#the slow burn i'm always searching for is this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vandme12 · 2 days ago

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FEED ME MORE RONIN(KC)XREADER FICS VRVSVSVSVVRVD I LOVE U SO MUCHHH

but genuinely im getting fed so much i love your writing style plus creativity, if i can req a fic can it be where reader and ronin have like something going on but reader likes to play with people's feelings so they suddenly disappears from the server like entirely and ghosts people after they make a big impact on someone, like they cannot be found for weeks even months because the reader is so mysterious and ronin goes like batshit crazy about them and everyone is also affected since like reader made a big impact on them also but not as big as ronin, but like reader had already warned everyone in the server when introducing themselves to not get attach to them.

Soz if its too long I'm just pouring out my ideas ;^;

TW : mention of de@th, blood!

Ronin is a idiot

You had warned him once—long ago, before you entered the chat— In the intros, don’t get attached to things that could disappear.

And then you showed up. And then you disappeared.

And he, the self-proclaimed devil in the chatroom, the one always five steps ahead, became nothing more than a dog chasing after a ghost.

You had warned them.

The first thing you ever typed into the server was simple:

"Don’t get attached. I won’t stay."

It was the kind of warning that people either ignored or found irresistible. Ronin, of course, had been in the latter camp.

You were a busy person, an enigma wrapped in a perfect storm of contradictions. Flirty but distant. Charming but untouchable. Every word you spoke had weight, a slow drawl of honey-laced poison that left people craving more. Even Angel, the femme fatale of the server, found herself at odds with you—unable to outmatch your game.

But Ronin?

Oh, Ronin was fascinated.

You didn’t just worm your way into his mind—you nested there. Coiled up like something ancient, something destructive. He knew what you were doing, of course. A little push, a little pull. A joke that lingered in the air too long. A flirtation that was never quite serious, except when it was. You’d called him “dangerous” like it was a compliment. Had laughed when he asked if you were afraid of him.

Ronin had grinned like a sinner at the gates of hell.

"Then you and I should have dinner sometime."

And you had never said yes. Never said no. Just left him hanging in that in-between space, dangling on the edge of a thrill that never quite came.

And then—one day, just like that—you were gone.

No warning. No goodbye.

Not even a whisper of where you might have gone.

The server felt empty without you.

Conversations continued. People laughed, joked, killed. But there was something missing, and everyone felt it.

Angel tried to brush it off, but her frustration leaked through in the way she typed. Misaki felt sad, claiming it was "boring now." Even Luca—carefree, go-with-the-flow Luca—admitted that things felt different without you.

But Ronin?

Ronin was unraveling.

It wasn’t obvious at first. He still cracked jokes, still played the part of the charming devil. But something in his usual flair was off. His comments were a little too sharp, his laughter a little too hollow. He was waiting, always waiting, for that green dot to appear next to your name again.

It never did.

So he searched.

Deep dives into old messages. Cross-referencing time zones, speech patterns, the way you used punctuation. Every breadcrumb you’d ever left, he followed.

It led to nothing.

You had covered your tracks too well.

And Ronin—Ronin, who prided himself on being untouchable—felt the bitter taste of obsession settle on his tongue like blood.

He dreamt of you.

It was always the same.

A smirk that knew too much. A gaze that pinned him, dissected him, peeled him apart like he was something to be studied.

"You miss me?"

It was never a question.

And in the dreams, he never answered. Just stared. Just burned.

He woke up with your name on his lips and the echo of your laughter ringing in his ears.

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks turned into months.

The server moved on.

Ronin didn’t.

"You're still hung up on them?"

Angel was the only one who dared ask.

Ronin, for once, didn’t have a clever response. Just stared at the empty space on his screen where your name used to be.

"It’s not about being hung up," he muttered finally.

Angel scoffed. "No? Then what is it?"

Ronin ran his tongue over his teeth, considering.

"It’s about principle," he lied. "They made a game out of this, and I don’t like losing."

Angel studied him for a long moment.

"You're full of shit."

And she was right.

But he wouldn’t admit it.

Because admitting it meant admitting that you had gotten to him. That you had burrowed deep, deeper than anyone else. That, despite all his bravado, all his warnings—

He had gotten attached.

Months passed.

Seasons changed.

You never came back.

Ronin stopped looking. Not because he was over it, but because he had reached a conclusion—one he didn’t like, but one he accepted nonetheless.

You had won.

And worse?

He almost respected you for it.

He still thought about you.

At odd hours, in quiet moments. Whenever he saw something he knew you would have liked. A song lyric. A particular brand of sarcasm. The way the sky bruised purple at dusk.

He never reached out.

Never sent messages into the void.

Because he knew, deep down, you weren’t coming back.

You had never belonged to him, or to anyone.

You were a phantom, a ghost, a passing storm that left nothing but wreckage in its wake.

