#meet twice theory is theorying

[etherealily]

ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ // ​ɴ.ᴊ [1]

Hey, guys. This is one of those Nate drafts I was talking about. Hope you like it. This is a two-part fic.

[Here's part 2.]

Nate Jacobs x fem!reader. SFW, but discretion advised. Masochism(?), violence, delusion.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : He recognizes you.

══════════════════ ⋆⋅🥂⋅⋆ ═════════════════

It's not like Nate didn't know what the fuck he was doing. 90% of the time, he was on top of shit. But then he drank. And then, shit went down.

And unfortunately, the shit that went down was the bouncer of the elite club a couple towns away from East Highland - the one that was known for being freqented by A-listers and the who's who of who's disgustingly wealthy.

Of course, he didn't stay down for long or he'd have been a shitty bouncer, but the element of surprise had really worked out in Nate's favour. No one expects a tipsy high school kid to be able to take down the absolutely ripped bouncer - who was probably the most dedicated to their job because of the celebrities inside - but they really should expect it.

Because Nate Jacobs with alcohol in him was a fucking force to be reckoned with.

With every punch to the face, with every sharp taste of his own blood that touched his tastebuds, he'd never felt more alive. He laughed, reveled in it, even.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, kid?"

Hell if he knew. Right now, though, seeing how frustrated this jacked, violent, adult man was getting when he didn't respond to his punches was making him feel like a god. He must look both pathetic and badass, his head hitting the pavement with an oomph continuously.

The crowd forming around them did jackshit for him, just like in the movies. They just watched the blood. They just observed the bruises form. The door to the club was visible to him each time the guy pulled back and the crowd shifted slightly - until it opened.

"Jesus Christ, Ray, what the hell is going on here?"

"Ma'am, this kid jumped me."

"So?"

"I- ma'am, so I gave him a taste of his own medicine." His fingers still gripped Nate's collar, bloodthirstiness pooling in his eyes. But Nate's eyes were nowhere near his - they were on you. God, in this drunken haze, his mind couldn't seem to place a name to your lovely face, but it definitely knew it.

"Not in front of the club, Ray, God, you're so fucking dense!", you scolded him, your fingers gesturing at the side of your head, clearly absolutely ticked off.

The dazzling gold of your dress shimmered in the bright lights of the street outside the club, almost blinding him. Her name, her name?

Look at me, look at me, look at me, his brain pleaded, but it seemed you were not a mind reader.

"Sorry, ma'am, I was just-"

"Who the hell is he, anyway?", you asked, eyes finally torn away from Ray and trained on Nate.

He was dirt. He was mud. He was a rotting apple. He was nothing under your gaze, and he fucking loved it.

"Dunno.", scoffed Ray, as he pulled off him, standing up. Nate remained on the floor. "Some booze-filled moron."

"The fuck did you just say?", sputtered Nate, coughing up blood in the process.

"Ray, are you fucking insane? You beat up some random kid enough to make him cough out blood?"

"These high schoolers from the neighbouring towns are the insane ones, ma'am. Absolute psychos. They show up shitfaced and ask to come in, picking fights if they can't. This one is worse, he just up and jumped me."

You stared down at Nate as you listened, and he couldn't fight the feeling that slowly, an opinion was forming in your head. An opinion of him. And one that wasn't just him as dirt, insignificant and extremely forgettable. It was one of him as a manic alcoholic.

"Fucking lunatics out here.", you mumbled, patting Ray on the shoulder, sympathetically. "Make sure he gets home."

"I don't even know which town he's from, ma'am."

"Find out."

══════════════════ ⋆⋅🥂⋅⋆ ══════════════════

The interrogation was fruitless.

Nate was too busy blacking out to even be declared conscious , let alone give any idea of his origins.

So, out there, he sat. Next to Ray, fading in and out, being given water, both to drink, and sprinkled on his face, until the last of the guests had arrived, and the super-elite party had seemed to begin, finally.

And the door opened again, behind them. Ray stood up. Nate thought he stood up too, but he was still just sitting there, pathetic, bloody, and beaten up. Every sound felt muffled to him, your voice from behind him, Ray's voice from in front of him.

"Why is he still out here?" The angel. You.

"He isn't telling me shit, ma'am. Except that he was trying to get in because he lost some bet."

"Get him in, we'll get some food in him.", you sighed, gazing back down at him. Dirt. Mud. Inconsequential. Useless. Nothing. Manic, nothing alcoholic.

Ray scooped him up from under his arm, leaning him against his shoulder. "There we go, kid, c'mon."

Nate groaned, his eyes trying desperately to stay open as they fell on the luminous sign above the establishment : The Golden.

God, the amount of times he and his friends had tried to get in, since they were thirteen was absolutely insane. If only he'd have known all it took was being shitfaced and stupid to get in, he'd have done that a long time ago.

After all, shitfaced and stupid was his default state.

The sounds that were barely murmurs from the pavement outside were devastating roars from inside. A song everyone was screeching along to boomed overhead, overshadowing every thought in his head, the lack of lighting was accounted for by fluorescent wristbands that every celebrity in there wore, and they moved around as people danced, so fast he almost got whiplash.

Basically, the club was doing nothing for his hangover but exacerbation.

"Booth. There."

Ray deposited him in the booth, which he slid into quite pathetically, though now, his consciousness was more in his grasp. The crimson still streaked his face.

"What's your name, dude?"

"WHAT?", he yelled, over the screams of a particularly annoying group of models.

"Name.", you mouthed, waving Ray off before sipping your drink. Vodka spritz, he noted. Classy.

"Nate. Nate Jacobs."

"Nate Jacobs, you're an absolute dumbass, you know that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

You chuckled, looking away from him to the DJ, to the hordes of people having the time of their lives. Nate did, too. He wasn't sure if he saw what you saw, because to his eyes, it was spoiled assholes acting like they couldn't do the same shit in a normal club.

You seemed to see something else, though. He needed to know what.

"What was the bet?"

Nate's eyes tore away from the assholes and ran back to you. "Make out with a guy or fuck a celebrity."

"What?"

"Yeah, of course I didn't choose the first one."

"Which celebrity were you planning to fuck?"

"Oh, 100% Mia Thomas."

"She's a cunt."

"So? Hit and quit."

"Trust me, not with her, you can't."

Noted.

══════════════════ ⋆⋅🥂⋅⋆ ══════════════════

Hangovers and high school do not mix well. Case in point : Nate Jacobs. Sleeping it off as soon as he got home should have helped, but it did not. He sat there in the back of the class, clutching onto the sides of his desk till his knuckles became white. "Ugh." His teacher droning on about the fucking World War didn't help, it just set his teeth on edge.

"The fuck is he? Where the fuck is he?"

Nate's head lifted up painfully - he felt like he was being stabbed from the inside. His eyes narrowed as they tried to handle the amount of light coming in, adjusting to the unnecessarily, obnoxiously bright classroom around him.

Every single pair of eyes in there seemed to be on him, and for a moment he wondered whether his eyes were actually bleeding.

But then, the eyes all simultaneously turned to the doorway. An angel.

Stood there with a cigarette between your fingers and your piercing gaze running wildly across the room in search for someone, you were terrifyingly ethereal. He was actually 90% sure you were a hangover hallucination.

Phones were whipped out, recording, and boys wolf-whistled. "Nate, there you are, the fuck are you doing in here?" Uh, school?

He couldn't speak. The most he could do was sit up, slightly, but even that caused his head to bludgeon him.

"C'mon.", you called, pointing a thumb at the door. "Let's go, big guy. Now."

"Excuse me, you can't just come into class and-"

"Kindly shut the fuck up. I'm so fucking pissed right now I would actually burn you."

A psychotic angel.

As the door slammed behind him, something told him this wasn't going to be like one of those movies where you tell him you want to fuck the shit out of him.

"I'm going to ask you this once, and once only. You lie to me, I will put a hit on you."

Did you know how much you were turning him on right now? You had to, right?

"Did you, or did you not, talk to the press after you left The Golden?"

"The press? No. I didn't talk to the press." He almost laughed. He'd remember a bunch of mics and cameras in his face.

"Did you talk to anyone?"

He shrugged. "I talked to my friend McKay, my dad, my broth-"

"A skeevy short guy with glasses and a power suit?"

He closed his eyes, willing away the pounding in his head and trying to conjure up some memory. Yes. Yes, he vaguely recalled one such character waddling by him, asking him unnecessary amounts of questions, before he could slump into the cab you'd called for him.

"Yeah, but-"

"But?"

"I dunno, he was just a guy, he didn't have a camera or anything!"

"Rule number one of being a celebrity-adjacent, Nate?", you spat, and he grimaced. "Shut. The. FUCK. Up about us. Okay?"

He wanted to argue he wasn't a celebrity-adjacent, but he was pretty sure you weren't done.

"You know what the press is saying, now? Because of you? Apparently I fucked you and then had you beat up."

Whoa.

"What? But I didn't even talk about sex to him!", he whined. He didn't want you to look at him like he was an idiot! He didn't want you to be mad. He wanted to be dirt under your gaze, not fucking... shit!

"Doesn't matter! HOW FUCKING IDIO-", you cut yourself off, and Nate wanted to believe it was because you were being considerate about his hangover, but you were probably just trying not to waste energy on him. "Okay. You're lucky that there were cameras to disprove that shit, Nate, but I swear to god, stay away, okay?"

From... you? The angel? No, no, no.

"What?" His voice was the least masculine he'd ever heard it to be, but you know what? If you wanted him pathetic, he was already doing what you wanted.

"Stay away from The Golden. You don't belong there. It's not your world."

That should've offended him more than it actually did.

The fact that you were looking, sorry, glaring at him did soften the blow, though.

══════════════════ ⋆⋅🥂⋅⋆ ══════════════════

TWO MONTHS LATER

"It's a birthday, Nate, c'mon."

"Look, she's a fucking whore, Maddy, you know it. She's rich, yeah, but-"

Nate almost banged her head into the table when she began to laugh.

Nate couldn't wrap his head around that stupid thing in his life called his luck - probably because it was non-existent - because what the fuck? Who knew Maddy's stupid ass babysitting job would somehow lead him back to the memory he'd been wanting to bury deep within him?

Fate's a bitch. And so were you.

"Her being rich has something to do with this because...?", she mused, gently wrapping some hair in her flat iron while glancing at him through the mirror.

"Because?", he sputtered, ready to actually write it down in case her slow brain still didn't get it. "She's also, as I said, a whore! She'll invite every rich boy in the country to her birthday party!"

"You haven't even fucking met her. She's, like, a celebrity. She has to keep up appearances.", informed Maddy, dilligently, like it was her job or something. Poor, gullible, starstruck Maddy. "She's only inviting rich boys because she has to. She told me herself that sh-"

"This ain't a fucking Disney movie, Maddy. You can't be the quirky normal girl who's BFFs with a public figure. It doesn't work like that."

"Normal? Normal?" She turned, raising a brow, almost daring him to repeat himself.

"No, Maddy, don't fucking lose it over a word. I can't do that shit today, I got fucking finals coming up."

"Why do you even hate her so much?"

"She's rich. And a whore."

And I totally embarrassed myself in front of her and I want to kill myself every time I see her on TV.

"You said that already. You don't even know her. You haven't even met her. She doesn't even know I have a boyfriend.", she said, before correcting herself in response to his incredulous glare. "I mean, she doesn't know we're back together."

"Exactly. How close are you guys if you don't find her trustworthy enough to tell her you're with someone?"

"I just don't want to burden her with-"

"Bullshit , Maddy, bull-fucking-shit. She has no burdens. You could tell her you have cancer, it'll just bounce right off her empty head."

"She has so much shit on her plate, and she's constantly stressed out, Nate. So don't even go there.", she warned, checking her lipstick one last time before she began to slip into the 'outfit'.

"You know what she has on her plate? Fucking filet mignon and wagyu steak."

She chuckled, shaking her head as he zipped her up. "You could come, you know? Not like you care about studying anyway."

"I'm not coming to a fucking twee party with wealthy twinks dressed in Balenciaga or something."

"Twinks never wear Balenciaga. That's for strippers."

Now it was his turn to chuckle. "Yeah, sure whatever. I'll buy you anything you want, Maddy, okay? Don't fuck some hot rich twink who's still in the ridiculously expensive closet.", he cautioned, turning her around to face him.

She rolled her eyes. "If I do?"

"I'll fuck your rich whore friend." The fact that his thumb rubbed against her cheek actually meant that he was being serious.

"Y/N wouldn't fuck you if her fortune depended on it.", scoffed Maddy, kissing him on the cheek before throwing him the keys that sat next to his wallet, on her dresser. "Let's go, chauffeur."

══════════════════ ⋆⋅🥂⋅⋆ ══════════════════

"Maddy! You're here! You look amazing!", you exclaimed, as Maddy ran up to you to hug you. "God, I missed you."

"Happy birthday.", she whispered, squeezing you once before letting go. "Maybe now you can....", she teased, nudging your elbow.

"Oh, come on, Maddy, I'm not going to go sleep with Chris Evans, now, for fuck's sake."

"Why?", she whined. "You know him, and it's finally legal."

You rolled your eyes. "Not everyone finds the same guys as you hot, okay?"

"You're fucking blind if you don't think Chris Evans is hot."

You leaned down, slightly, to whisper. "Why's your chauffeur getting out?"

"Oh, oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.", she giggled excitedly, tugging you along to meet him. "This is my boyfriend."

You almost fucking banged her head on the pavement. "No, Maddy, not the toxic guy again.", you muttered, so only she could hear. She waved you off. Poor, gullible, lovestruck Maddy.

"Hey. Y/N, right? Happy birthday, I guess."

FUCK. Fuck, this guy? The one who bloodied up your best bouncer? The one who almost cost you your career? That dumbass?

You could have sworn he glared. "Yeah, thanks.", you nodded, extending your hand out. He looked at it, then up at you in amusement for a fraction of a second, before taking it. "Nice to meet you, your highness. I'm Nate."

Not another fucking jokester.

"Funny.", you replied, dryly. turning to Maddy. "Your boyfriend coming in?"

Please say no.

"I'm right here, just fucking talk to me. Or do you need fucking butlers to do that for you?"

Based on what Maddy had told you about him, you'd expected that.

"Nate, shut the fuck up.", snapped Maddy, through clenched teeth. "Sorry, babe, he's stressed 'cause of finals."

"I'm sorry, sir, do you have a problem with me?"

"You won't give me the fucking decency of talking to me like a human being, but then, when I call you out on it, you get all polite and all 'Sir', on me, like a cowardly fucking cunt !"

"NATE!"

Maddy's voice cut through the air like the knife that Nate guessed you were fantasizing slitting his throat with right about then.

The music continued to blare from inside the house, but the silence was louder. "I will...", you began, but what the fuck does one say after that? "I will... get you guys drinks."

"No, I'm not fucking staying, you kidding me?"

"Nate.", hissed Maddy, threateningly.

Fine. What-fucking-ever.

══════════════════ ⋆⋅🥂⋅⋆ ══════════════════

"This food sucks ass, Maddy."

"Ooh, you see that guy over there? The one Y/N's talking to?"

"Looks gay."

"He's not. Apparently, he's one of the most eligible bachelors in the world. Super rich. And he has a thing for Y/N."

"I wonder why.", he sneered, rolling his eyes, trying his best not to imagine what it would be like to break the stupid fucking chandelier above his head.

"He's super rich, Nate. He doesn't need her money."

"I was talking about her tits."

"Nate, if you're jealous, just say so.", sighed Maddy, though the amusement was quite clear in her voice.

"Jealous ?", he muttered, rolling his eyes. Maddy was amazing, but she was also unbelievably perceptive. "Of what?"

"Her life."

Maddy was really pissing him off. When the fuck did she become so smart?

"Okay, so she's rich. Big whoop. It's all Daddy's money."

"First off, she's got a career of her own, y'know? And second off- so? Daddy's money or not, it's more money than you'll ever have. Than we'll ever have."

"How do you even breathe normally around these people without sounding too poor?", he scoffed, downing his drink as he glared at you, giggling away while wearing your Dior bullshit.

"Fake it till you make it, I guess.", shrugged Maddy, not at all answering his question.

She didn't get it.

She was wearing something ethereal. He was in his fucking jeans and a tank top.

Your words echoed in his head, "it's not your world."

"Do you even know anyone else besides the birthday girl?"

