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wanderingsoul6261 · 4 months

Text

Believing a False Lie

Credit for gif goes to fabiolajyx

James Beaufort x Reader

Synopsis: James takes part in a nasty dare to try and get the get the nerdy and social outcast to date him. He never expected to fall in love though. When Reader hears the truth from some girls at Maxton, she wonders what is true and false, and ultimately begins to avoid James. Will the truth be told and will amends be made?

Warning: Might be some swear words. Bullying takes place. Nothing more than that. the scene with the invitation to Alistair's party is improvised. The pool scene is also improvised.

P.S I got carried away and this really long 😅 excuse any mistakes. I have a sinus headache currently stabbing my skull and I can't take anything yet because certain sinus/allergy meds can effect how well my thyroid meds work.

-----

Y/N was a quiet person. She didn't say much. She took her studies way more seriously than multiple others at Maxton Hall. Some would say that she also went above what she needed to, studying mythology and ancient civilizations. Dedicated her time to be well accustomed to not only national history, but international. If it was within her interest, it did not go unknown by her.

She didn't have many friends, but she did talk often with Ruby Bell and Lin. Y/N was a social outcast and many saw her as that. She knew it. Being quiet and on the sidelines and it was her game, in which she was playing it well. That was until a certain Beaufort stepped in.

He had been dared by Cyril, Alistair, and the others to ask her out on a date. They didn't really care how long that he dragged her along. They just wanted him to do it and then break her heart whenever he was ready.

A sick joke it was.

James was expecting that Y/N might have been smart enough not to go on a date with him, considering her nature and those that she hung out with. Ruby was pretty stubborn and didn't like many of the others that went to the school with them. So he had just about expected Y/N to be the same way.

But she wasn't. And so now the two of them had gone on a few dates, the news oh which spreading around Maxton Hall like a wildfire that was too far out of control to contain. And in the end, James was surprised. Dare he say, even shocked.

James had expected her to be just as everyone had assumed her to be. Nerdy. An outcast. But he only saw someone who was insanely smart and had more to say when you got to know her. She was herself. She didn't try to be someone she wasn't. He surprisingly enjoyed listening to her rambling of whatever topic was stuck on her mind on any given day. Y/N might not have been as beautiful as Elaine or any of the other girls within the school, but James thought that she was gorgeous, nonetheless. Her smile. Her laugh. He had become smitten with her, and every single minute he spent with her, the deeper he was digging his own grave. It was a grave he didn't want out of though.

And as the weeks drew on, his friends had consistently waited for him to dump her. In front of the entire school. But he refused to. James kept pushing and pushing it back until his friends started to tease him about actually liking her. Not that they were far from the truth.

It hurt him at first, that he never did defend her. He stayed silent, but his facial expression was neutral. Deep down he didn't like what they were saying about her. He just didn't know how to approach it. But he knew that he had fallen head over heels for her, and there was nothing he could do to stop his descent.

-----

Currently, the two sat outside the manor that Y/N called home with her parents. They rested sideways on a wooden cushioned swing, James' back against the arm of it and Y/N back against his chest. One of his arms was settled around her waist, while the other laced his fingers with her own. He watched as her other hand flew blindly throughout the air, the hand in his own sometimes joining in the fray before going back to his hand, their fingers interlocking once again.

Most people would have probably been disturbed by her insane knowledge of things that were not necessarily needed to be known. But as she sat against him, constantly having to take deep breaths as she forgot to breath during her explanation of the "The Odyssey", he could only look enamored. James watched her lips as she spoke, not really paying much attention to what was being said, a soft smile adorned his face.

"Are you listening?" James broke out of his stupor, his eyes moving from her lips to her own eyes.

"Hmm?" he asked.

"So, you weren't paying attention?" she asked.

"Oh, I was. About fifty percent of the time. I heard about Circe turning some of Odysseus' remaining men to pigs and then he technically got kidnapped, was it?" he asked, searching her face for approval. Y/N smiled, and his heart pounded. He smiled back at her. That smile was everything to him.

"Yea. She kept him for ten years. Then he was finally able to leave. Although, Poseidon still posed a threat because obviously Odysseus killed his son." And Y/N continued to ramble, and James went back to adoring her like she was the only woman on the planet. Elaine be damned. The arranged marriage wasn't anything. It wouldn't be anything. Not if he couldn't have the one currently in his arms.

James leaned his head down, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, lingering for a few seconds, before pulling back. His gaze was met with a frozen Y/N, and a smug grin had adorned his face.

"While I know have your attention. I do apologize love, for interrupting your rambling, but Alistair is having a party in a few nights, if you'd like to attend with me."

"Oh, I don't know. My parents have that gala to host in a few nights and I don't know if they would want me around. I can talk to them though?" She suggested. Y/N eyes had widened slightly, growing nervous already at the thought of attending Alistair's party. She knew where she stood amongst the others at Maxton. James gave her a tiny nod, his thumb rubbing across her knuckles.

"Of course. Do what you have to. In the meantime, I should be going. Parents are expecting me home a bit early tonight."

Y/N nodded and stood up first, extending her hand to James as he followed. He looked down at their joined hands, before staring at her face, flashing her a smile as she looked up at him and flashed one back. Yea. He could get used to that.

On their way through the house, James politely bid her parents farewell, before the two walked out to the front where Percy waited for James. They came to a halt next to the vehicle, and as he turned to look at her, he bowed his head down to press his lips against hers. A soft lingering kiss in which she melted into.

"I will see you tomorrow. Let me know whenever you can if you can come to the party."

"Will do, pretty boy." Y/N flashed another smile. He pressed another kiss to her forehead, before turning around and climbing into the vehicle. James watched her in the window of the vehicle, all the way up until she was no longer visible. When he finally turned around in his seat, he caught Percy's gaze in the rearview mirror. James could only smile as he looked away. The two of them both knew he was head over heels for her.

"Not a word, Percy."

------

"James!" Y/N hurried her pace to catch up to James. He stopped briefly, turning around to look at her before he entered the main doors of Maxton, waiting for her.

"Good morning, Love." He grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Good morning, handsome. Oh, I talked to my parents about the party. They would like my help for an hour or two. But after that, I'm free to go. They were surprised that I asked. In fact, I think they were excited." James looked down at her with a smirk.

"You're a goody two shoes."

"Apparently they're hoping for a rebellious stage." Y/N shrugged, smiling back up at James.

"I wasn't sure if you'd get back to me in time about it." James said. His hand settled on the back of her back, guiding the two of them through groups of students.

"Parents have been busy. I wasn't able to talk to them until I left for school this morning. Sorry it's such a late notice."

"No need to be sorry, just glad you can make it." He answered. They appeared outside of her first class for the day. James stared at her with soft smile, receiving one back.

"Have a good day, gorgeous. I'll see you tonight at the party." He mumbled against her lips, before backing away, flashing her a smile. Y/N smiled back, before walking into the classroom.

----

The time for the party came and for Y/N to say that she was anxious, was an understatement. She would be over dramatic and claim that she was fatally anxious about it, even if that was not such a thing.

Heads turned to look at her as she ventured through the house. She cowered slightly, meeting some gazes and avoiding others. Most actually didn't seem to care, while others had glowered at her. Trying to find James through the crowd proved to be just as difficult as she expected. Y/N released a quiet sigh.

Across the room, where Elain was trying to get his attention, James got a glimpse of her as she walked into the room. He wasn't trying to be cliché, but as he stared at her as the array of colors filled and rotated around the room, the world paused for several seconds. She and everything that she was, was his. He couldn't let that go. No matter the dare he had taken apart in. He couldn't go through with it. Now now. Not ever.

His mouth parted slightly, and his cheeks heated up in a blush.

Y/N was a sight to behold and he knew he couldn't part with her, damned what his friends and the rest of Maxton would think.

He pushed past many in the crowd, slowly making his way to her. James kept his eyes attached to her face, drinking her in and drowning in her appearance. As he drew closer to her, his heart hammered faster against his rib cage.

She was his.

James came to a stop behind her at the same time she unexpectedly took a step back. Y/N collided with his chest and she immediately turned around, scared to see who it might have been.

"James" She let out a sigh of relief.

"Hello, love. Finally made it, I see." A teasing glint in his eye.

"Yea. Sorry. My parents held me back a few extra moments to finish something for their gala. But I'm here now."

"That you are." The two stared at each other for several moments, smiles on their faces, before James motioned to the dance floor, and grabbed her hand as he walked past her, dragging her along with him.

The two started dancing, their bodies almost moving at one. The pop song playing decided their moves for them. The two didn't have much finesse between the two of them, but their moves had complemented each other. They stayed pretty close together, never moving more than a foot away from each other at a time. They were smiling and never broke eye contact unless needed. The two of them were enamored in that moment, enjoying the moment as it came to them.

And then the pop song gave way to a slow song, and they stood in the middle of the dance floor, breathing heavily as they gazed upon each other. As the slow song continued, James edged closer, his arms wrapping her waist, pulling her closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck, playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. The two of them swayed together for several seconds, before James used his hands to twirled her around, now holding her with her back against his chest. Y/N turned her head to look at him as he laced his fingers through hers. They swayed for several seconds, before the moment was cut short by Elain, who thought to "accidentally" dump her drink on Y/N.

Y/N let out a gasp as Elain said a fake apology, catching a glare from James.

Y/N watched as Elain walked away, a pep in her step, tossing a smug look over her shoulder before she was out of sight. Embarrassed, she frowned, turning her head to look at James.

"I'm think I'm done for the night. I should probably get home and change out." James nodded, a hand still settled on her waist.

"I left my coat somewhere. I can go grab it and me and Percy can take you home." Y/N nodded.

"I'll wait for you outside by the pool." And how that was the bad idea, for the moment she got outside and began waiting for James, Cyril caught sight of her. He advanced on her, wrapped his arms around her to help prevent a fight, and begun tugging her towards the pool.

"Cyril! No please!" She begged.

"Aawww. The nerd doesn't know how to swim, does she?" James came back outside just as Cyril got to the edge of the pool with her, catching sight of the moment.

"Cyril! No!" But before James could act further, Y/N was in the pool. She didn't resurface, and others around them just watched. It was Jame's turn to start to panic.

James ran towards the edge of the pool, before diving in. Upon submerging, he could see Y/N panicking. She reached out a hand for him to grasp onto as he swam towards her, and within seconds, they resurfaced. Besides being already wet, steady tears rolled down Y/N's face as she continued to panic. James hushed her.

"It's okay. Breathe. Just breath. I got you."

And as he trudged out of the water with her, he sent a scowling glare towards Cyril, walking away from the party and towards the car.

On the car ride home, his hand settled on her thigh, her fingers finding homage in his hand, before explaining the story of her brother, who was killed in a boating accident years before she started to attend Maxton.

------

Y/N had though things were good and normal, especially between her and James. They were happy. They made each other happy. So when she walked by what she presumed to be an empty classroom and heard voices, she stopped momentarily.

And she wished that she didn't, for the voices were going on about the dare James had taken part in, trying to date her and how he hadn't broken up with her yet.

Her world shattered. Y/N stood in the hallway for several minutes, tears rolling down her face as she thought back to the last few weeks and how happy she was. Not only that, but how happy she was James and how much she thought he had been happy.

Was it a lie? Was everything he felt for her a lie? Was there any truth to any of it.

Y/N refused to go to school the second half of the week. She couldn't confront James, as she wasn't sure how to go about it, but he knew something was wrong. That much was evident from the numerous phone calls and texts messages gone unanswered. Even then, she could tell he was panicking. But she let him bask in it.

Other than her parents, who supported whatever she wanted to do in that moment, Ruby and Lin were the only ones who knew. And they had made it quite clear to James where he stood, and that although he was already an asshole, pretending to love someone was a dick move.

And that's how he found out.

James' heart had dropped into his stomach, wondering how she might have found out. He had texted the guys lately about it. He hadn't even talked to them in person about it for quite some time, although he did get subtle comments made when he and Y/N were seen together. So he had deduced that the only way she could have heard about it, was by overhearing about it from someone else. But in the end, it didn't matter hoe she found out. All that mattered was that he fucked up, and there was no telling if he'd be able to fix it. The thought of that alone sent his heart twisting into knots.

James had continuously tried and tried to reach out to Y/N. She hadn't blocked him, as his texts and calls still went through. He had almost thought she answered one call, but then had changed her mind and ended it before anything could be said.

His world was shattering around him, and he had no one else but himself to blame. James became distracted. Had even turned a bit bitter toward his friends. It wasn't their fault, he should have came clean to her. It still would have caused issues, but then they had more of a chance of being fixed than now.

To say he was scared was an understatement.

James Mortimer Beaufort was completely and utterly, terrified.

James was trying everything in his power to fix things. He sent letters to her humble abode. Voice messages left in her inbox on her voice were amongst these, and he was surprised when never he reached the limit.

What he didn't know was that if there was anything Y/N listened to during that week, it was those. She listened to his apologies as she laid in bed, her breakfast forgotten beside her and tears becoming a river on her cheeks.

She had several questions, still unanswered. All of his attempts to get back with her, even if she never called anything off in the first place, made her wonder if he truly did care. But if he did, why was he a part of the dare in the first place. Why didn't he come clean? Most importantly. Why was she such an idiot?

And when she finally went back to school?

She avoided him like the bubonic plague.

He tried many attempts to get her to stop and listen to him. Most times he was left alone as she avoided him. She would pull her wrist out of his grasp and carry on, as if he wasn't even there. Sometimes though, he hoped that she would listen, as she would stop, turn to look at him, and wait several seconds as tears began to swell in her eyes. Then she'd walk away, only leaving James to wish he had spoken a bit quicker.

And every time he saw her back disappear around the corner, he felt as if he was slowly losing her.

And as the Young Beaufort line was beginning to become a reality, he had less and less time to fight for her. Even without that, he knew he was running out of time, and James couldn't let that happen.

-----

"Is he still trying to talk to you?" Ruby's voice sounded from the speaker of Y/N's phone. She sat on her bed, picking at her nails, a book lying forgotten next to her.

"Yea, he is."

"Didn't you end things?" Ruby asked, and as Y/N sat there and thought about it. She realized that she technically didn't. Did she want to? Did he do it already? It didn't seem likely as he was still talking to her, but maybe it was still part of the ruse.

"Not technically. No." It was silent for several seconds and Y/N wondered if the phone call ended.

"You're serious?"

"Yup."

"Y/N-"

"Don't." She started. Y/N had already gotten enough shit from other students since being back. The bullying had heightened tenfold.

She had an interaction with two girls within the event committee. Y/N didn't care to know their names because she didn't like them anyways. But they had both dumped their drinks on her clothes, prompting her to leave classes early today.

And what made it worse, as she walked away from the situation? She locked her teary eyes with James. He glowered at the girls who had consistently belittled and bullied Y/N throughout the week. James had opted to give Y/N space, but this time, he couldn't.

He had followed Y/N out of the room and quickly caught up to her. He tried to initiate contact, but she could only turn around and shove him away, crying and screaming at him to leave her alone.

"I don't know what to believe." Y/N finally spoke again to Ruby, who continued to listen on her side of the call. "He's doing everything to fix things, but I don't know if it's apart of a ruse to further the rewards of the dare." She explained, her voice cracking slightly.

"Does he sound genuine?"

Y/N thought to herself for several moments.

"That's the confusing part. He sounds completely geuine."

------

And finally, it was the night of the Victorian donor gala. Y/N had stuck close to Ruby and Lin. She had stayed quiet, slowly drinking her champagne as she conversed with a few students and professors.

She would watch the couples down below slow dancing to songs, and her heart ached because even after everything, she had wished her and James were down there.

"Stop thinking about it." Ruby came up beside her. "Be free tonight." Y/N listened as Ruby talked to her, distracting her. Until it wasn't Ruby distracting her, but a certain someone else. Y/N stared past Ruby down to the ground floor, where she could see James looking around. What he was looking for, she wasn't quite sure. That was, until James looked up, caught her gaze, and held it. His facial expression softened as he looked at her, and that was when Y/N knew who he was here for her.

Her.

Ruby saw that she was distracted and turned to see what she was looking at. She looked down at James. James eyes never left Y/N though. Ruby finally turned back to Y/N eith a heavy sigh.

"I think it's finally time you go talk to him." The comment broke Y/N out of her stupor, in which she didn't hesitate much as she slowly started her descent down the stairs.

It felt like forever before she finally ended up front of James.

"Why are you here?" She asked.

"I came to apologize."

"What about the Young Beaufort line?" James was surprised that she cared enough to ask about it.

"It doesn't matter in this moment."

"Then if not that, then what does?" She asked.

"You." James barely let Y/N finished asking the question before he responded. Y/N stared at him for several seconds, tears swelling up in her eyes.

"Why?" She finally asked.

"Truth?" He asked. Y/N nodded. All she wanted was the truth.

"I didn't expect to fall in love with you." James explained.

"And how am I expected to believe you?"

"You don't have to. Just, please, let me explain myself. And then afterward, if you want nothing to do with me, then I'll leave you alone. I promise." Y/N pondered what he said, before she finally nodded.

A slow song started to play, and the two looked at each other.

"May I?" He asked. "If this is the last time we are to do anything together, I'd like one last dance." Y/N's heart swelled, although she hated to admit with the circumstance. She took a few steps closer him, allowing it be his cue. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she wrapped her around his neck. The two started to slow dance.

"I don't know where to begin."

"From the beginning." He nodded, in agreement.

"Okay. So, it was a dare." He confirmed. "Cyril, Alistair and the others dared me that I couldn't get you to go on a date with me. I was honestly surprised that you did."

"I don't see the bad in people. You're a good person, James, and that's what I saw. I saw your caring personality beneath everything else and I fell in love with it." James stared at her as she spoke.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "Well, I honestly didn't expect to fall in love with you."

"Genuinely?"

"Genuinely." He confirmed.

"Then why didn't you say something sooner? This could have been avoided." He nodded, agreeing.

"I know. I was just scared. I wasn't sure how you would react, so I went on, hoping you wouldn't find out because I didn't want to risk the potential of losing you."

"But you might lose me know." He heart fell. Was this it? James swallowed thickly before looking at the floor in between their feet as they continued to slowly dance. "Hey."

James looked back up at her and in his expression, she could see that he was terrified.

"I never did technically end the relationship." She gave him a small smile. "Sure, things will need to be worked on and trust reinstated, but I'm willing to work through-" James didn't let her finish what she was saying, enveloping her lips into a searing kiss, in which it only took her seconds to melt into it.

------

Tag list:

@honethatty12 @lifeonawhim @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 @maryvibess @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @imasimptoowth @sillyfreakfanparty

#james beaufort x reader #james beaufort #maxton hall

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moondirti · 5 months

Note

Hellloooo🖤 I’m the anon who asked about the Safehouse story!

My brain, unfortunately, is not nearly as wrinkly as yours so I cannot come up with creative ideas like you 😂 BUT! I have a few ideas? Maybe? If you can call them that lol.

Was the spanking the first physical interaction they had? What did the morning after that look like?

What happens if reader has a nasty mental health episode & tries to hide it from Ghost?

Does the pet thing progress? I think we all know that Ghost has a thing for the pet play. I don’t even care, that’s totally canon for me at this point.

Would you ever consider writing about the general dynamic they have? Like the “rules” Ghost might have for them?

Totally and completely a self indulgent ask from someone who just had to pull themselves out of a nasty mental health episode lmao I’m so sorry please ignore this if it’s annoying or dumb!

shh i love all of these. i have so many thoughts now / prev

cw: dubcon d/s lifestyle. petplay. controlling behaviour. possessiveness. panic attacks. toxicity. noncon collaring. financial manipulation. mention of self harm. brief fluff.

Your thing with Simon is hard to contextualise.

Or even understand, really.

Parts of it are welcome. He asserts himself in a way you haven't found in the nobodies you've hooked up with previous, happy to fuck you dumb if it means you'll surrender yourself completely. Which you do. You listen intently and follow every direction he gives in bed, and as a reward he wrings orgasm after orgasm from your squirming body. You cum more in one week than you have in the past month, never not naked and sore, wrists tender from where he anchors his hand to keep them pinned above your head. You hear puppy more than your own name, at this point. And it's a concerning because– Well...

You don't mind it.

But you still don't like him.

It isn't like you necessarily need to like your partners in order to have a good time, but it certainly helps if you can tolerate them beyond a dick-in-hole condition. Simon is an anomaly in that he is the worst person you know, whilst also serving as the best lay you've ever had.

That is to say, his habits haven't changed. He's a fucking terror to live with. Nightmare flatmate, the type you see strangers complain about on reddit forums or hear in a friends story from their sister's husband's cousin. Not something you would take seriously until you live the experience – now existing as a sore, precautionary tale you'll no doubt be pitching to anyone also considering subleasing their place as a safe house.

Perhaps it's made worse by the sexual element you share. Before, he had just been your average perverse man, stealing clothes and walking in on you in the bathroom. Now, it seems that sleeping with him has given him the go-ahead to push that behaviour to an extreme. He'll pat your ass while you go about your business, or tug your hair when you raise your voice. Treats you like a pet that has yet to be debarked; just a silly, sub-human way of entertainment.