And Ronin?

Ronin would carry your absence like a scar. A beautiful, painful thing.

Damn Ronin, You should start a book.

It was just eight months..

It’s been eight months.

Eight months since you vanished. No warning, no explanation—just gone.

The server didn’t die without you, but it sure as hell dimmed. Conversations became routine, predictable. Even the chaos felt… hollow.

And Ronin?

Well, he didn’t ask about you anymore. Didn’t mention your name. But every time someone else joined the chat, he scanned their words for echoes of your voice—just in case.

You were the itch he couldn’t scratch. The ghost haunting his circuits. The one person who managed to pull off what no one else could—leaving him behind.

Until tonight.

[You]: hi.

Simple. Innocuous.

Like you hadn’t just fractured reality with a two-letter greeting.

The server goes dead.

No typing indicators. No immediate response. Nothing.

For a second, you wonder if you’ve been kicked—or if no one’s left to care.

Then—

[Angelic]: …you’ve got to be f*cking kidding me.

[LUCA_IS_SO_COOL]: nah, no way.

[Hitmeupp]: LMFAO. holy shit. they’re alive.

[Feli]: You're back!

You lean back, half-smiling. Same old chaos. Same voices. They missed you—you can taste it in the way they scramble to respond.

You stretch your fingers over the keyboard.

[You]: what happened?

What happened?

Ronin nearly broke the world looking for you.

He tore through every trace you left behind, lost hours of sleep chasing nothing but air, and when that failed, he sat in silence—waiting. Wishing he could hate you as much as he missed you.

But sure. Let’s play dumb.

He doesn’t respond right away.

You notice it immediately. No sharp-tongued comment. No obnoxious flirt. Just… silence.

And that’s when you know—he’s pissed.

Still, you press on.

[You]: you all sound so dramatic. did someone die?

[Angelic]: baby, you’re lucky I’m not tracking your IP and strangling you right now.

[Hitmepp]: seriously, what the hell? ghosting the entire server? iconic, but rude.

[Luca_is_so_cool]: ngl, kinda missed the chaos.

[Feli]: People assumed you were dead. Ronin almost burned down a city/j

You blink.

…He what?

And finally—finally—his name pops up.

[goreboy]: oh. look who’s back.

The words sit there, cold and casual, but something in your chest tightens. You’d half-expected fireworks—some grand flourish of rage or obsession. But this?

This is worse.

[You]: no hi? no welcome back? rude.

[goreboy]: thought you didn’t want anyone getting attached.

Touché.

The others keep talking, but you barely register their words. It’s background noise—white static behind the gnawing tension curling between you and him.

You tap out a private DM.

[You → goreboy]: miss me?

A beat.

Two.

Three.

Then—

[goreboy]: no.

Liar.

But you’re not going to let him off that easy.

[You → goreboy]: cute. is this the cold shoulder?

The typing bubble flashes—then stops. Starts again. Stops.

You can feel him wrestling with himself, and it’s delicious.

And you? You’re patient. You know exactly how to unravel him.

So you wait.

[goreboy]: you left.

Blunt. No flourish, no charm. And for once, he isn’t hiding behind a smirk.

[You → goreboy]: i warned you.

[goreboy]: doesn’t mean i liked it.

For all his swagger and venom, Ronin isn’t built for absence. He wants to possess—to hold and devour and keep. And you? You slipped right through his fingers like smoke.

But even now, even after all this time—he’s still here, isn’t he?

[You → goreboy]: and yet, here you are. waiting for me.

A full minute passes.

And when he finally responds, the edge is back—razor-sharp, dangerous.

[goreboy]: careful, darlin. you might start thinking i care.

[You → goreboy]: don’t you?

No answer.

The public chat hums on without you. Angel, Misaki, Luca—laughing, teasing, dragging you for disappearing.

But you’re not paying attention to them anymore.

It’s just you and him.

And the weight of everything unsaid.

He cracks first. Of course, he does.

[goreboy]: why come back?

You could give him the truth. That you missed the chaos. That nothing else felt quite as alive as being here.

Or you could keep playing the game.

And you’ve always loved the game.

[You → goreboy]: thought you’d be fun to haunt.

For a long time, nothing.

And then, with the kind of dangerous sweetness only he can pull off—

[goreboy]: careful what you wish for, sweetheart. haunting goes both ways.

Title: A Vanishing Act (Part 3)

[You → goreboy]: you killed me.

A joke. Light. Playful. Exactly the kind of thing you know will sink its claws into him.

You expect a quip back—something smug and biting.

But nothing comes.

Just dots.

The typing bubble flares up—dies—flares again. He’s hesitating. Ronin never hesitates.

Until you.

[You → goreboy]: because.

[You → goreboy]: you really did.

And oh— You know it’s cruel.

But he deserves it.

When he does respond, it’s not words—just:

…

Quiet. Too quiet.