"I don't, actually, no."

"So Y/N ditched you.", scoffed Nate, rolling his eyes as he sipped his drink. Holy fucking shit, the liquor was bomb. "Typical."

"You don't even fucking know her, okay?"

"Hey, Mads, all okay over here?", you asked, smiling as you went around your rounds of checking up on your huge guest list.

She nodded, before her eyes travelled back to Harry. She tipped her glass slightly in his direction. "So, how's it going with you and pretty boy over there?"

"Oh my god, was it obvious?"

"Just look at his fuck-me-till-I-die-eyes, girl! Yes, it was obvious!"

Nate hoped he was good at hiding his eye-roll.

"Yeah, well, you know, whatever. He's just-"

"If you say 'just a friend', I'm pouring this champagne on your head.", warned Maddy.

"He's just... sexy. And that's all he has going for him. No... sparks, you know? No... flair. Just a dick and abs.", you laughed, and Maddy joined in, watching you sip your drink.

"And guys are the 'objectifiers'? Good to know."

"Okay, seriously dude, what the fuck is your proble-"

Maddy shook her head, snapping her fingers in your face. "Sh. Let it go."

"No, I'm not fucking letting it go, Maddy, he can't just come to my birthday, and comment on every fucking thing I do!"

"Well, then, maybe I should leave! This isn't my world, anyway!"

The fuck was your problem? It's like you got offended at every single thing anyone said, and they had to bend over backwards apologizing because you were rich? No fucking way.

"Yeah, you should!"

"Come on, Maddy, let's go.", grumbled Nate, clenching his jaw as he grabbed Maddy's arm.

"Maddy, you're staying!", you ordered, glaring.

"The hell you are.", he growled, tugging her along.

"Maddy, stay !"

The party watched him and suddenly, he was getting beat up in front of the club all over again, but this time, he was the aggressor.

Fine. Whatever. Nate had at least an iota of self respect.

"See you at school, Mads.", he scoffed.

The glass in his hand made contact with the floor, shattering into a million little pieces.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🥂⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

SIX MONTHS LATER

"Fuuuck.", he groaned, fistfuls of his hair spewing out from the gaps between his fingers.

"She's not fucking dead. Just pay her."

McKay better have fucking life insurance, because he was about to stab him.

"I shouldn't have fucking drank, I shouldn't have fucking drank...', he muttered, slamming his hand down on the steering wheel as he fixed his eyes in front of him, at the car he'd almost run off the cliff.

He heard the distinct sound of a car door slam, and out you walked, indignant - and rightfully so.

"Dude, dude, it's that Y/N chick, the actress girl.", hissed McKay, nudging him in the elbow. "She'll fuck us up in court, dude."

"Yes, I fucking realise that. Act cool, act cool."

YOU? YOU? Why the FUCK did it have to be YOU? Was karma real? Or was the universe just trying to fuck him up?

"I'm always cool, man."

Nate's eyes flicked from your car to your approaching figure. Why the fuck were you in East Highland?

You threw your hands up in frustration as he lowered his window, and, in a drunken haze, his eyes. You, thankfully, didn't notice. "What the FUCK was that, dude, huh?"

"Sorry, I just... lost control."

"Wait-Nate? UN-believable.", you scoffed, running your hands through your hair in frustration. HIM? HIM? Why the FUCK did you have to deal with HIM tonight? And then you saw his face. "Are you wasted?"

No, no, he was supposed to be good at hiding this shit. But he figured you'd be good at seeing through bullshit, seeing as bullshitting was your entire career.

"No, what? Two respectable citizens like us?", he asked, trying his best to look offended, but it's hard when you're staring into the eyes of someone who could fuck up your life with a signature.

"Bullshit. You're fucking wasted, aren't you?"

"What are you, a cop?" He restrained himself from adding a lewd comment about you putting him in handcuffs.

"I loved that movie you made recently- Starshine Valley.", declared McKay, matter-of-factly. "It was fucking fantastic."

Oh, yeah, Nate had watched it with him. The fact that you'd also directed it was news to him. Your 'country girl' outfit in that was, in Nate's head at least, equivalent to Leia in the fucking gold bikini.

Okay, whatever, not like Nate gave a shit. Right now, he was focused on McKay. McKay and his slur. His fucking slur. No, no, no!

You ran your hand over your face, palpably exhausted. "Okay, here's what we're going to do.", you began, trying your best to not show how much you wanted to tip their car over the bridge right now. "We're going to call the police-"

"No, we're not! Please, I'll make it up to you."

"You'll make it up to me? You almost drove my $500K car off a cliff!"

Jesus Christ. "Please, please, not the cops, we just... I've got a clean record so far, I don't wanna... please."

It came as a huge surprise that Nate's record was clean, but whatever.

"You should've thought of that before you-"

"Please, I have college to think of, my family-"

"FUCK! Okay. No cops."

"Thank you, thank you."

"Just don't fucking drive if you're drunk, ok? Where are you guys even going?"

"Back into town."

"East Highland?"

Nate almost laughed. What other fucking town was in that direction?

"Yeah, yeah, we are. You're going there?"

Please let this be a Disney movie. Please let her come back and join high school after a life of spoilt stardom. Please let me get to 'accidentally' throw a football at her pretty little head during practice. Please.

"Yeah, visiting my folks before I go out to Scotland to shoot.", you mumbled, running your hands through your hair again. For some reason, this drove him absolutely crazy. In a good or bad way, he didn't know. "Need a ride?"

Oh, yeah. In that car? Fuck yeah.

"What about our car?", asked McKay, stupidly. When asked whether you need a ride in a $500K car, you accept. You don't think about your shitty ass car.

"I'll come back and get it for you guys, I guess."

"You would? You'd do that for us, Emily?"

Why the fuck did McKay make a reference to Starshine Valley? What a fucking nerd. Not to say Nate wasn't about to make the exact same one.

"Shut up and get out."

-------

"Thanks again for not getting us busted."

"Don't fucking drink and drive, guys, okay? Get in your houses. Your car'll be back here by morning."

"And where will you be?", asks Nate, tilting his head.

"Oh, no, no, this isn't a fucking rom-com. This wasn't a meet-cute."

"I'm just saying, if we wanna settle things about the damage to your car..."

"There's no way to settle things without the law getting involved, and, for the sake of your criminal record, I think you should just leave it at that.", you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you left them at the entrance of town.

"Fuck, dude.", muttered McKay after they watch you leave. "Fuck."

"She's such a knockout."

"Total smokeshow.", nodded McKay, in agreement. "But you know she was lying, right?"

"What? About our car?"

"Nah, about where she was going. She isn't from here. This ain't her hometown. If it was, we'd have seen her growing up, yeah?"

Nate almost killed himself right there. How drunk do you have to be to miss that?

"You're saying she's not meeting her folks?"

"I'm saying she ain't even staying in East Highland."

"Then where the fuck is she going?"

McKay groaned, as if Nate was the slowest fucking guy in the world. "You know that super-elite superstar club a few towns away?"

The one he'd tried getting into when he was shitfaced a couple months ago.

"The Golden? You think she's going there?"

"You saw what she was wearing? Who the fuck meets their parents wearing that ? Who's that stupid?"

Evidently, Nate, because he'd actually believed you.

And now, he felt the urge to get even more shitfaced and stupid.

He wanted to follow you back into The Golden.

The question was , would he?

[t.b.c]

[bloos-bloo]

I’m locking in

(I read one chapter of the book I need for class and fell asleep for two hours)

[the-meme-monarch]

*Repeating 'I am not immune to propaganda.' while looking at your blog*

GOOD the more people i can convince that scc are actually really charming characters the better i think

[stairset]

For the record I never thought Marrok was actually gonna be anybody important. Star Wars fans have a tendency to assume every new character who has a cool helmet is secretly someone we know but I think if they actually wanted us to think Marrok was someone we know they probably would've actually focused on him at all and given him more than one or two lines of dialogue. Sometimes characters are just there to be cool looking jobbers and that's fine.

[magical-girl-04]

Am I aroace or have I just been awake too long?

[neverendingford]

.

[gaysindistress]

Things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with Simon Riley.

Simon Riley masterlist

1. First off he hates the word ‘boyfriend’.

Maybe it’s because he’s in his mid thirties or something but he can’t stand being called your boyfriend. He’s more than that but also not at the same time. You live together, have access to each other’s bank accounts (which is only because he hates it when you try to fight him about him giving you money), and you’re each others emergency contact. He thinks of himself as your husband. The man wears a silicone ring when he’s home and a necklace with the ring that’s totally not a wedding band when he’s working. Price has seen the chain once or twice and smirks, shooting him a knowing look but never says a word.

Simon cannot stand it when people get nosy and want to know what your relationship status is. You’re together and that’s all that matters. No one needs to know that you’re the beneficiary of his will and life insurance policy or that he’s put you on all of his accounts. No one needs to know that he buys you anything you want but has only ever bought you two rings; a thin gold band with a flower engraved on it and its twin a matching emerald ring. No one needs to know that when he gifted them to you, there were tears and promises of safety, love, and happiness whispered against feverish skin. No one needs to know that he has your name woven into his chest tattoo.

No one needs to know any of that because your relationship is between him and you only.

2. You are not some submissive little house wife. You are a strong independent woman and he prefers it that way.

I know this one goes against what most people say but hear me out on this. Simon has been independent since birth practically. He’s only had himself to count on for years. Even in the military, he’s only been able to rely himself. Sure the others watch out for him but if it came down to it, he’s the only one who’s going to get himself out alive.

The thought of someone else relying on him in that way is terrifying. He can’t even fathom what it would be like to look at another person and fully trust them in that way. Half the time he feels like he can’t even be trusted to take care of himself let alone another human. In theory a sweet docile housewife is great with the meals and clean house but not for him. He needs to know that you can hold your own. He needs to know that you can be independent and carry on without him if something happened while he was working. He needs to know that you will be okay if he doesn’t come back.

You have to be okay without him no matter how much it pains him to think about it.

Like I said before, he’s made you the beneficiary of everything so he knows you’ll be set financially but that’s not enough. He’s made Price promise to keep an eye out for you. He’s made you promise to let Price do that and you agreed because it’s Simon who’s asking but you’d tell anyone else to fuck off.

In addition to all of that, he’s installed the best security system the government has to offer in your house. You have a very expensive and large safe in your shared closet that he’s instructed you to only open if you feel unsafe. While you might not like it, you agree to go shooting with him so he can sleep at night knowing that you could protect yourself if he’s not home. He’s gone as far as to make sure you have all of the licenses and certificates that are needed to legally own firearms in the UK.

He’s not leaving any opportunity for you to be vulnerable or have your ‘safety checks’, as he calls them, taken away.

3. Simon Riley is a godless man…until he meets you.

Now this is entirely my own headcannon with no evidence to support it so bear with me.

Simon had a shitty childhood where his mom would pray to a god who never listened and his dad would shout verses at him when he was drunk. God was a mythical figure that he was told stories off with nothing to show for it. He did believe at one point but then his dad never got better, his mom wore bruises of every shade, and his brother found comfort in drugs.

He found himself praying when he was being tortured by the Mexican cartel. Between the flashbacks of his abusive past, he prayed to a god who had failed him so many times before to help him. He prayed again as he dug himself out of that Texas grave with the major’s jaw bone. He wailed his prayers when he found his family executed after Sparks tried to kill him.

After that he deemed himself a Godless man. Years of praying had passed with nothing. This god had decided that Simon was not worthy of a miracle so why would he continue to worship him?

That was until he met you. He finds himself praying before every mission, every time he has to leave you, every time he’s on his way home, and just about any other time he thinks of you. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s praying for other than for you to be there when he gets back.

He whispers his prayers to an absent god against your skin as he worships your body, soul, and heart. He promises to be devoted to you until his last breath and vows to find you again in whatever afterlife awaits you. He pledges to find solace in you and only you when his haunting nightmares return. He makes an oath to your heart that it will never weather another storm alone again for his will take whatever beating that comes your way. He shows you that he will love you in the same manner as a Hozier song; putting you above all else because you have become his religion, his faith, his beliefs, his life.

You have become all that he is and he thanks the god he once believed in for you. He prays again but to you, his heart, his love, and his beacon through the enteral storm of life.

[charliemwrites]

Hahahaha good morning I had the wildest dream last night so I’m going to inflict it on all of you:

(I’m not done with keeper/kept. Just had to get this out)

Warnings for obsessive/possessive behavior, unhealthy and semi-one sided relationship, not-quite-dark John price.

John Price who decides it time he has a wife. Not retiring, god no! He’s not done yet. But his home is lonely when he’s on leave; he’s getting sentimental as he gets “older”. So, he wants a wife.

In theory, it sounds like just what he wants. A pretty warm thing snoozing in his bed when he gets home at ass o’clock in the morning. Someone to fret over new scars and fresh bandages. Someone to fuss at him for “taste testing” meals and wrinkle their nose at his cigars.

In practice, it’s not so easy. If it was, he reckons he would have been married by now. Good thing he’s already got the perfect candidate picked out.

You own a small business in his town. Not fabulously wealthy, but comfortable and independent. Something to keep you busy while he’s away but you make your own hours so your schedule it flexible to see him when he has infrequent leave.

And he adores you, knows that you’ve got more than a little crush on him. You smile and blush and reciprocate his interest, have only refrained from perusing anything because you didn’t think he was serious. But oh, he is.

One day you say something particularly charming and he says, “marry me.”

He’s been dropping these little jokes for a while now and you always start laughing because it’s just the kind of dramatic humor you love. Today you say something different than your usual overdramatic “oh but it could never work, captain.”

Today you say, “if only.”

How pathetic is it that you’re holding a candle for a man you’ve never even gotten a coffee with? Your family laments that your can’t spend your whole life married to your job. That they want grandchildren and nieces/nephews, someone to tell embarrassing stories about you to on holidays. You used to roll your eyes, but the prospect doesn’t feel so obligatory anymore.

Anytime you imagine it, it’s John Price there. You’ve stopped trying to imagine it for your heart’s sake.

Except a week later he’s sweeping into your shop and dropping a kiss on your cheek. An unusual greeting, but maybe he’s in a good mood. His hand lingers on the small of your back while you show him the new product that just came in.

You live above your shop and one day he shows up at the door with a bottle of wine, telling you he could use some good company. You’re shocked and confused but he looks like an amalgamation of every heartthrob in a hallmark or romcom you’ve ever “ironically” enjoyed. You invite him in.

By mid morning, he’s had you in every room of your apartment. Ate you out slow and greedy on the counters. Bent you over the dining table. Bounced you on his cock on your couch. Fingered his cum out of you in the bathtub. And absolutely ruined you twice over in your own bed.

He even changes the sheets before the two of you pass out that final time. And when you finally do wake up, he’s taken the initiative to brew coffee and make breakfast. It’s like a dream.

He fucks you against the door before he leaves.

When he’s deployed again, he calls you every night. You don’t expect it the first time, but it’s a sweet gesture to show things aren’t ruined. You’re not expecting the second time either and have to call him back when you climb out of the shower. The third time you wait for it, but still startle a bit when his name pops up on the screen.

He calls you every night he can while he’s away. You don’t know what to make of it.

Then one day you come back from errands to see movers in the yard. You think it’s some kind of mistake until John meets you at your car.

“Fire in the next building over,” he explains. “Their insurance will cover all the damages but it’s not safe to stay in your place. Mine’s just up the road. Figured you could stay until it’s sorted out.”

You want to be annoyed, and you almost are. But the overwhelm of nearly losing everything - only to have all the stress already handled and the important, nerve wracking decisions smoothed over? You just take the good luck.

To thank John for his generosity (and to fill the void of not running the shop) you bustle around his too-big house. Cook meals, keep things tidy. Keep John company when he manages to snag you from your gratitude-induced work.

He spends hours fucking you nice and slow, whispering things you barely remember in your ear. That you’re perfect for him, so sweet like a little wife, that he’d come home to you for the rest of his life. You kiss him quiet and rock back against him when it starts sounding too tempting.

Eventually, the repairs on your shop/apartment are done. It feels like a rude awakening to a pleasant dream. Instead of moving your things back, John moves more things in. When you tell him that you appreciate his kindness, but you should probably get back to your own space, he gets an odd look. Asks what you mean when this is your space.

And the trap springs closed.

“John,” you half-laugh, shaking your head. “We’re not actually married you know?”

“Not last I checked.”