You can't help but feel you enabled it. But no–

The pet play is cute when he's drilling your brains out – and perhaps only because you can't think straight enough to raise concern – but you're not a dog. Nor do you want to be treated like one throughout all hours of the day. The onus is on him for not catching the hint.

But of course, accountability isn't in his lexicon.

Things only get worse from there.

"An' where d'you think you're going?"

You're halfway out of the door when he catches you leaving.

If you had been more iron-willed, you would slip out and scurry away before he can continue whatever spiel he has stirring. Instead, it's instinct to shrivel in on yourself, clicking the door shut before turning to face the behemoth waiting in the foyer.

"Out." You huff, intent on cold-stoning him. But it's a fools game when your opponent in the broad-shouldered lieutenant – for he merely cocks his head, waiting your silence out with more silence, and it's all you can do to bite your tongue against the deluge of excuses that pile up. "My mates thought it would be a good idea to catch brunch. Y'know– to celebrate the start of summer break. It's a nice day out so..." You gesture to your attire, like you have any reason to justify a sundress to some man you are in no way committed to.

But you can read the possessive gleam of his eyes as they take stock of your appearance: from your expensive mules, up your moisturised legs, to the low cut of your décolletage. It's easy to connect it to that look he had when you came back home that fateful night, the look of warning before he'd taken you over his lap and slapped your ass raw.

And for some odd reason, you're compelled to dig yourself out of trouble.

"Hm. It is a nice day, innit?" You nod a bit too quick. He stalks closer. "Lots of people out." Your nod is a little less enthusiastic. He's centimetres away now. "Some bad, bad men too."

He lifts the ends of your dress, slowly. Your next words quiver on their way out your chest. It's alarming to find that they don't sound nearly as assertive as you intend for them to be, not like they do horny.

"Where are you going with this?"

Your skirt pools around your hips now, held up by one hand as the other smooths over with the gusset of your panties.

"You plan on lettin' them have at this puppycunt? Have I not been givin' it enough attention?" He mockingly coos, pressing harder against the mound between your legs. Your knees grow weak. Not of your own accord, but weak nonetheless, and you have to hold onto his wrist to keep yourself upright. "Is tha' it?"

"N-No–"

"No? But that's what they'll think seeing you walk around like this, silly thing. Poor, neglected mutt, they'll say. Don't have a firm hand to keep 'er in line." Simon tuts, releasing his grip on your dress to pull something out of his back pocket. With the way he crowds into you, you can't crane your head to see what it is. "Now we can't have tha'. I spoil my girl rotten, wouldn' you say?"

"Yes. Yes but–"

"No buts, pup. Have ta stake my claim on you somehow." Something clicks. All too suddenly, you're made aware of the new weight on your neck. It tightens against the column of your throat – not enough to constrict your airways, but enough so that it hinders the way you move. "There we go. So pretty like this."

Panic seizes you, the steel fist of paralysis capturing your muscles in a vice-like clutch. Even as Simon pulls away, you're almost scared to find yourself in the nearest mirror. Scared of what you'll find dangling between your collarbones. There's no mistaking the textured leather that presses against your skin, nor the soft clink of metal hanging from it. No fooling yourself that this is all some cruel joke, not with the sick leer of satisfaction that warps his face.

Stumbling, you navigate to the bathroom and blindly turn on a light.

That cruel fuck.

"Simon," Your voice is devoid of the anger you feel roaring through your veins, circuiting through the frenzied stutter of your heart to find new passion. Instead, you sound horrified. Near hysterical, choking on your own pleas as you run back to the foyer. Your hands tug at the collar clasped around your neck, desperately searching for a buckle that will aid you in ripping it off, despite seeing the lock latched right at the centre that tells of its permanence. What's more, he had it engraved with a crude variation of a dog collar tag. If lost, leave alone. Or else count your days. "S-Simon, Simon please. Fuck– take it off. Take it off, take it off! I don't want this, I don't want... This isn't funny. I'll change if that's what it takes. Please."

Snot bursts from your nose, cheeks wet with a hot mess of tears. You can't suppress the hiccups that interrupt your begging like pathetic shots to the chest, or the weak hits you beat across his pecs. If you could, then perhaps he would give your tantrum more weight.

As it stands, you're nothing but a feral creature resisting training.

"Shhh. Pets can' speak. Pets don't cry." His thumbs press to your under eyes, tamping the flow of brine that mark steady tracks from your lashes. "You'll ruin your makeup like this."

"Si–"

He stare hardens into something dangerous. Against your better judgment, you clamp your lips shut.

"That's it. You're s'good when you listen to me, pup." Once he's sure you've stopped crying, he removes his thumbs to instead push one into your mouth. You can taste the salty residue of your tears on his fingertips. "Now, this is the bes' of both worlds, see? You can go see your friends with this on. I know pets need their playtime, af'er all."

You arch your back in protest, but all that does is bring you closer to the lieutenant. He misinterprets that entirely, of course, and a small smile breaks his face like you've agreed to his terms. A heavy palm pats your ass.

"S'jus' so you don't forget who you belong to." He chuckles. "An' if your friends like the idea, then I have a few friends for them."

You make it one block before hightailing back home.

Nothing in you wanted to give that bastard the satisfaction, but he made it so that whatever you chose to do – stay home or leave wearing a symbol of his ownership – he'd end up triumphant. Naturally, then, you opted for the lesser of two evils: to leave his vicinity immediately. Besides, you'd promised your girls you'd see them after going AWOL the past fortnight, and you knew you'd get an earful if you decided to reschedule at the last moment.

You thought you would convince them it was a bet. That the collar is just some silly joke you have to bear for the day after a football match didn't go in your favour.

But you make it one block before a tradie on his lunch break catcalls you (you about that freaky ting, beautiful?) and decide to change course completely.

You arrive back at your flat without further incident. Ego stung from the various odd looks you received on your way, but nothing as egregious as being singled out as a freak in the midst of a crowd occurs again.

Still, your hands shake as you push your key into its slot.

Which progress to full body tremors as you turn it in place.

Thankfully, Simon isn't waiting on you on the other side of the door. He sits, manspreading on the couch instead, focus zeroed in on the telly that broadcasts Fulham v Man City. When he doesn't look away, you allow yourself to hope he hadn't heard you come in. But it's a naive pool to place your faith in. Nothing escapes the man, and soon enough, his tone of humoured indifference shatters the silence you've been precariously trying to keep.

"Miss me 'lready?"

A wretched sulk, pit of anger hollowing out anew. You swiftly snatch your laptop from the breakfast bar before storming to your room, making sure to lock the door firmly behind you.

The website is bookmarked. Taunting. Sublet your home as a safehouse for our armed forces. Serve your country and help soldiers find refuge. You would laugh if you weren't so single-minded, typing in your email and password upon being prompted to. You don't have to deal with this shit any longer, nor do you intend to. If you remember correctly, there had been a way to report any problems you face. If you phrase yours right, you might just get Simon pulled from your services.

Good dick be damned.

But when you hit enter to sign in, an error message blinks in red.

Account does not exist.

Which is fine. Shit like this happens all the time. There's no reason to work yourself into a panic, you probably just used the wrong email.

So you try your alternate. Account does not exist.

It feels unlikely, but maybe you'd created it under your school email to give yourself credibility. Only–

Account does not exist.

Your blood pressure is no doubt sky high by now. Other symptoms of stress already start to wrack through you – blurry vision, chest aches, difficulty breathing. Your hands sweat excessively as you dig for the customer care number you're sure exists somewhere, efforts impaired by the ever-present weight of the collar around your neck. You wonder if Simon can smell your anxiety like a predator does its prey. If he's in the other room, salivating, waiting for you to wobble out of your room to go for the kill. Some part of you – a needlessly paranoid part – rests on the conclusion that this is somehow his fault too.

Your phone already rings in an outgoing call once you blink back to the present. While you've been functioning on autopilot, you must have found a number to call that related close enough to your issue.

And your suspicion is confirmed when an automated voice picks up. You are currently... second... in line.

It takes five minutes. When a placating woman speaks up amidst the nauseating music they have queued, you can hardly contain yourself from word-vomiting onto her. Safehouse signup. Lost account. Need to report an issue. Please. It's urgent.

"Okay ma'am. If you could give me your name, I'll be happy to find the source of your problem today." You can't spell it out any faster. "Alright. One moment, please."

"O-okay." You sniffle miserably.

"I see. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it seems that you've been pulled from the program after a complaint was lodged against you. Unfortunately I can't provide more detail than that, but if you need anything else, I would be happy to assi–"

You hang up. The poor thing doesn't need to hear the incensed scream that tears from the deepest parts of you, or the following crack as you chuck your cell at the wall. She'd done what she could. It isn't her fault. It was that self-serving bastard that had you blacklisted from the only thing keeping you financially afloat. It is that that self-serving bastard that continues to occupy space inside your home, despite having no real right to it now.

The tantrum isn't near cathartic enough to unfetter you from your prison of aggravation, and you continue to take it out on everything in your near radius. Your duvet and pillows. The lotion you keep by your beside table. Your own skin, nails piercing into the soft flesh of your palms.

And especially the collar constricting your throat, like vines that tighten at the first sign of struggle.

You have to get this collar off. Even if you fail at everything else, you have to get this collar off.

Scrambling off your bed, you turn your room upside down looking for a bobby pin or a knife. One is unquestionably the safer bet, but you know you'll sit for hours trying to pick the lock that keeps you shackled – so when you find the boxcutter sitting at the bottom of your junk drawer, you immediately take it to your neck.

Just as Simon barges into your room.

You're so far gone, you don't even question how this must look to him. In fact, it doesn't occur to you that you locked your door, and that the only way he could've gotten in is by having a replica of your key. No. You merely twist away from the all-encompassing hold he wraps around your arms, determined to keep the boxcutter away from his confiscation until you can slice through the leather.

But you're crying. Visibly, alarmingly unstable. And Simon's breaths are a little faster than normal, faltering in a way they only do when he's close to climax. He must be worried, which is a funny thought, seeing as he's the reason you're in this mess.

"Alright thas– that's enough of that." He grunts after managing to pry the blade from your hand. You hardly mourn the loss, rather crumbling in on yourself as your sobbing escalates. No longer frustrated, nor determined. Just primed into a suffocating panic attack.

Somewhere in your auditory periphery, you hear the clinking of glass. It doesn't register until he holds a vial of lavender extract you keep under your nose, forcing you to inhale the medicinal aroma. Soon enough, your mouth opens to swallow gulps of unscented air alongside it, and the imposed breathing exercise calms you to a point of blubbering calm.

(For someone so apathetic, you admit he handled that expertly.)

That isn't the end of it, though. Moments later, you're lifted off your feet. He cradles you in both arms as he makes his way to your bed, sitting up against the headboard and placing you on his lap. Safe. Undisturbed.

You say nothing, pressing your wet face into his shirt. For comfort, first and foremost, but the makeup that'll undoubtedly stain the white fabric is an added bonus.

"Know this is hard for y'to understand, pup." Simon begins. "Hard for you ta wrap your head around ownership after bein' alone for s'long. I won't punish you for tha'."

"Y-You don't own me." You accuse.

He shakes his head in response, like your mind is truly as little as he claims. Like you're a dog, complete with two ears and a tail, and he plucked you off the street on the condition that you heel.

If anything, he's the stray.

"Oh, but I do." A large hand rubs circles on your back. Never have you been so conflicted, so torn between leaning in and biting back. "Just don't see it yet, pet. Bu' you will, in time. And in the meanwhile, we'll establish some ground rules to help you adjust."

#do not be a cute girl around this man he will ruin your life #unedited #sorry this took me ages to pump out #tumblr deleted the first draft (?) so i had to rewrite #hate this dumb site #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost #simon riley #x reader #x female reader #call of duty #fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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pinkestofpanthers · 1 month

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you snooped through my wallet? | scott summers

pairing: scott summers x fem!reader warning(s): i would say this is pretty angsty? scott being a little avoidant, logan is kinda mean in this one? lots of fluff and comfort though! i should also mention reader is not a mutant! i could not think of any special powers i wanted to include.

if someone were to ask you, you would tell them you knew everything about the students scott taught at xavier's school for gifted youngsters. he even told you about his coworkers and their beautiful abilities. you always listened to his stories with an open mind and a smile on your face. you swore you fell in love a little more each time he spoke so passionately about what he does.

now, if someone were to ask one of scott's students or coworkers what they knew about you, they'd either stare blankly or laugh in their face. you see, scott didn't think of you as a secret, if there was anything scott was more passionate about than his job, it was you.

so why did it seem like he was hesitant to tell everyone about your relationship?

it made no sense to you. when scott first asked you to be his girlfriend, you raced back to your apartment and immediately called your mom. your gloating got to a point where you had your own coworkers asking where they could "find one like him". perhaps you boasted about your lovely boyfriend a bit too much, because now you were starting to feel like a major issue was rising in the relationship.

that was until late one night when you heard a soft knock on your door. you shuffled out of bed, grabbing a kitchen knife on your way, just in case there was a polite masked murderer on the other side of the door. checking through the peephole, you're instantly met with red lenses. letting out a sigh of relief, you undo the deadbolt and open the door wide enough to let scott in. you see his eyebrows quirk up as he spots the weapon in your hand,

"you can never be too careful, summers," you respond, leading him into your living room and turning on your lamp.

"who would gently knock on your door at this hour?" he asked, sitting down on your loveseat sofa.

"my other boyfriend," you quipped, shooting him a teasing glare. "water?"

"i'm okay for now. you seriously aren't gonna ask why i'm here?" he watches you as you move. right now, he wished you'd just stay in one place. your pacing and opening cabinets and fridges was making him more nervous than he already was.

"well, i didn't get a 'you up' text, so i'm going to assume this isn't a late night booty-call," you spoke and took a seat right next to him.

"i'm afraid not, either way if that was the case i wouldn't have given you the chance to get that glass of water," he joked and you only scoffed, taking a sip from said cup in your hand.

"how cute, scotty," you playfully rolled your eyes. "what's up? everything okay? i do appreciate any chance i get to see my beautiful boyfriend, but not when we have plans to see each other in...five hours," you finished and could see the man before you tense up a bit.

"do you think that i could do more for you?" he blurted out, fidgeting with his hands. you were a bit puzzled, you had never seen scott so nervous. and this was someone who was normally so confident that he didn't even need to ask you what you wanted to do, he had reservations and plans made.

"baby, relax a little bit," you started, setting your water down on your coffee table. "where is this coming from? what you mean 'more'? you do more than enough already."

"like, bring you around to the mansion. have you meet my students, meet charles of all people. do you think i'm ashamed of you?" he continued to ramble and you had to stop him.

"okay, i seriously need you to take a deep breath, hon. what's going on? what's got you so in your head?" your eyes scanning over him for some type of clue.

he let you know about the past few hours spent at the mansion.

an issue that plagued xavier's school for gifted youngsters was the topic of dinner. you would think they'd have bigger things to worry about than what they were going to be eating for the night, but you would sadly be mistaken.

"i don't know scott, i'm not really feeling pizza tonight," ororo spoke, flipping through the pages of whatever book she picked up recently.

"okay, what about from that indian place we all like? you were talking about their samosas the other day!" he replied. takeout was pretty rare at the mansion, everyone having their own regimen and meal preps for each day. today was not one of those days, considering that the team had dealt with a difficult mission earlier. so of course, not a lot of thought was put into dinner.

"if there is nothing else you can think of, then i guess so. you paying?" she looked to him, setting her book down for a brief moment.

"if it will make you agree, then i don't mind. let the others know, need to order before it's too late," he said while grabbing a menu.

with the amount of food ordered, no one was expecting a speedy delivery. that's why everyone hurried off and found something to busy themselves with while waiting. including scott, who went up to his room to make sure he'd call you for the night. he told you about the class he taught earlier that day, the mission he had been on a few hours ago, and how he was planning on ending his night. he even promised you that he would see you tomorrow, suggesting the two of you head to the county fair that was being held outside of town. though he wished he could have stayed on the phone with you forever, he ended the call and hurried downstairs. the rustling of paper bags and chatter filled his ears. the food was definitely here.

"hey, everyone. sorry i wasn't downstairs when they got here, i would have paid. that was all sorted out though, right?" he asked after apologizing, feeling a bit bad that he couldn't answer the door himself.

"don't worry, bub," logan spoke, "you didn't need to hurry up and end your phone call with princess charming."

"excuse me?" scott asked, looking at the man like his mutant powers made him grow three additional heads.

"leave the delivery guy's tip out the next time you rush off to take a phone call is all i'm gonna say," the man replied.

"you snooped through my wallet, logan? seriously?" with this, the rest of the kitchen got quiet, everyone's attention turning to the two men.

"i didn't! word travels pretty fast here," was all logan mumbled out, and turned to face jean.

"jean? you went through my wallet?" scott turned to his former girlfriend, who looked almost speechless.

"okay, i did! but i wasn't 'snooping'. like logan said, you didn't leave the delivery guy's tip. so i thought if i just went in and got an extra five it would be fine. was a bit shocked when i saw the girl, though," she explained.

"well, we can't all be hung up on the past," scott bit back, and this made jean sigh and logan scoff.

"for your information, my girlfriend and i are just fine," logan retorted and stepped in front of scott, blocking jean from his sight.

"what's that supposed to mean?" scott raises his voice just a bit, not wanting to scare anyone away.

"it means that you have a picture of a girl we can only assume is your girlfriend in your wallet and for some reason, tonight was the first time any of us even knew of her existence. everything okay at lover's lane, bub?" logan questioned, looking at scott defiantly.

"don't talk about her!" scott warned him, trying to push past the man.

"you're right, you're right. you shouldn't speak on people you don't know, scotty," logan teased and it only made scott cringe.

after a long pause hung in the air, everyone went back to situating themselves for dinner. if anything, they'd be nosy about scott's new girlfriend and his little argument with logan after their stomachs were full.

scott didn't even want to eat. he felt his appetite ruin as logan spoke about you. it didn't help that logan spoke so highly of his ex-girlfriend, but for him to not even know you and think he can make assumptions about you and him was enough to put scott off for the rest of the night.

he excused himself after finishing what he could from his meal. making his way back up to his room, he spotted ororo about to walk into the library.

"you okay?" she asked, just wanting to check in on him.

"besides feeling like the shittiest boyfriend alive? i think i'm doing okay," he tried to laugh it off, but the joke fell flat.

"listen," ororo started, "i don't think you're a terrible boyfriend. i think that the line of work you put yourself in is not one that you planned on exposing your girlfriend to, at least not now. she's not a mutant, right?"

scott nodded and ororo continued,

"bringing her around here would be lovely, and i of all people would love to meet her. i need to pick her brain and see how she deals with you," she laughed and successfully got a chuckle out of scott. "but this is why we set boundaries, and have little relationship milestones. don't let anyone make you feel awful because you're doing the right thing and going slow with her, okay?" ororo asked, hand landing on scott's shoulder to offer him some type of comfort.

"thanks, ororo. a part of me just doesn't want her to feel like she needs to worry about me being here. i still work and live with my ex-girlfriend, and for her to be reminded of that every time she comes here isn't something i want her to overthink about. i don't want it to hurt us," scott ranted, finally revealing all his fears and the main reason why he didn't want to introduce you so soon.

"don't you think it might hurt you both more if you don't introduce her and keep hiding her from this place?" it was almost as if all the lights went off in scott's head, and he finally understood he shouldn't continue hiding one part of his life that he cherished from the other.

ending the conversation off, he thanked ororo for her advice and promised her that she'd get to meet you sooner than she expected.

"i'll hold you to it," the woman smiled back as she disappeared into the dimly lit library.

after hearing him recount the entire night to you, you took a deep breath and found the hand of his that was closest to you, taking it in your grasp. you brought it up to your face and kissed it over and over. you hoped it would calm him down, but scott would tell you that your lack of a spoken response worried him a little bit.

"i think," you finally spoke, "that for a while, i was sort of offended that i was this hidden part of you. i felt like every time i would mention a friend of yours, or ask how a certain student was doing, you'd close yourself off. i mean, i'm no mutant but i felt like it was something you were uncomfortable with me mentioning? so i backed off," you explained.

"it also didn't help when you'd mention that there was an upcoming gala you had to go to, or that the mansion was hosting some kind of small party, and i'd sit and wonder if i was ever going to get an invite," you finished, letting go of everything that was weighing you down for the past month.

scott looked defeated, and you could tell he was feeling bad. though you wanted to tell him that he there was no need to continue beating himself up about it, you wanted to give him time to speak for himself.

"i just...what i do is really special to me. and you're incredibly special to me. i have this weird feeling that if i introduce you to everyone, things might fall apart," he let out, and you looked at him sympathetically.

"you'll never know if you don't try, honey," you whispered to him as you kissed his cheek.

it was decided then. scott knew he wanted to introduce you sometime soon, but didn't know how soon. he asked you if you would be comfortable meeting everyone after the little trip you two were taking tomorrow. you could only smile and tell him it was perfectly fine with you.

as scott watched you interact with those living in the house, he doesn't understand why he never wanted these two important parts of his life to interact with each other. it was endearing, truly. watching you laugh with rogue, go back and forth with logan, and even answer all of ororo's questions. while conversing with jean, his eyes met yours from across the room and you could only grin back at him. he doesn't know what he was ever scared of. though his nerves died down a little bit, there was still one person that scott was a bit anxious for you to interact with.

