#if i've missed any tags pls lmk;;;;

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting 

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself 

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋�� 

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer. 

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was. 

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal. 

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough  testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far. 

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.” 

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft. 

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji. 

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin. 

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more? 

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any  7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story. 

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was. 

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad. 

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it. 

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.” 

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them. 

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood. 

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m 

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. 

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you. 

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething 

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up. 

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of  1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them. 

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena. 

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast. 

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up. 

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them. 

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet. 

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off. 

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight. 

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time 

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue. 

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath. 

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm. 

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet. 

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time 

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you? 

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it. 

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty. 

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to. 

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue. 

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you. 

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.” 

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough. 

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad. 

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable. 

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest. 

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.   

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him. 

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking. 

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

.

.

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[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

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[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were. 

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you. 

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive. 

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later. 

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost. 

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go. 

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question. 

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you. 

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet. 

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong. 

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours. 

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms. 

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close. 

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want. 

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel. 

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart. 

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you. 

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you. 

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure. 

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger. 

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes. 

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies. 

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch. 

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.  

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.  

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re��� so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way. 

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak. 

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear. 

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you. 

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to. 

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him. 

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise. 

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important. 

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra. 

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him. 

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked. 

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands. 

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Not right now,” he agrees. 

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides. 

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown. 

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range. 

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff. 

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight. 

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles. 

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing. 

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs. 

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought. 

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning. 

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you. 

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together. 

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles. 

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage. 

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair. 

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess. 

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you. 

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you. 

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this? 

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself. 

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches. 

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply. 

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone. 

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck. 

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him. 

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff. 

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again. 

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod. 

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.  

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze. 

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction. 

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him. 

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions. 

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core. 

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry. 

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious. 

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest. 

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him. 

Thankfully, he delivers. 

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl. 

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you. 

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds. 

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second. 

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh. 

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer. 

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit. 

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair. 

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light. 

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous. 

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning. 

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan. 

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it. 

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection. 

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core. 

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first. 

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen. 

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

-

part three

[temilyrights]

43) “god you’re so emotionally constipated.” for Emily x Reader please.

history smothers us

emily prentiss x gn!reader

summary: years of unspoken words and misconceptions threaten to destroy what remains of a once close relationship. you couldn't imagine your life without emily. now you look at her and feel every part of the ocean that destroyed you both. featuring prompt "god you're so emotionally consitpated" from my prompt list.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: angst with a happy ending. mention of blood. no use of y/n. set in season 12. unit chief prentiss.

a/n: thank you so much for the request <3 sorry it took me a while I struggled to find the right idea. I imagine this wasn't what you had in mind but I do hope you enjoy it anyway. also side note: i've deleted my taglist, i'm restarting because it was years old so if anyone would like be re-tagged or anyone new would like to be added pls lmk!

The police lights flash in the midnight sky. Agents and local police spread across the farmhouse. And you, sitting in the back of an ambulance, blood dripping down the side of your head, the beginnings of a headache making itself known.  

The bright torch shining in your eyes makes you wince, but the EMT clears you of a concussion and hands you pain meds to swallow. You drag your hand through your hair, a frustrated sigh leaving your lips. 

The unsub had come out of nowhere and whacked you over the head with a metal pole, and he probably would’ve done a lot more if it wasn’t for Tara being two steps behind you. 

Honestly, you were fine. A little banged up, with a nasty bruise already forming, but the blood had been wiped away and it was almost like it had never happened.

Well, apart from the very angry Unit Chief Prentiss stalking towards you. 

You wish this was an unfamiliar sight, but god she’d been back months now and you don’t think her smile had been pointed in your direction once. 

“What were you thinking?” She scolds, voice sharp and eyes narrowed. You don’t miss the shaking of her hands as she holds them tightly on her hips or the rising flush of her cheeks, both she would blame on the cold but you knew they were born out of concern, not that she’d ever admit it. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realise the FBI now required its agents to have the abilities to see through walls.” You roll your eyes, the half-joke an attempt to fix her glare, but you know even as the words pass your lips it’s futile. Your shoulders slump, already tired for the fight ahead,  “He came out of nowhere, Prentiss.” 

Her lips purse, “They require you to be able to clear a room. It seems you might need a refresher course. Maybe until you can be trusted and I deem you requalified it’s best you stay back in quantico.” 

“What?” You ask incredulously. Of all the dumb things- “Let me get this straight, you’re benching me over nothing? Tara was through that door seconds later. I wasn’t defying your orders. You have no reason to do this!”

“I want you to redo your basic training so I know you can be trusted in the field.” She demands, stoic, serious, and so far away from the soft woman you used to be able to reach out to. 

You laugh, but the noise is sad and wild. You shake your head in disbelief, watching the woman in front of you that years ago used to be the person you were closest to in the world. Now you stare at her and feel every part of the ocean that destroyed you both. “God, you’re so emotionally constipated.” 

“Excuse me?” 

You push yourself off the end of the ambulance, bringing yourself to your full height and meeting her gaze. You knew the day she accepted the unit chief position this wouldn’t end well, there was too much history, too much the two of you had left unsaid, hurt and anger smothering any possible relationship left. 

“Let’s not pretend this has anything to do with my performance.” You begin,

words low enough that if she didn’t listen the words threatened to disappear with the wind, “It’s because I got hurt and you’d rather damage my career and ruin the tatters of our relationship than admit that me getting hurt scared you.” 

Emily steps backwards, face stricken. Her hands fall from her hips, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles for words. 

You decide there’s nothing left she can say. You excuse yourself and grab a lift with Luke, happy to leave the crime scene and your boss behind. After everyone’s finished at the farmhouse and packed up at the police station it’s nearing two am and everyone is ordered back to the hotel to catch a few hours of sleep before the flight in the morning. 

Your feet are dragging by the time you make it to your room. The meds have done their job though and your headache had faded away, but nothing but sleep was going to help your heavy and aching bones. You wave a tired goodbye to Tara, who unlike Emily had no issues checking in and making sure you were okay, and then retreat to your room. 

You slump into the chair at the desk, telling yourself you’ll find the energy to get ready for bed in one minute. But so thankful to finally be off your feet. Your reprieve lasts only minutes before a knock sounds at your door. A withered sigh leaves your lips and you consider ignoring it but still find yourself pushing yourself upright and making your way back to the door. 

When you open it, you wish you’d listened to your thoughts. 

“Hi?” You say hesitantly, staring into the tired face of Emily Prentiss. There’s no anger, her shoulders are almost slumped, defeated maybe? You look away, too scared to analyse further. 

“Can I come in?” 

You open the door further allowing her entrance. She smiles, tight lipped at you, nodding her thanks. You close the door and wait for her to speak, pondering how in the hell you both got to awkward silences and forced tight lipped smiles when years ago you two could share looks across the room and know what the other was thinking, spent hours talking and laughing together, how you had built a life and never thought there would be a day that she wasn’t in it with you. 

“We can’t go on like this.” She starts eyes meeting yours before flickering away, “Things between us have not been right since I returned and I think maybe we should clear the air. I want to be the Unit Chief, I want to be back here at Quantico but that only works if we can be a team.” 

You scoff. It slips from your mouth, uncontrolled and harsh. Emily’s gaze snaps to yours, her surprise at the sound clear. You shake your head, “What is there to say?” Where would we even begin?

“I-” She chokes, blinking as the emotions claw at her throat. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Your brows draw in confusion as you shake your head, “What are you talking about?”

“After everything that happened with Doyle-”

Your eyes bulge, “You think I'm still upset about that? God, do you think I’m a monster? You survived. You lived. That’s all that matters.” 

Tears pool in her eyes, but she blinks them away, her gaze shifting to the wall as her fingers pick at a hangnail. She looks back at you, still picking, gaze more open and lost than you’ve seen in a long time. “Then why? I hurt you. I can see it in the way you can barely stand to be around me, like it hurts you to even be in my presence.” 

You blow out a breath, eyes moving around the room before they land back on her and then away again. “It’s not your fault.” You breathe, emotions lodged in your throat and heart beating wildly against your chest as you try and force the words out. “You didn’t hurt me, I hurt myself. There was never going to be a life I led that you weren’t right with me, you know?” You laugh, wet and broken. 

Emily’s mouth falls open, her eyes emotional pits that you don’t dare hold. 

“And then you left for London and I couldn’t exactly be upset because I had no say in what you did with your life. We were just friends. I knew it’s what you needed and I don’t resent you for that. I just…” You take a breath, “I was so angry at myself for missing you, for thinking that I could be someone you would stay for.”

And there it was. The truth. Because at the end of the day, you’ve always just wanted to be enough for the woman in front of you. For her to see you as more than just your friend. To one day have your feelings returned. 

She’d left and you’d both been busy and you’d deliberately tried to separate yourself as well, drawing back from the painful reminder that you weren’t enough. And since her return, all those emotions have been resurfacing, however much you tried to keep them buried. Because falling out of love with Emily Prentiss was just not something you were capable of, and you’ve spent years trying too. 

Emily approaches you, the space between you closing ever so slightly. Your gaze sticks to the ground, scared to see the easy to read emotions across her face. She takes a breath, the sound muffled by the beating of your heart.

“After I came back from Paris, I used to find myself looking at you and knowing I couldn’t be that woman you remembered, the one you sought for. I wanted to. Desperately.” Her voice hitches, and then lowers to a hoarse whisper, “I wanted to be the woman you fell for.” 

Your eyes finally rise, against your will. Tears make their way in delicate paths down her cheeks, she looks every bit as lost as you feel. The only thing stopping you from falling apart is the fear that if you let go you may never recover. 

“I didn’t need you to be anyone. I just wanted you to be yourself. I wanted you to trust me.” You respond gently.

She shakes her head, “No, everyone was looking for that version of me that I couldn’t grasp onto.”

“Emily,” You sigh painfully. Her face crumples, eyes squeezing shut at the sound of her name from your lips. It’s been so long, you know. “You were healing from a trauma. I’ve always wanted the authentic you, whatever that includes. Why would that suddenly change?” 

She nods, a deep frown on her face as she accepts your words. Then a wet laugh, as she wipes away her tears. “I’ve missed you. Every day. I hate being in the same room as you and it being awkward. I used to be able to look at you and know what you’re thinking. I want that back.” 

A small smile curves your lips, “Me too, more than anything.” 

“Yeah?” She questions. Her teeth run across her lip, as she dares to hope. “You think we could get back there?” 

Your heart hammers. “I just need you to be really clear here. What exactly are we getting back to?” 

She steps forward, finally close enough to touch. Her hand hesitantly reaches out and touches yours, her cold fingers intertwining with your warm ones. Your body remembers her touch, relaxes and leans into it automatically. You eat it hungrily, tracking the movement before your eyes rise to meet hers and find soft, open eyes watching you. “I want to make you fall in love with me again.”

Your breath catches in your throat, tears pooling in your eyes as your hand shakes in hers.

“And this time, I promise, I’ll be there to catch you.” 

“We might have a slight problem with that plan.” You laugh, trying your hardest not to sob.

She frowns, nose wrinkling in the way you adore. “What’s that?” 

“It’s pretty difficult to re-fall in love when I never stopped loving you in the first place.” You huff, and Emily laughs, rich and free and bright. Her face joyful and happy, and with the wide bright smile you’ve waited months to feel pointed in your direction. God the sight makes your head spin.

“Is that so?” She asks, hand moving up to cup your cheek, eyes full of love and pointed at you. 

You can only nod, dizzy from her attention and the emotions coursing through your body. 

When her lips find yours it feels like finally coming home. Soft and delicate, both too scared to push too hard, exploring slowing even as her hand holds your cheek and yours fists in her shirt. You’ve waited years for this, and if you get more of these than it will be worth it. Everything is worth it for the feeling of Emily in your arms. 

When she pulls away, it’s too soon. You follow her mouth and she concedes and gives you a couple more slow kisses before she stops herself, resting her forehead against yours.

“I just want to say sorry for earlier.” She whispers into the safe space you’ve built. “You were right, I was scared when you got hurt. Dave’s already kicked my ass for my response, you won’t receive any disciplinary action.”

You nod slightly, her forehead moving against yours, “Thank you.” 

“It won’t happen again.” She promises, sealing the words with a kiss to your lips. 

“I know.” You kiss her again, but this time you break out into a yawn midway through. Your momentarily forgotten exhaustion, making itself known. 

She melts against you, caressing your cheek. “Oh, you need to sleep. We can talk more tomorrow. I’m taking you out for dinner.” 

You bite your lip to hide the smile threatening to take over your face, “A date?” 

She chuckles, rolling her eyes. “Yes, a date. But only if you sleep first.” 

“Your wish is my command.” You can’t stop the grin from taking over your face anymore. You press a peck to her lips and lead her back towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow.” She agrees, eyes fluttering over your face as if she’s committing every aspect to memory. “Sleep well.” 

“You too.” 

She presses one last kiss to your lips before she opens the door and makes her exit. You close the door quietly behind her, sinking back into it and allowing the giggle to finally escape your mouth.

What the fuck had just happened. 

Emily Prentiss kissed you. 

Emily Prentiss has feelings for you. 

You weren’t alone.

You bite your lip and push off the door, finally ready to get ready for bed and praying come morning that this would still be your reality.

taglist: @aburman03

[yeosgoa]

20:16 • sᴛᴀʀɢɪʀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʀʟᴜᴅᴇ (NSFW)

♡ dom!husband!Seonghwa x sub!housewife!reader

♡ domestic, smut

♡ WC • 1108

♡ Warnings!! (tags) • multiple positions, breeding, hair pulling, choking, exhibitionism(?), nipple play, creampie, breeding, multiple orgasms, wet dreams, raking. (pls lmk if I missed anything.)

♡ This has been rotting away in my head but I could never get to writing it. Now I've written it in half an hour listening to 'stargirl interlude' (The Weeknd, Lana Del Rey) on loop. It really helped tbh idk why I didn't think of it sooner 😭. Anyways enjoy, enjoy this while I work on my long fics. Lmk if you want a part two ♡♡.

♡ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

   His hands were on your hips, pelvis meeting with your ass every second. The blue strip light of your cabinet illuminated the black marble below, contrasting with your white almond acrylics that desperately wanted to dig into the material as you felt his cock slip in and out of you.

   Your tits moved forward at every smack, threatening to spill out of your apron until they did, cascading like curtains over the neckline. Back arching, his cock hit into you at a deeper angle, making both of you cry out. He leaned down, grabbing you by the waist and breathing into your neck, his words inaudible due to your ears ringing.

   “My perfect little housewife, letting me fuck you for all of the city to see.” Seonghwa grunted, one of his hands coming up to pinch at your erect nipples. You whimper at the slight pain, grinding your ass against his pelvis before he pushes you down, holding the back of your neck and pounding into you at a rough pace.

   “Hwa!” You squealed, now feeling a tingle down your spine at the thought of someone below potentially seeing you; though it was a bustling city your windows were not tinted and it was nighttime. Everyone had a complete view of you being pounded by your husband. Seonghwa always fucked you like this, it was though he actually wanted someone to see. The clerestory windows of your penthouse give the people a full show of your bare form.

   Your husband slowed his pace. “Shh, baby, you want the neighbors to listen in?” He huffed, giving your cheek a firm slap before picking up his pace again. You shook your head, trying your best to keep the noise to a minimum despite the clapping overriding the noise of your television. Ironic, as you turned your head towards the windows.

   “Your logic does not make any sense,” you whined, city lights reflecting off your eyes. “If they can see me, they should hear me.”

   You weren’t sure where the boldness came from, but it definitely did not go unnoticed by Seonghwa, who hummed with a smirk forming on his features. “Yeah? You want a noise complaint, pretty?”

   He didn't wait for an answer, leaning over to grab the television remote and turning it off. Tossing it aside he began his pace once more, grabbing your hair and forcing your head up. “Let them hear you.”

   Tears stung at your eyes at the sudden tug, but you didn’t have time to wipe at them as you already felt the knot in your tummy forming. Your knuckles turned white. Your eyes start to roll back as your noises gradually get louder, as do Seonghwa once his balls start to tighten. 

   His hand snakes around to your clit, middle finger working its magic around the pearl as he moans purposefully in your ear. “You’re gonna make me cum, baby.” He says, making sure to make himself sound extra whiny.

   “,’m cumming,” you blubber, foot thumping against the ground and knee colliding with the cabinet as your lower half spasms around his cock, juices coating him like glaze. Seonghwa’s cock kept moving in and out of you regardless, thrusts starting to stutter and moans getting caught in his throat.

   “Gonna fill you up, 'm gonna fill that pussy…” He trailed off, pausing and holding you firmly against him as he came inside, breeding your little hole. You both groan in contentment, and you pull him out, turning to face him as you sat yourself on the freezing counter. “Again,” you whine, opening your legs.

   Seonghwa didn’t waste any time, pushing back into you and moving at a fluid pace. His arm went up and held the handle of the cabinets above for support, the other hand playing with your tits and wrapping around your throat.

   “Oh fuck me,” you sniffle, looking into his eyes. Your eyes shifted between looking into his and where you two met. He threw his head back, letting out a dry chuckle mixed in with a guttural moan. “You’re fucking crying.” he mused, tightening his grip.

    “I love it, I love it Hwa,” you whimper pathetically, locking your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Your grip on the counter’s sharp edges tightened, the edge digging into your palm. Your fingers were going to ache soon. “Love it so much.”

   “You just love this cock so much, baby.” he grunts, shuddering at the feeling of your gummy walls clamping around his sensitive tip. “It’s gonna breed you so much.”

    Seonghwa’s face leaned into yours, taking in your expression. His pretty little housewife, all spread and open for him to breed. The hand that was wrapped around the handle of the counter went down to your thigh, raking his nails into it. His balls started to tighten once more, his cock felt harder inside you. You looked down at where you met before looking back up into his eyes, sharp as slits. 

   Your husband leaned down to suck harshly at your jaw, hand still on your throat, and hand now gliding over your under thigh as he started spurting into you again. The squelching sounds now increased in volume. You could feel the mix of your juices drooling out of your pussy and down to the rim of your asshole, making you moan softly and your eyes shut at the warmness.

   “Pretty girl,” Seonghwa cooed, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. His hand rubbed your shoulder as the warmness of your body slowly dissolved, only feeling the sweat on your back and wetness between your legs. 

   You slowly opened your eyes as your head came to again, your senses coming down from the intense session. Seonghwa kept crooning at you.

   “That’s a good girl, open your eyes baby.” he said, still rubbing your arm. Your eyes fully opened again, being met with your pillow.

   “You’re awake,” Seonghwa murmured softly, hovering over you. You looked up at him, blinking unnoticed tears away. You could tell by his expression that he was amused, though his eyes were soft as they admired your sleepy features. “,’m felt so good,” you babble mindlessly, thighs closing. The discomfort of sweat now gets to you as you sit up.

   “Poor thing, having wet dreams again. You’re like a pup in its rut, darling.” Seonghwa ruffles your hair, “grinding and wetting against the sheets again. You’re all drenched.”

   You heat up at the revelation, sighing deeply and leaning forward into your husband’s neck in embarrassment, who pets and scratches at your scalp and nape comfortingly. He chuckles softly; “Don’t frown, I’ll take care of you, baby.”

[writingstoraes]

lover 🪻

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!singer!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: this is another thing i thought of knowing i have hundreds of unattended drafts lolol lmk what u think! this is like very similar to something i've posted before but only w a slightly different ending... hehe also am using mother taylor's lyrics cause they're just too good

about: you and charles seem to be really quiet, it's either one of two things — you're over or you're about to release a masterpiece that shatters all break up rumors.

wagsoff1

liked by wannabewag, norrisfan, hamilec, and 25,439 others

wagsoff1 It has been 100 days since Y/N was seen in the paddock. Her last appearance was during the 2023 Australian GP. Any thoughts? 👀

leclercsainz yeah honestly the two of them have been really quiet lately... i'm scared

ynfan this is such a reach? 😬

lecsyn4eva are we forgetting that y/n has her own career, a pretty successful one at that, it's normal for her to not be at races at times?

wagsoff1 Hmm yeah but she's missed a ton of races, apparently rumors are only ever growing that they might be over... lecsyn4eva maybe we stop sticking our noses where it doesn't belong 🤨

queenyn MOTHER WE MISS YOU pls come back

sainzstappen Classic pattern of broken up F1 couples lol miss a few races then suddenly statements are out 😆

popgirlstm stop i will literally jump off a bridge

yourusername

liked by zendaya, florencepugh, landonorris, and 2,340,923 others

yourusername At every table, I'll save you a seat.

