#intrusive thoughts strike again

[notknickers]

me, stimming with my rubber-coated pen with squiggly parts that jump everywhere as if i were in the finals of the stimming olympics: *bwong bwong bwong bwong...* my brain: you know, i was thinking... me, freezing on the spot in panic, a bead of sweat rolling lazily down the slope of my forehead: *bwo---* my brain: what if könig sounded more or less like jared hopworth. like, not 100% like him, just along those deep, low, harsh and rough tones? me, scratching chin: go on... my brain: i mean, between that kind of voice and the thick accent, what little he says you wouldn't even understand most of the time, so... me, 😏: oh, he's just supposed to be seen and not heard; pretty and quiet; submissive and breedable, anyway. my brain: so...? me: jared hopworth-like könig it is! 👍

[bluelockmaniac]

𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐙𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒

୨ৎ ft. itoshi sae x actress!reader (fem)

synopsis. when football star itoshi sae randomly names you as his celebrity crush, the internet goes wild with rumours. what happens when you decide to make a surprise appearance during his next interview?

notes. thanks anon for the suggestion ! the editing process took quite a while bc i had to search for so many synonyms and celebrity-dazzling-type of vocabulary, and just a bit of research & idioms, lol (like tell me why i didn't know what filmography was??).

word count. 1.7k

𝐓𝐇𝐄 first thing that grated on sae’s nerves was the endless string of interviews he had to endure after every victory. the second were the interviewers, who seemed to lack any sense of boundaries or respect of privacy all together. but the third and perhaps most exasperating thing sae loathed were the questions– particularly those who left him completely clueless.

how on earth was he supposed to provide this nosy interviewer with the name of his celebrity crush when he didn't even have one?

besides, sae’s social awareness was practically nonexistent. his mind was consumed by football– matches, practice sessions, training drills, and occasionally, thoughts of his brother. naming a celebrity was as foreign to him as the idea of reconciling with rin.

he had tried to dodge the infuriating question, really. but his attempt was thwarted by the exaggerated glare of his manager, whose expression screamed ‘make. up. any. name’.

the older itoshi sighed, eyeing the lady who had posed the stupid, intrusive question from the side. to the untrained eye, it might have appeared that he was merely stalling, which, in truth, he sort of was. but on the inside, he was actually scrambling to conjure up any random name.

then, as if the goddess of luck intervened, a blurry image of you materialized in his mind. he recalled catching a glimpse of you while riding in his personal chauffeur-driven car.

your recognizable face had adorned a massive, wide billboard advertisement. you looked too striking– too gorgeous– to forget. you were holding a rose perfume bottle next to your shoulder, smiling with such infectious brightness. luckily, his eyes had happened to drift to the bottom left corner, where your name was elegantly inscribed in cursive.

y/n l/n.

anyone familiar with the entertainment industry would no doubt recognize your name immediately. you were a standout actress in hollywood, notably known for your phenomenal acting skills and breathtaking beauty. your filmography– the number of movies you've starred in– was extensive, and your trophy shelf in your large mansion was filled to the brim with numerous awards.

“itoshi-san?” the interviewer prompted again, her pesky voice cutting through his trance as she set her coffee mug on the table. she repeated her question, “there's nothing to be embarrassed about, haha– we’ve all had celebrity crushes at some point. who’s yours?”

sae scoffed lightly, leaning back onto the couch and propping his elbow on the armrest. he hid his face behind his hand, attempting to mask his discomfort.

“y/n.” he muttered, his voice laced with forced nonchalance.

the words slipped from his lips with shame. he knew this embarrassing revelation would literally dominate the headlines by nightfall, and he could hardly brace himself. he actually felt a teeny bit of guilt for dragging you into the main focus of the public’s attention alongside him. by tomorrow morning, his phone would be buzzing with notifications about this becoming the top trending topic on social media.

heck, he could already envision the misleading headlines in the tabloids:

alleged hidden affair: football prodigy itoshi sae and actress y/n l/n rumored to be in secret relationship– what’s really going on?

the interviewer let out an exaggerated gasp, her hands flying to her mouth as she exchanged a gleeful look with the cameraman.

“d-did you get that on tape? this will certainly make the headlines!”

she turned back to sae, who was still averting his gaze awkwardly. “j-just to be sure, itoshi-san… you’re talking about y/n l/n, correct?”

sae mumbled something inaudible under his breath before finally meeting her eyes, realizing it’s better to save face than to prolong his embarrassment live on camera.

“yes, her,” he replied with a shrug, rolling his eyes. he seriously had no idea who you were, what you did, or why you were famous. “she's cute, i guess.”

the interviewer beamed, leaning in enthusiastically. “—absolutely, her beauty is nothing short of enchanting! which of her shows or movies did you enjoy the most?”

so you were an actress, he thought, narrowing his eyes at the woman. he had absolutely no clue about any of your work. resorting to his typical bluntness, he retorted,

“none of your business. shut up.” he turned his head towards his manager, who looked as if he was about to cry literal tears of joy. “this interview is over. let's go.”

a few weeks had passed, and just as sae had predicted, rumours of a secret affair between him and you had exploded across the internet. yet, they remained just that– rumours. neither of you had addressed them… perhaps because there was no need to.

sae had just secured another effortless victory and was now being chauffeured to the interview venue. as he passed the familiar billboard, his eyes wandered, searching for your eyes, only to find that your advertisement had been replaced by some no-name, cheap milk brand’s.

—

as usual, he handled the post-match questions with ease. they were always the same, tedious inquiries: “how do you feel about your performance today?”, “could you describe the pivotal moments in today's match?”, “how did teamwork play a role in the game?”, “one fan asked…”, and so on.

however, this time, the midfielder felt slightly uneasy— the camera crew seemed larger, with cameras on every angle of the room. the interviewer, the same lady from before, appeared unusually excited. her voice was squeaker and she fiddled faintly as she spoke.

finally, she asked the final question regarding the opposition team’s strategies and approaches.

“hmph. we barely broke a sweat today; their game plan was so weak and predictable it was almost laughable. we could have won with our eyes closed.”

she nodded, almost dismissively, as if she couldn’t wait to wrap up the interview and get to the next part of the show.

“incredible, exactly what we’d expect from japan’s prodigious player! now, for all our online viewers, get ready to tune into GoalTalk’s special event! tonight, we're thrilled to welcome a very special guest who will be joining us…”

sae quirked an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued as he watched the crew reposition the numerous cameras to focus on the entrance door, though a few lenses remained trained on him.

“... y/n l/n!”

you stepped onto the platform as soon as your name was announced, waving to the countless cameras flashing blinding lights in your direction. you were dressed in a long, flowing burgundy gown that accentuated your curves perfectly. you exuded elegance; the very epitome of grace.

sae's eyes widened in surprise, tracking your movements as you made your way to the seat beside him.

“fucking bullshit, you’ve got to be kidding me…” he groaned, throwing his head back against the couch’s backrest, his adam’s apple bobbing. 

you let out a soft giggle, settling beside him so that your thighs brushed against his. with a gentle tap on his shoulder, you flashed a practiced smile as he turned to look at you. 

“it’s such an honour to finally meet you, itoshi! i’m actually a huge fan, so you could imagine my excitement when you mentioned i was your celebrity crush in your recent interview.”

he cringed inwardly, having heard similar compliments from noisy fangirls countless times before. besides, you were a renowned actress; for all he knew, your cheerful expressions and excitement could be part of a well-rehearsed facade.

“ah. thanks, i guess,” he shrugged, clicking his tongue before adding nonchalantly, “...you’re a good actress.”

“oh, thank you! i appreciate it.” you leaned in slightly, your smile widening, “hey, you know, i wouldn't mind giving you my number. we could maybe… figure things out?~”

“what–” his leg began to bounce subtly. perhaps it was the effect of being an actress who had participated in a multitude of romance movies and shows– such flirtatious comments tend to slip naturally from your lips.

“you wouldn’t mind, would you? you’re single, right?” you pressed, propping your chin on his shoulder. 

fuck. your face was so close– so close he could understand why people called you stunning. you were infinitely more beautiful than the artificial, edited image on the billboard. your sweet scent of exotic fruit, reminiscent of a hot summer day on the beach, wafted to his nose. his eyes wandered to your cherry-stained, glossed lips, feeling a strange, inexplicable magnetic pull.

but he sighed defeatedly, feeling his manager’s intense yet pleased gaze boring into him. “i guess. don’t expect anything, though,” he dismissed, reaching up to ruffle his reddish hair. everything was alright. he just needed to get through this interview.

little did either of you know– or perhaps you had a vague idea– that social media was already ablaze with an endless amount of comments from hundreds of thousands of fans from both sides, shipping you two together.

you nudged him playfully with your elbow and turned your head, winking at the cameras as you slyly slipped your hand into his. “i’m getting his number, sorry girls.”

he felt his breath catch in his throat, his fingers remaining numb in your grasp. but suddenly, a strange surge of boldness overwhelmed his usually rational senses– he was already doomed, anyway, so why seem like a lame pushover? his hand reciprocated your grip, intertwining his fingers with yours as he leaned in slightly. his lips brushed over your ear as he whispered a few, short words, eyeing one camera directly with a subtle smirk.

you felt your cheeks bloom with warmth at his words. all the cameras in the venue captured the sight of your eyes widening in surprise and the visceral nodding of your head to whatever he had just said.

his words would remain a secret to the public however, even as the internet flooded with speculations and questions, triggered by a sensational headline featuring a photo of the two of you together:

𝑯𝑶𝑻 𝑵𝑬𝑾 𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹? 𝑱𝑨𝑷𝑨𝑵’𝑺 𝑭𝑶𝑶𝑻𝑩𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹 𝑰𝑻𝑶𝑺𝑯𝑰 𝑺𝑨𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝒀/𝑵 𝑳/𝑵 𝑺𝑷𝑶𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑯𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑳 𝑻𝑶𝑮𝑬𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹, 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑰𝑵 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫!

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform !

[feyascorner]

Hear me out! Hear me out!

From Astrion's pov

A Tav who hates physical contact.

But then one night when it's pouring rain Tav comes to Astarion's tent feeling scared and ask if they can stay and then one thing leads to another and suddenly the two of them are cuddled together and Astarion is like "I thought you didn't like being touched" and Tav is like "Normally I'm scared people will hurt me when they touch me. But you are different. I feel safe with you. I trust you."

a/n. I’m going to collapse they’re everything to me AHHH THIS IS SUCH A CUTE PROMPT

Astarion, by nature and by the two-hundred years he’s spent as a vampire spawn, is a touchy person. It’s instinctual. A habit he can no longer break. It’s not even sexual, half the time. It’s simply how he conveys the words that he struggles to say, even if his vocabulary is filled to the brim with flowery verses of love straight from a romance novel.

But he understands the aversion for touch. Because he’s spent so much of his life hating the touch of strangers against his skin, he understands when you recoil when one of your companions attempt to hug you, or someone tries to shake your hand. Even if yours doesn’t stem from the similar situations where he had to set out on a victim under Cazador’s orders, he understands what it’s like to simply dislike it.

He doesn’t touch you, even if his hand itches to brush the stray strands of hair out of your face. Even as he has to yank his arm away when he feels it nearing yours as you walk alongside one another. Even as all he wants to do is drag you to the nearest corner and beg that you just hold his hand.

So when you appear at the flap of his tent, barely shielding yourself from the thunderous weather outside, asking if you can stay, his jaw physically unhinges.

He coughs, gathering himself quickly—or as quickly as he can manage.

“Come here, darling. You’ll freeze away with that mortal body of yours.”

He doesn’t even know how it happens. Well, he does, but he doesn’t really believe it’s happening. Only fifteen minutes later, you’re snuggled in under his blankets, pressed tightly against his side. He stares up at the ceiling on his back with wide eyes, slowly turning to look at you.

“Is this…alright?” He asks, and you peek out from one eye, adjusting your head on his arm. He can smell your shampoo from so close—lavender? No, maybe another blasted flower he doesn’t know the name of…

“What is?”

“This,” he waves his free arm between the two of you. “Don’t get me wrong, darling, you know I’m never against a cuddle, but I thought you—well—“

You stare at him expectantly.

“I thought you disliked physical contact,” he says, softer. “Not just with me, obviously. In general you seem rather opposed to the idea.”

The thunder rings from outside and your brows crease deeper. The light from a lightning strike illuminates your faces briefly before it’s a dim darkness again, with nothing but your own eyes able to adjust just enough to make out one another’s features. He’s sure he sees more than you do, considering his familiarity with the dark, and uses it to notice the way your lips purse at the intrusive sounds coming from outside.

He also notices you leaning closer to him, but hesitant. Your movements are unsure.

If he had a heart, it would’ve been pounding now, surely.

So he curls his arm closer, pushing you into his chest in the process. You tense briefly, but melt into the feeling, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Are you afraid?”

Your voice is but a whisper. “Not anymore.”

There’s a comfortable silence hanging in the air for what seems like hours, but he might consider them to be just a few minutes. The rain pounds relentlessly against the tent, but here, even through the thin fabric, he doesn’t even notice it anymore.

“You’re different from everyone else,” you mumble, and he looks down at his chest to see your eyes halfway shut, clearly about to doze off. “I know you won’t hurt me…there’s no reason for me to avoid touching you.”

He blinks, and you bury half your face into the fabric of his shirt.

“I want you to touch me.”

For the first time in decades, Astarion finds himself at a loss for words. He’s said worse things, sure, but coming from you?…

After filing through a dozen possible responses, he settled on one, opening his mouth to respond, but your breath is already heavier. You’ve already left to a dream world he cannot follow you into, and you’ve left him in a state that he would’ve considered humiliating with anyone else.