The marriage certificate gets framed in the bedroom you’ve been sharing for a month. You storm out and stay in a hotel. He lets you for three days before coming to retrieve you. When you try to be stubborn, he gives you an exasperated look (as if you’re the one being unreasonable) and politely asks that you not make a scene by forcing him to carry you of there.

For your own reputation, you comply, glowering out his car window the whole ride to his house. Try to give him the silent treatment which lasts about 30 minutes before he’s got you moaning and whining on his cock.

He drives you to the shop in the morning and picks you up at night. Anytime you try to put your little foot down, he just scoops you off them. The neighbors start cooing that he’s such a good man. You try not to scream.

When he’s finally deployed again, you try to move all your things back to your home. Except the movers apologetically tell you that they can’t trespass on John’s property.

Fine, you’ll do it yourself. Somehow.

You pack two suitcases and some of your cookware. Load it all up in a rental - because John sent your damn car into the shop - and trying to get comfortable in your own flat again.

Except it’s all wrong. The scent of smoke still lingers, it’s cold because the heating hasn’t been turned on yet this year. Half your things are gone and there’s no food in the fridge or pantries. You tough it out. Buy a ready-made meal and new bed linens and pillow. Sleep in a bed too cold even with the heat finally on.

When John calls, you don’t answer. He sends a text that simply reads “I love you.” You toss your phone across the room.

The next night, when he calls again and you don’t answer, he sends a “stay safe, love.” You spend twenty minutes with fingers poised over the keys. Chug a glass of wine and send back a neutral “you too, John”.

When he calls on the third night, you pick up, bark a sharp “knock it off” and hang up. Another text that he was so happy to hear your voice.

Another call, you pick up and demand “what are you doing?” He chuckles on the other end. “Calling my darling wife. I miss you.” You believe him. That’s the worst part.

When he gets back, you ride the long, long river of denial right up until he’s at your door, eyebrows arched. “Really, love,” he hums, “you didn’t have to come all the way over here just because you missed me.”

You want to hit him. You storm off to your bedroom instead. He wanders the house. You hear him clattering in the kitchen and wandering around the living room. When you hear the door close, you think he’s finally left and given all this up.

Twenty minutes later, he’s casually removing the door (sans hinges) and gathering you up. When you get back to his house, he carries you inside and fucks the tantrum right out of you in the shower, growling that you don’t smell like home anymore.

When you wake up from your three-orgasm induced nap, he’s washing the clothes you took to your old flat. On your left hand is a pretty diamond with “JP” carved into the band.

At the store, people start calling you “Mrs. Price”. The neighbors (John’s neighbors) invite you over as “the Prices”. You glare at him when he starts looking too smug about it.

When he’s set to deploy again, he sits you on the kitchen counter, caging you in with arms.

“Don’t make me come get you this time,” he warns, pressing kisses along your jaw. “This is gonna be a rough one. I just want to see you when I get home.”

It’s a warning that you know to heed. You don’t try to leave this time. When he calls, you answer, rattling off stupid details about your day. You’re shocked to hear him remember names and dates and tasks with everything else hes got going on. Promises he’ll deal with the creep at the post office when he gets home.

“And… you are coming home… right?” you ask.

“Nothing could keep me away, love.”

He doesn’t call for three days straight. You tell yourself the tightness in your chest is just anxiety over how the hell to handle his assets if he’s dead.

At 3am, the bed dips, a warm body pressing up against your back. You recognize John’s arms wrapping tight around your waist. You stir.

“Are you alright?” you ask.

“Perfect now, love.”

“Mm welcome home.”

“Good to be home, gorgeous.”

[sincerelybubbles]

hi! i loved your hotch x shy!bau! reader fic! would you ever make a second part? or like a continuation of shy!reader and hotch moments? ty! <33

yes yes i wanna keep writing for them so if you guys have anything in specific you want to see, lmk!!

hotch asks shy!bau!reader out for their first date

You stare at the papers in front of you, trying your best to narrow down the geological profile with Reid; trying harder to not let your thoughts wander and distract you. It's hard - Hotch offered to go with you to the new Korean BBQ place before JJ called in the new case. You keep waiting to hear him extend the same offer to the others - specifically Rossi who never turns away an offer to try out a new restaurant or Morgan who is always down to go out with the team.

Instead, he's talking quietly with JJ about Jack's new teacher, unable to do any more work on the case until the jet touches down.

"Okay, we can cross out this county," Spencer says, interrupting your thoughts and reaching across you to mark through a small section. Eyes flicking across the paper, you furrow your brows, confused by the choice.

"Why?" You ask, hand moving to stop his pen strokes before you double-think and let it hit the tabletop.

"Because it's too easy for him to hit if he wanted to. It's been too long, he must have no interest in the area."

"It's low income, exactly his MO. He might hit it later, once he realizes..."

"No," Spencer says, shaking his head before you can finish your sentence. He finishes blacking out the area with his Sharpie and caps the pen, not looking over at you. "That wouldn't make any sense."

Tounge caught by your nerves, you slowly nod your head instead, deciding to give the topic up for now. The next wall the team hits, though, you're determined to readdress the area.

Deciding you need a moment to yourself, you excuse yourself quietly and stand to move to the back of the jet. You stretch your arms above your head, rolling your head back to feel the stretch in your shoulders.

"What county?" Hotch asks, reaching a hand out to intercept your path as you pass him.

"Sorry?" You ask, breath catching on the word as his hand brushes your arm and loops loosely around your wrist. Next to him, JJ has fallen asleep against the window. You feel bad for her for a moment, remembering her talking about Henry's recent sleep regression.

"The county you mentioned to Reid - which one was it?"

"Morris," you say instinctively, still hyper-focused on his hand. His thumb swipes against your wrist bone twice before he lets you go, motioning for you to continue walking.

You think he's let it go and quickly move down the aisle to one of the couches at the back of the jet. When you settle down, though, intent on opening your own map, Hotch sits next to you and tilts his head so you can hear each other if you were to talk softly.

"What was your original thought about it?"

You're struggling to think, distracted by his proximity and low voice. The soft tones reach your belly, causing it to flip, The feeling is pleasant, even if it's entirely inappropriate.

"Sorry?" You say again, meeting his eye before quickly looking away to fumble with the map. Hands shaking, you manage to open it to the right state.

"There's no need to be sorry," Hotch says, voice firm but gentle. He reaches out and you think he's going to grab your wrist again but he instead taps a finger once against Morris County. "Your idea about the county - what was your original thought before Reid shot you down?"

"Oh. It's okay, Reid already said it doesn't make sense." You notice that Hotch opens his mouth to interject before you can finish and your sentence falters at the end. Still, his eyes watch you to make sure you're finished before he answers.

"I still want to hear what you had to say."

You explain your theory to him, then, talking quickly at first, stumbling over your words, before slowing down once you realize he's going to listen to everything you have to say. He nods, agreeing with your theory.

"I'll keep it in mind and give the information to Garcia. Thank you," he says, sincere, eyes locked on yours.

"You're welcome." You wait for him to get up now that you have nothing new to say about the case. While you were talking, you mentioned a few thoughts you had about the preliminary profile the team started on that you couldn't seem to find the space to add during the group conversation.

Instead, he settles further into the seat next to you, reading the map over your shoulder.

Something about his casual posture and the lack of his suit jacket fills you with enough confidence to ask, "Why haven't you invited anyone else to the barbeque place?"

He watches you for a minute, not replying as his eyes scan your face and posture. You've never been the best at body language when it comes to people you know, always a little too nervous to scan them the same way you might an unsub, but you know that Hotch is taking in any and all clues your body can give him before he answers. He seems to roll the words on his tongue, testing them out, before he answers.

You've never been the best at reading the body language of the people you know personally, but you still are considered an expert at it in interrogations, often requested to watch from behind the glass. That's all to say, Hotch seems nervous as he says, "I was hoping it could be us two unless you would prefer the others to be there."

The air leaves your chest and you feel unsteady and unbalanced even though you're sitting. Before you can overthink it, you're shaking your head no.

Hotch's face falls, a slight thing you would certainly notice if your eyes weren't glued to his face to ensure this wasn't some kind of sick joke.

"No, I want it to be just us," you say, quick before he can get the wrong impression.

The usual confidence Hotch carries reinflates in him quickly. He smiles, a slight tug at the corner of his lip that you again only catch because you're watching him so closely.

"Good," he says.

You two sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes after that, first just watching each other, and then, when you get embarrassed, comparing your case files and small map.

"To be clear," he says when Rossi and Spencer have started up a quiet conversation about chess - when his soft tones would be nearly impossible to be understood by anyone but yourself - "I mean as a date. If you would like."

Words lost, you simply nod, eyes wide and smile wider on your face. You think you can hear him chuckle softly but your face is too hot to look up and check. 

[emeritusemeritus]

Charming Witches [Fred Weasley]

Title: Charming Witches [Fred Weasley]

Pairing: PregnantWife!Reader x Fred Weasley, background Hermione X Ron.

Timeline: Set after canon (Fred lives!)

Summary: Ron has an embarrassing issue and unluckily for him, Fred is the only one that can help.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, babies, established relationships. Sexual references throughout. Fred has a bit of a breeding kink- shock. Just a silly little drabble I couldn’t get out of my mind. Fred is a bit mean and sarcastic to Ron.

Word count: 1.6k

"You're, you know... well, sort of, um."

"You'll get there eventually Ronald," Fred jokes with a straight face, half listening to his brother's whispered fumbles whilst he pours himself and his wife a drink, not bothering to offer his youngest brother one. If Fred had even bothered to look at Ron's face, he'd have seen he was as pink in the cheeks as a bottle of love potion, his blush so vivid that he looked ready to erupt with a face full of dragon pox any moment.

Ron clears his throat, trying again, as he casts a nervous glance around the Burrow's kitchen, checking no one was hearing this. He didn't know why he'd chosen Fred of all people to have this conversation with, in theory George would have been a much better choice but he didn't have the same 'qualifications' as his twin, seeing that you and Fred had been together for absolutely years.

"Well, umm," he freezes under Fred's quick but glance, silently telling him to spit it out. "Well you and y/n, you're in sync aren't you... Sexually?"

Whatever Fred was expecting to hear eventually tumble out of his brother's mouth was not even close to the reality and he can't stop his eyebrows from shooting halfway up his forehead instinctively in disbelief.

"Did my very pregnant wife give it away?" He snarks, leaning against the counter and taking a sip of the beer he'd poured, openly enjoying the discomfort his brother was radiating. "That might have been your first clue."

Ron somehow looks paler underneath all the blushing and Fred is revelling in his ability to make his brother squirm.

"Well, yeah I suppose," Ron mumbles, beginning to get defensive and deeply regretting opening up to the trickier twin.

"Calm down Ronald," Fred says, "you and Granger having bedroom troubles?"

"No!" Ron bites back a little too quickly but his resolve breaks under a few seconds of Fred's probing gaze, arms folded in an unconscious power stance. "Maybe."

He's quiet again for a few moments and Fred is uncharacteristically patient whilst he waits for Ron to collect his thoughts.

"How many times would you say is normal, like in a week?"

"Don't know if there's a 'normal' Ronniekins," Fred says with a shrug. "Most days and twice on a Sunday?"

Though he hides it this time, Fred revels in the look of utter horror Ron's eyes convey and it's like he can see the cogs in his brain working on overdrive, emitting smoke as they crumble and break. Evidently, his answer was light years away from what Ron had hoped for. He knows that his wife being ready to pop at any second only helps Ron believe his words and he mentally thanks Godric Gryffindor himself for the overly fortunate timing.

"Don't think it matters mate really; as long as you're both expecting about the same." This time, Fred actually thinks he's being reassuring.

"She just wants to read all the bloody time, even in bed! It's like I'm a bloody afterthought."

"Have you even met your girlfriend?"

This time it's Fred who pauses when he meets the icy glare of his younger brother. He sighs and a slightly awkward silence falls between the pair as they both try to think of how to fix whatever was going on in Ron's mind, hoping that two head were better than one.

"You two alright?"

Ron jumps out of his skin when he hears your slightly concerned greeting upon seeing the two brothers, Fred especially, in near silence.

"Don't tell me you forgot I was here," you joke to Ron, walking over to Fred as he holds out your waiting drink. "Been your sister in law for five years! Plus the bump makes me pretty memorable," you add with a smile.

"I'll say," Fred says with a wink, the cheeky glint in his eyes ever more sparkling as he looks at your bulging tummy, unashamedly ogling your pregnant form. You gently nudged him, silently telling him to be quiet but as you do so, you catch a slightly glare aimed at your husband from Ron.

"Am I interrupting? " You ask outright, sensing tension.

"No," says Fred almost immediately.

"A bit," Ron admits, cringing slightly before he lets out a loud yelp, having been smacked upside the back of the head by his older brother for his disrespect. He grumbles slightly under his breath, absently rubbing the back of his head where Fred's hand had connected to him and let's put a deep sigh.

"You're a girl," he says, averting his eyes anywhere except directly on your own.

Fred snickers at Ron's feeble and clumsy attempt at starting the conversation but opts to take a long swig of his beverage to avoid anymore laughter spilling out, though his delight still shines through his eyes.

"Only when it's not a full moon," you jest, trying to slice through the awkwardness Ron is emitting.

"Forget it, you're as bad as he is."

"Firstly I'm offended," you say, reaching out for his arm gently as you feel his begin to pull away, ignoring your husband's opposition. "Secondly, yes I'm a girl... go on."

"Well," he pauses, gathering courage, long ginger lashes covering his shy eyes that still raise no further than your ankles, "say Fred suddenly didn't want sex."

"Wouldn't happen."

"Fred shush."

"Well... say suddenly he wanted to read at nighttime over having sex."

"Again, wouldn't happen."

"Fred!" You hush him again, this time more firmly.

"How would you go about trying to, you know, fix it."

You were certain you'd never seen Ron this vividly pink in the cheeks before, he looked like he'd been decorated up to display in Umbridge's office.

"That's the problem? Hermione wants to read instead of sex?" You ask, not really seeing the big issue, but trying to say it gently so that you didn't spook him.

He nods, "but it's all the time," he adds, justifying his gripe.

"Well," you say, lowering yourself into Arthur's seat at the head of the kitchen table only a few feet away, unable to stand much longer. "Play her at her own game."

"Eh?" The brothers ask in sync, their faces scrunched into an almost identical confused expression. You simply shrug.

"Make yourself less available to her, pull back a bit," you say, taking a sip of your drink to wet your lips. "Start reading in bed just like she does, act like you're not interested in just sex."

"So I act like I'm not bothered even though I am?" He asks, still not following what you're saying.

"Sort of," you say, trying to find a better way of wording it.

"Reading's always been her favourite thing to do hasn't it? Join in on it. I'd bet on my life that she has a fantasy of you in bed shirtless reading beside her. Stop making advances, let her come to you."

"That's actually quite clever," he says after a few moments of consideration.

"It's been known."

"Shirtless?" He asks with a frown, seemingly fixating on that point.

You chuckle nodding, "well you have to still appeal to her, you don't want it to just be a study session do you?"

"Right, right," he says with a nod, a slight smile returning to his face before it dramatically falls away in an almost comedic move.

"I don't have a book."

"What do you mean you don't have a book?" Fred says in a flabbergasted manner, earning a slight but unconscious raise of your eyebrow. Though you didn't comment on the irony of his words considering you couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him so much as skim the daily prophet.

"I don't really have one," Ron mumbles quietly, "unless my quidditch annual counts."

"It doesn't," you say firmly.

"So I need a book," Ron says firmly, as if he was cementing the plan in his mind, nodding along with his thoughts until he finally makes eye contact. "Thanks y/n," he says with a smile and a nod of his head before he walks away, a bounce in his step.

"Think it's actually gonna work?" Fred asks as you pry yourself out of the chair and walk to stand next to him as you place your empty cup in the sink.

You let out a little chortle and shrug, "well if it doesn't, at least Hermione can read in peace."

Laughter bursts out of Fred and he pulls you close, bump nestled between you as he delights in your words, realising you had absolutely no idea if the plan would work.

Later that evening when everyone was preparing to leave the Burrow after another wonderful family dinner, Ron pulls you and Fred to one side before he left, away from the eyes and ears of everyone else.

"Thanks again for earlier," he says, clearly feeling more at ease about his issue. You smile warmly in reply, happy to help.