My 3rd full-length album, Lover, is out tomorrow at 12 EST. Sorry for the surprise but see you at the premiere ❤️

lecsyn BITCH THIS IS WHY YOUVE BEEN QUIET

mothertay miss mam we havent heard from you in months how can you drop a bomb like this so casually

norrislaren IM CRYING I DID NOT SEE THIS COMING

midnightshouse y/n i need to know if i can shake my ass to this album or i will be destroying ice cream pints with tears on my face

ynalbums Judging from the title... it sounds like it's more on the romance side? gucciluv oh my god there's hope for charles and her after all 🙏

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari, and 1,295,294 others

charles_leclerc My lover.

Beyond excited for your album, amour. Thanks for letting me be a part of it 🤍

lecsyncharles CROWD CHEERS OH MY GOD

hamilstappen im crying they broke the streak they're alive! WAR IS OVER

charlierari part of it... y/n ft. charles????

carlossainz55 Hey this counts as your musical debut? 😆

charles_leclerc I didn't sing... carlossainz55 Yeah you shouldnt c2lovers FUCK??ABSHBHWWH

landonorris Can't believe people thought you broke up you literally won't shut up about how you're in Silverstone and she's in LA

pierregasly Don't forget the calling Y/N every 10 seconds charles_leclerc ??? Please shut up

Now Playing: Lover (Music Video) - The Dedication

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, landonorris, lorenzotl, and 2,109,294 others

charles_leclerc My forever lover.

tagged: yourusername

landonorris Will you save me a seat at every table?

yourusername Have my song memorized already, I see 😆 landonorris You know it!

lewishamilton Congratulations, Y/N and Charles! 🥂

danielricciardo I call taking most of the pictures 🙏

landonorris No???

ynlecs16 this is such a fucking surprise the two of you need to cool it down i'm hyperventilating

scuderiaferrari Best wishes to our favorite couple ❤️

yourusername Wait, I thought we broke up?

charles_leclerc Negative. You're stuck with me forever now 😘

---------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy

notes: taylor has got me wishing i was currently in love this is sick! anyway i only got this idea bc my tiktok fyp is swarmed with charles daylight edits and they are right he is so golden <33

[ilovearthur-morgan]

She Keeps Me Up | Chaper 2

pairing: arthur morgan x fem/afab!reader

Plot summary: the band meet for drinks, Arthur tags along and everyone gets a bit tipsy...

warning: smut <- minors dni! drinking (everyone is above the legal drinking age), unprotected piv (wrap it up!), alcohol induced smut, oral (f receiving), no physical description of reader, talk of pussy, multiple orgasms, there might be more but I can't think of it so pls lmk if I've missed any

a/n: this is my first smut chapter so I hope it's not too shoddy if so I will change it or take it out if its that bad <3, enjoy!

chapter 1 below

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The bar was still dingy, but Arthur didn't care. He was going to get to see you. He couldn't wait. Arthur opened the bar door and spotted John and the band immediately. "Arthur!" John called him over with a wave. he slowly strutted over, making eye contact with you as he does so. you waved at him, and he waved back. He sits next to you and holds out his hand. "Arthur, nice to meet you." You shake his hand and tell him your name. "What are you drinkin' tonight, sweetheart?" he asked. "Just whiskey for now," you replied with a smile.

He walked over to the bar tender. "Two whiskeys, please." The bar tender complies and hands him the drinks. He walked back over to you and hands you your whiskey. "Oh Arthur, you shouldn't have!" You say as you take the drink. " 's fine, sweetheart." You begin talking, and as you begin talking, the drinks began flowing like the conversation. In your tipsy state, you and Arthur talked about anything and everything. like your occupation, how you ended up playing bass, butterflies? for some reason "Papillon!" you exclaim. "What?" Arthur replies confusedly. "Papillon! its french for butterfly!"

"Alright, sweetheart" he sighs, shaking his head. As the conversation slowed, Nickelback began to play. "Oh my godddd!!! I love this song!" you slur as you take arthurs hand and drunkenly drag him to the dancefloor. You both began to sway. His hands found their way to your hips, grasping them gently. Your bodies began to push in to each other, slowly becoming one. As the song slowed to its end, you looked up to Arthur "Thanks" you say breathily. "Anytime, darling" he mumble back to you.

You looked at him with a certain intensity in your eyes. "Arthur...." You look up at him with half lidded, and he feels like he's going to melt. he can't wait any longer. His lips slam into yours in a passionate kiss. And there you were. There was no one else in that bar except you two, entrapped in a delicate dance. After a few minutes, he pulled away to breathe. "My place? it's down the road" you say hurriedly. he nods, taking your hand and pulling you out the door.

After a few minutes, you're in your apartment, slammed up against the door with Arthur attacking your neck. Without pulling away, he drags you to your sofa and gently pushes you on it. He rips his shirt off and climbs on top of you. His fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt as he continues the assault on your neck. His lips move down to your collar bone, leaving hickeys as he goes. He eventually pulls your shirt over your head. "God damn, you're gorgeous." he mumbles before leaving sloppy kisses on your collar bone. You can't help but let breathy sighs leave your mouth. His hands reach around your back and unhooks your bra. He gently lifts off your bra but throws it somewhere behind him. His lips meet the valley between your breasts, whilst one of his hands snakes its way up to your left breast. His calloused hands grope your tits as he began to kiss down to your abdomen.

"Want these off, sweetheart?" he looks up at you. you can't say anything but nod. His fingers hook into the waist band of your trousers as he pulls them down, leaving you almost bare in front of him. He places gentle kisses on your inner thigh, moving his way up to where you most want him. His fingers slip into your underwear and he tugs them down till they're around your ankles. "Such a pretty pussy... this all for me, sweetheart?", you nod. he places a long strip up the slit of your dripping core with his tongue. You can't help but let out a loud moan. As you moan, Arthur chuckles against your core, sending vibrations through you. This man continues to lap against you like a starving man. you reach closer and closer to your orgasm . He squeezes your thighs, letting you know it's okay to come. You can't help yourself but come at his motions, moaning his name. Arthur cleans you up and crawls up your body, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead

"Please, Arthur, I need more...." You tell him, gasping for breath as though you'd just ran a marathon. He chuckles. "Of course, sweetheart." he replies as he undoes his belt buckle. He pulls down his trousers and underwear, letting his aching cock spring free. You can't help but gasp at the size of him. "Like what you see, darlin'?" he chuckles. You nod. He runs his hard dick through your sopping folds, hitting your clit. Your eyes roll at the sensation. He lines himself up with your cunt. Achingly slowly, he rolls himself into you. The stretch was almost painful if it didn't feel so damn good. He gasped at the feeling of your tight, velvety walls fluttering around him. He could've almost come on the spot. He began to pump himself in and out of you. This man had officially ruined other men for you. He began to pick up the pace. All that could be heard throughout the apartment was the sound of skin on skin and your gasps and moans. He frantically began ramming his hips into you, "Please! Arthur! I'm gonna-". He cuts you off. "I know, sweetheart, me too". After a few more frantic pumps, you both came.

Arthur collapsed onto you. Wrapping his arms around you, placing gentle kisses on your collar bone. After such a high intensity night, you both felt rather sleepy, and you fell asleep together on your sofa, embraced with one another

-------------------------------------------------------

a/n: I really hope that wasn't too shit, feedback is very much welcome! thanks for reading! <3

[shuckinbeanz]

Ten Years-Warmth

warnings/notes: pls lmk in comments asks or dms if I'm missing any tws I'm lost on how to appropriately tw this and have no idea if it needs any but I can't shake the feeling it doesss? 😭 (I can't help but think OOC, definitely OOC)soft tristamp!Millions Knivesxhuman reader cuz that cloak tho 🥴🥺 if you seen him you probably already know what he is, so spoilers ahoy! we've proved time and time again he can trust us, but he's so very hesitant to let down his guard because he's afraid he'll break again 😭 as that barrier breaks, we find he's super touch starved despite his initial hesitance. Slow n steady wins the race! Told in his POV, brave bb inchin out of his comfort zone for us cuz he trusts us sm 🥺

after lots of debate I've decided to post this in parts bc i wanna feed sideblog dwellers too!

MINORS 👏 DNI! 👏 AGE 👏 IN 👏 BIO 👏 OR 👏 DNI! 👏 Head on over to @candybowbeansies please for my SFW pieces, or be blocked if you interact here! 😇

Tags: @dynamightsdaydream

For ten long years, you were there for him. You never looked away, you always forced yourself past the inconsequential, so-called limits of your lowly species. For him. And somewhere along, the insignificant you turned into something dear. You probably don't know this, but…he so desperately wanted to reciprocate. His heart and his brain warred with each other and his body.

It was very confusing, and even more complicated.

You were the only other human…he was willing to love. It was painstakingly slow but sure, and eventually, your fastidious efforts bore fruit. 

Touch.

As revolting as the idea alone was, the moment he allowed your knuckle to graze against his jaw in a featherlight touch…it was equally, if not more so intoxicating.

It was also uncomfortable.

But he knew, if he showed that to you, you'd rear away in self resentment; hiding your desire to be touched, and more importantly, touch him beneath lock and key, out of your loyalty for him.

Yet he wanted more.

The look of pure awe in your eyes, as soft words pass your softer lips; of praise, worship, and limitless gratitude. He almost wanted to kiss them. Almost. Your other hand clutched desperately at the material you wore, evidence of your self restraint for his sake, your respect for his boundaries.

His gaze-somewhat judging-gives rise to your answer. "I want to touch you. I want to caress your cheek." you start, and he humors you with a raised brow. "Are you not doing that, already?" he mentions your knuckle, featherlight and sickeningly gentle against his jaw. You giggle, then. A sweet melody that makes his heart thrum in kind. "I want to run my fingers through your hair. I want to trace your ears, massage your broad shoulders…" you trail off, becoming shy at your own desires. "And…your strong arms…"

Even though his innate paranoia he built up over the years incessantly nagged at the edges of his consciousness; of losing, of being broken, of breaking anything precious to him…it did sound very tempting.

He doesn’t notice he’s moving, until his hand has found your wrist. You blink owlishly as he guides you, a rushed ‘Are you sure?’ spilling forth from you, worry evident in your tone and your tense form. For a brief moment, before your palm touches his cheek under his coaxing grip, he isn’t sure. But the moment it does, his body and his heart betray his brain as he leans into your warm palm and purrs. 

Warmth.

The very thing he forsook to chase his ideals. Something that, for years, he'd sorely missed, prolonged stubborn abstinence numbing the craving. It hits him like a sandsteamer on overdrive. 

It was a disgusting feeling, if he were to be honest, stemming from the fear of loss. If he accepted this touch, mindful of his being, only to lose it-to lose you, in the end, he'd break.

He'd break far, far beyond repair, everything you've worked so hard to mend torn right off like a bandaid, never to heal again.

He didn't want that.

Yet here he was, leaning into your touch and craving more. He yearned for it, down to his very vulnerable core, which threatened to hum to life in a very visible, vibrant hue just beneath his skin-quite literally. 

It was rather humiliating for him, for every fiber of his being to be so easily highly reactive to you. He both hated it and loved it at the same, very confusing time.

He was still in denial that someone as great as him was so touch starved. But before he knew it, he'd dived right into your embrace, his weight sending you onto your back.

He let you experiment; your fingers just barely touching him, ready to move away at a moment's notice. He appreciated this, deeply-though he'd rather die than admit it.

Little by little, he'd slip out of his comfort zone, only for you. It will take time…but you are ever patient. 

Slowly, his tension began to melt away, just as you bravely began on his hair, with touch still so careful.

He respected you. You've always done everything you could, solely for him. 

Soon enough, it's too late; the unusual beckon of sleep tugs at his eyelids.

Maybe he likes you. Maybe…he's in love. But everything was still so confusing and so very complicated. So wait for him, just a little longer, and hopefully he can find the courage to accept it all.

[artficlly]

lady of the ghosts [chapter two]

After a great plague ravages your city, you are looking to marry to secure safety for your people. With a war finally ending, the nearby kingdoms are looking to celebrate. King James "Bucky" Barnes decides to continue his family's tradition of hosting a courting season. A medieval courting marvel AU.

Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader

Warnings: mention of war, mention of torture, mention of alcohol, sexism, racism, mention of blood, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 7.3k

A/N: i was not expecting so many people to like this series! thank you for all the likes/reblogs! if you want to be added to the tag list pls comment on this post or on the chapter masterlist. steve is a little matchmaker in this, very cute. also can you tell that i am forever obbessed with queens gambit? sorry not sorry lol. not proof read - sorry for any typos as usual!

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

The past two months, you had felt like a beast in a cage. 

The lords and ladies of the court circled you with curiosity, yet they never got too close out of fear. With each passing day, The Galanta Season drew closer, and you felt like you were staring your own doom in the face. The court would circle you closer, poking and jeering about your fast approaching annihilation. You were supposed to be happy – an excitable, blushing bride-to-be. Instead, you reared your head like an unbroken stallion or bared your teeth like a rabid dog. The bars of the imaginary cage grew closer, and the taunts and jeers became louder. Haiford Court made you feel like you were suffocating. 

With the Knights of Galanta gone, your life felt empty. There were only so many dinners, afternoon teas, and ladies gatherings that you could sit through before you began to slip into lunacy. After the fifth discussion of fabric textures or the best hairstyles for the winter season, you decided you preferred isolation over meaningless discussion. You missed Steve, as embarrassing as it was to admit it to yourself. You missed discussing the world and laughing at the members of the court together. It seemed some of the other ladies of the court missed the presence of the Galantian Knights as well, often discussing them with giggles and blushes. You were not sure if they brought them up on purpose to torture you, as they cast knowing glances your way while you sipped your tea. The feeling in your chest got tighter and tighter. You would instruct the maids to tie the lacing to your corset tauter by the day, just to feel that crushing sensation. You knew it was masochistic, but you were miserable. Finding solitude on the balconies of the castle, you would stare into the north, wishing and hoping. 

If it wasn’t talking about the Knights of Galanta, the ladies would discuss the Season and how wonderful it was that you were engaged by the end. They would speak of Lord Rumlow in mocking tones, their tongues laced with venom, and their teeth sharpened. In the final weeks in Haiford, you had resigned yourself to your rooms, reading and drinking wine late into the night. By that point, you didn’t know if The Galanta Season was a blessing or a curse. You desperately wanted to escape Haiford, but the reality of the Season's purpose still haunted you. Despite your wallowing and self-pity, you had enough sense to formulate a plan. 

Now, standing in Galanta, you understood why Steve always complained about the cold in Haiford. The climate was moderate – not as hot as some of the southern Kingdoms, but definitely not the chill you were used to. While in your carriage, you watched the scenery pass by as the cold, rocky outcrops of Haiford turned to swamp, then to lush grass and farmland. By the time you arrived in the capital, you were sweating under your collar. Sometimes you wondered if you were born with ice in your blood. 

The capital of Galanta was home to Cala’s Keep, the ancestral castle and home of King James’ bloodline. Looking out of the window of your assigned room, you could see the city below. It reminded you of Faliene in an odd way – rows of markets, multi-level houses stacked upon each other. The overall city had a yellow and orange hue, and the walls of the keep were made from red brick and stone. The city was a mass of terracotta and brick; the streets were cobbled, with mud and vegetation sneaking through. The banners and flags that flew across the city were a deep emerald green – the color of King James’ house. Their sigil was a shield, sometimes illustrated with a red star at its center. The Royal Family of Barnes, protectors of Galanta. 

Your assigned maid, Rosa, fiddled with the lacing on your corset as you stared beyond the city. It was strange seeing so much greenery after living on a frozen mountain for most of your life. Faliene had limited greenery in the summer; most of the year, it was frozen ground, layered with snow and bulky rocks that had tumbled down the mountainside. Sometimes you could find flowers and grass growing around the thermal baths as the heat kept the snow from settling in the nearby areas. Galanta was very different. You understood why so many flocked here and why it had been named a haven for farmers and livestock. The livestock you had in Faliene were hardy goats and sheep, sometimes horses too. They were rough and shaggy, as feral as the wind that blew from the sea. Galanta was different; you had seen children playing with stray cats in the street, cows wandering and feeding just off the main road, and chickens eyeing crumbs left outside food stalls. Galanta was bustling and alive. It made you feel homesick for an era of Faliene you had never witnessed. 

Outside your room, you could hear the giggling of ladies passing by to descend the stairs. Most of the attendants for The Galanta Season had arrived that afternoon, like yourself. You had all been ushered into your rooms to change and prepare yourself for dinner. First, you would be introduced and present yourself to King James, then be taken into a room to eat and socialize until you could eventually sneak away. You knew Steve would be there, though with King Harrison watching your every move, you doubted you would be able to speak to him. King Harrison had come along with the Haiford party in the hopes of further persuading the match between Princess Peggy and King James. 

“You should head down now, Lady Y/N. You wouldn’t want to be late.” Rosa says, stirring you from your thoughts. You smile at the woman; she had been kind to you since you arrived. You had appreciated how she had put up with your specific instructions on how to braid your hair, allowed you to take over your makeup, and successfully helped you into your dress. 

“Of course. Thank you for your help, Rosa.” You hummed, smiling at the blonde woman as she moved to open the door for you. 

The inside of Cala’s Keep was bright and very different from Haiford’s Castle. Windows allowing the light to shine in, red bricks and stones complimented by green banners and paintings that lined empty spaces. In every corner, you noticed a potted plant, filling the space with color and blooms. Everything felt light and peaceful. Maybe it felt that way juxtaposed next to the winding, dark halls of Haiford, which sported gray, cobbled stone paired with stained glass windows that blocked out most of the light. In every room in Haiford, there was red and gold furniture, banners, and artwork with wolf symbolism carved into every piece. Haiford felt like a dungeon, one that slowly drove its inhabitants delirious. 

You noted most of the guests were already gathered, murmuring excitedly amongst themselves as you slowly descended the stairs into the waiting room. A few guards lingered around, directing the guests into lines to be announced into the throneroom. Once they were announced, the guests would make the short walk to present themselves to King James. You were about halfway down when you noticed King Harrison scowling at you and Prince Micheal muttering in his ear. That was all the confirmation you needed to know that your plan had worked. It seemed that as quickly as King Harrison had noticed your presence, a few others in the room had too. Muttering from the crowd quiets down as eyes look you up and down, gazes of curiosity or disgust watching your every move. 

Your plan had been in action since the war ended. You had specifically hired a seamstress to craft you some new gowns for the Season. You had wanted to send a message, but the dresses you would have worn back in Faliene or Haiford were too heavy and layered for the warm climate of Galanta. So, you had the seamstress craft you new gowns that had lighter, flowy fabric, revealing more skin, and most of all, looked similar to traditional Faliene wear. Faliene had a rich history lost to time; it was said that its people had been an independent city before becoming a part of the Kingdom of Haiford. The people of Faliene, all these years later, still never forgot their roots. As a child, you dressed in similar styles for events, rituals, and dances. In Haiford, you were discouraged from doing so, instead conforming to the fashion of the mainland. 

The dress you wore was a light silk, starting as a darker blue at the hem. The fabric transitioned into a lighter shade on the bodice, the colors resembling waves overlapping each other. An outer corset made of gray and spotted sealskin leather pulled in the waist. The corset was embellished with silver eyelets and black lacing in the back. The bodice itself was high-neck, buttoned at the throat, but had a diamond-shaped cut-out revealing cleavage and a silver chain necklace. The chain held a small silver trident, which was nestled between your breasts – the trident being the sigil of your house. The sleeves of the dress blended blue silk into lace; the lace was designed to look like a fishing net. Delicate silver rings lined your fingers, as well as some simple silver earrings. Your hair was swept into a braided updo, complexly layered, and placed to perfection. Your makeup was minimal; rouge was dabbed on your cheekbones, and your lips and your eyes were lined with kohl. 

But it wasn’t just your dress that had upset King Harrison – no, it was the line you had drawn from your bottom lip to your chin in black. It was a Faliene tradition to mark your face in different styles, sometimes used in rituals, during times of war, or as a statement of rank. The mark on your chin – they wouldn’t know what it meant, but you did. It was a symbol that you were a high-ranking woman and one past girlhood. 

