#i mean there's also the thing behind those gates

[ianthedebonair]

click the image for a cute little surprise 🤭

[pencil-n-pen]

I WANT AN INNOCENT LOVE

.☘︎ ݁˖

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alexandria! rick grimes x fawn! fem! reader

masterlist | kofi

summary: you’re a new addition to alexandria. Rick’s just looking out for his group. That’s the only reason he finds himself drawn to you. Nothing else.

cw: LEGAL age gap (it is big, i imagine reader in her early 20s) canon typical depictions of violence, Rick is kinda mean to reader at first, Rick kind of struggles with the age gap a little, dom! Rick, slight possessive rick

tags/tropes: shy and skittish reader, she’s not used to dealing with people but she’s not helpless, honestly she’s just a sweet and soft person who became what everyone becomes in the apocalypse, hurt/comfort, insecurity, touch-starved reader a bit, YEARNING, no saviors or whisperers just Rick and everyone living happily in alexandria. Daryl is also here and he’s kind of like ur uncle bc i love daryl and i say so

a/n: i have nothing to say other than this is so insanely self indulgent it’s not even funny. nobody asked for this but writing it has kept me sane while i’m couch ridden. everything is terrible rn but rick grimes <3333

songs i listened to while writing: We'll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross, Work Song by Hozier (Rick's theme song) you were mine by Esha Tewari, Do I Wanna Know- Hozier's Cover, Somethin' Stupid by Nancy & Frank Cinatra, Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley (i'm so not normal about that entire album) Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers, Little Bit by Lykke Li (the original not the remix)

title taken from Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers

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You were just a little thing when you showed up at the gates.

All wide-eyed and skittish at the tree-line, clothes hanging awkwardly off your frame. Scuffed and dirty, when Rick goes up to the tower to scout you out.

You don’t quite come close enough for anyone to get any kind of information on you. Name, age, where you’ve been, what you’re doing at the gates.

These are all questions Rick, as leader, needs answers to.

If he could just convince you to get close enough.

Under different circumstances, he’d just let you do whatever it is you’re planning on doing, but the lurking is starting to make people uneasy. And he figured he ought to do something to ease their concerns. Easiest way is to either get you inside the walls or find answers to those questions.

You’re real good at staying out of reach, though. And you never stay in one place for long. By the time two weeks have gone by, you’ve made it around the entire length of the walls. Just to end up right where you started: the gates.

It’s just past the crack of dawn- dew is still lingering on the plants and grass and the sun’s rays have yet to actually provide warmth. Rick is up, making his rounds and checking in when one of the guards on rotation lets him know that you’re at the gates. Only time you’ve ever been that close.

So they’re opened, and you amble in— light-footed and unsure. Honestly, you remind him a bit of Daryl with your obvious hesitance to be in the company of other people and clear inclination towards nature. But where Daryl is hard edges and reclusiveness, you’re… softer.

A small group of people —curious onlookers, mostly— forms behind Rick as he saunters towards you, and he watches the moment you see the reality of your decision and begin to regret it.

He comes to a stop a few feet away from you, letting the silence hang in the air for a bit.

He finally takes you in with his own two eyes, without the aid of the binoculars, and he examines. Catalogs the nervous twitch of your hands and scuffs and scrapes he can see on the visible scraps of skin. Eyes the way you worry your lip between your teeth and can’t decide if you’re going to keep staring at him or look away- your mind clearly torn between vigilance and submission.

“You finish your tour of Alexandria?” He asks dryly.

You blink up at him, eyes wide. “Are you the leader of this safe-zone?”

He nods. “Sure am.”

You begin fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly. The small motion draws his attention back to your hands, where me notices bandaids practically covering the entire surface of your skin. He files the information away in his head for later.

“Are you currently accepting new members?”

He can’t help but crack a smile at your question. The way you phrase it and your nervous demeanor remind him so much of the times before the dead started walking— you look like a college student looking for a job, not somebody trying to find refuge here, after the end of the world.

“Depends,” He rests his hands on his hips, and he notes the way your eyes dart to the gun at his side before back up to him, “You got any skills to offer? You alone? Or do you got a group waitin’ for you?”

Your lip is raw from where you release it from your teeth.

“I’m really good at mending. I’m a proficient hunter. I can hold my own in a fight. And I’m alone.”

At the admittance of your lack of company, you shift back a few steps, a subtle re-distribution of weight.

Ain’t been socialized a whole bunch, Rick thinks to himself. He’s willing to bet you either don’t have a lot of positive experiences with large groups of people or you just plain ain’t been around em’ much.

He hums. “You killed anybody?”

“Walkers or live?”

“Either.”

You shift your shoulders. He’s starting to wonder just how many nervous actions you have.

“I don’t think anybody lives alone who hasn’t killed walkers.”

“And the living?”

You don’t move, but your eyes look to the ground, not at him.

Shame. Fear.

“Twice.”

“How come?”

“They wanted my supplies. Wanted me dead. I decided I didn’t want to die.”

He looks you over again. You really are a cute little thing. He thinks, absentmindedly in the back of his head, that something like you shouldn’t have bloody, bandaid covered hands. Shouldn’t have a kill count.

But he dismisses the thought. The end of the world leaves no room for those unwilling to do what’s necessary.

He dips his head. “We’ll get you settled in,” He jerks his head to the some of the guys behind him. “They’ll get you sorted out. Get along, now.”

You slink past him, distance carefully measured as you go.

Your eyes don’t quite leave him, though. There’s a moment- either you pause or his mind slows. Maybe a bit of both. But the air stills, and your gaze locks on him for the first time since he saw you, nestled in that tree line. The memory is clear and vivid- the sun shining through the trees, dappling you in shades of amber and grey. And then he’s here, and you’re looking up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and the sun has risen just enough that it casts a similar glow, the only difference now he can see up close just how the light catches on your face, just how he knows your features would look so different, so much softer if you were cleaned, if someone minded the cuts and scrapes.

And then you step away, and he snaps out of his reverie. He blinks a few times at your retreating form, shakes his head, and then busy’s himself with other work. There’s always something to be done.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get the image of you gazing up at him, bathed in the early morning sun out of his mind.

—

A few days pass, and Rick sees little of you. He’s almost positive it’s on purpose. The few times he does see you, you look scared. And then, generally, you manage to make some sort of fleet-footed escape. The repeated spotting and fleeing reminds him of the time he accompanied Daryl on a hunt and startled a doe.

He can’t quite figure out why you’re afraid of him, though. He remembers being fairly decent to you when you arrived, and tried coaxing you towards the gates politely before you’d shown up on your own.

The sight of your scared expression ends up stuck fast in his head, usually super-imposed over the image of you on that morning at the gates. Two different versions of you, neither making any sort of sense.

He decides that it’s probably best that he stick away, if he scares you. You’ll settle, your ruffled feathers’ll smooth.

And he’ll stop thinking about you.

—

Neither do you settle or does he stop thinking about you.

He watches you from a distance, careful. You just… don’t relax. Ever. You creep away from every possible opportunity to connect with others like it might grow jaws and bite- you shrink back or freeze. Like you think if you play dead, if you don’t move, they’ll leave you alone.

He’s wondering what you hoped to accomplish by seeking refuge in Alexandria if this is how you act. You’re going to have a bad go of things if this is your plan. Or maybe you plain haven’t even thought that far.

He snags Daryl’s arm as he passes by.

“Wha—“

“The new girl,” Is all Rick says, still watching you remarkably avoid everyone who passes you. “She’s real skittish.”

Daryl follows his eyeline, finding you easy enough.

“Mm. She ain’t settlin’?”

“No.”

Daryl just hums again. “Well, she ain’t got nobody, does she?”

“So?”

The hunter shrugs. “Can’t relax. Ain’t got nobody to watch her back, take a watch. She’ll settle. Might take her a bit of time.”

Rick huffs. “She’s afraid of me.”

“No she ain’t,” Daryl snorts, “And since when does Rick Grimes care whether other people like him well enough?”

Rick doesn’t respond, just keeps watching you.

Daryl follows Rick’s gaze, then breathes out a low sigh.

“She is a pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

“That is not what this is about.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Sure it’s not.“

“She’s half my age. I could damn well be her father.”

“But ya ain’t.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is the point, Rick?” Daryl sighs again, crossing his arms. “Either do something about it or move on. You got too many people dependin’ on ya for you to be eyeing up flighty young girls.”

Rick rolls his shoulders. “You make me out to be such a creep.”

The other man claps him on the shoulder. “Then stop acting like one.”

He attempts to take Daryl’s advice to heart. It’s an annoying truth that Daryl always knows exactly what Rick needs to hear. Not necessarily what he wants to hear, but what needs to be said.

And he is being creepy. He shakes his head as he walks away. Watching you, thinking about you. He can’t. That’s— you’re too young to be thinking any kind of thing like that.

No matter how there’s this half second, before you look scared, where you almost look relieved. No matter how he wants to personally take care of the bumps and scrapes on your face, wants to take off the bandaids and examine what’s beneath them.

Daryl was right. He needs to focus. Carl, Judith, everyone- they need him.

You’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

—

You’ve gone missing.

Rick has been doing his best to heed Daryl’s advice— he stopped looking for you in the crowds, stopped trying to figure you out, stopped watching you from afar. He even made a fairly decent attempt to stop thinking about you. Not that the effort proves especially fruitful, but he tried, damnit.

All of those efforts go straight out the window when Daryl tells him that no one’s seen you since yesterday.

It takes him two seconds to grab his gun and follow Daryl out the door.

He barely remembers to tell Carl where he’s going, which scares him, because he doesn’t quite understand what’s been so invasive to his mind and day-to-day activities about you. Your eyes, the soft curve of your cheek, how you might feel in his hands.

They cloud his judgment. Make him do stupid reckless things like search Alexandria high and low for any sign of you.

He doesn’t find any. He searches the place you’re staying— nothing. Only sign of life is the unmade bed and bandaid wrappers in the trashcan by the bed.

He sighs deep and low as he stands over your bed. “Think she had enough? High-tailed it?”

Daryl leans against the doorway. “Nah. She likes it here well enough. She ain’t stupid enough to leave a good thing like this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve spoken to her?”

Daryl shrugs. “Few times. She don’t like talkin’ too much, but I think she figures her and I similar.”

“She wrong?”

He scratches his beard. “A little. She fears situations and people the way a prey animal does. S’ why she’s a runner.”

Rick mulls Daryl’s words over as they scan the rest of the place but, of course, find nothing. There are no signs that you, specifically, live here. Nothing personal. Just the unmade bed and the bandaid wrappers in the trashcan.

The pair of them turn the entirety of Alexandria over in a matter of hours. He’s just about to call it quits, either wait for you to come back or send out a search in the morning when Daryl comes back over, telling him you’re at the gates.

As in, outside of them.

Opposite of how things went when you first showed up at the gates, people clear a path as he stalks towards you. They give the pair of you a nice, wide bubble. Even Daryl stays a few feet behind him.

The first thing he notices is that you’re covered in blood. From the way you’re holding yourself, most of it isn’t your own. There’s a backpack slung over your shoulder, but it’s not your usual one.

You won’t meet his eyes.

He stops an arms length away from you. “Where the hell were you?”

You shift backwards, away from him ever so slightly. “Scavenging.”

“Mhm, interestin’,” He says, rubbing his jaw, “Because the last scavenging party was yesterday. And you came back with everybody, so I’ll ask again. Where were you.”

Your eyes flick up from the ground for a moment, eying the people that have gathered to stare. He watches you mentally count them all, then attempt to put more distance between yourself and everybody else. Emphasis on attempt, because the second you take a step back, you stumble, wincing before righting yourself and going right back to scanning the crowd.

He works his jaw, anger and annoyance simmering just under the surface of his skin. He’s not going to get anything out of you here.

He grabs your wrist and turns, set in the direction of the medics.

He drags you along behind him, ignoring the little huffs or sharp intakes of pain when you walk a little too hard or too fast on your bad ankle.

You trip a few times as you go, and when you almost take Rick down with you, he sighs, pausing and turning.

The expression you give him is full of fear. He realizes, in the moment, that you might not remember where the medics are, so as far as you know, he’s angry at you and dragging you to a secluded area.

Guilt strikes him hard and fast, right in his chest.

Damn.

It’s too early to feel guilty about the random girl he allowed into Alexandria. Frightened eyes and shy nature aside.

He shakes his head once. “We’re going to see a doctor. Here, put your arm around me.”

He has to lower himself a little for you to drape your arm across the back of his neck. Your fingertips brush his shoulder, and he can feel the way you’re shaking.

It’s slow going from then on, with Rick acting as your crutches.

“Where were you? And don’t bullshit me.”

“Scavenging.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” You nudge the backpack still strapped to your back. “I was… looking for something. I can’t look for it with the others.”

“What the hell is it that you can’t look for it with the others?”

“A body.”

Your response hangs in the air, thick and heavy.

“…Family or friend?”

“Friend. Haven’t found her yet.”

Something clicks into place in his mental file about you. He feels like he just gained a new piece of the puzzle.

He readjusts your weight over his shoulder, tucking you a little closer and steadfastly pretending he doesn’t hear the little gasp you let out at the contact. Whether it was from pain or surprise, he can’t let himself think about it.

“Don’t go out by yourself. If you need to look, take Daryl with you.”

You sag a bit into him. “Okay.”

He glances down at you from the corner of his eye. You’re… pliant. You’d agreed quickly, and showed absolutely no fight or unwillingness when he, admittedly, manhandled you. You’d followed dutifully behind him and then simply allowed him to position your arms the way he wanted them.

There’s another little parasite that burrows into his brain right there. Right as he’s got you in his grip.

He slows to a stop, a little question forming in his head. He slips the arm that had been wrapped around your waist away, instead curls his fingers across your chin and jaw. He tilts your head up, looks down at your face, searching it for… something.

He meets no resistance. You only stare up at him, doe eyes blinking. He tilts your head to the left, then to right, and still, nothing.

Huh.

He lets go, and you shudder, a full body shiver. And he thinks, in this moment, that he could do whatever he wanted, and you might let him. He could break you, like this.

It’s a very dangerous thing, he decides. Because he doesn’t want to break you. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to peel back the bandaids and see what’s under them. He wants to scrub the dirt from your face and give you soft clothes —his clothes— not those tattered rags that hang off your body.

You might let him do whatever he wants, but you’re the one who holds this power over him. You’re the one who made him sick— filled his head and clouded his judgement and made him the kind of man he never used to be.

But he can’t say any of that. Can’t even act on it. Not with someone young enough to be his daughter. He has a daughter for Christ’s sake. And a son.

So he just wraps his arm back around your waist and helps you to the medics.

—

“Rick,” Daryl says one afternoon, leaned on the post on the porch, “You’re drivin’ me crazy, here.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help with that.”

“The fawn.”

He raises an eyebrow. “The fawn?”

“You know. That nervous little thing you keep pretendin’ you don’t want in your bed.”

“Daryl.”

The man just keeps fiddling with his crossbow. “What?”

“I can’t just— she’s half my age.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I got kids to think about, and—“

“Carl don’t give a shit and Judith is ten. Only thing she’s concerned about is sneakin’ sweets.”

He entertains the notion in his head, thinks about what pursuing you might be like.

Something occurs to him.

“She ever get close to you?”

“No,” Daryl huffs, always knowing exactly what Rick means, “Keeps about an arm’s distance away. No matter what. She’s been inchin’ closer recently, but not by much.”

His hand on your face, moving it this way and that without any resistance at all, your body pliant in his grip—

“Hm,” Is all Rick says, crossing his arms.

“Why fawn?”

Daryl shrugs. “Looks like one. Kinda acts like one, around you.”

“No she doesn’t.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Yes, she does. And based on the way you’ve been actin’, you like it.”

He opens his mouth to refute the point because no, he doesn’t like it, he just constantly thinks about how far he could take it, what you would let him do, if he could make you his.

And then he thinks ‘oh.’ Maybe he does like it.

He drops his hands to his hips. “What exactly am I supposed to do, then?”

“I don’t know. Ain’t my area of expertise.”

“You’re the one who knows her better, said I was drivin’ you crazy.”

“So? I don’t know jack shit about romance, Rick.”

“Well, you keep calling her a fawn. How different can it be?”

Very different, his mind supplies. You know that.

Now it’s Daryl’s turn to sigh. “Don’t overwhelm her. She’s a nervous little thing, but she likes you. Once she figures out you ain’t gonna hurt her, she’ll latch on.”

“That’s specific. You deal with fawns a lot?”

He snorts. “No. I’m fuckin’ guessin’ here.”

The two men fall into silence, Daryl fiddling or cleaning his bow— Rick ain’t paying that much attention to him.

He’s thinking about you. You, you, you. Your eyes and your face and your hands and the figure you carefully keep hidden under layers of clothing, even under the hot Virginia sun.

Fawn, he thinks to himself.

Fitting.

—

He doesn’t make a plan or something stupid like that. He just thinks. And then he decides.

“You’re really coming with us?” Glenn asks, pack slung over his shoulder.

“Yep,” Rick says, holstering his gun, “Goin’ stir crazy in there. Just needa get out for a bit.”

You’re quiet as you get your things in order, but the group doesn’t bat an eye. They’re used to your silence, it seems.

You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, though. You look away every time you think he’s looking at you, but he’s good at looking at you out of the corner of his eye, so he sees it.

Throughout the run, you hover near him, never quite going out of range of his field of vision. He’s impressed by how quietly and efficiently you work- you spot things even he wouldn’t have. All the while watching for walkers, and of course, subtly eyeing Rick.

Despite being the leader, he heads up the back and watches for stragglers. He didn’t really come out cause he was stir-crazy, anyway.

He came out for you. He wanted to watch you work, wanted to do it with you.

To your credit, you work well with the others. You’re a woman of few words with them, but you help where you can and stay civil. Even if you don’t quite get close to any of them.

Except Rick.

As they’re scavenging an abandoned house, a few walkers shuffle out from the trees. Not enough to be a problem— the group outnumbers them easy. But you’re all busy getting supplies and he’s trying to keep an eye out, so he takes them out, one by one.

It really isn’t a huge thing for him, couple walkers ain’t really a big deal, but you notice.

Your eyes are trained on him, clothes now dirty with blood and gore.

He tilts his head, then makes his way over to you.

“You, um,” You say as he gets closer, voice a little hoarse, “Are you alright?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. It’ll take more than a few walkers to take me out.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He snorts a little laugh. “You ain’t too good at this whole conversation thing, huh?”

You flush, looking away. “Sorry. I’m just not… used to having them.”

You look up at him, earnest. “But I’ve been practicing!”

Oh, lord have mercy over his poor soul. You’ve done a full 180– turned from being afraid of him to very obviously wanting his approval.

“That’s good, that’s good. Who you been practicin’ with?”

“Daryl.”

“Now, that ain’t no good.”

You frown, shifting in place. “It’s not?”

“Well, it’s good that you’re tryin’,” He amends, “But Daryl ain’t good for conversation practicin’. He’s a little too much like you. Much too inclined to just sit in silence.”

“Oh.”

You pause, taking your lip between your teeth and mulling something over in your head.

“Would you, um.” You look up at him, clearly nervous.

And he can’t help himself really, from leaning down into your space a bit, a low “Hmm?” humming from his chest.

Your reaction is instant. This close, he can see the exact moment a flush crawls across your face, to even the tips of your ears.

And he’d suspected, you know, based on your behavior with him. But this— cold hard evidence that he makes you nervous. That you want him on you.

It’s cute. Real cute.

You steel yourself against your own nervousness, and he wants to coo at you.

“Would you practice with me?”

He leans back against the post, slides his hands into his pockets. “Course. Ain’t much to it.”

You smile. It’s small, a quiet sort of thing, but it’s there. He made you smile.

You gesture to the house behind you. “I’m. Gonna go back to scavenging. Um. Thanks.”

You turn on your heel, fleeing back into the house. He watches you go, something settling right into place in his chest.

You stick a little closer to him for the rest of the run.

—

After that day, you begin seeking him out. You don’t approach him right away, preferring to to trail behind him for a little bit before finally making a move.

The move being a quiet: “Hi, Rick.”

Today’s no different, other than it being a little later when you do find him. He’s taking a little stroll around, as is his usual. It… settles him, to see everything alright with his own two eyes.

Settles him even more when he hears the quiet patter of your footsteps behind him.

He chuckles. “Afternoon, darlin’.”

Your foot steps speed up, fall into step somewhat beside him. “Hi, Rick.”

“Hi,” He says, smile tugging at his lips. “How was your day?”

You clasp your hands behind your back as you walk. “Good. Weren’t many walkers on today’s run. I got something for Judith.”

“Oh? Let’s see it, then.”

You take something out of your pocket and hold it out to him.

It’s a pocket knife. One of those multi-tool ones.

And it’s pink.

“I know it’s a cliche, the girls knife being pink, and she is only ten, but I saw it and I thought of her, and—“

“It’s perfect,” He interrupts before you can start spiraling. “She’s gonna love it.”

You deflate almost instantly. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure.”

You walk for a few minutes before remembering the point of you coming up to him.

“Um. How was your day?”

He huffs a little, too fond to be upset. “Fairly decent. Ain’t got too much going on now.”

“That’s… good?”

He shrugs. “Just a little borin’. How’s that ankle of yours?”

This is usually how your conversations go. A few easy, back and forth questions. Easing you into talking to people, keeping conversations going. You’ve slowly gotten more confident. You talk a little longer, voice sounds a little more expressive.

“Fine.” You say, a little too quickly.

He narrows his eyes. “Really? No pain at all?”

It’s the looking away that sells it. You never look at him when you’re lying. Can’t stand to.

“No. It’s fine.”

He kicks his foot out a little, the toe of his boot just barely catching your ankle.

It’s a little more effective than he wanted. You let out a little yelp of pain and stumble forward, ankle almost immediately buckling.

He darts forward, catching you under the stomach with one arm.

You hang there a little, arms dangling.

“Fine, huh?” He hefts you up, so you’re back to standing upright, though now, visibly favoring your ankle. “So what’d the doctor tell you when I dropped you off?”

“Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

“And which of those four have you been ignorin’?”

“…”

“Hey,” He says, tapping the side of your jaw with two fingers. “Don’t lie to me.”

“All of them,” You wince, “I just didn’t want to be useless. I can walk on it fine. You haven’t even noticed until now!”

Your voice goes a little high at the end, a little desperate.

He thinks about how animals that are lower on the food rung don’t show pain. A deer will break a leg and keep walking until it drops, till it slows too much and something picks it off.

But you ain’t an animal, and nothing’s gonna pick you off.

“That’s true,” He says, “But that don’t make it right. You’re just prolonging the healing process.”

You look down. “…You were mad. I didn’t want to make you more upset by being useless.”

Ah. So that’s what it’s all about.

His approval, once again.

“I’d rather have you useless for a week than useless forever because you didn’t rest properly,” He ignores the hypocrisy of it, the fact that he’s ignored medical advice more times than he can count.

“I really am fine, mostly,” You say meekly, “It’s stopped hurting when I walk. It’s just a little unstable.”

“I still want you taking it easy for a little, you hear me?”

You nod.

“Nah,” He moves, standing in front of you, more than a little in your personal space, “I wanna hear you say it. Use your words.”

It’s a little test of sorts. To see how you’ll respond. What you’ll say. If you’ll listen.

You swallow, eyelashes fluttering. “I hear you. I understand.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Take it easy.”

“That’s right,” You’ve been nice and obedient, so he figures you deserve a little reward. “Good girl.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your eyes get a little glassy.

Aw, that’s all you wanted. Just wanted to be someone’s good girl.

His good girl.

He nods towards your place. “Get along, now. Do I have to walk you to your door?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ll go. I will. Uh— bye.”

He watches you scamper away, gait a little uneven, hands clenched at your sides.

I can get used to this.

—

It becomes a little thing, after that.

When you’re not busy with your own responsibilities, you’re usually with him. Either right beside him, or trailing a few feet behind. Your company is quiet and calm, like waves from a lake lapping gently at the shore.

You also begin to settle in with the rest of the group. You’re still more inclined to be near Rick or, if he’s not available, Daryl, but once you become comfortable talking with people, Maggie and Glenn are quickly added to your slowly growing roster of safe people.

Judith has loved you ever since she found out that you’re the one who gave her the most beloved pink pocket knife, and enjoys babbling and talking your ear off about nothing the way that ten year olds do.

Carl grows to appreciate your presence too, finding solace in the fact that you don’t feel the need to fill silence with conversation.

You still act different when Rick is around, though. Especially when it’s just the two of you.

With everybody else, you’re subtly but very strictly independent- despite growing close with the group, you still maintain a slight distance with most of them, and prefer doing things yourself, by yourself. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

But when you’re alone, just Rick and you, those hard edges soften, and your little personal bubble pops. He’s steadily growing obsessed with the change.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Having such a cute little thing follow him around, hanging off his words. Most days, it’s all he can do not to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to bed.

And then one day, he does. Kind of.

It must be the middle of the night, but the second he hears the knock at his door, he’s wide awake.

He hushes both Carl and Judith back to bed, then creeps to the front door with his hand on his gun. He has never, in his entire life, been awoken in the middle of the night to good news.

When he opens the door he sees you. And Daryl, but he’s really focused on you. You’ve got tears streaming down your face, you’re wearing a strange combination of sleep clothes and the clothes he’s seen you wear to do runs. Your boots are on, but not tied.

“Wha—“

“Caught her sneaking towards the gates, all shaken up. Figured it’d be wiser to take her here then back to her place.”

Daryl pats your head once. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

Then Daryl’s gone, and you’re standing on Rick’s porch, still crying.

“Alright, come here now.”

He barely manages to get the door closed before you fall into him, face pressed to his chest and hands grasping the front of his shirt.

He hesitates for just a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

“Shh, shh. You’re alright, you’re alright now.”

He presses one hand to the nape of your neck, keeping you tucked close as you crack, just a little bit, nearly silent tears staining his shirt and tremors wracking your body.

Eventually, he guides you over to the couch, situates himself before helping you into a more comfortable position. He wraps your arms around his neck, your legs draped across his lap and the couch.

He keeps one hand pressed to your neck, the other rubbing slow circles on your back.

He presses his cheek to the crown of your head, breathing in deep and slow, a curl of satisfaction rising in his chest when you unconsciously mimic his breathing, silent sobs slowing, tremors fading.

Once you’ve calmed down enough, he speaks.

“What’s got you so worked up, huh? What happened sweetheart?”

The pet name slips out of his mouth unbidden, but honestly, he wouldn’t take it back.

“Nightmare,” You sniffle. “Daryl was gone and it was my fault and you hated me.”

“Well, none of that happened now, did it?”

You shake your head.

“No, that’s right. Daryl’s just fine, and I ain’t upset with you. You’re alright.”

You take in a few shaky, shuddering breaths.

He shifts, readjusting and tucking you closer to him. “Now, how come you didn’t come to me? Daryl said you were headin’ to the gates.”

You go a little rigid. “Didn’t think I was allowed. Didn’t want to wake you up for something stupid.”

“Oh, none of that now,” He nudges you away a little, taking your face in his hands. He needs eye-contact while he says this, “You need something, you come to me. I don’t care what it is, I don’t care what time it is. You come to me, you understand?”

You nod, lip wobbling a bit. “I understand.”

He thumbs your cheekbone. “Good. Now come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

In the morning, the kids are a little surprised to see your rumpled form at the kitchen table, but both recover fairly quickly. Judith especially, who rejoices at the prospect of someone other than Carl or her father whom she can hold hostage with inane, ten year old questions.

But you never quite shake that haunted look in your eyes. Like there was something else— something more in that nightmare, something that dug its little claws in and stuck fast.

It’s all he can do but pray it doesn’t last.

—

It becomes an unspoken thing that wherever Rick is, you’re nearby. Kind of like a little puppy, following him about and hoping for a treat.

He indulges you, because he can’t really help himself in the face of those eyes.

He also knows it’s the easiest way to get you to smile, which he’s been trying to bring about more, since the nightmare. You’ve shaken that haunted expression for the most part, but every now and then, it’ll come back, if just for a few moments.

You’ve been absent most of the day today, off on a run, and he wishes it didn’t get under his skin so much to not have his favorite girl right there behind him.

You’re his stress relief, and you don’t even know it. Don’t even do anything really, just kind of linger about with your adorable little face and occasionally help with your cute little hands. He’s hopelessly obsessed.

You’re smiling when you get back, bee-lining straight for him.

“Well, well,” He says, resting his hands on his hips, “What do we have here?”

“I got you something,” You say, practically vibrating with excitement, slinging your backpack off and rifling through it.

“Oh, something for me? Can’t wait to see it.”

You pull an honest to god polaroid camera out of your bag.

“You said once that you wished you had pictures of your kids to carry with you, and I found this, and it still works, and it still has film in it. I checked.”

You thrust it out to him, and he extracts it carefully from your hands, holding it with an almost reverence.

A camera. A working film camera.

You shuffle in place, and he realizes he’s been staring at it in silence for more than a few minutes. “…Do you like it?”

“I love it,” He says honestly, voice just a little scratchy, because he doesn’t understand how someone can survive the zombie apocalypse, and still end up so damn kind, and so damn sweet. “I’m so touched, sweetheart.”

You beam up at him. If you had a tail, you’d be wagging it. He’s never understood cuteness aggression until this very moment. He just can’t. He wants to squeeze you as hard as he can or just punch a wall or some stupid shit.

God, he’s pushing forty, he needs to get this under control.

“I was really excited when I found it. Tara took a picture of me to test it.”

You pull out a little polaroid picture, film developed, and he takes that with reverence too. In the picture, you’re smiling, that same soft, little smile you do when you’re really happy about something and don’t know how to express it. Your hands show two peace signs, a knife clutched in one.

That’s my girl, he thinks.

“Might just have to keep this,” He says, dumb smile on his face.

“Really?”

“Really. You know, it’s good luck to keep a picture of a pretty girl with you.”

“Pretty?” You squeak, flushing. It’s so easy to make you flustered. He loves it.

“Mhm,” He says, tucking the photo into one of the compartments on his belt, keeping it safe. “Real pretty, I’d say.”

“Oh.” You say, more than a little breathless. “Um.”

Oh, your poor little brain.

“You need a minute?” He snorts.

“Maybe?”

He chuckles, patting the top of your head. “Oh, you’ll be fine. Better get used to it.”

“You’re pretty too,” You blurt, then your eyes widen comically. “No, wait, I meant—“

He laughs, a real, actual laugh. “Me, a grown ass man- pretty. That’s a good one.”

You bury your face in your hands, a tiny little whine escaping your throat.

“Aw, come on, now. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m very flattered you think I’m pretty.”

“S’ not what I meant.” You mumble.