He stares at the ceiling again, listening to the soft rhythm of your breathing.

“You can’t just say that and then fall asleep you fool…”

[porcelian]

COFFEE AND PISTOLS FOR TWO? | j. todd | 0.6k

SYNOPSIS: for jason every bruise is a reminder of Gotham’s relentless toll. Haunted by the brutality of last night’s patrol, he tries to find calm in you — your voice cuts through the haze, a gentle lifeline he didn’t know he needed ;

RATE: angst w/ comfort, description of violence and gore, PTSD(?) and trauma ;

── .✦ MASTERLIST & NAVIGATION & AO3

IN JASON’S MIND, HIS LIFE DOES NOT RUN OR FLOW, BUT CRAWLS ALONG. The scars etched on his crooked body forever is a reminder of that fact. The rough texture of the gauze hides them, but he can still feel the soreness of every blooming bruise in light purples and reds, like church bells ringing over and over again.

Jason’s hands tremble as he unloads the heavy pistol in his grip. Every step is a choreographed dance he has instilled in his mind. Check the chamber — empty; separate the parts — barrel, side and frame; clean ‘n wipe. A violent but precise dance from start to finish. The bullets rest embedded in some scums flesh, rotting in some dirty alley corner of Gotham.

Last night’s patrol was pitiless, at best. The dried blood on his jacket still sends strikes of remembrance in his mind of the wet and thick gore. It sticks on his clothes, seeps into it and clings onto his skin, threatening to dig its way into his body and last — his very own soul.

It shouldn’t get to me like this, Jason thinks.

His head falls back on the living room couch, the soft material lessening the pain that shoots up to his skull. Maybe that hit from the pipe to the head left him a concussion as a neat present. A groan still escapes his chapped lips, coarse and painful.

“Jay?” Jason hears your petal-like voice from the kitchen, “are you alright? Do you need me to come over?”

Jason hates how shaky your voice sounds. Worry etched into every syllable as you hang onto his word, searching for any sign that he’s okay. Jason notes the stark difference between voices of yours and him. Yours is tender— saccharine sweet and like honey on his tongue, while his— harsh, grating and grave, unpleasant to his ears.

His intrusive thoughts wrap around his mind and blinden his eyes like a blindfold, cutting off his senses in a way that he doesn’t notice the shuffling of your feet against the wooden floor, he doesn’t notice you now standing in front of him.

He hears you first.

“Baby—” your hands tremble before him, unsure of reaching out to him, “—can I?” your eyes trail to the pistol in his hands, gripped as if it’s his only lifeline, tethering on the edge.

He blinks before he gathers the remaining thoughts and shakily nods. Your velour-like hands carefully take his own, removing the weapon.

“Are you with me?”

Jason nods again, a trained response on purpose.

“I need your words, baby.”

You put down the gun and as you retract your hands, his instinctively reaches out and grip yours with his own.

“O- Okay—” You stumble on your words, shuffling closer to him and wrapping his form in your hold. “I’m here.”

I’m here.

Such simple words, but they strike a cord in his heart that has his nerve finally settle. A breath in, he remembers what you taught him, a breath out. His heartbeat slows down and the thoughts slowly dissipate. Jason notices your warmth around him and your gentle arms creating the only safe haven he’s known in years, deprived of rest and sanctuary like caim.

You, with the arcadian words and guileless smile; the viridity of your spirit is like ambrosia to him, seeping into his skin as you grin, pearls iridescent like reflected sunlight and seafoam in the marmoris.

“I made coffee.” Your singsong voice rings out in his ears as he turns his gaze on the two small cups settled on the wooden table. The steam rolls from the hot liquid like faint clouds.

Later, you say, “How are you feeling now?”

“Better.” He responds with a note of relief.

Sometimes, better is all you can ask for.

Jason curls himself around you again and listens to your breathing.

Sometimes, better is everything.

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[yandereunsolved]

🐉 Yandere Aemond Targaryen w/ platonic yandere Alicent Hightower (part 2—requested) 🐉

↝ (part 1) ᝰ.ᐟ

You had left to do your daily duties after he pulled you aside and confessed his true intentions. You seemed so frightened of him in that moment. You simply asked to be excused and continue your work. Aemond would say it broke his heart, but it did not. It only strengthened his will and resolve to make you his. 

He would have to face his mother and ensure your hand in marriage to him. Aemond once said that he would have gladly married Halaena; only now does he see the foolishness in those words. Hopefully, his mother will see the foolishness as well. His heart yearns for no other, and he will slay as many as needed if denied you.

His hand nearly slipped from the knob of her chambers. His heart had nearly halted to a stop. He cannot say he has ever felt a fear quite like this, not even when he was disfigured. His hand absent-mindedly touched his eye patch. A lovelorn grimace appeared on his pale face. He opened the door with another new sense of vigor. 

His single step within his mother's chambers commanded great respect, like that of the dragons the Targaryens pridefully ride. The maids looked up in panic at his intrusion. They were fixing the queen's auburn strands and her emerald gown. Even at the cost of a possible scolding or death at the hands of the queen, they quickly left her chambers without so much of an indication of Queen Alicent allowing them.

"Mother," the words hung on his tongue loosely, his expression blank but betraying a hint of anxiety. "I have an urgent matter I wish to speak to you about."

"Yes." Alicent answered quickly, with a wistful warmth evident in her tone.

"Yes?"

"The maid," jealously and vitriolic animosity clear in her curt wording.

The queen stood up and glared at her son. Her steps were quick, and her single action fierce. It took him a moment to register the stinging ache on the edge of his face. His mother had just struck him, as she often did to Aegon. 

"Idiot boy. You want to marry that maid, correct? You have gone about it all the wrong way." 

His ability to speak left him, and with it was a pit of shame that only grew with the impact of the hit.

"Aemond, speak. Use your words if you want them so badly."

"I—how did you know?" He manages to croak out. He tries to maintain his crumbling visage of indifference.

"They are special. They may have been born among the common, but they are destined for nobility." Alicent hissed. She had to refrain from slapping him again because of such an asinine inquiry.

"That does not answer—"

She cut him off. "Hush, son. I am the queen. I am entitled to know everything that goes on within these walls. I know you have fancied the maid for a long time. You have gone about it all wrong. Still, I will give you their hand under one circumstance. You must woo them and treat them with the care they deserve. If I see you raise your voice or your hand to them, even in a moment of rage, I will make sure they are taken from you."

Aemond's head spins with her agreement, his thoughts scattered around his mind like the bones of Vhagar's victims. He had to clutch onto the side of the wall. His one violet eye narrowed at his mother. He somewhat feared the silly little woman, but he had to regain his ground. Through dawn and dusk, he is a man that has come of age. Asking for your hand through his mother was nothing more than a formality.

"They are mine, regardless. I do not intend them any harm; abuse would be the antithesis of my love for them."

Alicent seemed to stare into his soul and see the truth. Her shoulders relaxed, and she returned to her proper, queenly persona.

"Good boy. Listen to my words, and they shall be yours. I will not hesitate to order your brother to strike you down if you disobey."

"You have made that abundantly clear." He has to restrain himself from rolling his eye. His sapphire one nearly rolled in his socket.

"I will keep an eye on them, which means they will end up visiting my chambers once a week. I am sure I can get them more smitten with you." Alicent chuckles, but it is more like a court member's snarky laugh than that of a proud mother. "That confession of yours, just when the sun rose, was absolutely disastrous." 

"Mhm." His lips tightly pursed.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"We are on the same side. There is no need to fruitlessly argue. I am far more clever when it comes to my words anyway."

The queen was already tired from her earlier meetings. Her son had already agreed to her wishes. There was no more need to chastise his prideful words. Such is the way of men.

"You two will make a perfect coupling." She brings her hands up and cradles his face. Her left hand nurses the red mark that she left. The traces of her previous rancor are gone. "I love you, my son."

"As do I."

Aemond nursed his mental and physical wounds that night. He caressed his body and imagined it was your own hands that replaced his. Tears, both delighted and sorrowful, escaped him as the hour of the ghosts approached. His impatience and sexual frustration were at their peak. He needed you to belong to him. He needs you now. He can no longer appease his internal beast with mere glances at your tantalizing skin and fleeting touches.

Queen Alicent convinced you to marry Aemond that night. She invited you to a private dinner and spoke to you with saccharine-coated phrases. You fancied him; you were simply skittish due to the fact he revealed his obsessive tendencies. She assured you that his proclamations were hyperbolic; he was simply ecstatic and impulsive, losing the true meaning of his pure and healthy love.

She's much smarter than Aemond in that aspect. You will never know how deep her motherly love runs for you. You are like the child she always wished she had bore. You did not drink your nights away or fuck whores; you were not the runt of the litter fighting tooth and nail to be considered strong. You were grounded; you may lose yourself in your mind sometimes, but you still had a grasp on reality. 

You are perfection, quintessential to the both of them.

[babyleostuff]

hi! I was wondering if you would write an angst svt reaction about them saying something they didn’t mean in a fight but it just came out?

i decided to do this with the hhu, if you want me to do it with any of the other units let me know!

saying something they didn’t mean in a fight | hip hop unit

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ CHOI SEUNGCHEOL 

as a leo and a fire sing myself, i’m sure that cheol can be a bit impulsive and not think his actions through, especially if it’s during a fight where his emotions are all over the place. things would get heated really quickly with him, and he’d have a hard time holding his tongue. 

“shit, baby,” he reached for your hand, eyes wide and panicked. “don’t fucking call me that seungcheol,” you pulled your wrist out of his grasp, looking at him with an expression that made his heart shutter to million pieces. 

he knew the second the words left his mouth that he shouldn't have said them, but his brain was too slow to understand that, and the heat of the argument made him lose all of his common sense. “my precious baby, i’ve hurt them,” that would be the thought that’d run through his mind, as he tried to wrap his head around what he had just done. “just… leave me alone.”

and he’d do that. he’d give you as much time as you needed, but that wouldn’t mean he’d abandon you. cheol would make you your favourite ramyeon and place it at the nightstand next to your bed where you were resting, or he’d put his hoodie in the dryer you always wore after shower, so it’d be warm and cosy. 

and he’d take his pillow and blanket from your bed to sleep on the couch, so he wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, and so that you could rest peacefully. but then, after maybe an hour of tossing and turning, seungcheol would hear quiet footsteps, and a dog's paws running across the wooden floor, meaning you couldn’t sleep as well. 

you’d lay next to seungcheol, your back pressed against his warm chest, as his arms shyly sneaked around your waist to pull you even closer. “please, let’s never fight like that again,” you murmured, pulling one of cheol’s hands under your chin, nuzzling your nose against his palm.

 *ੈ✩‧₊˚ JEON WONWOO 

honestly, i have a hard time imagining wonwoo saying something he doesn’t mean. i feel like he always thinks before he talks, no matter what situation he’s in, and he strikes me as a person who is great at keeping his emotions at bay, contrary to cheol. he’d also have this thought at the back of his head that no fight is worth hurting you with his words. 

you looked at each other in confusion, as the words left wonwoo’s mouth. never in your whole relationship had he said anything like that, so you were taken aback more by the fact that he even said it more than that it was directed towards you. 

wonwoo nervously fixed his glasses, looking as lost as you. you could almost see his brain trying to understand what had just happened. “i’m sorry i… i didn’t mean what i just said,” he looked at you, eyes big and sad. 

you sighed, and grabbed his hand intertwining your fingers. “i know you didn’t mean it baby” you said, looking at his broken expression. “but you still said it.” his eyes got even wider, and he quickly cradled your face in his hands, running his thumb over your cheeks. 

“i know that no matter what i say won’t change what i did, but you have to know that no part of my mind and soul believes in what i said. that was just a stupid intrusive thought that i shouldn’t have said.” 

even though you said you forgave him, wonwoo was still very attentive to you for the rest of the evening - he had you on his lap for the whole time he was gaming, he made sure the sweatshirt you wore to bed was one of his best ones, and he cuddled you extra close to his chest that night.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ KIM MINGYU 

another fire sign, and as cheol (this might be an unpopular opinion?), might also have issues with controlling his emotions and words during heated arguments. like, i know he’s an amazing person with the best personality, etc. etc. BUT i see gyu as someone who is very defensive of his beliefs and point of views, and i think he can get quite stubborn, which can lead to him saying things he doesn’t really mean.

mingyu knew he shouldn’t have opened his mouth - both of you were consumed by your emotions and neither of you were thinking clearly. the only difference was that he let those emotions hurt you. 

“i didn’t… i don’t…,” he whispered, looking at your shattered expression. yeah, he couldn’t believe it either that those horrendous words left his mouth. you closed your eyes tightly, a single tear rolling down your cheek. the person who you trusted with your life broke your heart just like that, but you wouldn’t cry in front of him. he didn’t deserve a single tear after what he had done. 

you held your head high up as you turned around and started walking towards the door. “no, no please,” mingyu followed after you, catching up with you quickly. “don’t leave my love. hate me, yell at me, punch me, but don’t leave,” his eyebrows were furrowed and eyes glossy, and you knew that he was trying not to cry as well. 

“i’ll take the couch for tonight, but stay. i won’t let you walk out, it’s too dangerous.” 

he cradled your head in his hands, and pecked your forehead gently, before disappearing in the bedroom to take his pillow and an extra blanket.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ CHWE VERNON 

same with wonwoo, i don’t see vernon saying something he doesn’t mean. like, i don’t think his mind even works that way. for one - arguments with him are never heated, not because he doesn’t give a fuck, but his personality and mindset are so calm and collected in itself that neither of you even have a chance to raise your voices.