"excuse me," you two heard as you made your way back into scott's arms. turning around, you felt scott's grip on your waist tighten, and your eyes met with the man who was before you.

"hello! you must be-" you excitedly chirped before he politely interrupted,

"professor charles xavier. it is so wonderful to finally meet you," the older man answered with a warm smile.

a/n: hello everyone! i hope that you enjoyed what you've read! i've been searching for scott fics all over and have found almost nothing so i decided to just write one on my own. i haven't written a full fic in so long so please be kind. thank you so so much!!! <3

#scott summers x reader #scott summers x you #scott summers fic #scott summers fanfic #x men x reader #cyclops x reader #cyclops x you #cyclops fic #cyclops fanfic #scott summers oneshot #cyclops oneshot #scott summers #marvel x reader #cyclops #kkay bye 4 now :)

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loosethreadsofyoursoul · 3 months

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while i will always love and appreciate the bisexual dean winchester agenda, i truly believe that if he was raised differently—or maybe if he grew up today instead—that boy would have been gay. like his love for women in a romantic/sexual context was always such a caricature and was continuously used as a symbol of masculinity that played against the roles assigned to him by his father growing up for the sake of suppressing any queerness he might exhibit. now whether that suppression was purposely written into his character or was a reaction to the character they had created, i’m not sure, but it’s there regardless.

i don’t mean to dismiss the love he felt for cassie or lisa, but particularly with lisa, i’m not sure he was ever in love with her, despite the fact that he did care for both her and ben. i get so frustrated watching the end of s5 because him going to her house and his perfect “apple pie life” being with her in suburbia genuinely came out of nowhere and i’ve never understood a) why it had to happen, and b) why it had to be lisa. but thinking about it in this sense, she was the closest thing he had in his life to everything he was raised to believe he should want by one john winchester, who lost his perfect wife, perfect family, perfect apple pie life and sent all of them down this path in the first place. so of course to dean, his happy ending would be with someone like lisa. but that’s the important part. someone like lisa, not lisa herself. he may have had love for her and he may have been able to picture a life with her, but it wasn’t necessarily because she was everything he wanted; she was a symbol of the things that tore his family apart and so to be with her felt like he was finally able to put some of it back together. and that makes me so sad for him because all of that is a result of the sense of responsibility ingrained in him growing up by john, not something he wanted for himself.

but back to his general attitude towards women, there was an excellent post that said he only acts like the typical womanizer he has a reputation for being around women deemed “stereotypical” by the misogynistic perspective. otherwise, he tends to take on a fairly brotherly role; he doesn’t tend to pursue any women he can “take seriously,” and is more intimidated or impressed by them than anything else. with the exception of cassie (which was pre-series and we never got full context for in the first place), he only ever pursued women with whom he would have a definitive ending—by that i mean women who he knows he’ll never see again or who would have a clearly defined role during the time they’re together that wouldn’t threaten the status quo. and yes these could also be the traits of a commitment-phobe or someone chronically on the move, but for one, sam doesn’t tend to do the same thing (see ruby, amelia, and eileen), and for two, given the things i mentioned already, it makes me consider it more of a result of him not actually being interested in women romantically.

his reaction to women when not purposely used as the butt of a joke or to perpetuate the “womanizer dean winchester” agenda is often so innately fraternal, caring in a way that doesn’t have any expectations behind it. and when there is a romantic context, so much of the relationship can be attributed to the way john raised him and the beliefs he has as a direct result; it’s never simply been built on the foundation of love.

every time he is dismissed as this macho het guy, it also dismisses so much of what makes him a wonderful character, and yes a lot of that is his queerness. so in a world where he didn’t grow up with roles and responsibilities that shaped him into someone he knew his dad hated and forced him to create this character for himself in order to survive? i think he would have been gay and he would have been okay with that.

#his reaction to men however? look no further than that gifset ‘dean + looking at men’#and then there’s cas and their multiple divorce arcs and widower arcs #he is not normal about that angel #gay dean my beloved #he was experiencing comphet!! he’s just like me fr #he falls under the category of #men who get labeled as bi bc of their ‘canon’ relationships but free of the narrative would be gay #i’m talking troy barnes. atyd sirius black. bucky barnes. sherlock holmes. etcetc #i am also a queer!sam truther i was just using his relationships to make a point #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #gay dean winchester #destiel #john winchester can choke challenge #em saying things

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courtforshort15 · 2 years

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All I Feel is You

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem Reader

Word Count: 10,700

Summary: The story of how Matt Murdock falls in love with you, as told through the five senses

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of sex and oral sex

Written for this post by @dorothleah

Seriously guys, this was supposed to be short🤣🤣

Masterlist

1. Touch

The fabrics you tend to wear are warm and inviting and almost begging to be touched. Every single thread is soft and calming, more so than what Matt is accustomed to finding on friends and the general public, and it's become a much welcomed change. He's noticed that you very rarely wear cotton, instead sticking to silk and satin and cashmere, and though you’ve only been at the firm a scant few weeks, he is addicted and can’t help but want to run his fingers up and down the fabric, dying to know how it would feel underneath his fingertips.

He’s felt silk and satin and cashmere before, often preferring those materials on his own skin, but he’s never felt them on you, and it somehow still changes the way he gravitates towards them. The thought is arousing and enticing in a way he would have never thought possible.

The fabric slides over your skin as you move, and Matt finds the sound almost distracting, wishing it was his fingers that were sliding over you instead. When you wear dresses, the material sways around your legs as you walk by him, and it takes everything in Matt to not pull you close and slide your dress up, just so that he can test if the clothing you wear is as soft as the inside of your thighs.

His fingers twitch at his sides whenever you move past him, ruthlessly pushing all indecent thoughts away and out of his head. He knows that if he were ever to touch you like the way he's hungered for weeks, he'd never be able to stop.

Matt very nearly loses all semblance of control the first time you grab his hand and place it around the crook of your elbow, silk blouse pressed between his flesh and yours.

Typically Foggy is the one to lead him, perhaps even Karen, because leading a visually impaired individual is a skill, and it requires a certain level of finesse and anticipation of the other’s needs. You’ve been hesitant, he’s aware, to guide him, though not because you don’t want to help him; it’s because you’re afraid you’ll mess up, you admit, and he outwardly laughs in your face.

You flush, smacking his chest, and tell him you’re nervous you’ll forget to remind him of a step up or down, nervous you’ll walk him right into something or someone. He finds it adorable, especially given the fact that he has better coordination and direction than you ever will.

He’s not ready to tell you that yet, though the secret is constantly brimming at his lips, ready to spill at any given moment, regardless of the consequences.

But one day Foggy has a late meeting with a client across town, and Karen has left early for a date, and it’s just you left in the office with him. The long work day ends with a quiet sigh, the office pleasantly peaceful as the last few hours of work tamper off, and Matt startles when you kindly offer to help walk him home. It’s later than you’re usually at the office, and Matt briefly wonders if you’ve stayed because he had needed to finish things and wasn’t able to leave at a decent time.

Matt strives for a healthier life-work-vigilante balance, has worked for it since things ended with Fisk a little over a year ago, but he’s still a work in progress. He’s addicted to his work, both the work that sees the light of day and the work that doesn’t, and he still sometimes forgets that it impacts others, too, despite the constant drilling of these details into his mind by Foggy and Karen.

“It’s really not necessary,” he tells you with a laugh after the offer spills from your lips, packing his things up and putting his suit jacket back on, sliding his arms through the sleeves. The weather is still decently temperate, the warmth of summer still desperately clinging to New York City, but he can already feel the way the air outside has started cooling down now that the sun has almost finished its descent below the skyscrapers that surround the neighborhood. “I know my way around Hell’s Kitchen well enough. I’ll be okay.”

And the words are true enough, with or without his senses. He’s a New York City boy, through and through, and he knows these streets and city blocks like the back of his hand.

You pick up your purse, pushing the strap over one shoulder, before turning back to him. The sound of your hair and the smell of the shampoo still clinging to each strand stirs a sense of want and yearning, one he so desperately wants to satisfy.

“What if it makes me feel better?”

Matt shakes his head, smirking, the look on his face something Foggy would probably label as the typical Matt Murdock charm. The ticking of the clock echoes through the office, and though he can't read the time, the dull sounds of the New York City streets outside the window tells him it's later than he thought it was.

“And what if the idea of you going out of your way at night just to walk me home makes me feel worse?” He’s teasing, of course, though there’s some level of truth to it. He hates the idea of you walking alone at night, knowing far too well the danger that seems to always lurk in the alleyways, knowing far too well that even he can’t be everywhere at once, should something happen to you.

The words that leave his mouth seem to temporarily quiet you, but Matt’s not shocked when the silence ends after only a moment or two. You're usually quick with a rebuttal, your mind always sifting through sentences and body language, and Matt waits in amusement as you work to find the right reply for the situation.

“It’s hardly night,” you finally respond, decidedly shoving the concern aside easily. “It’s only 7. There’s still a little light out.”

Matt may not be able to see the way his face lights up or darkens with certain expressions, but he knows he’s giving you the driest look possible. “You’d still be going far out of your way. Don’t you live in the opposite direction?”

He hears you scoff, though the sound is more amused than anything. “I can walk you home and take a cab back to my place.”

“You should take a cab back to your place regardless of where you are at this time at night,” he counters, stepping completely out of his office and into the lobby of their space, briefcase in one hand, cane in the other. “But I promise I’m fine on my own. It’s only a few blocks.”

“Humor me.”

It’s a last ditch effort, he’s well aware, if the helpless sigh you let out is anything to go by. You’re waiting for him by the front door, and Matt, despite his protests, wants nothing more than to walk through it with you and bring you home with him.

“Fine,” he says with another sly grin, and he hears the way you exhale in relief. “But only because I’m not going to pass up a few extra minutes with you when you’ve so graciously offered them.”

The words settle between the two of you, and Matt can feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks as vividly as if he was pressed up against you. Your heart skips briefly, and the sound reverberates in his head. He laughs internally in pure satisfaction when you gulp.

“Fine,” you repeat the word back to him, voice slightly higher than it had been a few moments ago, and Matt can’t help but still be secretly pleased with the reaction you’ve given him. “Are you ready then?”

He gestures towards the exit. “Whenever you are.”

“Good,” you say, turning to open the door, but before you can step through it, you pause. Matt tilts his head at you curiously, wordlessly questioning the silence and the way you've hesitated.

“So…this is an awkward question, and I don’t know how to do it delicately, so I’ll just dive in. At what point–”

Matt cuts you off, suddenly knowing where this was going. This time he's unable to hold back a laugh. “You want to know when you should offer your arm.”

There’s not a moment of hesitation on your end when you answer. “Yeah, pretty much.”

The grin on his face widens, and Matt wonders if it’s possible to ever frown when you’re around. “I can make my way to the elevator just fine,” he says with a brief shrug of his shoulders, unsnapping his cane as he takes a few steps forward. “But having help after that is always appreciated.”

“Got it,” you reply with a quick nod. You turn back to the door, finally opening it up, and step back so that he has room to walk through. “After you, Matt.”

He resists the urge to brush past you as closely as he possibly can, and instead places a careful distance between your body and his. It's almost excruciating, this self-imposed separation, but he pushes the feeling down.

He doesn't need your assistance with this particular task, but he'll be damned if he doesn't take full advantage.

It’s not long before the elevator is dropping you down at the lowest level, and the doors slide open with a quiet ding. He follows your lead, taking a step outside and into the fresh air of the building lobby, and waits patiently for you to reach for him.

Your hand is trembling as it stretches out to grab his, Matt notes curiously, but it’s steady by the time it pulls him slightly forward. Soft fingers settle on the skin of his wrist, and he adjusts his body so that he’s grasping the crook of your elbow as you step further in.

Matt’s stood intoxicatingly close to you before. He's felt the heat of your body close to his as you pass him files, or when you sit next to him at lunch. He’s felt the length of your hair brush his arm lightly as you reach for something that is on the other side of him, felt the way your breath fans over his face when you lean in to whisper something in his ear while at court. It drives him crazy, these little moments of feeling you, always burning and aching for more.

But through all of that, nothing has prepared him for the feeling of silk that encases your upper arm and the way it feels against your skin resting underneath it. He’s sure he’s gone to heaven, or whatever sort of heaven is possible for a man like him, and he knows then and there that he needs to feel the way your skin will slide against the silk of his own sheets.

You feel far too wonderful him in that moment, wrapped in the soft material the way that you are, and Matt relishes the way your sensitive skin is an equal match to his, knowing he’ll never have to wonder or worry about rough, scratchy fabric rubbing against him if you can help it. It’s exhilarating, this idea that you’ll always be soft and ready for him.

He’s going to have you, one day. You may not know it yet, but there will be a day when he has you spread out and waiting underneath him, and he’ll tell you that it was this moment that was the tipping point for him.

It's hard to focus as you walk him home, saying your goodbyes at his doorstep when a cab pulls up, and he knows his hand will feel empty and bereft until it has the chance to settle on you once more. It’s like he was always meant to hold you, always meant to touch you, and he’ll wait patiently for you to come to the same realization.

2. Hearing

Matt has long since learned to drown out noises that aren’t necessary to the tasks at hand. His ears always pick up everything going on around him, relying on them more often than not for obvious reasons, but he’s mastered the art of tuning things out if they are not currently relevant to what he is working on. It’s a skill Stick had taught him, and it is perhaps the best thing that man had ever done for him, encouraging him to focus in the moment while forever remaining vigilant.

The same cannot be said for you.

He's not exactly sure when the others pick up on the way you need things to be softer, but he notices the first time you flinch as the front door slams shut by mistake.

A potential client, rejected by their team due to several, incessant lies that pour from his mouth in the thirty minutes they meet with him, storms out of the office in annoyance. He mutters angrily to himself as he leaves, and yanks the door behind him, the sound of it echoing throughout the office.

The sound was expected by Matt, having already anticipated the way it would reverberate throughout their space due to the heaviness and speed of the door headed towards the frame, but with his senses trained towards you, as they so often are, he doesn't miss the way you flinch and cover your ears.

Harsh and loud noises are triggering for you, it seems, and it’s something he can fully sympathize with, unfortunately. He finds it concerning, if not a little intriguing, this flash of vulnerability you display.

Your voice is gentle as it floats out around the office, rarely rising above a certain decibel, almost encouraging those around you to keep things quiet as well. It's impacted the way he, Foggy and Karen listen and speak to each other, making an effort not to shout things through offices, but rather get up and find the person they’re talking to. The transition happens almost over night, and he can sense the way your body relaxes the longer you are employed with them, trusting the team to use voices that aren’t louder than they really need to be.

Over the course of the months you spend settling into their team, you're frequently invited to happy hour at Josie's. It’s easy for him to pick up on the way you love joining the team, having told them you hadn’t felt like New York was home until you accepted their offer of employment, and it warms him. Your cheeks flush with the buzz of alcohol, your posture relaxes, and your speech becomes less poised, less polished. And every time you join them, without fail, you have soft, silicone plugs nestled in your ears while you're seated at the table.

Tonight you’re seated next to him, something that Matt had carefully orchestrated while you were placing a drink order at the bar, adjusting himself so that the only open seat would be next to him. He tries not to give himself away, but he can’t help but lean into you as far as he can without making it extremely obvious how much he wants to be pressed against you at all times.

He inhales sharply when you abruptly twist your body so that you’re angled towards him in a way that suggests he might not be alone in this need that runs viciously through him.

Matt does his best to focus in on the story you’re telling, your arms gesturing wildly as you regale the group with a funny anecdote about your younger brother. Your voice, despite the loudness of the bar, is still gentle in its cadence, and Matt has long since determined that no other voice will ever captivate him the way yours does.

When you’re done, you take a long sip of your drink, the liquid sliding down your throat, and Matt longs to wrap his hand around the column of your neck just to feel it, while maybe tilting your head back to kiss you in the process.

Before Matt has the chance to ask you a follow-up question about your brother, curious to know more about the life you’ve led before moving to New York, Foggy jumps in with a question of his own, shouting over the noise of the bar.

"I've never asked before, but why do you wear ear plugs when we come here?"

You freeze next to him, and for a brief second Matt wants to shove his friend off of his bar stool. It’s a question he’s always had, though he thinks he already knows the answer, but he hates the way you’ve been put on the spot. He opens his mouth to tell you that you don’t need to answer, but you reply anyway, cutting him off.

"I, uh…I can get overwhelmed with loud noises," you explain quietly, fidgeting with the napkin still resting in your lap, placed there to wipe salt and grease off of your fingers as you munch on the french fries the group had ordered. "Sometimes it just gets to be too much. I can't focus on what's going on in front of me because everything else is just too loud. The ear plugs drown some things out."

Foggy tilts his head in curiosity, and Matt throws him a look of warning, wordlessly asking him to tread carefully, unwilling to let anything upset you. It had surprised him, initially, his reaction to the thought of you being uncomfortable, but now he knows and no longer questions the fact that he’d gladly rake his body over flaming coals if it meant you were always safe and happy and settled in whatever environment you found yourself in.

Foggy hasn’t caught on to his feelings just yet, but Karen has, and he can practically feel the amused side-eye she’s shooting him.

He rests a hand on your knee gently, intending to only leave it there for a second, but your hand suddenly reaches down and grabs it, easily interlacing your fingers with his. Matt tracks the way your cheeks flush, the way your heartbeat stutters for a split second, and is unable to stop the way his face splits open in a smile.

"Can you hear us okay, then? When you have them in?" Foggy questions, continuing on with the topic, completely oblivious to the body language of the people around him.

You let out a quiet laugh. "You're sitting close enough that it's not really an issue. But I am decent at reading lips, so that usually helps, too."

“Gotcha,” Foggy says with an easy smile. “Let me know if there’s ever anything we can do to help make you more comfortable."

The conversation about your ear plugs ends there, Matt steering them gently towards another topic to help lead the focus off of something he can tell you're slightly self-conscious about, and he's rewarded by another squeeze of his hand.

After that evening, the group still goes to Josie's fairly often, but they begin taking turns hosting happy hour at their own individual apartments. It becomes a frequent habit, ordering take out and staying in rather than going out, and Matt easily admits to himself that the quieter get-togethers are easier on his own ears, too.

The lack of the sharp noises and drunken chatter of a bar also gives him the ability to focus on your heartbeat just that much easier, jumping whenever he gently brushes his fingers over yours when handing you another drink or carton of fried rice, and that alone makes the slight change worth it.

Matt is committed at this point, intimately aware of what his presence does to you, and while he’d wait forever, he’s desperate to hear every single moan, gasp, or sigh he can draw out of you with his body pressed against yours.

"I never did thank you," you say quietly one evening, helping toss the beer bottles in his recycling bin. Foggy and Karen left ten minutes ago, claiming the need to prep a few more things before trial tomorrow, though Matt knows they had strategically left him alone with you on purpose.

Sometimes he thinks his friends are trying to get back at him for the years of chaos and tears he’s caused them.

"Thank me for what?" He asks, throwing some of the leftover Chinese into his fridge. He packs up a small bag of leftover white rice and vegetables for you to take, knowing without verbal confirmation that the slight blandness is something you'll enjoy and appreciate. He enjoys it, too, strong flavors sometimes too much for him, but he would rather you have it.

"You're the one who started encouraging us to spend time as a smaller group at someone's place, rather than going out," you say, voice floating through his apartment. He may not yet have told you about his own senses, but for some reason you've picked up on the way he can always hear you, no matter how soft or loud you are. "And I just really appreciate it. Going out isn't a big deal, but this is still a nice change sometimes."

Matt steps out of his kitchen to where you've picked up your purse from his table and stands directly in front of you, close enough to reach out and touch. He notices the way your breathing catches, as it always does when he stands near, and for whatever reason, tonight he feels emboldened to fully lean into it.

He reaches out to run a gentle finger down your cheekbone, and you sigh and seem to lean into it instinctively. It's all the encouragement he needs to continue. "I've found that I'd do just about anything to make sure you're comfortable," he says, enjoying the way your skin heats, and he takes another step forward, hand now fully cupping the side of your face. "Whatever you need from me to help that, I'll do it."

You pause for a moment, apparently weighing something in your mind, and he feels the moment you've made some sort of decision. He stands still when you take a tiny step towards him, the heat of you downright scalding, and he waits with bated breath for you to say something.

"You don't need to do anything, Matt," you whisper quietly, taking his other hand in yours. "But thank you all the same. Truly."

Months of him needing you near more than he needs to breathe, months of him needing to put you first before all other things in his life, causes him to close the distance, unable and unwilling to spend one more second of not knowing what your mouth feels like underneath his.

Your lips are warm and soft as he presses against them, and he keeps the kiss gentle. Your hands reach up to wrap themselves in his shirt, and Matt knows he'll spend the rest of his life wanting to hear nothing else but that quiet sigh that leaves your mouth as it parts for his.