“No?” He says, prying your hands off your face. “What’d you mean, then?”

You look away, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re… handsome.” You whisper the last part, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Aw, what’d I do to deserve a young thing like you thinking an old man like me is handsome?”

You mumble something again, a little too quiet for him to hear.

“…afe.”

He leans down. “What was that, now?”

“You’re safe.”

Oh.

That’s… not the answer he was expecting.

But he likes it.

Rick is a leader. A protector.

And you need him.

“I make you feel safe?” He hums, resisting the urge to step closer to you because you’re very much out in the open and he knows how you feel about wide open spaces, especially when there’s people in them. He’s torturing you enough as it is. “That why you linger around me, huh?”

Feeling bolder at his interest, you nod.

“You make me feel like… something special. Protected.”

Yes.

He’s always known that he needs to be needed. That he’s the kind of man who requires being a leader, taking care of what’s his, protecting.

To have verbal confirmation that he’s made you feel safe, protected, it’s.

Well it’s a lot more than he can unpack in front of the gates.

“Pretty little thing like you needs protectin’.”

You frown.

“Not because you’re incapable,” He amends, hands raised, “But because I rather like doing it.”

You lean closer, and he follows, heat rising—

“Please, save us all the pain of havin’ to watch, Rick.”

He grins, nose brushing yours, then steps back.

“Maybe stop creepin’ around, Daryl.” He calls to the other man, who just shrugs, ambling on by.

But Daryl does have a point. He doesn’t want an audience. You’re not that kind of girl.

Instead, he reaches down, snakes an arm around your waist and leads you away from the open space, towards his house instead.

“Come on, sweetheart. Think you’d rather be somewhere quiet for what I’m about to do.”

The heat radiating from your body and the shiver he feels under his palm is all the confirmation he needs.

His little fawn, finally his.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

[baepsays]

High School Oblivion ⸻ Gojo Satoru x reader

description ᯓ★ while going through his high school yearbook when helping his mother clean out their storage, Gojo's hands get stuck on a page with a picture of this one particular person. he cannot help but reminisce about the past as now a 30 year old and wonder how things could have turned out if everything went down differently.

cw ᯓ★ fluff, sfw, implicated angst, really mild angst, enemies to friends, one sided love, pining, academic rivals, lowkey bully Gojo, teasing and name calling—nothing really extreme, high school au, frenemies really, usage of fem oriented pronouns, reader is depicted as a fem presenting person, reader is depicted shorter than Gojo, written basically from Gojo's pov, time skips, nosebleed, sorry but use of y/n l/n i know that can be cringy but whatever.

𐙚 Playlist I used while writing this.

Satoru is a good son. In fact, he's kind, diligent, genuine, obedient, and- "Stop trying to slack off and get back to work." Well, his mother might disagree.

"You cannot be asking me to help you and also boss me around mom." Satoru says with a signature pout. Having Gojo Satoru as your son and raising him, doesn't really immunize a person to his pouts. Or maybe his mother is biased because he looks exactly like his father when he's trying to sway her as well and he pulls out what seems to be a Gojo family weapon. But naturally she has her own defenses. 

"I'm only making you do this because you left all this behind yourself Sato, why didn't you take some of this or clean it when you moved out?"

"Wow just because I am a grown adult I cannot believe my own mother is treating me like one. Wow, what has the world come to." Satoru exclaimed like the drama queen he is. 

"Stop being dramatic and help me properly you know I can't lift up all these boxes you have essentially filled with garbage. Clean out these last 3 boxes piled up in categories of what you need and what to throw out, I'll go check on your father."

It seems his whining doesn't always work on his mother the way it does on his father. Oh well. Though this has been such a nostalgic Sunday, being back in his childhood home, well second one, the neighborhood he grew up in for the better part of his teenage and young adulthood, getting forced into helping out his mother, and the smell of his father's cooking  on a weekend. Time might as well revert back.

While cleaning out one of the, what seems never ending, boxes of childhood belongings— Gojo Satoru stumbles upon something he hasn't seen in probably 12 years. His high school yearbook.

It is a natural thing to go into the realm of nostalgia when stumbling upon things like this. Flipping through the pages he really grasps how much he has already forgotten. I mean that is given, it's been 12 years since he graduated. It takes him 12 months to find his lost socks.

Looking through the pictures he realizes how much everything has changed. The length of Suguru's hair has changed, as well as Shoko's. Nanami has gotten more chiseled or tired; he cannot say exactly, Utahime finally has a decent haircut.  And look at him! Oh how naive he was, look at those big blue eyes with nothing behind them, covered by those obnoxious pairs of shades. Maybe some things haven't changed, never mind. He's probably never letting go of his obnoxious collection of shades.

As he flips through the pages his fingers get stuck on a particular page. And the memories just come flooding in without any effort.

[BACK IN HIGH SCHOOL, fifteen years ago]

Gojo Satoru saw you for the first time at the school gates on his first day during first year, at a new high school. 

He was not very fond of the idea of going to school in a new city, away from the place he grew up in, unfamiliar people, and joining in the middle of the year when everyone has already somewhat settled down, it unnerved him. Unfortunately, throwing a fit about staying in a house his parents already sold and made all the arrangements to move to another place, couldn't help him much.  

Some random kid showing up in the middle of the year is just a recipe to be bullied, or at least be prone to such jabs. He had decided prior to his first day, that he would go in with a stone cold face and be brave through this. Or, plan B.

While he was heavily contemplating standing in front of the main gate, the last bell already rang, he was officially late for his first day. Well he arrived a lot earlier, then somehow everyone passed by him and the final bell rang and he just stood there. And he was thinking about making a run for it, that was the plan B, taking a train back to Tokyo, and from there on he will figure it out. His parents will definitely know, find him, maybe this ordeal will finally make them understand how serious he was about not settling in here, even if that came at the cost of being grounded for life. 

Satoru almost turned around to walk away from his new high school, his new city— his new home essentially— that is when a breeze of air gushed past him. When he looked forward, past the gates of the school, there was a fluff of hair, in the said school's uniform with a bag in her hands; dangling and teetering to fall on the ground, a key chain bouncing by one of the zippers— cute little orange cat, bouncing on her bag. She was running with all her might to make it, unlike him. That is all he saw of her, but he smelled much more. The lingering smell of her perfume, or soap or just- whatever it may be. 

Lemons? Bergamot maybe. Distinctly citrus, not the sour kind, or the room freshener kind— a sweet smell of ripe citrus in the summer sun, kind of citrus. And flowers, peonies to be exact, that was very apparent. 

Satoru, to this day, has never smelled that kind of tantalizing fragrance. To this day, he still remembers exactly how he stood there dumb; eyes wide open, mouth agape, and nothing but citrus with peonies haunting his chemoreceptors.

That day he tried to run after you, to put a name and face to the fragrance that in an instant hypnotized him, and to return that orange cat. Unfortunately, the teetering little cat keychain did fall off your bag, and when he ran after you to return it, he couldn't catch up to your haste. And since that day he didn't see you until a whole month passed. 

That month he met his lifelong circle of friends, his best of friends. But it wasn't easy for neither of the sides to become acquainted, he was in a broody depressed rage about shifting and had already made up his mind that ‘well everyone must hate me’ — teenagers. Anyway, the first day he sat beside Geto Suguru he barked at Suguru for no reason, poor suguru was just being friendly and kind. So yes that broke into a little kerfuffle, got a lot of scolding from their homeroom teacher, Mr. Yaga. Later Suguru still dragged Satoru with him to eat lunch with his friends. 

This is important to the story because, nostalgia and well, Satoru realized you were literally in the class next door, because of Shoko.

One day, when Suguru and him were irritating Kento, with a giggly Haibara, it took him only 2 weeks to drop his ‘you don't understand mom’ & ‘i am above you people’ act.

don't get it wrong, he still thinks he's better than most people, which isn't entirely wrong but god is it annoying. And that is exactly how you felt about Gojo Satoru upon your first impression of him. 

On that fateful day you went to look for Shoko, and found her, as usual at the school basketball court with her friends, with an addition of white fluff. You had heard of Gojo Satoru a lot at that point, the girls in your class went to gather out of their class to check him out, from what you heard he picked a fight with Suguru that day. Off the get go you did not think much of him, probably some pretty face with connections and money to spare by getting into unnecessary trouble. 

Satoru didn't see you entering the basketball court that day, but he smelled you. In the past month there had been few instances where his nostrils would be randomly engulfed by that citrusy peony smell, and he would halt in his pace to whip his head around to find the source. But alas, by the time he would turn around, you'd be nowhere to be found, and your perfume would slowly fade out. 

And here you were, in all your physical tangible glory, for a second Satoru was taken aback seeing you there—somewhere somehow, before your fragrance could reach him, something about you struck him right in his throat. Maybe it was his subconscious, but he halted right where he was, mid match with Kento and Suguru. When was the ball snatched away from him, or when your bergamot and peonies perfume took over his senses; neither could be pinpointed. All he knew was that— it was you. 

It was the girl with messed up collars and messy hair. Who smells divine. And the orange cat keychain!— Which has been sitting on his desk for a month. Satoru couldn't care less about Suguru egging him on about making a basket, nor did he see Kento slowly retire to the audience benches with Haibara— he stood there, staring at you, giving back Shoko some notebook; not important. He needed to go up to you. He needed to introduce himself! He couldn't let you slip away now. 

So right before you told Shoko you'd be taking your leave, he rushed over there, and haphazardly blurted out— “you smell.” 

“Excuse me!?” you looked at him flabbergasted. 

“Satoru, why are you trying to pick a fight?” Shoko had to intervene. Because what a horrible way to introduce two of  your friends to each other.

“Listen Gojo, I do not know what your problem is, but I'd advise you to keep yourself and your opinions to yourself.” You warned him before storming out of the basketball court with furrowed eyebrows and red ears.  

“Damn dude, do you even know her? Why would you even say that?” Suguru was honestly very entertained by this exchange that day, as he was thoroughly entertained by you two's interactions throughout high school. 

Satoru didn't mean to start off on such a contemptuous note with you, he didn't really mean it. I mean- he did mean what he said, it's just his phrasing was poor. He has always been reprimanded about this problem by his mother since he was a kid, his father did find it extremely funny. At times, he too found his poor choice of vocabulary funny, unfortunately it wasn't one of those circumstances. 

Later he had explained this to Shoko, telling Suguru anything was useless, he was too preoccupied with reenacting his failed attempt at making a good first impression on you. He then only revealed why he has been looking for the girl who smells like bergamot and peonies—which he didn't use as a descriptor of you, that much detail and all of them are on his neck about being a little obsessed creep. He didn't go into any details, he just told them he met you on his first day, at the school gates and you were late, also about how you dropped your keychain. After all that is why he ran after you that day to find you and give it back to you, but unfortunately he got blind sighted by your perfume, right? Well that is what he is willing to tell others and himself. At least he knew your name now.

And surprisingly you also knew him? Did you also see him at the gates that day? Or did you see him in the hallways? Or with Shoko? Or-Why was he so concerned anyway? All he needed was to return the keychain and get over this whole thing, you didn't seem like a very easygoing person. But maybe that had to do with his poor sentence structuring.

Next time Satoru saw you, you were in your class. It was before the morning bell rang, he showed up at the door by the end of your classroom, to seem more inconspicuous. He was looking around to find you in the midst of the flock of girls gathered around him to enquire about his sudden visit, so much for being inconspicuous. Fortunately, he saw you soon enough at the front of the classroom in a seat by the windows — “Y/N!” 

and everyone turned to stare at you, ‘great’—wasn't exactly what you were feeling. When you walked up to Satoru, you couldn't help but narrow your eyes at the guy. “Did not think we were on a first name basis.” 

“Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot, i-” Gojo tried to explain. 

“I think we got off on exactly the right foot, I mean who just gets all up into someone's face and calls them smelly?” Your voice was already going up quite a bit. 

“No, listen, that was a misunderstanding. I mean I did mean what I said, but-” he tried to, horribly, explain himself. 

“Seriously, your audacity is immense, not only did you call me smelly, but now you're showing up to my class to pick a fight!?” you definitely lost some cool at that point. Everyone who wasn't already congregated, also gathered around, inside the classroom and outside in the hallway. 

“First of all, will you stop cutting me off? I am trying to explain the situation here!” And now Satoru was also losing it. 

“Explain? Explain what? Explain how you are above everything and literal incarnation of God or something? Oh did my lowly perfume perhaps irritate your nose hair?” The sarcasm clearly entailed what kind of image you have already built in your head about him. Perhaps it was from all sorts of exaggerated rumours about him. Though you didn't seem like one to fall for such petty rumours, like how he was an undercover actor or prince. But he was sure what kind of a person you thought this guy was—an arrogant asshole. 

“Do you even know me?” said Satoru, now starting to become really irritated by your—in his opinion—unnecessary attitude. The last month has been hard enough as is. It took him time to settle down and not let people’s stares or baseless rumors get to him—some of them might have been funny if he was being honest. It was the friends he made in his first week who held him back from getting into more fights than he already did, and had his back against all the whispers. 

“Do you know me well enough to shout my first name in front of my entire class!?” Well Satoru didn't have a comeback to that. “Exactly. So why don't you keep yourself and your arrogance out of my sight.” You grimaced.

“Arrogance? Oh please shortcake. You sure have a lot of words to spout with that height of yours.” Now he was just being petty.

“Oh because being a streetlight is so gratifying!” 

“At least I don't cut people off mid sentence then talk shit!” and he has completely lost his cool.

“Oh don't put on pretence! Like you are some saint!? For who? The girls who flock you like some shiny stone?” 

“Oh don't be salty just because I didn't give you some attention shortcake.” He was trying to get under your skin. He's now losing sight of his actual motive.

“Yes, because I am dying to be acknowledged by your highness, and how my smell is bothering his expensive nose!” 

“Listen. That was entirely a misunderstanding, and you're not even trying to hear me out. You are the one picking a fight!” 

“Oh I am sorry, I just can't stand pretentious people.” you stab your last quip with a glare, stabbing right through his chest, all while maintaining perfect eye contact. 

“You know what. Nevermind shortcake, this was a waste of time.” 

“I didn't even ask for your presence in the first place.” Your eyes deadpanned, remained trained on him, bored yet bothered. Both of your faces mere inches away, when did it get there? No idea. He was cranking his head down to glare back into your eyes, losing all motivation to return your keychain. And before he could come up with any further retort, the bell rang. Thankfully.

Word of this interaction spread through the entire school like wildfire. 

A few things were instantly established in the passing months since Satoru’s arrival—he was going to be popular, he is good at almost everything, and that he got along with almost everyone; even the people he did not have a good rapport with at the beginning, now he seemingly got along with them perfectly. 

But, there was one person who could not stand him. And that person happened to be you. And everyone was aware of this. The students, respective and common friends, the teachers, heck even the principal knew.  

Yet in the next 6 months since Satoru joined the school, he found himself crossing paths with you quite often. First he really did just avoid you; he gave up on giving back the keychain, that he did out of pettiness. He really did want to return it, but unless and until you dropped your attitude he was not letting the cat chain go, but he did take good care of it— it sat nicely on his desk, gave it a little bed made out of a soft napkin he got from his mom. Once in a while he would dust it and give it pats, and also speak to it. Yeah, after dinners when he would be studying he would speak to that little guy. He was feeling real friendly with it, which made him feel more bad for it, because at the end of the day it belonged to you. 

In the instances where Satoru and you would run into each other; you could be laughing out loud and having a fun time and then, you would see him across the hallway and your face would morph into a scowl. It irked him, in a good way, it made him feel excited that he had such a sway on you. Even if he was convinced it was not that one single—incorrectly interpreted—comment about your perfume, which made you have such a poor opinion of him; there has to have been a deeper reason. From what he has gathered, you are the highest scoring student in the entire year, the teachers have a very good opinion of you, and you are helpful towards your peers— a straight A’s student, and their sophomore student body council secretary, a real model student. Even though you would mostly keep to yourself, you were still pretty well known by others. 

Yet when you saw him, you would lose your cool. In fact from what he heard, the biggest takeaway from the fight you two had was that, ‘woah she can be like that?’, because people apparently had never seen you speak over a certain decibel. That stroked his ego. Made him feel sort of special, got him all giddy. 

He was yet to realize the gravity of those feelings. The impact of the rush he felt when he smelled your sweet and citrusy fragrance when you passed by him, speeding up to lose sight of him faster. And he would always be left behind, to stand still, taking it all in.  

His little teasing remarks, pranks, and fight initiators started soon after the fight you two had that day; started small really. Calling you shortcake constantly, interrupting you when you would go to their class to make some announcement on behalf of the student body. Trying to get better grades than you. Going over to the student body room, using his class president Kento as an excuse, to annoy you. Stealing your spectacles on days you would not put in contacts, trying it on and copying your mannerisms. His personal favorite was to snatch away any books, notebooks, or papers in your hands; to then hold it over his head. The whole thing about you jumping to try and get it out of his hands—which was an impossible task for you—gave him the opportunity to smell your scent much better. 

During one of such instances, where he was holding one of the student council papers over his head, prolonging your work, he got a whiff of your shampoo. It smelled like fruits, strawberries and more citrus—it smelled like orange this time. This was fatal. The notes of bergamot and peonies were threatening his sanity as is, and now there were strawberries. He got so trancened by your presence that when his hand lowered involuntarily, you took the chance to grab onto his shoulder, to use him as a support to reach for your papers—he stood there looking into your squinting eyes as you retrieved the papers from his hand, until you walked off muttering curses at him. 

And he just stood staring at your back. His eyes lingered on you long enough to see you turn back and throw a glare at him as you made a turn to disappear from his line of sight.

This went on, the teasing and squabbling, the name callings, use of the words shortcake and streetlight became significantly more frequent in your respective lexicons. Satoru loved using his pretty privileges to get the girls in your class to do his bidding, and had them sending you off somewhere without mentioning his name, the naive enchanted girls would abide with no questions asked. And when you would show up, he would throw a fake snake at you, or jumpscare you—though this was a more rare occurrence than his regular teasing, just so you would not get too used to this sort of pranks that it would lose its effect on you. 

To him the idea of you was like this puzzling question nagging and straining on his mind, much like your physical self. But you got him excited and riled up. Also a little annoyed at the fact that you do not think of him worthy enough to spare any time. Which is why he came up with these mischievous ideas to elicit reactions out of you. 

Nothing was more satisfying than to see you break under his little ventriloquism.

The dynamics took a slight turn when you two became second year students.

On the fateful morning of the day when the results for first year���s finals came out—you found yourself standing dumbfounded, looking at your full name on the bulletin board, in second place. 

You came in second. 

Which is big! An amazing achievement. But it didn't feel like it. Especially when your name was displayed second to Gojo Satoru. He outdid you, he really did. Getting better grades than you in random tests and what not was one thing, then outranking you and ruining your plan for a perfect streak—was another thing. The horror and embarrassment of standing in front of the huge display of the grades, surrounded by everyone, having your failures announced in broad daylight, hearing everyone whisper about you—had you standing there like a cold unmoving statue.

So when Satoru got around to finally stroll in with ease, way after the results were announced, to come up to stand directly behind you—because as always the first person his eyes wander to find in a crowd is—you. He couldn't figure out why you glared at him differently, there was this underlying somber and a tilting glaze in your eyes. It was as if any moment you were going to break down into tears and his presence was anything but welcomed. 

Praise his tongue, because thankfully that day it held itself back. Thankfully his senses caught on to what was happening. Coming in first or second or last did not matter much to him, because what mattered most to him was to simply  get under your skin, essentially the very reason why he ended up on the top of the list—but you did not find this funny or amusing. And it wasn't your usual annoyance and dismay of his antics, he really felt like he had done something to actually hurt you. 

And which in return hurt him tenfold. Knowingly or unknowingly, Gojo Satoru bled himself a wound that he didn't know how to stitch close. 

He didn't know what exactly hurt more, the fact you ran away from there that day after he arrived, without a single word. Or the fact that you've been completely ignoring his existence since that day. It has been really painful for him, because everytime he would get a glimpse of you or a whiff of you—you'd disappear from his sphere, as soon as humanly possible. He made every effort to try to speak to you. The rejoice he felt about being assigned to the same classroom as you this year, was starting to wear off. Especially when you made it explicitly clear through your actions that you had no intention of speaking to him or acknowledging his existence, more than ever. If you were helping out class president Nanami Kento with distributing papers, you would hand over his papers as nonchalantly as possible. In one of such several instances, he gave up on giving you space to get back to your usual self, and grabbed your wrist to explain himself. 

“L/n, listen, i am really sorry alright. I don't know how it happened. I swear I did not mean to hurt you like that, I swear! I was just-” he blabbed on without making much sense, whispering as discreetly as possible. Even though the entire school was aware you two were not on even speaking terms anymore. He did not want to put you in a position where everyone made a spectacle out of you.

“I have better things to do, Gojo.” as always you would cut him off, without even sparing him as much as even a glare, then yank your wrist out of his grasp to go on your merry way. 

He really did whatever he could, following you around like a kicked puppy, leaving notes on your desk, which was fortunately assigned right before his own desk—he was not sure if it made things a little easier for him, or a hundred times harder. It stung to find those notes crumbled up and sitting on his own desk later. Stung to sit behind you, when you refused to spare a glare or two his way, even some sharp remarks, or curses directed at him. The smell of sweet citrus and peonies did not help. The teachers would call him out more often than not for being distracted in class. Poor guy was really going through it.

The nail in his coffin was, when it had already been three weeks since the new year started. Three weeks and three days of you completely ignoring his pathetic attempts at saying sorry to you. On the fourth day of the fourth week, he found you in the teacher's lounge, speaking to one of your subject teachers;

“Goodness L/n. The year just started and you are already slacking off? Forgetting to submit the student council work on time, then forgetting your class assignments!? Is there something going on? No surprise Gojo surpassed you, do you understand the gravity of that? That careless guy outranked you. And you are making no efforts to rectify that! If things go on like this, next year you might come second from last.” he really crossed a line there.

If it was in Satoru’s capacity, he would’ve probably gone in and punched the man straight square in the jaw. He never really liked him to begin with. It was not about the fact he called Satoru careless, or the fact he always finds the flaws in Satoru—it was entirely about how he treated you. And it was not just in this instance, the guy has always been harsh and judgemental towards you, from what he heard it started since one day you corrected his mistake during class. And he was known to be not tolerant of anyone being better than him, especially students. 

Satoru almost broke into the room, when his eyes locked with yours. You stood in front of the guy with your hands tightly gripped by your side, facing the door. Your already glossy eyes started to almost overflow with tears when your gaze fell on him, your body was slightly trembling. How you managed to blink away those tears, is beyond him. In the brief moment where you looked at him and looked away to control your emotions, making an effort to not break down into tears in front of the room full of teachers, the teacher who was scolding you, and your homeroom teacher Mr. Yaga who was giving you pitiful glaces—he knew interrupting will only make things worse for you.

More than anyone, you did not want to cry in front of Satoru. And Satoru was cognizant of that fact better than maybe even yourself.

So, he did the most sensible thing he could in that moment, for once, he simply stood outside with his back to the wall outside of the teacher’s room, and did not dare to look inside. And he just waited while remaining unnoticeable. Waiting for you to come out, he did not care for the looks thrown his way by the students roaming in the hallways, as long as they did not spare a glance towards you and try to snoop. What did he even want to say to you when you came out of there? He had no idea, and he knew he was the last person you would want to see right now, but for him you are the first person he wants to see everyday after he wakes up—so he could not just let you be on your own in this condition. Because he knew better than anyone, you were not one to wear your heart on your sleeves. 

Satoru essentially blended in there, to the point you did not even notice him standing there when you left the room in a hurry, and headed the opposite way from your class. Recess was already over, that guy kept you in there for the entire recess period. ‘Goodness did you even eat?’ was something that crossed his mind among various spiteful and angry words he was muttering under his breath directed towards that teacher. 

You were never one to miss a class, cutting classes without any valid reason was out of the question. But honestly if you tried to go in the class right now, he would have probably dragged you somewhere else himself. So he did the next best thing—followed you from a distance to wherever you were going. No one is going to care or notice if you two were gone at the same time, right? Well at least he could make up some excuse and take all the blame himself. He was not exactly known for his attendance record anyway, the sole reason why he made sure not to miss school was because you barely ever skipped school. 

That is how he found you in the school yard at the back, near the flower patch the students planted, against the big Momiji tree. Where you are found most times during free periods, reading whatever book you may be reading at the moment. This time you were just crying, well it is not that he could see you, but he could tell. You were sitting with your knees to your chest, face buried in your hands, your entire figure was clearly trembling even from afar. Soft sobs jabbed his ears as he got closer and made his chest hurt. He slowly walked up to the tree trying not to scare you. 

“Stop lurking like a creep.” You said with your head still down.

“Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you.” He said softly, and went to take a seat beside you, unsure if you were going to run away from him again.

You laid your legs flat on the grass and rested your back against the tree when he made his way over to you. When you looked up at him, eyes bloodshot red, glassy with tears, and more tears running down your cheeks, pooling at your chin— with your lips slightly jutted out and eyebrows bunched up in a frown, he just fell on his knees in front of you. Happerhazadly pulled out his handkerchief, and offered to take it. 

“Is this funny to you?” you said with a frown. He knew you were upset but he couldn't help but think, and mindlessly said it out loud—

“Cute.” 

“Ah so this is cute to you!? You are finding my misery and embarrassment cute. You seriously-” he cuts you off mid sentence.

“Will you ever actually let me speak!?” He takes a second and continues “Goodness shortcake, I meant you are cute. The tongue you've got on you, could wound thousands of soldiers and that brain of yours could beat Usain Bolt in a race.” He let out a short chuckle as he shook his head slightly and wiped your face with his handkerchief. 

He gingerly wiped away the tears falling down your cheeks and chin, and the accumulated tears in the corners of your eyes. With utmost gentle touch he cleaned you up, which was characteristically contradictory.

You looked away from him without any retort. Too occupied with the fact he called you cute, to even notice that little gesture. So you further leaned back onto the tree as if it'll engulf you and make you not sit here with him and confront this heavy air hanging between you two. But also, who is stopping you from getting up and walking away? 

Things have always been odd when Gojo Satoru was involved. Somehow after everything, time and time again you found yourself breaking down all your walls to let this guy have a peek at your most authentic self—someone who is envious, easily irritable, not the patient and tolerating soft-spoken girl everyone knows. And it irks you. It claws at your skin that he has been nothing but himself since day one; even before entering the gates of the school, he didn't think of the consequences but just turned his back to it and almost walked away. Yet you were rushing to make it on time, to not have any smear on your perfect record. Even if you were late only because you were up studying until late for the midterms looming over, you could not excuse one slip up.

Why didn't he run the opposite direction of the school but instead chased after you?—you couldn't pinpoint the answer. Everything about him just simply made your head scramble, enough so you didn't even realize you lost your beloved cat keychain until later during lunch. Even when you searched around everywhere, traced back your steps, and looked for it on the route back home; it was nowhere to be found. You cried yourself to sleep that night thinking how you lost the keychain, which had a cat who looked exactly like the cat you once loved and cherished. It was unfortunate enough to have lost him at such a young age, but the key chain helped to have his presence as if guiding you through obstacles.

And without him, things have been a mess. The only explanation you could rationalize was that Gojo Satoru was the one to blame for everything. If he hadn't turned back and ran in after you, you would've been more receptive to your keychain dropping instead of this giant guy running behind you, and wouldn't have lost it. If only he didn't become friends with Shoko and the others you wouldn't have to possibly interact with him. And then he wouldn't know of your existence and try to make it his mission to have your life fall apart. 

“I'm sorry.” 

What surprising words even for him. There have been very few people in his life he has ever genuinely apologized to. He could count them all on all his fingers, but he never expected to be where he was currently.

“I am sorry for saying that you smell, which I did not mean in the way it came off, I am just really bad with my words. I meant you smell really nice.” His face was completely serious and there was no trace of mockery or jest. 

“I just- not to be a creep, I saw you on my first day here. At the school gates.” His eyes softened and his body started to fidget. He almost seemed—nervous? 

“I almost ran back to Tokyo that day. I wasn't really, well to put it simply, happy about the whole moving thing. And if you hadn't rushed past me that day, I probably would've gone with my plan.” He throws an easy smile in your direction. “If you hadn't dropped this—” He digs around his pockets and encloses something in his fist. 

“Maybe it would have been much harder for me and my parents to start off here. I am almost glad you dropped this little guy that day.” When he opened his fist, in the space between you two, there rested your lost keychain with the cat who reminded you of your dead pet cat. 

Upon the sight of your beloved cat (keychain), your mouth opened a little with an audible gasp. Your hand went up timidly to touch it on his palm, actively sending shivers down his spine at the brush of your fingertips. All he could focus his eyes on was your hand, not even daring to look up at your face, afraid of the state of his own face.

He was sure the heat he felt rushing up to his cheeks and ears, must have evidently turned his pale skin into a blushing mess. If only he was not so preoccupied with his own emotions, he would have noticed the first speck of tear forming yet again in the corners of your eyes, before it could even fall down. Which he only felt when he saw the droplets of water that landed on the palm of his hand, effectively making him snap his head back up to look at your weeping face. 

If he asked you then why were you crying? You would have probably just cried harder. So you were thankful that he did not ask. 

He did not bother to ask any questions but simply took you in his arms, burying your face in his chest, actively soaking his shirt in the shivering winds of spring—letting you cry about nothing and everything, in the arms of the guy who has been the source of your annoyance since the day he arrived. 

“You make no sense to me” your sobs became muffled through the fabric of his shirt and sweater vest.

“That is a weird way of thanking someone for returning the keychain which you clearly care a lot about.” he let out a soft giggle, trying to put you at ease. You pulled away from him, much to his dismay, looking only at the keychain he returned in the palm of your hands. 

“Well you did take over my rank, and eavesdropped on me getting humiliated.” if it was in his power, he would kiss away that frown and pout.

With that one passing thought, Gojo Satoru had the first epiphany of his life that day. The answer to the inclination he felt towards hogging away all your attention.

“Satoru?” He finally heard from the haze of realization and panic that suddenly hit him. What was he supposed to do now? How was he going to ever face you with these confusing feelings?

“Are you alright?” you seemed genuinely concerned for him. Which melted him. Again, if only he was not so preoccupied with the mess in his head and chest, he would have realized much earlier you just called him by his first name. For the first time ever. 

“Did you just call me by my first name?” he asked in genuine awe. While you shied away from him a little, which he found more endearing—this is an entirely biased perspective. 

“Also! I really did not mean to outdo you! I swear! I didn't even try that hard, and I was sure you were going to do way better than me. Believe me it was just a fluke.” he blabbered on in a frenzy. “Wow, way to show off Gojo.” you said playfully with an eye roll and half smile, just impressed by the lack of imperious tone in his voice. 

