#lowkey i might polish this one up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

phasecornnuts · 1 year ago

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Hiiiiiiii! If you’re still open for requests maybe you might wanna write something where the reader casually mentioned that they/she had a partner on earth before they died and Alastor takes it a bit too drastically and has just been very salty and asking too many questions 😭 if you like that

Please & thanks ❤️

Hey guys I've returned! Sorry for taking a little while, I was busy with finals/I wanted to relax on my spring break so I didn't have a lot of time. I lowkey kind of cooked with this one too so enjoy :3

Also, I sorta made the reader be from around the same time period as Alastor (sorta late 1910s early 1930s) for extra spice

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It had become a daily routine for you and Alastor to have afternoon tea together in cannibal town. Always, between the hours and four and six o’ clock after Alastor had finished his broadcast and you, your hotel duties, the both of you would walk down to Rosie’s Emporium to nibble on finger sandwiches, candied eyeballs, and other treats.

The sun was still high in the sky, sending fingers of light through the windows of the cafe; the building was alive with the chatter of demons and hell-born alike. You and Alastor had just sat down, a short cannibal girl with a heart-shaped face and glowing brown ringlets placing your usuals on the table. Oh how beautiful they were! Too pretty to eat, garnished with tiny sprigs of mint (or, at least, it may have been mint) and resting on plates of delicate porcelain. With polished silver beside them, and matching teacups and saucers too, it all looked like a party for a girl’s favorite doll.

That is, if it weren’t human meat.

Looking up from your plate, you saw Alastor turn his head to follow the cannibal girl making you frown. His gaze returned to you before he caught you staring, a chipper grin on his face as always.

“She could be a dead ringer for Mary Pickford, don’t you think?”

Your eyebrows perked. You hadn’t looked long at the girl admittedly, though you stared long enough to know that she was no Pickford. You pursed your lips,

“I don’t see it, Lillian Gish maybe.”

He looked at you like a mad-woman, “You don’t!?”

“No! Her eyes are much too large!”

Alastor chuffed, proceeding to rest his chin on his dark hand, “In the eye of the beholder I suppose.”

You rolled your eyes, “You only say that because of her curls,” you stated while picking up the teapot and pouring yourself and Alastor your cups, “Now, drink before it gets cold.”

For much of your lunch neither of you spoke, merely enjoying each other’s presence while pecking on some food here and there. Throughout the meal the waitress brought more plates, pancreas tarts, minced tongues coated with cinnamon sugar, and sweet pies filled with rotted venison and cooked kidneys, all Rosie’s treat. Alastor had been taken by the small pies in their mulled deliciousness, the meat so tender you saw his eyes water. He pleaded you to try one, though you couldn’t, your stomach filled to the brim from the other treats and delicacies.

Alastor picked up the small pair of silver tongs from beside him and placed two sugar cubes in his tea, “I do say, it’s nice to have a meal companion again.” He took a sip from his teacup and grinned.

You nodded in agreement, lifting the milk jug from the table and pouring a generous amount into your cup. “Likewise. Good dinner conversation is a horrid thing to lose.”

“Truly.” He took another drink. “Before you, I hadn’t had a proper luncheon since my mother.”

“From what you tell she sounded like a fine woman.” His grin lost its eeriness, becoming fond instead.

“She truly was, and such a fine cook too.” Alastor gazed at the fine pattern painted on the rim of his saucer, “her jambalaya was the best, our side of the Mississippi” he chuckled. He began to remember then, “And her gumbo and her crawfish etouffee and her pecan pralines”

It was odd to hear his voice so full of affection, but nice too. So strange, to think a man who broadcasted his murders of other overlords and feasted on their flesh was once a little boy who clung to his mothers skirt and happily ate her cooking.

“Maybe one day you’ll cook for me then?” you teased

“Oh why wouldn’t I for my favoritest of sinners?” He took your hand.

You leaned in towards him, a silent flirtation. “Or perhaps I could prepare something for you?”

He looked at you from his dark, hooded eyes, a certain intrigue radiating from them. “Would you now?” he said, leaning in closer.

“Oh I would, anything you’d like.” the tip of your oxford lingering at his ankle. “My food was good enough for my darling back on earth, why would an overlord of hell have any complaints? Other than not enough seasoning I suppose.”

That was when the laughter in his eyes died. Alastor bit the inside of his cheek before finding the words to speak, “Your darling?”

“Pardon?”

“You had someone,” He straightened up, pulling himself away from you, “back on earth?”

“I hardly see how it matters now.”

Alastor’s tone grew curt, had such a simple word bruised his ego?

He crossed his arms, “What were they like?” each word as sharp as his teeth.

You pulled your hands close to you, confused at his curtness, “They were….they were nice. Cordial, spirited, vivacious, however you would put it. If you’re-” Alastor cut you off.

“How did you meet them?”

“On the trolley.” That only served to make him scoff.

“Tch, how common. The trolley.”

You chewed your bottom lip, trying to deny the anger towards him that began to knot in your belly. “It was a different lifetime.” You asserted, a hard finality to it. Pushing yourself from the small table you smoothed your skirt and adjusted the ribbon that was tied so nicely in your hair.

Without looking at him you said, “Tell Rosie I’m grateful for her hospitality and I will try to find a way to repay her. Also that I’m sorry that I had to retire without saying hello but I feel rather…faint.” Before leaving completely you said, “See you back at the hotel.”

The rest of the day you hid in your room, sulking and pacing. Charlie had tried to coax you out, seeing how angry you’d been when you came back, but you denied every effort she had.

“It’s not good to stay cooped up in there,” the Princess pleaded.

“I like my alone time.”

“But- but I had games planned! Husk was going to show us how to play Blackjack and Dominoes!”

“I prefer bridge, and he’ll just cheat us anyways.”

She gave a disappointed sigh, and outside the door you could hear Vaggie talking to her, telling Charlie to give you your space.

For three nights straight you avoided Alastor, finishing up your hotel duties quickly before hiding in your room. You grew bored after the first day admittedly, a person could only sleep and bathe and read so much. The fourth night is when he knocked on your door while you lied draped on your couch, your nose in a book you’d already finished before. Thinking it was Charlie, you ignored it, sure she’d get the message. It insisted however, rapping harder the second time. You sighed, annoyed. “Who is it?”

“Alastor, may I come in?”

A sour taste came in your mouth, “No.”

“You cannot lock yourself away from me forever.”

You lifted yourself off the couch, full of bitterness, “I can and I will!”

An electric hum filled your ears, the sound of Alastor weighing his words, “Could you at least entertain my attempt?”

Walking to the door and opening it slightly you saw his face, those deep, hooded eyes dark as blood, cracked lips, and hollow cheekbones. All of those beautiful, haunting features draped in remorse. You sighed, cursing the affection you had for him.

“Fine, but I’m still cross with you.” That made him smile, if only a tad.

Opening the door fully, you saw he’d brought one of the dining carts from the unused kitchen clad in a clean white sheet. Alastor pushed it to the center of the room before spiritedly ripping the cover from the cart, presenting polished silver dishes of raw meat and organs. From the bottom shelf of it, he had pulled a fine bottle of wine and two shining glasses.

“I helped myself to a bottle of Husk’s finest, the patrons here don’t have as refined tastes as you and I.” He gave a small grin. So this is what he brought with him, a peace offering. Your stomach was empty from only eating a small meal earlier in the day, so perhaps it was not in vain, though you weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him.

“I’ll help you set the table,” you offered, feeling guilty he put so much effort into pleasing you.

Alastor held his hands up, “No need darling.” He put his hand on his throat, “What I said the other day was very…” he coughed into his hand, “ungentlemanly of me, and I wanted to make it up to you.”

You folded your hands and held them to your chest, looking at the embarrassment he tried to hide. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, and raised your gaze to his. “Thank you, Alastor.” His grin widened as he sat down beside you.

He uncorked the bottle of wine, beginning to pour it into the glasses, “Of course.” He handed you the glass which you took gladly. The vintage was so dark it looked black, reflecting the lights that glowed from the ceiling. Swishing it, you could see the hidden shades of red that the wine hid.

“Demon’s blood, Husk calls it.” Alastor told you before he took a long sip.

“Fitting. Do you know how long he’s aged it?” Alastor shrugged, taking another swallow.

“I didn’t care to ask, but it tastes so good going down. Come, drink, I didn’t bring this up so I could get drunk by myself.” That made you giggle, how much he valued the both of you eating and drinking together.

Taking his lead, you titled your head back, savoring the warm burn of the wine going down. Its hot fingers lingered in your chest before fading, like drinking cold medicine. In three large gulps you finished your glass, noticing the way Alastor’s eyes watched your throat as you drank. After finishing your second glass you began to dig into the food he’d brought, pancreas tarts, cooked kidneys and…oh good god! On the largest plate was a raw heart, fresh and bloody.

“Where did you get this? You shouldn’t have!” Your eyes went wide and your mouth began to salivate. A raw heart! Oh and it was human too! Such a fine delicacy must have taken so much begging from Alastor!

“Rosie owed me a favor. And I owe it to you, for making such a jackass of myself.”

You took another sip of your wine, feeling your face begin to flush. You helped yourself to a tart while Alastor poured himself another glass. As you ate you felt his eyes on you again, focusing on the way your teeth bit into the pastry, your swan’s neck showing your swallow, and how your tongue dragged across your lips. Feeling bold, you placed your feet in his lap and wiped the corner of your mouth with your finger, licking the tip of it with your tongue. He swallowed, hard, his eyes growing wide.

“Are you looking at something?” Your voice a heavy seduction.

“Possibly.” He drank again. Leaning back on the arm of the couch, he placed his glass on the floor. The tips of his fingers grazed your legs, “Though I do have another question for you, if I may.”

A sultry smirk grew on your face, “That depends on what it is, Al.” God, you could see the glint in his eyes then.

Alastor looked up at you from his hooded eyes, “I’ve been wondering…about your “darling.” You arched an eyebrow; your interest piqued. “Did they ever have…you?” His breath shuddered.

“Have me, how?” You teased.

“Oh humor me my dear,” He purred

You smirked and shifted your legs in his lap. “Hmm, maybe once or twice…” You sit up from your recline and crawl onto his lap.

“What sorts of things did they do to you?”

Running your fingers down his chest you savored the way he squirmed and shifted, “All sorts of unholy things”

Alastor choked on his breath, his eyes transfixed on your face. Slowly, he caught it, regaining a certain boldness afterwards. His hand found the top of your stocking, fingering the nylon taut to your thighs. “Getting rather comfortable aren’t we my dear?”

The smirk you had deepened and you pulled in closer, feeling the heat of his breath tickle your cheeks. You looked into his eyes, “I could get much more comfortable if you like, Al.” For what seemed like ages you lingered, until you felt you had tortured the man enough. Slowly, you leaned in, seemingly ready to kiss his shiny red lips. Grinning, you pulled a piece of dry skin from his bottom lip between your teeth, peeling it to show the bleeding flesh beneath.

You sat back on his lap and spat out the skin. Looking at him, you saw that hunger in his eyes again. That fine line of decorum the two of you had with one another, ignoring the lingering gazes and longing touches, all thrown away with one bite. Underneath, you could feel his arousal beginning to grow hard. You rolled your hips slightly into him, earning a throaty groan from Alastor. From the silver dining cart you pulled the piece de resistance, that raw bleeding heart, and sunk your teeth into it, tasting the sweet flavor of iron. Trails of blood dripped from your mouth onto your decolletage, slowly turning brown and flaky.

Alastor’s breath heaved, growing even harder from that sultry cannibalistic display. He pulled you towards him and pressed your mouth to his, saccharine saliva mixing with sanguine. His tongue slid and twisted about yours, savoring every inch of its taste. You pulled away from him to catch your breath, making him whine. Leaning in again, he dragged his tongue along your neck, cleaning up the drying strings of blood.

Both of you straightened up then, him holding you proper now. One hand ran its fingers through his shiny red hair and the other cupped his aching sex, so taut against his trousers.

“Is that what you were so upset about Al? If they fucked me or not?” You purred into his ear.

The tips of your fingers fluttered over his hip, tracing its edge before returning to his cock. “I bet you wondered if I did this to them, didn’t you?” A small nip was placed on his neck, leaving a red half-moon. Your breath grew hot against his cheek as you whispered into his ear again,

“Maybe I did, and maybe I did so many more dirty things to them.”

Alastor enraptured your mouth in another needy kiss. His words heavy with radio static, “What sort of things my dear? Or are you all talk?” Your grin widened seeing the shock in his eyes when you began to unbutton his overcoat.

“Let me show you.”

Four little words was all it took to send him over the edge. Picking you up, his hands traced over all the parts of your succulent body. When he flopped you on the bed, hair as tousled as a pin-up, you reached out a stockinged leg to him, that devious look on your face growing. Oh how badly he wanted to have you, hastily unzipping your dress as you stripped him down to his undershirt and trousers. Deft fingers hooked around the tops of your stockings, pulling them down as fast as they could. You dropped his trousers and took off his shirt, admiring all of that soft, gray skin.

You pressed your mouth to the flesh of his stomach, blessing it with small love-bites that made him shudder. All along his torso you left red patches and traced your cool fingertips along the hard edges where his ribs poked out. You tilted your head up and moved his hands to the straps of your brasserie, exposing all of your hot, yearning flesh. He cupped a breast and lied on top of you. Grinding his sex to yours he moaned into your mouth. It had been so…so long since you’d been wanted, since someone pressed their body to yours and you felt all of their heat as they slid into you, over and over again.

“Al,” You breathed

“What is it?”

“Get on your back.”

And so he did.

Alastor’s back against the mattress and your palms against his chest, you let him enter you. He let out a string of curses when you did, and even more when you started moving in those easy rolling motions. Those large hands of his held the curve of your waist as you rode him, his eyes half-lidded as he watched your breasts bounce.

“The first time I saw you…” You began, going a little faster, “I wanted you,” You heard a small thud as he dropped his head against the pillows.

“I thought about you kissing me and touching me all over” That’s when the pulses of pleasure started to build up, prickling you in sweet needles that went all the way up your spine.

“And about you sticking your fingers in me and..and your tongue too” You felt your face heat up and your sex grow slicker, admitting those indecent thoughts you only entertained during late nights when your fingers wandered. Alastor gripped your waist tighter, making your rhythm harsher. You looked down on him, his eyes glazed over with euphoria, and felt your mouth pool with saliva.

Digging your nails into the skin of his chest you kept on. “For a whole week I couldn’t keep from slipping my hands between my legs.” Your voice, thick and hoarse. “I wanted to know what you tasted like, if-if your mouth tasted like blood,” that was when he quickened the pace even more. Your sex was so hot and wet, all the way at the base of your spine you could feel your orgasm coming to you, a full-body shiver that made your eyes well with tears.

The last part was what sent him over the edge though.

“Sometimes, I’d bite myself so I could taste the blood when I’d touch-” was all it took to make him come.

Fuck it felt good too. A weak falsetto escaped your mouth when he released, so warm and filling. That’s what made you reach your end too. You clawed your nails in his skin so deep there were two broken half-moons on his chest. Your thighs clenched against his torso, quivering, as you could feel your body become as light and floaty as chiffon.

Alastor let the both of you ride it out, that sweet joyous bliss. When your mind returned from the heaven it was sent to, you leaned over, resting on top of him. He moved you gently, pressing you closely to his chest. For a while, neither of you spoke, the air lingering with the smell of sweat and blood and sex. You ran your fingers through his hair again; He kissed the back of your hand before speaking.

“If I’d known all that would come out of making you angry at me, I would’ve earned your ire a long while ago.” You rolled your eyes, flicking his chest playfully.

“Perhaps we could do this again, without the arguing?” You propose, “You’re quite good at it.”

A smile stretched across his face as he played with a lock of hair that rested near your face, “Expect nothing less from an overlord of hell cher.” One of his hands slid to your lower back, tracing small circles on that creamy flesh.

“How about we try one more time without the arguing, for good measure?”

You smirked and kissed him again. All for good measure.

#hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel smut #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #fanfic request

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number-onekidqueen · 2 months ago

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pls do Sirius x reader to loml but make it not enough time instead of wrong time

𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓛𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓛𝓲𝓯𝓮

warnings: mentions of prison, death, alcohol, arguments, swearing, semi-cheating, a whole lot of angst.

wc: 8k

a/n: this is a long one, so i hope that makes up for how long this took to publish. i lowkey forgot what happened exactly with sirius, and all the department of mysteries so if it's inaccurate, my apologies.

It was an understatement to say you and Sirius had a history together.

You'd been in each other's orbit before then, sitting near each other once or twice and sending polite smiles, but everything truly started during fourth year, when the Yule Ball had been announced. Boys in each house began stressing, worrying about how to ask their would-be dates and how they might confess their feelings.

The marauders were not spared. While Remus had already asked a girl he was in a study group with - and she had accepted, luckily for him - he was overthinking ways it could go wrong and how the night could pan into a disaster.

Peter was a wreck, having ceased the little social contact he’d had with his potential date and attempting to change the subject whenever the topic would surface and she was within earshot.

Even James, at least sure in his choice of Lily as a date was anxious in ensuring the details of his proposal to her would be flawless, anxious to please her and praying she accepted.

It was worse than exams. Somehow, using natural talent and a bit of cheating, Sirius and James had always managed passing grades or above in most subjects when it came to getting results back after exam season.

But asking a girl out to the Yule Ball? You couldn’t cruise along easily, hoping for the best outcome. Girls were happy to go on all the Hogsmeade dates that they wanted with Sirius and have it be casual, but the second a ball came up, it all became sentimental to them and they wanted it to “mean something”.

And as irking as that was, it led Sirius to question whether he should take someone he actually liked too.

Which led him to a conundrum. Because when it came down to it, there simply weren’t many options of girls he actually liked, who he could talk to and have fun with.