3. Taste

Matt grew up in perhaps one of the most unique melting pots in the world.

New York City is an explosive mixture of cultures and ethnicities and races, and he’s been exposed to all the wonderful things that come with the mixture of so many people living in his city - the different music, the different languages, the different dreams and ideals.

But the one thing that never fails to disappoint and sadden him about it is the fact that all the different foods of the world, so easily within his grasp, can be extremely overwhelming to his sense of taste. It’s a sense of irony that he doesn’t appreciate.

Over the years, he’s learned to cook with minimal spices and flavors, almost desperate to avoid making his taste buds go haywire, but though everything he makes is nourishing and edible, it doesn’t necessarily make them…good. Matt has a relatively bland diet, sticking to foods and flavors that are subtle, and the repetition is boring.

But then…you come along.

It’s like an explosion, the flavors you bring with you in your lunches and snacks every day. Matt’s mouth salivates over the meals you bring in, knowing without tasting them that nothing you make will overwhelm his taste buds. It’s never anything fancy, he admits. But you’ve tossed ingredients and spices together in a way that he would have never thought to mix, and it suddenly sets him on a renewed journey of finding new things he can’t wait to try.

Rich and savory spices and herbs spill out of your small backpack as you load them in the fridge every day, and the way the scents sometimes stick to your skin makes him want to take you home and never take his tongue off of you.

…which, he feels that way one hundred percent of the time anyway, the taste of your skin divine by itself, but these moments bring out his hunger for you even more. He's had his tongue on you now, had it in you, and he'd gladly spend the rest of his time here on Earth tasting nothing but the salt on every single inch of your body that you'll let him touch.

He's only made love to you once, but Matt can no longer imagine his life without your taste in his mouth.

It's a rainy Friday night in Hell's Kitchen when you manage to drag him to one of your favorite restaurants, though the word drag is used lightly. He's eager and selfish enough to take every spare second you'll give him, but even he can admit that some cases at work require late evenings. There's an everlasting desire to press his lips to yours, if only to draw out every sound he now knows you can make, so he follows you anyway, despite the heavy workload resting on the secondhand desk that's situated in his office.

The streets of New York City are wet and miserable, but you pull him happily with you, and he has no control over the heart that has decided your hand is a better home and keeper than his own chest.

Before you even round the corner with him half a step behind, he knows instinctively what restaurant you’re taking him to without a word being spoken. It's a few blocks outside of Hell's Kitchen, so he's never really walked by this restaurant before, but now, just a few hundred feet from him, it calls to him, a delicious mixture of spices and herbs and sugars rolling across his tongue that are satisfying without being overwhelming.

He takes his time on your arm, enjoying the way you sway and swerve in between other pedestrians, simply because it gives him an excuse to hold onto you that much tighter. And by the time he holds the door open for you to step inside, Matt's mouth is almost drooling in want and hunger.

It's not long before food is being placed in front of you both, and he wastes not a single second before diving in. He knew before he even entered the restaurant that he was about to eat one of the most fantastic meals of his life, outside of the classic bacon and eggs and pancakes his father used to make him every Saturday morning while he watched cartoons.

The same explosion of flavors that he had smelled from outside is there, foods that are bold but still somehow subtle, and he swears he's never tasted a combination of ingredients and sauces and spices that fit so well with his palette.

Add in the fact that the restaurant uses natural products to clean their dishes and wash their vegetables, rather than burning chemicals that scald both his nose and tongue, and it makes him feel like he never wants to eat anywhere else again.

He also never wants to eat or discover new things with anyone else but you again, but that's a conversation for another time.

"This is one of my favorite places to come to," you say lightly with a soft smile on your lips, and Matt hmms in agreement, because it has suddenly managed to become one of his favorites, too. "I found it a few months back. It’s relatively new, I think. It just has so many options to choose from that fit with the sorts of things I like."

Matt lifts his fork to his mouth, eyes briefly shutting in contentment, a swirl of rich, savory flavors that settle enticingly on his tongue. He savors it before he swallows.

He can track down every ingredient used for this specific dish. The vegetables are the same ones Monica Smith sells in her small market on 42nd, the chicken from the butcher on 57th. Most of these ingredients are sold fresh and locally, sources that Matt often trusts with his own meals that he cooks himself, and there's nothing more comforting than tasting Hell’s Kitchen, than tasting home on his tongue.

"Do you come here often, then?" He asks once he places his fork down and takes a sip of his drink.

Your mouth twists into a smirk. "You've already got me, Matthew. No need to use a pick up line.”

A startled laugh escapes his throat, and the sound echoes throughout the quiet restaurant. "That's not how I meant it."

"Felt like you were putting the moves on me like we were some sort of dive bar," you tease. You blow on the spoonful of soup you're about to wrap your mouth around to eat, and Matt can't help but think of the way your mouth had been wrapped around him not too long ago.

"No need to put the moves on you when I've apparently already got you, sweetheart," he fires back with a grin. "Though I'd be very interested in discussing that particular fact later. In detail."

A quiet laugh trickles over to him. "That can probably be arranged."

"Good," is all he says. He takes another bite, and you mirror him, finally placing the spoon in your mouth. Matt lets out a quiet moan, both at the taste of the food in his mouth and the taste that's now resting on your tongue, eager to pull you to him and share it with you by way of placing his mouth greedily on yours.

"But to answer your question, I do," you tell him once you swallow, and Matt simultaneously attempts to push the arousal away temporarily (he fails), and smiles at the way your voice sounds wistful and happy. He hopes the sound can be contributed to his company just as much as the food in front of you. "It's hard for me to find places that I like."

He tilts his head to the side. "Any specific reason why?"

You shrug, and Matt's attention lazily drifts to the sound the silk makes as it slides over your shoulders. He's had you in his bed now, and the sound of silk and your skin gliding against each other will forever be etched into his memory.

"Too many places just use ingredients that don't…taste right to me," you answer easily. "Too much salt. Too much grease. Too much everything, really. This place is more gentle, more thoughtful with how they prepare things, I think. Things just feel more natural here."

Matt has to bite back a smile because you just…get it.

He hasn't said a word to you about his senses, not yet at least, but somehow everything about you just fits with him, like you're two pieces of a puzzle, meant to connect and stay connected, revealing an image that only the two of you can see and feel.

"I understand what you mean by that," he says softly, reaching out to grasp your hand in his before he pulls away to grab his beer. "Have you always been that way? Sensitive to different foods? I've noticed the types of things you bring in for lunch; seems to be a common thread."

He feels the way your hand halts on its way to your mouth, and the pause sets him briefly on edge, the sound of your heartbeat stuttering for just a quick second. Opening his mouth, Matt means to ask what's wrong, but you answer before he can do so.

"Yeah, I've always been like this. I, uh…I'm on the spectrum," you tell him before shoving the bite of your salad in your mouth. Matt's mouth drops a fraction of an inch, honestly having not suspected the response. But it makes him pause, because all of a sudden it clicks that he has observed traits that seem to be consistent with what he knows about the diagnosis.

Sensitivity to sound. Sensitivity to certain fabrics. Sensitivity to taste. He hadn't caught on before, but now it just…makes sense.

You continue. "I'm a fairly mild case, honestly, but certain tastes and textures of food are just overwhelming sometimes, or they don't feel right in my mouth. It's hard to explain."

His focus quickly shifts to the way you adjust in your seat, as if nervous about his reaction, and he finds himself intensely disliking the thought of you regretting your admission in any way.

"You could try to explain, if you're comfortable with it," he suggests softly, reaching out to gently grasp and squeeze your hand again before he pulls back, needing you to know that anything you divulge is safe with him. He hopes that when he's ready to divulge a secret of his own, you'll sit and really hear him, the way he's always needed someone to hear him, the way he's always needed someone to hear him and still love him.

"Whatever you have to say, I want to listen."

Taking a deep breath, you place your fork on your plate, though Matt doesn't necessarily take it as a sign that you're uncomfortable with the topic, to which he is grateful, but rather something that indicates you're planning in your head what you want to say.

When you finally answer, Matt is utterly powerless to do nothing but give you every single cell of attention that resides in his body.

"I'm not necessarily shy about it, I'm actually pretty open about it, but I guess there's not much to say," you begin, sounding less hesitant than you had sounded just seconds before. "It's pretty common for people on the spectrum to be picky eaters, and that's always been the case for me. But even if it's common, it doesn't mean it's necessarily well understood why, and no two people and their reactions are the same. For some reason, it tends to be more prevalent in women, which makes it even more difficult to track or explain because there isn't a ton of research on women who are autistic. Most studies focus on men."

He hmms in the back of his throat, tilting his head to the side in consideration. "I guess I hadn't really thought about that."

"Most people don't," you say after another bite, and he frowns lightly at the tone of nonchalance in your voice, because even though you sound unaffected, he can hear the quiet waver that suggests that there's a part that ever so slightly bothers you at people's general lack of acknowledgment of the matter. He vows to learn every single thing you're able to teach him, vows to read every single book, published article, or internet post he can find. "Long story short, my sense of taste tends to be limited in terms of what I can tolerate, you know?"

Matts quiet for a moment before he responds. "Oddly enough, I can understand that," he says with a small smile, raising his glass to take another sip of his drink.

"I figured you would," you reply with a light shrug, the movement stirring the air around you, making the scent of you carry over to him enticingly. He opens his mouth ever so slightly to catch the taste on his tongue. "You tend to order pretty simple things when we all go out. You stick to the same foods and drinks for the most part."

A smirk replaces the grin on his face. "You've been paying attention to me? What am I supposed to do with that information, I wonder?"

He can feel the way your face flushes, and he imagines the color that is blooming rapidly across your cheeks. He vaguely remembers the color red, and he wonders if your skin is vibrant and bold right now, or if the hue is soft and sweet.

"Am I wrong, though?" You ask, neatly avoiding his own questions. "You prefer things that are subtle, things that taste smooth, as opposed to things that taste sharp or in your face, I guess? Do you know what I mean by that?"

"I do. Things that are easy rather than bold," he says with a quick nod. "I can't do bitter or spicy or sour."

Your face splits into a grin. "Exactly. Certain flavors are nice, but they can't be overwhelming or I just kinda…start to shut down. I don't tend to like new things. I'm perfectly happy sticking to the things I know I like."

Matt leans back in his seat as he places his napkin on the table in front of him. He waits until you swallow before speaking again, diving in for the kill, knowing exactly what sort of reaction he's hoping to get from you.

"I'm typically the same way," he says with a smirk. "Though, based on the other night, I'd have to say that my new favorite taste is you."

Your skin flares to life again as you take in a sharp breath, and the smile on his mouth is wide with borderline glee and satisfaction when you give him just the response he had been looking for.

He practically pats himself on the back for a job well done, but is unprepared for your response.

"Well," you say slowly, voice quiet and wavering for just a split second before it strengthens, "if that's the way you feel, then maybe we could go back to your place and you can have me for dessert."

It's Matt's turn to be momentarily speechless, and while blood had rushed to your cheeks at his comment, his own blood heads straight to his cock at yours, and at the thought of having his mouth on you again makes him go absolutely feral.

When he regains his ability to speak, he flags down the waiter he can hear at the table next to him, and asks for the check with a speed he's never managed to achieve, despite his years of snapping at the heels of every violent and manipulative criminal in Hell's Kitchen.

Your soft laugh continues to echo in his ear as he practically drags you to his apartment.

4. Scent

You miss two or three days of work a month due to what you’ve described as chronic migraines, and the whole office cringes in sympathy whenever you call out. Matt is no stranger to headaches, having had his head bashed in too many times to count, and he knows he’s caused several headaches of his own for Foggy and Karen, the direct result of them being friends with a man who is always finding himself in some sort of trouble.

But migraines, he’s heard, are a whole different ball game, and it saddens him to think of you in so much pain.

When you first started working for their firm, the team used to come to your home and bring you case files and notes at your request, as you were always eager to prove that you were a valuable member of their team, despite the illness that randomly knocked you on your ass for sometimes 24 to 48 hours. They all trust you to complete your work, usually staying late and working weekends to make up for lost time, and for months he humored you, if for no other reason than to have an excuse to show up on your doorstep and check up on you.

Now, though…it’s different.

He ignores your request to bring the files over, and is instead armed with decaffeinated coffee, green tea, peppermint tea, anything and everything he’s researched that is recommended to help ease you out of a migraine and prevent future ones. He’s not sure how much of it all works, but he’s willing and desperate to lessen your pain, even if only for a few minutes.

You’d gifted him with a key just a few weeks ago, shortly after he had told you he loved you for the first time. Unlike most things in his life, being with you is effortless and calm. The transition from friendship to this was seamless, the pair of you somehow knowing this was something meant to last, so he lets himself quietly into your apartment without a second thought.

The air conditioning is cranked up and blasting as it always is when a migraine sets in, something about heat being a trigger for you, and he doesn’t need to see to know that all the blinds are shut, cutting out all of the natural light and the warmth that would have hit his skin through the windows.

You’re in your bedroom, your heartbeat too rapid for his liking, so he sets the items he’s brought over onto your counter, removes his shoes and suit jacket, and makes his way towards you. You don’t say anything when he settles in behind you, just grabs his arm and pulls it around you, and within a few moments, you’re dead asleep. It’s as if you had been waiting on him before you could fully relax, trusting him to watch over you in your moments of vulnerability.

It’s hours later, well into the evening, when you finally stir again, your body stretching before sinking further into his. Matt had drifted off to sleep beside you for a bit, but had already been awake for an hour before your eyes fluttered open, grateful that your heart rate had decreased and your breathing settled into something more peaceful. The way your body physically reacts to any sort of stress, whether it be sickness or an impending deadline, never fails to put him on edge, ready to leap into the fray of whatever has the potential to cause you harm.

“You’re still here?” Your voice is groggy with sleep, though it’s not as tight with pain as it normally is when you’re in the throes of a migraine, so Matt finds himself relieved that the worst of it may have passed.

“I didn’t want to leave,” he whispers in your ear, tightening the arm resting around your waist. “I don’t have to go out for another few hours or so.”

“What time is it?”

“Just after 7,” he said, placing a kiss to the top of your head from where it’s almost tucked under his chin. “I got here around 3, after the meeting with that new client.”

“And you stayed the whole time?” The words are quiet, but they still sound slightly incredulous. “Matt…you had so much to do today.”

“Nothing more important than making sure you’re okay,” Matt responds easily, slotting his legs up behind yours, pressing the entire length of his body against you. You’d called early this morning while he had been on his way to work, claiming that an awful migraine had started up last night, and he had rushed through his day as quickly as possible. “Are you feeling better?”

You make a non-committal noise. “Maybe a little. I think my meds kicked in this afternoon.”

Matt hums quietly in your ear. “Have you considered a new brand? They don’t seem to be helping much. You still get them pretty frequently.”

Shifting in his hold, you suddenly turn to face him, and Matt adjusts by rolling slightly on to his back, allowing you to curl up against his side and lay your head on his chest. Matt uses the opportunity to brush a kiss against your forehead, the heat of your skin against his always welcome. He had long since removed his pants and shirt, having taken them off before he decided to nap with you, and the way you snuggle closer reminds him that you like being skin to skin just as much as he does.

“They help as much as they can,” you say with a subtle shrug. “It’s hard when something triggers it.”

Matt stills the hand that had naturally risen up to brush lightly against your back. “What triggered it?”

“The lady that came in yesterday afternoon.”

He furrows his brow, searching back through his memory. “Mrs. Henderson?” He feels you nod against his chest, still shuddering and inching impossibly closer. “What about her?”

“It was her perfume.”

“Her perfume triggered the migraine?” You nod again, and Matt frowns mildly as he starts piecing some things together.

It clicks. “Are you migraines…scent triggered?”

You sigh against him, throwing a leg over his, further settling yourself against him, and Matt tightens his arm. Your eyes flutter shut as you speak. “Yeah, usually. Being around strong scented things can be awful.”

Matt’s not sure why he hadn’t recognized it before, now that he thinks back on it. The way your apartment always smells clean, but not in a way that smells like a solution of pure chemicals. It always smells more natural, made up of subtle scents that are warm rather than piercing. Your detergent is in similar fashion, and the shampoo you use on your hair is soft and almost indistinct to anyone who doesn't have a nose like his. No candles. No air fresheners. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t noticed it, given the fact that he has always used similar products at his own place that are equally kind to his nose.

“How come I didn’t know this?” Matt questions curiously. He should have known, uniquely prepared and understanding of yet another sensory factor that he has in common with you. But unlike your own unique sensitivity, Matt has found a way to block out most scents, especially the more unpleasant ones that come with living in New York City.

“Didn’t seem important.”

“Didn’t seem–? It’s super important, if it means there’s something that causes you this much pain,” he argues quietly, resuming the movement of his hand running up and down your back. You arch into the touch. “I might not be able to help all of the time, but I might be able to help with this.”

Matt knows you know exactly what he’s talking about, having told you his biggest secret not long into the relationship. You take a sudden deep breath.

“I guess I didn’t think of it that way,” you admit quietly. “It didn’t really occur to me, that this might be something you could maybe…help with.”

“We’ll figure it out, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear, shifting his head to kiss your cheek. “Whatever I can do to help, just like I said before.”

You nod sleepily into his chest, the conversation having apparently worn you out already, and Matt huffs a laugh when your eyes close again and don't reopen.

It doesn’t take long to develop a routine from there on out. Matt’s able to pick up on a scent headed up the elevator that he knows will bother you, long before the client even enters the office of Nelson, Murdock & Page, and he takes great care in either encouraging you to work from home the rest of the day, or hoarding you in his own office, the quiet and unassuming scent of your shampoo and detergent an everlasting sense of peace to his own sensitive nose.

It’s only been a few months, but he has every intention of permanently blending your scent with his.

5. Sight

You prefer muted lights over fluorescent ones.

It doesn’t take long for Matt to notice that the lights in your apartment are warm and relaxing, a strong contrast to the lights he can hear in other various settings. It’s no surprise to him, not really, when he pairs this detail with all the other sensitivities you have. And while the low lights are a benefit to your eyes, Matt considers them a benefit to his hearing.

He’s never mentioned it, but even though he can’t see the harsh lights of a courtroom or police station, he can hear them, and the buzzing noise isn’t always pleasant. He can block most things out, but the constant thrumming does wear on his nerves sometimes, a sharp sound that blazes across his skin before settling in his ears.

He appreciates coming home to you, for more reasons than he could ever possibly count, knowing that the only lights you’ve brought with you when you moved in are soft and warm and blessedly quiet.

Matt knows your eyes are sensitive, that you wear sunglasses whenever you’re outside, regardless of sun or rain or snow, and the lenses that perch on your nose have a special blue-light filter to help take away the strain of staring at a computer screen for too long. He split the cost of having custom sized curtains throughout the apartment to drown out some of the light, and he’s heard you explain to Foggy and Karen the reason the backlight on your phone is so muted.

This isn't something he can necessarily relate to, the one sense of five he is lacking and will never regain. He remembers what it was like to see, colors and faces and neighborhoods rich and vibrant, but light had never caused him actual pain.

He will forever live his life in the dark, even while you remain the bright and pulsing star he will never stop orbiting around.

Over the course of the past year and a half, Matt has spent time tracking the similarities he has with you. All the sensitivities that match up, and it's brought so much comfort to his life that he doesn't know how to articulate it. You've begun building a life together that is soft and soothing for you both.

He's not surprised that the topic of his own sight has taken so long to be brought up. Calm and simple conversations have sprouted up here and there, and he's always known that you'd haven't avoided the topic, but rather simply made it clear that while losing his sight has continued to be a large part of his story, it is not necessarily the one that is most important to you.

You have always understood that he is more than his blindness, even before his big reveal. And when the topic finally surfaces, it carries both more and less weight than it has anytime before.

"Matt," you begin quietly, settled in his arms after he absolutely wrecked your world with his fingers, his tongue, and his cock. He's wrapped himself around you from behind, one of his favorite ways to ensure that you're here with him, that you're safe, that you're his. "Can I ask a question?"

He makes a sound in the back of his throat quietly, indicating that yes, you can ask him anything. He has stripped down every barrier that keeps you from him, both his walls and yours, and there is nothing he'll deny you.

You must pick up the unspoken words he's given you in a language only the two of you understand, so you proceed. "If this sounds insensitive, please tell me. I don't want to upset you, I'm just curious."

Beyond interested now, Matt rolls you in his arms until you're facing him. Your breath gently rolls over him as he pushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "What is it, sweetheart?"

Taking a deep breath, your mouth parts in response. "Do you…ever wish you could still see?"

The question makes him pause in a way he hasn't quite stilled before. He's been asked the same question hundreds of times over the decades of his life since the accident, and the answer has always been the same. In an effort to tell people he's happy with where his life is at, in an effort to make people not pity him by him thinking a part of his life is missing, he has always responded with a quick, no, I'm fine. I've gotten used to it.

And while he is fine, the reasoning goes far beneath what he hands out for others to know. Matt may struggle with believing he is worthy of being loved and adored, but one thing he is sure of is that he doesn't owe anyone his story, and that very few deserve to hear it.