“No, I swear! Also i mean you have been looking really exhausted these days, maybe that is why, or else how can i ever beat you? I don't know, maybe because I am new. So they were like—’let’s give him this so he does not go around picking fights again’. Also come on you just called me Satoru what happened! No take backs.” you let out a big laugh at his silly rambling. “Goodness. Alright Satoru.” 

And he's all smiles with the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. 

“I will be taking back my spot from you. Keep it warm until then.” With those final words you stood up and walked away, the hand you used to give him a final pat on his shoulder—dragged off his shoulder with each step enlarging the distance between you two. The agonizingly lingering heat that it left behind, surely left a mark on his skin. It burnt, or perhaps shocked him—he was unclear which was worse.

One thing was clear as he watched you walk back into the building—he is in deep waters. And unfortunately he doesn't know how to swim.

It is truly beyond current Satoru, how teen Satoru's thought processes worked. Because how do you come to the conclusion that ‘i need to do everything in my power other than confront these feelings eating away at me.’ 

So after the confrontational and very heartfelt conversation with you, Satoru felt more powerless than ever at the mercy of the feelings you provoked within him. His head would feel light, chest would feel heavy, feet would go numb, and every moment he would get a whiff of your scent he could feel a threatening nosebleed. 

Actually once during PE you sat beside him after running, sweaty and out of breath. You had simply leaned over him to grab the water bottle by his side—and his nose started bleeding. Until then he never believed in the whole thing about getting a nosebleed because of being overwhelmed, he genuinely believed one needs to be punched real hard in the face or hit something face first with good impact to get a nosebleed. 

And now he stands corrected.

He wasn't sure whether it was the citrus, peonies, or the new found smell of your musk and natural odor which triggered the whole thing. Or maybe it was the worry you showed, scrambling to stop the blood dripping down his nose with your sweat soaked towel, tilting his head back with your hands and shouting for your PE teacher to come and help him—if only you knew all of it helped less and less. 

The whole thing made him realize that he needs to get a grip! 

And how did he execute that— by confiding in his friends? Making an effort to confess to you? No. He decided that it would be a brilliant idea to accept every confession he got and date as many girls as he could—to forget you, of course. 

In his defense, he liked what you two got going right now. He gradually grew really close to you; started with simple conversations and jokes to then a fully established friendship. At least he liked the thought of being your friend. 

He liked when you’d lean back in your chair to whisper little jokes to him, how the teacher completely fumbled that sentence. Or when you would give him candies, because you always carried some with you, or when you would come to him first before going to anyone else if you did not understand a lesson. 

He particularly liked when you would share a rambling synopsis of the books you were currently reading or recently finished, it did not matter how little he cared about the books itself. Mr. ‘could not stop yapping for the love of god’, went completely silent when he stood before you. He loved when you would bring him your latest creation in the kitchen, because you were trying to learn how to cook and it did not matter to him how salty or half cooked and fully burnt the food would be. It was the effort you put into asking him about his favorites and tried making it. Like the effort he put into not letting you get a clue about how much of a digimon guy he was, because he would rather hear you talk about pokemons to him for hours. Did not matter that he thought digimon was superior. 

Satoru might have been a popular guy since he joined; being extremely good looking, witty, academically gifted, part of the basketball team and having friends who were equally well known worked in his favor of being probably the most sought after guy in school. But that never made him a ‘player’, as one would assume. Often he would return the gifts he would get or politely decline confessions. So to everyone's surprise when he accepted the first confession, rumors went around—’maybe he was waiting for her to confess this entire time?’ Well, the rumors steered a different direction when she broke up with him within a week, and the next girl also broke up with him within a similar span of time. And when this pattern repeated for the rest of the year, people started labeling him as a cliche popular guy.

Around his sixteenth relationship, you happened to see him getting slapped real hard by the girl he was going out with at the time. They were talking behind the gardening shed, close to the Momiji tree you loved oh so dearly. All that shouting and cursing she did before slapping him, reached your ears, and as a diligent member of the student’s council you could not ignore it. The slap was echoing. She really left a mark on his cheeks, others have slapped him before for being so apathetic about everything, to get a one last satisfactory reaction out of him. But they have all failed at that. But this girl slapped him harder than anyone else had before her— while calling him a piece of shit for leading her on and wasting her time. So he got broken up with again. And he did not seem even a little bothered by this, his face only started contorting in a panic when his eyes landed on you standing the opposite way from the route his ex took to storm off.  

Which ended up making him run away from you, a new occurrence for both of you. And this time you had to be the one to chase after him. You found him in the stairwells, where you silently just sat beside him. This must be what they call deja vu. 

“So. long day huh?” you dragged each word awkwardly. 

“You don’t have to do this Y/n.” he said without even looking at you, just looking down at his hands intertwined with each other, on his lap. 

“Unfortunately for you, I want to. We are friends aren’t we?” you asked him expectantly. 

And Satoru only ever wished to be your friend. He liked being friends with you. If you called him your friend the day he went to your class to return that keychain he would have been ecstatic, but right now? Being called your friend felt like yet another hit to his heart. He wants to leap out of the bounds of friendship and hold you, tell you how much he loves you. “Yes we are.” Those three words felt like gravel ripping his own skin. 

“Then just hear me out won’t you?” and how can he say no to you looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes, and smiling lips. You can ask him for anything and he would not dare to deny. So naturally he nodded a yes wordlessly. 

“You don’t seem like yourself these past few months. I am worried about you— we are all worried.” he stared at you as you took a pause to continue, assessing whether or not he was getting pissed off. “I know how much it sucks to hear that you have changed or something like that. But I do not mean it like that—you have been more distant, and just- well, you seem off.”

“You do know that you can tell me anything right? Is there anything bothering you? Are some kids bullying you? Tell me their names, I will take care of them.” you said with squinted eyes and a raised fist like you were ready to beat up some kids for him. And the sheer idea of that image tickled a laugh out of him. 

“Sure you will shortcake.” he said in a fit of laughter. And you have never been more glad to hear him call you by that nickname. It has grown on you, similarly as he has grown on you. 

“I am fine, at least now that I am sure about something, I am fine.” he said with a sigh, like something heavy lifted off his shoulders. “You sure right?” you enquired again just for confirmation. 

“Yesssss, now stop furrowing your eyebrows, you are bound to get wrinkles before you are even thirty.” he was helpless to the smile that grew on his face, “wow way to thank the person who just cheered you up.” 

“Stop trying to copy me shortcake.” he bumped his head slightly on yours, causing you to gasp and bump your forehead to his—some sort of retaliation if you will. Cannot let him get away with the last word, can you? “Don’t bump your big head with mine! What if I catch your dummy disease!?” you said with your forehead still on his forehead. Faces mere inches away from one another. 

“Uh huh? And what are you gonna do about it?” Satoru has no idea where this was coming from or where this was going. But having you in such close proximity was definitely messing with his head. 

“I will-” you cut yourself off, staring back into his eyes, unable to continue whatever you were trying to say—something about his eyes, the shades of blue, lapis and cerulean, making you incapable of continuing. It is as if there dwelled an ocean in his eyes, and unfortunately you never took your swimming lessons seriously.  “What are you going to do, shortcake?”

Well, no one found the answer to that question, as the bell rang and made the both of you flinch away from one another. In a moment of awkwardness about whatever that inexplicable tension was, you both did the most expected thing— laughed it off and headed towards the classroom. 

Rest of the year passed with Satoru coming to terms with his feelings for you, hyping himself up to confess to you, and spending time with you. And somehow the both of you ended up getting the exact grades at the end of the year, ending up on the first rank together—something that was bound to happen when you are studying together, giggling in class together, eating together, feeding the cats who took a nap behind the school, together. Even when he was more of a dog guy. 

And, Satoru really liked the idea of being together with you. 

When senior year rolled around and he was determined to make you his by the time you guys graduated high school. Which is easier said than done.

Especially when he is not making any efforts other than just moving his pupils frantically between your lips and eyes, as you go on and on about the student body president’s new dumb mandate. His mind is probably looking at you with heart eyes, lying on its stomach, kicking its feet. Because it keeps repeating,

 ‘everyday baby, please say you're mine.’

It is a little embarrassing when he has to hide behind the bookshelves when you turn to look his way, because he would be piercing his longing gaze in the back of your head. Why did he not go up to the seat you were occupying at the library? Strike up an easy conversation; and have you offer him a seat with a smile, or get annoyed at him for talking too much and too loud in the library—he does not have the answer himself. All he knew while peeking at you from between the books in a nearby shelf, that his heart was palpitating like it may burst out of his chest any moment, and have the librarian come scold and shush it. 

Walking by the hallways near your favorite Momiji tree, to catch a glimpse of you under it, by skipping on practice was the usual at this point. His teammates and coach have given up. Does not mean he doesn’t have to face consequences for these acts of stupidity. Especially on the off chance you visit one of his matches and he goes full statue in the middle of running up to the basket, then as he gains his composure back, he goes full throttle on his opponents. To show off his shots and dribbles during the match. The team and the coach let it pass sometimes, only because it guarantees that they will win the match. But they always make sure to lecture him about abandoning them to push past the hoard of people congratulating him, to only get to you. With groans of collective clamour going, “just confess already.”

Satoru, to this day, still wishes it was that easy. It is not that he never tried.

First time he tried to confess, you two were simply sitting in class, at your desks. Your chair was turned around, so you could sit facing him. He had stayed behind with you after classes ended, to help you with council work. But the yellow, orange and pink hues of the setting sun on your face, was leaving his usual talkative demeanor to be tongue tied. And when you leaned forward on the desk to snap your fingers in face to hopefully get him out of the trance where he was drowning—in those milliseconds between you moving off your seat, looming over him, and looking straight into his eyes; he almost blurted it all out. If only it was not for Kento to walk into the class and enquire about the progress you made on the work, he would have laid it all out for you. 

That was not the only time he was teetering over the edge. One time you dragged him to the garden behind school during PE to feed the cats who take naps around there. He actually blurted out “I am in love.”

Which naturally had you snap your head in his direction, your surprise also had the cat lying in your lap surprised, that it also looked in his direction. So he backpedaled, defending his words by rephrasing them, “No! I mean, I am loving this. As in, like, not having to do PE class!” you laughed it off, joking that his poor choices of words and phrasing will definitely get him in deep trouble one day.

There had been so many instances he just almost verbalized his feelings, almost found that serenity in having you know the reason behind the ache in his chest, and the foggy fuzz clouding his judgment around you. But he only wishes he actually followed through with his emotions. Often he found his emotions to be stuck in a battle between his tongue and brain. 

After many such (failed) attempts, he finally decided to just lay it all out after the graduation ceremony. As he could not burden you with his feelings when he spent the entirety of the year dilly dallying so much that the finals and entrance exams were near enough to have students lose sleep.

Sometimes in his dreams, Satoru still dreams about the day of his high school graduation ceremony. He dreams of the very events that took place that day, and different possibilities.

He woke up much earlier than usual that morning. He did not want to be late at any cost. Not because he wanted to be there to hear the principal give the same old speech she gives every year or hear the student body president, Kamo Noritoshi, give out yet another speech, he has had enough of his boring speeches as well. He really just wanted to hear your valedictorian speech. 

He was glad he did not earn the highest GPA in his year— no, it was not because he did not want to give some stupid speech, though it was part of the reason. He was beyond happy for you, instead of gloating over his own GPA which made him come in second to you, he was more thrilled over you beating him to the first spot. He was so happy that day he literally hugged you so tight, your inner organs almost spilled out from the looks of it, going as far as to lift you up in the air and making a whole show out of it. Honestly from afar it would be confusing to conclude who exactly did better, though anyone who has lingered their eyes a bit too long on Gojo Satoru knew better, which was practically the entire school, it was not surprising to see him act as such. It was rather surprising he did not tie ranks with you, considering his capacity to ace anything and everything, especially academics. But it was ordinary to see him celebrate your wins much more loudly than everyone combined.

When you asked him the question how he did not get a higher GPA than you, later over celebratory ice cream with your friend groups. He just shrugged it off and simply told you that, “Eh. I just goofed around and had a fun senior year, considering these are the most memorable years of one’s life.” with a smug smile stretched across his face, accompanied by his raised shoulders. 

“Sure, it was totally not because you were feeling too lazy.” at this point you were all too familiar with Gojo’s pattern. And unlike in the past, you found it more fun to banter with his silliness than getting angry at his conceit. It was still annoying, but not as annoying as it used to be.

“Tch. Tch. Shortcake, you just do not get the concept of fun as well as you get the concept of natural selection. ”

Despite his claims he knew why he did not surpass you, well not because he granted you that position out of pity or his obvious feelings towards you. He respected you too much to one day have you find out your achievements were not well earned, it would eat him up otherwise. Though the reason still was you, or perhaps it was his pathetic attempts at winning you over and expanding the definition of your relationship with him. 

Anyway, currently he was sitting unsteady in the back of his father’s car, stuck in a jam, not giving ear to either of his parents reassuring him from the front that they will get there in time. But unfortunately for the Gojos, their son was not the patient kind. 

Which is exactly why they didn't object much other than a few shouts when Satoru ran out of the car, with his gown and graduation hat tucked under his armpits. Thankfully they were not stuck too far from the school, but Satoru was unfortunately late for his own graduation ceremony. When he ran inside the auditorium, the hall full of parents, students, teachers, and peers alike, were staring him down— maybe for rudely interrupting the principal's speech, or for looking drop dead gorgeous while sweating buckets; it was unclear.

He silently walked up to where his class was standing and took his place in the empty space left behind for him. The principal resumed with a cough, continuing whatever faux inspirational speech she may have been talking about. His eyes roamed around frantically to land on yours, staring back at him, scrunching and raising your eyebrows in a comical way. While pointing at your watch, silently reprimanding him for his tardiness, all Satoru could do was smile and shrug like a helpless kicked puppy. But as if that has ever worked on you, so you rolled your eyes at him with the shake of your head and mouthed at him to focus on the speech.

After that very boring speech, and handing out the certificates, followed by another boring speech by Kamo Noritoshi, it was finally time for your speech. 

When you stood waiting in the left wing of the stage for your cue, he could clearly see you nervously playing with your hands. Fortunately his intense stares had you looking in his direction, so he waved his hand a little to get your focus, and just wished you a silent ‘goodluck, you got this!’ through exaggerated mouth movements.

Was it cute? Or weird? Either way, it made you smile and ease up, and that's all that matters to him. He was probably the one cheering the loudest for you among everyone in there, your parents or friends or anyone, couldn't have dared to match his voice echoing through walls, to the point the teachers had to shut him up by the very end of your speech. Because he kept clapping or whistling really loud in between every pause. 

“At the end of the day, these years we've spent here will always stick with us. For better or for worse, and all I want, is to thank those people who made it bearable through all of it. And I hope you all have a future filled with achievements, celebrated alongside those people around you, who make it bearable. Thank you very much.” 

Satoru did not cheer the loudest this time around, his silence was drowned out by the loud cheers or the flying caps around him. He was too busy standing there, a hostage to your teary eyes, and a smiling face coming down the stage.

After a few very busy hours of hugs and pictures with family and friends, and some supportive words as well as teasing lectures from the teachers; Satoru went off to find you surrounded by few people. 

“Hey!” he came behind you and spoke in a breathy whisper in your right ear.

“Ah! Satoru! Oh my goodness I've been looking for you!” You slapped his arm lightly as he tried to say, 

“Listen, I-” “I need to speak to you. Come with me. Sorry, will you excuse us?” You dragged him by his left hand, tangled with your own right hand. It is not that he has never held hands, he's done plenty more than that, but your hands meant more. And he hopes you heard his heart beating through his hands, as you held onto it and dragged him to a random empty hallway.

“I suppose this works, I was gonna drag you away myself.” He lets out a little chuckle as he settles opposite you, facing you, “I wanted to-”

“I am moving away.” 

“What?” 

“I am moving out of the country. I, um, applied to this university abroad and they accepted me. It was not confirmed until last week, I've told almost everyone but.” You take a pause and stare down at his blank face, rid off the little shy smile and blush adorning him just a second ago, before continuing, “But, I just did not- I mean, I could not just figure out how I was going to tell you.” 

Satoru lets out a dry chuckle. “What's so hard about that? Come on shortcake. It's just me.” 

“I, I know. I mean-” this time he interjects.

“Are you happy?” 

You blink twice and answer, “More than I thought I would be.” 

‘Then that's enough for me.’ Is what Satoru meant to say then, instead he said something different.

“I am really happy for you Y/n. Will miss you shortcake.” He cracks a genuine smile, despite the storm waiting to unleash in his chest through the waterworks of his eyes, regardless he was still happy in your happiness.

When you leaped into his arms with a tight grip on his back, mumbling a choked up “I'll actually miss you more dummy.” 

“Nope can’t let you have this one too.” with a chuckle he patted your head as you cried in his arms for the second time since you have known him, once was one too many times for you but here you are. Perhaps this was the last time, he thought.

“Also, I want you to have this.” you handed him a keychain, similar to yours, but instead of an orange little cat, there was a white cat attached to it. “When I saw it, it reminded me of you.” You placed the little guy on his palm, and he closed his fist around it with every intention of cherishing it for eternity. 

“I’ll see you soon right?” You asked him, as you looked up at him with tear stains on your cheek, matching the stain on his shirt, and he just nodded with a tight grip around the keychain. Maybe he was too scared to verbally give you any promises, otherwise he would start breaking down much harder than you. But one thing he was sure about,

“You'll do great shortcake, you always have.”

‘As I will always love you.’

On days as such, filled with nostalgia. Or on nights spent staring at his ceiling, wide awake, clock ticking closer and closer to the next day— he thinks of you. He thinks about the different possibilities and the most regrettable moments of his life, and thinks, what if?

What if he had chosen a different line of work instead of taking over for his father? What if he went to that pop up shop before they sold out of their limited edition creps? Or what if he chose to go to that school reunion five years ago with Suguru and everyone else. Would he have met you? 

What if he had told you he loved you that day? What if he did not wallow in his own self pity and made a better effort at reaching out to you when you suddenly stopped contacting him during second year of University? What if he swallowed down the resentment over your silence and flew across the globe to you? Would not have been the first time he did that. It was the automated voice telling him that the number he dialed does not exist anymore, and the complete refusal from mutual friends to let him know about your whereabouts—that irked him. What did he do so wrong for you to even remove the little pleasure he enjoyed from having you at the very least as a friend. 

Maybe if he asked you selfishly to not move away altogether, things would have been different. But how could he, when he never had any concrete dreams of his own other than pursuing in his father's footsteps, to now take over for him. The way your eyes always shined bright with aspirations, and the amount of hard work you put into achieving them, made him try for himself.  

Then how could he have been selfish with the one person whom he selflessly gave away his heart to? 

“Sato! Come eat! Finish that later!” his mother shouted from inside, breaking the trance of reminiscence. “Yesss mom!” he shouted back to let her know.

And when he set to go inside, he felt something heavy on his legs. While cleaning the boxes, Satoru had gone to sit on the edge of the patio, with his legs hanging from his edge. The height was long enough to have him lose his sight about where his legs were below the knees to his feet comfortably touching the ground. 

When he crouched down to look at what was weighing him down, he found a white fluffy cat; clearly well taken care of, lying comfortably, belly up, on top of both of his feet. Set of blue hued pupils peeking out of his blinking eyes. And a smug smile of contentment on his face, either satisfied with his nap or from annoying Satoru. As cute of a look alike  this cat may have been to the one on the keychain you gave him—which he still uses everyday to hold all his important keyes—Satoru could tell that this cat was one big menace. 

“Meowwww” the feline wailed, when Satoru moved his feet off the ground to take a proper look at the creature. The cat in search of his confiscated comfort, crawled up his legs, up to his lap and made himself comfortable. 

Satoru leans back to rest his weight on both of his palms, placed on either side of his torso. He lets out a dry huff “Huh. aren’t you one spoiled little guy?”

“Meow.” the cat quips as if agreeing with Satoru, his eyes were closed, trying to get back his lost sleep.

“And what is your name?” Satoru asked the cat and felt foolish that very next instance. Instead of waiting for the cat’s response—because that will obviously not answer his question—he goes to check the yellow collar adorned on the cat’s neck to check for a nametag.

“ICHIGO!” a loud familiar voice cried behind the hedges that protected the view into his parent’s front yard. 

Upon hearing the call, the cat’s ears sprung up and went back, going alert. In a blink of an eye the cat ran off of his lap, out of their main gate— in what seemed like mere seconds. And his parent’s house is pretty huge, the patio to the front gate takes well over thirty seconds to get to when you are in a hurry. 

So Satoru ran behind the cat, well after it was gone from his sight, worrying it might run into something or hurt himself. But just as he stepped out of the gate, he saw the cat cuddled up in a person’s arms, who was crouched down in relief, obstructing the view to their face. Though the shade of the hair is much familiar to him just as the voice, but the length now shorter than how he remembers it to be. But that same citrus and peony scent remained, infiltrating his olfactory sense before his eyes could fathom the figure in front of him. Or maybe he did not want to believe the reality of the situation to begin with. 

“Never do that again! Do you know how scared I was? Why would you run after a butterfly like that!? I am never letting you off your leash again!” You held the cat out, away from your embrace, finally standing straight. Dangling him in the air by his arms, like some sort of punishment.

“Meowww” the cat whined in a pitiful tone, moving his claws in a way as if asking to be held closer again.

“No Ichi. No amount of whining is getting you out of this mister!” while reprimanding the cat, you forgot to acknowledge the person standing upfront.

“Y/n?” 

You look up to see who called you out in the middle of scolding your cat. To only see another ball of familiar white fluffy hair, and cerulean eyes, the ones you’ve once loathed with your entire being, and dreamed of countless nights. Standing a few inches taller than what his previously already behemoth height during teen years used to be.

“Satoru?” 

Both of you stood there confused and mesmerized by one another’s presence, to have run into each other under such coincidental circumstances, how fateful. With a more confused Ichigo looking back and forth between you two, now standing on his own four legs on the ground. Probably trying to solve the mystery of the heavy silence and air hanging between you two. From the looks of the mirrored shock, and open mouthed gasps that left your respective mouths—seems like this unanticipated meeting was long overdue.

The beauty of fate truly lies in such oblivious encounters. And those who sneak into your life just as unexpectedly, as they fade out wordlessly.

FIND OUT MORE ABOUT HS!SATORU

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tag list: @madamechrissy @cuntphoric @moonlitwitchdaisy @rriwyu @naomigojo @aishi-toru @cuntyji @arcanarix @fuwagojo @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @fushitoru @gojosoups @arcanarix @moonchhu @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @emyyy007 @ineedbetterhobbies0809 @littlemisswitch67

a/n: the above used images are from Pinterest, the Gojo one is from the s2 ending and the other two images, i could not find any exact sources so if you know where they are from please kindly let me know. the dividers are by— @/aquazero, @/kodaswrld @/cafekitsune & @/oldgifs4coding, respectively.

thank you to the pookies for beta reading this <3 really my longest work yet. yes it is a bit cliche but oh well. took a lottt of time to finish, first it was finals, then mental and physical health was at all time low, then literally burnt my hand. the part of the valedictorian speech the reader gave, was part of my own speech i gave at my graduation as the head girl, so if you found it shit i better not hear about it.

named her cat Ichigo, because well he calls her shortcake, and ichigo means strawberry. so strawberry and shortcake :3c

happy to have him out ^^ i hope you had fun reading this!! i have a few drabbles and such related to this i plan on releasing. still not sure if i plan to expand their ending :3c ahhh this was not going to be an open ending, but here we areeee

anywayyyy hope your enjoyed your stay ^^ make sure to share your thoughts in the ask box and comments.

[delulujuls]

the other one | jacaerys velaryon

hi, here comes the 2.7k of i don't know what, really. its for sure intense, so fasten up your saddle and enjoy the ride. i enjoyed making aegon such a cutiepie in my two last shots, but this man is designed to be a menace to humanity so yeah, i believe im gonna lose it in the next shots. prepare for chaos.

summary: heart want what it wants, and y/n's heart belong to young prince from dragonstone, not to the future cruel king of westeros.

warnings: targaryen brothers being mean to velaryon boys AGAIN, aegon is such a meanie oh god, fighting, arguing, threatening with a sword, last scene is smelling a bit like a rap3, so feel free to skip it. your comfort is the most important

pairing: sister!targaryen reader x jacaerys velaryon (ft. jealous, possesive and dark!aegon targaryen)

Two young princes stood at the gates of the castle, awaiting guests. For several minutes they kept glancing at the sky, looking out for dragons. However, only the sound of wind and waves crashing against the rocks could be heard, with no indication that any winged beasts would soon appear before their eyes.

“Do you think they’ll come at all?” Lucerys asked his older brother, glancing at him. The cold wind chilled him to the bone, and the youngest of the Velaryons longed to return inside and sit by the fireplace.

Jacaerys did not get a chance to answer because shortly after, a muffled roar reached their ears, and something flickered in the low-hanging storm clouds. The heavy sky was pierced by the massive body of Vhagar, who was the first to emerge from the clouds and flew towards the beach. Close behind were Vermithor and Sunfyre, who looked dainty in comparison to those two giant dragons. Aemond, Y/N, and Aegon had arrived at Dragonstone.

Soon after, all four appeared at the castle gates. Helaena was flying with her older sister on Vermithor, choosing not to sail by ship with their mother, father, and grandfather. The youngest of the siblings still couldn't bring herself to travel alone on the back of her Dreamfyre, but felt confident with Y/N, now walking hand-in-hand with her sister towards the castle.

Lucerys took a step back, seeing Aemond and Aegon confidently striding towards them. The youngest Velaryon swallowed hard.

“I hope they don’t sit close to us,” he whispered, prompting his brother to discreetly nudge his arm.

Jacaerys smiled at the sight of the siblings. “Welcome, it’s good to see you here,” he said.

Aemond, leading the way, wore his characteristic grimace, nothing like the smile the young prince offered him. The last thing he felt like doing was feigning politeness. In silence, he merely glanced at them, bypassing them and pushing the heavy gate doors.

“My favorite, strong nephews,” Aegon said sarcastically, with a mocking smile. Passing by, he nudged Lucerys in the shoulder, who was about to turn and say something when his aunt’s voice reached his ears. Y/N smiled joyfully at the sight of Rhaenyra’s sons.

“Luke, Jace,” she extended her arms, hugging them both at once. Hearing the girl's joyful voice, Aegon glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. He thought his sisters were too lenient with those bastards.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” Jacaerys smiled, embracing her and catching the smell of her lavender-scented hair. While he sincerely disliked Aemond and Aegon, he was very fond of their sisters. Helaena was shy and harmless, often speaking little and nodding more. Y/N, on the other hand, often reminded him of his mother, unafraid to speak up or defend her position. She was also wise and very pretty, and he was genuinely pleased to spend a few days in her presence.

“Are you coming, or are we going to freeze out here like a bunch of idiots?” Aegon asked sharply, seeing Y/N hold onto older Velaryon a bit too long. The young princess gave him an amused look, tousled Lucerys’ hair, and linked arms with Helaena. The four of them briskly walked towards the castle.

Rhaenyra was celebrating her thirty-second name day, so the entire family from King’s Landing had come to Dragonstone. Viserys wanted his daughter to celebrate her birthday in the capital, but she wished to spend the day her way. The ailing king, still battling illness, had no intention of arguing with his daughter, lacking the strength and health to do so. Even to the Targaryen seat, he chose to sail by ship rather than ride on the back of one of the dragons. After Balerion’s death, he had given up flying and now didn’t think about it at all.

During the evening feast, the dining hall filled with people. Despite it being Rhaenyra’s day, Viserys sat at the head of the table. To his left was his eldest daughter, beside her Daemon, Joffrey, Lucerys, Jacaerys, Rhaena, and Baela. On the king’s right sat his wife, next to her the Hand of the King, then Aemond, Aegon, Y/N, Helaena, and Rhaenys Targaryen, next to whom, at the other end of the table, sat Corlys Velaryon.

The feast went on in a calm and surprisingly pleasant atmosphere. Previous feasts often ended in arguments before they even really began. The main instigators of all disputes, Aemond and Aegon, sat quietly, not speaking much. Many might have thought someone stuffed hay into the dragons’ bellies to prevent them from breathing fire.

Aegon, however, increasingly clenched his hand around the wine goblet from time to time, hearing Y/N happily talking with Jacaerys across the table. His blood boiled hearing her so delighted with the conversation with him. He felt like slapping that fucking son of a bitch.

Helaena was also having a good time, shedding her shyness piece by piece with each sip of wine. She chatted lively with Rhaena and Baela, who were already slightly tipsy themselves. Rhaenys sent an amused look to her husband, who tightened his grip on the wine jug and pulled it closer. The Sea Snake had to be vigilant to prevent his granddaughters and the young Targaryen from getting too drunk. Helaena, however, had more to celebrate than just her half-sister’s birthday.

Since Viserys and Alicent’s daughters reached reproductive age, the Hand of the King and the Queen Mother began looking for potential suitors for them. While there was no trouble finding suitors for Y/N, who, besides her wealth and possessions, had a strong character and good disposition, finding a husband for Helaena was problematic.

From birth, the princess showed signs of abnormal development. Though she grew as a girl should, her mind seemed not to keep up, still trapping her in a world of childish dreams. Helaena was quiet, read a lot, and spent all her time in the garden, not burdened with unnecessary duties.

The Hand decided that when the time came, that is, when Aegon was to take the throne from the ailing king, he would marry Helaena, and Y/N would marry Forrest Frey. The plans were made at a Small Council meeting, which neither Helaena nor Y/N attended. Probably neither would have known about the plans to marry them off if Y/N hadn’t accidentally overheard their conversation when one of the doors unguarded by sentries was ajar.

“I don’t agree!” she said firmly, pushing the heavy doors and entering.

“Y/N, you can’t be here-,” Alicent stood up, wanting to calm her daughter, but she sharply pointed her finger upwards. “And you can’t do this to Helaena! I don’t agree!”

Aegon, who was one of the people at the table, also didn’t support the Council’s idea. However, he was too drunk to make any objections. Only his sister’s intrusion somewhat sobered him up. If he had to choose, he could marry Y/N since she wanted to fight so hard for Helaena’s better fate. Frankly, he didn’t care either way.

The guards first wanted to remove the young princess, but she began presenting her arguments. The Council didn’t think an eighteen-year-old’s arguments could make any sense, but many underestimated Y/N’s negotiation skills. In the castle, by Aegon’s side, she could be more useful than in the Riverlands beside Forrest Frey.

