#like first we have the old series and from what I remember he was suppose to feel like dumb or goofy in a way which doesn’t make any sense

[mononijikayu]

the rivers of our souls spring from the same well! — gojo satoru.

BO JUYI TO YUAN ZHEN Since I left home to seek official state Seven years I have lived in Ch'ang-an. What have I gained? Only you, Yuan; So hard it is to bind friendship fast. . . . We did not go up together for Examination; We were not serving in the same Department of State. The bond that joined us lay deeper than outward things; The rivers of our souls spring from the same well!

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: r-18, nsfw!, amab! reader, use of he/him pronouns, male! reader, angst, romance, hurt/comfort, forbidden love, childhood friends, young love, friends to lovers, lgbtiqia+ romance, slice of life, family life, found family, raising family, family drama, traditional clans, mutual pining, loyalty, slow burn, intense emotional feelings, canon-typical violence, smut, kissing, explicit sexual content, orgasm, worship kink, semi-public sex, size difference, creampie, marking, aftercare, homophobia, internalized homophobia, trauma, emotional abuse, psychological torture, coercion, emotional manipulation, forced marriage, familial abuse, torture (emotional/mental/physical), depression, claustrophobia, suicidal ideation, guilt, imprisonment, somewhat of a happy ending;

WORD COUNT: 5k words

NOTE: this is going to be in six parts as a series. it's going to be light hearted for the most part until the second half of chapter 3 to chapter 6. so read at your own risk. it's going to be a lot, emotionally and physically. so if you cannot deal with it yet, please stop after the love making scene in chapter 3. there will be other things ill publish through the coming days, so don't worry!!! that being said, i hope you enjoy this read!!! i love you all!!! <3

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HCWGBTBFWWJSAB

YOU CAN REMEMBER ALL OF IT VERY CLEARLY. The first time you met the five year old clan leader of the mighty Gojo Clan, Gojo Satoru, he was seated like a god–child sculpted from alabaster.

The young boy before you was ever so still, ever so quiet, and ever so cold, unyielding to all that was earthly. And yet, so beautiful in his pedastal. It was an odd thing to see it all unfold. 

His presence was unnatural for someone so young; he carried none of the fragility children are supposed to have. Instead, he radiated something closer to divinity, or perhaps, divinity's shadow.

That’s what they all said to you in that moment. But you did not mind that. He was the Six Eyes. He was a god in the body of a child, untouchable and incomprehensible.

After all, you were only six years old. You were barely past toddlerhood, and already burdened with the weight of a clan that had more history than power, more expectation than strength. Things that they should have been helping you with. 

Instead, they dressed you in your finest silks, combed your hair until it shone, and pressed lessons into you with quiet urgency: how to bow until your forehead touched the floor, how to lower your gaze just enough to be respectful, but never weak.

The elders didn’t speak of friendship. They spoke of politics. Of alliances. Of survival. They kept repeating it even if you didn’t understand it at all. But you listened all the same as they repeated it in your little ear. 

"Please him, my lord." they said, voices hushed in whispered prayers commandingly. "Pleasing the Gojo lord means security for us all."

They made sure you understood the difference between being liked and being useful. Between proximity and connection. But you were just a child. What did you know of power, what did you know about being beside a god and being close to him?

But what you understood was this: you had to do well. You had to be close to him. That was the word your mother had whispered into your ear all morning, warm hands on your shoulders as she knelt before you.

“If you can befriend him, my precious son.” she murmured, smoothing down your sleeves, “I’ll be happy. Your father’s soul will be proud.”

You didn’t remember much of your father. He died when you were two or three years old. But you can see little pieces in your head from time to time. There was a shape, a burst of laughter, the scent of incense and pine. 

Yet you did not know him at all. Instead, you were certain that you knew what people said about him more than of him. They all said that he was all too noble, too dutiful, too brave. And most of all, there was no more precious thing in the world than you, his only son. 

Because of that, you knew you had to be great. You wanted to be just like him. You wanted to be worthy of the stories they told. So that’s what this day became, in your young mind, not a meeting, not a duty, but a chance. A way to be his perfect son. A single step toward a path he’d never get to see you walk. 

Still, as you stood there in the hall, your sandals just slightly too tight and your heart thudding against your ribs, you were afraid. How were you meant to speak to a god? How could you be someone worthy of being in god’s presence?

Because that’s what the boy across the room looked like.

Gojo Satoru, who was five years old, wrapped in pale silk and silence, eyes hidden behind a thin layer of curtains all around him even then. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t blink. He was too still, too composed. Too much for your own comfort.

But you took a breath. Told yourself what no one else had.

You can do this. You’re brave.

And you stepped forward.

You approached slowly in dais he sat upon, high in the garden of his clan’s ancestral estate. He didn’t look at you when you greeted him nor when you bowed so lowly in front of him to appease him like he was your god. 

Instead, he stared at the koi pond instead, legs swinging gently above the stone bench like he wasn’t aware of your presence at all. He seemed rather preoccupied with that. Or rather, he was all too bored with everything this is and everything it isn’t. 

“Good day, my lord.” you said, voice light and careful, as if testing the air for any sudden shifts in mood. “I—”

His head tilted slightly, but his bright blue eyes, hidden behind those light thin curtains, didn’t move. You were a bit surprised when he looked at you. Even covered, you could feel how harshly those eyes consume you, the mortal you were.

“Do you want something?” he asked, and his tone was flat. It was neither cruel nor curious. Just… indifferent.

You didn’t know how to answer. If anything you were too stunned to do so. A god had replied to you, after all. The pressure to be as good as him in response was much too much to deal with. So you remained silent.

You had been told to entertain him, charm him if possible. But how do you charm something that doesn’t seem to have human emotions? You were a child, yes—but even you could feel the strange emptiness in him. He was a boy, but he wasn’t. Not really.

Still, you tried. Because you had to. Because your clan's survival might one day hinge on this encounter. “I like your curtains, my lord.” you said, and immediately regretted it. “I–it’s quite lovely—”

He looked at you then. Really looked. And you felt like something ancient and all–seeing was sizing you up, peeling you back layer by layer. “You’re quite a bad liar, aren’t you?” he said.

You swallowed, heat rising in your face. But then, unexpectedly. He smirked. Just a little. Barely there. That was the first time Gojo Satoru ever acknowledged you, let alone known you. Not as an equal, not even as a friend. But as something interesting enough not to ignore.

You walked away from that garden unsure of whether you’d pleased him, but knowing that you had, at least, survived him. It would not be the last time. You would come to learn, over the years, that surviving Gojo Satoru was no small feat.

After that first meeting in the garden, your clan’s elders waited with baited breath for a response, for a whisper from the Gojo side indicating whether you'd passed some unspoken test. But none came. No praise. No reprimand. Just silence. In their world, that meant everything.

“He didn’t reject us, my lord.” one said.

“He noticed you, my lord.” said another. “That is a good thing!”

You weren’t so sure. But you didn’t correct them.

Still, something had shifted. Subtly. Invitations. They were never warm, never personal. But they began to arrive more frequently. Clan gatherings. Ceremonies. Neutral ground meetings between the old and new bloodlines. 

And at each one, Gojo Satoru was there. Always alone. Always too poised, too quiet for a boy. He moved like he belonged to another plane, and maybe he did. Other children avoided him, sensing, rightfully, that he wasn’t one of them. That he was above them all, even if he was the youngest.

But he never ignored you.

He would acknowledge your presence with a tilt of the head, sometimes a single word. Never soft. Never kind. But consistent. And strange as it was, that consistency became something solid in your world of shifting allegiances and brittle formalities.

Once, at a New Year’s banquet hosted by the Zeni’n clan, you caught him watching you from across the room. The adults were drunk on sake and politicking, and you had slipped away to stand on the veranda, your fingers cold against the lacquered railing. He appeared beside you silently, as he always did, like something conjured rather than born.

"You don't like them either." he said rather bluntly. “The old fools.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t laced with curiosity or judgment. It was simply the truth. It was the truth that was dropped into the quiet like a stone into still water, rippling through your chest before you could stop it.

You blinked, surprised. Though, not by the observation itself, but by how easily he’d seen through you. The room behind you was filled with laughter, adults talking in hushed, calculated tones, the rustle of fine fabrics, the ever-present sound of being watched. A party in name only. A parade of intent.

And the two of you, two young masters, two small boys standing just a little outside of it all but stood near the veranda, away from the noise. You turned to look at him. He wasn’t looking at you. His bright blue eyes were angled toward the sky, as if he could see the stars anyway. His voice had carried no weight, no judgment. Just knowing.

You didn’t say anything back, at least not at first. Just gave a quiet nod, small and slow, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. He didn’t smile. But he didn’t walk away, either. He stood still for a moment.

Suddenly, Gojo Satoru stepped just a little closer. The silk of his sleeve brushed yours. And then he stood there with you in silence, watching the first firework bloom over the distant trees, blossoming gold and green like summer heat.

You glanced at him again. He didn’t flinch at the sound, didn’t tilt his head toward the color. But you noticed the way his fingers flexed at his side, how his posture softened just slightly. It was all too fascinating. 

“They’re too loud, my lord.” you whispered, as the next firework cracked through the air like thunder. “And no one here means what they say.”

“I know.” he said simply.

You looked down at your feet. “…I don’t think I like parties.”

He finally turned his head toward you, and though you couldn’t see his bright blue eyes, somehow you could feel them on you. They were sharp. Rather eager to be curious. Perhaps even a little tired.

“Me neither.” he replied. “But if I didn’t come, they’d say I’m dangerous. And they’d hate that even more.”

You frowned. “Aren’t you, my lord?”

He paused, like he wasn’t sure if it was a trap. Then, almost too quietly, he said, “…Maybe. But not to you.”

Your heart stuttered. You didn’t know what to say. You just watched him for a moment longer, then turned back to the sky where another firework exploded into color. And he stayed beside you for the rest of the night. Saying nothing. Not needing to.

It became a pattern.

You’d never call it friendship. Well, at least not then. There were no shared secrets, no laughter, no games. But there was a strange, wordless understanding that formed like a thin bridge between two children who were never allowed to be just that.

You didn’t try to make him feel. He didn’t try to soften for you. But in rooms full of people who bowed and scraped and lied, you didn’t flinch or flatter. And maybe that’s why he let you stand beside him. In some ways, the rivers of your souls spring from the same well the more you stood together. Not that you’d say it out loud, though.

Eventually, you realized something important: Gojo Satoru wasn’t truly someone you can consider to be emotionless. He wasn’t a god, either. He was a boy who’d been born into divinity and hadn’t yet figured out how to be human in spite of it.

And perhaps you were the first person to see that.

You never knew what he saw when he looked at you, if anything. But you could feel the shift whenever you were near. The slight lean in your direction. The way his voice was a little less sharp, his posture a little less guarded. Small things. Invisible to most. But not to you.

You, who’d been raised to read silence like scripture. So you stayed. Not because your clan needed it. Not anymore. You stayed because beneath all that blinding power and cold detachment, you had seen the flicker of something real.

And maybe, just maybe, he saw it in you too.

Time passed, as it always did, quietly and without asking for permission.

And just like that, you were in a time you did not expect to be in.

You and Gojo Satoru grew, each in your own orbit. He towered into his strength like a tree that had never been allowed to bend. Straight, unyielding, casting long shadows over the Jujutsu world before he could even speak in full sentences.

The clan elders whispered louder now, but with much less certainty. Power was a terrifying thing when wielded by someone too young to be predictable. Too young to be the puppet on the string.

You grew, too. Perhaps not in strength, not like him but in perception. In control. In knowledge. You learned how to speak with exactness, how to fold your anger into a smile, how to manipulate the weight of your clan name just enough to open doors without making enemies. You didn’t have Limitless. You didn’t have Six Eyes. You had instinct. Strategy. Patience.

And somehow, through all of it, Gojo Satoru kept noticing you all the same. Not always. Not in ways others would have seen. But he never forgot your presence. He didn’t forget the way you didn’t bow too low, or pretend to laugh at his dry, odd comments. You didn't worship him. You watched him. And that, perhaps, unsettled and intrigued him more than any reverence ever could.

There were moments.

Moments like during a training session at his clan’s own grounds, when you caught him off-guard, just slightly with a tactic that no one had dared use before: a feint not aimed at his power, but at his boredom. You’d made him care enough to respond, to move.

He’d blinked at you afterwards, sweat beading on his temple. Then he’d speak. “Clever, aren’t you?” he muttered. “Stupid, but clever.”

You grinned at him, blood on your lip. “I’ll take that as a compliment, my lord.”

“You call me too formally and that bothers me.”

“But isn’t that the duty of a lesser, my lord?”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t look away, either.

And then there were other moments, quiet ones, where the distance between you blurred, not with affection, but with recognition. Like the time you found him sitting alone on a temple roof during a spring festival, high above the lanterns and laughter. You climbed up without asking and sat beside him, knees brushing. He didn’t speak. Neither did you.

After a while, he murmured, “Sometimes I wish I could forget how much I see.”

You didn’t pretend to understand. You just said, “Then close your eyes.”

And for one beat, he did.

He trusted you with that silence.

He never said so, never confirmed it aloud, but you were one of the few people he allowed to speak freely around him. Not because you were special. But because you weren’t afraid. Or maybe… you were, but you didn’t let it stop you.

Gojo Satoru would never be easy to hold close. Even as a boy, even as a teen, his soul felt like it existed just outside of reach. It was always half in the sky, tethered only by duty and the faintest threads of connection. But if there was one thing you learned in all those years of orbiting his light, it was this:

He chose the people he let near him.

And somehow despite your clan’s insignificance, despite your lack of spectacle or bloodline power, you had found that he had chosen you. Not as a friend, perhaps not even as a confidant. But as something.

Something he didn’t look away from.

And for someone like him, that meant everything.

YOU LIVED OFTEN IN ISOLATION. And perhaps that is why you never had interest in the weirder world. You had everything you could ever want in Kyoto, within your family’s estate. Perhaps, that’s why you never joined Jujutsu High. 

You were a good sorcerer, at fifteen, you were already a first–grade after all. But such exploration…..That door had never really been open to you. It’s not because you lacked talent. You could never lack that. But it was because your path had been chosen long before you were old enough to wield a weapon.

Your clan needed you more than any school did. You were trained in politics, tradition, and legacy from the moment you were born. If anything, they were the invisible weapons that could win wars without a drop of blood. They were more important than school sometimes. 

By the time most sorcerer children were still being taught how to channel cursed energy, you were already sitting in on council meetings, learning how to outmaneuver people three times your age. Your name wasn’t carved into a student roster. It was etched into the future of your lineage.

Gojo Satoru, though… he went to Tokyo.

Of course he did.

He didn’t need training in the way others in clan circles did. If anything, he was already far ahead of most kids. That’s just how it was. Besides, one look with those Six Eyes, and the world bowed whether it wanted to or not. Tokyo Jujutsu High didn’t contain him. It accommodated him in every sense of the word. Just like the rest of the sorcerer world did.

You didn’t see him often during the school year. Just rumors, headlines, the occasional murmur of something reckless or brilliant he’d done. It was easy to imagine him up there, on a rooftop, coat flaring, sunglasses glinting, everyone staring and pretending not to.

But then summer would come.

Or winter break, short and cold and busy.

And he’d find you first before anyone else.

It wasn’t formal. It wasn’t scheduled. But somehow, he always showed up all of a sudden. On the estate’s inner bridge, in the back courtyard, at the old tea house near the mountain shrine. You never asked how he got past your clan’s wards. You didn’t need to. He was Gojo Satoru. Of course he found a way.

And slowly, year by year, the god–child you'd once met started to look… human.

He’d grown taller, sharper. Still beautiful, still terrifying when he wanted to be but there was a looseness to him now. A boyish slouch in his shoulders. Laughter that didn’t sound so rare anymore.

He talked about school, sometimes. Casually. 

Unintentionally revealing more than he meant to.

“Shoko’s so annoying sometimes.” he’d say, laying on the grass, one arm thrown over his eyes. “She makes me eat weird stuff just to see my face afterward….But I like her! She’s my shopping bestie!”

Sometimes it’s usually a different name you would hear. “Suguru’s annoying. He gets all self–righteous every single time. Especially during missions. Still my favorite partner during missions, though.”

You listened. You always did. Sometimes you teased him. Sometimes you asked questions full of endless curiosity. He never talked like that around others, but with you, the filters dropped. Perhaps that pleases him more than it did you. Perhaps, that’s what has changed over the years.

Then, one summer evening, just as cicadas began to quiet and the heat dipped into something breathable, he looked at you. Really looked. You were both sitting on the engawa of your family’s estate, barefoot and loose in posture, drinking chilled tea. He had one leg pulled up, resting his chin on his knee.

“I’ve got good friends now, you know?” he said, tone light, almost surprised. “Real ones.”

You nodded. “You deserve that.”

He looked at you a moment longer, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward, rather slow, like he was realizing something in real time. “But you’re my bestest friend. I hope you know that.” he said, and then added, almost shyly. Blush on his face. “My first one, too.”

It was such a simple thing.

And yet, it felt like the sky had shifted.

Because Gojo Satoru did not say things like that. He did not speak about things without meaning them. Not without knowing the weight they carried. He smiled at you then. All too bright and genuine, his Six Eyes soft behind tinted lenses. Not as a god, not as a clan lordling, not as the strongest.

Just as Satoru.

And for the first time in your long, quiet history with him, you felt it, undeniable and clear:

He chose you.

Not for strategy. Not for politics.

But for you.

He had said it so simply.

“But you’re my bestest friend. My first one, too.”

The words hung in the air between you, soft and a little awkward, like they’d surprised even him.

You turned to look at him, blinking once, twice. Almost half–expecting him to laugh it off, to say something flippant and Gojo-like to smooth it over. But he didn’t. He just looked at you, his smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth. Not cocky. Not smug. Open.

And that was the part that caught you off guard.

Because Satoru had never been open with anyone. Not really. He was a fortress built by necessity, by power, by grief handed down through generations of impossible expectation. People didn’t get in. They orbit him, like distant moons around an untouchable star. Admire him, fear him, worship him, resent him but none of them ever reached him.

But you?

You’d always been there.

Not because he needed you. Not because you demanded space.

You simply stayed. You never flinched from his strength, never bowed lower than necessary, never lied to make him smile. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, he had let you close, not with grand gestures, but in the quiet, deliberate way someone like him knew how to trust.

You thought back to all the little moments that had come before this one. How he always found you during breaks, how his shoulders relaxed around you, how he told you stories he wouldn’t tell others. How he listened when you spoke.

How, even when he talked about Suguru and Shoko, about his other friends, colleagues and missions and teachers, his gaze would always find its way back to you. Like he needed you to know: they matter, but you matter differently.

You had spent years trying to understand him. This boy who had been both too much and too little for the world, all at once. The god–child who stared through people with those cursed, brilliant eyes and said things that made elders flinch and grown sorcerers bow.

But now, sitting here beside you, barefoot and half-laughing at his own admission, he didn’t look like a god at all.  He looked like a boy. A boy who had fought alone for longer than most people realized. A boy who was learning how to be a person among people who only ever expected him to be a symbol.

And in that moment, you felt something shift.

Not between you—but inside you.

You had always thought your purpose was to serve your clan, to navigate the silent battleground of alliances and unspoken debts. And you had done that well. You were dutiful, composed, exactly who you were raised to be.

But here, with him, he was just Satoru. He was not the Gojo clan leader, he was not the Strongest. And the longer you were with him, you started to realize you weren’t just part of his history. You were home to him. The place he returned to, time and time again, not out of obligation or habit, but by choice.

“Don’t go saying that to just anyone, you idiot.” you said, smiling softly as you nudged his knee with your own. “These are such heavy words to give to someone.”

He grinned, wide and boyish. “You know I don’t say it lightly. I don’t care for most people.”

“You barely like me.” You teased him.

“Nah, Like is too light.” he said, leaning back on his hands, eyes turned toward the darkening sky. “I love you. As my best friend, as my confidant. I think that’s worse.”

Your heart jumped, but you didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

Because the truth was, you loved him too. Perhaps more than what he thinks. Perhaps more than what you believed. You had for a long time. Not in the dramatic, sweeping way of stories but in the steady, enduring way of something that had been quietly building since childhood. Since silence and koi ponds and the garden and those words calling you a liar being spoken without venom.

And now, finally, you had the words for it. You knew those words were bigger than the ones you knew. Bigger than ‘he was your bestest friend’. Bigger than being your first friend, too. But you didn’t say it out loud. 

You stayed silent. You knew that wasn’t the right words to say, you had no right to it. That’s why you didn’t say it that night. You knew you couldn't. Not without the fear of ruining everything you had with him.

The words rested just behind your teeth, warm and heavy, but they stayed there, unspoken because the moment already felt too fragile, too perfect in its quiet simplicity. You were afraid to break it.

But you knew.

You knew.

Gojo Satoru was your first love.

Not the kind you read about in old romance novels. Not the kind full of stolen kisses and whispered promises. No, your love for him had grown in the quiet margins of your life, the spaces in between duty and decorum. 

It was forged in late summer evenings, in conversations under the stars, in the way he looked at you like you weren’t just another clan heir, but something real. Something that could be one day his to care for, to love.

You loved him in the way you had been taught not to.

Not openly. Not messily. Not out loud.

The world would not allow it to be like that.

The world, your world, has no room for soft things, for unguarded feelings. You were the hope of your clan, the sharpest blade sheathed in diplomacy, the walking embodiment of a hundred-year plan. You were not supposed to love someone like Gojo Satoru.

But of course, you did.

How could you not?

You’d seen him at his most unbearable, his most untouchable. But you had also seen him tired, bored, lonely. His divinity cracked at the edges, worn by the weight of being the Strongest. And still he showed up, every summer, every winter, like your presence grounded him somehow, reminded him he was still a boy underneath the myth.

You watched him grow into his power. Into his legend. And yet, every time he looked at you, it was with the eyes of that five-year-old boy who had once called you a liar, who had later stood beside you in silence, who had chosen you in a world where everyone wanted a piece of him.

And when he said, “You’re my bestest friend. My first one, too.” — it should’ve been enough. It was enough. Until it wasn’t. Because feelings like yours didn’t stay dormant. Not forever. You knew that from the beginning.

One day, maybe not today, maybe not for years, you knew you’d have to face the truth of it. You could keep pretending, keep holding his gaze without flinching, keep smiling when he laughed at his own dumb jokes. But a part of you knew: this wasn’t something you could bury forever.

Because while you were his first friend.

He was your first love.

And that kind of truth never stays quiet. Not for long.

“Hey, [nickname].” Satoru’s voice cut in gently, and you blinked back into the present. “You back to earth?”

You hadn’t even noticed how long you’d been staring up at the sky, fireworks long faded now into the hush of night. The lanterns flickered dimmer around the garden, and the hum of polite laughter from inside the estate was distant now. It was like the world had drawn back to give you both this moment alone.

Satoru had shifted, leaning in a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “You alright?”

His voice was still boyish, light, but you could hear the care behind it. The way only he could sound when it was just the two of you. You looked at him and regretted it instantly. He was too close. 

Close enough that you could see the faintest curve of his smile even beneath the blindfold. Close enough to feel the warmth of his skin in the space between. Close enough that you suddenly forgot every well-rehearsed line of etiquette drilled into you.

“I—yeah, I am…..” you stammered, and cursed yourself when your voice cracked slightly. You could feel the heat blooming in your cheeks.

He tilted his head. “You’re dazing again.”

“I wasn’t—!”

“You were.” His grin widened. “You’re kinda cute when you zone out like that. Very dreamy. Very prince-like, you know?”

You flushed deeper. “Satoru—!”

“Don’t worry, you're drooling a little bit. But not too much!” he added, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Your secret’s safe with me, my lord.”

You shoved his shoulder, weakly, more flustered than anything. “Satoru—Hmp! Shut up!”

He laughed again. More boyish and bright and a little too smug than before. It was like he lived for the sound of your voice when it trembled like that, flustered and indignant and just a little too fond. He liked seeing you like this, more than that too. But he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

“You’re such a pain.” you muttered, trying not to smile as you turned your face away. But you knew it was pointless. Your ears were already red, and your mouth had given you away.

“You love it, don’t you?” Satoru teased, propping himself up on one elbow so he could loom over you, his face too close again, grin just this side of wicked. “C’mon, admit it. You’d miss me if I disappeared.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden turn of the words. There was still laughter in his voice, but something else too, something quieter underneath. Something that lingered just a little too long in the space between his words.

“I would.” you said, before you could think better of it.

The smile faltered just a little on his face. His bright blue eyes, hidden as they were behind the blindfold, seemed to sharpen with attention. You could feel it. The way he looked at you even when you couldn’t see it. He always saw you.

“Yeah?” he said, softer now.

You swallowed, nodding. “Of course I would. You’re…..You’re my best friend. Just like you.”

It was the truth. Or the part of it you could say out loud. Gojo Satoru didn’t answer right away. He just stared at you for a moment longer, like he was trying to solve a riddle you hadn’t meant to give him. Then he dropped back into the grass beside you, arms flung wide, breath escaping in a heavy sigh.

“Well, I guess I won’t disappear then.” he said casually, as if it wasn’t a promise he was making. “I’ll just keep being here. So you don’t have to miss me.”

You turned your head to look at him again, your chest aching a little. “Good.” you whispered. “Don’t.”

And beside you, Gojo Satoru smiled, the kind that only ever bloomed when it was just you and him and the sky stretched wide above. For a moment, he began to think that this is a day he would wish never ended.

epilogue

The garden had long since emptied, the hush of night settling over the estate like a secret. Lanterns flickered low, their dying light casting strange, shifting shadows across the grass. The stars above were pale ghosts behind drifting clouds, and the wind moved like a whisper, too curious, too watchful.

You’d fallen asleep without a sound.

Gojo Satoru sat beside you, motionless, save for the slow tilt of his head as he looked at you. Really looked. There was something about the way you slept, the quiet surrender of your body to the earth, the slight furrow in your brow even now. It was like your mind hadn’t stopped fighting, even in dreams.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you.

You weren’t supposed to be beautiful. Not in the way that made him forget who he was supposed to be. But there was something arresting in the calm of you, in the curve of your lips unburdened by words. It drew him in. It always had.

A breeze stirred, lifting a lock of your hair across your cheek. And before he could think better of it, Satoru reached out, brushing it back with fingers that trembled before they steadied. He let his hand fall to his lap, but his gaze never left your face.

“You always do this, don’t you?” he murmured, voice low. It was almost like half–thought, half–prayer. “Make me forget myself.”

The words vanished into the wind, lost before even the night could catch them. Satoru looked away then, casting his eyes skyward but the stars offered no answers, only silence. Silence and a vague feeling in his chest that he didn’t yet know how to name. 

It wasn’t so easy. He was too young. He was still figuring it all out. What he felt wasn’t easily that truthful in that sphere of love. Not exactly. Not yet. He loved you, he knew that. He loved you as his friend. 

Yet he knew deep down, there was something inside of him that he could not yet find in himself to say. It was something tender, something tangled. It was like fate had stitched his soul to yours long before either of you knew the shape of destiny. Like you belonged together.

He laid back slowly, the grass cool beneath him, your sleeping figure just barely touching his side. He didn’t speak again. Not even when he turned his head toward you once more, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Not even when the wind returned, brushing past like a spirit carrying secrets.

But if the earth could hear, if the stars could listen, they might have understood what passed between you in the silence:

A promise that hadn’t been made.

A feeling that had no name.

And the beginning of something he’d never be able to outrun.

Not in this life.

Not in the next.

[animationismycomfort]

I feel like clumsy smurfs personality in every iteration is kinda bad

[quin-ns]

Getaway Car (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Word count: 4.7K

Summary: your boyfriend, topper, isn’t making midsummers as fun as you were hoping. lucky for you, rafe is there to fix that

Tags: (18+), cheating, smidge of topper x reader, fingering, car sex, unprotected sex, rafe and reader are messy asf

A/N: kinda old bc I was gonna make it a series but it wasn’t working out so here it is as a stand alone 🫶 it’s been a while and I wanted to post something before the year ends

OBX masterlist + main masterlist

You were beginning to wonder what you were even doing here.

Midsummers was supposed to be the perfect summer event. Everyone got all dressed up to dance with their friends and have a fun night. You were more than ready for a fun night.

The light pink dress flowed down to your ankles and fit your body just right. Your makeup and hair were done nicely, courtesy of your best friend, Sarah. Unfortunately for the both of you, she was sick and couldn’t go this year. You were grateful to her for still helping you out despite her stuffy nose. You even had a date that you knew turned heads. The two of you were the perfect couple on the surface.

The problem with Topper was that he seemed more interested in showing you off than actually just being there with you.

Dating Topper was nothing you had planned. You first got to know him as a friend of friends, but you liked him enough. You couldn’t think of a good reason to say “no” when he asked you out and said he wanted to get to know you better.

Now here you were, holding Topper’s arm as he led you around the party, moving between conversations with his friends.

You didn’t mind so much at first. But when you broke off on your own to try and find some friends of your own, Topper popped up behind you.

“There you are,” he commented, placing himself at your side. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You looked over at him as an arm slid around your waist. In your peripheral you saw the girls you were talking to moving away from the both of you. You forced a smile so as to not make a scene.

“You can talk to your friends, why can’t I talk to mine?” you wondered, raising your brows.

Topper laughed and shook his head. “I never said you couldn’t. When Sarah gets here we can meet up with her.”

His words meant nothing. He was already leading you back where he wanted to go.

“Sarah’s not coming. She’s sick,” you reminded him.

“So she’s not coming?” He sounded disappointed. You shook your head, feeling the same disappointment. “That sucks.”

You ended up standing idly by while he talked to Rafe and Kelce. You knew both of them pretty well, more so Rafe than Kelce. Rafe was Sarah’s brother after all.

You occupied yourself by trying to remember all the words to your favorite song in your head, tuning them out almost entirely.

“What about you, Y/N?” Rafe said, cutting through your second repeat of the song. You blinked, missing the question. “Are you having fun?” he repeated what you assumed he had asked before.

You almost laughed to yourself. There was a slight shift in Rafe’s face. It was like he could tell.

“Yeah, I’m having a blast,” you agreed sarcastically, giving Topper a phony smile—one which he bought.

Rafe smirked.

“Hey, there he is,” Kelce said in a hushed tone to Topper and Rafe, nodding his head past you. You turned and spotted the bar, where two bartenders were trading places. “The taller guy—he’s the one that doesn’t card.”

You must’ve missed that part of the conversation, and you had no interest in it as you turned back. It didn’t surprise you that getting drunk had climbed to the top of their priority list.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m feeling thirsty,” Topper decided.

“Actually, I’m good,” you spoke up when he tried to tug you along. You saw his smile fade when you kept your feet planted. “You go ahead.”

Topper chuckled suddenly, like you were messing with him.

“For real?”

“I’ll keep an eye on her, don’t worry,” Rafe said as if you weren’t standing right there. You would’ve been offended if you didn’t see what he was doing.

Topper laughed it off with a, “Thanks, man,” and followed Kelce away to the bar.

He trusted Rafe, so maybe he didn’t think he had to compete for your attention with him like he assumed he had to with your friends.

Rafe eyed you up and down, taking in the way you let yourself relax.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re happy to get away from him,” he said after a moment.

“Oh no, I’m having a blast. Can’t you tell?” you questioned, voice dripping with sarcasm. You caught yourself after a second, reminding yourself that Rafe was basically Topper’s best friend. “Sorry, I’m being mean. It’s not that bad.”

“Be mean all you want,” Rafe replied, stepping closer to stand directly across from you. He leaned like he was telling you a secret. “And don’t apologize for it.”

You narrowed your eyes a little, looking him over as he stood back up straight, trying to decide if he meant it or not. After only a second it was clear he did.

Rafe threw a look over his shoulder to the bar. Topper and Kelce were waiting behind a few others.

“You wanna sit down? They might be a while.”

You nodded, because why the hell not?

Finding an empty table was a bit of a challenge, but the two of you managed eventually. Rafe pulled out your chair for you, and even chuckled at your comment about chivalry not being dead after all.

Instead of crossing around the table to sit down opposite of you, he pulled out the chair right next to yours. He sat in it sideways, so you turned in your seat to face him. Your knees were basically touching, but you didn’t mind.

“So, you here by yourself?” you wondered, just making conversation.

“I’m here with you.”

You were tempted to roll your eyes, but not in the same way you had been with Topper most of the night.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Yeah, I am,” Rafe revealed, smirking to himself before adding, “But it’s not like I didn’t have options.”

You raised your brows at his brazenness—not shocked, just amused.

“Because you’re so interesting?” you teased, the corner of your lip tugging up.

“Among other things.”

“Like what?”

You placed your elbow on the table and leaned on your hand, watching him, waiting for his overconfident answer.

He had to have known you were messing with him, maybe even baiting him. You usually did. You always enjoyed the back-and-forths you’d have with him. Rafe gave you a subdued smile.

“Like… I wouldn’t treat my date like an accessory and then ditch her, for one.”

You chuckled in spite of yourself. “Touché.”

“And I know how to have fun,” he added, voice laced with charm. You’d never noticed that before.

You hummed and straightened back. “Well, maybe you should’ve asked me,” you joked.

“Maybe I should’ve,” Rafe drawled. He sounded genuine, which caught you off guard. “You seem bored out of your mind—well, before we started talking,” he pointed out, giving himself an ego boost, slightly changing the topic. “Why even come?”

“Topper wanted to,” you filled in, willing to let it slide for now. “I thought it would be fun, but all the things that would’ve been fun for me got totally ignored.”

“So, what do you want to do?” Rafe wondered. You didn’t remember his blue eyes ever looking this intense, but then again, you didn’t think you’d ever been this close to him.

“Right this very second?”

“Sure.”

You glanced around at the other tables. Everyone was caught up in conversation, having a nice time with their friends and their dates and their families.

“Leave, probably,” you admitted, looking back at Rafe.

He nodded, silently thinking it over.

Finally, he shrugged a little and said, “Okay.”

You started to laugh. “You’re not serious…” you trailed off as he stood, raising his brows, as if to say he was. “What about Topper?”

“What about him?” Rafe asked plainly, like he’d already forgotten all about his friend.

You blinked, then stood. You weren’t exactly sure why he’d been able to convince you so easily.

“Damn the consequences,” you whispered to yourself, although it was easier said than done.

Rafe gave you a subtle smirk, nodded his head to the door. He even held out an arm, which you took with a nervous smile.

It felt strange, being on Rafe’s arm. It was a position you’d never thought you’d be in, nor had you thought about it. Sure, you got along with Rafe pretty well, and he did look handsome tonight (and most days…) but he was always just Sarah’s brother. Then, your boyfriend's best friend.

Now? Now he was your rescuer, saving you from this dull affair that should’ve been an exciting night.

Maybe it still could be.

Rafe was leading the two of you to the door, quietly making comments to you about other partygoers. You laughed at the jokes, unintentionally drawing attention to yourself.

Rafe didn’t seem to mind the way your peers began to look at you, not exactly hiding their staring. It seemed like everyone knew you and Topper were together despite only about a month of dating. You could guess what they were thinking and word traveled fast in the Figure Eight.

It probably should’ve bothered you more than it did, the way a few started to whisper, but you were more concerned with leaving than trying to correct their perception.

“Don’t look, walk faster,” Rafe muttered, leaning down close to you.