Sure, there were a few girls in Slytherin that were acquaintances of his family and that were okay to have a chat to once in a while. But he didn’t want to get sucked into all that pureblood shit. It would be fulfilling his parents wishes if he did something like that, and he would be damned if he did anything remotely close to what they wanted.

And so he was left with two options.

The first was a Ravenclaw girl he was often paired up with in potions that tolerated his laidback often bordering on lazy attitude towards the subject. But he knew she’d already been asked and accepted, because he’d had to make the potion on his own the last lesson they’d had, as she’d been distracted, passing notes and giggling with a fellow Ravenclaw boy behind them.

Which left you. Y/N L/N. Friends with Lily, Dorcas, Marlene, Mary, a fair few people. Your friend groups collided often, and he liked that while you enjoyed a laugh, you put James and him in their places when they got too cocky. It took guts to do that, and he respected that.

With the idea becoming more and more appealing, he decided to ask you.

The proposal was nothing special. He remembered from a conversation he’d overheard between you and Lily about nail polish that you liked burgundy. So he’d conjured three red roses in preparation, and ambled up to you in the library where you were studying, with the flowers thrust out.

You'd raised an eyebrow as he placed them beside your books, urging him to speak.

“Look, I know you probably think I’m an idiot. But I like you, and I have no date to the Yule Ball, and I think we could have a lot of fun, so I’d like to ask you to the ball.” He'd proposed.

It was strange. He’d been mostly nonchalant all day leading up to this event, but saying the words left a ball of tension in his throat. He waited with bated breath for your response. For some unknown reason, he knew it would hurt him if you said no.

“Yeah, okay, I’d be happy to come with you.” And you'd smiled at him, just a friendly quirk of the lips, and it made him wonder why he felt jittery afterwards, why he seemed to be in a daze when he left the library after.

The Yule Ball was a success. Sort of.

Remus and his date, Linda, seemed to have a lovely time all night. Peter managed to say a few words to his date every now and then. And Lily had rejected James’ offer, but between both their friend groups, they’d ended up having a single dance together, right towards the end of the night, which James was still rambling about a week and a half later. And as for Sirius, it had been easier than falling asleep to enjoy himself.

He was stunned at first, when you walked down the stairs with the other girls. All of them looked glamorous and attractive, but it still seemed as if you were the star among stones when you stepped out amongst them. The colour of your gown seemed to bring out different shades in your eyes, and the right tones in your skin, or whatever it was supposed to do. He didn’t really know what it was, couldn't put a finger on what made you look so gorgeous, the only thing he knew is that you did.

And suddenly it was intimidating. With every step of yours closer to him and quiet click of your heels, his mind began to race more, and he felt insecure, worried his hair wasn’t neat enough, that perhaps he’d missed the sneaky patch of bristle under the dip of his jaw-

But you’d smiled and laughed once you approached him, and immediately struck up a conversation. It was like that all night - talking, dancing, drinking, eating. Fun and easy.

He'd been to so many balls in his life, used to the impressive and dainty decorations, the fine food and all the dramatic events that occurred. It was just another night to him, but he soon discovered that to you it wasn't.

This was your first ball, and you knew nothing of them. And despite hating them for as long as he could remember, there was something fun about seeing the wonder in your eyes as you took everything in, correcting your occasionally awkward dance movements and advising you on what to eat and what not. All these seemingly useless skills he'd acquired could finally be put to use, and help make you happy. And so it was a pleasant night, teaching you everything there was to know about balls, and sharing new experiences.

Until it wasn't. He hadn’t been aware, but the last song of the ball was slow and heartfelt. Out on the dance floor, still laughing together, the pair of you had been caught up in the tune, following the music as you waltzed and swirled and stepped. And as he’d dipped you, he’d felt a spark in his stomach, as if he’d touched a live wire.

You'd exhaled softly as he gripped the small of your back, and the nervous gesture had cast his eyes onto your lips. Pink, glossed lips. The music seemed to go silent, and all there was were the shared breaths between you as he found himself leaning forward, inch by inch and wanting more, wanting to feel their softness with his own lips. And a rapid glance at your eyes revealed what he felt, a shy but desperate urge to get closer, to explore what hadn't been felt-

The moment had been disrupted when James had bumped into the pair of you, pushing you away from a girl who was hunched over and retching on the floor.

It hit him all at once, when you immediately left his side to hurry over to the poor girl, some Hufflepuff you knew from Herbology. You were good, kind - an amazing girl really. The kind of girl to fearlessly help another girl in need, even if you weren't good friends, even if it was embarrassing. What did he have to offer you? He toyed with girl's feelings, organised pranks on Slytherins and cheated on tests. He wasn't good. He wasn't worthy of you. What in Merlin's name was he doing? No, he couldn't do this.

He walked up to your crouched form beside the Hufflepuff girl, patting you gently on the shoulder, before he walked away, offering a brief goodbye as he headed for his dormitory.

He knew he’d fucked up the next week. The day after the ball, you’d wanted to talk to him, about what had almost happened, about where the pair of you stood. He could feel it when you glanced over at him in classes, when you quickened to his pace when you spotted him walking around the castle.

He couldn’t bring himself to talk to you. If he even felt the things he felt, which he still wasn't completely sure of, he knew he wasn’t good for you at all. His family, his status, his reputation. Sirius and Black would forever be entwined inevitably, and you detested everything the Blacks stood for. And at his core, he knew he was the exact opposite of you, in all the worst ways. It just wouldn’t work.

He tried to tell himself that when he dodged your eyes and exclamations to him, and when he avoided you in the corridors between lessons.

He tried to believe it when he saw your face fall in hurt, saw you and your entire friend group begin to look at him in disdain.

He tried to reassure himself when he lay in bed awake, long after James had began snoring, and wondered what could’ve been if that chick hadn’t puked her guts out.

You weren’t good friends after that at all. Your whole relationship seemed to have been tossed into flames. He realised the extent of that, when he casually slid into a seat beside you in Charms a few months later and you up and left immediately. To sit beside a Slytherin.

For the rest of fourth year, your relationship was frosty at best between you both. He tried to be back in your orbit, and you pushed him out, often obviously. It always made him a little upset, even if he rolled his eyes at your passive aggressive antics in public. He'd still wanted to be your friend, even if he knew he couldn't be more than that for your sake.

He was pleased that by the end of seventh year, he at least had a civil relationship with you. You tolerated him, you were polite to him, and sometimes you even let out a short chuckle at his jokes. He loved it when you did.

It was when you both joined the Order after graduation that he truly began talking to you again and trying to reform the relationship. And it had appeared to be working.

He was different now, more knowing of himself and his personality than his teen self had been. And he knew now that while he wasn't perfect back then and he certainly wasn't now, you had been worth the risk. You had been worth all the differences between the pair of you and all the changes he would've had to have made. And you still were.

But that was when bloody Craig entered the scene.

Sirius couldn’t believe of all the blokes out there, you’d chosen to date him. You weren’t just attractive to him, you were seriously beautiful. In his opinion, you probably could’ve dated a prince or Oscar-winning actor with your looks and your personality, and you'd chosen him?!

Craig was… Merlin's beard, where did he even start? He’d been a stuffy Ravenclaw guy in the year above the both of you. And could you believe it, after seven years at Hogwarts and getting cracking marks in most subjects, what did he do with his credentials? He was a muggle television technician or something. Sirius still didn't really understand what he did exactly, but he'd been seriously disappointed when he found out. What?!

What was worst of all was Sirius knew that secretly, you didn’t like him. He’d be invited for Order dinners, and call you sweetie, give you a wet kiss on the cheek, and Sirius would see your eyes twitch, just slightly, your smile tighten. He’d speak of image quality and specific cords, and Sirius would see you roll your lips inward and look away, the way you always did when you were embarrassed or uncomfortable.

It pissed him off, frankly. If he were dating you, he wouldn’t be talking about bloody televisions. He’d be talking about what you liked, what you were interested in, and trying to crack jokes that would make you laugh, even just a little bit. He'd include you in every conversation, instead of interrupting you mid-sentence to go on tangents about muggle 'technology', whatever that was. He'd kiss you privately, the way he knew you liked, and not blatantly ignore your discomfort and embarrassment at public affection.

When he'd seen your subtle grimace for the fourth time that night, he decided to pour himself another glass of wine, and perhaps a generous one at that. He was going to need it.

Walking into the kitchen, he debated between Merlot and Pinot Noir before choosing the latter option. If this continued, (which he was sure it would) he didn't want to be sober, and he didn't want to remember it at all.

"Do you mind pouring me a glass?"

At your soft question, Sirius nearly dropped his glass in surprise. Spinning around, he faced you and immediately noticed the expression of discomfort on your face, the way your cheeks were coloured and eyes troubled.

Playing it casually, he hummed affirmatively in response, reaching up to get a glass, and beginning to pour the deep red liquid into your glass.

"Oh, woo- that's enough." You chuckled, pulling the glass by its stem to avoid it from filling further. "I don't want to get completely written off."

You laughed and Sirius joined in, although the sound was hollow and fake, even to his own ears.

Frowning, you took a small sip from your glass and tilted your head. "Sirius, what's wrong? I don't mean to be rude, but I feel like you've kind of been off all night."

"I'm fine," he responded tightly, putting the wine back in its place and making to head past you, "there's nothing wrong."

Your hand, small but firm, stopped him on his way past, gripping his bicep. He turned, seeing your look of disbelief and something akin to concern. "Come on. Don't pull this shit with me. I know... we're not friends like we were, but I feel like I know you well enough to know that something's wrong. Just- please tell me."

All right, he thought to himself, I hate that we're not friends anymore, or more than that. I hate your boyfriend. I hate that you hate your boyfriend. I hate myself-

"Fine, tell me nothing," you spoke angrily, when enough time had lapsed that it was clear he wouldn't be speaking, "Hide behind lies, like you always do, Black. But just know, one day the truth might help you. Might save you!"

And just like that he was furious. Because how could you come to him and start preaching of telling the truth and not hiding behind falsehoods like some saint, when your current life was a lie?!

“Right, well if you want me to tell the truth, I will then," He spat bitterly, shaking his arm from your grip, "You don’t-you don’t even like him at all, do you?”

You froze, your eyes narrowing. “What?”

“It’s obvious. Craig! You think he’s a total loser. And he is!”

“Sirius, what the hell?! Just because he’s not in a magic career-“

“It’s not just that," Sirius said, shaking his head, and absolutely bewildered that you were defending him, "He’s a television technician for God’s sake. And he actually enjoys it, and finds it interesting!”

“And what's wrong with that, Sirius?!" You retorted, eyes flashing, and even though you were angry with him, some deeper part within him cheered as you stepped closer, as you brought your nose to his, "Merlin, not everyone finds parading around and pretending to be some magic soldier entertaining!"

"Oh, but you do?" He challenged, and for the way you stuttered for words, he knew that he'd won in a way.

"You... and I- we're very different. In the way we are, in the way we do our jobs, in everything."

"Fine. But d'you you know who's even more different to you? Fucking Craig! Just admit it! You don't love him, you don't even like him!"

"Craig is nice though," you defended, "he makes me feel safe and-"

"Safe? Safe?! Y/N, I know you might've forgotten that poem you loved in fourth year - but I haven't - and I'm pretty sure the line you liked most literally read 'I'd prefer to be starry-eyed rather than safe', and you talked to me for hours about it, because you agreed with it on so many levels, and you wanted to find a love that felt like that," He exhaled, suddenly feeling exhausted, "I-I know you've changed a lot since then. But if you're anything like who you were then, do you really think that Craig makes you feel starry-eyed?"

There was a long, quiet pause. In the dining room, the sounds of Lily laughing at James' joke echoed through to the kitchen. Then-

"No," you whispered.

And then-

"To be honest, only one person ever made me feel starry-eyed."

Sirius felt as if he were about to topple over from the impact of that sentence, as if he was back on his broom in a gruelling match of Quidditch and the quaffle had socked him in the ribs. He held his breath, his eyes searching yours as he prayed you'd continue, prayed you'd say the words his soul craved.

"Yeah?" His voice was croaky, scratchy, but it was as if his vocal cords had stopped functioning.

"Yeah," you breathed, and he wasn't sure whether it was he or you who moved first, but in an instant you were meeting in the middle, skidding on the cold tiles, and your lips were colliding. They were cool and soft, and coated in lip gloss that tasted sweet, and that he was sure would coat his mouth after this encounter. It was better than anything he'd ever guiltily dreamed of, and just thinking about for how long he'd yearned for this made his head spin. He wrapped his arms around your waist to distract himself from those thoughts, groaning from the warmth of your skin beneath the soft wool, so caught up in everything that he only noticed that your wine glass had slipped from your hand and crashed to the floor when your lips stopped on his, breathy and tense.

"Oh, shit. Sirius-"

"Don't care. I'll clean it up later." And he drew you back in, this time caressing your chin and neck, and twisting his fingers through the softness of your hair. It was you who let out a groan then, and then another as he began to trail warm kisses down your throat. And-and it was all that you wanted, but you knew you'd spent a suspicious amount of time as it was in the kitchen, and that soon someone would come to fetch the pair of you. And so, as much as your body screamed in argument, you should stop.

"We-we should-" you murmured, tilting slightly away from his lips which had reached the curve of your shoulder.

"Mm, no. We shouldn't." It was short and decided, which made you laugh lightly.

"They'll see us... and, well-"

"Let them."

But despite his words, even he knew the time had come to venture back into the dining room, before you attracted an audience.

Pulling away, he gave you a long glance that seemed to sear to your very bones before he gave you a final soft peck and retreated. "To be continued," he whispered with a grin, before squeezing your hand and reaching for a new wine glass for you.

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

The night seemed to progress in a way that reminded you of the fast-forward control Craig had shown you on a television, when the show continued twice or thrice as fast in order to get to the part one was up to quicker.

Dinner was over in a heartbeat, with dessert rolling out soon after you and Sirius had returned to the dining room, and everyone only staying for a half hour or so after that before succumbing to their fatigue or intoxication and heading home.

As you'd hugged Sirius goodbye, you'd whispered 'see you soon', and he'd been more than a bit confused, an eyebrow raising as he probed you with a glance for more information. But you'd just smiled at him before apparating away with Craig.

And from there it was easy.

He'd showered, and you'd sat on the sofa twisting your hands about, wondering how you were going to phrase what you'd needed to say. And when he'd come out, hair wet and on his way out to his own apartment, you stood, and you said what you could. Most of it was measly from your it's-not-you-it's-me explanation, to your utterly decided mind that the relationship was over.

But he'd taken it well. In fact, he'd practically shrugged, said something about how he was sure some girl called Grace working at his office would go on a date with him, wished you a good night, and left. It left you so dumfounded you sat on the arm of the sofa for a good few minutes after, simply collecting your thoughts.

And then you left your apartment too.

Back in the kitchen in Sirius' apartment, you wasted no time in making your way to his room, not pausing before opening the door and rushing in, blurting, "I broke up with him."

He was surprised for a moment, sat on his bed, before he rose and walked over to you, tugging you down to sit on his lap. "Couldn't waste another second without me, could you?"

"Oh, shut up, I just didn't want you going to bed sobbing." You teased, shifting from his lap to lie down on his bed, your legs still splaying over his thighs.

"Well you've absolutely saved me the tears. Now I'll be going to bed in a completely different mood," and he smirked as he ducked down to kiss you deeply, before breaking apart with concern in his eyes.

"Did he take it well?"

"Did he ever," you snorted, settling deeper into his pillow, and inhaling the scent that surrounded the bed - the scent of him -, "I'd barely closed my mouth and he was talking about some girl at his office and how he'd be fine."

"Of course he was," Sirius scoffed, scowling at the roof at the thought of discarding you so easily for someone else.

"But let's not talk about him," you complained, raising yourself up only so you could tug him down so he lay beside you.

"Oh, you want to talk about how you're starry-eyed for me?"

"Wanker," you mumbled in embarrassment, as you buried your face into the pillow.

"Princess, don't be ashamed," he said gently, taking your face into his hands so you could meet his eyes. And as riddled with mirth as they were, there was also something deeply profound in them as he said, "I'm also completely starry-eyed for you too."

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

The news came late in the night, as bad news always does.

At first you'd been rather irritated as you felt the bed shift and Sirius slip out, even if you were accustomed to it.

You'd made him promise to tone down his midnight meetings and all the dangerous missions he went on with the Order, begging him to not be involved in it over this weekend when you were supposed to be celebrating your engagement, but you supposed he couldn't necessarily ignore the shrill and desperate shrieks of an owl.

Still, you groaned when you heard him curse, heard him pull his clothes on in a hurry and rush down the stairs. And you were positively pissed when you heard the deep roar of his motorcycle start, and the rush as it zoomed off, as he left you.

What the fuck is going on? you thought to yourself as you rolled out of bed, and stumbled to where he'd left the letter.

Sirius,

Someone spilled it. He's coming for them.

-- Wormtail

No.

No, it couldn't be. You rubbed your eyes, blinked until you saw stars, trying to see anything other than the messy scrawl in front of you.

A desperate need overtook you, much like what you were sure had rushed through Sirius once he'd read the letter from Peter. You needed to help Lily and James, and poor, sweet baby Harry. You couldn't let them- but no, you refused to think of that.

But quickly, you realised there wasn't much you could do. Much like the Potters, most members of the Order had strong spells in place that didn't allow you to apparate to and from their houses, due to some leaks that had resulted in house invasions. And Sirius had taken the motorcycle, which is what the pair of you used to travel from place to place, if you didn't use the bus.

So, unless you walked - which you certainly were not going to do at this hour - there was no way you could make it to Godric's Hollow in time, no way you could help anyone.