"No problem little brother," Fred beams, as if it was him that had offered any advice.

"Oi Ron," you call out quietly to get his attention as he turns to leave. With a smile, you reach down into the bag on your shoulder and pull out an item you'd gleefully searched for in Fred and George's old bedroom after the conversation. "Just incase my advice doesn't work."

Ron frowns reaching for the item you were handing him, a frown that only deepens as he reads the title of the book he was now holding. Fred's laughter is sudden and booming as his eyes land on the once familiar item that had him cracking up laughing, realising instantly what it was.

Twelve fail-safe ways to charm witches.

"Oh piss off."

Taglist part 1

@ferntv

@aigowen

@that-lame-ghoul9000

@jules-with-stars

@sleepiemocha

@seppys-return-to-madness

@wtvbabes

@the-mrs-malik-styles

@cedslover

@nisapoosworld

@dashhhhkaaa

@ghostlytv

@nerdymesss

@costheticbabe

@cliffburtonscig

@lildrunkjkk

@levylovegood

@jewelsrules

@jphxnix

@asuperconfusedgirl

@staceys-moms-thighs

@nighttimewrites

@egghasnoleg

@mel119g

@angelrioter

@minatozsana

@quinny921

@blahhh819

@comicgollum20

@moonieseyelash

@marisimps

@xslashers

@70s-chic

@shadyunknowncreation

@rockabieesstuff

@moon-2424

@chx-la

@malenk

@jimmywoosimp

@soulessfictionaddict

@twistedlaces1909

@brookiecookiez0

@nightowlgirl

@fiathefirst

@rybrewer82-blog

@cryb4by-te4rs

@rainingsky37

@learninglinesintherainn

@autumnboo126

@kpopgirlbtssvt

[uyuforu]

Romance Numbers in Destiny of Matrix

Hi people! So I have been discovering Destiny of Matrix for some days and I LOVE this technique. And of course, anytime I discover some thing, I love to check with the people I know to see how accurate it is. Moreover, I feel like it hasn't been talked much on Tumblr? Like there are posts but not enough in my opinion. I wanted to try to give my interpretation as I have made some researches based on people I know. So this post is totally my own interpretation! Though, I hope this can give some insights, and some good tools too.

All pictures were found on Pinterest

Other posts you could like:

જ⁀➴ How to know when you will get married?

જ⁀➴ How to know where your Future Spouse was born?

જ⁀➴ Derivative Astrology: our Future Spouse in our Natal Chart

READINGS BOOKING OPEN

email adress: tarotjunoboda@gmail.com

Soft To You presentation and Q&A ᡣ𐭩 rules ᡣ𐭩 private readings reviews

astrology menu ᡣ𐭩 tarot menu ᡣ𐭩 special astrology & tarot readings

What is Destiny Matrix?

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ Destiny Matrix is an Esoteric tool that explores the 22 Arcana's of the Tarot to see a different approach of yourself and your life, as a Chart, similar to Astrology. It's a tool that also enable you to develop your full potential as an individual. Numbers and Chakras are used instead of signs, houses and degrees.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ Calculate your Destiny Matrix Chart here.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ Numbers on the Chart will go from 1 to 22, representing each Tarot's 22 Major Arcanas.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ Colored Numbers are your main energies, they are also great tools to understand your true potential and why you came into this life, but also past life, desires, and your soul's purpose. Though this isn't the theme in this post.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ Some more ressources on Tumblr here!

How do you use Destiny Matrix?

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ In this post, we will talk about the romance and love part of your life. And mostly numbers. On each sides of the chart, you'll see your different ages, representing different eras of your life. And above those different ages, you'll see a number, between 1 to 22.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ As you may have guessed it, those numbers will express the energy of what is happening in your life in those eras. It doesn't only mean one thing, it's a global energy. So this energy can be taken in romance, career, etc.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ It's more about energies and main events. It's a life forecast.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ Now, each numbers above your different ages represent a Tarot Major Arcana, to know more, here is the Wikipedia page.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ Of course, each Arcana have also their own energies and meanings, and the way I interpret cards have always been taking both positive and negative energies. In this tool, I think it's important to take both.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ I have so studied this technique with my personal knowledge and thought of doing an observation post about it, please read this before continuing:

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ Please know this post is based on my personal researches. I practice Tarot too and I have some knowledge on the cards, but I am still new at Destiny of Matrix. My main goal in this post is to give more insights and my own point of view on the matter. I of course use relatives and individuals I knows to support all theories here. This is truly an observation post. Please take it lightly!

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ Also please use your intuition, I bet you'll not have children at 5 years old, so even if you see a number that can indicate pregnancy, think twice that it might not happen when you are too young. Use your own discernment, and take it in an open-minded way! Those are possible indicators only!

Meeting your Future Spouse Numbers

1: The Magician

The first Major Arcana can be an indicator of meeting your Future spouse. This card is the very first card, which usually represents new beginnings, something new coming to your life. It also indicates lovestruck, beginning of a relationship, and building a story with someone. In this case, this can be taken as a something new starting, and def something major in your life.

5: The Hierophant

The Hierophant, also called The Pope, is the 5th card and is an indicator of meeting your FS. This card is considered linked to marriage, as the man on the card usually seal a union between two individuals. Usually this card represent a union that can go far, meaning to marriage. So this can also be an indicator of meeting someone you'll marry in the future. It seems like this number happened with people when they realized who they will marry.

6: The Lovers

The Lovers is the 6th card and it's also an indicator of meeting your FS! It's a quite strong indicator in my opinion, since this card is a divine union card, so soulmates for example are often represented with this card. You could meet a destined lover with this number, or just fall in love too.

10: The Wheel of Fortune

The 10th card usually represents major change in our life, so if you have a 10 number, this can be a year when you'll meet someone who will deeply change your life. This can be a year when you'll meet your FS, things will change!

14: Temperance

This number can also indicate meeting your FS, as this card is also a Soulmate card. Just as the Lovers card, you could meet a divine partner this year but also someone who you'll love deeply. It can also be a soulmate, but this can def be an indicator of meeting the person you'll marry.

16: The Tower

The Tower is also called "The House of God" in the French Version, and it can then represent something fated by a higher force. The number 16 can be a time when you'll meet someone who was "sent" to you, someone who is destined to meet you, and they could perhaps be your FS. It usually also represents a happy union.

17: The Star

The Star is the 17th card of the Tarot for Major Arcana, and it is a sign of hope, happiness and optimism. This number can also be an indicator of meeting someone who will bring you great joy. This is an indicator of having a protected Union, being a couple that will last a long time but also a couple who will having high chances to have children together. Fertility is a keyword for this card.

18: The Moon

So, at first I wasn't going to include this number but two of my family members got it the year they met their FS. So it caught my interest. This card can indicate meeting someone you'll want children with. And it is also a sign of fertility. This number can then be an indicator of meeting your FS since it also talks about meeting someone you'll feel at home and comfortable with, and perhaps meeting someone who is a soulmate too. I have also noticed a pattern with this number: both my relative who got this number met their FS while being in a relationship! Perhaps this can be an indicator...

19: The Sun

AH the Sun! The happy card! The Sun to me makes it obvious we need to add the number 19. This number will bring great happiness and joy into your life, so this can be a year you can meet your FS since they will usually (I wish you that at least), great happiness. This card represents union, a couple that is a great fit for one another, but also a couple that is very tender and wish to build a future together. But it also represents universal and unconditional love!

20: Judgment

The number 20 can be another indicator of meeting your FS. That number is about meeting a person who will be a major meeting in our life. It's also about love at first sight. But also about our destiny. So we could be meeting someone who was meant for us.

22: The Fool

This is the last card in the Major arcana, and it usually represents a meeting a new person in a very unexpected way. But it also represents honeymoon, and meeting a passionate lover. While this can be surprising for others, I think it's important to remember this card represents endings leading to new beginnings. So yes, this can also be an indicator.

Examples

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My mom was a 10 when she met my dad.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My dad only married my step mother, and he had number 10 the year he met her.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ The year I met my FS online I was a 6.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ And the year we met in real life I was a 16!

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ Both my grandma and my aunt were a 18 when they met their FS, yet both met them at a time they were already in a relationship!

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My grandfather was a 20 when he met my grandma.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My other grandma was also a 10 when she met my other grandfather.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My FS was a 16 when we first met and 5 when we met in real life.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ One of my best friend was a 5 the first time she met her FS.

Getting Engaged / Marriage Numbers

2: The Popess

5: The Hierophant

6: The Lovers

7: The Chariot

This card is about moving, and things moving fast, forward. An engagement or a wedding is a new step in a relationship, so this card can be an indicator.

8: The Justice

Marriage contract

10: The Wheel of Fortune

16: The Tower

19: The Sun

20: The Judgment

21: The World

22: The Fool

A new era of your life, something totally new coming.

Examples

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ When my dad and step mother married, she was a 21 and my dad was a 20.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My grandma was an 8 when she got married for the second time.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My grandfather was a 22 when he got married the second time.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My other grandmother was a 21 when she got married too.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My aunt was a 5 when she got married.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ If I follow my predictions, I will be an 8 or 16 when I'll get married.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My mother has indicators of getting married soon and she will be a 7 soon LOL.

Pregnancies/ Having Children Numbers

2: The Popess

The Popess represents the oldest woman, the woman who has knowledges and experiences, so it can also represents a nurse, or women who help during the pregnancies. And it is also a sign, as the card itself, of pregnancies. It is governed by the Moon. It represents the desire to have children, and also to be pregnant. It is also a sign of maternal wisdom or nurturing.

3: The Empress (for women specifically)

The Empress represents the woman, and it is a major number to have for years to be pregnant. I would say that it represents being pregnant best, and more if you are a woman actually. This card is represented by Venus, and it is a huge indicators of being pregnant, being fertile, and having children. Pregnancy is a huge theme on this card. The Empress represents the mother in Tarot.

4: The Emperor (for men specifically)

As the Empress represents the mother, the Emperor represents the father! So if you are a man, this can be an indicator of becoming a father a certain year.

6: The Lovers

It wasn't an indicator to me at first but I saw two of my family members being a 6 during pregnancies or when they had a child, so I have decided to mark it. I guess since the Lovers represents being two, and when a woman is pregnant, she is two (her + the child), it can be an indicator. Both of those family members had this indicator with their first children!

10: The Wheel of Fortune

The Wheel of Fortune isn't necessarily a pregnancy indicator in Tarot, at least not specifically. But, this card represents big change or transformation in one's life. So it's obvious it can mean something is changing. This can so indicate pregnancies, and if you are a woman, this can even indicate something is changing in your body!

13: Death

While Death represents change and transformation, it can also apply in this case in my opinion. It means new beginnings, it's a card that indicates deep change, so even physically and mentally. So this can mean deep change and transformation in your body, but also in your life, as having children brings total new beginnings.

16: The Tower

This card brings happy news and it's a card about fertility, and also men's fertility. It represents pregnancies in some cases as it brings happy news specially to the home.

17: The Stars

This card represents women, fertility, feeling harmonious, and wishes for pregnancies. It represents possible birth and children.

18: The Moon

This is a feminine card too! A card ruled by Cancer, and a big indicator for pregnancies and children. In Tarot, this totally represents being pregnant. It also represents the desire to be pregnant, and the action to fall pregnant (so s3x, but def in order to be pregnant).

19: The Sun

So, there are two reasons as to why I think this can be an indicator. First, this card represents happy news, and so this is obvious (generally) a pregnancy is a happy new. But this card is also ruled by the Sun & Leo, and it so is the card of children.

21: The World

The World is a card that can also represents pregnancies. First, it's a card that has more feminine and women energies. This card represent the end of a project, and it can be the outcome of a couple project (what do couples do together... iykyk), it also represents a perfect project.

Examples

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My mother had number 3 when she had me.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ When my step-mother was pregnant with my sister, she was a 18.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My aunt was a 10 during her first pregnancy.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ The next years she is a 13 and then 16, I am pretty sure she will fall pregnant again (I have astro indicator of having a new cousin this year).

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My dad was a 18 when my mom was pregnant, and a 10 when I was born.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ He was a 10 again when my brother was born.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My grandma was a 21 when she was pregnant with her first child.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ Funny thing, my grandma was a 4 when she had my mother, but the story was that my grand father reallyyyy wanted a child that year.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My other grandma was a 21 when she had my aunt.

FS being a Foreigner Numbers

For this part, we will focus on the numbers near the hearts, and actually those three (see pictures). Those numbers are indicators and a way to describe your FS. In those numbers, you can see if your FS can be a foreigner. Here are some numbers can indicate such thing.

7: The Chariot

The Chariot is a card that represents the act of moving, and it can also indicate traveling. Despite it's not necessarily a card that means this, it is still connected to the world, since the Chariot goes and doesn't stop. It can go anywhere, so this can be an indicator of having a foreign spouse.

14: Temperance

Temperance is a card that is related to holidays and traveling for vacations, so this card can also be linked to the foreign world. This card also reminded me of the foreign land, foreign people and people who are open-minded. After all, Aquarius rule over this card, so it makes sense.

19: The Sun

This can be surprising, yet I don't think it's a major indicator, but it can still be. Actually, the Sun as a card represent countries that are hot, and places where we can go on vacations, so this is again linked to foreign lands and foreigners.

21: The World

This one is obvious, the World literally represents what it is meant to. This is the biggest indicator to me.

22: The Fool

The last card of the Tarot to me is an indicator of having a foreign spouse as well, and I would say in my opinion, 2nd biggest. This card is ruled by Uranus, so Aquarius too. This card represents the travelers, people who go and just want to discover, curiosity, it represents "everywhere".

Not a lot of people around me married foreigners for now, I don't have much examples, except my FS is a foreigner and I have a 22 number lol. But this is just my guesses since those are cards that are linked to foreign lands.

Being Single / Breaking Up / Divorce Numbers

1: The Magician

New beginnings, starting a new project, cheating, being cheated on etc.

7: The Chariot

Moving on, moving to someone/ something else/ searching for something else.

8: The Justice

Breaking a contract, divorce.

9: The Hermit

Wanting to be alone, being left alone, someone breaking up with us, breaking up and staying single, being single.

10: The Wheel of Fortune

Change, suddenly breaking up, changing partner, passing from one partner to the other, etc.

12: The Hanged Man

Stop of a relationship, breaking up, divorce, the end of a relationship, leaving a partner.

13: Death

End of a relationship, divorce, separation, break up, being heart broken.

14: Temperance

End of a relationship, breaking up, could be a break up in good term, but also a break up because of miscommunication, couple not being made for each other.

15: The Devil

Cheating, being cheated on, doing terrible things against your partner, or your partner being terrible things to you, divorce, break up, leaving your partner for someone else, your partner leaving you for someone else, having bad intentions.

16: The Tower

Break up, divorce, separation, fights, arguments, cheating, being cheated on, breaking up on bad terms.

21: The World

Being rejected by your partner, being cheated on, partner breaking up with you, couple failing, couple not being made for each other, divorce, break up, cheating, wanting adventures.

22: The Fool

End of a relationship, stepping away from a partner, wanting to be single, being single, wanting to go on adventures, cheating, being cheated on, a partner leaving us, sudden endings.

Examples

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ When my mom and dad divorced, my mom was a 13. My dad was a 10.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My step mother was a 12 when she and my dad divorced.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ I was a 16 when I had a big break up with one of my ex who cheated on me (and then made me believe it was my fault lmao).

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My aunt left her partner to be with her current husband the year she was a 10.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My dad was a 12 the year he got divorced from my step mother.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My grand father was a 12 when he left his first wife.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My grand mother was a 10 when she left her first husband for my grand father.

⋆.˚₊˚⊹ ᰔ My grandmother was a 8 when she got divorced from my grandfather.

Thank you for reading!

back to index ; ask ; request ; rules

[grangerhater]

A GAME OF TABOO

pairing: professor!Remus Lupin x student!reader

synopsis: it’s against the school principles but it’s just for a night right?

smut

warning: plot, teacher-student relationship, they are both two consenting adults, p in v penetration, nick names “daddy” and “baby” once or twice, spanking

The rain poured heavily outside as Y/N hurriedly made her way through the hallways of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was her last year at the prestigious school, and despite the gloomy weather, she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. Today was the day she would meet her new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Remus Lupin.