You didn’t realize what he was talking about until you disobeyed him and glanced over your shoulder. Sure enough, Topper was making his way around the room. Presumably looking for you.

You snapped your head back forward, trying to make your escape while doing as little damage as possible.

The big entrance door, soon to be an exit, was right ahead.

“Y/N?” Topper’s voice carried across the room, but you kept your head forward, not daring to look. “Hey, over here!”

In the large windows, you saw his reflection vaguely in the distance. He was getting closer to you, weaving through the crowd, waving a hand.

You didn’t want him to stop you. Sure, you could’ve turned and told him to stop and that you were leaving, but that was way more of a scene than you wanted to create. What you did wasn’t exactly any better, but it avoided a verbal altercation in front of everyone you knew.

You broke apart from Rafe to move faster, speed walking the last few feet to the door. It was like he read your mind, jumping out ahead of you to pull the door open.

You hadn’t planned on it, but the two of you were rushing down the stairs of the country club.

“My truck’s up ahead parked on the street. I didn’t want to park in the lot,” Rafe informed when you got to the bottom step.

“Of course you didn’t.”

You spared a glance to one of the large windows and saw Topper looking out it. You snapped your head back, not wanting to make eye contact in case he saw you. You picked up the pace. By a lot. Not figuratively but literally running away.

Rafe easily could’ve out run you, but he chose to stick close when he caught up. You weren’t expecting it when Rafe reached down to grab your hand, making sure you were right by him as the two of you ran for his truck.

You let your shoes fall off your feet as you broke out into a full out sprint. A laugh tore out from you, filling the air around you. You felt so free as the sound of your own joy hit your ears.

You knew people were watching from the patio area, but as you arrived at Rafe’s truck, you hardly noticed.

“This is crazy,” you said to yourself as you reared to a stop. Your lungs were close to burning and your bare feet started to ache, but you were smiling so brightly. “Are we actually doing this?”

“If you get in the truck we are,” Rafe replied smoothly, opening the passenger door for you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but something in the distance cut you off.

“Hey! Y/N!” shouted a familiar voice.

Looking back towards the club, you saw none other than Topper in that beige suit you were starting to find tacky. He was running towards you, even holding one of your shoes. You would’ve laughed again if your heart wasn’t racing.

Your eyes met Rafe’s, finding the same anticipation in them that you felt coursing through your body. The corner of his lip curved up into a smirk, like he knew what you were going to do before you did it.

You climbed into the passenger seat without further hesitation. Rafe shut the door behind you and ran around the front of the truck to the driver’s side.

He fished his keys out of his pocket and jammed them into the ignition. The truck roared to life. Rafe looked over to you with a full grin.

You shared the same expression until you made the mistake of glancing out the passenger window, seeing Topper running towards the truck.

“Go, go, go!” you rushed out, urging Rafe to slam on the gas. You didn’t even know what you were saying.

That’s exactly what he did, speeding the two of you away from the country club until there was only the sound of the truck's engine and heavy breathing.

When the twinkling lights faded far behind you, Rafe eased in the gas. Topper was left in the dust, no way to catch up.

You exchanged a look, studying one another. The panic on your face shifted back to a smile, causing Rafe to do the same.

A victorious laughter left you suddenly, realizing the insanity of the situation. Rafe looked between you and the road, letting out a chuckle. Whether it be for the same reason as you or the way you reacted, you didn’t know. It didn’t really matter.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, finally relaxing back in the seat. “That was so exciting. Why was that so exciting?” Rafe didn’t answer, but it seemed like he at least thought of one as he smirked to himself. “Thank you for the prison break,” you told him, letting your appreciation seep into your teasing words.

“You looked like you needed it, I could tell before we even sat down,” Rafe pointed out. Why did he get that but Topper didn’t? “Besides, that was way more fun than that entire night combined.”

You let out a sigh, trying to not let guilt overcome your adrenaline high. “Topper’s gonna be pissed,” you acknowledged, recalling his face as Rafe sped away.

“So?” Rafe wondered without hesitation.

Your brows curved. Topper was supposed to be his best friend, and he’d just run off with his girlfriend. Or were you his girlfriend that ran off with his best friend? The semantics didn’t really matter in the end, it wasn’t like it meant anything other than the fact that you needed to be anywhere but that party.

You looked out the window, resting your elbow on it and leaning against your fist. You stayed like that for a few minutes, watching the dark shadows of trees and dispersed mansions as they passed by.

“Just in case Topper didn’t tell you, you look beautiful tonight,” Rafe commented out of nowhere, filling the silence.

You gave him a curious look. You couldn’t remember if Rafe had ever said anything like that to you.

His gaze was mostly fixated on the road, but you saw the way his eyes darted to the side, checking on you.

“Thank you,” you said softly, because he was right, Topper hadn’t even mentioned it.

He’d complimented your dress for the way it fit your body and went well with his suit, and he’d been relieved by the way you’d shown up perfectly on time, and even mentioned how Sarah had done your hair, but nothing about you as a whole. Just the bits and pieces.

“For the record, you look very handsome,” you told Rafe, a small smile forming. “And I’m not just saying that ‘cause you said something nice to me.”

He glanced over to you fully this time, a look you couldn’t quite place on his face. Sure, he was smiling, but there was something else in his eyes.

“Well, that’s good to know.”

In the past, you would’ve found admitting that out loud weird since he was Sarah’s brother, but something about being with him now felt different. He wasn’t Sarah’s brother who you were sorta friends with, he was Rafe, the guy who’d gone out of his way to rescue you from a shitty night.

Well, now maybe you could upgrade him from “sorta friend” to just “friend”. He’d earned it, that was for sure.

It was still crazy to you, what you’d just done, even if it was only minutes ago. Something about it all stuck in your head. The rush you got from just talking—okay, maybe even flirting a little—with Rafe was more than you had felt with Topper in weeks. And the great escape added on? You couldn’t remember the last time you felt that exhilarated.

“You just gonna stare at me the rest of the drive?” Rafe teased, eyeing you in his peripheral.

Your cheeks felt warm as you looked away, focusing back out the window instead.

“Where are we even going?” you wondered, ignoring his comment.

“Good point,” Rafe said. “I actually don’t know.”

You weren’t expecting him to pull the truck off to the side of the road. There was nothing around you except for trees and distant street lights on either side. He parked in a gap between houses, making sure to not be in front of anyone’s property. People were weird about that, especially the older ones. Although you guessed a decent amount of them would be at Midsummers anyway.

“Why’d you stop?”

Rafe shrugged in response, eyes taking you in. “Just wanted to be able to look at you. Kinda hard when I’m driving.” He was purposefully trying to make you feel flustered, and it was working. “Figure out where you wanna go and I’ll take you.”

Your first thought was home, but something in the back of your mind urged you to not end the night so soon. You were having fun with Rafe, something you didn’t anticipate. The impulsiveness was still making your heart race.

It only took you a moment to realize it wasn’t just that. Rafe was watching you, and you were watching him. Your lips parted as you took a shallow breath, the air in the truck somehow becoming thicker. His eyes flicked to your lips as you did so, and it wasn’t subtle by any means.

Your own hushed words rang back in your mind.

Consequences be damned.

You weren’t sure who lunged forward first, but in a matter of seconds your lips were attached to Rafe’s.

You weren’t sure of the exact how or why, either, but you wanted to. That was enough for the moment.

Rafe’s hand gripped the back of your neck, holding you to him as he dominated the kiss. All the air seemed to leave your lungs. Your eyes slid shut as you moaned into the kiss.

If someone would have told you even minutes ago that you’d be making out with Rafe Cameron, you wouldn't have believed them.

Now you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Your mind began to make the comparison to Topper, noting Rafe’s neediness for you and the passion of it all, but the other boy faded completely from your mind.

Rafe kissed you like it was the last thing he’d ever get to do and had to make it count. You’d never felt so desirable, and it sent a rush of electricity through your body. When he bit your lip it added an extra jolt.

It was the opposite of graceful, a fumble of limbs and tangled fabric and trying to not part from one another, but you eventually ended up in the backseat.

Rafe was on top of you now, curious hands sliding down your body as he devoured your lips. You made no attempt to stop him. You didn’t want him too. The rush was too strong.

You gasped against his lips when Rafe pushed your dress up around your hips, hands gripping your waist, savoring the feel of your bare skin beneath his palms.

Rafe knelt between your legs, fingers dipping in the waistband of your underwear. They moved further until he was running a finger through your folds. Your face grew warm knowing he could feel how wet you already were.

A low groan rumbled from deep in Rafe’s chest and you couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. You were too consumed by lust.

Rafe slid one finger in, stroking it inside slowly before adding another one. You shivered as he thrust and curled his fingers. You lost track of the minutes before he added another one, and you were gasping by the time he pulled them away entirely.

Before you could beg for more he was already abliging you. He gripped the edges of your underwear and ripped the material from you with sheer force, then discarded the remains on the floor of his truck. He could’ve just taken them off, and you both knew that. Maybe he was showing off his strength to fluster you or he really just couldn’t contain himself, but it didn’t matter.

His hands went for his belt next, whipping it off like he was going for speed. Your eyes fell, watching as he unbuttoned his pants.

Your gaze immediately flicked away when he shoved them down.

Were you really gonna do this? Hook up with Rafe Cameron?

You felt Rafe’s eyes on you as he gripped his cock, stroking himself, watching you.

It only took one look back at him to decide yeah, you were.

The smirk that crossed his face was one of pure lust, it was like he could read your mind.

Still, when he situated himself between your legs, lining himself up with your entrance, he asked, “This what you want?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, your body already overheated. “I want it.”

That was all it took for him to push into you. The slow stretch of him took the air from your lungs.

You finally took a breath when he was fully seated inside you. He watched you with hungry eyes, hands running along your thighs, attempting to sooth you and control himself.

Words failed you, but when you adjusted, you gave him a nod.

The first thrust was experimental, testing the waters. When your body reacted, quivering with anticipation, Rafe moved again.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him close. He had no choice but to hover on top of you, placing his forearm near your head, but neither of you were exactly mad about it.

The space in the back seat was entirely too cramped. You were completely consumed by his presence. It was perfect.

You moaned into his mouth when he captured your lips for a kiss, the roughness matching the slam of his hips as he found a pace he liked. You were already a mess beneath him, body shivering with each thrust.

“Rafe,” you whispered his name over and over. It was the only thing that you could manage to say.

His lips trailed to your neck and your hand rose to tangle in his hair. His teeth pressed to your skin, threatening to bite. Before he could, you pulled him back. He groaned into your collarbone instead, hips slamming into your ass, cock filling you entirely.

The sound of skin against skin paired with noises of desperation from both of you filled the small space. You wanted nothing else to exist outside of the backseat.

Rafe found your sweet spot in little time and elicited moans from you with every thrust. Your hands went to his back, fingers clutching the fabric of his blazer as your toes curled.

You took everything he gave you, even when the heat and overwhelming pleasure began to smother you.

Rafe could tell when you were getting close and refused to let up, wanting to not only feel but watch you experience bliss all because of him.

You felt exposed beneath his hungry gaze, but in the best way. Like you were the thing of his dreams that finally, finally came true.

Your whole body tensed, nails digging in and cunt clenching down as your orgasm crashed over you. The wave was so intense you thought you might drown in it, but Rafe was there, muttering sweet nothing in your ear, dragging you back to shore.

Before you could come down from your high, Rafe was tipping over the edge. He gave a few more sharp thrusts of his hips before his cock twitched inside you. With a deep moan of your name that made your cunt throb, Rafe let go, filling you.

Your legs tightened around him, holding him there as the two of you heaved for air, riding out the pleasure together.

Finally, Rafe pressed a long kiss to your swollen lips before straightening back up.

You needed a few extra seconds to recover, so you instead watched as he tucked himself back into his pants and redid his belt. He ran his hands through his hair and for the most part he was good as new. Aside from your lipstick staining his lips, that is.

You, on the other hand, knew you probably looked like a mess.

Rafe helped you sit up. He straightened out your dress and hummed.

“I know I said it before, but you’re so fucking beautiful,” Rafe praised, eyes drinking you in, and his words left little room for you to doubt him. “You don’t get what you do to me.”

“I think I have some idea,” you mused, cracking a small smile.

Rafe smirked, because how could he argue?

Getting back into the front seat was a little more awkward than falling together into the back in a fit of passion.

You were aware of what was dripping between your legs, and tried to not further the mess. You’d already have to wash your dress, might as well spare his car seats.

“You wanna come back to my place?” Rafe offered as he started the car again.

You could hear in his voice that he hoped you’d say yes, but you didn’t think you could pass by Sarah and pretend you weren’t there for her brother.

Oh god… Sarah.

As you looked to Rafe, you were forced to remember that he was your best friend’s brother. And if that combination wasn’t bad enough, someone else crept into your head—your boyfriend, who you’d totally just cheated on. There wasn’t a nicer way to put it.

Your mouth felt dry as you swallowed. The carefree, relieved attitude you held faded.

“I need to get home,” you decided, voice weaker than it had been before.

Rafe was quiet for a moment before agreeing.

You felt silly, not knowing what to say to him now after all that, but you couldn’t get out of your own head, wondering if you were a terrible person.

Well, more accurately, you couldn’t stop thinking about the answer. You were certain you knew it.

When Rafe stopped outside of your house and put the truck in park, he looked at you with a gaze so intense you were held in place.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Y/N,” Rafe professed, tone steady. He believed it. “I know you know that.”

You almost opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat.

“Goodnight, Rafe,” you said instead, climbing out of the truck.

As you crossed across the front, you heard the light buzz of his window rolling down.

“I’ll see you soon, alright?” Rafe called, prolonging the goodbye. “I had fun,” he added, and your footsteps faltered. “And I don’t regret a thing.”

Rafe stayed until you got to your front door, found the key under the mat, and slipped inside.

Only when the door shut did the truck pull away. You may or may not have watched out the window, his parting words replaying in your mind.

As guilty as you felt, you didn’t either, and that might’ve been the worst part.

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Very NSFW request if you don’t mind 😂 Idk if this is sexy (I think it is lol) but can you imagine writing a fic/ one shot where they’re in 7th year, and Sebastian and MC are alone somewhere chatting, and they start talking about sex - both having some experience in this. They’re just friends (but like each other) Seb reveals quite sheepishly in convo that he cums too quickly through bjs/sex. And she… offers to help ‘coach’ him lol? Which seems insane at first but then she says that she can help him through it, how he can trust her blah blah, and it convinces him (plus I think deep down he’s dying to be with her like this, and so is she). So they do it. And I can imagine it being quite intimate, hot, and maybe kinda funny at times.

(I asked you and applin by the way. I’m not sure if you’d both want to write different takes on it, collab, or decide who should write it - but I thought I’d mention it)

Hellooo lovely! Thank you for this fun request. Here's Part I -- this'll be at least a two-, maybe three-part series, so buckle up. (:

What Are Friends For? | Part I

Sebastian Sallow x F!OC

Rating: Explicit/MDNI (smut, language); all characters are 18+ Words: ~8,300 Tags: friends with benefits, friends to lovers, sexual exploration, oral sex, semi-public sex, mutual pining, 3rd person POV

Notes: Characters are 18-year-old seventh-year Slytherins.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Spring had settled nicely over the Scottish Highlands, meaning Sebastian Sallow could be found outdoors. He took advantage of the favorable weather whenever he could, as the winter months tended to make him rather stir crazy. 

On this particularly warm afternoon – or at least warm by April’s standards – Sebastian lounged lazily on his back in the grass near the edge of the Great Lake. He had charmed pebbles from the lakeshore to hover above him, perfect for some Confringo target practice.

Sebastian squinted an eye as he aimed and blasted the small rocks apart, leaving little trace of their existence, until one final rock remained. Sebastian followed it with the tip of his wand, waiting for the right moment, when–

“Accio!” 

The rock zipped from the air above Sebastian straight to the open hand of Stella Alves. She smirked at Sebastian, her wand hand still outstretched as she tossed the rock lazily toward him. It bounced off his stomach and into the grass.

“There you are,” Stella said as she approached. She sank to the ground next to Sebastian, her legs outstretched as she sat back on her hands. “I thought maybe Sharp had given you detention for Friday’s incident.”

“That incident wasn’t my fault,” Sebastian drawled. “It was Weasley’s.”

“Oh? Garreth forced you to add lionfish spine to your cauldron?” Stella mused.

“No, but he left it on the table near my ingredients, and I accidentally picked some up while I was adding griffin claw,” Sebastian noted. “Not my fault.”

“Fair enough,” Stella snorted. “Guess I should’ve known you’d be out here. Though we do have that arithmancy exam to be studying for.”

“Callum’s got Violet McDowell in our dorm room,” Sebastian explained. “Can’t study in there.”

“And you can’t study in the library? Or the Undercroft?”

“I suppose,” Sebastian said with a dramatic sigh. “But it’s far too nice out to be cooped up inside.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

The pair fell quiet for a moment, interrupted only by the occasional chirps from the birds perched in the surrounding trees. They both stared outward at the lake, its shimmering surface guarding the inhabitants of its indigo depths.

“Wait,” Stella finally said with a furrowed brow. “I thought Violet was going out with Andrew.”

“That was last month, apparently.”

“Oh.”

“That doesn’t mean you should get back with your ex, by the way.”

Stella turned her head to glare at Sebastian. “And who said anything about that? Andrew and I broke up ages ago.”

“Just checking,” Sebastian said in a sing-song tone. Stella scoffed at him. 

“Do you really think that poorly of me?”

“Of course not. But I do remember how in love with Larson you were.”

“I was not!” Stella insisted, her cheeks tinged with a treasonous shade of strawberry. “It was nothing more than a harmless fling.”

Sebastian tilted his head for dramatic effect. “A harmless fling,” he deadpanned. “Stella, darling, the two of you had to be damn near pried apart with a wedge every day.”

“So?” Stella countered with narrowed eyes. “A healthy sex life is nothing to be ashamed of. You of all people should know that.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’ve no right to judge me for any of my past romantic encounters.”

“Oh, that’s what we’re calling them now,” Sebastian snickered. Stella smacked him gently on the back of the head.

“Sounds like you’re just bitter that you’re not the one in your dorm room with Violet McDowell,” she teased. Sebastian barked a sharp laugh.

“Darling, I’ve had Violet McDowell,” he noted. “Twice. Maybe three times. Can’t remember.”

“Charming,” Stella muttered blankly. Sebastian flashed her a cheeky grin. “Is there anyone you haven’t defiled?” Stella demanded.

“Other than you? Maybe a handful,” Sebastian chirped. He laughed at Stella’s disgusted expression. “Only joking, doll. Despite your harsh and judgmental assumptions, I haven’t made it a point to bed half of Hogwarts.”

“Oh? Then how many of our classmates have you had?”

They were inching toward tricky territory. Sure, Stella and Sebastian talked about sex, but they rarely revealed explicit details. Doing so always felt too suggestive, too flirtatious; it crossed an unspoken line that the pair avoided at all costs. But Stella had grown tired of the boys Hogwarts had to offer. It made her impatient and impulsive. Sebastian was the last man standing, because he was truly the only one standing – the one man she wanted and couldn’t have.

Meanwhile, Sebastian swallowed. He and Stella kept very few secrets from one another. After all, Stella had kept quiet about Sebastian’s sinister slip-up their fifth year, meaning Sebastian’s secrets couldn’t get much worse.

But there was one, tiny thing he didn’t want Stella to know. It was a secret that caused him constant stress, fearful that one of their female classmates would spill it. That was why Sebastian sometimes embellished his sexual escapades – to conceal the embarrassing occurrences that made him insecure.

“A-are you really asking me how many girls I’ve been with?” Sebastian asked, hopeful his tone sounded more amused than anxious.

“Why not?” Stella challenged. She, too, silently prayed her confidence was masking her pounding heart. “I’ll tell you the same.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. Now this was an intriguing offer. Though he knew Stella had sexual experience, she had never disclosed just how many of their classmates she’d granted such a privilege. 

But that would also mean revealing his own number of past partners. And while he would never judge Stella for her number, whatever it was, he feared she’d judge him for his. It wasn’t nearly as high as he often implied, though he’d never explicitly revealed it.

“All right,” Sebastian finally agreed. “Out with it then.”

Stella blanched. “What? No, you have to go first.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“Fine. On the count of three?”

“Fine. One, two… three– four,” Sebastian revealed. He couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like Stella said the same.

“Well?” Stella demanded with narrowed eyes. “What is it?”

Sebastian frowned in confusion. “I told you – four.”

“Oh. I thought you were still counting.”

“No, four is… is the number.”

“Oh.”

Sebastian suddenly felt like he was going to be sick. He wasn’t sure how Stella would react, but certainly not like that. Not with a simple, anticlimactic oh.

“Oh?” he demanded. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Stella’s cheeks were deep crimson now. “Nothing,” she said quickly, her voice squeaking several octaves higher than usual. “It’s just… I just…” Her eyes suddenly became fascinated by her own shoes. “I just thought yours would be higher, is all.”

“Why do you sound disappointed?”

“I’m not!” Stella insisted. “I mean, it’s not like it matters. It’s not like I care. I’m just surprised, is all.”

“Did you really think I’ve been with half the school?”

“Maybe not that many,” Stella said as she fidgeted uncomfortably. “Just more than me.”

“It’s not a competition,” Sebastian laughed. 

“I know that! I just- I really thought yours would be higher.”

“You really think I’m like that?”

“You know I don’t,” Stella huffed. “I just thought you were way more experienced than me.”

“Why, you want me to teach you a few things?”

“Sebastian!”

“Only joking, darling.”

Sebastian could sense the shift in their connection. Stella was genuinely surprised by his revelation, and seemed to feel guilty for it. Sebastian, ever the protector of Stella and her feelings, decided some vulnerability might relieve her discomfort.

“You’d be surprised,” Sebastian said, his eyes decisively avoiding hers. “By my experience – or lack of. It’s… it’s not been easy for me.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Stella asked with a curious gaze that Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to meet. 

“It means that sometimes… I struggle,” Sebastian said carefully. Stella clearly wasn’t catching on, because she was staring at him in utter confusion. 

“Struggle with what?” 

“With… sex,” Sebastian answered through a clenched jaw. He couldn’t believe he was revealing any of this to her of all people. He could have sworn he’d dig an early grave before ever admitting this, especially to the one and only girl whose opinion actually mattered to him.

“How do you mean?” Stella had now turned to face him fully, her attention clearly engrossed by this exchange.

Sebastian chickened out. “The details aren’t important,” he said, unable to quell the surge in fear that gripped his nerves.

“Seb, it’s me,” Stella said in her best encouraging tone. In truth, it only made Sebastian more uneasy. “You can tell me.”

There was no turning back from this. They hadn’t just toed the boundary, they’d leapt over it with a running start. Sebastian sighed.

“Sometimes I… finish quicker than I’d like,” he said through gritted teeth. Silence answered him. He considered flinging himself into the lake and sinking to its onyx depths, never to return and never to address such an embarrassing revelation.

“I see,” Stella finally said tactfully. Sebastian’s insecurities weren’t squashed.

“Yeah,” was all he could manage. The wheels in Stella’s head were turning at breakneck speed, desperate to find the right words. She was stunned. She’d never met someone as confident and self-assured as Sebastian. Though his bravado sometimes stoked her ire, she’d always assumed it carried over into the bedroom.

It was a vulnerable admission and Stella was touched to know Sebastian trusted her with it.

“Does… does it happen every time?” she asked gently.

Sebastian shrugged. “Not every time. But more often than I’d like to admit.”

“Oh.” Stella bit her lip, unsure how to proceed, but even more unsure of just how much information she was willing to seek. The thought – the dreadfully detailed visions – of Sebastian doing those acts with their classmates made Stella want to drive her own wand through her right temple. “Is it… do you think it’s because you’re just… excited to be with them?”

Sebastian began to sweat. Beads formed over his brow and hairline as he shifted in his spot on the grass. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I mean, it’s always exciting for me. I am an 18-year-old bloke, after all. But it’s not like I’ve ever been too enamored with any of the girls I’ve been with. Especially since I’ve been with a few of them more than once.”

“I see.”

“I guess maybe I just overthink it.” Sebastian was rambling now. His brain screamed at him to stop talking, that shutting the fuck up would be his best bet, but untamed words kept pouring from his mouth. “And maybe overthinking it makes me tense up. And maybe all that tension makes it hard for me to… contain myself.”

“I see.” Stella was quite aware that she wasn’t contributing much to the discussion at this point, but she couldn’t speak freely. She couldn’t tell Sebastian she was secretly relieved he hadn’t had dozens of girls in his bed. She couldn’t reveal that she wanted to be one of those girls. And she certainly couldn’t tell him that his admission only made her want him more.

Could she?

What if there was a way she could get what she had always wanted without admitting it? Would that be wrong and deceitful? She wouldn’t act without Sebastian’s full consent, but would it be wrong to initiate sex with him when she was secretly in love with him? And what if doing so made her fall even harder for him? 

Or worse, what if she offered and he said no?

But would it be so wrong for two friends to rely on each other to improve their natural desires to be good in bed? And shouldn’t two friends be the ideal participants in something as simple as self-improvement? 

Stella’s silence was driving Sebastian mad. He began to wonder how immoral it would be to obliviate her and make her forget they’d ever had such a conversation. But just as he was reminding himself that doing so was absolutely demented, she smiled kindly at him.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll sort it all out in time,” she said, hoping he understood her sincerity. “Maybe you just need a little more practice.”

“Er, right,” Sebastian agreed. Shame creeped across his cheeks in the form of a deep blush. He felt like an absolute fool. Surely, she must think he was a pathetic, sorry excuse of a man – an amateur who had no idea how to please a woman. And surely, she’d never see him on a romantic level now.

But Sebastian noticed that Stella was chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip. He waited for her to speak her mind, squirming as he fought to suppress his impatience.

Stella was working up the courage to propose something so bold, so forbidden, she’d surely die if Sebastian said no. And there was a very good chance he would. After all, they’d formed an impenetrable bond over the last near-three years. If Sebastian had any romantic interest in her, he would have certainly acted upon his feelings, right? 

Such a proposition could absolutely disintegrate their friendship. But this might be Stella’s only shot at exploring Sebastian Sallow in the one way she’d never known. She willed herself to be bold enough to take a chance.

“What if…” she began slowly, her palms sweating as she spoke. “What if I helped you practice?”

Her offer hovered in the air between them, a heavy haze that damn near made Sebastian choke as he processed the words. He had to have heard wrong. 

“Wh-what?” he said stupidly. “Practice what?”

“You know,” Stella said, fighting to maintain a casual air though her breathless words betrayed her. “Sex. I could help you practice.”

Sebastian shifted, certain that doing so would wake him from the very obvious dream he was having. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d dreamt of Stella in such a shameful manner. There was no other explanation for this. In no other realm of possibility would his best friend and the object of his unrequited desires be offering to have sex with him. But he wasn’t waking up. There were no bed curtains mocking him to remind him he was alone. There was no cold sweat or arousal that would need relieving in the boys’ showers. This was real.

“A-and how exactly would we do that?” Sebastian stuttered.

“We could just practice,” Stella said simply. “I could, you know, coach you through things. Different acts and positions and whatnot. We could practice them together until you, you know, gain more confidence.” When Sebastian didn’t immediately reply, it was Stella’s turn to babble on anxiously. “I just figure it makes sense, you know? We help each other out with everything else. It wouldn’t have to be any different than how we practice dueling together, or study together, right?”

But it would be different. They both knew that. But they were both too driven by desire to think better of it.

“And you’d… you’d be okay doing all that?” Sebastian asked softly. “With me?”

“Why not?” Stella offered boldly, though her shaking hands suggested otherwise. “I mean, we trust each other, right?”

“Right.”

“So why not? It seems like this could benefit us both. We can learn from each other, like everything else we do.”

Sebastian wasn’t sure how to respond. Of course he was going to say yes. He knew this arrangement could send their entire friendship spiraling south, but he was too desperate to know how it would feel to be with Stella to say no. This was his one and only chance to feel her, and to potentially convince her to consider him romantically. He could sweep her off her feet and make it impossible for her to think of anyone else.

Except there was that tiny, little problem of his inability to last long enough to prove himself to her. 

But if there was one thing Sebastian couldn’t resist (other than Stella), it was a challenge. He would learn. He’d figure it out or die trying. If this was his only shot at winning Stella over, he’d find a way, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to squander it.

But he also didn’t want to appear too eager. He didn’t want Stella to know he’d spent damn near every night dreaming about her in ways that would make her hair curl. She couldn’t know he’d spent day in and day out scheming ways to make her fall for him. He couldn’t let her know he was hopelessly, haphazardly in love with her.

“Well, I do suppose we tend to work together on everything else,” Sebastian mused carefully. 

“Do you… find me attractive enough that you could… you know…” Stella paused, terrified to ask such a question. “Become aroused.”

“Huh? Oh! Erm, of course.” The moment Sebastian answered, he wanted to sink into the ground, never to be seen again. But how else was he supposed to answer such a loaded question?

Stella was fucking stunning. Surely, she knew that. Surely, Sebastian didn’t have to tell her so. But he wanted to more than anything. He wanted to yank her by the collar of her shirt, pull her in close and tell her she was so beautiful, it made the heart inside his chest hurt and scream for relief.

“You’re beautiful, Stell. Do… do you find me, er, handsome enough to… you know?” Sebastian stammered.

Stella rolled her eyes. It was her most common defensive mechanism, her strongest veil for her insecurities. “Seb, come on,” she said, gazing at him with a pointed stare. She blinked for emphasis. “All the girls in our year practically fling themselves at you in hopes you’ll make them your wife when we graduate. You have to know you’re handsome.”

“Was just making sure.” 

And then came the silence. It squeezed itself around them until both of their airways felt constricted.

“So, are you saying you want to try it then?” Stella finally had the nerve to ask. She tucked her hands beneath her thighs in an attempt to keep herself from fiddling with her hair. It was her common tell for nervousness.

“I do if you do,” Sebastian replied, far too aware of the tightening sensation happening within his trousers. All this talk of sex was forcing the blood to rush from his brain to the one place he didn’t want Stella to see. But she’d see it all soon enough. 

“Alright,” Stella said with an air of forced confidence that she prayed sounded sexy and alluring. “When would you like to start?”

“Um, whenever it’s convenient for you.” Sebastian wanted to smack his palm against his forehead. He was speaking like he was in a formal job interview or having tea with the Minister of Magic, not agreeing to sex with his own best friend.

“We could start now,” Stella offered shyly. She glanced downward at the tent forming in Sebastian’s lap. Sebastian reddened even more.

“Oh. Okay, sure.”

Stella swallowed. This was it. She and Sebastian were going to plunge into the very risky waters of intimacy. But more importantly, he trusted her enough to guide him through one of life’s most personal, vulnerable endeavors. She wanted to get this right.

“We could use the Beasts classroom,” Stella offered. There were no classes that day. There’d be no reason for anyone to go anywhere near the classroom. At least that’s what Sebastian told himself as he found himself nodding in agreement.

Stella climbed to her feet and brushed loose blades of grass from the backs of her legs. It was then that Sebastian noticed how her skirt clung to her thighs. The pressure in his pants mounted.

Stella offered him her hand to help him up, her eyes averted as she led him toward the empty Beasts classroom. When they reached Professor Howin’s desk, Stella finally gathered the nerve to look Sebastian in the eye. Her gaze softened as she realized he was just as nervous as she was. The ever-confident Sebastian Sallow was unsure.

They didn’t speak at first, staring at one another as they both waited for the other to initiate action. Finally, Stella cleared her throat.

“Maybe we should start small,” she offered gently. “You know, foreplay stuff. Does that��� does that sound good to you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sebastian croaked.

Stella’s eyes shifted to Sebastian’s very evident erection. Her breath hitched at the notion that it was all for her; because of her. She’d touched herself in the quiet solitude of her bed to the very thought on countless occasions.

As Stella subconsciously ran her tongue across her bottom lip in thought, Sebastian clenched his jaw. His cock was pressing far too hard against the stiff fabric of his trousers for his liking, and the sight of Stella looking so fucking seductive was already testing his control.

“Maybe you should lean back against the desk?” Stella suggested. Sebastian obeyed without a word. Stella stepped toward him, her nerves still evident as she slowly lifted a hand to reach toward Sebastian’s erection. “May I…”

Sebastian nodded silently, too terrified that words would ruin the moment. Stella eyed him for a moment longer until her fingertips traced gently along the length of Sebastian’s erection. He inhaled sharply through his nose.

“I’ll go slow,” Stella whispered. Her fingers moved with tact over his taut trousers, tracing tantalizing lines over him. She suppressed a moan as she realized just how hard – and big – he was. She could swear she felt Sebastian’s cock twitch beneath her touch. “Does that feel good?” she asked innocently.

Sebastian nodded slowly, his failing attempts at controlling his breathing evident.

“I’m going to pick up the pace,” Stella warned, her eyes searching Sebastian’s for any indication he wanted her to stop. Instead, he nodded earnestly. “Tell me if it’s too much. Just… just keep breathing.”

She stroked his length faster, the friction of the fabric rough beneath the pads of her fingers. A grunt rumbled from Sebastian’s throat.

He knew this would be difficult. It always was. But he hadn’t properly accounted for the fact that this was Stella touching him. The way she was determined to take care of him, the way her voice purred as she spoke… it all made his self-control even slimmer. He was terrified he was going to embarrass himself.

“Relax,” Stella ordered gently. “Remember, it’s just me, Seb. Trust me.”

She clearly had no idea how much she affected Sebastian. So as she gazed at him with a soft, doe-eyed stare, Sebastian’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the desk behind him. 

Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut as he fought for control over his body. He didn’t want to tense, certain that would result in an accident. But when he felt Stella’s fingers fumbling with the button of his trousers, his eyes shot open wide and his spine straightened.

“Alright?” Stella asked, her voice raspier than usual. Sebastian pretended not to notice and nodded his reply. His throat dried as he watched Stella reach inside his open trousers and fish his erection out. It popped eagerly from the fabric, but remained rigid in Stella’s hand. Sebastian held his breath as he watched her fingers curl around him before she began to stroke him with her soft hand. The surreal sight felt like a vision only meant for one of Sebastian’s most explicit dreams.

Sebastian cursed under his breath at the sensation. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been touched like this, but this was Stella. This actually meant something, because she meant everything.

“Relax,” Stella repeated. “Stop tensing so much. It’s just me.” She flashed him a reassuring smile, unaware that her curved lips and bright eyes were Sebastian’s very undoing. “Take a deep breath and exhale slowly, okay?”

Sebastian nodded and obeyed, exhaling until his shoulders slackened and the tightness in his abdomen eased.

“Now close your eyes,” Stella added. Sebastian’s eyes fluttered shut. “Tell me what you feel.”

“I feel… fuck, that feels so good,” Sebastian breathed. 

“Tell me. Describe it.”

“Huh?”

“Just do what I say, you git.”

Sebastian wasn’t sure how describing their current sex act would help, but he certainly was in no position to argue. The only position he wanted to be in was on top of – or beneath – Stella, preferably with much less clothing between them.

“Your hands… they’re smooth,” Sebastian murmured with closed eyes. “Warm, too.”

“What do you usually think about when you come?”