The anguish overtook you then, and you couldn't help but cry in the horror of it all. This was supposed to be your engagement weekend with Sirius, something romantic and quiet that you had both longed for after all the dangers of being in the Order. You weren't supposed to be fearing for the lives of your closest friends, of their baby boy - and especially not your fiancé.

The hours trickled by slowly, and you weren't sure how you survived, with the way you paced agonisingly and repeatedly, shook heavily, and wept until your body went numb.

The daylight came and went, and when your watch told you that it was ten o'clock you knew something bad had happened. If things had gone well, Sirius would have been back by now. Which meant-

Getting changed into his old quidditch jersey for comfort, and a pair of jeans, you finally headed downstairs and stepped outside and into the street.

It was a normal late morning in London, with people getting on and off buses, and sitting on benches and reading the paper. But you knew in the muggle streets of London, you would get no answers to the questions you desperately needed answering, and so you rushed into action, hopping onto the approaching bus and beginning your short trip to the Leaky Cauldron.

Even at the early hour, it was bustling with patrons. Which only happened when there were things to talk about. You took this as a bad sign, but swallowing heavily, you pushed through them to get into Diagon Alley, and that was when you stepped into complete chaos.

"Get yer Prophet! Read all 'bout it! Mass murder in Godric's Hollow!" A paper seller shouted into the crowd of people.

There were groups of people standing about, with newspapers in hands and horrified expressions all around as they read what had occurred and friends read over their shoulders. Your stomach sank further as you approached the seller, bending down to pick up a paper someone had discarded in disgust on the cobbles.

AUROR COUPLE FOUND DEAD AT HOME, THEIR BABY SOLE SURVIVOR

James and Lily Potter, prominent members of the Auror community were found dead in their cottage at Godrics Hollow late last night, with only their baby boy Harry surviving the encounter that is believed to be another attack by You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters.

But unlike other Auror deaths that seem similar in nature to this double-homicide, this awful story has another horrifying twist. Friend of the Potter's, Peter Pettigrew, was found later on this morning in a London alley, where he was seemingly trying to catch the mole within the Aurors who caused this tragedy before he was brutally-

"Murdered at the hands of Sirius Black!" The seller crowed once more, "a death eater disguised as an Auror!"

You felt like you might vomit. Or faint. What?! None of what they were saying could be true. James? Lily? Dead? No, that couldn't possibly have happened.

And Sirius? You knew him, you loved him. You couldn't even fathom how someone could even have begun spreading this story of misinformation.

Courage and outrage growing within you, you stormed to the seller, calling, "You've got it wrong. Sirius Black isn't a death eater!"

You didn't care about the stares and attention you got at your bold words, at how murmurs began to spread as people looked at the golden surname stitched on the back of the red jersey you were wearing and connected the dots.

"Lovie, I'm afraid he is. Caught redhanded and everythin'," the seller explained, somewhat sympathetically, as she pointed at the front cover of the Daily Prophet. At the scowling mugshot of Sirius, whose face was sprayed in dark droplets.

No. No. But what was worse was the haunted look in his eyes, the utter pain you could see radiating from his pupils, even in the shaky, monochromatic image.

"Look, I get it's hard to come to terms with, especially if he's ya boyfriend. I knew someone who was a death eater too, and bloody hell was that a hard one to swallow! But lovie, just accept it and everythin'll be easier on ya." She soothed, giving you a ginger pat on your shoulder.

But you stepped away from her sharply. "No, this isn't true, and I'll prove it!"

And you ran and ran and ran. You didn't hear as people began to point you out, recognising you as the girlfriend of that murderer, jeer rude words at you, or even spit at you. You had tunnel vision, only thinking of your destination, which was the Ministry of Magic, and you wouldn't rest until you saw that cherry red telephone box, and until it was transporting you into the depths that were the Ministry.

Your legs began to ache, muscles screaming in protest at the ruthless pace you were sprinting at, but you refused to slow down, not when everyone in the world had got it so wrong and they were going to hurt Sirius. It couldn't be him, you simply didn't believe it at all.

The Ministry was a blur of people, colours and sounds as you pushed through crowds of people in suits, desperate to get to the desk clerk you glimpsed in the distance and ready to fall to your knees and beg to be given an audience with Sirius.

Eventually, you made it to her bench, and began breathing heavily as you faced her. "Please," you panted, as you tried to regain your rapidly escaping breath, "I don't know where he is... what's happened- but... I need to see Sirius Black, now, please-"

"Sirius Black?" The girl asked incredulously, halting her relentless gum chewing to gape at you.

"Yes, he-he... I'm afraid something terrible has happened and he's been framed... I need to sort it all out."

"Look, miss, I can't deny the bloke looks half decent," she proclaimed, leaning forward as she began to whisper the latter half of her sentence, "but he murdered some fella! And it wasn't any clean curse too, you hear? I've got an Auror friend and he said the entire road was coated in blood, Black blew the bloke up and-"

"No, no, I refuse to believe that," you rebutted desperately, "I know him, and this isn't about the fact he looks handsome, for Merlin's sake. Just-just tell me what floor he's on, please? Tell me how to access it?"

The clerk girl pursed her lips, seemingly torn before gesturing to a nearby elevator with her head and saying, "8 should be him."

Calling your thanks back at her, you strode away, dashing to make it to the elevator before the doors closed, when you heard shouts behind you.

"Y/N L/N! L/N, stop where you are!"

Obeying the voice, you swivelled your head to see three Ministry guards with their wands out, briskly making their way over and a crowd of officials following them.

"We've obtained knowledge from a source that you have a certain relationship with a recently detained Sirius Black. Would that be correct?" A guard questioned, now facing you.

"Yes," you breathed, scared suddenly.

"Well, Miss L/N, I'm going to assume that you have heard this morning's tragic news and understand the repercussions," An official interjected, once he had made his way over to face her as well, "The Ministry does not take situations like this lightly. In a reflection of that, the trial of Sirius Black is to begin in a half hour."

You couldn't even question the words leaving his mouth as any semblance of language had disappeared from your mind. You couldn't even begin to understand how this could be possible. You wanted so desperately to wake up, but you could feel the way your palms were sweating, and hear the ticking of the Ministry clock. This was not a nightmare, but reality.

"Now, obviously we cannot allow you to be a witness, as to our knowledge you were not part of last night's events, and we cannot allow you to be a part of the jury, as I think it would be safe to say you are far from impartial to Mr Black. However, what we can offer you is a seat in the viewing gallery when a verdict is reached, and a ten minute time frame with him before your trial, given your close circumstance with him. I trust you will be grateful for this and take advantage of this generous opportunity we've presented you."

And all you could say was, "Yes."

You suppose it was the shock that had set in at that point. At least, that's what the catering lady suspected when she spotted your shaking form in the court break room fifteen minutes later. You couldn't really remember how you had got down there, what path you had taken and who had taken you. Even after a mug of steaming tea and two buttery biscuits, your shaking would not subside, and your mind remained blank. But then-

"Miss Y/N, you will now see Mr Black if you have no objections." The offical called, and you felt rather than heard the doors open, as you stumbled to your feet.

It was as if all of your emotions flooded back into your body, all at once, as your eyes locked with his. The numbing shock faded away as quickly as it had drenched you, and in its wake was a suffocating number of emotions. You felt like you could begin bawling, yelling and smiling all at once as he was brought closer and closer to you by the guards restraining either side of him.

You decided fate was a cruel thing then, as the guards finally let go of his form, and he dashed the final steps to sweep you into his arms. Because the deja vu was not lost on you, of his suit and tie, and his shocked face as you walked towards him, his actions mirroring those of his ones at the Yule Ball all those years ago.

But you quickly forgot your thoughts of deja vu and fate, when you felt his own body quake with restrained sobs, felt his tight grip of you begin to suffocate you. Just as swiftly as he had embraced you however, he pulled away, his fingers staying interlocked with yours as his face took on a pleading expression.

"You don't believe them, do you?" He asked, and your heart broke to think that he'd considered you'd be against him. "I- princess, I don't know how I can make you believe me, but-but, I promise I didn't do it-I didn't-"

You kissed him then, deeply, passionately and hoping to convey all your love through your lips, if that was even possible. He seemed stunned at first, his lips still, before he responded with a fervour that almost made you smile.

"Of course I believe you," you whispered against his lips, when you both had to pull apart to catch your breath, "Sirius, you... you could never have done something like this. Of course not."

Your heart squeezed painfully once more at the broken, haunted look in his eyes, as he glanced away, anywhere but your own eyes. "It was-it was awful-I-I....," he exhaled slowly and shakily before his eyes met yours once more, "My- James is dead, and so is Lily, and I couldn't save them, Y/N. Do you know how fucking hard I accelerated, God, I thought I was going to crash into about fifteen cars and then maybe a few birds. And-and, it was all for nothing, because-" he closed his eyes, and the pain was tangible in the way he winced, "and Merlin, I don't even know what happened to Harry because not a soul will tell me anything and I'm going wild in that cell down there, because the-the bloody people down there with me-they-they howl and they scream in pain, and when they don't it's just me and the darkness, and-Merlin- I don't know how long I can deal with it-"

He buried his face into your shoulder, and when you felt wet warmth on your shoulder, you began to cry too, squeezing him tighter, because you knew that was the only way you could reassure him. "Sirius, I-I-I don't know how, but-I'll get you out of there, I will... you'll be home with me before you know it, and-"

"All right. Mr Black, Miss L/N. That concludes your session. Your trial will begin shortly."

Everything was urgent at once. Sirius pulled back from you, and the desperation in his eyes matched his tone, as he said, "Whatever happens, it happens. Just know, that I love you. I love you so much, and you are the love of my life, even with whatever ends up happening to it."

You didn't have time to say it back before he pulled you into a kiss that rivalled any others you'd ever had. You tried to memorise the feel of it all: of his arms, and the way he held you like you were the finest piece of jewellery in the world; the way his mouth felt and moved, scalding and desperate and unrelenting; and his hands, the way his fingers trailed up and down your spine and curled into your hair. It was over too quickly, and then he was being pulled away from you, and the world was hazy and blurry because your eyes were furiously streaming with tears of utter anguish. You didn't see the significant look from the officials to the catering lady, as your shaking began again. In fact, you were so distraught, that you didn't even notice the white powder she sprinkled into the tea she offered you soon after, and the realisation only sank in when your body felt leaden and you slumped to the floor, your eyes fluttering shut.

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

You thought again of the cruelty of fate when you mistook the catering lady for Sirius shaking you awake.

"Sirius," you mumbled grumpily, rolling away from the hands that shook you, "If you want me to see the bloody sunrise so much, just take a Polaroid of it, why don't you?"

But what followed wasn't a lighthearted argument or tickling kisses on your neck to wake you up, but a gentle, wary voice.

"Love, I think you'll want to wake up for this."

And then you remembered.

In a flash, you were on your feet, turning to her and asking, "Where?"

At the sight of the court room, your stomach bottomed out. Sirius was standing, his back to you and handcuffed, with an officer at either side. As you shuffled into your seat, your eyes remained on his form and barely noted as a member of the jury stepped up to the front.

"We, the jury find Sirius Orion Black guilty of all charges against him."

The banging of the gavel, was in rhythm with bile rising in your throat. And then- and then the other viewers around you in the gallery, the motherfuckers had the nerve to clap. Some cheered. You were at a serious risk of vomiting.

"With that verdict, the Ministry of Magic hence sentences Sirius Orion Black to life in the Prison of Azkaban."

Godric, you actually were going to throw your guts up. This couldn't be possible. You gazed at Sirius' back, wondering how he had not collapsed at the weight of the words they had just said, at what they meant for him and his future. He simply stayed standing, his back straight, his posture firm, as he turned to you.

It had to be fifteen metres between you and he, but you could see the heavy tears in his eyes, see the way his lips were tense as he opened them to mouth 'I love you'. You mouthed them back, just as he was tugged away, and as soon as you burst through the side door, you did vomit.

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

To the loml,

I'm not going to lie to you. Anyone who thinks hell is not on Earth has not visited Azkaban. It's dark, it's cold, it's always, always storming and the prisoners deserve to be here. They're all bloody lunatics, and since I thought the crazies in the Ministry cells were bad, I got one hell of a shock coming here.

But I get through it. Some days, I feel like I want to find a way to squeeze through the bars and impale myself on the rocks below, but that's just because I can't stop hearing them, seeing them. I don't think I can ever forget seeing James and Lily like that, and hearing those muggles scream as Peter blew them up.

You get me through it. And I know you'll think that I'm being all sappy to distract you from the dark shit I told you about before, but princess, it's true, I promise. On days like the ones I was writing about, I just think of you, and it starts to get better. I think a lot about that night you dumped that absolute tosser Craig and came home to me. What a night. And it gets me through hearing the rats in my cell and all the nightmares I get.

But enough about me, what have you been up to? I do hope Kreacher has been treating you well, or I'll find some way to beat his wrinkled arse from here.

With all my love,

yours, Sirius.

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

You didn't heed the rumours at first.

There'd been many, over the years, and while the first few times, you'd hoped and believed with all of your heart that he had in fact escaped, it hurt you too much to try and believe in rumours of his escape, as each time without fail, the truth came crashing down on you like an avalanche.

It was only when you saw him with your own two eyes that you would believe the rumours.

The night began like any other Saturday night, which was one in which you would indulge yourself with thinking about Sirius and remembering him. You dragged out your cassette player from the cupboard and while you cooked dinner you would listen to the many, many mixtapes that you and Sirius had created for each other.

You were halfway through boiling the pasta, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon as you absentmindedly sang that gushy Cher song that you loved and that you knew even Sirius had a soft spot for.

If I could turn back time,

If I could find a way-

"If I could turn back time, I'd have never got out of that bed next to you."

The wooden spoon clattered to the floor beside you, and you inhaled sharply at the sound of the voice you knew all too well. Could it be- was that even possible?

Ever so slowly, you turned your head, prepared to see the empty dining room, prepared to have finally gone mad and to have your mind playing awful tricks on you.

And yet, there he was.

It had been twelve years since you'd seen him, and you could see what the time had done to him. His hair, once silky and reaching his chin, was longer now, and more matted and rough. He had scruff on his face, like the beginnings of a beard and moustache. And under that, you could see faint lines on his face, where his age really had caught up with him.

But he was still your Sirius; you could still see the equal amounts of depth and amusement in his eyes, even if you could also see pain that hadn't been there before.

And-and somehow, he'd come home to you.

Your hands reached forward to touch him, as he stepped closer, but even with your innate desire to fling yourself onto him and never let go, stronger was your curiosity, your disbelief.

"H-how-what?" you stuttered, tears flooding your eyes, as he picked you up as easily as if you were a feather and put you on the bench top, standing between your legs.

"That, princess," he replied, in between kissing you all over, rapidly, softly, "is a long, complicated story. And-"

"You don't have to tell me right now," you murmured, beaming at him, almost high on the fact that he was back, that he was touching her. A roar of triumph echoed through your head as he sent you his signature grin.

"My thoughts exactly. We have more important things to do."

And you and Sirius carried out those important tasks dutifully and enthusiastically, only stopping abruptly when you discovered the pasta pot was boiling over.

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

"I'm going to the Ministry on Order business. Be back soon, princess," Sirius whispered, as he pressed a kiss to your brow, ignoring your groans of protest as he slipped from the bed.

Yes, Sirius Black still had a rather bad habit of leaving you in the middle of the night to partake in Order business.

The first few times he'd done this, you'd had arguments after, because obviously, after what had happened the last time he'd slipped out after midnight, you were scared stiff when you couldn't contact him, or if he came home late.

But after many, many more escapades, and two joyous years of safety, of him returning after a few hours, you'd begrudging relented on scolding him for the nasty habit. For as much as you still felt a large twinge of anxiety for every minute that ticked over sunrise when he still hadn't returned, he always did, in the end. And you knew that as much as you hated it, Sirius was an integral part of the Order, and he had to do what he had to do.

But tonight somehow felt different. Because for as much as you tossed and turned, and told yourself over and over that Sirius would be fine, the little voice inside your head would not be silenced, and it accompanied a feeling of sickness, deep in your stomach.

Cursing as you rose, you swiftly put on a comfortable and practical outfit before you left the house, venturing a few steps from the doorway before you apparated to the the telephone box that would lead you in to the Ministry.

The memories coming back to you did not help soothe your rapidly rising nerves, and neither did the dark, deserted Ministry that you found before you from your wand glow.

Your trepidation only grew when you found broken glass, and obvious signs of a scuffle. There had been a fight here, and recently. What in the name of Merlin was going on?

You were about to say that aloud when Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared beside you, and grabbed your arm, pulling you with him towards an elevator.

"Come on, we must go. They're in the Department of Mysteries." He explained, as he punched in the appropriate floor.

"What? The Order?" You asked, bewildered, as the elevator travelled at its dangerously rapid speed, "why?"

"The kids, you know - Harry, his lot, a few others - they found some death eaters down there and they've been trying to fend them off while the Order get here."

"Shit. Is everyone okay?"

"Well," he turned to face you, looking grim, as a cheery ding alerted you to the fact the elevator was stopping at the selected floor, "we have no way of knowing, but if You-know-who is involved as well as his death eaters, we have to expect the worst."

Expect the worst. You were all too familiar with the worst outcomes of a situation, and images of piles of dead, bloody bodies and Sirius being crucio'd flashed in your mind as you kept up with Kingsley's pace, racing down the corridor to the end door which was slightly ajar.

Inside was a wreck. While you'd never been inside before this moment, you'd heard that the Department of Mysteries was like an orderly maze of wonder, full of shelves that reached the roof groaning with the weight of luminescent orbs and other weird and wacky wonders.

But what was facing you now was nothing like what you had envisioned. There was only wreckage; splintered wood, and piles of glowing shards of glass littered everywhere the eye could see. Further on, you could see dark figures and flashes of green and red as fighting ensued.