As Y/N entered the classroom, a warm, inviting atmosphere greeted her. The room was adorned with shelves filled with books, and the crackling fire in the fireplace emitted a comforting glow. Y/N's eyes scanned the room, finally landing on the figure standing by the blackboard.

Professor Lupin turned to face her, his eyes filled with kindness and warmth. He had a tired look about him, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. But there was an air of wisdom and intelligence that made Y/N's heart skip a beat.

"Ah, Miss Y/L/N, I presume?" Professor Lupin greeted her with a gentle smile. "Please, come in. Take a seat."

Y/N nodded and took a seat at the front of the classroom, her heart fluttering nervously. As the other students filed in, Professor Lupin began the lesson, captivating the class with his vast knowledge and engaging teaching methods. Y/N found herself hanging onto every word, her fascination growing with each passing moment.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N found herself growing more and more infatuated with Professor Lupin. His calm and patient demeanor, combined with his intelligence, drew her in like a moth to a flame. Yet, she couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt. It was wrong to have feelings for her teacher.

Throughout the lesson, Y/N found herself constantly stealing glances at Professor Lupin. His voice was soothing, lulling her into a sense of comfort as he explained the intricacies of the Patronus Charm. She admired the way he spoke, his words flowing effortlessly and captivating the entire class.

After class, Y/N lingered behind, pretending to gather her belongings as the other students filed out. She watched as Professor Lupin collected his papers, his brows furrowed in concentration. Summoning her courage, she approached his desk.

"Professor Lupin, I wanted to ask you something," Y/N began, her voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up, his eyes softening at the sight of her. "Of course, Y/N. What can I help you with?"

She hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. "I... I was wondering if you could recommend any additional reading on the Patronus Charm. I find it fascinating and would love to learn more about it."

A smile spread across Professor Lupin's face as he reached for a nearby bookshelf, pulling out a worn, leather-bound book. "Ah, I have just the thing for you. This is an advanced text on the Patronus Charm. It delves into the theory behind it and provides numerous tips for successful casting. I believe you'll find it quite enlightening."

Y/N's eyes widened with gratitude as she accepted the book. "Thank you, Professor Lupin. I really appreciate it."

"It's my pleasure, Y/N. I am always here for you" he replied, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary.

Over the following weeks, Y/N found herself spending more and more time with Professor Lupin. They often engaged in deep discussions about various magical subjects, and their conversations would stretch into the night. Y/N cherished these moments, treasuring the connection she felt with him.

As the months passed, Y/N's feelings for Professor Lupin grew stronger and stronger. She found herself thinking about him constantly, and longing for his company. She couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt, knowing that a teacher-student relationship was taboo, but she couldn't deny her feelings.

One day, after class, well after curfew that is Y/N snuck out of the party that was held in her common room and drunkenly decided to take a chance and admit her feelings to Professor Lupin. She gathered her courage and knocked on his office door, her heart racing.

Unfortunately, her drunken confession came at the wrong time as Professor Lupin had just finished a particularly hard day of work and was resting in his office as he enjoyed his well-earned drink. He wasn't in the mood to entertain any conversations, let alone one with a drunken student, so he ignored the knock on the door and continued sipping on his drink, assuming that whoever it was outside the door would eventually get the hint and leave him alone. But she continued knocking on the door, oblivious to Lupin's intentions and wanting nothing more than to finally tell him how she really feels.

Lupin eventually got up and answered the door, immediately realizing that it was Y/N , and annoyed that this drunken adventure wasn't ending anytime soon. Despite his annoyance, Lupin was still fond of her and knew that she had been having a rough time lately, so he softened his demeanor and asked, "miss Y/N, what are you doing knocking on my door at this time of night?" she sheepishly looked down at her feet as she answered, "I-I wanted to tell you that I have feelings for you." Lupin's expression turned to one of confusion as he asked, "Is this some kind of joke?"

Y/N realized that she had to be serious if she wanted Lupin to take her seriously. She met Lupin's gaze and said in a determined tone, "No, this is no joke. I really do have feelings for you." Lupin's face softened further as he said, " I don't know what to say. I'm flattered, but we can't be together. I'm your professor, and-" she interrupted him, saying, "I'm not asking you to be my boyfriend, I just wanted you to know that I have real feelings for you."

Lupin looked at her, trying to figure out what to say next. He didn't want to hurt her feelings but at the same time, he couldn't ignore the fact that he had always been attracted to her. Eventually, he took a deep breath and said, "Listen Y/N… I can't act on any personal urges I may have for you. It's against school policy -and-"

Y/N interrupted him again as she stepped closer to him, putting her hands on his arms and leaning in closer. "So you're saying you're attracted to me too?"

Lupin felt his face blushing as the tension mounted between them. "I can't -", he began to say but was stopped as she leaned in closer to him, bringing her face close to his. Lupin couldn't ignore the fact that she was looking at him with such desire. He took a deep breath and said, "This is not the smartest thing either of us could do, but..”

He led her inside and locked the door behind them. He pushed her against the wall, eager to fulfill their unspoken desires. Y/N couldn't believe that her night of liquid courage had paid off, but she knew that she wanted Lupin more than anything in the world at that moment.

As Lupin kissed her with all the passion he had been suppressing for so long, her heart raced with emotion. She wrapped her arms around Lupin's neck and let him take control of the situation. Lupin gently pulled her robes off as he kissed her neck and began to explore her body. Despite his initial reservations, he couldn't deny that he wanted to be with Y/N in this moment. He moved his lips down to her neck, kissing and sucking gently as he made his way down her body. She let out a soft moan of pleasure as Lupin's lips brushed against her sensitive skin.

He continued to explore her body with his mouth, devouring her sensitive skin with his kisses. As his hands groped her curves, Y/N felt her pleasure grow and she responded by running her hands through Lupin's hair, pulling him closer and pressing herself against him. Lupin was feeling more aroused than he had in years and he finally forgot about his worries and concerns. His focus was now completely on the woman in his arms and the joy she was bringing him in this moment.

Lupin and Y/N’s passion intensified as they kissed and groped each other, their bodies pressed tightly against each other. Lupin knew that what he was doing was wrong, but he was beyond the point of worrying about rules or consequences. He wanted Y/N and he was going to have her no matter what. her moans of pleasure grew louder as Lupin increased the intensity of his kisses, running his hands over her body and squeezing her curves. Y/N was lost in a state of blissful pleasure that was overwhelming and she knew that she never wanted it to end

His hands moved down to Y/N's panties, pulling them off to reveal her wetness. He slid a finger inside her causing her to moan louder. Y/N reached down and unzipped Lupin's pants, freeing his hard member. She stroked him, making him groan in pleasure. Lupin positioned himself between her legs and entered her slowly at first, but then picking up speed. They moved together in perfect harmony, their passion intensifying with every thrust.

Lupin grabbed Y/N's hair and pulled it back, exposing her neck. He bit down on it leaving a mark. Y/N moaned in pleasure, the pain only adding to the pleasure Lupin's thrusts became rougher and more aggressive, making Y/N scream with pleasure. He spanked her ass, leaving it red and raw. They were both lost in a world of rough intense pleasure with nothing else mattering but the ecstasy they were feeling

Lupin continued to spank Y/N's ass, each hit sending waves of pleasure through her body. She begged for more, wanting to feel the pain and pleasure mix together. Lupin obliged, hitting her harder and harder until she was screaming in pleasure. He pulled out and flipped her over entering her from behind.

Lupin continued to thrust into Y/N, his hands gripping her hips tightly. She moaned and cried out calling him "daddy" in a moment of intense pleasure. Lupin's desire for her grew even stronger at the sound of the nickname, and he pounded into her harder and faster until they both reached the peak of ecstasy together.

He growled in pleasure as he continued to thrust into Y/N with rough, intense strokes "You like it rough, don't you, baby?" he asked his voice filled with desire. Y/N moaned in response, her body shaking with pleasure. "Yes, daddy," she replied, her voice filled with need. Lupin's thrusts became even rougher, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room

he whispered dirty words into her ear, telling her how much he wanted her and how he was going to make her come. Y/N's moans grew louder and more intense as he continued to pleasure her with his rough, skilled hands

Lupin continued to thrust into Y/N with rough, intense strokes until he finally reached his peak. Lupin's climax was intense, his body shaking with pleasure as he came inside her with a groan. They both collapsed onto the bed exhausted and satisfied with their experience. The room was filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing.

Lupin pulled Y/N close to him and whispered in her ear, "That was amazing, baby" Y/N smiled up at him, feeling content and satisfied. "Yes, it was," she replied, her voice filled with pleasure. They both knew that what they had just experienced was something special, something that they would never forget.

[dr3amfyr-e]

crybaby - j.v. ( w. 5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. again. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ childhood-friends-to-lovers. someone said idiots in love, and yes! modern au. everyone lives au. liberal usage of the em-dash. foul language. pushing the rhaenicent agenda. an incredible amount of yearning and pining. mention of reader's hair. mentions of anxiety. reader has a breakdown in semi-public. subplot where reader is sick. reader is so down bad its crazy. targ-tower cameo! aemond bitter af and for no reason. wrote a bit of dialogue that is so foul but i only realized it after i typed it and its not being taken out. luke is so little brother coded. i directly quote a serial romance novel thats so cringe. part one here. ⎯ ୧

can be read stand-alone, but theres a lot of context in part one !! thank u all for being patient :3

“It's called Applications of Ancient Politics in Modern Literature.”

Looking up from your twelve-page study guide, you meet Jace’s bright gaze where he sits at the foot of your bed, “That sounds… complicated.”

He shrugs, long fingers brushing up through his thick curls, “I need to take it, it's cross-listed for literature and political science so I’ll get credit for both. I think it’ll be interesting, plus if you take it too…” He leans a little closer, grinning in your face. 

“Send it to me,” You reply, highlighting a section in the packet about climate change and its impact on migratory birds in pretty pink ink.

You promise to look it up, to get back to him later, but it's hollow and you know it. He's already given you that pretty smile, flashed his dimples and stared down at you with his dark eyes — your grave has been dug. You will take  Applications of Ancient Politics in Modern Literature and read pages of boring political theory because Jace asked and Jace has you wrapped around his finger.

He shifts on the mattress, lying down on his front and scooting decidedly closer to you. His laptop is open in front of him, eyes trained on the screen through his glasses, perusing the course catalogue for the spring semester. 

“Isn’t it a bit late to pick classes?” You ask, stretching your legs out in front of you, “It's December, next semester is in, like, four weeks.” 

Jace is a perfectionist, a pre-planning freak who has three calendars: a planner that he carries everywhere, a big desk calendar at his apartment for easy access while studying, and his digital calendar. Its colour coded — he has a browser extension that allows him to make events on his Google Calendar any colour. So, it's very unlike Jace, who does his schoolwork the night it's assigned, to pick classes two months after registration opened. 

“I just like to look,” He replies, “This class is Wednesday and Friday, from ten to eleven o’clock. Does that work for you?” 

You nod, because it will work. You’ll rearrange your schedule if need be. It's pathetic, really, how easily he gets you to do things.

It's quiet for a while, Jace scrolling on his computer while you fill in your study packet. 

“When is your last final?” He asks. 

“Next Friday.”

“So you’re leaving Friday?”

“No, my train ticket is for Saturday.”

“Damn, I’m leaving Tuesday,” A lull, “When do you come back.”

“The Sunday before classes start. You?”

“That Friday.”

The conversation continues like that, mindless and short but so very comfortable. It's often like that anymore, with little eye contact and no real attention paid to each other besides the brief words — and, not in the way that feels awkward or tense, but in the way that old married couples chat over morning coffee and the paper. Maybe it's the lifetime of friendship that does it, or that you spend more nights in his apartment than your dorm.

You see each other twice more before the holiday. 

The Monday that exams start you meet at the coffee shop that became yours in the first two weeks of school. The middle table by the bay window is where you always sit, and the barista has Jace’s order memorised — because he gets the same drink every time you come, a caramel macchiato. 

He groans into his hands, ignoring both his coffee and his half of the cheese danish that you’d split, “I feel like I did poorly.”

He’d suffered through days upon days of studying for the political science exam that had plagued him all semester, to be taken today at noon. It was a three-hour exam, mostly multiple choice with two essay questions. You’d been with him through the worst of the studying: in total, forty-seven pages of research papers and scholarly articles printed at the library, and six books varying from fifty to five-hundred pages. He had filled up a plethora of pages in his notebook, and at least three in a word document. There was no study guide, just a list of broad topics. He was facing the consequences of taking a 300-level class in his first semester. 

“Jace, darling,” You reply, reaching out to press a reassuring hand to his arm, “You studied for that test more than I think anyone in the history of this school has studied for anything ever. If you didn’t do well, that's a reflection of the professor, not you.”

He doesn’t seem to want much to do with that rationale, sliding his hands down to rest his chin in them. He's pouting, glasses sliding down his nose as he looks at you through his lashes, “What if I failed?”

“Then… I don’t know,” You reach up to pull one of his hands down to the table, twining your fingers, “Then you failed, and that sucks. But you’re sporting a solid one-hundred in the class now, you could get a fifty on that exam and still end with…” Quick mental math. If the exam is weighted at twenty percent, then, “- a ninety percent.”

“An A-minus,” He whines. 

“Jace,” You chastise sweetly. 

He huffs, his pouty stare turning into a glare with no heat behind it. He wants to whine and mope about exams. What harm does it truly do?

You push his half of the danish towards him, “It's over now. You studied hard, you did your best. There's nothing you can do right now to change your grade. You can’t control it, so there is no point in trying to.”

Jace likes control, he likes to be in control. A psychological idiosyncrasy plaguing many eldest children and children of divorce. The quintessential therapist's advice about what you can control and what you can’t control had been revolutionary for him during one of his bi-weekly appointments — the whole family had them, Rhaenyra and Alicent were big proponents. 

Regurgitating that to him, no matter how much it makes you feel like you’re giving unsolicited advice, always works wonders to ground him when he's disproportionately anxious over something out of his control.

He deposits you at your dorm with a kiss on the cheek that evening.

On the Friday you leave school, Jace drives you to the train station. He packs your bags into the backseat of his hoity-toity hybrid Porsche Panamera and lets you play with his radio all the way there.

You’re an hour early to the station — Jace is early everywhere. He sets his paper copy of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings on his lap in the little lobby, slipping his finger into the book where it is dogeared. Yet, he makes no effort to read, his attention solely on you. 

“A month is ages to be apart,” He says, voice soft and thoughtful.

You scoot a little closer, elbows knocking, “It won’t be so bad. We can talk.”

His watch glimmers in the overhead light of the train station when one of his hands settles safely on your knee. Small white face, silver hands and framing, thin black band — it's Gucci, something his mother wore in the nineties. His fingers trace the edge of your skirt, and in the silence begin to smooth down your kneecap to your shin. 

“You must be cold,” He murmurs, thumbing the material of your nylons. 

“I’m alright.”

Your train is called before he can shed his coat and drape it over your lap, as he so desperately wishes to do. 

He hugs you, tightly, before you board. He's so warm, his black jumper is soft against your cheek, and you can smell his cologne where your nose lands in the crook of his neck — patchouli and something earthy and fresh, Brutus Oroto Parisi. 

“God, I’ll miss you.”

One morning, a week into the holiday, a letter shows up. It’s written in the black pen he’s so fond of, and you admire his neat penmanship as you read the detailed account of his holiday celebration. You smell the expensive cologne he wears and recognize Helaena’s handmade stationery. He gives you a sheepish smile over a FaceTime call when you bring it up. 

When you see him on campus again in January, not much has changed. You're both in your respective majors, he lives in the nicest building on campus, and he hates your roommate. She’s taken to referring to him as your boyfriend; you correct her the first two times and then give up. 

Classes are harder with the emotional slump attached to winter. You talk to Jace often, but don’t see much of each other outside of class. And then you get sick. 

Banging. Loud banging. It wakes you up from your fever-and-Doxylamine induced sleep. Per college dorms, your first assumption is that it's your loud-ass fucking neighbor! Again! Having bunk-bed-breaking sex like she does every Thursday night with her ugly ass boyfriend who radiates such a strong odor of weed and computer science that you can get a noseful of him a meter down the hall. Doxylamine tends to make people agitated.

Before you can weakly pound on the cinderblock wall, there's a muffled call of your name. It comes from the hallway, and it's followed by another bang — which you begin to realize is knocking. 