Sebastian resisted the urge to pop open a panicked eye. He couldn’t exactly tell Stella that the answer was always her. He couldn’t possibly explain that picturing her plump lips, curious eyes and the curve of her full hips was always the tipping point that sent his body into a euphoric state. She couldn’t know she was the cause for his filthiest behavior. 

“Erm, I don’t know,” Sebastian lied. “I think about lots of different things.” He grunted as he felt Stella’s thumb swipe over the tip of his cock. 

“How’s this feel?” Stella asked, her hand pumping harder. 

“S-so good,” Sebastian panted. 

“Do you feel like you’re going to… you know?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Stella’s line of questioning stopped for a moment as she continued to stroke him. She was thankful Sebastian’s closed eyes couldn’t see the flush creeping over her, or the way her eyes lingered on his cock. He felt like velvet and looked like he was big enough to fill her completely – and then some. It made the ache between her thighs throb.

Stella watched as Sebastian’s chest began to rise and fall, his labored breaths audible inside the classroom. He didn’t notice as Stella fell to her knees, her hand still dragging around his shaft.

Sebastian’s eyes shot open again the moment he felt the moisture of her mouth surrounding him. This was a display beyond anything he could envision – such a sinful act performed by an angelic figure was a paradox his brain could never conjure. It was enough to make him moan. 

“Remember to breathe, okay?” Stella said, her eyes peering up at him. She returned her lips to his cock and Sebastian bit back a groan as they tugged around his tip. 

The classroom soon filled with the coarse sounds of lips pulling around wet skin. Sebastian’s hands tangled in Stella’s hair, tightening as the coil inside him did the same. He was careening toward the edge, unsure how to stop himself.

He tried to breathe through it, but he was far beyond the threshold of sensory overload. The feeling of Stella’s mouth hungrily engulfing his cock, the vision of her on her knees before him, the sounds of her gurgling around his length – Sebastian was sure there wasn’t a single soul who would be immune to such divine sensations.

“Stella,” Sebastian panted. “I can’t-”

Stella hummed, the vibrations coursing around Sebastian’s cock until he was surging toward his ending. He didn’t want this to stop, but couldn’t help but feel impressed with himself for lasting as long as he had, especially given the circumstances.

“Stella…” Sebastian repeated. The warning merely spurred Stella on. She was eager to prove to him just how worthy she was to coach him through this. She'd show him just how good she could be at this - better than Violet McDowell or any other dumb girl who dared to approach Sebastian. Her cheeks hollowed and she sucked harder, her eyes watering as Sebastian’s tip dabbed the back of her throat. 

Sebastian let out a sharp shout, his hips jutting forward as his cock twitched. The small of his back pressed against the edge of the desk as he spilled into Stella’s mouth. Her throat closed around his tip, the warmth of her flesh guiding his release downward as she swallowed.

When it was over, Stella released him, his cock bobbing as it popped from her mouth. She remained on her knees while Sebastian caught his breath, his chest quietly rising and falling as he slumped against the desk. 

They didn’t speak. Sebastian quelled the urge to thank Stella, to praise her and tell her how fucking good she was, while Stella withheld the desire to beg Sebastian for more.

“You alright?” Sebastian finally asked, his eyes searching Stella for any signs that she was upset. But she smiled upward at him and nodded assuredly. 

Sebastian extended a hand to help her to her feet until the pair stood, the awkward silence exposing their uncertainty on how to proceed. But Stella reminded herself that she had promised to help Sebastian, and she was never one to back out on her word.

“So how was that?” she asked casually as Sebastian tucked himself back into his trousers.

Sebastian’s brain stuttered. The truth was it was the most incredible encounter he’d ever had, simply because he’d shared it with her. But that kind of honesty would surely sever whatever this was – and the entirety of their friendship.

“It was… you… you’re brilliant,” Sebastian finally managed, still shocked that such a lewd act had just occurred with the girl he'd deemed his best friend for more than two years. Stella seemed content with his analysis.

“I think the problem is you’re just so damn tense the entire time,” she noted. It was bizarre to be assessing a sexual encounter with her best friend like they were discussing quidditch tactics, but she had offered to coach him, hadn’t she?

But her evaluation had fallen on deaf ears, because now, Sebastian’s guilt was dissecting his brain. 

“You didn’t… I didn’t…” he started, his voice trailing off. “...How can I repay the favor?”

“You don’t need to,” Stella said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Not this time.”

Sebastian frowned – mostly because he didn’t want to be greedy, but also because he was desperate to touch her and wouldn’t forgive himself if he missed the opportunity to do so. He had to know how she felt, so yielding beneath his touch, how she moaned, how she looked when she fell apart at his orchestration.

“Please,” Sebastian pressed. “I can’t let you walk away without your share.”

Stella snorted. “Seb, really, it’s fine,” she promised. “You can make it up to me later.” She smirked as she smoothed out her skirt. “I’m pretty sure we’re just getting started.”

—

Sebastian was certain the entire afternoon had been some kind of demented dream when he woke up the following morning. But the details were far too vivid in his memory to have been a figment of his imagination; Stella’s fingers tracing over every ridge of his cock, her lips raw and red after they had wrapped around him, the plush sensation of her throat hugging his tip. It was better than any dream.

But now, how was he meant to face her? Guilt had clawed away at him the entire evening for not returning the favor. Now, all he could think about was how eager he was to do so. And what about their friendship? Had they really been stupid enough to jeopardize their entire bond all because of some suppressed sexual tension?

The war within his head made Sebastian want to sink into his porridge at breakfast. Ominis, sensing his friend’s tension, raised an eyebrow from the seat across from him.

“Alright mate?” Ominis asked. But Sebastian was too busy straightening in his seat to hear him. Stella was approaching the Slytherin table.

“Good morning,” she said breezily as she took the seat next to Ominis. Sebastian watched as she reached for a pastry, his eyes glued to her hands – those same hands that grabbed at his cock just hours before. He swallowed.

“Morning,” he managed. His eyes searched Stella for any indication of awkward tension, but she seemed as calm and content as ever.

“Have you two studied for tomorrow’s arithmancy exam?” Ominis asked. 

“No,” Stella said as she shook her head, her right cheek puffed out from a large bite of pastry. “Not yet. Haven’t had the time.”

“Me neither,” Sebastian chimed in.

“Haven’t had the time? What were the two of you doing all day yesterday? I didn’t see either of you after lunch,” Ominis said suspiciously. Stella shrugged while Sebastian began to spiral toward a panic attack. 

“Oh, we went to Hogsmeade,” Stella explained with casual ease. “I rescued a handful of diricrawl the other day and took them to Brood and Peck.” 

Sebastian blinked. It was rather alarming – and impressive – how easily the lie left Stella’s lips. Of course, Ominis wouldn’t mind if he learned his two closest friends had spent an afternoon engaged in illicit sex acts, but none of it actually meant anything, right? Meaning there was no point in disclosing such details to Ominis.

Sebastian was pulled from his spiraling thoughts when Stella’s stare shifted to him. “Perhaps we can study tonight?” she asked him. Her eyes glimmered pointedly and Sebastian picked up on her implication.

“Er, yeah,” he agreed as his stomach performed a series of somersaults. “Tonight.”

“Well, as enthralling as it would be to pour over charts tonight, I’ll have to leave you two to it,” Ominis prattled on, unaware that no one would be studying numerical values that evening. “I’ve got to pen an ancient runes essay and I promised to help Violet McDowell.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but snicker. “That all you’re helping her with, mate?”

Ominis scowled as Stella snorted. “Unlike some people, I actually care about my studies,” he said, his tone taking on a self-righteous air. “Right, Stella?”

Sebastian couldn’t help but bite back a laugh as Stella nearly choked on her pumpkin juice. “Oh, right you are, Ominis,” she said as she stole a quick glance at Sebastian. “Some of us are quite dedicated to our studies.”

Sebastian smirked into his own juice.

—

Hours later, Sebastian found himself pacing outside of the library. Stella had instructed him to meet her there, which sent Sebastian into a confused, manic state.

Had she decided she’d no longer help him with his little problem? Had yesterday been a letdown? Had she expected more from him? Why weren’t they meeting someplace more private? Had Sebastian misread Stella’s eyes? Were they actually going to study? He’d left all his books in his dormitory.

“Hey.”

Sebastian looked up to see Stella approaching. She wore another skirt that barely draped from her curves, making it difficult for Sebastian to focus on much else – though the top button of her blouse had popped open, serving as another excruciating distraction.

“Hey,” Sebastian croaked. Stella raised an amused eyebrow at him.

“Alright?” she asked.

Sebastian nodded. “Ready to… study?” 

Something flickered in Stella’s eyes that told Sebastian books and notes were not on the evening’s itinerary. “Ready,” she said, hoping she sounded more intriguing than nervous.

She started toward the nearest library door and Sebastian followed as she descended the staircase. The library was quiet, even for its usual standards. A small group of students sat at the right table, anxiously shuffling through Transfiguration notes. A fifth-year girl sat quietly in one corner, a romance novel open in her lap, while Duncan Hobhouse was flipping through an Herbology book at a table to himself.

“Come on,” Stella whispered as she led Sebastian to a table at the far end of the library, free from any students. She gathered an armful of books from the nearest shelf and dropped them on the table, her chair quietly scraping against the wood floor. She opened one to a random page to make it appear as if she was studying.

Sebastian took the seat next to her, his knees feeling wobbly as he lowered himself. He sat with a stiff back, his posture uncharacteristically prim and proper. It made Stella smirk.

“Relax!” she hissed quietly, one hand finding the top of Sebastian’s left knee beneath the table. It was anything but soothing. The muscles of Sebastian’s thighs went rigid and Stella gave his knee a gentle squeeze. His trousers were already feeling tight. Stella snuck a sideways glance at Sebastian, who was holding his breath. “If you make it through this test, I’ll reward you with something even better.”

Merlin, help him. He was a goner.

Stella slid a book in front of him. “Here,” she instructed. “Pretend you’re reading this.”

If her hand hadn’t been wandering up his leg, Sebastian would have laughed. It was an Introduction to Dueling book meant for first-years.

Sebastian flipped the book open to its center pages and focused on the words to keep himself from reacting to Stella’s hand, which was presently exploring his inner thigh. He gripped the edge of the table when it found his erection.

“How are you so hard already?” Stella whispered in his ear. Sebastian shot her a sideways glare.

“Kind of difficult to be anything but hard when you’re making lofty promises,” he growled back.

The friction of Stella’s hand running over the fabric of Sebastian’s trousers was just as glorious and agonizing as it had been the day before. Sebastian began to wonder if he was a hopeless case; a lost cause, meant to live his days in misery because he was too infatuated with his best friend to focus on their “practice.”

Stella shuffled in her seat and before Sebastian could react, she was unbuttoning his pants. 

“Are you mad?” he hissed. Stella merely shrugged.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“...No.”

"That's what I thought."

Stella’s hand disappeared, her fingers grazing the skin of Sebastian’s waist before they found the base of his cock inside his pants. Sebastian chewed his bottom lip to stifle a groan. Stella traced a teasing finger down the full length of his shaft until it found the tip, where she made tiny circular motions. Her movements were slow and tantalizing, signaling her genuine intent to help Sebastian learn to withstand such pleasure.

But the forbidden nature of their act was making it far too difficult for Sebastian to focus on the task at hand. The thrill of sharing such a salacious moment with Stella made his heightened arousal evident in his flushed cheeks and strained breathing. Stella seemed to notice he was struggling, because her strokes around his cock became slower and gentler.

“Close your eyes,” she hummed quietly. Sebastian nodded and let his eyelids flutter shut. Stella squirmed against her chair, her own arousal testing her patience. As much as she enjoyed the power of controlling Sebastian’s ultimate undoing, she was desperate for her own. She wanted nothing more than for him to treat her the same.

But for now, Stella was content with studying Sebastian’s face. She gazed at him in quiet adoration, her eyes scanning his flushed cheeks and the locs of tousled hair that had fallen out of place. She watched as his jaw clenched and unclenched with certain strokes of his cock, particularly the way the muscles strained whenever her thumb pressed against his tip. She would have sold her soul to merely climb into his lap and kiss every freckle on his face.

Her focus on Sebastian’s handsome features forced Stella’s attention to falter. Just as she found herself wondering if Sebastian was good with his own hands, Sophronia Franklin rounded a corner and strode into view.

Stella jumped, her surprise causing her fist to squeeze around Sebastian’s shaft as her elbow smashed against the table with a sharp bang. She swore loudly as the pain stung through her arm while Sebastian yelped, his eyes popping open in surprise.

Stella did her best to remain still, her palm pressed against Sebastian’s cock as she smiled politely at Sophronia, who was studying the pair with a quizzical stare. Stella returned her eyes to the book in front of her, pretending to think critically about the prose on its pages.

“Perhaps this spell would conjure manacles to bind the person on the receiving end,” she mused loud enough for Sophronia to hear. But her plan backfired, as Sophronia stopped in her tracks to double back.

“Were you two just talking about the alternate form of Incarcerous?” she asked curiously. She stood about three feet from the table, seemingly oblivious to the debauchery occurring beneath it.

“Oh,” Stella blinked. “Um, sort of. But doesn’t Incarcerous conjure ropes?”

“It does.” Sophronia nodded in approval of Stella’s knowledge. “But a modified version of the spell can conjure manacles.”

“Manacles,” Stella repeated blankly.

“Yes. You know, like shackles used for fastening hands or ankles,” Sophronia offered.

“Right.” 

“I can’t imagine what one would use them for nowadays,” Sophronia continued. “But I suppose they have their uses.”

“Can’t imagine,” Sebastian chimed in tersely through gritted teeth. Stella squeezed her hand gently to send a message. Sebastian wheezed.

“I suppose manacles might be a bit sturdier than rope,” Sophronia rattled on. “Much more secure, at least. They’d certainly be more likely to keep people in their place.”

“How wonderful for them,” Stella said stupidly.

Sophronia, seemingly bored with the rather one-sided discussion, shrugged and spun on her heels to continue toward the spiral staircase. Stella and Sebastian sat in still silence as she ascended, waiting in searing agony until her footsteps faded.

“Fucking hell,” Sebastian whined, his shoulders slumping forward. “Can you be more careful?” 

Stella clearly found the encounter more amusing than unsettling. She shot Sebastian a sheepish smile, which instantly dissolved his aggravation.

“Sorry,” she offered. “My bad. Didn’t notice her coming.”

“Yeah well, keep it up and she won’t be the only one.”

Stella snorted, eliciting a shush from Sebastian, who was looking positively distressed. 

“We should probably move,” Stella noted, her eyes scanning the area for any more potential intruders. “Consider this the passage of your test and the start of your reward. I’ve got just the place.”

“We can’t risk the Restricted Section just yet,” Sebastian said. “It’s too early. Scribner’s still around.”

“Not the Restricted Section,” Stella said as she removed her hand from Sebastian’s trousers. He swallowed a whimper at the sudden absence of her touch. “I know a better place.”

She waited for Sebastian to adjust his clothing before she stood, the books forgotten on the tabletop. She made a sweeping glance around the room before brandishing her wand to apply a disillusionment charm. Sebastian blinked at her invisible form and followed suit. 

“Where are you? I can’t follow you if I can’t see you,” he hissed. The sudden feeling of Stella’s hand closing around his wrist was his answer. Stella guided him quietly across the library toward the fireplace.

“Glacius,” Stella breathed. The flames dissolved and she tugged Sebastian through the fireplace to the small, discreet room on the other side to shed her disillusionment spell. “See? Told you this is better.”

“How the hell did you even find this place?” Sebastian demanded as his own disillusionment charm fell. He gazed around the space, impressed by the tapestries on the walls and furniture in the corner.

“Shh!” Stella clapped a hand over his mouth and shot him a sharp look. “No one can see us but they can still hear us. Remember, we’re in the library so silencing charms won’t work.”

“Still one of Scribner’s most asinine ideas,” Sebastian muttered. 

Stella whispered “Incendio” to reignite the flames in the fireplace, closing them in and guarding them from any wandering passerby. When she turned to face Sebastian again, her eyes drifted downward. His trousers were still tented. Now completely alone, Stella’s mind began to run wild with ideas of all the things she wanted to do with him.

“Wait,” Sebastian whispered as Stella reached to unbutton his pants again. He stopped her with a gentle hand around her wrist. “When do I get to return the favor for you?”

Stella squeezed her thighs together. The thought of Sebastian touching her had been burning between her legs for quite some time.  “Now, if you want.”

Sebastian didn’t hesitate. His hands snapped to her waist and he pulled her closer. “Now’s as good a time as any,” he murmured. He nudged her gently toward the armchair in the corner, guiding her backward until the backs of her legs met the seat. Stella sat and Sebastian dropped to his knees in front of her. 

His hands skimmed beneath the hem of her skirt and over her porcelain thighs. The heat between them made his cock stir with desire. As Sebastian bunched her skirt up around her waist, Stella held her breath. His eyes settled on the damp spot at the center of her panties. He stared for a moment as he mustered the courage to touch her.

It was finally happening. He was going to discover the depths of Stella he’d assumed were only reserved for his dreams. But he could feel himself starting to freeze, gripped by his insecurities that he wouldn’t be able to impress her. 

As Stella caught his gaze, Sebastian could feel his intensity soften. She smiled at him, her warmth radiating through him with a sense of comfort only she could offer. Sebastian decided he wasn’t going to leave that library until he had Stella squirming from his touch.

He planted a trail of kisses up Stella’s right thigh. He could hear her inhale sharply, her hips lifting off the chair as the ache became unbearable within her core.

Sebastian’s hands drifted toward her hips, peeling the waistband of her panties downward until they pooled around her ankles. The sight of her soaked entrance ignited an invigorating surge of avidity in him. He’d fling himself into the flames of that fireplace before he allowed anyone to deny him a taste.

But first, he needed to touch her. He had to know how soft, how slick she felt. When his thumb made contact with her clit, Stella whimpered. He pressed against it, the pink flesh warm, wet and arousing. 

Sebastian swiped his thumb, drawing a soft moan of approval from Stella. He began dragging his thumb back and forth in a steady rhythm while he sank a slow finger inside her. The surge of moisture surrounding his finger made Sebastian curse under his breath. There was no way he’d last long enough to bend Stella over the desk like he wanted, but if there was one thing he would ensure, it was to make Stella moan his name by any means possible.

Sebastian’s index finger pulled upward against her front wall as his thumb continued its assault on her clit. The fireplace room soon filled with the lewd sound of slick flesh, but the library’s visitors remained none the wiser.

Stella’s knees parted more as Sebastian added a second finger inside her, dipping and dragging against her walls in desperate determination to incite her undoing.

“God, Sebastian,” she breathed, her fingers gripping the armrests as she clenched her cunt around his fingers to coax her release. Sebastian hastened his movements, his fingers dabbing at the sensitive and spongy flesh until Stella was practically riding his hand. 

She let out a quiet whine as her hips lifted off the chair, grinding her cunt around Sebastian’s fingers until she was hurtling toward her pinnacle. The pressure within her core mounted, her walls pulling greedily at Sebastian’s fingers until they began to quiver. 

Stella unleashed a breathy hiss as she climaxed, her thighs clamped around Sebastian’s fingers in an attempt to prolong her peak. Her walls pulsed as his fingers continued to beckon. When the quaking subsided, she was breathless and sweaty, albeit fully satisfied.

But Sebastian wasn’t. Now, it was time for a taste.

Stella flinched when Sebastian’s tongue made contact with her sensitive entrance, but her hands immediately pulled at his hair, demanding more from him. Sebastian lapped at her folds and hummed in arousal at her taste. The pressure in his pants was excruciating.

His tongue flattened against her clit, pressing and prodding until Stella’s legs were shaking.

“Sebastian,” she panted, unsure if she could withstand the sensitivity between her thighs. But the way her hips were jutting upward, pressing her entrance against his tongue, told him she wanted more.

He drove his tongue harder against her clit, forcing it in swift, short swipes until Stella’s feet were kicking from the pleasure swelling inside her nerve endings. 

Her back arched and her nails sank into the back of Sebastian’s neck as heat sprawled across her cunt, its ripples triggering a blissful shriek from her. Sebastian was too preoccupied to address the sinful sounds threatening to expose them. The tight, binding tension inside him cracked. He swore loudly as the sensation of Stella’s seeping arousal against his tongue sent him over the edge.

When both of their highs had subsided, they froze, fearful for the sound of approaching footsteps that never came. Sebastian remained rooted in place, shame spreading over his features. 

This had never happened to him before. Sure, he’d had those premature incidents, but those always occurred as a result of someone touching him. It had never happened at the mere sight of someone else’s orgasm.

Stella couldn’t help but smirk at the damp spot that had appeared on his pants. The sheer thought of her release triggering Sebastian’s own undoing was more empowering than any bit of ancient magic. Sure, it was counterproductive to the coaching she had promised, but considering he had satisfied her – twice – she decided there’d be plenty more opportunities for carnal education.

And selfishly, there was something quite satisfying about causing the temporary downfall of the great Sebastian Sallow. She’d never admit to it, though.

“Alright?” Stella asked tenderly.

“What do you think?” Sebastian muttered as he brandished his wand. “Scourgify.”

“I think,” Stella mused as she pulled her panties back up, “Maybe we started with the stakes too high.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe we should try a more private setting – someplace where you’ll actually relax,” Stella explained. “Maybe these… public places are causing you too much stress.”

“What are you, my therapist now?”

“Sex therapist,” Stella quipped with a smirk. Sebastian turned red again. “To be fair,” Stella continued in a serious tone, “This therapy session was quite a stress reliever for me, so at least one of us benefited from it.” She frowned slightly as she rose to her feet. “I really was going to reward you, though.”

“Trust me,” Sebastian mumbled. “You’ve done plenty.”

Stella grinned as she flicked her wand toward the fireplace to freeze the flames. “What are friends for?”

[crowsofdarkness]

Soldat: Chapter Seven

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader. Slight Steve Rogers x Female Agent! Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, kidnapping, violence.

Summary: Agent Y/N has worked alongside Steve Rogers at SHIELD for some time all while keeping a dark secret from everyone. Until one day that darkness faces her head on and she's forced to make a choice. Continue fighting along side Captain America? Or find her home once again with Soldat?

Authors Note: This was originally published on my old blog as a trilogy so I will be in the slow process of adding it to this blog. This is the first of the trilogy and will take place during The Winter Soldier. If anyone is interested in being tagged, let me know!

Very slight implied smut in this chapter, very tame. Also, there are three chapters left! Once Soldat is complete, I will begin posting the next in the series.

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog @bookofriverr @misatxox @that-blonde-girl

Soldat Masterlist

Day One 

Eyes fluttered open softly, allowing the light to blind me for a few seconds as I stared up at the crackling ceiling. I followed the lines, hoping that it would lead me to an idea where I was but came up empty as I realized I was in a room with no windows, one door, and the lone cot I was currently laying on. My heart thumped in fear as I tried to remember how I ended up here. 

I was drinking in a bar in Siberia as I was going over my notes for the local terrorist group I was following. I was alone for most of the night until a strange man came up beside me, gun pressed to my side, muttering in my ear that I had to go with him or else.

The last thing I could remember was getting thrown into the back of a van and darkness. The watch on my wrist indicated that happened..

Sixteen hours ago?!

“What the fuck happened to me?” I groaned, clutching my forehead. 

The door clicked open, men dressed in European military uniforms catching my immediate attention. 

“Where am I?” I spoke in the native tongue. 

They ignored me, continuing on with their own conversation and paid no attention as they stood guard at the door, guns slightly drawn. 

Discreetly, I slid my hand down my calf trying to feel if the knife I stashed into my boot was still there. 

“You think we would leave you with a weapon?”

A small man entered the room now, glasses perched high on his nose. He gently removed his hat, handing it to one of the guards before sitting on a chair in front of my cot. 

“Who are you?” I questioned. 

He merely tsk’d before pulling a grey folder from his briefcase. “Y/N L/N. You’ve been an agent with the FBI for almost two years now and you’ve only been on one case. Why is that?” 

“Is that a file on me?” My eyes landed on the file.

“You were on New York SWAT for three years before this but had to leave for ‘different opinions’ pertaining to a rather personal case.” 

“That’s no one's business but my own,” I snapped. “You shouldn’t even have that information.” 

“I’m a very powerful man, Ms. L/N. I have many ways to get the information I want. Just like how you got info about me.” 

“Am I supposed to know who you are?” I squinted my eyes at him. 

“You’ve been looking for me for the last six months. I thought we could finally meet.” He gave me a small smile. 

“Wait,” my eyes widened. “You’re Dr. Zola? I thought you were dead. That’s why it’s been so hard to find you.” 

The older gentleman clicked his tongue against his teeth. “No, not Zola. But his apprentice. You can call me Dr. Berge” 

“Why did you kidnap me? To shut me up?” I crossed my arms over my chest, foot shaking with nerves. 

Dr. Berge handed one of the guards the folder before shaking his head. “Our last student didn’t make it. We needed someone new.” 

“Stu-student?” I stuttered. 

“Yes, for Soldat.” Bergenodded. 

“Soldat?” 

He answered my question with a wave; a new man entered the small room. My tired eyes raked in his appearance from head to toe. He was dressed in combat boots and black cargo pants. His broad chest was covered in a black vest, various pockets that held God only knew what, his long brown hair was falling into his eyes but did nothing to fix it. The only thing that held my gaze, however, was his left arm. It wasn’t like his right; this one was made entirely of metal. 

“Who’s this?” I questioned, voice shaking with fear. 

“Ah Soldat, meet your new student. Hopefully she’ll last longer than the last one.” Berge clapped his hands before leaving the room. 

Soldat remained in place, a few feet away from me, and he slowly nodded to the guards. 

“Leave us,” he demanded in Russian. 

Suddenly, it was just him and I, my fear being the only thing you could feel in the room by my heart beating faster and faster. 

“What am I your student for?” I mustered to ask. 

“To fight.”

Day 23 

“I need a minute,” I gasped for air as I tried to gain some space. 

“You don’t have a minute.” Soldat reminded me as he flipped me over his shoulder, my own falling hard to the mat below. 

It had been a hell of a couple of weeks. I had been captured by who I had come to find was the terrorist group I had been searching for; Hydra. 

Every morning and night, Soldat would come to my room and train me for hours, fighting non stop. I had yet to find out why I was being trained to fight. 

Soldat barely said a word to me during these training sessions. He was instructed to train me not to make small talk. I couldn’t get a read on him, what his story was or how he ended up here. 

“Mother fucker,” I cursed, clutching my shoulder. “I think it’s dislocated.” 

Soldat remained silent, roughly pulling me to my feet and snapped my arm back into place causing a scream to erupt from my throat. 

“That’s enough!” I screamed pushing my palms into his chest. “I’m done! No one has told me why I’m here, getting my ass kicked by a guy with a fucking metal arm!” 

A small smile pulled at his lips and all the anger from being held captive here built up causing me to bring my hand back, wiping that smile off his face with my fist. 

Regret filled me when I saw the quick flash of anger cloud his eyes but his deep laugh relaxed my shoulders a tad. 

“That’s more like it.” He muttered while rubbing his jaw. 

“I already know how to fight. I don’t need someone to teach me,” I admitted, fists clenched at my sides. 

Soldat nodded. “Then next time should be easy for you.” 

Day 37

The chill in the air caused me to wrap the blanket closer to me as I dug myself deeper into the bed that I started calling my own. I was unsure of the time but the tiredness in my bones made me believe it was time to let sleep succumb to me. 

A soft sigh left my lips as my mind wandered yet again to the man that had been clouding it the past few weeks. 

It had been almost two weeks since my last training session with Soldat. He stopped coming by in the mornings and nights which made me wonder if our sessions were over and what that meant for me. 

That thought was short-lived when Berge brought in someone else to train me. He didn’t want me to forget anything while Soldat was away. 

Rumor had it, Hydra sent him away from some mission. 

Besides the one old guard that would bring my food twice a day, Soldat was the only constant thing in this prison that had become my home. 

Heavy eyes fluttered shut, breaths becoming deeper and heavier and the long awaited sleep was so close. But the door to my room slamming open caused my eyes to snap open and I pushed myself to my knees. I watched as Soldat entered, anger clear on his face. 

“Where have you-.” 

The air to my lungs was constricted as Soldat wrapped his metal fingers around my throat, slamming me deeper into the cot. 

I trashed against his body, nails digging into the skin of his flesh arm, not bothering him an inch. I racked my brain for all the training he had taught me to try and get out of this. I attempted to wrap my legs around his waist to flip him but he was two seconds ahead of me, his flesh hand pining my hips down onto the bed. 

My body began to sweat with the fear of what was about to come. 

I wrapped a hand around his metal wrist as I looked into his eyes, the light far gone from them. 

“Soldat,” I choked out. 

The air suddenly rushed back into my lungs causing me to cough uncontrollably as he finally let go, the bruises already starting to form I was sure. 

His hand and hips kept me locked into place on the bed and his other hand gripped my chin, forcing me to look in his eyes. 

“You only train with me. No one else can have you.” His voice demanded through gritted teeth. 

Once I could breathe again, I gave him a sorrowful nod. “I’m sorry.” 

We stayed in this position for a few more beats, his hips locking mine into place while his eyes bore into my own. His chest rose and fell with each breath, mimicking my own in the small tank top I wore; it was one of the few clothes that Hydra had lent me. 

Soldat’s eyes traveled over the swell of my breasts and I felt the heat spread down to my core as he slowly ran his tongue over his bottom lip. 

“Get some sleep. We’re starting early tomorrow,” he breathed before pushing himself off of me. 

The room had a sudden chill to it as soon as he left the room and after wrapping myself into a cocoon with my blanket, I found myself falling asleep wishing it was his arms

Day 56

Chains dragged behind me as I followed the path the two guards were leading me on. We turned a corner and continued down another long hallway. They had dragged me out of bed this morning, muttering something about getting some “fresh air”. 

I chuckled at their definition of fresh air; it was a small sunroom with a few potted plants and one large bench seat. Thankfully the bright sunlight beamed through the glass windows, spreading warmth into my skin. 

“Ten minutes,” one of the guards demanded while tossing me a book. 

They took their post on the outside of the door, backs turned to me, and I opted for not reading the book deciding I would rather stare out of the windows. This was the first time in almost two months that I had been granted access to the outside world. 

Sort of. 

The beautiful images of mountains scattered the skyline, the fresh snow blowing in the wind. I walked closer to the windows, peering down below and that was when I realized I was high up. 

Wherever I was being held captive was on top of a mountain. 

“Beautiful.” 

Jumping at the deep voice, I looked over my shoulder and a small smile came to my face. 

“Soldat, you’ve returned.” 

He nodded, tucking a strand of hair out of his face. “I returned last night.” 

“How was your mission?” 

His silence was enough of an answer I needed. 

“Have you been training?” He questioned, still keeping a safe distance between us. 

Immediately I shook my head, the chains rattling. “They won’t let me while you're away. You’re the only one I can train with.”

Soldat turned his head, eyes taking in the appearance of the chains around my wrists and ankles. A scowl appeared underneath the stubble covering his mouth and he beckoned me over with a finger. 

Swallowing thickly, I tried the best I could to walk over to him, feet coming to a halt in front of him. He gripped the chains with his metal fingers, breaking them off of me with ease. 

“You’re not a monster,” he muttered. 

I rubbed away the red marks on my wrists while giving him a smile of thanks. “What will happen to you once they find out?”

“You should get some rest, we have a big training session tomorrow.” Soldat spoke, ignoring my question. 

I wondered with fear what exactly they would do to him. Every time he would arrive back from a mission, his screams would echo through the base, keeping me awake at night. I yearned to be with him, comfort him. He was the only constant in my life now, I would do anything to be with him; to keep him from pain. 

“Will you sit with me?” I nodded to the bench. “We don’t need to talk, just your company is enough.” 

His body tensed, a bit hesitant, before he nodded and we both sat down with our knees a few spaces away from each other. I reached for the book and felt his gaze burn deep into the side of my head as I quietly read the pages, Russian almost becoming a second language to me. 

We sat in silence, Soldat’s eyes watching me as I carefully turned the pages of the book, enjoying the quiet company of the man who would scare others. 

“Soldat, do you know what this word is? I haven’t come across this one yet.” 

I pointed towards a word in the book that was giving me trouble and felt the heat radiate off of him as he leaned closer to me, his shoulder brushing against my own. 

“Dorogaya. It means my darling.” 

My core twitched at the Russian translation and I coughed, trying to mask my arousal. “Thank you.” 

“Dorogaya,” he repeated, this time more quietly to himself. 

Day 85

“Faster! Harder!”

I let the screams of slight encouragement fuel me as I landed my fists into Soldat’s bare stomach, the force behind my punches doing nothing to phase him. 

He reached for my neck but I swiftly ducked while spinning on my heels, tripping him in the process. Soldat landed hard on his back, the wind being knocked out of him, and I straddled his hips with my own, my hands pinning his own above his head. 

Our breaths matched in sync, eyes boring into each other, and the sight of the smirk on his face made my heart nearly burst out of its cage. 

“I win,” I breathed, my breath fanning over his bare chest. 

My fingers itched want to run all over his grooves and muscles. Resisting the urge, I released my grip on his hands but felt the world turn as Soldat gripped my hips, slamming me on my back. His dark eyes stared down at mine, tongue rolling antagonizing slowly between his lips. He leaned closer to my own, his warm breath breathing life into me. 

“I let you win.” 

“Oh really,” I cheekily asked, a flirtatious smirk pulling at my lips. 

Soldat nodded with his nose brushing against my own. “Of course, dorogaya.” 

My heart fluttered at the pet name he had given me. Ever since our time in the sun room together, we had slowly started becoming closer with each and every training session. I was, however, afraid to take it farther than our flirtatious comments and soft touches. I wouldn’t allow him to get in trouble, or worse; hurt. Just because of how I felt about him. 

His metal fingers traced down from my cheek to my neck and rested above the lines of my breasts. My breath became erratic when the lightly brushed over my left nipple, perky already due to the coldness of the building. Fingers dug through his locks and gave a slight tug causing a groan to vibrate low in Soldat’s chest. 

“Are you leaving again?” I asked. 

He shook his head while palming my breast and I allowed a moan to slip through my lips.

“I told them no more missions until our training is done,” He spoke low. 

I nodded. 

“We really should stop. Before they find us.” I stuttered, not wanting him to stop kneading my breast with his hand. 

“Let them, they can’t do anything to hurt me that they haven’t done before,” Soldat breathed into the skin of my neck. 

He nipped and sucked there, leaving his mark to show the others here who I belonged to. My hands ran down the thickness of his back and I pressed my hips up into his, a loud hiss breaking its way out of his throat. 

“Dorogaya,” Soldat moaned. 

My fingers traced up his back, slowly fading over where his skin met metal. His body tensed, the lust in the air immediately dissipating as he pushed his body off of me. I was left alone on the dirty floor of my room as I watched him grab his shirt, throwing it over his chest. 

“Did I do something?” I questioned, sitting to my knees. 

“I need to go,” he grunted. 

“Soldat,” I stood to my feet now, “Please tell me if I did something!” 

He ignored my cries of wonder, letting the door slam behind him and drowning out my quiet sobs. 

Day 124

No more training sessions. 

Berge had told me that I was done training with Soldat. He had too many missions to go on and not enough time to give to me. Doubt racked my brain if that was truly the reason why they wouldn’t allow him to train me anymore. They must have found out about us. 