He told Karen once that he wished he could see the sky one more time in a rare moment of opening up, though he admits that he had mostly done so to earn her trust in a display of offering a vulnerability. He had hoped it would inspire an admission of her own, something to help guide him towards the next clue to the puzzle in her case, but he had been unsuccessful.

But that was neither here nor there.

The question falling from the lips he'd gladly spend every second pressed against is quiet, less probing than others who have asked, and he knows this is yet one more thing he's unable to keep from you.

Actually, the word is no longer unable, but rather unwilling, because there's not a single piece of himself that he wants to keep hidden from you. You own him, body, heart, and soul, and months ago that acceptance of ownership came with the realization that he has no desire to be anything but open and free beneath your fingertips.

A soft hand runs up his torso and settles over his heart, a quiet yet intentional moment of comfort, and you speak before he gets a chance to reply. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

He shakes his head. "No, it's not that. I'm just thinking."

"Take your time, love," is all you say, and the term of endearment never fails to knock him off his feet. You are his love, but he is also yours.

With a subtle clearing of his throat, he opens his mouth to answer, not an ounce of hesitation, though the words at first seem disjointed because he's not quite sure how to say what he wants to say.

"I…yes and no," he starts softly in your ear. "There...are certain things I wish I could see at least once, or at least one more time, but for the most part, no. I don't necessarily wish that."

Sheets rustle as you push a thigh between his to press even closer. "Is it because you just have accepted it? That there's nothing you can do about it, so no use thinking about it?"

"In some ways, sure," he tells you, pointer finger drawing lazy circles on your hip. "But I was angry about it for a long time. Angry that my vision was taken from me because I tried to help someone. I felt like I had been punished by a god who only ever saw the devil in me, rather than the good I had tried to do, even as a kid. But that anger shifted the older I got, and rather than blame God, I blamed the rest of the world for all the injustices, feeling like I was doomed to do nothing but hear them. And it made me furious that everyone else had the ability to actually see these horrible things happening, and yet they did nothing."

"So…you let the devil out," you murmur against his chest, already familiar with this part of the story, having heard the explanation of what had made him snap, the final straw that broke the camel's back.

"Yes," he whispers back, knowing you held no blame or disgust associated with the sentence you had just let out. "I let the devil out."

Once upon a time he had begged Foggy to understand why he had chosen this particular path, asking him to forgive him for doing what he had thought necessary to save that little girl. He had repeated the process with Karen some time after that, but the results had been even worse the second time, the lie in their friendship and failed relationship a chasm between the two of them.

But with you…there had been no begging involved. No praying at your feet that you would understand it, understand him. The shock had been there, true, when he finally revealed himself all those months ago, laying all his cards on the table, yours to do with what you wished.

A silence had echoed between you, one that had felt like years but had only actually lasted a split second, before you picked up all the cards he had given you, tucked them in your chest for safe keeping, and responded with endless amounts of love and affection. You'd taken his hand just as easily as you'd taken his heart, told him you trusted him to do what he thought was right, and that there was not a single piece of him that you did not want and adore.

"And now? How do you feel about it now? About not being able to see?"

"I talked about this once with Maggie," he replies, recalling the conversation he'd had with her years ago underneath the church. "This idea of looking back on the past and trying to figure out if the life we led was on the right path or not. I told her about all the anger I had felt, all the hurt and betrayal. It took me a long time to realize that maybe God thought sight was unnecessary to do what needed to be done, and that I needed to go through the things I did in order to become Daredevil."

"And has that helped you? Thinking about it that way?"

"Yes," he says without hesitation, without pause. "If getting back my sight meant losing everything else, losing all the things that have helped me to help others, then it wouldn't be worth it."

"That makes sense," you whisper quietly against his chest. Your hair rubs against his skin, and Matt sighs at the contact. "You're Daredevil. Daredevil is Matt Murdock. There's no separating the two, because you're both. You wouldn't be your full self if you couldn't do what you can do."

He pulls you tighter against him. "Yes, I....that's exactly it," he says with a rush of breath that slides over your hair and skin. "I couldn't…be me without it. So, no. I don't wish I could see, not if it meant giving this up."

"And you don't feel the need to see."

Matt can't help but love the way it's a statement, and not a question.

"I don't," he says simply. "I've lived the vast majority of my life without sight, and I can live the rest without it, too. I have Foggy. I have Karen. I have our practice. And I have you. My life is complete the way it is."

Fingers trail up his chest, up his neck, and settle on his cheek. Matt instinctively leans his head into the touch, relishing the way you always manage to provide love and affection without saying a word.

He's not necessarily sensitive to the topic anymore, and certainly never could be with you, this wonderful person in his life who has filled him with warmth, a steady flame licking at his heart and spreading outwards, always finding every crack and crevice to stitch together and make whole.

He'll never be able to fully articulate the way he's never felt like home with anyone else but you, never be able to fully articulate the way you've righted the axis of his life that has not felt safe or secure since his father died.

All he can do is try.

Try to explain just how you've pulled him in like a moth to the flame, but never once tried to burn him.

"My eyes haven't worked since I was 9, but you manage to help me see, sweetheart. In a way no one else has been able to before, " he says, and the words cause your breathing to hitch. He continues without much pause. "You describe things to me without me asking. I can hear and feel everything so much, but there's always going to be things I can't pick up on, and you've filled that void for me."

Your hand twitches, curling into itself on his chest, and he doesn't waste a single second reaching up to flatten it against his heart again. "Matt." Your voice is thick with an emotion mimicking both surprise and reverence, and your heartbeat has sped up considerably.

Bending his neck lightly, he brushes his lips across your forehead. "You just naturally tell me about things going on around me, as if you had been doing it your whole life. I thought it was cute before you knew what I was capable of picking up on, but you haven't stopped. You still describe colors and facial expressions and funny signs you see when we're outside. You still tell me all about these things you notice, as if you want to make sure I don't miss a single thing, and I love you for it."

Seemingly stunned into silence, you lay cradled up against him, heart racing and skin flushed and warm. Winding his hand in your hair, Matt pulls your head back, and waits until he knows for sure your eyes have rested on his face. His smile is soft, as is the skin of your cheek when he moves his hand to stroke a thumb down your cheek, picking up a stray tear that rolled down.

He tilts his head down to kiss you, but before he can move an inch, you're pulling his mouth down towards yours with a hand of your own wrapped around the back of his neck.

He pulls away after a brief moment before he gently rolls you onto your back, parting your thighs so that he can lay between them, anxious to be pressed against you, pressed in you, in every way he can. You moan as his weight settles on top of you, though it changes to a quiet gasp when his cock slides inside, your cunt still wet from where he had finished inside you not an hour before.

He's pretty sure you're nothing but wet when you're around him, something that never fails to arouse a sharp sense of satisfaction that he makes your body react that way. It makes it easy to take you whenever he wants, your body ready for his with his name and a murmured yes on your lips.

Matt captures your mouth again with a soft kiss, and when he pulls away, even as his hips rock languidly against yours, he can't help but whisper the words that have unconsciously circled in his head for months now.

"Out of everything out there, out of everything you've told me or described to me, if I could see only one thing in the world, it would be your face when you say I do."

And with that, he laces his fingers with yours as he presses your hand into the mattress next to your head, lightly tracing over the engagement ring he had slid on to your ring finger not too long ago.

It seems that every one of your sensory sensitivities matches his in some way or another, and he can’t help but be thrilled, be calmed by it. The idea of spending the rest of his life side by side with someone he not only loves and adores and cherishes more than his own life, but someone who appreciates and understands the way that the world is just too much sometimes, someone who has helped him find peace in a way he had never thought possible, has forever changed this path that his life has always been on.

Your mouth parts in a sigh underneath his, and he spends the rest of the night using all four senses to drive you both to the edge over and over again, aware that he'll never need his sight to see how perfectly, how flawlessly you were made for him.

#daredevil #matt murdock #human disaster matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x fem reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #reader insert

4K notes · View notes

4unnyr0se · 4 months

Text

❥ study sesh | satoru gojo

warnings: college au!, fem reader, gojo is submissive lol, goldren retriever gojo, gojo isn't very smart but thats okay we love him, fingering, roughness, making out, hickeys, top! reader, geto is mentioned several times, couch sex, readers favorite kind of sushi is also my favorite kind, degrading, insecure reader, asphyxiation, mentions of vaping and drinking, mentions of marijuana use, protected sex, choso mentioned, geto is a bastard, doordash is expensive and i dont like that

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 4k

Gojo groaned at the email he was just sent, running his hands down his pale face in annoyance. He slammed his laptop closed and tossed his head back, groaning exasperatingly. Failing a required class, seriously? Out of all the things he could do at university this was by far the most cliche. So annoyingly cliche, like his entire college life was a very niche film. Rolling his azure blue eyes, Gojo opened his laptop to reread the email his professor sent him. His high-and-mighty professor had arranged a tutoring session with the only tutor for History of Japan 201. Lucky him.

“Dickhead,” Gojo mumbled, pushing himself out of his rolling chair. He quickly stretched and placed his laptop inside his backpack along with the mess of empty vapes and crumbled-up phone numbers that he swore he would text (he never did.) He checked out how he looked in the mirror, adjusting his v-neck collar and fluffing out his snow-white hair just a little bit. He may not have known who you were yet, but he’d be damned if he didn’t look fine at any given moment.

“Yo, I’m going out.” Gojo spoke to Geto, his suitmate. Geto took the joint out of his mouth and raised an eyebrow, offering the blunt to Gojo.

“Why? There are no parties happening tonight, at least not that I know of.” Geto asked, sitting up on the edge of his bed. Geto’s bed was significantly nicer than Gojo’s his sheets didn’t have any suspicious stains on them and they smelled like laundry.

“Fucking Professor Yaga is making me go to a tutoring session for my history class. Says if I don’t do it then my grade’ll be tanked.” Gojo sighed, running his hands through his hair as he leaned against the door to their apartment.

“Tanked? You mean your grade was good this time around?” Geto smirked, putting out the joint at the bottom of his shoe.

“If you count a 59% as good,” Gojo shrugged, putting his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Oh, you’re fucked man.” Geto laughed, laying back down on his bed. “Good luck with the history nerd, you’ll need it.”

“Fuck off man,” Gojo punched Geto on the arm, eliciting a smug chuckle out of Geto’s throat. “I’ll be back when I’ll be back. If you’re bringing a girl over, text first. If I have to see your face covered in cum again I’ll vomit.”

“What, someone jealous?” Geto rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

“Whatever man, see you.” Gojo walked out of his apartment, walking down the steps in a hurry. “And get the fuck out of my room! You have your own!” He yelled up the stairs, knowing the chance of Geto hearing him was slim to none.

He put his headphones on, turning up the music to drown out his thoughts. What if you were fucking annoying, or shitty at teaching? How fucked would he be then? Even worse, what if you were too good at your job and Gojo’s grade skyrocketed? Would he be asked to become a tutor? No one fucking wants that, especially not him. Tutoring was for losers and virgins, and he certainly wasn’t any of those.

Gojo walked across campus with a spring in his gait, nodding to the girls who waved at him. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for girls (and occasionally the female professors) to get flustered when he walked past them. His classmate fainted one time he asked her for a pencil, but he thought she was probably faking it. It wasn’t a secret that Gojo was a known player on and off the campus, but why did the women he slept with have to exaggerate everything? It felt fake, artificial. Gojo liked his women to be lively, to be real.

Whatever, he didn’t need to think about that right now. Gojo approached the library, taking off his headphones and placing them over the curve of his neck. He sat down at a table near the back end where all the books were stored, slowly gathering dust. Hell, some of them haven’t been touched in decades. Maybe it was for a good reason.

“There you are! I looked everywhere.” His ears perked up at the sound of a feminine voice approaching him, his ocean eyes turning to get a look at you. You stood in front of him, clutching your messenger bag in your left hand and a pencil in the other. “You’re five minutes late, you know. Now we only have 55 minutes to go over the material instead of an hour, dummy.”

Gojo rolled his eyes and opened up his backpack, fishing aimlessly for a pencil and a sheet of paper. An empty puffbar fell out and landed on the carpeted floor, which made you raise an eyebrow. Gojo coughed and picked it up hastily, shoving it back inside his black hole of a book bag.

“Don’t act like you’ve never seen a vape before,” He muttered, adjusting his posture.

“No, I have. I’m just surprised that you like that flavor. Blue raspberry ice is so basic.” You retort, sitting down across from him. Spreading out some papers from your messenger bag, you hand Gojo a highlighter and a pen, both in the color blue. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You are going to highlight what’s important on the documents and write them down on the notebook paper. After that we’ll make flashcards from your notes and just do those until the hour is up, does that sound okay?” You looked at him, taking out your pen and paper to observe how he studied. You didn’t need to review the material, you knew it all by heart anyway. But if you were being completely honest with yourself, it was such a treat to have the academic fate of Satoru Gojo in your hands. Like a little bird trapped in a cage, except this bird was unironically stupid.

“I’d rather kill myself, but okay. Anything to pass this lame-ass lecture.” Gojo muttered in frustration, pulling the lecture documents forward. His eyes lightly skimmed over them, not absorbing much of the information anyway. He could just do this in his apartment, why did Professor Yaga feel the need to torture him with this useless tutoring session? Because his professor hated him, that’s why.

“Hey, don’t diss Japanese history. It’s fun sometimes if you forget about all the wars and whatever.” You softly giggled, curling a lock of your hair behind your ear. Gojo looked up from his highlighting to stare at you for a brief moment, the ghost of a smile touching his plump lips.

‘Cute,’ He thought to himself, turning his attention to the documents once more. He continued to sneak an occasional glance at you to gauge what kind of person you were. Were you a typical history nerd, or was this a persona you put on to protect yourself? Gojo always had a way of reading people, but you remained a mystery to him.

Gojo would groan in frustration frequently, covering it up with a hasty cough. Why couldn’t he read you, and why did he want to get to know you better? This has never happened before with him, not sure for quite a while.

“Uh, are you okay? You’ve been coughing the entire time, do you need to go home or something? I can always email Yaga and tell him you aren’t feeling the best.” You spoke, packing up your pen and papers neatly into your bag, a stark contrast to the way that Gojo’s bag could be considered a biohazard.

“Oh, yeah I’m fine. Just thinking real hard about the Heian period is all.” He smirked, covering up his hazy mind with quick wit.

“Mhm, I’m sure you were, princess.” You retorted, flashing a smug grin at him. “By the way, thanks for completely reinforcing the stereotype of a dumb frat guy. Keeps my image of your kind on track.”

“The fuck you mean by that?” Gojo asked defensively, getting up and throwing his bookbag over his shoulder. “Are you saying that all frat guys are stupid or something?”

“That’s exactly what I’m implying, pretty boy.” You began to walk to the door, grinning to yourself as Gojo quickly caught up to you in just a few paces.

“You’re something else, girl.” He spoke, walking with you out of the library towards the university center. “I like that. Where are you going?” Gojo asked, following you like a lost puppy.

You rolled your eyes, stopping in your tracks. “To the university center. I want dinner.”

Gojo shook his head and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from the path. “No way, I’m not letting my tutor get food poisoning from a shithole like that. I’ll order us something, okay?” He flashed his pearly whites at you, which you couldn’t help but admire. For such a disorganized slob he sure knew how to take care of his hygiene.

You raised an eyebrow skeptically, not minding how he wrapped his arm around you. Almost like Gojo wanted to protect you weirdly enough. “And why would you order me food? All I did was teach you about the Heian period, it wasn’t anything.” You babbled on in an ill attempt to make excuses.

“Just let me buy dinner for you, okay? We can go back to my apartment and study some more there, the library is suffocating me anyway.” Gojo whined, steering the both of you in the direction of his university apartment. It wasn’t a very long walk from the main campus, and yet he was almost always late to every single one of his classes this semester.

“Suffocating you with knowledge, perhaps. Is your brain seriously that small?”

“Maybe don’t diss the guy that’s paying for your dinner, sweetheart.” Gojo wiggled his thin eyebrows at you, walking up the flights of stairs to his apartment. “My roommate might still be home but don’t worry about him. Suguru is usually too stoned to notice anything.” He turned the key and let you both inside, kicking off his shoes onto the carpet beneath him.

You took off your shoes and placed them beside his own, sitting down on the living room sofa. Gojo had sauntered off somewhere, yelling for his suitmate. “Looks like he isn’t here, probably under a bridge or skating with Choso.” He placed his hands in his pockets and sat down a couple of feet beside you.

“So, what did you wanna order? Burgers, Chinese? Anything except soba, I fucking hate soba.” Gojo chuckled, pulling out his phone from his back pocket.

Thinking for a moment, you snapped your fingers together. “Sushi. I haven’t made decent sushi in forever.”

Gojo slowly nodded and opened up a popular food delivery app, hitting the little sashimi icon on the home screen. “A little expensive but okay. D’ya like rolls or sashimi or what?”

“Rolls, spicy. Salmon, if you can.” You told him your preferences, leaning down to take your laptop out of your messenger bag. “I’m making you a Quizlet so that my time here doesn’t feel completely pointless.” As you mumbled to yourself, a tiny little foil packet well out of the side pocket. You grabbed it quickly and shoved it in your front pocket, praying that Gojo didn’t notice.

“Foods ordered, it wasn’t cheap either. Not that I mind, I got plenty of cash to spare!” Gojo smiled, miming throwing money in the air.

You let the faintest smile touch your face, typing away at your laptop. “You’re like a puppy, you know. Like those white labs I see all the time.” You looked at him, admiring the way his messy white hair added to his devilishly handsome aura. “They’re pretty cute.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to you, almost teasing you with his proximity. “Are you saying that you think I’m cute, nerd?” He purred, sticking his tongue out.

You blushed and rolled your eyes, closing your laptop. “Maybe, so what if I did? I’m just your tutor. Yaga is giving me extra credit just by talking to you.” You mumbled, noticing that Gojo was still leaning closer to you.

“Well…I think you’re pretty cute too.” He grinned, a blush covering his stupidly adorable face.

Your fingers tensed up in your lap, your gaze locked onto the shag carpet beneath you. You wouldn’t dare look into his eyes, not now. They would only suck you into his sexy blue vortex and then before you knew it you would be on his lap, straddling his waist and making out with his neck.

“You think all girls are pretty, you’re a player for fucks sake.” Your voice was filled with scoff and denial, the tension between you two growing with each passing second. “My friend saw you shoving your tongue down a sorority girl's throat last night, did you think she was cute too?”

“Well, technically yeah but it’s only on the surface. She was attractive but she had no personality, unless you count downing vodka crans as a personality trait.” He pointed out, wrapping his arm around your shoulder once more. You two were pressed against each other, your arms limp at your sides. You had no idea what to do, should you touch him as well? Where would you touch him?

“So…you think my personality makes up for the fact that I don’t have a pretty face?” You sighed, your insecurities surrounding you like haunted spirits.

“No! No way, no.” Gojo assured you, cupping your cheeks with his hands. “I think you’re pretty and smart and funny and…I know I’ve only met you a couple hours ago but you’re really fucking sexy.”

You gulped as you felt his warm and large hands on your face, leaning into the touch slightly. Satoru Gojo called you sexy, his history tutor. He thought his history tutor was sexy. You smacked your glossed lips together, your noses touching. “How long until the sushi gets here?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Do you think we could fuck in that amount of time?” You boldly asked, staring into his gorgeous, enchanting blue eyes. You bit down on your bottom lip, your own eyes containing unspoken desires.

Gojo smirked and pulled you onto his lap, his hands resting on the swell of your hips. “Hell yeah, sweetheart.” He whispered, crashing his lips against yours. The kiss was slow at first, your arms wrapped around his neck while his own hands trailed up and down your back, occasionally stopping to feel the round flesh of your ass.

Your tongue entered his mouth, doing battle with his wet muscles before exploring his cavern. Gojo groaned at the sensation of your tongues colliding, attempting to shift himself so he was on top.

You pulled away from the kiss and tutted at him, pushing his chest down so he was leaning against the leather texture of the couch. “No, pretty boy, I’m on top this time.” You spoke softly, your voice dripping with sexuality and confidence.

“This time, huh? You wanna see me again after this?” Gojo smirked, slapping your ass gently. “Someone sure got confident real quick.”

You shrugged and bit down on his bottom lip with your teeth, pulling away a second later. You saw how Gojo reacted to your dominance, how the breath left his lips the second you laid down the law. Your long nails dug into the black tank top he wore, your thumb slipping under the hem to feel his abs.

“You’re so fucking ripped, holy shit.” You breathed out, planting gentle kisses on his neck. You squeezed your legs shut, anxious to receive any friction that would make you feel amazing.

Gojo grinned, taking off his jacket along with his shirt and tossing it behind his head. “What about now, you still like what you see princess?” He chuckled, flexing his biceps to impress you.

“Oh shut up and finger me.” You smiled and rolled your eyes, slamming your lips against his once more. Your hand guided his under the hem of your sweatpants and underneath your panties, prodding them at your weeping entrance. “Fuck me with your fingers before I ride you, Satoru.”