“i’m sorry,” he stared at his shoes, too scared to look at you. “i’ll leave you alone.” 

he quietly closed the front door behind him, leaving you alone in your apartment, confused and sad. vernon rarely got angry, especially at you, and you had never heard him raise his voice. you had a stupid fight that probably started over something stupid, but both of you were tired and irritated and you just snapped at each other.

but you didn’t mean for him to leave. 

later that night, when the sun had already set, vernon came back home as quietly as he left. “chwe hansol, where the fuck have you been?” you exclaimed, worried to death. You threw your arms around hiis neck, pulling him close to you. You shivered as he nuzzled his cold nose into your neck, placing a gentle kiss there. 

“you know i didn’t mean what i said, right?” he asked, pulling his face away from you. “of course, silly,” you smiled at him, caressing the back of his neck. “but never leave like that again, or i’ll kick you out myself.”

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @eightlightstar @itza-meee @immabecreepin @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @dkswife @marisblogg @whatsgyud @aaniag @jeonghansshitester @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic

[sugar-grigri]

CSM 182 : snow or the power of forgetting

the snow, eaten by CSM recently, forgotten

the snow, the illusion that lulled Aki in his last moments

the snow, chapter 182, where you finally put the pieces together

what does snow mean ?

What if I told you that Denji's reaction to Yoru's ambivalence was the wrong one ?

I'm not talking from a moral point of view, but purely from a narrative one.

What does Yoru actually do by threatening and kissing him ?

It leads to ambivalence, to a striking contrast that is unbearable.

But life is nothing other than this same diluted contrast, this mixture of negative and positive constantly associated.

When Denji says he can't master these two facets, these dirty tricks and all the problems he has to face, that's precisely what has become his worry.

splitting himself, splitting his surroundings, seeing obstacles as ultimatums.

All this may seem off-the-wall and crazy, or like an analysis to justify Yoru's behaviour.

It isn't.

Don't see his kiss as a kiss, but as a narrative perch for Denji to finally face up to himself

Why ?

Dirty things are what he's always hoped for, they seemed in essence extremely positive, they were the way out of his misfortunes

For Denji, doing dirty things inevitably led to happiness.

Denji gradually realises, thanks to several female characters, that these dirty things are not all positive.

You might think that Denji really took his time to realise this...

But it's far from easy for him; for him, life was a deep unhappiness, always, with no prospect of happiness

Or rather, he couldn't see happiness

Because his conception of happiness was restricted to those dirty things

Pochita, Aki, Power, Nayuta, Denji realised his own unhappiness after their disappearance, he only realised the presence of happiness through his loss

Because he hadn't done anything dirty until now!

Until the end of part 1, Denji is trying to rethink his vision of happiness and is trying to break away from normality, to raise his standards higher: eating steak, 10 girlfriends.

Even though he has come close to happiness, Denji doesn't realise it, because since that happiness wasn't eternal, it wasn't happiness.

Happiness remains a way out for him.

Tasting his definition of happiness, being kissed by Yoru, makes him realise that happiness has lost its meaning.

With each kiss, Denji realises that it won't bring him happiness, because it doesn't make him happy.

Little by little, Denji tries to get closer to something for the long term, not the moment.

That's why, he asks if "Asa" loves him.

Can he finally taste that unchanging happiness? Never taste unhappiness again ?

Asa is his downside, her intrusive thoughts, her internal panics, her reflections are preventing her from living in the moment.

And she doesn't want to live in the moment, because she doesn't trust her instincts (when for Denji they are a way out).

Her instincts led her to save a cat, causing the sacrifice of her mother.

But it was Chainsaw Man who made her realise that life can be excruciatingly bitter and sometimes sweet.

Inhabited by Denji, who is as lost.

How could Denji say something as right as that crap burger if he's lost too ? Life is disgusting, it's tiring and yet we keep eating this burger, thinking of dogs, cats and ice cream.

Because Denji didn't do it.

It's Denji perfectly fused with Pochita.

CHAINSAW MAN.

A double being, symbolically realising the ambivalence of life.

Denji was Pochita's happiness, hence her sacrifice.

Pochita was Denji's happiness, hence his unhappiness.

The constant association of happiness with unhappiness - after all, that's all Denji and Pochita's meeting is about.

Except that at that moment, Denji had come to the wrong conclusion, talking about sex, hence the feeling of unease, and a sense of rupture in his speech. The hope of supreme happiness makes us eat this crap burger, it's true. But it won't make us happy.

What Yoru shows, even though he's part of Asa, is that the concept of happiness and unhappiness make no sense to a devil ; they instrumentalizes them, doesn't understand them.

So she gets hit by Asa because, damn it, this concept of happiness and unhappiness belongs to men.

So Asa takes over and says she hasn't recovered from her mother's death because this event will always seem so unacceptable and horrible to her. Bad things don't disappear.

What changes is the memories we want to bring to the fore.

Snow.

Symbolising Denji's supreme misfortune of having killed his brother to the point of vomiting with guilt.

Symbolically, it is this same vomiting that spits out the snow.

The snow is not just a trauma.

Aki was obsessed by the memory of the tragedy of his family, who were also killed in snowy weather.

And when Aki decides to visit his family's graves, to pay his respects tragically at his family's graves

He can't do it

Because two idiots divert his attention.

Forcing Aki to look away from the unhappiness of the past

To face the happiness right in front of him.

What Aki realised just before his death was that he had never seen happiness, or rather he had chosen not to.

Because happiness isn't there to be found, it's there, it's just there to be looked at, plunged in a pile of shit but it's sometimes there, but we refuse to consider that this thing is happiness, we can hope for more, can't we?

You have to eat this crappy hamburger, even if it means throwing up.

This is the taste of happiness.

Back to the snow

Which you associate with Denji's sadness and Aki's death

Yet this snow fight is Aki's last happiness

Seeing that snow again, associated with that fateful day when he lost his family

Holding that snow in his hands, and playing with his little brother, a little brother he has found again

What if this scene wasn't something he had to endure, but a choice? Aki's choice not to see, the gun held to his eyes, the choice to lull himself into one last sweet illusion, one last bandage, one last cigarette, to escape from this reality that he had always stubbornly tried to face, to escape from it.

But Denji is crying at this point.

Happiness cannot be total happiness, it melts, like snow.

Unhappiness will always be diametrically opposed.

The fact remains that snow is this temporary oblivion, this misfortune that we take in our hands to make snowballs, this moment of fun condemned to melt, snow determines what we do with our misfortune and our happiness.

Snow represents what we decide to see.

It is the forgetting, or rather the silencing of painful memories.

To realize that the snow is cold is to realize the end of happiness, because you're not playing anymore.

I don't like playing snowball: I don't like pretending to be happy anyway.

These memories will not disappear, but we can choose not to see them too much

The snow will remain cold, it will be condemned to melt, it is this moment, what we do with this moment.

Because if it didn't melt, no life would develop

If happiness and unhappiness were not this constant ambivalence, this intermingling of happy and painful moments, if this ephemeral aspect did not exist

Then no life would exist.

When Denji vomits snow, it's because he realises once again the association between happiness and unhappiness that snow represents.

Disgusted by this sad reality too, of not seeing unchanging happiness, of seeing life not as a burger, but as a shit burger.

But the snow is beautiful and it won't stay.

Like these two.

[amongemeraldclouds]

Things I’ll Never Say

Why say things out loud when you can write them all down in a journal? No need to inconvenience everyone else with silly declarations of love that’s only guaranteed to break your heart. So what happens when your enemy - of all people - finds it?

Lorenzo Berkshire x Reader

“Is it that, or is it because you’re in love with me?”

Thanks to @thatdammchickennugget for the prompt. Here's my official entry for the Hogmarch challenge, prompt one. 1k words.

Author’s note: The way I screamed when this idea came to mind! Journaling is such a big part of my life, I’ll take any and every chance I can to incorporate it to my stories.

Indented text are journal entries.

Warning: Cursing, no use of y/n, slight angst but it’s kinda cute. Fluff express coming through!

✿ Masterlist

“Stop copying my notes!” I hiss at Lorenzo, moving my arm to cover my parchment.

“Come on, I missed class today. I need to catch up,” he says, tugging at the arm of my sweater.

“Go ask your friends,” I retort, moving my arm away from his grasp.

“You know they’re not in that class, just you,” he insists.

“Oh we’re not friends,” I deadpan.

“It won’t take long,” he tries again.

“If you weren’t busy sleeping around with everyone, Berkshire. You would have made it to class this morning.”

 He leans in to my ear and whispers, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

I grab the nearest hardbound book and swing it in his direction. Thwack! It strikes his shoulder.

The librarian looks at us sternly. “Your final warning was just given five minutes ago. No noise in the library!” She points her finger to the exit, “You two, out!”

“Great. Thanks for that, Berkshire. Good luck with your notes.” My face gets hot with embarrassment as I gather my things and rush off to the exit.

Enzo spots a black leather bound journal in the area you just vacated. He takes it with him as he exits the library. She’s always writing in this notebook. I’m sure she won’t mind if I take a peek, I’ll give it back to her anyway.

He damn well knew you would mind. When he reaches a quiet corner of the hallway, he proceeds to turn the cover anyway.

I know, I know. I’m not supposed to like Lorenzo Berkshire. Why the fuck did I just draw a heart over the “i”! That’s it. I’m losing my mind! I can’t be caught liking the boy who spewed the word mudblood in my direction our first year. Like it’s my fault I was born into my family. And screw him okay, muggles are awesome. I can break my own heart with my misguided affections, but I’d rather die before I ever let him break my heart. So before I check myself into a mental asylum, I need to just say this somewhere. Anywhere. A last ditch effort to save my sanity.

He’s the intrusive thought I love to entertain in my head.

As a dare, he took off his shirt at the party. My toes curled. I pretended not to notice him.

I heard him laughing with his friends. I love the way it lit up his face.

I saw him enter his dorm hand in hand with a girl. I never wish to be her, another one night stand. Once would never be enough. 

I nearly kissed him again.

He helped me pick up the pile of books I dropped at the library. He seemed kind and concerned. Ha! Who am I kidding?

I count down the hours until I see him again.

Maybe in another lifetime it wouldn’t matter: bloodlines, social status, and hierarchies. So unnecessary.

I noticed the veins in his arm at quidditch practice. I tried not to bite my lip. What must it be like to be wrapped in those arms?

And there he was again with his stupid hair breaking my stupid heart.

Enzo hears determined footsteps approaching and he shuts the journal, hiding it behind him.

“Fine, Berkshire,” I sigh when I reach him. “Here, take my notes,” I say, handing it out to him.

He quirks an eyebrow.

“Weren’t you so desperate to get them earlier?” I fold my arms. “I will not be part of the reason you fail in class.” I point at him, “you and your dumb ass can very well do it yourself. I have more important things to worry about.”

“Is it that, or is it because you’re in love with me?”

My brain short circuits, the fire freezing in my veins. How the hell does he know?

He smirks, pulling out a familiar black journal. My eyes widen.

“On second thought,” I say, stepping back. “It doesn’t matter,” I turn around and walk away. “Fail class for all I care.”

I’m yanked back when I feel Enzo’s grip on my wrist. “Wait.”

My heart thumps in my chest. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. He knows!

“I’m sorry,” he says. What? I turn back, my confused expression directed at him.

“That I called you a mudblood,” he explains. “I was a dumb ass when we were younger.”

“Finally, we agree on something,” I state, trying to mask the tremble in my voice.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you back then and I was prejudiced. Over the years, I enjoyed watching your passion for magic and studying. How you light up when you talk to your friends about a book you just read. And how you’re always the first to volunteer when someone needs help. You have this fire and warmth in you and I just need to be around it all the time. I’m reduced to being a moth to your flame and I don’t mind it at all.”

I blink, speechless.

He takes a step forward, voice softening. “Why do you think I tease you all the time?”

“Well how the fuck was I supposed to know?” The anger not quite there in my voice.

“I just wanted a chance to talk to you and I thought you hated me.” He brushes the hair from my face and cups my face. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

I roll my eyes, “Oh no, I do hate you.” I falter, “but maybe I kind of, just sort of, like you too.”

He grins. “It seems there are things we need to talk about. Will you go on a date with me?”

My heart stutters. “You already know my answer.”

He laughs, “stubborn as always. I’ll take that as a yes.” He pulls me in for a hug. 

Oh. Being wrapped in his strong arms is even better than I imagined. I rest my head on his shoulder when a thought occurs to me.

“You’re sure this is not just some elaborate ploy for me to keep giving you my notes?”

He sighs, “of course not, just enjoy this moment."

He moves his mouth to my ear, "But if you do, I solemnly swear I will make it worth your while.”

I don't hit him this time.

✿ Masterlist

A/N: For those who get the Avril Lavigne title reference, here's a tight hug for you! ♡

I may or may not have also had a place where I wrote down love confessions for someone I couldn’t have. Some of those may or may not have been included in the journal entries.

Two fics published in one day? Who is she?

[slayedpoet]

some random Joost headcanons

i've had a few over the past months so i've decided to compile them into a list, but then the list grew exponentially so i thought that maybe i could share ☺️; they are mostly tooth rotting domestic fluff, with some hints here and there, but nothing too explicit.

(pardon any possible grammar or syntax errors)

[ALSO WARNING RPF UNDER THE CUT for anyone who gets too worked up by it, or the thought of it, please stay fucking clear, thank you bye 😌]

‌he ‌doesn't know how to cook but he's willing to learn if you know how to, though expect it to get messy, like flour on your or his cheeks; he also might try and "eat" the raw batter, which would earn him a few slaps on his hands.