The Council decided that Helaena would marry Frey when the time came, and Y/N would marry Aegon. The young princess didn’t want Helaena to spend her life in the castle, locked in chambers and bearing children. She wanted her to break free from King’s Landing and experience a life different from the one she had lived so far. Y/N knew that unlike her sister, she could handle an incestuous marriage and an unwanted husband, who Aegon was to become in the future. Helaena might have been driven to suicide.

But for now, these were just tomorrow's problems, or who knows, maybe even further. Helaena, in a sudden burst of joy, stood up and climbed onto a chair, much to Alicent’s horror.

“To my beloved sister Y/N,” she said, swaying. Rhaenys held the chair to prevent her from falling. “And to my sister Rhaenyra, who celebrates her birthday today. I love you!”

Alicent, Otto, Aemond, and Aegon looked at her indulgently, raising their goblets. All the other guests eagerly toasted, applauding the young princess’s words. Rhaenyra stood up from the table and hugged her sister; Y/N also rose to do the same.

“Helaena needs rest,” Alicent whispered, gripping her daughter’s shoulder before she stood up. “Escort her to bed.”

Y/N shook off her hand and got up, embracing her sisters. However, when she felt Helaena’s heavy body in her arms, she held her close around the waist.

As soon as the sisters left the dining hall, Jacaerys, sent by his mother, joined them. Young prince apologized to Y/N and with a single, confident motion, picked up Helaena, who laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed his cheek, admitting that she would let such a handsome man whisk her away without hesitation.

Jacaerys only let go of Helaena when he placed her on the bed in her bedroom.

"Will you stay with her until morning?" he asked as Y/N began removing the rings from her sister's fingers.

"Helaena usually sleeps like a mouse under a haystack, but after wine, she sleeps like a rock," Y/N replied, smiling slightly at the sight of her sister's flushed face. "Wait outside, I'll change her for bed and join you."

The young prince nodded obediently and left the chamber. He stood outside the door, straight as a string, feeling like a guard. Shortly after, the princess joined him, quietly closing the door behind her.

"She'll sleep like a baby until morning," she assured, laughing softly.

"It's nice to see her with a smile on her face," Jacerys admitted as they slowly began walking down the corridor. He quietly offered his arm to Y/N, which she gladly accepted.

"I've noticed she smiles much more when she's here. I feel like the capital is suffocating her."

Jacaerys lowered his gaze. He had recently learned about the marriage plans for the young sisters.

"I heard she'll leave King's Landing sooner or later," he said, glancing at her. He didn't know how delicate ground he was entering.

The young princess sighed and nodded. She spent the whole way telling Jacaerys about everything that had happened in the past weeks. In the company of the boy, Y/N didn't feel like his aunt, as their relationship would suggest, but like a friend. After all, they were only a year apart in age. They had always had a good relationship and, unlike her hostile brothers, Y/N really liked Jacaerys. She cherished every opportunity she could spend with him. This was one of those moments.

The pair didn't return to the feast; instead, they went to one of the terraces. They sat on one of the benches, and Y/N involuntarily rested her head on the boy's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her waist, hugging her close.

"You deserve more, Y/N," he said quietly. "Both you and Helaena deserve more."

"I know I'll manage, I'm strong," she said, watching the remnants of the day dance on the horizon. "But I'm so scared for Helaena. She deserves the whole world, not what's waiting for her in King's Landing."

The young princess wasn't sad; at this moment, she could even say she felt a lightness in her heart. Jacaerys' body warmed her pleasantly, and the cool, salty air chased away the heat caused by the wine from her cheeks.

"You're the bravest dragon I've ever known," he said with a smile, looking at her face. The girl smiled at his words. "I don't know stronger people than Targaryen women."

"Do you really think so?" she asked quietly, looking into his eyes. She didn't know if his cheeks were flushed from the wine or the cold wind. Nevertheless, his dark eyes looked at her so gently that the young princess never wanted to look into any other eyes again.

Jacaerys smiled and nodded. He cautiously lifted his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He touched her cheek and gently stroked it with his thumb.

"I would take better care of you than they would, you know?" he said after a moment, his whisper lost in the whistle of the wind. Y/N heard his words clearly, just as she clearly heard the snort of disdain that came from somewhere to the side.

"I don't know which of you is more pathetic," Aegon said, looking at them with drunken eyes. He could barely stand, but his fists were clenched. Aemond remained silent, standing in the entrance and blocking it with his body. Unlike his brother, he didn't look drunk.

"What is your problem?" Y/N asked angrily, standing up. Unintentionally, she shielded Jacaerys with her body, who also rose from the bench.

"That you act like a complete whore," he spat through his teeth, causing Jacaerys to step around the girl to stand in her defense. She grabbed his hand and pulled him back when Aemond drew a dagger and stepped forward, defending his brother.

"Watch your words," Jacaerys said angrily. He didn't care that he was addressing the future king. In his eyes, Aegon wasn't worth anything, and he certainly didn't deserve to be Y/N's husband.

"Or what, bastard?" Aemond asked calmly, looking at him intently.

"We haven't done anything wrong," the young princess said sharply, though her voice trembled. She knew that her brothers were unlikely to hurt her, but she wasn't capable of protecting Jacaerys from both of them. She had only her hands, feet, and teeth at her disposal. "Get out of the way."

"Oh, really?" Aegon smiled. His drunken eyes were shiny from alcohol and dark-circled, his skin ashen. Even despite the fire of hatred burning in him, he didn't have a bit of a blush on his face. "I see a fucking dog clinging to my future wife."

"You wish she were your wife," Jacaerys said without thinking much about the words that left his mouth. Aegon lunged at him with his fists, to which the young Velaryon responded in kind. Aemond sheathed his dagger and grabbed Jacaerys by the shoulders, holding him and exposing him to Aegon's blows. In the commotion, the young princess managed to draw her brother's dagger and without hesitation, grabbed Aegon by the hair, pulling him back. With tears on her cheeks, she pressed the sword to his neck.

The four of them froze in place.

Aemond still held Jacaerys tightly, blood was trickling from his lip. Aegon's heart was pounding, not from fear but from adrenaline and, at that moment, also from excitement. His sister's small hand was firmly gripping his hair, forcing him to tilt his head back. Blood flowed from his broken nose, running down to his grinning lips.

"She's a dragon, see?" Aegon said, addressing Jacaerys. "You couldn't handle her, fool."

Y/N pushed her brother to the ground, releasing the dagger from her hands as well. She grabbed Jacaerys' hand and pulled him from Aemond's grasp, who would have lied if he said his sister's behavior didn't leave him speechless. In shock, he wasn't even able to oppose her.

"I'm so sorry," she began tearfully, pulling him away as far as possible from that place. "I should have killed them when I had the sword in my hand."

Jacaerys pulled her by the hand, causing her to turn around suddenly and fall into his arms. Without a word, he kissed her, feeling her salty tears mix with the blood from his split lip. Y/N returned the kiss but looked at him in shock. Jacaerys smiled warmly at her.

"Don't apologize to me," he whispered, cupping her cheeks in his hands. "You are a dragon, so be a dragon."

The pair didn't return to the feast. Instead, Y/N went with the young prince to his chambers. Jacaerys initially protested when she said she would help dress his wounds. Eventually, he agreed to her proposal, lying on the bed in just his trousers. The girl carefully cleaned his cuts, placing a cold compress on his abdomen. She sat beside him, looking at him tenderly.

"I'm so sorry, Jace," she whispered, squeezing his hand. The boy, however, seemed to be in a good mood.

"If every fight with them means I get to spend time with you, I'm ready to fight them every day."

The young princess smiled and shook her head at his words. She felt her heart swell when she was with him.

Their eager lips exchanged a few more kisses before Y/N quietly left his chamber, returning to her own. Helaena was still sleeping soundly, snoring softly. She lay on her side on her half of the bed, not even stirring when her sister began preparing for sleep. Dressed in a nightgown, she let her hair down and carefully combed it. She put the brush away and blew out the nearby candles, lying down on the bed.

As soon as she covered herself with the quilt, she felt someone sit on her, pressing her into the mattress, and a cold hand covered her mouth. The girl wanted to scream but felt a blade against her neck. The attacker leaned over her, his hair tickling her face. The young princess smelled alcohol.

"Every time you raise your hand against me," Aegon whispered, tightening his grip on the dagger's hilt, "I'll have one of your fingers cut off, understood?"

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. For the first time in her life, Aegon truly frightened her. She felt her heart leap into her throat.

"And that fucking Velaryon dog," he moved his hand from her mouth to her hair, gripping it tightly. "I never want to see him near you again."

"Aegon-" she whispered with difficulty, clutching his wrist to push him away. She felt herself running out of breath, and the cold blade pressed deeper into her skin.

"Is that clear?" he growled, pressing her harder into the pillows.

"Yes," she said tearfully.

A moment later, she felt her brother's alcohol-tainted lips forcefully and brutally kissing hers. Aegon stood up shortly after and left the sisters' chamber, closing the door behind him. In the darkness, the young princess found her sister's body and hugged her from behind, trying to suppress her tears. She was terrified.

How much she wished she could hide in Jacaerys's arms at that moment.

[jifloulette]

➳ you've changed a lot ever since, i'm still stuck in the same palce we left.

itoshi sae runs into you and he sees what changed with you ever since he left .

heads up . . ! implied breakup, angst with a hopeful ending

the first time sae sees you again was in the convenience store by the school he used to go to.

he vaguely remembers you waiting for him by the gate, greeting him with a beaming smile and a wave. he chuckles a bit remembering that. he also vaguely remembers how you would show him your favorite snacks and drinks to get at that same store, telling him that if you ever get mad at him, he should buy these for you and he'll have your heart. he tries to remember more memories the two of you created but it's no use, the thought of you at the back of his mind is all a blur. was it you he was with at the beach? was it you he was with as he went to buy ice cream? was it you that screamed his name so loud at his games? was it you who he kissed under the fireworks? maybe if he hadn't tried to push you away then you would see how much he appreciates you, how much he loves you. but at the same time, he impulsively erased any memory of you in his brain. it's like you were some specks of dust in the corner of his room that no matter how much he cleaned it, it'll still come back. it's funny, no? seeing you with different people whom he didn't recognize, looking at them with that same smile of yours, arms interlocked with each other, happily chatting about who knows what.

the strange thing he noticed is that the snacks you bought and ate were different than what you used to buy with him. he was confused, what do you mean you don't buy the packaged mochis anymore? the hi-chews? the lychee ramunes? to be fair, he did leave you behind as well for 4 years. who knows what happened and what changed in you within those 1,461 days? it was a long time to wait for someone who broke your heart, you were bound to get tired of waiting. it's not like he ever tried to reply to your messages and calls daily, most of them left delivered and in voicemail. another thing he noticed was your hair. you had let it grow unlike when you were with him. you used to cut it whenever you noticed it getting longer, saying that you didn't like having long hair because it was a hassle to take care of. oh and, your hair was a different color too, from h/c to a lighter color, it fit you that's for sure. oh, the things he'd do just so he could run his fingers through your hair just like he did back then.

it's like he was stuck in time, he couldn't move even if he wanted to. he stayed there, looking at you. seeing how you were slowly losing your teenage features. you were way taller, hell, you might've been a few inches taller than him. the next thing he knew was that his legs were on autopilot. they walked towards the convenience store. you were going to see him sooner or later, but fuck, he wasn't prepared. he doesn't even know what he's going to say once you see him. were you even going to notice him at all? were you going to ignore him the same way he did to you? "sae? is that you?", it was only when you talked that sae realized he had gone inside the store. you waved to the boy as you walked closer to him. he noticed your voice was deeper, it was still beautiful to hear though. even after all these years, he still loved hearing your honey-like voice. "it's been a minute, huh? how have you been? i thought you were in Spain?" you ask, "oh.. uh, i'm doing well. i just came back here to renew my passport for a good 3 days. got hungry so i went here." he replies, "so, you won't be here for long, huh." you added. "i missed you." you suddenly say, catching him off guard. "i.. did too." sae returns, hearing your friends call for you, you quickly say goodbye to him. "wait a bit, guys! uh, i guess this is goodbye, itoshi sae?" you tell him, "goodbye, y/n. i'm sorry i couldn't love you the same way you loved me." sae states, the last part he whispered. time was cruel for letting the two of you talk for only a minute or two, he'd do anything he could just to let you stay for a few more minutes.

with that, you had left with your friends. god, if only he stopped you. if only he said that he could ask his assistant to give him a week or so to stay in japan, maybe then the spark that was once firing with love and passion between the two of you would be relit. it was his fault for leaving you with the mess of heartbreak anyways, he was cruel for doing that to you, he knows that. sae thought that he had moved on, but it was just a façade he created to hide the guilt of leaving what the two of you could've been behind. he had left but he had never moved on, you had stayed yet you were the one to move on first. so, a question lingers in his mind as he gives the lady his ticket, which of the two of you really left the other?

the second time sae sees you again was at the airport.

all of a sudden, he heard a voice shouting his name. a voice he knew all too well. it was your voice, calling for him. he stopped dead in his tracks and looked back, seeing you wave at him with that same light in your eyes. he quickly runs to you, his assistant saying that the flight will leave soon but he could care less. "w-what are you doing here, y/n?" sae asks you, "well.. you did say you were going to stay for only 3 days, i also asked your mom about when you were going to leave so here i am!" you answer, smiling at him. he quickly dropped his bags and hugged you, oh so tightly. he didn't care if people were around, you were here with him after all. he thanks whatever god is out there for giving him another chance to hold you like this again. maybe, just maybe, he can relight the dying flame between the two of you.

©🇯​​🇮​​🇫​​🇱​​🇴​​🇺​​🇱​​🇪​​🇹​​🇹​​🇪​, do not steal, translate, or repost any of my writings anywhere else.

[jasminedragonart]

Another little fanfic nitpick. For those of you who need it, I will be putting a reference below for those who are writing about children. This is just from my experience as someone who has a nibling as well as someone who has educated children for a good few years now teaching a wide variety of ages.

So, here is your child chart:

Ages 0-1: Blob. They can barely function without help. They need carried to do the most basic of things. Some of them can walk but not all, and their walking is not without a LOT of hand holding. They can make noises that sound like words, and maybe even say one or two, but they have no idea what those words mean. There is nothing behind their eyes. Will primarily be fed on milk for the first 6 months and then move onto solids once their teeth come in.

Ages 1-2: They can say a few more words. They can recognise those who look after them and say simple things. My nibling knows tractor and cat. They can walk. They will have a fascination with something weird, like their feet and putting and taking off not only their own shoes but other people's. There's a little bit behind their eyes but for the most part they don't know where they are or what is happening around them. They may still be on milk for the first half of their first year but they'll move onto primarily solids and water for most of their diet.

Ages 2-3: They're a little more switched on. They know what behaviours will give them attention and be it good or bad they'll do it. They might be toilet trained but it's all dependent on the parent. They babble. A lot. It's mainly a string of words they'll know but they'll all have different meanings. Shoe could mean, where are my shoes. It could also mean, hello, how are you, I haven't seen you in a while. It's all part of the communication process. They might move onto actual sentences midway through their second year but they will be short and the words extremely simple. They like to run around but their attention spans are still small so they'll lose interest after a while. They will climb out of their cribs and across the baby gates as they've figured it out. My nibling is currently costing my sibling hundreds of pounds because they now have to buy a new toddler bed despite my nibling not necessarily needing one yet. This is because they've figured out how to climb out and the crib is now a safety hazard.

Ages 3-4: They're at a really interesting phase here. They're a lot more independent than they were at 2, which for some is pretty independent, but they also regress a lot. They might not sleep very well, they'll fall down a lot more. This is because they know a lot more and understand a lot more around them. They're actually turning into a little person at 3. On the tail end they'll be a sort of mentor to those younger than them, babies and toddlers fascinating them as they try and understand what's happening around them.

Ages 4-5: Whatever progress they've been making is gone. They now have nothing once more behind their eyes. They are just chaos, turning in circles and licking the floor. As someone who had to teach 4 and 5 year olds, their attention spans are horrific and they will wander off back to their parents to sit on their parent's knee while they glare at you for not understanding that they don't know what left and right are. There will be the odd one or two who find sentience again but this is rare. Sentience is usually not found until age 6. that being said they can communicate a lot better, speaking in bigger sentences. They can also start to learn to write and retain some knowledge imparted on them.

Ages 6: They're back and meaner than ever. They can and will tell you the truth. They will tell on their parents, teachers, friends just because you've told them lying is bad. They are brutally honest and will share their opinion. They will talk for hours on end and call your name seventy times if they think you haven't heard them properly.

Ages 7: They're a fountain of knowledge at this age. They usually have specific hyperfixations and interests that will influence their lives from this point onwards. They'll love getting messy, playing outside and watching cartoons. Their reading level should be fairly decent if they go to a good school and have a good support group around them. This is the best age to get them interested in a sport as they actually have the attention span to enjoy it, maybe even compete in it if they want to join a football club or something. But they are still really young so they will take everything as truth if you tell it to them.

Ages 8: This is one of the last truly childhood years. They're still ignorant of the wider world, and not much truly changes between seven and eight save a lot of friendship building and deeper interest and understanding in their interests.

Ages 9: This is where they start to understand a bit more grown up things. They might be taught about puberty at this age, by that I mean, in my school we had someone come in and warn us about periods. It might seem young, but some girls can get their periods earlier than others and develop earlier than others. They'll understand that girlfriends and boyfriends are a thing and while they'll still thing it's disgusting there will be a deeper understanding that it's something that might happen to them rather than the bliss of years before when pretend weddings were something fun they emulated because they saw it on TV or in their family and wanted a big party like that too.

I might do a separate post for ages 10 and up but this is the basic stages of childhood. So next time you think your five year old in your fic can run away successfully from home just remember, they can't. They are five. There is nothing going on up there except big feelings and big emotions. They will likely cling to their parents and if they do run away, it's literally just around the corner and they will come back inside when it gets cold enough or they want more attention. Your five year old doesn't know left and right never mind can wield a sword. At least make them eight. Dick Grayson was 8 when he became Robin, I feel like that should be the benchmark for every child who is put into a situation. Make them 8 otherwise they don't know what's going on.

If there's more to add, please feel free to. This is, again, just what I've observed from years of working with little kids.

[mercvry-glow]

In the cool blue

parings. andrew "pope" cody x reader

summary. while staying at the cody house, a small group of rivals takes you, j and nicky hostage while the other are out. pope helps you in the after math.

warnings. based off of season two late episode six/early seven (so spoilers but also eh), reader is at the house with j and nicky when javi shows up, assault, drowning, gun mentions, reader and j get beat tf up, pope is actually pretty chill in this he's a softie today, established relationship, angst and hurt/comfort, general animal kingdom stuff, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. this is now my longest fic 😭 idk what inspired me to get this out but I really hope y'all enjoy bc this is a doozy and my current magnum opus. as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 5700+

It was supposed to be a quiet night.

You were stretched out on a lounge chair by Smurf’s pool, your freshly painted toes resting on the edge, a silk robe sliding off your sun-warmed skin. The water glowed that dreamy blue under the patio lights, casting ripples of light across your legs.

J and Nicky were inside, supposedly studying—though judging by how quiet it’d been for the past hour, you figured they were either making out or asleep, but with Nicky banging Craig you didn’t know. Either way, it meant you had the place to yourself. For once, things felt… safe. Even with Pope gone, running one of those jobs he never gave you the full story on.

You liked it better that way.

Until you heard the gravel shift.

At first, you thought it was just the wind. But then came the unmistakable slam of feet on the driveway. Then another. Then voices—low, quick, male.

You sat up.

The voices weren’t familiar. They didn’t carry like Deran or Craig’s. They were sharper. Harder.

You turned, just in time to see movement at the side gate. Four shadows. One of them kicked it open without hesitation.

Your blood ran cold.

You were moving before you even realized it, sandals forgotten by the chair, robe trailing behind you as you bolted across the backyard and slipped inside through the back slider, locking it instinctively—too late.

Before you could even breathe, a glass behind you shattered.

You screamed—just a little, more of a gasp—and darted down the hall, barefoot on tile, adrenaline flooding your veins.

You ducked into the nearest hallway closet, pulling the door shut as softly as you could, heart pounding so loud you swore they could hear it from the kitchen.

Then came the noise.

Boots stomping on tile. Furniture dragging. A bottle shattering.

You pressed a hand over your mouth, trying to hold in a whimper.

“Where is it?” one of the men barked.

“Check the freezer! Smurf used to keep cash in the damn freezer,” another snapped.

Cabinet doors slammed open. A chair was kicked over. Something heavy crashed to the floor and shattered. They were tearing the place apart like they knew something was here—and they wanted it now.

You didn’t dare peek. You couldn’t even cry. You just stayed curled up in the dark, wedged between winter coats and some old duffel bags, praying your knees wouldn’t give out before it was over.

You weren’t cut out for this. You weren’t a Cody. You weren’t like Pope.

You were just the girl he liked to keep close.

And right now, you were alone.

You didn’t even know how long you’d been in the closet.

Seconds? Minutes? It all blurred. Your muscles were locked, knees tucked to your chest, the smell of mothballs and old leather coats clinging to you as loud crashes and shouted curses continued to fill the house.

They were everywhere—kitchen drawers being yanked out, bedroom doors thrown open. You heard the crack of something heavy hitting the wall, then the dull thud of furniture being flipped.

Your fingers gripped the hem of your robe, knuckles white.

“Nothing’s here!” one of them yelled.

Another guy laughed, a low, mean sound. “Bullshit. This is Smurf’s place. There’s always something here.”

They were getting closer.

The voices grew louder. Clearer. Footsteps pounding down the hallway—your hallway. You squeezed your eyes shut.

And then they stopped.

Right outside the closet.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You heard someone mumble something under their breath, and then—

Click.

The door handle shifted.

You barely had time to suck in a gasp before the door was yanked open, the bright hallway light flooding the tiny space. You squinted up at a man with a shaved head, a leather jacket, and a small scar across his cheek. He froze when he saw you—half crouched in the back of the closet like a deer caught in headlights, robe pulled tight across your chest, cheeks streaked with silent tears.

His eyes widened, and for a split second, you thought maybe he’d just back off.

But then he smirked.

“Well, well,” he said, voice low and oily. “What do we have here?”

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

He grabbed your arm, hard, yanking you up to your feet like you weighed nothing. You stumbled, your bare feet skidding on the hardwood.

“Thought this place was empty,” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes raking over you like he was trying to figure out if you were worth more than whatever cash they’d been looking for.

You tried to wrestle yourself back into the closet wall, like maybe you could disappear. But he faster, calloused fingers wrapping around your wrist like a vise once again.

“Let go of me!” you gasped, but it barely came out.

He yanked you to your feet with zero care, dragging you forward, your bare toes sliding on the hallway floor. You fought him, pulling back with what little strength you had, but his grip only tightened.

“Don’t make this harder, princess,” he snapped, dragging you through the house as drawers hung open, broken glass crunched underfoot, and the stink of beer and sweat filled the air.

“I didn’t see anything—I swear—” you tried, breath shaking.

“Bet you know where the money is, though,” he shot back.

“I don’t!”

He ignored you, hauling you through the busted slider door and out into the cool night air. Your robe flared in the wind, and you blinked against the patio lights still glowing around the pool. Just minutes ago, you’d been lying there, peaceful, content—now you were barefoot, bleeding from your heels, and being dragged across the stone like some kind of prize.

The others were outside now too. Three men, scattered across the yard, tossing things from the poolside storage chest, upending flowerpots, one of them even kicking at the filter cover.

“She was hiding inside,” your captor called out, shoving you forward a few steps. You stumbled, caught yourself just before you hit the edge of the pool.

“She know where it is?” one asked, barely glancing up.

“She will.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, heart thundering so loud you swore it echoed off the water.

One of them walked up to you slowly—taller, older, colder-looking. His boots stopped just short of your bare toes.

“You got about ten seconds to tell us where Smurf keeps her stash,” he said. Not yelling. Just matter-of-fact. Like he wasn’t asking—he was waiting.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Wrong answer.

The one who’d dragged you out stepped behind you, grabbing your arms tight and jerking you back against him. The edge of the pool was at your toes now. You felt the chill of the water in front of you, the way your balance shifted just slightly.

“Think again,” the tall one said.

Tears burned in your eyes, but you blinked them back. 

Someone would come. 

You twisted in his grip, heels slipping on the wet tile, arms aching from how tightly he held you.

“Please—please, I don’t know anything!” you gasped, trying to plant your feet, but he kept pushing you closer to the pool’s edge.

The taller guy just stared, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“I swear to God, I don’t—Smurf doesn’t tell me anything! I just—I’m just Pope’s girlfriend!”

“Which means you know something,” the one holding you growled, yanking your arms up hard enough to make your shoulders burn.

“I don’t!” you cried out, voice cracking as panic bubbled up into your throat. “I don’t even live here—I didn’t even want to be here, I just—they told me to hang out! I was by the pool!”

“Then you shouldn’t have been hiding like a little rat,” the man sneered into your ear.

Your breath caught. “I was scared,” you whispered. “You broke the door down—I thought you were here to kill someone.”

Another guy—shaggy hair, wide eyes like he was hopped up on something—laughed darkly from the side of the yard. “Might still happen, sweetheart, if you don’t start talking.”

“I don’t know!” You squirmed in the first guy’s grip, finally throwing your elbow back into his ribs. It wasn’t much, but it caught him by surprise and he grunted, stumbling just a step.

You broke free for half a second—just long enough to bolt toward the other side of the pool.

But the tall one was fast. He grabbed a fistful of your robe, yanked you back so hard your legs gave out.

You hit the ground on your knees, palms scraped raw from the stone. Before you could move, a boot shoved your shoulder, forcing you to stay down.

“Try that again, and I’ll throw you in face first,” he warned.

Tears spilled hot and fast down your cheeks now. You shook your head, voice high and broken. “Please—I’m not lying—I swear to God, please just let me go! I didn’t do anything!”

No one answered. The only sound was the water lapping gently behind you, and the soft clink of something metal being tossed into the grass.

They weren’t hearing you.

They didn’t care.

And Pope… Pope wasn’t here to fix it.

You curled in on yourself, trembling. You’d never been this scared in your life. And if they decided to stop being patient?

You didn’t know what would happen next.

Your wrists were burning.

The zip ties they had grabbed bit into your skin as one of them yanked your arms behind your back, cinching them so tight you cried out. “Shut up,” he muttered, like your fear was an inconvenience.

The others had gone quiet. Focused.

The tall one paced near the pool, agitated, eyes scanning the yard like he was waiting for something to appear. The guy who tied you up shoved you down roughly back onto a lounger, rope around your ankles now too. You kicked, once, but it only earned you another curse and a warning glare.

You were helpless.

And then… movement.

From the corner of your eye, past the broken slider door and toward the far patio table, you saw J—slow, careful, almost crawling—edging toward the backpack he’d left out there earlier. It was half-hidden under a chair, just slouched enough that no one had noticed it yet.

But you knew what was inside.

His gun.

Your eyes went wide, lips parting in a silent gasp as you watched him stretch a hand toward the strap, his body low, fingers just brushing the zipper. He was so close—

A shout cracked through the night like a whip.

J didn’t freeze.

One of the guys—shaggy hair, twitchy—was already rushed toward him, tackling him towards the pool. J tried to dive away, but the man cracked him across his ribs, sending him sprawling across the stone with a sharp grunt and into a chair.

“Don’t!” you screamed from the lounger, struggling against the ropes. “Stop it! He’s just a kid!”

“Yeah?” the tall one snapped, stalking toward J now with ice in his voice. “Then he should’ve stayed hidden.”

The man in the brown jacket went to grab some leftover rope as two of his men continued to beat up J. They ignored your cries, focused on getting the teen who knew much more than you did. 

J coughed, curled on his side, one arm over his stomach. He looked at you—eyes wide, scared, like he was sorry. Sorry he got caught. Sorry he couldn’t stop this.

And all you could do was watch, wrists bound, robe soaked with your own tears, knees bleeding from the flagstone.

Inside the house, somewhere deep, a door creaked. Maybe Nicky was still hiding—maybe she’d heard it all.

God, you hoped she stayed hidden.

J was already coughing, barely able to get to his knees when they grabbed him again.

You tried to scream—tried to tell them to stop—but your voice was hoarse, useless against the chaos unfolding feet away from you.

The tall one grabbed J by the collar and hauled him. His shoes scraped across the tile, hands clawing at the man’s arm, but he was no match. Not like this. Not when he was winded and scared and outnumbered.

“J,” the tall one growled, voice calm in that cold, terrifying way, “who else is in the house man?”

“No one… just us,” J grunted, trying to gain his breath back.

Wrong answer.

“Go check the bedroom.” the man, who you assumed to be their leader, said as two of them left to go search the house again. 

The silence was heavy, water sloshing up onto the patio as J’s body stayed on the stone. You curled instinctively, like maybe if you didn’t watch it would stop, but the zip ties bit into your skin again and you could barely even sit up, and it kept you in the moment.

The tall man knelt at the pool’s edge, grabbed J by the back of the shirt, and held his head. “Smurf isn’t here?”

“Sh-She went to meet you…” 

You started sobbing quietly.

“She didn’t show.” 

They didn’t listen to whatever the teen had to say,  and two of them took J into the pool holding him up by his shoulders. 

“Hey, Jay. Where does Smurf keep her money?” the bald man asked, brandeshing his revolver like it was no big deal. J could barely get his answer out before they shoved him under. 

Your heart seized in your chest. “He’s not lying! He’s just a kid!”

They yanked him back up—J came out sputtering, gasping for air like a fish yanked from the deep, hair plastered to his face, chest heaving.

“One more time,” he asked, voice deadly quiet, “Where is Smurf’s money?”

J shook his head, water dripping down his face. “I swear to God—I don’t know—”

Back under.

The splash this time was smaller, like J didn’t even have the strength to fight it.

You were screaming now. Screaming and crying and twisting so hard your skin was raw from the rope, your knees scraped to hell from the concrete. “Please! He doesn’t know anything! Please don’t kill him!”

Finally—finally—they let him up again.

He floated toward the edge, wheezing, barely able to lift his head.

The tall one stood slowly, glanced over at you.

“You believe him?” he asked, wiping water from his hands.

You nodded frantically, eyes wide. “Yes! Yes, I believe him! I swear he’s telling the truth—there’s no money here! I-If it was, it'd be behind the dryer o-or shoe boxes!”

He didn’t move. Just stared at you for a long, uncomfortable second.

Then he said, “Maybe we’re asking the wrong person then.”

Your stomach dropped.

The twitchy guy who’d hit J first turned, stepping closer to you with a smirk, eyes running over your soaked robe, your trembling frame. They had dragged the poor boy out of the pool, beating him a bit more before turning their attention to you. 

“Nah,” he said. “She looks like a real good liar.”