It was a carefully calculated move you made – a bold one too. It said you were ready for marriage, but whoever married you would have to accept Faliene as well. In a way, you were directly defying King Harrison. You were saying that you would marry only the man who could provide you and your city with security. 

Such traditions had always repulsed King Harrison. He could turn a blind eye to the people of Wakanda, whose bodies were lined with scars, indicating each life they had taken in battle. He would ignore his hatred for the tattoos that decorated the skin of the Asgardians. He had always been very outspoken about his hatred for such embellishments, especially on the people of Faliene. He had instructed both you and your mother to follow Haiford's fashion. He wanted to completely rip that aspect of you from your body, to squeeze every last bit of culture and tradition out of you. He had wanted you both to be considerate and quiet ladies of Haiford. He may have succeeded in a way with your mother, but you were loud and full of contempt for the man. You would not back down. 

“Lady Y/N, you are late.” King Harrison drawls, annoyance clear in his tone. Carefully clasping your hands in front of you, your eyes scan across the room. Unblinking, you meet the stares of the other guests. A few smile while others look away. None of them had been called into the throneroom yet; instead, they were waiting in anticipation.

“It appears I am just on time, Your Majesty.” You speak, your voice steady and paired with an innocent smile. Prince Micheal appears to glower, while Princess Peggy unsuccessfully hides an amused smile. Regardless of how terrible the royals of Haiford could be, Peggy was always genuine and enjoyable at times. 

King Harrison exhales sharply from his nose, a look of displeasure crossing his features. His eyes scan your dress and face once more with a huff before he turns away. You knew he didn’t want to make a scene, especially in front of most of the royals and aristocrats of the Northern Continent. You can feel the gazes of them all burning into your back as you position yourself near the end of the line. 

The royal families were introduced first, with each one announced by a guard stationed near the throne room doors. You could hear the mutterings of the Galantian court with each new entrance. You supposed this was a way for you all to not only pay respects but also get eyes on potential contenders in this dreaded battle of courting. By the time you had reached the front of the line, there were only a handful of the lower-ranking lords and ladies left. 

“The Lady Y/N of Faliene.” The guard calls out, his voice booming through the throne room. You can already hear the muttering rise as you step onto the polished hardwood floor. It seemed that even in Galanta, your situation was notorious. You could hear the whispers of ‘the lady of the ghosts’ humming through the throne room as you walked towards the throne. Your posture was poised, your gait steady, and your gaze unwavering. You wondered if any of the aristocrats would ever have the nerve to call you The Lady of the Ghosts to your face. Prince Micheal had on several occasions, but you didn’t find such an act particularly daring for the thick-skulled prince.

The throne room was much like the rest of the castle, with light pouring in massive windows and decorated with large, intricately embroidered banners and potted plants, a cool contrast against the orange brick and stone. Other than the path that had been cleared for your walk, the room was stuffed full with the Galantian court and the guests that had already made their greetings to the King. The throne of King James was made of dark, polished wood that had been carved with ornate detailing. The carvings had been adorned with bits of gold, highlighting parts of the design. Alongside the deep emerald green padding, which made up the seat and backing, was gold embroidery. The throne itself stood on an upper level, accessible by a small series of steps. Behind the throne were two banners, proudly sporting the sigil of House Barnes. The shields were embroidered in gold thread, with a red star at their center. 

King James himself looked bored, his elbow resting on the arm of his throne in a leisurely way. You noted how one of his arms was heavily tattooed with spiraling ink of Asgardian origin. You couldn’t help but wonder why. You had heard he had injured one of his arms during the war. Asgardian tattoos were rumored to have healing properties. Maybe that was why? 

He was dressed in a light fabric tunic, dyed a dark green, with embroidery around the cuffs and neckline. The shirt held a short v-shape in the neckline, exposing some muscled chest where the lacing had pulled open. You could’ve sworn you saw the reflection of light for a moment, like he had a necklace hidden beneath the fabric. His pants were a dark black, tucked into his lace-up leather boots that reached mid-shin. Around his waist, he wore a leather belt with a sheath for a sword attached, but the sword was nowhere to be seen. Across his shoulders lay a cloak, black in color with detailing you could not see from the position he was sitting in. His fingers, which tapped against the wood of the throne, were lined with golden rings. His crown was simple, golden, and carved, half buried in his dark brunette hair, which lazily curled around the metal. 

His hand went to rub along his chiseled jaw, stroking the short stubble that had grown. When his blue eyes met yours, you could’ve sworn they were as blue as the silk of your dress. They assessed you with mild interest as you stepped forward, his dark lashes shifting as he pulled his brows together. He was handsome; you had to admit it. If the ladies maids in Haiford had swooned over Steve, you couldn’t help but wonder what their reaction to King James would have been. He had a cool arrogance to him; he was a dark, mysterious stranger that you had only read about in stories. You had heard King James was a bit of an enigma, but you hadn’t anticipated him to be so…mystical. 

Beside King James stood three men – his advisors, you presumed. You did not recognize two of them, but the third was Steve. You could tell he was trying to keep serious and do his job as the intimidating head knight. When your eyes met his, you saw his composure crack slightly, a small smile forming as he took in your appearance. You don’t dare smile back; instead, your eyes snap back to King James. You finally came to a stop, your head dipping as you curtsied for him. 

“Welcome to Galanta, Lady Y/N.” King James spoke, his voice deep and rough. You lift your head steadily, forcing yourself to relax your shoulders as you meet his stare. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” You reply with ease, your northern accent sounding strong and peculiar in comparison to his Midlandian one. You could’ve sworn there was the ghost of a smile across his face. As quickly as you thought you had seen it, it was gone. The next name is announced, and you pull your attention away, promptly finding your spot amongst the crowd. 

—

The dinner had been dull and uneventful, full of empty laughter and meaningless small talk. Unlike Haiford, Steve had been placed near the front of the table, a few seats down from King James. You supposed the King had more respect for his advisors and knights than King Harrison. It was probably for the best that you were separated from Steve; you would have been reprimanded for being seen with him after King Harrison’s warning. Steve had looked about as bored as you had felt. King James’ attention had been captured by a blushing Princess Peggy, who chatted away with him. She always knew how to say the right things and be kind; you admired her for that. King Harrison seemed pleased by the interaction, his chest puffing out as he chortled away with a drunk-looking Prince Micheal. You had observed Prince Micheal eyeing some of the ladies and princesses further down the table, licking his lips with a smirk, like he expected them to be his next meal.  

Your end of the table had been tedious. You had been seated with a group of older lords, all gray and wrinkled. They leered at you, like you were some kind of exotic beauty that didn’t understand the common tongue. It was clear there were two sides to the coin: one being men who viewed you as something disgusting that could be tamed with a heavy hand – a foreign seductress who could be molded into a proper lady. The other men viewed you with lustful gazes; they did not care what or who you were as long as you showed flesh. It made your skin crawl. By the end of the dinner, you had considered drinking yourself into an early grave. You hadn’t bothered to learn the lords' names, instead searing their faces in your mind so you could remember to avoid them. 

Most guests had returned to their rooms, tired from the previous days of travel. Your maid, Rosa, had shown you to the royal library. While you had been preparing to undress for the night, she had asked if you had any plans before you slept. You had expected her to recoil when you mentioned you liked to read before bed, but instead she insisted you go and borrow a book. It had surprised you, almost like she had been anticipating the comment. 

Now you stood in the candlelight, the last rays of the sun casting a warm, orange glow onto the dark wooden shelves. The library was massive, bigger than the one in Haiford. It had multiple levels, with books stacked higher than you could reach. The library was decorated with chairs, tables, and cushions. Even the windows featured small reading nooks and quilted blankets folded into neat piles. 

Rosa had left you alone in the library, allowing you to navigate through the labyrinth of shelves, dodging between piles of books and scrolls that littered the floor. It was clear people came here to study; you could see tables abandoned with research scrawled across loose pieces of paper. Your fingers trailed across the spines of the books, breathing in the dusty scent of paper and leather. 

You paused, a pang in your stomach as you recognized a title. Your finger had landed on a short, thick book. The edges were fraying, and the cloth and leather binding were ragged. You carefully pulled the book from the shelf, running your palm across the silver lettering. A History of Chess. With a short sigh, you slide open the cover. The blank page that meets your eyes fills you with disappointment, even though you knew the scrawl you had been anticipating would not be there. Your father had gifted you a copy of A History of Chess on one of your birthdays. He had taught you how to play, teaching you how to be ruthless and unpredictable. He had been the only one who had ever beaten you at chess. When he gave you the book, he had written a short note inside. 

‘To my daughter, be as relentless and sharp in life as you are in chess.’  

That book now remained in the Faliene library, along with all the other books that had been left behind. Your father had read nearly all of them, and he had encouraged you to do the same. He wanted you to be clever and brilliant, not just another lady with wasted potential due to societal pressures. You missed him terribly. Sometimes you wondered if he had been the only person in the world to truly understand you. 

“I thought I would find you here.” A familiar voice pulls you from your trance, a sound of surprise reaching your lips as you jump in fright. 

“Gods, Steve. Are you trying to kill me?” You gasp, clutching the book to your chest. He grins lopsidedly at you, leaning against the bookshelf. The light from the setting sun makes his blonde hair glow orange. He was dressed casually in comparison to dinner, obviously opting to change from his knight's uniform into a simple tunic and pants, though his sword was still attached to his belt. 

“I like it when you call me that.” He says, still grinning. You roll your eyes at him, slapping his chest lightly with the book. The first time you accidentally called him by his first name, he looked like he was ready to explode with joy. He had made befriending you a personal goal, which you had deciphered, and being on a first-name basis meant he had succeeded. 

“King Harrison will have my head if he sees me talking to you.” You grumble, walking a few steps further into the isle. You were aware of the distance between the two of you as well as the fact that this was a public library. The wrong person could walk by at any moment, and any hope of finding a husband other than Rumlow or a withering lord was lost. 

“Is there ever a time when King Harrison doesn’t want your head?” Steve chuckles as you scowl, trying to locate where on the shelf you pulled the book from. As much as you were happy to see Steve, he was jumbling your thoughts. You hated that King Harrison’s words had crawled under your skin. Maybe it was just the circumstances of your mother coughing up blood in the other room that unnerved you. 

“He warned me to stay away from you.” You explain, and Steve arches his brows at you as if it is news to him. “I don’t think the two of us being discovered unchaperoned in a dark library will help.” 

“You’re not unchaperoned.” A husky voice announces itself from the next bookshelf over. You nearly drop the book in fright, stepping away from the end of the shelf as King James rounds the corner, sporting a mischievous smirk. You're at a loss for words for a brief moment, snapping shut your gaping mouth as you attempt to compose yourself. 

“Your Majesty,” You gasp out, nearly knocking into Steve as you take a step back. Steve’s hand finds your shoulder, steadying you as you send him an irritated look. Why had he not mentioned that King James was lingering around the corner? Especially with the highly inappropriate conversation the two of you were having. 

“Please, no need to bother with formalities. Just James is fine.” James explains, his hand running through his hair. Your eyes watch the brunette tendrils tangle around his tattooed fingers. Clearing your throat awkwardly, you step closer to the narrow bookshelf to gain some space between yourself and Steve. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Oh, it is fine. I dare say I invited it, wandering around so close to dark.” You politely say, hyper-aware of Steve watching the interaction with a pleased look. Making an enemy of the King of Galanta was not on your list of things to do this Season, so you would be as polite as possible. You could imagine Steve’s amusement at that – the Lady of Faliene being polite? 

“I wanted to meet the woman who helped plan the Hiwold Expanse attack. Sir Rogers here said you have a love for books and that we might find you in the library.” James explains, mimicking Steve’s earlier actions of leaning against the bookshelf. You press your lips together, eyeing Steve with a sidelong glance. What had he been saying about you to King James?

“I wouldn’t say I helped plan, merely made some suggestions–” You begin to protest.

“She is modest. If it weren’t for her observations, we would have been drowning in Hydrinan men while stuck in a pool of mud.” Steve boasts, you bite your tongue so as not to scowl at the man. This was cruelty; you had not expected Steve to act on his little scheme. It was clear from your last dinner in Haiford that he thought you and James would be a match; you thought it was absurd. In fact, this whole situation was absurd, lingering between the tight isles of bookshelves with the King of Galanta and his head knight. If anyone saw? You couldn’t imagine the gossip that would consume the castle. 

“You seem to have an eye for battle planning, it is good that your talent is not wasted. I wouldn't mind King Harrison, he is threatened by anyone he deems more intelligent than himself, and I’m sure that list is long. It makes sense as to why Prince Micheal has the wit of a small rodent.” Bucky comments, a bitterness to his tone. You continue to hold your tongue as Steve snickers at the quip. You felt wary about playing along, as if this were some kind of test. Steve had spoken of James’ dislike for Prince Micheal before, but you didn’t expect him to declare it so openly. 

“That would be more of an insult to the rodent, Prince Micheal has the same amount of intellect as a pile of shit on the street.” Steve laughs, and you send him a shocked look as he speaks so freely in front of James. You clearly underestimated how close friends they were. Either that or they were toying with you.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. You’re allowed to laugh. I know that your idea of fun is making the lords squirm, but I have heard all the unsavory words you have spoken about Prince Micheal previously.” Steve says, spotting your unimpressed look. You swallow hard, feeling the expectant gaze of James’ burning into the side of your face. 

“I fear you already know my opinion on the Prince, I do not need to restate it.” You reply sharply, giving Steve an innocent smile. He just chuckles, reaching out to pry the book from your hands. 

“You play?” James asks, noting the title of the book as Steve moves to flick through it. You go to reply, but Steve has already cut in as he pretends to read the book. 

“She does more than that, never witnessed a soul beat her. She left Wilson near tears after one match.”

“Why are you boasting about me? I am not some broodmare up for sale at auction.” You mutter, reaching over to snatch the book from his grasp. Steve looks up at you with a cheeky expression, holding the book out of your reach. 

“Because you are too cautious when meeting new people, they assume you are rude.” Steve states, dangling the book in front of your face like you are a street cat to be toyed with. 

“Then how did we become friends if you thought I was rude?” You remark, narrowing your eyes at the knight. 

“Well, you were too busy giving Sir Walker a tonguelashing to be bothered with me.” Steve retorts with a grin, and you flush in embarrassment. Had Steve told James that story? You weren’t bugged by what you had done and said, but rather by how James might interpret your silver tongue. 

“I’m sure Sir Walker deserved it.” James hums, speaking up for the first time in awhile. You are pleasantly surprised by his casualness. He has an amused look in his eye, watching the two of you interact so carelessly. 

“He did.” You reply before thinking, earning a smile from both men. “Now, I should return to my rooms before it gets too late.” You go to snatch the book once more, but Steve just laughs tauntingly at you as he pulls it away further from your grasp. 

“Would you have time for a game first?” James asks. You pause your movements, turning to face him in surprise. King Harrison had definitely infected your view of Kings. You always expected them to be uptight and full of themselves, never able to have fun or joke around, especially around women like yourself. Was it because James was young and new to being king? Or was it because he had a genuine interest in befriending you? 

“Of chess?” You question, confused. 

“Yes. Forgive me, but I am curious and arrogant enough to want to break your unbeatable streak.” James clarifies with a chuckle. You stewed on it for a moment, catching the persuasive looks Steve was sending your way. 

“I suppose I have time to bruise another ego.” You reluctantly agree, only to be met with a grin from both men.  

They guide you through the maze of bookshelves, talking and laughing between themselves as you try to memorize the route. The deeper you go, the taller the bookshelves seem, with only candlelight able to guide you as the setting sun finally dips beyond the horizon. In one of the corners, a small table stands. It’s made from the same dark oak as the shelves, and its feet are carved to look like lion’s paws. Even in the candlelight, you can see the reflection of the copper that embellishes the claws. The seating is similarly crafted, with the classic Galantian green fabric covering the seat and backing. 

You follow in suit as James and Steve take a seat, watching as James organizes his pieces on the board. It seemed like someone had left it mid-game, with carved ivory pieces scattered across the checkered bottom. James had offered you the white side, meaning you started first. It was debated if going first meant that you inherently had an advantage, but you knew he was just doing it to be gentlemanly. 

“Ladies first.” James says, presenting his hand forward as he motions for you to begin. You finish straightening up your pieces, fingers dancing over your queen’s pawn as you open the game. 

With each movement, you are poised and delicate, aware of James’ burning gaze. You wonder if he’s trying to see if you let emotion slip or if he is trying to interpret your next move. As much as you try to deny it, a part of you wants to impress him. You can read every line in his face and every twitch of his lip or brow as he moves his pieces across the board. Steve watches intently in silence, completely still, with a knowing smile. 

After some time in the midgame, you can tell James is growing restless and bored. It was your style of play; he had never experienced it before. Still, you are met with a pang of disappointment that he has given up on you so easily. Your style wasn’t to rush in and attack; no, you hung back, waiting and anticipating. You were most ruthless in the endgame. Your father had described you as a mountain cat, blended in with the snow and rocks, ready to pounce. The men you had played before had always thought by midgame that they were going to win. Their excitement or boredom had been their downfall. They became cocky and sloppy, not checking every corner because they believed you were incapable. 

The moment you see that look of disappointment in James’ eyes, like he had expected more from you, you know it is your time to strike. You can feel Steve holding his breath beside you as James takes another one of your pieces, officially bringing you into the endgame. James thought he was going to win. He thought he had played you into a corner, outwitted you, and outsmarted you. 

There was a sense of satisfaction in reaching forward and moving your piece in an unexpected way. You could see the surprise flash in James’ eyes and the sharp intake of breath that Steve took. James, to his credit, tried to stop your ambush. He moved his piece in an expected way to such an attack, but in his haste, he hadn’t anticipated your next move. He had fallen directly into your trap. 

As you moved your pieces, James looked at you with wide-eyed surprise. His eyes flickered at Steve, as if asking him to confirm what he was seeing was true. You rested your elbows on the table, tilting your head as you rested it on your hands. You watched the thoughts tick through James’ mind as he tried to come up with a solution or a plan. It was already too late. Your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest, but you still held yourself composed. 

“Do you see it?” You asked, breaking the silence. James’ eyes snapped to yours, a smile forming across his face. He looked impressed – near delighted that you had outsmarted him. You hadn’t anticipated the joy that filled your body at such a look. 

“I do. You live up to your reputation.” James replied. With a chuckle, he knocks his king over. Steve is grinning ear to ear when you look over at him. A part of you wants to stay, have another game, and chat with the two men. But you know it is improper. The time you had already spent together was dangerous. It was best not to push your luck. With a sigh, you stand. 

“I should take my leave; it is late.” You explain, glancing at the darkened windows. Outside, you can see the glow of the city below: thousands of candles burning in the windows of homes, shops, and taverns. 

“Of course. Thank you for the game, we will have to play again another time.” James says, near-rushing to his feet. You are nearly frozen in shock as he reaches out for your hand, pressing your knuckles to his lips with a kiss. Steve stands with a smirk, offering you the copy of A History of Chess that he had taken from you. You clear your throat, thanking the gods that you managed to keep a straight face.

“Goodnight, gentlemen.” You breathe, offering them both a smile. They utter a low ‘goodnight’ in return. You swear you can feel their gaze on you even after you hurry your way through the winding bookshelves. 

—

Your moment of peace wandering back through the dark halls was short-lived as a voice captured your attention. 

“The Lady of the Ghosts. It seems you are trying to become a ghost yourself, haunting these halls at this time of night.” Prince Micheal spoke from the darkness. You recognized his voice instantly, turning to face him as he ascended the nearby staircase. You could tell he was drunk; there was a slur to his voice, and his movements were sloppy. His shirt had been pulled open, exposing the top of his bare chest. You could see a lip-shaped patch of rouge smeared across his neck. 

“Maybe I am just here to haunt you? It seems you have had fun sampling the Galantian ale and women.” You reply with a sneer, pulling the copy of A History of Chess close to your chest. Most of your interactions with Prince Micheal went this way, with him insulting you until he finally got bored. He was just looking to torment you when no one was looking. Usually, you would let it slide and walk away with an air of annoyance. Tonight, you had a newfound confidence. Maybe it was because you were in a foreign kingdom, one where King Harrison’s reach wasn’t as strong. One where the King didn’t look at you and treat you like a piece of livestock to be bought and sold. Besides, if you were to be engaged by the end of the season, it was doubtful that you would have to return to Haiford Court to account for any insults committed against the royal family. 