BONUS: finding him sitting on the floor checking cakes and biscuits baking in the oven

he’s a golden retriever mixed with a great dane

like a big dog that is not aware of his size (affectionate)

he’d ‌plop down on you while you’re laying on the couch, and loves laying his head on your chest so he can hear your heartbeat; you’d put a hand on his scalp and he'd be out like lightning. you'd hear light snoring and he'd have the most peaceful smile plastered all over his face

‌does it even when you're in bed

‌super cuddly, straight up koala style, big or small spoon it doesn't matter as long as he gets his cuddles

‌he'll crack the worst jokes EVER, you're laughing though 😏

‌uses his height to his advantage some times

‌you'd be laying in bed late at night trying to sleep and he'd start speaking in different ways like he sometimes does, the noise box strikes again, and you’d end up laughing with tears in your eyes, "you love me anyway though liefde"

if you go to the beach then prepare to get ABSOLUTELY FUCKING drenched, dog in action again; knows he has to put sunscreen on but he’ll give you hell for it, running around like a toddler and you’d have to force him to sit under the umbrella to put him on him; when you are on your towel drying and tanning he'd just come back from the water and shake himself on top of you like a dog, drenching you, or simply laying on top of you while wet

‌pebbling, and it goes both ways

you love exchanging clothes, specially before he goes on tour: like t-shirts and hoodies; you sometimes like to hide one of your shirts in his suitcase as a surprise

if he has to leave early in the morning for tour he’ll leave little scribbled messages on post-its all over the place for when you wake up

‌pillow fort for movie nights (but even random nights); although he's too tall for it, but if he sits he fits

‌soft™ and warm

absolutely loves ‌scratches, specially behind his ears

BONUS: if you keep it up for enough time he might actually purr

sometimes when he kisses you on the cheek ends up licking all over it

randomly bites your upper arm mid conversation

‌if you try shutting him up by putting a hand on his mouth he'll either bite it, spit on it or lick it

‌loves staring at you (not in a creepy way), just watch you as you do random, domestic stuff, but don't catch him please or he'll blush a nice shade of pink

‌when laying in bed together he sometimes lets his intrusive thoughts win and blows raspberries on your tummy, you’ll try getting him off of you, but he has a strong grip over your midriff so there’s no escaping him (if you to do the same to him he'll screech so loud)

tickling competition that ends with both of you on the ground with short breaths and happy tears streaming down your faces

oh so you’re ‌eating dessert and accidentally have cream around your mouth? he’ll lick it up no worries

‌something something oral fixation ok...

‌a literal menace™ and obnoxious (affectionate)

once he slapped your ‌butt playfully and you ended up running around the whole house chasing him to retaliate

‌he’s very clingy while drunk, cheeks soft pink and slurring dutch words

‌overly excited guy, if you’ve been apart for some time he’d greet you by lifting you up and spinning you around

‌writes you letters and sends you postcards while he’s out on tour, and adds little doodles all around

you’re definitely ‌getting woken up by some different music every day, although it's rare that he wakes up before you (it's the most random stuff ever too)

‌once you catch him doodling you, IT'S THE CUTEST THING EVER, god he's as red as a tomato cause he tried to hide it from you, but then you asked him so nicely and he crumbled so easily

he’s a ‌blushing mess if praised

‌leans into your touch a lot cause he’s a bit touch starved (just a bit yeah…)

‌can, and will, get himself out of situations thanks to his insane puppy eyes

‌tries teaching you Dutch in the most random ways

‌loves LOVES to hear you laugh/make you laugh, so he'll go jester mode some times, specially if you're feeling down and need to be cheered up

‌will go feral if he sees you wearing any of his albino stuff

‌fan of the good old calls, he insists specially during tour or if you've happened to be long distance

CONS: sometimes he calls at ungodly hours, but you'll listen anyway

‌dorkiest of all

‌takes his glasses off when at home, which leads to him having to squint every once in a while, at you and at things; which is like THE CUTEST THING EVER

‌sometimes you get home and he's laying on the sofa with his dogs on top of him in a cuddle pile

‌LISTEN LISTEN MUSEUM DATES he'd be sooo down for it

‌you take Polaroids of each other, some are cute, some well…less 😏

‌cheesy motherfucker named joost klein, specially during the most inopportune moments (more so during THOSE moments), so you’d slap him and roll your eyes at him while blushing and he’d grin like a cat who's got the cream

sleeps on his stomach, probably starfish so he occupies a good ¾ of the bed cause he’s so tall and lanky, and you’ll have no option but to adjust

(btw i forgot one thing: if any of you lovely writers wants to take any of these and put them in fics, go ahead 🙏🥹)

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hello! May I ask how Megumi, Gojo, Okkotsu would react. When some other girl flirts with them or acts very intrusive, completely ignoring the reader who is standing next to them. Or acts rudely towards the reader.

Let me say, that was pretty cool to write! Hope you enjoy it <3

How Gojo, Megumi and Yuta react to other girls flirting with them/reader getting insulted

Word Count: 1,9k

Pairing: Gojo x reader, Megumi x reader, Yuta x reader

Warnings: language

Note: Requests for complilations are still open, feel free to leave one!

Megumi Fushiguro

„Look at you, Megumi! Back then I always thought you were quite handsome, but now…what a catch you are.”

You turn on your heel and stare into the mischievous grin of the unknown girl in front of you. Did you hear that correctly? Did she just…flirt with your boyfriend? Who is she? And why does she talk to him like that?

“Yua, I didn’t know you were still around”, Megumi responses, not a single spark of affection in his eyes.

You put on a kind smile. Even if she doesn’t even look at you, it’s not too late to get to know her. Maybe she was his classmate back then. You owe it to Megumi to at least try.

“Oh y’know, some model contracts here and there. You should have called me! You know I always loved spending time with you!”

“Hi, I’m Megumi’s girlfriend. It’s nice to meet people from his past!”

You stretch out your hand, inviting her to a friendly conversation. But she doesn’t take it. Instead, she stares you up and down with her merciless eyes and screws up her face. Your heart sinks as well as your hand. Does he know her better? He never talked about any girls from his past, especially not girls like her. She is nothing Megumi values. Why is she this rude although she never met you before?

“Girlfriend? I thought you’re better than that, ‘Gumi.”

You bite your tongue when her words hit you like a knife. No, don’t cry because of her rude comment, don’t let her get under your skin. She doesn’t know anything about you or your personality. And on top of that, Megumi tells you over and over how gorgeous you are. He wouldn’t lie, right? But her beautiful dark locks and stunning green eyes make your confidence waver. Maybe he could in fact do better…

Suddenly Megumi pulls you in his arms, his grip around your waist tight and his jaw clenched.

“Can you just fuck off already? In contrast to your entitled self, (y/n) is naturally striking, let alone the smartest and kindest girl I know. She carries more character in her little toe than you in your whole body, Yua. I don’t give a damn about your model contract or looks, you are miserable and your jealousy makes you uglier than any other girl could ever be. If you talk about my girlfriend like that again, then there will be consequences. And now get out of the sun and annoy someone else.”

You can’t help but stare at him with glossy eyes through wet lashes. You never heard him leash out like that, especially not in order to protect you. It feels like your heart sprints out of your chest, the admiration you hold for him flies like sparks around him as you watch her face drop immediately.

“I never liked you anyway”, she hisses, turns around and walks away while swaying her hips dramatically.

Thick silence hangs in the air as both of you watch her leave.

“Hey, look at me.”

He lifts your chin up gently, other hand still resting on your waist.

“Don’t you dare to believe a single word she said. She’s just jealous, that’s all. You are the most beautiful girl on this planet and I am more than proud to call you my girlfriend…Wait, why are you crying?”

You can’t hold back the salty tears that sting in your eyes any longer. God, you love him so much that it hurts sometimes.

“I guess I’m just a little…overwhelmed. No one has ever stood up for me like that before…”

He wraps his arms around your frame and presses a gentle kiss on your head.

“You’re my everything, no other girl in the world will ever change that, okay?”

Gojo Satoru

That was the greatest evening you’ve had in a long time. Despite all the work that awaits both of you at Jujutsu High in the morning, your drunken gaze wanders to your boyfriend who holds you in his strong arms.

“How is it I never knew about your passion for ABBA? Like for real, it scared me to see you like that”, he remarks, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“I just feel like some of their songs hit me in another dimension, y’know? Lay all your love on mee”, you babble out, singing into the warmth of the hot summer night.

“Oh god, luckily you are a better jujutsu sorcerer and teacher than a singer. And you’re pretty cute when you’re drunk.”

“Satoru, I’m not that drunk!”, you blur out, whole body shaking in giggling.

“Hell yes you are. And you look absolutely stunning in that skin tight dress. I can’t wait to rip it off your body as soon as we’re home.”

Adrenaline rushes through your veins, you feel like flying. Even if you’ve been his girlfriend for years by now, you still can’t believe that the stunning man in front of you is really your boyfriend. Satoru is simply jaw-dropping gorgeous, so easy on the eyes that it hurts. And while you are very aware of the fact that you are a striking woman yourself, you can’t get over the fact how outstanding he is.

“No wonder he’s taking you home when you look like a whore.”

“Although, he’s pretty handsome. How the hell did she manage to pull a guy like him?”

“Look at that slutty dress. I wouldn’t dare to leave the house with a body like that – Gross.”

All color drains from your face as the alcohol and good mood seems to be gone in the wind. You swallow hard, widen eyes pierced to the ground. You know all too well how mean women can be. These girls don’t know you, they haven’t even seen your face. There’s no use getting stressed out because of their venomous tongues.

“What did you just say?”

Satoru’s voice is low and dry – an auspicious combination.

“Satoru, c’mon. This is not worth fighting over it. Let’s just go home, shall we?”

“How dare you to disrespect my girlfriend like that, huh?”

He turns on his heels, moving towards the group of girls with rapid steps. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your heart hammers against your chest, this anger is extremely rare. All that because of some stupid comments?

“W-we…weren’t t-talking a-about her”, one of them mutters, eyes pinned to the ground.

“Stop the crap. Just to make this clear: I wouldn’t even turn my head after basic bitches like you without some self-respect. Maybe you should invest your time in your puny self rather than badmouthing my woman who is obviously well above your measly level”, he spits into their faces without a spark of humor in his venomous words.

“And now get lost!”

He doesn’t need to tell them twice. As fast as their sky-high heels allow it they sprint away while exchanging looks of shock. You just stand there and stare at Satoru’s back, still absolutely mesmerized by the way he just stood up for you. Has a guy ever done something like this for you? Definitely not, especially not in such a hot way.

“How is it that I suddenly feel so turned on?”

Satoru turns around, casually walking towards you with a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“That’s all I wanna hear. Let’s go home.”

Yuta Okkotsu

It’s way too hot outside. You and your boyfriend Yuta are on a well-deserved day off which you want to spend shopping.

“Urgh, I’d die for an iced coffee”, you groan, sweat dripping from every pore.

“Why not get one then? Wait here”, Yuta replies in an instant, his usual bright smile lighting up your mood.

“You’re just a sweetheart. Thank you darling.”

You watch him enter the Starbucks shop in awe. God, how lucky you are to have a boyfriend like him. Even though he himself can’t see his worth, you definitely know that he is the best boyfriend you could have asked for. Always tender and caring and so stunning that you can’t stop staring at him. Thank god you decided to join Jujutsu High that day, otherwise you wouldn’t be here with him.

You frown. Why does he take so long? When you last saw him, he was the only customer in the store. You take a few steps and have to comprehend what you see.

The girl at the counter is holding your cup of iced coffee in one hand while she brushes over Yuta’s arm with the other. Your hands clench into fists while you see nothing but red. What the hell is she doing?

“Excuse me Miss, flirting with my boyfriend surely isn’t part of the job description”, you bark at her, feet carrying you inside the store without hesitation.

“Everything’s fine, I already told her that I’m taken, (y/n)”, Yuta shyly interrupts, face already red like a tomato.

This isn’t enough. The dirty smirk in her stupid face makes you want to break her nose right here right now.

“Now that I see you it seems like there’s no competition anyway”, she proclaims with unnatural high-pitched voice.

Something inside you snaps. Who the fuck does this bitch think she is to touch your boyfriend like that and talk to you in such a manner? You are way too good for her bullshit.

“Get your dirty hands off him before I beat that smile out of your ugly face”, you yell at her.

Oh no, there goes your temper again. The second Yuta saw you entering the store he knew there was trouble. You are pretty hot-headed, especially when it comes to someone hurting your feelings. And that girl was definitely going too far.

“Oh, I’d love to see that. Go ahead bitch”, she spits at you.

You grind your teeth, eyes narrow in nothing put hatred. You are only seconds away from feeding her your fist when Yuta grabs your arm and softly smiled down at you.

“Come on, she isn’t worth your time and energy, (y/n). You are the love of my life, no matter what. A random girl in a coffee shop won’t change that”, he murmurs into your ear.

“I’m flattered, but I already have a wonderful girlfriend. Have a nice day though.”

And with that, he gently pushes you out of the door, iced coffee in his hand. It takes you a few seconds to stop your heart from beating out of your chest and to unclench your hands.

“You know I would have beaten the shit out of her, right?”, you grumble, taking a sip of your coffee.

Yuta lets out a hearty laughter, arm wrapped around your shoulder.

“And she would never have forgotten that in her life. But we are here to have a day off, right? And she just wasn’t worth your time. After all, I love you with all my heart and a random girl won’t change that.”

“You could have told her to back off, though.”

His eyes widen in horror, face completely twisted.

“B-but I d-did tell h-her!”, he demands.