And that—that’s when you know you’ve hit something raw. Something bloody.

You lean back, fingers hovering, letting the silence stretch. Knowing he’s somewhere out there, gripping his phone too tight, the weight of your words crawling under his skin.

He always wanted you obsessed—so why shouldn’t you haunt him?

[goreboy]: funny.

His first word in five minutes.

But that’s the thing about Ronin. When he cracks, it’s never gentle.

[goreboy]: maybe i did.

You should leave it there. Let him sit in it.

But you never were good at leaving well enough alone.

[You → goreboy]: hahahahahahaha

He doesn’t laugh back. Not yet.

But you can feel it—something sharp, curling. The temperature’s dropped, and you know he’s right there on the edge.

So you push.

Because if you know anything about Ronin Beaufort, it’s that he always pushes back.

[You → goreboy]: what if i told you…

[You → goreboy]: you were right.

More dots.

Longer this time.

And you know—he’s unraveling.

[goreboy]: right about what, doll?

A little too casual. A little too smooth.

He’s covering. And poorly.

[You → goreboy]: i died.

Simple. Plain. Like saying the sky is blue.

[You → goreboy]: you did it.

And that’s what does it.

The dam breaks.

He laughs.

It starts soft—a low, choking thing—then spills out, full and wrong. You can almost hear it through the screen, that breathless, sharp-edged sound.

[goreboy]: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

[goreboy]: oh, sweetheart.

[goreboy]: that’s rich.

And you know—deep down—you’re cracking something wide open.

But you? You’re too far gone to stop.

[You → goreboy]: it’s not a joke.

The chat has gone dead quiet.

Angel hasn’t spoken in minutes. Misaki? Silent. Luca? Vanished.

It’s just you and him now.

And whatever’s left of the sanity between you.

[goreboy]: so you’re a ghost now?

His words are honeyed poison. Slow, syrupy, deadly.

And when you don’t answer—

He laughs again.

[goreboy]: god, baby.

[goreboy]: you’re such a tease.

He’s trying. You’ll give him that. Trying to hold onto the thread of normalcy. But you’re not going to let him have it.

Not when he deserves so much worse.

[You → goreboy]: it wasn’t quick, you know.

[You → goreboy]: slow. messy.

And there it is—

The cracks are showing.

[goreboy]: mm. sounds like my style.

But the words aren’t smooth anymore.

They’re tight. Stretched thin.

He’s feeling it.

And you’re not done.

[You → goreboy]: you didn’t even notice, did you?

The typing bubble flashes—stops.

Flashes—stops.

And then—

[goreboy]: no.

A confession.

Soft. Small. Wrong.

And if you were still alive—if you still cared—you might feel sorry for him.

But you don’t.

Not anymore.

[You → goreboy]: you missed me.

A taunt.

A truth.

And you know it’s killing him.

He doesn’t deny it.

Doesn’t lie.

Doesn’t run.

He does something worse.

[goreboy]: yeah.

One word.

Bare. Raw.

And you should stop.

But instead, you press harder.

Because if you’re haunting him—he’s going to feel it.

[You → goreboy]: do you regret it?

No dots.

No laugh.

Just nothing.

Until—

[goreboy]: no.

And oh, that—that sends a shiver crawling down your spine.

He doesn’t regret it. Not for a second.

You could break him—drown him in the guilt—but he’d still smile. Still reach for you through the blood.

Because he doesn’t want forgiveness.

He just wants you.

[You → goreboy]: good.

A low hum of energy coils beneath your skin. You know he’s hooked now��tangled so deep he couldn’t cut himself free if he tried.

And you?

You’re not done playing.

[goreboy]: what now, baby?

His voice—his tone—it’s too soft. Too hungry.

Like he’d tear the world apart just to touch you again.

[You → goreboy]: i’ll haunt you.

A promise.

A curse.

And his answer?

It’s not fear. Not regret.

It’s delight.

[goreboy]: oh, sweetheart.

[goreboy]: i’ll see you in hell.

And you believe him.

Because Ronin Beaufort always keeps his promises.

And he’ll never let you go.

"Do it"

On the 6th Month

You let him kiss you—slow, sweet—like you weren’t about to make him cross a line neither of you could come back from.

And then—

You asked.

"Do it."

His hands curled around your throat—gentle at first. Testing.

And God—you laughed. Laughed.

His grip tightened.

And for the first time—you thought, Maybe.

He could do it.

He would.

"Say it again," he rasped. "Tell me you want it."

And you did.

Over and over and over—until the words were raw in your throat and his hands were shaking against your skin.

"You’ll do it, right?" you whispered. "For me?"