Soon enough, you could make out a few familiar faces: Tonks with her fierce expressions and brightly-dyed hair; Remus with his nose streaming red, but arm still firm and strong as he hexed his opponent; Ginny, with her red hair streaming about as she ducked and dived from the many hexes death eaters were shooting at her.

But no Sirius.

You jogged further in, edging into the fight as well, and beginning to hex and curse death eaters in your midst, and those who challenged other Order members who you could reach. All the while, your eyes darted about, longing to see even a glimpse of long, dark hair, that would tell you that Sirius was safe.

But it wasn't his hair that made you notice him; no, it was his voice.

"Nice one, James," He'd called, and you could see that he was grinning with pride at his godson, Harry reflecting the expression, as he ducked from another hex shot at him.

And then the world seemed to go in slow motion.

Because there was Bellatrix - that utter bitch - her face twisted in psychopathic rage as always, as a flash of green erupted from her wand. And you could do nothing but watch, as it sailed through the air, and-

-hit Sirius squarely in the chest.

At once, he was stumbling backwards, and you weren't sure why, but Harry was screaming at this, struggling so hard that Remus had to restrain him, as he began to fall towards a shimmering mirror.

You caught his gaze then, as his hand seemingly went through the mirror. And to add to your confusion, his eyes were somber, the way they only were when something tragic and awful had happened. 'I love you' he mouthed, but you didn't have time to say it back, didn't even have time to react, because-

-then he was gone.

"NO!"

You weren't sure if it was you or Harry who'd screamed that, but you couldn't breathe as you heard Bellatrix laugh maniacally, beginning to taunt Harry. And while Harry was restrained, you weren't.

And if-if she had actually-If Sirius was actually gone, you would not rest until you wiped that evil smirk off her face permanently.

You were certain it was you, when you began charging towards her, screaming bloody murder and death threats at her. Because you weren't just going to let her die, no you were going to make her bleed, and hurt, and scream in pain before you gave her the honour of dying.

Your efforts were stopped by Kingsley however, who grabbed you by the shoulders and dragged you away from the scene, even when you struggled as furiously as Harry had, and began to scream at him. It didn't help anything, as he wrapped both arms around you and apparated away to the top floor of the Ministry. It was only then he released you.

"Kingsley, what the fuck?! How could you?!" You screeched, swivelling towards him and barely restraining the urge to slap him.

"Y/N, you need to calm down," he soothed, rubbing your shoulder, "I know you're upset, I'm upset too. But it wouldn't have solved anything at all if you did that, I can promise-"

"No, you can't promise me anything!" You yelled back, tearing backwards so his hand fell to his side, "How do you know I couldn't have disarmed her? Couldn't have forced her to get him back?"

"I can promise you that," he said slowly, enunciating every word carefully as if it were a statement of high importance, "because you can't come back from that mirror, Y/N. Sirius is gone, and if you went after Bellatrix, you would've followed right behind him."

A world without Sirius, where you couldn't bring him back to you had been unbearable the first time. But this time, you realised, as you fell backwards, as you fainted, there wasn't even a human possibility that you could get Sirius back.

He was gone.

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

The letters were your prized possession.

You kept them in a box in the cupboard, right next to the cassette player. And after a few months, when thinking about him didn't cause you to go into states of inconsolable grief, every Saturday night, you'd allow yourself to reminisce, listening to the mixtapes while you read his letters.

You didn't think there'd been a Saturday night where you hadn't spent the whole time sobbing once you were finished, even though now, you could console yourself afterwards.

You didn't think there would be a Saturday you didn't cry over his letters.

And as you stared at the letters once more, at the ink words that were the only relics you had of Sirius, that you were certain you would see in your mind until you died, you realised that what he'd addressed you as all that time, that small four-lettered anagram that you'd thought so creative and romantic of him, could be rearranged to a word combination that was now more accurate to you than the sweet nickname of the past. Because he wasn't only the love of your life, he was something else.

Loss of my life.

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dearsnow · 9 months ago

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MANIC MOVES & DROWSY DREAMS (3)

- after discovering something that forces all of your relationship’s problems to the surface, you seek solace in your only potential friend in san diego. (bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader, hurt with future comfort, part of the series “out of touch” ⚠️ ADULT TOPICS, please be 18+ to read)

OUT OF TOUCH: It’s been twenty years since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw, and, suddenly, you realize he’s finally grown up.

word count: 3,110

a/n - this chapter is lowkey crazy 😭 i hope y’all enjoy because i’ve had a blast writing this. the next chapter might take a bit to write up because i need to plan out the rest of the series, but it hopefully shouldn’t take tooo long!!

The next few days were relatively uneventful as you attempted to get your life in perfect working order. There were a few visits from the navy men, with Fanboy (who you learned was actually named Mickey) being one of your best customers until he witnessed firsthand your boyfriend giving you flowers and a peck on the cheek. He seemed a bit crestfallen after that, but you knew he would perk up eventually. He hadn’t gone through it for nothing, though- you always slipped him an extra cookie sample when he came by.

The best part of your life was not interviewing potential employees or ordering more vintage tables, but instead, it was Derick. He was truly your rock in the midst of a change that otherwise would’ve thrown you into chaos.

He handled your calls, he mopped the floors and shined the counter, and he took you on amazing dates. You can firmly say that you’ve never had a boyfriend as respectful and supportive as him.

Too respectful, however, is an ever-present problem.

You’ve been with him for almost fifteen years and you can reasonably count the times he’s been anything other than a perfect family-friendly gentleman. If you look back on it, it was probably around fifty-two instances.

That seems like a lot, but spread out over fifteen years of young adult antics, it’s almost like he didn’t want to be intimate. He didn’t want to make out, or put a hand just a bit too low on your waist, or do anything passionate or fiery or heated. He just wanted dinner dates, a kiss on the cheek, and a hand to hold. You were fine with that, because in essence, that’s what you needed at the time, right? Stability. Comfort. Romance. Someone to wipe away your insecurities and hold you down at ground level.

A lingering thought, always bouncing around in the back of your mind, whispers that it shouldn’t take hours of tempting and teasing for a guy to want you.

You ignore all of that for right now. Derick is currently sitting across the table from you at the fanciest restaurant in the area.

Fancy places always make you a little nervous. You’re afraid to say the wrong thing or mispronounce a word on the menu, and your dresses get rumpled as you fidget with them. Even your nail polish doesn’t survive as you pick at the edges with your thumb. Derick smiles.

“What are you thinking about ordering?” He asks, setting his own menu down. You cease your picking and clear your throat. He looks especially nice tonight, with his dark hair gelled back and his black suit nice and crisp. It doesn’t quite fit with your dress, though you suppose it doesn’t need to.

“Uh, the caprese salad sounds good.” It’s the cheapest thing on the menu. He always pays, but you know that he gets a bit bothered when the bill racks up too high. You’ve offered to pay for yourself numerous times, but he waves the suggestion away, even when his face makes it known that he doesn’t want to.

“I make more money than you, babe, just let me take care of it.”

You try to smile sweetly, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. If he can tell, he doesn’t show it.

“Sounds good. I’m having the truffle alfredo myself.” He flags down a waiter, and you shrink a bit in your seat.

You can tell that this night is going to be another awkward one. After being with someone for so long, you come to expect certain things. Despite that, you wouldn’t trade this stability for anything. He makes good money, he buys you gifts, and once or twice a year, he’ll even sleep with you. What more could a girl want?

Bradley hasn’t had stability in a long time. He has a home in San Diego, sure, but going out for drinks every once and a while with people who have vastly different schedules isn’t really enough to make him want to stay. In truth, he almost misses being deployed because, at least then, he has a purpose.

When he saw you, he thought he might have an opportunity to right a wrong that has been tearing him up inside. He despises what he was like as a teenager, taking nothing seriously except his dreams to be a naval aviator. He’s learned throughout his life that everything matters, especially the feelings of other people, and even the small, mundane things he couldn’t care less about. The small, mundane things are what keep the world working.

He’s sitting on his couch, enjoying a small, mundane thing (a shitty reality show with acting so bad it makes him laugh) when an unknown number lights up his phone. He perks up, staring at the number as the reality show carries on. It’s probably just a spam number, but on the off chance it’s you, he picks up.

“Hello?” He hates how shaky his voice sounds. Just the idea of you sets his nerves on fire.

“I need a friend,” your soft voice mumbles. “Where can we meet? A place that serves strong alcohol would be preferable.”

Right after your early dinner date with Derick, you walked into your shared apartment, boxes lining every walkway. You really ought to have put everything away more quickly, but after a long day’s work, all you and your boyfriend could seem to do was pull out a few objects and give them a place in your new living quarters.

He immediately went to take a shower, as he usually did after a long day, and placed his locked phone on your nightstand. You collapsed onto your bed and looked up at the ceiling, still dressed, and began to dread opening shop in the morning. You love the cafe, but your lack of employees hits harder every day.

Derick had been handling most of the hiring process, with the good majority of the interviewees being his connections. It was helpful having a business major boyfriend, as his college networking and current accountant networking proved extremely useful for managing an actual business. He was always so enthusiastic about helping you run the place. You seriously don’t know what you would do without him.

His phone lit up next to you with a series of texts. You lazily let your gaze drift over to see what was going on. He wouldn’t mind if you checked who was texting, right? When you picked up his phone, the name that popped up was “employee candidate 4”. You smiled to yourself; Derick was so responsible, you thought. He must have given the candidates his number to see if they needed anything.

You unlocked his phone with your thumbprint, which you so sneakily added to his password bank a few months ago when you first started collaborating on the cafe’s business plan. What you saw made your heart drop down to the floor, splintering into a million little pieces that got stuck in your fresh linoleum.

Bradley hands you another drink, a strong one at that, and you gulp half of it down in one breath. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

You look up at him through your eyelashes, makeup half-rubbed off from tears and friction. The sun began to set when you first entered, and in the dimming light, Bradley could tell that you were rattled. You still are, evidently. He waits for a moment before you clear your throat and offer a few gut-punching words.

“I checked my boyfriend’s phone.” He can tell where this is going. He doesn’t want it to be true, because who in their right mind would cheat on you?

“What was on it?” He prompts gently. You take another breath. You don’t want to dump this all on someone that you barely know, with the only history you have being a failed almost-relationship when you were teenagers, but you don’t have anyone else. When you moved to San Diego, you left everything behind, including your friends and family. You haven’t even talked to your friends in ages, as you’ve been so busy with the cafe and Derick that you couldn’t so much as call them. The idea of having Bradley nurse your broken heart is both gut-wrenching and just a little bit like a dream.

“A lot. I… I don’t want to ruin your night by bothering you. I should go.” You try to stand up from your bar stool, but he catches your wrist in his warm hands.

He shakes his head, eyebrows creased. “Just tell me. I’m here for you; I meant what I said in the cafe.” You nod, fresh tears welling up in your eyes as you sit down.

“I’ll get a few drinks in me first.”

You keep your word, managing to take down a sizable amount of alcohol within a few minutes. It’s not enough to get you passing out or throwing up, but enough to loosen your lips.

“Do you want to know what I saw?” Your face is warm, either from the alcohol or Bradley’s hand on your back. “Twenty-eight photos of his dick. It isn’t even good enough to warrant one photo, Bradley, one! None of them were sent to me, of course. Just the girls he would chat up online and fuck.” The words tumble out of your mouth, every pent-up frustration making its way into the light of the bar. “I looked through his search history, too, and then our finances, because I was suspicious of everything at that point. I found four subscriptions to porn sites in our bills and three more for online dating premium memberships. Who the fuck even needs a premium membership? God. I hate him.”

“Slow down, princess.” He says. His lips are quirked into a small smile as you ramble on and on about every small thing Derick has ever done to piss you off. “He seems like a real piece of work.”

“He is! He so is. I never get to order what I want, he always makes me feel responsible for his mistakes, and not once has he made me finish. I mean, we’ve had sex maybe twice in the last two years because he can’t get it up. Probably because he’s been sticking his dick in STD central.” Those last few items slip through your internal filter, but even in your state, you recognize that you probably shouldn’t be talking about your sex life with a guy you re-met a few days ago. “Sorry. That was personal.”

Bradley lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Nothin’ I can’t handle. I can’t believe you stayed with him that long when he can’t do a single thing for you. If you were my girl, you wouldn’t know a day without pleasure.” It’s his turn to be embarrassed about what he said, but as his cheeks turn red, you don’t even seem to notice.

If you were his girl, he thinks, he’d treat you so well. He’d actually get you your favorite flowers instead of the ones he thinks would look nice in the aesthetic of your apartment, and he’d cook for you, and he’d never make you feel bad for loving him.

“Exactly.” You say. “He just wanted someone to come home to without even thinking about how I would feel. I wanted stability, and he gave me that, but nothing else.” You suddenly sound sober, but the tears are back, and they’re stronger than ever. “I loved him.” You choke out. “I don’t think I could ever get something better, not after so long.”

Bradley feels bad for even considering picking you up after this. You’re distraught, more than he’s ever seen anyone before. It’s clear that this is something you’re going to take a while to heal from. “You can and you will. He’s a dick, and I’m sorry you wasted so much time on him, but you will find some kind of relationship that deserves you. You can have a fresh start, and he’ll just be another asshole that you put in your past.”

You nod, taking in his words as you sip your soda. Bradley cut you off a while ago, which you’re eternally grateful for. If you had one more sip of alcohol, you think you'd either be dancing on a table or crying on the floor. Now, at least you’re crying upright in a stool, with the man across from you handing you tissues once in a while. The lady running the bar seems to know him, and she also seems to know that an endless supply of tissues is necessary for you tonight.

The doors of the bar open, and though you don’t want to peel yourself away from the sight of someone caring about you, you turn around anyway. When you do, your blood runs cold.

Bradley sees you stiffen and follows your line of sight to the person that just walked in. He’s handsome, in a way, with short, dark brown hair and a five-o-clock shadow. He seems like the stuck-up type. Your eyes are blown wide at the sight as the man walks over, a sort of fake concern lacing his expression.

“Baby-“

“Don’t fucking call me that, Derick. How did you even find me?” Oh. The soon-to-be ex. Bradley sits up on his stool, pulling himself to a position where he can easily stand if the moment calls for it.

Derick pulls out his phone sheepishly. “You left your location on.”

Goddamnit. Fuck.

“Get out. I don’t want to see you right now.” You’re seething, the anger coming off you in waves. You think that if you weren’t angry, you’d be sad, and you can’t handle that right now. The devastation of finding out your boyfriend is a freak and a cheater is something you just opened the box to, and you don’t feel like unpacking it in front of him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He protests. “They didn’t mean anything to me. I love you, and I want to marry you, and I’ll never do it again. I- I have the ring right here, see?” He pulls out a familiar velvet-lined box, and you scoff.

“You should’ve thought about that before you cheated. Multiple times.”

Bradley stands up, placing a soothing hand between your shoulder blades. “Leave, man. She’s made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want you here.”

Derick bristles, his pasty face tinged red with anger. Bradley almost rolls his eyes at how small he looks. “You don’t need to stick up for her.” He takes a step forward. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were fucking her behind my back. That’s what this is, isn’t it? An excuse for you to leave me because some navy fucker had some nice enough sex with you?” He’s approaching fast. By the time he finishes his sentence, Derick’s fist is wrapped around your wrist tightly.

You let out a soft sound as his bruising fingers close around you, but as soon as he’s there, Bradley shoves him away and loosens his grip on you. “Okay, that’s enough. You’re either going to walk through those doors or you’re getting dragged out. I don’t care which.”

Derick scoffs. “Fine with me. I never liked you anyways.” He gives you a pointed glance, tucking the ring box into his jacket pocket.

“You have tonight to get your stuff out of the apartment that I paid for.” You say, rubbing the space between your eyebrows with your thumb. “I never want to see you again.” The second part comes out as a mumble, but he clearly gets the message.

“Fuck you.” He walks out, and the group of navy men by the door give him a dirty look. He’s more than ruined multiple peoples’ nights by this point. It went from one crying girl at a bar to the start of a bar fight in the two minutes he stood in front of you.

Bradley, concerned, gives you a soft look. “Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?”

You shake your head as more tears drip down your jaw. You hate this. You hate Derick, you hate yourself, and you hate the pitiful way Bradley is staring at you. Your California dream has turned into a nightmare. “No, but I’ll get a hotel somewhere. It’s not that big of a deal.” Your attempt to downplay the situation has Bradley on the verge of running after Derick and slapping the back of his big groomed head. You’re too nice for this, too sweet to be cheated on and forced to sleep in a cold bed that you paid $200 for.

“You can stay over at my place if you want. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“I don’t want to put you out like that. It’s fine,” you assure him, though your voice is the least sure it’s ever been. “There’s a nice enough place a few streets away.”

Bradley shakes his head. His warm hand is on your shoulder, like he’s trying to ground you. “It won’t put me out. C’mon, princess, it’s not a big deal. You can rest up and we’ll figure out what else to do in the morning.”

He called you “princess” again. It’s nice, you think, in your drunken mind. Right now, you’re too tired to fight anything about the situation you’re in. “Alright. As long as you’re sure.”

He pays your tabs, slipping a look to the lady running the bar. She nods at him and mouths something that you can’t quite make out. As he leads you to his car, a nice, blue, vintage bronco, he keeps one hand on the small of your back. The heat feels nice, like you have someone securing you. Like you won’t ever stumble or fall before his strong arms catch you. He must be a real nice guy if he’s doing all this after so long.

He buckles you into your seat, and you let your head fall back onto the headrest. Your eyes close, and you desperately try not to think about what your life has come to. You feel a buzz in your jacket pocket, but you don’t pick it up. Everything is fine, you assure yourself. You didn’t just break up with the man you were going to marry, and he didn’t cheat on you, and your phone isn’t going off wildly through the fabric of your coat, and you’re not strapped into the car of your high school self’s dream boy. You ride that feeling, that denial, right into sleep.