Crawling out of bed, you blearily pad to the door. You don’t have to peer through the peephole to see who it is. The voice is soft, low, and endearingly posh. Clearly, it’s- 

“Jace?” You grumble when you open the door, mind foggy from the cold medicine.

It's early January in London, and the beige cashmere jumper he wears isn’t warm enough — it's a woman’s cut, but it fits him like Loro Piana himself measured the fabric to Jace’s body. The cold weather is visible in the flush of his face, the snowflakes that linger in his hair.

“I’ve been calling you for hours, darling,” He speaks gently, voice heavy with concern. 

You blink at him, not responding with anything more than a little, oh.

His hand finds your upper arm, leaning closer to hone your attention, “You look awful,” He guides the both of you back into your dorm room, “Are you unwell?” 

You nod, “My roommate brought it back from holiday break.”

Jace huffs sharply, mumbling something to himself, no doubt about your roommate. He walks you back towards your bed, gently pushing you to sit.

“Have you been to the clinic?” He asks, one hand coming to cup your cheek.

“Twice.”

His hand slides up, finers gracing your temple to push some stray hair behind your ear, and then landing upon your brow bone, “You’re burning up.”

It's quiet for a few moments, hands retracing back down to cradle your face as he inspects you. He's focused, calculating and planning in his head — it's an energy you’ve seen him embody countless times, assessing the scraped knees, bruised foreheads, and aching tummies of his younger siblings. 

“What time is it?” You ask, after watching him bustle about your room for about thirty minutes. He's such a mother hen: making tea, procuring medication you didn’t know you had, wetting flannels, adjusting your blankets.

“Ten,” He replies, settling into your twin-size bed next to you and pressing a mug of piping hot tea into your waiting hands, “It's peppermint. I wish you kept chamomile, or really anything herbal.”

You disregard his latter comment, resting your head on his shoulder. Soft. As an eighteen-hundred pound jumper should be, “You came here in the dead of night? In the snow?”

He slides his legs under the blankets, sinking down into your pile of pillows and stuffed animals and pulling you closer, “I took the bus part of the way. Plus-” His hand drags across your shoulders, “I needed to see you. You missed class today, and I haven’t heard from you since Monday. I had nearly driven myself to the brink of madness with worry.”

You groan, turning your head to bump your forehead into the jut of his shoulder, “I hadn’t thought about class,” Bump, bump, bump goes your head, “Did I miss anything important?”

He hums, looking down at you, “We had to turn in a paragraph detailing our preliminary ideas for that big Arthashastra comparison essay. Doctor Dunlavey loved your connections to the political system in The Silmarillion.”

What? You lift your head to look up at him, “I didn’t do the assignment.” You had been too sick to think about school-work.

“Well,” He shrugs, lightly enough that it doesn’t disturb you, “Who's to say? He doesn’t have your handwriting memorized, he has hundreds of students.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, “Thank you, Jace.”

He sleeps in your bed that night, insisting that you’re sick enough that someone needs to keep an eye on you. Dressed in a loose pair of your pajamas, he curls around you in the tiny bed. His body spills warmth through both of your sleepwear, and maybe it's the fever or the cold cinderblock of your dorm but there is no physical proximity that quantifies as close enough to him. 

He's gone by the time you wake up, late into the morning. Naught of him but a text.

i had to go to class and i didn’t want to wake you up, sorry

be back later x 

And true to his word, he arrives that evening with a travel mug of lavender chamomile tea and the cough medicine he makes Luke take when he’s sick. It’s so bad that you nearly choke at the taste, but he leaves the bottle and you’re better by the end of the week. 

You’re both more diligent in seeing each other going forwards.

Your phone rings one day in mid-February — a silly picture of Jace in a bright red hat, one of Helaena’s, pops up on your screen, followed by the affectionate nickname he’s saved as in your phone. 

You even get a chance to say hello, his voice immediately bursting through the speaker, “Do you have plans for the third weekend of February?” 

You think through your mental calendar, “I don’t believe so, nothing that takes priority over you at least. Why do you ask?”

You can hear him fiddling with something on the other line, the clicking of a pen echoing from his bedroom to your ear. Every year his family hosts a gala, raising an ungodly amount of money for their charitable cause by selling high-priced tickets. And everyone comes, because the Targaryens are the royalty of the one percent. 

“Come?” He asks, “Please, I think you’ll enjoy it. Plus, it’ll be like a little holiday for us.”

And again — you’re wrapped so tightly around Jace’s finger that you don’t even think before saying yes. You don’t think through many things regarding this, which lands you in a guest bedroom in Rhaenyra and Alicent’s massive London estate.

In truth, it's not a guest bedroom, but rather Daeron’s old room. It is decorated with posters of classical musicians and string instrument charts; vinyls line his bookshelf, alphabetized and all orchestral. Daeron stays with Alicent’s brother in Paris during the academic year, attending a private secondary school with a music-based curriculum. He had been practically a prodigy at the violin. 

The room is sandwiched between Luke and Aemond, directly across the hall from Jace. There are a number of guest rooms in the house, but they’re all the next floor up and Jace had insisted that you stay across the hall from him. It does feel a bit odd to change into your pretty black dress while staring down a battalion of Daeron’s music awards and a very large framed photo of Otto Hightower. 

“I don’t mean to be judgemental, but who keeps a photo like this of their grandfather in their bedroom?” You ask, adjusting the straps of the dress, “I would understand if he was dead, but Otto is… not.”

Jace laughs from where he lounges on the bed, scrolling through something on his phone. After nearly two decades of friendship, there's little that hasn’t been seen and very lax boundaries. He had watched you change innumerable times before, but today his eyes are decidedly diverted onto his phone. 

“Good?” You ask, turning from the mirror, and giving him a spin. 

Jace stares, uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes are trained on you, scanning the dress, mouth closed and brows drawn so slightly you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know him so well. He's a bit rigid where he’s propped up on the bed, clearly contemplating. 

After an unnerving amount of time, really only five seconds, he speaks, “You look nice.”

It's… odd. Measured and closed off, a complex thought that you don’t have the context from his internal monologue to understand. Did he not like it? Or was he stunned into silence by your sheer, Goddess-like beauty?

“We match,” You offer meekly, gesturing between your dress and his black suit jacket and slacks. A lame comparison. Nearly everyone at these events wore black.

But he smiles nonetheless, a genuine smile that shows off his pretty dimples, “We do.” 

Jacaerys drives to the event, and you’re squished in the too-small backseat of his car, between Lucerys and Aemond. Aegon is in the passenger seat, talking incessantly, and Jace wishes he would shut up so he can think about the silky material of your dress in peace. 

It's a precarious set-up, truly. Jace drives a four-door, but it isn’t meant for six adolescents in formal attire. Aemond is stiff as a rod next to you, pointedly staring out the window and only interacting to bite back at anything Aegon says. Occasionally his bony elbow will bump your side or his knee will knock into yours, and he’ll pull away as if you’re red hot, shooting you a glanced glare. 

The radio is its own battle. Upon entering the car it had connected automatically to Jace’s phone, playing a few seconds of the theory podcast he had been listening to and earning a collective groan. Luke was quick to sync his phone instead, the Ramones brash drums blaring from the speakers. Aegon changed it to chav rap. It ensued like that for the whole car ride — punk rock to rap, volume up and down and up and down. 

The ballroom is glorious. All high domed ceilings and white crown moulding and gold leaf details. There’s a massive chandelier in the centre of the room that drips with perfect crystals. An astonishing world it was that Jacaerys grew up in. Overwhelming 

“Are you alright?” Jace murmurs, hooking his arm into yours as your shoes click against the marble floor. He can sense your unease, feel it in the way your forearm tenses at any particularly fast movement or loud aristocratic laugh. 

“Fine,” You assure, shooting him a smile.

Of course, Jace doesn’t buy it. Your pretty smile doesn’t reach your eyes, it's tighter than normal. He knows things like that — he’ll never admit it, but every one of your microexpressions are programmed into his brain. 

Arm-in-arm the pair of you reach a semi-circle near the bar. Rhaenyra, Corlys, Luke, and Helaena. The boring financial drivel meets your ears from several paces away, and it's mind-numbing up close. 

‘I don’t think you can quantify the inherent need for biodegradable fuel in those metrics.’ 

‘Well, I would argue that you can. In such a high output industry you have to calculate the necessity for every pence.’ 

You nod along, putting up a convincing facade of business intellect while Jace adds in expertly to the dull conversation. Helaena, to Rhaenyra’s left, is about as interested as you.

It's only when Otto breaks into the group, and the conversation shifts from the most cost effective biofuel to is shipping on a mass scale a pertinent trade in post-Brexit England that you’re pulled away. Though not by Jace, who has become more engrossed in the conversation than he is in you, but by Luke. 

“You seemed to be drowning,” He smiles up at you, offering his arm. 

You take it gladly, “Thank you for saving me.”

“Don’t worry, I was drowning too.”

Activity on the balcony is scant; one lady sits in a metal chair sipping a glass of champagne, an elderly man stands at the far end of the railing peering at the London cityscape down below. Luke leans his elbows against the rail, propping his head up in one hand. 

“How's college?” He asks, looking up at you.

You hum, leaning down to mimic his posture, “Oh, it's fine. It's a lot of work,” There's a lull in the conversation as the two of you bask in the lack of hustle and bustle, “Have you started thinking about college yet?”

He shrugs noncommittal, picking at the nails of his free hand. He's very quiet for a while, and you allow him that because every life decision feels massive and dire at fifteen. When he does speak, his voice is soft, “Grandfather said that he wanted me to inherit his business after my dad, but now mum is talking about me being her successor.”

“You’d be good at it.”

“Jace doesn’t want to inherit.”

“I know.”

“He wants to be a lawyer, like Alicent. And I don’t blame him, but that puts a lot of pressure on me. Because now it's like I have mum and grandpa expecting me to be great, and I stand in their conversations and I don’t understand half of what they’re saying-”

“Luke,” You softly interject in his rushed rant, running a careful hand down his arm, “No one expects you to be perfect. You’re still a child, you’ve not even taken your A-Levels yet.

He nods solemnly.

“I know that it feels like the weight of your family legacy rests on your shoulders, but if you also defer inheritance it will be just fine. You have, what — like, ten siblings?” He gives a little laugh at your reasoning, “Plus, Laena and Baela, and Rhaena who could take over after your father.”

Luke nods, “I suppose you’re right,” He elbows you gently in the ribs, “You’re pretty wise, you know?”

It's your turn to laugh, nudging him back, “So, what do you want to do after school?”

He traces mindless little stars into the railing, “I’d really like to study music. Some of my friends and I have been playing together, and we’re talking about starting a band.”

“That's really cool, Luke!” You beam.

He smiles sheepishly, “I mean, it's nothing grand yet. We haven’t decided a name, and we’re a bit at odds about a genre.”

“Well,” You smile, “When you lot play, let me know. I’ll be in the front row!”

The calm quiet is broken when the door to the balcony opens, “Luke, darling. Mummy needs you.”

You both turn to see Alicent peering out of the doorway, body still inside the ballroom. Her arm slips around your waist in an endearingly maternal way as the three of you make your way back towards Rhaenyra.

“How are you, lovely?” She asks, rubbing between your shoulder blades. Her pear and saffron perfume, Guidance Amouage, floods your olfactory senses.

“Well!” You reply, leaning into her warm touch, “This is all so wonderful. I’m very glad Jace invited me.”

She smiles back, “Me too.”

Being a guest of the host by extension, you’re required to stay for the duration. So, you watch people dissipate as your energy dwindles. By the end of the night, nearly eleven, your upright position relies heavily on the support of Jace’s arm around your waist as he chats with his grandmother, Rhaenys. Politics, environmentalism, blah blah, drivel, drivel. You might do more to participate if the five hours of nonstop interaction and three glasses of champagne weren’t pulling your body towards the ground, but you settle for little engaged nods. 

The car is less crowded on the way back — much to everyone's chagrin, Aegon called an Uber halfway through the gala. You’re allowed the front seat, and spend most of the ride dozing off to the tune of The Velvet Underground & Nico, 1967.

You sleep in Jace’s bed that night, despite your own quarters being directly across the hall.

When Jacaerys realises he’s in love with you, you’re crying in the library stairwell. 

“I’m fucked,” You sob into your hands, shoulders shaking with the force of your misery. 

You had been studying together, preparing for the rest of your midterms when a notification came through your school email with an updated exam grade. 

Sheer terror, cold unyielding panic that starts just below your throat and twists its way down your spine and back into your lower intestine. The grade was a forty-two, which brought your total grade down to a fifty-eight. 

In the least melodramatic way possible you’d shut your laptop and told Jace you were going to the bathroom. But the bathroom was at the back of the room, and you had gone to the hallway — plus, he just knew better.

Gentle footsteps, you see his Sambas first and hear the crack of his knees as he sits next to you on the stair step. 

“You’re not fucked,” He murmurs back, his voice low and soft. One arm comes around your stooped shoulders, the soft fabric of his cardigan brushing the back of your neck, “It's only midterms, angel. This is nothing that you can’t reverse.”

The first thought in your head is easy for perpetual straight-A student Jacaerys to say, the next thought is much more self-pitying. You don't voice either, head falling to your knees.

You aren’t allowed to stay like that for long, firm hands come to your arms and pull you up. From there, they run slowly up and down — from your scapula to your bicep, over and over. And his chest blooms with warmth when you respond well, calming down. He runs his thumb over the soft skin underneath your eyes — first the left eye, and then the right — brushing away tears. 

Jace’s typical form of comfort plays on his lifelong role as eldest sibling; it's usually coddling, while he mothers you and tries to problem solve. This is not that. It's something deeper, more genuinely concerned. He isn’t trying to solve your ailment, he just wants to make you feel better. 

“It's just a grade,” He soothes, “It's just an exam, a midterm. This makes up maybe ten percent of your overall grade, and I know that you do well on everything else,” His head is cocked, looking at you so sweetly, “I bet it only looks this bad because it's mid-semester, your score will go up in a few weeks.”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut as the last stray tears fall. 

“You’re alright,” He whispers, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the apple of your cheek, “Hm?”

Jace is alone that night, Montblanc pen held in perfect writing posture as he journals — an exercise recommended by his mother. The highlights include:

It was gutting. I just wanted to make it better & I didn’t know how. 

Inappropriate time to kiss her face, I couldn’t think of anything else.

I’m usually so good at comfort and reassurance, I don’t know what's wrong with me. 

Fuck, I’m hopeless. 

Things feel different to me now. Not in a particularly bad sense, just different. Maybe it's the transition from childhood friendship to adult friendship. 

I read that god awful serial romance novel last holiday because grandma left it sitting out – A Wallflower Christmas by Lisa Kelypas. And I remember this passage like ‘I want you under me. I know you deserve more respect than that.’

I found it, “I want you under me. On your back. / I’m sorry. You deserve more respect than that. But I can’t stop thinking of it. Your arms and legs around me. Your mouth, open for my kisses. I need too much of you. A lifetime of nights spent between your thighs wouldn't be enough. / I want to talk with you forever. I remember every word you’ve ever said to me. / If only I could visit you as a foreigner goes into a new country, learn the language of you, wander past all borders into every private and secret place. I would stay forever. I would become a citizen of you.”

I’ve been thinking of that passage, like it's playing aloud in my head. What does that mean? 

I don’t particularly feel that for her. 

I get some of it, like ‘I want to talk with you forever, I remember every word you say.’ Anything else though, the romantic bits, I don’t. 

Though, the kissing her face was new. It was compulsive almost, like I had to do it. 

Need to call mum. 

“Is it fair to you?” Rhaenyra asks through the phone. It's late, past the time she puts the little kids to bed, but she's never not answered a phone call from one of her children. 

Jace sighs, worrying one of the buttons on his cardigan, “What if it ruins everything?” He asks, “What if I tell her, and she never speaks to me again and then I lose my best friend?”

“But is that fair, Jace?” She reasons, “To go about a lifetime of friendship keeping this massive secret from her? It won’t go away, my love. It will fester and fester and eat at you for as long as you know her.”

He doesn’t have a good reply to that.

“Jacaerys, I spent twenty years pining after my best friend — so long that I had time to marry, have three children, and divorce. I spent years and years suffocating in regret, because I missed my chance to tell her and build a life. I got another chance, which is very rare, and it was no less scary that time. But, I knew that if I didn’t go for it then I would never have the opportunity to live the life I had spent my entire adolescence dreaming of,” Rhaenyra sighs, “My sweet boy, don’t let this slip away because you’re afraid.” 

