleep for one hundred years to this day until out of the blue, you came along, sweetness. The lovely bride, to our corpse groom.”

You. 

And Gojo looks at you like he can’t look away.

Lone, standing there with his arms open as the story tapers out. Waiting. 

Until you came along.

---

“HERE YE, HERE YE…FUTURE BRIDE OF ZENIN HOUSE SEEN LURKING IN THE FOREST WITH A MYSTERY MAN– now for the weather…” 

“What?” your mother hisses at the bellows of the local newsman, well, rumor-spreader, more like. But he’s never been more useful than now. Sneaking an urgent glance at the stunned Dutchess Zenin by her side, she elbows your father, “We come outside to search for our daughter only to hear this? How could we let this-”

“Maybe it’s a ah- slow news day?”

They’re interrupted by a sudden, sharp clearing of one’s throat - dripping with the distinct tone of condescension that only a member of the Zenin family could possess. “We are one bride short for the wedding tomorrow. What a scandal!” 

“Ah!” she’s gasping. Waving her hands frantically, “W-we promise we’ll find her before the wedding-”

“You better.”

“No.” Naoya Zenin’s voice was brimming with something dangerous, an eerie, steady lilt of determination to it. But he’s not even looking at anyone in the group, eyes trained firmly on the woody entrance to the forest in the distance. “I’ll be the one to find her.”

Finally, something that seems to appease the huffing matriarch.

Only leaving her sullen son with a nod of approval, “And Naoya…” She makes sure the other two bothers were out of earshot, greedily scurrying back to the warmth of the Zenin household. “Remember, the ah- family funds are drying up. Hurry.”

---

Gojo Satoru, you learn, was as nervous about this marriage as you were.

“This is where I always visited after first dying.” he muses, ice-cold fingers wrapped snugly with yours as he guides you gently through various crooked stairs and skeletons of town. “The view takes my breath away- well, if I could breathe, that is.”

You’re startling out a laugh that has both of you surprised, and he turns to you with such breathless awe. 

“Beautiful.”

“What-” your eyes widen - and you don’t know whether it’s from his sudden little compliment, or from where you two had finally stopped walking. 

A steep cliff, overlooking the entire, vast town of multi-color lights. The rigid structure from where you came could never compare. Complete chaos. But as pretty as those paintings you read about in books, views you never thought you’d see. 

You rest your hands atop the spindly barrier surrounding the very edge, marveling. “It is beautiful…”

“It is.” Gojo’s tone is rich, and his eyes never stray from you despite all else there is to drink in. It takes you a few moments of counting all the bustling figures in the distance before you finally mount up the courage to meet his hypnotic gaze. 

Gojo jolts when you look his way, as if he wasn’t expecting it. Hastily, he flusters to pat down the sides of his suit - tattered at places, patchy as if once-pristine but ruined with age. He’s smiling once he ruffles through his breast pocket, pulling out something glinting.

You’re letting out a tiny gasp when he shows off a silver, heart-shaped locket. Intricate, obviously custom-tailored - you’d never quite seen anything like it. Positively beaming with all the shine that the rest of him had lost. 

Treasured. 

“It’s for you.”

“What?” Your jaw falls slack in shock, pushing away Gojo’s held-out hands. But he was ever-persistent. “Please- I can’t, that- that looks like it should be for someone precious.” 

“And it is.” 

This was the firmest you’d heard his sing-song voice, and at your slightest split-second of faltering, he snatches the opportunity to circle his hands around your neck. Deftly clasping it from behind, Gojo only smiles, soft pads of his fingers lingering at your nape. “I’ve had it for years.” You wanted to know exactly how many years that meant. “Consider it a wedding gift~”

Your own dust over the cool metal pendant, heart lurching. “If only you let me know about our wedding in advance, I would’ve gifted you something, too.”

“Heh, you don’t have to.”

“Do too”

“Do not.”

“Do too.” You cross your arms, boring your eyes into his. “I’m not going to be an unfit wife.”

There’s a second of silence. 

One.

Two.

And at this point, you half-expected your parents and Naoya’s to just burst from behind the nearby stairway to tell you this was all some elaborate test - before Gojo just explodes in peels of cackles. 

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I- hah!” he’s barely able to wheeze out, wiping away stray tears of joy. “You never change, huh-” 

It takes the embarrassed tapping of your feet for Gojo to finally straighten back up to his tall figure, muttering out a few more indiscernible phrases underneath his breath. Clearing his throat, “Now who said you’d ever be an ‘unfit wife’, sweetheart- Y’know I really didn’t believe Toji’s airhead comment but- oh-”

You land a half-hearted punch solidly in his stomach - and usually, you’d think twice, thrice before acting this familiar with anyone. Even then, you wouldn’t follow through underneath your mother’s watchful eye. 

Ah, but you’ve never smiled harder when you claim. “I think I won our first argument as a married couple.”

“Oh, can you do this f’me when I have an argument with Sukuna, next?” Gojo chuckles, wiggling his brows. 

He has to dodge your playful hand a few more times - well, he would have had to. But he’s taking them all gladly, pulling you by the wrist to press you flush against his chest. “But fine, you win. Maybe as a wedding gift we can consumm- I’m kidding I’m kidding- follow me, I have the perfect idea.”

And you couldn’t not come with him, with the way that Gojo was eagerly dragging you through the town plaza and back into the now-empty tavern, where you’d remembered had a grand piano nestled away.

Gojo’s pulling out the seat for you, before promptly taking his own flush beside you. Nudging you with one of his shoulders, he starts up a beautifully haunting few lower notes. Delicate. “You don’t have to play, you can listen if you’d like-”

“Hey, I know this one.” you’re gasping, eyes lighting up with the recognition of that familiar somber from the Zenin house. But something about it this time felt so right. 

Before you know it, your hands are moving faster than you can hold them back, joining Gojo in his sweeping melody on the higher notes. It rings in the air around you two, jostling your body up against his. 

“You know it.” he breathes, such a brilliant grin making way onto his pretty features when you two continue your little duet. And you swear you could hear him suck in a sharp inhale before playing even harder on the keys - a challenge.

And you were never one to back down. 

“Heh, you’re not half bad-” But his own little boast gets cut off by Gojo’s half-skeletal wrist snapping off, twiddling up, up, up the grand piano and on its merry way around your shoulder. “Pardon my enthusiasm, my love.”

You help him reattach it back, an interesting quirk of being half-dead, you suppose. “I like your enthusiasm.”

There’s a slow, stuttering silence that echoes afterwards, and you’re shivering from the slightly cold bite of the underground. Gojo wraps his full arm around your shoulder this time, and you don’t have the heart to tell him that he was still bone-cold. 

“How…” he gulps, barely meeting your eyes. “How did you know that song?”

But you couldn’t tear yours away from him, “Oh? That song? Well- before I uh- married you, I was actually engaged-”

His pretty lips fall slack, “Oh…”

You’re not sure why you hasten to explain yourself, “B-but he was a prick- and I threw a wine cup at him just before coming here.”

“That’s my girl.” Gojo winks, and you’re feeling your skin heat up.

“Anyway, this song was to be played at the wedding. So my mother made me memorize every single note- she failed to tell me it was a duet, however.”

“It was.”

Something about those two words comes out breathless, barely hanging on. And you’re biting your bottom lip ragged before the question escapes you, “You were engaged, as well? Before- as a prince- I mean- oh, forget-”

To your surprise, Gojo only chuckles - deep voice breaking ever-so-slightly at the very end. His fingers glide across the piano with a familiar sadness that you can’t quite pinpoint. Chest rumbling, “Well, it’s just as the others said. We were meant to run away together, but your dear ol’ husband here died just before we could.” 

You’re swallowing the lead that’d seemed to piled up heavily in your throat, still afraid to push too far. “And the- the bride? What happened to her?”

“I…don’t know…she probably saw I wasn’t there and went back, had a happier life with a more deserving husband- children, even.” He looks towards the perpetual night sky, Adam’s apple bobbing heftily. “It’s funny- today’s a hundred years since that day.”

Something hurt. And your chest churned at the thought of him waiting and waiting in the darkness for years. For someone.

“You loved her?”

He looks at you - really looks at you - and then down at the gleaming locket. “I love her. And I made a promise, I wait for her - in life and death.”

Something really hurt - and it wasn’t just that hollow, aching burn in your chest. No, your head was now throbbing with such a splitting pain that you can’t help but grab your temple with a yelp. Eyes scrunching shut with tears, trying to down out that drilling thrum. 

“Shit-” you’re hearing, foggy, like it was in the distance. “Shit shit shit-” Big arms wrap around you, “Are you alright? Shit-”

The swinging pub doors slam-

“What happened?”

“The bride from upstairs-”

“She’s still here?! She already dead or what?”

More and more voices are joining in - and you’re not sure if you’re thankful that they drown out that harrowing thunder of blood in your ears or angry that they’re making it ache more deafeningly in response. 

“Please- space.” Gojo’s stern command rings across the plaza, for a moment of clarity you’re thinking that he’d make the perfect leader of sorts. The perfect prince. “My wife needs space, and you all will leave-”

Nanami’s strict tremor was distinguishable anywhere. “What she needs is to go back upstairs, Gojo.” Another pair of rough hands grasp your shoulders, and you hear a growl from above you. “With fresh air, with her kind. I don’t know what fantasy you’re playing out but she needs to be back with the breathers, down here isn’t good for her.”

“But-”

Just at that unfortunate moment, your head wracks with another painful burst, making you cry out. Clinging onto Gojo’s soft jacket for dear life. 

“But she’s my wife.”

Everyone goes quiet. 

You were sure he was crying now, and oh how badly you wanted to reach out and comfort him. But, instead, Gojo’s the one soothing a hand down your back, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. He breathes in deep, grounding gasps by the chain of your locket, “N-nanamin’s right- we- I have to get you back.”

Your eyes shoot open, “What- no-”

“It’s for your own good.” Pressing a slow kiss to your forehead, “Trust me.”

“But-”

“Please?”

---

Gojo Satoru had spent so long in the darkness, that he’d almost forgotten how beautiful the moonlight is.

Even more so when you were by his side. 

“Oh…” And despite not having a beating heart, he swears he could feel it racing at the crisp scrunch! of freshly fallen snow underneath his polished shoes. Arms immediately wrapping around your waist, twirling you to him, “How I missed the beautiful upstairs.”

You’re giggling, batting your lashes up at him. “Well, you’re not doing much sightseeing right now, are you, Gojo?”

“Please.” He rests his icy forehead against yours, waltzing you slowly around the clearing. Your first dance. “Call me Satoru, I would like to part ways having heard my name on your tongue once, than not at all.” 

And ah, it hurt him more than that dull, spreading pain of death to simply see your expression crumble. Lower lip wobbling when you whisper, “Do we have to?”

It’s as if that tiny tremble in your voice jolts him back to his senses, and he’s letting go of you as if you burned. Turning his back so that you won’t see him swipe underneath his dampening eyes, “We do.” he nods solemnly. Still gazing out through the barren trees, the snow breaking in. “But I would…if you’d like- I would really like you to say my name just once.”

Nothing - not one of your quipping insults, not even one of your sweet, sweet giggles. Gojo could barely even hear that shallow breathing of yours. 

“My love?”

Nothing.

Gojo whirls around, “My love?”

Nothing. 

---

“Let me go let me- go-” you spit, voice dripping with a deadly growl that should decidedly not be used in front of your future in-laws. But you didn’t give a fuck right now. “I will never- ah-”

Unceremoniously, you’re thrown like a mere debris in front of Dutchess Zenin’s gold-tipped boots, hands splaying out against the cool marble to dredge up some ounce of balance. You look up into her burning glare, hissing, “I will never marry your son.” 

But it’s like you’d never spoken at all.

She’s turning to Naoya, stood proudly behind you, holding back his snickers. “Ah, my son-” Reaching her arms around to brush off the soft pattering of snow down his coat. “-I see you’ve brought your wife back.”

“Of course, mother.” he’s humming. “Had to walk all throughout that crummy forest until I saw her-” At this, he’s turning towards your parents, who could only watch from the sidelines. “-with another man no less- well, can’t quite call him that if he didn’t even see his woman being dragged off into the dark.”

Dutchess Zenin cackles,and the sound makes you grit your teeth. “That other man is my husband-”

“What?” 

It’s your own mother speaking this time - eyes widened. Fuming. She comes up to you in a few urgent, sharp strides, grabbing at the now-torn and frayed edges of your gown. “What nonsense are you speaking-” Sneaking a glance at your father, “Our daughter seems to have lost her mind, dear.”

He’s just a bit more gentle - cautious, almost. As if confronting a cornered wildcat when he ruffles through your pockets for the ring. Finding none. 

You’re wrenching yourself away, “I’m fine- but father, listen- I was practicing my vows in the forest-” Every eye was on you know, and oh you’ve never felt more of a spectacle. “-and I put that wedding ring on a tree root- and it- it came alive and oh- he was a groom. A beautiful corpse groom-”

“That trip to the forest must have bogged up her mind- yes yes, she must be imagining things.”

“Of course, but the wedding…poor dear-”

“The only thing she’s good for is the money.” Dutchess Zenin gruffs, tired of hiding her disdain. “And maybe a free trip to the hospi-”

“The wedding will take place.” Naoya cuts in gruffly, snapping his fingers at a nearby attendant and pointing at you. “Call the officiary, and as for my future bride, I don’t care if you must force her into that wedding dress, I don’t care if you have to drag her here - she will marry me one way or the other. Now.”

It’s like you’re a puppet - their puppet. Being rapidly walked and bathed about, dolled-up in a white, silken wedding dress that you could never see yourself standing in next to him. 

It fits you like a glove, attuned to your body as if it was made for you - and you almost hated how beautiful it was, adorned with tiny silver inklings and the most delicate of lace. Made with too much love to be borne out of this dreary household, but when you turned to ask your jittery handmaiden about it, she’d only cryptically answered about “the dress being with this family for a long, long time.”

No one here seems to give you answers.

Or grace.

Or anything but locked windows that you crack a nail or two attempting to open and flee and a long, decorated aisle to walk down to your future husband. Naoya. 

Your throat tightens when you’re stepping back into that hallway - now flourishing with bouquets of blue, blue baby’s breath, and twinkling candles. It was almost colorful, for this town, at least.

You shudder out a teary sigh when the tender piano starts up again - the exact same tune you’d played with Gojo. But cold. And suddenly, you’re realizing that you never asked him how he knew the song.

“Pssst! Walk!” Your mother’s high-pitched hiss is enough to snap you out of your little reverie, glassy eyes snapping up to look at her urgent signal to hurry up.

And so you walk, but not to the one man you wanted to.

Naoya’s smirk lies as smugly as ever when you take your place beside him at the altar, poised, and perfect in his pressed suit, his glinting sword. Whispering snidely from the corner of his mouth. “Smile a little, it’s a wedding after all.”

You keep your gaze trained firmly on the officiary starting his speech, “Perhaps in disappointment, we are perfectly matched.”

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this bride in holy matrimony-” Gesturing a wrinkled hand at Naoya, “You may begin first.”

He raises his hand in a solemn oath, razor eyes boring relentlessly into yours. Voice dangerous, humming. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” This time, he was pointedly the one to pick up that cup on the altar table - a steady, unbreakable metal this time. “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.” 

Your trembly fingers wrap around the bottle of wine, starting to slowly pour. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty for I- I will be…”

Shit.

Shit, you can’t do it. 

Your words struggle to come out, and you could burn in the sheer anger already wafting from Naoya. 

“I will- I will be-”

“How scandalous to marry an already-married woman~!”

The gasp that echoes throughout the hall is almost as deafening as the booming crash! of those towering, mahogany doors being swung open. Clattering against the walls so hard that your teeth chatter with vibration - but you didn’t care. Didn’t even feel it because you’re too awe-struck by what was standing in front of you.

Or more accurately, who. 

“Satoru!” The tears are falling hotly down your cheeks, you barely have the patience to lift up your layers upon layers of gauzy skirts before stumbling your way into his arms at the very end of the aisle. Ready. Ever-loving. Catching you easily like he’d been waiting a hundred years for this very moment. 

“I thought you left me waiting.” he breathes.

“I would never- and- and you’re here.” 

“Mhm–”

You can’t help but let out a laugh, “How did you even know where to find me?”

“Our duet- there would be no other but this house that would know it-” He wraps his arms even more snugly around your waist, white locks tickling your nose. “And you did promise to lift my sorrows, what type of husband would I be if I didn’t do the same?”

“You. You- What- what is the meaning of this?” Dutchess Zenin’s squawk tears through your little moment, she’s whirling into a furious stand, fists clenched. “Married woman- husband? You’re dead!”

Gojo remains calm, sapphire eyes narrowing, “I am.”

But the ever-composed woman you’d feared for so long was now running her mouth a mile a minute, half-ripping out chunks of hair in frustration as the officiary held her back from storming her way towards the two of you. 

“You’re dead you’re dead you’re dead-” she screeches, and even Naoya could only watch with his mouth fallen. “You’re dead- my family made sure of that-”

She stops short, mouth opening and closing in a gasp until you breathe, “M-made sure?”

“Yes-” She’s fighting against the hold, still muttering to herself maniacally. “Shit- we made sure to- oh god why- do we have to kill you all over again! Your wretched Gojo royal family is wiped out- I still- I still have the power, the riches- All because we left you-”

“For dead.” he whispers. You’re too shocked to gasp - to do anything but look up at his reaction. “But she came back to me.”

“Her? This one- Once more you found that insignificant little-”

And at this very moment, Naoya just bellows in a guttural scream, everything his mother was restrained from doing with how he’d closed the gap between you two in a few urgent seconds. One hand wrapped roughly around yours, “I don’t care- You forget she was engaged to me first.”

“She’s still my wife.” Gojo spits. 

“Not if you’re-” Naoya’s unsheathing his sword haphazardly. Swinging. “Dead!”

Schwing–!

It would have been sure to hit you. 

Would have been sure to gravely injure your side - if Gojo hadn’t deftly moved himself squarely in front of you, that is. The sharp blade slicing right through his ribs - yet, he still smiles. “You forget I already am.” In one, fluid motion tackling the sword to holt at its bejeweled hilt - pointed right at Naoya’s chest. “Let go of me and my wife, before you join me.”

It’s silence.

Silence and the smell of fear. Sour, and saturated when Naoya’s stepping away, one unsteady foot after the other-

“I will ruin you as my ancestors have, Gojo brat-”

Dutchess Zenin.

Your body moves before your mind - before any form of thinking, as if on instinct. Yet, you already knew what was coming. 

And soon enough, you’re standing in front of a stunned Gojo, face splattered with the red, red wine in her silvery cup. Drip! drip! dripping down your stained lips and onto the marbled floors. 

But something about it tasted bitter. 

Different.

.

.

.

And all of a sudden - you see dark.

“Poison! By gods, the wine was poisoned!”

“How will the wedding go on?”

“No- no no no I just wanted to her sick- to get her will–shit-”

“My love---listen----hear--me?” 

In the foggy distance, you could hear girlish, high-pitched screams that sounded strangely like Naoya’s, and the familiarly dark chuckle of- Sukuna? Sounding ready to pounce on fresh meat. “Heheh, new arrival - and some unfinished business, huh?”

“S’Toru–” you’re whispering, eyes blearily. Heart cold. Suddenly, everything about you was cold. And the only thing you could register right now is the fact that you were still in his arms - always was. “Toru- am I- where am I?”

“You’re here, sweetheart.” he gasps, big fat tears splattering onto your face. The only sense of warmth that you could feel, other than the one in your no-longer-beating heart. And you can’t help but wonder - can a heart be broken even when it stops beating? Because he was living two deaths now - his own - laying there poisoned with wine so long ago on the forest floor, with only the Zenin’s to watch, and you to wait for him much later - and most importantly, yours. “You’re- you’re here, with me.” He places a sweet, sweet kiss onto your lips. “Rest now, I’ll wait for you. I promise- I promise.” 

And through your hazy vision, the only thing that you could quite see was that silver locket you’d never thought to look through, out of fear - sprung open. Baring two grainy, clouded portraits - as good as a photo. 

Of him 

And…you. 

“I’ll always wait for you, in life and death.”

---

“Hey- Toru–” your voice rings out in Gojo’s favorite song, peering curiously at the boyishly grinning prince. “Do you think I’ll be an unfit wife?”

He throws his head back with a cackle, peering through his long lashes from where he was resting his head in your lap. “What- no? Whatever makes you think that, silly girl?”

You’re settling yourself further down the young oak - your favorite little hiding spot ever since you’d introduced your secret lover to it. Grumbling half-jokingly, you thread your fingers through his soft, snow-white hair. “Well perhaps because someone refuses to help me do anything in preparation for tonight-”

“Shhh!” Gojo’s bringing a finger to his lips, glancing around over-dramatically. “You never know when my father will be jumping from behind the bushes.” At your amused laughter, “N’ besides, doesn’t matter if we’re going to elope, I’m not letting my wife pick up a thing.”

“What- no-”

“I’ll snag my wedding suit- and that specially-made dress for you heh- and get the attendants to sneak out some leftovers from the banquet. The Zenin family has just gifted some wine I know you’ll love.” 

Craning his head to press a slow kiss to your forehead, “We’ll drink, we’ll say our vows- you better have memorized them this time-” And another on your nose, “Then I’ll have you drunk in another way~ ow! Okay okay- don’t hit royalty–! And run away to our happily ever after.” Then, finally, lingeringly on your mouth,“Trust me.”

“But-”

“Please?”

You’re fiddling with the chain around your hefty, heart-shaped locket with a huff, finally caving in. “Fine- but then-” Deftly unclasping it, “-you have the responsibility of keeping this safe, too, I have to teach piano to the little ones in town again today, and if anyone catches me with a piece like this I’ll be hanged for thievery before ever getting married.”

“Our duet?”

“Our duet.”

He twirls that delicate pendant around his fingers, brows scrunching in half-seriousness. “I’ll protect it with my life-” Almost flinging it towards the end of the clearing in his haste to salute you, “Ah- pardon my enthusiasm, my love.”

“I like your enthusiasm, dummy.” you’re rolling your eyes at his antics. “But what if I’m late? The music lessons always take so long…”

“Just meet me here at our place - promise I’ll wait for you, of course. In life and death.”

You never did find out if Gojo Satoru waited for you.

You never found him that night - running late to the clearing, only to be met with no sign of him. Not that night. Not the night after. Night after night, you waited for him - watched as the Gojo royal family fell and the Zenin’s raided their palace, as the town started to grow and you stayed the very same.

With stray hope, even in your final ages, waiting for him and the marriage that won’t take place.

Not for a hundred years.

---

You’re waking up remembering the feeling of those cold, cold lips on yours. 

Finally, remembering.

“Sa-Toru-” you’re gasping, gulping in heavy lungfuls of air before you realize - you don’t need it anymore. Eyes startling open, you wince at the even the dim, heady lighting overhead. “I’m…”

“Dead.”

His words are gentle - just above a whisper, as if anything else will scare you off. But his words have the complete opposite reaction, in fact, you’re reeling him in so close by the silvery lapels of his weathered jacket. Wedding suit meeting your wedding dress.

You feel over his broad chest, and then over yours. Breathing out in awe, “I- I really am dead.”