And then the tall one said it—flat, casual, awful.

“Next time, we start with her.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t even think. 

Just cry.

You didn’t even realize how loud you were until the tall one’s eyes snapped back to you.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Shut her up.”

Your breath caught in your throat, panic curling deep in your gut.

“No—no, please, I didn’t—” You tried to scramble backward on the lounger, bound wrists twisting behind you, but you didn’t make it far. One of them—the twitchy one—grabbed your ankle and yanked you off the chair like it weighed nothing. You hit the stone patio with a painful thud, cheek scraping the ground, knees buckling beneath you.

“Get off me!” you cried, kicking, writhing in the ropes. “Don’t—don’t touch me!”

But he already had both hands on you, dragging you toward the pool.

“Guess she wants to take a swim,” he said darkly, like it was funny.

“No! Don’t—please, please don’t—!”

You thrashed harder, your robe getting twisted, legs scraping over the edge of the concrete just as your toes touched water. Cold. Too cold.

J was still wheezing, choking on his own blood, on the opposite side, watching in horror as they pulled you closer to the deep end.

“Leave her alone!” he tried to shout, voice wrecked from coughing.

The tall man didn’t even look back. “She wants to run her mouth, she can hold her breath.”

And then you were in the air—ropes tight, arms behind you, no way to break the fall—

Splash.

The cold hit you like a brick.

You sank instantly, robe ballooning around you, legs kicking uselessly as your wrists stayed locked behind you. You tried to swim, tried to surface, but the water kept dragging you down, twisting your body as you fought against it.

Your lungs burned.

You broke the surface once—gasped—only to be shoved back under again.

You didn’t know which of them did it. A hand on your head, a push between your shoulders. You couldn’t see. Everything was bubbles and blur and cold, cold, so cold.

Your scream was just a gurgle under the water.

You were going to drown.

And they didn’t care.

You came up again, coughing violently, gasping through sobs, and someone finally pulled you toward the steps, dumping you like trash onto the slick tile. You coughed, spit, choked on your own breath as you curled onto your side, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Now shut the hell up,” the tall one said, calm again, like none of it meant anything.

Behind him, J was still slumped on the ground, bleeding, soaked, and shaking.

And you—barefoot, half naked, shivering, and drenched—lay there helpless, your body shaking so hard it barely felt real.

You didn’t say another word.

The cold, sharp air felt like it might never leave your lungs. You shivered uncontrollably on the edge of the pool, the water dripping from your hair, your robe clinging to you like a wet sheet. The ropes around your wrists bit deeper into your skin, but you were too numb to even notice it anymore.

Then the door creaked.

You didn’t see her at first, just heard the shuffling footsteps—slow, dragging, someone stumbling.

“No one else in the house huh?,” the tall one said with a grin, eyes flicking over toward the door.

And then, like something out of a nightmare, Nicky was shoved into view.

Her face was swollen, bruised, blood streaking down her cheek from where someone had hit her. She was tied up too, wrists bound, her own robe in tatters from the way they'd manhandled her. She could barely stand, her knees buckling as they shoved her forward, her eyes red from crying, hair in disarray.

“No—no…” you whispered, horrified. Your voice cracked like glass under pressure.

She didn’t look at you, didn’t even try to. She was too dazed, too hurt, and when they shoved her to the ground next to you, she just crumpled, hands still tied, trying to curl into herself as much as possible.

“Nicky, please,” you begged, trying to push yourself toward her, but the ropes kept you in place, your body too weak to get far.

The tall one crouched down in front of J, who they had just pulled out of the pool one last time, was still trying to sit up from where they’d dumped him on the ground after you’d been thrown in the pool. He was shaking now—no longer the kid who thought he could hide a gun, no longer defiant. He was a ragdoll, eyes wide with fear yet dropping with exhaustion as he looked back and forth between you, Nicky, and the crew.

“Think I came all this way for twenty-five grand!?” the tall one said, eyes cold and calculating, smacking J in the face with the money you told them where to find. He drew another gun from his jeans, “Last goddamn time! Where’s the real money?!” The gun was aimed right on J’s face, locked and loaded and this guy wasn’t afraid to do it.

J’s lips parted. He didn’t say anything at first, and the silence was worse than anything else. “I told you I don’t know, I swear!” the blonde boy promised, desperate and pleading. They stepped on his bad leg, the one he hurt in the church hiest, as you and Nicky screamed in pain for him. 

Nicky flinched when one of the men reached down and grabbed her by the arm, lifting her up roughly. She winced but didn’t cry out, just staring at the ground, her whole body shaking.

“Get her out of here?” the tall one said again, voice flat.

J didn’t respond. His hands were shaking, too, but he wasn’t answering.

The crew didn’t wait.

One of them grabbed Nicky, taking her god knows where after she left your sight as the two men kept arguing over the fucking money. J’s scream was guttural, and he collapsed back to the stone, curling in on himself, chest heaving with pain.

You gasped, heart hammering in your chest as you fought against the ropes, but you couldn’t do anything.

J tried to speak, but it was barely a whisper. “Smurf’s got a storage unit on Freemont!”

The tall one stood back, his eyes cold, hands in his pockets. “What’s the number!?”

J said he didn’t know but would take them as long as they didn’t take Nicky, begging them to stop before pushing him into the pool one last time. His body arched, another groan escaping his throat as he struggled to swim, just as you had. He wasn’t able to defend himself, wasn’t able to do anything but take it.

You could feel the heat rising inside you, your stomach twisting in knots. You wanted to scream, to help him, to do something—but you were just tied up, helpless, watching him be broken apart in front of you.

They left after that, leaving you on the floor barely conscious. Taking Nicky and leaving J to drown in the pool his grandmother owned. You tried to crawl toward him, wrists bleeding from the ropes, but your vision went white, then black, then nothing at all.

--

The Jeep rolled to a slow stop in the driveway, headlights washing over the front of the Cody house. The gate was open. The porch light flickered. One of the patio chairs was overturned on its side like it had been thrown or tripped over. Something about the stillness was wrong. Off.

Pope stared at the front door—it hung open just a crack, too quiet, too deliberate. His knuckles tightened around the steering wheel as his instincts kicked in. He killed the engine and reached down beneath his seat, pulling out his gun. “Stay in the car.” 

Smurf started to follow, her hand already on the door handle, but Pope turned to look at her sharply, eyes already storm-dark. He told her to stay put.

She didn’t listen.

“I said stay in the car!” 

By the time he was creeping up the walkway, gun low and steady, Smurf was already on his heels. Her voice was low but sharp, cutting through the heavy silence—there was no way in hell she was waiting in the damn car while something had clearly gone sideways.

The moment they crossed the threshold of the house, the sight hit them first—The living room was a mess. Chairs overturned. A shattered lamp across the floor. One of the barstools broken in half, splinters fanned across the tile. Picture frames cracked and crooked on the walls.

Pope’s eyes swept the scene, methodical, calculating. Smurf stepped over a smashed photo of Baz and Julia, heart hammering in her chest as her gaze caught the trail—scuffs on the floor, a faint smear of blood. 

Pope moved room to room, clearing each space like the soldier he was, finger resting steady beside the trigger. The whole place was silent. Empty. But it wasn’t abandoned. Something had happened here. Something bad. And it wasn’t over yet.

Smurf made it to the back of the house first. She reached the sliding glass door and stopped cold.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

Outside, under the cold glow of the moon, two figures lay in the stillness. One, half in the pool—barely moving. The other crumpled on the concrete like a broken doll. She bolted, flinging the door open so hard it slammed against the wall. “Pope get out here!”

And he was right behind her, and when his eyes landed on the scene, he didn’t hesitate. J was slumped at the edge of the deep end, one arm hanging limply into the water, lips blue, chest barely rising as he coughed out water. His skin was soaked and pale. They ran for him, dropped to thier knees, and hauled the rest him out in swift motion, dragging him onto semi-dry ground

You were collapsed on the pavement not far from him, your wrists still bound, rope burns angry and raw. Your clothes were damp and ripped in some places. Your head lolled to one side, blood matting the edge of your hairline. You were breathing—but it was shallow, strained, like your body was hanging on by a thread.

Andrew dropped beside you, hands still as he checked your pulse, pressed his fingers against your clammy cheek. There was blood, but it wasn’t fresh. Whoever had hurt you. Tied you up. Left you here like garbage. His  jaw clenched as he tore the ropes free with his knife.  

His own heart was racing now—not out of fear, but rage.

Behind him, Smurf was crouched next to J, trying to keep him awake, her expression darkening with every slurred word that came out of the kid’s mouth. Something about a storage unit. Fremont. Smurf’s name. Nicky. And a man—Javi. He’d given them what they wanted. It still hadn’t been enough.

Pope was tense, but not from the sudden adrenaline rush. From fury. From failure. From the sight of you lying there like that, and J barely clinging on.

Smurf pulled off her coat and draped it over J’s  shoulders, and You flinched slightly as Pope tried to move you, a broken whimper escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake.

The air felt thicker now—like the violence hadn’t left yet. Like it was still sitting heavy over the house, waiting to be answered.

--

You woke to the low hum of an air conditioner and the faint scent of bleach and detergent—clean, sterile, unfamiliar. The world came back in pieces. The pressure in your skull. The aching pull of your muscles. The bruises blooming beneath your skin.

Your eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim light of a shaded living room. You were lying on a couch, a heavy blanket draped over your legs, the cushions dipping slightly beneath your weight. Your old clothes were gone. Replaced with a big, worn t-shirt that didn’t belong to you and a pair of sleep shorts. The fabric was soft. Smelled faintly like soap and someone else’s cologne.

Specifically the someone next to you.

You turned your head—barely—and saw Pope, sitting silent in the chair beside the couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. He hadn’t noticed you were awake yet. His eyes were fixed on the floor, brow furrowed, that same stormcloud expression carved into his face like stone.

There was a first-aid kit on the table nearby. A bloody rag beside it. A bottle of water, half-drunk. And your wrists—carefully wrapped in gauze. Clean. Tended to.

He’d done it. You could tell.

His head finally lifted. Eyes meeting yours.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stared. Not coldly—but intensely, like he was trying to figure out if you were real or maybe just what to say.

Your throat was dry. Scratchy. Every part of your body screamed in protest, but you managed a slow breath. You swallowed, trying to sit up slightly, and he was there in an instant—hand on the couch cushion near your arm, grounding you, steadying you without touching.

He didn’t ask how you felt. He didn’t need to.

The silence between you said enough.

You blinked at him, struggling to find the words. You remembered the pool. The ropes. The last thing you saw—J’s body going under, your own lungs burning, your screams swallowed by the water.

But you were here now.

 Alive.

Pope leaned back slightly, never taking his hazel eyes off of you. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and gravely.

"You’re safe now."

It wasn’t a comfort. It was a promise.

And in the look he gave you, you knew—someone was going to pay for what happened, every second of it.

The silence lingered, stretching long between you. 

Heavy.

You kept your eyes on him, chest tight and aching in a way that had nothing to do with your injuries. There was this pressure building inside you—like your ribs were made of glass and every breath was another tap against the surface. The weight of it all pressed down until it cracked.

Your lip trembled before you could stop it. A choked breath caught in your throat. And then, without thinking—without asking—you pushed the blanket off and slid off the couch, barefoot and trembling, legs unsteady beneath you.

Pope moved instantly, as if to stop you from falling, but froze when he realized where you were going.

You stepped between his knees and just… folded.

Dropped down into his lap like gravity pulled you there, like it was the only place you could go. Your arms slid around his neck, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you buried your face against his shoulder and finally let it go.

The sob came out broken and raw, like it had been hiding deep in your chest, waiting for the moment you were safe enough to let it out.

And Pope didn’t speak. 

He didn’t stiffen or push you off. He just wrapped his arms around you, slow and solid, one hand bracing your back, the other cradling the back of your head like you were made of something fragile. He held you like that was his only job now. Like that was all he could do.

Your body shook with each breath, each silent sob that spilled into the fabric of his shirt. You weren’t even sure what part of it broke you—J being thrown into the water, the ropes cutting into your skin, the helplessness, the fact that no one came until it was nearly too late—or maybe just the simple weight of surviving it.

Pope stayed quiet. Solid. A wall at your back.

He didn’t shush you. He didn’t tell you to stop crying. He just held on tighter.

Eventually, your cries softened. Still trembling, but quieter now, worn out from the storm. Your arms loosened, head still pressed to his shoulder, breaths coming in uneven little gasps.

“I thought I was gonna die,” you whispered against him, the words barely audible.

Pope didn’t answer right away. But you felt the slow rise and fall of his chest. The way he breathed in through his nose like he was trying to keep it together, too.

“You didn’t,” he said quietly. “You’re here.” In that soft, impossible voice of his—rough and raw and honest—you could feel the edge of something else underneath.

You stayed like that for a long time, curled against him in the quiet. The sounds outside the windows were distant—cars passing, wind through the trees, the faint hum of someone’s music down the block—but none of it touched you here. Not in this little pocket of stillness, where Pope’s arms stayed around you like he was trying to hold your broken pieces together with his own hands.

Your breathing slowed eventually. You felt the exhaustion in every limb, every bruise, but you didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to let go. The silence between you shifted—less sharp now, more full. Safe.

Your voice cracked when you finally spoke again. "I thought no one was coming."

Pope’s hand moved slowly along your back, not soothing exactly—more like he needed the contact too. He let the silence linger a moment longer before he answered.

"I should’ve gotten there sooner."

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were darker than usual, rimmed with something unspoken. Not guilt exactly—something deeper. Regret. Rage. Fear. All the emotions he felt so intensely. 

“You got there,” you whispered. “You found me.”

That mattered. It mattered more than he probably realized.

He looked at you for a long second. You could see it then—the way his jaw clenched, the slight shake in his hand as it rested against your hip. He hadn’t stopped replaying it. 

Finding you like that. 

Finding J.

“I didn’t know what I was gonna see,” he said finally. His voice was low, hoarse. “When I walked in.”

You swallowed hard, eyes stinging again. “They were gonna kill him. And they were gonna take me and Nicky too. I—I thought—”

Your breath hitched and his hand was already on the back of your neck again, grounding you, pulling you gently forward until your forehead rested against his. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t say anything romantic or comforting. Just held you there, close.

“The guy…” you breathed, “he kept asking about the money. Smurf’s stuff. I don’t even know what the hell they wanted from me.”

“You didn’t tell them anything,” Pope said, more fact than question.

You shook your head. “Didn’t know anything important enough. I just… took the beating.”

His grip on you tightened for a second, like the thought of that was too much. Like he needed something to break. But then he took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter.

“You did good.”

You looked at him—eyes puffy, cheeks streaked with tears—and almost laughed, but it came out cracked and sad. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You survived,” he said. “That’s everything.”

And you knew, in that moment, that if Pope had gotten there even five minutes later, he would’ve dragged bodies out of that pool himself. Not to save them. But to make sure they stayed under.

You let your forehead rest against his again, breathing in his warmth, the steady thrum of his presence. Not perfect. Not even close. But steady in the way only Andrew “Pope” Cody could be—quiet, fierce, unmovable when it mattered.

You closed your eyes.

“I don’t feel safe anywhere right now.”

His arms wrapped around you again, tighter this time. And his voice was soft enough it barely reached your ears.

“You are when you’re with me.”

mercvry-glow 2025

[cookinguptales]

oh my god, I might literally throw a party. I might literally buy myself a cake tonight. thank you, thank you, thank you, Pete Buttigieg.

things that have happened to me specifically while flying american:

being asked to stand in a very long line to check my bag before they'd let me have access to a wheelchair

not being picked up by an attendant in time to get to my flight despite arriving over two hours early

being loaded into a broken accessible bathroom. the door wouldn't close all the way so my naked body was visible to people in the terminal.

being refused restroom access at all, sometimes for hours at a time. I'd say that this one happens about 80% of the time when I fly, especially when getting off the plane.

being denied stops for food at the airport as well

being left outside a restroom for over an hour because the attendant straight-up left. I had to TWEET AT THE AIRPORT FOR HELP because I knew being public was the only thing that would work.

being left on plane for over 45 minutes for the same exact reason. once off the plane, I was left at the gate for an additional hour. my parents, waiting for me at baggage, were frantic. a gate agent got into a screaming match with a wheelchair attendant. it was wild.

having a wheelchair attendant harass me about my homosexuality the entire time they took me through the airport; I'd just come from pride and had an identifying t-shirt. I couldn't get away from them or their lectures about being a good christian.

never being collected for a connecting flight, forcing me to walk or miss the flight. I dislocated my shoulder trying to get there.

once I was loaded onto a shuttle but no one bothered UNloading me, so I had to bang on the glass to get passersby's attention

not being preboarded a solid... I'd say 20% of the time. this is important because preboarding means I don't need to stand for an extended period in a narrow aisle behind people putting their things away, and also provides me with additional space to put away my accessibility devices.

once this happened because the wheelchair attendant was late (as usual) and the gate attendant assured me they'd hold the line so the aisle would be clear. once I got down there, they refused to do this and wanted me to stand for 15 minutes, which would have been incredibly painful while holding my bags. I refused to board until the aisle was clear, so they started directing passengers around my wheelchair. it was only after a passenger straight up refused to board and blocked everyone else that the aisle was cleared and I was allowed to board.

I have also had passengers break rules to take me to the bathroom when I was literally weeping at the gate from how badly I needed to pee and how much I did not want to publicly wet myself. thank you to those passengers. (and the ones that yell that I need to be preboarded when they "forget" to do so.)

I've been told to get off the plane because my wheelchair was there, but got off the plane to find out that it wasn't -- and they wouldn't let me back on the plane. they wanted me to walk to baggage, but I couldn't. I sat down on the filthy floor of the bridge and wouldn't move until they brought a wheelchair, no matter how much they yelled at me and threatened me with security. what a fucking mess.

they have given away my seat near the front of the plane before and forced me to walk to the back of the plane. I was openly sobbing from the pain by the time I made it back there.

things that have happened while flying in general (TSA, other airlines, etc.):

(trigger warning for sexual assault)

TSA giving you the most invasive pat-downs you can imagine. if you remain in your wheelchair, often they will run their hands under your thighs, bottom, and genitalia. the weight of your own body means that I have had fingers part my outer labia through my pants. one I started crying during a pat-down because I am a survivor of CSA and they yelled at me then restarted the pat-down from the top.

I have had attendants refuse to help me with my belongings during security, instead insisting that I get out of the chair and do it myself

I have had security make me get out of the chair, then lose the chair until my legs gave out and I sat on the floor, which also got me yelled at

broken accessible bathrooms have happened at MULTIPLE airports.

delta has broken not one but TWO of my personal wheelchairs

once while boarding an attendant (who was already mad at me because I'd refused to walk up the steep tarmac ramp without wheelchair assistance) grabbed my cane while I was using it and I almost fell. I was never notified that this would be a tarmac boarding to begin with.

once, during a different tarmac boarding, they expected us to go down a flight of stairs, despite me being loaded onto the plane via wheelchair. I would not go down the stairs and they had to call for the lift to be brought. it took about a half hour, and the entire time the attendants kept asking me if I really needed it and wouldn't I just go down the stairs? like I was just being a recalcitrant child and not someone who's broken her ankle stepping off a curb before.

honestly the refusal to let me eat and pee is pretty universal, as is wheelchair attendants ghosting me, refusing to talk to me, acting like they're transporting luggage instead of a person, etc.

believe it or not, that is not an exhaustive list. they're just the first examples that come to mind. whenever I fly and it goes completely smoothly, that's more of a shock.

and like... it's dehumanizing. it really is. not being allowed to go to the restroom? having people refuse to talk to you? being abandoned in random hallways?

I'm always in so much pain after I fly, a fact that is generally worsened by poor treatment at the airport, and even the literal dislocations have hurt less than being treated like I'm less of a human person than my fellow passengers.

so uh. rock on, Buttigieg. fine them into fucking oblivion. I'll be cheering you on the whole way.

[bonedo-enthusiast]

santa's little helper 𐂐◯𓇋 (klh)

desc: mall santa!leehan x mall elf!reader

warnings: smut, mdni!, perv!leehan (ofc), p in v, no protection used (no glove, no love 🫵), reader is mean but it's okay bc leehan is into it, degradation, praise, cute petnames, sexual acts in a public space (restroom), oral (reader receiving), sub!leehan, dom!reader, afab!reader, + lmk if there's anything i missed :)

wc: 2,842

you pulled the elf hat down again, annoyed that it kept drifting up on your head. you certainly didn’t feel very festive, the bright green clothing scratchy against your body anytime you moved an inch. in fact, you looked like you had come straight out of a christmas comedy, with your bored expression and your green pointed shoe tapping against the tiled floor.

your university had collaborated with the local mall for the annual santa pop-up, allowing college students to put work toward any necessary volunteer hours. you didn't have many other opportunities since your classes filled up a lot of time, so here you were, dressed in a tacky, too-tight costume waiting for the onslaught of kids to show up.

"perk up. elves aren't supposed to look cranky."

oh yeah, and there was that. or him, rather.

you turned around to fix the boy with a scowl. "the event hasn’t even started yet."

his response was that wide, irritating grin of his. "tsk, tsk… talking back to santa? do you want to be on the naughty list this year?"

kim leehan. of course he got the role of santa, being one of the most proactive students at the university. he was on the dean's list, president of the aquatic club, was apart of at least five other clubs, and was present at most volunteering events. he also happened to be incredibly annoying, always so egotistical. even if he was objectively one of the more attractive boys on campus, his personality irked you to no end.

you rolled your eyes and turned around, ignoring the chuckle he let out.

"lighten up. i'm just trying to look out for you–we’re going to start soon."

right. sure he was.

as if on cue, a gaggle of children ran toward the gated-off area like a swarm of hyperactive puppies. you quickly plastered on a smile and started by greeting the first one, instructing her to sit on santa's lap and tell him what she wanted for christmas. you stood in front of the line so no rogue child could enter, and watched as another elf wrote down the girl's wish. then you allowed the next child to enter.

your shift went by like that, rather monotonously, until the last child had gone through. 

"alright, folks! that's the end of today. thank you so much for your work. if you need me to sign a slip saying you were present, just let me know," the person in charge of the event said. "for those of you that don't mind, can you help us clean up the area for tomorrow's volunteers?"

you watched as the only other elf left, leaving you, leehan, and the event coordinator. you frowned but decided it wouldn't hurt to have some extra minutes of volunteer time, bending down and straightening the tinsel and fairy lights along the base of santa's chair.

"wasn't that fun?" leehan's voice came from behind you, startling you a little. "seeing all those happy children... it just made my heart melt."

"i guess. it wasn't fun having to keep the little ones out. they looked at me like i was their number one opp."

leehan let out a laugh. "well, that's okay. at least you look cute in your uniform."

you raised an eyebrow. "um... thanks?"

"it really suits you." leehan added, smiling down at you. "really accentuates your features."

you became more aware of how tight your costume was. they didn't have your size when you got to the event, them stating that they didn't order enough costumes. apparently they let all of their volunteers keep the costume when they were done as a token of appreciation. you now wished that was not the case.

"leehan, aren't you supposed to be helping me straighten things up?" you asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"fine." leehan said to your surprise. he bent down and helped you with straightening up the christmas decorations, then stood back up. "there. done."

"we should let the event coordinator know."

"they left." leehan said, gesturing at the gate. "probably going to do paperwork or something. we better head out."

you grabbed your backpack and followed him out of the gated area leading to the rest of the mall.

"i wonder why they stop the santa visits so early. the mall doesn't close for another three hours." leehan mused.

"the kids probably have an early bedtime." you said absentmindedly, looking around for the nearest bathroom so you could change back into your clothes.

your eyes landed on a large restroom sign and you immediately started walking toward it. you heard footsteps behind you and turned your head, seeing that leehan was following you. right, he probably wanted to change back into his clothes too.

you stopped at the restroom door, realizing that it was unisex, one stall. you turned around to tell leehan this so he could find another restroom, but he just brushed past you, opening the restroom door with a smirk. the door closed behind him, and you noticed that the door still indicated that it was vacant, meaning he didn't yet lock it. you scoffed.

was this a challenge?

you felt the familiar feeling of irritation and you let out a sigh. you had seen the restroom first, and you knew that the next restroom would probably be quite a few feet away. the itchy green fabric rubbed against your skin, as though making the decision for you. you pushed open the restroom door.

"okay, you freak. i found this restroom fair and square." you said with your hands on your hips.

leehan was leaned against the sink counter still in his santa getup as though expecting you. "oh?"

"yeah. so get out."

"or what?" leehan scoffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "what will you do if i don't?"

you let out another sigh, feeling disheartened and prepared to give up the damn restroom when your eyes trailed down and noticed the tent straining against leehan's pants.

"oh... my god. you sick freak." you said, scrunching your nose in disgust. "do you seriously have a boner right now?"

leehan pushed off of the counter, taking a few steps closer to you. "maybe. maybe not. why? wanna help me with it?"

"help you with it?" you sneered. "tell me, why do you have one in the first place? is it because of me?"

"yes." leehan said immediately, not an ounce of shame in his voice. his eyes softened even as he stood tall over you. "please... i want you."

"you sound pathetic." you said, although your tone had less bite than it previously did. in truth, his words sent a warmth straight to your cunt. the prospect of fucking him didn't sound entirely awful. in fact, the idea seemed almost enticing, and his pleading eyes didn't help.

you locked the door, sliding it from "vacant" to "occupied."

"you want me?" you chided, taking a step toward leehan, closing the distance.

leehan nodded eagerly. "yes. god, please, yes."

"unbutton your coat." you said while crossing your arms, unimpressed.

leehan brought his hands up to the fleece material, his fingers clumsily unbuttoning the coat one by one, leaving his chest bare. he didn’t even have a shirt on under it? you scoffed, wondering if he had somehow planned this.

leehan started to slide the coat off, but you stopped him. "did i tell you to take it off?"

"n-no..." leehan said with raised eyebrows, stopping his actions. "sorry."

“make it up to me. wanna touch me?” you gently pushed him so he was against the wall. 

leehan let out an involuntary moan, making your pussy throb. “yes, please… wanna touch you so bad.”

"mm well, since you asked so nicely..." you leaned forward so that your face was inches away from his. then you grabbed his hands and placed them on your boobs.

leehan began kneading them gently, his thumb running over your nipple through the fabric. you let out a sharp gasp at the contact and felt his dick get harder against your leg.

"you're so fucking hot..." he murmured, leaning forward to kiss you.

you kissed him back as you slowly rubbed your thigh against his dick. he pulled away with a moan, his head falling back. you took the opportunity to pepper kisses along his neck, sucking and leaving marks as you went.

"please..." leehan's voice cracked.

"hmm? please what?" you asked, reaching up to pinch his nipple.

"ah! f-fuck... please t-touch me!"

"i am touching you, leehan." you said matter-of-factly, squeezing his nipple again for emphasis.

leehan bit his lip. "w-want you to touch my dick, p-please!"

"i think i need some convincing first." you leaned back, leehan whimpering at the loss of contact. "make me feel good, then i'll consider it."

"i'll make you feel good... make you feel so, so fucking good."

"then do it." you said with a scoff. "or are you just all talk?"

leehan smashed his lips against yours, pulling you into him. the kiss was messy, with saliva mixing and short breaths of air. he tugged on the hem of your shirt and you took the hint, breaking away from the kiss to tug the shirt up and over your head. your bra followed soon after, the cool air hitting your already perky nipples.

"fuck..." leehan breathed, staring at your chest. "so fucking pretty."

before you had the chance to feel shy, leehan resumed kneading your tits, paying special attention to your nipples. you threw your head back with a moan as leehan swirled his tongue around your nipple, using his other hand to rub against your clothed clit.

"oh fuck, leehan..." you groaned, biting your lip.

"feel good? do i make you feel good?" leehan asked, looking at you intently.

"so good, leehan. so good, just as you promised." you didn't miss the way that leehan's dick twitched at your praise.

you felt your orgasm building fairly quickly just from his hand and fingers alone, your body betraying you. "l-leehan, i'm gonna cum."

"wait."

you froze, eyes wide as you looked at leehan. oh god, was he uncomfortable? did he realize how crazy this--

"i want to taste you." leehan said, a dopey smile on his face. "please, y/n. please let me eat you out."

and how could you deny that?

you quickly slid out of your green leggings, tossing the damned elf hat off while you were at it. leehan sunk down to the floor, face-to-face with your pelvis. before you could take off your panties, leehan reached forward and pushed your panties to the side before grabbing your waist and pulling you toward him. you gasped as he dove face-first into your cunt. as he nibbled on your clit, you swore you could see stars. leehan's tongue lapped inside you as though his life depended on it.

"nngh... l-leehan, fuck! s-slow down, i'm not gonna last!"

"don't want you to." leehan managed to get out between sucking on your folds and panting. "want you to cum."

his words pushed you over the edge, your vision going blurry as you came in his mouth, just as he wanted. as your vision came back, you panted and leehan peeled himself from you, a sheen of your cum on his chin. he licked his lips and wiped his chin with his sleeve, grinning up at you. "that was so hot. you taste so good, baby."

you ignored the way the pet name made your heart flutter. "now then... i believe it's your turn."

leehan's eyes grew wide as though he had forgotten about himself. he hastily stood up and shucked off his pants along with his boxers, his dick springing up proudly.

you let out a chuckle. "looks like someone's excited to see me..."

leehan nodded, sucking in a breath, "i need you, y/n."

"need me, huh? tell me, do you do this often?" you spit in your hand before reaching forward, grabbing his dick and sliding your hand down it.

he let out a choked moan. "n-no, just you..."

"oh? just me? so what, you've been thinking about me?"

"mmh... yes, y-yes..."

"and what have you been thinking about?" you ran your thumb over his slit, causing him to throw his head back in pleasure. "nasty things, i'm sure."

leehan didn't respond, instead letting out more lewd moans. but his flushed face told you everything you needed to know.

"i'm right, aren't i? you're such a fucking pervert." you said, speeding up your pace.

"n-n-no!" leehan managed to choke out.

"don't you lie to me. i could stop, you know." you said, doing just that. leehan's cock stood in your hand, the tip weeping and red.

"no! p-please!" leehan begged, almost manically. "please don't stop, please please--"

"then don't lie. you've been thinking nasty thoughts about me, haven't you?"

leehan's lip quivered. "y-yes... i have..." he looked like a hurt puppy, shame spread across his cheeks in a pink dust.

you felt a pang in your heart at the poor, pathetic boy in front of you. "tell me what you've been thinking about."

"w-what?" leehan bit his lip nervously.