“You can’t speak. Why are you wandering around? Off visiting your dear Sir Rogers?” He taunted, stumbling forward so he was closer to your face. You could smell the reek of ale and women’s perfume on him. His breath was coming out in rasps as he chuckled darkly, eyes wandering your face and figure. You lift your chin slightly, not letting the comment strike as intended. 

“Tell me, are the women here as good as the ones on the eastern front?” You drawl with an innocent smile. The eastern front had been where Micheal had been positioned during the war, where he spent more time drinking and whoring than fighting, much to the contempt of his men. Micheal’s smirk falls from his face and is instead replaced with a look of outrage. He didn’t like that you were fighting back; he liked making people feel weak. 

With an irritated noise, he snatches your arm. His fingers latch around your wrist with a bruising grip, pulling you closer until you can feel his foul breath on your face. You try to pull away, but he only pulls you closer with a furious scowl. 

“You best mind your tongue, witch.” He spits at you, “I hope even Rumlow doesn't want you, you worthless bitch. I’ll make sure they send you away to Hydrina like they did Princess Rebecca. I would find delight in hearing the ways they torture a woman like you.”

You blink in surprise, unnerved by both his tone and words. He was more drunk than you had realized; he was shaking, his face turning red, and a vein in his forehead was popping out. It wasn’t the cruel words he had spoken that shocked you, but the fact that he had the confidence to state them in the ancestral home of House Barnes. 

Princess Rebecca had been King James’ younger sister. She was the reason the war with Hydrina began in the first place. Galanta and Hydrina had always had a tumultuous relationship. Hydrina were interesting people with a complex culture, as many of the farmers were also raiders. They made their fortune by sailing to the Southern Continents, pillaging small villages, and stealing their goods. Many of the people of Hydrina originated from the Southern Continent, having been brought over against their will. They would either work the land under the iron fist of a master or earn their place as warriors by killing said master. The people of Hydrina respected strength over all else; their king was appointed by slaying any competition, even if that competition was a child of a previous king. 

Galanta had issues for years with the rising tension between their Kingdom and the Kingdom of Hydrina. The raiders of Hydrina often attacked small villages along the border, which created an outcry among the peaceful farmers of Galanta. As a means of making peace, Galanta offered to marry Princess Rebecca to the King of Hydrina, a man by the name of Alexander Pierce. It seemed something had gone terribly wrong with the marriage, as shortly afterwards it was announced that Princess Rebecca had been killed by her own husband. She had been beloved by many in Galanta, so it was unsurprising when King James’ parents waged war against Hydrina. After King James parent’s deaths, King James continued the war against Hydrina. It had only ended when he managed to infiltrate the capital and destroy King Alexander once and for all. 

“Is something wrong here?” The familiar, deep voice of James asks. Steve had his hand on the hilt of his sword, surveying the scene with a look of displeasure. They must have left the library not long after you, and you were partly grateful for that. You can’t help but worry about how much of the conversation they overheard. James’ face is pulled into a look of resentment, his shoulders tensed, and you can see even the muscles in his jaw are clenched. 

There was an unspoken rule, and that was to never mention Princess Rebecca in front of Galantians. It was a reminder of their weakness and failure. The marriage had been highly debated; many felt that the royals were rewarding the Hydrinan raiders by gifting Princess Rebecca. When she was killed, many felt that the royals had become inadequate and failed to protect their only daughter. It had been a cause for celebration when James had finally slain King Alexander and found justice for his younger sister. 

“No, Your Majesty. Prince Micheal appears to have lost his way, in more ways than one.” You speak up, breaking the tense silence. With a huff, you rip your arm from Micheal’s grip. Micheal looks between you and the two Galantian men, deciding better on any insult he was about to throw your way. You gather your skirts, turning away from the group to return to your room. 

“Lady Y/N–” Steve calls out softly, concern laced in his voice. You ignore him, deciding this was not the time to encourage any rumors about the two of you. Instead, you cast one last disgusted look at Prince Micheal.  “Do sleep on your side, my Prince. I would hate for you to choke.” You spit at him. His mouth opens in shock, and James and Steve seem to try and hide their own surprised smiles. You don’t offer the three of them a second glance, instead walking away before they can speak.

chapter three

taglist| @kimomoraba @sweetwritingfanficfriend @gostodosopa

[lilolilyr]

Tagged by @banashee to post 10 of my favorite comfort movies and then tag 10 people, thanks! <3 just had a look at yours again after writing mine, we agree on LotR :D and adsfg I really need to watch Rocky Horror one of these days (I've seen it live before, but never the movie I think?? Oupsie xD fast ne Bildungslücke!)

1. Lord of the Rings (whole trilogy but if I have to choose one then Return of the King)

Comfort movie: battles and darkness and Winning

A++

2. Racing Stripes

(The film's in colour but it looks like this is the only gif I can find when I type in the title lmao)

One of a handful of taped movie me and my sister watched on repeat as a kid. Big nostalgia

3. Chestnut: Hero of Central Park

I can't find a gif for that one at all, but it's another cute kids movie I used to watch A Lot and still sometimes return to for the comfort of nostalgia and safety

4. Monte Carlo

I love all those silly switcharoo films, also the princess switch and its sequels etc, but Monte Carlo was the first one I watched and I still love to watch it for some mindless destress entertainment xD

Ummmm okay what else we got, I can't actually easily think of comfort!movies, I've got a whole bunch of comfort TV shows that come to mind, and movies I love but that aren't exactly /comfort/... *Goes through my Ao3 fandom list* no nothing clicks nothing clicks... Oh!

5. Pitch Perfect

Just the first one tbh, I mean the others are fun too but this one's a comfort film for me!

6. murder, she said

I adore Miss Marple, and this version of Miss Marple specifically! I've watched this one so many times :)

7. The Parent Trap

It's cute. Okay? It's cute xD and I've probably watched this version at least as often as the German one I'll add next, probably bc this one was on TV more often? Idk, I couldn't actually say which one I like more

8. Charlie & Louise

Again no gifs on here, but I adore this film! Also as you can maybe tell I'm actually running out of ideas and the Real comfort would be reading the book version of Das Doppelte Lottchen that both this and the parent trap are loosely based on xD my mom still has an old hardcover version and I've always adored that book, wished I had a twin whenever I read it as a kid!

9. Pride and Prejudice

Alright so th Colin Firth series version is better and the YouTube Lizzie's diaries or what it is is the best anyway but we're doing movies here and the Keira Knightley version Is definitely a comfort film for me so here goes

Ok so there are Definitely pride and prejudice gifs somewhere on tumblr. It just won't show them in the search results for sommme reason. Seems to be because it has the word 'pride' in it, because whenever I type that it switches to the 'create your own gif' error image. @staff what's up with that? Latent homophobia again?

10. Kyss Mig

First wlw film I ever watched, I still remember watching it (on mute, with English subtitles, there's no German or English dub anyway) in my parents' living room when I was 12 or so, with the computer display turned away from everyone else, actually pretending to be on tumblr (the rule was we had to be at least in the same room for evening family time even if I was uninterested in whatever movie or sports the others were watching but I was allowed to be on tumblr) and trying not to show any reaction to the screen bc at the time I had no idea what my parents' stance regarding LGBT ppl was (parents, tell your kids when you're okay with them being gay, bc they might be and they won't just Know that you're okay with that!), and idk I've had friends tell me it's not their fav film and maybe it's mainly the nostalgia for me but I still absolutely adore this movie and have rewatched it many times

Tagging my mutuals, friends and collaborators <3 @toboldlynerd @lavendelhummel @squishmittenficfan @purlturtle @mimi-mindless @asstraightasau-turn @katieswain123 @verajasmijnart @artax-risen @bookgirlfan only if you want to do it of course! :) & pls lmk if you'd rather I didn't tag you in the future!

Edit: looking at old posts in my 'movie tag' and 'comfort movies' tags now like omg! Of course! Mr&Mrs Smith, Lara Croft, Mean Girls, Carol..... Also I only just thought of Miss Congeniality! Adsfghjkl I really have 0 memory sometimes!

[kepamount]

I posted 4,255 times in 2022

That's 4,255 more posts than 2021!

2,795 posts created (66%)

1,460 posts reblogged (34%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

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I tagged 3,006 of my posts in 2022

Only 29% of my posts had no tags

#blue moon 🌙 - 357 posts

#lovely anon xo - 340 posts

#loves &lt;3 - 84 posts

#🧜‍♀️ anon - 75 posts

#mason mount - 51 posts

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#mason mount fluff - 45 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#it’s easier to say ‘i’m from 15 minutes down the road from birmingham’ than it is to say ‘i’m from sandwell have you heard of it?’ 😭

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

You Right

kepa arrizabalaga, based on You Right by Doja Cat and The Weeknd - smut, fluff, angst (kinda)

Rating: M (minors, pls do not read this!!)

Word Count: 10.2k+ (i’m sorry 😭)

Warnings: alcohol consumption, strong language, toxic relationship, infidelity, flirting and sexual tension, explicit sex, pet names (in Spanish 😩), body worship (I think??? he kisses her all over lmaoo), fingering, dirty talk, praise and degradation, unprotected penetrative sex, exhibitionism, he gags y/n with his tie lol, choking, i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything pls!!

a/n: it’s finally here! first of all, my spanish is rusty so pls don’t judge if there’s anything mistakes 💀 second, this is a cheating fic so don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with infidelity! finally, please enjoy and lmk what you think!! <33

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288 notes - Posted March 8, 2022

#4

Blue Moon 🌙

Mason Mount social media au - e2l, comedy, crack humour, fluff, angst and smut

Rating: Mature (explicit smut, recreational drug usage, dirty humour, strong language)

y/n is fast becoming the ‘It Girl’ of her generation. A successful music career, critically-renowned performance skills, a wildly popular cosmetics company, brand partnerships piling up, and the ability to make something sell out just by mentioning it on her Twitter. With beauty, brains and a slightly terrible sense of humour, the whole world is falling more in love with her and her friends by the day. Well,��almost the whole world. A certain Chelsea starboy doesn’t seem to share the same affections...

a/n: if you guys wanna be added to the taglist, just comment or drop me an ask!! hope you enjoy xo

simi’s navigation

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416 notes - Posted January 24, 2022

#3

best mistake

universityjock!mason x cheerleader!y/n, loosely based on best mistake by ariana grande - smut, mild angst, a little bit of fluff if you squint

word count: 10.4k+

warnings: exes au, very toxic dynamic, strong language, threats of violence (y/n just wants to beat the shit out of mason), mason is a complete dickhead and a total pervert and an annoying little shit, sexual tension, dirty jokes, dirty talk, explicit sex, unprotected sex, hate sex but also not really hate sex, dom!mason and sub!reader, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, degradation and praise, pet names, choking, public sex, mild exhibitionism, standing sex, overstimulation, i'm pretty sure that's everything but lmk if you think i missed something!

a/n: hey guys! i literally wrote this in the last 24 hours so it's super rushed, pls ignore any mistakes bc it's not been properly proofread yet! i think i've decided to do the ariana grande series as individual stories, so this is the next instalment of the series! i rly hope you guys enjoy, lmk what you think! x

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482 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

#2

goodnight n go

mason mount, based on 'goodnight n go' by ariana grande - fluff and angst

word count: 5.6k+ (i'm so sorry 😭)

a/n: pls ignore any mistakes, i haven't proofread properly yet 💀 i rly hope you guys enjoy, lmk what you think! &lt;3

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594 notes - Posted April 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

what we saw:

what they saw:

920 notes - Posted February 27, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[fromkaermorhentolettenhove]

Temptation

Summary: When a bit of cabin fever hits Kaer Morhen, Geralt finds a solution in a wandering Incubus

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Canon Universe, Incubus!Jaskier, Established Eskel/Lambert, Foursome, Trans!Lambert, First Meetings

Additional Tags: Anal, Vaginal Sex/Fingering, Spitroasting, Blow Jobs, Consensual

Words: 1973

A/N: Lmao i have to go to work in like five minutes but if you have any more ideas for this au/situation, pls send them my way!!!

-

AO3

or

Geralt has had enough of Lambert and Eskel’s bickering. 

Without a word, he’s left the safety of the keep and into the harsh winter cold. The brisk air clears his senses as he marches through the snow, muttering to himself about the pettiness of the argument. Really, the two should just take it out in the sword ring, but Geralt’s in no mood to tell them so. 

In the thick of the forest, Geralt finally breathes his sigh of relief and embraces the chill. It’s so peaceful. He could just set up a camp here for the rest of the winter, alone and content. 

Except, he’s not alone. 

Sword already drawn, Geralt whips around, stopping his blade just before the neck of his stalker. Before him stands a man, brown hair, bright blue eyes with a grin to match, and thin clothing that could hardly keep anyone warm. He is a fool, but more than that, Geralt can smell the magic radiating off of him, the deceit and treachery. 

“Come now, Witcher,” the man holds his hands up in mock defense. “Are you really going to kill an innocent man?”

“If you were either of those, I’d already have put my sword away,” Geralt growls back. 

The man laughs and to Geralt’s surprise, presses closer to the blade. It’s enough to draw blood, but as the scent fills Geralt’s nose, the wound starts to heal over, distracing Geralt from his tumultuous thoughts.

“I only take my fill,” the man answers, a small smile still on his face. “My lovers come to me willingly and leave on their own accord.”

Geralt has heard this story before and he’s not about to be swayed any time soon. “Then perhaps some of your kind might still be alive.”

The man shrugs at this and pushes Geralt’s sword away with his finger tips. The sword falls away with ease, Geralt staring at it as if he doesn’t have control over his own muscles. All he has to do is slice and the whole ordeal will be over with. Yet, something stays his hand, as if he is grateful for this unusual meeting. 

“What will you do with me then, Witcher?” the man breathes, daring to take a step closer. 

Geralt grips tight onto his sword, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, a subtle temptation enters his mind, an offering laid on the table. He really shouldn’t. It could jeopardize the safety of the keep. Then again, he’s got three other witchers on his side and one taste couldn’t hurt. 

“I’m not falling for your tricks, Incubus,” Geralt snarls, trying to fight off the growing curiosity. 

The man chuckles at this, shaking his head. “I’m not doing anything. In fact, I’m suppressing my powers right now. It is you who is falling.”

Geralt swallows, the click loud in his ears as his own words betray him. He’s lost it. After all these years of being a witcher, he is finally losing control of his mind. His resolve grows weaker by the second and then Geralt decides he has nothing to lose. At least, not this winter. 

With a grunt, Geralt grabs the man by the wrist and charges towards the keep, his teeth grinding together as the man laughs. 

“Oh, Witcher, I think we’ll have fun.”

Geralt purses his lips, ignoring the warmth of the man’s skin. “It’s Geralt,” he mutters. 

“And I’m Jaskier,” the man answers, quickening his steps to walk alongside Geralt. “I would ask you to lighten your grip on my wrist, but I don’t think you have any intention of letting me go.”

Ignoring the wink, Geralt loosens his hold just a little as they trudge up the steep slopes. Somehow, Jaskier manages to keep up with no complaint and when they enter the courtyard of the keep, he reeks of nothing but lust. Geralt shivers, his own needs surfacing as he drags Jaskier through the doors, yelling out Lambert’s and Eskel’s names. At this, Jaskier’s face lights up and Geralt submits to the losing battle within him. Without waiting for the others, Geralt charges to his room, all but throwing Jaskier down on the bed. 

With a bright laugh, Jaskier transforms, his clothes disappearing as horns sprout out of his head, a tail snaking out from underneath him. 

“Eager, aren’t we?” he teases. 

Geralt only grunts in reply, ridding himself of his own clothes before climbing on top of Jaskier, shutting him up with a firm kiss. The hands on Geralt’s thighs send a shiver up his spine and he opens his mouth to taste more of Jaskier. Their tongues sweep against each other, pulling moans out of the two of them as their needs only grow. Just as Geralt takes hold of Jaskier’s cock, thudding footsteps clamor into the room and Geralt breaks from the kiss to look at Eskel and Lambert. 

“What the fuck,” Lambert says eloquently for himself and Eskel. 

Geralt sits up, glaring at the witchers. “Get some steam off. I’m sick of listening to the two of you fight.”

Jaskier’s laughter fills the room and it breaks the spell holding onto Eskel and Lambert. Lambert is bare in an instant, forcing Geralt to move down so he can sit on top of Jaskier. He greedily takes Jaskier’s mouth with his own and Geralt is given a clear view of the wetness between his legs. Quickly licking his fingers, Geralt reaches down, rubbing Lambert’s clit and lips. His shaking legs are a beautiful sight, matched only by the moan that Jaskier swallows down. 

“Eskel?” Geralt asks, looking towards the last companion as he starts to finger Lambert. 

“Just...biding my time,” Eskel mutters as he removes the last of his clothing. 

Eskel always did like to watch, but the fact he isn’t on the bed yet worries Geralt. The hesitation is clear in Eskel’s eyes, ever the concerned lover. 

“It’s three witchers and one incubus. We can handle him,” Geralt reassures. 

At this, Lambert and Jaskier break their kiss, both turning to look at Eskel. Lambert pushes himself deeper onto Geralt’s fingers, throwing his head back while Jaskier massages his thighs. 

“As I was telling your wonderful friend, Geralt, here, I only take what I need,” Jaskier flashes a grin. “And Lambert is a pretty sight, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You all are,” Eskel lets slip and ducks his head while Geralt bites back his grin. 

Jaskier holds out a beckoning hand and that’s all it takes to bring Eskel over. He lays down next to Jaskier, rubbing his leaking cock against Jaskier’s thigh while running a hand along his chest. 

“If only all lovers were as thoughtful as you,” Jaskier sighs, bringing Eskel in for a kiss. 

It’s entrancing, watching Eskel and Jaskier, but Geralt is interrupted by Lambert’s nails digging into his thigh, his wet hole clenching around Geralt’s fingers. Geralt soothes him with kisses along his neck and guides him to Jaskier’s cock, removing his fingers before lowering Lambert down. Lambert takes Jaskier’s cock easily, letting himself sit with the fullness before beginning to move. 

“Oh, Lambert, you feel like heaven,” Jaskier moans, shifting his hips to match Lambert’s rhythm. 

“You know much about that?” Lambert teases breathlessly, bracing one hand on Eskel’s side, the other on Jaskier’s stomach. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jaskier manages to reply before Eskel captures his mouth again. 

Geralt could watch this forever, this mesmerizing scene of pure sex. He almost forgets his own neglected cock until he glances down to see the slick between Jaskier’s legs. Lambert’s wetness is beginning to mix with it and Geralt shivers, knowing what awaits him. Pulling at Jaskier’s legs, he is careful not to interrupt Lambert’s pleasure as he lines his cock up with Jaskier’s hole. As he pushes in, Geralt groans at the hot tightness that engulfs his cock, how ready Jaskier is with no need for preparation. It’s almost too much, but Geralt holds back his orgasm, resting his forehead against Lambert’s back. 

“Come now, Eskel,” Jaskier breathes. 

Glancing over Lambert’s shoulder, Geralt holds his breath as Eskel braces himself over Jaskier, his cock slowly sinking into Jaskier’s mouth. At this, Geralt can’t help but thrust sharply into Jaskier and mingled groans fill the room. The four take it slow at first, finding a matched pace but then, the hungry desire takes over. Eskel grabs onto one of Jaskier’s horns as he thrusts into that greedy mouth, losing himself to the talent of Jaskier and his tongue. If it wasn’t for Lambert’s hand on his back, Eskel would have lost his balance. 

“Fuck, you should have his mouth next time, Lambert,” Eskel moans. “He’ll make good work of your clit.”

“I want all of him,” Lambert gasps. “If I knew incubi could be like this, I would have had one sooner.”

Jaskier moans as he slams his cock into Lambert, matching Geralt’s harsh thrusts. 

“You two talk too much,” Geralt growls, reaching around to rub Lambert’s clit. 

Lambert throws his head back with a near shout, hand flying to grip tight onto Geralt’s hair. The mix of pain and pleasure shoots to Geralt’s cock and he pushes Jaskier forward with a rough thrust. Jaskier gags around Eskel’s cock, but he doesn’t pull away, instead swallowing Eskel to the hilt. It’s enough to send Eskel to the edge and he spills into Jaskier’s mouth with a heavy groan.

When Jaskier has sucked him dry, Eskel falls to the side, watching the three with bleary eyes. 

“You were wonderful,” Jaskier praises as he resumes his fucking of Lambert. “I can’t wait to see what else that cock of yours can do.”

His tail flicks over, but before Eskel can do anything, Geralt grabs hold of it, giving the tail a sharp tug. 