“God, I love it when you tell me what to do.” He groaned, shoving your pants down to your kneecaps along with your panties. He put his fingers inside of his mouth, a popping sound leaving his lips as they were soaked in his spit. “Gotta make sure they don’t hurt you.” He teasingly ran them up your folds, inserting his middle and index finger inside of you slowly. Gojo thrust them up and down at a regular pace, not knowing if you liked it rough or gentle.

“S-shit, your fingers are so fucking long. Oh shit.” You moaned into his ear, slumping yourself against his muscular chest for support. His fingers continued to drill up and inside of you, observing how you convulsed around him if he fucked his fingers in and out of you at the speed of light.

“Yeah, you like that pretty girl? You like getting fucked by some dumb frat guy's fingers?” Gojo whispered into your ear, biting the shell harshly. You squealed in pleasure as you felt his thumb rub harsh circles on your clit. Fuck, he was so fucking good with his hands.

“Fucking love it, holy fuck!” You gasped, feeling your knees start to give way as your orgasm approached. Suddenly, you grabbed Gojo’s wrist and pulled it away from your pulsating core, your breath slow and shallow.

Gojo raised an eyebrow in confusion, his cock throbbing horribly in his boxers. “Was I too rough or something?” He asked, concerned about his performance.

You shook your head in assurance, kissing his forehead gently. “N-no, not at all. It’s just that…I wanna cum on your cock, not on your fingers.” You whispered, playing with the drawstring of his sweatpants. “Also…that erection looks pretty fucking painful. Are you gonna let me ride you or what?” You teased, thumbing with the hem.

Almost instantly Gojo’s sweatpants flew off his body, leaving him only in his very tight black boxers. Your hands tugged down on the hem, pulling the boxers down so only his cock and balls were exposed. He was huge, his mushroom tip was pink and he had a large pulsating vein wrapping around the shaft. “Fuck…do you have a condom?” You asked, wanting so badly to just slam yourself down and fuck him senseless.

“Y-yeah, in my bag over there.” Gojo pointed to his discarded backpack at the entrance of his apartment, secretly wishing it would just fly into his hand like Thor with his hammer.

You wobbled over to retrieve the condom, shuffling through old candy wrappers and empty vape pens. Finding it, you practically sprinted over to sit back down on Gojo’s lap. He took the condom from your hands and tore open the foil with his teeth, rolling the latex on with ease. “Fuck, I’ve never been this sensitive before. You’re a witch.” He breathed out, kissing you softly as you hovered yourself above his cock.

“Shh, just lemme fuck you. Alright, baby?” You purred, lowering yourself down onto his cock. You hissed as his thick mushroom head pushed past your entrance, the pleasure outweighing the pain tenfold. “F-fuck, you’re so fucking big.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, pretty girl.” Gojo chuckled, grabbing onto your hips. He pushed you down further onto his cock, whispering sweet nothings into your ear until he’d bottomed out.

You started to move yourself up and down on his cock, bouncing slowly to grow accustomed to his length and girth. You kissed him passionately, gripping his broad and muscular shoulders for support. “Ngh, fuck!” You cried onto his lips, placing his hands on your waist to guide you.

Gojo’s hands pulled you back and forth, up and down on his length until you got the hang of handling how big he was, your hands now groping your tits as you fucked yourself on his cock. The filthy sound of skin slapping and squishing against skin filled the apartment, the still and stiff air being replaced with the intoxicating aroma of sex and lust.

“God, just like that baby! Fuck, you’re so fucking good at riding this dick princess. Ride my dick, fuck, ride me! Fuck me!” Gojo cried out, resting his head on the cushions behind his naked body as your hips slammed onto his pelvic bone repeatedly, surely leaving bruises for him to wake up to tomorrow.

“You’re so fucking noisy.” You growled, wrapping your hands around his bruised throat. Not enough to stop him from breathing, just enough to let him know who was in charge.

Gojo whimpered as he felt your hands wrap around his throat, his cock twitching inside of you. He had no idea he liked it when he wasn’t in charge when he was being used like a fucktoy. Gojo fucking loved watching ride him, how your sobbing cunt took his cock so nice and so deep.

You tilted your head to the side and smiled darkly, moving even faster on his cock to the point where you were just bouncing on the abused appendage. “What, baby forgot how to use his words? Are you being fucked too good you can’t even speak, huh? Adorable little slut.” You whispered, your lew words making Gojo want to become yours even more.

“Oh, is somebody gonna fucking cum?” You mocked, pouting your lip. Your grip around his neck tightened as you continued to ride him, feeling your orgasm fast approaching. “Fucking cum for me baby, cum like the good little whore you are.”

“Fuck, I’m c-cumming! Fuck, ngh, fuck! Oh my God, fuck! Please” Gojo practically sobbed as his orgasm filled the rubber he wore, his grip on your hips not faltering. He could feel your cunt milk him for all he was worth, still bouncing on him with vigor. “P-please cum, please! Wan’ feel you on me, please!” He begged, his beautiful blue eyes swelling with tears.

You threw your head back as your orgasm finally hit you, pleasure coursing through every single possible vein in your body. “A-ah, shit! Fuck, fuck, oh my God!” You cried out, the bouncing on his cock slowing down as you rode out your high.

Exhausted, you collapsed onto Gojo’s sweaty chest, admiring how good he smelled even after sex. His arm wrapped around your soaked shirt, embracing you gently. “Fuck…that was the best sex I’ve had in a while.” He chuckled, kissing the side of your face.

“Oh yeah? We should do it again sometime after you do your homework of course.” You offered him a half-smirk, pulling yourself off of his now soften cock. You tied the condom and tossed it in a nearby wastebasket, pulling up your sweatpants and panties. “The sushi is probably here by now, should I go get it?”

“Oh fuck,” Gojo grabbed his phone and unlocked it, seeing the notification that the sushi had been delivered ten minutes ago. “Fuck me, we took thirty minutes! Guess you were wrong about timing there, hm?”

You rolled your eyes and opened the apartment door to be greeted by a smug-looking Geto holding your sushi. “I’ve been standing here for about five minutes, you guys are really fucking loud.” He chuckled, allowing himself inside.

“Really, Satoru? On the couch? I sit there sometimes, dude.” Geto placed a hand on his hip, handing you the boxed sushi.

Gojo rolled his eyes and walked over to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. He had put his pants back on but his abs were still very much on display.

“Fuck off, Suguru. Please.” Gojo mumbled, squeezing your waist. You smiled at the welcome touch, especially enjoying the banter the two of them shared.

“Seems like you already did, Satoru,” Geto smirked, walking off to his room.

“Fuck you, dickhead!”

#jjk smut #jjk satoru #jjk x reader #jujutus kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut

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marauroon · 4 months

Note

best friend james figuring out he actually has feelings for the reader??????

I G N O R A N T — JAMES POTTER!

james potter x fem!reader | fluff | 1.2k | masterlist!!

ignorance is bliss. or that’s what james keeps telling himself anyway.

cw — one singular mention of james having a suggestive dream

an — this kinda sucks lol sorry

James often found himself finding excuses to touch you any time the two of you were together.

He’d been physically affectionate his whole life, a product of the amount of loving he was given by his parents, but when Sirius and Remus were complaining about him being so touch-forward with them—even if it was light-heartedly—it made him feel a little bad.

So he always came back to you.

He’d hug you from behind, pulling you tightly to his chest, or find reasons to be close enough he could take your hand in his.

It made him feel a little confused sometimes—the way he craved being near you every second, how his heart would race when you walked through the door of the common room.

No one made him feel the way you did, and no one ever would.

As the ‘loud’, playful kid who never took anything seriously, the way James craved your affection and acceptance was almost foreign, yet it’d become such common place that there were times where he didn’t even blink at its abnormality.

James just needed you, in a way that had become very apparent to everyone in the Gryffindor tower by the time the two of you were in sixth year.

When the two of you were alone, especially, things often got more affectionate and intimate.

Subtle touches lingered longer as the years went on, a casual arm laid over your shoulder sliding down to rest at your waist, him brushing your hair absentmindedly out of your face progressing into chaste kisses at your temples.

There was nothing innately romantic about it, even as your bodies laid together with James’ hands resting on the small of your back and in your hair. Your eyes closed, his glasses crooked on his nose, always ending with one of you pulling away when the lines of friendship became a little too blurred.

And then the cycle would begin again.

You would laugh, push him away, both of you would make a joke about how long you’d just ‘spiced up your friendship’, and it would repeat. Over and over.

James had never pushed for more, never let his hands wander too far or his lips to dip below your cheeks. There wasn’t anything to rush about. The two of you had a pace, and you stuck to it.

A slow, devastatingly languid pace that managed to fit you both perfectly.

James’d tried getting into casual relationships before, to redirect his inherent need for you onto somebody else, but it was always too rough, to rushed, like the only end goal was get the two of them out of their clothes as quickly as possible. He didn’t like that kind of relationship. It just felt wrong to him.

So he found himself going back to you – always.

He didn’t like anyone more, no one made him feel the way you did. So who cared if what you had was a little outside the ‘traditional boundaries’ of friendship? The two of you were close, best friends.

You just happened to need each other.

The two of you made a promise when you’d started to add kisses into your ‘friendship’, that no matter what happened between you two, you would always be friends first and foremost.

James would never be anything less than your best friend, he couldn’t — he cared about you too much, and just the thought of losing you, losing his best friend, made his stomach twist like someone was wringing his insides out.

The Marauders? They were a great distraction, but the other three could never compare to you.

Sirius knew he was as gay as rainbow and was completely out, Remus already had a very ‘colourful’ love life, and Peter had his fair share of crushes from time to time.

James had none of that, he just had you.

But that was all that he needed.

You’d never know he’d started to look at you a little differently anyway, James prided himself on having a perfect poker face, almost as good as Sirius’, if not better at times.

So you’d go back to being the best of friends, and James would ignore how his heart beat faster anytime you were alone together, or how his thoughts strayed to your lips whenever there was a moment of silence.

He couldn’t imagine being without you.

It was just a fact.

The sky was blue. Fire was hot. You and James Potter were destined to be a pair.

Because if he didn’t have you, his beautiful, kind, brilliant best friend, he didn’t know what he’d do.

So the two of you continued as usual, you shared jokes, played pranks together, played with each other in the corridors when the marauders were around, and shared chaste kisses and cuddles when you were alone.

You were best friends, and you always would be.

Because that’s what it was.

A friendship.

The two of you weren’t ‘dating’ and, despite Sirius’ teasing that it was only a ‘matter of time’, it would never be anything ‘more’ than that.

You knew it. James knew it.

Because you’d promised each other. The two of you were friends above everything. Just friends.

Best friends, who knew everything about each other.

James knew what you ate for breakfast everyday, what time you showered, when you slept and how to wake you.

And you knew James’s exact routine after a bad day - what music he played when he didn’t want to think, when he needed company and when he wanted to be alone. You could count the number of times you’d seen James cry on one hand, but you’d been there to dry his tears every time he had.

You were a part of each other, two people who’d fit so perfectly together everyone around you expected you to just ‘click’ eventually and start dating, but you’d never considered it.

You were fine as you were, as best friends with an affection that bordered on being more, it was comfortable. Safe.

Even if James started to wake from increasingly detailed dreams of you, panting and blushing, with heat coiled tightly in his stomach.

He never thought about it.

He’d continue to live in his ignorant bliss just to keep your friendship going, and that was more than okay by him.

Because who cared that James Potter was in love with his best friend?

Not him.

It was just better for him, healthier for him, to stay ignorant of the true depth of his feelings for you and enjoy the friendship the two of you shared. It was better than losing you.

It was easier to just keep things platonic, to laugh about the jokes Sirius made about the two of you ‘being something more’ and ignore the way his heart raced whenever he felt your breath against his skin as you whispered in his ear, and it was easier to act as though your heart didn’t flutter whenever James would wrap his arms around you and press you tightly to his chest.

Ignorance was bliss. And the two of you were revelling in it like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

#marauders #marauders fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter fluff #asks 🪶

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beegomess · 2 months

Text

T.R. || The girl who came from hell

Summary:Tom really thought he was above you, but that ends when you realize that you need to put him in his place. Warnings: Just a little toxic relationship.

Requests are open!

Tom's interest in you began in the fifth year at Hogwarts. You were almost like a reflection of him: Slytherin, studious and astute, determined to achieve her goals. The difference between you, however, was in the fact that you had the inheritance that mattered: your last name, power, contacts and money, all coming from your family without any effort.

The approach began during a task of Potions. Since then, they have started to walk together and share their plans. Tom, of course, knew that approaching you was advantageous for his ambitions, initially motivated by pure interest. Over time, the interests of both also became carnal, and soon you were a couple. But make no mistake, you were not naive, maybe you knew Tom better than anyone at Hogwarts and understood the meaning of all that, but you wouldn't mind as long as you had control over it.

His father, however, hated this union at the beginning. Tom didn't have the pure blood so valued by his family, he didn't have the money or an influential family. However, Tom's charm, combined with his ability to persuade, ended up changing the man's opinion. This gave Riddle a renewed confidence, leading him to be possessive with you, in an attempt to ensure that only he could enjoy the prestige and power that his relationship provided.

However, the fact that they are similar in everything, including this, was what made them get closer and fall in love, in the most toxic sense of the word. You thought he saw you as an equal, who respected you in the same way, but you were wrong, and came to discover it in a disgusting way.

You began to notice the way some girls looked at Riddle, and he, being a man, could barely disguise his interactions in his eyes even more attentive, who saw every look given by him to the body of another, every disappearance during the day. It wasn't frequent, but it was remarkable. And today, you expected to put him in his place finally, already possessed with the way you heard a girl bragging about him in the bathroom.

For you, it was fun to provoke him from time to time, flirt with another boy and make him angry with anger. But never, ever, have they gone from silly flirts. You believed that they should be loyal to each other, after all, they had much bigger plans and if they couldn't trust each other, none of that would make sense. Tom, on the other hand, thought he used you, that he had you in the palm of his hand. You were beautiful, and your family definitely helped you in many ways, but he never really took you seriously. Tom needed to think like that, he needed it because that way he would be someone.

And then, in that fateful afternoon, when, when passing through one of the empty classrooms looking for him, you saw, through the small slit of the door, the image of an ordinary student kneeling in front of Riddle, who in turn had her belt and pants open.

His eyes were not filled with tears, but with a deep hatred that was born there. You liked the possessiveness and it was definitely not like that with him, a strange and somewhat sickly relationship that you simply liked, it was almost like a cat and mouse hunt. But maybe I had to bring limits to this game now, maybe Tom didn't really know you as you imagined.

Your heels took you to the interior of the classroom, the shoes echoing on the stone floor, scaring the two present. The girl quickly moved away from Tom, who dressed calmly and waved for her to leave.

Tom's face remained neutral, without any blush or expression of regret.

- It's not the first time this has happened, is it? - His face had a sarcastic smile on his face, frighteningly quiet.

- No. - He replied simply, approaching you slowly, with his hands in his pockets. - I thought you didn't mind, honey. Aren't you the one who keeps flirting with other boys? - Tom smiled slightly, provoking a penetrating look coming from you.

- I've never had sex with any of them. - You paused, holding Tom's hand and pulling him out of the room on a slow walk. - But I'm curious, aren't you satisfied with me, Tommy? - A false sadness dyed your words as you stared at him in the hallway when you were stopped by him.

- Of course I am, dear. You shouldn't have seen that. I'm sorry. - Tom rolled his eyes internally, irritated by the amount of questions, but excellent at lying, saying what he thought you would like to hear to finally get rid of his visible and exaggerated drama.

- That's good, love. But spare me your empty excuses, Tommy, I don't like them lying to me. - Your body approached, still holding your boyfriend's hand and with a gentle smile, continuing your speech. - Just be careful that I don't get tired of you. You wouldn't want that.

His false kindness made Tom's face squirm in fury. He hated being threatened and would not accept being challenged in that way, especially coming from someone he believed to have full control.

- Come on, Tom. We know that you need me more than I need you. That's no secret to anyone, love. - You kissed him on the cheek, running your hands around his neck, watching as a spark of hatred appeared in your eyes.

Those who saw it from the outside could swear that you were swearing your love to each other, given the soft touches and false, but extremely convincing smiles, that you directed to him.

- I don't need to... - Tom started, but his voice interrupted him quickly.

- Yes, you need to. After all, what are you without me, Tommy? Nothing... - You digred. - You don't have the blood, you don't have the money, you don't have the power, nothing. You're nothing but me, dear. And it annoys me to have to say that, but I see that you still don't understand.

Tom felt a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within himself. He, who had always been proud of being undisturbed and cold, now found himself trapped in a network of feelings that he could not control. The wounded pride and anger mixed with a new and disconcerting feeling: insecurity. Never before had anyone challenged his authority and exposed his vulnerability in this way.

As his words echoed in his mind, he felt the control over the situation slip through his fingers. The certainty of his superiority seemed to fall apart, replaced by a painful realization of his dependence on you. He needed you more than he was willing to admit, and that consumed him from the inside out.

- Do you really think you can threaten me like this? - He murmured, his voice loaded with a contained poison as he squeezed one of his arms, taking you to the dark side of the hallway. - You think you know me so well, but you have no idea what I'm capable of doing.

- I'm not threatening you, Tommy. I'm just making it clear how much you need me. - Your voice came out with coldness and a still feigned kindness making him even more angry, his eyes fixed on his, challenging him to deny the truth.

Tom felt the anger boil, but at the same time, a part of him recognized the veracity in the words you said. He couldn't stand the idea of being seen as weak, but there, in front of you, his invulnerability mask was about to fall.

- You may be right. - He admitted with great reluctance, his lips contracting in a fine line. - But never forget, Y/N, that I also know how to play this game. And I don't intend to lose.

You smiled, a smile that mixed triumph and compassion.

- I never expected you to lose, love. I just want you to realize that this game is not just yours. And maybe, if you allow yourself, we can play together. - Your body is released from the grip, depositing a kiss on Tom's lips, feeling all the cold and anger that echoed from him. - Just don't forget that. - You add with a serious face, but soon forming a smile.

With these words, you turned around, leaving Tom alone in the hallway, wrapped in his own reflections and conflicts. He knew that, as much as he hated to admit it, you were the only one who could challenge and balance your world. And, deep down, maybe that's exactly what he needed.

Tom stood there for a moment, watching you move away with decisive steps. His gaze followed every movement of his body as he disappeared in the darkness of the corridor. The discussion had left a bitter taste in his mouth, a mixture of resentment and a strange intensity of desire.

He would never admit it out loud, but the way you challenged him, the way you messed with him, aroused something deep inside Tom. It was as if every confrontation, every exchange of words was a spark that lit the fire he tried to keep under control.

As he revived his words in his mind, Tom felt a mixture of frustration and a growing admiration for his cunning. You knew exactly how to press the right buttons, how to put it against the wall and make it question your own strength and control.

A sigh escaped from his lips as he ran his hand through his hair, trying to lighten the tumultuous thoughts. I couldn't deny that there was something magnetic in you, something that attracted and irritated you at the same time. But love, in the traditional sense, seemed like an unknown and unattainable territory for both. Their lives were dominated by ambitious goals, by the incessant search for power and control, which often shocked and drove them away.

Riddle saw the desire grow within him, not only for his body, but also for the sharp mind and the ambitious goals they shared. It was an attraction based on a kind of admiration, in the tacit understanding of each other's ambitions.

With a resigned sigh, Tom began to walk in the opposite direction to his. It was not the time to surrender to physical desire or to get lost in the traps of possessiveness. It was time to find a way that would take you away from the reins you controlled.

Maybe that moment served you in some way, Tom was starting to see her closer to his own pedestal. However, he wouldn't admit any of that out loud and much less mentally. At that moment he had two conflicting feelings: an absurd desire to get you out of the way or simply nestle in your body, a moment when only he had control, even if this control was consented by you.

______________________________________

masterlist here A/N: I hope you enjoyed this new perspective. I wanted to do something different since I always see Tom coming out on top, haha xoxo, bee✨🫶🏼

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myfairstarlight · 4 months

Text

An Ode to Friends to Lovers - Colin and Penelope's story

Fine, I give in.

As someone who considers themself more of a casual viewer (as in, I've never engaged in the fandom before), I went into this new season with mild interest. And then I fell down the rabbit hole. I should have suspected it though, Friends to Lovers is a trope I affectionate particularly when it comes to romance, unfortunately one I very rarely think is done well. So I was still skeptical going in.

But by God, did they deliver on that front and I need to break it down and talk about it. So I guess this is my review of Bridgerton s3, part 1.

Under the cut though, because this is gonna be a long one (seriously, this is a warning).

I don't particularly think Bridgerton is a complex show, and one can argue all day about whether it is even good (in my eyes, as long as it's entertaining, I don't care if a show is "good"), however, the number of takes I've seen online not understanding basic story-telling worries me a bit.

Don't get me wrong, I agree this first half has pacing issues but I do not think Penelope's and Colin's love story suffered that much, it did not feel rushed to me since we already knew these characters for two whole seasons (and I maintain Colin has always had more depths than what people pretend he does, it seems like, just like the ton, viewers like to overlook him and just characterise him as naive).