I couldn’t dwell on it for long, Berge assigned another guard to my training. He wasn’t anything compared to Soldat; he was quiet and wouldn’t allow me the chance to improve. Only wanting to show off his strength. We had moved the training sessions in the main area of the compound, in front of every eye. But the only eyes that mattered were the ones that I wanted approval of. 

Soldat would watch from a distance, not bothering to step in when the new trainer would hit me a little too hard. I wouldn’t let that phase me, though. I gave it back a hundred times harder which would only anger him more. 

Which is how I ended up sporting a black eye for the last week. 

Soldat almost stepped in when the new trainers hand grazed lower and lower from my back with each session. Earlier today, we had been sparring in front of all of the other guards and I did my best to ignore their gawks of stares as I attempted to land a strike to his stomach. He was a step ahead of me, twisting my wrist behind my back and pulling me into his chest. I felt his rapid breathing against my back as he leaned his lips against my ear. 

“I love the way your ass fits against me,” He groaned. 

I knew if I tried anything he would twist my arm higher up so I stood frozen in fear while my eyes traveled to the man in the corner, giving him silent pleads for help. 

Soldat turned his back on me. 

After the sparring session, I retreated back to my room, a broken woman. My ego was hurt that I had succumbed so low to these beatings in front of other men. My heart was broken that the one man I had fallen hard for wanted nothing to do with me.

A soft groan left my lips as I stared out into the darkness of the room, sleep being the farthest thing from my mind. 

“God, Y/N you’ve got to move on from him,” I ran a hand over my face with a very unattractive groan leaving my lips. 

“Talking to yourself again?” 

Sitting up in bed, I turned on the bedside lamp and made out a large silhouette standing by the door. But even in the soft darkness, the metal arm was hard to miss. 

“What are you doing here?” I questioned. 

Soldat stepped closer, stopping at the foot of my bed. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” My voice shook with fear. 

I then noticed he was dressed in his tac gear which meant only one thing. 

“You’re going on a mission?” 

He nodded. “I’ll be back by tomorrow night.” 

Pulling my knees to my chest, I raised my brow at him. “You’ve never said goodbye before.”

“I wanted to see you.” He gave a small shrug of his broad shoulders. 

“Oh,” I mouthed.

I allowed silence to overcome us as we both stared at one another, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. My palms began to sweat seeing the fire behind his eyes and I absentmindedly bit my lip. 

Soldat ran a hand through his hair before a quiet fuck it slipped from his lips. He kicked off his boots before crawling his way towards me on the bed. 

“What are you doing?” I asked. 

He ignored my question, only rolling onto his back while pulling me into his chest and his arms wrapping around me. The rapid beating of his heart told me that he was nervous but still kept his arms tightly around me. 

“I’ve been on hundreds of missions but now,” Soldat started, “Now, I’m worried about leaving you. With them.” 

“I’ll be fine. You’ve taught me well.” I gave his sides a small squeeze. 

“I’ve never felt this way before. It’s all new to me.” He admitted. 

“What is?” 

Instead of using words, Soldat’s fingers grazed my chin and pulled my face up to look into his eyes. He took a deep breath before he gently placed his plump lips over mine. The hairs on his chin and face tickled me as our lips moved slowly in sync. 

My heart thumped through its cage in my chest as I ran my fingers through his hair, deepening the kiss. His own hands found their way over my stomach, down to my core and slowly ghosted over it. 

“Soldat, please.” I moaned. 

“You’re mine.” He grunted, fingers finally touching my heated core over my shorts. “All mine.” 

“Only yours, I promise.” 

My breath hitched in my throat when I felt the heat of his fingers against the skin of my stomach, brushing over the waistband of my shorts. While his flesh ones worked with the ties of my shorts, his metal one pulled the ends of my hair, forcing my eyes away from his work on my shorts. 

“I’ll come back to you.” He vowed. 

I nodded. 

“I know you will and I’ll be here waiting for you. Always.” 

Soldat brushed his lips against mine, tongue delving between my lips and danced with my own as the kiss intensified. 

“I have to go.” He groaned against me. 

“Stay.” I begged, clutching onto his arms. 

“It’s my mission.” 

Pulling away reluctantly, I gripped his chin and stared into his eyes. “Please be safe.” 

“Of course, dorogaya.” 

Day 131

Seven days. 

One week. 

168 hours. 

That’s how long it had been since I last saw Soldat. 

He had yet to return from his mission and what originally was supposed to be a one night mission turned into one week. 

I sat on the edge of my cot with my knee bouncing in worry as I chewed roughly on my bottom lip. I feared that Berge had found out about Soldat and I, which was the reason why he had yet to return. 

“Where the hell are you?” I muttered. 

I waited a little while longer, eyes trained hard on the door, hoping that he would bust through any moment. But after a few minutes of nothingness, I turned my back to the door only for it to open a second later. 

“Come with me.” 

My eyes squinted towards the guard, confusion well on my face. “Where are you taking me? I haven’t left in a whole week.” 

“Soldat’s orders.” The guard ordered. 

My heart rate sped up at the mention of his name. “Is he back?” 

“No but he’s requested that you stay in his living quarters now.” 

“Wh-what? Why?” I sputtered. 

“As a reward for completing his mission. Come now.” 

The guard quickly waved me to follow and not wanting to live another minute in this tiny hell, I scrambled to my feet and followed. Not bothering to take anything with me, I tracked close behind the guard as we turned a few more corners, coming to a stop at a lone door at the end of the hallway. 

The guard grunted towards the door before leaving me alone, my steady breaths coming in and out of my nose as I took a second to gain my bearings. In the months that I had been held captive here, I had never seen Soldat’s room; or anything else besides my room, the sparing center, and the “outside” room I was allowed to sit in every few days. 

My hand gently grasped the cold knob and taking one last breath, I slowly pushed the door open. Before my feet crossed the threshold, I gazed around the room taking in every inch of Soldat’s private space. 

It wasn’t big by any means, it would definitely be crowded with the two of us, however it warmed my heart knowing that we would be sharing that bed together. The bed was only made for one and was even small for Soldat. 

Next to the bed was a table that mirrored the one I had in my room. On the top of the table rested a small lamp and a book that looked like it was read ten times over. On the other side of the room was a small dresser that had more books resting on it and next to the dresser was a door that led to somewhere I was unsure of. The large window on one wall allowed the sunset to stream in, painting the entire room in a golden light. 

My gaze rested on a pair of clothes that were neatly folded on the chair in the other corner of the room. Taking a breath, I crossed over the threshold into Soldat’s room and grasped the pair of clean clothes in my hands. It was only a new pair of jeans, underwear, and a long sleeve shirt but the soft fabric was enough to bring me to tears. I had only been given new clothes once since being here and that was the first night. 

“It’s not much but it’s home.” 

Jumping at the deep voice, I turned on my heels and felt my heart leap to my throat. Soldat stood at the doorway, his body a clear indication of the toll the mission put on him. Stray hairs had fallen from the low bun he had pulled them in, the lines on his face screamed that he hadn’t slept in days, and his tac gear was covered in dirt and blood, the blood had also covered his metal arm in streams. Fear raked my body, wondering whose blood was all over Soldat and I bit my lip to stop from asking. 

“You’re back,” I breathed. 

He remained silent, his intense gaze taking over my body. His body tensed when he fell on my lips, the sight of the two cuts burning into his brain. 

“What happened?” 

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I shifted on my feet. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” 

“What happened?” Soldat questioned again, this time closing the distance between us. 

Metal fingers gripped my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes as they danced over my face. Anger flashed across them when the soft words left my busted lips. 

“Ben didn’t appreciate getting beat by a girl.” 

“What did he do?” Soldat demanded. 

“He just hit me a little too hard. I’m fine, Soldat.” I reassured him as I gripped his flesh arm. 

The anger still flooded his veins and I linked my fingers with his metal ones, fearing he would leave me and do something we would both regret. 

“You need to get yourself cleaned up,” I encouraged. 

Soldat was still silent, only giving me a small nod as he pulled me with him towards the closed door. 

“What?” I questioned. 

“You need a bath.” He demanded. 

Licking my lips, I let the fear of him seeing my bare flesh push away the thoughts of us in the bath together.

“No, you can go first Soldat. The blood is going to take awhile to clean.” I lied, hoping that would keep the thought of us naked together out of his head. 

I was afraid of what he would think when he saw the bruises and scars that covered my body. 

His eyes hardened, seeing right through my lies, as he gripped my arm causing a loud hiss to pass through my lips. 

“Fuck,” I cursed pulling my arm to my chest. 

He didn’t grip me that hard, I knew that. It only hurt because of the bruise that covered half of my forearm. 

“Take off your shirt.” 

The soles of my shoes were frozen to my spot, being weighed down with the fear of what Soldat was about to see.

“Sol-.” I started. 

“Take it off,” his voice was deeper and rougher. 

Gnawing on my bottom lip, shaky fingers gripped the bottom of my shirt, slowly raising it over my stomach and head, letting it fall to the floor in silence. Instinctively my arms wrapped around my chest, trying to cover as much as I could. Soldat didn’t make me uncomfortable; the idea of showing him my battle scars is what did. 

His dark eyes were now almost black as he looked over my bareness of flesh, taking in every inch of bruises and new scars that had yet to heal over my stomach, chest, and arms. The blood had dried hours ago but the exhaustion of today’s training had stopped me from cleaning my wounds. 

My mouth dried with the intensity radiating from Soldat’s body. 

“We-uh, Ben decided to start the knife training today. He wouldn’t let me get a chance to prove myself. He kept stabbing and slicing,” I admitted quietly. 

Soldat's tongue grazed over his bottom lip and nodded to the door behind me. “We need to clean those wounds.” 

“Are you upset?” 

The tone in his voice answered my question before I even asked it but I needed to make sure he wouldn’t leave, do something stupid. 

He remained silent, beckoning me to follow him with a snap of his head. Obeying with a soft sigh, I trailed behind him into the bathroom that was connected to his room. The soft breeze coming from the vents caused me to wrap my arms around my bare chest, trying to keep the warmth in. I could see the way Soldat’s muscles in his back tensed as he leaned over, running hot water and letting it fill the tub. The steam danced around his head as he peeked over his shoulder, nodding towards my pants. 

The silence was thickening and my fingers gripped the top of my pants, slowly pulling them down my legs; the new visions of bruises and scars clouding Soldat’s vision. The only thing keeping me from bearing it all to him was a thin piece of fabric. Soldat turned on his knees, face inches from my core, and goosebumps rose to my skin as I felt his finger slide my underwear down over my knees and I stepped out of them. He tossed them to the side while keeping his eyes trained hard on me as he looked up into my own. 

“Get in.” Soldat’s flesh fingers tapped the back of my thigh, his warm breath brushing against my heated core. 

The water immediately eased the sore muscles and wounds as I submerged myself, pulling my knees to my chest. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see Soldat stripping himself of his own clothes before I felt the water slosh behind me. Metal fingers wrapped around my middle pulling me into a hard chest. We sat in silence as he first cleaned me then him. 

“I should have been here,” his words mumbled against the skin of my shoulder as he pressed a soft kiss there. 

“You needed to go on your mission.” I reminded him. 

“I will kill him.” He vowed. 

I hushed him with a soft squeeze of his thigh, fingers resting easily over the mass of them. “I’ll be alright.” 

“You’re coming with me on the next mission.” 

I smiled at the softness in his voice. 

“I don’t think Berge will like that.” I admitted. 

Soldat took a damp cloth to my legs and stomach, cleaning the wounds with soft touches. 

“They can kill me to try and stop me.” Soldat deadpanned. 

I opened my mouth to protest but he silenced me with a kiss to my forehead, whispering promises of him saving me, protecting me, no matter what the cost will be. 

“I missed you, dorogaya.”Soldat breathed, his cock hardening against the small of my back. 

“I missed you too,” I moaned. 

His fingers grazed over my core underneath the water, rubbing circles over my clit. His lips attached to my neck, leaving his mark for all to see. 

“I need you.” 

The water splashed out of the tub as Soldat lifted me out and carried me bridal style into his bedroom. I fell to the bed with a soft sigh and my eyes took in the God-like form of Soldat, his dick twitching with anticipation. I took in every groove and line of his muscles, the way they tensed under the light as he stood in front of me. 

“Soldat,” I begged, “I can’t wait anymore.” 

“Say your mine.” He commanded. 

“I’m yours.” 

“Good girl,” Soldat praised while his metal fingers stroked his already hard cock. 

He slowly climbed up the bed, laying soft kisses over the skin of my legs and thighs on his way up. My body shook with the want of his body on mine, skin on skin underneath the moonlight from outside. 

That night, our bodies linked together in pure bliss and adoration for one another. Our moans that bounced off the walls were a proclamation of our growing love for each other. 

That night was the first and last time Soldat and I made love.

 Day 132-The last day. 

Eyes slowly blinked open as I patted the spot next to me, finding it empty and cold. My brows pulled together in confusion as I looked around the room trying to figure out where Soldat had gone. I groaned at the soreness between my legs as I sat up in bed, clutching the sheet tighter to my chest. The memories of last night clouded my vision and my cheeks reddened remembering all the ways Soldat’s fingers and mouth had pleasured me. 

The door had burst open causing me to jump at the sight of the man that had entered. 

“Where did you–?” 

“You have to go; leave.” Soldat rushed while handing me my clothes. 

“What?” Tears started to well up in my eyes. 

“You need to leave, now. It’s not safe for you anymore.” Soldat demanded. 

Rising from the bed, I let the sheet fall to the floor before quickly dressing. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Soldat ran a hand over his tired face before a loud sigh left his lips. “Berge has plans for you that I will not let happen. You need to leave here.” 

“Plans?” I croaked. “What plans?” 

“There’s a door on the other end of the compound that I always leave through to go on my missions. I left it unlocked last night. Once you’re outside, run west for 5 miles. There will be a gas station where you can call for a ride.” 

Soldat ignored my questioning pleads as he handed me a pair of his boots and a jacket to keep me warm once I was outside. 

“No, Soldat. I’m not leaving you.” 

“It’s not up for discussion. You’re leaving.” He demanded. 

“I won’t leave you. I love-.”

My confession was short lived as we heard voices yelling from down the hallway. Soldat cursed before pulling me into his chest. His plump lips brushed against my forehead while his hands wrapped around my back, giving a hard squeeze. My fingers gripped tight his vest, the fear of leaving him weighing heavy on my chest. 

“I can’t leave you, Soldat.” I confessed. 

“Wait ten minutes then take a left at the end of the hallway, the door to your escape will be the last one on the left.” 

Soldat pulled away from me, strong eyes staring into my sad ones. His pink lips stood out from underneath the stubble that had grown since the last time I had seen him. I unknowingly reached out for him as he took a step away from me. 

“Soldat,” I sobbed. “Please don’t make me leave.” 

“Stay safe, Dorogaya.”  

We shared one last loving glance before I watched him turn his back on me, walk down the hall and out of my life. 

Those ten minutes had passed by antagonizing slowly and now matter how much I wanted to stay here with Soldat, I knew that he was looking out for my safety. We both knew the kind of man Berge was and if whatever he had planned for me scared even Soldat, I knew I had to trust him. 

Regretfully, my feet took me down the way that Soldat had instructed me. They froze, however, when I noticed commotion coming from the room to my left; the one I had to pass in order for me to reach my freedom. 

“Get him in the chair!” 

“Sir, it’s been months since we’ve wiped him. We don’t know the risks!” 

“I don’t care about the risks! He needs to forget her!” 

Slowly peeking from around the corner, I watched in fear as four men struggled to get Soldat in a chair that sat in the middle of the room. No matter how much he had fought the men, Soldat gave up in the end, falling into the chair with a groan. 

When his broken eyes landed on me, his chest rose in fear and he motioned to the door, begging me to leave. 

“I’m sorry,” I mouthed. 

Not wanting to stick around and see what they were about to do to him, no matter how much I loved him, I ran down the hallway and out of the prison I had called home for the last 132 days. And away from the one and only man that would haunt my dreams every single night for the next three years.

[myladysapphire]

His Sapphire Princess (X)

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra is married to Laenor Velayron to protect the birth of her child. who in the years to follow is the only one of Rhaenyra's children that is believed to be his, she is loved by all in the red keep, even queen Alicent adores the girl, so when Rhaenyra proposes a marriage between Aemond and Rhaenyra's daughter Visenya, Alicent happily agrees.

The children having been best friends in their youths are more than happy to be wed but when the incident at drift mark occurs things change, will it be for better or worse?

word count: 4.127

CW: MDI, 18+, oral (f reciving), violence, angst, incest, not proofread!

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part l next part

disclaimer: i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC

(smut is between the dividers by @zaldritzosrose)

The reminder of that week Aemond rarely strayed from Visenya’s side, at first it started with daily dragon rides. Vermithor and Vaghar riding side by side.

It had been the first time they had flown on their respective dragons, when before Aemond had claimed Vaghar, Visenya often took Aemond on the back of Vermithor, and now seeing him atop his own dragon was a strange experience. He looked so strong and proud. He was born to be a dragon rider.

Long gone was the shy and nervous Aemond, who feared never riding a dragon of his own, the boy who would hold his dragon egg over the fire day and night in hopes it would hatch. Now he seemed to share a deep bond with Vaghar, though she had joked that perhaps the old dragon had mistaken him for her first rider, Queen Viseyna.

“It would make sense, you both had long silver hair, Valyrian features-“ she had started as they walked the halls of the keep, having returned from their dragon ride.

“I am sure she doesn’t think me to be the conquer” Aemond dismissed, shaking his head, “ as much as I am flattered at the notion, I am sure Vaghar can tell the difference.

“Really? She is what, 150? Surely riders blur together after a time” She jested.

He hummed “And how are we sure Vermithor does not mistake you for old King Jaehaerys?”

She gasped in shock, “are you calling me and old man?” She laughed, “no offence to our great grandsire but, I highly doubt we had much in common, bar our Valyrian features”

“Was that not your driving point for me being mistaken as Visenya?” He hummed.

She scoffed in jest, “It was a compliment!” She insisted, walking towards Aemond, “Do you not remember our lessons? How you said if you were to have a wife you would have one like Visenya, a fierce warrior?” She hummed.

“I do, and tell me, sweet Visenya, have you become a fierce warrior?”

“You think I would have spent years in the north, where woman are encouraged to train with shield and sword, or with Daemon on Dragonstone and not be taught at least the basics?” She asked.

“I suppose I should have guessed” he said as they approached the entrance to the training yard, “mayhaps you could show me your skills?”

She smirked, leading the way.

Luckily she wore her riding leathers, allowing her more movement than her typical gown, with trousers and tunic she was offered the same mobility as Aemond, though he was much taller than her. As they stood sword in hand ready to face the other, he seemed to tower over her, and even his steps seemed more graceful as they began to curl each other, waiting for the other to make a move.

He eventually acted first, his sword clashing with hers as her quick reflects deflected his attack.

Their swords clanged against one another, neither making a move as each attack was deflected or treated with its own attack in kind. It wasn’t until Visenya decided on a new tactic that an attack (though with training swords) was truly struck. She stepped back, circling him before turning her body in a quick flourish, her sword bashing his, and her swords tip pressing against his chest.

He hummed, seemingly impressed, though not for long as he quickly regained momentum of his sword and attacked her sword with his own, the sword nearly flying from her hand and she once again moved in a flourish, this time to defend rather than attack.

They circled each other once again, their swords drawn, waiting for the others next move.

An audience had gathered now. Sending him a smirk she started  her next round of attacks.

Their swords clanged loudly thought the courtyard, their bodies swerving each attack, barley dodging each others sword.

They seemed to circle the other for hours, though only minutes passed. Their eyes locked, their glaze seemed taunting, teasing. She bit her lip, causing his eye to be drawn to her lip, his gaze heated.

She used this opportunity to knock the sword from his hand, and bring in her her own to his neck.

Applause sounded around the courtyard.

She laughed, lowering her sword.

“I hope you do not wish to join our wedding tourney with those skills.” She joked.

He hummed, “you are impressive” he mused, taking their swords and placing them on the rack. “Mayhaps you should enter the tourney”

She laughed “and loose the chance to win the queen of love and beauty? I think not”

He smiled, “I shame I hate tourneys, or I would have assured you the crown”

“You do?” She asked, face dropping a little, “I always thought them romantic”

They started to walk back through the keep, set to return to their chambers before their engagement feast tonight, “I suppose Cregan will at least enter, and he shall crown me upon his victory.”

“Cregan? Cregan Stark?” He sneered the question “you still talk to him?” Jealousy clear in his tone.

“Of course, he is my dearest friend”

“But your mother wished to marry you both.” “So? He has had a wife and a son since then, and I, in case you have forgotten thought to stay betrothed to you!” she glanced at him, his face was set in a sneer, jealously clear in his features. She laughed “the love I have for him is simply platonic, I can assure you”

“Hmm…perhaps I shall enter the tourney, it is only right I crown my betrothed personally”

She laughed “of course, Aemond.” She said once they reached the door to her chambers, “I shall see you at the feast”

That nigh the halls of the red keep were packed full of lords and ladies from throughout the realm. The feast was grand, with food from the best cooks from throughout the realm, no expense was spared, with the most famous bards playing her favourite songs, and the ladies and lords dancing and laughing as they all filled their stomachs with food and wine.

And yet as she stood saying pleasantry after pleasantry, answering the same questions again and again she did not find any joy. She had not eaten or drank a thing, despite the feats being hallway through, and Aemond had still yet to arrive.  

The few moments she had spent escaping her quests were spent comforting Heleana as she had quickly grown overwhelmed with the noise.

Heleana had tried to stay as long as she could, but the second the first hour ended, Visneya saw it fit for her to leave. She loved her aunt, her sweet friend and though she hated the lack of her presence at her ceremony, she hated seeing her discomfort more.

She felt a sense of loneliness with her gone. Finding her eyes dancing around the room in search for a friendly face, for Aemond’s face.

And yet the closest she got to Aemond, was Aegon.

Aegon’s eyes always followed her, words always seeming to be on the tip of his tongue anytime she neared him. He had quickly gotten drunk, sat in a corner with his friends, Leon she believed one of them to be called. And yet she could feel his eyes on her. Watching her.

For years he had been the closest she had gotten to Aegon, having become a dear friend and confidant, but seeing him in person, he was entirely different to the Aegon she knew.

He was still obsessed with her, more than ever. His eyes always on her. Or Always finding her when she was alone.

But Aegon had changed drastically, he was a drunk and a terrible husband. Ignoring Helaena in favour of whores and wine, she had not seen a nice word shared between them. Her was a good father though, with the twins often in his company, when he was sober that was.

And though his eyes seemed to invite her over, she stayed put. Continuing her endless conversation with some Redwyne lord.

“Senya!” she heard a voice boom, and suddenly she was turning around the see Cregan Stark.

“Cregan!” she boomed back, excusing herself from lord Redwyne. “I thought you would not be here till tomorrow!”

“aye, we were meant to arrive later this evening, but decided to rush here. Couldn’t miss your feast now could i?” he spoke, smiling.

“I am glad, I have missed you.”

“aye, as have i.” he said, before starting to look around the room “nowhere is this betrothed of yours? About time I made an introduction.”

She scoffed, “I do not know!” she shook her head, “he hasn’t shown up yet”

Cregan send her a confused look, “and here I thought I was late! How can he be this late to his won feast”

“how should I know?”

“well I suppose this means you have yet to take to the dance floor then?”

She smiled, “why is Cregan Stark asking me to dance?”

He laughed, “aye, about time I did.”

She laughed taking his outstretched hand.

“tonight has been dreadfully dull” she spoke up, as they took the floor, “I was hoping for some kind of commotion”

He laughed, “well from the look on your uncle Aemond’s face I would say one might be coming soon.” “oh, Daemon always looks like that, always looking for a fight” she laughed, as they continued their dance.

The pair caught up, though with their constant letters there was little to catch up on, though Cregan seemed happy with her and Aemond finding away to reconcile. He had known her angst, her years of feeling alone and had hated how she had been forced to leave the north. She seemed to fit in perfectly in the north, with her snow kissed hair, she seemed to blend in to even the summer snow.

As the dance came to an end, the doors opened and Aemond finally strolled in. Visenya slowly separated herself from Cregan, as Aemond approached her.

Her carried a gift with him, and a smirk.

“betrothed” he said in greeting.

“Aemond” she greeted in return, “you are late” she scowled, moving them away from the prying eyes of the gathered lords and ladies.

“Apologies, I… I had something to do.” He presented her his gift, a jewellery box “here, one of the many gifts I plan to give you.”

She looked unsure as she grabbed the box from his hand, opening it she saw a sapphire necklace.

The necklace had five layers, the last three encased with sapphire jewels. A  large sapphire lied in the centre, with smaller sapphires placed side by side it, encased in their own ring of gold.

She gasped as she opened it, “its beautiful”

“just like you, my Sapphire” she smiled shyly, motioning Aemond to place it on her.

She had forgone a necklace tonight, finding little need for it, but as Aemond placed this necklace on her next her attire felt complete, as if she had forgone the necklace in preparation for Aemond, though he had left to hints to gifts.

“come” she motioned Aemond, gripping his arm as she led him to the table. As always their family sat on one long table, facing out onto the crowd, her grandsire sat in his chair, adjacent to the iron throne. On his left sat Alicent, and on his left sat her mother Rhaenrya.

As the family all moved to sit, though Heleana’s seat was left empty. Her grandsire stood to speak.

“I am most joyous to welcome you all here today.” He smiled, looking over to where she and Aemond sat. “today we celebrate the betrothal of my granddaughter, Princess Visenya, the future heir to the iron throne, and my son Prince Aemond, her future consort.” Applause sounded, as the king continued “today we celebrate the start of their celebrations, before they marry at the end of the week!” more applause sounded, “tonight we feast and fill our bellies and tomorrow the tourney shall start!”

Aemond looked over to where Cregan sat at the news of a tourney. He sent him a smirk, though not that Cregan seemed to care as he simply laughed at the princes jealousy.

“Aemond” she started, grabbing his hand as the room once again filled with music, dance and laughter, “do you wish to dance?”

“no” he spoke quickly. Causing her to thrown.

“oh” she said dejected. He looked over at her, frowning at her own frown.

“I do not like to dance, my Sapphire”

“of course” she said, as she started to fill her plate.

She turned to face Jace, who wore a scowl.

“is something wrong brother?”

“no, just I had thought the wedding celebrations were to happen over a moon”

“no, you are staying a moon, but I marry at weeks end.”

He sent her a dejected look, as if he had some plan that was now ruined. He quickly replaced his frown with a smile, “would you like to dance?”

“yes!” she said gleefully, sending Aemond a look as he scowled.

She and Jace must have danced for five songs before finally retuning to their seats. She was out of breath as she started to speak to Aemond. But Aemond wasn’t listening.

No, his attention was solely focused on the pig that had been placed before him and the laugh on Lukes face.

He slammed his fist against the table.

“Aemond” she whispered, “please don’t”

He looked at her, sneering. Though it was not directed at her, at least she hoped not.

"not in front of all these people Aemond, please"

He ignored her "I would like to make a toast to my family, for today we reunite after years apart, I hope our bond will grow...hmm.. Strong" he stopped, looked at Luke and Jace, then continued'' I have missed my nephews, I hope that we will once again be able to rebuild a strong... bond we shared in our youths"

Naive to what had just happened her Grandsire cheers, happy at Aemond seeming making amends.

Her brothers were struggling to keep calm knowing a public reaction could be all the confirmation the court needed for the rumours to become the truth.

Jace flinched, realising what Aemond’s speech was saying and how the court could take it, so he declared his own toast "thank you, uncle. I cherish the memories we shared in out youth, and now in honour of your betrothal to my sweet sister" he stops, stares at her, thinking his words through " i-i raise this toast to you to wish you and my sister congratulations, may your marriage be fruitful, and your bond remain strong" he sneered the last word, hating the very word.

She stood up "thank you dear brother" she says to Jace before turning to the hall "today is a joyous day, and it is only the beginning of what I can only hope will be a marriage of unity for our house” she seemed to displace the tension that was building in the room, with a small round of applause sounding.

Glares were sent around the table, and though their guests acted naïve to it as they all went about continuing in the festivities, they all seemed to be waiting for a fight.

She looked down, a nervous look filling her face as she started to pick at her food.

Dread filling her body as she saw Aegon move down the table, wishpering something in his ear. And before she knew it Jace was punching Aegon square in the jaw.

Gasps were sounded from the crowd, bets being placed as she saw the exchange of bags of coins between tables.

Aemond stood up, pulling Jace of Aegon, only for Jace to turn around and punch square in the jaw.

A chuckle escaped him, unbothered by Jaces punch and simply pushing him to the floor.

The guards move forward, separating the pair as Luke attempts to get to Aemond

She scoffed as Aemond laughed at the state of her brothers.

She looked around the room, many of the guests had started their own fight, many were trapped, trampled, punched and kicked. Guards trying their best to separate them.

If Visenya had bothered to stay longer, perhaps she could have seen the outcome of the night. But the second the king dismissed the hall, she had left. Not bothering what had happened or was going to happen. The only thing she cared about was going to sleep and dealing with the problems in the morning.

She was awoken a dawn to the sound of a wall being pulled open.

Sitting up in her bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes she came face to face with Aemond, a sheepish look on his face and a bouquet of Azaleas, her favourite flower.

“Aemond?” she asked, trying to wake herself up “what are you doing here?”

“i- I came to apologise” he looked down, almost sheepishly, “my actions…I regret them. I acted in jealousy and anger and I have come to beg for your forgiveness.”

“What you did last night, in front of all those people…It was reckless and idiotic.” She shook her head “I would have expected such a thing for Aegon, but you? I cannot say it didn’t hurt. To hurt my own brother, to tease their legitimacy, it was ridiculous and i… I know you have changed but I did not think you cruel”

“have I not told you I have grown cold? I did not jest when I said it, and though I do not harbour kind feelings to your family….i shall not act upon them again, though my behaviour, I can not say it will not happen. I am jealous and reckless. If I am offended I will not sit by and let myself nor you be insulted.” He moved towards the bed.

“I- I understand that Aemond, but please keep your anger away from the prying eyes of the realm”

“I will, I am sorry, truly” you reached for the flowers in his hand, sniffing them and smiling at the gesture.

Her duvet had fallen to her waist, leaving her chemise on show. With the hot weather she had worn a thin, near sheer chemise to bed, one that made no efforts to hide her from.

She blushed as Aemond looked at her, his eyes drawn to the outline of her breasts.

“Aemond?” she asked, trying to capture his attention, he looked up, a blush of his own on his cheeks as he moved forward and kissed your lips.

It was the first kiss you had both shared, though it was clear that he had more experience than she did, as his mouth quickly dominated hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth, causing her to moan softly.

She fell back in the bed Aemond falling with her.

The kiss was soft and yet full of passion.

“Visneya” he whispered against her lips as her pulled back from her. “I need to taste you”

She hummed, “i- you wish to…”

He smirked, pulling the covers of the duvet fully back, and moving to position him self down her body. He looked up at her as he played with the hem of her chemise.

She smiled, moving to lift it up and bare her wet cunt to him.

He moaned at the sight, and quickly buried himself between her thighs.

He licked her slit teasingly, realising in the moans he let out at the feeling of his tongue against her slit. She grew wetter and wetter with each motion of his tongue, her moans increasing as he started to focus his attention on her clit. Gripping her hips he started to  gave small yet fast licks at her clit, his eyes meeting hers as she gripped the bedding, moaning in pleasure.

He started to move his tongue faster, moaning at he taste of her.

“Aemond” she moaned as she reached forward and gripped onto his hair, grinding her hips into his face, causing him to groan.

Her movements became erratic, her peak fast approaching.

Aemond buried himself further into her thighs, determined to make her cum all over his face.

And soon enough he felt her legs squeeze his head as she finally peaked.

“gods” she moaned, lying back.

Aemond smirked, look over her pleasure ridden face, “Am I forgiven now?” he asked teasingly, his own response was a slap on the arm, causing him to laugh.

He had left her rooms once her maid came to wake her, promising to return for breakfast. Where he once again brought her a bouquet of Azaleas.

Breakfast had passed quickly, and before she knew it she was making her way to the royal box for the first day of the tourney.

She had made a favour in hopes Aemond had meant what he said about entering the tourney and crowing her the queen of love and beauty.

She had chosen blue and white ribbon, she herself, though not the best with needle and thread, had embroidered dragons across the fabric, trying her bets to capture the likeness of Vaghar and Vermithor.

The Tourney was to be a three day affair. With men from throughput the realm filling the lists. The winners of each round would go against the other winners the following day, and on the third and final day the winner the winners would once again face one another until a victor was declared.

The first day was often long and uneventful. That was until it was Aemond’s round. He was pitted against his own brother Aegon.

Aemond had galloped into the arena, atop a white horse, his armour black and red, with the Targaryen crest carved across his chest.

Her rode up to the royal stands, Visenya sat front row with Heleana on one side and Belea then Rheana on her other. The rest of the family sat behind them, Deamon was not there however, having entered the tourney himself.

Aemond approached them, his horse stopping before Visenya, "my betrothed, I am sure to win this tourney with your favour".

She sent him a smile as she walked over to him placing her favour on his lance. “of course, I wish you luck, my prince”

"I do not need luck, my sapphire, not with your favour”

Visenya knew of Aemond skill, and Aegon’s lack thereof. He did not need skill for this joust, but for tomorrow he would.

He charged at Aegon, and though they both new Aegon cared not for the tourney, having been forced to entre by Alicent once she heard of Aemond’s entry, he was not expecting Aegon to try, and yet it seemed he was. As Aegon charged at him, aiming for his torso.

Their lances clashed one another’s as Aemond was forced to bend back to avoid being hit, and direct his own lance at his brother his lance flung to the side, Aemond’s grip was weak, but stayed he manged to stay in place.

They circled back, charging each other once more , this time Aemond’s lace, aimed under the horses head, causing the horse fell back and Aegon to fall.

Defeated and unbothered Aegon simply lay there, waiting for his brother to drag him up, laughing at his loss.

Aemond continued to win, having been victorious against Loren Lannister and Damion Veleryon as well as many aspiring knights. He eventually found himself in the final round, the last day of the tourney. And his opponent, Creagan Stark.

Aemond was fuelled with jealousy.

He had heard Visneya cheering for Cregan, her compliments of his skill and her teasing on how he would surely crown her if Aemond was not victorious.

Aemond had charged at Cregan, and Cregan, never one to back down from a challenge only acted with the same force as he did.

They were both thrown from their horses, before calling for their swords and declaring one on one combat.

The arena held a bated breath as the pair faced off.

Unlike when Visenya had spared with Aemond their was no circling, not waiting for the other to make a move. Instead Aemond simply attacked. His movements were fast and relentless, but Cregan was undeterred, easily defending himself against Aemond’s strikes.

In fact it was Cregan who disarmed Aemond, knocking him to the floor.

But Aemond did not accept defeat, pouncing on Cregan landing punch after punch.

With Cregan pinned, it was declared Aemond to be the winner, though it took the guards dragging Aemond away to stop the fighting.

He smirked as he once again took to his horse, grabbing the crown of love and beauty and riding up to Visneya, crowing her and pulling her down for a kiss in front of the crowds.