He kissed you through the tears—yours, his—you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

#kc #killer chat #killer chat x reader #killer chat ronin #killerchat #ronin beaufort #ronin x reader #kc ronin #kc ronin x reader #killer chat ronin x reader

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wendichester · 1 day ago

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I absolutely love your work! Could I request something where the reader is not the most active person, like... She doesn't like running, she's not fit, she's terrible at fighting. She maybe does research, but that's all. But she's good at picking clothes, she always makes sure Sam and Dean look professional/appropriate to what they'll be doing. And she makes absolutely AMAZING apple pie, and she cooks, and all - just helps "passively", not "actively". So one day she decides that "alright, that's enough, I'm only causing trouble" and leaves - and at first the boys don't care, since she "wasn't too useful" - but after like a week or two they notice that they miss the apple pie, they miss someone who could help them with looking better, especially Sam, who realizes how deep in love with her he is? And maybe she comes back?

I'm sorry if it's too specific, or too much details, or anything😅😅

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ all the little things,

summary. when you start to think just how replaceable you are, sam shows you exactly otherwise

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester

wordcount. 681

notes. honestly, this is just a heartwarming idea! thank you for requesting lovely 🩷

The motel room is quiet when you slip out.

Your bag is packed, everything neat and folded because, well—of course it is. You aren’t a mess. You don’t do things hastily or without thinking. But you’ve thought about this—leaving—long and hard, and the conclusion is always the same.

You aren’t useful.

Sure, you help. You make sure Dean’s FBI suit isn’t wrinkled and that Sam has something other than plaid to wear when interviewing victims. You keep the bunker stocked, and you make damn good apple pie.

But you can’t run. You can’t fight. You can barely hold a gun without it shaking in your hands.

And you’re tired of feeling like dead weight.

So you leave.

No note, no big speech—just a quiet exit in the middle of the night, the way you’re sure they’ll forget you.

Because you? You’re replaceable.

Right?

At first, the boys don’t notice.

They wake up, see that your things are gone, and shrug it off. Maybe you got tired of the life. Maybe you found something better.

They don’t talk about it.

They just move on.

Then things start feeling off.

Not all at once—just little things.

Like how Dean’s shirts are suddenly wrinkled as hell, and his ties are never quite right. Or how Sam keeps losing his laptop charger because you’re not there to remind him to bring it.

And the food? Absolute garbage.

Dean burns everything. Sam tries to cook and nearly poisons them both. They eat diner food three times a day, and after two weeks, Dean stares blankly at the menu and mutters, “God, I miss pie.”

Sam’s fork pauses mid-air.

It’s the first time either of them has said it out loud.

Dean catches himself, scowls, and shoves a bite of pancakes into his mouth. But the damage is done.

They do miss you.

The bunker feels wrong without you.

Your room is empty, hollow in a way Sam can’t stand. He stops by more often than he wants to admit, staring at the bed like it might hold answers, like it might tell him why you left without a word.

At first, he assumed it didn’t matter. But now—now it’s everywhere.

It’s in the little things.

Like how there’s no warm light from the kitchen in the morning, no soft hum of music while you bake. No one teasing Dean about his terrible diet or fixing Sam’s collar before an interview.

No one who makes them feel like they have a home.

It takes Sam longer than he’d like to admit to realize what it means.

He doesn’t just miss you.

He loves you.

And he needs you back.

Finding you takes time.

Sam spends hours searching, fingers flying over the keyboard until—finally—he gets a hit.

Dean doesn’t argue when Sam says, “Let’s go.”

Because he misses you too.

You stare at them when they show up at your new apartment.

“...What are you doing here?”

Sam takes a slow breath. “We need to talk.”

You cross your arms, trying to hold your ground. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Dean scoffs. “Bullshit.”

Sam shoots him a look, then turns back to you, softer. “We didn’t realize how much we needed you,” he admits. “Not just for the small stuff—for everything.”

You blink, and Sam steps closer, voice steady.

“You make us better. You make us feel like we’re more than just hunters. More than just the job.”

You swallow hard. “I—I thought I was just in the way.”

Sam shakes his head. “You were never in the way.”

Dean chimes in. “Look, we’re idiots, okay? We should’ve said something when you left.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “But the truth is—we suck without you.”

Your throat tightens.

Then Sam says, quietly—earnestly,

“I love you.”

Your breath catches.

Dean smirks. “Took him long enough to admit it.”

Sam rolls his eyes but doesn’t look away from you. His hand finds yours, warm and solid.

“So,” he says. “Come home?”

You hesitate—only for a second.

Then you nod.