“I’m just messing with you darling”, you reply with a soft smile, intertwining your hand with his.

[springsmile]

over my shoulder || 02

18+ | h. shinso x f. reader

warnings: non-con, smut, pre-established trauma (r*pe), extreme anxiety/paranoia, victim blaming/shaming, abuse of prescriptions, self harm, suicidal ideation, disassociation, negativity around hospitalization, violent intrusive thoughts, kidnapping, murder, specific reader characterizations, manipulation, anorexia/bulimia behaviors

** reader's quirk is enhanced senses. upon activation, emotions and sensations are pretty much exacerbated. reader never learns how to channel or control it to its full potential, only to turn it on and off.

a/n: sorry it’s short .. i’m setting the stage, you see. get ready for mr toads wild ride >:D

you can’t distinguish whether the rattling is that of a sink or shower.

whichever it was, you didn’t care. you just wished it’d stop. there was no feasibly appropriate reason to shower at 3:30am. you wouldn’t accept any string of logic. not work. not an accident. this was a personal blow. a direct and calculated kick to your balls.

heavy like poison lead, your eyes twitch behind your closed eyelids. the burning of your retinas is almost tangibly painful. worst, when your tremor stricken fingers inch to the darkened half circles under your eyes, and poke unceremoniously, you jolt at the sting. sinus infection. christ.

each time you think the metallic clunking has ceased for the night, you jerk in the midst of your pseudo slumber, the first half of your circadian rhythm interrupted, almost fucking routinely at this point. you can only imagine the hysteria that is to befall you at work in a few short, tortuous hours. you’re dreading it, what was there to look forward to? that creepy fuck, coming around again? having found your dad’s name and number and potentially your address and your family’s—

oh.

it stopped.

you twist around in bed, searching for that warm, tender position that cradles your neck and spine.

maybe this time… maybe it’ll be done for good… and then you can sleep…

a thud from upstairs strikes.

maybe.

the stinging warmth of the sun stains your skin when your eyes creak open in the morning, yielding a softer shade.

you lay there for a moment. heart palpitating furiously, and dried sweat smeared across your forehead. it could’ve been the heat, it could’ve been the serpent in your chest or the knocking around in your head. a lot went on in the night for you.

there’s this reel that is ever lingering. scorching your head and pricking the backs of your eyes with the precision of a sharp dart. the man with the indigo hair and sneaking eyes. he emanated this… strange air. it was stifling, and you didn’t like it.

though, a future run in was disconcertingly possible… so many perverts…

the duvet is damp. balmy, even. you shake your hands out, all the while, the thick sheen of sweat glares at you. you wipe them on it furiously. you’d need to run to the laundromat, you discern with a heavy groan.

you swing your legs over, and they creak with disuse. your hair is matted, a sticky and frigid press on your scalp, given the meager hum of the fan overhead. it’s disgusting, and you imagine your fingernails massaging the skin lightly, shampoo foaming around (h/c) breadths.

you glance at your phone—the one that hadn’t obliterated your senses with its jolting buzz. your breath catches in your throat— fuck! late!

you scramble for your blow dryer, holding it to your head and wincing at the highest setting whilst sprawling on eyeshadow, yet again shake-y handed. the crescent shaped swoops of black hugged the curves of your eyes starkly, while the white in your waterline almost managed to breathe a minuscule of life back into your eyes, dulled to this muted hue you couldn’t stand to look at.

you look deplorable. that’s fine. a semblance of togetherness was all you needed to plow through the day— and the black accentuating your eye shape was comforting as it was familiar.

with twitching eyes climbing to the time, unfurled within you is a twisted, guiltless epiphany; you couldn’t eat breakfast. not that you would, anyway. weight gain would decimate the remnants of your psyche. a pound would be tantalizing. maybe you’d reach back into the warm of your mouth, unwavering and armed with jagged nails, and claw at your uvula again. the pain revitalizing as it was cumbersome. blood was often an accompaniment.

the knob is wide and cold, used lovelessly with chinks and dents— and now, it’s at your mercy. you twist it until it can no longer give.

the door is improperly slotted within the door frame, and it takes a few full body throttles against it to wedge it back into place. pressing the key to the lock’s fitted grooves, you readjust the position of your purse on your shoulder with a handless jerk, pat your hair down, smooth your clothes— then, you’re en route to work.

your restless thoughts aren’t as deterrent today. usually, they press on your eyes until they glisten, but your head is rampant with else things— namely, the hero that’d rescued you with immeasurable gallantry. that repulsive, subdued haughtiness— a startling contrast to the matching apathy his eyes bore assaulted your memory.

can i get a thank you? my ass.

not that you had the pluck to voice this. even if you were met with the disconcerting opportunity to interact with him again, you’d resign to that pathetic complacency and vacant expression. it was safer that way.

the walk is lackluster. no cat with the curious eyes, no teenaged girls with shrinking eyes and glossed cherry lips. but the stagnant fear of hands around your throat, a bruised windpipe, a man appearing from around a corner that’d failed to enter the radius of your (otherwise) acute surveillance would inevitably prevail all potential logical thought, at all times, and forever.

you’re particularly sweaty today—suffering from hyperhidrosis—and the balminess of your underarms, and the soiled material of your garment, was overstimulating as it was cumbersome.

briefly, your eyes fall closed, and for a moment, your loss of vision is tranquil as it is indisputably dangerous. you pause at the crosswalk with open eyes, which flit to the concrete.

your converse are ratty and beat. the fabric frays upward, and the toe cap’s adhesive has seemed to loosen, leaving you privy to damn near trench foot when it rains on your walk home. when you look at them with a wrinkle in your nose, you fight the onslaught of memories, tainted by a note of pessimism that leadens your retinas and press oh so heavily on the backs of your eyes. but the sensation refused to evoke tears. just this palpable heaviness. and it remained.

the tinny bell above the door is sprayed gold, but the years have worn it to a silver. nonetheless, the jingle tickles your ears when your hand seized the door handle and drew it outwardly.

your job is inconvenient, yet it allows for this backseat reprieve that rests your mind and allows for the most simple coding and recollection. it’s not hard to recall where a book is. and it’s not hard to deal with a fragmented smile and greasy palms. it’s difficult to deal with gilded words and honeyed demands, but you’re seasoned at this point.

“(y/n).” your assistant manager says when you touch the receiving room’s door handle. you’re shrewd enough to grasp that he’s not greeting you.

before you can manage a greeting, practiced and cool, a stiff remark hits you.

“you were scheduled for 10:45.”

your eyes roll to the clock above the door. it’s 10:48, and it’s a tuesday. inconsequential— as erroneous as you are.

“i’m sorry.” you apologize with utmost lethargy. do you bother with an excuse? to your credit, astuteness in the sphere of tone recognition was something that you were inherently privy to. your situational awareness could use some work. lamely, you try, “there was traffic.”

“don’t make this a habit.” he chides with a huff. you nod wordlessly.

a mind-numbing day had transpired, your walk home filled with self-loathing and nothingness. cursing your manager silently. you were actually looking forward to doing something, despite menial, to occupy your otherwise empty time.

your bedroom door is open at a peculiar angle.

reaching back into your memory with a pointed palm, there’s no conceivable way you left with any hurried note. no physical sort, at least. everything was supposed to be tidy as you left it. but your bedroom door was ajar. only slightly, as not to evoke alarm, you think. but for all your irrationalizations there’s the justification that you’re unpopular for a reason, and acquaintance-less on that note.

you attribute the amplification of your paranoia to the stifling properties of your quirk. you shake your head, and began to gather your sheets and comforter.

you grimace at the wear and tear your fitted sheet had endured, and deduced it was time for a new one. but not now. maybe another day, a day where your head wasn’t full of lead and your shoulders weren’t hunched, head swinging over your shoulders periodically to ensure another assailant was not, in fact, laying in wait. waiting to pounce and desecrate you with grimy palms and a crooked, yellowed grin.

dropping a few deoxidized yen into the slot before slamming the metallic slab back into its crevice, you teeter back and wait for #13 to thrum to life.

the washer’s military grade left you abashed; owning perhaps only two weeks’ worth of clothes and a tattered duvet and fitted sheet physically hyperbolized the machine, and you were too grimed in languish and perspiration to feel abashed.

you watch your reflection in the suds and water whilst finding your ears inadvertently honed in on an amalgamation of sound.

“deku is such a dreamboat, are you kidding me?!”

“the fuck? dreamboat? dynamight’s where it’s at.”

“i don’t know guys, shoto’s got this like adorable ‘i-dunno-where-the-clit-is-but-i’m-willing-to-do-some-investigating’ vibe to him…”

the eye-bagged man with the indigo hair and miffing forwardness must’ve been a vigilante or… indisputably, not pro. you reason. his decorum was laughable, and it shouldn’t be challenging for even the most simpleminded person to discern that that man wasn’t the sociable type.

nevertheless, something in you was struck. presumably, these girls were hero fans, and it was worth bearing some humility on your sleeve in order to do some digging and, as much as you loathed to admit it, exert yourself in tenses other than customer service.

“excuse me.” you say, swinging your chin over your shoulder. “do you guys know that tired looking hero with purplish hair…?”

too wary to glimpse their expressions, your eyes climb that spot you’re well acquainted with.

“he’s a guy.” you add with a sniff.

one girl’s eyes brighten like the headlights of a car. it irks you instantaneously. this joker’s got fans…?

“you mean shinso!! shinso hitoshi!!” she squeals in adoration.

“o-oh, yeah, right! love him!” you laugh uneasily in response.

“who?” one of her friends inquires roughly with, you note, a stereotypical valley twang.

“his quirk is like, super cool, like— mind control,” she winces at her friends’ dubious countenances. “which sounds bad! but he seems like a good guy. he’s never done anything wrong; he’s a hero after all. and he’s a hunk too…”

“yeah, not yet.” the other girl snorts.

you blink singularly, and face the suds once more. seemingly from nowhere, a chill climbs up your spine. you lurch over with a tremor racking through your body. it’s disorienting. arms wrapped around your torso, you glance around, wondering if the sudden and briskness of your movements warranted any deprecating stares. absentminded to the prospect to one of lust.

but there was nothing.

hitoshi shinso yields minimal results, besides the headline highlighting the use of his quirk in a tense hostage situation, and its villainous quality, despite its use for apparent good-doing.

your brows crease— you can’t gauge this guy. and you can’t figure out why you want to.

gingerly, you close the lid of your ancient laptop lid, and try to evoke a state of equilibrium, honing in on that film reel in your mind of the broken dam being sealed, water flow ceasing all together, and everything feels somewhat normal. if there ever was a sense of normality you could latch onto.

your sheets were a little damp—having run short on the fee for another tumble dry, and you flop on your bed and ignore the way it seeps into the fibers of your hoodie. tomorrow would be better.

[akairawrites]

Cats Out The Bag | Damian Wayne Imagine

Curiosity Killed The Cat part 2

Taglist

@ella-fella-bo-bella @ayoitsurfavdesigurl @luvvvjada @harleycao @aiq39 @lumineliax @420sprite @stvrfir3 @instabull @rukia-uchiha-98 @1lellykins @lilupie @deliciousfatblackcat @skyesayshi @imarimone12 @mysticalhills @4arancia @bat-h-tic @luvelyxp @urmomsbananabread @elebeleb @strawberrycreamb @princessofhope0 @itisjustagirl @dollceesstuff @just-reading-dany @Ginger24880 @godknows-shetried @that-levi-kenma-kinnie @kierancaz @Crystals-faith @cascadingbliss

You could feel the cool night breeze against your cheeks as you gracefully leaped through the air. It was a tranquil night in Gotham, the perfect backdrop for criminal activities.

Upon descending from the side of the building, you headed toward the front entrance. Naturally, the door was locked. You reached for a bobby pin from your hair and crouched down to examine the lock. Inserting the pin, you heard a satisfying click as the door unlocked. A self-satisfied smile crossed your face as you returned the bobby pin to its place. Inside, you inhaled deeply and exhaled, a smirk forming as you dropped your duffel bag. Rifling through it, you retrieved a homemade C-4 like device. With practiced ease, you entered a password on the screen and affixed it to the wall near the safety deposit boxes. After a few seconds, the device beeped, and the boxes popped open with a hiss. Your first-time trial was a success, and you couldn't help but smile.

Swiftly, you went through almost every box, finding mostly deeds and divorce papers. Fortunately, you stumbled upon some jewelry, and someone even carelessly stashed a wad of cash inside, which you promptly pocketed.

Once your bag was stuffed, you exited the building unnoticed. Scaling the side of the building, you reached the rooftop to survey your surroundings, ensuring no heroic intervention was imminent. As you counted the money you had collected, a pair of feet landed behind you. You sighed in annoyance and slowly turned around, still clutching the cash.

To your surprise, it was Robin.

A few years back, after robbing a jewelry store, Selina had persuaded you to take a break from a life of crime, deeming it too perilous and unpredictable. Only recently had she allowed you to return to your illicit activities. You took a moment to observe him, noticing his increased muscularity and shorter hair. With his mask on, he would be unrecognizable anyway. "You got taller," were your initial words.

Little did you know that Damian was scrutinizing you as well. The last time he'd seen you, he was just 14 years old. Normally, he wouldn't care much about his adversaries, let alone think about them as much as he did about you. Even though you had bested him the first and only time you'd crossed paths, he couldn't help but think about you.

"And you got curvier," Damian blurted out, unable to prevent the words from escaping his mouth. He mentally scolded himself for succumbing to his intrusive thoughts.