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, he thinks. 

When you accompany him home for summer break, hand in hand, it's with a new depth to your relationship. ‘Tis better to have loved.

tags<3 @one-big-fangirl

check out my event ! ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮

[aesthetically-dying101]

My home is with you

A/N: idk i just love nanami so much i had to write some fluff for him, he comes home injured to his wife.

warnings: blood mention/injury mention, pre-established relationship (they're married)

don't repost/copy my work on other websites thx

Masterlist.

The quiet hum of the kettle simmering on the stove filled the dimly lit kitchen. Shadows stretched long across the walls, the soft glow of a lamp casting a golden haze over the room.

You sat at the small dining table, papers sprawled in disarray—essays from your students at Jujutsu High, meticulously penned with their observations on cursed energy theory.

You’d tried to focus, truly you had, but your thoughts wandered incessantly to your husband.

Where is he? He’s never this late. Did something happen?

Nanami Kento. Your husband. Your world.

The clock ticked louder with each passing moment, mocking your growing unease. You’d checked your phone twice already—no missed calls, no messages.

You knew the life he led.

You both did. As a professor at Jujutsu High, you understood the risks better than anyone- yet understanding didn’t make the worry any easier to bear.

Then, at last, the faint sound of the front door creaking open.

Relief and anxiety collided as you bolted from your chair.

“Kento?”

There he stood, framed in the doorway like a ghost returning from battle. His suit was torn, dirt and blood streaked across the fabric. He held one hand pressed tightly to his side, and his glasses sat askew on his face. But his eyes—his eyes softened the moment they met yours.

“I’m home,” he said, voice steady but laden with exhaustion.

Oh, Kento. “You’re hurt,” you whispered, hurrying to his side.

“It’s nothing serious,” he replied, ever the stoic. But the way he swayed on his feet betrayed him.

“Nothing serious? You’re bleeding,” you shot back, wrapping an arm around his non-injured forearm to guide him toward the couch. “Don’t argue with me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, and you caught the faintest flicker of a smile.

Once he was seated, you darted to grab the first-aid kit, your thoughts racing. How bad is it? Why didn’t he call me? What if… No, stop. He’s here. He’s okay.

You have to focus.

Returning, you found him leaning back with his eyes closed, his hand still pressed to his side.

“Let me see,” you said gently, kneeling before him.

He opened his eyes, watching you for a moment before relenting, his hand falling away to reveal a jagged tear in his shirt and the angry wound beneath.

Your breath caught.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice horrendously calm.

“A grade-one cursed spirit,” he explained. “Its reach was longer than I anticipated. A mistake I won’t repeat.”

Your hands moved on autopilot, cutting away the ruined fabric.

“You shouldn’t be making mistakes at all,” you muttered, the edge in your voice betraying your worry. “You push yourself too hard, Ken.”

He sighed softly. “It’s my responsibility. But… I’m sorry for making you worry.”

You froze for a moment, meeting his gaze. His sincerity was almost overwhelming.

“Just promise me you’ll be more careful,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I promise,” he said without hesitation, and you believed him.

You cleaned the wound with practised care, each hiss of pain he let slip cutting into you.

“I hate seeing you like this,” you admitted.

“I know,” he said softly. “But it’s worth it, if it means protecting others. Protecting you.”

Your heart ached at his words. You finished cleaning up the wound, then helped him out of his torn suit jacket and into a soft sweater. He grumbled half-heartedly, but you ignored him, too focused on making sure he was comfortable.

Once he was settled- you didn't bandage him up, since you knew you'd force him to shower, you brought him a steaming cup of tea, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. He looked at you with something like awe, as though he couldn’t quite comprehend how much you cared for him.

“You’re spoiling me,” he said, though his tone was more grateful than teasing.

“You deserve it,” you replied, sitting down beside him. “You work so hard, Kento. Let me take care of you for once.”

The tea had barely cooled when Nanami's hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The simple gesture, so tender, sent a wave of warmth rushing through your chest. He was always like this after a rough day—quiet, a little raw, but so achingly sincere in his affection that it left you breathless.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice softer than you were used to, like the weight of the day had stripped away his usual reserve.

“For what?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips as you met his gaze.

“For this. For you.” His amber eyes, tired but impossibly warm, held yours. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Oh, Kento. You make it sound like I’m some miracle. You’re the one who comes home like this and still has the nerve to apologize for worrying me.”

“I mean it,” he said firmly, his hand tightening just slightly over yours. “You’re my home. My solace.”

The sincerity in his words stole your breath, and for a moment, you couldn’t do anything but look at him. How was it possible to love someone this much?

But then you noticed the way he winced as he shifted, his exhaustion pressing heavily against him.

“Alright, enough of that,” you said, standing abruptly. “Come on. You need a shower before you fall asleep on my couch.”

His brow lifted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Your couch?”

“That’s right,” you replied with mock sternness, grabbing his hand to help him up. “You’re just a guest in this house until you stop making a habit of getting stabbed.”

A small chuckle escaped him as he rose, but the motion made him grimace, his hand briefly going to his side. “You’re ruthless.”

“And you love it,” you teased, guiding him toward the bathroom.

He didn’t deny it. How could he, when the truth was written plainly across his face every time he looked at you?

Once inside, you flicked on the light, illuminating the modest space. Steam quickly filled the air as you turned on the shower, testing the water with your hand until it was just right.

“Alright, off with the rest of it,” you said, motioning to his clothes.

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that an order, Professor?”

“Damn right it is,” you shot back, unable to resist the grin spreading across your face. “Hurry up, or I’ll start charging you for medical care.”

His lips twitched in amusement as he carefully pulled off the remains of his shirt. You tried to keep your eyes on his face—key word: tried—but it was impossible not to notice the defined lines of his chest and shoulders, even marred as they were by bruises and scars.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, his tone dry but teasing.

You smirked, stepping closer. “Oh, absolutely. It’s not every day my handsome husband lets me ogle him half-naked.”

“You’re shameless.”

“And you married me anyway.” Your grin widened as you helped him step out of his slacks, your hands lingering on his hips for just a moment longer than necessary. “What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.”

He gave a soft laugh, the sound low and warm. “The worst, huh? I think you’ve got it backward.”

As he stepped into the shower, you leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, your eyes still on him. He noticed, of course, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement.

“You’re going to stand there the whole time?”

“Maybe,” you replied, shrugging nonchalantly. “Unless you’d rather I join you.”

Partly to ogle, but mostly to make sure he didn't faint and hit his head.

His gaze flicked to you, a spark of something dangerous and teasing in his eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love it,” you repeated, winking.

“I do,” he admitted, his voice softer now, the teasing fading into something more earnest.

For a moment, you just watched him, the water running over his broad shoulders, his exhaustion seeming to melt away under the soothing warmth. He was beautiful, even like this—especially like this. Strong, vulnerable, wholly yours.

When he finished, you handed him a towel, your fingers brushing his as he took it. “Let me help you,” you said, your voice gentle as you moved closer.

“I’m fine—” he started, but you silenced him with a look.

“Hush. Let me take care of you.”

You dried him off carefully, your touch light but lingering, and you couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to his Adam's apple when you were done. He shivered under your lips, his breath hitching.

After that, Nanami sat on the edge of the counter, a towel draped loosely around his waist, while you stood beside him with the first-aid kit. The gash on his side looked angry and raw, the edges of the wound still faintly oozing despite the careful cleaning.

“Hold still,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm as you opened a fresh packet of antiseptic wipes.

Nanami winced slightly as the cool disinfectant made contact with his skin. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch away, his gaze fixed on you. “You’ve got a steady hand,” he said, his voice calm despite the discomfort.

“Years of practice patching you up,” you replied, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “If you didn’t come home in pieces so often, I’d probably be out of practice by now.”

“Touché,” he murmured, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Once the wound was thoroughly cleaned, you applied a thin layer of antibiotic ointment, your fingers deft but gentle.

“Alright,” you said, reaching for the roll of bandages. “Hold your arm up just a little.”

He complied, the movement causing a slight hitch in his breath. You frowned, but he gave you a small shake of his head, silently reassuring you he was fine. Wrapping the bandage around his torso was methodical but intimate; your hands lingered just slightly as you secured it in place, your fingers brushing against his warm skin.

“Not too tight?” you asked, looking up at him.

“It’s fine,” he replied, his tone soft. “You always do it perfectly.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately but didn’t comment, moving on to his left arm, which bore a nasty scrape from elbow to wrist. “This one’s not as bad,” you said, wiping it clean with care. Still, the tension in his shoulders didn’t escape your notice.

As you worked, he watched you in silence, his eyes tracing the concentration etched into your face. When you finished wrapping his arm, you sat back on your heels, inspecting your work.

“There,” you said, meeting his gaze. “All patched up.”

Nanami reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

You leaned into his touch, your fingers covering his hand. “Of course I did. You’re my husband, Kento. It’s my job to take care of you.”

A small smile broke through his usual stoicism. “And you do it better than anyone else ever could.”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand before standing and offering him your own. “Come on, let’s get you dressed and comfortable before you decide to pass out on me.”

“Still worried about me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Always,” you admitted, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “But I love you more than I’ll ever be scared for you.”

His hands found your face then, cradling it with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

When his lips met yours, it wasn’t tentative or fleeting—it was full of the kind of depth and longing that left no room for words. Nanami kissed you like a man who had faced death and walked away with the singular thought of you driving him forward. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as if to memorize the texture of your skin.

You melted into him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his damp hair, pulling him closer.

He didn’t resist, he never did.

Instead, he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperate kind of gentleness that made your chest ache. The world outside disappeared, the worry, the fear—it all faded, leaving only the warmth of him.

When you finally broke for air, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing heavily. His hands slid down to your waist, steadying you as if you might slip away.

“Kento,” you whispered, your voice trembling just slightly.

His eyes opened slowly, his gaze soft and unguarded in a way only you ever saw. “What is it?”

“I hate that you keep getting hurt,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hate that you come home like this, bleeding and exhausted, and I can’t do anything to stop it.”

“You do more than you know,” he replied, his voice steady but full of emotion. “You’re the reason I come home. You’re what keeps me going.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, slower this time, his lips moving with a deliberate tenderness that unraveled something deep inside you. His hand slid up your back, tracing soothing circles that made your breath hitch. He kissed you as though he had all the time in the world, as though he wanted to make sure you felt every ounce of his devotion.

“Kento,” you murmured again, his name a soft plea on your lips.

“Hmm?” he replied, his lips trailing down to your jaw, then lower, pressing soft kisses along the curve of your neck. Each touch was electric, but it wasn’t rushed—it was grounding, comforting, a reaffirmation of the bond between you.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, and smiled. “You’re lucky you’re charming, you know. It’s hard to stay mad at you.”

His lips quirked upward, the faintest hint of a smile gracing his tired face. “Charming? That’s a first.”

“Don’t act so surprised,” you teased, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “You’ve been my weakness since the moment I met you.”

“Then I’m in good company,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss you again.

This time, it was different—deeper, more insistent. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you couldn’t help the soft sound that escaped you. He swallowed it greedily, his lips never leaving yours, his touch both firm and reverent.

You felt the tension in his shoulders slowly ease as the kiss stretched on, his weariness giving way to something softer, something purely you and him. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a refuge, a reminder that no matter how brutal the world outside became, this was still yours.

He was still yours.

When you finally broke apart, his thumb brushed over your swollen lips, his expression tender. “You’re everything,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

“So are you,” you replied, your hand sliding up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “And I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to.”

For a moment, you both simply held each other, the warmth of his body grounding you. Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, you grinned mischievously.

“You know,” you began, your fingers teasing at the hem of his sweater, “if I weren’t your wife, I’d say this whole half-naked, battle-worn thing you’ve got going on is really working for you.”

He gave a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’d say that even if you weren’t my wife?”

“Oh, definitely,” you said, your grin widening. “I’d probably make some terribly inappropriate comment about wanting to take care of you and then throw myself at you.”

“Sounds familiar,” he teased, his tone dry but warm.

You laughed, your head falling to his chest as your shoulders shook with mirth. “Touché.”

The laughter softened into something quieter, more intimate, as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, “you’re the reason I fight as hard as I do. It’s not just about protecting people—it’s about making sure I get to come home to you.”

Your heart clenched at his words, and you leaned up to kiss him again, slow and lingering.

“And I’ll always be here waiting,” you whispered against his lips.

For a while, you simply stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, exchanging soft kisses and quiet words. It was only when you noticed how his eyelids drooped, exhaustion finally catching up to him, that you pulled back.

“Alright, Mr. Nanami,” you said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Time to get you to bed.”

He grumbled but didn’t protest as you helped him up and guided him to your room. Once under the covers, he pulled you close, his arm draping over your waist as if to keep you anchored to him.

“Goodnight, Kento,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, his voice heavy with sleep. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, your heart full and warm as you drifted off, safe in the arms of the man who was your world.

A/N: anyways yeah, hes so babygirl, major slay, i want to like.. eat him or smth (in a nice way)

:)

[serejae]

IF BY CHANCE ? | BND

-

p2

WHAT ? - BND AS EXES WHO WANT YOU BACK (bnd realizing they messed up after you end things)

WHEN ? - (warning) this is not a REAL display of the members im just doing this for weeping entertainment:) attempt to unconsented kissing in jaehyuns, drinking in sungho’s, mentions of throw up/throwing up in leehans, major angst 😒

WHO ? - (a/n) i love angst but not like death but yearning and groveling, pls tell me yall relate. lowk went hard on jaehyun and leehans from personal experience 🤔🤔

uncapitalization intended and not proofread

theres a theory that you will always meet the same person twice

-

P.SUNGHO ; he was too focused on his career.

! - you knew and understood thst sungho’s job was very important to him but it started to feel like you werent his partner anymore. you started to feel like decoration in your guys apartment that he would just ignore when he got home.

! - to try and help your relationship you made him dinner, cleaned up the place, asked him about his day to which he blew up. his cold demeanor suddenly dropped as he yelled at you about constantly bothering him when he just wanted to sleep. you knew your intentions and knew you didnt want to bother but help sungho. you then realize you werent valued in this relationship and were pulling the whole weight by yourself, so you ended things.

! - it took him about 4 days to realize that he messed up. those 4 days his mind was constantly fogged up about work, after those 4 days he walked into the house and how he realized was when he alerted you (or tried to) that he was home with a “honey im home”, only to be met with silence. a bit confused not realizing his brain hadnt catched up yet, he walked into your twos room, or use to be. only to be met with the mess he left for himself in the morning. there is when he realized you weren’t there anymore. to shake his mind off of it, he decided to eat before doing anything ,he went to the kitchen to heat up some frozen dinner. as the meal heated he realized the house was so empty, cold, and quiet. the only sound was coming from the spinning microwave.

! - it’s safe to say the soulless house took a toll on him. everyday he dreaded going home, which is funny cause he couldve said the same thing before he realized how important you were. his friends who were tired of seeing him so lifeless decided to invite him to go to the bar to hang out…he wasnt much fun there either. that was until he caught a glimpse of you from the reflection of his empty shot glass. his eyes light up and he turns around to make eye contact with you. .

-

L.RIWOO ; trust issues.

! - you understood where riwoo was coming from, you knew that trust issues are normal , but it got to a point where his trust issues started to make you question him.

! - and it didnt help that each time you did try to reassure him that it somehow made it worse. “ri, of course im going to stay late, my boss asked me too. you have my location, i send you photos of me working, what else do you want?” maybe your approach wasnt the best but the way he snapped was when you knew no matter how much you tried to protect both you and his peace, he will try to tear it down again. “oh, so now your getting defensive. i shouldve known, especially from you.” he said it with no remorse or thought behind it. and to him he thought he was winning this argument but in reality he was going to make the biggest loss of his life.

! - it took him 5 hours to realize he messed up. when you left and packed your things he thought you’d run back and it’ll make him feel better about himself. but after 4 hours it was already 3 am and he realized maybe…you wouldnt come back as soon as he thought. but that last hour before he realized he messed up, he had a dream of you and him. you two were living that exact moment, before you left. you standing pacing back and forth as he sat on the couch. except this time, he talks to you about why he thinks the way he thinks and vows to do better. in that dream he sleeps with you in his arms. when he woke up he stared at the ceiling, and it was like it was talking to him. thats when he realized you werent coming back. you wont be in his arms again, you wont tell him about your day, and you wont constantly tired of arguing with him because of his doubts.