And just like that, everything is right again.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @bamboobooshark ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @szyszoszelest ⋆ @angelicalm3ss ⋆ @writtenbyhollywood ⋆ @larasalii ⋆ @yeehawgiddyup13 ⋆ @xo-zeze ⋆ @jules-pagie ⋆ @freeluigihesbae ⋆ @viarasvogue

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester fic #supernatural #.docx #.req

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pinedemon · 2 months ago

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i want a slow burn where there isn't love or lust at first sight. one where both characters have a first meeting that doesn't have to leave them starry-eyed. no meet-cute. no butterflies, no blushing -- that will come later. they might not even like each other, yet. it doesn't matter. they meet again and again and those rough edges melt away. they joke, maybe. they share things: food, stories, a long look, a touch. they grow to truly know one another. something hollow begins to gnaw at each of them whenever they are apart, and then it grows, takes shape into something warmer, more sincere, with feathers; slowly, they learn to love one another. perhaps they dare to hope that the other loves them back. maybe they get together, and maybe they don't. but this is the love i crave: deep and enduring, forged gently and with time. just two people who find that, against all odds, they fit together.

#the slow burn i'm always searching for is this #real chemistry and real interaction without the pink stage background and everyone throwing them roses #just two people who meet and come to genuinely love one another #also thanks to emily dickinson for writing such lovely poetry which i played off of here #slow burn #ao3 #writing #romance #romantic #fanfic writing #fanfic #fanfiction #demisexual #demiromantic #lgbtqia #asexual

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littlelamy · 3 months ago

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heartbeats with rafe

author's note: i wanted to lean more into a softer, vulnerable side of rafe; it was scrapped because i thought it was a little corny, but i'm still in love with the idea of rafe being calmed down by something as simple as his partner's heartbeat.

rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to relax after a fight. anger simmered in him like a storm that couldn’t pass, whether it was a screaming match with his dad, an argument with his sisters, or some run-in with the pogues. he carried it with him, his fists clenched and his jaw tight, until it burned itself out.

but then there was you.

you were different. with you, the fire in him didn’t rage out of control; it softened, flickering into something gentler. you had a way of grounding him, of pulling him back when he felt like he was spiraling.

tonight, though, the storm followed him home.

he slammed the door behind him, his chest heaving as he stood in the middle of your shared room. his hands were shaking, his mind still running wild from another fight with ward.

you looked up from the bed, your expression calm, even though you could feel the tension radiating off him. “rafe,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the haze in his head.

he shook his head, pacing the room. “i can’t—fuck, i can’t do this,” he muttered, his hands raking through his hair.

you stood slowly, your bare feet silent against the floor as you walked over to him. when you reached him, you placed a hand gently on his chest, feeling the frantic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

“breathe,” you murmured.

his eyes locked on yours, wide and almost desperate. “i can’t—i don’t know how to calm down,” he admitted, his voice cracking.

you guided his hand to your chest, pressing it flat over your heart. “then listen to me,” you whispered.

he froze, his fingers trembling against your skin as he focused on the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. ba-dum. ba-dum. it was soft, sure, and unshaken, the complete opposite of how he felt.

“your heart,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “it always calms me down.”

you smiled faintly, your other hand brushing his cheek. “then let it.”

he exhaled shakily, his hands sliding to your waist as he guided you backward toward the bed.

“can i...?” he asked, his voice quiet, unsure.

you nodded, understanding what he needed without him having to say it. when the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, he eased you down slowly, his hands warm and steady.

kneeling beside you, his fingers brushed the hem of your shirt. “i just need to feel closer,” he murmured, almost like he was afraid you’d push him away.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice soft but reassuring.

he tugged your shirt over your head with careful reverence, his touch never rushed or forceful. when his hands found the clasp of your bra, he paused, his gaze searching yours for permission.

you gave him a small nod, and he unhooked it slowly, letting it fall to the floor before leaning down to press his ear against your chest.

his arms wrapped around you as his hands moved gently to cup your chest. his palms were warm against your skin, his touch soft and careful, not possessive but grounding. he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, syncing his breaths with the steady rhythm of your heart.

subconsciously, his thumbs began rubbing slow, soothing circles on your skin. the motion was absentminded, but it made your heart ache with tenderness.

“this,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. “this is what keeps me together.”

you ran your fingers through his hair, your own heart swelling at how vulnerable he seemed in that moment. “i’m not going anywhere,” you promised.

he tightened his hold on you, his thumbs continuing their gentle movements as he exhaled again, slower this time. “you make me feel like I’m worth something,” he said, his voice breaking.

“you are,” you said firmly. “to me, you’re everything.”

he stayed like that for a long time, letting the steady beat of your heart and the warmth beneath his hands pull him out of the chaos in his mind. when he finally looked up, his blue eyes were clearer, softer.

“thank you,” he said quietly.

“always,” you replied, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

he smiled faintly, his hands never leaving you. his thumbs stilled their motion, but his palms remained warm against your chest, grounding him. “i don’t know what i did to deserve you,” he said.

“you don’t have to do anything,” you replied, your voice soft but steady. “you just have to let me love you.”

his lips curved into a small smile, his eyes shining with something raw and unspoken. “i’ll try,” he said.

you kissed him then, slow and gentle, a reminder that he didn’t have to face everything alone.

later, as you lay together on the bed, his head resting against your chest, you traced lazy patterns along his back.