Gojo’s wincing, running the soft pads of his fingers down your scalp. Massaging, “How- how do you feel, my love?”

Too-late you’re realizing that you’re splayed out on what seems like a plush, engulfing bed. Blankets upon blankets of velvety fabrics covering the surface, like someone had tried their very best to replicate warmth. 

“I think I feel…” you’re muttering, the very corners of your painted lips turning upwards at the way that Gojo was hanging onto your every word. Pretty mouth dropped into a soft oh! eyes wide and true. You just can’t help but drag him into the tightest embrace your joints could possibly handle. “-that I haven’t spent enough alone-time with my husband.”

He laughs - he laughs and laughs like he hasn’t before, like it’d been bubbling up in his throat for years and finally set free. 

“Oh, my love.” Gojo reveres, pressing a trail of hot kisses down the side of your face. Lingering in a languid lick where big, salty tears of yours were welling up. “We have all the time in the world- I just- just- do you remember?”

You’re pretending to think, leaving him careening at all your minute expressions. Finally cracking, “Of course, I remember- all of it, dummy-” Swatting his chest, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He’s gulping heavily, “I always knew that- that it was you the moment I saw your face- you look exactly as you did. Exactly as beautiful as the day I lost you, after all.” Cupping your cheek, “And oh, sweetheart, what a blessing it would be to marry you. But how could I ever tell you when you didn’t even remember me? How could I so selfishly ask you to throw away something so dear as life for me? Even for a promise?”

“I would have done it.” you’re pouting, brows scrunching. 

“Exactly.” 

“I waited for you, y’know. For years, until my death. No ‘deserving husband’, and no children.”

He gasps a tiny, meaningful gasp. And for all how Gojo loved to run his mouth, right now he only presses a sultry kiss to your forehead, “But in this life, or the last, or whatever comes next-” On your nose now, “-I’ll wait for you. Always have, always will.” Finally - yearningly - on your mouth, “In life and in death.”

Gojo kisses you like he’s been waiting a hundred years for it - and would wait a hundred more before he can again. 

Pressing one, two. Three steamingly hot, open-mouthed on your spit-glossed lips before moving to trail them down the underside of your jaw. Dragging his raw lips in a messy glide, he’s tittering when all it takes is one sudden bite at the soft spot on your neck to get you to jump. 

“Heh- you never change-” he murmurs into your heated skin, licking down the sting with a slow spread of his tongue. 

“T-Toru–” you’re managing to gasp out despite his relentless attack on your mouth. Making him wrench out such a pained grunt when you pull his face back ever-so-slightly to look into Gojo’s eyes. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Gojo can only cock his head in confusion, gaze still half-lidded and locked on your lips. 

“You’re forgetting your promise from all those years ago–” you’re dragging out in a honeyed-tone, giggling at the way his hulking body squirms impatiently. “-to consummate our marriage.”

And oh.

Oh, Gojo Satoru feels he’s dying six times over already. 

He feels like his bleary head is about to go into overdrive - as was the sudden tightening in his pants. 

“W-well then…” he’s rasping out, voice so ragged, dipping into a husky baritone that for a second you almost don’t recognize it. Two of his long fingers cup your face once more - rougher this time, making your lips squeeze together into an almost-embarrassing oh! “Open that mouth f’me, my love.”

You barely even realize it when you do - not until Gojo’s spitting a thick, translucent wad of his syrupy saliva right onto your lolling tongue. 

Nodding smugly when you’re taking him all, he’s swiping the curve of his thick thumb down that purposeful splatter on the corner of your lips. Because you knew the prince of a nation should have perfect aim, you knew he just liked seeing your dewy eyes flutter. 

Whispering hoarsely against your lips, “I ask you to be mine.”

“Yes-” you’re whining, your hands scrambling down the decadent fabrics of his suit. “Yes yes yes- please- n-need more, Toru-”

And the sound of that cute lil’ nickname you’d made for him in that sweetened tone makes Gojo’s entire body wrack with a violent shudder. Head throwing back, white lashes flickering shut- “O-oh, shit- shit you’re gonna be the death of me-”

But whatever little joke playing on your tongue just dissipates when Gojo’s shedding his outer coat off slowly. Bloodied, silken jacket hitting the ground- bloodied? You’ll have to ask about that later.

And then his mouth is on yours again - teeth clashing, tasting metal, his pretty lips wrapping around your hot tongue to just suck. Lazily, like his favorite candy. 

“So beautiful-” his words puff out in a feverish pant. Chest huffing - no, heaving - you can only keen when you feel something so hard and massive nudge up in a gentle kiss against your high. “So perfect–” The sodden curve of his achy tip dragging in a wet smear down your leg. “So mine.”

As soon as you’re blinking your dazed eyes back open, you’re hit with what looked like miles upon miles of Gojo Satoru. Curving muscles sitting prettily and casting shadow in the low lighting - it made you just drool. 

Shit, when did he even take his shirt off?

“Heh, already so needy, sweetheart?” He kisses up the glossy trickle, groaning into your mouth, “So cute–”

But, of course, you weren’t exactly one to be pushed around, either.

With a low purr, you cup that bulging tent right in-between his muscled thighs. Fingers skimming over inches upon inches of his girthy, solid shaft - he just gasps. “O-oh, you little minx- do you enjoy p-playing with my hngh- sanity?”

With a snicker, it doesn’t take you long to smudge the pads of your digits at that thickly spreading pool of precum. Glossing a thin sheen all the way down to your wrists with how fucking greedily he was throbbing at your touch. 

“F-fuck-” he’s hastily clearing his throat as soon as it breaks off into a pathetic whine. Hips bucking forwards in mindless, staggering gyrations into your hand like Gojo didn’t even realize what he was doing right now. “Fuck fuck fuck- honey, I-”

The neediest little grunts spill from his puffed-up lips, and he’s moving urgently - hastily, when sitting upright to all but rip that bejeweled belt off of his slender waist. Tugging his white pants down, down, down and-

Oh. 

“Fuck, Toru.”

Gojo was so unfairly pretty - all of him.

Even every single inch of his long, thick shaft, smeared with glistening precum sobbing out from his fat, round head. Blushed darker than the rest of him - matching his innocent cheeks right now. So hard it looked painful. 

Twitching over and over in saturated gushes coating his prominently throbbing veins, his tight balls. Your fingers. 

Wrapping tight around his flushed base, he was so incredibly big that you’re worried your fingers wouldn’t even close. Scratching up against those drenched tufts of cloudy white at his toned pelvis, the sight is enough to make you gulp. 

“Yes-” Gojo’s rasping, head thrown back because shit did it feel good to have your pretty lil’ fingers all wrapped around him. Hips stuttering up, up, up- “Yes yes yes- c’mon- c-c’mon my wife-”

Shit, those words spilling from his lips are enough to steer into such a loud moan, and he’s letting his jaw fall unhinged. Jaw-droppingly powerful back muscles flexing when he falls into a hunch, kissing wetly at your lips. 

“Tighter- squeeze ah, squeeze me at my tip-” Gojo’s babbling, drunken eyes so thoroughly locked on where you were pumping your fist back and forth. “Y-yeah hngh- and glide your thumb over just—”

You’re swiping the very tip of your thumb underneath that sensitive slit of his, the slightest touch enough to make him bawl out in a dripping sheen of precum. Reddening even more, his hefty girth in your hand jolts sensitively. 

“S-s’this–” you stagger out, wrist aching when you’re moving it faster. And faster. Ears ringing with the sloppy fap! fap! fap! of your fingers clenching around his thick, circular girth, the splatters of precum it’s forcing from him. Kissing gently down his burning shoulder, “S’this good, Toru?”

And god, how dare you even ask that?

With a sudden groan, he crashes his lips into yours again. Addicted. Growling against your whiny mouth, you’re flinching at the nip of his sharp canines. 

“Oh, yer perfect-” he’s blinking back big, fat tears from behind those glassy eyes. And the soft plane of his palms dance ravenously down your body - all your curves, your dips where your wedding dress was hiking up. But most importantly at your sopping wet cunt. “-so so- p-perfect- any harder n’ m’gonna make ya a pretty momma right now, right here.”

His words come out a burst - a beg. 

In that very heady moment he’s just bullying his thick digits past your soaked pussy - absolutely useless with how fucking translucent it was. Sticking to your sopping wet folds like a second skin that he wanted to rip off. 

“S-so oh!” Sucking in a sharp gasp at the sight of that tiny lace wrapped around his fingers, “Such a pretty cunt, wearin’ such a dirty lil’ thing, naughty girl- who was this for?”

And you couldn’t dare bear to wrench your lips open, to meet that dark glint in Gojo’s gaze. Hooded, such a slow, leering grin growing all over his face when the seconds tumble by. When your softened fingers falter around his length.

“Who was this for?” he’s echoing. “N’ no lying to your h-husband.”

“Toru-”

“Tell me, my pretty wife.”

“It was-” you’re mewling out, choking on your tiny confession when he slides his index solidly down the drippingly wet purse of your swollen pussy lips. Puffed-up and sensitive against where he was rubbing that cool metal ring against them. “-w-was for ngh- N-Naoya- but it was Dutchess Zenin that made me-”

Oh, but fuck - it didn’t matter who made you wear those sinful panties. 

Because it’s only taking Gojo Satoru a split-second to crane his hot mouth downwards and bite down on the very hem of your saturated panties. Biting the edge of your skin only slightly - before just tearing the fabric off with his very teeth. 

He takes a few seconds with his greedy gaze boring into yours, crazed. Canines bared glintingly around that tender lace, he just groans. 

Eyes rolling to the back of his head before spitting it out - and kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before. 

“H-hngh, Toru–” you’re moaning, your fingers half-cramping up with the way they were turning around his swollen cock. Swiveling around the heated bumps of his sensitive spots, the drag of your nails gently down his veins make him shiver. “Feels so- ah!”

And ah, for how much Gojo loved those saccharine sweet moans in your ear, how much he loved teasing you - he was hungry. 

Shoveling all the way into your gummy channel, until your puffy pussy lips were kissing his very knuckles, gushing out in spurts of wet slick down his wrist. Twirling those cold digits, so stark against how toasty you were inside. 

It made Gojo’s thickened tip twitch in your fingers, huffing out a humorless laugh when he was easily knocking against that bulbous bullseye of your g-spot. Pressing down. Hard. 

“Mhm—” he’s purring, nosing down the tender crook of your neck. “Tell me how it feels- hngh- gotta tell me- fuck oh fuck don’ squeeze me like that- ah-”

He’s just wrenching out the most dripping squelches with each rummaging pump into your melty cunt, your walls were just molding around his digits. Sucking him back in like you’re trying to milk out something delicious- fuck, how he wished this was his achy cock right now, instead.

Gojo’s biting down hard at that magical spot on your neck, sending shocks of electricity down your sluttily arched spine. “Can’t- hah- can’t take it anymore- shit- needa be inside you soon. Needa fill ya up soon.”

And he didn’t even have to tell you - you could feel it. 

Building up and up with every relentless such of his glistening fingers. Glossy. 

“Need to make you mine-” he’s gasping, heatedly. Tone cracking on almost a bawl, his hips are fucking into your hand like his little cocksleeve, up all the way from weepy head down to thwack into his pulsing base. Fingers bumping messily into his taut, twitchy balls - making Gojo’s mouth water. “Need to- hngh- need to make you cum! Please-”

Tears crinkling at the very ends of his doe eyes, after every single crash along your sweet spot. Thorough wet glides. “Please please please-”

And it’s whispered over and over like a mantra when you’re cumming - again and again, so hard that you didn’t even realize you’re reaching your high before your tight pussy clamps around his fingers. 

“Yeah- yeah yeah, cum all over my fingers.” He’s thrusting his fingers in and out so rabidly, hitting all your forbidden spots. Free hand pushing apart your quivering thighs even further, “Spread wide- heheh, yeahhh–”

Those sudden slurps sounded so thunderous in your ears, and your maw sags open deliriously in a higher-pitched ah! ah! ah! Grinding your hips down over and over in needy swivels, using him. Music to his ears, making his staggering erection just weep so dangerously- but he can’t cum. 

Won’t cum just yet. 

Not until he’s fucked you through each and every one of your peaks, not until your convulses are tapering out into nothing but tiny tingles. 

And then he’s dragging out his ruined fingers from your sodden cunt - out, out, out. Snapping delicate strings of the mess he’s made of your poor pussy, before pushing them through his lips rawly. 

“M-mmm-” he’s rumbling from the very depths of his broad chest, pecs heaving. And through your half-lucid gaze, you’re spying a silvery dribble of drool down the side of his lips. Moaning at the sweet, sweet taste. “Shit- shit, sweetheart-”

You can’t even react before he’s then spitting a steady stream of wispy saliva down to your sloppy hole, swirling it around with one of his thumbs. 

“Better let her know m’coming back for seconds later.”

You whine all brattily, your hips arching into the perfect buck upwards - which only makes him grin. “Heh- my greedy girl, if I waited one hundred years ya can wait a few seconds.”

It’s so admonishing - and Gojo has never told a bigger lie. 

Because he’s the one that’s so painfully impatient right now, angry cock spewing out a few more velvety waves of precum down your gleaming palm. A low string of profanity rips from his throat, and he’s just diving his hands around every inch of your body he could reach.

Deftly untangling those tedious ties at the back, “Damn these little- forgot how many ribbons I fuckin’- ordered-”

In split-seconds, you’re being flipped over with one fluid push of Gojo’s biceps, sinking your front into the royally soft mattress. You felt like you were in heaven.

“Toru–” you’re whirling your head over your shoulder to admire just how much his biceps flex. Twitching with each eager rip down your bodice. Shaky fingers tightening on the silken sheets, “H-hurry up-”

“Easy there, my love.”

It’s ragged, breathed hotly against your ear, and suddenly Gojo’s resting every bit of his body weight on top of yours to pin you down helplessly onto the bed. Holding your squirming hips captive onto one rough hand attached to them, “Arch jus’ a bite more- please- fuuuck like that yeah-”

He’s taking the opportunity to fling your wedding dress down easily, bunching it somewhere towards the corner of the bedroom - right alongside your bra and inner layers. 

You’re gasping - stunned. 

“Don’t l-look at me like that, I’ve had one hundred hah- years to practice this exact moment with my hand n’ imagination-” 

And then Gojo’s gasping, he’s snapping his eyes open, he’s heaving out the most whiny call of your name when you push your hips back in a wet slide against his painfully hard cock. 

Your folds smacking wetly against his shaft, dragging in a dripping trail along his veins - and shit, Gojo really underestimated how fucking hot you’d feel against his cock. How readily awaiting when his slender hips rut down in a furious push and pull. “This is long overdue.”

“Hey!” you jut your spit-sheen lower lip out when he’s rudely smacking away your hand from the clasp of your locket. “Wha’s that for?”

“Keep it on.” Gojo nips at your earlobe.

And then he’s spitting you open - he’s pushing in. 

Inch by fucking inch of his swelteringly hot cock being shovelled into your gooey cunt, stretching out your snug walls to their limits. Pulled taut. Barely giving an apologetic kiss to the side of your head before Gojo’s circling one big beefy arm around your hips, easily tilting your entire body upwards for him to surge his hips even deeper. 

He gasps, he shudders at the faintest of your wet clenches. “C’mon-c’mon c’mon c’mon- a-ah- you can take it please- please take it f’me.” 

How could you not?

Because every one of his tiny, shallow grinds just to fit in have your mouth dropping further and further open cockdrunkenly. 

“Please-” your hands fist at the plushy pillows, the headboards, craning behind at Gojo’s neck. “Fuck me h-harder, Toru- I can-”

“Ohhh- you play a hah- dangerous game.” He swipes away the stray hairs on your forehead, kissing at your sweat-slicked forehead. “My beautiful bride- my beautiful, beautiful bride - ah- almost makes me wanna m-make you more.”

Just that split-second of sultry shock is enough for Gojo to push in fully - all the way until your thighs sting with the sudden thwack! of his hefty, cum-filled balls, your folds kissing up against his thickened base.

He’s hissing when his achy, rounded tip recoils ever-so-slightly against the spongy mess of your cervix, hitting it relentlessly in harsh jackhammer. Spearheading his fat cock to massage up against all your sensitive spots in a more dizzying way than even his fingers could. 

“Wh-what do you m-mean-” They’re falling from your mouth as hastily as Gojo can pump you stuffed full of his cock. Not even easing into it, starting up a sloppy cadence. “-b-by–”

“Awww, don’ hngh- p-push yourself, my love–” he’s simpering out. But oh his hips were speaking a completely different language from how soothing your husband’s tone was, one hand curling deftly around your throat to reel you in even harsher in sudden swats against his ever-pushing hips. Twirling around the chain of your locket, “What I mean is…”

Both of your half-lidded gazes are downturned to where he feels for that tiny nudge at about halfway down your stomach. Drawing an imaginary line about halfway through, before splaying down all five digits. Hard. “-that m’gonna make ya a pretty momma as well as my pretty wife.”

This little confession is followed by a particularly hard slam! from Gojo’s end, and you dart your hand out to grasp desperately onto the wooden headboard. 

Crying out, “Is- is that even possible, Toru?”

But the only actual response that Gojo can give - that he thinks himself capable of giving right now, with how mind-numbingly your pretty pussy was milking any rationality out of him - is a breathless chuckle. His head throwing back with a whimper, brows knitting together. “I don’t know hah! Haven’t got a fuckin’ clue- but that doesn’t mean m’not gonna fucking try–”

And he was fucking you into the mattress just like it, well and fully intent on breeding your tight cunt. Jostling the locket at your chest with rough, reckless abandon. Every sodden drag down your slobbery walls having those dreams from a lifetime ago about your happily every after playing through his mind.

You, with your drooling pussy painted all white with his potent cum, making such a mess of him that he just has to do it all over again, of course. 

You, all round and glowing - full of him, his heir. 

You, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes - another, tinier set held delicately in your hands. His hair, and your smile. Everything that he’s ever wanted in life and death. 

Stupidly. Pussydrunkenly. 

“Oh oh-” Gojo’s groaning, the sudden bump of your fingers against the sensitive curve of his balls making him jolt back into his reality. His heavenly, heavenly reality. “Aww, have I b-been neglecting you, my love?”

No, you want to scream - but you can’t. 

Because he’s only hiking up a powerful thigh to pressurize his harrowing rams with even more power, and you could feel every flex and ripple of his washboard abs. The spatter of pearlescent beads of sweat setting in with fatigue. 

But Gojo wouldn’t listen in the first place, couldn’t even think of anything that didn’t stem from his achy cock pummeling into you. 

Messily, he’s swiping at those fingers of yours that were currently reaching for your angrily puffy clit, aching for more more more- 

Giving a mean little smack onto where your sensitive nub was drenched in all your sweetened juices, it sends bolts of electricity all over your body. Clinging your gummy walls around his girth so tight. 

“This what y-you wanted?” he rasps by your ear, drawing slow, determined circles on the very peak of your clit. And when that doesn’t have you crying out all prettily for him the way he wanted - Gojo just tugs. Unapologetically. “Tell me- ngh- tell me how it feels, fuck- can feel this cunt gettin’ so soaked-”

“Yes-” you’re sobbing out. Hips now aching with the burn of pushing back into his unrelenting hips - it hurts almost. The sting of his skin against you, the hard collision of his fat head against your cervix. But you want more. “Y-yes feels so good, Toru- need more hngh- need you t-to…”

“What?” he’s spitting. Wild. “Tell me, sweetheart- please- please-”

And, hell, Gojo Satoru wanted to hear so badly that he’s just slowing his hips down every so slightly to let you catch your breath. To answer. 

But what he was actually blessed with was another one of your long, drawn-out whines. Grumbling ever-so-slightly as you jolt your hips back with every one of the thorough swivels of his fingers on your clit. Toying. 

Fucking back harder than ever into his rock-hard dick, the locket just slams it’s cool branding onto the heated skin of your chest-

“Need you to f-fill me up-” you mutter wetly, nothing more than a few gurgles wrenched out when his clashing head French-kisses your g-spot. Drawing wet glides of his steamy precum down it. “-make me a hngh- m-momma, Toru-”

Oh, this might just be his third death ever. 

Because the bed creaks riotously with every one of his ragged rams, in a way that made you glad for the ever-present music of this town. 

Over and over.

“Yeah- shit, gonna make you a p-pretty momma-” he’s babbling away, a mile a minute. So sloppy that you’re barely able to understand what Gojo was saying. “Fill you- up- ngh- so they’ll look at you and see me. All me- all pretty and r-round- me me me- oh—”

Right now, Gojo didn’t give a fuck if his little dream was even possible. He didn’t give a fuck if his moans were turning into whimper, staggering thrusts trudging into the sloppiest of grinds. The neediest. 

Because right now you were cumming. 

That rapid throb of your clit increasing twofold when you’re finally plummeting into your high, wave after wave of pleasure that he fucks you through with heavy pound after pound. 

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, toes curling, flashes of white flitting behind your firmly shut eyes. Fuck, it felt so good. 

And your fingers clench hard around where they were still firmly stationed on the headboard to keep at least an ounce of your sanity. Intertwining with- Gojo’s when he slams his hand down hard enough that the entire bed shudders. 

Or maybe that was just him - because so was he. 

“F-finally-” Gojo’s hiccuping, angling his head just right to be able to catch your pretty lips in what could barely be considered a kiss. Just a sloppy suck of your tongue while he pumps you snugly full of sloshing loads of his cum. “Wan’ed this for- so long- finally hngh- consummate- you- most beautiful ah momma-”

His whines were nonsensical at this point, only growing more and more so with each velvety ribbon of cum being poured around into your tight pussy. You could feel it swashing about your soft walls with every one of your hard, convulsing clenches, painting your insides over and over again in a second, sticky skin of his seed. 

“Yeah- fuck fuck fuck, yeah Toru- hah- m-more-”

And just when Gojo thought the almost-painful clenches of his heavy balls were coming to a close, just when he thought his thick streams of voluminous cum were stretching out into thinner wisps - you have to go and say those syrupy sweet words. 

Fuck. 

He’s gasping, locking his finger with yours even harder on the headboard, “Gonna- ngh- gonna be the death of me I s-swear–”

Oh, and then you looked at him with that fucked-out smile of yours. A sight he’s gifted to see. Humming, “In life and in death, r-remember?”

Bang! 

The headboard crashes down onto the floor. Your back is hitting the now utterly drenched sheet below you before the realization hits you. 

In nothing but a split-second, Gojo pulls out his dangerously twitching cock to manhandle you flatly onto your back. Swiftly, he throws your legs over the curvaceous deltoids of his sculpted shoulder, easily bending you down, down, down into half.

Into the meanest mating press possible.

Dredges of thick, hot cum just ooze down your sopping slit, spreading in a milky circle underneath you. And slobbering down Gojo’s swollen hilt as soon as he plugs himself back in - immediately.

The very divot at the end of his cock quivering - for only a split-second before bursting out in streams of more and more cum. Overflowing. Overspilling out of you.

And he can’t help but glide an open palm over that tiny inflation beginning to form where he’d drawn a line just earlier. One hand pressing down on it hard, the other tweaking at your clit to make your walls clench. 