"tell me or you won't get to cum." you said firmly.

leehan let out a soft sigh. "i just... thought about you fucking me. you... finding out about my feelings toward you and..." he trailed off, his blush deepening. his feelings toward you? you felt your lips tug into a smile, finding the sentiment endearing. but you’d have to revisit this later.

you resumed jerking him off at the same rapid pace you were previously, causing him to moan loudly. "so you wanted this to happen? i wonder how many nights you spent jerking off to the thought of me fucking you. how pathetic..."

"w-wait... w-wanna be inside y-you... please! please..." leehan whined out between moans.

you stopped your ministrations on his cock, feeling the growing wetness in your cunt. "oh, you want to be inside me, huh?”

leehan nodded insistently, eyes wide and pleading. “please, y/n, please…” 

“aww…” you cooed, raking your free, unsoiled hand through his hair. “let’s switch spots.”

the two of you shifted so that you were against the wall and you finally pulled off his coat, admiring his arms. “alright, pretty… do you think you could help me keep one of my legs up?”

leehan visibly melted a bit at the nickname. “yes, i think so.” he lifted your right leg up with one hand, using the other to steady himself against the wall.

you placed your hands on his shoulders, placing a kiss against his jawline. "alright, whenever you’re ready."

leehan nodded and licked his lips, moving your underwear to the side once again before slowly pushing his girth into you.

"oh, f-fuck!" you moaned, wrapping your arms around leehan's neck.

once leehan's dick was buried inside you, he promptly pulled out and slammed back in, eliciting moans from both of you.

"you're doing so good." you cooed in his ear, sucking more marks into his skin.

his pace quickened, the sound of flesh against flesh filling the room. his movements were so needy, so impatient. if you weren’t equally as needy, you would have teased him about it. 

"nngh... f-fuck, y/n... so wet..." leehan's voice came out breathy. "i think i'm g-gonna cum..."

"already? we just started." you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "you really can't last any longer? too excited to get your dick wet?"

"c-can't... help it!" leehan's eyes squeezed shut, his thrusting getting inconsistent and sloppy.

"that's okay... you're just my cumslut, aren't you?" you said, raking your nails against his back.

"fuck... y-yes, i'm your-- cum-- i'm cumming!" leehan choked out before you felt a warmth gushing inside of you, filling you up. you followed soon after, his orgasm fueling your own.

leehan gently pulled you off of him and helped you lean back against the wall, your legs a bit wobbly. "fuck, y/n... that was so..." he trailed off, grinning at you from ear to ear.

you felt your face grow warm, becoming aware of your nakedness. "um... yeah."

"so... i don't want things to be awkward between us." leehan said softly. "so um... would you maybe like to go out with me? i was kinda hoping for something more beyond the physical."

"oh, so there some innocent thoughts scattered among the dirty ones?"

leehan's blush returned. "uh... yeah. i would say there were quite a few. innocent ones, i mean!"

you laughed. "yeah, sure. i'll go on a date with you."

"really?" leehan beamed at you, his eyes nearly disappearing with how big his smile was.

"yeah... but first let's put on some clothes, hmm? and by clothes, i mean our regular clothes."

"what's wrong with the santa costume? it seemed to get you going." leehan said, wiggling his eyebrows.

you wrinkled your nose. "um, no. incorrect."

"liar. i bet you loved being santa's little helper."

"gross." you groaned. "you're such a freak."

leehan grinned. "so i've been told."

a/n: i was at the mall w @blueberrybeomgyu & @escapistgarden when berry was like omg mall santa fic as a joke and then ofc i couldn't stop thinking abt it 😭 im SICK but it's okay bc i made this :p i cant believe how long this turned out... im used to writing drabbles but slay ig. anyway, if ur reading this, tysm for ur support! <3 hope u enjoyed :) also, merry christmas! (if you celebrate <3)

[strawb4kdior]

~ PRISON WIFE II ~

pairings: vi x FEM reader

tw: alot of angst - im sorryyyy

summary: you go to find vi, only to discover where her feelings truly lie

a/n: hey darlings here's part 2 :)) also i was wondering two things: 1. Should I make a lil series of a different vi story?? 2. Should I write part two of Caitlyn x Rhea??

taglist: @ren-ren23 @aubs-243 @sweetbcgs 🫶🫶🫶

< part 1 part 3 >

The first thing you noticed when you stepped out of Stillwater was the smell. It wasn’t mold, sweat, or the metallic tang of blood—just fresh air. Something you had been denied for two whole years. You inhaled deeply, rolling your shoulders as the heavy steel gates groaned behind you.

You were free.

But freedom didn’t mean anything. Not yet.

Not until you found Vi.

She was supposed to do this with you. Serve your sentences together, bide your time, get out, and start fresh. She had promised. She had told you, over and over, through whispered words in the dark corners of Stillwater’s cells, her hands wrapped around your waist, her lips against yours:

"I won’t leave you. I swear it. We’ll get out together."

But she had left.

She had been bailed out by Caitlyn, the enforcer she always spoke about with that mix of admiration and guilt. You should’ve known. You should’ve seen it coming, but you had been blinded by her—by the way she held you, by the way she made you feel like you were the only thing keeping her sane inside those walls.

And then she was gone.

No letters. No visits. Nothing.

She had left you to rot.

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to start walking. You had spent the last two years simmering in rage, planning what you’d say, what you’d do when you saw her again. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream at her, hit her, or pull her in and kiss her like she hadn’t broken you. Maybe all three.

The streets of Zaun were the same but different. More rundown in some areas, better in others. You pulled your hood up and moved fast, heading to the one place you knew would have answers: The Last Drop.

THE LAST DROP

The bar was crowded, neon lights flickering above as people drank, laughed, and fought. The air was thick with the scent of liquor, sweat, and the ever-present stench of desperation that clung to Zaunites trying to survive.

You pushed through the crowd, heading straight for the bar. The bartender was a familiar face—some guy who had been working there since before you were locked up. You leaned over the counter.

"Where’s Vi?" you asked, your voice sharp, demanding.

The bartender gave you a once-over, his brows lifting. "Well, shit. Didn’t think I’d see you again. You’re out, huh?"

"Yeah. Now where the fuck is she?"

He hesitated, wiping his hands on a rag. "You sure you wanna do this? I mean, word is, she’s different now."

Your jaw tightened. "Where. Is. She?"

A sigh. "She’s in Piltover. Been living there with her little enforcer girlfriend. Working with the cops now. Fancy apartment and all."

The rage that had been simmering for years turned white-hot. Piltover. She had abandoned you for Piltover. For her.

You turned on your heel without another word, shoving past bodies as you stormed out of the bar.

She had some fucking explaining to do.

VI & CAITLYN’S APARTMENT

Piltover was too clean, too bright, too polished. It made your skin itch. The second you reached Vi’s apartment complex, you knew you were in the wrong place. Gilded railings, pristine cobblestone walkways, expensive lanterns illuminating the street—it was everything Vi had told you she hated.

And yet, here she was.

You pounded on the door. Hard.

A few seconds later, footsteps. Then the door opened, and there she was.

Vi.

Your breath caught, just for a second. She looked different. Healthier. Softer. She wasn’t in a prison jumpsuit, wasn’t bruised or bleeding. She was dressed in casual clothes, a tank top and loose sweatpants, her hair a little longer, her face clean. She looked… comfortable.

Happy.

The realization made something inside you snap.

Vi’s eyes widened when she saw you. "Holy shit."

You shoved her back, stepping into the apartment. "That’s all you have to say?"

Vi stumbled slightly but didn’t push you away. She looked stunned, guilty even. "I—shit, I didn’t know you were out yet."

"You didn’t know?" You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "That’s funny, because I spent two years wondering if you even fucking cared!"

Vi winced, rubbing the back of her neck. "Listen—"

"No. You listen." You stepped closer, your voice shaking with anger. "We were in that hellhole together. We had a plan. And then you left me there."

"I didn’t have a choice!" Vi shot back, her own frustration bubbling to the surface. "Caitlyn got me out. She gave me a second chance. What was I supposed to do? Say no?"

"Yes!" you shouted. "You were supposed to remember what we had. You were supposed to fight for me, Vi. But instead, you just—what? Walked away? Forgot I existed?"

Vi’s jaw clenched. "I didn’t forget."

"Bullshit," you spat. "You never even came to see me. Not once."

She opened her mouth but closed it again, unable to argue. The silence was deafening.

Your voice dropped to something quieter, something more broken. "You told me you loved me."

Vi’s eyes flickered with something—regret, guilt, pain. "I did love you."

The past tense hit you like a punch to the gut.

You took a shaky breath, blinking rapidly. "Right. Of course. And now what? You love her?"

Vi hesitated, and that was all the answer you needed.

A bitter smile twisted your lips. "I should’ve known. Should’ve fucking known that I was just a mistake you wanted to forget."

"That’s not true," Vi said quickly. "You weren’t a mistake."

"Then why did you leave me?" Your voice cracked. "Why didn’t you come back for me?"

Vi swallowed hard. "Because I was scared. Scared that if I came back, I’d never leave. That I’d get sucked back into that life and never get out. Caitlyn gave me a chance to be better, and I took it."

You stared at her, feeling your anger start to crack under the weight of exhaustion and heartbreak. "And what about me?"

Vi exhaled slowly. "I didn’t know how to face you."

"You’re facing me now," you whispered.

A beat of silence. Then Vi stepped closer, her voice softer. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"You did anyway."

She reached for you, but you stepped back. She froze.

"I don’t even know why I came here," you muttered. "Maybe I thought you’d have some explanation that made it all make sense. But you don’t, do you?"

Vi’s face twisted with something like regret. "I wish I did."

You nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yeah. Me too."

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at each other, memories flickering between you like ghosts. Then you turned toward the door.

Vi didn’t stop you.

And that, more than anything, told you what you needed to know.

[louisisalarrie]

I have a question. How does this work as far as PR if they are both not even trying to make it look legit? What is the point? How does this benefit either of them, especially since so few are buying it?!? I feel like this is way less believable than any other one he has done and I am not sure what the motivation is behind it at all considering both seem so damn reluctant to be doing it in the first place! Any insight?!?

ok so this wasn’t gonna be a welcome to the show bc it’s less educational and more so me venting about it but here ya go anon. welcome to the show!

I agree that it’s the least believable so far, from their individual public image, to their awkward and cringy actions around each other, to the fact that she seemingly appeared out of nowhere in his life and there was barely any soft launch. It’s like whoever is in charge of it learnt nothing from the years of the 1d stunts, and have reverted so far back in a day and age where things need to look far more legit now than they used to, due to social media, solo careers etc.

Anyway, because we’re in the thick of it, it seems a lot more clear to us that it’s fake. It has been interesting though, the comments on the articles from GP, Deuxm*i’s latest little comment that I just posted about, already a “trouble in paradise” article that we usually wouldn’t receive until farther down the line… so much flailing and scrambling. However, even with more suspicion from the GP than usual, most of them are gonna read the headline and move on, or click the article and not look at the GP’s comments. It still technically does what it’s meant to do, but they’ve just…. Fucked it up a lot earlier than usual.

Interestingly enough though, like you mentioned, it doesn’t even look like she is trying either. Usually with these stunts we’ll at least get the girl trying to make it look legit, but she’s clearly got no interest in this either… which leads me to believe it is for a reason other than album promo due to it being such a hard launch straight from the bat, no slow burn or organic elements at all, and some of the worst chemistry I’ve ever seen in a stunt pairing.

Apart from the handful of weird solos/antis who are obsessed with them and trying so hard to love it, the general consensus this time around just isn’t that believable for everyone. From the paps magically being able to drive down past a gate onto private property the exact moment they’re saying goodbye and getting those PDA pics, to the walk around the parking lot “a few days before” when Louis was in the same clothes, it’s just.. soooo sloppy. And surely his team can’t be THIS bad at their job… because it doesn’t just come down to how Louis and her act with each other, but also the way the information is presented to us and the GP and it’s been entirely fumbled.

I don’t think this is gonna be long lasting, I don’t think she’s gonna be the inspo for his album (although a little bit of het encouragement doesn’t hurt I suppose), and I think (and hope) there’s something more to this than PR for her merch and SoccerAid promo.

I mean the whole thing about it even potentially being for the sole purpose of SoccerAid doesn’t make sense to me. We are gonna watch Louis regardless - he has an absolute cult of a fandom. We’re not sitting on the edge of our seats going “ooohhhh better watch SoccerAid now!! I wasn’t planning to but now there could be tension between him and her ex boyf!! I wanna see the drama!!” or “ohh they’re so cute she’s gonna be there cheering him on, let’s watch!!” because that’s just not how his fandom works. And it’s not gonna convince the GP to watch for those reasons either. And if that is in fact the sole reason for this all, well… his PR team know absolutely nothing about us and have been slacking hard when it comes to understanding the relationship the fandom has with Louis. Including all the relationship lore over the past 15 years, both with stunts and Harry.

Like… not the “body language expert” analysing the photos to try and convince people they are in fact together and soooooo in love because even the media knows no one is gonna believe this shit with the quality of the pictures we’re getting from them. It’s just so embarrassing.

If it is in fact to end another stunt or kickstart the friendship narrative between H&L, then that would be great. Maybe they’re having to rush it all for some reason. But for any other reason to have it this rushed and awkward… it just doesn’t make sense to me.

[la-petite-lapin]

Unlikely Friendships | Part Three

Unlikely Friendships masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x single mum!reader Word Count: 3.5k Series warnings (may update between chapters): 18+, Minors DNI, single mother reader, mentions of drinking, swearing, vague injury description (Simon's scars), mention of guns/shooting (not serious), Simon being a protective guy with feelings, it's not gonna be a slow burn- its a wildfire

In the month that followed, you brought Sunnie back to base a grand total of three times.

Every Saturday afternoon, without fail, come rain or shine, Simon would take a strategically timed walk around the base. He'd also just happen to pass the gate to the visitor's car park, intercepting you before you could set off in search of Daniel.

He'd even taken to calling you Sweetheart in his head. It seemed entirely fitting.

Today was one of those days.

He left the gym at 1, giving himself plenty of time to shower and mellow out in his room before slipping on his trainers and balaclava. As he ducked out of his suite to start his stroll, he grabbed his trusty hoodie - slinging it over his shoulder - and the tiny yellow gift bag that had been taking up residence on his desk for the best part of a week. It was silly really; daft that he'd felt the need to rush out to the shops on his free day to pick up something for Sunnie.

She'd mentioned it on a whim, he was sure, but the week prior, she'd been telling him all about this new Jellycat that had just came out. It felt like fate when he saw it in a Waterstones while browsing for some new reading material. Like second nature to scoop it up into the wide cradle of his arm and carry it over to the tills.

He didn't even feel awkward when the young female cashier assumed it was for his daughter.

Disturbingly, Simon was growing fonder of both you and Sunnie each time he saw you. Your last outing had consisted of him taking the two of you out for ice cream, and eagerly listening to everything his tiny, newfound friend had to say. He was genuinely interested in Sunnie's stories; even though he thought her friend Tara sounded like a bit of a catty bitch, which is probably a horrible thing to think about a child.

So, imagine his surprise when he made it to the gate. You were leaning against the passenger-side door, phone raised to your ear and Sunnie nowhere in sight.

Despite his happiness to see you, Simon couldn't help but feel a little wounded by her absence.

Had she chosen not to come? Had you finally realised just how dangerous he was? Were you here to tell him that neither of you were coming back ever again?

He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. His palms were sweating in his gloves; a thin sheen developing on his forehead, dampening his mask. Fuck. What if this was the last time he would ever see you?

You crossed the stretch of concrete between your car and the gate, his eyes not leaving you once. It didn't take long for you to spot him, lifting one hand to wave as you quickly checked for any other cars driving about on the lot. Finding none, you jogged across to Simon, completely surprising him by wrapping an arm around his waist, pressing your cheek into his chest as you mumbled, "Fancy seeing you here."

It only lasted a moment before you pulled away, but it was one of the best moments of his life.

Clearing his throat, he managed to get out a soft, "Where's the little'n?"

Your lips quirked up into a smirk. "What? No hello, how are you, or anything?"

Simon cursed himself. You were right. He was a rude prick...

You let out a laugh, bright and brilliant. "Relax. She's at my mum's house for the weekend. I forgot to mention it last week because I was so distracted by-" Your voice trailed off as you smiled up at his masked face. Not wanting to freak him out, you kept the ending of "how good you were with Sunnie" locked up tight behind your sealed lips.

"Ah," Simon said softly, visibly relaxing. "Don't want to sound impolite, but how come you're here then? I mean, you only normally come to bring Sunnie to base."

A thought crossed his mind and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. The unspoken idea that you might be there to see Daniel.

You let out a wistful sigh, hand making a sweeping gesture towards the main buildings that made up the military base. "Well, you see, I have a friend who lives here, and I thought I'd drop by and check up on him."

He grinned under his balaclava. "Is that so?"

You nodded somewhat bashfully, a big dopey grin forming on your lips that he instantly adored. "Yeah. You might not know him though. He doesn't get out all that much."

Simon made a wounded gesture, clutching at his chest. With a guffaw, he reached across to ruffle the hair on top of your head. "Well, it's much appreciated. I do like the company: yours and Sunnie's."

That was how the two of you ended up in a pub a short drive from the base, tucked into a corner booth beside the small, tiled patch of ground that passed for the dancefloor.

The music was loud despite the fact that it was barely 6 o'clock - an obnoxious compilation of early 2010s dance hits - and the lighting was dim at best. The smell of stale beer permeated the air, and the wooden floors were sticky with it, but neither of you cared.

Two hours in and you were on your third drink, your thigh pressed against Simon's much thicker one as you pressed your lips to the spot where his balaclava covered his ear, whispering something about him driving your car back to the base. His focus sharpened when you added something about maybe staying the night on his sofa.

That wouldn't do. No; you'd have his bed, and he'd figure something out.

He leaned back against the padded backrest as you stood, pointing in the direction of the restroom sign. With a nod, he motioned to stand to let out out of the cramped booth, but was beaten to it when you slipped between his knees and the table edge. The view of your jean-clad ass was almost enough to give him a heart attack, but not enough to stop him from watching you walk away.

With you gone, he slipped his phone out of his pocket, checking the taskforce group chat.

SOAP: aye, lads SOAP: Si's gone out with a lass! PRICE: a lass? SOAP: THE lass!! GAZ: oh, Sunnie's mum GAZ: well done mate ;)

Grumbling, he fired a quick reply into the chat.

GHOST: ha, ha, ha GHOST: fuck you all

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he downed the rest of his beer - his first and only drink of the night. Contemplating getting up for a pint of coke, he turned his gaze to the bar. But, before he could get there, his gaze snagged on something that boiled his blood.

You were standing halfway between the booth and the restroom door, some preppy blond fuckwit standing in front of you with a sleazy grin decorating his too-thin lips. Simon couldn't see your face, but your body language was a mix of anxiety and boredom. The epitome of please stop trying to hit on me as you tried to edge around him towards the restroom door. Though, this guy clearly wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.

Standing up and unfurling himself to his full height, Simon stepped away from the booth and towards you and the asshat. With slow, measured steps like a jaguar on the prowl, he stepped up behind you, placing a large paw of a hand on your shoulder.

You relaxed back into his touch - like you recognised him from that alone.

A primal growl rose up in Simon's throat.

"Are you lost, mate?" he asked, letting just a hint of the malice he was feeling peek through into his tone.

Poor preppy blond looked like he wanted to die on the spot. His jaw slackened, mouth falling open a couple inches.

Simon huffed a laugh. "Want my advice? Move on. Find someone more-" He made a show of looking the other, shorter man up and down "-in your league, maybe."

There was a moment of silence, filled only by the offensively loud voice of Sean Paul as the blond awkwardly walked away. Simon let out a deep exhale, shoulders easing back to their usual, resting position, as you spun around in his hold.

For a second, he thought you were about to give him hell - ask him what the fuck his problem was - but instead, you just laughed. A rich, honeyed laugh that lit a fire low in his belly.

"I- I can't believe you just did that!" Your eyes were bright as you looked up at him, a tipsy buzz softening your features slightly - bringing a flush of colour to your cheeks. "That poor guy!"

Simon winced, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "I-uh... panicked? Didn't like the thought of someone making you feel uncomfortable."

A cooing sound left your lips as you reached your hands towards him. One palm rested flat against his collarbone, the other on the side of his neck. You were so close that he could smell the floral notes of your perfume; the faint cocoa butter scent of your body lotion.

"My knight in shining armour." Simon thought he was going to die when you leaned up, pressing a kiss to the patch of mask under his left cheekbone. You drew back, angling yourself in the direction of the restroom. "Wait here for me?"

Simon nodded clumsily, works evading him as you turned and disappeared through the swing door. He stayed there on that exact spot - frozen like an obedient dog waiting for its master - until you came back, wiping the last traces of water from your hands onto the thighs of your jeans. The moment you saw him, your eyes glimmered.

Your approach was quick and smiley, nudging him backwards until he could feel the coolness of the wall against his back.

"Simon." You said his name like it was a question.

"Yes, sweetheart."

You swallowed, throat working as you stared up at him with those soft, dazzling eyes of yours. There was something so casually vulnerable in your expression; so endearing.

"Why do you wear that mask?" you asked.

Simon froze up. "Uh- what?"

"The mask." You bit down gently on your bottom lip, trapping it between your front teeth. "Why'd you wear it?"

He tamped down on the urge to create distance between the two of you with a bone-weary sigh. Gently, he brushed a loose piece of hair away from your perfect face. "Because, sweetheart, when I was just starting out in my service, something bad happened. I, uh- I have a lot of scars on my face, so it's not very nice to look at. Don't like getting stared at either."

He could almost see the cogs turning in your head as you processed the words he'd just spoken. After a moment, you said, "Would you ever show me?"

Would he?

Not even Soap had seen his face. He hadn't let a single living soul see it since all hell broke loose in Mexico, ruining his life in the process. It wasn't even something he'd considered.

Until now.

Until you.

"Yes," he croaked, throat impossibly dry.

Just like that, you sobered up. "Now?"

He nodded once.

"Should we- do you wanna go back to the barracks?" you said softly, barely audible over the music. "Somewhere you're comfortable."

Simon nodded, intertwining his gloved fingers with the hand hanging down at your side. It felt oddly intimate as he led you through the crowd, guiding you back towards the front door of the pub.

The ride back to the base was quiet; you staring out of the window and Simon's eyes focused on the road ahead with laser-like intensity. Then, as you pulled up at a red light, Simon reached across the centre console and placed a hand on your knee.

From anyone else, it wouldn't be much, but - from Simon - it was everything.

Anticipation thrummed through your veins as you sat, perched on the edge of Simon's uncomfortable mattress. You'd seen the inside of Daniel's room; knew that he - like most of the other guys in his squad - had changed their rooms up the moment they'd gotten the keys for them. New desk chairs, maybe even a couple picture frames up on the walls. Bookshelves, even. But not Simon.

No, this was a standard issue army mattress if you'd ever felt one. It was like sitting on a sandbag.

Any buzz you may have acquired from the three glasses of wine you'd drank at the bar was long gone. Instead, it was replaced by the electric hum of nervousness.

You'd asked to see his face; he was letting you.

Or at least you thought he was, whenever he decided to stop hiding in the bathroom under the guise of 'washing his hands'. It had already been fifteen minutes.

Feeling more than a little bad for essentially forcing him into revealing his face to you, you rose from the edge of the bed, taking a few short steps to the en-suite door. You rapped your knuckles softly against the wooden frame. "Si?"

"I'll be out in a second."

"Simon... you don't have to do this?" A long, silent pause. "I've changed my mind."

You barely had time to take a step back before the door swung inward, leaving you face-to-chest with Simon's hulking frame. His arms were folded across his broad chest, biceps and forearms corded with thick muscle under the indecent skin-tight shirt he was wearing. Licking your lips, you looked up to realise that he was staring at you.

"What d'you mean?" he grumbled, voice muffled by his mask.

You breathed out a sigh. "I mean, obviously you aren't comfortable or ready for this. I'm sorry for putting you on the spot." Poking a finger at his rock-solid ribs, you added a joking, "Besides, I need to set up the sofa for the night."

There was a pause that somehow felt like both a second and an infinity, before Simon unfolded his arms. Then folded them again. Unfolded. "No."

"Huh?"

Simon leaned against the bathroom doorway, filling it with his sheer size. "I said no. I'm going to show you my face. Now." Before you could interject, he held up a single gloved finger. "Because I want to and need to, not because you asked. This is about to make my therapist a very happy man."

You cocked your head. "You have a therapist?"

"Mandated by Price. He's very pleased with himself," Simon grumbled begrudgingly. Under his breath, you could hear him mutter something along the lines of "just like a plaster-"

Without warning, Simon raised his hand and gripped the back of his balaclava, pulling it off and over his face in one fluid motion. Leaving you standing in front of a complete stranger.

He was beautiful. Truly, genuinely beautiful.

Hazel eyes peered down at you from under thick, straight eyebrows - one of which was disrupted by a thin line of scar tissue. The bridge of his nose was slightly crooked, but smattered with a generous helping of freckles. It looked like it had been broken and reset a few too many times, but only added to his rugged appeal in your opinion - giving his face character. And then there was his jaw, sharp and prominent, covered in a slight 5 o'clock shadow. His hair - scruffy from being tucked away under the balaclava - was short and the colour of wet sand on a beach.

His lips were pursed as he studied your reaction - or lack thereof - but they were full and plush. Almost feminine.

And the scars. Two harsh, thick lines of scar tissue curved up from the corners of his mouth, one on each side, each about an inch in length. They stood out; pearlescent against the rest of his freckled skin. There was another scar trailing across his left cheekbone, and another, smaller one bisecting his bottom lip on the opposite side.

Your eyes dropped a little lower to find once across his neck - as if someone had attempted to slit his throat and failed.

But - to you - he looked nothing short of handsome. In fact, he was very attractive.

"You look-" you faltered over the words, too entranced by his plush mouth.

Simon visibly deflated. "Hideous."

"Shut up." The words left you - harsh and fast - before you could stop them. Your eyes widened, shocked by yourself. "I- I mean, you're being too harsh on yourself. There's nothing wrong with your face, Simon - you look adorable."

Hesitantly, he repeated, "Adorable?"

You winced inwardly. "Sorry. Force of habit when you spend most of your days with a four-year-old." Taking a breath, you lifted a hand to gently stroke the skin of his cheek. "You look very handsome. Bet you could attract many a young lady if you wanted to."

His eyebrows drew together, and you savoured it. Savoured watching his expressions unhindered by the mask for the first time since you'd met. "Alright, slow down there. One second, I'm taking my mask off, then you're trying to marry me off to the nearest woman. I'm hardly some sort of Victorian maiden, love."

You both laughed at that. On an inhale, your chest brushed against Simon's, and it was only then that you realised how close to each other you were. There was literally only a hair's breadth between you both.

Simon dropped his hand to your hip and squeezed gently. "Thank you. Thank you for this."

"For what?"

"For being you. About this." A smile spread across those perfect lips of his. "I don't think I could have done this with anyone else."

You could feel heat rising to your face. Not knowing how else to react, you rocked up onto your tiptoes and leaned forward, pressing your lips to his cheek.

Instead of letting you back down to the floor, Simon caught you around the waist with his arm, holding you to him. He angled his face down, staring into your eyes with a fire that you hadn't seen from him before.

It was possessive and passionate - verging on animalistic with its raw intensity. Just like him.

He said your name, his voice soft yet firm, like a lover's caress. He said something else too, but you were too focused on him to hear it.

"Simon?"

"I asked if I could kiss you," he said quietly.

You nodded, breathless. "Yes. Please, Simon - yes."

Rough calloused fingertips dragged up the delicate skin of your ribcage as his hands dipped underneath your t-shirt. He dipped his head, closing his eyes and pressing his warm mouth to yours. Falling completely into the moment, you lifted your hands to tangle them in his hair, tugging slightly as he slipped his tongue between your parted lips.

The kiss was soft and sweet; gentle and full of promise.

You broke the kiss, only for a second, to growl at him. "Please put me on the bed."

Simon chuckled, the sound warm and pure. It melted your heart and lit a fire low between your hips. Then - stamping it out - he said, "No."

You blinked. "No?"

He shook your head slowly, the movement steady and sure - like the movement of his hands as they cupped your cheeks. His smile was earnest as he added, "You've been drinking. When we go there, I want you to be stone cold sober."

When. The certainty in that single word thrilled you.

It sounded remarkably like a promise.

Instead of arguing with him, you nodded slowly. "Okay. I can see the logic behind that." Then, just to quell any lingering vestiges of self-doubt that lingered in the corners of your mind, you asked, "Are you sure you actually want this at some point? I don't want to bully you into anything or make you feel like you have to do-"

"Sweetheart, I'm going to stop you there. Respectfully, if I ever turn you down, grab my gun and shoot me in the head. Because - at that point - I've clearly lost it."

He ended that sentence by pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to your forehead.

Amused by the frankness of his tone, you choked out a laugh. "Well, that's a strong way of saying yes."

Simon's smile widened, his head tilting as he took a half-step back. "We can cuddle tonight if you want though," he said cheerily, turning towards the bed. "I'll warn you: I'm the little spoon."

You wouldn't have rather had it any other way.

Simon ducked back into his bedroom, coming back a few minutes later in a pair of basketball shorts and a grey t-shirt. He tossed a spare one to you, encouraging you to shuck off your jeans and get comfy. You didn't argue.

As you curled into his back, both of you fighting to navigate the uncomfortable twin bed, you couldn't help but smile. Something told you that you'd just made a big leap with Simon. Hopefully, the first of many.

a/n: I'm baaaaack!... (most likely) and I've also come to the decision that this series will not be a slow burn merry christmas ;) - lapetitelapin <3

[bisexualiteaa]

Domestic Serenity

Soft Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Fem reader

Synopsis: You and Cooper return to your settlement you set up, it being the closest thing you could call a home on those harsh days in the sun and from the rad storms. After too many close run it’s lately out in the wastelands, Cooper comes home from the market to appreciate the closest thing you guys have to a post apocalyptic little slice of domestic life and show you how much he cares about you.

CW: Smut MDNI! Slight OOC Cooper, slight deviance from the show, oral (fem receiving) dirty talk, established relationship, unprotected sex, p in v, irradiated cream pie, p0rn w/o plot, reader has a southern accent, Cooper being a perv, Cooper makes a few crews jokes and one liners to reader

AN: so I’m relatively new to Fallout lore and such, but the hubby and I finished the Fallout TV series a week or so ago and like most others, Cooper Howard’s got me in a grip tighter than his lasso. 😮‍💨 Please be gentle, I pulled a little from Fallout 4 and the TV series in a meshing that I thought felt right. This is briefly proofread but I’m still new to all things Fallout but I hope I did our cowboy justice and I hope y’all enjoy!