! - after trapping himself in his house and thoughts he decided to go on a walk, but to his suprise once he opens the door you stand there staring at him with a box of his things in your hands. his mouth goes dry

-

M. JAEHYUN ; girl bestfriend

! - you were the never the type of partner to care too much about the opposite gender best friends as you were very secure in your relationship, but in this case it wasnt him but rather her. you knew from the moment she laid her eyes on you she was no good. but you decided to give her the benefit of the doubt as this was jaehyuns childhood bestfriend, and if you didnt like her you could at least pretend for your boyfriends sake.

! - you were always calm and reserved around jaehyun and his bestfriend even on those dsys you wanted to push her off him. but today it was like a flip switched. you walked home soaked from the rain after not being to reach your boyfriend to pick you up. you get it he’s busy, but your blood boiled when you saw both of them sitting on the couch peacefully. she looked up at you and grinned as jaehyun ran up to you worried. “jaehyun lets talk in our room please” you simply asked. he followed you to you and his shared room with a towel drying you off as you spoke. “i really hate to do this to you but its either me or her.” he paused his movements of drying your hair “you know i cant do that. ive known her for so long do you not trust me?” he said defensive. “i dont trust her” you said blandly, he stared at you and started lecturing you on how his bestfriend gave you no reason to not trust her. you didnt argue back, you were too tired for it you just said “she likes you jaehyun”. he paused and continued lecturing you about how thats ridiculous. you shake your head and pack your things “clearly i know your answer.” he continues on and on on how youre being ridiculous. once you leave the door he puts his hand in his face.

! - it took him like 5 minutes to realize he messed up (bye.) his friend came into your room and sat down by him as he listened to him rant. “you know…” she said slowly “y/n’s not wrong” his ears perked up at that “ive always liked you jaehyun, your just too silly to realize.” he freezes at her words, feeling his blood run cold he feels her fingers on his chin and her leaning in. he backs up and kicks her out despite her protest. once he locked the door and is left in the empty haunting house alone he scrambles for his phone. after finding it he opens it to all your messages asking if he can pick you up. it made him nauseous at the thought he left you alone and cold for his ‘friend’ that was the cause of your breakup. he calls you to which you dont answer, he starts panicking at this point and paces in the house as he mass text and call you just wanting a answer. he pauses in front of him at the only room he hasnt stepped room in since pacing. your bedroom. he walks in and lays down only to be reminded of your scent when he lifts the blankets over his head. thats when he starts crying and realized you weren’t there to hold him like you normally did

! - he didnt have his safe space anymore.

-

H. TAESAN ; distant

! - you hated to admit it but one of the things that drew you into taesan was the thing that made you end things. his cold demeanor was what made everyone so curious about him, fortunately or unfortunately you were the one he picked to be into his very small circle to which you became his partner. during this you learned he loved his alone time which you were fine with, what threw you off was the way he signaled to you he wanted to be alone. he would ignore you in public and not reply to your messages as if you didnt know each other. you were okay with it at first since you loved your strange boyfriend but after a while you grew tired of it. tired of breaking down his walls and when you finally feel accepted by him only to be shut out again

! - and clearly it was a mistake bringing it up to him because it lead him to being the loudest you ever heard him, arguing back and forth. “i dont get why you just have to pretend you don’t know me. im fine with you needing your alone space but why do you have to act like you hate me?”

“im starting to if thats how your gonna react to me needing my time every so often.”

you couldnt argue anymore, especially when he just admitted he was close to hating you for communicating your feelings. the room went quiet, taesan looks over his shoulder to see you staring at the ground before walking off. after that day you didnt text first or initiate anything to see if he would, unfortunately to you. he didnt.

! - it took him about a month to realize he messed up (sorry taesan lovers:c). but dont get me wrong, its not like he went on with his life like normal. everyday it felt like he was missing something but he could never put his finger on this feeling so he just dismissed it. until one day by instinct he sat at your twos spot alone and your guys song started to play in his headphones. he was never one to communicate his feelings too well but that didnt mean he didnt care for you. he would dedicate songs to you and one just fit perfectly with you two. when the song played he looked around and realized where he was with what song was playing only to see something is missing

you.

and thats when it hit him, he didnt get his usual messages, his hugs, or his sneaky looks from you. he was alone, but wasnt this what he wanted?

he wanted to be alone right?

he loved it.

right?

he then realized

he loves you more then he loved being alone.

was it worth it to lose one thing you love more to prioritize the other?

-

K.LEEHAN ; too friendly

! - from the beginning you knew dating leehan came with a price. everyone wanted him. some more bold than others that would go up to him and ask him out even when he had a partner. his reaction to these admirers was a stranger then how a boyfriend would react to girls hitting on him. he’d entertain the girls in front for you just to see your reaction. you knew he loved seeing you jealous which was cute at first but after a while it got old. it started to make you doubt whether he really loved you or not. if the girls would compliment leehan he’d start asking for details, “oh yeah? how much do you like me?” “my arms are pretty strong arent they?” or he’d start teasing “calm down my partners infront of me, maybe later” to which the girls, including him would laugh as he looked over to see your fuming face.

! - but this one time, you couldnt take it anymore. if this is what dating someone admired upon was like, you wanted no part. it was like normal. girls would swarm around you and leehan and start flirting, but his one comment ticked you off. “yeah of course we can hangout, im sure my partner wont mind” he winked, he looks over at you expecting to see your puffy angry face but is met with you leaving the table. he follows behind you calling for you. when he finally catches up to you thats when you spew everything youve been feeling. “i can understand if your admired i get it your handsome! but your taken and you should know that, no normal boyfriend flirts back with girls who flirt with him. i have to deal with this closing feeling in my throat and chest all because you want a little enjoyment for your day and im done.” he looked at you confused with a hint of being offended. “youre overreacting yn.” he said before being cut off with you walking away.

! - he realized he messed up 6 days later. its not like he didnt care, but he was in his state of mind that youll run back like any of his fangirls would. during those days he continued to flirt back with them now that his flock was much bigger now that he was single. but this time he flirted back much less enthusiastic as he would before, because he had no reason to, no reaction, no partner to coddle after. he now felt sick with the thought of flirting with anyone to start dating if it wasnt you. he got up from the table to which he recieved a bunch of whines and pleads to stay. he just needed fresh air. he continued walking around campus until he heard a familiar laugh. he turned his head over and seen you with another person, laughing and getting all close like you and him use too. now staring from afar he understood what you meant. he felt his chest and throat closing at the thought sight of you reliving what you and him would do with someone that wasnt him. and his words replay in his mind

“you’re overreacting yn”

“your overreacting”

“overreacting”

in fact you were not overreacting but he knew he had no right to be jealous, when his urge for you to be jealous tore you two apart.

he was on the verge of spilling his guts and you looked happy. not angry, and thats what you deserved

-

K. WOONHAK ; always mad at you

! - woonhak has always been very open about his anger issues and you knew that. he was just a teen living his first life and you acknowledged that. on certain days he would hold grudges against you and not tell you why he was angry, leaving you alone to figure out and trace back to see what you had done. and it was always something small like giving him only 2 hugs instead of 3 for morning, afternoon, and night. and forbid you try to get him to communicate why he is mad at you. he’ll turn into a big angry ball yelling at every reason he should be mad

! - this one day you were so tired from school. you just wanted to walk home with your boyfriend and hopefully cuddle at home. but he wasnt waiting for you outside your class, instead you already saw him walking out of the school. catching up to him you say hi and start asking him about his day to which you recieve a mean face ignoring you. deciding to avoid that you talked about your day to which he paid no attention to. thats when you snapped “hey im talking to you!” no reply “why do you always do this, you just get mad at me and expect me to read your mind!” he turned over to you and yelled back “i dont know why you can never just think, is it that hard to realize what you did?” “no i cant read your mind woonhak!”. he just turned away and started to walk “woonhak if you keep walking were over!” he paused, to which you hoped he’d come to his senses but he kept walking

! - he realized he messed up 1 days after. day 1, he completely forgot about the night before as it was so normal for him to go back to not being mad at you when he felt like it. when you didnt walk to school with him he decided that was his reasoning for being mad you today. and when you didnt run up to him or walk up to him after school to walk together he started to be a bit confused. here is when youd start to cave but as he walked home he retraced his memory with each step and remembered what you had said when he was being petty.

‘ “woonhak if you keep walking were over!” ‘

he just kept walking, and now you werent his to walk anymore.

-

“is it so wrong of me to hope she breaks your heart, is it so wrong for me to pray she tears you apart?”

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DP×DC prompt. Pre-Dead on main. Soulmate Au.

Do clones have soulmates? And evil (depressed) future versions of yourself? Only phamily is allowed to know.

~~~~

Jason wasn’t particularly thrilled to have a soulmate. Of course, it was a rare phenomenon many wanted. But the presence of the tattoo did not guarantee a meeting with the fate promised man. The tattoo was more a clue than a commitment, according to Jason. Meeting a street rat like him would be a good way to form a brotherhood, but that doesn’t mean he could trust a stranger completely just because fate says so.

After he became Robin, owning a soulmate became undesirable. Jason once again made sure that it was best that they never meet. It would be safer for his human. Or rather, so Jason thought, until his inscription suddenly darkened and disappeared. Died. His solmate died, and there was nothing he could do. He knew it could happen, but somehow it hurt anyway. One person has only one soulmate for life. And he wasted his chance by not even trying to find his one.

He didn’t even have time to meet someone for whom fate has chosen this line:

Hoc est vivere bis, vita posse priore frui.

(It is to live twice, when you can enjoy recalling your former life)

And Now it didn’t matter. Would they be lovers, best friends, family? What kind of person was the one whom the universe associated with this quote?Jason is not meant to know.

~~~~~~

Todd was suffering from nightmares. No, to be more specific, he was experiencing a completely different life in a dream. A few days earlier, he had hallucinations in which his surroundings seemed to change the appearance of different eras for a few seconds. Strange glitch. Jason blamed the sleep deprivation that Red Robin must have given him through bite. But Robin didn’t know who the hell Red Robin was.

The search for a biological mother, death and resurrection. His work as a crime lord. His madness and envy to the red robin. It was so strange. Life in Gotham never allowed him to be a naive child like the idiots of Metropolis but those dream memories made him grow up to fast again. In an attempt to wash away this nightmare and this blood, Jason stands under a cold shower at five o'clock in the morning. And then he notices that his mark has changed. It looks like a tree crown now.

On top of the old grey line a neon-green quotes lit up in latin, but now Jason can read them without a dictionary:

1)Death pursues the man even as he flees from it.

2) Hail, Emperor, those who are about to die salute you.

3) There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.

When B tries to pat him on the shoulder after the patrol, Robin dodges. Too much has happened, or rather, too much should happen. These dreams are too real to be the result of fear toxin damage or something else. The feeling of betrayal and fear that comes when he just thinks about the damn clown is too intense. And now he's too weak to fight him. He doesn't have his gang or a more mature body, or even the confidence in Batman that allowed Robin to fly without a doubt.

~~~~~

~You can't love anyone, 'cause that would mean you had a heart~

If you were loved by a man when he was alive, then the love of a ghost will be for you either a blessing or a curse. And if the spirit is not at rest because of his hatred for man, then there is no special sense to put up with the dead. They can hardly change their attitude. They don’t think critically. Maddie and Jack expound this theory on career day for Danny’s classmates. And they don’t understand why their boy looks at the presentation with horror.

Danny was fond of the quote on his wrist. It gave him hope many times even in the darkest of times.

~Fortis est ut mors dilectio / Love is strong as death~

Danny never listened to his parents' theories before. But what if they’re right? What if the ghosts of nature are just good liars and his ghost half convinced his human half that he’s still capable of emotion? Were these just residual memories of affection about family and friends that forced him to stay in Amity Park? Was it just his ghost obsession that told him a man behind his mark was important?

For the first time, when Jazz summons all the Phantoms to a weekly meeting, Danny does not seek excuses, but brings the matter up for a discussion.

Truly, it's no surprise to him that Dan’s tattoo is invariable. But it’s a bit of a surprise that Dani shares special human with them. Well, as ghosts, they have zero chance of actually spending their "lives" with the person behind words, so there’s no reason to be jealous of each other.

A lot of soulmates live their lives without each other, and it's not a tragedy. Or so Danny and Dani thought. Until Dan sarcastically notes during a family therapy session in Jazz’s room that their soulmate will not live to be fifteen either.

Their feelings or their absence will wait. Their soul mate is now in real danger, and this is far more important than the existential crisis of a few pieces of ectoplasm. This is the main problem. Jazz doesn’t agree, but honestly, the older sister has always been a bore. Danny panics and Dani also bursts into tears when Dan just shrugs his shoulders.

Danny: So you know who is our soulmate is, right? Dan: Of course I do. And I know the grave won’t hold him forever. Dani: So how is he..going to die? Dan: Murdered. By the Joker. I studied the case. Asked Vlad to still it for me. That was the beginning of the end, I think. So many broken bones and so much blood, and then the explosion. Not the best way to die. The only thing I regret is that I didn't stop playing the hero and kill that damn clown before it happened. It would solve so many problems. And why didn't I throw a temper tantrum a couple of days earlier instead of trying to get rid of my emotions first?

Danny: True. That shit didn't work anyway. Dan: Shut up. Dani: I was hoping that our soulmate would be happy even without us. Does this really have to happen? Isn't there anything we can do? Dan: Ask your time freak. But in my experience, anything connected to Phantom just doesn’t get a happy ending.

~~~~~~They say that time's supposed to heal ya, but I ain't done much healing~~~~~~

Jazz is not surprised when after breakfast with her siblings she's asked to leave so they can talk to themselves alone. Dan: Well, shoot. What else do you want to know? Danny: Like you didn’t figure it out. All right. When you asked Vlad to separate your human half from ghost half, whether you really wanted to get rid of human emotions or.. Dan: Or did I try to kill myself? You are me. You must know the answer. Nobody's left. Could you live with the shame of not being able to save them? Dani: Um, that vile monster who made all this happen with out soulmate, it was still exist in your timeline? Dan: Yes. And Batman too. Even after Jason's death he didn’t get rid of the damn clown.

Danny: You were supposed to be there for him. Dan: I know. Dani: Did you at least avenge him? Dan: I tried. But his paranoid furry dad, with his backup plans for backup plans, was always getting in my way. Dani: Batman? Our soulmate is Robin? Danny: Come on, you terrorized the entire Amity Park, don’t tell me you’re scared of a man in a bat suit. You couldn't get rid of one person under bat's nose? Seriously? We're such a disgrace, man. Dan: Oh please, don’t be ridiculous. Danny: So why not? Dan: Because Batman is his father, like I said. You know how I work. Even if I had only come for Joker, there would be no guarantee that I wouldn't end up getting into a fight with this vigilante as well. Even if the bastard deserved a good beating, it would still be awkward if our soulmate returned to the world of the living and it turned out that this was not what he wanted, right? Danny: How thOughTfuL.

Dan:...I think I told you to shut up.

Danny: Yeah, yeah. So, what’s the plan? Dan: You do realize that if I go to Gotham, I won’t spare Joker or anyone who will try to hurt our bird? Danny: Well, if Сlockwork has a problem with it he should say it to my face. I’m not asking you to hold back. Not this time. Joker is not just a random guy or a ghost who can be talked out of his ideas. Better nip the problem in the bud. Dani: Yeah. We are ghost, so it's our nature to protect what belongs to us. And we are selfish because we are humans. We can’t hide it, well, from ourself, right? Danny: Um, right, but we think you should stay. It's too dangerous. Dani: But he's my soulmate too! Even if he doesn't get to know either of us, I also want to do something to help him. Someone has to serve as a distraction or be ready to help. I'm coming too. It's not up for discussion.

Dan: Just let her. She's just as stubborn as we are. We'll spend more time on pointless arguments than on the mission itself.

Danny: I hate it when you're right.

Dani: Now, should we tell Jazz about our weekend or? Danny: Good question.

~~~~~~ Jazz: Where are you guys going? Danny: To commit murder. Nothing brings families together faster, you know? Want to come with us? Jazz: Haha, very funny. Take me a burger on the way home. Dani: Okay. Dan: Oh, she's gonna kill us.