“We’re not finished,” Geralt grits out.

Jaskier’s eyes roll back, a gasp leaving him as his back arches. His cock slams into Lambert and Lambert shouts as he orgasms, slick sliding down Jaskier’s stomach in tear-like trails. Collapsing onto Jaskier, Lambert leaves Jaskier’s cock inside of him, letting Jaskier hold him close as Geralt chases his own release. 

Within a few more thrusts, Jaskier and Geralt succumb to their orgasm, seed filling up Lambert and Jaskier until the three men are shaking. 

It’s almost too quiet now, but the men don’t rush to say anything as Eskel helps clean them off. 

Once wiped down, the four arrange themselves on the bed, Geralt behind Jaskier and Eskel behind Lambert as Lambert and Jaskier curl into each other. It’s peaceful, but the reality of the situation sinks back in as Geralt runs his fingers along Jaskier’s horns. 

“Will you be leaving us tonight then?” he asks, making brief eye contact with Eskel and Lambert. 

The two don’t bother to hide their disappointment and their shoulders sag just a little as Jaskier stiffens.

He turns to Geralt with a slight frown, as if Geralt had spoken in tongues instead of asking a question. “I’d be a fool to forget the three of you so soon. And, we can’t have Eskel and Lambert fighting again, can we?”

“Hey,” Lambert protests amongst Eskel’s small laugh. 

Already, Geralt can see their argument fading away as Eskel caresses Lambert’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to his temple. In fact, Geralt doesn’t even remember what their fight was about and Jaskier isn’t going to let him remember, capturing Geralt’s lips in a soft kiss. 

Perhaps he and his fellow witchers are under some kind of spell, but Geralt can’t find it in himself to care. For now, his companions are happy with Jaskier bringing a warmth Geralt hadn’t realized he had been missing. 

Wrapping his arms tight around Jaskier, Geralt begins to drift off and a small smile finds its way onto his face as Jaskier’s tail flicks at his nose.

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

I wanted to draw his new facial markings so HERE WE ARE HGKSDFMOAWE 

He really do be copying monkey king hard in this new season, huh? kSKDFMOAWEHF

[myersesque]

Do you have any horror movies to recommend for someone just getting into the genre? I’m down with almost anything as long as it doesn’t take place in a psych ward. If that’s too much work you can totally ignore this!

oh boy do i!!! sorry for this taking so long, i started infodumping a little and i wanted to include, like, a decently-sized list.

general warning tht this is based entirely on my own personal taste, and i tend to like shitty (quality-wise) movies sometimes. i'll try n include whatever trigger warnings i can think of so u can pick n choose what ur willing to sit thru! (general TW for blood/gore, obviously)

the evil dead (1981), evil dead 2 (1987) & army of darkness (1992):

these r all part of one series*, n one of my comfort franchises!! evil dead is notorious for bouncing around genres - the first movie is straight-up horror w some comedy, the 2nd is horror-comedy, and the 3rd is slapsticky action comedy w a bit of horror thrown in. it's got sick low-budget sfx, n was directed by sam raimi! the basic plot synopsis is that a group of college students go to spend a weekend in a cabin in the woods, accidentally discover something called the necronomicon ex mortis, and end up summoning otherworldly demons ("deadites"). ash (one of the characters) is one of my fav horror protags ever, and also definitely trans if u ask me. the entire evil dead franchise is pretty much just bruce campbell being a himbo and everything going wrong, it’s a fun time [TW: demonic possession, brief sexual assault (two scenes, in the 1st n 2nd movies; everyone who worked on it agrees they were done entirely for shock value, and u can probably find an edit that cuts them out, or timestamps to skip them), general vulgarity (deadites have mouths on em), self harm (one scene in the 2nd movie), body horror (deadites aren't pretty), emeto] * the series is continued in the show "ash vs the evil dead", however that contains a brief psych ward subplot in one of the seasons, so i'm not including it in this list. those themes are absent from the movies, though!

the fly (1986):

i never shut up abt this movie, ever. it's absolutely devastating. it's a tragic romance and a scifi horror movie all rolled into one. in the movie, a scientist by the name of seth brundle has invented teleportation, and has enlisted reporter veronica quaife to tell his story. one night, seth is drunk and upset and teleports himself - not noticing that a fly is in the telepod with him. the machine is only programmed to handle 1 thing at once, so it accidentally fuses seth and the fly together, causing him to slowly transform into a half-bug-half-human monster. it's absolutely heartbreaking and also the best thing i've ever seen jeff goldblum in tbh. (it's a remake of an old 50s movie of the same name, though this version is a lot sadder afaik) this isn't rlly a super beginner movie i don't think - as i said, it's got a lot of gross body horror, and it's one of david cronenberg's best works (if not THE best of his works), so it's a bit intense - but i will take literally any opportunity to plug this movie. [TW: major body horror, possible self harm? (not sure if it counts if it's not entirely intentional), animal death, insects, pregnancy (both as a subplot and played on for horror), discussions of abortion, alcohol, emeto]

friday the 13th (1980) & friday the 13th part 2 (1981):

i know everyone knows jason via media osmosis, but i feel like the first 2 movies really don't fit people's knowledge of him as a character - i was definitely a little thrown the first time i saw them! idk how much i can really say without spoiling it, but you probably know the basics: teens and/or young adults go to an old summer camp with the intention of becoming camp counsellors, they get slowly hunted down and killed. [TW: in-world ableism (sort of inherent w jason as a character), animal death (extra icky bc this wasn't sfx), implied/referenced child death, general ableism (in regards to psychosis specifically, i believe), flashing lights, shakycam pov, cultural appropriation (a white character mocking native american culture)]

black christmas (1974):

one of my favourite movies ever! ik i'm saying that a lot, but this one's extra good. black christmas came pretty early on in the invention of slashers, and therefore subverts a lot of slasher tropes simply by being created before they were established. it's the good ol "babysitter and the man upstairs" urban legend mixed around a little bit; a bunch of girls at a sorority christmas party are repeatedly harassed by a man on the phone, and end up mysteriously disappearing one by one. this movie gives me total chills. it isn't super bloody, either - most of the kills happen off-screen. it's a total "sometimes your imagination is scarier than what we could show you" deal. [TW: nsfw dialogue (the killer, billy, is dubbed "the moaner" for a reason), off-screen child death (both strongly implied and directly confirmed), general paranoia-inducing content, lots of loud noises (billy definitely doesn't fit the silent slasher trope), alcohol, shakycam pov]

house of wax (2005):

so admittedly i'm a little biased, bc i have a genuine fear of wax figures, but this movie scares the everloving shit out of me. a group of friends are driving out together somewhere in louisiana, when their cars break down - a nearby trucker offers to drive some of them to the nearest town to find help, which they accept. they end up at the small, quiet town of ambrose, with the main attraction of the house of wax - an art piece featuring an entire building, complete with residents, made of wax. without spoiling all the details: it turns out there's a reason the wax figures look so realistic, and it turns out the artist is looking to add a few new ones. it's also hilariously, painfully 2000s, and has a mcr song as the credits song, so. [TW: general uncanny valley weirdness, torture (both active and passive), child abuse (physical and emotional - both shown on-screen), paranoia-inducing shit, the generally ableist trope of disfigured villains, etc.]

scream 1-4 (1996-2011):

(scream 5 is only not included bc it's not out yet and therefore i haven't seen it) scream is one of my favourite movies ever!! it's pretty much what jumpstarted my slasher fixation. it's half a parody and half a genuine slasher movie - it's meta and self-referential and so, so smart at what it does. the basic plot, without spoiling too much, is that, on the 1 year anniversary of the town's biggest court case, the small town of woodsboro is tormented by a serial killer, disguised by a cheap halloween costume, who calls his victims on the phone and asks them for their favourite scary movie. he then has a fun little trivia game with them, and any small mistake they make when answering will lead to their death. it's funny and creepy and so very very gay (seriously - there's a whole lot of strong lgbtq+ implications, and i'm pretty sure the writer has outright stated that certain scenes are full-on gay metaphors between characters). the sequels vary in quality (2 is the best and 3 is the worst imo), but they're all pretty damn fun. i wouldn't recommend jumping into it as your first horror movie, since it references a lot of well-known horror flicks and spoils the endings for a few, but if you're fine with that, it holds up even without the satirical context imo. the first movie is one of few slasher movies where i care about every single character, they’re all so charismatic and memorable (and sid is one of the best protags ever, don’t @ me)! [TW: mentions of off-screen rape (past), manipulative relationships, very mild sexual content (characters talking about sex, sexual innuendos, etc), alcohol, child death (characters in the first movie range from about 17 to 19), casual ableism (e.g. killers being referred to as "psychotic")]

saw (2004):

ok hear me out here: saw gets a bad rep. like, a REALLY bad rep. it's often dismissed as just flat out torture porn, but i'd argue the first movie isn't even close to that - it's a thriller, with some gorey scenes thrown in. the basic plot is that a serial killer by the name of jigsaw kidnaps people who he sees as morally impure and forces them into life-or-death traps, the idea being that if they survive they'll see how easily their lives could end and become better people. he sees it as doing the world a service. the movie itself follows 2 intertwined plotlines: a group of detectives trying to identify the jigsaw killer, and 2 men (dr lawrence gordon, a surgeon, and adam faulkner-stanheight, a photographer) who are trapped together, with the instructions to murder the other man to escape. the entire movie rotates around the identity of the jigsaw killer, and the 2 men trying to find a way of escaping without killing each other. it's a lot of fun, incredibly impressive given the budget, and the ending made me audibly gasp. it's incredible. (also, for bonus points: there's a clip somewhere online called "saw 0", which is the short film that they used to pitch the movie. it's a funky lil extra.) [TW: self harm (on and off screen), torture (it's... it's a saw movie), kidnapping, threats towards children, flashing lights, general trauma]

the texas chainsaw massacre (1974) & the texas chainsaw massacre 2 (1986):

for the sake of transparency, i'm not a super mega texas chainsaw fan. it was one of those movies that was hyped up so much to me that i wasn't as scared as i thought i'd be by it - i remember as a little kid i thought it was real, bc i mentioned the title once and my whole family tensed up and told me not to talk about it. but anyway, general plot synopsis: a group of people are driving through texas, run out of fuel, and end up wandering into the home of the sawyer family, a bunch of chainsaw-wielding cannibals. one of the sons, bubba, makes masks out of the skin of his victims, earning the nickname leatherface. it's a lot of intense, loud noises and long tense scenes and genuinely revolting moments. the sequel is a bit more comedic and slashery in comparison. [TW: cannibalism, mutilation, self harm (brief), kidnapping, slaughterhouse noises are used in replacement of a soundtrack, real human bones were used as props, shit like that]

a nightmare on elm street (1984):

another certified classic! freddy kreuger isn't my favourite slasher, but this movie's pretty damn scary. basically, a group of teens are discussing their dreams and figure out they've had the same nightmare - a man with knives for fingers hunting them down and trying to kill them. it becomes clear to them that if they die in the dream, they'll die in real life too, and the killer they face in their dreams is somehow relevant to their pasts in a way they don't remember. [TW: child death (the main cast are teens), lots of unreality (in dream sequences), implied p^dophilia, repressed childhood trauma]

behind the mask: the rise of leslie vernon (2006):

another comedic one! this is a comedic mockumentary set in a world where slashers are real, and following the story of leslie vernon, a young man who wants to become one. he enlists a news team to make a documentary about his uprising, and along the way ends up legitimately becoming close w them and enjoying their company - which is a bit of an issue, bc leslie still plans on killing people. it sorta seamlessly shifts between comedic mockumentary and genuine slasher movie, and has some moments that genuinely break my heart. (also, if you like leslie and want more of him, he has his own comic series!) ((also also!! one of the side characters is strongly implied to be billy, the killer from black christmas!!)) [TW: there's a discussion at some point about leslie being mentally ill and having been treated for it in the past, though i can't remember the specifics of that reveal super clearly. fire.]

us (2019):

holy shit this movie. i cannot recommend this movie enough. if you choose only 1 movie to watch from this whole list, i hope it's us, bc Holy Fucking Shit this movie is underrated. basically, it comes from the idea that our shadows are their own sentient people, who are mirror images of us and yet forced to live beneath us; this movie is what happens when they get tired of that, and try to take our place. it's a worldwide uprising of people's shadows trying to kill them, and it's fucking badass as all hell - it even has some rlly strong comedic moments mixed in w all the family feels and horror! it's also directed by jordan peele, an amazing black director, and the main characters are primarily black (which i think is worth mentioning, bc i rarely see horror movies fronted by poc!!). [TW: kidnapping, child endangerment, general eerie uncanny-valley kinda situations, child death, paranoia-inducing shit, slight unreality]

warm bodies (2013):

this is a weird one so bare with me: horror romcom. romeo and juliet, except romeo's a zombie. i'm not kidding. that's the plot of the movie. it's fun YA teen romcom bullshit, but the protagonist is a sentient zombie man who regularly eats people's brains. it's not exactly scary imo, but it's still classed as horror and i love it dearly, so i'm including it anyway. [TW: sorta-cannibalism? (he's a zombie sooo) - i can't remember anything else tbh!]

sweeney todd: the demon barber of fleet street (2007):

musical movie!!! benjamin barker comes back to london after years in prison under the new alias "sweeney todd", in order to seek revenge on the man who got him wrongfully arrested in a ploy to steal his wife and daughter away from him. he ends up working as a barber above mrs lovett's pie shop and, in a fit of rage, murders one of his customers. he and mrs lovett figure out a deal: he kills any customers whom he thinks deserve it, and mrs lovett uses their meat in her pies. complete with spooky murder duets and ballads about classism! [TW: cannibalism, implied p^dophilia, mentions of rape, attempted suicide, fire, classism, manipulative relationships]

shawn of the dead (2004):

another horror comedy one!! may or may not be a dawn of the dead parody, but i've still never seen dawn of the dead and i understood it perfectly, so. very british, sorta buddycop-esque comedy set in a zombie apocalypse, with the occasional heartbreaking scene. the main characters are completely normal people and also not smart. it's a fun time. [TW: parental death (it took me 10 tries to get through this movie as a kid), alcohol]

thir13en ghosts (2001):

a family inherit an artistic glass house from their eccentric uncle. upon arriving, it turns out he's been using the house to trap vengeful spirits in the basement, which are only visible when wearing special glasses to see them. it's got tons of cool ghosts, a pretty unique concept, and matthew lillard covered in blood: what more could you ever need? [TW: lots of flashing lights, nudity (non-sexual), child death, i know i put a general gore warning but this movie has A Lot Of Gore iirc so it's worth saying again]

jennifer's body (2009):

local wlw teen is turned into a demon and spends her time having sex with and consequently killing her male classmates, all whilst having a flirtatious relationship w her best friend. lots of megan fox being cool as fuck [TW: ok admittedly it's been a long time since i've seen this movie, so i don't remember a lot, but off the top of my head: emeto, vague (off-screen) nsfw, demonic possession]

(honourable mention to the chucky franchise, bc i never shut up abt it, but child's play and cult of chucky both include a lot of psych ward shit off the top of my head, so if ur interested in that franchise at all, i'd skip those 2 and/or read a plot synopsis instead)

[cryonme]

.ೃ࿐ 𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 ´ˎ˗

“you were just so pretty, and his mom always said pretty things were made to be admired.”

—Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

—summary: it's a shitshow of a summer, and Conrad Fisher has the prettiest eyes you've ever seen.

—word count: 10k

— tw: alcohol, abuse, smoking, brief panic attack, attempted sexual assault (nothing happens), homophobia, makeout session, lots of fights and crying, cancer (oop, sorry!!), conrad is conrad and connor is toxic bf, apologies for any confusion but the names contribute to the storyline!! pls lmk if I left anything out, its a long ass fic and there's a chance I'm missing something.

—a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, and if you see the word count and decide against it, i urge you to rethink your decision!! i promise, if you're a conrad lover, this fic is WORTH IT!!

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You were never one to back down from a party, and this was something everyone in Cousins knew.

You came to Cousins every summer with your family, your summer house being just across the street from the Fisher’s. You grew up alongside Belly, Steven, Conrad, Jeremiah, and your own brother, Tate. Every summer you were constantly at each other’s houses, surfing, swimming, barbecuing, the six of you did everything together. And now that you were all older, you partied together.

Ever since the summer Belly and Jere turned 16, you all looked forward to the first bonfire of the year. You and Belly would get ready together while she gushed about whatever boy she was crushing on and she’d ask you when you and Conrad were going to finally get together. You would always shake your head and blush, insisting that Conrad could never see you that way. Then you’d meet up with the boys, take a couple shots, snap a couple of photos then finally be on your way down to the beach. It was a night you always held dear to your heart.

Until this summer, when you brought your boyfriend to Cousins, and you did everything in your power to turn down the bonfire this year.

“What’s this about the bonfire?” Conrad entered the room and you froze. God, how could you ever forget how fucking pretty he is?

“Y/n’s not coming.” Steven huffed.

Conrad furrowed his eyebrows as he made his way over to you, pulling you in for a side hug and planting a kiss on the top of your head. You hadn’t seen each other since last summer, and he was absent when you and your brother first made your way over to the Fisher’s.

“Probably because she wants to suck face with her new boyfriend.” Tate rolled his eyes before throwing an almond in the air and catching it between his teeth.

Conrad immediately took a step back and the other 2 boys looked at you with wide eyes, “BOYFRIEND?!” 

You rolled your eyes and turned on your heels to grab a glass from the cabinet before filling it up with water from the fridge. “Chill out, we’ve only been together for a couple of months.”

“Tell Connor that. Boy’s obsessed with her.” Your brother said.

“Tate-” you warned. If the boys knew how your boyfriend was, this summer wouldn’t end well.

“Literally never lets her go anywhere without him, it’s so-”

You cut him off by throwing an almond at his face, “Quit it.” 

“Whatever.”

“Wait, and he’s here?” Jeremiah asked, eyes brightening.

You nodded, sipping on your water. “Bring him!”

“Bring who?” Belly’s voice rang through the kitchen, having missed the conversation because she had to use the restroom.

“Y/n has a boyfriendddd.” Steven sang in a mock tease, making kissy faces while Jeremiah joined in.

Conrad stayed silent.

“Wait what about-”

“Shut, Belly.” You cut off the younger girl, shooting her a glare.

She closed her mouth immediately.

“Yeah, (Y/n/n), bring him.” Conrad finally broke his silence, cocking his head at you with a lopsided smirk. 

“I don’t think–”

“Come onnnn, we do this every year! Boy toy can tag along for one night!” Jeremiah pleaded, putting on his puppy dog face again, and how the fuck werw you supposed to say no to that?

“Fine.” 

The kitchen erupted into cheers and whoops of victory, both Steven and Jeremiah standing from their seats to throw their arms around you and jostle you back and forth. You smiled, but you couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach, or the way Conrad’s eyes hadn’t left yours.

–

“Connor, they’re practically my family, can you please just be a normal boyfriend for like 2 seconds?!”

The two of you had been at it like this for almost an hour now, ever since you told him you were both going to the bonfire. Of course Connor was insecure about the 3 incredibly handsome boys you considered your best friends, but Connor would be insecure about anyone with two legs touching you with a 10 foot pole.

“Well, I’m sorry if I’m not particularly keen on 3 guys making googly eyes at my girlfriend all night!”

You let out an exasperated grunt, covering your eyes with your hands. “Steven has a girlfriend, Jeremiah’s been seeing someone, Tate is literally my brother and Conrad may as well be my brother too! He’s barely even talked to me all year anyway, probably has some girlfriend that he’s been hiding.”

“None of that means anything, I know how guys are! I am one!”

You laughed, but there was absolutely nothing funny. “Okay, so you’re saying, since you’re a guy, even though you have a girlfriend, if a prettier girl walked onto the beach for the bonfire you wouldn’t care about me?” 

Connor shut his mouth, refusing to respond. You nodded, and crossed your arms, chuckling to yourself. “I’m late getting ready with Belly. I’ll see you there, asshole.” You made sure to bump his shoulder with yours as you passed, which you regretted.

He grabbed your wrist in his large hand, “Hey.”

His voice was low, almost a warning, as he squeezed your wrist harder, yanking you towards him, his face dangerously close to yours.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Don’t speak to me like that.”

“Let go.”

“Say you’re sorry.”

“Connor-”

“Say,” He tightened his grip and you whimpered, “You’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry.” You tried to keep your tone even, but the words came out like a broken whisper.

He let go suddenly, causing you to stumble backwards. “Good girl. I’ll see you there.”