“Oh f-fuck yeah–” Gojo stutters at the glossy coating of his own seed all around him. Reveling in the toasty feeling again and again until his poor, overworked cock can only sputter out wispy strings of nothing. Shooting blanks. “Gonna breed ya- make ya all round and and- ngh full until you c-can’t take anymore. Until we hahh- have that happy ending y-you wanted.”

You mewl when he’s licking away those glistening tears rolling down your cheeks, “-happy ending w-we wanted hngh- Toru–”

“Yeah-” he chuckles. Pecking at your lips with that salty sweet taste on his tongue, “We wanted. It’s why I didn’t reincarnate like you, my love, unfinished hngh- business here s’to spend a long, long and happy marriage with you, y’know?”

You bat your lashes in sweet disbelief, “That’s- that’s mine, too.”

Ah, he reels you in even closer into his arms. Snug. Ever-loving. Seemingly like he’d never let you go ever again - couldn’t bear to. 

He nuzzles against that now-open locket, eyes peering down at those bleary paintings of you two, as loving as if they were taken just today. And in the back of his fried mind, he makes a note to take newer photos for later. Fingers tracing their familiar pathway to press down on the outer edges of the metal - in only the way he knew how, in the way that you should have been taught all those years ago, but was never able to. 

“Then-” His eyes light up as they always did whenever it came to you, when the tiny mechanisms on the locket open up to reveal a delicate, gorgeous ring. Strangely matching his own. Gojo doesn’t think he’s done anything easier in his life when he slides that ring onto your finger, fitting so perfectly. Not even when he was waiting for you, not even when he’d taken care of Naoya in a way that left his coat spattered and stained with red. “-we’re both lucky.”

It’s only after a few soft, lingering kisses that Gojo finally pulls away - like it hurt to.

And it did, sensitive shockwaves erupting down his overwhelmed length. But none of that shows above his drunken grin when Gojo’s shuffling down the bed, all the way until his hot breath was puffing up feverishly against your sloppy cunt. 

Messy. Drooling.

Making such an utter mess on his tongue when he lets it loll out, swiping up the gushing creamy dredges with a long lick. It was so filthy, dribbling down the sides of his mouth, onto his pinkish tongue-

Just a tease for more. 

“Because I keep my promises, my wife.” his murmur wraps all around your thrumming clit. Tongue swirling a milky gloss all over his pert, raw lips. Only wanting more. Waiting. “In life and in death.”

A/N. THIS- THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE N’ GOT ME IN MY FEELSSSS. Hope y’all have a lovely lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[technicolorfamiliar]

Well, it took me a year, but I watched a billion 50+ Conrad Veidt films. Some good, some great, some so bad that I hope I never have to see them again.

This post is a stand in for the entire second half of this filmic journey -- I'll link the original 5 posts that make up the first part below. But instead of reposting all of my reviews for all of these titles (the original posts for these are on Pillowfort), I'll just share some highlights below the cut.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

Bleaker and darker than I expected, but that makes sense if it's based on a WWI memoir. What happened to Martha was legitimately awful and hard to watch. Stilted performances aside, I would have also liked a whole separate movie about the lesbian spy aunt. But Commandant Oberaertz... [redacted]. He's so hot, despite the character being absolutely awful and creepy and intimidating. I actually said "wow" out loud about his body shape in that costume. That jacket is fitted within a millimeter of its life. How many other films did Connie use this lower register in? Not many, right? It's too much, TOO MUCH. I think this movie took ten years off my life.

I Was a Spy, 1933

Dir. Victor Saville

⭐3/5

Watched Feb 18, Snowgrouse's masterpost

Connie's performance in this is more sympathetic than it has any right to be. The movie very easily could have been sensationalist garbage, and I'm so glad it was handled with relative care and humanity. I liked his whole vibe, I am not immune to party boy Rasputin's charms; "he's got the kavorca, the lure of the animal!" He looks like he stinks, which in this case may not necessarily be a bad thing. I don't even know what to make of all the cooing and baby talk he does with Alexei, or for that matter Drunk!Rasputin dancing and climbing over furniture to get at his ladies. I wish we got to see more scenes with Rasputin and the royal family, how those relationships formed and affected matters of state. We only really get to know about any of that through dialogue among other court officials. And so the emotional turn at the ending was unexpected. The way he cried out after being shot, I've never heard a sound like that come from a human being. Needless to say I did not feel great when the movie ended, but I liked it way more than I thought I would.

Rasputin, Dämon der Frauen, 1932

Dir. Adolf Trotz

⭐3/5

Watched Mar 23, Archive.org

Almost all the performances in this are pretty excellent. The stripped back, realistic style with handheld, newsreel camerawork really suits these actors and the story. Apparently this is a remake of an English film which is based on a play, and it definitely feels like a play. I'm fascinated by this little movie, it's basically an anti-war film about British soldiers in WWI produced in Germany in the early 30s… how did this even get made?? Messages about the horrors of war aside, the homoerotic undertones (overtones?) alone make this a truly unique piece of storytelling for the time and place it was filmed. And those under/overtones are treated pretty respectfully, none of these men are the butt of a joke, how they are with one another is handled with a naturalism that isn't really seen again until maybe the 1950s. And Connie. The range. Can we talk about Stanhope? He's a gruff, messy drunk, a traumatized, hollowed out husk of a man. When Osbourne says something like "you'll be alright when this is over," NO HE WOULDN'T, HE'D BE WORSE. His relationship with Raleigh is interesting too, clearly they were more than casual friends. I didn't believe for a second that the tension between Stanhope and Raleigh was about the sister/fiancée, it's weak, weak I tell you. It's one of Connie's most underrated performances.

Die andere Seite, 1931

Dir. Heinz Paul

⭐3.75/5

Watched Apr 27, Snowgrouse's masterpost

Everyone in this movie looks like a Rankin Bass stop motion character. The ending was abrupt as fuck, Werner Krauss' Jack the Ripper got a lot less screen time and I wonder if they just tacked that onto the end after they realized they spent too much time on Emil Jannings' and Connie's characters. There's a lot of fondling going on in this movie, there's the guy with the bread in the first part, then Connie going all glassy-eyed caressing his globes. Ivan the Terrible is a certified DIVA in that diaphanous, white robe, even with the hard middle part and scraggly beard. What is he doing with his tongue the whole time, though?? Love that he crashes some random girl's wedding, lets her father get murdered by assassins, kidnaps her AND her husband, and brings them both home to his sex dungeon. Connie is doing the most -- the eyes, the gestures, all the greatest hits from his silent film acting tool box, he's whipping them out for this role.

Das Wachsfigurenkabinett (Waxworks), 1924

Dir. Paul Leni, Leo Birinski

⭐2/5

Watched May 29, Archive.org

I didn't like this movie, I just wanted an excuse to post this screenshot. But it actually is a very silly little movie, with what must have been an enormous budget for costumes and sets, and it has some cute physical comedy. Sadly, Connie's in too little of the film to save it from being obnoxious. I did like the Czar's body double who just wanted to work on his needlepoint, and the Court Spanker who was clearly really into his job. And of course Metternich, that sly dog, that velvet-clad scamp. Between the all the foxy, gap-toothed grinning he does and the way he's going to town on that dialogue, he is as always a pleasure to watch. The English version is on Youtube somewhere, so I may go through that and pick out the time stamps for Connie's scenes because I don't think I could sit through this whole movie again, especially not that stupid fucking "Wien und der Wein" song, jesus christ.

Der Kongress tanzt, 1931

Dir. Erik Charell

⭐2/5

Watched Jun 23, Snowgrouse's masterpost

Apparently this movie was considered a flop, and Connie wasn't super happy with this role and others around this time. I think I must have had that info in the back of my mind somewhere going into this movie, because my expectations were pretty low. So, as usual, I actually wound up liking it more than I thought I would. It's a lot sillier than it has any right to be, but yeah it's ultimately a piece of fluff compared to some of the other heavy-hitting films on this list. I love when Connie has a comedic foil like the Marius character, but it could have been a lot better if the dialogue was snappier and the timing tighter. And Connie's character promises to be this bad bitch at the top of the movie, but all we get is one quick, poorly choreographed sword fight and a whole bunch of nothing after that. There's all this build up, I mean, the character is nicknamed The Black Death, and the movie never really lets the character live up to the name. It's a missed opportunity for sure. That said, the Puffy Shirt with the open collar "ensconced in velvet" (to risk yet more Seinfeld references), jaunty hat, knee-high boots with spurs look is really doing it for me. And THERE ARE PUPPIES. Perhaps the most delightful thing that has ever happened in cinematic history. I couldn’t believe it. Connie picked up the first puppy and said, "You big boy, you!" and I hate him, like full Madeline Kahn Mrs. White "flames… on the side of my face." I hate him so much.

Under the Red Robe, 1937

Dir. Victor Seastrom

⭐2.5/5

Watched Jul 17, Youtube

[anniiecrsta]

♬ billy dunne hcs 𖾞 ⁺ 𓈒 ❝ tell me something good, tell me that you love me . ❞

:: billy likes his coffee with cream in it. like a lot of it, to the point where the top is completely white: he keeps a whole packet of those disgusting pre-made coffee creams in his cabinet like its a secret stash of gold. in theory it’s a cappuccino, but if anybody actually calls it that he will actually start freaking out and taking it as a very personal offense. :: he HATES having to use the tv controls, like the buttons straight on the machine instead of just using the remote and he’d just rather not watch the tv if he has to get up every five seconds just to change the channel— on that note, he’s a channel hopper. he can never finish a program in full unless it’s a documentary. :: even if he's not really a movie person, like i said literally only watching documentaries, his favorite movie is a star is born. he always end up crying but only cries in the scenes where he doesn't have to: they could be singing the sweetest song and he's already be sobbing just thinking about the ending. if he's in public, he doesn't even stare at the movie-- it embarasses him. :: billy doesn't wear deodorant. ever, and he never has: the last time he even touched a bar of deodorant was when he was 12 at his gym class in middle school, but as soon as that whole experience was over he never touched it again. he always smells like sweat, garage, cigarettes and pine leaves from his car perfume. of course he uses car perfume in his bus-- if it isn't as clean as can be, it makes him terribly stressed. or at least he'd like it to be clean: he never remebers too and leaves everything on the floor, so he just ends up wound up all day. :: his favorite brand of beer was the buckle dark ale (strong dark ale) when he wasn't sober. he always loved it because in just about 2 glasses of it he was always out like a light and thats a really useful quality if you're someone who's trying to drink the life out of his own body-- not that he actively wanted to die, but at the same time the thought of maybe dying alone on a wooden counter of some bar in the sunset strip, with nothing but a guitar to his name, didn't sound all that bad. ❝ in my mind, when she's not right beside me i go crazy . ❞ :: his favorite season was always autumn: he could still go out and about and do his usual runs, maybe even stopping by the beach with how hot LA is all year round, but at the same time it got dark quick and days lasted less and less everyday. it gave him a bit less time to have to spend with the pain that he felt all day long in his guts. at the same time, billy didn't like days being shorter because it meant even less time to spend with his baby, julia, which seemed to grow quicker everytime he saw her. it scared him. :: loneliness scares him. the thought of being out of control in his own life and being left behind, in not leaving any impact on this world, is what most people think scares him the most, based on how he acts. and he likes it exactly that way: the thought of anybody knowing that his biggest fear is becoming just like the man who ripped his own self worth from him-- his father-- terrifies him, consider he still lives waiting every day for his approval. he lives with the wish to prove that if he had stuck around he could've had a son to be proud of, even if that means lying through his teeth to show everyone that he is exactly who he's supposed to be. and who he's supposed to be, maybe, isn't always the better person. :: when he's alone in his bed, at night, sometimes he likes to close his eyes and think about what his life would be like if he took a completely different choice, even if the choice happened so many years ago that he doesn't even remeber the context in which he took it-- the butterfly effect brings him a sense of comfort, but at the same time he feels that constant, overwhelming dread of knowing everything he does will affect his life when he least expects it.

[chronic-ghost]

Chapter 5 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 7483

chapter summary: Chloe comes home to him, just in time to face you again at the movie’s wrap party. But it seems nothing can stop the inevitable.  

chapter warnings/tags: SMUT (finally), officially infidelity, cheating, accusations of drug use, insecurity

a/n: this is what I imagined Dieter and reader wearing to the party.

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For the first time in a very, very, very long time, one of Dieter’s projects ends on time and within budget. No psychopathic directors, no nitpicking changes to the script, no reshoots because the studio had a stick up its ass.

And – he can proudly say – no trouble-filled, cocaine-fueled hysterical breakdowns from the talent. He’s on the other side, uncomfortable with the silence– the peace – and waits for the other shoe to drop. It never comes. Scott even gives him a specific call out on the last day of shooting for being (and this is a direct quote) “a upstanding leader and insightful character actor, whose commitment to the craft ensured the success of this film.” 

Scott also gave you a glowing review as well, but whatever. 

On top of all that, Chloe comes home two days later. 

She smells like sharp, warm spices, he remembers when he buries his nose in her hair. She walks through the door and she’s in his arms, close to his chest, against that burning knot he can’t seem to shake. He carries her – her suitcases still by the front door – all the way up to their bedroom and, delicately at first, proceeds to ravage her. This body is familiar, he thinks, as he doesn’t even take off her underwear before thrusting his fingers inside of her. He watches her eyes roll back with deep, deep satisfaction and he closes his eyes, committing the sound of her cries to memory, if they weren’t already there. He needed them to paper the inside walls of his brain so he could pluck them down whenever he wanted. His brain needed a renovation. 

“Dieter, slow down, baby,” she mewls, pushing on his shoulder only to tighten her grip on him, twisting his shirt. He wants to beg her to do that to his hair. “I still smell like airport. Lemme take a shower first.”

To prove her wrong, he yanks off her underwear – a little lace thing that he wants to put in his pocket – and dives, tongue-first, in between her legs. He moans as her talons latch onto the crown of his head and he laps at her clit. 

“I don’t give a shit, baby. You taste so fucking good. I need you.” 

And he did. Despite where his fingers and his tongue and eventually his cock went, she made him whole. She smoothed out his rough edges, stroking down this frantic energy he had been carrying for days like wired hair on the back of his neck. He poured so much of him into her that when he came inside of her, this immeasurable weight was gone. 

“What the fuck was that, Dieter?” Chloe pants when they were done. They are both dripping in sweat, skin blisteringly hot, and gasping for painful breaths. “I’m not complaining exactly, but my God, where did that come from?”

He looks up at her, his head on her chest. She’s absently playing with his sweat-streaked hair so he thinks she might not be really mad. He shrugs, his heart still pounding as if it were inside of a drum, and presses a kiss on her shoulder.

“I just fucking missed you.” 

“Yeah, I got that . . .” 

He feels like he loves too strong sometimes. Too much. He squeezes his eyes shut in shame. 

“Did I hurt you? I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Honestly, Dee, just a little. I just got a seven hour flight and you come in like a horny tornado–,”

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to – I just –,”

“Dieter, stop. It’s fine.” She kisses him and his anxiety falters.

“Let me make you dinner, while you take a shower. I’ll rub your feet later, if you want.”

She laughs and he feels things shift, return to normal. “Okay, baby, okay. And, you know, I missed you too.”

He shifts onto his elbows, trapping her below him before she can shimmy off the bed. Her eyes are bright and she’s smiling at him. 

Why would I risk this? Why would I risk her for you?

She strokes a damp curl behind his ear. “What? What are you so smile-y about?”

“You mean the world to me, you know that, right?” He kisses her gently, quickly because there’s more he has to say. “I don’t know who I am without you. I want to be the person you want me to be.”

“Dieter–,”

“I’m serious.” He swallows, shaking his head, suddenly fearful of what he almost lost. “I can’t do any of this without you.” 

It’s late evening and the shadows are long and he thinks he sees one pass over her face for a moment, but then she’s smiling again. 

“Of course, baby. I love you too.”

   The following morning, an invitation for a cast-and-crew screening of the film at Scott Manley’s home comes through the mail. It’s on nice cardstock and everything. With the press circuit coming soon that would take them on the road for weeks, Dieter is inclined to throw the damn thing in the garbage. But Chloe insists. 

“Oh, c’mon, Dieter, don’t be like that,” she says as she rifles through the mail while they wait for coffee to finish brewing. “I wanna meet your co-stars. And from what you’ve said about the director, I think it’ll be lots of fun.”

He crowds behind her with one hand on the island, the other wrapping around her waist, his pinkie digging beneath the fantastic green leggings she’s got on. 

“I can think of something that would be even more fun.” He noses the back of her ear. 

“Dieter, stop. You know I don’t like sex before yoga.”

The coffee pot beeps and she slides out of his arms. 

“Wait, yoga? Now? It’s eight in the morning.”

“I go every Tuesday with Marlene. This isn’t anything new.” She pours in MUD and the smell reminds him of fertilizer. 

He swallows. “But you just got back. I thought we could spend the day together. There’s a new art exhibit that I thought you’d like to –,”

“Dieter, I’ve just spent three months deeply entrenched in the art world.” She glances at him as she pours the sludge-y mix into a travel mug. “I think I’d rather do literally anything else.”

“Okay, then you pick. We can do whatever you want, but I’d–,”

She puts a hand on his chest and kisses his cheek. “We’ll talk when I get back. And we’re going to that party, okay? It’ll be good for us.”

He nods vaguely as she picks up her keys, yoga mat, and coffee and heads out the door without another word. 

Us. Okay. That’s good news. 

Thirty minutes later, he’s out running Griffith park until his knees buckled, sweat soaking the front and back of his shirt, and he’s overworked himself so much he thinks he might puke. 

God, he fucking hates running. 

She does come back, as promised, and they go see a movie. It’s dark and he holds her hand. 

He gets her door for her before the valet can, but his eyes are scanning the grounds, unsure what he’s looking for, but highly aware of an encroaching something. Maybe it was the storm above. If there was any luck, Scott planned for the viewing to be outside and with bad weather, he’ll have to cancel the whole thing. Frowning darkly, he takes Chloe by the hand, tossing the keys to the Jaguar to the boy in a red vest, and starts up the steps of the Tudor-style home two at a time. 

Fuck, he forgot he hates this shirt. The orange color is all wrong and the collar always itches the skin on his neck and–

“Dieter, honey, slow down!” Chloe demands. He freezes and she’s still two steps down, trying to balance up the stairs in heels and a chiffon, plated dress. “You’re running like something’s on fire.”

Immediately, he relents. He helps her up the stairs and rubs her elbow. 

“Sorry, sorry, I think I’m just nervous.”

“Oh, sweetie, why?” She tucks up a fly-away curl across his forehead and he kisses her knuckles, still frowning. “You used to love these.”

Above the slate-gray sky grumbles and the wind rushes the trees surrounding the property. 

“I dunno. I just feel like there’s going to be too much . . .”

He trails off and swallows. There’s not enough words to manifest exactly what he’s so afraid of.

“There’ll be too much temptation, right?” 

His eyes snap to hers. 

She’s frowning sympathetically. “There’s all kinds of alcohol at things like this. And God knows what other shit people are bringing. It brings back bad memories, right?”

It feels like he’s choking. He can only nod. 

“I know, baby. But you’ll get through this. You got through that party at that hotel, right? We’ll just do it again.”

He suddenly wishes she isn’t touching him, isn’t so close with her hand on his cheek. She kisses him on the lips but he doesn’t react. 

“C’mon. We won’t even go near the drinks.” 

He lets her pull him up the stairs. He catches one more glance at the rolling sky. He doesn’t like the tense smell of ozone that’s building. There is too much electricity in the air.

There is a brief moment of reprieve when he sees the inside of Scott’s home for the first time. The tall, cream walls hover in fixed arches over the doorways. The wainscotting is crisp, fine, matching the black edgings and black and white tiled floors in all but color. The furniture and tables are held up by beautiful copper pipes, made soft by wood accents in the knick-knacks and artwork. Splashes of green plants highlight the corners and shadows. The windows are wide and striking, coaxing in every thread of light. The house opens to a long foyer that disappears into the bowels of the house, with a thick stack of white stairs on the right that shrink up to another level. To the immediate left is an immaculate black-and-cream dining set of tables and chairs, and further down the hall, faint music and laughter creeps over the dark hardwood floor.

This is the house of a real, big-time, actual adult. Not exactly his first impression of Scott Manley. 

“Dieter, you were so mean when you talked about this man,” Chloe hisses as she shuts the door behind them. “This place is gorgeous. There’s no Star Wars anywhere. Does his wife work?”

Dieter shrugs, awestruck. He cranes his neck up to try and see where the second floor disappeared to. 

“I have no idea. I never even heard him mention his wife.” 

“He must be a pretty successful director to have a place like this in LA.”

“We’re on the outskirts, sweetheart, don’t sound so impressed.” 

Chloe opens her mouth to respond, when someone down the hall calls his name. “Dieter!”

It’s Scott. Dressed exactly like he did during the entirety of production, with the exception of a black blazer. That is new. He’s a bit pink-faced and there’s a glass of something amber in his hand. He’s smiling and it makes Dieter weirdly uncomfortable. 

“So glad you could make it! These things always go over better when you’ve got your stars!”

He turns to Chloe, but Dieter jumps first. “Natalie’s here?”

Scott’s wet mouth opens and closes. “Erm, well, yes. Why wouldn’t she be?”

He forcefully unclenches his face. “Why does she do anything?” 

Chloe and Scott watch him with uncertainty for a moment, then Scott beams at her. 

“And you must be Mrs. Bravo!”

“Chloe works just fine,” she laughs sweetly and lets him take her hand. 

“I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but Dieter here talked about you so much I feel like I know you like a close friend.” 

He relaxes when her hand slides over his forearm. She stares up at him with her big eyes, her pink mouth grinning. She feels solid next to him, more solid than he is. 

“Did he now?”

So what if you are here? Chloe is here instead and she’s here to stay. He smirks at her and presses a kiss to the arc of her cheek.

“Of course, baby, all good things.” He glances at Scott again, who shifts back and forth on his feet, unflappably uncomfortable with displays of human affection. “Is Heidi here yet?”

“Oh, they didn’t tell you? She can’t come. Production on her other shoot got extended by three weeks.”

“Oh.”

It stings more than he thought it would. Her last email, because that has been the only way to get in touch with her lately, said she’d probably be able to make the wrap party.

“Well, if you’d like to see it,” Scott says, swaying on his feet, “the party is back here.”

And that’s how he enters the wrap party of his most successful project to date. With a beautiful woman at his side and a confidence that oozes. Scott leads them out to a square courtyard, with a single lemon tree in the center. There’s a relaxed beat playing from somewhere in the bushes. The night is cool and there’s a breeze. Everything’s glowing warm. People laugh and drink, peacefully. The waiters slide around offering canapes and champagne. In the garden beyond, there’s a screen and chairs. 

This is it. This is the moment he’s back. Back on top. Everything is right in the world. Everything is exactly as it’s supposed to be. He is where he is supposed to be. 

And then he sees you. 

And you’re still not wearing any fucking pants.

 “Dieter, honey, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

He blinks, his brain not connected to any part of his body. He feels hollow. Smooth on the inside. 

“Dieter. Dieter!”

Her nails dig into his chin as Chloe yanks his focus down to her. There’s something cloudy about the way she looks at him.