“rafe?” you murmured.

“hmm?”

“i love you,” you said softly.

he tilted his head up to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “i love you, y/n,” he said, his voice quiet but certain.

he pressed a kiss to your chest, right where your heart beat steadily beneath your skin, and for the first time that night, he felt at peace.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

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reilemon · 7 months ago

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🍷Ambrosia🍷

♡︎ synopsis: You give Sylus a private pole dance show.

♡︎ pairing: Sylus x fem!reader

⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒

♡︎ cw: pre-relationship, pole dancing, lap dance, cowgirl, missionary, creampie

♡︎ word count: 4.2k

♡︎ a/n: If you don't like how I wrote Sylus pls don't say anything. 😭

♡︎ a little gift for my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎

divider by @cafekitsune

"Why are you walking by yourself in the city at 1 am?" Sylus asks you over the phone.

You look around, searching for Mephisto. You sigh when you fail. "I just wanted to sober up on my way home."

"You can sober up in my car." And as if on cue, a familiar black car pulls up next to you.

The other line cuts off and Sylus exits, walking around and opening the passenger's door. "Get in, sweetie."

You cross your arms. "I don't wanna get car sick."

"You won't. I'll drive slowly."

"But I'm like five minutes away from my apartment." You look around at the empty street. No people and no surveillance cameras. You did pick out a weird route, but it was in a peaceful neighborhood. "Why don't you walk with me?"

Sylus' shoulders slump at your request. Not because it's unreasonable, but because he hoped the car ride would be more than five minutes long.

After parking the car, he returns to you carrying a water bottle and a paper bag with a logo of a donut shop. He hands them over, and you accept, feeling guilty.

"Did you get these for me?"

He shrugs. "I always drive by that place, so I got curious and bought some."

"Oh... Oh?" Your eyes land on a stain on his shirt. Blood? No - "Is that jam?"

He glances down "Right, I tried one and it spilled on my shirt. I can just get a new one."

You roll your eyes. "Of course you can. I have something that can remove the stain."

When you turn to start walking, he grabs your hand and loops your arm around his. "Slow down, I don't want you to trip."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Just when you locked the doors of your apartment, it hit you that Sylus, the infamous leader of Onichynus, your friend (?), is in your apartment. At 1 am, for the first time. The apartment isn't messy, but you still would've prepared it more. For instance, you would've put away the pole standing in the middle of your living room.

Of course, that's the first thing Sylus notices. "You like to pole dance, kitten?"

The question sobers you up immediately. Your face and ears burn in embarrassment, and you can feel sweat forming on your back. "Um, sometimes. When I have time." You scurry away to the kitchen to put away the food, Sylus chuckling behind you. You wouldn't be so flustered if you knew those cool, energetic moves. No, instead, all you know is the sensual, seductive ones. They're like a breath of fresh air, given the nature of your job.

You go back to Sylus who made himself comfortable on your sofa, taking in the new environment. "I have a men's t-shirt that could fit you, and I'll return your shirt the next time I see you."

With a slight glare he responds "I'm not wearing another man's clothes."

You sigh "It's mine. I like to wear baggy clothes around the house." Although, you can't help but smile a little at that display of jealousy. Was it, though? Or are you just being delusional?

You wish it was.

His face returns to the neutral relaxed state, with his usual amused smirk. The face, you noticed, he only has when he's around you. It wasn't like that in the beginning (let's not talk about the beginning), but the more time you spent with him, the more you got to see his gentle side.

Lost in your daydream, you didn't notice that he was almost done unbuttoning the stained shirt, revealing he doesn't have anything underneath.

When he completely takes it off, your eyes are glued to his torso. This is your first time seeing him completely shirtless, leaving you unable to peel off your gaze from his chiseled muscles, broad shoulders-

"It's rude to stare, sweetie."

You blink, snapping out of the shameless ogling, taking the shirt that was lingering in his hand for a moment as he was trying to hand it to you.

"I wasn't staring." You, again, make a run for it, this time to your bedroom to fish out a clean oversized t-shirt for him. When you return to the living room, your eyes are fixated on his face, fighting the urge to look down and stare at his physique.

He thanks you and puts it on. It fits almost perfectly, and although he's covered, the sight is making your heart flutter.

He takes a whiff of the fabric. "Smells nice."

After a brief chat about laundry (of course Sylus doesn't do it, but knows how to, apparently), you turn towards the bathroom, claiming "Trust me, I'll make that stain disappear."

"I bet you can't."

The accusation makes you stop in your tracks. "I bet I can! And if I win, you'll get me something pretty."

Sylus chuckles, eyeing you from head to toe. "If you lose, you'll dance for me."

Fell right into his trap.