–

The walk to the Fisher’s was a quick one, and luckily your tears had dissipated by the time you arrived at the front door. There was never a need to knock, not with you.

“Y/n!”

You turned your head to see two of the most radiant women you’ve ever known, gossipping over their glasses of pinot grigio no doubt, both smiling at you with open arms.

You smiled and made your way over, gladly accepting the embraces of the two women, and thanking the Universe that you wore a long sleeve to hide the marks on your wrist.

“Oh it is so good to see you, baby!” Susannah gushed, planting her hands on the side of your face and planting a big kiss on each cheek.

“You’ve gotten so tall, my goodness!” Laurel said, practically looking up at you since you towered over the much smaller woman.

“I know, we’re all growin’ up!”

Susannah covered her ears, “No, no, no! You’re all still my babies!”

You giggled and pulled the blonde woman in for a side hug, resting your head on her shoulder.

“I just can’t believe it. You, Connie, Steve and Tate are all old enough to buy your own wine now!” Susannah said.

“Yup, we don’t have to fill up your vodka bottles with water anymore!”

Laurel and Susannah gasped and you rolled your eyes, “Like you guys didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well we had a feeling, but Jeremiah and Belly better be staying away from you four while you buy your own now!” Laurel said, waving her finger at you, but you could hear the humor in her voice.

You nodded and saluted her, “Scout’s honor, Laur.”

Of course the two moms knew what you kids got up to when they weren’t around during the summer, but they trusted you, and they knew the babies of the group were in good hands as long as you were around.

“Well, get upstairs! Bell’s been eagerly waiting for you to curl her hair.”

You made your way upstairs, pausing when you heard multiple voices coming from Belly’s room, and you took a deep breath, putting on your best smile before you opened the door.

“Finally!” Belly exasperated as soon as the door creaked open. “I need you to curl my hair, Jere keeps fucking it up.”

Your heart swelled at the sight of poor Jeremiah just trying his best to help out his best friend, curling iron in hand.

Steven laid on the bed, cradling a six pack of Coronas as he handed one to you, but not before popping the top off with his teeth.

“You’re gonna lose all your teeth before you’re 40.” You teased.

“Worth it!”

You rolled your eyes and took a swig from your beer, stepping over the discarded clothes on the floor so you could gently take the curling iron from Jeremiah. 

“I’ll take it from here, babe.”

“If you would’ve given me like, 5 more minutes I could’ve gotten it down.”

“Uh-huh.”

Belly giggled as you got to work on her hair, taking a break every couple of minutes to sip your beer or take a hit from Steven’s vape while he wasn’t looking.

“So, where's the boy toy?” Jeremiah asked.

You flopped on the bed as you were done with Belly’s hair. “He’s gonna meet us at the party, I think he wanted to take a nap or something before, he was pretty tired from all the driving.”

“You two drove separately?” Steven asked with a raised eyebrow.

You nodded. “Tate went with my parents.”

“Awee I miss your parents! Why haven’t they been over yet?” Jeremiah asked.

“They went straight into town for groceries and errands, they’ll come by tomorrow I’m sure.”

The curly haired boy nodded and went to reach for another beer.

“We’re out!”

You and Steven locked eyes, “Nose goes!” 

Both your fingers whipped to your noses at the speed of light, but you were too slow.

“I don’t wanna go alone!” You complained and Steven situated his hands under his head, getting comfortable. “Well you’re gonna have-”

“I’ll go with you.”

You all looked up at Conrad, who was suddenly in the doorway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

You nodded and stood, telling everyone you’d meet them there with more drinks. 

You smiled at Conrad as you passed by him, but of course he didn’t return it, simply just pushing himself off the wall to follow you down the stairs.

You prepared to pull your keys from your purse but Conrad had already grabbed his keys from the hook by the front door. 

“I’ll drive.”

You decided against arguing with Conrad, knowing it wouldn’t do any good, so instead you nodded and gave him a weak smile.

“How’s your mom, Con?” “Better. One year cancer free.” You smiled. You remembered the summer that everyone found out, it wasn’t an easy summer. Conrad had told you early on about what he knew, and made you swear not to tell, and of course you didn’t, which caused a nasty fight between you and Jeremiah. He didn’t speak to you until the next summer.

“That’s really good to hear.”

Conrad nodded.

“So, boyfriend?” You rolled your eyes. “That’s all anyone cares about.”

Conrad looked at you for a moment before fixating his eyes back on the road. “Maybe. Is it so bad we all care about who you’re dating.”

You shrugged. 

“What’s his name?”

“Connor.”

Conrad snorted.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged and continued to drive. 

You both sat in silence the rest of the very short drive to the liquor store, and both exited his car in sync once you’d arrived.

The bell on the door chimed when you walked in and you smiled, for some reason that chime made you think about how this is only the beginning of the summer. There was so much time left, and you just couldn’t help the small smile that played at your lips.

If Conrad noticed your smile, he didn’t say anything about it, staying quiet, as usual, as he browsed all the beer and seltzer options.

But, of course he noticed the smile. How could he not? That same damn smile that’s made his heart race for his entire goddamn life, the smile that always made him blush and go speechless. Of course he fucking noticed.

Conrad was snapped from his trance when you bumped his shoulder, that captivating smile adorning your face while you held up a bottle of titos and a bag of red solo cups.

Conrad shook his head, “Jesus Christ.”

“Grab the lemonade?” “You tryna get me hammered?” You smirked, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

You readjusted the items in your arms, making your sleeves roll up, and you had completely forgotten about Connor until you saw Conrad’s eyes glued to your wrist.

“What is that?”

“It’s nothing, I- I tripped.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I tripped.”

You tried to walk away, but Conrad stepped in the way.

“Who did that to you?”

“I told you-”

“Who did that to you.” This time the words tumbled past his lips as a statement, not a question. He knew who did this to you, and he wanted you to say it.

Silence.

“Was it Connor?” “I’m not doing this with you right now, Con.” You said, and spun on your heels the opposite direction to pay for the things in your hands, leaving Conrad alone, holding 2 liters of lemonade.

–

As you parked on the beach, alcohol and red cups in hand, you saw Connor reach out to shake Jeremiah’s hand and it almost felt like everything happened in slow motion, and you’ve never gotten out of a car faster in your life.

“Y/n!”

You ignored Conrad calling your name and rushed to where your boyfriend was introducing himself to your friends, panic rising in your chest at what he could’ve said in your absence.

“There she is!” Jeremiah grinned when he saw you, pulling you in for a hug by the waist, lifting you up and spinning you in the air.

You could practically feel the heat from the steam blowing out of Connor’s ears.

“Hey, guys.” You smiled. “I brought the goods!” 

“Lemonade and Titos?! Oh man, Y/n/n, you’re gonna kill us.” Tate laughed as he pulled the contents out of the bag.

“That's our girl!” Steven smiled, wrapping a hand around Shayla’s waist.

“Shayla!” You smiled once you noticed her presence.

“Y/n!” 

You both laughed as she pulled you in for a hug, rocking you back and forth.

“So good to see you!” She said. Her cute accent had faded more and more over the years, but it was still there.

“You too! This is my boyfriend,” You decided you should acknowledge him, not wanting to deal with the consequences if you didn’t. “Connor.”

Shayla stuck out her hand with a smile, but all she got from Connor was a head nod, before he focused his attention elsewhere. Shayla smiled awkwardly and stepped back into Steven’s embrace, and your cheeks burned red.

“Connor.” You scolded under your breath, but he didn’t acknowledge you, continuing to sip on his beer.

You let your gaze wander when you felt a pair of eyes on you. Conrad was only a few feet away, his blue eyes staring straight through you over his red solo cup tucked between his lips.

The kind of stare that could make any girl's knees buckle and pupils turn to hearts. It felt like you were the only girl on earth, the only girl to ever exist.

And he was looking at you like that.

You looked down after what felt like an eternity of locking eyes with Conrad Fisher, and busied yourself with making a drink, pouring a larger amount of vodka into the red cup than you normally would, only topping it off with lemonade, and immediately downing the cup before quickly pouring yourself another one.

Connor kept a firm grip on you all night, so firm you were sure there were bruises forming on your hips and shoulders, and the drunker you got, the more tired of it you became.

Conrad kept a close eye on you. Physically, he kept his distance, but his eyes never tore away from you. He saw your grimacing, your uncomfortable cringing and the frown that etched itself onto your face anytime you thought no one was looking.

You tried your best to loosen up, especially when Jeremiah brought his new boo over to meet everyone. You fixed your hair and put on your biggest smile as you shook hands with the boy.

“I’m Hayden!” He smiled, “It’s so nice to meet you all! I’ve heard so much about each of you!”

“Trust me, we’ve heard a LOT about you.” Belly teased, earning a sharp look from Jeremiah.

“All good things, Hayden, we promise!” You reassured him, lightly pinching Belly on the arm, but the girl just giggled.

“Wait a second, Y/n, you have the same tattoo as Jere?” Hayden asked, pointing to the small stingray on your side. You forgot since your long sleeve shirt was so cropped, it was visible.

“Oh, yeah! We all do! Got it the summer baby Bells turned 18!” You smiled, gesturing to the rest of the group, who all slowly revealed their own tattoos on their sides.

“Y/n got stung by a stingray and forced us all to spend a whole week with her on the couch instead of, like, actually doing fun stuff.” Tate explained.

“Hey!” You scolded, “It turned out to be a lot of fun! We made margaritas everyday, and we went outside! I sat on the chair while you guys swam in the pool.”

“Oh, yeah!” Steven laughed, “Conrad was basically her nurse for the week, wouldn’t leave her side.”

“Oh, Y/n, does it hurt? Do you need ice? Oh Y/n, don’t walk, let me carry you!” Jeremiah said in a high pitched voice, hands clutched over his heart, pretending to be a lovesick Conrad.

You looked down at the sand as the rest of the group laughed, not daring to look in the direction of Conrad or Connor.

You were starting to understand the humor in their names.

“Anyway, it turned out to be a memorable week for all six of us, we all got a hell of a lot closer, which we all thought was impossible. So we got stingray tattoos a couple summers later, all thanks to our Y/n!” Jere said, trying his best to break the tension that only he seemed to notice.

“We need to talk.” Connor growled, immediately walking away from the circle, kicking sand in the direction of everyone else as he walked and your heart sank. 

Belly shot you a concerned look but you shook your head, urging her to stay out of it, before you pushed your drink into Tate’s hands and followed after Connor a ways down the beach, closer to the water. 

You missed the way Conrad’s eyes followed you.

“What’s up?” You asked, seemingly nonchalant as you stuck your hands in your pockets.

“What’s up?” Connor scoffed, shaking his head. “What’s up is that I want you to stay away from Conrad, and Jeremiah for that matter.”

“You’re kidding me, Connor.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” His face was hard as stone, his teeth clenched and you thought the red solo cup he was clenching was seconds away from turning into dust.

“No, but-”

“But nothing, Y/n. Conrad is basically eye fucking you and I don’t like the way Jeremiah is touchy with you. You show up, alone with Conrad who is obviously into you, and matching stingray tattoos?! You have to be fucking kidding me, this is all so ridiculous.”

“That’s just Jere! He’s like that with everyone, besides, he’s with someone!”

“Who’s a guy! You really think that’s gonna last? What’s he supposed to be, bisexual? He’s just doing it out of boredom and a need for attention. If you think otherwise you’re an idiot.”

You thanked the Universe that Jeremiah was all the way up the beach, just imagining the look on his face if he heard that broke your heart, but barely a second passed before you were fuming, and all you saw was red.

“How fucking dare you?” You seethed.

“You only defended Jeremiah, why not Conrad?” He asked, completely dodging the blatant homophobia he spewed from his mouth just a second before.

“You need to leave.” You said, your voice low. “You need to go back to my house, pack your things and go home.”

“Like hell I am. You need me. You’re not gonna leave me ‘cause you’re scared, aren’t you, princess?” He spat, and your face fell.

“I hate you.” Your tone faltered as tears began to fall down your face.

“You love Conrad, don’t you?” You didn’t respond, only choosing to wrap your arms around yourself and continue to cry, wishing this was just a nightmare.

“Ungrateful slut!”

Connor pushed you and you stumbled back, losing your footing and falling into the water, lightly gasping at the cold.

Conrad was up in a second, being the only one watching you from the group’s spot on the beach, storming towards the two of you, but not making too much of a scene so the other friends wouldn't follow him, but he knew they were too drunk anyway.

He downed the rest of his drink, crushing it in his fist and throwing it in the opposite direction. He’d pick it up tomorrow.

Before he knew it, he had Connor by the neck of his tee shirt, nearly lifting him off of the ground.

“Touch her again, and you’re fucking dead.”

“Con…” Your small voice shook him, and he let go of Connor, but not without a forceful push, who immediately tried to take steps toward you. “WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY?!” Conrad’s voice boomed and your boyfriend raised his hands in surrender, taking his steps backwards.

“It was an accident-”

“Shut up.” Conrad’s breathing was becoming uneven, and you could tell he was getting angry.

“Connor, just go home, okay? That’s enough.”

Connor grumbled and rolled his eyes but eventually turned away, walking down the beach in the complete opposite direction of your house.

“Come on.” Conrad gestured for you to take his hands, and you did, allowing him to help you up.

“Will you take me home?”

“Mine or yours?” “Yours. Please yours.”

“Always.” –

Everyone decided to just come home with you guys, all of their eyelids heavy with sleep and brains fogged over from the alcohol.

Tate decided to stay over as well, claiming he was too tired to walk all the way back to your house across the street, but you didn’t blame him, it sounded like a pretty far walk to you too.

Belly let you borrow clothes and use her shower and face wash, and when you were done the poor girl was already fast asleep in a starfish position in bed. You smiled and shut the door as lightly as you could before making your way down the stairs, the couch would suffice for one night.

But there he was, Conrad Fisher, in all his glory, sitting on the couch and staring out the window, wide awake.

“Hey, Con-” “I have to tell your family, you know that don’t you?”

Your heart sank.

“Conrad, please-”

The boy turned to look at you, sadness heavy in his ocean eyes.

“Why wouldn’t you want me to?” “That was only the first time something like that’s happened-”

“Y/n-”

“I swear I’m not just some pathetic girl that lets a guy throw her around like a ragdoll-”

“Y/n/n…”

“I just- I can’t breathe, Conrad.”

Conrad was up off the couch in the blink of an eye, immediately in front of you with his hands firmly holding the sides of your face.

“I know.” He whispered, taking deep breaths in hopes that you’d subconsciously copy them.

“You got it.” He praised, his thumb lightly stroking your cheekbone.

You shook your head, eyes wide with fear, but Conrad only nodded.

“Keep following my breaths, you’re halfway there.”

You did as he said, because you’d do just about anything Conrad Fisher said.

“Y/n/n, what is going on?” He asked once you’d calmed down, his hands still not leaving your face.

You sighed and brought your own hands up to hold his wrists closing your eyes.

“Hey.” He said, shaking his hands just slightly so you’d look at him. “I won’t say anything, if you just tell me.”

So, you took a deep breath, and you told him everything.

–

It had only been a couple weeks since the incident, and Conrad kept to his word. You told him everything, trying your best to keep your tears at bay while Conrad wiped the few stray ones that escaped from your eyes. You told him you just needed some time, if you broke up with Connor now, the summer wouldn’t end well, and you were terrified of what he’d do if you left. Conrad tried to convince you that so many people had your back, and there was nothing to be scared of, but you just shook your head. You had to do this on your own time, and eventually, after hours of talking, Conrad agreed to keep your secret.

And Connor had kept it civil since then as well, staying calm for the sake of not getting the shit beat out of him by your brother, and things were almost perfect. It was just like old times, volleyball at the beach, taco night every Tuesday, and of course, Belly’s birthday.

You and Tate helped Laurel, Susannah and Steven set up the kitchen for breakfast and presents, trying your best to be silent as to not wake everyone else in the house, but of course you all ended up giggling a bit too loudly anyway, because Conrad and Jeremiah came trudging down the stairs, rubbing sleep out of their eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry boys! Did we wake you?” Susannah cooed, pinching both of their cheeks, getting the boys to smile.

“Nah, it’s Belly’s birthday! ‘Course we’re awake.” Jeremiah said with a sleepy smile.

You always adored the love the two boys had for Belly. Jeremiah would throw her over his shoulder and exclaim “This is my best friend!” Making other girls go green with envy, but he never cared, she was his best friend, and he wanted the world to know it.

Conrad was more subtle, you always noticed how his eyes searched for her at parties, and once he had eyes on her and saw that she was safe and smiling, he’d visibly relax and get back to whatever conversation he was having.

It was precious.

“There she is!” You beamed when Belly came down the stairs, hair and makeup already done, with a smile on her face.

“Happy birthday Bells!” You bounded over to her and everyone else followed, pulling the birthday girl in for a big hug, swaying her back and forth.

“I just want my pancakes!” She groaned, but you could see the smile and blush that overtook her face.

Laurel rolled her eyes and brought her daughter in for a solo hug, kissing the side of her face, “Alright, alright, missy. Let’s get to it then!” 

Belly happily ate her minnie mouse pancakes and opened each present, giggling like a little girl over how much she loved all of them and giving everyone separate hugs, thanking them a thousand times over.

“Where’s Connor?” Susannah asked as the two of you were putting discarded gift wrap and tissue paper into trash bags. Belly and Jeremiah left, going for a morning birthday swim with Hayden, Laurel went to take a nap, and Tate, Steven and Conrad were playing video games in the other room.

“He, uh, wanted to sleep in.” You said, faking a smile.

Susannah paused for a moment, before continuing to pick up trash. “Well, you tell that boy if he wants to be a part of this family then he has to join all the traditions next year.” You laughed and nodded, “I will.”

Susannah set the trash bag on the floor and patted the couch next to her, you obliged.

“You can tell me anything, you know that honey?” You nodded, “Of course.”

The blonde woman kissed your head and smiled. “Alright. Well, this mama needs a nap. Too much excitement for one morning.”

You nodded and bid her a “goodnight”, then went to check and see how the boys were doing with their video game.

“Little sisterrrrr!” Tate exclaimed as you walked into the room, plopping yourself down next to Conrad, who didn’t seem to want to look at you.

“What are you guys up to in here?” “Killin’ zombies.” Steven answered, not moving his focus from the TV screen.

“What’s the plan for today?”

Steven shrugged and you gasped. “It’s your sister’s birthday!”

“Then we’ll do whatever she wants to do when she gets back, jeez!” Steven said, still not moving his gaze from the TV.

The boys got back into the flow of the game, and you took your opportunity to look at Conrad, who, unbeknownst to you, was extremely aware of your eyes on him.

How could he not when he felt like his skin was on fire every time your eyes graced his frame?

He took a chance and looked at you out of the corner of his eye and you could feel your cheeks heat up as you tried to hide a smile, suddenly very interested in whatever was going on in their video game and Conrad could feel his heart swell. He did that.

But his heart only deflated once more when your phone lit up with a text from Connor.

It was gonna be a long fucking summer.

“Uh, Connor just texted me, he wants to know the plans for the day, should I just tell him to meet us here?”

“Hell yeah, tell Con to come on over.” Tate said.

Conrad felt an angry bubble in his stomach, that was his nickname. 

Ever since you were little, everyone’s nickname for him was Connie, but you decided to call him Con, you claimed it was different, it set you apart from everyone else. He didn’t have the heart to tell you it really wasn’t that much different, because there weren’t many nicknames for his name, but he liked that it made you happy that you had a special one.

And now Connor was coming in to take that from him.

“Hey guys.” Connor greeted as he entered the room, a small smile on his face that quickly faltered when he made eye contact with Conrad. You told Connor that he was going to keep your secret, but he still felt uneasy in his presence.

Which is exactly what Conrad wanted.

“What’s the plan for today?” Connor asked, taking a seat next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulders.

“There’s a party tonight somewhere, I don’t really remember where, Shayla texted me about it.”

“Sweet.”

After a couple more minutes of awkward silence, the only noise being the sound of zombies dying and guns firing from the TV, the morning swim trio appeared in the living room, all already showered and dressed for the day.

“Hey, happy birthday Belly!” Connor said, digging through his pockets and handing the younger girl a small envelope. You were completely taken back, you hadn’t expected Connor to get her anything, let alone even acknowledge her birthday. 

It was a silly card, a giraffe wearing a party hat, and inside was a messily scribbled, “Happy birthday Belly! -Connor” and a $50 bill.