You’ll deal with the real life problems in the morning.

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Taglist: @m1dnightsnackz @itsarabellebabes @shanimallina87 @sadgirlgiselle @callsignstingray

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jjkeremika · 1 year ago

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Baby, you look so good like this

description: intimate positions with AoT men...

Eren, Jean, Reiner, Porco, Levi, Erwin x fem!reader

warnings?: rope bondage; cock-sucking; throat-fucking; s4 Reiner with the stubble; oral female-receiving; biting; licking stuff; mention of lap-dance, daddy

Eren (antagonizing; rope bondage kinda; lowkey likes weird places where you could get caught)

"Could you hurry it up?" you asked for the third time, glaring at the flustered brunet, whose cheeks were bright red with pent-up sexual frustration and irritation from your repeated antagonizing. His eyebrows were furrowed as his fingers tumbled over themselves with the rope, and beads of sweat developed along his hairline from the heat of your stare. "I literally could've tied myself faster than you."

A light chuckle escaped and relief settled into your stomach. "You literally couldn't have," Eren replied, squinting as he stared curiously at the knot. He abruptly tightened it, the sudden burn around your wrists evoking a gasp, and he clutched your wrists in his grip. He arrogantly smirked, his eyes finally settling on yours. "And shut the fuck up already. Your voice is giving me a headache."

You rolled your eyes and tried to push your arms against his grip, but surprisingly the knot was the first to restrain the movement, your wrists recoiling back against the wooden stairwell railing. Eren's smirk widened at the lively action, at the fact that the knot really was tight enough, and he glanced quickly up the stairs and through the door behind him before returning his attention to you, one hand squeezing your cheeks together. "Seriously, shut the fuck up."

"Oh, fucking make me, then," you snarled, your sour look twisting into a greedy smirk as he finally kissed you, an admittedly effective way at shutting you up. You gasped as he hands roughly grabbed your thighs and hoisted you up, your elbows and wrists bending awkwardly as the back of your head rested against the knot.

Jean (cock-sucking/throat-fucking)

The first time you dropped to your knees and took his dick in your mouth in one fluid motion, Jean knew he was fucked. His soul officially sold and chained to the image of your eyes peering up at him through sultry eyelashes, the trail of your nail polish acting like a landing strip for your tongue.

He liked how your irises lit up with excitement as you brought your lips farther down the shaft, how the color was laced with lashes that fluttered more frequently the more of him you swallowed. He loved the tears that formed when he'd shift his hips and you'd gag, chasing that look and feeling by increasingly rocking his cock deeper in your throat.

Your hands dropped to your thighs to hold them steady as Jean's hand grabbed your hair, as he used his strength to push your head closer to him, until your nose was touching his pelvis. He moaned loudly as you looked up at him, nodding for him to continue despite the tears forming in your eyes, despite knowing you might not speak properly tomorrow.

Reiner (s4 with the stubble; loves to give oral; likes when you ride his face)

Reiner always rested his head in your lap, snuggling into the warmth and cushion of your thighs and drinking in your proximity. The smell of you from his position permeated his nose and always, always made him cross his legs and maybe not so discretely hook his growing erection into his waistband.

And then you were running your hand through his soft hair, and he turned so that his nose was closer to your pelvis, and you could feel the satisfying scratch of his scruff on your bare thighs, and both of you couldn't help but wonder what that must feel like.

So he'd plant his hands on your thighs and move you until you were on hovering on top of him, him impatiently extending his neck out until his mouth was near your clit, pushing your thighs down until you were fully sat on his mouth. His happy moans turned into vibrations against the sensitive skin, which was only further stimulated by hundreds to thousands of tiny prickles.

Each time your body instinctively pulled away from the stimulation he was pulling you back, suffocating on your scent, being intoxicated on your taste. Fully willing to drown in you, he locked his arms over your legs and firmly held your ass between his hands, his rough mouth chasing after you every time.

Porco (possessive biting)

The first time he asked if it would be okay, blurted out like he was spitting out forbidden fruit, staring at your bare back with drool slipping from his mouth. You didn't turn around, just turned your head to the side to rest on your shoulder, watching in your peripheral as he stood up and brought his hands to your hips, his lips to your exposed neck.

You whined and nodded, extending your neck out farther, and you shuddered at the new, odd sensation, at the feeling of his teeth gliding down the stimulated skin. The first bite was light, hesitant, and Porco glanced up at you with wide, cautious eyes--to be met with closed eyes and a needy gasp.

Since then, Galliard bit you like he was marking you, like he was declaring his presence all over you. Sometimes it tickled, and he'd hold you down as you rolled and giggled at the feeling of his lips and teeth roaming your thighs. Sometimes the sharp pain would overshadow the pleasure, and he'd lick and kiss at the site to make up for it, until you were happy with it.

Levi (loves licking honey and hot tea off you)

It was no secret that Levi loved adding something sweet to his tea. At work and in public, honey was the special ingredient. He'd spoon a little of the viscous sugar into the two teacups in the morning and serve them to you at the table. He'd spill a couple droplets of cool honey onto the delicate skin of your thigh, eagerly offer to clean it up with his tongue.

He'd mouth at the spot until there was a bruise, until you were considering pouring more honey onto your legs. There was never any need; his lips connected to yours shortly after he'd licked the honey up, searching like a bee for the next sweetest taste around.

Before long, a new favorite ingredient crossed his mind, and he was dripping warm tea onto your bare, presenting body. His pupils were dilated to the max, like two black holes drawing you indefinitely in. You rocked back onto your tailbone as the hot liquid slowly followed the curves of your ribs.

He barely spooned any honey onto you before moaning and grabbing your shoulders, heavily pushing you back to the bed. His cool tongue trailing the hot liquid provided a strikingly cooling sensation to the firing skin. His mouth religiously followed the tea's pilgrimage to your pelvis, evoking frustrated groans from you each time he pulled away right there to suck at the stray honey droplets near your nipples.

Erwin (mention of lap-dance, daddy)

His hand was tight on your wrist before you could walk away. "Where do you think you're going?" his voice was low, like he was asking a question he already knew the answer to--the answer you were expected to give. You sighed. You'd been sat on his lap all day while he worked away at his desk chair, his arm possessively locked around your waist, his chin anchored on your shoulder.

"To stretch," you answered simply, humming in a mixture of sadness and relief when he released his holds. Erwin swiveled in the chair until it was fully exposed from the desk, his body relaxing deeper into the chair, the tight shirt settling tastefully against his chest and arms.

"Go on, then. But be a good girl and let daddy watch," he hummed, leaning his elbow into the armchair and resting his chin against his fist, the contracting muscles highlighting in the lamplight. The other hand fell to his lap, like it had bought a ticket for your show. "Well?" His eyes stared at you engagingly yet non-judgmentally, like he was already loving the act you were performing.

You stepped forward and pressed your thumb to his lips, slightly digging your nails underneath his chin, then tilted his head upward as you looked down at him. "Anything for you, daddy." You pressed your knee to his crotch, letting your calf rest along the seat between his open legs, and exhaled the tempting urge to smile at the deep moan from his throat, then shuffled onto his lap, faintly grinding down before pulling away.

#idk #eren x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman smut #eren jaeger smut #erwin x reader #erwin smith smut #porco x reader #porco galliard smut #jean x reader #reiner braun smut #reiner x reader #jjkeremika #i have to tag myself bc i wrote it lmao #aot smut #snk smut #eren yeager smut #jean kirstein smut

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simplygojo · 4 months ago

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The Devil He Made Me ⸺ Ch. 13

author's note ⸺ life has been super busy I’m sorry for taking so long to update…but I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always welcomed!! I hope you’re all doing well!

pairing ⸺ Satoru Gojo x reader

chapter summary ⸺ After enjoying some downtime at the hotel, it is finally time for you to head to the ‘safe house’, aka the Gojo estate.

word count ⸺ 6.2k

warnings ⸺ gojo lowkey crashes out, some negative talk, some kissin, memory lapse, reader uses female pronouns

taglist ⸺ @mawhoreagaa; @peqch-pie; @blue-serendipity; @simplyyyuji; @starrnai; @sorcerersseestars; @n1vi; @angryglitterperfection; @krak-jj; @coweringbear; @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni; @cococola-cocaine; @sdv98o; @theendx888; @dvmb4ssbiatch; @sugxryratz; @kinny-away; @crankyarchives; @enfppuff; @reactwithjan; @blubearxy; @mystic-megumi; @nanamisrighthand

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The morning air carried a sharp chill, mingling with the muted hum of city traffic. Outside the hotel lobby, suitcases rolled across the pavement as the group trickled toward the two sleek black cars idling at the curb. Bellhops moved briskly, stacking bags with efficiency, their uniforms crisp and immaculate against the pale dawn light.

Gojo lingered near the driver’s side, one hand slipping casually into his pocket while the other tugged down his blindfold just enough to reveal his familiar, dazzling grin. His voice, warm and smooth, carried over the bustle.

“Thanks a lot. We’ll be out of your hair soon.” He handed the bellhop a small stack of bills with the ease of someone who didn’t think twice about generosity. The young man’s eyes widened briefly before he bowed so deeply it bordered on comical.

“You’re too kind, sir—thank you, sir!” he stammered, clutching the money like it might evaporate.

Leaning against one of the cars, you stood with arms crossed tightly over your chest. The brisk air bit at your skin, but it wasn’t enough to explain the tension winding through you.

Around you, voices rose and fell, fading into a haze as your gaze drifted to the horizon, where the sky softened into pale oranges and purples.

The past forty-eight hours hovered like a storm cloud. The name Geto Suguru lingered in every shadow, a phantom woven into everything that had happened—and everything that might come. A name heavy with reverence and dread.

Geto’s dead, Gojo had said, but the truth now felt as slippery as oil. His presence touched every question you had—your fractured memories, your cursed energy, and the strange, unshakable pull of something larger. Something unseen but undeniably there.

The polished surface of the car reflected the faint tremor in your jaw as your teeth clenched. Every detail seemed to echo with meaning, pieces of a puzzle you couldn’t yet fit together.

A chill slipped down your spine, though the morning air wasn’t entirely to blame.

The faint scrape of shoes on the pavement snapped your attention back. Warm, steady hands settled on your shoulders, firm enough to ground you. Gojo’s voice followed, low but tinged with its usual easy charm.

“Lost in thought, are we?”

The sound of Gojo’s voice startled you, and before you could respond, you felt the warm weight of his hands resting firmly on your shoulders. His touch was light, almost playful, but steady enough to pull you back to the present.

“You’re gonna wear yourself out before we even get there if you keep that up,” he said, leaning down slightly so his voice was low and closer to your ear.

You blinked, your gaze refocusing on the black sheen of the car door in front of you. Gojo’s hands gave your shoulders a gentle squeeze before he stepped around to face you, his grin faint but his gaze sharp, like he was reading you far too well for comfort.

“Worrying looks cute on you,” Gojo said with a grin, his head tilting slightly. “But you’ll end up with wrinkles if you keep it up.”

Before you could reply, Nobara’s voice broke through from the other car.

“Why does Gojo always get to ride with y/n? Are you two, like, bonding or something?” Her exaggerated suspicion carried easily over the hum of the cars.

Yuji’s laugh followed, loud and unfiltered, while Megumi’s sigh served as a counterweight of mild exasperation.

Gojo straightened, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offence. “Nobara, are you jealous? I could ride with you, but then who would keep y/n entertained?”

“Entertained?” Nobara scoffed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the door of her car. “Please. Y/n probably spends the whole ride regretting her life choices.”

“Actually, I don—” You started, but Gojo clapped his hands once, the sound sharp and final.

“Ah, no time for debate! Road trip awaits!” He swung the passenger-side door open with an exaggerated flourish. “Ladies first.”

With a small roll of your eyes, you ducked into the seat. Gojo’s shadow shifted as he leaned briefly against the roof of the car, his tone light and quick as he spoke to Megumi about the route.

From the edge of your vision, his easy gestures and casual posture drew a sharp contrast to the faint, deliberate weight in his earlier words.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Gojo shut the door with a confident slam. His fingers tapped on the steering wheel as the car came alive with a quiet rumble.

“All set?”

You nodded, lips curving into a slight smile that didn’t fully reach your eyes.

“Let’s go,” you said, and the car eased onto the road, the city shrinking in the rearview mirror as the group moved forward.

—

The cars pulled up to the estate just as the afternoon sun dipped low, painting the western hills in gold and amber.

The Gojo estate sprawled before you, a grand mansion of pale stone and dark wood, perched on the edge of the quiet countryside in Kyoto. Tall gates had parted to let you in, and a gravel driveway curved gracefully toward the entrance. The house loomed large yet elegant, framed by manicured gardens and a distant view of rolling hills.

Gojo was the first out of the car, stretching lazily as he glanced up at the building.

“Ah, home sweet home,” he said, his tone teasing as if mocking the sheer grandeur of the place.

Nobara stepped out of the second car, her jaw-dropping. “This is where you live?” She asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“I sometimes live here,” Gojo clarified, strolling toward the front door. “But most of the time, it’s just me and the echo of my awesomeness.”

The front doors opened with a gentle push, revealing a spacious foyer lined with polished wood floors, an intricate chandelier, and walls adorned with understated but expensive art.

The group stepped inside, your footsteps softened by plush rugs. Despite the luxury, the house carried a faint, hollow air, as if waiting for life to truly inhabit it.

A housekeeper emerged from a side hall, bowing politely before handing Gojo a set of keys. “The rooms have been prepared as requested,” she said before retreating.

Gojo handed out the keys to the four of you with a casual flick of his wrist. “Your rooms are set up, so feel free to snoop around after you drop your bags. Don’t worry; there’s no dungeon or secret passage. Well, probably not.”

—

After you dropped off your belongings to your room, you found yourself with Gojo and Megumi in the living room, a space as refined as the rest of the house.

A massive window stretched across one wall, offering an uninterrupted view of the distant mountains. The furniture—a mix of plush couches and armchairs—was arranged around a sleek, minimalist coffee table.

Muted colours and soft lighting gave the room a serene quality, the only sound coming from the faint hum of the central heating.

“Just as lavish as I remember,” Megumi commented as he sank onto a couch, his tone dry but his posture betraying a certain comfort.

Gojo flopped down next to you on the couch as your gaze returned to the window.

The mountains, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, looked almost unreal, their peaks sharp against the soft sky. Despite the quiet beauty outside, the weight of the last few days pressed against your chest, making it hard to fully relax.

Gojo nudged your shoulder lightly, breaking your focus. "You okay?" He asked, his voice low enough to escape Megumi's notice.

You gave a small nod, forcing a faint smile. "Yeah. Just... adjusting."

His grin softened, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression before he leaned back again, his usual playful mask sliding effortlessly into place.

"Well, get comfy. You’ll need your energy for the dinner I’m ordering. I’ve got some top-tier takeout on speed dial."

Megumi groaned. "You bring us to a mansion and still order takeout?"

"Welcome to the Gojo experience," Gojo said proudly, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. "You’re gonna love it."

—

The dining table was set, though sparsely compared to the grandeur of the estate, with simple plates and chopsticks laid out. Nobara and Yuji burst into the room, their laughter echoing down the halls.

"This place is huge!" Nobara announced, throwing her arms wide. "We found a hallway with at least six guest rooms. Six! Who even needs that many?"

"Not to mention the creepy portrait gallery," Yuji added, grinning. "There's one painting where the eyes definitely follow you."

"That's just Grandpa Gojo," Gojo called from the door as the doorbell rang. He made his way to the entrance with an exaggerated strut. "Bet he’s still watching, even now. Creepy old guy."

When he returned, the sight of five enormous trays of assorted sushi stole the group’s attention. He balanced them with ease, a triumphant grin on his face.

"Behold!" Gojo declared, setting the trays on the table one by one. "All-you-can-eat sushi—without leaving the house! It’s the pinnacle of fine dining and sheer laziness."

Nobara gasped, her eyes lighting up. "Finally, something about you that I respect."

As everyone settled around the table, chopsticks clicked, and appreciative murmurs filled the air.

“This is incredible,” Yuji said around a mouthful of tuna. “Way better than the convenience store stuff I usually get.”

Megumi, nibbling on a piece of eel sushi, shrugged. “I’ve had this a few times. Gojo orders it whenever he’s too lazy to cook out here—which is always.”

“Ungrateful as ever,” Gojo shot back, dramatically flinging a piece of pickled ginger at Megumi, who dodged with practiced ease.

“You’ve been here a lot, huh?” You asked, glancing at Megumi.

He nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. After Gojo took me in, he brought me here sometimes. Mostly during breaks from Jujutsu High.”

"It’s a good place to recharge,” Gojo chimed in, plucking a slice of salmon for himself. “Nice and quiet. And the sushi helps.”

For a few minutes, the conversation stayed light, revolving around the food and tales of Megumi’s visits. But eventually, Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his hand. His playful tone softened slightly.

“Alright, y/n,” he began, his gaze steady, “you’ve had some time to settle in. Have you remembered anything else about your life before all this?”

The table fell quiet, the air growing heavier. Nobara and Yuji set their chopsticks down, their expressions softening. Even Megumi, though he kept his eyes on his plate, seemed to be listening intently.

You hesitated, glancing at the table before meeting their expectant gazes. “Actually… I have,” you admitted. “Pieces are starting to come back in fragments—especially about my sister.”

“Your sister?” Nobara prompted gently.

You nodded, your fingers brushing against the edge of your plate. “I… I remember her laugh. It was this bright, bubbly sound. She used to call me her ‘big hero,’ even though I wasn’t much older than her. I think… I think we were really close.”