“Dieter, what are you looking at?” She doesn’t quite laugh but she tries.

“Nothing, baby, nothing.” He rubs his thumb over her shoulder. He can feel the tension in her neck. “It’s nothing. Just surprised to see this many people. It’s no big deal.”

She frowns, no longer committing to the charade. 

“I’ve never seen you make that face before. It was . . . I don’t know. It . . . scared me. I’ve never seen you look like that.” She repeats. 

He makes sure he’s not trembling when he runs his fingers from her shoulder down to her elbow. “Like I said, I’m nervous about being here, baby. It’s nothing.”

“That’s not–,”

“Dieter Bravo, as I fuckin’ live and breathe!” 

Mark Bronson in a crisp white shirt and black slacks climbs the stairs to the pavilion, his beard tinged with gray and braided down the center. He’s grinning when he yanks Dieter into a hug. He smells faintly like cheap vodka and cigars, but it’s not unpleasant.

A woman follows up behind him, with hair redder than the sunset and a matching red flush. The waitress, who’s name is . . .

“Molly, hey, how are you?” He leans forward and kisses her on the cheek. “It’s been too long.” 

“Hey, you said, you were gonna bring your wife to this,” Mark said, frowning with his hands on his hips. And then he takes Chloe’s hand and spins her. “Now, I know this beautiful creature cannot be your wife. She’s way outta your league...”

“Don’t I know it?” Dieter chuckles as Chloe laughs. Molly hands them both a drink as Mark bows in front of her. His is ice water. 

“Chloe Bravo, you are magnificent.”

“Chloe, this is Mark and his wife, Molly. Mark and I met a few years ago. I’ve only had the pleasure of meeting Molly once.”

Mark snorts as his wife winds her short arms around his long slender waist. “A few years ago? Dieter, it’s been a bit longer than that.” 

“Okay, well, who have you known longer? Me or Molly?” 

Chloe tucks her arms up into his chest and lays her head on his collarbone. He wraps his arms over her back. His grin teases Mark.

“Hey, man, what are you trying to do to me? Get me in trouble?”

“How long have you two been married?” Chloe asks sweetly. She smells like peach tea and, in his pants, his cock twitches. 

“Oh, ‘bout fifteen years.” Mark glances down to Molly. “Is that right, darling?”

“Fifteen this April.”

“Wow! So you must have been through it all. All the crazy celebrity gigs, right?”

Molly smiles and Mark kisses the top of her forehead. 

“Oh, yeah. All the press circuits, red carpets, premieres. I thought the worst was over and then Instagram came along.”

“The studio makes me have an account, darling, I’m helpless to stop them,” Mark laments pitifully and the rest laugh.

“Well, you might have to give this one here some pointers,” Dieter nods to Chloe in his arms, “she’s coming with us on the circuit for Recovery.” 

“What? No, I’m not.” Chloe lifts her head from his collarbone, her arms suddenly like weights against his chest. 

“What’d you mean? Of course you are. That was the plan.” 

“No, it wasn’t.” She pulls out of his grip and crosses her arms. “I told you months ago that my father has a gallery opening this month.”

“A gallery opening? The thing your dad always has going on?”

Chloe swallows as several on-lookers turn as his voice raises. “Dieter, let’s not do this right now.”

“We never talked about this. When did this happen? Were you going to say anything or just leave?” 

The crowd around them goes silent. She glances around, shame thinning her mouth. 

He doesn’t care. He’s not so much angry as he is . . . petrified. He was telling the truth earlier; he can’t do this without her. 

“Dieter, calm down, you’re making a scene.” 

“No! When were you going to tell me?” 

He’s not going to grab her – he’s not his father – but his stomach squeezes like a fist. His heartbeat is somewhere in his wrist and his head and his knees. The wind is suddenly too loud, the chatter is too loud. What is that smell? There are pennies in his mouth, rattling against his teeth. 

“Chloe, can’t you just do this one thing for me?”

“Jesus Christ,” she hisses suddenly with real malice, “everything I do is for you.” 

Her mouth snaps shut when she realizes just how many people were staring. 

The lightning is thick in the air, a spark running in circles against a tinder. 

“Oh, yeah? Then where the fuck have you been the last three months?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. And lower your voice.”

“Is this what it takes for you to have a conversation with me? For you to actually look at me for five fucking seconds? I can barely get you on the phone for more than a minute, if at all!”

“Dieter, you’re being irrational.” Chloe’s eyes are scorching, fierce. She’s threatening him. She’s going to use her most powerful weapon against him. He knows exactly what she’s going to say a second before it comes out of her mouth. “Are you using again?”

Inside of him something breaks. 

He can feel the bend, the crack, the bleed. It wavers in agony.

Whether or not she actually means it is beyond the point. Beyond the pale. He’s trying – he’s been trying – so hard – so fucking hard – and it doesn’t fucking matter to her. His weakest point is her party trick. 

It comes in a rushing wave, overtakes him, drowns him. This is how the spiral hurts. 

He shoves Mark aside, going back towards the house. Back into the heart of this living thing that’s trying to eat him alive. Behind him, he thinks he hears your laugh. High and loud. 

He comes to the first door he finds on the second floor and nearly kicks it open. 

It’s up to his eyes. He can’t see straight. There’s pain over his eyebrow, in his shoulder, his fingers. It concentrates in his chest – he unbuttons his collar all the way down – he’s shaking – he’s shaking so badly — 

Count down from ten, the nice lady at the rehab center told him. 

You’re having a panic attack, darling. Don’t worry. It’ll pass. Count down and focus on what you can see, hear, touch, taste, and smell. Ground yourself in the space.

10. 9. 8 – 

He gulps down air, hand on his chest to keep his heart from bursting out through his ribs.

7. 6. 5 –

It’s an office, he realizes, when the room stops spinning. The walls are dark, much darker than the rest of the house. This is where the moss has grown, away from the ivory. 

Here, there is no noise from the party. He can still taste copper in his mouth. It smells like tobacco and mint here.

4. 3. 2 — 

The settee is a dark teal and the short, squat lamps on the oak desk hum orange. Walnut brown bookcases line the walls. 

And there in the corner, behind the desk and leather-backed chair, is a cabinet. Low to the ground. With gold tumblers and a mirror on top. 

On shaky legs, he goes and opens the square doors. 

His mouth goes wet with wanting. 

Whisky.

Rum.

Vodka.

All of it. 

Just one. He needs only one. 

The bottle is cool, smooth. He takes out the corked lid and the aroma fogs up his brain like condensation on glass.

Are you using again?

No. But he could be. The door opens behind him.

“Dieter, what the hell are you doing in here?” 

Of course.

Of course, it was you. 

Maybe it always was. 

“What? Did your wife put you in time out?” You smirk when he doesn’t answer and you shut the door behind you. “Or was it Scott? The night’s still young, Dee, so many other things to fuck up and –,”

“Natalie.” His voice is rough. It rumbles out of his chest on his last breath. “Don’t. Please . . . just, don’t. Not tonight.” 

His hand shaking, he puts back the bottle of whisky. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Shit, what the hell happened to you? You look terrible.” You say, frowning as though confused, as if this is some convoluted plot to fuck with you. “I saw you run off and I thought, this would be a great time to remind him what a piece of shit he is . . . but you look like someone beat me to it.”

You stay firmly planted in front of the door, arms crossed, as he comes to the front of the desk and leans back against it. He feels cold sweat stick to his lower back.

“Seriously, Dieter, are you sick?” 

He shakes his head. His stomach always feels hollow after one of those episodes. “No, just a bad night.”

“Like bad crabs or found out your aunt died bad?”

“Natalie—,”

“Just tell me. What happened?”

He lifts his gaze to you. It’s hard to believe that less than a month ago, he felt like he could tell you anything. In that golden house on the hill. When you were different people. You look genuinely concerned.

“Dieter, I’m going to go get a doctor unless you—,”

“Look, I have these . . . episodes, alright? My head gets all foggy and I can’t stop shaking and I can’t breathe right. I just need some space.” He adds pointedly because the expression on your face has changed. 

“You get panic attacks?” You take a step forward, hand reaching forward before you let it drop, as if remembering you can’t touch. “I, uh, I know what that’s like. I . . . I have them too.”

“C’mon, don’t do that. Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not — I’m serious!” Your brow furrows as your eyes flash hotly with anger. “They started after I moved away from my mom. And now, I just . . . manage the symptoms.”

“Yeah, how?”

You give him a look and he frowns.

“You know what’s not good for panic attacks?” He playfully glances to the ceiling as he lists them off on his fingers. “Bennys. Cocaine. LSD. I could keep going.” 

You put your hands on your hips, scowling. “Fine but waiting to get fucked raw by life isn’t the way to handle it either.”  

He bites his cheek, crossing his arms across his chest. “So, then we’ll just wait it out and see who survives the longest. Then we’ll know who’s right.”

Another dare in your eyes. He meets the challenge. But this time, you swerve first.

You drop his gaze.

“It’s a coin flip, right? Only a matter of time . . . before we both fucking lose it.” 

He doesn’t like how that truth sits in the back of his mouth. As usual, you’ve rattled in him something he didn’t know was loose.

“So, then go for it.” He opens his arms wide. “Say whatever has been stewing away in your head for weeks now. I’m an easy target.”

Your mouth rolls, pouting like an eight year old. You narrow your eyes at him. “Nah, you’re too pathetic right now. When I tell you what’s been on my mind, I want you to burst into tears. It’s no fun if you’re already like this . . . what happened?”

It didn’t feel like pity coming from you, even if he knew you had been picturing his balls in a vice grip since filming wrapped. 

He sighs, and picks at the skin on his left thumb. 

“You’ll be thrilled to know I just made an ass of myself in front of half our colleagues and coworkers. And then my wife asked, very publicly, if I was using again . . . I feel like I can’t fucking win.”

“Well, you’re not, right? Using?” In those knee-high black suede heels, you stretch across the room and take the place next to him. Just like you had at the pool. You crossed your arms too. A concession— another white flag amongst the bitterness.

He shakes his head. 

“So then fuck that. And fuck her for doubting you. Why did she ask that?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I thought — hoped — she was coming on the press tour for Recovery.” He rolls his jaw from side to side. “I’m getting sick and tired of spending my nights in a hotel room by myself.”

He catches the corner of your eye and his neck warms. 

“Not like that . . . I mean, fuck, maybe a bit like that. I don’t know. I’m trying everything I can to keep this marriage alive and she just feels . . . ambivalent.” He swallows. “Last time, I gave her an out. After the arrest and before rehab. I told her I’d sign the divorce papers, whatever she wanted. She could have my money, my house, my car. I just didn’t want her to have to live with the embarrassment of being married to me. And, instead, she told me, ‘the money isn’t important to me’. I was so grateful at the time, I didn’t question it. But now . . . I sometimes wonder if this is how she punishes me. She didn’t want a divorce until she broke my heart first.”

You’re uncharacteristically silent. The white ruffles around your wrists flutter as you put your hands on the other side of your hips, fingertips drumming the desk. 

“Did you ever think maybe the problem isn’t you? Or her for that matter?”

“What do you mean?”

You sigh, an exasperated smile on your face. “Take a look at where we are, Dee. Normal people don’t live like this. Normal people don’t do what we do. No one else will take us so we congregate amongst ourselves to establish a new baseline of crazy.”

“And, what? Anyone who enters our orbit is doomed to be fucked in the head?”

“We’re all fucked in the head, Dieter. You. Me. Scott. Hell, even your pretty little wife out there.” You glance at him. “This whole place is a fucking breeding ground. A breeding ground for the worst parts of ourselves. It’s nasty and terrible but we don’t have to be nasty and terrible and alone. So, if she made you think that you’re the fucked one, that you’re the unlovable one, then . . . she’s wrong. She’s so fucking wrong.” 

Outside, thunder rumbles and the orange lamps flicker, casting shadows like heartbeats, but neither of you care. 

Your lips are a dark purple tonight, matched by mauve smears over your eyelids. You look . . . ethereal. 

He doesn’t know he’s falling, tipping forward into the plush cup of your mouth until he feels your breath rush against his lips. 

Purple, like bruises, he thinks as he watches your eyelids flutter shut. He wants to keep his open, to watch the moment your mouths finally connect, but you overwhelm him. He’s not strong enough to fight back anymore, to pretend like he doesn’t feel anything for you.And, oh, he does feel something. He feels it so strong— wants it so badly— it feels like a physical weight in his chest. 

He wants you. God, he wants this and he’s wanted it for so long. 

Just this one thing. This one thing. 

The throbbing of the broken thing inside of him is quiet. 

His hand winds up into your hair as he finally takes you by the neck and open-mouth kisses you. You shudder as if surprised, as if this wasn’t an inevitable conclusion. His other hand presses against your jaw to steady you, steady him. 

The kisses aren’t light. They don’t hesitate. They are wet, and they bite, and it’s a little bit of teeth and tongue and spit. He licks the corner of your mouth and your tongue batters into his. His tongue rides the valleys of your mouth tasting like sweet champagne. That talented, fucking legendary Dieter tongue —

Both of his hands grip you by your jaw as yours burrow into the fabric of his shirt just below his ribs. He pulls back slightly to nip your bottom lip and he tastes that familiar caustic burn of whiskey. The first sip of alcohol he’s had in years and he smears it off your wet mouth.

“Fuck, baby—,” Mouth still sealed to yours again, he slips his hands down your sides as he glides to his feet. The rings on his fingers make indentations in that maddening bare patch of thigh. He goes further and swipes his pinkies under the backs of your knees as he grips your thigh from underneath. “C’mere—,”

You bite his lip in retaliation when he swings you both into a clear spot of wall. The nearby paintings shudder in the resounding thud but, short of God stopping by, there’s nothing that would pry him off you now.

Now that he has those hips under his palms. He balances you on his thigh, the wall at your back, giving his hands and mouth the freedom to explore. He wants to kiss you so hard you vibrate through the wall. 

He can feel his lips swell from the force of your kissing. They sting and ache but fuck if it wasn’t a brand new vice he could torture himself over. He is so lost in the relief of it — this is what you taste like, what you smell like so close, this is what you sound like — this is what awaited him for days in New Mexico, if he had just taken it — that he leaves his waistband very open. 

His fingers around the sides of your neck, he nearly barks out when you slide your hand down to his crotch and stroke. The angle isn’t right to give you full access, but your half-lidded, blurry desert eyes are begging him for more. 

“Fuck me,” you gasp into his teeth. “Fuck me, Dieter, please. That’s all I want. Please, fuck me.”

He’s too taken by the wet patch, dragged up and down his thigh, to argue. You roll your hips, eyes never leaving his, and he groans, deep and anguished. 

Your cunt is already warm. 

He pulls away from you against the wall and nearly stumbles back to the desk. He doesn’t know exactly what he shoves to the floor but there is sound, perhaps glass breaking, before he lunges forward, snags you by the hand, and pulls you into his chest. The force of his tug draws you up into his arms, knees digging into his sides, his mouth again inches from yours. 

Broken open, he finally opens his mouth to the stream of filth that has been rotting his brain for months. 

“I want you on that desk. I’m gonna fuck you on it every way I want to and then when you’re so cock-drunk you can’t see straight, I’ll ask you how you want it. You want it on top?” He grabs the hinges of your thighs, and grinds his hips against the front seam of your shorts, right into your clit. You sway against him, eyes fluttering, mouth open. “Or will you let me fuck you from behind? So I can watch this perfect fucking ass bounce.” 

“Whatever — whichever way— you want,” you say breathlessly, your tongue thick, as you lean your weight forward and he stumbles back onto the desk. 

The desk groans when his back smacks against the wood, your tongue and teeth fighting back against his. You’re straddling him, knees on both sides of his slim hips, and you’re chasing that crackle, that spark in your crotch. You rub yourself against him and air is expelled from his nose.

“Ngh— Shit—,” he pulls back to look at you. Your hair is a knot spawned from pulling and jerking. The purple eyeshadow still glows in the dark but the lipstick — oh fuck — is smeared across your mouth as though you had tried to take it off with your forearm. Because he’s fucked up, his already hard cock twitches. 

Panting to let oxygen return to your brains, he takes his time trailing his hand down from the dip where your shoulder meets your neck, down to the first button of that ridiculous, flowy blouse. The vest seemed like an accessory and he was grateful he didn’t have to pick that apart too. You watch his deft fingers open the first button, and then the second, and the third, all the way down to the end. 

He groans when he waves back the curtain of fabric around your torso and exposes the soft curves of your tits. You are surprisingly still and annoyingly quiet as he drags a finger, featherlight over the rise of your lilac lace bra. He dips his finger across your other breast and sighs.

“Wanna take my time with you,” he slurs. His thighs flex and you bite your lip. “Wanna open you up, bit by bit, so I can just slide right into your pussy. Want it to soak my pants.”

“I want that too. I want that so much.” You lean forward, letting your warm cunt settle over where he’s rock solid. He moans against your lips and you grin. When you open your eyes, he’s glancing at the door. It’s unlocked. 

“Anybody could walk in at any second.” You don’t want to give him ideas as to who specifically could, lest he be overcome with stupid guilt. If you didn’t rail Dieter Bravo tonight, houses were going to be burnt down. “We’d better make this quick.” 

Quicker is better, he agrees as he slides you off him and begins unbuckling his belt. You undo your own shorts and somehow manage to wriggle them off your legs while still in those heels. He can see the dampness on your inner thigh and he works faster. 

He shucks his pants down just off his hips. Quicker is better, he agrees as he positions you back on the desk, those audacious black boots hugging his waist. 

Quicker is better, he thinks when he looks into your eyes, your hand cups the back of his neck and your back arches to give him better access. Your other hand is around his cock, as he balances one hand on your hip and the other flat on the desk. 

Quicker is better. 

Because those feelings you both share, those soft gentle feelings that want to make love and not just fuck — are wiped clean from existence when he slides into you. Your face crumples from the first stretch of pain, roasted with pleasure.

“Oh, goddamn it, Dieter. You’re so big.” 

“I know, baby, just— breathe.” He kneads your hip in his hand, huffing and struggling to fight firing back with his hips, and lets you adjust. He’s only got a bit more than the tip in and sweat cracks your brow line. 

You swallow and shift your hips forward. Your pussy swallows up more of him and you both groan.

“You’re doing so well, t-taking me like this. When I haven’t gotten you ready.” He kisses your jaw. Your skin is fire hot. You inch your hips closer to the edge of the desk. 

“C‘mon, baby, just a bit more.”

He pushes the last bit of the way, his pelvic bone pressed up against your clit, and you wail, your head dropping back. The front of his lap is soaking.

He smirks at you, a wildfire cooking every sensation, every thought, every autonomous function that wasn’t required for fucking clean out of his body. He puts a wide hand up to your cheek and kisses your skin between his knuckles. 

Your voice is breathless in his ears, and it gives him pause for a minute. Your cheeks are flushed, mouth puffy and kissed-out. You need a hickey on your neck, or several, he muses to himself. This thing he’s been holding onto since he walked onto the studio lot months ago is rusting, creaking, and for once, he doesn’t want to push it onto someone else. He doesn’t want you to have it because he knows you already do. His affection is corrosive sometimes, but you’re just alkaline; salty, burning, acrid. He wants to melt into you. His eyes half-lidded to watch your face, his hand cradling your head, he pulls out an inch only to thrust right back in. 

“You’re ruining my life, you know that?” 

Flint flashes in your eyes as you nearly snarl, your hair fisting into his hair and tightening. It makes his neck arch back and the moan gets caught in the back of his throat. 

“You wanted your life ruined. You’re just using me as an excuse.”

Hissing, his hold around the back of your neck roughens and he pulls you into his mouth. You’re met with teeth and tongue and a press of his hips that stretches you out completely. With your teeth around his bottom lip, you whimper just like you did on the couch and he can’t hold back any more. 

He starts fucking you in earnest. 

Every brutal stroke is rewarded with a high, sharp cry — he makes himself go deeper, the nails at his shoulder dig deeper into his skin, and it sparks pleasure down his back. 

His hand at your face slides down to your waist to hold you as his hips thrust and pump and scorch the inside of your pussy with his cock. He brushes something devastating inside of you and you naturally arch, naturally bend to take even more of him. 

“Oh, fuck, Dieter— Jesus Christ, Dieter—,”

“Keep talking, baby,” he huffs, “you’re grabbing me so tight I think I’m seeing spots.” He reaches between the open materials of your shirt to mold and shape and squeeze your breasts. His thumb brushes over your clothed nipple, and you hum. The thought of his mouth on them drags his eyes shut. 

He pounds you, he chases that pressure behind his eyes, in his gut, he wants you to always remember who you make these sounds for. You wail again and his cock pulsates. 

He ducks his head and catches your mouth as he lifts up. It’s sloppy and messy and neither of you can stay locked like that with the way your bodies wobble. He aims and drops a kiss on the corner of your mouth. The hand on his bicep trails up to the back of his neck and digs into his hair. You hold him close, and your foreheads naturally fall together. 

He jerks you closer, grinding into you instead of thrusting, just to watch you shake.

“Dieter, please—,”

“Hush, baby, I’m gonna take care of you. Such good care of you and this pussy. Squeezing me so tight. This pretty pussy needed someone to take care of her.” 

“You’re filthy.” 

“Yeah, and you like to listen to it.” He’ll keep running his mouth as long as it takes to clear out the mess in his heart, in his head. He’ll probably never apologize for what happened in New Mexico and neither will you. 

He mouths your ear before rocking back, building back up to his earlier pace, the sound of the wet slap of his hips into your thighs implanting itself into his memory. The desk where he dragged you shines and he half-wants to stop and lick the wood grain. He shudders at the idea your cunt would taste like your mouth – whiskey-soaked and salty. 

You’re drowning in the taste of his hot breath. Sweat grows on his spine and under your breasts. A look passed between you and him that can only be given when fucking wants to give way to something more — when there’s a crescendo of feeling building just by looking into someone’s eyes as they enter you again and again. It’s intoxicating. You feel drunk.

He kisses your mouth again briefly before arching up, moaning. His hips stutter — less focused, but harsh in their need. Your cunt flutters around him and he drives in that much faster, rougher. He can feel your skin break out in goose bumps under the palm of his hand.  

“G’ –n’ think I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his breathing uneven and ragged. His eyes are squeezed shut and he knows if he looks at you again, if you give him that look of naked vulnerability, he’s going to cream for at least ten minutes. 

You nod frantically, pleasure bobbing up from the pit of your stomach to your aching clit. Words are near impossible now.

“Put your thumb — there! Ah!”

He watches you almost recoil in the electric jolt you experience as he brushes your bundle of nerves with this thumb — anything harder would be too much —  the pace only slightly faster than the pounding of his hips.

“That’s it, Dieter, you’re so good– you feel so good.” His knees buckle at the praise, at the strain in your voice. 

“Tell me, baby, I need to hear it–,”

You lean closer to him, breath mixing with his, and you press up against where his fingers press into your clit. “You fill me up so well— I’m—I’m so full— of you. You’re so thick.”

He pinches you and in seconds, your cunt is smothering him.

“Ah — oh God — Dieter!”

You’re milking him and he clenches your thigh as you finally tumble over the edge with a shout. The instant his restraint to make sure you came first is lifted, he comes, coating your pussy and emptying his balls completely of his spend.