“Connor.” You said, your voice light, impressed by the boy’s actions.

“Wow, thank you, Connor!” Belly said before running up to her room to stash her cash.

“You didn’t have to do that, babe.”

Babe.

“She’s like your little sister, of course I did! I know how special her birthday is around here.” He said before kissing your head and you smiled.

“You’re alright, Con.” Steven said, pointing to him.

Con.

Lord help Conrad Fisher.

The day had gone by agonizingly slow, you had a new found likeness for Connor and were attached to him all day, holding his hand and giggling at his dumb jokes, and Conrad felt like he was going to vomit. By the time the sun went down, and the group decided to head to the party, Conrad was ready for a drink, or 10.

And of course, Connor offered to be the DD.

How nice.

Conrad disappeared upon arrival, looking for the alcohol and a random girl he could at least makeout with to get his mind off of you and Connor. Just drink, makeout and get the fuck out, that was the plan.

But of course, this was summer in Cousins, and it was the Fisher’s, Conklin’s and Y/L/N’s, nothing ever went to fucking plan.

Usually, you never let yourself get too drunk, especially around Belly and Jeremiah, because you swore to their moms you’d always look out for them, but you were feeling especially carefree tonight, and Connor was actually being sweet, so you started chugging.

“So, you all smitten for Con now?” Conrad asked as he approached you from behind at the drink table, and you turned to look at him cocking your head.

“Wha-”

“Come on. You cry to me about how much you hate him and now you’re all up on him.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Yeah, maybe I wanna give the relationship that I have a chance, would that be so bad?”

Conrad clenched his teeth. “He pushed you, Y/n.”

“Like a month ago.”

“It’s been 2 weeks.”

“God, same thing! He was drunk and frustrated, it hasn’t happened since!” “And your wrist.”

“Fuck you, Conrad.”

Conrad laughed, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What did I do? Huh? Fuck that guy-” He pointed to Connor, who was taking a shot with Belly while exclaiming Happy Birthday, “Who put his hands on my girl.”

You raised an eyebrow and Conrad cursed under his breath. 

“Your girl? Seriously?”

Own up to it, Con.

“Yeah. Seriously.”

“Forget it.” You spat before walking away, and “accidentally” stepping on his toe, causing Conrad to grimace, but he kept his mouth shut.

You maneuvered your way through the party, double fisting two drinks since one was for Jeremiah but you decided to walk in the opposite direction, desperately needing to cool off before you rejoined your friends.

You felt a hand around your waist and you groaned, quickly whipping around to who you thought would be Conrad.

“Conrad, I swear-”

“Conrad?” The stranger inquired, a playful smirk on his lips. “I’m way more handsome than that punk.”

You swallowed as you stared at the guy, perfectly gelled blond hair, blue eyes, and fucking boat shoes. You were screwed.

“Excuse me.” You said, trying to move past him but he held his grip tight on you.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“I just-”

“Yeah you’re not just anything, sweetheart. Come on.” He said, beginning to pull you up the stairs.

Conrad. You wanted Conrad. No, fuck that, you needed Conrad.

“CON!” You screamed without thinking, and the stranger that had you in his hold groaned and let go of you, he figured you were yelling for Conrad Fisher, and he knew better than to get in that guy’s face.

You were left alone on the stairs, breathing heavily with your hand clutched to your chest, tears threatening to spill when Connor appeared in front of you. “Hey, babe. I’m right here, what happened?”

“That guy-” You pointed in his direction, but you were cut off upon seeing Conrad right behind your boyfriend, out of breath.

Connor thought you’d called for him. 

And they both came.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” Connor said and you nodded, not breaking your eye contact with Conrad, who’s pretty blue eyes were piercing right through you.

You let Connor lead you to his car, assuring everyone that you were fine, just didn’t feel good, and after Shayla told Connor she could take everyone home, that she hadn’t been drinking either, you were on your way home.

–

You woke up to what looked like about a million text messages. The first one you saw being from Conrad.

Con: text me when u get home safe.

Con: i’m sorry.

You furrowed your eyebrows and shook your head, you’d deal with him later.

Then you scrolled more.

Tate: Come to the Fisher’s when you wake up.

Mom: Hi honey, call me when you wake up.

Bells: Please come over as soon as you’re awake.

Bells: Don’t bring Connor.

And a million more missed calls from Belly, Steven, Tate, your mom, and Laurel. You were concerned about the lack of notifications from Conrad, Jeremiah and Susannah.

What the actual fuck? You were in a full blown panic now. Ripping the blankets off of your body, not bothering to put on any actual clothes, or shoes, and running straight across the street to your friend’s house, yanking open the door.

You hurried further into the house, rounding the corner into the kitchen, and you were greeted by a very distressed Jeremiah, sitting on a stool at the kitchen island.

“Jere? What the fuck is going on?”

The boy turned to look at you and your heart broke, the pain was written all over his face.

“It’s back.” He said, his voice cracking.

Fuck.

“Oh my god…”

“The cancer’s fucking back.” He broke, his body slumped over the counter and he gripped his hair in his hands so forcefully you were afraid he’d rip it out as his body racked with sobs.

“Fuck, Jere.” You exhaled, moving quickly to pull your best friend off of the kitchen counter and into your arms, which he did willingly, and he held onto you tighter than he ever had.

You stood like that for along time, Jeremiah still sitting with his face buried in your shoulder, heart wrenching cries falling past his lips as your tee shirt started to get so wet it stuck to your skin, but you really didn’t give a fuck.

You weren’t sure how long Susannah had been standing there, you weren’t even sure how long you had been standing there, but when you looked up to see the blonde woman in the doorway, she was smiling sadly, wiping a stray tear.

“Suze…” You said and held an arm out, still holding Jeremiah close, not wanting to be the one to let go of him first.

She joined the embrace, and only then did you allow yourself to cry. You wanted so badly to be strong for Jere, but it was hard when the woman you considered a mother, sometimes even more than your own, was so sick, once again.

“I love you.” You said, trying your best to keep your voice even, even though it was uncontrollably shaking.

“I love you so much more, baby.” She said, kissing the top of your head.

“Let’s go outside with the others, Jere.” She said once she pulled away, helping up her son and smiling when he wrapped an arm around her, assisting her to the backyard.

“Connie’s in his bedroom.” Susannah said, squeezing your hand. “I think he really needs you.”

You nodded and wiped your tears. The last thing you wanted was to let Conrad see your tears, he’d immediately close his emotions off so he could be there for you. That was just who he was.

If you thought Jeremiah had broken your heart, Conrad had completely shattered it.

He was laying sideways in a fetal position on his bed, his head where his feet would normally be, his hand clutching the comforter beneath him as he sobbed and you wasted no time laying down with him and wrapping your arms around him from behind. You replaced the comforter with your hand, letting him squeeze the shit out of it while you held him close, leaving chaste kisses on his shoulder and the back of his neck.

“This is bullshit.” He sobbed, “That’s my fucking mom!”

You tried so hard to resist crying with him, but it was too hard to keep in, and before you knew it the tears were flowing down your cheeks and onto your neck.

“I’m so sorry, Conrad.” You whispered and he didn’t respond. What was he supposed to say? That it’s okay? It wasn’t. It was far from okay. The world was cruel and it was never okay.

“I’m right here, I’m here.” You said, your words were barely even breaths, so gentle against his skin as you tried your best to hide your tears.

When he felt the gentle shake of your body he turned in your arms and wrapped his own around you. Of course, he knew how much his mom meant to you, she’d been there for you since the beginning. The 3 summers that your mom didn’t join because she decided to pack up and leave you, your brother and your dad, Susannah made sure she stepped up for all the mom duties. The first summer your mom rejoined the family and you refused to stay in a house with her, you stayed at the Fisher’s. The summer when your migraines got so bad you could barely leave the house for a week straight, Susannah let you sleep in her bed, because you claimed it was the comfiest one you’d ever been in the summer before.

“I’m so sorry about-” Conrad started, but you immediately shook your head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Conrad nodded, and the two of you held each other for a really long time, so long that you must’ve fallen asleep, because next thing you knew, your eyes shot open, and it was dark outside.

Did you sleep all day?

You were still wrapped up in Conrad’s arms, and your heart melted at the soft breaths that escaped from his lips.

How could you ever even consider working things out with Connor?

After the way he talked about your friends, the things he said about Jeremiah, the way he put his hands on you, how could you ever even have thought about choosing him over the boy whose arms you were currently wrapped up in?

You reached up and ran a finger across his cheekbone, smiling when he nuzzled closer to you under your touch, and placed a soft kiss on his jaw.

The answer was clear, but you could only wish it was that simple.

–

“Yo, Connor! Wanna be my pong partner?!” Jeremiah enthused, running up to you and your boyfriend like a puppy dog.

You nudged Connor, encouraging him to go and he said yes, clapping Jeremiah on the back and calling him “buddy”. It was going to be the two of them, vs Conrad and Tate, the two people that Connor should never fuck with.

It was the 4th of July, and usually, all of the adults were present for the barbecue and fireworks, but apparently Susannah had a new boyfriend, who owned a yacht, and he invited all of them onto his boat for the day.

Go Susannah.

After the news of her cancer coming back, everyone was really shaken, but she assured everyone she was going to fight even harder this time, and no one deserved a tipsy day on a boat with a handsome man more than Susannah did.

You sat on a lawn chair, sipping on a vodka lemonade with Hayden and Belly, giggling at their friendly banter of who they thought was going to win. You glanced at Steven and Shayla across the pool, smiling to yourself as you caught a sweet kiss between the two of them.

Connor would never kiss you like that.

“Earth to Y/n!”

You snapped out of your trance and fixed your eyes on Jere, who was looking at you like he was waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Jeremiah just giggled, “Who do you think made it in first?? Connor or Conrad?”

You looked between the two boys, contemplating your decision.

“Um, Connor.”

Connor and Jeremiah both yelled in victory, hands up in the air before they hugged, jumping up and down.

You sneaked a glance at Conrad, who was already looking at you. Eyes squinted.

It was gonna be a long fucking summer.

You ended up having to put Connor to bed up in Steven’s room, who told you he wasn’t even going to be staying there tonight anyway while he winked at Shayla.

Your boyfriend had probably had a little bit more than one too many shots, considering the fact that he was mostly taking them by himself, so everyone else still had energy for at least another 5 hours, Connor was down for the count.

You tucked him in and left a glass of water and a bottle of tylenol on the nightstand, and a bucket on the floor just in case, then you turned out the light and shut the door, bounding down the stairs with a grin.

You were more than happy to get rid of Connor for a few hours.

You approached the group, all standing in a circle outside, playfully arguing about something and stood on your tippy toes to wrap an arm around Conrad’s shoulders and rest your chin on his shoulder.

Conrad smiled and gripped your wrist in his hand before leaning forward, bringing you up off of the ground and readjusting you so you were fully wrapped around him, before standing straight again and locking his arms around the back of your knees.

“Hi Y/n/n.” He said, turning his head to try and get even a small glimpse of you.

“Hi, Con.” You whispered, and his legs felt like jello.

For a second, Conrad forgot anybody else was even there, it felt like just the two of you. It was cheesy, of course it was, but sometimes cheesy is just reality. You were the only other person there.

“Looks like Y/n chose the wrong Con!” Tate teased and just like that, the moment was ruined. You frowned and slid off of Conrad’s back, the boy already missing the feeling of you around him, your soft cheek squished on his shoulder.

“Way to make it weird, Tate.” You muttered under your breath and Tate rolled his eyes. 

“It was a joke! Come on, the sun hasn’t even set yet. Another round of shots?” Your brother asked, slowly walking backwards towards the kitchen, waiting for everyone to follow him.

Belly was the first, then Shayla, then Steven, then Jeremiah and Hayden, and eventually it was just you and Conrad outside.

“You wanna join them?” Conrad asked and you shrugged.

“Come on.” He encouraged, gesturing his head inside and you rolled your eyes, but still had the ghost of a smile on your list.

“Shots?” He asked.

“Yeah, yeah.” You playfully shoved him and he snatched your wrist, pulling you into his side and throwing his arm over your shoulder.

You did a round of shots, then you did two, then eventually three, and before you knew it everyone was laughing their asses off about some story Jeremiah was telling about how the two of you got hammered last summer and woke up on a random guy’s boat in the middle of the bay.

“I’m pretty sure Jere was still drunk.” You giggled, wiping a tear from your eye that had formed from your laughter.

And surprise, surprise, Conrad couldn't take his eyes off of you the entire time.

You were just so pretty, and his mom always said that pretty things were made to be admired.

“You guys.” Jeremiah said, slamming his hands on the counter, eyes wide, causing everyone to slightly jump.

“Sun’s down.”

You turned your head to look out the french doors, the sun did indeed go down, and you could already see a couple stray fireworks in the distance.

Everyone shared a look then ran out the door to get to the beach and start the fireworks, but before you could make it out the door, someone grabbed your hand, and you turned to see Conrad, his eyes shining.

“Night swim?”

And how could you say no to that face?

You nodded and laced your fingers through his, allowing him to lead the way out to the docks and giggling when he picked up the pace, running like a little kid to jump in the water with his childhood crush.

It was perfect.

As soon as you arrived on the edge you threw off your shorts and tossed your phone on top of them, already in a bikini, and jumped in, Conrad not far behind you.

You emerged from the water and smiled, covering your eyes with your hands to rub out any water that had made its way in, and when you opened your eyes to find Conrad, he was already in front of you, looking at you with those fucking ocean eyes. Fireworks exploding in an extraordinary glow right behind him.

“What?”

“You’re so pretty.” He breathed out, as if the words had been caught in his mouth for so long, and relief washed over his body when he finally released them.

You looked away, shaking your head as you curled your toes into the rough sand below you. You were barely touching the bottom, still having to halfway keep yourself afloat.

“You’re drunk, Con.” You said, looking down at the black water.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what, Conrad?”

“Use the fact that I’m drunk to deflect. I may be drunk but I have eyes.”

You looked up from the water and sighed. “Really pretty ones.” You said, your voice faltering towards the end of your sentence, trying not to cry.

He really knew how to do it, hi  and those pretty blue eyes and pillowy lips.

You were in love with Conrad Fisher.

“Why’re you crying?” He asked, wading closer to you, causing the water around your shoulders to slosh.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t what, pretty girl?” His voice was soft as a feather, and God, his lips were getting dangerously close to yours.

“I can’t love you.”

“You love me?”

“I can’t.” You cried. “I can’t just kiss you and pretend like it means nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

You shook your head, biting your lip.

“Y/n, I love you.”

“Conrad-”

He secured his hands on either side of your neck, just below your ears and you wanted to pull away, but you couldn’t. How could you when he’s looking at you like that?

“Please, Y/n.”

“I still have a boyfriend, Con.”

“I don’t care.”

He inched forward just barely, but it was enough to make the butterflies in your stomach erupt, you felt like they were trying to crawl up your throat.

“I just need your lips on mine. Even if I never get them again. Please, just this once. Y/n.” He was begging. He breathed out your name at the end of the sentence like a prayer and before you could even think about it, you nodded. And as fucking cheesy as it was, the firework show finale began,

And his lips were on yours.

You could’ve cried from the feeling of Conrad’s lips on your own.

His hands traveled down to your waist, then your hips and to your thighs before he lifted you up, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist and you did, immediately tangling your fingers in his hair, not once did the two of you disconnect your lips from one another.

It was desperate and messy, but it was perfect. His hands splayed across your back and squeezed your sides, and your hips before he pulled away, not even sparing a glance up at you as he planted kisses down your throat and shoulder, and that little spot right under your ear that made you whimper.

His lips came right back to yours in one last sweet kiss before he lowered you back into the water, his eyes glued to yours.

“I love you, Y/n. Please.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but was immediately interrupted by voices coming from the house.

Fuck.

“Under the dock.” He said, pulling you with him as you both swam underneath the wooden surface. 

“Conrad-”

He immediately brought his hand up to cover your mouth, bringing up his other hand to put a finger to his lips, signaling you to be quiet.

“Where the fuck did they go?” Jeremiah’s muffled voice sounded from above you, footsteps pacing back and forth.

“Maybe they’re finally confessing their undying love for each other.” Belly said.

“Don’t think Connor would like that too much.” Steven responded.

“Who cares, that guy’s a dick. I say, ‘dump his ass’!” Hayden joked and everyone laughed, footsteps fading down the dock, giving up on finding the two of you out here.

Once you were sure they were gone, you pulled away from him. “You dummy!”

“What? I just saved our asses.”

“We could’ve just said we decided to go for a night swim, the fact that we’re gonna show up completely soaked with no explanation is going to be way more suspicious!!”

Conrad just smiled and cocked his head as you rambled.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re in love with me.”

“Would that be so bad?” “Yes.”

–

Things had been terrible since the kiss. You could barely look at Conrad or Connor. And your constant bickering with Connor started back up again, he was back to his old self. You should’ve known that sweet facade was going to fade soon. He was just jealous of Conrad, but he couldn’t keep up the act anymore.

It was nearing the end of July, and the whole group was lazing around the Fisher’s house. You all spent the whole day at the beach yesterday, and you were tuckered out, all agreeing to just chill around the house. Laurel and Susannah had been gone all day, doing God knows what (edibles on the beach), so you were able to roam the house freely.

Until Jeremiah suggested a game, which turned into a drinking game, which turned into a mini party outside with just you and your friends. It was honestly nice, some summer beach playlist was playing through the speakers, the boys set up a game of pong (you even got to beat Steven and Jeremiah’s asses in the game with Tate), and half eaten snacks littered the outdoor table.

And of course, everyone was hammered by the time the sun began to set, but all you could focus on was Conrad’s eyes lingering on you.

“Babyyyy…” Connor stumbled over to where you were standing, leaning your weight against the side of the house.

“Hi.” You said, amusement in your tone.

“Let’s go inside.” He slurred, trying to push you towards the french doors.

You looked around, everyone was still partying and having fun. It hadn’t gotten to the point where everyone was breaking off into their respective couples with locked lips yet. Jere, Belly and Tate were having a handstand contest, which Conrad, Hayden and Steven were judging, Shayla was facetiming one of her friends, no doubt gushing to them about Steven.

“Not right now, everyone’s still having fun.”

“But we could be off having more fun.”

You shook your head. “Maybe later, okay?”

“Come onnnn.” He tried to persuade you by leaving kisses down your throat and exposed chest, only barely covered by a black bikini top.

You couldn’t help but close your eyes and sigh a bit, your hand coming up to tangle your fingers in his hair, your mind playing flashes of your kiss with Conrad under the fireworks at the dock. The way his hands explored your body, the way he confessed his love for you with so much passion and emotion–

“Seriously, Conrad…”

Shit.

Connor immediately disconnected from you, pulling back to stare at you with wide eyes.

“The fuck did you just call me?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Conrad? Are you fucking serious?”

“I- I’m drunk, and your names are so similar.” You panicked, trying to clean up the mess you just made but it was too late, you were pushed up against the wall with Connor’s hand around your throat. Your instinct was to try and pry his hands off of you, but he was so much stronger than you, and fighting wasn’t doing you any good.

He was squeezing hard, and you tried to use your voice to call for your brother, Conrad, Jeremiah, fucking anybody, but you couldn’t. The only sounds coming from you were strangled cries and choking.

“Hey!” You heard a voice call from the pool, and the sounds of water sloshing and panicked screams rang through the air, and suddenly Connor was ripped off of you by Tate and you gasped for air, your hands immediately flying to your throat as wet coughs erupted from your chest.

“That’s my fucking sister!” Tate roared, his fist flying through the air and hitting Connor across the face, sending him flying backwards onto the concrete. He was picked up off of the ground by Steven and Hayden only for them to push him into Jeremiah’s awaiting fist. 

“Guys please-” You tried but no one was listening except for Belly and Shayla, who were trying to usher you inside.

Finally Conrad stepped in, grabbing Connor by the collar of his shirt once again as he leaned in, his voice so low and menacing it sent a chill down your spine.

“What did I say would happen if you touched her again?”

His eyes were dark, so dark that if you were looking at them for the first time, you probably wouldn’t even know they were blue, and his chest was heaving so rapidly you were worried he was gonna get dizzy.

You wanted to intervene, but you were so overwhelmed and overcome with panic you couldn’t speak as Conrad slammed your boyfriend into the ground, only to pick him back up and Slam him into the wall, his large hand around his throat, in the exact same position he had you in.

“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?” Conrad all but growled.