Gojo’s gaze softened, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, quietly, he asked, “What else do you remember about her?”

“She was brave. Braver than me, I think. She used to run ahead, pulling me by the hand, telling me there was nothing to be scared of.”

The table stayed quiet, the warmth of the sushi trays and the hum of the central heating the only sounds filling the space. Gojo leaned back slightly, his gaze stayed steady, quietly encouraging you to continue.

“I keep seeing flashes,” you said, your hands shifting to rest against the cool edge of the table.

“A park with cherry blossoms… a tiny apartment with stacks of books everywhere. I can almost feel the worn-down carpet under my feet. I think we lived in Tokyo, somewhere close enough to hear trains rattling by every night.”

Megumi’s brow furrowed slightly, his chopsticks hovering over his plate. “Do you remember anything about… anyone else? Your parents?”

You shook your head slowly, the motion feeling heavy. “Not really. Just… shadows, maybe voices. Certain things are so vivid, but the rest feels like it’s wrapped in fog.”

Yuji’s voice broke the tension, gentle but curious. “What about her? Your sister. What happened to her?”

The question lingered in the air like smoke. You shifted in your seat, fingers brushing over your arm as if to dispel the chill creeping up your skin.

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, the words feeling like they scraped your throat as they were said.

Gojo leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table as he picked up a piece of sushi with his chopsticks.

He popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before speaking. “Well,” he began, gesturing with his free hand, “sounds like we might have a lead. A park with cherry blossoms, a tiny apartment near train tracks—that’s more than we had before.”

Nobara perked up, her brow lifting. “Are you saying we should go look for it? Like, try to find her old place?”

Yuji’s eyes widened in interest. “That would be pretty cool. Maybe it’d jog your memory even more.”

You hesitated, glancing between them. The idea stirred something in your chest—a mix of hope and apprehension. “It’s been so long,” you murmured. “I don’t even know if it’s still there. And what if it’s not? What if we find nothing?”

“Then at least we tried,” Gojo said, shrugging casually. He balanced his phone in one hand while reaching for another sushi roll with the other. His thumb flicked over the screen with practiced ease, typing a message. “A long shot’s better than no shot at all.”

You watched as he tapped out a message with his chopsticks still in hand, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m texting Ijichi now,” he explained, not looking up. “Gonna see if he can dig a little deeper with this new info. Train schedules, old property records, anything that might match your flashes.”

Megumi frowned slightly, his chopsticks pausing mid-air. “Do you really think it’ll lead to something?”

Gojo tilted his head, feigning nonchalance. “Who knows? But it’s worth checking out. Besides,” he said, setting his phone down, “we still need to figure out why y/n can see curses and why she picked up cursed energy so fast. If it’s in her blood, maybe her old life has some answers.”

The weight of his words settled over the table, thoughtful silence filling the space. Yuji broke out with a grin. “It’s like a detective mission. I’m in.”

Nobara smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Of course you are. You’d jump at any excuse to play investigator.”

Gojo straightened his spine a bit and spoke with a smile, “I think for now, we can let Ijichi handle the investigating. He loves the paperwork.” His smile widened, a playful spark flashing across his face, but his posture stayed slightly too still, his energy a beat quieter than usual.

A soft laugh escaped you, though it caught in your chest, tighter than you wanted it to be.

The liveliness at the table felt like a lifeline, one you clung to even as something unspoken pressed at the edges of the moment. The fog around your past felt thinner, but the uncertainty it left in its wake threatened to take up just as much space.

Across the table, Gojo’s gaze lingered, unguarded for once, his usual playfulness softened by something steadier. It wasn’t piercing or demanding, yet it pinned you in place all the same.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice quieter than before but no less certain. The easy smile on his lips didn’t quite match the weight in his tone. “Whatever’s buried, we’ll uncover it. Promise.”

His words didn’t leave much room for doubt. The way he said we settled into the room like a vow, pulling a small nod from you before you could stop it. Your fingers brushed the smooth edge of the plate in front of you, grounding you.

“Thanks, Satoru,” you murmured, your voice softer than you meant, but the gratitude behind it was clear.

For a moment, the room seemed to pause. Gojo’s hand stilled mid-motion, hovering above the tray of sushi as if the simple sound of his name had spoken by you disrupted the easy rhythm of his movements.

His lips parted slightly, and his eyes—usually bright with teasing or mischief—widened just enough to catch the shift, a glimmer of something deeper flashing through them.

The way you’d said it—soft, unguarded—carried more weight than the gratitude in your voice.

His fingers brushed the edge of the tray, almost absentmindedly, before he recovered, a slow, almost imperceptible exhale smoothing his expression back into its usual charm.

“Of course,” he replied, his tone light but edged with something warmer, softer, as if he’d tucked away the subtle surprise and let the moment settle without drawing attention to it.

His hand moved again, this time picking up a piece of sushi, but his gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer than it should have.

Across the table, Yuji’s laugh broke the moment, loud and carefree as he teased Nobara about her detective skills.

The noise brought ease back into the air, but Gojo’s focus remained steady, his faint smile not quite reaching his eyes as he leaned back, still holding the weight of your words in the quiet space between you.

Gojo’s smile lingered as the conversation shifted around the table, the atmosphere lightening again with Yuji’s laughter and Nobara’s quick rebuttals. He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg casually over the other as he grabbed another piece of sushi.

“Well,” he said after a moment, his voice cutting through the chatter like the ring of a bell, “before we get too far into solving life’s mysteries, we’ve got one more guest joining us tonight.” He popped the sushi into his mouth, his tone nonchalant but tinged with mischief.

Yuji tilted his head, curious. “Guest? Who?”

Nobara narrowed her eyes. “If this is another one of your stupid surprises—”

“Relax, relax,” Gojo interrupted, waving a hand. “You’ll like this one. He’s never late, so I’d say he’ll be here in about…” He glanced at his wrist as if checking a watch that wasn’t there. “...sixty seconds.”

Megumi let out a small sigh, his shoulders shifting as if already bracing for what was to come.

Right on cue, the doorbell echoed through the expansive estate, cutting through the soft hum of conversation. Gojo’s grin widened, and instead of standing, he cupped his hands around his mouth, calling out in a loud, playful sing-song, “Come on in!!!”

The door creaked open slowly, and the click of polished shoes on the floor reached the dining room before their owner did.

Moments later, Nanami Kento stepped into view, his usual composed demeanour as pristine as his neatly pressed suit. He paused just inside the doorway, adjusting his tie with a faint frown aimed squarely at Gojo’s antics.

“Good evening,” Nanami greeted, his voice calm and measured. His gaze swept across the group, lingering briefly on you before returning to Gojo, who sat back with an almost childlike glee. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything too important.”

“Not at all, Nanamin!” Gojo replied, the nickname rolling off his tongue with exaggerated cheer. “We’re just unravelling the secrets of the universe over sushi. Grab a seat before Yuji eats all the good stuff.”

Yuji waved enthusiastically, his cheeks already stuffed with food. “Hey, Nanami!”

Nobara gave a quick wave of her own, her smirk teasing. “Didn’t know you’d be joining us.”

Megumi inclined his head in a silent greeting, though his lips twitched faintly in amusement at the sight of his teacher’s patience being tested.

Nanami let out a soft sigh, the sound as resigned as it was familiar, and made his way to the table. He tilted his head toward each of you in turn, his formal greeting striking a sharp contrast against the casual warmth of the room. “Good to see you all.”

“Don’t be shy, Nanamin,” Gojo said, gesturing grandly toward the sushi trays. “Make yourself at home!”

Nanami’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he sat down without comment, reaching for a plate with the kind of precision that spoke to years of practice—both with etiquette and with enduring Gojo.

The subtle amusement flickering across his features betrayed just enough to remind you that this wasn’t new for him, but still oddly welcome.

As Nanami settled in, the lively conversation picked up again, the atmosphere growing even more animated with his steady presence grounding the group.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the shift in dynamic, while Yuji eagerly passed Nanami the nearest tray, his grin infectious.

The clinking of chopsticks and the hum of voices filled the room, warmth threading through the shared meal.

Whatever uncertainties lingered about the night’s earlier conversation seemed to fade, at least for now, beneath the easy camaraderie that made even Nanami’s faint smile feel like a small triumph.

—

After the group had finished the all-you-can-eat sushi, the house slipped into silence. The soft hum of the central heating was the only sound in the stillness of the newly settled night.

Everyone had retreated to their rooms, the exhaustion of the day settling into their bones like an inevitable tide. But sleep wouldn’t come—not for you, at least.

The weight of the evening’s conversation, the half-formed flashes of memories, the promises Gojo had made to you over the past forty-eight hours—all of it swirled relentlessly in your mind.

The rustle of the sheets beneath you was the only movement, the stillness of the room pressing in heavier with every passing minute.

Unable to bear it any longer, you slipped out of bed, the floor cold beneath your bare feet. The quiet hallway stretched before you, the dim light filtering in from a far-off lamp in the living room casting long shadows.

The murmur of voices drifted faintly from down the hall, low enough that you couldn’t make out the words but clear enough to draw you toward them.

Padding softly, you approached the living room. The voices grew clearer as you neared, just as you caught sight of them—Gojo and Nanami, seated across from each other, the faint golden light of a floor lamp illuminating the scene.

Nanami sat upright, his posture formal but not stiff, his forearms resting on his knees as he spoke.

Gojo, in contrast, lounged in his chair, his legs crossed and one arm draped over the backrest. The usual playful edge to his demeanour was absent, his head tilted slightly, his pale hair catching the light.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Nanami’s voice filled the space with an even tone, neither judgmental nor particularly warm, yet carrying the distinct cadence of someone who already anticipated the answer.

Gojo exhaled slowly through his nose, a faint whistle escaping as he leaned his head back. The tilt of his chin caught the lamplight, casting faint shadows across his sharp jawline. His fingers drummed once against the chair before stilling.

“I’m keeping her alive,” he replied, his voice quieter than usual but still edged with that unfailing certainty.

Nanami’s brow lifted, a single motion that conveyed as much as any words he might have chosen. He shifted slightly in his seat, adjusting the crease of his trousers, but said nothing.

Gojo let his head roll to the side, his pale hair catching the dim light like silver threads.

“You think I’m being careless,” he said, not as a question but as a statement laid bare. His lips quirked, a ghost of his usual smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“No, I just don’t think you have a plan... Have you thought any of this through? Why did you bring them all here?” Nanami said, his voice as measured as ever, though the faintest edge of frustration seeped into the corners of his words.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, one hand coming to rest loosely on the armrest, his fingers drumming a slow, absent rhythm against the wood. “Because it’s where they’re safest, he was in her room, he had infiltrated Tengen’s barrier…” He replied evenly, his gaze fixed on some point across the room.

Nanami’s jaw tightened slightly, his silence stretching just long enough to let the weight of Gojo’s statement settle.

“You’re different around her,” Nanami said at last, his gaze steady and unyielding. The words weren’t an accusation, nor a question—just an observation planted in the space between them.

Gojo’s fingers stilled, the subtle shift in his posture betraying the tension he worked hard to mask.

He let out a low laugh—humourless and soft, his head dipping forward for just a moment. “Sharp as ever, Nanami.”

“It’s not a compliment,” Nanami replied without missing a beat. His eyes narrowed faintly, as if trying to pry something loose from Gojo’s carefully constructed demeanor.

Gojo finally met Nanami’s gaze, his usually vibrant eyes shadowed with something deeper, heavier.

The air between them felt thick, almost tangible, as if the weight of unspoken truths had settled in the space like a heavy fog.

“You’re not wrong,” Gojo said finally, his voice quieter now, devoid of the playful inflection that typically coloured his words. His gaze dropped to the floor, his fingers curling into a loose fist against the wood. “I’m terrified, Nanami.”

Nanami didn’t move, his expression unchanging, but there was something softer in the way he regarded Gojo—a faint shift in his sharp, analytical gaze. He waited, letting the silence stretch.

“But tell me how am I supposed to feel? Here I was thinking that y/n may have just been affected by some low-grade cursed spirit, but now, Geto’s involved—How? I still don’t know…But now she’s in real danger.”

Nanami’s brow furrowed slightly, but still, he said nothing. His patience was deliberate, practiced.

Gojo’s eyes flicked back up, meeting Nanami’s with an uncharacteristic openness.

“She’s the one thing I never saw coming,” he continued, his voice barely above a murmur. “And now I can’t stop thinking about her. Protecting her. Watching her… her smile. It’s like…” He trailed off again, running a hand through his pale hair as if searching for the right words.

Nanami leaned forward slightly, his forearms resting on his knees. “It’s like what?”

Gojo’s lips twisted into something between a grimace and a smile. “It’s like I finally found something worth being scared of.”

Gojo’s voice cracks again as he continues to open up, his usual bravado completely gone.

“I’ve never been this vulnerable, Nanami. And I hate it… But I can’t stop thinking about her. What she could mean to me. Every time I see her, I can’t ignore it anymore. She’s… everything I never knew I needed.”

Nanami leans forward, his gaze fixed on Gojo, but his expression remains unreadable, careful.

“And what are you going to do about it? Keep pretending it’s nothing? You’ve been acting like you don’t care, but it’s clear as day that you do.”

Gojo runs a hand through his messy hair, the movement sharp, frustrated. His usual cocky smirk is absent, replaced by something raw—something real.

“I don’t know what to do, Nanami. I keep telling myself it’s just a passing thing, that it’s all just a distraction. But every time I look at her, I—”

A shift in your weight caused the floors to creak beneath your feet and Gojo’s head snapped in your direction.

His icy blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Nanami glanced over his shoulder at you before rising from his seat without a word.

He loosened his tie, the sound of his heavy steps filling the tense silence as he brushed past you and left, the door to his room clicking shut behind him.

You stood there for a moment, glaring at Gojo as the tension in the room thickened. His mask of nonchalance faltered as you crossed your arms over your chest and took a few steps closer.

“You’ve got a lot to say when I’m not around,” you said, your voice steady but laced with anger.

Gojo opened his mouth to speak, but you raised a hand, cutting him off.

“Don’t. I heard everything,” you said, your tone sharpening.

“You sit here pouring your heart out to Nanami like you’re some tortured soul, but where was all this before? Where was this ‘I care about you’ attitude when you told me our—our moment was ‘a lapse in judgment.’”

His jaw tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t that simple, y/n.”

“Bullshit,” you snapped, stepping closer. “You told me you didn’t mean it, Satoru. You told me it was better that way. And then what? You just kept living your life like none of it mattered? Like I didn’t matter?”

“I thought I was protecting you!” He shot back, his voice rising as he finally met your glare head-on. “I thought if I stayed away, it would keep you safe!”

“Safe?” You scoffed, your voice trembling with emotion. “Do you even hear yourself? You didn’t care about keeping me safe—you cared about keeping yourself comfortable. You didn’t want to deal with how you felt, so you pushed me away and acted like it was for my own good!”

His face twisted, the usual playfulness in his expression nowhere to be found. Suddenly his forehead creased as his brows furrowed. “You think it was easy for me? You think I didn’t feel anything when I told you to walk away?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you shot back. “You didn’t even flinch. You just moved on like nothing happened while I—”

“While you what?” He interrupted, walking closer until he was only inches away. “While you were the only thing I thought about? While I tried to convince myself every damn day that I didn’t need you, that I wasn’t in too deep?”

“You don’t get to say that now,” you hissed, your voice trembling. “You don’t get to act like you care after everything—”

“I do care!” He shouted, his voice breaking. “God, don’t you get it? I’ve always cared!”

“Then why didn’t you—”

Whatever you were going to say next was lost as Gojo surged forward, his hands cupping your face as his lips crashed against yours.

It wasn’t gentle or careful—it was desperate, almost punishing. Your hands fisted in his shirt as you kissed him back with equal intensity, all the anger and hurt spilling over into raw, unrestrained passion.

He backed you against the wall, his body pressing against yours as the kiss deepened.

His fingers tangled in your hair, holding you like he was afraid to let go. You pulled him closer, pouring every ounce of frustration and longing into the way your lips moved against his.

Gojo’s breath stuttered as his lips dragged over yours, the fervent rhythm unravelling into something raw and uncontained. Every inch of him pressed against you, a living, burning wall that swallowed you whole.

His fingers traced upward, finding the curve of your jaw and tilting your face toward his.

The motion was deliberate, his thumb brushing along your cheek as he angled you just right, giving him unfettered access to your mouth.

His lips moved with a bruising intensity, every kiss a collision that left a molten ache in its wake. The taste of him, warm and intoxicating, lingered on your tongue as his mouth claimed yours again and again.

The press of his body anchored you, the heat radiating from him seeping into your skin, igniting every nerve in its path.

His tongue swept against yours, the sensation dizzying and electric, sparking a deep, unrelenting ache that spread through your core.

Each tilt of his head deepened the connection, his lips moulding to yours like they were made to fit, their rhythm frantic yet precise.

The cooling sensation of the wall steadied you amidst the heat of the moment, but it wasn’t enough to tether you. His hand moved lower, skimming along your waist and slipping just beneath your shirt.

The feathered feeling of his touch against your bare skin sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. His movements were relentless, all sharp edges and frayed control, like a storm too fierce to contain.

The tension in his body was palpable, every muscle coiled tight, as though holding back the force of everything he couldn’t say.

Every movement, every touch, was laden with unspoken emotion. It was a silent language, raw and primal, the need for closeness outweighing everything else.

There was no hesitation, no room for restraint—just the sheer, unrelenting pull of two souls colliding, breaking, and finding completion in each other.

As though the weight of the moment caught up to him, Gojo stilled. His lips lingered on yours for a fraction of a second longer before he pulled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

His forehead pressed against yours, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the shared cadence of your uneven breathing.