You gave him a quizzical look, unsure if he was attempting to flirt with you. He didn't strike you as the flirting type. Shaking your head, you slapped the cash against your palm and rocked on your heels. Slipping the money into your bag, you slung it over your shoulder. "Well, it was nice seeing you again, but I gotta go." You turned to walk in the opposite direction, but a force struck you from behind, sending you tumbling to the ground, landing on your stomach with your chin scraping against the pavement. You groaned and rolled over, just as Damian unsheathed his sword in a graceful forward roll.

"Didn't your mother teach you not to hit a girl?" you taunted.

"No, she threw me into the League of Assassins, where I was trained to be a cold-blooded killer," Damian replied.

Damn.

Damian rushed toward you, his sword slicing through the air. Swiftly, you rolled out of the way, but he managed to slice open your bag instead. You stood up as he charged at you again, the absence of your bag making the fight a fairer match. You assumed it would be easier to defeat him this time, just as you had when you first faced off.

As you prepared to throw a punch, Damian seized your wrist and struck your elbow, simultaneously sweeping your leg from under you. You crashed to the ground, landing hard on your back and knocking the wind out of you. He threw away his sword and grabbed you by the collar of your suit, cocking his fist back and delivering a punch to your face. The ringing in your ears intensified as the blows continued.

Foolishly underestimating Damian, you realized he was much stronger than he had been four years ago. He was giving his all, determined not to stop until you were defeated. Gathering enough energy, you managed to kick him off you. As you wiped your nose, feeling the blood trickling from your lips, you stood up, reminding yourself that you were not your mother.

You landed a few punches, but Damian's strength remained a significant advantage. He kicked you in the stomach, causing you to tumble toward the edge of the building. He slowly approached you, grabbing you by the hair to lift your head off the ground. He surveyed your bloodied and battered face, sighing as if regretting what he was about to do. With nothing left in you to fight back, you braced yourself as he delivered a final blow that sent you over the side of the building, hurtling towards the ground.

⋆

You clutched your book tightly to your chest as you navigated the bustling hallway. Skillfully, you maneuvered past the people blocking your path, making your way to your locker. After shoving your books inside, you retrieved the ones needed for your next class. However, you couldn't shake the feeling that someone's intense gaze was fixed on the side of your head. You glanced to your left and found yourself locking eyes with a pair of piercing green ones. Damian stood only a few feet away, next to his own locker. You let out a resigned sigh, anticipating that he might deliver another one of his lectures.

A few weeks ago, Damian had been assigned as your tutor for the rest of the year, given your struggle to keep up with your classes due to frequent absences. Neither of you had welcomed this arrangement, but your slipping grades left you with no choice but to accept help, even if it meant being tutored by the most arrogant person you'd ever encountered.

As Damian approached, you couldn't help but speak up, "What do you want, Damian?"

"I want you to meet me at my dorm once classes are over," he stated, his tone more commanding than inquisitive. You arched an eyebrow and closed your locker. "For what? We don't have anything scheduled for today."

He merely sighed. "I just need to have a word with you," he said and walked past you without further explanation. Your eyes tracked his retreating figure as he disappeared down the hall. You couldn't help but mutter, "Who does he think he is?"

After the school day ended, you complied with his request and made your way to Damian's dorm. You knocked and waited for a few moments, unsure of the reason behind this unusual request. Damian seldom engaged with you outside of tutoring, making it clear that he wanted nothing to do with you ever since you'd punched him in the face.

Once Damian finally came to the door, he said nothing when he saw it was you. He just stepped out of the way, allowing you to enter. You walked into the small dorm room, which was plain but tidy. The walls lacked decorations, reminiscent of how your dorm looked when you first moved in. Damian's tie and blazer lay discarded on his neatly made bed, leaving him in his half-buttoned dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” you asked, taking a seat on the edge of his bed, being careful not to disrupt the bedding.

Last week, when Damian came to your dorm to study, his eyes caught sight of something on your nightstand—an emerald green necklace that almost perfectly matched the color of his eyes. It had looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. A few days ago, it finally clicked in his head where he had seen it before. Too much evidence pointed to you being someone he desperately did not want you to be. He would never admit it, but you were growing on him, and he secretly enjoyed your company. To confirm his suspicions, he needed one more piece of evidence.

"Let me see your hand," Damian abruptly requested.

"What?"

"Your hand, let me see it." Without waiting for your response, he took hold of your hand and examined your palm. He noticed a scar running diagonally across it, he remembered when you came to school with it bandaged up. You had told people it resulted from a kitchen accident, but he knew the truth. Damian was piecing everything together like a puzzle. It would explain why he often caught you sneaking into the dorms late at night, as well as why you were frequently late to class and tutoring.

It was you.

He just couldn't figure out how you were alive. He had believed he killed you. His heart ached at the thought.

You watched as Damian traced the scar on your hand with his thumb, his touch sending a tingly sensation through your skin.

"Damian...?" Your voice came out softer than intended. When he heard his name, he looked up at you, his eyes conveying a mixture of fear and regret, emotions you never thought you'd see from him.

"I know," he simply stated.

Confused, you shook your head. "You know what?"

And then it clicked. He KNEW. Why else would he be so interested in your scar? You thought you had done a good job of keeping it hidden. In fact, you had done a good job. The only way he would know was if he had been there.

You withdrew your hand from his. "You're Robin?" You didn't receive an immediate response, which confirmed your suspicion. You sighed, unsure if you should be upset or not. After all, it's not as if the two of you were best friends who had promised never to lie to each other. You did feel somewhat guilty for beating him up, but he had almost killed you in return.

"I'm sorry," he finally admitted, looking away, as if he couldn't bear to make eye contact while apologizing. It was a momentary lapse of his ego.

"Damian Wayne apologizing?" you said, a smug grin on your face.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't get used to it."

You laughed and playfully nudged him. You noticed a small smirk tugging at his lips, and it made your own smile grow wider.

Surprisingly, you both sat in a comfortable silence for a moment before Damian decided to break it.

"How did you survive that fall anyway?" he asked.

You chuckled. "No one told you? I'm like a cat, Damian. I have nine lives."

If you couldn’t tell I tried to avoid having to come up with a alias for Y/N…anyway,

Add yourself to my taglist here

[the-littlest-lily]

Salt & Pepper #44 - Intrusive Thoughts Strike Again

Boiiinng

First

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(or, read on Webtoon)

[muli-wam]

I'm yours

summary: suguru geto, the second most popular guy in school (gojo being the first 🙄), the man ladies swoon over for his charm, looks and personality, also happens to be your beloved boyfirend. Because of his status its hard to get away from prying eyes and thirsty girls. Most of the time it never bothers you but sometimes you can't help but let the intrusive thoughts get the best you you.

pairing: suguru geto x fem!reader

cw: slight angst, fluff, comfort, gojo being obnoxious, jealousy, oral (f receiving), fingering, pls lmk if I missed anything im rlly tired rn

wc: 2.9k

Authors note: mkay so this is like- my first fic I've posted ON THIS ACCOUNT and I haven't wrote in a minute so I'm TERRIBLY sorry if this is terrible. Gimme some time okay 🤧 promise I'll get better. You can check out my other fics @muliwam Anyways enjoy <3 also this is a bit a lot self indulgent hehe

♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.

8:03 am

You and Suguru were walking hand in hand across campus to your first lecture of the day: Calculus.

You drag your feet as you walk, groaning in tiredness.

"I just want to go to bed," You whine. Why on God's green earth was calculus your FIRST class of the day?

"Stop your complaining. You'll be fine," Suguru says, annoyed while gently nudging your side. Suguru pulls you closer to him as you weave through the crowd of students.

"We do this every morning and you complain about it every morning. It's not that bad,"

"Yeah, easy for you to say. You're not the one with calculus at eight in the morning," you grumble.

Suguru lets out a light chuckle before nudging you again, "Well at least you have something to look forward to later. Satoru won't stop blabbing his big mouth about a cat cafe that opened up down the road. He wants to take us."

"I thought he was a dog person...?" You furrow your brows while looking up at him.

"Yeaaah, he just wants to go for the sweets. He'll do anything for dessert," he chuckles before letting out a deep sigh.

Satoru always had a sweet tooth and even despite nanami's badgering, saying he's not gonna have his teenage body forever. It always ends with, "come onnnnnuhhhhh nanami. We are not old yet!"

"Incoming," you whisper a few moments later as you approach the group of girls that wait for Suguru to pass by every morning. This is a daily occurrence for you guys. While he's walking you to class this group of girls wait for him so they can talk to him and try and put their grubby hands on him.

"Oh, hey Geto! Was wondering if you could help me study for Mr. Drew's test coming up? I'm really stumped on a few things and was hoping you could help?" One of the girls says while twirling her hair around her finger and holding his bicep.

"O-oh um," geto only gets a couple words out before another girl on his right approaches him, completely ignoring you and shoving you to the side.  You look at her in disbelief while Suguru throws you a weary look.

"Can you help me too, Geto? History isn't really my thing. I'm pretty dumb when it comes to these kinds of things," She giggles while putting her hand on Getos shoulder.

You've never been affected by this kind of behavior but this seemed a little overboard. Usually they just try and strike up a conversation or homework help, but today is different. Why are they touching what's yours?

You think maybe you're overthinking it, but recently you've noticed suguru getting more and more attention, which in turn made you feel neglected and left out. Always being pushed to the sidelines like you're just a person in other people's story.

"Sorry ladies but I have to escort my beautiful girl to class. I'm sure you can manage by yourselves, no?" He didn't wait for an answer while he grabbed your hand and walked off. The girls stood there in shock and jealousy.

"That was crazier than normal huh?" Geto chuckles while looking down at you. You let out a breathy chuckle while looking down at your feet.

"Yeah, uh.... was pretty crazy huh?"

♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.

4:25 pm

All day long you couldn't help but think about what happened that morning. Or in front of your classroom. Geto got swarmed again by girls asking for directions to a certain place or if they could study with him one on one.

He declined them all but you were still afraid that he would see something in these girls that might have spiked his interest. You thought that he might leave you for one of them. I mean, come on anyone with two eyes and a brain can see that these girls are beautiful.

They're popular, and pretty, and suguru could easily have one of them with just one word.

You had just been so stressed and insecure about a lot of things lately that you didn't realize that he was ignoring them the whole time. You didn't want to voice your feelings to him though, typical ol' you, scared you might come off as possessive.

Throughout the entire day you were so caught up in your head. Even at the cafe, Nanami asked you if you were okay. You smiled and nodded at him while continuing to watch Suguru play with a black cat.

You walked over to Geto and sat next to him while carrying a baby kitten who you named Mr. Chomper because he kept trying to nibble on your hair. You recall reading that his real name was Arthur but you didn't think it suited him well.

"Well hello there Mister," Geto smiles while petting the cat in your arms. The cat he was previously playing with seemed to get a bit jealous and started pawing at his hand.

"And hello to this beautiful lady," Geto says before leaning in and pecking your forehead and then your lips.

You smile while cuddling up closer to him, closing your eyes and leaning your head on his shoulder.

"Y'tired?" He quietly asks while grabbing your hand in his.

"Mhm," you nod.

Geto could sense something was wrong but he didn't want to bring it up until you guys were home.

"Do you wanna-" Geto starts before he gets abruptly cut off by an obnoxious white haired man who is also his best friend.

"OOOO DO YOU GUYS WANT TO GO GET ICE CREAM NOW!?" Satoru jumps up and down with a baby kitten in his hands. Nanami looks at him in horror, fearful for the poor cat that Gojo is holding.

"I was thinking we could get frozen yogurt! Wait no I actually want a milkshake... Hmmmmm- AHHHHH" Gojo lets out an insanely high pitch yelp as he turns to see a cat nibbling on his shoelace.

"HELP MEEEEEE ITS EATING ME!!!"

"OH MY GOD I'M GOING TO DIE." Satoru hollers. You, Suguru and Nanami try holding back your laughs as Gojo stands there in agony.

Geto stands and goes to pick up the cat that's chewing on his shoelace before saying, "I think me and ______ are gonna head home. You and Nanami could go though?"

Nanami is quick to reply, "aaaactually I have studying to do. Sorry Gojo, you're on your own." Nanami collects his things, says his goodbyes and gives the cat he was hanging out with one last pet before walking out.

"WHAT? You guys are really abandoning me huh. Y'know if shoko was here right now she would-" Geto cuts him off,

"Shoko is studying for her big medical exam coming up. I don't think she would hang out with you even if she could." You giggle silently next to Geto.

"And here I thought you guys were my friends." Gojo says in mock sadness.

You three say your goodbyes and go your separate ways.

"Ready to head home, pretty?" Geto grabs your hand while walking to his car. You nod while getting in.

♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.

8:54 pm

It was nighttime now and you and Geto just finished eating dinner. You two shared an apartment together since you weren't comfortable with living on campus or having a roommate.

You've been silent the whole night, only saying a few short word answers here and there, but you were still so in your head about the earlier incident.

You started thinking about similar incidents in the past, over analyzing everything that happened, like the waiter at that restaurant last week, or the cashier at the grocery store. You started to feel childish for feeling this way.

Maybe it was from past relationships that caused you to feel this way, to feel the jealousy you're feeling now.

Geto was starting to worry, not used to your silence since you're usually a very talkative and outgoing person. He decided to talk to you about it.

"My love?" Geto walks into your bedroom, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweats and a t-shirt.

"Yeah? Is everything okay?" You ask while looking up at him from your desk. You were working on an extra credit assignment for your physics class.

Geto sits on your bed, a faint creek coming from it. "C'mere," he nods at you, patting the spot next to him.

You get up and sit down next to him.