“you were a bit brutal, where you not?” she whispered as they broke apart, looking over to Cregan, who despite the broken nose seemed fine, and unbothered with his loss. In fact he had even joined the cords in the cheers.  

Aemond looked over to Cregan, shrugging “he seems fine to me”

She laughed, moving back to sit back in her seat.

NEXT PART

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[noosayog]

[my first task!] ft. miya atsumu

synopsis: inspired by the series, Old Enough? basically, in Japan, it's common practice to entrust a toddler an errand to perform all by themselves, such as fetching something from the store. sometimes, in a small village or closely knit neighborhood, all the shopkeepers and neighborhood residents are aware of when the toddler will be out and all work together to watch over them and guide them.

wc: 2.6k

“Are ya sure she has to do this today?”

“‘Tsumu, we’ve already done all the preparation. Let’s just let her try, hm?” 

He grumbles, but moves to his assigned location at the dining table, where your daughter is already sitting, swinging her legs in anticipation of her favorite Omurice lunch. 

You bring the plates of food over to the table and set one down at each of your seats. You give Atsumu a pointed look which he ignores. You clear your throat and give him a hard nudge. 

“Ow,” he complains. He gives you one last pleading look which you leave unanswered. 

He sighs and recites his scripted lines. “Oh honey, what about the ketchup drawings?” he asks you in monotone. 

You tap a finger at your chin, looking up at the ceiling to feign deep thought. “Oh no! I think we ran out of ketchup!” You bring a palm up to cover your mouth, gaping open in dismay. 

“No ketchup drawing? How can I possibly eat Omurice without the ketchup drawing?” 

“Oh no,” you turn to your daughter. “We can’t have Omurice without ketchup can we?” 

“No, we can’t!” your daughter exclaims. 

“Well baby, do you think you can go to the store and get some ketchup for us? Just like how you do it when you go with Mommy.” 

Her eyes sparkle with excitement at the prospect of going out. “Me?” 

“Yep, Daddy and I are so busy, we can’t go. Can we rely on you?” 

“Sure!” she chirps. 

So a few short moments later, you and Atsumu have strapped her little purse on her torso, containing just enough coins to purchase a bottle of ketchup and a card with your phone number on it, just in case. Atsumu laces her shoes up and gives her a kiss on the cheek. You think you see his eyes misting over. 

You speak up. “Just to the store we always go to, okay? Mommy’s counting on you!” This was supposed to have been Atsumu’s line, but you can tell that the dam is about to burst so you help him out.

“You’ll do great,” he chokes out. “I’ll see you when you come home with ketchup so Daddy can have his Omurice. Okay?” 

She nods, enthusiastic and completely unaware of Atsumu’s turmoil. With that, she’s out the door and Atsumu barely waits one minute before he’s following, sticking to his own plan to trail her on her first errand. 

~

The route has been prepped ahead of time. All the neighbors and the local store owners have been informed of your daughter’s first errand to ensure her success. In addition, all of Atsumu’s teammates, old and new, showed up to guide her along. 

So as Atsumu trails behind her toddling figure, hiding comically behind fences and walls, there’s really no need for him to intervene. 

She first passess the local cafe, where Bokuto, Hinata, and Sakusa sit at a table strategically located by the open window facing the sidewalk. As she walks by, she recognizes them instantly, straying from her path to the store. Bokuto sits her on his lap while Hinata listens to her babble and Sakusa buys her an apple juice. After a couple minutes of chatting, Sakusa gently pats her and asks, “so why are you out here by yourself?” 

“Oh!” she clammors out of Bokuto’s arms, suddenly remembering that she was supposed to be out on a mission. “I’m going to the store to buy ketchup for Mommy and Daddy. They’re counting on me.” 

Hinata nods profusely. “You better be off then!”

“You should finish your juice first, though. Adults don’t waste food,” Sakusa tells her. 

She nods, happy to sip the remaining juice from the cup, then sets on her way afoot. 

The trio at the cafe watch her go, shaking their heads when they notice their setter conspicuously following close behind. 

~

Next is Onigiri Miya. 

Well, technically, next was supposed to be the florist on the main street, but the little Miya had seen the street that Onigiri Miya is on and took the turn out of habit. But no matter – you and Atsumu had foreseen this, so a team is at the ready there too. 

Suna sits at the counter seat closest to the door to keep watch. When he sees her rounding the corner, he signals Osamu who comes out from behind the counter to greet her at the door. 

“Heya, baby,” picking up her easily when she runs into her Uncle’s arms. 

“Hi Uncle ‘Samu! Hi Rin-chan!” She greets Suna over Osamu’s shoulder. 

Suna grins, “hey stink.” 

“‘M not stinky!” 

Osamu carries her into the restaurant and deposits her on the counter seat next to Suna’s. He rounds back into the kitchen where he begins shaping a miniature version of her favorite onigiri. She kicks her feet, completely at ease in the restaurant and blissfully forgetful of her task at hand. When the plate is deposited in front of her, she chirps out a quick thank you before digging in. 

After chatting Suna up for a bit, Osamu finally cuts in. 

“So, what are ya doing out here all by yourself?” 

“Dunno!” she giggles. 

Suna coughs a bit, giving Osamu a look which Osamu returns pointedly. 

“Soooo… you decided to have lunch here without your dad and mom?” 

She ponders this for a bit, before lighting up. “Oh yeah! Mommy made Omurice but Daddy forgot to buy the ketchup so I’m here to get it.” 

Osamu’s eyes widen comically. “All by yourself?” 

She nods sagely. “‘M a big girl now. Mommy is countin’ on me.” 

“Well, ya better get going then. Yer silly dad will be waitin’ for ya.” 

She agrees, hopping her to her feet. The two follow her to the door to see her off, holding the door open for her walk through. She gets halfway back the way she came when she turns around and grins toothily at the two. 

“Thanks for the onigiri, uncle! Love ya!” 

Osamu smiles and waves her off. Behind him, Suna holds out his phone, pointing the camera at the little girl’s retreating back, making sure to focus on the suspicious figure donning sunglasses, a mask, and MSBY jackals baseball cap tailing her. He sends it to the group chat warning the next team to watch out for a stalker. 

~ 

Your daughter finds her way back to the intersection on the main road. She needs to take a left to continue her route to the supermarket. As she stands at the crossroads, she frowns, not quite remembering where she needs to go. She takes a right. 

There, she bumps into the legs of Kageyama and Hoshiumi who are stationed at the intersection. 

“Sorry,” she starts, craning her neck to get a better look at her obstacles. 

“No worries,” Kageyama says, taking a step back. 

Hoshiumi then strikes up a conversation with Kageyama, reading out the practiced lines. 

“Hey, we need to go to the supermarket right?”

Your daughter’s ears perk up at that.

“Yeah. It’s that – ” Kageyama points dramatically “– way.” 

“Ohhhh, I see,” Hoshiumi puts a hand up to theatrically mimic covering his eyes from the sun and squints the way Kageyama is pointing. 

Your daughter nods to herself at that and turns around to walk in the correct direction this time. 

When she gets far enough away, Hoshiumi shows Kageyama the text in the group chat. 

“Stalker?” Kageyama reads, scrunching his face. “Should we –”

“Nah,” Hoshiumi cuts him off and points at the stalker in question, going the same way the little girl just went.

“Ah.” Tobio understands, noticing the peek of dyed blond hair from under the baseball cap. 

~

At last, she arrives at the grocery store. This is familiar ground, so she wanders into the store and meanders the aisles, getting distracted by the array of colors in the snack section. She’s running her hands along all the biscuit options, contemplating how she can fit all the items she wants in her two hands when she hears someone clear their throat from above her. 

This time, it’s Aran who waves a gentle hello to her. 

“Aran-kun!” she exclaims, forgetting about the snacks and running up to hug his legs. 

He chuckles and pats her head. 

“Hi there. Are ya looking for something in particular?” 

Once again, she thinks. She’s sure there must be a reason she’s in the store but can’t quite remember. 

“I think so?” 

“Hm, okay. Wanna go shopping with me until you remember what yer looking for?” 

“M’kay!”

She grabs Aran’s hand and swings them as he guides her to the aisle with the condiments. There, she inspects the colorful array of sauces, eyes sparkling. Aran pretends to look for his own items, hovering a hand over the ketchup bottles and waving his fingers in the general area until she remembers. Her eyes hone in on the red bottle and she remembers her poor father, still unable to eat his lunch without ketchup. 

“Aran-kun! I’m here for ketchup!” 

“‘That so? Well, here ya go, then.” He picks up the bottle of the brand he knows you use and plops it right into her hands. 

“Not this one,” she shakes her head. “Mommy wants that one.” 

She points at the bottle next to the one Aran grabbed. They’re identical. 

Unbothered, Aran switches out the bottle in her hands with the one she wants. “Sorry ‘bout that. All good now?” 

“Yep!” 

“Ready to go check out, then?” 

She nods. He continues to walk her to the registers. Once the lines are in sight, she lets go of his fingers and darts over to the nearest line. But not before bowing a polite thank you to Aran. 

At the register, she greets the attendant watching him scan the bottle and showing her the total amount owed. 

“That’ll be 200 yen.” 

She reaches into her purse and pours out all the coins onto the counter, not entirely sure what she needs to offer. The cashier picks out a few coins and deposits the rest back into her coin purse, allowing her to tuck the coin purse back into her bag and zip the purse securely before asking if she wants a bag. 

“Yes, please!” 

With a plastic baggie in hand, she makes her way to the exit. Aran catches her before and tucks a small box of pocky into her bag, pushing a finger to his lips and winking at her. “Keep it a secret from yer mom. Get home safe!” 

She mimics his gesture and nods. With one last bear hug to Aran’s legs, she’s off. 

~

Outside the store, Kita waits for her. She spots his white hair easily. Of all her uncles (excluding Osamu, of course), Kita is her favorite. She runs over to him, bag swinging carelessly behind her. Kita catches her and gives her a little spin before setting her back on the ground. 

“Hiya, Uncle Shin!” 

“Hey there. What’cha got in there?” he asks, pointing at the bag. 

“Ketchup! Daddy forgot to buy more and he can’t eat Omurice without it, so Mommy’s countin’ on me to get it.” 

Kita rests a hand on her head. “That’s real impressive of ya, to come to the store to get it all by yourself.” 

She glows in his praise, rare but genuine. 

“Going home now, Uncle Shin.” 

“Alright,” he responds. “I need something from that way, so I’ll walk ya part ways.” 

She beams and follows Kita in the direction of your home. 

“Uncle Shin?”

“Yeah, bug?” 

“Can I eat my pocky? Aran-kun bought it for me.” 

He crouches down to her eye level. “Can I have some?” he asks seriously. 

“Yeah!” 

“Then, alright. But let’s go sit down at that bench over there, okay? It’s rude to eat and walk.” 

“Okay!” 

So the two take a detour, sitting at the bench to watch the birds hobble by while sharing the box of strawberry pocky. A certain stalker watches in envy from behind the trees. 

Once the box is depleted, Kita wipes her fingers down with some wet wipes he keeps in his pocket and tosses out the trash. They continue on their way, Kita sticking with her until they pass the confusing intersection (where Kageyama and Hoshiumi bow slightly at the sight of Kita) and the cafe (where the MSBY trio nod in acknowledgement). 

When the house is only a couple more feet away, Kita once again crouches down. “Alright, I gotta go my own way from here. Do ya think ya can make it home all by yourself?” 

“Yep, thanks Uncle Shin!”

“Sure. I’m proud of ya, bug.” 

She squirms a bit, overwhelmed by the praise she gets from her favorite uncle. The ketchup bounces in its bag by her side as she skips all the way back home. 

~

After fishing out her own key and unlocking the front door, Atsumu is there to greet her at the genkan, scoping her up and squeezing her tight, the ketchup bag forgotten on the floor.

“There’s my girl!” 

“Daddy!” she laughs. 

“Welcome home,” you greet, tummy warming at the sight of your two Miyas. 

“Mommy!” she squirms in Atsumu’s arms signaling for him to let her down. He obliges and she picks up the plastic bag to wave in your face. “I got the ketchup! Now daddy can eat his lunch!” 

“Wow, great job! And all by yourself!” 

You usher her over to the table as she babbles about her day. 

“I saw Shoyo-chan, Bokkun, Omi-chan, Uncle ‘Samu, Rin-chan, Aran-kun, and Uncle Shin too!”

“Wow, sounds like you had a great day. Did you have fun?” 

“Yep!” 

Atsumu, who has since changed out of his stalker gear, slumps into his seat at the table, back to grumbling about his cold omurice and how it would’ve still been hot if he had quickly gone with his daughter to get it. 

You throw him a bone by asking your daughter, “Did you miss Daddy on your trip?”

“What do you mean?”

You almost choke out a laugh; kids are ruthless sometimes.

“Why would I miss Daddy? He was there the whole time.” 

Atsumu sputters. “What do ya mean? I was at home waiting for ya the whole time.” 

“Daddy’s a liar,” she whispers in your ear. “I saw him, but he was wearin’ some weird clothes. Like covering his face.” 

You break into a fit of giggles. “Your daddy’s really silly, isn’t he?”

Atsumu can hear everything. “Hey!”

“Daddy was following you because he was just a bit worried about you going by yourself. But he’s really proud of you. Right?” 

Atsumu rounds the table to crouch besides your daughter’s seat. “Yeah. But you did so well. I’m so proud of ya.” 

Her eyes light up at the praise. She throws her arms around his neck and wiggles in her seat a bit. 

“Well, great job and since you got the ketchup for us, all your favorite uncles can now join us for lunch too.” 

At that, each of today’s helpers emerge from the kitchen holding their own plates of Omurice, all undecorated. You figure it might be a good time to introduce her to Kageyama and Hoshiumi too, but she’s distracted by Kita and Osamu offering their omelets to her to decorate with the ketchup.

As she goes around the table and draws ketchup hearts and stars on each omelet, you wander over to Atsumu’s side whose eyes are getting watery again, watching her brag to each of them that the ketchup they’re about to eat is her ketchup. 

“What’s wrong, ‘Tsumu?” 

“Nothin,” he hastily swipes at his eyes. “‘M not crying.”

“I never said you were,” you say gently. You wind your arm around his waist and lean into him, rubbing circles into his back. His body closes around you instinctively. 

“She’s just growing up so fast, ya know.” 

“I know.” 

“Soon, she won’t need me – us – anymore.” 

“Aww, ‘Tsumu. Yeah, she’ll grow up but…” 

He looks at you when you trail off. 

You reach up to whisper in his ears. “We could always just make another one.”

[bg-brainrot]

More than Vampiric Charms (Astarion x Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: After some banter between Astarion and Jaheira goes too far, you (Tav) take some time to remind Astarion that he is so much more than a pair of fangs.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Comfort, Vampire Spawn Astarion, set in Act 3, Astarion is Bad at Feelings, Blood, Blood Drunk, blood as a coping mechanism

A/N: Thank you to everyone who voted for this banter in my last poll! This was a fun one c:

Word count: ~3.2k

Walking through the streets of Baldur's Gate is always an adventure with your group– a particularly fraught adventure on this day, as Jaheira and Astarion seem hellsbent on trading barbs.

It had started out playfully enough, with a snide remark from Astarion, "Oh that building used to be a delightful little sweets shop about a hundred years ago. Though I suppose the crone would remember that, wouldn’t she?”

Jaheira, used to remarks about her age, often being the one to start them, was ready with a quick quip back, “Was that before or after your hair turned gray? With my old age, I can never remember.”

Astarion visibility bit back a remark about this being his natural hair color when you glared back at both of them. “Could we focus a bit please? You two can reminisce after we’ve seen to this latest bloody basement.”

One trail of blood, a disgusting array of corpses, and a piece of clown later and the two of them were at it again.

“Jaheira,” Astarion had started in a light tone– a clear indicator that he had no intent to focus. “Have you considered taking on the role of Dribbles the clown yourself? The makeup might help cover all those pesky wrinkles.”

The druid had snickered, appreciating the comment, and shot back, “I think you would be better suited to the role, given you are already a fool.”

That time, Karlach had interrupted, “Don’t either of you dare! No one could replace this Baldurian hero.”

“Which is exactly why we’re helping to piece him back together,” you’d confirmed with a nod. “Besides, you’re both cranky enough to make the children weep.”

“Darling!” Astarion had gasped, an offended hand on his chest. “How could you say that about me?”

You’d ignored his question, instead choosing to deposit a quick kiss on his pursed lips. A soft, effective bandaid that left the man with crossed arms and a reluctant smile. 

Moments later, you were ushering the group out of the building and into the city. Insults forgotten, everyone began trudging the familiar path back to the Elfsong to clean up.

Now, along this very path, you hear Jaheira strike up a new conversation with Astarion– one that has your ears perking up, even as you continue to lead the way ahead.

“It seems that you and our leader are closer than ever,” the woman observes, a smile in her voice.

There’s a moment of silence, and you can practically see Astarion’s suspicious expression in your mind’s eye as he assesses the situation. “Yes, you could say that,” he finally replies. “What can I say? I am, after all, quite charming.”

“I am glad it is your non-vampiric charms our friend has fallen for, Astarion.” A short, thoughtful pause follows before she asks, “It is, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Astarion responds, his voice reaching a comically high pitch– one that almost makes you laugh. You want to hear this conversation more than most though, so not a sound escapes your lips. The vampire scoffs before he continues. "Is it so unbelievable that they would simply like me?"

There’s a clear hesitation as Astarion’s words hang in the air.

You wonder why Jaheira isn’t responding, what her expression must be– but before you can turn around to find out more, Astarion is speaking again.

“If you insist on prying,” he starts, clearing his throat a bit pointedly. “Perhaps you’d care to join us. And see how much we enjoy one another.”

The insinuation in his tone is almost enough to have you spinning around– teasing Karlach or Shadowheart is one thing, but Jaheira? Gods, you can feel the heat rising up your neck– “Why?” Jaheira snaps back. “Do you require some instruction on how the deed is done?”

“I’m sure even I could learn some new tricks from an old veteran such as yourself,” Astarion replies, mirth shining through in his tone.

Wait, is he actually inviting her?

You know you need to stop this conversation before it mortifies you any further. “Stop it, both of you!” you say, turning your head back, trying your best to keep a stern, not-at-all embarrassed expression on your face. “We don’t need the next installment of ‘Love at First Knife’ getting any more convoluted.”

There’s some grumbling from Astarion, an amused smile from Jaheira, and a chortle from Karlach, but otherwise your group makes it back to the Elfsong without tearing each other– or their clothes– apart.

__

That evening, Astarion slips away.

It’s not an unusual occurrence– some days his hunger is harder to ignore than others, on some you hadn’t found nearly enough evil to suck dry. Ultimately, he never wanted to take too much blood from you, so he chooses to forage as he has taken to calling it.

As a result, you think nothing of it at first, settling into bed after dinner with a book propped between your hands. After all, Cazador is dead, and Astarion is more than capable of taking down some of the most fearsome enemies in the city– he should take all the time he needs to himself.

But the hours pass, and Astarion has yet to return. The candles around you begin to dwindle, words begin to swim on a page you haven’t turned in quite some time, and sleep slowly but surely starts to drag your eyelids down.

It has almost claimed you when the door to your shared room at the Elfsong slams shut. You hear groans from around the room as those who were similarly drifting off to bed are shocked awake, everyone expecting yet another unwelcome visitor. You almost don’t have time to react before an armor-clad vampire lands atop of you.

You do react though, instinctively striking at the man with the spine of your book, a loud ‘thwack’ letting you know that your contact was true.

“Oof,” Astarion mutters, now fully splayed across your torso like a stretching cat. “Darling, must you be so violent?”

“Astarion?” you ask, putting down your book, shaking off the beginning throes of sleep as you realize what’s transpired. “Weapons down everyone, it’s Astarion.”

After a few affirmative grumbles from around the room, you turn your attention back to the vampire, “Are you alright? Did you get injured?”

“Mmm,” he murmurs, burying his face in your blanket, and rubbing at the spot where you’d hit him. “Nothing's the matter. Everything is perfectly dandy.”

His words slur though and something seems to be amiss. His movements are fluid, his body weight is completely and utterly relaxed onto you.

Almost as if…

“Are you… drunk?” you haven’t seen him like this since the bear he drank near the grove. When you’d asked him the question then, he’d shrugged it off– but it was certainly the closest to drunk you’d ever seen him.

“Not strictly speaking, no…” he drolls, tilting his head slightly to stare at you with one eye. His cheeks are flushed, a telltale sign of his recent feeding, and his eye is glazed over, its blissful sheen telling you all that you need to know.

“Have a good dinner, did you?” you ask, smiling down at him wearily. You can hardly fault him for indulging, especially after the couple of weeks you’ve had.

He chuckles, his one visible eye crinkling a bit. “Oh yes. A rather large bugbear. Hardly knew what bit him.”

You run a hand through Astarion’s hair, and respond, “Well done, my sweet, bloodthirsty vampire.”

Normally, such sweet words of unabashed ​​flattery would elicit a smile, a laugh, maybe even a kiss– but tonight Astarion freezes under your touch, his eye going wide before he tucks his face back into the bedding.

“Astarion?” you ask, your previous worry about injury now promptly replaced by a worry of a much deeper hurt.

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, voice sounding distant.

You scratch at his scalp, a bit, trying to encourage him back toward you. “Love, you know you’re a terrible liar. What’s wrong?”

He gives a soft, annoyed huff– an endearing, drunken noise were it not for the fact that he seems determined not to look at you. And continue to crush you with the full weight of his body.

“Astarion,” you say again, with a bit more emphasis, shaking his head a little with your next scratch. “If nothing is truly wrong, I will wake up Karlach. You know she would love to see you in this state.” As if to punctuate your point, a snore sounds from a few beds over, where you know the barbarian slumbers.

“Please don’t,” he murmurs, finally turning around to look at you fully.

You’re surprised to see his eyebrows furrowed, his lips turned down in a truly melancholy frown– always an expressive man, it seems that Astarion’s intoxicated demeanor is twice as exaggerated. Cute, you think. But also concerning. “Love,” you whisper, running a hand along his face. “Talk to me.”

Astarion hesitates, his watery eyes wincing as he debates his next words. Those same red eyes show an unexpected amount of vulnerability– all that bugbear blood is keeping his expression open, his entire face a rosy hue. His mouth opens, closes, his body shifts, and he fumbles with the latches on his armor as he thinks. You simply lay there, playing with his curls until he’s ready.

When he finally speaks, his words take you by surprise.

“You don’t just like me because I’m a vampire… do you?”

“What?” you ask, eyebrows raising in disbelief. Surely, you misheard him.

“You know,” he continues, waving a hand about the air. “My vampiric charms. The fangs. The blood sucking. The mysterious allure?”

“Why in the nine hells would you think that?” You reach a hand out to grab his, tugging on it gently to try to get him to sit up.

Astarion’s eyes drift away from you, but he does sit up, legs draping over your stomach. “Just… because of something Jaheira said.”

Oh. The conversation you’d been eavesdropping on.

“Do you mean what she said earlier? On our way back to the Elfsong?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Well, yes,” he mutters, still not looking at you. “Though I can’t help but notice you haven’t answered my question…”

“Astarion,” you start, releasing his hand, only to place it on the slightly flushed skin of his cheek. “No, I do not only like you because you’re a vampire.” Your words are firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

His eyes meet yours again, and still you can see so much doubt, so much unmitigated fear. “Are you certain? You truly do seem to enjoy it when I bite you.”

“Well, that’s true,” you admit with a small wince. It does feel rather… good when he bites you, it would be a lie to say otherwise and, besides, you’ve told him as much before. “But that’s not why I like you, you fool.”

Astarion’s bottom lip slips into a small pout and he moves away from your hand. “You’re not very convincing, you know? Especially when you call me a fool.”

You scooch out a bit from under him, leaving your legs under his. With all of the severity in the world, you reply, “If it makes you feel better, I’m a fool too.”

“You are?” he asks, curious despite himself– easily falling for your little trap.

“A fool for you.”

The noise that escapes him is half groan, half chuckle, and his mouth pulls into a lopsided little smile that you’re not certain you would have earned were he not a bit blooddrunk. “Gods, how the hells did I fall for you?”

“Now you’re asking the right questions,” you respond with a smirk on your face. When you place a hand on his knee, the smirk turns into a small smile. “But I’m being genuine– I don’t like you because you’re a vampire. And before you ask, I don’t love you because of your vampirism either.”

He gives a small huff. “Well, Jaheira made it sound as if there wasn’t much else to care for.” An uncharacteristic admittance from him– normally he would brush off such a statement with a proud declaration of how phenomenal he is. But it seems that Jaheira’s words cut deep– and that blood has loosened his lips.

“Jaheira, despite all of her many, many years of experience–” you enjoy the full laugh that elicits. “simply doesn’t have my refined taste. There are so many reasons to like you, love. In fact, vampirism doesn’t even make the list.”

“Oh, you’re keeping track, are you?” he asks, folding his arms and body over his legs and smiling up at you.

“Maybe,” you murmur, leaning forward toward him. “Would you like a sampling of reasons?”

The look he gives you then is hopeful, but more than a little dread slips through in his shining red eyes. When he answers, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Only if you mean them.”

This withdrawn, unsure Astarion isn’t a common sight to you, but, like every other facet of the man before you, he’s no less lovable. So you lean forward, placing a kiss on his pale forehead, and say, “I mean them with my whole heart.”

“Then… I suppose I ought to be lavished with them," he murmurs, and you spot the blush intensifying over his cheeks, now also coloring his ears.

Coupled with his fluid, inebriated state, his heart laid bare before you, you want to scream the reasons from the roof of the Elfsong, if only for him to believe you. But, as it is, the soft snores of your companions keep your voice hushed, your face close to his as you begin.

“Let’s see… should I start with the first thing that stood out to me?”

He hums in agreement, and closes his eyes, as if preparing to listen to the sweetest tune known to the entirety of Faerun.

“Well, it started with your first lie, I think,” you start.

Astarion gives a disapproving groan, but doesn’t open his eyes.

“My dear, you said you said you had a ‘brain thing’ cornered– I hope you know the smile on my face wasn’t from confidence,” you say with a new, fond smile at the memory. “I just knew from that moment on, you didn’t much care for what others thought of you, as long as your goals were met. A kindred spirit. Or so you said that day.”

At that, he reopens his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“We’re not kindred spirits?” you ask, an unexpected tinge of hurt blooming in your chest.

“That’s true,” he says, balming the hurt quickly. “It’s not true that I don’t care what others think of me. I do. Well, maybe not everyone.” His eyes dart toward Gale’s bed and you stifle a snicker. “But I certainly care what you think of me.”

You look into his crimson eyes, a bit clearer now than when you began talking– the blood seems to be working its way through his system. His words come from a place of honesty, not a lack of inhibition.

“Then, let me assure you here and now,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. “I think–” Another quick peck on his lips. “you’re the funniest–” A kiss to his nose. “the most deft–” A brush of lips against his temple. “creative, endearing, brave–” Each word comes with a kiss along his jaw. “man I’ve ever met.”

Astarion’s eyes look at you, his face still for a moment as he considers your words. When he finally speaks, it’s a quiet, choked up question, “Oh, is that it?”

“Would you like me to keep going?” you ask, lips perched just above his eyebrow, ready for another round.

He shakes his head ever so slightly. “No– no need or you’ll be here all night, surely,” he says, posturing as best as he can while still looking at you with fearful eyes. Almost as if your candid praise is simply too much for him to bear.

It may be too much, and you’re not one to push it.

“Very well,” you say, pulling back. “But I didn’t even get to how good you look covered in blood…”

The man gives a light laugh at that, some of his nerves melting before praise he understands– his appearance is a source of comfort, one that brings him back to himself. “Oooh yes, I do look dashing in red, don’t I?” he purrs, a content smile forming on his face.

“That you do,” you assure, with your own warm look. You wish he would accept all praise this easily, but you suppose this is all you can do for now.

So little of what matters to you is his vampirism, his looks… but for a man like Astarion, for whom a kind word felt like a double-edged blade for two centuries? Well, you’re reminded that regardless of how many times you may tell him, whether now when he’s a bit fuzzy around the edges or when you’re in your cups, he may never truly believe you.

No matter, you suppose. I’ll simply keep finding new ways to show him how much I care for him…

“So Jaheira was kidding, right?” Astarion asks, sitting up and finally beginning to remove his leathers.

You nod, moving to help him remove his greaves. “Naturally. I thought you’d been enjoying the conversation, actually.”

“I had been,” he replies, thoughtfully. “But the more I remembered how sinfully you shiver under my fangs…”

He’s dodging before you can so much as flick his ear. “Excuse you. Is that any way to treat your most reliable source of sustenance?”

Astarion smirks as he leans away from you in the bed. “Oh darling, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. After all, you can’t help it.”

“Astarion–”

“Ehem!” You hear from somewhere behind you. It’s followed shortly by Shadowheart’s annoyed voice, “Would the two of you please keep it down? Some of us are trying to rest.”

If by ‘rest’ she means ‘reach the end of her copper novel’, then you suppose she’s right. Either way, you whisper back, “Sorry, I was defending my dignity.”

“What dignity?” she murmurs back. “And in case you’re wondering, you’re both utter fools.”

Oh great, she’d heard everything.

“Shadowheart, were you eavesdropping?” Astarion asks, crawling over you to glare at her from the edge of your bed. He’s half-dressed and still somewhat out of sorts, so you just lean back against the pillows and accept your fate.

“Is it really eavesdropping if I can hear it all clearly?” the cleric says, and you hear her book snap shut. “Besides, Astarion, if you really needed someone to reassure you, you should have asked me.”

“You?” he asks, incredulously. “And why should I ask you?”

“Because,” she starts, and you can hear her wicked smile in her tone. “I can confirm without a shadow of a doubt that there’s no such thing as ‘vampiric charm.’ I’ve never felt less charmed in my entire life.”

You can sense Astarion is just about ready to light Shadowheart’s hair on fire, so you tug him back down from the divide. “Thank you for that clarification, Shadowheart,” you call, biting back a laugh. “And I’m starting to realize none of us really have private conversations, do we?”

“No, we do not,” you hear Gale reply from a few beds away.

With that, Astarion gives an exasperated sigh and the two of you finish removing his armor in silence.  When you’re both finally ready for bed and you whisper to him, “Goodnight.” Shadowheart, Gale, and Wyll all respond, “Goodnight!”

[hellishjoel]

cherry 

7.6k / pairing: dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

summary: Joel invites you over for a movie night with your parents and Sarah out of town. How are you supposed to focus on the film with his hand on your thigh? 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), NO OUTBREAK, neighbor!joel, age gap (reader is in their early 20s while Joel is in his 40s), cursing, alcohol consumption, use of pet names, softdom! Joel AND dom!Joel (restraint by command), oral sex (m receiving), praise kink, reader titty appreciation, super descript about Joel’s bulging biceps (we all know the picture that came out with him holding onto his luggage and I have not REST)

A/N: I wrote all of this today.. I don't know what's wrong with me. I hope you enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this, I hope these two are growing on ya'll as much as they're growing on me <33

Joel could sense the shift, his hand coming to gently cup your cheek and bring your eyes back to his. He didn’t look mad like you maybe expected of him.  You could feel his jaw going slack under your thumb, your mouth sucking in the side of your cheek as you sat in awkward silence. You sort of wanted to leap out of his lap and return to the movie. But he wouldn’t let you, he planted you there with his hand on your hip and forced you to look at him. You teetered your wine glass on his shoulder.  “You wanna kiss me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, causing a few syllables to be cut out due to the raspiness. You slowly nod. A beat passes. “Why won’t ya let me then?”

A few times throughout the summer, the lakehouse was yours and yours alone.  While on vacation, your parents always make it a point to go out to dinner and drinks with their old friends that lived in a neighboring town, leaving you in blissful solitude. 

You used to go with them when you were younger, too young to be left home alone. You’d hang out with their son, Nathan, on the tire swing or go swimming in their pool. 

Once you and Nathan both turned thirteen, you found that Nathan was involved in a lot of sports leagues that summer, and therefore he wasn’t going to be around much. Your parents didn’t want to punish you and force you to hang out with four grown adults all day, so they let you stay behind at the lakehouse. 

It was your first sense of freedom, taking care of yourself, having your own routine. You remember breaking into your piggy bank and riding your bike into town with Sarah that day to play at the arcade. You came back home with your lackluster arcade prizes and made mediocre hot dogs. It was a little lonely, the house often bustling with noise from your parents, but it was also serene to be alone. 

Needless to say, you were at peace to wave your parents off this morning as they backed out of the driveway and left you and the lakehouse for the day. 

Your eyes flitted over to the Miller’s. Both Joel’s pickup truck and Sarah’s used and abused 2000’s red Saturn were parked in the shade. Part of you couldn’t believe Sarah could even drive. That five-year-ish age difference felt even more profound as young adults. 

You tried to find ways to busy yourself tonight until your date with Joel. Date? Not a date. Hang out. Movie night. Meet up. Rendezvous. Literally any other word besides date. 

You needed to distract yourself because tonight was a ways away. 

You busied yourself with cleaning your room and bathroom, followed by reading on the dock. When it got too warm, you took a refreshing dip in the lake, followed by some leisurely sunbathing. After a shower, you found solace in jotting down your thoughts in your journal, channeling any residual nerves about the upcoming night.

You found that documenting your summer experiences provided you with a sense of clarity. You aimed to revisit these entries later in life, reminiscing about the intensity of your emotions. These pages held memories of your first boyfriend, the elation of passing your driving test, the ache of lost friendships, and the journey to college.

After the bonfire, before you couldn’t even think about sleeping, you were ferociously writing in your journal. The way your heart raced, the way you were so proud of yourself for taking a leap of faith with Joel. Because it was so, so worth it. 

In the decades to come, the memories you once experienced that felt so fresh would naturally fade. That’s the point of your journals, to document how deeply you felt about your life at the time. Pouring your emotions onto the page felt like tending to a wounded heart. In hindsight, those entries about sadness and turmoil elicited a little giggle. Your mom always told you that it was better to feel anything than not to feel at all. 

You wondered how much Joel felt, like, really felt. On the surface, he was as cold and unmoveable as stone. What was he like with his passions and the people he cared about? You knew he loved Sarah to an unimaginable degree. He would do anything for her. But besides his own blood, what were the things he cared about? 

After putting pen to paper, you shoved your journal under your pillow and started to get ready. You over-dicked-around, and now the clock was ticking.  

You wanted to look somewhat nice. After your recent interactions with Joel, one where you quite literally looked like you just rolled out of bed, you were keen on looking at least somewhat presentable. 

But it was a movie night, after all, and you wanted to be comfortable. You opted to wear something simple, not too date-ey, not too casual. But you did wear Joel’s hoodie. It wasn’t for any overt purpose but because Joel’s house consistently seemed to mimic an icebox. Joel struck you as someone who could thrive in Alaska, content in solitude amid the cold. 

The hoodie still smelled like him, mixed with a little residual bonfire smoke, but his scent was still deeply lodged into the fabric. A navy hoodie with fraying material around the neckline and cuffs. Well-worn and well-loved. He must have loved it enough not to take it to work because it was free of any stains and rips from what you could tell. 

You twirled your finger around the hoodie’s strings, looking yourself over slowly in the mirror. Your eagerness practically floated you over to Joel’s house, Sarah’s car now gone. She must have left for her camping trip. 