And I guess this long ass post was born in the process. So:

Part One: Penelope's glow up

Yes I'm starting by looking at them individually first. I think this post on reddit sums it up so perfectly. I get we're all joking about how unrealistic it is that no man was ever interested in Penelope despite how she looks like an absolute goddess (and I maintain she was the cutest in both previous seasons as well!) - unfortunately it is realistic. That's the reality of bullying, it doesn't get solved by a glow up. Even her association with the Bridgertons through Eloise and Colin did not lessen the bullying, so without them? Even the prettiest dresses would not have changed the ton's perception of her, and she's still the awkward, anxious girl she's always been, and unfortunately, most of these men are not attracted to that. It's not satisfying, she doesn't get her triumphant revenge on a society that always ostracised her - and I think it's important that she does not. That she accepts it. She should not have to change for a ton that will not change for the better either. And it's a lesson she learns quickly - someone will love her for who she is, pretending will only lead to misery. And, it is when she's being herself that she successfully gets the interest of some gentlemen (shout out to Lord Remington! I was so hoping we would be seeing more of him on top of Debling. He's such a Whistledown fan I thought that even after the whole lesson reveal scandal he would have stuck to call on Penelope the next day to gossip together, it would have been cute but I guess he too wanted to avoid being written about) (also I'm just saying in fics he should be the one considered as a proper other suitor for Pen since they seemed to have a genuine connection, meanwhile Debling was really searching for practicality).

The thing I wanna add to that post is this: despite all that, she decided to change her looks for herself. When I first learned of the plot of this season, Colin helping her find a husband, I was scared it would mean Colin would be the one to tell her to have a makeover. It doesn't happen. Sure, Penelope subconsciously requests for a more Parisian style for her new dresses because it is the last place Colin went to, but by that point she has already given up on him. She wants something new, and to feel good in herself. That's how she blooms, by finding a style that she feels comfortable in, finally free from her mother's horrendous tastes. That's what allows her to be more confident as well, the new looks and her motivation to move on from her "unrequited fantasy". As for Colin? He never comments on her change, he compliments her dress (and mind you, that is when he's trying to play up the charm because he knows she's upset with him and he gets humbled, hard) but he never says it looks better on her than what she wore before, he never has a "I never realised how beautiful you were" moment we see a bit too often in friends to lovers stories, because to him she's still his Pen, new dresses, new hairstyles, but the same Pen he's always loved, even if he didn't realise to what extent yet.

But Penelope's confidence... is not quite there yet. Difficult to be, when she's grown up in a loveless home, with horrible sisters, a father who barely cared and a mother who constantly puts her down. Whenever she gets a compliment, her first reaction is "ah, it must be a joke" - that isn't even exclusive to Colin, in the brief interaction between Edwina and Penelope, when Edwina compliments her dress, Penelope also dismisses it. And then, there's Colin, who is always oh so honest with her and does not shy away from praising her. But I'll touch more on that later.

Part Two: Colin's new self.

And then we have the opposite: Colin showing up with a new attitude, and succeeding at it (well, on the surface). Something I haven't seen people bring up a lot though is that he's already tried a new look in s2, and he got mocked for it. The only one who didn't? Penelope. Why didn't he try to emulate being a rake back then? Because Penelope's letters grounded him, he admits it himself. It's seeing himself through Penelope's letters that gave him confidence. But that kind of confidence was not enough in the ton's eyes, and on top of that, between s2 and s3, this time Penelope doesn't write back, and neither do his family. He grows insecure, he's lost the one person who kept him grounded, he thinks his family is annoyed with him, and he still is in search of a purpose, so what does he do? He clings to Anthony's words in s1 after the disaster that was his engagement with Marina: he's too green, time to "fix" that and be more like his big brothers. They got it together, they know their purpose (well, Benedict lost his again but that's a story for another day), so surely, if he acts more like them, and not like the sensitive and naive boy he was, then surely everything will be alright! Right? Note that as opposed to s2, where he kept talking about his travels and it annoyed everyone, in s3 he doesn't go into details about them anymore, even when he's asked. They're only interested in the company he kept during the travels rather than the sights he saw. And honestly, it was heartbreaking to see right away how much of himself he was holding back, even with his own family. Penelope, however, gets the details without even asking because he already knows she likes hearing him talk about them and she makes him comfortable, and he's fully aware of that when he apologises in s3e1.

(I also want to note that, even if this new persona is fake, his new style genuinely fits him better. Just like Penelope, this season Colin found the style that makes him feel good and confident.)

And here's where I need to praise Luke's acting for a bit, because he absolutely nailed the subtle way Colin behaves differently with Penelope vs everyone else. His voice is softer, he is effortlessly charming (I was kicking my feet when he recalled how they met), his smile is bigger, even his whole face looks more relaxed whenever Penelope is around, meanwhile he always appears stiff and like he's calculating his every move when around his "friends". In fact, it is in the carriage scene we finally truly see s1&2's Colin back. When he has that look on his face, as he decides right there and then he's gonna marry her, and then a second later when he asks the question, his face. By God, his eyes are sparkling, he's so happy, and he looks as youthful and carefree as he did in previous seasons, far are the thoughts of trying to fit in a society that he hates.

Because above all, these two know and understand each other in a way no one else in their lives does. And that is a fact that remains despite the outward changes. So yes, I liked that their dynamic did not shift to romance because of their "glow ups", but because they are spending even more time together now. Speaking of which:

Part Three: Authenticity and Vulnerability

One big theme this season is being true to oneself. It's no coincidence mirrors are such a big part of it (even outside of the yet to be seen spicy scene), because looking at a mirror means looking at oneself, and be vulnerable. If s2 was about duty vs heart, eldest siblings trying to do right by their family to the point of self-sabotage, s3 is a battle between the head and the heart. It is not even exclusive to Polin - Eloise is learning and growing by trying to take genuine part in society but struggling to fit in. Cressida wants to become a better person, torn between the pressure put on her shoulders by her parents and this new friendship with Eloise. Benedict is looking for his purpose after learning Anthony paid his way to art school, and feeling like a fraud as an artist. Anthony and Kate are unashamedly in love, as they deserve to be after the struggles they went through last season. Francesca has no care for the suitors the Queen and her mother parade in front of her as the "sparkler" of the season (sidenote but I hated that, stupid name, should have stuck to diamond or select another gem) as her heart seeks out the handsome and quiet John Sterling instead. And this will continue in part 2, as Penelope will have to be honest about Lady Whistledown (because she's always her most authentic self around Colin, there is still this big secret she is so determined to keep to herself, when she should not).

The beauty about friends to lovers stories to me is the small declarations of love sprinkled throughout the relationship. It's about the trust already built in with no expectations and the vulnerability we'd never allow anyone but our closest friends to see, something even our family can be ignorant to. I mentioned earlier that Colin never shies away from praising Penelope, way before their dynamic shifts to lovers. He tells her she's good, constant, loyal, special, warm. All of these are declarations of love, even if not with romantic intent, it's about showing his appreciation for her, for the role she holds in his life. And Penelope responds in kind as well. That is why I believe people who think the romance was rushed in s3 either did not watch the past two seasons or see friendship and romantic love as two distinct things rather than a cohesive continuation of each other. In s1, people focus so much on the Marina stuff, as if that cancels out Colin's friendship with Penelope. We still do see Colin actively seek out Penelope at balls, and defending her against Cressida, he compliments her and tells her she's the one who inspired him to travel. Then s2 rolls in, and they're exchanging letters, which will become the cataclysm for their dynamic changing later on. And then there's one of my favourite scenes with them: them talking about their purpose. They both open up here, Colin about his insecurity, Penelope about her dream, it is so intimate. And then, there's of course Colin protecting the Featheringtons from ruins. I'm mostly emphasising Colin's actions, because Penelope's crush on him was always in your face, and while Colin may not have realised it yet, he's always cared about Penelope in a special way, as manifested by his actions and how vulnerable he allows himself to be around her, when even his own family has no idea about what's going on inside his head.

There's a misconception that Colin calling her his friend was him rejecting her, and yet we see in s3 he had no idea whatsoever that she has a crush on him, so he could not lead her on (unlike his book counterpart, who was aware of Penelope's infatuation and was careful never to toe the line until he realised his feelings. Show Colin though? Completely oblivious. And it makes sense, he's still young.) He asks Violet "how do you know it was reciprocated" and not "how do you know you're in love with your best friend". As of right now at the end of part 1, he genuinely thinks he's the one who fell in love first, or at least realised it first. His "You're Pen, you do not count, you're my friend" in s2, was not a rejection in his eyes, but a declaration of love; he's forsaken love and women but not his Penelope, never her, she's his exception And it's not like Penelope resented him for that friendship he so readily gave her, yes she had a crush, but she was proud to call him her friend! He was, with Eloise, her solace away from her family. At the end of the day, this is a friends to lovers story, it is silly to get upset that they considered themselves friends first before there is a click as they realise they are now on the same page to shift their relationship.

Side note but I've never liked the term "friendzoned" because it makes it sound like being friends is a bad thing. I've had unrequited feelings before but I've always felt grateful that being friends with them allowed me to stay close to them even if I knew nothing else could happen. I was still very much happy and content. But maybe I'm projecting on Penelope and that's another debate.

See, what I ended up loving about the lesson plot, which I was so wary of at first, is that Colin barely teaches Penelope anything. At first, he goes for the "do what society expects women to do" (since it worked for him) but then she acts awkwardly, she can't fake it, and it surprises him for a moment. That's when it clicks for him, she just needs to be comfortable because with him, she's always smart, witty and charming, she's herself. He's always seen her that way, and he did not quite realise he had that privilege in the first place. And I love how we see him slowly realise it is no longer a privilege thanks to his help. We see it in e2. When she talks to the guy with the dead horse (forgot his name, oops), Penelope forces the flirt and Colin is amused by it. Fast forward Penelope approaching Lord Remington by herself, without Colin's initiative, and she's being more authentic, and suddenly Jealous by Nick Jonas plays in the background and Colin doesn't look proud, but apprehensive, or dare I say jealous. The shift in Colin's head happens long before Debling is in the picture. I'd argue it already shifted earlier in that episode, in his study, which he flashbacks to in e4.

His journals detail how unfulfilled he feels when he lays with random women in his travels. He longs for emotional intimacy. And guess with who he finally finds that, when a certain red-head asks the one question that allows them to break the physical barrier they had to keep between them for the sake of propriety?

Ah yes, that first kiss. To Colin, everything has been building up to this, this is his true Oh moment. A favour turned into a revelation. For Penelope, this is quite literally the end of her fantasies. This is Penelope's most vulnerable moment. She bares her heart, she's sad, she's desperate. And some people have been calling that moment pathetic, interpreting it as her being weak and giving in to her crush again, saying that she should not have to beg for that man's affection. I concur that she is brave, and bold. I also concur that some of you all are a bit too attached to the girlboss archetype forgetting that allowing oneself to be vulnerable is also a strength. She's never had to beg for Colin's attention anyway because he readily gives it to her, but in this one instance, for once in her life, she is truly being honest. In her head, she has nothing else to lose, and she wants to experience the one thing she thinks she can never have so of course she's gonna turn to the one person she's always trusted and feels the most comfortable with, because before her crush, Colin is her friend. She's asking a favour from a friend. And then she can move on, whatever "moving on" will turn out to be. In this instance, she has the power in her hands.

And it is her bravery that is the true cataclysm for things to change properly. Of course, things have already started to change the moment she stopped replying to the letters, but that moment really expedited their relationship.

Part Four: Lovers, but in a best friends way

The thing with Bridgerton, in the books or in the show, is that each couple has their trope. This is not news to anyone, I think. We've had fake dating, and enemies to lovers, and one characteristic that these two tropes share is a growing tension between the characters before it snaps. There is a reason the early marketing for s3 focused on Penelope being cold towards Colin, tension and conflict are more appealing on the surface. And then the first half of the season comes out and that conflict between our main couple? Solved after one episode because they did one thing that is severely missing in most romance dramas: communicated healthily. Penelope laid out why she was upset (although she does not stay to let Colin explain and then vents out her feelings in Whistledown... she still has some learning to do), Colin immediately went to apologise and make up for it. All of this by talking. And yet I'd argue friends to lovers still has its own tension, just not to the same intensity as the other two, and more difficult to market. The tension comes from the brewing feelings, the way you start seeing every touch, every interaction, in a whole new light, and wondering if it's only in your head or if it's reciprocated. But now combine that with Colin who's always been so earnest about his feelings with Penelope? And Penelope who's always quietly wanted their relationship to evolve that way? Of course they figured it out quickly and got together in half a season. And I'm delighted that we will see them handle the whole Whistledown mess as a couple, as two people aware they love each other deeply, which gives a whole new meaning to the conflict compared to the book where I felt like it was brushed over a bit too quickly (because they got distracted in that carriage). It is the last secret between them, their last obstacle.

I also do not like the "Colin should have grovelled and pined more" argument, when he is the one who insisted on the lessons to help her find a husband in the first place, and then has to face the fact that actually, he doesn't like the idea of another man taking Penelope away, and oh, isn't that the consequences of his own actions? He is grovelling, you just don't see Penelope holding it over his head, because that's not the person she is, this is not a revenge fantasy story, in fact she does not realise the power she has on him because she is used to Colin seeking her out. I like that he didn't stew on his feelings and decided to act on them right away. I also don't like how this whole grovelling thing makes it sound like love is a competition, that just because Penelope has known she's been in love for longer and "suffered" longer, that means Colin needs to do the same to even the planes. Because in my eyes love isn't exactly something to be earned — it is given. Now, are you worthy to keep it? To nurture it and make it bloom and last? That is the real question.

Admittedly, since this is only the first half of the season, we do not see them in a romantic setting a lot. That first half is focused on them rekindling their friendship lost during the summer when Penelope stopped responding to the letters, and Colin having the realisation he cannot live without his best friend, not just because she is his best friend, but also because he loves her. But we do have two important, and obvious instances.

So let's talk about that first kiss again. It is, in my opinion, one of the most gentle and romantic moments in the show so far and also showcased their friendship really well. Colin trying to joke to lighten the mood as Penelope spirals down (peak best friend behaviour actually), the gentle, swelling music, the light of the moon, Colin's deep exhale of realisation as he holds her face when he goes back in for the second kiss, with the furrowed brows of a man on a mission. This is Penelope's most vulnerable moment and Colin's big realisation. And I felt like I was intruding.

And same goes for that carriage scene, but even before they go at it; now this is Colin's most vulnerable moment, and Penelope's realisation that they can be more. He chases the carriage by foot, then goes on his knees to confess his feelings to his best friend in the softest and most determined voice we've ever heard him use this whole season, eyes wide, tears threatening to fall as it is his turn to bare his heart and ask for a chance. Meanwhile Penelope takes it all in, running her hand through his hair because she can finally touch him, melting under him. Things get steamy. And then... and then... The carriage stops, they get startled, Colin jokes that the driver should have kept on driving and then... they laugh. They just made out, and went to second base together, and yet here they are now, laughing. It is such a genuine and lovely moment. And it's then that Colin has that look in his eyes, that "I'm gonna marry her" look. That is when he realises he cannot live his life without her. That his purpose is now right in front of him: making Penelope Featherington, soon to be Bridgerton, laugh until the end of their lives.

Conclusion

There's no conclusion, I just love them so dearly. Yes, there still is the whole Whistledown mess to deal with and sure, the argument with Eloise may make you think great angst is ahead but if there is one big difference between Colin and Eloise, it is this: Colin has always listened to Penelope, and this is not a diss on Eloise. Eloise, bless her heart, can be pretty self-centred, she's loud and a bit immature, something she is growing from in s3, and you cannot ignore that she did not really listen to Penelope (she has no idea Penelope wishes to marry when Penelope tells her she does in s1, we can blame the writing, but I do think it fits with Eloise's journey to realising how privileged and dismissive she is. Penelope was too polite to call her out until their falling out. Meanwhile Cressida is exactly the type of honesty she needs for a wake up call). Colin, on the other hand, is very sensitive and a good listener. Furthermore, this season, Penelope is learning to be more confident, to voice what she wants, and I like to think it is leading to her finding her own voice and not needing Whistledown to hide behind anymore. If there's someone with whom she has no filters, it is Colin, so I have faith that when the reveal happens and an argument breaks out, this new Penelope will not back down and will lay out all her reasons and all her regrets, and Colin may be stubborn, but he loves that woman and he always listens.

A part of me also wishes they keep the jealousy he felt about her writing in the book, and that they don't focus just on the whole "you lied to me" aspect (we've already had that with Eloise). How he, himself, is insecure about his writing, and here Penelope is, less fortunate than he is, and yet who did have the courage to get her writing out there, even if publishing under another name. Because that is also a reality in relationships, when your partner is at a different stage in their career, and how they can communicate to support one another.

Anyway, I'm just rambling now (as if that isn't what I've been doing this whole time). I like them. A little. Just a bit. I'm very normal about them <3

#bridgerton #bridgerton s3 #bridgerton spoilers #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #polin #long post #ok i got it all out of my system don't expect more bton posts from me lol #at least until part2 i guess #star.txt

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alocon · 8 months

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Always Irresistible [3] - Lando Norris

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

written by alocon

Summary: Despite all hope, Lando never lost his feelings for his best friend's twin sister. However, he still hadn't acted on it. Well, that was until the party, which led you two into a long-term secret relationship

Warnings and Tropes: Fluff, part 3 to the story released the other day.

[Part One Here] [Part Two Here] [Part Four Here] [Masterlist]

Always Irresistible - Ln4 x Fem!Reader

Your head leant onto your boyfriend's shoulder as you watched a film on your bed. He had basically moved all his stuff into your room by this point and was only using his room as a streaming setup. One of his arms was around your back, the other being placed gently onto your knee.

The pair of you had been in a fair share of arguments over the time you'd been in a relationship but it didn't stop you both from making up again in the end. It was a normal thing that happened between every couple in every relationship. Arguing was completely normal.

You first felt his attention on you when a jumpscare came onto the screen. Lando would usually look away until the scene was over and then would look back, but this time you could feel like eyes burning into you. You turned to look back at him, noticing the way his eyes scanned over your face. You were pretty sure he could draw you from memory down to the placement of every single freckle on your face by the amount of time he had spent staring, however, you didn't mind. It made you feel loved, appreciated. It made you feel beautiful. “What?” You asked quietly, confused about why he was staring at you now.

“You're just.” He paused to look over your face again, his eyes filled with nothing but love. “I'm so glad we're together.” You smiled. That was sweet.

You placed a kiss on his lips. “I'm glad we are too.” Apparently, that one kiss was not enough for his liking as he leaned in again, his hands gripping your waist as you pulled you in for a longer, more intimate kiss that the peck you had given him only moments before. You, obviously, kissed back, letting him climb over you, laying you back on the bed below him. You knew where this was heading and you were all for it as he lost the shirt, it landing on the floor beside the bed.

He had done everything in his power since you got together to make you feel like the most perfect woman in the world. It was like the two of you were made for each other, every kiss making you fall more and more in love. You adored the way he wouldn't let you go in the morning. You adored how, if he went out with his friends for the day, you would barely be able to leave his embrace because he missed you. You loved every single thing about this relationship. It was perfect. Sometimes you both wished that you could share it with the world.

“What the fuck.” You pulled away quickly from the kiss, Lando grabbing his shirt and throwing it on, over his head. You looked at the furious man in the doorway as he turned to walk away, stating that he wished to talk to Lando the kitchen. He placed another quick kiss to your lips before following the man, shutting the door behind him.

It was silent for a moment, weirdly silent. And then, shouting. Arguing. You listened into the argument as best you could but could barely hear anything. You could only pick out a few words here and there. You sat on your bed, thinking about what to do, deciding that, if it didn't stop in a couple of minutes, you would have to go sort him out yourself.

The arguing still hadn't stopped.

“I can't believe you'd do this. I made it very clear that she is one to fall and fall hard for someone and that she was very much off limits. I can't believe you would go behind my back to fuck with her feelings, what the hell. Seriously, what are you thinking screwing with her head like that?” Max was furious and Lando was a little anxious in that moment. He had never seen him so angry.

“I'm not, Max. I would never play with her feelings like that, don't be stupid. Why would I ever do that to her?”

Max's shouting only got louder. “Because you've done it before. How many times have you dated someone or got with them for a month or two only to turn around and change your mind and claim you can't love them like they deserve. That you love someone else and so it would be unfair to them. How do I know that you won't do the same to my sister?”

Lando's voice matched Max's now. “Because its always been her!”

Max went silent in an instant. It was Lando’s turn to rant at him, now.

“For God's Sake, Max. She is the one I've been in love with all these years. She's the one I've wanted to be with since we were 13. But I didn’t pursue a relationship because she's your sister. I would've felt bad because she's your twin. I tried to date other women to get over her. Believe me, I tried. But I couldn't, because I've never got over her. It's always been her. It will always be her.”

Max didn't know what to say. He didn't even notice your presence in the doorway. “Max, if you plan to keep shouting at my boyfriend, you need to leave.”