You opened your eyes, meeting his, and the vulnerability in his gaze was a stark contrast to the usual confidence that he wore like armour. His hands remained on your waist, not necessarily pulling you closer—but not letting go either.

“Y’know, I really do hate you sometimes,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

A wry smile ghosted over his lips, the faintest shadow of his usual bravado flickering to life.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “I have that effect on people.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up despite yourself, the lingering frustration mingling with something softer.

“So, should I be expecting another cold, dramatic rejection tomorrow morning?” You asked, your tone light but laced with a hint of challenge.

Gojo’s smile widened, the vulnerability in his expression easing into something more familiar—still warm, still raw, but distinctly him. “Not this time,” he replied, his voice steady and sure, the faintest hint of playfulness returning. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the casual sincerity catching you off guard. For once, there was no mask, no armour—just him, standing there, completely exposed.

“Good,” you muttered, unable to hold back the small smile tugging at your lips as you leaned back slightly, the tension between you diffusing but not dissipating entirely.

“Good,” he echoed, his hands giving the faintest squeeze at your waist before reluctantly letting go, leaving your skin buzzing where he had touched you.

Gojo leaned back just enough to put a sliver of space between you, his gaze flickering over your face as if committing every detail to memory. The corners of his mouth curled upward, his smile soft but tinged with that ever-present mischief.

“Rest up,” he said, his voice dropping into something low and velvety, “we’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

You raised a brow, tilting your head slightly as you crossed your arms. “You say that every day.”

His grin widened, the teasing glint in his eyes making your pulse quicken. “That’s because every day is a big day when you’re with me. Never a dull moment, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest betrayed you. “Maybe I’ll start sleeping in just to test that theory.”

“Please,” he scoffed, leaning in close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “You wouldn’t want to miss a single second of this.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you replied, fighting to keep your voice steady as you stepped back, your smirk matching his. “But fine, I’ll rest—on one condition.”

“And what’s that?”

“That you do the same,”

Gojo tilted his head, a glimmer of amusement sparking in his eyes. “You’re making deals now? Alright, I’ll bite. Why do you care if I get my beauty sleep?”

You tilted your head, crossing your arms as you took a deliberate step closer. “Because, for all your ‘Infinity’ nonsense, even you can’t run on fumes forever. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Satoru.”

He raised a brow, the grin tugging at his lips faltering just slightly. “Noticed what?”

“You’ve been keeping your technique on high alert,” you said, your voice softening but not losing its edge. “No sunglasses, no blindfolds. You’ve been watching everything—everyone—for days. You’re burning yourself out.”

His smile vanished entirely, replaced by something far more serious. He didn’t deny it, and the silence that followed was enough to confirm your suspicion.

“Someone has to,” he said finally, his tone quieter, almost resigned.

Your chest tightened at the weight behind his words. “You’re not invincible, Satoru,” you said gently. “Even you need a break. You can’t protect everyone if you destroy yourself in the process.”

His gaze flickered to yours, the vulnerability from earlier creeping back into his expression. For once—he didn’t have a quip or a teasing remark to throw back at you. Instead, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re really something, y’know that?” He muttered, his voice carrying a note of reluctant admiration.

With a playful smile on your lips, you shook your head and began walking back towards your room. “Goodnight, Satoru.”

“Goodnight,” he called after you, his voice carrying a tenderness that lingered in the air long after you’d gone.

#gojou satoru x reader #jujustu kaisen #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo

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carefreecoffee · 2 months ago

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'*•.¸♡ Fluffbruary Day 5: Seashells w/ Izuku Midoriya♡¸.•*'

Word count: 875, Gender-Neutral Reader

Izuku and you had traveled to one of the beaches nearby, picking seashells. It was nice and quiet, the sound of waves hitting the sand and the rustling of the seagulls was heard all around. “This is so peaceful, isn’t it.” he said to you with a smile, picking up a pretty shell and examining it closely.

Your bucket clanked with multitudes of seashells, “Mhm, there are so many shells out this time of year!”

He nodded in agreement, setting the shell he had picked up back down on the sand before beginning to look for shells himself. He had a small bag with him, putting a few shells inside it that he had taken a liking to. “There definitely is, I haven’t been to the beach in a really long time so this is nice.” he said as he picked up a large but pretty white shell that was glistening in the light.

You hum in agreement, sifting through the sand until your fingers reach a particularly shiny shell, the polished inside adorned in green. He noticed the shell you picked up, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. He set down the shell he had in his hand, moving closer to you. “Wow! That one is really shiny. It’s beautiful.” he said, admiring the green shimmer it had. He was amazed by it.

You smile, holding it up to him, “Looks like you!”

His face warmed a bit and let out an amused hum, looking at it closely and tilting his head. “Really? How does it look like me?” he asked, a hint of a smirk present on his face as he jokingly played along with your comment.

“It's all green, and it's beautiful and bright..” you trail off

He chuckled softly, shaking his head lightly and smiling. “You’re going to make me blush, you know that?” he replied to you with a little laugh, looking down at the shell again. He was clearly enjoying the small banter he was engaging with you, the smirk on his face growing a tad as a tiny part of him was hoping the comment you said about the shell being ‘’beautiful’’ was also a lowkey compliment towards him.

“Haha, then here, you have it” You put your hand out to him, offering him the shimmering shell.

He raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised. “Are you sure? You're the one that found it first, plus don't you want to keep it?” He asked curiously, eyeing the shell as it rested in your palm. The look in his eyes was more curious than anything else.

“Mhm, you could give me one in return if it makes you feel better”

He thought about it for a few moments before nodding, a smile spreading across his face. “Then sure, i'll give you one in return.” he said, reaching into the plastic bag that he had with him that was filled with shells he had picked up. He ruffled through the inside for a few moments, trying to find something that might suit as a decent exchange. He ended up finding a bigger shell that had different shades of blue in its patterning. He held it out to you, waiting for you to take it. “Here, it's shiny and big like your personality!”

Your face burns in slight embarrassment as you take it from him, the compliment catching you off guard., taking it and giving him the green one “Hehe thank you, ‘Zuku”

Izuku smiled, taking it and examining the colors and design closely. “No problem!” he looked back up to you and chuckled, his eyes softening a bit. “That one is a really good find, you have a sharp eye.” he stated bluntly, looking back down at the shell. His eyes roamed along the smooth edges, admiring the design even more. He was clearly satisfied with the exchange.

You turn your attention to the sea in front of you, the sound of the water clashing together catching your ears. Izuku followed your gaze out to the sea, looking past the sand that he was sitting on over to the calm and smooth water that seemed to stretch on forever. The sea breeze had picked up a little bit, rustling his hair as he sat there for a few moments in silence with you. “You know..” he began, hesitating a bit before continuing, “This is peaceful”.

You hum in agreement, scooching so that you could properly lean your head on his shoulder. He seemed to be taken a bit by surprise by your action, but a small smile made its way back onto his face as you did it. He didn't even try to move away. “Comfortable?” he asked, a cheeky grin forming on his face as he slightly turned his head to look at you.

He looked back out towards the sea, admiring the way the waves crashed against the shore. As you relaxed with your head against his shoulder, an arm slowly wrapped around you, pulling you a bit closer to him. He was silent now, listening to the sounds around him. the sound of the waves and the breeze filled his ears as he sat there with you, the sun setting and illuminating your faces in a warm orange glow.

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sturniclos · 1 month ago

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Y'all... thinking ab a haikyuu band au rn

The crows

Kags

Hinata

Tsukki

Yam

Reader ?

Desc.

Loser. Like weezer and radiohead and everything awful but they’re kind of bangers

So rock/ alternative rock

Also includes depeche mode, fleetwood mac (?), the strokes, foo fighters, red hot chili peppers, the cure

Male manipulator music at it’s core

Kageyama is the main vocalist and guitarist, Hinata is on drums, Tsukki plays bass and Yams is backup guitarist

Kageyama can essentially play any instrument naturally

Tsukki is extremely talented in guitar as well but likes the ease and flow of bass (he’s lazy)

Yams is occasionally backup vocals with hinata cause they can hit high notes

Tsukki doesn’t interact with any press and it’s kind of just accepted at this point

Do NOT expect them to be fitted up. Baggy jeans, sneakers and a hoodie or a t-shirt and flannel- fits are kind of fye but overall still pretty casual (if one of them is feeling crazy they might throw in a hat or necklace.

All have a small tattoo related to the band- lowkey sentimental about it

Koneko

Kuroo

Kenma

Akaashi

Bokuto

Konoha

Desc.

Emo as fuck.

I know a lot of these bands aren’t emo but it’s an overall alternative/yearning vibe okay. Kuroo and Kenma sing and look so pathetic

Think deftones, MCR, fall out boy, paramore, Evanescence

Bokuto loves doing liberty spikes and Akaashi does the overall molding and Kuroo does finishing touch-ups.

They do each other's makeup. All of them will have eyeliner streaming down their face by the end of the performance

Kenma surprisingly does really well during interviews as long as people aren’t taking pictures, otherwise everyone else interacts pretty well with press (save for when Kuroo and Bokuto got shitfaced and kissed one time)

Kenma and Konoha occasionally sport black lipstick if they feel like it

Always has chipped nail polish

Kuroo has an arm sleeve he’s working on and Bokuto has some on his thigh as well as as two eyebrow piercings and a bridge

johsai

Iwa

Oikawa

Mattsun

Maki

Desc.

I honestly had a hard time figuring this out but think l=Odd future??

Vv diff from the other two bands, they’re more of a group??

Oikawa main vocals and iwa and mattsun rap (self indulgent but lowk this all is)

Makki is the main producer/composer but Oikawa also helps, they work around whatever Iwa and Mattsun come up with after an initial sample

Fits are sooooo hard. Their PR deals and promos are insane

Oikawa loooooves the man baby tee with a slutty belt and baggy jeans. Normally wears a regular rotation of his favorite jewelry pieces

Iwa and mattsun lean more towards baggy clothing, where Makki likes to occasionally wear makeup and has a more simple style (kinda like frank ocean, simple silhouettes and clean lines + detail)

Iwa very rarely takes his shirt off on the stage (there’s only one song he really needa be doing allat

Mattsun is most followed on instagram and it makes Oikawa sooooo mad.

Iwa normally wears a beanie everywhere but his hiair isn’t a secret. One time he did the blonde buzz and he looked soooo good when it grew out a little bit

Haikyuu renaissance let's flipping go!! I've been rewatching the series and rereading the manga lately and I forgot how happy this show made me.

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chopinholic · 18 days ago

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okay I've finally watched Impromptu (1991) and it was decent but I have many thoughts & some things also cracked me up

coughing being Chopin's first and last 'line' 💀

also everyone casually molesting him lmao,,, stop it he's traumatized

Chopin playing the Raindrop Prelude before he could even compose it (irl he composed it in Majorca) yes I know it's fictionalized and there are many inaccuracies but this really stood out to me

George Sand being absolutely wild and lowkey a fashion icon (now I also want to dress like a 19th century man... and that white-red dress was gorgeous). I have a feeling that the real Sand was slightly less intense, but what do I know. Also Judy Davis is a good actress

Liszt and Delacroix vibing on a picnic

Delacroix vibing in general

Marie plotting for the entire movie like she doesn't have the hotter composer boytoy already

If I had a nickel for every time George Sand shoots living beings, I'd have two nickels... which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice

my biggest problem was that Chopin seemed to lack personality (Although I think Hugh Grant really did his best so it's not his fault). However when I started to think about it, all of the characters seem quite 'one-dimensional' so this might be within the concept of the movie (the characters were shown through the lens of their place/perception in the artistic society, like actors playing certain roles in a show rather than individuals shown in depth... although maybe I'm reading too much into this?)

(also this is probably more personal since I'm Polish, but his 'Polish accent' gave me existential crisis at times)

Soo I kind of understand what the creators were going for, but for some reason I expected something different

I also think bad reviews stem from the fact that some people expected a more accurate 'Chopin movie' with a deep psychological portrait of him and Sand, and got a light movie about Sand being a stalker of a guy she barely knows instead lmaoo (I don't blame her)

TLDR: it was a fairly entertaining movie. Not necessarily the kind of movie I'd want to rewatch, but I could recommend it. My lukewarm attitude won't stop me from reblogging a bunch of gifs/movie stills so stay tuned

#feel free to add your 2 cents #i'm rambling here to avoid rambling irl lmao #on a different note i really hope the new chopin movie will be good...#chopin #frederic chopin #fryderyk chopin #movies #movie review #kind of?#liszt #george sand #impromptu #impromptu 1991 #composers

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just-jordie-things · 1 year ago

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need ino to be the golden retriever boyfriend to my black cat girlfriend soooo bad ughhh i could just eat him

-🫧

(might've self projected too much but my god i love this)

omfg going out with ino when he's in his baggy clothes and a beanie (lowkey loser bf fit but in a cute way!!)

and you're decked out in layers of black, heavy makeup and platform docs... the two of you definitely turn some heads but my god you both love it

ino WORSHIPS his black cat gf. he's always finding a new trinket for you- spider decor... blood red pendants... dark colored nail polishes... if you have piercings he loves to pick out new jewelry for them!! he laces up your boots/corsets, handles all the little clasps of your necklaces and bracelets, and is eager to tell you that your eyeliner is perfectly even!!

(although, your lipstick might be a little messed up because he can't help but kiss the pretty color until it stains his mouth too hehe)

and oh my do you love your golden retriever bf. you love the bright colors he mixes and matches, the familiarity of his worn converse that he'll refuse to replace until the holes render them unwearable, the bright smile and dorky but fun atmosphere he brings to every space he steps into.

you're always grabbing his beanie and pulling it over his face when his staring gets you feeling too bashful- but you sort of like the way he takes it off to tousle his hair before covering it up again, so sometimes you might mess with the hat just to witness the sight. you love his skater boy sense of style and think no one pulls it off quite like him!! that said... you might convince him to get piercing or two... ino with an eyebrow piercing or snake bites.... yum

you're an iconic duo and everyone who sees you together knows it!!

#ino brainrot #takuma ino x reader #ino x reader #takuma x reader

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pumpkinsy0 · 5 months ago

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soc pony and curly now😋

i was hit w the uno reverse!!

•pony spoiling curly luvrs WE WON!!!! pony will give curly things, greaser pony already gives curly things bc he knows curly doeant have much, soc pony would do the same

•butttt i dont think curly would b 100% compliant w a SOC giving him things, but he does accept ppl some things partly outta desperation

•wouldnt surprise me if they like kinda staged curly jumping pony so curly could like “steal” some money from pony AND it could build up curlys street cred, might also lowkey make him a target but aye

•one sided enemies to luvvvrrrsssss yaaayyyyyyy

•pony wouldnt feel pressured to be as put together as he would when hes around others, pony feels like he HAS to contain himself, like hide the things he WANTS to do, he doesnt rlly want a polished life

•part of ponys pull towards curly is that pony wants to feel like he’s worked for what hes got instead of it being haded to em, and its not that curlys playing hard to get, but curly def aint makin it easy

•i think pony and darry were like relatively close, but not THAT close, and darrys off in college, so when pony heard about tim and curly, yea they cause problems but i think pony would b a bit jealous over their connection

•curlys done that thing where u throw rocks at the persons widow at night to get their attention, but like he fucked up and accidentally hit either ponys parents window or just sodas (idk if i wanna make em still alive or not so theyre just there in case i decide to let em)

•unlike soc curly and greaser pony, w them, i think soc pony and greaser curly wouldnt b the BEST at staying hidden, but they would b better than regular papercut, if curly was found out to b dating a soc, he would b half praised half seen as a traitor so thats whats mainly keeping em from staying hidden

•pony would get curly outta legal trouble and pay his bail but like, nobody knows its HIM paying that, theres this third man, probably a friend of curlys from his gang

#curly shepard #ponyboy curtis #purly #PaperCut ship

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iveneverbeenhere · 11 months ago

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“I think we can last forever.”

Things Ateez boys remind me of:

Summary: This is the part.2 of my series of “things kpop idols reminds me of”

Genre: Fluff, Ateez hyung line

Word count: 1K

CW: Honestly, there are a few suggestive lines in this, but other than that nothing much. (MDNI on my page in general)

A/N: This one is more casual than my BTS reminders. Honestly don’t know how I feel about this, but hope yall enjoy.🫡

Hongjoong:

🪲Scorpions: It might have to do with the fact that he is canonically a Scorpio, but also the contrasting idea that something so small can be so prickly and deadly when it wants to be.

🪲To add to that thought: Hongjoong reminds me of bug lollipops. Specifically ones with scorpions, spiders, and beetles. Combining the sweet, childlike flavors and colors of lollipops with the primal fear and disgust people have of bugs screams Hongjoong to me. Maybe it's the deadliness transparent beneath the sugary outside.

🪲Smoke, specifically cigarette smoke. I’m not sure if he smokes in real life or not, but he always gives me the vibe that he smells of nicotine and Jean Paul Gaultier cologne. Imagine he takes a break during an interview and he just has a Marlboro between his fingers that he steps out as the staff calls him back to continue his captain duties.

🪲Additionally, this is very specific but I feel like he has a tad minty smell to him. Even if he does or doesn’t smoke, I feel like he’s the type to always have gum on him. Type of guy who needs to be prepared for any situation and to calm his nerves. He also may have an oral fixation

🪲 Chipped nail polish. I feel like he’s been seen with chipped nails before. However, I cannot remember. It’s pretty self-explanatory; his love of queer and androgynous figures combined with being an idol on top of his bad sense of self-care leads to chipped nails.

Seonghwa:

🐇Lofi beats: The aesthetic of his Lego building lives is this. Additionally, whenever I see him, I feel like he’s the type who needs something lowkey in a lot of moments. He needs something almost comforting after he finishes his work.