After taking cautious steps up Joel’s rickety porch, you sent a rhythmic knock against the Miller’s front door. You heard a few heavy steps on the other side, hearing a lock flip before Joel appeared in front of you.

“It’s about time, I was starting to sweat.” You said as you pulled open the screen door that divided you two before walking past him, catching his subtle eye roll as you did so. 

The house looked like the same as it did ten years ago. Lots of dark wood, a cozy living room with a fireplace, and a lamp in the corner by the window. Joel had the perfect view of the lake. You naturally gravitated further into the room to look at the water glisten as the last hits of sunshine glided over the horizon. 

“You want somethin’ to drink?” 

Your head snapped to Joel, your arms already crossed at the cooler temperature piercing through the material of your clothes. 

“Yeah, what do you have?” Your small steps trekked into the kitchen, finally taking a full look at Joel. Your face faltered at the sight of him. 

Joel had traded in his usual tattered green flannel for a nicer, cleaner denim button-up. He had on his staple worn-in jeans, and for whatever reason, he still had on his work boots. But his hair was sort of run-through, freshly showered and combed back. He looked handsome, clean, like he was trying. 

You slyly smiled at him. He seemed to quickly catch your drift, already avoiding your eye contact with a huff. “I got... Whiskey,”

“Ew, no.” 

“Root beer,”

“Nope.”

Joel let out an excruciatingly long sigh as he ducked his head further into the depths of his fridge, mumbling something about you being a piece of work.

“It’s water, or,” with a groan, he stood up from the fridge, “this bottle of wine. Probably old.” 

Old? The bottle looked nothing but. No dust, fresh label, barely chilled. You didn’t want to call out the poor man for trying to make tonight classy, but you knew Joel had purchased this bottle of wine for tonight. For you. 

If it were any other date or any other guy, you would have pushed his nose into it a bit. Teased them for caring and being so sweet. But this wasn’t any other guy, this was Joel. And if you ever tried to admit that you saw right through him, he would clam up for the rest of the evening out of his adorable bashfulness. So you let it be. For now. 

“Wine’s good.” You say casually with a little nod, trying to relax your cocky smile. Even when he turned around to fetch some old wine glasses inside the very top of a kitchen cabinet, you could tell he was satisfied with himself. Hiding a smile with his back turned. 

You pulled the bottle closer to read the label. You rolled it around in your hand, your thumb tracing the stamped lettering. Cherry wine. 

“Haven’t had a chance to eat all day, got us some pizzas,” Joel said as his head nodded to the side, following the direction to two pizzas still warm and in their cardboard box homes on the counter. 

“Can’t have a movie night without pizza.” Your voice cooed as you set down the wine to take a peak inside, seeing all of its cheesy glory. 

Joel topped off a singular wine glass, your head twisting curiously at just the one. He clinked your glass with his beer bottle, and you rolled your eyes. 

“Thanks.” You murmured, turning on your heel to grab your glass and one of the pizza boxes before walking it to his living room. 

You sat right in the middle of the couch, not giving Joel any excuse to sit too far away. 

“Scootch,” Joel said as he motioned with his beer bottle to make room on the couch. You made a little noise of disapproval toward him. 

“Mm-mm.” You shook your head.

“What?”

Your sneaker tapped the heel of his boot. 

“Take those off. You can’t relax during a movie still wearing work boots.” 

He looked a little perplexed before looking down at his boots. Probably forgot they were even on. They were practically his spare feet at this point. 

“Fine. You too.” He said as his steel toe gently nudged your sneakers in return. You softly nodded, both of you undoing your laces. Sitting on the couch arm, Joel worked to loosen one boot and then the other, hearing the methodical snap of the laces. You slip yours off with ease, picking them up by the upper heel collar and tossing them by the door. Joel just kicked his aside and sat down next to you with a thump into the cushion. 

“We’re watching Pride & Prejudice.” You commandeered the remote out of his hand, his eyebrow cocking to you in disbelief. 

“The hell is that?”

Disbelief tangled your facial expression. “You’ve never seen Pride & Prejudice?”

Joel’s cocked his head to the side, face sitting like stone. Really? 

“Do I look like the type’a guy that watches Pride & Prejudices?” 

You rolled your eyes and huffed. 

“It’s based on the novel by Jane Austen. About... literally so much. The independence of women. Societal norms relating to gender and marriage. Any of this ring a bell?” 

“I know Sarah likes it. That’s about it.” Your smile quips up as you click play. “Perfect.” 

“Do we have to?” His annoyance held no restraint. 

“This movie night is to get back into my good graces, is it not?” You asked as your body leaned away, getting a good look at him. 

Through tight lips, he held back a smile before nodding a little and turning to the opening credits. “Yes, ma’am.” 

It didn’t take long for Joel’s arm to settle around your shoulders, bringing your body into his side. His thumb was stroking the hoodie you wore, his hoodie. 

In his close proximity once again, your senses pick up on his now all too familiar scent; Woody, minty, a little bit of citrus from his body wash. He smelled good, you wonder if he wore cologne tonight or if this was his natural musk. You wouldn’t put it past Joel to naturally smell this good. He was good at a lot of things without even trying. 

A few slices of pizza and two glasses of wine later, you started to feel the weight of Joel’s unbearably heavy arm. You released yourself from him and opted to turn and rest your side against the back of the couch cushions, putting your legs in his lap. 

You hadn’t been watching the movie for the last twenty minutes. Couldn’t stop trying to subtly look at how handsome Joel looked in the flicker of the television’s light from your peripheral. You couldn’t help it. He looked so big and hot, like a lumberjack, his stupid build alone making you fold. 

You bite at the inside of your cheek as Joel’s large and warm palm gently make slow strokes up and down your calf. Your body was trying not to twitch. Your heart was thrumming in your throat. You glanced up at him again, his eyes lasered in on the television. 

“Why’d he…” Joel’s voice trailed off, bringing your attention back to the screen. 

Your eyelashes fluttered, your brain trying to get you out of Joel Fantasy World and back into the film. “Hm? What?” 

“Why’d his hand cramp like that? Why’d they film that part?” Without intention, Joel’s curiosity was evident in his question. It immediately made you smile as you watched the television again, your body slumping into his side. 

“It’s not a hand cramp, he’s flexing it. It’s the film’s interpretation of his like… emotional turmoil and struggle. His feelings are evolving for Elizabeth, though he’s trying to appear all aloof and distant towards her. But their physical connection, he can’t really hide it, y’know? He can’t hide how he feels. So he flexes his hand because he’s affected by her presence and her touch. He can’t help it.” 

Joel’s hanging onto every word you say. You’re not so sure if he’s interested in the film as much as he is in hearing you talk about it. The hand that was messing around on your calf was now trailing higher up your thigh. And flexing the higher it climbed.

Your eyes looked from his amber ones to his lips, your heart racing faster in your chest. With one hand still clutching your wine glass, you managed to swing one leg over his lap to straddle him. You folded first. You couldn’t take Joel’s achingly slow touches. 

His enjoyment was obvious in his movements, his calloused hands slowly pushing up your thighs until they landed on the security of your waist. He was gripping the hoodie in his fists, observing your silhouette. 

“This mine, too.” It wasn’t a question, he was pointing it out to you. Joel giving you his own clothes to wear was by no mistake. It was a way of marking what was his, even if it was just in his mind. 

“Mine now.” Your words were whispered, leaning down and kissing at the hook of his jawline. 

“Like you in it. Wear it a hell’uva lot better than I do.” The shift in his voice was clear, huskier, and a little touch drunk. The film’s volume seemed softer now, playing as white noise and falling abandoned. 

His words made your stomach flip, your teeth purposely grazing against his skin. The motion made his hands trail down lower to the globes of your ass, humbly squeezing the flesh with the spans of his palms. A weak moan left your lips against his ear as he planted kisses on the inner side of your neck and on your shoulder. He was so fuckin’ greedy for you. 

“Joel,” you whispered between kisses along his jawline, lips coming up to his chin as one of your hands gently cupped the side of his neck while the other clutched your wine glass for dear life. 

As soon as your lips came close to his, you faltered. And Joel could tell. 

Suddenly both of your eyes were open, soft, and holding contact. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The only thing that actually came from you was a little sigh of disappointment, your eyes shyly flitting away. 

Joel could sense the shift, his hand coming to gently cup your cheek and bring your eyes back to his. He didn’t look mad like you maybe expected of him. 

You could feel his jaw going slack under your thumb, your mouth sucking in the side of your cheek as you sat in awkward silence. You sort of wanted to leap out of his lap and return to the movie. But he wouldn’t let you, he planted you there with his hand on your hip and forced you to look at him. You teetered your wine glass on his shoulder. 

“You wanna kiss me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, causing a few syllables to be cut out due to the raspiness. You slowly nod. A beat passes. “Why won’t ya let me then?”

This was Joel’s second or so attempt to kiss you. The first time was on the tailgate of his truck, you didn’t even think about letting him kiss you in his woodshed. 

You weren’t trying to remain mysterious or aloof, something he managed to do so naturally. You shifted in his lap uncomfortably, your eyes drifting to the window behind his head and watching the water shift in the black of night. 

“It’s not that deep, Joel. Just don’t want anyone to get attached.” You shrug and shake your head. “I don’t know, who cares?” 

“I care.” Even blasted on movie pizza and beers, he was as quick as a whip. His care wasn’t soft, it was strong. He cared like a fiercely loyal shield. 

You exhaled a deep sigh, your chest reflecting your breath as he slowly brought you back to him.

“I’m scared that I’ll like it.” The movie’s distant volume was comforting white noise to your nerve-wracked conversation with Joel. This was perhaps the most you’ve talked with him in one sitting. And about something so deeply personal, too. 

He took in what you said, slowly beginning to shake his head as his hand cupped more seriously against your jawline. 

“”t’s just a kiss.” His tone was seductive, sincere. Whispering like no one else in the world could hear. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t feel pressured, Joel was looking at you like he genuinely cared about what you had to say. About the movie, about the kissing. He bought you wine, he got pizzas, and he’s suffering through a period drama to sit beside you on his couch. Damn you, Joel Miller. 

You felt your body relax into his again, no longer cold and rigid. Your bodies meshed as you fell into the front of his chest, your hand on his neck moving up to cup his jaw. You tilted up his face and received no resistance. Just kiss him. 

You met his lips, soft and sweet, delicate and gentle. Your hand slipped from his jaw and landed absentmindedly on his chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat against your palm. 

You didn’t pull away. It was impossible. 

He tasted like mint and whiskey, with hints of residual smoke from a cigarette earlier in the day. You wouldn’t know he smoked unless you were tasting him like you were right now. 

Joel was encouraging something out of you, deep and primal, as you let the kiss deepen. He took the lead with a heady mix of softness and urgency. 

He set a scorching fire between your legs, purely drunk on his lips alone. It sent a shiver down your spine how intense this stone-like man could be. Your mouths moved with desire and rhythm, feeling an electric spark that sent your senses ablaze. 

Goosebumps had sprinkled across the skin of your arms, your once soft hand on his jaw now clutching him there and tugging lightly at his curly tendrils. You weren’t letting him go. 

Your sounds filled the room, hot and wet kisses punching the air from both of your lungs. 

A breath was shared, your forehead on his as both of your chests rose and fell together.

His eyes caught yours. More?

You gently nod. Please. 

He was back with you in a hot heat, both of you wanting, no, needing more of one another. 

He balanced a tantalizing fusion of passion and longing, a magnetic pull that had you grinding your hips down into his lap. 

The world around you faded into a blur as you felt his tongue glide across your lower lip, asking permission. Your lips easily parted, tongues dancing and melting, your hands shaking a bit in excitement. 

Joel was consuming you. His tongue marking his territory as he explored your mouth before kissing you heatedly once more. You realized that the kiss wasn’t an exploration of feelings at all, Joel wanted to languish in your taste, stake out the claim of your mouth. Taste and territory. 

 A low grunt left the depths of his throat as your hips ground over him with desperation now. You could feel his dick swelling against your ass. 

Your lips quirked up in a smirk against his, you liked that you could feel his facial expressions, and he, yours. 

Without thinking, you went to cup his face in both hands, your wine glass dropping onto Joel’s chest, and what little wine you had left was splashing his denim button-up red. He didn’t even notice. 

“Joel--, wait,” you were breathless as you pulled away, his lips moving to the open expanse of your neck instead, his arms tight around your lower back. He could care less about his shirt, or the wine, or the spare glass rolling around between your stomachs. 

You laughed breathlessly, closing your eyes as you kept your chests apart, careful not to get wine on his favorite sweatshirt next. Your head fell back, your hair fanning out as you grinned at the ceiling. 

“Joel, your shirt is stained.” You tried to point out, both of your hands clamped onto his shoulders weakly to keep him at a distance. But his lust-filled lips had a taste of you that he couldn’t replace. His teeth grazed the soft skin of your neck, wincing lightly as you let out a broken little whimper. 

“Don’t care.”

Oh my god. Fuck. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, desperate for more, but you weren’t going to let him stain one of maybe three decent shirts he owned. And with wine, you had to be fast acting. 

“Come on,” you said weakly, not even convinced yourself to break away.  “Joel, your shirt-”

“Don’t. Care.” He growled through gritted teeth, eyes hungry as you felt him lick a hot, slow stripe up your neck to your jaw. Fuck, he felt so good. 

Despite his clear lack of empathy for his shirt, you felt bad because it was your spill, your accident to try and make up to him. 

You rolled your eyes playfully and shook your head. He didn’t stop until you planted both palms against his pecs and pushed him back with little force, watching as he fell into the cushions with a lazy smirk on his face as he looked over you. Joel was drunk off your kiss. 

You found your footing on the hardwood floors, grabbing his hands and attempting to pull him up and off the couch. He playfully resisted, just kept sitting there as you weakly tried again. 

“Stop bein’ such a dick.” You huffed. His laugh filled the room, nearly startling you. It was always quite the opportunity to hear him laugh so big like that. 

“Couldn’t pull me up no matter how hard ya try.” 

“Shut up. Stand up.” You ordered with little follow-through from Joel.

He yanked his hands from yours and planted his palms onto the tops of his thighs, pushing himself off the couch and following you aimlessly to his master bathroom. 

“Do you have some hydrogen peroxide? Dishwasher detergent?”

He stayed silent but looked at you quizzically. You rolled your eyes and started looking through different cabinets. 

“Baking soda?” Cocking your head to him, he nods and disappears before returning to you with the little orange Arm & Hammer cardboard box. 

You cleared your throat and looked at him expectantly. 

“Joel, I can’t clean the shirt with you wearing it. Take it off.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you shouldn’t have been surprised to see his lips upturned in a cocky smirk. Sometimes you just wanted to smack it clean off his face. 

Fine. With a sense of ferocity, you began to take him down button by button. He lets you. He even steps closer to your body, and you try not to get distracted by him. 

“I don’t wanna be the one that messes up your nice shirts.” You murmur. 

“t’s fine.” He cups your cheek again and tries to divert your attention once more. He’s not even actively trying to kiss you, he just wants to get a rise out of you now. You’re trying not to smile at him in the reflection of his bathroom mirror. Your elbow jabs into his bare abdomen after you’ve peeled the wet material from his torso. 

“Quit it.”

“Quit what?” 

Forcing yourself to turn away from him wasn’t enough. Now he’s behind you planting kisses down the side of your neck with his hands on your waist and toying with the hem of your sweatshirt.

You had to admit being on his lap like that got you hot and bothered to the tenth degree. Now you were nursing a stained shirt and the ache in your core. 

“‘lright, fine.” Oh, thank god. You could breathe again. You were this close to caving, and caving to Joel was a losing game. 

He found a towel and wiped at his chest and torso while you blotted away with a paper towel the excess wine in his shirt. After getting out what you could, you sprinkled the baking soda over the little splashes of red and added a few drops of water to make somewhat of a paste. Now you just had to wait for it to dry and toss it in the laundry. 

You hoped you didn’t ruin the denim shirt, you quite liked how he looked in it. The blue denim complimented the soft silver in his curls, and the cuffs rolled up accentuated his biceps.

Speaking of biceps. Your eyes innocently watched him move around the bathroom shirtless. He was somewhat toned, a handsome mix of dad bod and muscle. Like a sexy lumberjack. He was big and broad, wide in the shoulders and smaller in the waist. With all the summer log chopping, his biceps were toned.  

A shaky breath left your mouth, his eyes catching yours in the mirror before you quickly looked away, washing your hands of the baking soda paste you had made. 

“It’s uh… It’s good now. Just let it dry and put it in the washer. Alone. Without anything else in there.” You quickly nodded, over-clarifying again. You braved looking at him again in the mirror. Mistake. A smug little smile that beat up your guts was laced on his lips. 

Your hand was quick to reach for the door handle, but his hand was already on your other wrist and pulling you into his front. 

“Get back here,” Your name drips off his lips, and it’s drenched in lust. 

Fuck it. 

Your arms quickly wrapped around his neck, feeling his raised trap muscles under your forearms as your lips reunite with Joel’s. 

Getting that first kiss between you two out of the way was a blessing in disguise because now you knew him. You were acquainted with his lips. You liked his taste, you liked how soft he was, you liked the stubble of his beard, and you liked the way his warm palms were on you as soon as you entered his space. He embraced every inch of you, his kisses were feverish, and they left your mind in a tailspin. No one had ever kissed you like this before. 

You ducked your head down before he could stop you, kissing over his wine-spoiled chest. You kissed lower and lower before licking a slow stripe up his sternum, tasting residual cherry and sweetness from the wine. 

Your lips parted as you looked in the mirror, realizing now that he had pinned both your wrists behind your back and planted them at your tailbone. 

Your doe eyes innocently looked up at him, his face masked in desire and an appetite for you. 

“Get on your knees.” 

A breath hitched in your throat, your eyes trying to focus as you looked over Joel’s face. Your eyes fluttered down to his biceps, strong and defined with veins lining like rivers coursing along the curves as they held your wrists back. You didn’t hesitate to drop down to your knees. 

He had let go of your wrists, so you brought your hands up to undo the button of his jeans, but he tsk-ed you. 

“But I-”

“But nothing. Put your hands behind your back again.” You pouted but obeyed. You wanted to touch him. 

Your lips parted as you watched Joel pop open the button of his jeans, his thumbs lining the hem of his jeans and boxers at his hips before pushing them down to his thick thighs. His cock was already half-hard from when you were grinding on him back on the couch. 

Your breaths grew heavier, you couldn’t manage to stay in his hoodie. You peeled the heavy navy sweatshirt off, leaving you in nothing underneath, which earned sweet praise from Joel as soon as you laced your hands once more behind your back.

“So fuckin’ pretty.. Look at you.” He lightly leaned over and cupped one of your tits, massaging it in the heart of his palm and rolling your taut nipple around with his thumb. A quiet whine was elicited from your throat, face crumbling as your hands fought hard not to release themselves behind your back. 

You wanted to touch him, cup his face, hold his thighs, wrap your hand around his dick that was flush against his stomach. 

A harsher tug to your nipple left you moaning, watching as he leaned down and let a long, long dribble of spit connect from his lips down onto your chest. Your head fell back at the cool sensation, feeling it aid the heat of your breasts. 

He stood up tall again, broad and towering, as you glanced over to the mirror. The dynamic was almost charming. You on your knees for Joel, his blushing cock swelling against his happy trail. He was so handsome, so greedy. 

Without thinking, you released your hands from around your back and moved to steady yourself on his thighs. 

“Not gonna tell you again, pretty girl.” You paused and looked to Joel. “No usin’ your hands tonight. Just that dirty mouth a’yours.” His accent was drenched with lust, dripping like syrup. 

You whined as you assumed your position with your hands away, not knowing what to expect if you tried to use them again. 

You attempted to crawl closer to him, your knees practically between his slightly parted legs. 

You kissed up his inner thigh, grinning lightly at the slight taste of his sweat. Your tongue kitten licked at his balls, hearing him seethe in a breath through gritted teeth. Sensitive, a little wrinkled, lightly groomed just for you. It made you smirk that he cared enough to trim. 

You tested the waters, letting your warm mouth coat him in saliva, going from one ball to the other until they were both practically dripping. His cock was twitching for your attention, but Joel was above begging and groveling. For now. 

With devilish eyes, you looked up to him as you suckled one of his balls. He didn’t stop you, just cursed a little under his breath as his chest moved faster. You picked up the suckling from him when he nursed your sensitive, throbbing clit between his teeth and tongue. Now, it was your turn to repay the favor. 

Your lips released him with a pop, and you watched as Joel let out a breath he was holding in. His hand loosely fisted your hair in a loose ponytail atop your head, a little moan leaving your mouth as your scalp tingled with his tug. 

Your eyes closed as you worked over the other ball, suckling and licking and doing it all just to watch his cock grow angrier and more jealous of the attention. Your own spit was falling down your lips and chin, coating your breasts in a glistening sheen. 

Working without your hands, you used your core to balance yourself against Joel. Your knees dug uncomfortably into the floor. He liked watching you work to suck him off. 

You had to look to Joel for assistance, his shaft so hardened now against his stomach that you couldn’t reach. You sat up as straight as you could, Joel smirking down at you and watching you struggle for a few brief moments. “Come ‘ere, pretty girl.” He used the free hand not tangled in your locks to guide his tip down to your open mouth, your lips wrapping loosely around the head.

You made the mistake of releasing him out of habit, whimpering as your knees scrambled on cold tile to get him back to the warmth of your mouth. He opted to help you again, guiding his tip onto your red, wine-stained tongue. 

This time, you learned not to release him. Your tongue salivated his tip, swollen and sensitive. You could tell by how tight Joel clutched your hair and nearly pulled you off. 

You smirked lazily around him as you took him deeper, your watery eyes on his as you interlocked your fingers by your tailbone. 

You were slow at first, little nods back and forth, up and down his shaft. You blinked through any residual tears, slicking him up with your spit and proceeding farther down his shaft. You clenched your eyes closed and choked lightly as you took him to his base, a low groan of praise leaving Joel as his thumb stroked up your cheekbone. 

“Fuck me, so fuckin’ good for me, darlin’.” His words were broken by his rasp, but the praise sent you into overdrive. 

You bobbed your head at a good pace, Joel guiding you by your hair up and down his shaft, slicked by excess saliva that was dripping onto your tits and your stomach. You had to take a breath, but you learned from earlier. Your head came to rest against his thigh, head foggy as his tip sat plump against your cheek. You looked at the two of you in the mirror, and it was quite a sight. 

Joel’s body was planted by his heels, his toned torso and biceps protruding with hints of sweat. You had black-smudged tears on your waterline, and your face was filled with warmth. Your hair was a mess, Joel gently stroking it back from your sweat-glistened forehead as you breathed through your nose. You liked watching you work in the mirror. Watching him get ruined in the mirror. Watching yourself get ruined in the mirror. 

You started your rhythm again, this time your eyes locked loosely on the mirror in your peripheral. Joel’s cock made you choke each time you took him deep, but you didn’t let it stop you. He was so close, you had the heady taste of his precum on your tongue. He liked it messy. 

“Fuck- can’t,” Joel let out a rugged moan, it felt like it vibrated the tiles under your aching knees. Your wrists were throbbing from keeping your arms back, hands clenched together tight as you followed his rules. “Can’t hold on when you take me so-- so goddamn good.”

You whimper-whined against his cock, hollowing your cheeks as you moved with intent up and down his shaft. You opted just to take what you easily could now, focused on keeping the pace and working towards his orgasm. You thought about Joel fucking your mouth, but he wanted you to feel some sense of control since you had your hands back. Maybe you wanted to lose all control. If it was Joel you were losing it with. 

Joel was close, he couldn’t hold back how messy he had gotten. He had a steel-tight grip on your hair, and his breaths were laced with broken moans and grunts of your name. He kept wiping away any tears that slipped past your eyes and onto your cheeks, despite being devastatingly close to an orgasm you knew he was drunk on. 

“Yeah, fuck me,” He murmured under his breath, his cock twitching deep in your throat now. “Take me so well... The fuckin’ best, babygirl.” The best. 

You watched through blurry, head-dizzy vision as Joel’s ab muscles contorted. “Gonna cum, baby, stay with me.” He panted, eyes locking on yours as you nodded on his shaft and continued your sweet rhythm. 

You whimpered as his tip pulsed against your tongue, going down on him as deep as you could and clenching your eyes closed, waiting for Joel’s impending climax. And he kept you there as he painted your throat white. 

His cum came out in hot ropes, moaning lowly against his shaft as you focused on tasting him and breathing through your nose. He was salty, little beads landing in the back of your throat as you swallowed around him. 

Joel’s moans were glorious, breathy, and aching to say your name. His eyes had fallen closed, his stance still tall and broad. You wanted to touch him, kiss him. You decided to lay your head against his thigh, still breathing around his dick as you watched yourself in satisfaction through his mirror. 

“Fuck,” he murmured low, pulling you off of him with a pop. Your jaw lightly throbbed, but god, you felt like you were in the clouds. 

“Hands?” Your raw voice whimpered. He gave a silent nod of approval, and with his permission, you released your interlocked hands and lightly toppled back on your ass, leaning against the door to his linen closet. 

Joel observed you for a few moments, making sure you were okay before he grabbed a spare washcloth and ran some lukewarm water over it. Your eyes peeked open when you heard his zipper go up on his jeans, seeing he had straightened out his bottom half. 

You tried to focus your vision, seeing him squat down beside you and lightly press the cold washcloth to your temple, cheeks, and up your neck. It helped, you were settled, safe, and with Joel.

“Holy fuck.” You finally said once you had come down from your high. Your eyes met Joel’s, seeing both of your mouths were quirked up in lopsided smiles. 

“Too much?” He asked, the washcloth now delicately cleaning up the saliva on your breasts. 

You slowly shook your head. No, never too much. Just new. 

You looked around, feeling an ache in your knees and in your wrists. You rolled your wrists in circles to relieve some pressure on the joints before you pushed your palms up and down your kneecaps gently.

“Hey,” Joel’s words caught your attention, turning to him as he lightly cupped your cheek. “You were fuckin’ perfect, darlin’.” A weak mewl left you, a tired smile on your lips. 

“You said the best.” 

“Was perfect. Was the best. Did a perfect job.” His praise punched excitement through your veins, regaining your strength to stand back up with Joel’s honorable assistance. You murmur a thanks before you make a grab for Joel’s hoodie. As if he was going to steal it back from you. 

Joel excused himself to go clean up the kitchen, leaving an attentive kiss on your cheek before he left you alone. 

You took a few minutes to rinse some water around in your mouth and try to brush your fingers through your knotted, matted hair. 

“Need to get yourself a brush, Mr. Miller.” You murmur as you pass him in the kitchen, seeing he pulled on a new t-shirt and that he had put some of the leftover pizza in spare Tupperware containers. 

“Can’t eat it all by myself, and Sarah won’t be home for a few more days.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. He could so totally finish that pizza if he wanted to. He could do it tonight as soon as you leave. 

Reading your mind, he shoved the container into your hands. “Just-- fuckin’ take it, why you gotta make things so damn difficult.” 

You smirked and patted the container softly. “My specialty. Irritating old grouchy men.” 

He rolled his eyes and shook his head at you, picking up the wine bottle next and figuring out what to do with it. Your eyes softened, watching the gears turn in his head for how he was going to handle this situation. 

“Do you care if I take the rest of it home, actually? I know it’s yours, and it’s been yours for a while, but it was really good.” Lame excuse. Joel leaned into it though, nonetheless. You were at Joel’s side now, looking to him with gentle eyes and a tender smile. He teetered on his feet for a moment before he nodded and handed it over. 

“Yeah, you’re doin’ me a favor so it doesn’t just keep sittin’ in the fridge.” 

You nodded softly and tried to jam the cork back in as well as you could, Joel swiftly taking the bottle from you and popping it back into its home with ease due to his sheer strength. 

You turned to the television and huffed, seeing the credits of Pride & Prejudice roll. Dammit.  

Joel joined you at your side, crossing his arms and giving the television a once over. “So did they, y’know, end up together?” There was Joel’s pure curiosity again. This time, he didn’t hide it so well. 

“Guess you’ll have to watch to find out. Don’t forget to throw that shirt in the washer.” You said with a cocky grin, holding up the wine bottle and pizza leftovers in gratitude before walking to the door. Joel followed you out, and you looked at him curiously. 

“Gotta make sure you get home safe.” 

Your head rolled to the side, watching as he shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “What?”

“Joel, I’m staying right next door. You could see me go inside from your living room window.” 

He just shook his head and looked beyond you to the water. 

“t’s dark.” 

Your chest fluttered with warmth, a smile on your lips growing past one you could deny. Let him have this one. 

“Thanks, Joel. Thanks for the pizza and the wine and… stuff.” Now it was his turn to let you have this one. The stuff. The kiss. The multiple kisses. He didn’t make it a big deal, just rolled with the punches. You appreciated it. 

You wanted to know what was next for the two of you. The feeling of your cores grazing one another set a fire in you that only Joel could put out. 

You pondered whether or not to kiss him goodnight and find a lame excuse to try and thank him again for the wine bottle when you saw two pairs of headlights coming down the road. 

“Shit,” you murmured under your breath, looking to Joel with a pained expression. He looked disappointed. 

You didn’t say goodnight, you didn’t kiss him before you left, you just… left. You moved down Joel’s rickety wooden porch steps with haste, sneaking into the lakehouse through the garage door as your heart thrummed at a face pace. You felt like a child getting caught by your parents. 

You didn’t know what to do with Joel’s pizza container and the wine. You could figure out an excuse for the pizza later, so you shoved it into the fridge, but definitely not the half-drank bottle of red wine. You double-checked that the cork was in there tight, and of course it was because Joel pushed it back in, but you couldn’t help but check because it was going to be stowed under your bed for safekeeping. 

You changed out of Joel’s hoodie and into an oversized band tee, walking out of your bedroom with a book when your parents returned through the door. 

“Hey, kiddo. You’re still up? ‘t’s past eleven.” 

You try not to roll your eyes, biting down on the inside of your lip as you tightly nodded. “Yeah, I know. I stay up late a lot at school and stuff, working on papers or out with friends. Staying up past eleven isn’t that weird for me.” 

You didn’t mean for there to be so much venom in your comment, but you weren’t a baby. Nearly every day at the lakehouse so far this summer has elicited a few don’t call me kid, I’m an adult, I make adult decisions, comments from you. 

Your parents looked too tired to care, which somehow stung worse. 

“Okay, sweetie, we’ll see you tomorrow morning. Your dad and I are headin’ to bed.” 

Now you felt bad. You pursed your lips and nodded, putting your hands behind your back and resting them on your tailbone absentmindedly. This was the same pose Joel had you in tonight. You already wanted to go back there. 

“Sorry, goodnight.” You whisper, seeing your dad give you a tired smile before patting your shoulder. 

“Hey kiddo-” He paused at the nickname and took a breath. “Sorry.” You playfully smiled and shook your head. Go on.

“Do me a favor, grab the steaks out from the freezer and put them on a plate in the fridge. Wanna have Joel and Sarah over for dinner tomorrow night. Feel like I haven’t seen them all summer.” 

Your face went ghastly blank, feeling yourself fall hollow like a collapsing building. If it weren’t for how tired your dad was, he would have seen right through you like a ghost. “You- Oh, you want to have them come by for dinner? I don’t think tomorrow’s gonna work. Sarah’s camping and-”

“Oh, well, Joel can still swing by for dinner. Need to eat up those steaks. Every time I open the freezer, they stare at me. They’re beggin’ me to eat them, it ain’t fair.” 

You forced out a laugh, but of course, your father couldn’t tell. Just thought he made one hell of a zinger. 

“So-So Joel over for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, kiddo. And don’t forget to take out the steaks. Love you.” He turned the corner down the hall, and then he was gone. 

You sighed and lightly chewed at the skin around your thumbnail. Great. One big happy family dinner. And Joel. 

---

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(idk why so many of my tags aren't working. Might make a notifications blog instead where you'd follow it and turn the notifications on and I'll only reblog my work on that account. ugh a problem for another day, okay ily ttyl I'm gonna go watch twilight)

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Pilot | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 4833

A/N: This is gonna be the slowest of burns. Every Saturday, these will publish at 3:00 PM CDT! I hope you all enjoy. Taglist/Requests are open!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

A trail of men disappearing spanning decades had brought you to Jericho, California. It seemed it would be a pretty standard hunt. From the moment you arrived, though, you knew this would be different.

You’d run into other hunters on jobs before, but none as strange and belligerent as John. John was all you knew him by. He was rough around the edges, and in all honesty, a complete dick. You had unintentionally gotten into an unspoken race with him to see who could finish the hunt first. Both of you refused to back off and go find another job; you just out of spite and him… you had no idea why a guy old enough to be your father was being so petty and territorial about this hunt. And perhaps that’s what fueled your fire to finish this hunt before John could. You thought maybe he knew something you didn’t about the hunt, and you were desperate to find out. But then… he disappeared. 

About a week into the “competition” you were having with John, he disappeared. You didn’t see him around Joseph Welch’s house, the Breckenridge Road home, or the Centennial Highway Bridge. It was completely puzzling. He didn’t seem like the type to up and leave in the middle of a job, but you brushed the unsettled feeling you had aside to keep pushing through your hunt. 

You had torched the body of Constance Welch the same night you guessed John left. You were just about to leave town, and then, Troy Squire ended up dead by what you assumed were Constance’s hands. 

You pulled up to the Centennial Highway Bridge in yet another stolen car. 

‘One of these days I won’t keep putting a neon sign on my back by stealing cars and actually find a way to buy one,’ you thought.

Almost as if on cue, another car pulled up next to yours. Except this car— a black 1967 Chevy Impala— was way nicer than the shitty sedan you’d copped for the time being. 

Two young men in the most layers you’ve ever seen anyone wear in the California sun stepped out on either side of the car. You pushed aside the thought of how attractive the shorter of the pair was and kept walking toward the taped-off part of the bridge where a few officers were milling around a crashed car. 

“Is that Troy’s? Oh, my God,” you shook your head, making sure the officers could hear you. 

“Ma’am, you are not supposed to be here,” an officer told you, trying to keep you from walking any closer to the car.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I just—” you sniffed, “—I’m his cousin. We were really close growing up, and I, uh, just had to see this for myself, um, do you have any idea what could’ve happened?”

“We were wondering the same thing,” a deep voice called from behind you, making you wheel around.

‘Fuck. The Impala dudes.’

“And who are you?” the officer you’d been speaking to asked.

“Federal marshals,” one said, flashing a badge.

‘Goddammit, more hunters.’ You held back an eye roll, doing your best to stay in character.

“You two are a little young for marshals, aren't you?”

The one you’d found attractive initially flashed a smile. “Thanks, that's awfully kind of you. You just had another one just like this, correct?”

The officer you’d been speaking to didn’t seem too convinced by their story, but replied anyway. “Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that.”

“Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?”

“No. Not so far as we can tell.”

“So, what's the theory?” the taller guy asked. 

“Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?” The officer seemed to remember you were standing there as he spoke. “Ma’am, I really do need you to go.”

“I was just about to—” you started, before the shorter guy cut you off. 

“What kinda crack police work are you doing; talking about sensitive information in front of townies?” He was cut off with a grunt; apparently the other guy had stepped on his foot. 

“Thank you for your time,” you told the officer, suddenly feeling very awkward. You turned on your heel, hurrying away. 