You were doing laundry for the day in your house, or better yet, what you could call a house these days, at the little settlement you set up for you and Cooper to live, and some houses for a good few other people you’d met along the way to make it into a nice small town. There was plenty of food to go around from the growing gardens, fresh, clean water, some electricity to keep the gates protected from raiders and things of the like, but also for some street lights at night. It was like a nice little slice of life before the war, or the closest you could get to it anymore anyway, it was peaceful.

It was a particularly sweltering hot day outside, hotter than usual as the sun beat down on the sand, and your skin when you’d step foot outside for even just a few minutes. “Shew, it’s hotter than hell outside” you exclaim, feeling the rush of the hot air that funneled in when Cooper set foot through the door. You were thankful to have chosen a pair of shorts and a tank top to wear out of your small selection of other clothes when you woke up this morning. “Don’t half mind it. Means I get to watch you pad around the house in them lil’ shorts you got on” Cooper said as he shut the door finally, then dropped his saddlebag and things off at his feet, having just come back from a run to the market to grab the essentials like RadAway, Rad-X, Stimpacks and some other chems and things here and there to keep handy for when you both set back out on your travels. You heard his boots clomp heavily against the floor as he drug himself inside, his eyes traveling your figure as you were washing some clothes in a wash bin, watching you bend over and your ass shake a little when you would scrub hard enough at some stains. He gave a crude whistle at the sight, one you were used to him using as a form of expressing that he liked something, making a small grin stretch to your lips. “Somethin’ tells me you’d make one hell of a sexy housewife” he said, coming behind you and tapping your ass playfully to get you to stand back up. You gave a chuckle before swatting at his hands as you turned to face him, making him only grin wider. “Don’t threaten me with a good time. Although I’d miss wanderin’ the desert with you and all the shit we get up to” you said with a grin, putting the rag you had in hand over your shoulder as he stepped closer. “Like annoyin’ the piss outta me and stealin’ my kills?” He asked playfully, putting his hands gently on your hips to pull you into a kiss. You giggled in response as you put your hands against his chest to keep him close. “You love watchin’ me kill things with that big ol’ gun’a mine” you said in between kisses, making him hum in agreement with you, or maybe it was a groan at the thought because you were right, the sexiest thing to him was seeing you with a gun in hand, cocking it back after taking down raiders, roaches, scorpions, or whatever your target may be, with the confidence you do. He loved the excited “oh yeah!” Or “booyah!” You’d say to yourself afterwards too in celebration before you’d both rummage through whatever it was you downed. “Oh I absolutely do. Like it even better when it ain’t my bounties you’re droppin’ there, lil’ missy” he quipped, making you giggle again as he tapped your hip with his gloved hand before parting from you to let you get back at what you were doing. Also to watch you bend over some more, can’t restrain a dog once it’s loose. “Just be a quicker shot honey bun, then it won’t be a problem!” You joked, twirling the rag that was over your shoulders in your hands to wind it tight before cracking it against his ass, making him turn his head to look at you from over his shoulder all slow and intimidating like. “Oh it’s like that now, is it?” He asked, turning towards you some more, making you flash him a wide, deviant smile, knowing exactly what you did and that you’d likely be paying the consequences for it here in a few seconds. “Maybe it is! Whatchya gon’ do ‘bout it?” You asked with a widening grin the closer he got.

Before he gave you an answer, he picked you up, placing you over his shoulder with ease. You yelped playfully as he did, still sometimes surprised by the strength he carried before laughing as you started to wiggle in his grasp. “Fix that lil attitude of yours ya got goin’ on” he said, tapping his hand against your ass again, making you only laugh more as he started to walk out of the kitchen away from your chores. “Cooper! I was in the middle of somethin’ there, put me down!” You ordered through your relentless giggles as he continued to walk, almost slow at this point to torment you. “No can do sweetheart. Not ‘til you’ve nicened up” he said as he brought you to the bedroom and threw you on the bed but not too harshly. Just enough to see you bounce and hear you laugh. “I was in the middle of laundry! Your shirts’ll get all starchy an’ stiff if I don’t do it a certain way” you said, sitting up some and getting ready to get up but he sat down with you, which stopped you. He gave you a grin as he looked at the way your thighs were squeezed by the legs of your shorts, and how short they were sitting on you. “My shirts ain’t the only thing gettin’ stiff, I can tell ya that much” he said, making you swat at him once more as he gave a raspy laugh at your blush and facial expression in reaction. “You fiend. You ever thinkin’ with that head on your shoulders? Or just the one in your pants?” You asked with a smirk, knowing all too well the answer to that question, not that you minded one bit either. “I think we both know they’re about the same, I ain’t ever seen you complain about it” he said, making you chuckle as he leaned in and pulled you into another soft, loving kiss that you knew was going to lead to something much more. “Not one bit” you replied between kisses as his hands rested on your hips once more, giving you a nice squeeze while also doing what he could to keep you as close as he could get. He always had his hands on you in some way, sometimes in a suggestive way, but most times in a protective manner. He had to show the others and everyone out there in the commonwealth that no one fucks with, or gets between him and his girl. “C’mon take a break, laundry can wait. I ain’t seen you all day” he said, and he always did have a way with words that made you weak. “Only if ya promise me you won’t get mad if your shirts get stiff” you said, making him laugh. “I don’t give two shits about how them shirts feel, I just need you” he replied, making you smile as that happy twinkle came to your eyes, and gosh how they lit up every time you saw him. “Then I suppose the laundry can wait” you said with a soft giggle as he started to climb over top of you as you laid back against the bed again. Your hair fanned out around you against the pillows like a halo, your eyes half lidded as you looked up at him expectantly with those siren eyes he swore turned his mind into a frenzy. You smiled up at him with those pretty white teeth before he kissed you, feeling his hands wander your frame over your tank top and moving downward as your arms looped around him to pull him closer.

Your one hand removed his large hat, placing it off to the side as the kiss grew more heated, your tongues tangling in a fight for dominance with one another, a battle which he won. You moaned into it as one of his hands slipped beneath your tank top, surprisingly free of his gloves as he groped one of your breasts, tweaking your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Let’s get this off’a you” he said, bringing your tank top up and over your head then tossing it to the side to be forgotten until later, trailing his kisses down your neck to your chest that now laid bare and exposed to the air. You were always a sight to behold to him, no matter how many times you had sex, or how many times he’d just seen you naked or even half naked, he considered himself lucky that you chose him. When he looked at you, everything felt right in the world again, even out in desolate wasteland. When you looked at him, you looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky, like he was your whole world, and he was. “My beautiful lady” he complimented before taking one of your nipples into his mouth, working his tongue and thin cracked lips along it as he toyed with the other in his fingers, being sure to give them both the love they deserved. You moaned as he did, your back keening up off the mattress some at his touch. It had been a while since the last time you two had a chance to have sex, so needless to say you were more than receptive to his touches. You shut your eyes as your head fell back against the pillow, soft moans leaving your throat as he switched treatments, leaving behind nice little hickeys as a reminder of who you belonged to. You bit your lip and casted your gaze down onto him as you felt his lips begin to trail down your chest to your stomach, before he was resting between your legs. “Much as I like these, don’t think you’ll be needin’ ‘em right now” he said, unbuttoning and sliding his fingers into the waistband of your shorts before tugging them down and off from you, tossing them aside as haphazardly as he did with your top. His eyes delighted him when he saw you lying before him in lace, a commodity that’s damn hard to come by these days, making him whistle before making another sound of satisfaction at the sight. “And you were just gonna let this stay hidden? You’re like unwrappin’ a present” he said, making you giggle as he was careful with them as he slid them off you, but tossed them aside all the same. “You’re enough to make a man like me go feral darlin’, ya know that?” He said, making you chuckle once more. “Gettin’ you t’ act a fool is my favorite pass time” you replied, making him chuckle before he placed one of your legs over his shoulder, laying teasing butterfly kisses to your inner thigh that trailed slowly down to your aching cunt.

“Thought I’d pick up some RadAway while I was down at the market today for ya, that way I can give ya what you’ve been wantin’” he said as he sheathed himself fully inside, giving you a moment to breathe and accommodate to his size and the intrusion. You gave a happy little gasp that made him give a dark chuckle in response. “How romantic” you said teasingly but you were truly warmed by it, a bright smile on your face that joined with the blush that came from him already prodding at the apex of your cervix. “Anythin’ for you sweetheart. Besides, be a real shame if this sweet ass a yours looked like mine because of my doin’” he said, making you laugh. “Oh hush you, you’re mighty fine in my book” you said, pulling him into a soft sweet kiss. “For a cowpoke anyway” you added to tease, earning a sharp snap of his hips against yours in retaliation, making a loud moan leave your lips. “Wanna try that again, darlin’?” He asked, making you blush a bit brighter. “Was just kiddin’, shit. But if that’s what I gotta do t’ get ya t’ be rough with me, might just have to get on all them nerves of yours” you responded, making him smirk down at you, god he loved that attitude and humor you always about you, it’s one of the things that kept him going through all this. “If you want rough, all ya gotta do is ask. Fair warning, I don’t play nice when I do” he said, snapping his hips once more to hit deep inside of you, making your back arch up off the mattress once more. “Fuck, don’t want you to play nice. Want you t’ fuck me like you hate me” you said, making him chuckle as he quickly pulled out, making you whine at the loss of contact before you were abruptly rolled onto your stomach and his hand reached into your hair to pull your body into a harsh arch. “That dirty mind and mouth a yours’ll be both our undoin’ sweet cheeks” he said, bullying his way back into your pussy, starting a harsh pace that had your eyes rolling back as his hips slapped against your ass harshly. “You and I both know ya wouldn’t want me any other way” you quipped, making him chuckle as he yanked your hair to pull you back some more, earning a loud moan from you. “Look mighty tasty like this, I could just eat you alive” he said in a low growl, his lips and teeth sinking to your shoulder, leaving a bruise and teeth marks behind, marking and claiming you as his. He felt the way your walls squeezed around him as you whimpered pathetically with his bite, and the way you grew wetter as he did. “Fuck…Cooper” you moaned, making him chuckle as his hands gripped your hips, watching as you moved your hips back and met his thrusts hungrily. “Sure is a pretty sight, seein’ you split open on this cock. Hungry little thing, swallowin’ me the way you do. Tell me who this pretty pussy belongs to” he said, making you grin proudly at his praise. “‘s all yours baby, only for you” you replied as you felt the bed start to rock back and forth and heard it creaking beneath your bodies as he found that spot inside you liked so much. For as hot as it was outside, you two fucked like it was the only way to keep warm. “Damn straight. Fuck…” he groaned, enjoying the sight of your ass jiggling each time his cock entered then reentered you and the sounds you made when it would happen. “So close…please, don’t stop” you begged, knowing full and well he never had any intentions to, but the words flew from your mouth as if they were the only thing you knew to say. You felt one of his hands leave your hip, coming to reach and rub tight circles against your clit, making that coil in the pit of your stomach wind tighter. “Cum for me baby” he said, working you closer and closer to your peak that was just around the corner, all you needed was one last push and he knew it, he could feel it with the way your walls hugged him.

He bit down on your shoulder once more, making you moan as you toppled over the edge. Your walls clenched around him tightly, earning a groan from him as your cunt spasmed and milked him for everything he could give you. Your mouth laid open in a wide O shape as your back arched, keeping him deep inside of you as his release creeped up on him from yours. He let out a deep, feral growl as he came inside of you with his teeth sunk into your perfect skin, missing the feeling of what it was like to empty himself into someone again. You hummed contentedly as you felt him fill you up, a pleasant tingle running through you as he laved over the teeth marks with his tongue. “You alright, sugar? Wasn’t too rough with ya, was I?” He asked by your ear, littering your skin with kisses as one of his hands rubbed soothingly up and down your side. You gave a giggle. “You always act like you’re gonna break me” you replied, making him chuckle. “I just might if I ain’t careful, certainly ain’t known for being a softy for others sweetheart” he said, making you chuckle as he pulled out of you slowly, trying his best not to hurt or overstimulate you both, allowing you to turn around and look at him. “Maybe I’d like it if ya did, but no you didn’t go rough on me. Was perfect, as always” you responded flirtatiously but with a sweet smile, making him chuckle dryly once more. “Good, I’ll always take good care of my girl” he replied, leaning down to kiss you softly before grabbing a rag and wetting it to help clean you up. As he came back and spread your legs, he watched his seed leak from you, moving down your thighs. He gave a crude whistle. “Now that’s a sight” he said with a mischievous grin, making you roll your eyes with an entertained smile as he helped clean you up, laying a kiss to your inner thigh. “At least give me a little recovery time, I ain’t got that stamina you got yet” you said, making him laugh as he disposed of the rag and climbed back into bed with you. “And don’t worry, I had my Rad-X for the day. Though I gotta say, that’s a feeling that’s totally worth a little radiation sickness if ya ask me” you said, both of you giving a chuckle as you kissed him softly once more, your hand resting on his chest as you did. “Well, just t’ be safe, I got RadAway. Some for me to keep me from turnin’ feral and rippin’ you to pieces, and some for you for those nights you crave that sweet feelin’” he said, handing you the IV bag of yellow liquid from off the bedside table. “What would I ever do without you?” You asked, hooking it up to the rack and putting the IV in to allow it to take effect. “A whole lotta nothin’ good I imagine. Probably spend a whole lotta nights hoping them dainty little fingers a yours can achieve anything close t’ what I give ya every night” he teased with a grin, making you roll your eyes with a laugh but he wasn’t wrong.

His hand came to yours, pulling it to where your fingers would intertwine with his, something he always did when you used needles and medicines on yourself as a gesture of comfort. He pulled his inhaler and a vile of RadAway from his duster that lay on the floor as you let the bag drip slowly. He took a hit off of his inhaler, giving a contended sigh as he leaned back against the pillows and let it work its way into his system. He looked over to see you, admiring him like he hung the moon and the stars in the night sky. He gave you a sweet smile, one pulled deep from his heart as you leaned your head against his shoulder. One that said the three words he’d been struggling to try and tell you after all this time being together, a loving look in his usually dark, haunting gaze. “I love you” he said, making you look up at him in astonishment that he’d finally come around to saying it. You smiled at him, that same sweet smile he saw the first time he ever sent a flirty word your way, the same smile he’d come to absolutely adore seeing stretch to your cute face every time you saw him. “I love you too, Coop” you replied back, easing the tightness in his chest as he awaited your response. He gave you a relieved smile as he kissed your head, slinging his arm around you to pull you into his side and hold you close.

The moment was sweet, quiet save for the sounds of your joined breathing and heartbeats but peacefully so. You both stayed like that for a good while, the bag of RadAway already run down to nearly empty. That peace was disturbed when you realized you still had some chores on your list left to do for the day. “Shit, I still got laundry and shit to do” you said, sighing as you realized it and tipped your head back with a groan, removing your IV and bandaging up your arm, getting ready to get up and go back to it. “Hold it there, little lady” Cooper said, getting up and putting his briefs and pants back on. “I gotchya. You rest that pretty head a yours while I take care of it, ‘kay? Let that stuff work its way in ya” He said, making you look up at him. “You ain’t gotta do that Coop…” you replied, making him shake his head at you. “Shh, shh, shh. Don’t you move a muscle there, pretty lady. I got it” he urged, kissing your head once more before placing his hat back on his head, grabbing his shirt from the floor and throwing his duster over his shoulder. “‘s a good look on you” you said with a half lidded smile, your eyes raking his form as he turned and looked at you, shooting a grin your way. “And that is a good look on you” he replied, tipping his head to gesture at you who still laid in bed naked, hair slightly messy, a few bite marks and hickeys littering your otherwise mostly unblemished skin. You gave a grin and a giggle as he stood there, a calculated look in his eyes as he looked you over, resting himself by his arm along the doorframe. “I think I can live without a couple extra shirts” he said, tossing his shirt across the room without a care for where it landed, dropping his duster along the chair in the room. “What are you…Cooper!” You yelped playfully as he climbed back onto the bed, a hungry look in his eyes as he climbed over top of you. “Chores can wait a day, I need you sugar” he said, leaning down and slotting his lips against yours, pulling you into a soft, sweet kiss. “I need this” he added genuinely, his tone soft and loving as he pressed his forehead to yours while he held one of your hands in his. “Been enough days out in that shit hole wasteland that got me scared I was gonna lose you, and that’s somethin’ I just can’t have. So I wanna enjoy this, this little slice of paradise we got right now, with you” he said between soft, loving kisses, making you smile as you gave in and kissed him back. Laundry could wait for another day, he was right, times like these were hard to come by. Needless to say, no other chores got done that day, but it was certainly a night neither of you would ever forget.

[nightynightghoul]

I have so many thoughts about the ghouls and the ministry.

So this is my take on what the abbey/ministry looks like + a lot of my own worldbuilding. (I made this in Inkarnate, which is meant for dnd maps and stuff.)

Be warned that this is like 2000+ words of what my head has come up with. So under the cut it goes.

I based it on actual abbeys. I've been to like two monk ones and a few convents where I live and abroad and this is what I came up with. I also attended a catholic nun school for a good while, so many of the things here are actually from my memories...

From what I've seen, abbeys are usually isolated and at least partially self-sufficient. Even when they happen to be in the middle of cities. The smaller ones are like a square corridor surrounding a courtyard and the bigger ones have many buildings with that pattern.

I'm not sure where this would be located, maybe Sweden, maybe the US. But since I Imagine the ministry being so old, it wouldn't fit in the US, since there aren't buildings this old or with this architecture.

I also read up on how abbeys work to bulk up the lore in this map and what goes on in the buildings.

So strap in because this will be long.

The biggest building in the abbey is the Grand Church (Ghurch), I headcannon that they have this very big beautiful sorta gothic style cathedral in the abbey grounds, since religious live does kinda go around services and all that. Them having this pretty church would also mean that there's no need for a chapel?

I also think ghouls are not summoned in the church proper but rather from a permanent circle/well. So there's the Summoning Well beside the church. They probably made it that way because it would be dangerous to have any sibling walking in there.

To the other side, there's a sacristy and a Papal Office. The sacristy is where Papa would have his ceremonial robes with his mitre and stuff. I also think it works as storage for service supplies. Things like incense, books, all the plates, cups, and things they would use.

Then the papal office would be the actual workplace for the current papa. Big ol wooden desk with lots of bookshelves, a sofa, probably one of those fancy liquor carts?

There's also a mausoleum close to the church. I mean, I needed a place to keep Nihil's corpse… But it'd be pretty useful to keep the memory of siblings that pass away in the abbey.

Under that are the Clerical buildings. I imagine that when people say “the ministry” it's the Clergy Offices they're talking about. Since most siblings/clergy spend their time within the abbey, it only seems logical to separate living spaces from working spaces to keep people moving and changing environments.

Since I also believe these buildings are super old then the most sought after and fancy offices and quarters would be on the ground floor (no elevator and all that). Which means Imperator probably has her office on the ground floor here along the past Papas and older clergy members.

The living quarters would be much the same in that Imperator, the Papas and now Copia have their rooms here. This building probably has a common room but most have their own kitchenette. Since it's such an old building, the interiors of the rooms have probably been remodelled many times. But it being built out of stone also means it's cold inside all the time.

Both buildings are inside a walled garden. I head cannon that way back, like a couple hundred years back the ministry didn't have a very good grasp of ghoul summoning, and they were sometimes more aggressive or feral than what they are now. (It's probably more of a case that in the olden times, clergy treated ghouls like shit, so they had more reasons to lash out and or kill someone) So they kept some of the abbey's buildings behind tall rock walls and wrought iron gates to add a little more protection. Since it's hardly necessary today, the gates stay open, but the walls are still there.

Then down the path there's the chapter house. What is a chapter house I hear you ask. It's the place where the people that live in the abbey talk and manage non religious things related to abbey life. So this would probably be where poor Aether get's relocated to do taxes and where other mundane office tasks are done. So accounting, admin work, grounds keeping and “housekeeping” are all located here.

Across from it is the Seminary. A seminary proper is like priest school, they go and study for a few years I think, and then they come out priests. But I imagine that in this case it's like a college/university thing, where siblings have Latin classes, horticulture, demonology etc... There's probably some teachers offices here and several classrooms raging in size from auditorium to 3 chairs and a letter sized whiteboard. It for sure has a pretty foyer thing. Imagine groups of siblings sitting around before or after classes, complaining how they thought Terzo's basic Latin class would be a breeze, but it's actual hell. This building has one of those pretty inner courtyards, fountain and all. I'd like to think some classes can be held there, like outside but not outside, you know?

Beside the Seminary, there's a school/nursery. I think couples that have children within the ministry can have the option to move into a bigger space together within the siblings quarters and their children will have a regular secular education until they are old enough to choose satanism or something else. The nursery part takes care of the babies and ghoul kits during the day or while the parents are busy.

I think joining the ministry and becoming a sibling is not something that happens easily or quickly. The same way, nuns spend a few years being novices before actually dressing and having the same responsibilities as their elders. Hence, the Novices Quarters. They are still part of the abbey's daily life, but they have to attend more classes at the seminary and are just a bit more separated from ghouls than regular siblings. Since they probably want to make sure they are really devout and prepared before seeing and interacting with an actual demon. Out of all the siblings and clergy, Novices would probably be closer to being actually “recluse” since in my head there's no way they can freely explore the abbey without accidentally running into a ghoul or walking in to a ritual or seeing things that shouldn't just yet.

In front of it are the workshops. I've seen some people headcannon that the ghouls not only have “jobs” in their downtime and retirement but also hobbies. Like fire, ghouls probably frequent the forge in the workshops or blow glass. Earth ghouls can maybe take the prettiest wood here to be turned into furniture. Ghouls and siblings would work together here to repair and maintain the abbey's physical structure.

Down the path there's the main storehouse. Pretty central in relation to the other buldings. It has 2 floors and a basement. That way they can keep everything, from ageing cheeses and wines to office supplies and staples.

Across the path there's the sibling's Infirmary. I definitely wanted to keep the ghouls and siblings apart in this case. Mainly, because if the building are so old, and they were protected by walls and gates, ghouls would most likely not be trusted to be left in the same building as sick and defenseless siblings. But I think that nowadays ghoul medical staff like Omega, Aether and Phantom work in between the “sibling” infirmary and the “ghoul” infirmary with no trouble. But ghouls do prefer to stay in their own infirmary, since it's closer to the dens.

The siblings quarters surround “Mother's garden” or “Lilith's garden”, both wings share a common room but since the buildings are so old they were built to segregate women from men. Hence, the two quarters wings, two office building and two distinct baths. This separation is ignored nowadays. One, people can have other genders. Two, the “sisters” side has been remodelled to accommodate families.

Like I mentioned when describing the siblings infirmary, there's also a ghoul infirmary. Much smaller and closer to the dens, this infirmary does not have much regarding sophisticated equipment. But it's rather used for minor injuries and easy to fix things. Although the second floor does have Omega's office and private rooms for ghouls. Like Dew (not me making a whole building to be able to imagine @littlemoon-beam fics and headcannons about Dewdrop) who's a frequent flyer of the infirmary.

Of course there has to be an outdoor space of recreation, so I made a “central” plaza with benches and a fountain in the middle (Is this where a high, zooted of his ass Rain has been seen naked? naaaah. Surely not). I called it “All hedonist's fountain” because I can and because it's a nice mirror to things called “All saints whatever”.

Behind the ghoul's infirmary, there's a huge stone wall and gate. That would be the dens. Since I headcannon that there are more ghouls than just the band ghouls, they also need a place to live. Hence, the “General quarters” of the dens, there's also the “band quarters” separated from it. They both share a common room, but they're not directly connected to it, and both buildings have their own little common room. I think the band quarters was the first building made to house ghouls and that's why it has it's own kitchen.

There's also the ghouls workrooms. I think this is where they would have a rehearsal room and other offices.

“Father's gardens”, “Lucifer's gardens” or more recently “Primo's gardens” are within the den's stone walls. (I like to think Primo keeps them all pretty for the ghouls). It has a little pond in it too, no fish though. Blame hungry water ghouls for that.

Across the dens there's the Library. When I was in school, that was the biggest, grandest, most secular place there was and I loved it. So I made this library huge. I separated it into two wings connected by a hall. The only difference between both wings is that the east wing houses all the older books, and it probably has a “restricted” section that only higher clergy members have access to. Maybe for the better, since they wouldn't want a curious sibling trying to summon lord Leviathan and pissing him off.

In the middle of the wings there's the scribes hall. I'd like to think that when people write ghouls working in the library this would be the place. They would probably have book binding equipment, scribes tables, the whole thing. All to maintain the old books in a usable state and register new information the clergy learns from hell.

By the library's east wing, there's "The observatory". Again included because my head needed a scenario and location for the quints to watch the stars. I'd say its a fairly tall tower with a glass dome, some furniture, some books, maybe a desk and telescopes.

There is of course a mess hall. I imagne a big kitchen on one side and a cafeteria like thing where most have their meals, or at least they can go get them to take to another place in the abbey.

Beside it there's a pretty herb garden, animal pastures, some crops, a barn, granary , mill and the greenhouses. I think it was @mac-and-thefox who came up with the idea of there being a farm like think within the abbey and my mind just ran with it. (Do correct me if I'm worng there).

Now there's only one more man made bulding in the map and that would be "Mountain's greenhouse". A true staple for ghost fanfics. It probably was a run down space abandoned by groundskeeping but Mountain wanted privacy + plants and everyone agreed he could do whatever with the little building. Not that Imperator needs to know that Mountain grows weed and hellish plants inside...

The whole eastern side of the abbey is flaked by a forest (ghouls need to have hunting grounds people.) In it there's Mountain's greenhouse, a small rocky hill "Starry hill" and under it a small grotto. More like a hole the water made within the stone, so it's now a tiny cave.

Of course I had to have "The Lake", or else this map would not fit any fanfic involving Rain and Dew. There's a small stream that crosses the abbey and ends up at the lake. Most siblings know to stay away.

The "Southern Clearing". A little clearing full of clover and flowers, a nice place for siblings to celebrate the solstices and equinoxes.

Finally, just beside the Summoning well there's a rocky hill with an old wrought iron door closing it off. I headcannon there are indeed tunnels and crypts running under the abbey but they're closed off now since they're dangerous. Doesn't mean the ghouls don't have a way to go in and out but it's still dangerous for humans. I think the more elusive ghouls, like Special and Cowbell stay here because they want the isolation. There absolutely are old abbandoned torture and sacrifice rooms down here. But modern siblings don't need to know that. (Also, I very much think old ghouls before Nihil and way back were not only not treated nicely or fairly but straight up chained or tortured sometimes. (I'm still in the air on the fact that Imperator knows this and threatens misbehaving ghouls with that along with banishment.)

[kasagia]

Dancing with the devil V

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem! royal!reader Summary: Things are getting a little more complicated. The bonds on your wrists are tightening, and you're running out of time to get out of your deal with the devil... but maybe you just have to accept that there's no escape from your fate this time? Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART IV ~•♤♤♤•~ PART VI ~•♤♤♤•~

"You look like you swallowed a frog. If you want the story of our happy relationship to stick, maybe you'd consider at least smiling at me to add a little credibility to it." Feyd walking next to you speaks maliciously. You tighten your grip on the crook of his elbow and dig your nails into him, dissatisfied with the fact that, as usual, he is in his armour, which makes him unable to feel the pressure of your nails.

"Actually, I am going to marry a frog. Very slippery and white." You grumble, looking away from him. Feyd rolls his eyes at you. He leans towards you, feeling you tense as his plush lips brush against your earlobe.

"Do swans swallow frogs? If so, I'd love to see you try it. Especially on your knees." You flinch, outraged and disgusted by his comment and the hidden meaning behind his words.

"You are disgusting."

Feyd laughs, placing his hand over yours on the crook of his elbow. You roll your eyes at him, but make no move to move away from him. You miss that carefree banter with him—the things you used to have when you were kids.

You glance at him and quickly remember that those times will never come back, that neither he nor you are the same people. And for a moment, you let your eyes stare unconsciously at him, imagining what it would be like if his uncle had never broken him.

You catch his gaze. A strange chill runs through, something you can't control. Oh, how you wish those icy blue eyes still belonged to that boy you knew. You look away and pretend to look at the flowers. You don't notice how his gaze turns icy as you look away from him, nor how his heart squeezes and various thoughts run through his head as he loses your attention. He nods to himself. You promised him that you would hate and despise him forever.

"And you are going to marry me. Also, your mind is as dirty as mine if you take my hints." He replies playfully, trying to push away the urge to dig his hand into the thorns of the growing flowers you're looking at. He must have shed someone's blood. Feyd forces himself to look away from you, and he does so just as his recently not-so-favourite Duke enters through the garden's gate. With a very extraordinary companion by his side. "Look who it is." He whispers in your ear and nods towards the new couple in the garden.

He feels you tense as your gaze lands in the direction he's pointing. He allows himself to take a moment to examine the crinkles next to your eyes as you squint them at the two people. He found your reaction quite cute. He always loved watching the gears in your head turn as you were creating your cunning plans.

"Michael and Y/F/N? What are they doing?"

"Talking as we see. And apparently they can act decently towards each other, not like someone." He points out at you, successfully hiding his resentment behind snarky banter.

"Shhh... we need to get closer to them." You shush him and pull him towards them.

Feyd reluctantly follows you, trying to suppress a smirk as you pull him through the corridors formed by the green hedges. He remembers the last time you led him through the gardens of your estate like this. But then, it had been for an entirely more... pleasant purpose than now.

Feyd, however, can't help but stroke your hand gently with his thumb, which you seem to ignore, too excited about your little investigation.

You suddenly stop; he bumps into your back, but you completely ignore it in favour of watching the two people walking through the garden.

"I am sorry, but it is… hard to believe for me that she actually can… marry him. I mean, I don't say that Na-Baron Harkonnen is a bad match, but… their union is quite… surprising and unexpected. Don't you think?" Feyd feels your grip on his hand tighten as you hear Michael's words.

Your nails dig into the skin of his palm, and you shed a little of his black blood. Feyd lifts your joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss there. He effectively grabs your attention. Your gaze focusses on your hands; he sees you holding your breath slightly as he brushes his tongue over the blood dripping down your finger.

"Son of a bitch." You mutter under your breath. Feyd frowns at you with his hairless brow as your attention returns to the gossiping couple.

"Me?"

"Not you. Michael." You explain to him, frustrated and angry, as you lean out from behind your hiding place near the hedge to watch the two of them closely.

"He is... but he also has a point here." His comment makes you frown, sending him one of your stern looks as you try to intimidate him. You yank your hand out of his grip and stare at him indignantly.

"What?! At which side are you?" You hiss at him, angry, for a moment, forgetting that you were on a spy mission.

"You barely speak to me at public events, let alone throw a flirtatious glance or even hint that you're interested in me in any way. Our engagement... is probably as surprising to society as it is to us both."