🐇 Anime endings: The same reasoning applied to Lofi beats applies to this. A constant need for something more soft and sweet. Almost melancholy and quiet when compared to the bright energy of their openings. It’s something to signal that there’s no need to put in more energy because you’ve already completed what you needed to.

🐇 Polaroids: Another thing that I’m pretty sure has been attached to either him or Ateez. I feel like Seonghwa if given the time, would be good at photography. Polaroid cameras would be his favorite because of their easy portability and the intimacy of it. He can just pull it out any moment and take a beautiful candid shot that he can keep hung up in his room. Something that he took himself and gets to keep.

🐇 Valentino perfumes- this one is pretty simple. Valentino prides itself on their gender-neutral scents so it makes sense that Seong Hwa gets associated with it. Specifically, the Uomo born in Roma perfume reminds me of him. Genderless, sleek, and subtly powerful.

🐇 Cute keychains - Seonghwa looks to love cute things. He’s also constantly on the move, so cute keychains seem up his alley. Something small from a lover that he can carry around as a sign of devotion and affection. Something superficially cute but to him holds a silent love story.

Yunho:

🌼 High school crushes - The type of guy you see in class once and you instantly get attracted. He’s tall, sweet, friendly. Everything you could want in a high school boyfriend. He’s a little awkward and uncoordinated, but the small things like walking you to and from your classes and sitting with you at lunch? Makes every flaw unnoticeable.

🌼 Headphones - He seems like the type who likes to enclose himself. Specifically, with music. The ability to focus and lose himself within the melodies and lyrics refreshes him. Especially when he’s listening to a song that reminds him of his lover.

🌼Anime love interest - He feels like a shoujo ML. The guy who is desired by all, but had by only one. The tall, beautiful man who calmly introspects and throws himself into vulnerability. He is the type of guy who looks at you and says, “I like you way more than you think…” He has the type of love that feels pure, almost everlasting.

🌼 That one ML manhwa sweater - Y’all know exactly what sweater I’m talking about. This connects to the anime love interest in that he feels too good to be true. The guy who you’ve always dreamed about, but thought was unrealistic. Additionally, whenever I see comfy sweaters, it always reminds me of him. He needs to wear something comfortable to keep himself cozy and soft. Oh, and to make sure you have something to borrow from him.

🌼Old white sneakers - Yunho feels nostalgic. The type of person who gladly accepts change and challenges because he sees them as a sign of love. To be loved is to be changed. He’ll wear his scars and rough edges with pride, for you shaped him.

Yeosang:

🍄Green - This is mostly due to his crazy form hair and that one SCRUMPTIOUS bouncy shirt. However, it’s also because he reminds me of nature. He has an almost fairy/nymph-like quality. The beautiful face lures you deeper and deeper into the woods, only to trap you within its beautiful prison. You’re both moths to each other’s flame.

🍄London blue - This color feels elegant, almost regal. It gives the feeling of something encased within time but also out of it. Something that feels freighting and mysterious when it encompasses a house, though that quality makes it even more alluring.

🍄 Music boxes - Yeosang reminds me of very material but immaterial things. A small dancer frozen in time that only shows their beauty when called upon. Something delicate but sturdy. Beautiful, but skittish.

🍄 Precious little moments - Another thing that is immaterial and a little silly. Something about those little porcelain figures with their big eyes and warm but stagnant smiles. It’s familiar, friendly, but immovable.

🍄Faded scraps/scabs - This is different when compared to the rest. They’re little blemishes that tell long-ago stories. You fell on concrete when you were a child, you accidentally cut yourself with a knife, or you fell out of a tree. Moments that brought so much pain that it’s engraved onto you. Something that seemed so harrowing, but now you hardly notice. Unless someone else points it out, of course.

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gamerbot-22 · 2 months ago

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Closing Time

Prompt: Chores

TW/CW: Mention of someone getting sick to the stomach, alcohol is served and consumed but no one gets drunk, barely proofread and I appreciate spellchecks!

Word Count: 398

A/N: And with yesterday's angst comes the promise of something a little more lowkey. I have a feeling Penacony characters are going to be the absolute hardest for me to write for on account of 1) the pace of how I played that story and 2) how complicated it is. Still, I'm happy with what I did here. The bars were my favorite rooms in Penacony, just because of how nice the atmosphere was in all of them.

Likes and Reblogs appreciated and Requests are Open! Read this story on Ao3 here!

<- Previous Ficlet | Collection Post | Next Ficlet ->

The dividers in this post were made by @/gamerbot-22 (me!) ☆

Siobhan tossed the dirty rag into the trash, the resulting impact louder than she had meant it to be. With a wince, she swung back up to standing, keeping a hand braced on the bar to keep her from overshooting. "You would think that a world of dreams wouldn't make people spew their guts like that."

"Yeah, guess The Family can't work out all the kinks-a this place." Gallagher didn't look up from the glass he was polishing, or even really turn around to acknowledge his friend. Siobhan didn't mind, though. Cleaning up like this was probably the most relaxing part of his day, given his job with the Bloodhound branch of The Family. Yep, polishing crystal glasses and reorganizing garnishes beat chasing down stowaways by a stellar mile.

Siobhan shuffled over to stand behind Gallagher, standing up on the tips of her feet to peer over his broad shoulders. Odd as it might be, she liked watching him work, if only to see his rough hands do something with such care.

"Can I help you, Siobhan?"

"Just supervising."

Gallagher chuckles to himself. He tilts his head to the side to toss his cleaning rag onto his shoulder, then sets the freshly cleaned glass aside. "No, I know that silence." When he looks over his shoulder at her, Siobhan rocks back down onto the flats of her shoes. "I'm forgettin' something, aren't I?"

Siobhan huffs a laugh, her halo dragging behind the momentum of her head as it shakes. "I mean, if this is the night you decide to stop doing Last Drink of the Day, I won't stop you."

The Bloodhound turns finally, although he drops right to his knee to pull out a bottle of the Good Stuff. What was the Good Stuff? Whatever he saw first, really, and tonight's bottle was a shimmering, golden whiskey that smelled like the sunrise before you even opened it up. It was some good stuff. Good enough to make Siobhan step back.

"Whoa, you sure?" She asked, grabbing two glasses anyways.

"Eh, no one'll mind if a couple sips go missing." Gallagher nodded at the bar, popping the top off the bottle with ease.

The drinks were poured and the glasses raised.

"To another successful night behind the bar," Siobhan toasts, crossing her wrist with Gallagher's.

"And to another one tomorrow." He muttered, gently bumping her hand with his.

#Rosie Writes #Gallagher #Siobhan #Honkai Star Rail #HSR #Honkai Star Rail Fanfic #HSR Fanfic #Honkai Star Rail Fluff #HSR Fluff #Penacony #Dreamscape #cw: alcohol #Daily HSR Ficlet

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aclowntiny · 1 year ago

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Ska Day- Woozi x GN!Reader (Soulmate AU)

Word Count: 2.1k | Soulmate AU, Humor, Fluff | Warnings: none

Y’all on the poll said complete this 💁🏻‍♀️😂 Inspired by my often unshared love of ska lmao anyway wooahae enjoy this lowkey crack 😆 went to a ska show for one of my favorite bands like 2 months ago n it was so fun

It's hard to say what kind of day it's going to be when you wake up with a song about Canada stuck in your head. Jihoon wasn't even aware he knew a song about Canada, but there it was in his head, trumpets and all as he brushed his teeth. Lots of brass, actually, which he might have dug if it wasn't layered over the pop-punk guitars, too. Who writes a song like that?

When did Jihoon listen to a song like that?

He entered the practice room singing even the French bit under his breath as he swung the door open, AC sweeping in a chill wave toward him. "Canada oh Canada, I s'il vous plait..."

"Are you singing in French?" Mingyu asks him from his seated position on the shining polished floor.

"Don't get me started," Jihoon shook his head at the cursed mental brass, trumpet tune making it hard to get a clear thought into his mind. It was really catchy, too, darn it. Let’s go to Canada, let’s leave today…

“Who’s singing in French?” Jun chimes in.

“No one,” Jihoon sighs.

“Woozi-hyung,” chimes Chan.

“Why?”

“Let’s just practice,” Jihoon sighs, shooting the maknae his best ‘not another word outta you, Dino’ look.

The sweet, sweet relief when the Canada Song faded away, no longer stuck in his head. Jihoon put on one of his chillest samples as he sat down in the studio just to clear his ears like the coffee beans in cologne stores were supposed to, sinking into the leather of his chair after the strain of both dance practice and all the Canada. As the simple beat filled his brain, he sighed, preparing to add the next layer when…

…Another even catchier song entered his head. The backing guitar was similar, but overall the electrics were more prominent. The trumpets were even more rousing, the voice singing triumphantly about this and that all in English this time. Something about singing a song, ironically. Jihoon was very confident he’d never heard that song either, and this time it was far more vivid than simply having something stuck in your head. It was playing as if through headphones with the volume turned up, like God himself was trying to blast out the sampled beat he’d wanted to work with. Fine, then.

He turned it up. The music in his head turned up, too. He fought back with his chill beat. It fought back just as hard. You asked for it…music.

Jihoon had plenty of upbeat songs to work on, too. Closing the relaxing song-in-progress, probably something that would be going to the vocal team, he opened up one of the hip hop unit’s demos, the loudest one they had, and started playing that. It needed some fine-tuning before the next album anyway. Finally the trumpets faded out of his head as he got some work done, tweaking the autotune back to keep the members’ voices at the forefront. This time, neither the brass nor the guitars returned. Ha. Victory was his.

“What song is that?”

“Was I humming?”

“Yeah,” Soongyoung nods, “it sounds like a nice song.”

“It isn’t.” Jihoon crosses his arms as the music fades into his ears. “It’s just some song about a pool party.”

His friend smiled. “Sounds like fun. New concept?”

“No, it’s not mine.”

Soonyoung’s brows furrowed as he swiveled in his chair, clunking plastic sounds accompanying the motion. “Whose is it, then?”

His head fell into his hands. “I wish I knew.”

He spent the rest of the day ready to strangle Soonyoung, who liked the pool party song enough that he kept singing it long after it was done playing through Jihoon’s head.

A song about skateboards? Ok, kind of a good idea, just maybe not one so goofy. Had a trumpeter died and seen fit to haunt one Lee Jihoon for his musical proclivity?

Something was going on. This wasn’t natural. His dancing time was suffering unless he listened to the practice song in headphones. His lyricism failed him, other instruments blurring out his careful, sentimental mixes in whirlwinds of skateboards and time bombs and foreign countries. The songs could have been worse, in fact Jihoon was getting a bit too comfortable with the catchy one about something or other in school and singing, but in his line of work no one could afford distractions. Especially distractions that literally got louder every time he tried to drown them out as if they wanted him to know they hated him.

He excused himself from practice, slumping down against the wall with his chin in one hand, the other digging in his sweats pocket for his phone, praying Google would have some answers as to what would cause this.

A shadow fell over his vision. “Hey, are you ok?”

Glancing up, he saw Jeonghan standing over him, hands wringing in concern. “I know this has been a tense week for you, but the others were saying something about music? About singing in French?”

Jihoon sighed, sliding his phone back into the warmth of his pocket. He let it all fall out, all the brassy details of his past week rushing forth. How it started with feeling a song he’d never heard stuck in his head and continued into sometimes hours-long segments of invisible headphones tuning him into unfamiliar ditties.

“I- I feel like I’m going crazy.”

Jeonghan rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not going crazy. Have you considered that it’s your soulmate?”

“My soulmate is a bunch of disembodied ska?”

“No,” Jeonghan suppressed a laugh, “some people hear music when they’re close to their soulmates. It gets louder when it’s closer to your time to meet.”

Jihoon cocked a brow, shifting a bit on the hard floor. “Then why does mine sound like pool parties and Canada?”

“I’m…not even going to ask what that means,” Jeonghan shot back, hands steepled, “but you hear what your soulmate is listening to. They’ve probably been hearing bits of our practice or anything you’re working on.”

“A-ha!” Jihoon finally lit up. “That’s why it stopped when I worked on the hip hop demo!”

“Maybe they were listening,” Jeonghan confirmed with a smile.

“My soulmate,” Jihoon shook his head in disbelief, partially having believed he wouldn’t have one as such a recluse, “my soulmate who probably thinks I’m a rapper now. And who listens to…” He pulls google back up to the page with the pool party song artist. “A band with a bunch of grown men who dress like superheroes.”

Jeonghan squinted at the image on the proffered phone, a bunch of spandex-top-clad men in dynamic poses holding their instruments, eyebrows raising. “Those guys look like dorks.”

“I think it’s comedy? They have a song about pizza too. And aliens. And skits on youtube.”

“Well, I guess opposites do attract. Have you tried following the music?”

The jaw drop was practically palpable. “Following it? I’ve been running away,” Jihoon chuckled.

“Well, it’ll only get worse until you find the person, you know,” Jeonghan lowered himself into a seated position at his side, “so if you want no more brass, I’d suggest-”

“Running around like a chicken with my head cut off.”

“I was actually going to say ‘leaving the Hybe building for once in your life’, but that works too. Who knows,” the older singer shrugged, “maybe it’ll get louder. Maybe it’ll stop on someone you really like. Your soulmate could just be a friend, you know. A friend of mine’s soulmate is her best friend and both girls are straight.”

“Alright,” Jihoon puts his hands up, “alright. I’ll do it, I’ll find them just to get the music to stop.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jeonghan offers, standing up and holding out his hand.

Ignoring the hand, Jihoon stands up on his own. “What, for the show?”

“For moral support! …but yes, also for the show. I can’t wait to see what your soulmate looks like,” Jeonghan grins.

After rinsing off and changing out of sweaty practice outfits, the dual vocalists exited the Hybe building to the sound of trumpets…well, if you were Jihoon, that is. It really was like he was the unwilling recipient of a mostly-ska music subscription directly, forcibly installed into his brain.

The light outside was harsh for someone like him who wasn’t used to it. Even Jeonghan blinked a bit as they made their way onto the sidewalk, skirting around a planted tree.

“Ok, we’ll start with going this way,” Jeonghan said, “tell me if it gets quieter or louder.”

Jihoon felt his frown tighten, which made Jeonghan laugh. “Let me guess…we’re getting closer?”

He laughed again at the dry nod he was given in response, pointing down the street where they’d turned left. “Then we keep going that way.”

They passed about five buildings before the sound was practically unbearable, every brass note an echoing assault on Jihoon’s cranial walls despite the considerable skill of their players. Hey, assaulted or not, he was a musician at the end of the day, one who had to respect the lungs on a fellow wind or even brass player.

Looking up from the blare, he saw a bookstore of all places. "This is it," he nodded toward the doors at Jeonghan before disappearing inside.

Mazelike walls of grey shelves bearing rainbows of books greeted him, but Jihoon didn't need to go far for the music, this new song an entirely different man and woman singing about gas in a car in a rapid-fire chorus, drowned out all perception. Tables sporadically dotted the area, and one of the closest ones drew him like a magnet, bringing him closer and closer...

...Until like an act of mercy, the sound abruptly stopped, Jihoon's eyes fluttering closed in sweet relief, a laugh almost escaping him at the returned use of all his cranial real estate. Relief was all he felt, the relaxing sensation washing over him hard enough to keep him frozen there, all but forgetting where he was until a voice cut him off.

"Hi, did you need something?"

Descending back to reality, Jihoon opened his eyes and fixed them upon the speaker, the lone occupant of the table he'd stopped at sitting there with a laptop. Call it a rush of sentimentality, but the first thing he noticed about you was the kindness of the smile on your face as you removed your headphones.

That wasn't what he came there for, though. "What are you always listening to that music for?" He asked.

"Uh, I'm a music major?" You responded, head tilted and tone questioning. Kind of cute.

"And you listen to ska?"

"I like it," you defended with a shrug, "and besides, I'm writing my thesis on the influence of ska on various sides of counterculture like its greater punk umbrella and the serious topics it can be used to convey through the light style, like faith, how people judge your views based on their expectations of your expression of them, or even feelings of self-doubt and fear of judgement that are conveyed in one of the most famous songs. The singer himself has even talked about how his social anxiety inspired the lyrics, which many agree really exemplify a human experience."

The concept of his soulmate being a scholar, or even just being a real non-psychopathic person, had barely occurred to Jihoon in light of all the trumpet torture, but now that you were before him, his ire was rapidly melting away, weeks of beating himself up over diminished performance replaced by the one stronger feeling: sheer curiosity.

"Oh, wow. I had no idea, and I'm a producer."

Your face lit up with surprise. "You're a producer?"

He just hummed and nodded.

"I'm really more interested in songwriting, but that all goes hand-in-hand," you said, "but hey- how did you know what I was listening to?"

There it was. The reason Jihoon had taken to, in the words of one Yoon Jeonghan, who was perusing books two tables away, 'leaving the Hybe building for once in his life'. "I've been hearing practically nothing but for, yeesh, how many weeks now?"

"You're the guy listening to all the kpop songs over and over?"

"It's my job."

"And that rap demo?"

"Also my job."

"It really threw me the first time my sound got interrupted."

"Yeah, think how I felt," Jihoon remarked drily, meeting your eyes.

Several heartbeats passed before you burst out with a laugh, and something about the sound of it coupled with the tail end of the relief wave was so infectious Jihoon found himself laughing, too.

"Here," you waved a hand over a chair, "sit down and I'll play you another Skankin' Pickle song."

"Another excuse me?"

"'90s ska band."

Brass-filled 'Nam flashbacks. "I'm good."

"Well, now that I've suggested something worse," you grinned, sending some part of Jihoon's heart flipping, "hopefully it'll sound better if I ask my soulmate whose name I still don't know on a date."

#seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen reactions #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #woozi #woozi x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #soulmate au #this is for you poll voters 😂

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