His shoulders slump, the aftershocks of his orgasm making his spine tingle.

He’s got his head buried in the curve of your neck, a pleasant hum everywhere in his body. Your cheek rests against his damp temple. 

He’s not going to think about his cum leaking out of you and staining what is presumably his director’s desk. 

You laugh, almost deliriously, fighting to catch your breath. His chest heaves as his lungs gasp for air. 

“Fuck. I mean– wow– fuck– I– wow.”

He grins at that. He kisses your collarbone.

“Now, what to do about the crowd outside the door . . .”

He glances at you, questioning. You huff, trying weakly to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, still struggling for a normal breath. 

“There’s no way every person in this house didn’t hear that. Fuck, I bet the audio is on YouTube already.”

He chuckles and finally has enough feeling in his legs to stand up straight. He noses your cheek.

“Look out the window.”

You do and are met with a torrential downpour. White lighting clashing, thunder roaring, rain slapping the glass. You hadn’t even noticed it started raining.

“No one heard a thing. And no one’s going to notice two people gone from a party of dozens of people.” He cups the back of your head and kisses you soundly. “They don’t know a fucking thing. We’re safe.”

You take his word for it and wrap your arms over his shoulders. You kiss him back.

You kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

[onebedtorulethemall]

Okay, as you know I just finished Bad Omens, and it was probably the funniest fic I've ever read. THANK YOU for writing this masterpiece.

I adore your sense of humour. Can I ask what inspires, feeds, or fuels it? Because if there is a movie, book, or show you can recommend with more of these vibes, I'm RUNNING to it. I need more of this humour in my life. pronto.

Wishing you well <3

Oh no. You've asked about my favorite topic, I fear. (For anyone else who wants a rambling response from me, feel free to drop the words "Bad Omens" in my ask box.)

Unfunnily, I came by my sense of humor the old-fashioned way—by being fairly ignored as a child. I had a whole comedic routine I'd launch into any time I thought an adult might be about to pay attention. This behavior generally results in either wildly famous adults or extremely annoying ones. I am lucky I have writing to channel it into because I lack basically all the skills to become any sort of performer.

Ok. Obviously, the humor in this fic was mainly inspired by Good Omens. I dissected the book before and during writing to try to get as close as possible to the feel of the original (limited, of course, by the fact that I'm not Neil or Terry). I looked at sentence structure, joke setup and payoff, how and when those narrative asides were used... I remember being amazed by how much of the humor relied on clever adverb usage. Mainly, though, it's the dramatic irony doing the heavy lifting. You swap a muggle for a witch (or the Antichrist for Baby B) and tell the reader you did it, and they're already doing half the work for you. They're ready to laugh. They're bought in. They're spinning up hilarious scenarios in their mind before I've even told the joke (I know this because my comments are full of them).

That's a very long way of saying: I love anything that says "we've set up this absurd scenario, now let's watch it unfold." (Although I don't like when it gets too stressful. That's why the Bad Omens narrator was there to hold your hand through it.)

What We Do in the Shadows is the absolute best for this. Plus classics like In Bruges and Hot Fuzz, both of which I've been casually trying to find a way to adapt into a Dramione for a year now. It's not really the same humor, but I have cried laughing at Veep.

Darker comedies: Fargo and my favorite, Barry. There's an episode in season 2 (ronny/lily) that veers straight off the cliff into surrealism. It's FANTASTIC, and I was absolutely thinking about it when writing the Bad Omens war date. I looooove that feeling of "what the actual fuck am I reading/watching right now?"

And on that note: The Locked Tomb series. Just, please go read it. Join the cult. It's kept me in a book hangover for about two years and I think the only way out is to pass it on to someone else, The Ring-style.

I'll cut myself off here. Thank you for the ask, and for reading and loving my silly little fic. I am first and foremost its #1 fan, and it's just fun to get to talk about it.

(stealth edit because omgggg I can't believe I forgot O Brother, Where Art Thou? Comedic PERFECTION. Couldn't be a Dramione. Snakes buddy comedy, maybe?)

[impzone]

i was tagged by @anthonypanics! thanks for including me :)

were you named/named yourself after anyone?

there's a nonzero chance i named myself after a jojo character

when was the last time you cried?

when i was cleaning out my room before i started college. i was looking through old notebooks that had seen AGES of my life.

the specific one that made me cry was one that had covers in it from when i was in 4th grade, that then got used by my mom as a rabisco for a while. like this notebook had been through a lot, felt like a family heirloom for some reason.

after finding it mom showed me the song O Caderno by Toquinho and i sobbed.

do you have kids?

nope! if i did i'd be worried

do you use sarcasm a lot?

i think i use it more than i think i do. i say i don't like sarcasm but sometimes its fun when its very clear its a bit.

what's the first thing you notice about people?

this is a hard one. i'd have to say personal style? i tend to look at people's clothes a lot, then hair and any jewelry they might have. faces come as a close second (but i'm trying to make it a first for art reasons)

what's your eye colour?

dark brown last time i checked

any special talents?

i'm a really fast learner! or so i've been told. people tell me i pick up skills super quickly, but to me i can't pick them up fast enough for the amount of things i want to do.

scary movies or happy endings?

i wish i could pick scary movies. seeing letsplays of indie horror games makes me want to deep dive into horror, especially the real metaphorical psychological horror ones, but unfortunately i'm a big baby coward who gets jumpscared and panicked just from watching someone else play a scary game lmao

where were you born?

a city in Brazil!

what are your hobbies?

a whole lotta stuff!

digital art, writing, some traditional art, conlanging, game dev, web dev, 3d modeling...

now the amount i engage with these hobbies is WIIILDLY uneven, but i'm doing my best to tip the scale

have any pets?

used to! my sweet little kitty passed away last year.

what sport do you play/have you played?

i think i've played handball, futebol, tennis, (does swimming count as a sport? i did a lot of that) and i took like 2 classes of HEMA before quitting.

how tall are you?

i get a different measurement each time i go to the doctor but around 5'8

favourite subject at school?

i really liked english and language learning classes! until they got hard and i started sucking at them lmao

dream job?

very good question... currently im aiming to be a linguist. i'd love to do fieldwork and study how bilingualism affects people and language shift and accents etc. all of that is so cool to me!!

tagging: @hyp3rbolee @fishsticxz @h0ney-bee @bunnyswing @realcookii @splenduhdoy @angelbitezzz ...and anyone else who'd like to do this!

[multapohja966]

some fav things this year

Read

Detransition, baby - Torrey Peters' book. just adding a one more assurance that it is just as good as everyone says.

Shopping Star as a semiotechnical code modulating Greek femininity in pharmacopornographic capitalism - fun opulence of hard words discussing interesting things. (article utilising Preciado's analysis tools to discuss (post)recession Greece)

Chimamire Sukeban Chainsaw - Rei Mikamoto's insane gory gross, hard to explain, manga about a girl with a chainsaw trying to kill the person responsible for turning her classmates into grotesque minions.

One Piece - caught up finally. yes, it is worth it.

67,292 Things Car Guys Can Teach Transsexuals by Adrian Glenn - part of the 2 Trans 2 Furious zine. as a car guy associate and transsexual i deeply loved this one.

The Shape of Premodern Nonbinarity: A Conversation with Leah DeVun - I'll never stop talking about this article.

Watched

Bronson - Tom Hardy movie, biography of "Britain's most violent prisoner " Charles Bronson. It doesn't completely highlight everything essential about his story (having a less than nuanced view on untreated mental illness and its relationship with incarceration) but it's such a good fucking movie!! And at least artistically very loyal to who it's depicting (insane and absurdist).

this video of jack harlow at a chiropractic appointment - we live such weird fucking times. like it isn't heartfelt but it isn't disgusting either it's just, w-what? eh?

Little chinese everywhere - vlogger Yan who travels though less tourist heavy provinces in China, really respectful look to everyday life in more rural communities. these have given me a lot of peace and joy. a lot of extremely intresting architecture as well.

Inflatables and the adults who love collecting them - by furry youtuber Ash Coyote. Truly a gem of respectful by fandom, of fandom documentaries. Touching and lovely!!

MerPeople - don't touch netflix anymore but this documentary of the mermaid community and industry is incredibly good.

this rose ramdin x html jones vid - the well read terminally online gen z musical artists who get their estrogen money from twitter shitposting are the modern greek philosphers. in the sense that i'd sit on a stone public square step and listen to a convo like this for the whole day.

A normal creepypasta retrospective - there's hope for youtube actually

Cat soup / Nekojiru-sou movie

Earth Maiden Arjuna - early 2000s environmentalist anime series lovers make some noicee. this one is sooo lovely and gorgeous. real hidden gem.

Gigs

Sabaton - as expected, bit of a weird vibe in the crowd demographic :--------D but show itself is an insane fucking spectacle I'm happy I saw. You can really sense these men are swedish, the "my country hasn't been in an active war for two centuries" theater kid energy is wild. Tank on stage.

Death Grips - I'm pretty sure this rebooted my whole brain. Went with close friend, pretty sure my biggest bruise came form her hands.

Antti Tuisku - Farewell gig of the best pop performer in finland. I do not understand how he doesn't pass out on stage with everything he's doing. The jesus allegory album is forever my favorite, it's so genious in how it discusses fame so well while staying funny and self-avare. Neck hurt for the next week due to headbanging.

Suistamon sähkö - small gig yet one of the absolute best this year. (i cried) You need to see these guys live, the vocal ability of the main singers is absurd, it doesn't come through fully in recordings. And they create a very special atmosphere and community within their gigs, literally joined hands and danced in a circle.

[rookie-critic]

Barbie (2023, dir. Greta Gerwig) - review by Rookie-Critic

[NOTE: This ended up being a bit more spoiler-y than I had originally intended, so if you haven't seen the film and plan to, maybe skip this review for now.]

What a revolution this movie has caused. Waves of pink, hoards of men/women/people adopting "I am Kenough" as a mantra, the Indigo Girls are back in fashion, and I have no doubt that, come the beginning of the university school year, we'll see frat after frat moving into their new Mojo Dojo Casa Houses. This film had already won the country over well before it even came out, and now that it is we're now in the third consecutive weekend of Barbie sitting comfortably atop the box office throne. Those ninja turtles never stood a chance (though I did adore that film, as well, but that's for another review). I must admit, I am apart of the wave of people singing this film's praises. It's visually striking, it's hilarious, the messaging is overt and in-your-face without being preachy, and we're seeing Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling at the top of their game.

When we start the film, we're greeted with a nod to the opening sequence of Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey, and to the voice of Helen Mirren explaining to us that, once Barbie came along and squashed out the era of baby dolls, her existence solved sexism and female quality issues for good, because Barbie proved that women can be anything. Of course, this is not the case, and the film uses it's next hour and 45 minutes diving into the reality of the modern world through the eyes of one of those dolls. The perfect, pink-streaked world of Barbieland lies in stark contrast to the harsh realities of the real world, and our two main characters react to this knowledge in very different ways. First, we have Barbie, who reacts with bewilderment and disbelief at the idea that everything she thought she knew about the world and women's place in it was a lie, but then, there's Ken. Ken, having lived his whole in the perceived service of Barbie, is stoked, because of course he would be. Men (and horses) rule the world, of course.

Now, going down this path, it would have been very easy for the film to be very blanketly "anti-men," but it even manages to avoid doing that, instead choosing to go down the path that Ken is misguided, merely a person who's never really tried to live life for himself and more for the idea of what he should be. In that the film draws a surprising amount of parallels between the two main characters, because even Barbie goes on a self-discovery journey of sorts. She has to come to terms with the black-and-whiteness of her worldview, and has to reconcile with the idea of there being things like cellulite and aging, and has to come to terms with the fact that the world has a good fair way to go before it's as utopian as a place like Barbieland. This is all accented in a scene that's relatively early in the film when Barbie meets an older woman for the first time upon coming to the real world. Barbie has just cried for the first time and looks over to find an elderly woman sitting on the bench next to here. The woman gives Barbie a smile and Barbie tells her she's beautiful, to which she replies "I know!" It's kind of the pin on which the whole film balances. Then there's also the character of Allan (played with as much endearing awkwardness as you'd expect from Michael Cera) who, even when all of the Ken's go off the deep-end into a Matchbox Twenty, leather-clad nightmare, keeps his head, and understands the bad things about what the Kens are doing.

It's a very deep film that is presenting itself as a colorful comedy, it's thoughtful without being obtuse and critical of its source without being dismissive, and it manages to do all of this without sacrificing being a very lighthearted and entertaining film on the surface. It's all very impressive, and is only hindered by the small nitpick that, for a film focusing on how our preconceived notions of things need to be knocked down and we should all live for ourselves and be whoever we really are, it is strangely reinforcing of the gender binary. I would have liked to have seen the film explore that side of things a bit, but it didn't detract too much from the overall experience. Crybabies like Ben Shapiro be damned, Barbie is delightful, and just as good as you've been led to believe.

Score: 9/10

Currently only in theaters.

[kawaiichaoscomputer]

MY LOVE FOR U IS BIGGER THAN IT IS

James phelps x female reader

Its been 5 years i have met my two best friend, i missed them so much that i had planned to vist them over the summer. Im pretty they are quite with all the travling and Harry Potter movie. We been friends ever seen we were babies and to be honest i have one feelings towards a certain twin, and its been like that ever since we 15, i wanted to suprise them. So as i walked to the building i saw oliver standing talking to a blonde woman , they were chatting and lauging about something But then he turned his head a saw me.

Y/N !!! Oilver shout as the Blond woman laugh

I looked and turned as Oliver ran to hug me, i felt enjoy but then i saw the same blonde girl behind him

Y/n : are u going introduct me to your girlfriend Mr.Phelps

Oliver : hahaha very funny and yes i am ;)

Oliver : Y/n meet katy , katy meet Y/n

Katy : hello Y/n

Y/n : hello katy and btw have u seen james around, i wanna talk to him

Oliver ; YEAH HIS STANDING BEHID ONE TOM FELTON

Y/n : alright thanks oillie

As she was walking through the whole set she finally saw james but what breaks her heart.

She saw james kissing another girl, she is was about to walk out, james spotted her as he looks in her seeing her for first in 5 years

James : Y/N IS THAT U ?? he asked as he let go of girl hand

Instead answering him , you ran out as fast you can but then Oliver dropped You

OLIVER : WHAT in the bloody hell are u running

You stop and stare, as You said...

Y/n : I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE

Oliver just looking at You confuse and trying to understand what you were saying ...

Y/n : OLIVER I'M IN LOVE WITH HIM BUT HIS WITH ANOTHER , I...I ...CANT..I ..

As You cried in Oliver shoulder, Oliver looked up and see his twin just standing there looking dumbfounded.

OILVER: You met want to turn around

Feeling gulity has he should but he knows its part of the best

You turned Your head around and saw James standing look like he has seen a ghost, even worst he met heard everything.

You try walking up to him but your body wouldn't let you. Between the three of you, Oliver walk up to james and whisper something in his ear

Oliver : good luck mate you need it but dont hurt her ...

Has he left to go meet up with some friends , james decide to ran up to her

James: why you didnt tell me?

Y/n: because its only going to break our friendship , i thought of telling you but then i saw u with her ..

James laugh as he watch Y/n confuse and upset; In which he though it was very aborable to see. The girl he loved for 5 years pass. James explain to her why the girl kiseed him and it does not really matter but what matters the most is seeing his love of life cried in his brother arms

James : I love you and only You

Has he said he pulled y/n close so he could kiss her. She was very shocked on what happening

But she cant help but kiss back slowy; little did they know their friends was placing a bet behid their the backs

Oliver: HAHA Pay Up you shit heads screaming toward tom felton

Tom felton place 10 pounds onto oliver hand, has he accepted his defend

[luaspersona]

jade *sighs* why you out there trying to kill me *sobs* what have i ever done to you (let’s forget i was the one asking for dis)

i just wanna start this review by saying that i wasn’t able to wait until i got home and i read this on the bus lol. two things: i might have cried a little. maybe it wasn’t the best choice. i swear to god your writing just gets better and better, and this one might be my favorite one of yours yet.

i just dkfskjdkjsdh 🔪😠 fucking love the way you write hobi. all your hobi fics are just ridiculously flawless and the ANGST ON THIS ONE HAD ME LIKE

but let’s organize this review ok, i wanna start by pointing out some of my favorite sentences of yours. some because if i were to point all of them, i’d quote the whole fic. but i’ll have you know that this review is simple??? idk, i wasn’t able to synapse so much ig lol, i’m tired 

first, i dont really know why, but i loved the first line

There’s a decommissioned junkyard outside of town.

i just felt like it was such a charming way to introduce the story lol, especially with this addition:

It’s desolate and depressing, but despite all that, it’s a sanctuary.

to have a sanctuary in a junkyard… i don’t know, i just love the setting so much 😭 it did remind me of romeo + juliet movie too.

also the way you hint to their situation here:

You’d spent more time there lately than you’d ever be free to admit.

god, that’s such good wording. how do you think of these istg 😭 also, again, her pessimism here is just soul crushing.

the reader felt like someone growing apathetic — or at least trying to – towards the whole situation. and i also think this is my favorite reader of yours, cus her voice is so interesting!! it’s very interesting the way everything feels depressing until hobi arrives. and moments like this:

It loses more and more of its smoothness the longer it sits out, exposed to the elements, but then again, so do you.

that suggests, that it gives us a glimpse of how much the reader must’ve been through and how much she’s losing her innocence (as in, hope) throughout all this.

and even if you never really explicitly say what has happened and we’re just getting a day — or rather, some hours into their lives, parts like this make everything feel so tangible, so real: you build this scenario, this world in such a palpable way:

You hear him before you see him, but that’s purposeful. Hoseok kills the headlamp on his motorcycle before he comes anywhere near the junkyard — just in case, baby.

and returning to the idea that everything feels depressing until hobi, the way you make the first time the reader sees him be under the light too:

Still, when he finally steps under the yellow glow of the street lamp — your only source of light, save for the moon — and he’s all you see.

and the ANGST 😭😭😭😭😭:

He’s swallowing words, based on the blatant twitch of his jaw. Always clenched to keep from calling out to you, as if the abandoned area wasn’t chosen for its ability to keep your secrets.

the idea of not being able to love out loud is so heartbreaking and you captured it so well.

and this here:

The distance at which his limited words keep you is contrary to the way he holds you — close to the chest like your feelings are as fleeting as moments like this, gently as if you’ll break apart in his hands. 

i don’t even have anything to say about it, just fucking perfect writing that speaks for itself. and on that note, this sentence broke me so much:

There’s enough fondness in his eyes to drown in and you would, in a heartbeat, if time was ever on your side.

i mean, what were you THINKING, this is a masterpiece:

A little constellation, guiding you North from your southside trap to a home you can’t have. 

THIS IS SO BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN I CAN’T—

“I didn’t have a choice and I never will.”

YES HE WILL WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE

also,

Hoseok’s mouth pulls up slightly at one corner; and you know what that looks means. It means twenty minutes down the drain, shaking a tail before he can make his way to you. It means that, next time, you may need to find a different hiding spot.

this paragraph specifically made me love them so much. how much they go through just to get a glimpse of each other 💔😠

You don’t normally say the obvious out loud, but reality doesn’t always stay in the cage you try to lock it in. “We’re playing with fire.” “In another life,” Hoseok replies wistfully while his fingernails scratch — affectionately, teasingly, cautiously — down the expanse of your bare thigh. “We were arsonists.”

*jungkook festa voice* i’m upset *pout* i’m so upset 

this was such a good dialogue i don’t HAVE WORDS, JUST FEELINGS 

No longer in a junkyard on the outskirts of town, no longer on opposite sides of a line in the dirt, no longer trying to shove flowers into the front of a shotgun.

It’s enough, you think again, like repetition will make it true.

i was dying, but this line reminded me of this meme:

you’re so mean to me, what have i ever done to make you wanna make me cry like dat istg, this had my heart tightening in my chest, i was so desperate i was horny and crying, and the fact he notices she was about to cry i mean—

Hoseok notices your rapid blinking when you settle down on him. He knows without having to ask, kisses you through an ache that isn’t physical at all. It, like him, stays where it’s kept: in the left side of your rib cage.

you’re such a poetic writer too. i mean, you always write within some word limit for these requests and you’re always to deliver the most, the best, in such a small wc. and it’s due to sentences like this one. 

and when SHE CRIES, GOD I WAS CRYING TOO:

Spent in every way that matters, you can’t fight off the sob that starts in the pits of your chest and crawls out of your mouth. The shiver down your spine can’t be blamed on the wind.

this is such a heartbreaking image, i was so gone. 

and that’s why i’ll choose to ignore the last sentence ok. WHAT ACTUALLY happened was that the gangs realized they are too in love and everything was well and they lived happily ever after, thank you very much.

~anyway

i always get impressed with your ability to set the tone. there wasn’t a single moment of fluff relief during this, i was alert the whole time, scared someone was gonna show up (I’M SO GLAD NO ONE DID HAHA), and their relationship felt so fragile. not in the sense that we doubt their love, but in the sense that it seems like it’s already in an afterlife, not really existing and just waiting for the inevitable end. actually, regarding their bond… omg, they feel so in love that it hurts

also, your character’s voices are always so well flashed out. their feelings towards one another, their apprehension, and we can clearly see that their current situation and dynamic is a result of a long time sneaking like this — the hopelessness, the emptiness, the routine that feels overbearing… UGH idk, jade. this took me by surprise cus i definitely wasn’t expecting it when i requested this. it exceeded all my expectations, as your writing always does, and now i’ll just go cry in the corner. 

CONGRATS ON THE MILESTONE BABY, here have some flowers 💐

here i come with a humble request 🫡

i was thinking of a hobi + secret relationship trope... maybe smutty too if you're up for it lol 👉🏽👈🏽

can't wait for the drabbles you're gonna write omg 😭🤲🏽

what lua wants, lua gets 🫡 tbh i think this is one of my favorite things i’ve ever written, so tysm for unwittingly setting that stage 🫣

the one where hoseok plays with fire

pairing: degenerate!hoseok x afab!reader type: (d) angst, smut (18+) | wc: 1.6k au: secret/forbidden relationship, rival gangs, romeo & juliet kinda vibes 🤫 cw: acknowledgement of membership in street gangs but just to explain the dynamic (no depictions of gang activity); minor threat (not the band, just the potential consequences of their actions); public (ish?) sex; unprotected p in v penetration; not much in the way of foreplay because i’m operating under a word limit, lol; biting, a lil bit; gratuitous imagery of hoseok wearing chains 🫣 a/n: this popped into my head while listening to $20 by boygenius on reeeeepeeeeaaaaat. def check out this song (and the record!) there’s a direct quote from the song in the dialogue, btw. credit for that bolded bit goes to julien thee baker.

There’s a decommissioned junkyard outside of town. It sits within a constellation of run-down warehouses and empty parking lots, and has a gravitational pull all its own. Finding it doesn’t take much, just fifteen minutes on the expressway, two turns at perpetually-blinking traffic lights, and a specific strain of desperation not many will ever know the likes of. It’s desolate and depressing, but despite all that, it’s a sanctuary.

A hill to die on.