"Talk to me, baby. You've seemed kinda off all day." He puts his hand on your thigh, rubbing soothing circles on it to calm you down since he could feel you getting anxious.

You bite the skin from your lips before replying, m'fine. Just tired is all." You avoid eye contact with him, knowing that if you looked him in the eye you would break.

"C'mon I know that's not why. Did I do something wrong?" He tilts his head down, trying to look at you.

"You didn't do anything... I just-" you start before deciding not to say anything. You were afraid of what he might think, that he may say you're being possessive or childish.

"You just what? Baby I can't read your kind. If you want to fix this you gotta tell me what's wrong." he gently grabs your hands while leaning his forehead on yours.

You hesitate for a moment before sighing, "it's just what happened this morning. It kinda got to me. That's all though. I know it's stupid."

Geto had a feeling that was why but didn't want to make assumptions. He saw your face when that girl pushed you out of the way earlier and he saw the way your face fell when they all kept asking him for directions and stuff. 

was aware that this affected you, even if only a little bit. I mean, he would feel the same if he were you. Geto couldn't count on one hand the amount of times he got jealous when guys asked him for your number before you two started dating since they knew you guys were close. When people found out you were taken, guys were too afraid to make a move on you, scared of what Geto might do.

Geto knew there was more to the situation but he didn't want to pry, opting on talking about it later when you weren't so stressed.

"Aw, baby I'm so sorry you feel that way. I wish I could help in some way but there's not much I can do about this." He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, enveloping you in his warmth and comfort.

You bury your head in the crook of his neck, "I'm sorry I know it's childish and stupid and I'm probably being dramatic right now but-" Geto abruptly cuts you off with a passionate kiss.

You melt in his arms and wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. You felt like fireworks were going off and like all your stress and troubles were lifted off your shoulders.

He pulls away slightly and your lips chase him again before he says, "Don't say that about yourself. You're not being childish and dramatic, you're just a little jealous and that's okay." You blush while he continues,

"You're going through a lot right now. with studying and homework, I know you're probably tired mentally. I'm here for you though. I'm yours and I want to take care of you. And I know there's more to this, you just don't want to tell me right now but that's okay." He slightly chuckles towards the end while cupping your face in his hand.

You look at him with slightly watery eyes, "Thank you... I really needed that." You say quietly.

Suguru smiles before going in to kiss you again, this time more passionate than the last. You feel his hands creep to your waist to pull you in closer to him, shifting you to straddle his lap.

"I love you," he whispers while kissing down your neck.

"so, so much. I'm yours, yeah?"

"Yeah," you smile at him before kissing him again, your tounge wandering through his mouth.

"Say it." He whispers against your lips. You pull back slightly.

"Say it. Say that I'm yours and that you're mine." He nips at your earlobe before whispering again,

"Say it"

"I'm yours, and you're mine. Forever." You gasp.

Suguru's large hands palm your ass before giving it a firm smack. You let out a small whimper before starting to kiss down his neck.

You can feel his quickening pulse as you kiss and lick down his neck, biting down where his shoulder and neck meet.

He groans as he leave butterfly kisses on your cheek and neck before crawling to the top of the bed and flipping you on your back. You hear the springs from the mattress creek in the process. Suguru sits back on his knees while admiring your beautiful body.

"So beautiful," he whispers to himself. He leans down and starts to trail wet kisses down your neck, then to your stomach. He brings one of his hands up to fondle your breast through the fabric of your shirt and bra.

You sigh as you feel his wet lips suck and bite at your belly, trailing kisses down until he reaches the waistband of your sweats.

Sugurus violet eyes look up at you, silently asking for permission. You nod yes as you run your fingers through his raven locks.

He slowly pulls down you bottoms, kissing his way down your legs in the process. He throws your pants behind him, not paying any attention as to where.

He kisses his way back up your leg before stopping at your already dripping core.

He looks up at you once again smirking slightly. "Can I?" He rasps.

"God yes," you groan, slowly becoming impatient.

He quickly pulls off your panties and tosses them while admiring your dripping heat.

You get a little embarrassed and try closing you legs, but Geto let's out disapproving tuts before prying them back open.

He immediately dives nose deep into your core, licking at your folds and sucking on your sensitive nub.

You moan in pleasure, the sensations of his wet tounge against you causing tingles throughout your entire body. You grip at his hair and start grinding your hips against his face.

"Mhmmm yes baby use me.. use my face baby, you deserve it." Geto hums against your cunt.

"Fuckk Suguru that feels so good." You cry out, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Suguru shakes his face against your cunt, shoving his toung in as far as it would go, before adding two of his long digits knuckle deep into your pussy.

"Y'gonna cum baby? Hm? Y'gonna come on my fingers?" Suguru says honestly as he drinks up your juices that were dripping down his hand. You cry out in overwhelming pleasure as you feel your climax coming.

Suguru pumps his fingers faster, feeling your cunt clench and unclench around his digits, signaling your close.

"Yes, yes, yes, please don't stop, please don't stop please," You scream.

"Yes baby yes, cum on my fingers baby, you can do it. I know you can," suguru talks you through it as you feel your orgasm hit you like a freight train.

You felt your vision go white and your eyes roll back as far as they could. You felt as if you died and went to heaven. Your body feels like its lighter than a feather, like your floating in an eternal abyss.

"F-FUuuuukkkk yess" You yell out as suguru rides out your high with his fingers. You body convulses against his face and fingers as you let out heaves of air, trying to catch your breath.

"Goooood girl. Did so good f'me." Suguru whispers before slowly pulling his fingers out of your pussy, placing a gentle kiss on it before climbing up the bed to kiss you as well.

He runs soothing hands up and down your body while gently kissing you, whispering sweet nothings to you and moving the hair out of your face.

"Did so well for me," He smiles lazily at you. You felt like you couldn't even talk, still stuck in the post orgasmic haze.

Once you come back to reality, you feel Sugurus hard bulge against your thigh and you reack a shaky hand down to palm it but he stops you.

"No baby I'm okay. Just wanted to take care of you," he decided he would take care of himself when your sound asleep but for now he just wanted to take care of you.

You didn't argue with him when he said that, too tired to even try.

Suguru got up to grab your panties and one of his tee shirts for you to change into. He quickly grabbed a glass to water and had you drink some before gently putting the clothes on you before tucking you into bed next to him.

"Rest, my love." He whispers against your head.

"I love you suguru." You say tiredly before slowly drifting off into unconsciousness.

"I love you too, more than you could ever know." Is the last thing suguru says to you before you fall asleep.

♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.°`•♡.

Please do not copy or translate my work on here or other platforms without MY permission

[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 13 - Issa Jorrāelagon

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

You’re not sure Aemond will be in the library so early in the day but there's a familiar face waiting by the door. 

“Lady Baratheon,” Aemond’s guard says and, though part of you is relieved, you almost turn back. 

Last night, when you’d received the invite to meet him here, you hadn’t intended to take him up on the offer. But that had been easy to say when your anger had been fresh, and your clothes were not drenched with rainwater.  

“You never told me your name, Ser,” you say, teeth chattering as the cold of the storm seeps into your bones. 

The guard looks you up and down, no doubt thinking you look more like a stray dragged in from the street than a high-born lady of house Baratheon, but he answers you just the same.  

“Ser Willis Fell, if it pleases you, My Lady,” he says, opening the door to permit your entry despite the state of your appearance.

“Thank you, Ser Willis,” you smile, and before the door shuts behind you, you’re struck by the sheer majesty of the room, and gasp, your head tilting to take it all in.  

The vaulted ceiling is so high, it's impossible to imagine how anyone could have painted the giant dragons which command its dome, and they are so striking. One black, one bronze, one silver.  

From their colouring alone you know they must be the dragons of Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives. Which means one of them is Vhagar, the bronze one, ridden by Visenya and so fierce it was hard to imagine a small boy could ever dare to tame her. Then again, that boy had been Aemond, and he was nothing if not extraordinarily arrogant.  

You laugh softly at the thought, your gaze slipping down the dark oak walls to where the panels merge with the bookcases. There are so many, all so tall they need a ladder to reach their highest shelves, and stretching so far back you can’t even count the rows. 

It's hard to believe there could be so many books. But there must be thousands, and you can smell the comforting scent of musk and leather which seeps from all the bindings while the warmth of a fire crackles somewhere out of sight. 

Inching into the candlelight offered by the brass sconces which flank the first row, you hear distant footsteps quickening on the stone floor.

"I was wondering when you might arrive,” Aemond says, appearing five rows down, with a book in each hand. 

Sighing, you scrape your fingers across your forehead to push the wet tendrils of hair from your eyes. “Even your company cannot dissuade me from books."

“Then I shall carry them with me always,” he says solemnly, his hand reaching to push back a piece of hair which you have missed, and you’d be annoyed by the intrusion, if his fingers were not so deliriously warm compared to your skin.  

“I trust my lady did not take a dip in any bodies of water before she arrived?” he says, eyeing you with both intrigue and delight.  

Now you do push his hand away, “it's raining.” Though you cannot hear the downpour from within these sturdy walls, “ and... if you must know, I was trying to escape from Tyland Lannister.” 

“Hmm , ” his eyebrow raises with amusement instead of surprise, confirming a suspicion which had begun to fester in your mind as you walked in the rain.  

The letter to Maris and your conversation with Tyland Lannister could be no coincidence. They were both related to things you had complained of last night. But did Aemond really think he could rectify all his mistakes in a single morning? 

"You said something to him,” you say, wanting to be certain. 

A smile plays at his lips, “you are not pleased by his renewed interest?” 

“I was never pleased by his interest to begin with,” you scoff, annoyed that Aemond could hold so much sway over another man, “now I also think him weak and a little pathetic, which I'm sure you will find amusing.” 

He doesn’t hide his delight, “ good , now you see him as I do... but does that make me even more repugnant to my lady?” 

“No ,” you pause, narrowing your eyes, “the smug look on your face does that all by itself.” 

Aemond bites back his smile, and you begin to wring out your hair though the water has nowhere to go but the skirts of your dress.  

Still, it's better than nothing and Aemond watches you with some strange fascination, his books clutched in front of him with the long fingers on a single hand enough to support both volumes.  

“Did your sister get my letter?” he says after a time.  

“Yes ,” you glare at him, still annoyed, “and she thinks I’ve been hatching some ridiculous plot to win your favour!” 

His smug look returns, his eye so animated as he teases, “have you?”  

“Be sensible!” you say tartly, pushing past him towards the fire. 

“There was no mention of your name in my letter,” he calls from behind, as though it occurs to him that you might think he’s placed all the blame for his actions squarely on your shoulders. 

“I know,” you admit, standing close enough to the flames to feel the heat seeping into the fabric of your dress. “She was upset that we played Cyvasse,” you tilt your head to meet his eye, “though if she knew what a loathsome player you were, she would not be quite so jealous.” 

He moves closer, the gold buttons on his doublet glinting in the firelight. 

“I'd say Cyvasse should be the least of her worries... and I promise my lady will find me far less loathsome in our next game.” 

"Then I am lucky we are here to read,” you retort, deciding you will never play another game with him so long as you live, “though I wish I had not walked so long in the rain first.” 

“You could take off your clothes and let them dry by the fire?” he suggests, his eye gleaming wickedly. 

You glare at him yet again, but you don't find nearly as much embarrassment in his words as you would have done a few weeks ago. “And if your mother joins us, as she is so apt to do whenever we are in conversation? What will she think then?” you counter, brow raised. 

Aemond snorts out an unexpected laugh, bracing his ribs, “that I am finally submitting to giving her a grandchild?” 

You laugh too, but your laughter is made up entirely of nerves, “in that case, I shall be certain I allow my clothes to dry on.”  

He tuts, disapproving of your choice and you turn away, your cheeks flushed.  

“You seem to be feeling much better today,” you say as though it is an accusation, before you move towards the bookcase which is stacked with the thickest books you’ve ever seen.  

"It’s merely a bruise,” he replies but you know he's downplaying the truth, not that you say anything more. You're not a Maester or his mother, so he can do as he pleases as far as you’re concerned. 

Pulling one of the volumes from the middle of the shelf, the dust threatens a sneeze as you inspect its sturdy black cover without any understanding of the words printed on the front. 

“It’s High Valyrian,” Aemond says, standing beside you. “Do you read it?”  

You huff softly, “in Storms End we are lucky we learn to read at all, anything more would be considered a complete waste of time, especially for a girl.”  

“Udrizi Valyrio ȳdrā?” he says, the strange words rolling like silk from his tongue.  

Your eyes snap to meet his, surprised. Though you knew he must speak High Valyrian, you’d never really imagined what it would sound like or how it would elicit a tickle of warmth right into the centre of your chest. 

“What did you say?” you ask, curiosity peaking beyond any dislike you want to harbour for the one-eyed dragon.   

A slow smile inches into his cheeks, as though he relishes every drop of your undivided attention. “I asked if you spoke Valyrian and I’m surmising your answer should be ‘daor’ .”  

“Daor ,” you repeat, liking the way it feels on the tongue even if it doesn't spark the same sensation in your chest as when Aemond says it. “And how do I say ‘yes’?”  

“Kessa.”  

“Kessa ,” you slide the book back onto the shelf, repeating the words again, committing them to memory. “Kessa, Doar.” Yes, No.    

“I can teach you more if you like, issa jorrāelagon? ” he suggests, gesturing to the chaise by the fire. 

“Issa jorr... a-”  

“Jorrāelagon.” 

“What does that mean?” 

He considers you for a moment, his finger tapping on his book, “it means... my lady .” 