“I didn’t mean-”

“Shut up.” His tone was flat as he stared at him, and Belly reached for your hand. You took it and squeezed, pulling her behind you. Steven had already done the same with Shayla.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen.” He said, “You’re gonna go across the street with Tate or Steven or whoever the fuck else, you’re gonna pack up your shit, and you’re gonna leave. Do I make myself clear?”

“She just-”

“DO I make myself clear?!” He barked and you flinched. Conrad was broody and intimidating, sure, but he was gentle. This was a side of him you were sure no one else had ever seen before.

Connor nodded and Conrad let him go, turning to you. His demeanor immediately softened when his eyes met yours, and a wave of relief washed over you so forcefully you began to cry, Belly was quick to pull you into her arms, ushering you inside. 

Steven assured Tate and Jermiah that he and Hayden would take Connor across the street to pack his things, and that you probably needed them more than ever now, and they’d be back soon.

“Tate I have to tell you–” “Did you know, Con?” Tate asked slowly, almost as if he didn’t want to ask, because he didn’t want to know the answer.

“‘What did I say would happen if you ever touched her again?’” Tate quoted Conrad’s words to him, and he wanted to throw up.

“You knew that piece of shit was hurting my sister, and you didn’t fucking say anything?!”

“Listen-”

“No, fuck you!” Tate spat. “That’s my sister, man. That’s Y/n.”

“Let him talk, T.” Jeremiah said, placing a hand on Tate’s shoulder but he jerked himself away.

“Fuck that.”  He turned to storm away, opposite the direction of the house but Conrad stopped him.

“That’s your sister, Tate. Are you gonna storm off in a fit of rage or are you gonna go inside and hug your sister, who’s scared shitless?”

Tate just looked at him, eyes empty.

“I wanted to tell you. I almost did. She insisted she was going to do it herself, she didn’t want to turn it into something it didn’t need to be, alright? She just took a little longer than expected.”

Tate didn’t respond, only gave Conrad a curt nod before continuing to walk away from the house. “I just need a minute.”

Tate walked out the back and onto the beach, digging his hands in his pockets.

“Is it too soon to ask what you guys were doing during the fireworks?”

Conrad huffed out a laugh and clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Under the deck, dickhead.”

“Seriously?!”

Conrad nodded and Jeremiah threw his head back, pretending to be disgusted. “Rascals.” The pair stopped right outside the french doors, taking in a deep breath before they entered the house. “Y/n’s a badass.” Jeremiah said, glancing at his older brother, who nodded, before putting his hand on the doorknob and pushing, allowing the two to walk into the house.

You sat at the kitchen island, Belly and Shayla both on the other side of the granite, staring at you with concerned eyes.

Jeremiah moved first, pulling out the stool next to yours and positioning his head so he was eye level with you, a small smile on his face.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Hi.” You rasped and his smile sank.

The curly headed boy brought his hand up to wipe a fleck of dust off of your eyebrow before placing a kiss on the top of your head, and you sank into him.

“That was kinda scary, huh?” Jere asked and you nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“First of all, I never want you to apologize to me again.”

You giggled.

“And second of all, why?”

You sighed and shrugged. “I feel like an idiot. I ruined everything. I scared you.”

Jeremiah shook his head, wrapping his arms fully around you, resting his cheek on top of your head. “You didn’t ruin anything, alright?”

You nodded and sniffled, a tear rolling down your cheek, which Jeremiah was quick to wipe.

“No tears, alright?” Even though he was blinking back his own. He kissed your head one last time before disconnecting himself to you, and gesturing his head to the stairs, signaling for the girls to follow him upstairs. He couldn’t wait to tell them about the dock.

You and Conrad were left alone, and his presence was not easy to ignore.

He slowly made his way over to the stool Jeremiah had just been in and sat down, his eyes taking over your frame and wincing.

“Can I?” He asked and you nodded. He brought his hand up to brush your hair out of the way and he whined when it revealed the angry bruise covering your neck.

“It hurts.”

“I know, baby. I know.” He said, pulling you off of the stool and picking you up bridal style so he could take you up to his room.

Neither of you missed the hushed whispers from behind Jeremiah’s closed door. 

Conrad pulled back the covers and laid you down, quick to follow and pull you close to him.

“I’m really scared, Con.” You said, your voice small as you cuddled impossibly closer.

“You’re safe. I promise you are. I’m right here, okay?” He assured you, his hand cradling the back of your head and the other lightly trailing the skin of your back.

“I love you.” You said, and Conrad visibly relaxed at your confession.

“I love you more, my girl.”

–

Those damn ocean eyes.

Conrad smiled at you from across the bonfire and you blew a kiss back. Which he pretended to catch and put in his pocket.

Conrad Fisher. Catching a kiss and putting it in his pocket. Who would've thought?

It was mid August. The summer was coming to an end, but you still had a couple of weeks left, and you were all soaking up every last second of it.

Conrad had, of course, asked you to be his girlfriend as soon as the water settled, and of course you said yes. Tate and Conrad made up, giving each other a big bro hug, and your brother finally talked to you once he calmed down, giving you that big, comforting, big brother hug as you cried. And of course he swore to kill Connor next time he saw him. Susannah found an amazing program that had a huge success rate, and everyone was hopeful.

Your boyfriend made his way over to you, wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you into him before he planted a kiss on your lips.

“Pretty girl.” He mumbled, a tipsy smile pulling at his lips.

“My blue eyed boy.” You responded, throwing your arms around his shoulders, an open invitation for him to pick you up and spin you, that melodic laugh of yours that he just adored sang from your lips.

“We’re you callin for me that night at the party?” He asked, a teasing smile on his face.

“Not funny, Con.”

“‘Course it isn’t. Just wonderin’.” His words were slurring and he was just so beautiful.

“Yes.” You admitted, rolling your eyes.

“Knew it.” He said, peppering your face with kisses while you giggled and tangled your fingers through his hair.

He swore he’d never be happier than he was at that moment.

But they had a whole life ahead of them, 

And the story of Conrad Fisher and Y/n Y/l/n had just begun.

-

I love a cheesy ending.

taglist: @colbysbrocks @prettysummerbaby @sortagaysortahigh @hpboysslut2707

[book-place]

Remembering Normal

Warnings: slight Obi-Wan spoilers (takes place before ep 1 so it’s just information you would be getting from there), mentions of Order 66, mentions of character death, hints of ptsd, nightmares, slight cursing, crappy guys, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Obi-Wan x teen reader

Requests: HEY THERE, can I request Obi Wan conforting his padawan that had a heartbreak for the first time? Thank youuu

Oh boy am I glad I stumbled upon your blog, I've been dying for obiwan x platonic!reader (where reader is obi wans padawan but he also kinda raised her so its almost father/daughter like, same age range around ashoka) and it's so difficult to find 🥺 Could I get like a post order 66 where obiwan as deciding to go to tatooine and they send reader with him? Really I'm fine with anything, from that or the show but with reader added in, I'm craving so much lol. And pls tag me in any that you do!

(Sorry if this wasn’t what either of you had in mind- if you don’t like it then just lmk and I’ll try to fix it!!)

Requests by: @ensheass @fabulousapple

*not my gif*

Summary: After everything the two of you had been through, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but sometimes feel like he raised you

A/N: This is a mess- it’s all over the place; also, a very special thanks to @lemonadeandkoolaid for motivating me to do this lol

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

Obi-Wan turned his head to the side, brown eyes locking onto your steadily breathing form immediately.

He let himself stay on the bed for another minute, eyes already ridding themselves off the sleepy state that he had just been in as whatever dreams he had been having faded away.

He couldn’t help the small feeling of gratitude that welled up in his chest. You hadn’t woken up because of another nightmare last night. For the past week you had been waking up every night screaming, flashbacks of that terrible day playing on repeat in your mind.

More than anything, he wished that he could just wave his hand and make them go away. Make you forget everything that you were forced to go through. At such a young age nonetheless.

Letting out a long sigh that partially sounded like a groan, the ex Jedi swung his feet over the side of his bed and ran his hands down his face.

Time for another day.

Lazily, he walked over to your bed, shaking your left leg slightly to wake you up, feeling slightly guilty as he did so because you had finally been able to get some sleep.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you sat up in a jolt, wide eyes whipping around the room before they landed on a calm and collected Obi-Wan.

“Time to get up.” He said, voice slightly groggy still, ignoring your reaction.

With a small hum, you nodded and swung your legs over the side of your bed, running your hands down your face. Repeating the exact process that the man had done just moments before.

“We have the early shift today.” He reminded you softly, moving to your makeshift kitchen area and beginning to prepare breakfast for the both of you.

This emitted a small groan on your part, and he subconsciously let a small smile grow on his face.

“How did you sleep?” You asked quietly, pushing yourself off the hard surface that you called your bed.

“As well as expected.” Came his reply before a slight pause, as if hesitating, “You?”

You quieted, coming to stand next to him at the counter and began helping with the food, “Fine.” You said, forcing a smile onto your face as you glanced at him.

He looked at you suspiciously, but didn’t push it, which you were beyond grateful for.

In truth, you had woken up in the middle of the night because of another nightmare, but you had caught yourself before you could start screaming, trying to give Obi-Wan as much sleep as he could get.

Luckily for you, the topic seemed to fly right out of his mind as soon as the food was ready.

You had met Obi-Wan Kenobi at the mere age of four, being one of the youngest force-sensitive children ever to be sent out as a padawan learner.

When the Jedi master had first seen you, he thought that you were far too young for anything like that, but he soon learned that you were far beyond your years in terms of controlling the force.

It was no secret that he had grown fond of you immediately, taking you under his wing and caring for you more than other masters seemed to care about their padawans.

He would go out of his way to make sure that you had enough ration packs each day, keep watch at night if it meant that you could sleep, and constantly worrying about you when the two of you were sent on missions.

In a way, he felt like he had raised you.

Then Order 66 happened a year later, and everything you had ever known broke apart before your very eyes.

Within hours the Jedi Temple was gone, dead bodies littered across every hallway and in every room. The clones- your friends- had turned on you and your master while in the middle of a mission, trying to kill the two of you. The senator Padame Amidala, who you considered a friend, was said to have died while giving birth to twins. And Anakin Skywalker, a fellow master of yours, was rumored to have gone to the dark side before he was stopped by a very powerful Jedi Knight.

So when Obi-Wan said that he was going to Tatooine to watch over young Luke, you of course joined him, having absolutely nobody- and nowhere- left to go to.

To that day you still couldn’t grasp onto what had happened, waking up everyday to hoping that it was just a nightmare and you were really on a mission with Obi-Wan and Anakin, doing what you were supposed to do. Taking down the Sith to save the Galaxy.

Because even though it was a war, it was all that you had ever known and it gave you a sense of familiarity when you thought about it.

But everyday you woke up to disappointment.

The two of you began to eat your food in silence, each too consumed by your own thoughts to even attempt to make small talk, not that you guys had to anymore. You could pretty much tell what the other was thinking by just looking at them. That’s what happened when you spent so much time with a single person.

Afterwards, you each finished getting ready for the day and wordlessly went on your way.

You were both silent on the way to work, when you got there, while you were working, and on the way back to town.

What was there to speak about? You both saw each other every day, nothing new was happening with either of you that the other didn’t know about. No longer did you two have to discuss battle strategies or study maps until they were engraved in your mind.

People in the town would often whisper about you two.

The man and the teenager who were never seen apart, silently walking side by side. Her eyes sharp and his tired. Him moving in front of her protectively at the first sight of even a little bit of danger. Her being the one to do the talking if either of them ever had to. Both of them disappearing to wherever they lived at the end of the day, not to be seen again until they have to leave for work the next day.

The supposed father and daughter. Nobody knew their exact relationship, but they could only be left to assume after absolutely no information on them whatsoever.

Of course, neither of you knew about these whispers. Thinking that you were practically invisible to the town, not knowing that you’re the ones that the children made up stories about and the adults gossiped about.

And though both of you had lived there for ten years, and these people had seen you grow up from being a little girl, they still almost never tried to approach either of you.

“I’ll go get us some dinner.” You said quietly, not really finding the point in speaking up any louder.

Obi-Wan nodded, trusting you to be out on your own as he decided to focus on getting some new gloves, seeing how his were torn apart.

You floated through the crowds, not really noticing or caring that people parted for you slightly, and whispers of your name were leaving people's lips.

Your fake name, that is. You had to change it when you moved there, afraid that someone would find out who you truly were.

You made your way inside a small store, one of the very few that was able to afford an indoor shop, and began grabbing a couple of essentials for the rest of the week, before making your way over to a worker to pay.

The worker was a boy around your age from the looks of it, and he straightened up his slouched stance as soon as he saw you approach.

“I’ll just take these, please.” You said softly and politely.

When you and your master had moved to that planet, you had done everything in your power to lay low and that even meant changing your normally confident demeanor of your five year old self, into a shy and quiet one as to not bring attention to yourself.

And as time went on, you supposed that what you were pretending to be actually became a part of you, because you knew almost nothing else, your memory had begun to give out on you and you remembered less and less of what your life used to be like.

The boys mouth dropped open, probably not having expected you to talk, “Oh, uhh.- yes-right. Yes, that will be seven credits.” He stumbled a little over his words and you had to stifle a giggle.

A small smile appeared to have made its way onto your face though, and when the boy saw this a large grin grew on his own face.

You almost never smiled anymore, you couldn’t remember the last time you did that wasn’t with Obi-Wan. And even when you did with him, it was very brief and never lasted long because there wasn’t much in you lives to smile about.

Without dropping the smile, you handed him the credits and with a small ‘thank you’, you turned to walk away, but were stopped when you heard him call after you.

“Wait!” You turned, a little surprised, and saw him standing there, rubbing his hand up and down his neck, “I was just wondering if you- you know… wanted to meet up some time.”

This time, you were very surprised, and you let it show on your face.

“I mean, only if you want to.” He rushed out, eyes quickly widening in panic, “I get off of my shift in a couple hours and we can go to the cantina if you want!”

A slow smile made its way onto your expression, “Sure, that sounds nice.” You had no idea what was going on, but you couldn’t exactly say that you hated it. And what was wrong with making a friend?

“Great!” He proceeded to tell you the time he would be there and then ask you if you would be free then.

“Yes! I’m definitely free then-“ Before you could continue, you were cut off by another voice.

“There you are.” Obi-Wan's voice held a sharpness that you hadn’t heard in a long time. His back was tense and his eyes were hard, “You were taking a long time.”

If you hadn’t been surprised before, you sure as hell were now. He hadn’t used that tone with you since the war when you did something reckless (he hadn’t needed to after that because of how quickly you grew up and matured), never mind in front of another person, the ones that you two were supposed to be laying low in front of.

“Ben.” You said in surprise, the name still sounding forgein to you no matter how many times you have said it, “I was just-“

“Come on.” His voice was stern, and he was glaring slightly at the new boy who you were still yet to know the name of, “We need to go home.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” The boy piped up - and judging by Obi-Wans state- stupidly.

The man’s glare deepened, “I wasn’t speaking to you.” He practically hissed through gritted teeth.

Trying to shake off your confusion, you looked up at Obi-Wan, grabbing his arm gently and beginning to pull him away.

Whatever was happening was so… unlike him, and you almost felt like you couldn’t recognize the man standing in front of you when you looked over at him. He was wearing a look that you hadn’t remembered seeing since the time of the war.

Finally breaking his gaze away from the boy, he stomped off ahead of you, leaving you to try and jog to catch up with him, neither one of you sparing a look at the confused- and now slightly horrified- boy who was trying to figure out what had just happened.

The whole way back to your home, you had attempted to interrogate him about what had just happened, but he simply shrugged you off every time. Leaving you to eventually just give up.

By the time you had gotten back, you had made the decision to give him the silent treatment until he told you what was going on, and so far he wasn’t giving in. So neither were you.

When Obi-Wan had asked you if you wanted to accompany him to watch over Luke, you had just stared back at him blankly until he sighed and went by himself.

You were grateful that he didn’t push it, because then you could have time to yourself to sneak away and meet up with the boy. If Obi-Wan had a problem with it, then he should have just told you what was bothering him. Now he can live with the consequences of his actions.

With that, you changed into the nicest clothes that you owned- which weren’t much considering you didn’t need a lot while living on a desert planet while trying to lay low.

Giving yourself a nod of satisfaction, you made your way back into town and to the place where the boy had told you to meet him.

The cantina was a decent size, not as big as some you've been to, but not exactly as small either. It was pretty good considering the planet that you were on.

As soon as you had walked in, you had scanned the restaurant, only to come up empty handed when there was no sight of him.

You determined that you were probably just a few minutes early, and took a seat in the back corner facing the door so that you could see each other when he came in.

A droid had come over to ask for your order, but you had politely told it that you would just be waiting for someone and as soon as he came you would order.

You waited for half the night.

By that point you had become so aware of all the people whispering to one another, glancing and pointing at you. The girl who wouldn’t order because she was supposedly waiting for someone that was clearly never going to come.

So with as much dignity as you could muster, you stood straight up and walked out the door, keeping your chin raised and eyes forward, refusing to let people see how you were really feeling inside. Hiding your emotions from them.

Though you were young, you knew that people around your age all over the Galaxy had already experienced this type of thing a million times. But you weren’t like those people.

You were raised your whole life being told to have no attachments, and though you weren’t attached to that boy, you grew to realize that you had subconsciously become attached to the idea of having a friend- having anything normal.

So with an unsettling feeling in both your stomach and your heart, you trekked back to your home, head down and lost in deep thoughts.

As soon as you stepped in through the door, your eyes snapped up in surprise to see Obi-Wan pacing back and forth between the walls. Normally the two of you would camp out just outside of Luke's aunt and uncle's farm if you were watching over him and it got too late. So you hadn’t been expecting to see him back.

“Obi-“ He cut you off sharply.

“Where have you been?” He demanded, coming to a halt in front of you, and it wasn’t hard to detect the worry in his voice and face. Then a look of realization crossed his face, “You were meeting that boy weren’t you?” An indecipherable look appeared on his face and you couldn’t help but look away.

“Save the lecture.” You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, “He didn’t even show up.”

Obi-Wan felt his face and heart soften at hearing this, and he sighed before striding over to your side, seeing past your tough exterior. Looking - almost into your soul- and into the part of you that was hurting. In pain.

“I’m sorry.”

The sincerity on his voice made your eyes snap up to meet his, and for the first time since before you could remember, you felt your eyes well up in tears over something that had nothing to do with the war.

“I just wanted to be normal.” Your voice cracked and Obi-Wan felt a sadness swallow him up as well as a sense of guilt, it was probably his fault the boy didn’t show anyway.

“I know.” He mumbled, pulling you to his chest soothingly, gently rocking the two of you back and forth, “I know. I’m sorry.” He continued to mumble into your hair, placing a gentle kiss in it.

There were two things that Obi-Wan knew about his life at that moment. One of those things was that things would never go back to how they used to be. With the Jedi. With Anakin. Without the Empire. And the other thing was that no matter how old the two of you would get, Obi-Wan would do everything he could to look out for you. Just like he had for as long as you could remember.

Star Wars Taglist: @spidyyparker @fabulousapple @femalemarvelself

[lavienjin]

moon's guide to posting on tumblr*

*note that this information can change like the drop of a hat because of this goddamn hellsite (affectionate; deragatory)

hi yall welcome to moon's guide to posting on tumblr aka tips and tricks that i've learned that WORKS FOR ME (but may not work for you; see above)

always use google chrome (incognito imo is the best way to do this)

the first 20 tags matter most; the rest are arbitrary

pls don't put nsfw warnings in the tags. tumblr will eat it. (put it in the post itself)

if it doesn't show up within the first 5-10 minutes, make a new post and tag again.

edit your hyperlinks in AFTER you make sure the post shows up in the tags.

"you can only tag 50 ppl" is a myth (SO FAR). in my most recent fic (which had over 50+ ppl tagged already), i edited + tagged one of my sideblogs and i still got the notification.

try not to queue your post/save it as a draft. it's been a hit and miss whether they show up in the tags when i post.

whether you use the new post editor or not doesn't really matter (in my experience). i prefer the new post editor so i use that 🤷‍♀️

if things still don't work (aka troubleshooting):

wait until the next day

sign out + sign back in

restart your computer

double check AGAIN that you are on google chrome, no nsfw tags, etc.

this is all i can come up with 😭 it's a nightmare that we have to jump through hoops, but i hope it's helpful! i would HIGHLY recommend having your own tag for your content so you can check if it shows up there. the more unique the better. if you need any more assistance, lmk!