You’d spent more time there lately than you’d ever be free to admit. A veritable coffee stain on a map, you’re not sure that its existence on that side street was anyone’s conscious decision. Likewise, you can’t say for certain that the drop of its name would mean anything to anyone. It means everything to you, however, so asking after recognition isn’t a risk you’re willing to take.

You’re risking enough as it is.

As is usually the case, you’re the first to arrive. When you do, you ignore the dirt that kicks up with every step and swirls around your bare ankles; and you keep walking until you reach your usual perch. The bare-bones, American-made t-top sits where it seemingly always has: on cinder blocks. It’s older than you by thirty years or so, but it groans with vigor when you grip hard to the frame, slide your foot over the exposed wheel hub, and hoist yourself onto the hood.

The bare skin on the back of your thighs is chilled instantly by the paint-chipped metal below you. It loses more and more of its smoothness the longer it sits out, exposed to the elements, but then again, so do you. Maybe that’s why this spot is a hard-fought favorite of yours.

Your crows’ nest, your perfect vantage point. A place to sit and play look-out while your eager eyes scan the driveway ahead.

You hear him before you see him, but that’s purposeful. Hoseok kills the headlamp on his motorcycle before he comes anywhere near the junkyard — just in case, baby. The rumble of his four-stroke engine is one you can feel in your stomach long after he shuts it off. Even when he parks that pristine, second-hand Hyosung somewhere only he’d be able to find it again. Still, when he finally steps under the yellow glow of the street lamp — your only source of light, save for the moon — and he’s all you see.

Hoseok keeps his pace casual as he makes his way to you, but his anticipation is visible in his posture. He’s swallowing words, based on the blatant twitch of his jaw. Always clenched to keep from calling out to you, as if the abandoned area wasn’t chosen for its ability to keep your secrets.

With much more ease than you, he jumps and pulls himself up to the car hood to meet you. The metal creaks under the weight of his body, but when it hovers over you, it’s a sigh of relief. A millisecond can’t pass by before he cages your head in between his arms — palms pressed against the dusty windshield — and swoops down to capture your kiss.

“Missed you,” he mumbles against your lips. His tone is low, hushed, and yet still sandpaper-course in a way that screams I mean it. The distance at which his limited words keep you is contrary to the way he holds you — close to the chest like your feelings are as fleeting as moments like this, gently as if you’ll break apart in his hands.

Like he loves you.

Your fingers instinctively thread themselves in his wind-swept hair — no helmet, no surprise there — and now it’s his turn to sigh. Hoseok tries to pull away, likely to gaze at you the way he always wants to, but you claim his bottom lip between your teeth and refuse to let him — this — go.

It sounds so silly without full use of his mouth:

“Baby,” he warns.

You release him with a smirk, brushing the tip of your nose against his. There’s enough fondness in his eyes to drown in and you would, in a heartbeat, if time was ever on your side.

“Good girl.”

The delicate, cuban-link chain around his neck glints in the half-light. Little slivers of silver dance across your own collarbone as it sways in the space between your bodies. A little constellation, guiding you North from your southside trap to a home you can’t have.

You, who can never seem to leave well-enough alone, run the thin, interlocking rectangles between the tips of your thumb and middle finger. You know you shouldn’t, but you pout, “You’re late.”

Hoseok’s expression says more than he does. You hear, “I know,” but you see, “I didn’t have a choice and I never will.”

He grunts when he sits up onto his knees. Wordlessly, he spills over your side and collects into a puddle in the space next to you. Once he settles, he stares up at the sky. You know he’s focused on something even further away.

“Did someone follow?” You ask gently.

Hand slipping easily into his, your fingers interlock. Links in a chain. Never an accessory to be worn in public.

Hoseok’s mouth pulls up slightly at one corner; and you know what that looks means. It means twenty minutes down the drain, shaking a tail before he can make his way to you. It means that, next time, you may need to find a different hiding spot.

The arm furthest from yours is draped over his abdomen. He moves it, and you move to hover in the space he’s cleared for you. Anchored with your knees on either side of his hips, you cup his jaw with the hand not holding his. For you, he lets himself soften, leans into the warmth of your palm.

You don’t normally say the obvious out loud, but reality doesn’t always stay in the cage you try to lock it in. “We’re playing with fire.”

“In another life,” Hoseok replies wistfully while his fingernails scratch — affectionately, teasingly, cautiously — down the expanse of your bare thigh. “We were arsonists.”

When he kisses you a second time, it’s enough for you to forget where you are. No longer in a junkyard on the outskirts of town, no longer on opposite sides of a line in the dirt, no longer trying to shove flowers into the front of a shotgun.

It’s enough.

It’s routine. You hike up the hem of your dress while he unzips his black jeans. Those are pushed down while your thong is pushed to the side; and so is the thought that this is the most of him you can have. You don’t get all of him, can’t lave your needy tongue over all of him, because it’s not safe to love him with all the layers cast aside. It’s practical, promotes a quick getaway in the event one is needed.

It’s enough, you think again, like repetition will make it true.

It’s perfect. Both of you keen when he enters you. Your thighs tremble; your walls grip him tight as they reacclimate to the stretch his cock demands. Hoseok notices your rapid blinking when you settle down on him. He knows without having to ask, kisses you through an ache that isn’t physical at all. It, like him, stays where it’s kept: in the left side of your rib cage.

“Shit,” he grunts. “Feel so perfect, baby — fuck.”

You roll your hips against him, taking him all the way and dragging the curve of his cock over that secret spot inside you. Aren’t they all? His fingernails leave impermanent, crescent indents in your thighs. You try not to care that the moon looming overhead is unapologetically full — and present every night.

There’s a newfound desperation in the way Hoseok clings to you. He digs the heels of his boots into the Stringray’s hood, hands pulling you down onto his cock while he fucks upwards into you. It drives him insane when you swirl your hips with him buried inside you, so you do, smirking like the devil.

You burrow into his neck to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses on any hint of skin you find. As you do, your fingers return to his hair and tie themselves off. If you chain yourself to him this way, maybe you can stay this way.

A quick nip at his neck unearths a groan that makes your cunt flutter around him. Tragically, no sign of you or your teeth is left behind on the side of his throat. Still, you kiss it better, whispering, “Could fuck you like this forever, baby.”

“Oh, my love,” his breath is hot against your ear when he chuckles darkly, “You hear the way your pussy is gushing all over my cock? You won’t last forever.”

His thrusts deepen. Hoseok is dead-set on unraveling you, thread by thread.

“In fact —”

Your teeth pinch his lobe. Hoseok snaps his hips forcefully in response, and your gasp echoes over the rusted squeak of a worn-out suspension. It briefly overpowers the muted slap of his pelvis colliding with the underside of your thighs. It doesn’t compare with his breathless laugh, though, not by a long-shot.

“Little vampire,” he chides you with a grin that takes effort. You mewl when his fingertips press bruises into the flesh of your ass. “Don’t think you’ll last another minute.”

Hoseok is a lot of things; and while frustrating is one of them, wrong rarely is.

It’s white hot, the uncontrolled pleasure burning through your core, and your vision matches when your wildfire orgasm ignites. Fingers searching for purchase grip tight to his jacket. Your heavy head dips forward as you cry out. Like always, you fall apart at the seams over him.

Slumped against him, he envelopes you in his arms as he fucks straight through your high and into his. Spent in every way that matters, you can’t fight off the sob that starts in the pits of your chest and crawls out of your mouth. The shiver down your spine can’t be blamed on the wind.

“Hey,” Hoseok murmurs, petal soft, “Baby, no, don’t cry.”

He takes your face in your hands and leaves you no choice but to look at him. With concern wearing creases into his forehead, he smatters kisses on every part of your crestfallen face. He whispers promises between each as he goes.

It’s okay — We’ll figure this out — I love you — We’ll be alright, you and me — I love you.

And even if it’s not all true, it’s enough.

Enough to keep you going.

Enough to glue your broken pieces back together.

Enough to keep you both from noticing the faint hum of an engine in the driveway.

[kirascottage]

dating jj maybank

jj maybank x gender neutral. reader

word count: 1.8k

cw: headcanons, overall domestic fluff, angst if you squint till ur visions blurry, mentions of poor emotional expression, mentions of sex / sexual innuendos, mentions of fighting / injury, strong pda, kissing, consensual groping, swearing, soft!jj

okay so this is the first time i’ve ever written dating headcanons so i’m gonna try my best

• jj and expressing emotions are a very complicated duo and almost everyone knows it, including you. he knows how he feels for you, and feels it strongly, but the way it comes out of his mouth is like gibberish and completely not understandable. 

“so you know — like — i don’t know, man. i feel heavy for you, like do you feel heavy for me, too?”

“jj, i don’t even know what heavy means in this context and what you’re referring to.”

• but he comes from a good place, and you come to know, learn and love that, because well he loves you, and with jj you just have to infer by his mess of words.

• this boy tries to be as romantic as possible but he’s literally never had a s/o before. the only thing he knows are one nighters so there is a lot that pope and john b advise him on because miscommunication is quite literally the worst. (stated by john b himself)

• for this instance and the sake of the headcanons: you are a member of the pogues, through and through.

• so most of the time you’re together, the pogues are there too. even dates. they love to occupy and jj could shout at the top of his lungs how they are the biggest cock-blockers to ever exist and they would not care. 

• so at that point he doesn’t even try to keep his hands to himself, he will touch you or quite literally make out with you in front of anyone and everyone he can.

• i mean he can get a little protective. (also considering he would never let you around his dad because he wants to protect you and would never let you near anyone that could hurt you) 

• i mean this guy would fight for you till the very end; punches thrown countless of times and harsh words absolutely shouted more times than you could count on your fingers, but no matter how many times you chastise jj, he would never stop to defend your honour because at the end of the night you’re the one playing with his hair and kissing his cuts and bruises.

• especially after everything as well with rafe, topper and the kooks he just wants everyone (including the tourons you see once a millennium) to know that you and him are romantically involved and you are very much taken.

• he even lets the most irrelevant people know the both of you are dating because he loves you that much:

“okay, babe, here me out—”

“jj a whole group of kids just asked me about our relationship! i love you, but the whole population does not need to know that we’re together.”

“obviously we can't tell the whole population! or I would, duh.”

•  even though he could blabber on about everything about you, including what shampoo you use and which perfume of yours is his favourite, affection is more his style: 

• this includes walking around with his hand in your back pocket because wearing anything but jean shorts is really not an option in that heat, (and this does include ass grabbing at every opportunity he can)—

• — his hand gently placed on your thigh while driving / while he’s next to you, interlocking pinkies 98% of the time as you walk together —

• — and peppering kisses is always happening. whether they’re ticking at your checks, suffocating your neck or affectionately placed on your forehead he’s always kissing you.

• other key, and essential, things that come to mind are that his arm is always around you; after everything that’s happened to him he just needs to physically know you’re there and that’s enough to subdue him.

• it’s almost routine for him arm to go around your waist or your shoulder, whether you’re tall or short, tbh he doesn’t really care, his arms and lips are always on you.

• dating jj is dating a teenage boy with absolutely no impulse control and zero control over what he says—

“I mean, dude, if you think about it, why isn’t a banana called a yellow if an orange is called an orange? and why are phones called ‘telephones’ like who the fuck came up with that crap?”

or

“i mean, hey, we could bang out here and it’s not like anyone would know. like jb could be out in the living room and be like clueless.”

“jj, there’s two windows pointing directly at us. i think he would know.”

• —if you don’t understand then he definitely does not either.

• you also flip each other off a lot and people are like ??? but you both are like — fuck you —(affectionate & full of love with my middle fingers)

• one thing he does know is how to flatter you, whether he’s obnoxiously winking at you or bringing you flowers with his tips from work, or he picked them himself, it’s all in the effort.

• any effort from you is like kids getting their favourite toy they’ve been wanting on christmas, for instance: anytime you bring him food, or offer to stay with him at john b’s is like swelling up his heart to the maximum.

• so when he’s not with you, or the pogues, which is rare he is outside. and jj is like diego the explorer he always finds little places just for himself, or for this instance with you.

• so a lot of dates include going to these secluded spots: sometimes it’s a picnic, or a walk, and stargazing is his absolute favourite as he listens to you drone on about the constellations and even just watching the sky with your presence next to him is so comforting and makes him feel safe. 

• of course when the pogues find out they’re brutal with their teasing.

“awww, look at the cute and happy couple!”

“my wittle babies, growing up so fast.”

“god, kie, you make it sound like we’re five?!”

• speaking of alone time, jj loves to cuddle when you guys are alone and that’s one thing he’s not fond of being teased about.

• his head is firm on your chest, his arms wrapped around your waist and his leg flung over your hips. to him it’s just a perfect way to start and end the day.

• he also loves to watch movies while cuddling and he has a set of movies and their genres completely memorized for the occasion.

• he has such a good memory to the weirdest things. like he can state in the exact order your makeup routine, or talk about all the caves and sinkholes in yukatan but ask him how many states there are in america and he’s completely bummed.

• back to what i was saying, cuddling and movie times together.

• he’s the little spoon i will not argue with anyone about this, especially if something happened that day.

• like if rafe pissed him off, some kooks stepped on his toes, his dad had been particularly agitated that day or he was just frustrated. your embrace is what keeps his together. he just loves the feeling of your arms around him, essentially protecting him.

• and the pogues always get a kick out of it when they see you too snuggled in the morning. they even take pictures, a lot of pictures of everything and anything they can. 

• their fav times to take pictures is when you both are off guard: like when he’s putting his hat on you, he’s sharing his juul with you, you guys are laying together on the boat or maybe your surfing together in the water.

• he’s surprisingly intimate about everything even though they’re such mundane things for him.

• he expresses his love for you by actions rather than words. for example, he has a guitar (an absolutely beat up one with missing strings and chipped wood, but he says it has more character that way as well as your signature on the back of it)—

• —and just strums it for you absolutely whenever and however your mood is because no matter what its always calming. sometimes he even hums a little tune or starts singing a bit.  

• another few ways he depicts his love for you is by shoving his baseball hat on your head (the one that absolutely nobody is allowed to wear) because he doesn’t want you frying in the sun or dying of heatstroke.

• a lot of his tank tops are now yours because they’re so comfortable and you can wear them literally anywhere.

• he shares, only with you but, he shares. his rings are on your fingers, his bandana is around your neck, his boxers are your sleep shorts, and he absolutely eats that shit up.

• he also gets extremely comfortable with you, like even more than john b in a way. example: you could just be chilling, his arm wrapped around your neck and — boom — he’s shoving your face in his armpit and trying to tickle you.

• it gets to the point where the pogues are so used to it and sometimes even they join in because they even like being included in on your affections but would absolutely rather drown than admit it. they love watching their two best friends love grow for each other, and they're happy jj has found sanctuary to love and be with someone freely. 

• speaking of love, jj is also like a puppy: praise, reassurance and kisses are the way to his heart and staying there.

• i’m gonna say it, jj has self confidence and love issues. they are not detectable at all but with his mother gone and the way his father treated him, there’s shit buried in his heart that it takes awhile for him to open up about.

• once he does: he cries, and he cried a lot. but after that it was like never letting go again. he trusts you with his whole heart and soul and he knows you won’t take advantage of that.

• the way you both accept each other into each others lives is so important to him no matter where you live, who you are and what your family is like everything counts for him and that just makes you the person who you are. 

• dating jj can be complicated and messy and wonderful and passionate and relationships aren’t easy but he would def be worth it <3

[murdickdocked]

Hi!! Do you think u could do a fluffy imagine with Edward Nashton and his s/o staying indoors watching Tv, but he’s watching them more than the movie 🥰🥰 amazing writing btw!!!!!

Riddle me this: What burns, but is not flame; What feels, but is not a heart; What cries, but is not heard?

The answer is: my eyes, they're tearing up because this is so sweet omfg

also sorry for the delay in replies, I'm actually making a big fic for him hehe, won't post it for a while but just know that I'm making it.

anyway, sorry for the chattiness, here you go! song title is from “Put Your Head On My Shoulder” by Paul Anka

|| Won't You Kiss Me Once, Baby? || Edward Nashton x Reader

Word Count: 618

Warnings: N/A, lmk if I should add anything!

Edward Nashton has endured so many trials, and is going through so much adversity day by day, most of which he kept to himself. His childhood made him grow up cold, socially awkward, and disturbed. It was hard for him to stay grounded with everything against him. He only cared for very few things, much less a person. He can easily count the things he cared about: Riddles, Sweets, Coffee, Numbers, You.

You, however, he cared for you; a whole lot, too.

His light. The love of his life. His favourite person. His reason to wake up and endure every day. You.

He would do anything for you, tried involving you in everything that he could to remind him that you’re always there for him, to remind you that he values you and your input. It’s the same as him trying to involve himself with everything you do, like now.

Alone with you, in the apartment you both live in. Watching a movie that he forgot was about. He couldn’t focus, not when you’re snuggled against him so comfortably. Not when he would hear your giggles and chuckles in every scene you found funny. Not when he has his soulmate right where they belong.

For him, rain is only good in the right conditions. He usually hated it, honestly. When it rains, and he comes home from work, it means that he has to put in extra work to make sure the floor would not end up with mud. He was only ever tidy when it comes to your home; he was not like this before you came into his life. ‘You made me better,’ he’d think, whenever he finds himself grooming his hair or cleaning more than usual, ‘you have no idea what you made of me’. He thanked God and all the stars that aligned for him to have this moment, for he never wants to let go. He always savours his time with you as if he could lose you at any moment. In Gotham, it’s more than possible, likely a guarantee. Just a simple slip-up— a minor mistake can take you away from him.

He heard you bark a laugh before erupting into giggles. He sees you point at the screen. “Look at how they run, Eddie. It’s so shitty it just becomes funny!” Oh, yes, you were watching an old slasher film, the kind you used to watch when you were much younger. He felt his lips curl up in a slight smile; his eyes fluttered shut as he leant down and kissed the crown of your hair.

All the more reason for him to purge this city of its evils; for you, for people like him. He would not let anyone take you away from him. You were a beacon of hope and love. A reminder that life can still have happiness. He loves you more than life itself, so he is more than willing to take them just to keep you by his side; safe, loved, his.

A whisper snapped him out of his thoughts. He found himself staring blankly at your hand, which held his lovingly. He pecked the back of your head, his other hand brushing your hair back.

“What was that, honey?” He mumbled against your locks.

“I said, I love you, Eddie.” You adjusted your body to look up at him, a sweet grin on your lovely lips, the ones that kissed him so often, that verbally told him of your affections.

“I love you too, sweetheart. So much.” His hand broke away from yours to lift up your chin, giving your lips a fond smooch, “so much.”

For you. For Gotham.

[raggaraddy]

Mouthy

Prompt: You say to Yandere BTS "Oh my god! Just shut up!"

A/N: Couldn't sleep, so I wrote this laying in bed. I hope it's not some sleep-deprived nonsense ^-^

Trigger warning: Yandere themes, violence, emotional manipulation, choking, non-con, D/s themes, examples of a bad D/s dynamic.

Alpha! Namjoon

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You scream it through your bedroom doorway. Storming to the railing of the stairs, you lean over and scream again. "Shut up!"

The sea of people on the ground floor go quiet. Only the music dares to keep making a sound in the background. You skulk back to your room, slamming the door loudly behind you. You had had a long, disappointing day. You were tired and grumpy, and moody and sad. But the dozens of uninvited pack members couldn't care less as their party raged on into the night.

Not allowing you enough time to even climb back into bed, Namjoon storms after you to address your outburst.

"Y/n, go downstairs right now and apologize." He orders.

"No." you mope. Feeling it's a wildly unfair request. All these people are in your house making so much noise when you're trying to sleep. How is it you that's in the wrong?

"Do you think I am asking you? I'm telling you. Get downstairs now." He says sternly. His strict tone making you even more emotional. You just wanted him to be on your side for this.

"But- But I," you sniffle, with tears in your eyes.

"No," Namjoon cuts you off. "I've asked you all afternoon what's wrong. And you wouldn't tell me. So right at this moment, I don't want to hear it. You have been disrespectful to me and my people. So you are going to put some more clothes on and cover-up, and you will go out there and apologize to every single person." He growls, leaving no room to argue. "And you will do it sincerely, or I will give you something to cry about."

King! Seokjin

You didn't say it to his face. You would never be that stupid. But still, you clearly weren't smart enough. While gossiping to a friend, someone you thought was a confidant, you're complaining about a seemingly endless, boring meeting you had to serve today.

"And I just wanted to tell all of them; Oh my god! Just shut up!" You laugh. 

But hours later it's no longer a laughing matter.

"How did you enjoy serving me today, Princess?" Jin asks his tone giving nothing away of what he already knows.

"I enjoyed it. Thank you, your Majesty" You politely smile, thinking his question to be a kindness.

"I often find these meetings so dull. Many of the Lords do like to ramble on. Sometimes I would enjoy telling all of them to just shut up." He speaks the words so purposefully that you know at once you've been exposed.

"My Lord, I-"

"If you are smart you will not say another word." He speaks softly, with a grin on his face. "I want to thank you, Y/n.  I have an endless supply of other people I can hurt. Each one of them is freely at my disposal, but you are my favourite toy." He fills the space in front of you. "However, I am a man of my word. I swore to you that you will be unharmed if you are obedient, and I would not dare to break this vow. Of course, I have sorely missed playing with my beloved little dol, though."

Towering over you he sets off your instinct to get to your knees and grovel, begging his forgiveness for your carelessness. But that would only be a wasted effort.

"So thank you, Princess, for giving me the possibility to hear your pretty cries of pain again. I will make sure to use this opportunity to its fullest."

Assassin! Yoongi

He had been in a hyper mood for 2 days straight. His energy and enthusiastic interaction was something you always craved, but you had never dealt with it this long before and you were losing your sanity and your composure.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You shout at him as your last nerve snaps.

"Okay, Y/n." He gives little to no reaction. "Remember you said this in a month from now when you're begging me to speak to you."

But it didn't take a month. In two weeks you were in tears apologizing. He left you free to roam the house, but he revoked all communication from you. The only times he gave you any attention, was when he forcibly made you stop doing something he didn't like. Or when he wanted you for sex. But still, he wouldn't utter a single word, only bending you over to take what he wanted.

After 5 weeks, just as you thought you'd never hear his voice again, he finally broke his silence. Only to break your heart.

"Listening to you these past few weeks, I realise how much you talk. It's time you take your own advice and shut up. Y/n, I don't want to hear a sound out of you until I say. 5 weeks was easy enough for me. So let's start with that, and then I'll see if I want to hear from you yet."

Vampire! Hoseok

Hoseok was always so animated. Normally it didn't bother you, but he was talking and reacting through yet another movie and you were sick of it. It might have been because you were PMSing or maybe because Hoseok had forgotten to feed you all day, but when he yelled at the TV, you yelled at him.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" And right away you were teeming with regret.

"I'm sorry baby. Am I being too loud?" He laughs with an unexpectedly harmless reply. Playfully but roughly slapping his hand on your thigh. "I'll keep it down."

You're not dumb enough to think that your eruption would go unanswered. So you sit tensely, anxiously waiting to see how he will repay you.

"Baby," he whispers in your ear, after sitting in silence for 20 minutes. "You know I have very strong hearing right?" You nod nervously. Chewing your lip. "Well, your breathing is too loud and very distracting. I can hardly hear the movie. Can you please fix that?"