***

After the bizarre incident with the other two hunters on the bridge, you went down to a local diner to get something to eat. You were puzzled as to why Constance was still around after you torched her bones. You flipped through a few pages of your journal when you saw the two hunters from the bridge walking in with two goth chicks. 

‘What the fuck. First John, and now this.’

The shorter one of the pair caught the glare you threw their way over your shoulder. He had a smug look on his face you couldn’t quite read as he sat down in a booth with the girls and his partner. You did your best to listen in on their conversation as you sipped your drink. 

“I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did,” you heard one of the girls lament. 

You recognized the voice of the taller one. “He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?”

“No. Nothing I can remember.”

“I like your necklace.”

“Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents—” the girl laughed, “—with all that devil stuff.”

“Actually, it means just the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.”

“Okay. Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries,” the other guy’s voice broke in. 

You held back a small laugh. You hated to admit it, but he was pretty funny. 

“Here's the deal, ladies,” the pretty one said, “The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything… What is it?”

Your eyebrows drew together, your back still turned to the group.

“Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk,” a new voice chimed in. 

“What do they talk about?” the two boys said in unison.

It got a little harder to hear as one of the girls quieted her voice. “It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago. Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

‘Yeah, yeah, I already know that. They are way far behind me in the process.’

“Well, thank you for your time, ladies,” the voice of the taller one spoke amidst some rustling. You figured they were getting up to leave. 

You dropped a twenty on the table, let the door shut behind the group, and stood to follow the boys out. You hung back a little while you watched them head to their car. 

“I know you’re back there, sweetheart,” the pretty one called without turning around.

“I know you do. I was just testing you,” you said, walking closer. “Look, I’ve already got this one covered. You guys should find something else.”

“Not a chance,” the pretty boy replied. 

“Look, man—” you started. 

“We’re just looking for our dad,” the taller one cut you off. “We think he’s working this same job.”

“Wait, is your dad’s name John?” you asked, surprised. 

Both of them started toward you, their shock and confusion evident. “How do you—”

“Whoa, easy,” you giggled. “He was here a few days ago and then he just, pfft,” you imitated a puff of smoke, “disappeared.”

The pretty boy ran his hand through his hair, looking frustrated, while the taller guy continued talking to you. “Was he working with you?”

“Hardly,” you scoffed, “we were kind of in an unspoken competition to see who could smoke this bitch first when he disappeared. And then, Troy ended up dead a day later. I thought maybe he was connected to Troy’s death some kind of way.”

“I don’t think so,” the taller one answered. “I’m Sam, by the way. This is my brother, Dean.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N),” you shook Sam’s hand. When you reached for Dean’s, though, he rolled his eyes at you without taking it. 

“Oh-kay,” you muttered. 

“Sorry about him,” Sam told you. “He’s—”

“A bit touchy?” you smirked.

“Yeah,” Sam laughed. 

“I can hear you two, y’know,” Dean snarked. 

“I know,” you quipped. “So, what’s your theory on your dad?”

“We have no idea,” Sam said. “We were hoping you might know.”

“I have nothing for you,” you shook your head. 

“Well, do you know anything about the case?” 

“A lot, actually. Chick’s name is Constance Welch. She’s a woman in white. She lives at the end of Breckenridge Road. I talked to her husband, and he definitely cheated on her. He buried her in a plot behind her house. I went there and torched her. I was just about to leave town when your dad disappeared, Troy wound up dead, and you two showed up.”

“Then, there’s gotta be something else keeping her here,” Sam told you.

“Okay, then what?”

***

“So this is where Constance took the swan dive,” Dean said. The three of you looked over the railing of the Centennial Highway Bridge. Sam had been nice enough to force his brother to let you tag along. 

“Okay, so now what?” Sam asked.

“Now we keep digging until we find Dad. Might take a while,” Dean responded.

“Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—”

“What’s Monday?” you asked. 

“I’ve got an interview with law school.”

“Oh, shit, no way!” you smiled. 

Sam smiled back at you before Dean cut in. “Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?”

“Maybe. Why not?” Sam cut back.

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?”

“No, and she's not ever going to know.”

“Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.” Dean kept walking down the bridge. 

“And who's that?”

“You're one of us,” Dean said. 

Sam hurried around him. “No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.”

You felt really awkward doing what felt like intruding on a private moment. Your eyes began to scan the railing of the bridge opposite you.

“You have a responsibility to—”

Sam cut his brother off. “To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back.”

You were doing your best not to listen in on their conversation when Dean grabbed his brother by the collar and shoved him against the bridge railing.

“Uh, guys—” you started, your eye caught by what looked like Constance standing on the railing of the bridge.

“Don't talk about her like that,” Dean grumbled at his brother; ignoring you.

“Guys!” 

“What?!” Dean turned to face you, stopping when he caught sight of Constance. Constance then stepped off the railing. 

The three of you broke off in a sprint toward the spot she’d leapt off. You searched the water below. “Where'd she go?”

“No idea,” Dean answered. 

Your visual search was interrupted by a bright light coming on in the corner of your eye. Dean’s Impala’s headlights. 

“What the fuck—” Dean trailed off.

“Who's driving your car?” you asked him. 

He responded by pulling the keys out of his pocket and jingling them. 

“Oh.”

The car jerked to life, heading straight for you and the boys. You broke into a sprint yet again, doing your best to outrun the car; a task that proved impossible. 

“Jump!” you screamed, and the three of you threw yourselves over the side of the bridge. You thankfully caught a bit of the bridge that jutted out over the water and pulled yourself back up, groaning.

‘My arm’s gonna be sore as a bitch in the morning.’

“Dean?” Sam yelled down to the water below. “Dean!”

“What?” came his aggravated response. 

You looked down to see a mud-covered Dean crawling out of the water. You couldn’t hold back a laugh upon seeing him.

“Not funny, sweetheart,” he called up to you.

“My name’s (Y/N),” you answered. “Don’t call me sweetheart. It weirds me out.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

“Guys, you can argue later. You okay?” Sam called down to Dean.

“I’m super,” his brother responded.

You and Sam climbed back over the railing of the bridge while Dean made his way up to you. The car had stopped only a few inches from where the three of you dove over. Dean busied himself inspecting the engine while you sat with your back leaned against the passenger’s side door. 

“Your car okay?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now.” Dean shut the hood. “That Constance chick, what a bitch!”

You chuckled to yourself at his antics. “Alright, well, I don’t think the bridge is what’s tying her here. What now?”

Dean raised his hands in frustration, flicking mud off his hands in the process. 

Sam caught a whiff of his brother. “You smell like a toilet.”

***

Your next stop was a motel. When you went to check in, the clerk informed Dean that another man under the last name on Dean’s card had bought out a room for the whole month. And so, you and the boys went poking around John’s room. 

Every surface was covered in newspaper clippings, magazine articles, photos, hastily scribbled notes, and bits of red tape tying some of them together. 

“I knew John was weird, but this is a whole new level,” you commented, slightly in awe of the frantic scribblings covering the wall. 

‘'Don’t talk about him like that,” Dean grumbled. “I'm gonna get cleaned up.” He started toward the shower. 

“Hey, Dean?” Sam stopped him.

His brother turned around. 

“What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry—”

Dean held up a hand, cutting him off. “No chick-flick moments.”

Sam laughed. “Alright, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“You guys are strange.”

Dean rolled his eyes at you before disappearing into the bathroom. 

You started looking around John’s room. A closer look at the walls of information revealed pages on demons, witches, possession, and other bits of newspaper referring to mysterious deaths unlike anything you’d heard before. One was an obituary clipping from 1983; taking you aback. The picture was of a gorgeous blonde woman named Mary Winchester who died in a house fire. Her picture was surrounded by other house fire deaths and linked by red thread to multiple of the demon and witch articles. You walked over to his dresser where there was a picture of a much younger John holding two boys who you assumed were Sam and Dean. 

“You guys were cute kids,” you told Sam, showing him the picture.

He smiled sadly at it. 

After a brief melancholy pause, you spoke up. “So, what’s your deal? College? Law school? Part-time hunter? That doesn’t add up.”

“My, uh, my dad raised us as hunters after my mom passed,” he explained. 

“I’m sorry,” you told him, sitting on the bed next to him. “Was her death the reason your dad became a hunter?”

“Yeah. I’m not exactly sure what happened; I wasn’t even a year old yet. Dean remembers way more than I do, but he said our dad was never the same. Anyway, two years ago, dad and I got into a fight. I wanted to go to school, and he wanted me to stay and hunt. So I left.”

“Dean said you got a girl now? Was that the voicemail you were listening to a few minutes ago?”

“Yeah, actually. Jess. She’s— she’s amazing. I’m excited to get back to her.” You could see how much he loved her just in how his face lit up talking about her.

“I’m sure you are,” you smiled. 

“So, what about you? What’s your story?” he nudged your shoulder with his. 

“Meh, not much to tell.”

“Aw, come on—” Sam rebutted. 

“I’m serious!” you laughed. “I’ve just always hunted. Never knew anything different.”

“I know that’s difficult.” His tone became serious again. 

“Nah, it’s not so bad. I enjoy it. Brings me a little peace, y’know?” you shrugged.

“You sound like Dean.”

“Speaking of which, he’s taking forever and a day in the shower,” you joked. You bounced over to the bathroom door, leaning your ear on it about to knock. “Hey, princess—” 

You were cut off by the door opening and stumbled into Dean’s chest. 

He caught you by the shoulders. “You were saying?” 

You shoved off him, annoyed by his smug smile and quirked eyebrow. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” Dean began, “I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?”

“No,” Sam said.

“A burger would be great,” you told him. 

“Wasn’t asking you,” Dean said. 

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Aframian’s buying, anyway, so what difference is it to you?”

“Nothing, it’s just fun to rile you up.” He winked and smiled at you, amused at your aggravated expression before closing the door behind him. 

You shook your head. “Dick.”

Sam laughed. “You get used to him.” He went back to his phone, relistening to his girlfriend’s voicemail. He furrowed his brows before pressing it to his ear. “What?” He stands up, catching your attention. “What about you?” He huffed when he hung up the phone, rushing over to the closed curtains to peek out. 

“What, what is it?” You crossed your arms.

“Police got Dean. We need to leave.”

“Shit.”

Sam quickly pulled away from the window which you understood meant you had company. You hid under the bed, anxiously waiting to see the officer’s boots make their way into the bathroom. You began scooching yourself out from under the bed frame, and when he’d slammed the door to the bathroom open, you and Sam snuck out of the room. Thankfully, Sam had Dean’s keys, and the two of you sped away from the motel in Dean’s Impala.

“Well, shit,” you breathed, your heart still beating quickly.

Sam huffed out a laugh, still recovering from the adrenaline.

***

You and Sam were headed to Breckenridge Road to hopefully figure out how to stop Constance. Since you had torched the body, then maybe something in her house was keeping her alive. 

After Dean’s arrest, the two of you were intent on getting Dean and getting the hell out of Jericho before anyone else had a run-in with the cops. 

Sam’s phone rang, and he answered quickly. “Hello?” He tossed a look your way. “Actually, it was (Y/N)’s idea.” You had no doubt he was referring to the fake shooting you’d called in to the police department so Dean had an opportunity to escape. You motioned for him to give you the phone.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” you told him once you had the phone to your ear. 

“Yeah, whatever, sweetheart,” Dean’s gruff voice responded.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“And I’ve made it pretty clear I’m not going to listen. Hey, give the phone back to Sam. I gotta talk to him.”

“And why can’t you tell me? Don’t you trust me? I’m offended, babe,” you quipped. 

“Don’t objectify me.”

“Hey, you started it with the whole ‘sweetheart’ thing.”

“C’mon, (Y/N), give him the—”

“Shit!” you screamed, dropping the phone as the car came to a screeching halt. “What the hell, Sam?”

“Constance,” he replied coolly. He kept a level head despite the tense situation. 

You looked up at the rearview mirror to see her in the backseat. “Fuck.” 

Constance’s hauntingly beautiful voice melodically flowed from the backseat. “Take me home.”

“No,” Sam answered. 

You saw her glare as the doors started to lock themselves. You whipped around to start trying to reopen them. The car began jerking forward. 

“What the hell, Sam? Stop!” you told him. 

“It’s not me.”

You looked over to see him holding his hands up. The steering wheel was moving itself. You turned back to the door, struggling to get the lock open. Eventually, you wound up at Constance’s abandoned Breckenridge Road house. The car’s rumble quieted and the headlights turned off. 

“Don't do this,” Sam pleaded, still holding his hands up. 

The ghost flickered, sounding sad. “I can never go home.”

‘That’s it.’

“You're scared to go home,” you realized. When you turned around to look at her, she had disappeared. Before you could even turn back around, you felt the bench seat reclining forcefully. 

“Sam!” 

Constance sat atop him, begging him to hold her. 

“You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful. I've never been!”

“You will be,” she hummed. “Just hold me.”

You fumbled for your gun hidden under your top. Before you could fully aim at her, you felt your back make brief contact with the Impala’s door before flying through the air. You barely registered Sam yelling your name as you groaned in pain on the dead grass beneath you. 

You rolled around, trying to regain your wits and recover when you heard the sound of multiple gunshots. 

“Sam!”

“It’s me, (Y/N), stay down!” Dean yelled. 

Suddenly, Dean’s car burst through the front of the abandoned house. You pushed yourself up off the ground; your joints and back aching in protest. 

“Sam! Sam! You okay?” Dean called after the car. 

‘I’m fine, Dean, thanks for asking,’ you thought. 

The two of you climbed over the rubble to the passenger’s side window. 

“I think,” Sam responded weakly. 

“Can you move?” you asked.

“Yeah. Help me?” He reached out to his brother. 

Dean pulled Sam through the window of the car. “There you go.”

You turned to see Constance looking sadly at a picture she was holding before slamming it to the floor. She glared at the three of you harshly, forcing a bureau across the floor to pin you to Dean’s car. 

You groaned in pain once again as Dean struggled to push the furniture off. You stopped your struggle at the lights flickering and the sound of water rushing down the stairs. 

“You've come home to us, Mommy,” the echoey voices of Constance’s children sang. They appeared behind her, hugging her as she screamed. In a surge of energy, Constance and her children began melting to the floor. Constance’s resounding scream seemed to get louder and louder with each passing moment, the flickering of the lights becoming more and more intense. You squeezed your eyes shut until the screaming subsided, suddenly feeling the pressure on your stomach relieved. All that was left of Constance and her children was a puddle of murky water on the floor. 

“So this is where she drowned her kids,” Dean said while you rubbed your stomach, recovering from the pressure of the bureau. 

Sam nodded. “That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them.”

“You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy.” Dean slapped his brother on the chest where he’d been injured by Constance.

Sam laughed despite the pain. “Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?”

“Hey. Saved your ass,” Dean commented, starting to look over his beloved Impala. “I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car? I'll kill you.” 

You giggled at Sam and Dean’s banter. Sam and Dean started to get back into the car, and you idled awkwardly. 

“Whatcha doin’? Let’s go.” Sam looked at you expectantly. 

“Go where?” you asked, feeling stupid. 

“I think we make a pretty solid team. You should tag along.”

“What?” Dean asked while you started shaking your head. 

“No, no, I shouldn’t—” 

“You should. I’m going back to school, and I know Dean’s gonna be lost without me trying to find my dad.”

A slow smile crossed your face. “Thank you. That’d be nice, actually.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything to the contrary. And with that, the three of you set off to drop Sam back off at college. 

***

The thing Dean so desperately wanted to tell Sam that he couldn’t tell you earlier was that his dad had left coordinates to a place called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado in the journal he’d left behind in Jericho. John was getting weirder and weirder by the minute. 

“AC/DC. I like it,” you said from the backseat. 

“Thanks.” Dean cracked what seemed like a genuine, lopsided smile at you for the first time in the rearview mirror. “Sam thinks it’s mullet rock.”

“Yeah, well, it’s better than Kiss and Poison.”

“True that.” Despite the fact that he was agreeing with you about something as mundane as music, his tone was still guarded.

“How far is Blackwater Ridge?” you asked Sam, who was looking over a map. 

“About 600 miles,” he answered.

“Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning,” Dean cut in. 

Sam suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Dean, I, um…”

The older brother deflated. “You're not going.”

“The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there,” Sam tried to reason.

Dean nodded, disappointed, and returned his attention to the road. “Yeah. Yeah, whatever. I'll take you home.”

The mood in the car had turned tense, awkward, and sour, and remained that way for the rest of the drive back to Sam’s college.

“Dude, you go to Stanford?” you asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” he nodded, sheepishly.

“Alright, smartass, look at you.” You nudged his shoulder with your balled fist. 

Dean rolled to a stop in front of Sam’s apartment complex. 

You and Sam got out of the car. You gave him a quick hug goodbye before climbing down into the front seat. 

Sam leaned into your rolled-down window. “Call me if you find him?”

Dean nodded. 

“And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?”

Despite Sam’s chipper tone, Dean’s disappointment was clear. “Yeah, all right.”

Sam patted the car door twice before turning away. 

“Sam?” Dean called before his brother could get too far. “You know, we made a hell of a team back there.” 

You felt a pang in your heart at Dean’s indirect attempt to try to convince Sam to stay. 

Sam nodded with a half-hearted smile. “Yeah.” 

Dean then began to drive off. 

The two of you didn’t get any more than five minutes down the road before you felt something was off. You could no longer hear the steady ticking of Dean’s watch breaking through the almost awkward silence. Sure enough, when you looked over at the wrist he had perched atop the steering wheel, the watch was stopped. 

“Dean,” you said. You tapped his watch’s face with your fingernail. 

He matched your worried glance, immediately turning the car around.

The car had barely stopped before you and Dean were leaping into action. You let Dean take the lead in rushing up to Sam’s apartment. 

Dean kicked the door to the apartment open, calling out to his brother in the process. You gasped when you caught sight of flames licking at the ceiling coming out from what you assumed was Sam’s bedroom. 

You heard Sam’s voice weakly calling his girlfriend’s name as you rushed to get him out of the smoldering room. You just barely caught sight of a body bleeding from the stomach burning on the ceiling before you and Dean dragged a screaming Sam out of his bedroom and away from the fire. You fought him every step of the way out of his apartment complex. 

It didn’t take long for the fire department to show up and the police to start asking questions. A small crowd had gathered to gawk at Sam’s smoldering apartment. Your face was steely as you watched the firefighters carry Jess out in a body bag. You and Dean took the brunt of the questions the police had, allowing Sam as much space as he needed. 

You and Dean soon headed over to the Impala where Sam was packing up the weapons cavity of the trunk. Both of you seemed too scared to ask Sam what was running through his head, and neither of you had any idea what to say. 

Sam threw a shotgun into the weapons box before muttering, “We got work to do,” and slamming the trunk shut.

You threw a look at Dean, who shook his head in response. Biting the inside of your cheek, you followed the boys into the car. As the three of you left Sam’s apartment in the rearview mirror, you realized the course of your formerly relatively boring life was changing very quickly. 

‘Damn you, John. Wherever you are.’

[maudie-duan]

Series Summary: For nearly two years, Harry has been fighting to keep his relationship with Olivia afloat. At what point does he make the choice to either endure or let the strain of the world defeat his ambitious hopes of a lasting relationship? Or will a single night and a fleeting encounter be enough to change the projection of Harry’s path? Maybe our ‘Mystery Girl,’ Shiloh, will happen to be in the right place at the right time. 

Word Count: 2K

Warning: SLOW-BURNER, Strong language, minor angst, eventual smut, emotional.

I don’t usually think of how my relationships will end, but I’ve been thinking about our ending. The consequence of our beginning has been looming over our heads as if it were a pleading prayer whispered into the night.

When “I love you” no longer sufficed to fill the emptiness that stretched between us, and how fickle we were. Desperate as we continued seeking tiny moments, anxious to close the gap—A revolving door of new faces and places where we lay tucked away, pressing our bodies together like puzzle pieces, hoping that one day they would fit together.

Indefinitely.

But I’m still waiting.

Surely, we knew this wasn’t going to work, right? From the beginning, we’ve been on two different parallels, trying to make this work, trying to force a path through murky water when neither one of us knew when or how the tide would roll in—and here I am, miserable out of my fucking mind. In a shit headspace just waiting for this evening to end because there’s nothing worse than getting into a massive blowout right before an event. I can’t figure out what’s worse, the fight or the forced niceties. The last place I wanted to be was in public, but this is my life.

Olivia was on about something—actually, I don’t even remember what the fight was about this time, and that’s what it’s been lately. These bullshit fights about petty, senseless matters that take more energy to create than they do to fix. It’s just that she’s gotten so jealous and paranoid that I’m growing distant, Olivia thinks she’s the only one fighting to be in this relationship, and maybe she’s right.

—Side note: Before tonight, I really hadn’t been interested in anyone. Honest to god, I was truly in this wholeheartedly.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m constantly in the public eye, even if I think I’m lying low. There’s always a chance that someone will recognize me. The chances of someone taking a picture are even greater because everyone needs proof, or it didn’t happen, right? I personally don’t believe in this, but to each their own. If you know me and who I am, that’s precisely what you get. She knew this when we met, yet she insists that every move I make is for the world, like I can’t comprehend all of the sacrifices that she has made to be with me. Trust me, I know, and as of late, she’s taken every opportunity to throw the list back in my face. 

In all honesty, I know that relationships take work, but isn’t there supposed to be balance? Somewhere along the way, we’ve lost that. We both jumped in feet first, and now life seems to be catching up even faster—the constant push and pull in every direction is getting old. Everyone wants something, and she wants the most. It’s like she doesn’t understand the sacrifices that I’ve made. It’s not easy being the world’s biggest pop star and falling in love, but I felt she was worth it at the time.

And now she wants more—Roots that I can’t seem to give her. It’s like I’ve only just begun to find my own footing, stepping into the skin that finally feels right, that’s mine, and she wants nothing to do with it—She wants the control. She wants me to align with whatever she thinks our life should be.

I mean, I get it. 

I understand wanting the security of always knowing your next move or having a better grasp, but surely Olivia knew what she was getting herself into. It can’t be this big surprise that our life together isn’t panning out into what she had imagined, and the shittiest part about it is that I don’t even want to try anymore. I don’t want the things that Olivia is trying to project onto me with every fight that ends with her begging me to choose her.

Is that not what I’ve been doing this whole time?

I’m lost in thought when Olivia whispers something into my ear. She had gone on and on about this Gucci Cruise show and was pissed when I decided I didn’t want to sit front row. I didn’t want to distract from the show or draw unwanted attention. Especially after that fight—God, that stupid fucking fight that left her in tears, her makeup a wet smear all over her face, almost making us late. 

Tonight was supposed to be memorable. How many people get the chance to attend a Gucci show? This was my first. It’s an honor that I wanted to appreciate and take in with the gratitude I feel not only for the brand but also for the friends I’ve grown quite close to.

“I just feel like the whole point of coming to a fashion show is to sit in with the audience and have a genuine experience of the clothes and the people—” Her comment is pointed and sets me off, so I do the asshole thing and walk toward someone I know leaving her alone with her underhanded comment.

Eventually, I walk over to the edge of the curtain, peering out into the crowd, trying to pinpoint faces I’ll see later, making a list of people I’ll want to see or possibly avoid. As I skim the front row, my eyes land on a woman who looks vaguely familiar. Still, I can’t put a finger on it. 

She sticks out like a sore thumb. For instance, she is one of the few wearing dark sunglasses in a dimly lit room. Making her stand out in all black, except for the few accents that set her apart from everyone else around her, who are dripping with vibrant colors—something you would expect at a Gucci show, wild statement pieces, different patterns, and textures that ebb and flow amongst each other.

She was magnetic in a way that made it hard for me to look away. The light seemed to play off her features, creating a soft aura. A delicate ray of pink traced a faint glow around her. I couldn’t tell if it was an illusion or a trick of the mind in my rose-colored glasses. When I lowered my frames to get a clearer view, I found that she was just as stunning without them—and still, to this day, I can’t explain the feeling; it was like my soul took the lead, reaching out, hoping to find a tether. A single piece of thread that could tie me to her.

And there I stood, my mind spinning out of control. 

I don’t even know how long I stood there. How long I continued watching her, captivated by how the light seemed to dance with the shadows every time a model passed in front of her. Another thing I noticed was her ruby-red lips. How they spread into a shy smile, the light catching the gleam of her white teeth—a sight I imagined could be seen from anywhere in the room if you were fortunate enough to catch it. I observed her as she straightened upright and crossed her legs, almost as if she had suddenly become aware of her surroundings. 

Was she nervous? 

Her hair was slicked back into a sleek bun, tight against her scalp, making her features more pronounced, giving her a tidier appearance than everyone else. This timeless look could set anyone apart from the crowd, but what really caught my eye was the gilded chain dress that hugged her all-black attire underneath. I wanted to see her stand up. I wanted to know how the light played off the delicate beads draped from the woven metal. I wondered if it was uncomfortable for her or if she realized she stood out more than the celebrities around her. She had to be someone important, right? Not just anyone can sit front row at a Gucci show

Who is she?

As if she sensed my gaze, her head abruptly turned toward the curtains, causing me to jump back and bump into Olivia. “What the hell?” I hissed. 

Olivia stepped back, eyes wide, my words landing with a bite. I thought, “fuck is she about to make a scene?”—and yes, the bitterness was unnecessary, but it came more from defense than anger. I didn’t want to be found out. What was I doing anyway? How long had she been standing there? Could she see what I was looking at? Or could I pretend that I was trying to get a better view of the show, which was technically true, right?

“Can we please start over tonight?” she asks, almost pleading. “I know tonight is special for you.” And then Olivia is running her hands up my chest and cups my face.

“Okay…” I exhale. I want to have a good time, but a part of me knows I would enjoy myself more without her here, and it’s this very feeling that will haunt me all night, my thoughts like demons filling the room—unwanted guests that I’m no longer sure I want to keep at bay, and I know this isn’t fair. 

I couldn’t tell if it was the afterparty or the drinks that came with it, but eventually, the mind fog that plagued me throughout the evening began to lift. It was like a breath of fresh air, each drink diluting the pressure; the animosity threaded into every conversation Olivia and I had was evaporating. I could let go of the stress and relax into the theme of the night—and that was to have fun and fucking enjoy myself because I work hard, dammit.

It was getting easier to play into Olivia’s game of putting on for the crowd. This was the part she liked; she loved putting on in a room full of people. She fucking thrived on the attention—she loved wearing me like a glove she could take on and off whenever she pleased. 

And at times, I allowed it.

I was already three drinks in when I spotted my “Mystery Girl.” It surprised me—she was much shorter than I had imagined, but there was something compelling about her presence. When she finally looked my way, I instinctively put my arm around Olivia, feeding into the lie, feeling like a fool when her eyes flitted over me with no recognition, piercing my ego in one swift look. I didn’t know what I thought would happen…actually, I’ll tell you exactly what I thought would happen. I thought my presence alone would be enough to garner her attention. Instead, I stood there stunned when her eyes lingered on Olivia, sending her a friendly smile as she mouthed the words, “I love your dress,” pulling at the strap of her own dress to drive her compliment home.

Astonished, I stood by, holding my breath as the transaction morphed into Olivia mouthing a returned compliment, making ‘Mystery Girl’ beam and my chest swell with jealousy as she turned away, not even sparing me a second glance. She moved through the room effortlessly, like a hummingbird, moving from flower to flower fast yet graceful, donning that beautiful smile that had me begging her to look my way—just one more time. That’s all I would need. 

Was she a journalist? 

It seemed like everyone knew who she was. She spoke to everyone she encountered with such ease that each conversation I noticed flowed as if they were friends, though perhaps they were, but how was I to know? At some point, I lost her in the night, or maybe I knew I had to release her from my thoughts. I wanted to end the night on a high note, not go home with a suspicious partner to whom I would have to explain myself later. 

So, by drink five, I was being pulled onto the stage with Stevie, duetting a few songs, and as I closed my eyes, singing out the lines:

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above? 

Can I sail through the changin’ ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

I opened my eyes as we swayed into the chorus, browsing the crowd, and my gaze locked with Olivia’s, who was crying, tears streaming down her face, a pained look of grief stealing her features. We shared a look of understanding. Maybe even realization, but it hit me hard, the sadness creeping up my spine as she turned and moved away from the crowd, and I noticed her bump into Alessandro, who caught her by the arm with a concerned look on his face. I pulled away from the microphone then, my voice choking up, and I let Stevie take over. We both knew that our world was crumbling right before our eyes, and when I glanced back over, searching for Olivia, she was gone. 

And I knew what I would face later, what would come later.

A/N: You guys, this is my first series; bear with me. In no way, shape, or form is this meant to follow Harry’s actual life, nor are the facts or timelines real. This story will be from Harry and Shiloh’s POVs. I like switching between them. I’m nosy, and you get more details this way. So, if you like details, you’re in the right place. This story will be a slow burn, so hold tight. I’m glad you’re here!!! ENJOY!!!!

LET'S TALK ABOUT IT: Yo, Harry, one thing at a time...Ya'll let me know in the comments what you think

->chat with me<-

PART TWO

All Chapters Here <-

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (07)

chapter seven: built to break

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; the gorlies are fighting...?, not much for warnings in this chapter ig word count: 4.3k note: i finally got off my ass and wt is finally back lol. i had a last minute change of plans and thought "oh! you know what would be pretty neat? if we prolong the angst so everyone can be sad for longer!" <3 and this is how i announce that the next chapter is not wt8 but wt7.5 and it's written from his pov <3 merry christmas

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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I’ll hold my breath as I wait for your answer I’ll leave it up to you Tell me whether it’s yes or no Baby, love me or leave me tonight

Love Me or Leave Me - Day6

The warning signs, they're there. You can see them before they materialize. You know your own tells.

Your metaphorical bags are packed, your shoes are already on. You're about to run again, leave a half empty house before it has the chance to become a home. No one has to tell you that you're a flight risk; you're well aware of it yourself.

Wednesday Min: got plans tonight? You: booked and busy with ze old canvas Min: tomorrow? You: same thing probably. sorry Min: u're working hard lately You: yeah this one is just driving me crazy and i need it to turn out decent Min: it'll be perfect. it's u

Thursday Min: running errands at the store Min: want me to bring u anything? that caramel popcorn u like?

Friday Min: don't work too hard. remember to eat

That was three days ago, the last time you'd heard from him after you left him on read. It wasn't a complete lie; this project is driving you kinda crazy and you do need it to end up a decent piece, but you weren't exactly holed up in your apartment to slave over your painting. And you suppose Minho didn't find it all that suspicious because you tend to do this sometimes - disappear for a couple of days and force yourself to focus whenever you had a project to finish, before you come back to everybody again. You've come back to him before; it stands to reason that you'll do it again.

It's been about two weeks since you'd seen him, though the memories of that evening are still fresh in your mind - the evening of the group dinner, when he'd kissed you goodnight and left for his parents' house the following day. True to his words, he did send you pictures of the cats - ones of Soonie wearing a matching hoodie with him, a few of Doongie and Dori napping at the foot of his bed. There was an accompanying text - The kids miss you - along with a frowning emoji, and it made you wonder if what he really meant was I miss you.

You wanted him to miss you, because you missed him too.

The photos brought a smile to your face despite the predicament you found yourself in. A smile that was short lived, a smile that was soon wiped off when you realized your heart shouldn't be swelling with that much affection for him. It shouldn't, but the truth was that it did and you don't know how to live with it.

Love isn't something you've ever learned to hold.

It's beautiful yet full of thorns, and your hands are too clumsy to ever keep it from slipping from your fingers.

You remember when you first met Minho. Freshman year, at some popular senior's house party.

It feels like forever ago when you were just an awkward freshman at orientation who didn't have a single clue on how to make friends. Jess was your first friend in college, and you'll always be grateful that you got along well enough that she adopted you into the group with the rest of the guys.

You didn't cross paths with Minho until you were already acquainted with everyone else. On the night of the party, you remember being enamored with him for those couple of hours, and it wasn't the side effect of too many solo cups of cheap beer. Who in their right mind wouldn't be infatuated with him? He was beautiful, absolutely alluring, and you would always tell him as much.

Back then, he had brown hair, slighter shorter than now but it was tinted with the most gorgeous shade of red. You didn't know much about Minho, only been told that he was pretty quiet and might be off-putting to new people. It was sort of true; that night, you were intimidated by the aura he exuded. Mysterious, couldn't be bothered, didn't seem to give a shit. He looked like a scary little thing, while you were the new kid who was only trying to observe everyone's dynamics, not wanting to overstep any unspoken boundary.

To this day, you're still not sure what really happened, how you two immediately clicked and he's been one of the most important parts of your life ever since.

Maybe it was just him. Maybe it's always been him.

Minho, the one who makes you smile when all you want to do is curl up and cry. The one who makes you laugh when you look for joy but the search comes up empty. The one who grounds you every time you lose your way. Your anchor, the safe harbor you can always return to. The light at the end of a long, long tunnel.

You don't know where you stand, don't know where it goes from here now that everything is changing. He told you so himself, that nothing changed for him, but how could he possibly know that everything is changing for you? And it infuriates you to no end because you don't even have anyone to talk about this with. You're the only person whose world is being turned upside down after all.

You can't tell your friends because they can't know about you and Minho. You can't tell Minho because what would you even say? That you think you're in love with him? That the implications of what it means are devastating to you?

For the first time, you regret everything. Kissing him that night, sleeping with him, becoming whatever this is with him. Letting down your guard and falling for him somewhere along the way and you didn't even stop to notice it. You regret all of the decisions you've made up until now, because they've only led you to the point of no return, the point of losing him. You made bad decision after bad decision after bad decision, until you couldn't anymore. All along, there's been no one else to blame but you.

Maybe it hasn't happened yet, but it's inevitable. You will lose him. You are going to lose him.

There's no other ending, no other alternative that you can imagine. You're going to leave because you're a coward and it's what you do best. You ruin things before they get a chance to hurt you. You leave because if you don't leave then you'll be left behind, and you'd rather not bear the brunt of it.

Now, when you think of Minho, the thought is always accompanied by a painful reminder - Nothing changed for him.

When you get to the cafe, Hyunjin and Seungmin are already seated in a corner booth, three drinks in front of them, one of which they'd ordered for you before you arrived.

You slide into the seat next to Hyunjin, smiling at him appreciatively for the drink. There's still over half an hour before you have to walk to your shared class, over half an hour before Seungmin parts ways with you two to do whatever or whoever it is that Seungmin does on his off days.

"I still think it's Nara," Hyunjin says, casually sipping his iced coffee.

"Nara from your Lit class last semester?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"I saw them talking at a party once."

"Okay. And?"

"And what? That's it."

"That's... all the evidence you have to back up your claim?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You wave your hands in front of them. "What are you bozos talking about?"

"He’s still trying to figure out who Minho is hooking up with," Seungmin is the one who answers you without missing a beat, then he turns back to Hyunjin. "Anyway, it can't be Nara. She's dating Jaehyun on the basketball team."

The friend next to you flails his arms like a petulant child, like he couldn't have possibly seen this coming, like he was so sure that he had finally solved the mystery. "Great. I'm back to square one again."

You straighten your back and reach for your drink, tentatively gulping down the beverage as if it'll hide the fact that you've gone stiff the second this topic is brought up. You feel bad about it, sure. These are your friends that you're lying to after all. They don't have to look anywhere far; the answer to the secret is right in front of them.