“Issa jorrāelagon,” you say, and his expression, though it had never been hard, still softens like ice in the sun. Leaving you to wonder how much more difficult he would be to hate, if he had two eyes looking at you with such devotion.  

You turn away, heart pounding as you force your attention back to the shelf, but all the books are the same. Thick, black, unreadable.  

“As much as I would enjoy learning a new language, what use have I with High Valyrian when you are the only one I know who speaks it?”  

“You know Helaena.” 

“Barely ,” you reach for a book on a different shelf, brushing your finger across the ribbed edge of its dark green spine, “but I’ve wanted to explore this library since I arrived in Kings Landing, and I may never get another chance.”  

Aemond leans in, and you don’t just smell the scent of the books, you smell the soap on his skin. Cedar and sage, so clean and masculine, as the heat of his words caress your ear with an unexpected whisper. 

“Skori ao issi issa ābrazȳrys , ao shall māzigon se jikagon hae ao kostilus, issa jorrāelagon .”  

You have no idea what he’s saying but you cannot ignore the tone, sensuous, commanding. As though he’s making you a promise, yet you dare not know it, and couldn’t ask even if you wanted to.  

Words seem to have fled your brain. Your breath hitching in your throat while your fingers grip tightly onto the shelf as though it is the only thing keeping you upright. But Aemond doesn’t seem to notice any of those things, and how could he? 

He does not feel that same spark of warmth which begins in your chest before flickering outwards, its progress licking through your veins until it lands in the pit of your stomach and a thousand butterflies spark into life. 

Instead, he turns back towards the fire as though nothing is amiss, when everything feels wrong .  

You're still holding your breath and the swirl of butterflies are beginning to make you feel as though you might burst at the seams. But the worst part is, though you have never found anyone more infuriating in your entire life, you seem to have forgotten all Aemond’s previous misdeeds and almost trail after him. 

In fact, the only thing stopping you, is how tightly you’re holding onto the shelf, as you watch him settle into the chaise with the company of his books, his eye sliding to meet yours as though he’s wondering why you’re still standing there.  

It’s a good question. Why aren't you moving?  

Cheeks flushing again, you kick your legs into action as you disappear into the safety of the giant stacks.  

What was wrong with you?  You wonder, squeezing your eyes shut and taking a deep breath, but you don’t really want to know the answer to that .  

So, you push the question away, thankful the library is large enough for you to avoid Aemond for the rest of the morning.  

Yet that doesn’t stop you feeling his presence in the room as you walk along the rows, trying to ignore him, and focusing all your attention on devouring as many first pages as possible.  

Some good, some terrible, some intriguing, but nothing singing to your soul in the way Queen Nymeria had from the first instance. You’re desperate to find a book you can love as much as that, but the choice is overwhelming, and it would take years to work through even the tiniest corner of the library. 

Still, you’re determined and you're not sure how much time passes, but it must be quite a while, before Aemond finds you sitting on the stone floor between the rows, with books by your side, books resting on your knee, and one in your hand. 

“Are you lost, or do you always do your reading on the floor?” he says, leaning against the shelves with his arms crossed and a small huff of laughter rolling from his chest. 

“I simply cannot decide what to read first, there’s too much choice,” you reply with some urgency, as though it might be the worst problem in the entire world, and he laughs again before stalking towards you and offering his hand.  

Sliding the book from your knee, you know you really shouldn’t accept his help, you can stand on your own. Yet you take it anyway, surprised by his strength as he pulls you to your feet. Then surprised again when he does not let go. 

He holds you securely, pulling you through the stacks and picking up books here and there, which you carry in the crook of your arm before he deposits you on his chaise, though there are plenty of other seats dotted around the fire. Seats which would not have his knee pressed with yours. 

“Read this first,” he says, and you look at the cover, realising it's the second volume to the book of songs you’d enjoyed so much. 

Already you know this is an excellent choice, and you’re annoyed to think you should have asked him to pick for you all along.  

“Have you a favourite in this one?” you say, flicking lightly through the pages and regretting your question the moment you said it. 

Aemond smiles when he steals the book back from your hands and returns it opened a third of the way through. 

“A Song of Storms,” you read out loud, meeting the teasing look in his eye before your gaze returns to the page.  

Then you recite the rest, and Aemond is a captive audience as much as the song is very beautiful. Too beautiful, and far too melancholy to be chosen by a dragon prince. 

In fact, his love of songs almost lulls you into thinking he might not be entirely repugnant after all. Yet he is. He must be.  

“What is the word for storm?” you say, deciding you would have been far safer with a book on history or science. Safer still if you were sitting on your own chair. 

“Jelmāzma.” 

“Jelmāzma,” you repeat atrociously enough to make him laugh, but you laugh too and then your stomach growls so loudly you both laugh again. 

Him out of amusement, you out of embarrassment.  

“If you must know, I was forced to abandon my breakfast this morning after your scroll arrived for Maris,” you say, ensuring he’s aware of the part he’s played in yet another humiliation. 

“How repugnant of me,” Aemond says with the twitch of another smile as he stands, his hand bracing against his rib. 

He moves to a cord by the fire, pulling it three times before a servant arrives at a door hidden in the panelling.  

You cannot hear the whispered list of instructions and pretend not to be watching his every movement. But you are watching.  

The way he saunters, so cocky. The way he looks back at you, half teasing smile, half breathtaking intensity. The way his leg stretches out as he sits down, so it just touches yours. 

Fresh nerves flutter in your stomach where the butterflies had lived, and you swallow, staring down at your book but finding you can only pretend to read.  

Luckily, it does not take very long before the food arrives and there’s tea, wine and delicate little pastries, but it's the fruit which catches your eye. So colourful and perfectly prepared into bitesize pieces.  

There was hardly any fruit at Storms End. Only apples at harvest time and blackberries in the summer.  

Your stomach threatens to growl again as you pick up a strawberry, careful not to let the juice drip onto the pages of the book before popping it in your mouth.  

Aemond reaches for a piece of fruit you've never seen before, telling you its name in High Valyrian before he throws it up and catches it in his mouth.  

Such an unbelievable show off, yet you can’t help but smile, because the only person he’s trying to impress is you, and though it makes you nervous, its intoxicating too.  

You both reach for more fruit and he tells you the High Valyrian for all the items on the tray. Cup, plate, wine and, though you know you’ll never remember them, you let him teach you anyway, melting a little with every word, until you’ve had your fill, and return your attention to the book. 

You recite another song, this one about a lark, then you find yourself asking him about the book he’s reading, then about his trips to Dorne, if he as ever seen The Wall, if he has ever sailed on one of the ships bobbing in the bay, and just about a thousand other things. 

Talk comes easy and Aemond is a natural storyteller. His stories all seem to contain so much excitement and vibrancy, and you consume them as though they are more delectable than the fruit on the tray. Barely noticing your clothes have long since dried, or the three times the maid arrives to add more logs to the fire. 

You certainly don’t have as many exciting stories as Aemond, since your entire life has been contained to Storms End. But the subject doesn’t seem to matter as much as the sharing. 

You’re telling him about the time when you were eleven, and had fallen from a tree, fracturing your arm. You still have a scar, its faded path hidden beneath the sleeve of your gown. But Aemond has your arm in his hand as though he can see it, and you’re laughing as you admit how pleased you were that the injury meant you didn’t have to practice embroidery for several months.  

He laughs too, and you imagine he’s thinking of those wonky cornflowers when Ser Willis walks in, his entrance masked by the laughter which has been echoing around the giant room all afternoon.  

"I’m sorry to disturb you, Prince Aemond,” he bows, “but there is a Ser Maurin Selmy at the door, looking for your lady.” 

Only now, under Ser Willis’ gaze, do you realise that, on this chaise made for two, you’ve crept close enough to Aemond to allow room for a third, a little fortress of books surrounding you, the fire ready for another log. 

You jump up, snatching your arm from his grasp, and feeling a little flustered at the way Ser Willis’ head is bowed, as though the scene is far too intimate for prying eyes.  

“Excuse me,” you say, hurrying towards the door with Aemond’s long legs catching your escape but not blocking it.  

Outside of the library, Ser Maurin gives you a shake of his head, his eyes filled with the concern of a man who’s known you all his life. Not a father, but close enough. 

"We’ve had all the men scouring the keep for you, my Lady,” he says, and you glance to a nearby window to see that the afternoon sun has faded towards dusk. 

When had that happened?  

How had you spent all day with Aemond?  

Past lunch, past tea, and well past the realms of propriety. 

You swallow hard, heart drumming in your chest in anticipation of your father's fury, while Ser Maurin looks to the prince. 

His old eyes are fierce with warning, but he doesn’t offer a word to his grace before turning on his heel, his arm held out to escort you home. 

“Your books,” Aemond says, handing you the three he had selected as though he had not a concern in the world for anyone's disapproval. 

“Thank you,” you say stiffly, careful not to meet his eye. 

“You will return tomorrow?” he asks, hopeful .  

Tightening your arms around the books, you hold them to your chest as though they are a shield, “these books shall keep me busy until I leave in three days time, and I shall return them then, your grace.” 

At that, you turn, taking Ser Maurin’s arm, your mind racing with a hundred different thoughts before it lands on one . 

“Please don’t tell them you found me with the prince.” 

“May I ask why?” his old stare fixes on the side of your face, and your cheeks begin to heat before you pause, remembering how upset Maris had been this morning. 

“They will get the wrong idea.”  

He gives you a pointed look, “and what is the right idea?” 

You turn to him, eyes wide, words like dust on your tongue. Honestly, you didn’t know. You could hardly even comprehend how you’d spent the entire day in Aemond’s company without feeling the need to kill him or run away. 

“Just tell them I was alone, ” you decide. 

Alone was easy to explain and even easier to believe than the alternative. But you knew the truth. That you’d spent an entire day with a dragon and enjoyed every moment.

~~~

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[yuwuta]

so we know that nanami, thee standard, doesn't accept fwb and has to take you out for a proper time after a while.. curious about what you think about gojo? he strikes me as the type to enjoy fwb, but also not? also, hear me out, yuwuta... megumi? fwb with megumi... sighs dreamily

my likeliness to engage in fwb behavior scale goes like this: most gojo = yuuta > toge = yuuji > maki > nanami > nobara = megumi least

satoru and yuuta say yes if you ask them but it’s only because they already like you or already in love with you… and they know that it’s not the best idea in the world, but through their powers of delusion, they think they can make you like them back. because clearly whatever they’re doing now isn’t enough, so maybe sex will help?? who’s ever turned down bomb dick yk… besides, sex with boys who think they’ve got something to prove >> that being said, it’s never really been fwb in their head, their plan was never noncommittal sex, they have all their strings attached to you and they want to be yours forever, so good luck <3

toge and yuuji are also pretty likely to do it, because, again, who are they to turn down their best friend asking them for sex? they both go into it very naively, they go along with whatever rules and boundaries you set, and are genuinely in it to have fun with you and please you, but they get very confused very quickly. it feels like a relationship to them, so shouldn’t it be a relationship? they don’t think much of it until you bring up exclusivity and/or mention going on a date with someone else, then all the feelings come forth and jealousy rears it’s ugly head and the next time you sleep together something shifts, it’s more possessive, more desperate, more mine mine mine… think they’re the ones to either confess or just… assume you’re dating and/or tell you you’re dating now lol. like toge just throws his shirt at you when you try to get up and leave him the next day and tells you you aren’t exhibiting much girlfriend like behavior, and yuuji either says something sappy or does something sweet and you tell him he doesn’t have to and he just goes “but you’re my girlfriend! ofc i’m gonna be nice to you!… you are my girlfriend, in case you didn’t know!” 

maki debates it for a bit, and then reasons that the convenience of it would be nice. she doesn’t expect to get attached, and it really annoys her when you invade her thoughts when she’s supposed to be busy with things not involving you. but she doesn’t really say anything about it. honestly, you would either have to call it off, or express interest in someone else before she realizes that the way to solve her intrusive thoughts of you isn’t to go back to being friends, it’s to go to being something more than friends. 

nanami also agrees for the convenience of it, but even so, he debates it for a while after you bring it up to him. ultimately, he decides that if it’s something you truly want, he will do his best to ensure it’s beneficial for the both of you. he seems like he actually tries to develop some kind of schedule—not just for convenience, but also because he wants to make sure he has time to treat you properly. quickies on his lunch break probably aren’t what you signed up for, so he makes sure he has the time and energy to devote himself to you. the problem becomes two fold: (1) kento starts to want you all the time, not just the times you’ve set aside to have sex, and (2) the longer your arrangement goes on, the more kento believes that you deserve to have someone who can dedicate all their time to you. he doesn’t think that you should settle for convenient, arranged sex with a partner who has no attachment or loyalty to you, you deserve to be taken care of wholly. and so, he steps up and becomes that person, even if it’s not something you were striving for. you will gain a boyfriend and a committed relationship, that is the very bare minimum from him!! 

nobara and megumi seem the least likely to want any kind of fwb situation. nobara thinks they too frequently develop into situationships, and she doesn’t have space or time in her life to be in a situationship with anybody—much less somebody like you who’s already wormed your way into her life against her will. you’ve unfolded your chair, now sit in it. if you want nobara, you get all of her, all the time. it’s similar with megumi; even if he isn’t the most upfront with his feelings, megumi is a romantic at heart, he does things according his beliefs, he’s moved by his own motives, he needs to be moved to do anything really—and friends with benefits does not move him. if you want megumi, then simply be obsessed with him or die tbh, like he’s not ever one to engage in anything half-way; you want sex with him, then you’re gonna learn to put up with his cold fingers and surly attitude and unwillingness to get out of bed before 11am, you are going to be his if he’s gonna give anything to you