“Boyfriend?” Max looked between the two and saw Lando looking equally as surprised at that outburst.

You looked at Lando, stepping closer to him. “Lan he knows. Isn't it better to be fully open now?” You were speaking quietly to him. Your voice changed into a whisper. “Only if you're comfortable.”

“Yeah. I am.” You sat on the kitchen counter beside him as he spoke. He smiled at you, before turning to Max. “Yes. Boyfriend.”

“For how long?”

“July-”

“You've been dating for six months and didn't tell me?” He cut Lando off as he spoke.

“No, Max. July last year. 2023.”

“A year and six months and you didn't tell me?”

“We didn't tell most people!”

“Who knows?” He asked, looking straight at you.

“Zak, Oscar, Alex and both Lily's. Oh, and Max and Charlie but that's only because Charles doesnt know how to knock on a door and Max is his little gossip buddy slash emotional support rival thing.”

“And Alex and Lily only found out because they walked out of the club at the party last year with us. And we only told Zak, Oscar and Lily at first to make sure no photos of us holding hands were posted. So really, you're one of the first few.”

“Still though. That's so many people you told before me!” Max was slightly raising his voice again.

“Because I knew you'd act like this,” you raised your voice back at him. He looked surprised. As did Lando. Lando had never heard you raise your voice at anyone before. You rarely did. “Stop treating me like a child, Max. I'm a grown fucking adult.”

“I can't believe you're being so selfish.” Max deadpanned as he looked at you, voice still raised. “He was my friend first.”

“This isn't a fucking competition. He can be both your friend and my boyfriend!”

“Yeah? Says who?”

“Me! P was my friend before she was your girlfriend but you don't see me out and about bitching like you do. But no, you can't handle it being the other way around because for once, your sister has decided to do something for her that makes her happy without worrying what you would think of her. For God's Sake, Max. You need to grow up.” Lando placed his hand on you as you ranted at your brother.

“That's different. She was your best friend, Lando is my childhood best friend.”

“It's not different, you're just a fucking hypocrite.” You stood up off the counter, walking away. A few moments later, the slam of a door could be heard.

Max turned to look at Lando. “You need to make a decision, Lando. Our friendship or your relationship.”

You sat in the bedroom, having just let a couple of tears fall from your face. You had heard Max's words. And then nothing. You heard the door open and shut. That was an hour ago and you had heard nothing from then since so, as hard as it was, you figured that he had chosen Max. It didn't surprise you. Max was his best friend, you completely got it. You dropped a text to P.

To P: Hi lovely. I just wanted to apologise for not telling you sooner about this but Lando and I are (or were) together. I didn't want to tell you because we weren't ready for Max to know and I didn't want Max to be upset with you for knowing and not telling him. Miss you lots x

From P: Hi!! Thank you for telling me. I'm glad you did. I completely understand why you didn't tell me sooner. I had my suspicions anyways. What do you mean “or were”???

You began to talk to P about what happened, her promising to invite you over for a binge ice cream and crying session if he does choose Max. You felt a lot better. Opting to ignore everything else and shut the world out, you rolled over and closed your eyes, drifting off to sleep quite easily.

You were awoken not too long later by the feeling of a hand on your face. You groaned softly, opening your eyes to see him crouched in front of you, eyes at the same level as you. “Hey beautiful, how long have you been asleep?”

“Not too long. I thought you went with Max.”

“Did you hear what he said?”

“About you choosing me or him? Yes.”

Lando placed a kiss on your cheek. “Oh darling, I'm so sorry. I didn't think. I just went out to get us food for dinner so that we don't have to cook. I should've messaged. I'm so sorry.” He placed his forehead against yours, helping you sit up as you hugged him. He pulled you off of the bed, bringing you to the living room to sit beside you, food boxes in hand. You smiled. He had gone out of his way to drive to Nice to get you food from your favourite noodle place. He passed you a pair of chopsticks, grinning at you.

“Thank you, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he responded, no hesitation.

“So,” you said after taking a bite of your food. “What happened?”

Max turned to look at Lando. “You need to make a decision, Lando. Our friendship or your relationship.”

Lando looked at him, surprise in his face as he never thought his best friend would stoop that far. Grabbing his keys, he signalled for Max to walk out the door, him following behind as a look of triumph appeared on Max's face. The two stayed in silence until they got to the car park. That was when Lando turned to Max.

“I'm glad you came to your senses and chose me, mate.”

Lando chuckled, a bitter, annoyed chuckle. “Who said I was choosing you?”

Max looked at him, his face dropping into one of confusion. “You're out here with me.”

Lando looked at Max. “I hope, for your sake, that you will never again ask me to pick between you and my girlfriend ever again because I will choose her every single time.”

“What the hell, Lando. I've known you longer.”

Lando stepped closer, right in front of Max's face. “And she's the woman I want to marry one day. So rather than me making a choice, you get to. You should take some time to calm down and to think long and hard about whether you want this battle because, when I do marry her, it's your actions that determine whether you'll be there alongside me as my best man or not.” Lando stepped back, turning around and getting in his car. “Now if you don't mind me, I'm going to get my girlfriend and I dinner.”

-The End-

[Word Count: 2008]

Hi All, Hope you enjoyed this part, I enjoyed writing it. I wrote this at work earlier because I had nothing to do hahah. Have a good day x Alocon

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thebrainofcorpse · 4 months

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Lasers and Losers | Jake Peralta

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trigger warnings: none

gender neutral reader with no specific description of appearance

word count: 1.3k

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Officers and detectives of the 99th precinct crowded the small room, securing their vests and admiring the guns they were given. Their sergeant, Jeffords, stood before them beside their Captain, Holt. Serious expressions on both of their faces.

"I expect this to be taken extremely seriously." Holt spoke, eyeing his staff with a hard stare. "Treat it like a real case. Real lives on the line."

After a close call during a drug bust that became very violent, very quickly, both the Captain and Sergeant believed that it would be good for everyone to have more training on what to do in the field.

What better way to do that than by playing laser tag and pretending to take down criminals?

"We're serious, Peralta." Jeffords chimed in at the detective who was smiling like a child being given candy. "We don't want any of you getting hurt in the field. I can't imagine my daughters growing up without me."

"Don't worry serg', I'll take this so seriously, you'll be telling me to be unserious." Peralta replied before shifting his eyes towards his left where you stood. "I'm going to kill you."

His whisper didn't go unnoticed by Holt who glared down at the two of you. "Blue team are the police, green team are the criminals. It is the blue team's job to take down all the criminals before they get you first."

Peralta smirked at you, eyeing the green lights on your vest and gun, revealing the team you were on. His own vest and gun lit up blue and you couldn't help but roll your eyes. "Back off, Peralta."

"No can do, got'sta do right by the precinct, by the public, by America." He spoke, looking off into the distance as if he was in a movie.

"Yeah, alright." You huffed, letting out a slight laugh. "Let's see if you can even catch me."

"Green team have ten seconds to run and hide before we let blue team in." Holt spoke up, preventing Peralta from replying with something stupid. "Time starts now."

Following others from the green team, you ran into the dark room and forced your eyes to adjust to the contrast of the darkness and bright neon paints covering the walls.

You raced to find a hiding spot knowing that you wouldn't be there for long. Once the blue team were let in, you'd have to stay on the move as there was truly no place to hide.

Those ten seconds felt like one and the previously silent room was filled with threats from the blue team as they moved around, spreading out across the place. You did your best to keep silent, listening for any footsteps or sounds of breathing.

You held your gun tightly in your grasp as you watched for any reflection of lights from anyone's guns or vests.

You did not want to get caught, especially by Peralta. It would only fuel his ego. It was bad enough that the man thought you were in love with him.

He wasn't wrong. You were in love with him and you had been for a while. Everyone called him delusional, constantly reminding him that you would never like someone like him but that was because they never caught the looks you'd give him. The quick glances that only he seemed to notice.

You wanted to tell him about your feelings but you did not want to boost his ego. You did not want admit defeat.

Just like you did not want to be defeated by him right now.

Eyes widening at the sound of footsteps nearing, you aimed your gun and backed up to a wall so that no one could come at you from behind.

Mentally pleading with the universe for the person about to round the corner not to be Jake, you flinched in surprise as Scully appeared in front of you, his terrified scream filling the room.

"Oh, Y/n, it's only you!" He sighed, loudly. "I'm so glad we're on the same team, ya' know?"

"Scully!" You hissed as quietly as you could, panicking when you heard the blue team start to communicate with each other to find the two of you.

"Just come out L/N!" Peralta shouted and you immediately perked up, attempting to hear where in the room he was. "If you give yourself up, no one will have to get hurt, okay?"

You smirked as you somewhat located his position and carefully started in the opposite direction.

You paused.

What kind of idiot would sabotage themselves like that just to be funny?

You know Peralta isn't as stupid as he makes himself out to be.

Which means he intentionally gave up his position to make you go in the opposite direction where he plans to meet you.

But Jake knows you're smart too.

He knows you'd figure out his plan so he may very well be staying exactly where his voice was coming from in hopes that you'll walk yourself straight towards him.

If you weren't panicking before, you definitely were now.

As attractive as it was, you hated how much of a genius he really was sometimes.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." You spun around coming face to face with the man himself, leaning on the wall with a smirk. "You make this too easy, detective."

The first thought you had was that he looked so attractive when he was proud of himself. You knew it wasn't the time and you hated yourself for not focusing but you couldn't help it.

"Shit." You muttered, holding your arms up in defeat as he pointed his gun directly at your vest.

He smirked. "Wanna know how I did it?"

"You're going to tell me anyway." You muttered, rolling your eyes which only made him more smug.

"You know me so well, detective." He began. "I knew that if you heard me, you'd go in the opposite direction of my voice."

"I know you better than that." You stated, watching him nod.

"But not as well as you think you do." He titled his head slightly and took a step towards you. "You'd think I was playing a trick on you, so obviously you'd rethink everything."

You tightened your lips. "Right."

He took another step. "While you stopped to think of what your next move could be, I was already right behind you. You see, L/N, you may be smart but you could never outsmart a genius."

By now, he was directly in front of you, staring down at you with such intensity and confidence that you could feel your face heating up. You didn't have time to come up with anything smart to say as the man backed you up into a wall and positioned his face in front of yours.

Your noses rubbed together, eyes not daring to look away as your lips connected. It felt like a surge of electricity moved through your body.

You dropped the laser gun, placing a hand on the back of his neck and the other on the side of his face, keeping him in place as if him moving would be the worst possible thing to happen.

His hands sat comfortably on your waist as he moaned into your mouth, kissing you like his life depended on it.

You could not believe it was happening.

Slowly, Jake started pulling back before things could go any further. Detectives were still running around the room and you know Holt would have both of your heads if you were caught making out instead of doing as told.

You opened your eyes and looked into Jake's, attempting to regulate your breathing.

"You're dead, sucker." He smirked, a red light flashing from your vest as he shot you.

Your eyes widened.

"You fucker." You gasped, looking at the gun he had pressed into your side that you knew you must have confused with his hand, too caught up in the kiss to notice.

You looked back up at his proud smile. "Sorry sweetheart, just doin' ma' job."

"This isn't the end, Peralta. I will get you back for this." You threatened, watching him turn and walk away proudly.

"Sure ya' will, loser."

#jake peralta #brooklyn 99 #peralta #jake peralta x reader #jake peralta x you #brookyln nine nine #brooklyn 99 x reader #captain holt #terry jeffords #peraltaxreader

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angel-kyo · 6 months

Text

Pay it no mind

Part XVII

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV, Part XV, Part XVI

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“If I asked for advice, would you give me some?”

“Only because I have a feeling you wouldn’t leave me alone until I did,” was what Shoko replied to the man in front of her. “As long as it's not love advice, I guess.”

Satoru’s smile seemed to falter, and when he forced a laugh out, Ieiri’s eyebrow quirked. “It’s just advice to… “

How could he frame it without giving himself away? It was not that Satoru wanted to keep his feelings a secret, and he knew Shoko would probably roll her eyes but would not judge him. Still, he did not want to put her in an awkward situation with you if ultimately, nothing came out of this.

“Advice to understand someone,” Satoru said, thinking that should suffice. What he needed at the end was to understand how you were feeling now, was it not?

Shoko blinked slowly and gave Gojo a long, thoughtful look.

“Advice to understand someone,” she repeated. “What would you need that for?”

What is he up to now?

Gojo had never given her the impression of being particularly good at understanding people, that much was true. Of course, he could find his way around them, rather smartly if she dared add, and she knew he could charm people in to take advantage of their strengths, but that did not mean he always understood their feelings, not that he had ever shown much interest in doing it in the first place.

He had always stricken her as the kind of person that cared about people but could not always care for them.

Satoru leaned back in his chair. “If someone told you you are selfish, wouldn’t you like to know why?”

I would, she thought, but it is not like you to mind what people say.

“If it were someone whose opinion matters…” he added, crossing his arms.

He’s not saying any names, but there aren’t many people that could make him care.

“And you don’t want them to think of you like that,” she completed.

He smiled in her direction, but Shoko had the feeling he was avoiding her gaze.

So that’s it.

“So, someone called you selfish, and you want to understand why they did it?” Shoko asked him, sounding as disinterested as ever, but he knew her; the wheels in her head were turning. “I guess it depends on the circumstances.” She leaned back in his chair imitating Satoru’s posture. “If they had a reason for it, something you said or did...”

Gojo seemed to ponder her words for a moment. Was that not the quid of the question?

Satoru himself knew he had done countless things that could be considered selfish. From taking your share of dessert when you were kids to sometimes taking your bed whenever he stayed at your place, to even influencing your decision to stay in Tokyo when you could have left to teach at the school in Kyoto; but not even once had you called him out on it, not seriously at least.

“It might have been something I did,” he admitted.

Ieiri was about to asked what it had been when he spoke again.

“I think… I took something from them.”

Stole… Yeah, I stole that kiss from them.

Is that why you were upset after, because he got carried away and kissed you?

Your hurt and distasteful expression flashed before his eyes.

No, there was more to it.

“You took something? Without permission, I assume.” Ieiri was looking at him.

She knew Gojo had a habit of following that saying: 'Better ask for forgiveness than permission'.

The thing was that even if he did not ask for permission, he rarely asked for forgiveness.

“Can’t you just return it?” she questioned, referring to the ‘something’ Satoru said he had taken.

“No.”

Gojo allowed himself to smile a little as he remembered how you had kissed him back. As bitter as the aftermath had been, for a fleeting moment when your lips moved with his, he thought all pieces were falling into place.

Shoko looked at him suspiciously and sighed. “I guess if you can’t return it, apologize and pay up.”

He hummed.

If only it were that easy.

“And just maybe give it some more thought,” Ieiri continued. “If someone calls you selfish, I think it’s more about your feelings than theirs…. Or to how they think you feel.” She gestured vaguely with her hand. “I guess one or the other.”

“My feelings?” Gojo felt confused by his friend’s words. He knew Shoko was not great at explaining stuff, but what did his feelings have to do with anything? You had not even wanted to hear them.

Ieiri was already standing up and had to looked down at him when she asked him “What you did, did you really do it out of selfishness?”

Satoru knew he could be a selfish man sometimes if the situation called for it, but that night he had just been… impatient. He did not want to spend one more second without knowing how you felt now, without you knowing how he felt.

Was that what you were thinking when you confessed? Had been your heart burning like his?

“No, not really,” he answered honestly.

“Then tell them that,” she said. “People don’t know how you truly feel about whatever you do until you tell them.”

He stood up. “That’s not a bad piece of advice.”

Shoko shrugged. “Whatever helps.” She turned around on her heels but stopped to look back at Gojo. “I guess it is also a piece of love advice.”

He looked at her, but she could not tell his eyes reflected surprise.

“Whatever you have to say, you don’t want to wait until it’s too late.” The closed lip smile she gave him, made Satoru think she was talking from experience, but her demeanor changed in a second. “It’s just a thought. What do I know anyway?” and she left.

Satoru smiled for himself.

Thanks, Shoko.

***

“Under what motive?” the oldest of the three men in the dimly light room asked the other two. “Seems to be a personal revenge. If they want to kill them, let them settle it themselves. Why meddle?”

“They probably do not want to become a target to the Gojo clan,” the man on his left replied.

He had referred to them as the Gojo clan, but they all knew they were thinking of one man in particular.

“Is the [your family name] that strongly connected to the Gojo clan? Is there some kind of contract between families?”

“None there are records of, but there are rumors they are...”

“That would explain it,” the third man, who had been silent all along, finally intervened. “Their attitude about the incident with Geto Suguru; their reluctance to reason with Gojo Satoru when he proclaimed himself the tutor of that kid of the Zenin, and now this; it is obvious where their loyalty lies.”

“A most uncooperative attitude, indeed, but is it necessary to do anything about it?” the first man asked.

“Weeds must be pulled out on time. We learned that the hard way” the second man finished.

***

'I’m alive. Can we meet when you have time?'

That had been Satoru’s message to you.

You had told him you were getting back to work today, and you could meet there. If you had told him he could come to your place yesterday, he would have known at first sight that you had gotten hurt in your last mission.

He does not need to know I got beaten up like that.

And now you were resting your back against a tree despite the cold weather around you. That was yours and Satoru’s usual reunion spot most mornings before work. It was not official, but you always stood there for a few minutes before walking the rest of the pathway and clocking in. At first, it had just been a good spot to finish your morning coffee, but at some point, it became the spot where you waited for Satoru.

Right, it was also not far from here.

You looked around for the spot where you had confessed. Unsurprisingly, you did not feel like having any morning coffee for a few days after that.

Maybe it’s not as bad as I remember it. Maybe I could ask Satoru if it was.

You closed your eyes and sighed.

No, I can’t do that. I’m not even sure of how I’m going to face him today.

When Satoru saw you, a smiled formed on his lips, but it quickly faltered when he realized he was not sure of how to approach you.

You two had gone back to texting each other just the day before, after a long period of complete silence, and furthermore, after that fight, or miscommunication, or “biggest screw-up so far”, as Satoru had been referring to the incident of that day in his head. What should be the first thing he tells you now?

He did not regret kissing you, but after giving it more thought, he had reached the conclusion that Ieiri was right, he should have made his feelings clearer.

He needed to be direct now, but what if you did not take it kindly if he just spitted that he was in love with you on your face? Jeez, he should have at least brought flowers or candy. Would that not have been more romantic?

“Satoru?”

Or coffee, he should have at least brought you something to drink.

“Satoru?”

You had opened your eyes and were looking at him.

I love you.

He wanted to just say it, but what came out instead was “Coffee.”

“Coffee?” you asked.

Idiot, Satoru told himself.

“No! I mean, I should have brought you coffee.” Why was he so nervous?

“Okay? We can have some in the teachers’ room,” you told him. You straighten up and looked ahead; you were technically in the school grounds, but you still had to walk some more before making it to the main building. “Shall we?”

Satoru gave you a silent nod and you both started walking.

You had asked him how his mission had been, and he said it went all right, but he had forgotten your souvenir at home. Then he asked how you had been, and you told him you were fine. Then you were out of subjects to discuss, and the silence felt uncomfortable. Had this path always been this long?

Suddenly, Satoru touched your arm and both of you halted.

When you turned your head to him, it seemed he had his eyes on the spot where his hand was touching you, right above your elbow.

You could feel the wam of his hand even through your clothes.

“About the other night…”

So he was going to address the elephant in the room.

You bit your tongue. Whatever he had to say, you had to hear it.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to…” he was still not meeting your gaze, but his hand was sliding down to yours. “I did not mean to upset you.”

“I’m sorry too, for kicking you out and...”

“I like you.” His hand squeezed yours as he pronounced those words.

“As in…”

What did he mean? You knew he liked you as a person and as his friend, but if he was saying what you were thinking…

His free hand removed a loose stand of hair off your face. “As in I like you.”

If anyone looked at you two, there would be no more mistaking it; all rumors would automatically be considered true: the strongest sorcerer had a thing for his childhood friend.

“You don’t need to say anything now,” he continued when he saw a hint of hesitation on your face. “Just say you will think about it, okay?”

When had he started liking you? If he rejected you months ago, was it not kind of recent?

When he kissed you, was it because he liked you or because he believed you were leaving him alone?

You liked him as much as ever, and more than once you had wished his answer had been different months ago when your feelings came out of the bag, but those awkward days after, and the turbulence that followed had taught you that you did not want him out of your life. What would happen if things did not work out? None of you could probably revert to how they had been before. Was it worth risking your friendship after all?

You nodded to Satoru's question, and he gently pulled you to resume your walk.

You eyed your hand enclosed in his. “Shouldn’t we…?”

He kept looking ahead with a light smile. “Just a little longer, can we?”

Satoru rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb and finally let go of it when you reached your destination and parted ways to go to your respective students.

He felt satisfied believing he had made his feelings clear this time, while you could only think of how cold your hand had felt without his, and how if you broke each other’s hearts, he might never want to hold your hand again.

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

Note: I'm alive!

Thank you for reading!

Next: Part XVIII

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#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk #jjk drabbles #gojo x you #jjk fanfic #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo #gojo fanfic #satoru x reader #pay it no mind #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader

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