With a shaky voice you refuse, "I don't think so. Pick something else."

Sylus raises an eyebrow, genuinely surprised at your declining of the bet for the first time. "Oh?" He notices how you're shifting where you stand, averting your gaze. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

You shake your head "You didn't, it's just that - " You trail off, an idea popping up in your head. By now, Sylus can read your face with ease, so he smirks when your eyes light up and he listens intently. "How about, if you actually want me to put on a little show for you, you buy me a bottle of my favorite perfume?"

You've been running low, and it's currently out of stock literally everywhere you looked. If he actually wants to see you dance, he'll have to put in a little bit of work. Not only is the perfume out of stock, he doesn’t even know which one is your favorite. At least you never told him. And even if he, by some miracle, finds it, you'll just do a few spins and take your perfume. It's not like he asked you to give him a lap dance. You probably wouldn't be opposed to it, though.

He raises his eyebrows before nodding. "Deal."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

As you shut the door of the bathroom, Sylus slowly sneaks his way into your bedroom. Actually, it’s not sneaking in if you left the door open, right?

However, he's not a creep who uses this opportunity to go through your underwear drawer. No, he goes straight to your vanity and takes a sniff of every fancy looking perfume, remembering almost every single scent and occasion you wore them on.

The water stopped running in the bathroom. He needs to wrap this up. There's one more bottle, the printed logo and letters worn out, almost empty. He chuckles, as he wonders if this is the one since you're running low and want him to replace it. You could've just asked him to and he'd get you ten more.

His eyes roll back as the ambrosial scent hits his nose. That's it, that's the one. Oh, how he adores it. It smells intoxicating when it's on you. And you're wearing it tonight, him catching a hint of it when you met up and he had to fight every fiber in his body not to bury his face in your neck, taking in your perfume and the feel of your soft skin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

At the doorway of Sylus' bedroom, you stare at the pole installed in the middle of the room. When he said to take the now stain-free shirt to his bedroom, you thought it was odd since, well - why would you go into his bedroom? The last time you were here, was to search for that brooch and he kicked you out every time. Except for the last time, when you succeeded in finding it, the moments on his bed that you fantasize more often than you'd like to admit, where you wish it led to something more.

"You know you're allowed to enter?" Sylus' teasing voice appears behind you.

You peer at him over your shoulder "You already have the pole installed? Without even getting the perfume first?" After all, it's only been a few days since you last saw him, and when you gave him the challenge.

"Take a better look, sweetie." He nods in the direction of the desk.

You take a step inside to get a closer look, with Sylus trailing behind you to stand next to you. Of course, there it is - the bottle of your favorite perfume waiting for you. Sylus smirks in self-satisfaction as your face is too easy to read now, you can't lie your way out of this.

Nor do you want to.

"Well," Sylus gestures towards the bed, "I took the liberty of ordering some outfits for you."

You then eye the clothes that you didn't notice earlier, gawking at the stunning pieces that ranged from coverage to more provocative, and all in your favorite colors.

You turn to him, eyes wide "I - " You don't even know what to say - you want to thank him, but at the same time you didn't expect him to do all this. You know that he is as generous as he is wealthy, but his thoughtfulness always catches you off guard. One of the main reasons why you like him so much.

He chuckles at your cute reaction and pats your head. Then he takes the shirt that was still in your hands and walks towards the door. "I'll give you half an hour to pick out an outfit and warm up."

"Wha - ?"

He shuts the door behind him.

Fuck.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You took more time trying on your new pole outfits than warming up, leaving you with only five minutes to frantically pack them in an empty box you assumed was for the clothes, and to actually warm up. There was nothing underneath the skimpy outfit you picked out, since you had to get rid of your underwear that was ruining the look. There were even some heels waiting for you, and even though you didn't have to wear them, you couldn't resist. You put some of your favorite perfume on, of course, and in the middle of the brief warm-up you thought of one more detail.

There's a soft knock on the door and you frantically exit Sylus' closet, almost tripping in your high heels as you go back to the pole.

Sylus enters the room and you can see that he's stunned for a brief second, as he sees you wearing heels and one of his silk robes.

He closes the door behind him and comments with an amused smile "I don't remember displaying my robe on the bed."

You fidget the soft fabric of the belt, trying to ignore the thumping of your heart as the reality of the situation is starting to settle in. The pole next to you, Sylus asking you which playlist he should play, your nose picking up the familiar scent of his fabric softener.

You must've looked like a deer in headlights, because Sylus' concerned frown as he calls your name snaps you back to reality.

"Are you okay? You don't really have to do this -."

"No, I'm fine!" You clear your throat, steeling your resolve. You want to do this. "I was just trying to remember the song..." You grab your phone and hand it over to him to connect it with the stereo and go back to wait by the pole.

You may have fantasized about dancing for him more than you'd like to admit - and not just in these few days since you last saw him. You also may have more than one song that reminds you of him and that you created choreographies for.