"We're still on about that?" you ask in the calmest, most nonchalant voice you can muster. You usually consider yourself a believable liar (which, to be honest, isn't really a flex at all), but whenever someone mentions this little arrangement between you and Minho that shouldn't be common knowledge for anyone else, you feel like you're been put under a spotlight for the whole world to scrutinize.

"Duh," Hyunjin says. "You know, I'm kinda surprised that you don't know. You two are like, attached at the hip sometimes."

You give him a thoughtless shrug, your hands fiddling with the sticker on the plastic cup as you avoid looking at either of your friends. "Maybe he just wants to keep private things private, y'know? You wouldn't like either if all of us is suddenly all up in your business. And besides, what if it's just casual?"

Hyunjin scoffs. "Please, I'm an open book. I tell you guys everything. I tell you every time I hook up with someone."

"Yeah, but you see, literally no one needs to know that," Seungmin says.

The taller one only scoffs, waving his hands around dismissively in Seungmin's direction before he turns to you. "If it was just casual, would he save her name as - oh my God, I forgot what her contact name is. Freaking bird person or something."

You make a face. "What?"

"Dude, seriously?" Seungmin rolls his eyes. "You forgot one word? Dove? What is the matter with you?"

Perhaps it's the half-hearted teasing judgment in Seungmin's voice that makes Hyunjin take offense and drop the topic. The conversation veers off course when they start bickering like children in the busy cafe. You suppose it works in your favor, but you can't focus. You drown it all out.

Your hand is still on the cup but the sticker has been left alone and forgotten, half peeled off, half still clinging to the plastic underneath the condensation.

The single word repeats itself in your mind, over and over and over again.

The entire time you're in class, you don't really focus on anything. You can't bring yourself to listen to whatever your professor is saying, not after what Hyunjin and Seungmin told you earlier. At some point, your friend has to nudge your shoulder to bring you back down to earth when usually, you're the one who has to remind Hyunjin to pay attention. Class ends soon enough though; time tends to fly by when your mind is lost elsewhere.

"What's wrong with you today?" he asks with his bag slung over his shoulder, slowing down his steps to match your speed as you walk out of the lecture hall together.

You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. "Nothing's wrong. I was just tired."

"You wanna grab dinner with me and Felix?"

Any other day, you would've agreed in a heartbeat. But today, you want to be alone. Sometimes, you'd rather wallow in your own misery than settle for a temporary distraction.

You're still stuck on the conversation from earlier, on the small detail that Hyunjin and Seungmin had let slip in the cafe.

Dove.

His dove.

Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Perhaps it's only a nickname that he's assigned to you out of mere platonic fondness, but it makes you conscious about the dove on your own wrist nonetheless, the one that you feel compelled to hide from your friends underneath your long sleeve.

"No, it's okay," you tell Hyunjin. "I'll just go home and sleep it off."

"Okay. I can walk you for a bit," he says. "Just wait with me here. Minho's coming to give me back something he borrowed."

"Minho's coming?" you ask too quickly for it to sound casual. There's a panicked edge that you can hear in your own voice, though you don't think Hyunjin picks it up as he unlocks his phone and types something on the screen.

"Yeah, he was at the library. He's coming over right now, should only be a couple minutes. Then I'll walk back with you."

You shift on your feet uneasily, but you cover it up by rubbing your hands on your arms to pretend like you're just cold. There's no excuse that you could think of that would justify why you can't stand here with Hyunjin for just two more minutes, without giving it away the fact that you're avoiding Minho.

You take in a quiet breath, put on your best brave face. Casual, nonchalant. It's just Minho. Just Minho...

He comes up from behind, where you can't see him. A warm hand gently lands on your shoulder, and it takes everything not to shy away from his touch. It takes even more not to lean into his side.

You've missed it. You've missed him.

"Hey." He smiles at you while Hyunjin only gets a nod in acknowledgment.

"Hey." You return the smile, though you're sure you look a little rigid. You can tell there's an inkling of confusion in his eyes when he senses that your energy is off, but you're thankful he doesn't comment on it, at least not in front of Hyunjin anyway.

You don't notice the paper bag in his other hand until he hands it to your other friend with a simple Thanks, to which Hyunjin just nods along in a silent You're welcome.

"I was going to walk with Y/N for a bit and then meet Felix for food," he tells Minho. "You wanna get burgers with me and Lix?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry, I had a late lunch. I'll take the walk though."

You didn't plan on being alone with Minho today, even though you knew you had to talk to him eventually. You just thought you had a little more time, at least until you got your shit together and face him with a brave façade.

Minho's hand brushes yours the entire time you walk, and it's nothing if not confusing. It's unbearable, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to intertwine them with his.

It persists even after Hyunjin has waved you goodbye to you two and turned to head wherever he and Felix agreed to meet. You think Minho would hold your hand now that it's just you and him, but he doesn't. He lets your skin continue to brush, lets you suffer alone and wanting in your sunken disappointment.

It has very little to do with him and everything to do with you, the conflicting thoughts inside your head piling up one by one the more time you spend in his presence.

Dove, the brief display of jealousy at Yeonjun's party, the way he looks at you sometimes that you can't really decipher the meaning behind, how he kisses you so tenderly that it can't possibly be strictly platonic. You want these things to all mean something, and yet...

You want him to hold your hand, but you know you'd wave it off if he tries to reach for your fingers. You want him to stop you right then and there to kiss you breathless, just as he had that night two weeks ago, even though you're sure you'd only dodge his lips and push him away. You want to stay, you want to leave. You're terrified of things changing, but you wish that something, anything, would be different for him; that you aren't the only one who's spinning out of control. You love him, but you wish you didn't.

Eventually, Minho asks, "You okay?"

It's not until now that you realize this is the first time you've ever been this quiet around him. You purse your lips, glancing down briefly at your feet as you keep on treading the rest of the way home. "Yeah, all good. I'm just tired," you tell him, visibly unenthusiastic despite the smile you try to fake. "I just need to sleep it off."

"The project stressing you out?"

"I guess, yeah."

"And here I thought maybe you were avoiding me," he says, half a joke, half inquisitive. "Were you?"

"Was I what?"

"Were you avoiding me?"

You give him a weird look, one that's meant to be dismissive and call his question ridiculous even though you know you've been caught. And maybe it's the over-the-top glance that you throw his way and the way your pitch goes higher when you reply, "Why would I be avoiding you?" that makes him stop walking.

On the other side of the street, there's a couple of kids in high school uniforms, exchanging shy glances and sharing fond giggles.

Minho calls your name softly, and it's like you're just waiting for the ball to drop. You don't want to turn back and look at him, but what other option do you have? What else is there to do?

You can't decipher the expression on his face. He's still calm, but the air has turned serious, the silence of the mostly empty streets surrounding you only serves as the soundtrack of your impending heartbreak. The tender and innocent laughter fades away when young love moves further and further from where you stand. "What?" you ask with faux nonchalance as you look at him, another attempt at stalling. Biding your time even though a few more minutes aren't going to do any good for your case.

Anyone with half a braincell could tell that clearly it's not the truth, let alone someone who has learned to read you better than the back of his hand. He doesn't look like he believes you, though he doesn't push it, much to your surprise.

"Okay," he says after a moment of studying you, and this should be the part where you heave a sigh of relief because he's letting you off the hook for now, but your chest doesn't feel lighter at all. Your head is clouded with dread, with the anticipation that you're only delaying the inevitable.

You walk the rest of the way in awful silence, because you know that he knows something is wrong. You try your best to appear composed, but he sees right through you. You know he does.

You must look like a frightened animal, one that's about to take off running any second now.

When you reach your building, Minho is quick to keep you with him before you can make up a lame excuse and bolt.

"Hey," he starts, his voice so impossibly gentle that it hurts. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Heavier and heavier, it weighs you down until you feel like your chest is going to collapse. The nerves gnaw on you, clawing into you until you feel your heartbeat quicken, the overwhelming dread simmering low in your belly.

"I know," you say, but deep down, what you're really thinking is, Not this. This is the one thing I can't tell you.

"Is everything okay?"

It's the way that Minho's got his gaze set on you with those deep brown irises, the concern so apparent in them that it hurts you. It's the way he looks like he wants to reach out and touch you - a comforting hand on your shoulder or your back like you're so familiar with - but he has to hold himself back or you might slip away.

It's him, how he always puts you first, how he cares about you in ways that you've never been cared about before. He understands you, he sees you. It feels like it could be love if you let the lines blur just enough.

Is love supposed to hurt? Like this?

Maybe it's not that you don't know how to hold love. Maybe it's because you're not meant to hold it at all. Insignificant, unlovable.

And... it's the reminder that cuts through the dread like the sharpest knife.

You leave his question unanswered, because nothing is okay and you can't tell him any of it. You can't lie to him either, because it's the last thing that you want to do to him.

Instead, you ask, "We're good... right? We're okay?"

"What do you mean?"

You gesture between the two of you, though you're not sure what that's supposed to signify. "Just...," you trail off for a second, hesitant. "Nothing's changed, right?"

Minho doesn't answer right away. He looks at you for a moment, searching for something in your eyes that you can't tell if he's able to find.

He nods, seemingly wistful as he says, "Nothing's changed."

He seems unsure about it, at least more than he was just a few weeks ago when he told you the same thing in your apartment with his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The tug between his brows - though barely noticeable - tells you as much.

Is it because something is different now? Or does he only sound uncertain out of concern, because of you and how you're acting?

Then he continues, "For me, at least."

And there it is.

It's the confirmation this time around that turns you inside out so his simple words could cut into you.

You swallow thickly, put on a smile like you're pleased with his answer even though you're trying your hardest to stop yourself from shaking. Whatever energy you had left is instantly drained from you just because of a few words.

Your sentences get smashed together, tangled up like barbed wire and they only make you bleed when you try to pull them apart. All your nervous tics coming out to play despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. A frustrated hand running through your hair, gripping at the roots a little harshly. Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth and your eyes turning glassy for a split second before you blink the moisture away, because you can't let Minho see you like this. See you trying to keep your pathetic heart intact while he's none the wiser.

He's fine. And unlike you, he's going to be okay when this is over.

Unavoidable and inevitable, the end will come whether you like it or not. You're the only one who won't make it out unscathed, and it will only shatter you into more pieces the longer you drag this out.

Just rip the bandaid off. Salvage whatever you can. Stop digging the grave even deeper for yourself.

One second, then two, then three. You don't speak until you have enough faith that your voice is even enough to carry out a few sentences.

"Okay, uhm... I think I need some time for myself. We should..." But it isn't, and you crack halfway through. The sound is deafening to your own ears. "We should take a break. We should stop this."

Minho doesn't question if you mean the secret between the two of you, or your friendship entirely. Instead, he asks, "Why?"

"I told you." You clear your throat. "I need time for myself."

You can't tell what he's thinking, but the knife twists inside of you nonetheless.

He takes a step closer, you take a step back.

You watch as his face falls, and the same feeling mirrors itself within the confines of your ribcage. Your heart drops at the sight of his eyes, deep brown irises stained with a little confusion, then a little hurt though it lasts for only a few seconds. The slight slump of his shoulders, the absence of the familiar playfulness he always sports when he's with you.

He blinks.

"Time for yourself, or time away from me?"

You say nothing.

You don't address his question directly, and your reluctance to do so is a loud enough answer in and of itself. "Why does that matter? What's the difference?"

"It matters if I did something to upset you."

"You didn't."

"Okay. So?"

This is confusing, because he's not letting you rip the bandaid clean off and you don't know why. "Nothing's changed, right? If it didn't mean anything to you, why can't you just drop this?"

Minho is quiet for a beat. His eyes are searching again, but this time, you think he finds something.

Everything is still and you hate it - the silence of the streets, the scrutinizing orange glow of the streetlights as if they're watching the scene unfold, even the innocent cat that's sitting by itself on the balcony on one of the floors higher up. You hate all of it.

"I never said it didn't mean anything," he tells you.

It makes you a little angry for some reason, and there's enough red to cloud your vision because his words are contradicting and you're tired, you're so exhausted that you can't focus on what it is that he's really saying.

"So you lied to me?"

"I've never lied to you."

"I asked you before and you said nothing's changed. Now you're saying whatever this is didn't not mean anything. Make up your mind."

It gets redder when he keeps his eyes fixed on you, still so calm despite the frown that has returned to its place between his brows. Still so collected, while you're being pulled apart at the seams.

The ball doesn't drop the way you expect it to. It keeps falling so insufferably slowly, hanging over you like it's mocking you for being stupid, like it's milking every second of suspense to make you implode.

Until Minho speaks next and suddenly, it feels like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. His voice, still so soft and tender. His eyes, reading something in yours that you can't bear to admit out loud.

"You really don't see it, do you?"

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 24.06.2024]

[brownwomanisland]

Thoughts on Harry Potter book series - 11 paragraphs

So I read the entire Harry Potter series from the Philosopher's Stone to the Deathly Hallows and I have some thoughts. I went in there for a few reasons: familiar subject to help me get back into reading, filling in gaps I had from only watching the movies, and to find out if some of the discourse I've seen online is accurate.

First, I'm so happy to have read the books. It was really fun to compare what I remember from the movies to the books and often times I understood the screenwriter's decisions to remove some elements or spice it up. I won't go into specifics right now but I think the movies captured the essence of the books - different to the nitty gritty details - well. I'd rate the entire book series an 8/10 to be honest.

Secondly, a lot of what I've read on people's views about the books and characters seem to be projection of their dislike of the author onto the characters tbh. I went in trying to find out if Hermione was misogynistic or a self-insert of JKR or if her S.P.E.W element was white saviourism or if goblins were supposed to represent Jewish folks and.... none of that really passes the canon test to be honest.

Hermione is an insufferable know it all but she's loyal and caring and does her best but she likes being right and it's easy to find her annoying sometimes. Her and Ginny's dislike of Fleur don't scream misogyny as much as it did jealousy. I don't know much about JKR the individual to see any self-insert but Hermione was consistent as a character. I still love her and her annoying ways <3. In the Goblet of Fire when Ron is being nasty about some girl's looks, she says that she has a nice personality and that her acne isn't even bad anymore. She encouraged Ginny to go date other people so she would stop being so freaked out about Harry. She loves being right so she lacks tact but she's always advocated for people to be treated fairly.

With regards to S.P.E.W., she is an imperfect activist as any 13 year old would be but I do not think it fair to consider her a white saviour. Hermione doesn't get enough flack for that jinx on the Dumbledore army that scarred Marietta - her one anti girl's girl move but to be fair, she didn't know it would be a girl who would tell on them. Otherwise, it's through her and at times Hagrid's and Lupin's eyes that we learn the Wizarding world is very prejudiced, even non pureblood frenzy people like our next main character - Ron.

Ron is unsympathetic to most magical creatures to the point where I found myself irritated at times because he's generally well-meaning but insensitive and mostly insecure as a character. He won't call anyone a Mudblood but he's ready to separate himself from the likes of werewolves, giants, goblins. I bet if he never met Hermione, he would be among the Wizarding folk that aren't blood supremacist but who don't care or think much of the well-being of other magical creatures beyond daily usage and comfortability.

With regards to the goblins and Jewish people slant, I don't see it. I understand as an adult that there are stereotypes alluded to each religion - some of which are very well earned (e.g. religious fundamentalists are prone to extremism) - but I can't see this particular point as anything but a massive tell and self-own. I didn't like Griphook as a character nor the goblins' logic of anything goblin made is always theirs even if you paid for it and they expect you to keep paying for it as long as the original purchaser is dead (like what? Don't be greedy). Call me ignorant but goblins are a mythical creature here and that's it. The centaurs are also an annoying group but they also echo the sentiment the goblin's shared about not being like humans and not sharing the same values.

Onto Harry now, he is ... nice if dislikeable at times but in the way I find Hermione dislikeable. The movie cuts out a few things that would make audiences less sympathetic to him but ultimately he is a likeable person with flaws. Every character in the book has flaws. Aside, fuck Snape. Harry should have named his pet that, not his son.

So imagine I go into the series trying to find proof of JKR's racism and misogyny and antisemitism and I come out with a story that I think talks about all of those things in the way a story written through the eyes of a male orphaned teenage boy can. If the story were as bad as people who hate the author think, it would never have so much merch and spin-offs and adaptations, and versions, and theme parks. Sure, some people can be annoying (dramione shippers, book snape lovers, people who hate marauders fans, marauders shippers, people who write racist rape fics) but the story is alive and well done. Some elements might be awkward and some characters may feel sidelined but there's a lot of room to add meat but there's also a WORLD to play in.

The elements I think were handled awkwardly were the shoehorning of Lupin and Tonks - I wish we got more of them. I actually wish we got more of Andromeda as well - I can see why she's a fanfic favourite - someone who can easily be mistaken for Bellatrix but seems to be her total opposite but also her baby sister? - that's ripe for fanon. Personally I wanted Draco Malfoy dead - avada kedavra that racist.

I can't stand Dumbledore. He's imperfect and a little more than manipulative. We learn that Severus is the reason Potter's family is dead and that was never Dumbledore's secret to keep from Harry especially with the way Snape terrorized children. He let that man bully the child and did nothing about it except chastise Harry everytime he said Snape instead of Professor Snape. Dumbledore keeps his and other's secrets and plays everyone like a chessboard instead of speaking openly to them as equals. Fuck him and his eye twinkle lol.

Snape was a coward and honestly the only person fit to write a book on him is also Rita Skeeter. He was a pureblood supremacist for most of his life, he bullied children, he bullied the child he's partly responsible for making an orphan (who he had no intentions of ever hiding with Lily's husband). If any character was a shoehorn, I think it was Snape. That chapter was not a redemption arc as some people say. He was not an anti hero so much as a reluctant spy because his "all mudbloods must die" leader of the "all mudbloods must die" club he WILLINGLY joined killed his favourite mudblood lol. Fuck that man. If anything, Snape was given a ... curve to keep Alan Rickman on the series because book Snape is so fucking tedious but Alan Rickman as Snape was glorious - I liked his sassiness.

Now I think of some fanfics I've read with some author notes I've read and I think - that's projection, that's fanon, that never happened, why are you writing racist porn? But now I see the inspiration for Dark Harmione fics (as long as there's no rape and incest) because honestly, she has a bit of a mean streak canonically (but I support women's wrongs sometimes).

[emma-o-yt]

Rick Riordan's problematic age gaps

Apparently reddit hates criticism because this got removed from there after a few minutes, maybe I can get it back up...anyways.

The age of consent in Texas is 17, Texas is where Rick lived (according to wikipedia) up until 2013. And yet...here we are.

Where do I even begin with this bullf*ckery? How about the most egregious of all?

Luke and Annabeth

We have two lines confirming their mutual feelings, one from The Demigod Diaries:

"Overtime, Annabeth developed a crush on Luke. As Annabeth got older, Luke developed feelings for her, too."

Mark of Athena (from her conversation with Venus):

"First there was Luke Castellan, her first crush, who had seen her only as a little sister; then he’d turned evil and decided he liked her—right before he died."

Now let me remind you, Annabeth and Luke have a seven year age difference, they knew each other at 7 and 14. By the time he died, Annabeth was just 16, while he was 23. And it's implied he begun returning her feelings a little before he asked her to run away, perhaps when she was 14. He's paralleled with Percy as Annabeth is his string in the river styx. He asks Annabeth explicitly if she loved him romantically (and she denies because Percy is there).

It's disgustingly inappropriate but at the very least they don't end up together...as for when they do...

Sadie Kane and Anubis

When it comes to immortal romance, I usually go for coded age. Anubis is thousands of years old but is mentally and physically 16, which is fine and dandy except for the fact that Sadie is 12. What do you want me to say except Rick is disgusting for promoting this.

Speaking of extreme age gaps:

Calypso and Leo

When you have a philosophy that every character must end up in a relationship, you run out of sensical options to pair up. Now, I'm a Caleo hater mainly because of how it retconned PJO and also because they are very toxic.

Now hold on, doesn't Caleo fall into coded age? Calypso is 15/16 and Leo is 15, so it's A okay! I suppose, if it wasn't for Calypso's past loves.

Odysseus, he had a wife and a son who was 20 years old in his final year on Ogygia, he is well into adult age. She also mentions the privateer Francis Drake and his wife Elizabeth, he was 45 when he married her.

If your defence is that she's actually thousands of years old, then that must also apply to Caleo. You cannot have it both ways.

Hazel and Frank

It's not that bad but it's necessary to mention for the point I will be making.

The timeline is messed up but I think they're 13 and 16 and meet at 12-15. I mean, come on.

Misogyny and Racism

What do these have in common? Well in 3/4 or 4/4, the younger one is female. In 2/4 or 3/4, the younger one is a person of colour.

Remember Nico? His crush on Percy as revealed in HoH? Well in MoA, there's a cheeky little red herring that happens a bit before Annabeth's talk with Venus (where it is revealed that Luke liked Annnabeth back). She wonders if Nico had a crush on her, but denounces him as too young. Now, Nico's age is inconsistent, I am unsure of his gap with Annabeth but I do know his gap with Percy. It's 3 years 5 months in PJO and 2 years 5 months in HoO (the series we are currently in).

So in RR's messed up mind, a white boy having a relationship with someone 2 to less than 4 years his senior is inappropriate. But a black tween girl dating someone 3 years her senior is just fine, a 12 year old biracial black girl dating a 16 year old is daijoubu, a 15 year old mestizo Latino boy dating an elderly woman is relationship goals, or the reverse a 15 year old girl dating middle aged men is a tragic romance and a 12 year old girl having mutual feelings with a 19 year old man is a "love story for the ages"!

The tv adaptation is so infuriating for this, they made Annabeth black, a lot of the changes they made came off as micro aggressions but especially her relationship with Luke. It's reduced to Luke simping for Annabeth behind her back and it's even worse because you can visibly see how large their age gap is. Heck, Charlie Bushnell and Leah Jeffries have a smaller age gap than book Luke and Annabeth.

Adultification is a huge real life issue. Children of colour and especially female children of colour are seen as less innocent than their white counterparts. Rick, who is dedicated to inclusivity should've known better than to include these illegal relationships. Stans will try and make excuses but it's there, deal with it.

As a black teenage girl who has been a fan of Rick's work for 12 years, I am disappointed.

[wandaslittlelove]

Destined Part 1

Warnings for this chapter: None?

Series Masterlist

I sighed as I heard a loud knock on my front door. Grabbing the bag of flour I made my way to the door assuming it was just my neighbor Marcy wanting some for baking again. The girl never seemed to have any and always came over for mine which I didn’t mind. I just started buying more when I would go to the store. 

“Marcy hun you should really just-” I froze as I saw Strange on the other side of the door and a young girl stood next to him.

“y/n nice to see you.” He spoke. With a sigh I sat the flour down on the small table by the door before inviting them in.

“Tea?” I asked while making my way into the kitchen as they both followed after me. The young girl politely nodded her head and took a seat at the island along with Strange who sat a very old looking book down on the countertop.

It was silent for a minute. The only sound being me getting down three mugs and the teapot whistling on the stove. 

I sat the tea in front of the two along with some sugar as I took to standing across from them.

“What do you need Strange?” My tone came out more bitter than I wanted it to but I couldn’t help it. After I left what remained of the Avengers I had hoped I would never have to see his face or any of theirs ever again. That's why I moved to Ohio so that I would be away from the never ending drama that is New York and to be close to my sister's grave.

“I- We need your help. This Is America Chavez. She’s able to travel the multiverse.” With those words I choked on my tea.

“The multiverse?” I questioned not trusting my ears to have heard the right thing.

“Yes. You know about it?” He asks as he and the girl, America, looked at each other.

“Vision often talked of his theories during movie nights” The word Vision seemed to make me scowl remembering how he got the life with the person I had loved. The person who was supposed to be my wife. 

“You said Wanda said the same thing” This was the first time the girl had spoken and the way she said Wanda had made your whole body shiver. It was as if she was scared of the woman.

“You spoke to her?” I hadn’t heard anything of her since that night I left. I expected to at least see something about her on the news but she never came up. 

“Yeah. She’s after me. She’s been sending these weird creatures after me to take my powers.” America explained as she fiddled with the mug.

“She has the dark hold y/n” The words caused me to stiffen. I had only heard of the dark hold a few times while I was studying with Strange but I knew it was nothing good. It was described as the book of the damned and anyone who touched it became corrupted. “I need your help in protecting America. Yours and Wanda’s magic are almost complete opposites. While hers is chaos magic while yours is Order magic.” The two shared another look as if they both knew something I didn’t. I watched as Strange opened the book he had brought and flipped to a page. “With the help of the darkhold Wanda has become the Scarlet Witch. Everything anyone had ever known about her is written in this book like a prophecy.” I nodded as I listened to his words. “It also speaks of yours.” He slides the book over to me and setting my tea down I quickly read the page he had opened to. 

The Scarlet Witch bringer of chaos and the White Fawn bringer of life and creation:

The Scarlet Witch is not born; she is forged. She has no coven or need for incantation. Her power exceeds that of the Sorcerer Supreme. It is her destiny to destroy the world. 

The White Fawn is the opposite of the chaos bringer. She is born to counteract the actions of the Scarlet Witch. Her destiny is to heal the wounds, love, and calm the Chaos Witch.

My eyes scanned the page three more times before I slammed the book shut. I watched as America jumped in her seat and I sent her an apologetic smile as I slid the book back to Strange. 

“That can’t be right or it can’t be me. Wanda does not love me. I will not let my destiny be what is written in some book. What is she even after in the multiverse?” My question seemed to keep Strange quiet for a moment before he spoke.

“You”

Tag List: @alexawynters @username23345 @casquinhaa @idontknow-llol

[honeipie]

plsplsplspls make the toast a series 😭

NATURALLY

izuku midoryia x reader

synopsis: going somewhere old to start something new

authors note: your wish is my command! i’ll probably make one more part beacause of one line i specifically wanna use LOLL

one | two | three | four

"izuku" inko's voice was light, but stern as she carried two mugs over to the small coffee table in her apartment. the same apartment that he had grown up in. of course, he had tried to buy her a house as soon as he received his first paycheck, but she refused. insisted that she didn't need much room for just herself. plus, she loved the little bursts of nostalgia she would get every so often from doing simple things. like making izuku's favorite cookies in the kitchen, or even walking by his old room which she kept perfectly intact. if someone walked in there they might've thought that he was still a teenage boy, but he wasn't.

there in her living room sat her son in his early adulthood. he almost took up half of the loveseat due to the growing muscle on his body. though even due to his increase in size, he shrunk down hearing his mother say his name.

she sat down next to him placing the mugs right on the coasters he had set out "you haven't answered my question"

izuku brought his two fingers up to rub the bridge of his nose "no, we're not together anymore" he mumbled in embarrassment and shame. it never felt good to tell anyone a relationship they invested time and money into didn't end up working out.

she frowned placing a hand on his back to rub slow circles "you got divorced after one week? izuku that can't be right.."

"no, no we didn't get divorced. we were actually, um" he was trying to figure out how to word this correctly to where he didn't sound insane "we were never officially married"

she stopped rubbing giving him a skeptical look "izuku what do you mean you were never married?"

he sighed leaning his elbows against his knees "we were supposed to sign the official marriage papers during the reception in front of everyone then send them in the next day. after that fight though? we just decided to not do it anymore"

"how did the press take it? i haven't seen anything"

"the press didn't know about the engagement or the wedding thankfully. we wanted a peaceful time to plan the wedding. they’re posting a breakup message for the both of us later today though. better to nip it in the bud now”

she nodded her head going to resume in rubbing his back "so when did you officially decide to call it off"

"yesterday"

"any specific reason? or a buildup of many?"

he paused for a moment, mulling over the answer "she would say one specific reason. i would say it built up over time" he shook his head in disbelief "couldn't even agree on that"

"what would she say the one reason was"

a lump caught in his throat at the question. such a simple fucking question that he didn't want to answer. but he knew if he didn't she would be a pain about it.

"y/n"

inko hummed at the very familiar name. you had been over mulitple times in the past years with and without her son. the two of you had grown close and she was like a mother to you. honestly, she had wished that izuku had gotten with you in the first place. would've saved a lot of time and trouble.

"well.. was she a strain to your relationship"

izuku scoffed, almost offended she even asked.

"she was never a problem for me-"

"well of course she wasn't a problem for you. that was your best friend"

"exactly! if uraraka couldn't understand that then it couldn't have worked between us. y/n was one of the first people to believe in me. i owe her a lot and i can't just let her go like that"

inko moved her hand from izuku's back and went to hold his hands instead "face me honey" izuku shifted his body so he was now facing his mother. growing older everyday, but still the strong woman he remembers when he was younger "i just wanted to apologize. for not bring able to give you a normal childhood with two parents in the home"

izuku's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion at her sudden apology "where is this coming from? mom it's fine. you did the best you could and i appreciate that more than anything else you could've done"

she patted on of his hands with a smile "i know you do sweetheart. but i'm mostly apologizing because you couldn't see what a real marriage consists of. the person you marry is one of the most important decisions you will ever make, but the easiest at the same time. love isn't enough to hold a marriage together, you need to be best friends before that. when you love someone on a surface level all you want to do is make sure they're happy. they won't tell you if something is bothering them. they'll follow you blindly into anything. when you marry your best friend you hold them accountable because you want to see them succeed in all that they do. it might make you fight sometimes, but at the end of the day it's worth it. because you have someone by your side you know that will stick it out with you for the rest of your years to come. that's what a marriage should be like"

".. so you're saying i should marry y/n?"

"i'm saying give it time. you don't need to jump back into another relationship immediately after this. what you should be doing is taking time to reflect on what you want, and when you're ready, how y/n makes you feel. and if you do feel something? let it flow. what happens will happen naturally”

---

the smell of hot glue filled your senses as you picked up a seashell from your pile. currently, you were at inko's house doing your monthly crafting sessions. who cares if you hadn't talked to izuku in four months? at least you had his mom.

last month the two of you had went to the beach to crochet, and ended up walking along the beach picking up seashells as you talked. that's when she let you know about the unspoken details of the breakup. you tried to hide your feelings with a stoic face and a simple 'wow'. though inko wasn't buying any of it.

she was currently letting you in on all the work drama she was currently having "i don't know why they want to get in my face like i'm the problem. ma'am, you have an STD, i'm a pediatric nurse. please let me do my job"

you threw your head back in laughter which drowned out the sound of keys jingling in the door.

"hey mom? i got those vegetables you were talking about. don't these tomatoes look fake?" he stopped mid-sentence seeing you sitting there on the floor with the same expression.

"oh no, i must've double booked you two" inko got up taking the bag from izuku's hands "you see every month y/n and i do crafty stuff together and it happened to land on the same day i told you i would make the stir fry"

you gave izuku a quick smile before turning from his lingering gaze "it's okay okaasan. i'll come back another day so we can finish it" you started to gather your things, but inko shook her head "you are staying for dinner. this recipe cooks for four and i am not eating all these leftovers"

you wanted to argue, but knew it would fall onto deaf ears "okay then"

“izuku honey. finish mines while i start on dinner”

“alright” he went to sit on the couch, knee almost brushing onto your shoulder. izuku watched as you placed one of the shells onto your frame carefully. getting the idea he started to do the same exact thing.

you could cut the tension with a knife. silence wasn’t something you were particularly used to with izuku.

“heard you and ochako broke up”

and at this moment he could start listing the things he loved about you.

1. you weren’t afraid to be blunt with him

both of his eyebrows raised and he blew out a puff of air “you don’t hold anything back”

“never did, never will”

he chuckled at your words glancing over at you. there was a slight smile on your face he could tell you were trying to hide. there was a slight slump to your shoulders though as time went on.

he continued with the project figuring he would wait until you spoke again.

like clockwork you turned looking directly into his eyes “can we talk?”

2. you made room for open and honest communication

he nodded placing the picture frame down carefully “yeah, unplug the hot glue and we can go in my room” you nodded unplugging the glue guns and heading over to his old room. he followed after you but not before turning back to his mom “we’re gonna talk”

she gave him a nod, but then quickly turned around when it finally registered “talk? like the talk? the talk so that you two can get together so i can finally have grandbabies talk?-“

“if i say yes will you stop it with that?”

“yes”

“then yes that talk”

she shooed him off into the room as if it was him holding them up. he rubbed the back of his neck while walking inside. with the other hand he closed the door with a soft click.

“how much of that did you hear?”

you shrugged going to sit on the bed “i didn’t hear any of it if it makes you feel better”

“it does actually” he sat himself down next to you with a huff. kirishima would probably kick him right now for how unmanly he’s being. forcing you to step up and take charge of the situation. he just wanted to test the waters out and see how you felt first.

“i guess i just wanted to catch up. really see how you’re feeling. cause i know you posted on the media you ended everything on good terms, but is everything really okay? i mean you broke up with the woman you thought you’d be spending the rest of your life with. it’s okay to be upset”

3. you genuinely cared for him no matter what

“i-“ he cleared his throat from the unexpected voice crack that had arose “sorry, i’m pretty fine now actually. i just feel guilty for making ochako feel embarrassed about the whole situation. other than that.. i really don’t think we were meant to be anyways”

“what do you mean you didn’t think you were meant to be anyways? why’d you propose in the first place then?”

he shrugged taking off a loose strand on the all might themed duvet “i don’t think i knew what marriage was about. but i was informed very recently on what it is about and my vision changed” he watched as you turned to look at him with eyebrows raised.

“oh yeah? changed to what?”

“you”

your playful demeanor dropped immediately. his words truly sinking into the both of you. he attempted to scoot closer to you, but you backed away hesitantly.

“izuku we can’t do this. where you break up with ochako and come running to me? i’m not a second choice you know that right?” this is what you had always wanted, but at this moment it didn’t feel that way. with the current circumstances how else were you supposed to feel?

izuku’s eyes widened when he heard that and redness quickly creeped up his neck. he held both hands up shaking his head “that’s not it i swear! you were never my second choice. in fact, you were always my first. i could just never admit it to myself that maybe, maybe we could make it work romantically. i- i am attracted to you and everything like that! maybe i was with uraraka for so long that i didn’t notice what was right in front of me”

your throat had gone dry. was this really happening? the boy you’d been crushing on for eternity is finally asking you out after leaving his longtime girlfriend. totally normal, and totally not a chance you were willing to give up.

you wasted no time grabbing both of his cheeks and pulling him down for a kiss. startled was an understatement as he felt his lips connecting to yours. though as he realized what was truly happening, he wasn’t complaining. he shut his eyes moving one hand to your cheek and the other on your waist.

despite the quick start, the kiss was soft and slow. tongues gently brushing together in steady movements. when you pulled away, there was a goofy smile on your face. izuku trailed more kisses from your cheek, to your jaw, right down your neck.

4. you were a damned good kisser

“you’ve got a lot of work to do. i hope you know that”

izuku hummed nodding his head “i’m willing to work for it”

“hm.. izu?”

“yeah” he mumbled clearly not wanting to your time be interrupted.

“i’m not saying this doesn’t feel nice, because it does, but can we save it? for one your mom is on the other room. and two? all might is staring dead into my soul”

he pulled away face bright red turning to the poster you were talking about. there he was in all his glory. all might standing there in his signature hero suit, beady blue eyes staring directly at the viewer. izuku turned back to you not being able to contain his laughter. you were right behind him leaning your head on his shoulder in a fit of giggles.

5. you were his best friend

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