You know this is going to lead to something horrible, but you have no choice but to do as he says. For the next 10 minutes, you're completely distracted trying to inhale and exhale as softly and shallowly as possible.

"Hmm baby, it's really too much. I can't concentrate on the film." He stands, pulling his belt off. "Here let me help you."

He wraps his belt around your neck, pulling and setting it so tight that it's biting into your skin. Your throat constricting, barely letting you breathe.

As you wheeze and splutter and cough, he holds the end like a leash. Sitting back on the couch, he turns his focus back to the movie without letting you loosen the strap or get away. Your whole body is shaking, your eyes starting to roll back as you struggle to inhale. The belt is cruelly not tight enough to have you pass out though. Only allowing you to sit in your suffering. The sound of your gasping filling the room.

"Ahh, there you go baby. That's much better. Don't worry, it's just while we're watching movies. And there's only two more left in the trilogy."

Playboy! Jimin

He was telling you over and over how sorry he was. How he didn't mean to kiss that girl. That he was drinking. And that she kissed him. It was every excuse and lie he had spouted 100 times before.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You yelled at him. And for a moment it worked. He sat in stunned silence. But as you got off the bed to leave, taking your car keys with you, he chased after you.

"Where are you going?"

"Out Jimin. I need some time alone to think." You scowl.

But he refuses, blocking the door. Holding his arms to either side to barricade you in.

"No, you can't leave! I said I'm sorry."

"Fuck off Jimin, your apologies mean nothing." You say shoving him.

He doesn't accept that. With a roar, he grabs your shoulders throwing you down onto the bed. Quickly straddling you, using far too much force to keep you pinned beneath him. Tearing off the pillowcases, he makes some shoddy but effective restraints. Tying you to the bars on the headboard.

Ignoring your screams and how you struggle he starts to kiss down your neck, pulling at your clothes, rubbing his hands down your body.

"I'm gonna make you feel good Y/n. I'll show you that I only want you, then you'll have to forgive me." He says sounding desperate and unhinged.

You cry and yell for him to stop, trying to buck him off you, but his hand covers your mouth, his other successfully tearing down your panties from under your dress.

"Don't fight me, Angel. Just let me in. And I'll prove I love you the most."

Dom! Taehyung

Finally, Taehyung had agreed to spend some time with you in a social environment. He and you went out to a movie and dinner with some of your friends. They were vanilla friends though, so as an exception, for the day he loosened a lot of the restrictions and formalities you normally had in place.

You, however, you were getting a little too relaxed. While you joked with you're friends, you started to speak to him the same manner. As you and he were playfully arguing about trivia facts you realized you were losing the debate.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You joke. But in the company of your friends or not, Taehyung was not about to let you disrespect him. Even in jest.

"Is that how you should talk to me girl?" He asks loudly and in front of everyone, bringing the group conversation to a grinding halt.

His change in tone and his use of the possessive pet name, right away have you back in your place.

"No," you whisper. The sting of embarrassment hot upon your cheeks.

"No, what?" He pushes it.

You can't stand to look up. All of the attention is on the two of you. And even in your peripheral, you can see your friends looking at you judgementally, wide-eyed and in shock.

And he was making it worse by having you use his title around them.

"No, Sir." you surrender, your head hung low.

"Shouldn't you also apologise to the other people at the table? For interrupting our night with your rudeness." He keeps piling on one shame after the other. Stretching out the ordeal.

"No, it's fine." One of your friends tries to laugh off the awkwardness and speed the discussion away from this point. "She doesn't have to."

"Y/n," He prompts you, disregarding what your friend had said.

Thoroughly humiliated, you can't imagine how you are going to repair these relationships or explain this treatment away.

"I'm sorry for interrupting the night with my rudeness." you swallow heavily, hands shaking.

"Good girl. Now mind your mouth. Before you make me embarrass you further."

Mafia! Jungkook

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" you say in a hushed voice. More of a prayer said to yourself than an actual demand you expected Jungkook to hear.

"What did you just say to me?" he lowers the phone, gawking at you.

You really didn't mean to, it just slipped out. He was talking on the phone, going into too graphic detail about how he and his men dealt with a threat recently. You couldn't handle the gruesome details he was recanting anymore and the words just fell out.

"What did you just say? Did you just tell me to shut up?" He repeats again through your nonreply. His tongue running through the inside of his cheek, his jaw and muscles tensing. His voice jumping rapidly from stunned to aggressive.

You're at home alone with him, so you weren't paying much mind to what you were saying. But this afternoon he's been dealing with work. And right now he isn't Kookie, no the person in front of you is Jeon Jungkook. The temperamental Mafia head, who would as likely hit you as he would speak to you.

"I'm sorry," you squeak.

"You're sorry?" He scoffs, slamming the phone down. "If you had said it and meant it, that would be one thing. I could respect that. But you really just can't control your stupid little mouth can you."

"I-" you start a defence, or more a plea for mercy.

"Shut the fuck up!" He growls leaning forward in his seat making you flinch back. Darting his hand out he grabs you by the hair, pulling you back to where you were. "Don't flinch. I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm gonna help you." He smiles.

You wriggle in his clutches, mewling the same trifle apologies under your breath.

"Shhh, my brainless little Kitten. I'm gonna give you a gift." He smirks. "For your own safety, you don't need to talk for the rest of the day. I just need you to come when I call. Sit on my lap when I tell you. And purr for me like a good little pussy." Grabbing your arm harshly, he yanks you off your chair and onto the ground. "There you go, where you belong." He laughs. "You think you can remember to do all that? I know you can. Otherwise, I'll buy you a kat collar to remind you how my Kitten should behave."

[mysticalrambling]

Hey there😄😄I hope you are doing well...You did my last request so fabulously🤩🤩So I'm back with another request😅😅It's another arranged marriage request and I think its the most bizarre request I ever had so please be patient with me😂😂 and you can decline the request if you don't feel so😅���...Ok so here it goes..

*Steve and y/n are required to get married under the marriage law, he doesn't wants to but being the good soldier he obeys the government....they get married but steve is cold towards his wife...his teammates tell him to give his marriage a chance but he ignores them...Then the accords happen and without a care he leaves his wife behind who is heartbroken seeing all this..Then after 2 years he sees her but again he feels nothing but after the snap when he saw losses around him and he gives his marriage a second chance, he starts being civil to his wife and cares for her but they never consumated their marriage...When the time heist becomes successful Steve consumates his marriage with the reader out of happiness and she thinks all is well...Everyone returns from snap and no one dies...But steve returns the stones and stays in the past and old steve comes back.... Heartbroken Y/n refuses to meet him and leaves the compound...turns out she was pregnant with Steve's baby and doesn't wants the old steve to know so...One day old steve sees pregnant y/n who is around 7 months pregnant and realises its his baby, he apologizes but she ignores and turn away from him... He goes to get help from Scott bcz he wants to be with his wife and son now bcz he and Peggy couldn't have kids, everyone thought steve was selfish...But then he tells the truth that he never wanted to stay in past, but when he went to say goodbye to peggy, she abducted him and broke the timetravel apparatus and forced him to stay in the past...Young Steve comes back and now his son is born who is around 8 months old...He attempts to get back with his family but his wife still ignores him and doesn't let him come near her or her son...Steve regrets for not loving his wife in the past and also volunteering for returning the stones...Then one day powerbroker (Sharon) blasts the house where steve's family lived thus killing his family, in way to revenge her aunty peggy...Steve is left with nothing but pain and regret....*

Regretting His Decisions (S.R)

A/N: Thank you so much lovely and I loved the plot line. I loved writing about it and I made a few additions to the story. Hope you like it.

Steve Rogers Fanfiction (Fanfiction Master List)

Summary: You and Steve get married and he is really rude to you. Then he leaves you behind and goes back to Peggy but he doesn’t realise that you are pregnant. However, Sharon kills you and the baby to avenge her Aunt Peggy and Steve is left with nothing but pain and regret.

Warnings: Angst all the way.

._._._._.

Steve never wanted to marry you or anyone else for that matter. But the government wanted it and like a good Captain, he listened to them. It was the stupid law and he wanted to wring the neck of those who made it. The protectors of the world had to get married so that the world sees them as fellow citizens instead of humans with super powers.

All the Avengers knew that Steve was hesitant to get married and he was doing out of duty. They knew that it was unfair but they all had met you. They all loved you instantly and knew that you and Steve would hit it off. However, the only problem was that he refused to meet you. The only thing that he knew about you was your name and your job occupation. Apparently, it wasn’t worth his time to get to know his to be wife.

“You need to give it a proper chance before you form an opinion.” It was the night of your bachelor party and while everyone is blackout drunk, Steve and Tony just sat on the side couch. For a person who was getting married tomorrow, Steve looked miserable and Tony couldn’t help but interfere.

“I am doing my job and that’s all that matters.” Taking a quick sip from his glass, he didn’t even wince at the liquid burning his throat.

Sighing, Tony filled up his glass again. A drunk Steve was better than a sober one, in his opinion. “A marriage is not a job and you need to try harder.”

“You don’t get to have an opinion, Tony. You got the perfect girl and the perfect wedding.” Jealousy coursed through his veins when he realised that everyone got to be with the love of their loves while he was stuck with someone who he barely knew.

Tony was left speechless and before he could come up with a response, Steve got up from his place and made his way towards his room. Calling it a night, he dreaded the next morning. He was happy for all of his friends but he also wanted to fall in love over first coffee dates, first movie nights, the first kiss and the moment he proposed because he loved you. Not because he was obligated too.

“You ready, Stevie?” Bucky was trying to be supportive but the headache was killing him. The tequila was literally seeping out of his pores. “How are you not hungover right now?”

“I didn’t drink like a maniac last night.” Adjusting his bow tie, he took a deep breath. This was the most difficult thing that he was going to do in his life and he just wanted to be left alone for sometime. “Can I have a moment alone?”

“Are you going to run if we leave you alone?”

“I am not a quitter and you all know that.” They all filed out of the room and he just sat down on the sofa and gave himself a prep talk.

You were no better on the other hand but you were ready to give it a try. Captain America was a good man and he would make a good husband. At least, that’s what you thought. You understood that the marriage was not happening under the best of circumstances but you could give it a fair chance. Taking a deep breath, you went to join your father on the doorway. He gave you a tearful smile and linked his hands with you.

“Do you take Steve Rogers as your lawfully wedded husband?” The minister asked the much awaited question and you quietly responded with an ‘I do’. During the whole ceremony, you wanted him to look at you but his eyes kept wandering. You passed it off as nerves but little did you know that he was so repulsed by the idea of this marriage that he refused to look at his wife to be.

“You guys are finally married. Treat her well, Rogers.” Fury took you both in a bear hug while your husband just hummed in response. You were like a daughter to Fury and that is why he recommended you as Steve’s spouse. He knew that Steve was an honorable man so he would fulfill all his duties as a husband.

The whole night was spent with you both smiling and engaging in conversations with the guests. However, you both made minimum effort to talk to each other except a few stolen glances. Your feet were killing you by the end of the event but you were never the one to complain. A look of relief appeared on your face when Steve announced an end to the event and thanked everyone for coming.

“Come on.” Hurriedly meeting his steps, you sat in to the passenger seat and those were the last words that were exchanged between you. When you entered the house, he took you straight to a guest room and then left. Whatever expectations that you had for tonight were crushed and so you went to bed with tears in your eyes and your wedding dress still on you.

During the next few weeks, Steve didn’t even glance at you but whenever you made an effort to do something nice for him, he shot you off. He was not willing to give it a chance and for the first few times that you made him dinner, he just picked it up and threw it in to the trash. You were never allowed in to his room and you learned it the hard way.

One day, you just wanted to put his laundry in to his room because he was not home yet. What was the harm? But boy, were you wrong. He came home early that day and he bursted at you the moment he saw you in his room. He called you some very mean things that you do not even want to recall. That night, you cried so much that your entire pillow was soaked but you didn’t want to leave him. You were in love with him way before you were married. He was the guy who saved the world and he was a good and an ethical man. Maybe he wasn’t nice to you but he was a good man and you couldn’t disagree with that.

It wasn’t that you needed a man in your life or you were dependent on him. It was that you had feelings for the man and your parents never raised you to be a quitter. You were still hoping that it all may be alright in a few days or weeks and you could have a family together. She knew that she had to be realistic but sometimes a girl wanted hope.

“I won’t be coming home for a few days.” At least he had the courtesy to tell you this time that he was going. "I have asked some of the agents to check up on you daily so if you need anything, just ask them."

"Okay." You quickly dismissed his questioning stare because he thought that you would ask questions. However, you knew that he would be rude and you would snap at him this time. A girl could only handle so much.

A week had passed and you got daily updates from Liam and Noah regarding the civil war. You still couldn’t believe that Tony and Steve were fighting because you witnessed their friendship firsthand. They had just informed you that Steve and his team were arrested by the government and shipped off to a black sight. You wanted to go to Fury and ask him to release all of them but Liam told you that it wouldn’t work. It was out of his hands.

“What do you mean?” You couldn’t believe your ears right now. Fury came by your house instead of Liam and Noah. He informed you that Chris and the other Avengers escaped from the prison and no one knows their location. Hurt was one of the most evident feeling running through your body and you didn’t know how to respond. How could he leave without telling you anything? How could he just leave?

“There will be some investigations on you but it would be nothing serious.”

“Why?” You exclaimed.

“The government is convinced that you know their location. It will blow over in sometime.”

“I am not going to sacrifice my freedom for someone who wasn’t even bothered to tell me about all this.” The hurt quickly turned into rage.

“But (Y/N)-”

“Tell all of them that I will not be doing anything and that you all should leave me alone.” You stood up and Fury took it as his cue.

Closing the door, you don’t let yourself ponder over the throbbing ache in your chest and instead get to packing. You were going to move out of this house and leave this life in the past. You moved into your parents house and immediately shot down their questions about Steve. There was a bookstore across from a studio apartment that Tony helped you find in the next few days. You loved books and the job paid pretty well. Soon, you forgot all about Steve and your failed marriage. Of course, there were feelings that you had to bury deep inside of you but you successfully managed to move on with your life.

“Have you heard, munchkin? Cap is back.” Tony shuffled your hair as he entered the library.. Pausing for a minute to absorb his words, you got right back into arranging the magazine section. It was the last thing that you had to do before you got off for the night.

“I don’t care. Are we still on for the night?”

“Yes. Pepper is cooking for the first time. Just say that you like the food.” From the past two years, Tony has been your person. He was the one who ordered you food when you were feeling too low or who massaged your feet when you had feet sores from lugging around books all day. You were thankful to have him in your life because he was not there to support you financially, he was there to support you emotionally. Sometimes, you felt so alone that you thought you might go into depression. But he was there to pull you back and so was Pepper. They were your family.

“Okay, Tony. I already know.” Quite a few things have changed over the years such as you changing your hair color to low lights and getting bangs. You changed your sense of style and. now you were pretty much unrecognizable. It was all in hope of leaving the past and turning over a new leaf. And you were somewhat successful.

“So how was the food?”

“Awesome!” The fake, shrill voice was hard to recognise, even for you but you didn’t want to hurt Pepper’s feelings.

“I know it was not good so I ordered some pizza as a back up.”

“I love you.” A chorus sounded from Tony and you as you both hugged her and kissed her on either cheek.

“Yeah, yeah.” She quickly dismissed you both but the cheeky grin on her face was hard to hide. You called it a night when you started feeling sleepy and you said your goodbyes. Your apartment was only two blocks away so you decided to take a walk to clear your head. Steve had been on your mind since the time Tony mentioned that he was back. As much as you wanted to believe that his arrival didn’t effect you, you couldn’t deny all the feelings that came rushing back in.

“Robbins Library, how may I help you?” Without looking up, you asked the question in a fake, chirpy voice.

“Why are you not at the house?” The voice startled you from your receipt checking and you gave him a confused look. As you had time to process the question, you looked over his appearance. More muscular and a fully grown beard was an interesting look and definitely suited him.

“Well, it was not mine to begin with.”

“I left you that house so you would be comfortable.”

“I am doing just fine without it. You know, I didn’t need anything from you but love and respect.”

Steve was trying to do something nice for you but he didn’t understand you. He felt nothing towards you even if he tried. Guilt coursed through him when he saw the look of hurt on your face but he couldn’t do anything about it. “That is too much.”

“Well, I deserve it and I am not going to settle for anything less.” This time, the brain won the battle and you were secretly glad. You resumed your work and he left without saying another word.

The city was in chaos in a few days because there was an alien invasion in place. The Avengers were all over the problem but Pepper and you were panicked. However, the only difference was that she could ask about Tony’s whereabouts and you couldn’t do that for your husband. There were no updates for you and when Noah came to get you both with a battered suit, you were worried.

Walking towards the tower, you realised that many people were crying but the most important thing was that it looked like half of the population was gone. There were a lot of things that you didn’t understand right now but only one thing mattered. One person. Steve. You ran towards the tower and when you saw him sitting on a chair with his head in his hands.

“What happened?” The logical part of your brain started working right on time.

“We couldn’t prevent the snap and Thor escaped.”

You didn’t know what it all meant but it was definitely something bad. “So what does it mean?”

“It means that half of the human population have disappeared. It means that half of our friends, families, loved ones have disappeared. It means that I have failed!”

“Why are you getting angry at me?”

“Just leave me alone.”

“Do not speak to me like that. I do not deserve it. When you are in the right frame of mind, come talk to me.” You were not the person that suffered silently. You were the person who knew. what she wanted and how she should be treated.

Going outside, you called your parents but it just went to voicemail. However, busy they might have been, they always picked up their phone. So you knew that they were gone too. You were alone in this world and you didn’t know what to do. In the far distance, you saw Tony and Pepper hugging and you were happy to see that your best friend was not gone.

With tears running down your eyes, you turned back and collided into a firm chest. Looking up, you saw Steve and you just wanted someone to be with you right now. That’s what Steve also wanted because he felt like a failure right now. He wanted to give the marriage another chance as he thought that it was a miracle that you both were still here after the snap. It was not fair on you but he just needed someone and so did you. It was a fair trade.

“I just don’t want to be alone right now, Steve.”

“Me too. Let’s go upstairs.” You both just silently hugged each other and kept staring out into the Manhattan skyline. You knew that he didn’t have any feelings towards you and you cared about that. But not today. Today, you wanted to just lie down and soak up in his presence because he was the only one left for you.

He brought you breakfast in bed the next morning and he took you to all the meetings. You were confused as to why he was doing all of it and when you asked him, his answer was ‘I am trying’. You didn’t get your hopes high because you knew that it would be pathetic. This was going to be temporary and you just knew it. However, you just wanted a companion so you rolled with the situation.

“We can work around quantum physics and get all of our friends back.” He informed you over the ice cream that you were sharing. A Netflix movie ran in the background because it was a Saturday and it was a routine for you both.

“That’s a really good thing.”

“We are going to do it tomorrow.”

“Nice. I am going to bed. Are you coming?” He mumbled out a small yes and picked up all the dishes to put them in the sink.

The whole day tomorrow you clinged by your phone and called your parent’s number after every fifteen minutes. You looked crazy by the end of the day but when they finally picked up, you couldn’t explain the joy that coursed through your whole body. Talking to them for hours, you promised that you would visit them and you cancelled the call.

Steve came back with a bottle of wine in his hands to celebrate. “We were successful. The world is saved. Cheers!”

“Cheers!” Both your happiness knew no bounds and after a few many glasses, you both were dancing to Taylor Swift songs. By the end of the night, you two were truly drunk and one thing led to another. You woke up the next morning with sheets wrapped around your frame and the pillow beside you crumpled but cold. You regretted the night so much because you knew that he did not have the same feelings for you.

The whole day, you spent cleaning the apartment as there were empty bottles of alcohol laying around. Then you went to the library and today was a busy day because many people wanted an update for the past five years of their lives. It kept you distracted from everything and when Tony came in, it was like the past repeating itself. He told you that Steve went to place the stones back but he came back as old.

You stopped listening to him after sometime as your mind tried to process what was happening. He betrayed you. Again. You were preparing yourself for the hurt whole day but this was totally unexpected. You knew what to do so it was a good thing. Detach yourself from the situation and do damage control. That was your motto for the next seven months and you refused to meet him even after you found out you were pregnant.

“You are in the mood of some ice cream with pickles, hmm little bean?” Rubbing your round belly, you walked towards the snacks aisle. The flavored pickle was on the top shelf but it was out of your reach. A wrinkly hand from behind picked up the jar and when you turned around to thank him, your voice was stuck in your throat. There stood your husband but the older version. The wrinkled face still held some similarities to the young captain but he had a slight hunch and grey hair.

“(Y/N), is that you? Are you- You are pregnant?” The question in his eyes was pretty evident.

“Seven months.” You curtly spoke and wheeled the trolly towards the check out. He quickly figured out the timeline and felt guilty. It was his baby and he left you alone. He caught up to you when you were bagging the groceries.

“I am sorry, (Y/N). I didn’t know. If I could change everything, I would. Please give me another chance.”

“You chose Peggy so you don’t get to come back in my life. Leave us alone. It would be a favor for this child if he never gets to know you.” Telling him off made you feel a whole lot better and you went towards your car.

Seeing you leave, Steve knew that he had to make things right. He went to the compound where all the Avengers were lounging around.

“I thought you had retired, Cap.” Peter called out from playing his video game with Bucky.

“I want your help, Scott. I want to go back to my old self.”

“Why, Captain? Got bored of the grandfather look?” Tony asked while stuffing his mouth with buttered popcorn.

“No. I just found out that my wife is pregnant and I want to be there for them.”

“That’s sweet but why? You already had your chance with Peggy.” Natasha wasn’t very happy with Steve right now but they all had the same question running through their minds.

“Peggy and I couldn’t have kids.”

“So you are using (Y/N) and this kid as a replacement. That’s just selfish, Steve.” Everyone gave him a disgusted look because they couldn’t believe that he was just using you and the child to fill a hole in his life. Not because he loved you both.

“That’s not true. I didn’t want to stay in the past with Peggy but she forced me to. She broke the time machine apparatus and I had no other choice but to accept that life.” He looked at all of them and saw that they all were listening to him. “I made a time machine the whole time I was there and when it was complete, I got the hell out of there.”

“Oh, Steve. We are so sorry. Of course, we will all help you.” Hugging him tight, Nat spoke on behalf of all the others. The machine was all ready to go so Steve stood in the middle of it with Scott. They had to go back and fixed the machine’s timing and it would take some months to do all that.

Meanwhile, you got back home and unpacked all the groceries. Your hormones were running wild at the moment as you sat on the sofa with your swollen feet on the coffee table. You wanted a companion sometimes who would massage your back or who would call you pretty when you were feeling insecure about yourself or who would bring you food at four a.m. But this was a dream and you gave up on it a long time ago. You were enough for your baby and that was a fact.

When Steve came back, 10 months had passed by. You had given birth to a beautiful baby boy after a 21 hour labour. You cried and even though you had your mom with you, you still called out for Steve. You wanted him with you and afterwards, when you held that boy in your hand, you wanted Steve to be there with you to enjoy the moment. However, it was the last time his name even came out of your month.