"Are you saying that people won't believe that YOU want to marry me?" You mock him, offended that according to him, in people's eyes, he may not want you, when in reality he was the one who had been persecuting you since you cut off all contact with him.

But actually Feyd was right in some parts. In the world of men, their opinion mattered more than women's. It was obvious that society would think that the... cooling of your relationship was initiated by him, although it wasn't like that at all. You shudder as your heart hurts at the mere memory of what happened between you two...

"I'm saying that in their eyes we are far from being lovers." He answers and glances at Michael, bile rising in his throat at the thought that you could willingly have feelings for someone like that, give him his affection and gentle touch, while Feyd could have only your pure hatred and disdain.

You clench your jaw and look back at him. You open your mouth to start to argue with him, but your anger subsides when you see his thoughtful gaze on Michael. You sigh, rubbing your hand over the back of your neck.

He was right.

You had been acting much worse towards him. You treated him not as your suitor but as your enemy. But if it weren't for Feyd, Michael would have taken you and your kingdom a long time ago. And the only thing you hated more than Feyd was the feeling of being in debt to someone.

"Hm... I think I see your point." You reply thoughtfully, still watching him. If it weren't for him, you'd be walking by Michael's side, and it would definitely not be by your own free will. And he certainly wouldn't have let you speak up and do the things that you did with Feyd.

But then again, Feyd wasn't such a saint. He took advantage of your difficult situation and put a ring on your finger without hesitation. But if he hadn't done that, would Michael have backed off from attacking your planet? Besides, who knows what he'll do if he becomes convinced that your relationship with Feyd is a sham?

If Michael attacks your planet, how could you be sure that Feyd would be able to send Harkonnen's troops to war? That the Baron would let his soldiers fight for a planet that wasn't his?

You had to make sure that your influence over Feyd remained, that he was completely charmed and bewitched by you, and that he was addicted to you. You had to give him as many sweet gestures and words as you had given your previous suitors, to be sure that he would do exactly what you wanted... but how in all this are you supposed to protect your heart from being broken and not let yourself be charmed by the prince of Lankiveil once again?

So when you see Michael and Y/F/N coming your way, you decide to do what you do best. Play.

"What are you... mph!" Feyd's words get stuck in his throat as you grab his neck and pull him into a passionate kiss.

The kiss surprises you as much as it does him. But for different reasons to each of you. Just as Feyd is surprised by the feeling of your lips on his again, the way you reach for him and grab the lapels of his armour, pressing your warm, soft body against his toned chest in black metal armour, you are surprised by how good he feels against you.

You didn't know why every time you kissed him, you felt an electric shiver run through your entire body. You had kissed many men, but only Feyd's strong hands that gripped your waist, his full, plush, soft lips, and the intoxicating scent of musk and just him made you feel things that no one else could. And as much as you loved it, you were afraid of the effect he had on you and of the power he held over you.

Your only consolation was that you had as much power over him as he had over you... maybe even more.

You whine, digging your nails into the back of his head as you instinctively reach up to pull at the hair he doesn’t have. Feyd growls against your mouth and grabs you hard by your waist. You gasp and pull away from his lips as your back hits the green hedge.

You pant into each other’s mouths, staring into each other’s eyes as you both catch quick, ragged breaths. His nose brushes against yours as he closes his eyes and runs his hand through your hair.

"You... you don't even know... how difficult it is to be so close and yet so far away from you." He whispers, digging his fingers into the back of your head. You blink a few times, staring at him. You raise your hand and hesitantly reach for his cheek.

His eyes suddenly open as he tenses at your sudden touch. He gives you a questioning look. You swallow, stroking his cheekbone with your thumb. Feyd instinctively buries and presses his face into your palm.

You hold your breath, raising a questioning eyebrow at him. He shakes his head slightly and leans down to caress your lips with his again. You sigh softly, allowing his tongue to invade your mouth and join in an oh-so-familiar dance of passion with your own. You wrap your hands around his shoulders, digging your fingers just below his neck as he tightens his grip around your waist, pressing your body against his muscular torso.

There’s a gentleness in your kiss that you haven’t seen from him since you were kids, and a possessiveness that makes your heart beat faster and creates an annoying itch between your legs that you know only he can soothe.

“I think I have an idea,” you whisper as he brushes his nose against yours, his hand travelling from your waist to your cheek. You shiver as he caresses it with his thumb as gently as he can.

"You have?" He asks surprised, moving his gaze between your lips and your eyes.

You blush, realising what you've unknowingly gotten yourself into. You swallow hard, staring at him wordlessly, not knowing what to say to him.

Then you notice a sudden movement behind him.

You push him away from you with the speed of light and fix your dress, trying to look at least a little presentable, when Michael and Y/F/N (finally) appear in your field of vision.

"Oh... my apologies; we didn't want to interrupt anything." Y/F/N says, staring in pure shock at you two. Michael looks you up and down. An involuntary cold shiver runs through you as his assessing gaze shifts from you to Feyd, who places a hand on your back, guiding you towards the pair who have arrived just in time to see his swollen, kiss-red lips—exactly how you wanted them to see him.

"You didn't interrupt in anything, right, my lord Na-Baron?" You ask, sweetly addressing your fiancé. Feyd thankfully refrains from showing his surprise at your sudden change of heart towards him and decides to join in and play your game.

"Not at all. My beloved was just showing me the beauty of the local gardens. Although I have to admit that they do not compare to hers."

"You've seen her garden, Na-Baron?" Michael asks mockingly, suggesting something completely different than the garden you are in. Y/F/N blushes, clearing her throat. Feyd digs his fingers into your back in anger, trying to keep himself from physically responding to Duke’s words.

"Yes. On (Your/home/planet). You didn't?" Feyd mocks him, but you know from the tension in his muscles that if he could, he would cut Michael's head off right where he stood.

"I, too, found them quite... bearable. But I thought the Harkonnens didn't attach much importance to something as feminine as the beauty of palace gardens."

"We don't. But we do attach importance to our women and everything that interests them." The tension between the two of them is very palpable. On one hand, you like the way Feyd refers to you as his woman, but on the other hand, you can't drown out the little voice in the back of your head that tells you that this special treatment will end the moment he puts a ring on your finger. And then you'll be his servant. Someone slightly better than the concubines he had.

"How honourable and gentlemanly. I would not have expected that from you either." Michael comments mockingly. Feyd presses his hand harder against your back, playing roughly with the material of your dress. Before he can respond, you grab his arm, forcing him to look at you.

"Na-Baron is a special man. You will confirm that, won't you, Y/F/N?" You ask your friend sweetly with a smile on your lips, momentarily turning your gaze away from the furious Harkonnen.

"I... must admit that Na-Baron's loyalty and honour were a pleasant aspect of my time on Giedi Prime. Rumours don't reflect the full scope of his... complex character."

"And I have the great honour to unfold it." You say with a huge smile, catching the gaze of Feyd's icy blue irises. You stroke his arm with your thumb, drawing small patterns on it as you try to calm the rage boiling inside him. You don't know how you would explain Duke's sudden, unfortunate death to society.

While talking to Michael and Y/F/N, you notice the look she throws to your almost-fiancée and the way Michael basked in the glow of her attention. You’re not jealous. But you can’t help but notice the obvious... threat to you in the way their gazes linger on each other a moment too long or the accidental brush of their hands.

If there was more to these two… Michael would have access to most of your secrets through Y/F/N. And they would both become significant political opponents for you on your path to the Imperial throne.

With Feyd by your side, you might have had a chance of fulfilling your dream. And even if you didn't, being Baroness Giedi Prime was just as high a title, higher than your previous suitors could give you. You reluctantly had to admit that Feyd wasn't the worst match—at least when it came to political matters.

You maintain your mask of false politeness and smile, forming a plan in your head. You will not allow these two to join. Through marriage or anything else. So when Feyd escorts you to your chambers, you ask him a question he has not expected:

"How would you react if I was walking in the gardens with a man other than you?"

"I… where does this question come from?" He asks confused and suspicious.

"I was just wondering. Michael and Y/F/N were pretty close, I suspect your brother wouldn't like that. He'd probably kill him on the spot."

"That royal, cowardly little bastard has deserved to die for a long time now. If you're curious about my brother's reaction, tell him. I'm sure it wouldn't be long before Y/F/N was his wife and locked away on Giedi Prime in his chambers."

"For usurpers of kingdoms, you are as greedy as you are possessive." You snort, mocking him as you reach the door to your chamber. You let go of his arm and are about to open the door when Feyd suddenly presses you against it, your wrists in a tight grip, his chest pressing against your back.

"You haven't seen anything yet, little swan." He whispers, his lips brushing your earlobe. You shiver as his tongue traces a path to your neck. "As for your question, you can see for yourself. But I warn you that I am not responsible for the fate of anyone who dares to get close enough to touch you." He mumbles against your skin, his teeth grazing it.

You gasp as he bites into your necklace, sparing the skin over your collarbones. You just don't know if you're gasping with relief or disappointment that he didn't sink his black teeth in and taste your blood.

"You have no right to decide who touches me and who doesn't." You growl at him angrily, struggling in his arms. You gasp as he grips your waist tighter and pulls you closer to him, not leaving even an inch of space between you.

"I will, after our wedding."

"Who said you'll live to see this happen?" Your threat doesn't impress him. If anything, it only turns him on more, as he proves by pressing his growing arousal against your ass.

"Mmm… and I thought you had hidden your teeth for today. You chirped so sweetly at me, glued to my arm. I almost believed that you saw me as more than just a sexy beast that you like to fuck."

"You are an unmannered savage." You gasp as his lips find the weak spot on your neck. He nips and licks, sucking a hickey that you’ll have to cover up later, but right now your biggest concern is getting out of his arms.

"The savage on whose fingers you fall apart every time we are alone." He gasps into your ear, allowing you to break free from his arms.

You turn to face him, your hands on the doorknob, breathing quickly as you plan how to get into the room without letting him in. You breathe heavily, feeling his saliva on your neck as he stares at you with a hunger so great you doubt if you've ever seen one in the eyes of any of your suitors.

"Screw you." You growl hoarsely and quickly open the door. At the last moment, you close it in Harkonnen's face.

With shaking hands, you lock it and take a step away from him. You breathe heavily, staring at the oak in front of you and listening to him pounding furiously on it, as if he were strong enough to punch through it with his fist. For a moment, you think he is.

"You will soon!" A cold chill runs down your spine at his shout. You listen carefully for his footsteps as he steps away from the door.

You sigh in relief and rest your forehead against the cold wood, trying to sober up from the sudden heat and adrenaline of what just happened.

Feyd was right. If you don't get out of this uncomfortable engagement, you'll be his for good. And he can do whatever he wants with you. Your prince from Lankiveil was long dead—you had to stop deluding yourself. Yes, Feyd treated you relatively well, but you're well aware that Na-Baron won't be so gentle with you anymore. If you end up with him on Giedi Prime as his wife, his behaviour will change 180 degrees, and you'll become just another one of his toys.

What else could you expect from a man with three concubines that he treated like pets? He was just like Rabban... just like Baron.

You promise yourself in this moment that if you ever become his wife, you will take your own life. You would rather die than be a slave and prisoner to Giedi Prime… than become the same as what your sweet Feyd has become.

"How could you do this to me?!" Y/F/N bursts into your chambers before your maid can open the door for her. You frown, placing the necklace on the dressing table and turning to look at your furious friend.

"I don't understand what you're talking about. By the way, good morning to you too." She snorts derisively at your words and throws the latest edition of Lady Whistledown on the dressing table.

"It's about how I was supposedly... found in a compromising situation with Michael. It somehow got through to my parents and Rabban; they want to speed up our wedding, and I'm supposed to leave for Giedi Prime tomorrow. Only you and Feyd saw me with Michael that day. So...you're Lady Whistledown." You stare blankly at the piece of paper for a moment, then at your friend. You start laughing, completely unconcerned by her angry expression.

"Do you really think... that I'm Lady Whistledown? Of all people? I mean... I get that you don't suspect Feyd at all, but me? Your best friend? I have to admit it hurts a little. But in your situation, I'd probably make similar accusations, so I'll forgive you this time."

"Who else?! You're the perfect fit! Lady Whistledown has never written anything scandalous about you!"

"Because I am insignificant. My family is not the one that counts in the political arena and in society. However, I think my engagement to Feyd will change that."

"You don't even want to marry him! Don't even lie to me! You know very well you won't! You could give him to me!" She shouts at you with tears of rage in her eyes. You freeze, staring at her in shock at her sudden outburst. "He's the only decent man there! If you don't have any serious plans to marry him, give him to me. At least in this way, save me."

You stare at her for a long moment, your heart beating fast and your mouth going dry as you swallow nervously. You dig your nails into your palms and close your eyes, taking a single, deep breath.

"Y/F/N... leave."

"What?"

"Get out of here before I do something I'll regret." You growl at her furiously, glaring daggers at her.

You clench your fists so hard you feel like they're about to bleed. Luckily, your friend gets the hint and leaves without looking back. You take a few calming breaths, trying to calm down, to get your emotions under control.

That fucking bitch wanted you to give up your Feyd so she could marry him!

What annoyed you even more was the fact that you actually didn't like the idea of giving him to someone else. Or the idea of being his wife, of becoming his plaything. Unless… there really was more to him than the shell of Harkonnen he was showing you.

You sigh, glancing at your reflection in the mirror. Things are delicately fucked up. You planned it to go differently, but apparently, as always, you had to come up with some plan B. And this Plan B wasn't exactly what you wanted to do at the beginning. But now you had no choice. And it terrified you a little more than you were willing to admit.

The Scandal of House Harkonnen!

Dear gentle reader, this season has been providing us with the perfect amount of drama and unpredictable turns of events. Just a few days ago, this author uncovered a secret romance between Lady Y/F/N and Duke Michael, (which ended in a turbulent departure for the young lady's fiancé's home planet. This author wishes the newlyweds of Giedi Prime all the best.), and now more scandalous dealings are coming to light from the Baron's successors.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, Na-Baron of Giedi Prime and Lady Y/N's recent fiancé, turns out not to be as alien and hostile to the young lady as we all initially thought. The two, especially Lady Y/N, hid their ardent feelings for each other from the eyes of society. This author has learnt from a trusted source that the pair of lovers had something in common for much longer than they let us all know.

It all started when these two were still children. Even then, they began to be seen together often, becoming inseparable until Na-Baron and Princess Irulan were officially betrothed by their families. However, as it turns out, the arranged marriage was no obstacle for the two. As was Lady Y/N's relationship with the late Paul Atreides (may his spirit rest in peace). The young couple's love story turns out to have more twists and turns than we ever deared to assume, but their feelings seemed to stand the test of time, and eventually (under the rather unexpected annulment of the marriage contract by the Harkonnens with the Emperor's consent and the death of Paul Atreides), the two became engaged.

The question is… how much did they both have to sacrifice to get here? What dirty political games did they get involved in? And will there be a wedding between them since we're all familiar with Lady Y/N's runaway bride syndrome?

This author is as curious about the young couple's past as is about their future and can't wait to see what happens in the folowing weeks. This author just hopes no more deaths will have to come before the young Na-Baron Harkonnen gets his hands on his elusive swan. He evidently intends to ascertain this as most young men do—in the darkness of the palace gardens and the nooks of the palace, where, despite everything, the eyes and ears of society are able to reach and observe everything these two have tried to hide from us.

This author wonders what we will hear first: wedding bells, war cries, or a funeral march? Because with these two, everything is still possible…

"What were you thinking?! I didn't raise you to be a whore!" You listen to your mother screaming while you stare dispassionately at the fire in the fireplace.

A sudden urge to burn yourself in the flames crosses your mind, but you hold it back, realising that it would be a rather painful death. You glance at the mirror you've shattered and shiver at your reflection in the pieces that haven't yet fallen to the floor.

You were still in your nightgown, your hair matted and uncombed, your eyes red with dark bags under them. You lost. You really did lose.

Now you had to marry Feyd. Or kill yourself. You don't know which yet. Maybe you should give him a week or a month? See if he really is a monster like Rabban or Baron? You lost anyway; what difference does it make if you cut your throat or poison yourself a few weeks later?

"You should have been taken away from that monster when you were children! I knew he would have a bad influence on you! He poisoned your mind, told you nonsense, and you probably believed him again, like a stupid, silly, insignificant noblewoman! Like a whore! And this friend of yours… tell me, is she right when she accuses you of being Lady Whistledown?"

"Do you think that I would willingly ruin my reputation just to make Y/F/N believe that I am not Lady Whistledown? I value our friendship, but not that much to ruin my life to lie to her and make her believe that I'm not Lady Whistledown. Now I have to... marry HIM. Do you think that I would choose him for all of the men? That I would willingly trap myself in the marriage with this psychopat? I was supposed to be an empress! I was supposed to rule over my stupid husband, and now... now I'm going to be a plaything. I'm perfectly aware of what happened, mother. And believe me, I'm not that stupid little girl anymore. I don't want him, I don't love him, and I don't care about him in any way. I... it's not my fault that Lady Whistledown wrote that load of crap about me. But now I have to drink the brewed beer. And trust me, I'll do it with my head held high, like you taught me, or I'll die trying. I… I just need time alone to think about it."

You wonder from where you have the strength to answer her at all—that you continue to lie and pretend to have control over a game that became too wild to tame a long time ago. You have tangled yourself in the web of your lies and intrigues, and now it is time to pay the devil back.

You don't even hear your mother leave. You just curl up in a ball on the bed, pressing your knees and stomach into the pillow as you cry into it.

You're not going to fool yourself; you won't survive a day on Giedi Prime. You can't get up every day and put on your armour, fight everyone there, and have no allies. Because you're absolutely convinced that 'the kind treatment' Feyd gives you now is temporary. He'll let you think you can be his equal, marry you, fuck you, and take advantage of your temporary submission, and then, on Giedi Prime, he'll show his true colours and hurt you more than he's already done. Or he'll throw you away when he gets tired of you. You don't know which would be worse, his apathy or his brutality, his sadistic joy in suffering of others—something he was known for.

You cry until you have no more tears. Your mouth is dry, and you continue to howl pitifully and silently, curled up on the bed like a wounded animal as you clutch the pillow to your heart with all your might.

You wonder what kind of curse hangs over you? Is it punishment for all the bad things you've done, all the court scandals you've caused, all the noble romances you've exposed, and all the reputations you've ruined?

You always wanted to be the greater woman—the one everyone admired—who did whatever she wanted and who had control over her life. But now... now you realise how hopeless your situation is. You will have nothing. All you will be degenerate to is his wife, his plaything, his pet, his breeding cow.

You should stay cool and composed in this situation; figure out how to move forward after what you wrote as Lady Whistledown, but now... now you see nothing but your dark future, from which there seems to be no escape.

So you howl in bed like a wounded animal, biting your pillow and trying not to make a sound as you despair over the fact that this is probably where your life will end.

"My Lady, Na-Baron wants.."

"Tell him to go away." You gather enough strength to keep your voice from shaking as you answer your maid.

"But..."

"TELL HIM TO GO AWAY!" You scream and throw the poker at her, which you had been using to play with the ashes from the fireplace, before your uncontrollable sobbing began.

She ducks, terrified at the last moment, and closes the door behind her. You sigh, wiping your tears angrily, and get out of bed. You go to your closet and pull out your warm, formal coat, registering the screams from behind the door in the background.

You're on autopilot, getting dressed, and heading for the door. You had no rational plan at all. You just needed to get as far away from here as you could.

"You're finally starting to act like an adult... Y/N? Where are you going?!" As you push through the doorway between him and your maid and run forward, Feyd shouts after you.

You hear him mutter something under his breath before his quick footsteps echo through the halls of the Corrino palace. You run forward, your heart pounding as you traverse the familiar halls of your childhood, turning into the less travelled ones to lose the pursuing Harkonnen.

You know Corrino's palace much better than he does, so after a few complicated moves, you manage to reach the stables alone and far ahead of him. You saddle your horse and trot to the exit gate, never once looking back.

Tears burn your cheeks as you choke on your own sobs, holding on tightly to the reins of your horse as if you were holding on for dear life. The wind whips against your face, terrorising your already red eyes. You bite your hand, trying not to cry as you steer your horse into the forest, heading for the only place you could truly be alone and far away from the black cage in which you locked yourself for the rest of your life.

You sigh with relief as your horse pushes through the mud and reaches a small cave in the forest at the foot of the mountains.

You smile fondly, dismounting your horse and petting his flank as you lead him inside. You light your lighter and look around, searching the darkness for the torch you left behind ages ago.

When you manage to light up the place a little, you pull the lever, activating the mechanism of the old shelter and closing it. The stone moves and closes the main exit with a loud crack.

You remember how, as children, you, Irulan, and Paul used to come here to play.

It was your secret hideout, a base of sorts. You remember how Feyd used to try to track where you disappeared when your parents were busy with meetings. Of course, he only went on these hunts when his uncle was also attending the meetings. Sometimes the Baron would stay in his chambers, leaving the responsibility of conducting the negotiations either to his oldest nephew or to his advisors.

Feyd was nowhere to be found during those days.

You didn’t know why. And you still don’t, and the whispers and rumours you’ve heard are so awful that you don’t want to believe them or even consider whether they could be true.

You shiver, preferring to recall in your head the memory of finding Feyd spying around your hideout rather than all the terrible rumours you heard.

“Did you get lost on the way to the training grounds?” You ask with a smirk as you watch Feyd jump, surprised at how you snuck up on him.

"Since when do you stop tripping over your own feet?" He responds to your teasing with one of his own. You laugh, shaking your head and lean against a nearby tree, staring at the 17-year-old in front of you.

"I had a good teacher." You praise him, taking out the dagger he gave you and throwing it, aiming it at him. The blade misses him by millimetres and embeds itself in the tree trunk behind him.

He turns and looks at the trunk behind him. He nods in appreciation and looks at you, barely keeping a smirk from spreading across his face.

“Not bad.” He nods and pulls a dagger from the tree. He walks over to you, standing so that the tips of his fingers touch yours. You lift your chin, staring at him defiantly as he traces a pattern from your hip to your collarbone with the tip of the dagger.

Other people, more sensible ones, and those who didn't really know Feyd, would be afraid of Harkonnen putting a blade to their skin. But you had known him too long for even your heart to race with fear at his actions—actually, it raced for a much different reason.

"But it made your blade a bit blunt now." He whispers, his gaze never leaving your collarbone. You lick your lips, watching as he stares at you, waiting for the slightest shiver from you—any sign that you're afraid of him. But he sees nothing. And that shocks him immensely.

As usual, you amaze him. When everyone else feared the Harkonnens, shunned his company, and saw him only as a cruel monster hungry for blood, you tried to be there for him. But over time, this closeness between you, instead of becoming bliss, a diversion from his terrible new life on Giedi Prime, became... dangerous. For him, and for you.

His uncle commented more and more often on how glued he was to your side and how he followed you like a lost puppy seeking your attention. And Feyd really tried to distance himself from you, to create distance between you, so as not to arouse anyone's suspicions... because Feyd would slit his own throat if you were hurt. If you suffered because of him... if you went through the same thing he had at the hands of the baron.

But every time he thought he had finally managed to scare you away, you would come back, as if the place next to him would naturally belong to you. And Feyd was too weak to let you go completely, to willingly deprive himself of your blessed presence, which was a balm for the wounds inflicted on him by Baron and during the time he spent on Giedi Prime.

He entered every "gladiator fight" he entered with you in mind. With every blood spilt on the Giedi Prime's arena, he imagined that if he didn't do it, if he didn't take the lives of these people, he would no longer have the opportunity to return to you.

At first, it was difficult for him to deal fatal blows. But over time, the sight of death became so natural to him that he was afraid that Baron would train him to the point where he wouldn't be able to control himself. That he would kill someone iontally... that he would kill you.

But Feyd was a selfish man… that's why he can't let you go so easily…

"I'm surprised you're anywhere other than training. It's been hard to find you free lately." You continue to banter, your hand moving to the dagger between you. You wrap it around the blade, your gaze never leaving Feyd's blue irises. He swallows hard, trying to push away any dirty thoughts about the ways you could use that dagger on him, and tries to think of a good response.

"Why? Did you miss me?" He asks, smiling evilly, showing a row of teeth as black as night on Giedi Prime. And instead of flinching like the others do, you answer him with a smile so beautiful that his heart stops beating for a moment and he almost gasps for air.

"I did." You admit it openly. Feyd is on the verge of a heart attack.

"You... you did?" He asks, swallowing. He curses himself mentally for allowing you to so easily destroy his composed, indifferent, mocking demeanour, to break through the shield he so meticulously puts up against himself and get to the most vulnerable parts of him.

"Yhm..." You hum, and before he can even notice, you’ve knocked the dagger out of his hand. You push him against the tree trunk behind him and press the blade against his pale neck. He swallows, his Adam’s apple brushing against the cold steel as he is looking deep into your eyes. Feyd feels his pants grow uncomfortable and tight as you lean forward, your chest brushing his as you whisper in his ear. "You must have missed me too, since you're spying on me."

"I don't…"

"Really? So why were you following me? Did you want to catch me here alone, or maybe you thought I was dating some secret admirer and wanted to catch me in the act?"

"Why? Do you want me to be jealous?" He asks in his husky voice, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Would you be?" You ask in a whisper, licking your lips. His eyes move between your eyes and your mouth, and you decide that this is your perfect moment.

So you lean over and kiss Feyd-Rautha for the first time.

It's a perfect distraction. Irulan and Paul emerge from their hiding place and flee, leaving you alone with Feyd… and you take advantage of this opportunity as long as you can.

You drop the dagger and wrap your hands around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Feyd’s hands land clumsily on your hips, squeezing you, reaching for parts of your body he’s always wanted to touch.

He moans into your mouth, trying to take control of the kiss, trying to respond with equal tenderness. He caresses you gently, experiencing for the first time... the other side of intimacy. Of course Feyd feels the same passion and desire as you do, but this kiss... it's soft, tender, expressing emotions that neither of you is ready to say yet but is ready to show some of them in this kiss.

He kisses you as if that were the only thing he was supposed to do for the rest of his miserable existence. He kisses you as if he were still the sweet prince of Lankiveil you knew. He kisses you as if it were the beginning of your future together. He kisses you with a gentleness unlike any Harkonnen. He kisses you with a promise that you'll know only his kisses for the rest of your lives. He kisses you as if it were the last good thing he could do. He kisses you like you're his only solace and joy. He kisses you as if he would never have the opportunity to do it again.

And you pray to every god you know that this won't be your first and last kiss at the same time.

You shudder as you light the fire. A pleasant warmth surrounds you, allowing you to warm up for a moment. You stare blankly into the fire, sitting on the ground and wrapping your arms around your legs.

You freeze as you hear movement behind you. Your hand automatically reaches for the dagger hidden in your coat. You listen using all the knowledge you've gained from training with Feyd and wait for the attacker to strike first.

Your heart is beating fast, your palms slightly sweaty as you wonder what the hell is in this abandoned shelter besides you.

The attacker rushes towards you. You dodge and twist the arm of the man who attacked you, slamming him into the stone floor, trying to wrench his own dagger from his hand. You struggle with the man who has a scarf around his head, kicking him, dodging his blows, and in doing so disarming him, straddling him. You unwind the scarf from his head and gasp in shock as you see his face...

A face you never thought you would see again.

"Paul?"

Taglist for Feyd: @avidreader73

Taglist for DWTD: @iloved1lfs0 @heartarianagran @hueanhdang @barnes70stark @forgedfromthestars

@toertche

@emzzlyy

[zoloteh-volossya]

Some Thoughts on Minthara

A repeating theme of all of the Origin companions is that what they think they want at the beginning of the game is a result of their fucked up pasts and is ultimately bad for them. Shadowheart wants to be a DJ, but that cuts her off from the potential to grow beyond Shar and loss. Lae'zel wants to Ascend, which would obliterate her in her entirety. Karlach would rather die than go back to hell, but dying cuts off the potential continued life she may find thanks to that Infernal Forge. Astarion wants to Ascend, which locks him into a cycle of violence, power, and fear. Gale has two failures of goals - first to kill himself for Mystra's forgiveness, then to Ascend (which hollows him out of all the originally noble intentions he had going into it). Wyll wants to serve, no matter what the cost to himself - which would lead him to stay pacted to Mizora when freedom beckons.

All of these initial goals stem from the environments/abuses that the companions are coming from. And they're all understandable! But they're unhealthy and/or maladaptive, and so in order for every Origin companion to get to their best/happiest ending they need to change and grow away from what they initially thought they wanted due to the influence of their pasts and personal flaws.

Minthara, when we meet her under her own free will, has abandoned Lolth but not her attitudes. She seeks love, yes, but also seeks any sort of power she can get her hands on with a desperation borne of fear. She cares deeply for Karlach and Lae'zel and reluctantly for Astarion, Shart, and Gale, but is willing to enslave them all as she herself was enslaved if it makes her Top Dog. Her ideal ending is codependent evil power couple with you, controlling the brain - and I think that's her 'bad' ending, akin to Ascended Astarion or DJ Shart.

Basically, I think there’s two sides to her. There's the side that desires genuine connections and is willing to go to hell for Karlach even if unromanced... and the side that chases power even if it means doing things like enslaving Karlach. She wants purpose (per her dialogue upon leaving Moonrise), a home and friends (per her dialogue when leaving the party), and protection (per her dialogues with the player). I think if she was able to obtain those things through sources other than trying to conquer Menzoberranzan/the Sword Coast she might be able to express the former side of herself more.

We see a bit of that in her Karlach romance, where she throws aside all concerns of seeking power to go to hell for her girlfriend. She doesn't talk of conquering or ruling Avernus - her focus is purely on vengeance for Karlach. It's an interesting reevaluation of her priorities and also why I like her pairing with Karlach so much.

As a side character, she doesn't get a questline and arc like the Origin companions get. But I think that it is notable that her happiest ending seems to be staying in Baldur's Gate. In her epilogue dialogue with Origin!Lae'zel she confesses that she is not happy if she pursues reconquering Menzoberranzan, and harbors doubts about her ability to succeed.

Because ultimately - as Ascended Astarion shows - pursuing power and conquest does not actually make you happier or safer. It just means a life dominated by fear. Lolth's treatment of the drow - and thus the drow treatment of each other - has been compared by writers of canon D&D novels to an abusive relationship. And like so many other survivors of abuse, Minthy is out of the immediate situation but still carries that way of thinking worn into her psyche, like ruts in a road.

She’ll never be “nice” or even necessarily “good,” but I’d like to think that over time, in the right environment, she can leave behind most of the self destructive power seeking of the Lolthite mindset. Move on from the toxic patterns of her past, as the Origin companions get to do in game.