“Oliver, you need to eat, bubba.” The last 8 months have been a rollercoaster ride for you and you knew through Tony and Pepper that Steve had gone back in time. You didn’t bother with the details because you had another human being to worry about.

“Nooooo.” This one word was the kid’s favorite and everyone of his sentence started with it. You were interrupted in the middle by the doorbell. Picking up your child from the high chair, you made your way through the house towards the door.

“What are you doing here?” Steve looked the same age as you so you knew that the time machine trip was successful. But you saw red. He didn’t deserve you or Oliver.

“(Y/N), is- is that him?” The blubbering baby did not even pay attention to his father and kept on pulling your hair. He was an exact replica of Steve from the dirty blonde hair to the charming smile. A literal reminder for you but you loved this little boy to death.

“Yes and now go away. We don’t need you.” Looking at the baby, he regretted the day he made the decision to be the one to return the stones. He regretted the fact that he did not allow himself to love you. He regretted everything. “Do not come near us. Goodbye.”

You went on with your week as per usual with feeding Ollie in the morning and taking him to the library with you where he had his own play pen. Then getting light lunch across the street and coming back home to take a nap for a few hours. Afterwards, you both ate dinner while Oliver’s favorite cartoons played on the tv. Except for the fact that Steve was at your house, your job and your cafe from the day he came back. He tried to apologize but the years that you spent in agony was too much. It was too little, too late.

It was a Sunday afternoon and by some miracle, Steve had left you alone. He had a meeting with the other Avengers regarding Asgard today. You were just playing with Oliver on his mat as he tried to crawl towards the stuffed toys in your hands. Before you picked him up, you thought that you smelt gas. However, a loud explosion threw you in to the nearest wall and you knew that your time was here. During the last few breaths, you tried to find Oliver but you couldn’t move. Mentally calling out for Steve, your gaze became unfocused and you lost conscious.

“Wha-What happened?” Steve knew that there was a bomb blast and he wanted to hope against all hope that you both were safe. However, the two body bags wheeled out of the burnt down house had him fall to his knees.

“There was an explosion and we caught Agent Sharon fleeing the scene.”

Sharon had confessed that she wanted to have revenge on Steve for cheating on her aunt Peggy. The new family that Steve had was a disgrace to her Aunt’s memories so she murdered them. She had gone a little crazy because Peggy was the one who take care of her when she was a child and she felt that Steve betrayed her.

Steve didn’t know what to do with his life at the moment. He was left all alone and his family was snatched away from him. He didn’t get a chance to be with them and now he was left with nothing but pain and regret. Trying to convince Fury to let him go back in time and prevent the explosion was futile because Fury just told him that this would upset the balance of nature. He didn’t understand it at first but then as time passed, he did. All the toys and photos that were salvaged from the house now decorated Steve’s very lonely apartment and he never let himself forget.

This was his punishment and he was not going to run away from it. Not this time.

Hope you guys enjoyed it!!

._._._._.

A/N: I loved writing about Steve but I am no longer taking requests for some days. I actually have some of my drafts that I want to complete. You can send in requests but it will take some days for me to get to them:) Love you guys and do tell me if you want to be added to my taglist.

Taglist: @kalopsia-flaneur, @justile

Like, comment and reblog.

[imagination-is-key-in-my-world]

Awkward Encounters

Authors Note: At first, I was going to write this as the reader being in Tessa’s perspective but then I thought that it would be too much of a copyright. There may be some similarities to the story but I have written Tessa in as a separate party. Tessa is still with Noah in this. Also, I will be referencing parts from both the movie and the novels. In this particular fanfiction Tristan is a girl, like the movie.

Summary: You are a freshman at college and your life there started pretty normally. Your best friend is Tristan who is dating Steph who is roommates with Tessa. That was until you went to a party with Tristan and the girls. You had no idea that the mysterious British boy was going to intervene when you come face to face with the Bitch that is Molly.

Warning: Swearing

Pairing: Reader x Hardin Scott

Word Count: 4,423

“Come on Tristan, I told you.” I moan. “I can’t go to another party; I am still recovering from the last one.” I cling to a cold compress, trying my best to shield my eyes from the light that is seeping in through the open door.

Tristan threw a pack of Ibuprofen onto my lap that she snooped around in my bag for. “If it’s that bad, take one of these and get your butt out of that bed.” I groan at the impact from the small box just for the effect. “Don’t be a baby and get up.”

I roll over on the bed to face the wall. “Can’t you just go with Steph?”

“No!” She abruptly spat out. “I want to go with you. Steph is bringing Tessa and I don’t want to show up alone.”

“But you will be with her when you’re there. What’s the point in me getting out of this lovely cocoon that I have made, just to walk you to the party?”

Tristan had her head bent over, pulling her hair into a high ponytail on the top of her head. “You know that what you just said was the whole point.” She sighed. “Everyone is going to stare at me when I walk in there all on my lonesome.”

I eyed the short revealing dress that she was pulling onto her petite and envious body. “You know everyone will be staring at you no matter what if you wear that.” I laugh. “Those legs are going to be the headliner for that party.”

Tristan winked at me and continued adding more accessories to her ever-growing ensemble. “That my dear naïve British friend is the goal of this outfit.” She dropped to her knees faster than I could pry open the antibiotic wrapper. Gripping onto my hand she pulled me away from my mission to rid the world of the swirling furniture before my very eyes. “Y/N, if you do not go, I will literally never talk to you ever again.”

I raised my eyebrow at the sight before me. “Is that a promise.” I bravely say.

“Y/N! Please!”

“Fine alright. Give me five minutes.” I surrender, using every ounce of strength that I had left to lift myself from my comfy nest. “But you owe me, big time.” Tristan’s arms were around my neck faster than I could respond. Her soft lips that I am sure Steph adores, pressed against my forehead.

“I love you so much Miss Y/L/N!” She squealed.

I let out a stiff laugh as I saunter off to the bathroom to sort whatever state I currently appeared to be in.

***

“You know, when you said that this was going to be a cool night for us both? When did I factor into the equation?” I scoff, lifting the red solo cup to my lips. The bitter taste made my stomach curl, but what was worse was not drinking around all these over-the-top drunk people.

Tristan was straddling Steph on the sofa by the side of me. These two did not understand the true definition of PDA and why some people may find it uncomfortable. Including myself.

I inch further down the sofa that was unsurprisingly very sticky. If I wasn’t feeling queasy when I turned up, I certainly felt it now. I try to distract myself from the fact that I had to peel my legs from the leather material just to cross them. The sound was very unflattering.

“Why are you in my seat?” I roll my eyes the minute I recognised the irritating voice that filled me with angst and hatred from across the room. Molly Samuels. Her whole presence just irritates me, and it appears that I am not the only one with this response. I gaze over to my left to see Tessa shaking her head at the general distaste she had for the girl. I lift my cup up to Tessa who shyly mimics. ‘To stuck up bitches, ay?’ I say to myself, quietly so that she couldn’t hear.

Molly pushed Zed Evans and his girlfriend for the night out of her shitty throne causing his date to land hard on her arse. I am sure it wasn’t the first time that Molly has done this to declare her ‘power’ to the whole room. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” The blonde cried as Zed attempted to pick her up from the floor which was soaked in alcohol.

“Does this brat literally think she can talk to me right now?” Molly scoffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Turning to her so-called friends for approval of her comment and actions.

“What did you just call me?” The poor young girl shook off Zed’s protective arm and stepped right in front of Molly’s nose. Probably not the best move, but I have always found that Molly needed taking down a peg or two.

“You heard me, loud and clear” She popped her tongue on the letter ‘l’ in loud. “A little slutty brat who thinks for a second that Zed will call her back after he fucks her tonight.” Molly’s teeth were snarling almost like a wild animal.

“At least I’m not a bitchy whore who thinks that everyone here is her friend.” There were a couple ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ almost as if we were at a panto and not a college party after Zed’s girl’s response.

The second Molly let the words register her hand was leaving that poor girl’s cheek, along with a bright red handprint in its place.

“What the fuck, Molly!” I heard the words clear as day, but I never in a million years imagined that they would come from my mouth. But there I was, standing right in front of Molly, shielding the young girl from another blast to the face.

I could hear people whispering behind my back. ‘What is she doing?’ ‘Is she stupid or something?’ ‘Does she not know what Molly is like?’ Despite being close friends with Tristan, I never would have expected her to step up to defend me, especially when Molly Samuels was involved. She stayed on Steph’s lap; eyes bugged open. Utterly frozen.

“Wow Y/N? Get involved in other people’s business much? Just because your life is too sad, you feel like you can insert yourself into other people’s.” I roll my eyes at her pathetic attempt to rattle me. “You’re just a sad little virgin that no body wants around. Tristan only invited you tonight for her own benefit. Just look around, you don’t fit in here.”

I stay silent. I may have only spoken up once tonight, but that was enough for me. Frat parties are my least favourite place to be. The only reason I came here tonight was for Tristan. I should have left the minute she started making out with the red-haired beauty.

“Cat got your tongue now, bitch.” Molly’s face was inches from mine and I choked on the strong aroma of alcohol on her breath. “Oh, wait I forgot, the girl doesn’t own a backbone.” There were a few stifled laughs here and there. Zed stayed silent, as did Tristan and Steph. None of them making the effort to stand up for me. “Let me guess. Tristan batted her big eyes at you and begged you to come tonight, didn’t she? Then ditched you the moment someone prettier came into the picture.”

I gulp back the bile that I knew had risen to the back of my throat. “Why don’t you go back to your dorm. Oh, better yet, get on a fucking plane and fly back to shitty England. We could only get lucky and hope the thing crashes with you inside it.”

“That’s enough Molly!” The voice behind me held a British twang similar to my own. A voice I had only heard about but never actually seen. The bad boy, Hardin Scott.

Hardin Scott was attractive. Since I got here, I knew he was the talk of the college. Everybody knew who he was and that he wasn’t good news. His white shirt displayed his various tattoos clearly through the thin and tight fabric. His black hair was pushed back to show his piercing eyes and anger set eyebrows. His eyes never left Molly who was stood behind me.

“Oh, Hardin you know I am only messing with the virgin.” She forces a small laugh. “It’s not like I can control the planes is it.” Her head tilts to the side as her gaze locks onto mine, only to intimidate. “I mean I wish I could.” She muttered so that only the people stood around her could hear.

“Do you ever know when to stop!” Hardin barks, not acknowledging me physically. “Do you ever think that you’re the one that people don’t want around?” He questions, moving slowly across the room. I hadn’t noticed but the volume of the once booming music had been lowered to a slight hum in the background.

Hardin was now stood right beside me glaring down at Molly who mimicked his stance. “Ding Ding. Come on guys let’s just drop it!” Nate calls over when he noticed their glares on each other were far from breaking.

Molly was the first to move. “You’re right Nate.” She coos. “Let’s play a game.” She scans the room of her so-called posy who all appeared to be done with her shit for the night. “It’s Friday night. We need to play a game. I will even let the little virgin here play along, too.”

I am very aware that all the eyes were now back on me.

This wasn’t something that I wanted to be a part of. It took me what felt like an eternity to move my feet across the room to where Tristan was sitting. “I am going to head back to the dorms.” I declare quietly to her, but I can tell that they are all listening.

“No please stay, it won’t be the same if you go.” Tristan reaches for my hand which I pull away.

I don’t know why I am letting Molly’s words sink in so much. Everybody who knows her knows that she is full of herself and couldn’t give a shit who she hurts.

“No, it’s late.” It was only nine. “And I have assignments that are due.” I lie, they are all finished. “I’ll see you back at the dorm.”

I start towards the door but I can hear Tristan calling after me to stay.

As I reach the front door to the frat house, I hear Molly’s voice loud and clear. “So, Hardin truth or dare?”

***

The walk back to the dorms was anything but peaceful. The cars were loud and honking at me as they passed. Classy.

I reach for my phone in my bag. I could do with tuning out the world for this half hour walk back in the dark. But my fingers only find a vibrant red lipstick that I couldn’t pull off in a million years.

I stop dead in my tracks. This was Steph’s bag; I grabbed the wrong one during my never-ending embarrassment.

I couldn’t go back, but I couldn’t go further either. Where was I supposed to go, Steph’s key wasn’t in here so it’s not like I could sleep in her room for the night. No cash, key or phone meant that I had no other choice. I had to suck it up and go back.

“Fuuuck!” I shout, not caring that I startled an elderly woman who was placing a rubbish bag in her bin just outside her front door.

“Not a very ladylike thing to say.” I hear a mocking chuckle behind me causing me to jump out of my skin.

When I turn around, I am greeted by the tall British bad boy covered in ink standing about 6 foot in front of me.

His head cocks to the side when I don’t answer him. “You don’t say much, do you?” My eyes scan over his attire, black ripped jeans, white top, and a jet-black leather jacket. “But you do stare a lot, don’t you?” That British chuckle makes it’s second appearance tonight.

“What do you want?” I blurt out, shaking my head at the fact that I was indeed caught staring at the boy.

He steps a little closer to me, closing the gap between us ever so slowly. I watch in amazement at how sexy he makes walking look. “You left this at the party.” I hadn’t realised that he had extended his hand to reveal a clutch bag. My clutch bag.

“Oh!” I speak. “Thanks.” I take the bag from him and prepare myself for the walk back.

“Don’t take any notice of Molly. She is a bitch.”

“Yep.” I chip in, turning to walk back towards the college dorm rooms.

I only get a few steps ahead when I feel a cold sensation wrap around my bare arm. Why the fuck didn’t I bring a coat? I gaze down at the hand that is pressed to my skin. “Where are you going?” He softly says. His tone and action were not at all forceful but something about him made me shiver with fear deep inside the pit of my stomach. I was warned about Hardin Scott. Tristan said that he wasn’t exactly good news around her group of friends. Acting with his fists before connecting his words, that’s what she said at least.

“H-Home.” I stutter, half from the interaction, half from how fucking cold it was. I straighten up. “I am going home.”

“Alone?” He jumps in straight away.

I don’t answer. I just look back at his hand around my arm.

“S-sorry.” He stutters, removing his hand from my arm. “It’s just it’s a long way back to the dorms and it is late.”

I shrug my shoulders at his declaration. “I know.” I simply say and start to walk again but I am blocked by the gorgeous boy standing in front of me. “Oh fuck, you’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“No of course not!” He blurts.

“Good! Now could you” I gesture to the fact that he is stood directly in my path. He catches on to my hint and steps aside.

“You’re not going to walk there alone, are you?” His voice sounding desperate.

I spin and mockingly look around for people, lifting my hand to shield my eyes as I continue my search. This provokes a choked sigh from Hardin. Once I am satisfied with my ‘search’ I say “yep” and continue to walk.

“But it is late.” He chimes in again walking backwards trying desperately not to break my gaze as I try desperately to avoid his. “And you’re alone.”

“Yes, we have established this.” I mock, glaring at the stoned pavement or sidewalk ahead of me.

Hardin reaches both hands out in front of himself creating a wall which stops me from taking another step. “What is your problem?”

I take a step back, alarmed at his outburst. “My problem. You’re the one who has continuously blocked my way for the past ten minutes.” I bark. I try to move around him but he doesn’t budge, copying my actions to stay ahead of me.

“I am trying to offer my services.” Hardin exclaimed but then scowled at his choice of words. I too have a hard time accepting the word ‘services.’ Just as I go to argue he opens his mouth. “Fuck that’s not what I meant to say.” His hands instantly dart to push his hair back out of his face. A nervous tick I assume. What did he have to be nervous about? He is the one stalking after college girls at half 9 at night.

“Look can we start over?” He offers shoving his hands into his jacket. My arms promptly raise to cover my bare arms where goosebumps have started to form. Why didn’t I bring a jacket? “Could I possibly walk you back to the dorms?” His eyes dropped to the ground to stare at a pebble that he toyed with his shoe. Was he anxious?

“Why?” I question fairly quickly.

“I just want to make sure that you get back safe!” His tone wasn’t very friendly. I cock my head to one side. “Sorry, that came out bad.” His tone softening. “I just didn’t like the way that Molly spoke to you earlier and I also hate the fact that you would be walking back in this sketchy neighbourhood alone.”

“Fine.”

***

We walk all the way back to the dorms in silence. Hardin looked uncomfortable the entire time as if he were being forced to be here. I sure as hell did not make him.

I pull the key from my bag and slot it into the lock on the door. Pushing the door slightly open I stand with my arms still draped across my shivering body in the doorway. “Well, thanks for walking me back and bringing me my bag.”

Hardin didn’t budge. His eyes were locked on my body, traveling from my legs to my face. His face turned a shade of white when his eyes caught up to mine. “Fuck!” He announced.

“What!” I jump at his sudden change in demeaner.

“Your lips.” He gestures to my trembling lips that haven’t stopped shaking since I stepped outside of the frat house. “They are fucking blue!” Panic surges over him as he rakes his hands through his hair. “Why didn’t you say you were cold?” He started passing back and fourth in front of me.

“There wasn’t much you could do.” I counter. “My own stupid fault for not bringing a coat.”

I walk inside the room and grab a jacket and throw it on over my shaking body. Hardin enters after me and grabs my hand carefully. “Fuck lot that will do.” He picks up a towel and drags me back down the hallway.

I try to pull my arm back but it is no use. “Where the hell are you taking me?” I say a little too loud. Silently cursing myself if I may have woken up any of the other students living down this dorm.

“The showers now come on.” He tugs a little harder as his feet guide me towards the shared bathroom just a few floors down from my own.

As we reach the bathroom, Hardin throws the towel over the railing and reaches in to turn on the water. I couldn’t help but watch his every move. “Get in!” He cries. Gesturing to the box that was filling with tempting hot steam.

I hesitate. “Y/N, get in the fucking shower.” I jump, not at his tone. But at the fact that he used my name. How did he even know it? Oh right, he was at the party when Molly was insulting me. “If you don’t start undressing now, I will have to start doing it for you.”

I raise an eyebrow but decline his offer, stepping into the box and pulling the curtain across to shield my naked body.

***

Hardin was right, I needed that shower. I hadn’t realised how cold I had gotten from that walk home. I stood in that shower for what felt like half the evening.

I shut off the water and begin to pull the curtain slightly across so that I could reach for the towel that Hardin had placed on the rail when Hardin’s hand slips through holding the towel between his fingers.

“Thanks.” I mutter, draping it around my soaking body.

I step out to find that Hardin’s hair has dropped and started to stick to his forehead in places from the steam. His eyes dart up and down my body, quietly.

I am the first one to break the silence as we stand there in the shared bathroom. “So, I should um, probably get back to my room.”

I watch as Hardin lets my words break him from his still stance. “Yeah, um, after you.” He holds his arm out and follows me out of the bathroom. Something has shifted in Hardin. Tonight, I have seen him; angry, intimidating, shy, solemness and lost for words. It was a lot to take in during a short period of time.

I open the dorm door and step inside. When I hear the door shut, I jump and almost drop the towel. “Shit, sorry I didn’t mean for the door to shut so loudly.” He curses under his breath.

“It’s okay.” I mutter. I cling to the towel as I stare back at Hardin who hasn’t moved or made any effort to leave.

“Y/N?” Hardin’s voice softer than ever tonight, bringing my eyes to meet his. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What do you mean?” My words coming out slowly. His head dropped to face the floor. Was he trying to count the flecks of glitter on the carpet from Tristan’s body butter or something?

“Why didn’t you say that you were cold?” I roll my eyes, this again. Crossing my arms over my stomach.

“Like I said, there wasn’t anything you could have-”

“I could have given you my jacket.” He interjects. Taking a step closer to me. His body was merely a foot away from mine.

“But then you would have been the one with the blue lips.” I counter. Tilting my head to the side in a modest challenging manner.

This stirred something within Hardin, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I know that he isn’t used to a woman not agreeing with every word that comes out of his mouth.

I suddenly shake my head as I feel a slight chill spread up my back. I am still in my towel and now I am very much aware of that. Quickly I turn away from his locked-on gaze.

“Can I have some privacy please.” I mumble, not able to turn around to face him. “I need to, uh, get changed.” I add.

Hardin lets out a small grunt but eventually I do hear the click of my dorm-room door close. I don’t know why but I feel a shed of disappointment at the fact that he listened and actually left.

It takes my hands what feels like hours to release the tight grip that I held on to the towel. Allowing it to fall onto the floor.

“You know what-” I hear the click of the door and his voice fill my ears. I jump from my spot in the middle of the room. He doesn’t finish the sentence, instead Hardin slams the door behind him. “Fuck!” His eyes firm but glued on my body.

I quickly try to grab the towel up off the floor, but it is no use. Hardin instantly placed his foot over the soggy material. “Don’t.” He lets that one word fall from his lips as he slowly continues to decrease the distance between us.

“Hardin!” I shout. “Give-” I can’t finish my argument as I find his finger is placed over the top of my lips.

Hardin doesn’t speak, he just shakes his head. His soft hand moves from my lips and trails off to my cheek, holding me in place. My eyes locked onto his own, frozen in place. I watch as his eyes bounce from my own to my lips, seeking permission. His other hand snaked its way around and laid itself on the small of my back, pulling my naked body closer to his.

I was completely thrown off by the audacity of my body responding to his touch, bringing me to him. Everything happened in slow motion from the second we were back in my room. I knew that Hardin was trouble, everybody did. But no one actually prepares you for a moment like this. Where you are stood in front of a gorgeous guy whose whole attention you own. Did I say he was gorgeous?

I shake my head breaking the eye contact trance I was in. “Har-”

“You’re so beautiful.” He interrupts, breaking right through the barrier I was desperately trying to build. Correction, he shattered the wall to pieces and I find myself pushing my lips aggressively against his, hungry for the contact.

It takes him a second to return the haste in my actions within his own. Moving his lips to mimic the speed that I had set for him. It took no time at all for that jacket that he kept holding over me for not taking since we got back to the room to be thrown onto the floor, revealing the crisp white T-shirt underneath.

His hand wandered lower to lay slightly above my bare arse. While my hands slithered up underneath his shirt. Desperate to feel the skin underneath and to trace the ink that it held. The hand that rested on my cheek now held tightly to the back of my neck making it impossible to break the kiss, not that I wanted to.

I could stay like this forever, kissing Hardin has awoken something inside me that I didn’t even know existed. This overwhelming hunger for his contact. I tug a little on the hair on the back of his head which in response summoned a deep growl from Hardin that I didn’t think I was prepared to hear. Any sense of doubt that we should stop kissing left my mind the second I heard that sound.

“Y/N? You would not believe what you missed after-” Tristan stood in the open doorway, her mouth held open just as wide.

Fuck. I jump back from Hardin and scramble for the towel, concealing my naked form from my roommate. I look over to Hardin who didn’t look at all affected by the events in the last ten seconds.

“I can tell your busy so I will just, yeah.” Tristan steps back and shuts the door behind her.

I run into the closet and quickly throw on a set of underwear and a long-oversized shirt that came down to lie just beneath my arse. “I think it’s about time I start locking that door.” I joke as I step through the closet door.

My eyes roam the room for the handsome boy I was just making out with only to be greeted with an empty room. My shoulders fall, “I guess that’s goodbye.” I mumble, trying my best to hold myself together. Locking the door before falling onto my bed.

Part 2?