While setting up, Sylus sits down on the sofa in front of you.

He can feel your eyes on him.

"What?" He asks, still setting up.

“Nothing.” You look away and do some of the last warm up moves. You wanted to jokingly ask if he expected a lap dance, but you chickened out. The deal was for you to just show off some of your pole dance moves, that’s it. No striptease, no lap dancing…

You collect the courage to make the joke anyway, but just as you open your mouth the first notes of the song you picked out hit your ears.

He puts your phone away and makes himself comfortable in his seat - legs spread, hands resting on his thighs, lips pulled in that smirk, his eyes fully focused on you.

So you give him your most confident-looking smile, grab the pole with one hand and start walking around it. You drag the platforms of your shoes across the floor, just gliding around before getting into the show-off moves. Your movements are fluid, making it looks so easy - from spinning around to air walking. The music and the dancing soothe your anxiety and lift your mood. You know you look good. After a few spins, the silk robe starts getting in the way. With your back turned to him, your hands untie the belt and slide the robe off your shoulders. You look back at him with a playful grin, and you can't help but feel smug at how immersed he is in your performance, one arm now resting on the backrest, eyes raking over your whole body and face, anticipating your next move.

The robe slips off completely and you toss it away somewhere. You feel your cheeks heat up as the air hits your newly exposed skin. This is the first time you've showed so much of yourself to Sylus, and you couldn't help but feel a little shy. But then you see him shifting in his seat, face a little more serious, the attention giving you butterflies. With so much of your skin exposed, you show off some of the advanced moves, and you feel a new boost of confidence. You know it’s stunning - the way you look in your revealing outfit and how you perform these moves with ease.

The other half of the song starts playing, and you decide to shift from the pole to the floor. Fixing your gaze to the side, on Sylus, you go down on all floors, slowly gliding your upper body, your butt propped up, giving him a perfect view of your silhouette. Red eyes follow every step and take in your expressions that go from focused to playful and a little flirty.

Maybe more flirty than you realize.

You lie on your back, lifting your legs and move your hips side to side, making slow waves with your legs. With every next move, you're bolder, more provocative, locking eyes with him as you move.

In the brief silence between the songs, Sylus chuckles "Is that all, kitten?"

You know he's teasing. After all the time you spent together, some of them literally tied to each other, you know how to recognize the slight differences in his tone.

You know how to tease too. Smiling mischievously, you get on all fours, back arched, and slowly crawl towards him, cat style.

Sylus' lips stretch into a half grin as he watches you close the distance, with you now on your knees by his feet. He loved every second of your performance, his admiration for you only growing, always unconsciously proving to him that you are worth every second of his time and every bit of effort to be more patient. But every moment of that performance made his patience run thin. The craving, the need for you – it’s starting to overtake him. The sensual moves, the most provocative outfit he picked out but thought he was pushing his luck with, they made your body, made you, irresistible. He needed to deflect. He loves teasing you because your reactions are always so cute and amusing. He expected a pout or a snarky comment but instead you started crawling towards him and-

You graze your hands over his thighs, feeling the muscles under the fabric of his pants twitch with your touch and stopping just around his hips. Then, you gracefully stood up and turned around, arching your back and moving your hips to the rhythm, giving him a nice view of your butt. As you look over your shoulder, you have to bite back a self-satisfied grin when you catch his gaze raking over your body, not being subtle about it at all. You turn to face him, hands grabbing onto his shoulders as you position yourself to kneel over him, and with every fiber in your body, you fight the urge to just sit on his crotch, to feel if he's hard at all. So you lean back, arms behind your back and holding onto his thighs as you stretch your torso and you roll your hips, your eyes locked with his.

With the second song almost over, you lean towards him, your lips tickling his earlobe, your eyes catching the goosebumps on the skin of his neck and the redness on his ear. "I guess this is all I got."

And just when you're about to push yourself off the sofa, Sylus' strong hands grab you by the hips, pressing them down on his clothed erection, a yelp escaping your lips upon contact.

"Are you sure?" His red eyes, illuminated by the low lights of his bedroom, are on you, lidded with lust.

Just a bit more.

You sigh innocently and avert your gaze, resting your arms on his shoulders, your hips moving lazily over the rock hard erection, earning a choked grunt from the man under you, his hands gripping the soft flesh of your hips and butt.

"Well..." You trail off, steadying your breathing as arousal started rapidly coursing through your body, making your mouth dry and pussy wet. "I think - !?"

Sylus' hand wraps around your jaw, making you look back at him. His lips are parted, cheeks flushed, and you don't think you've ever seen his eyes looking at you with such intensity.

Out of breath, he asks you, "Can I kiss you?"

"Y-yes."

His lips take yours in a searing kiss, the hand on your hip trailing over your back and pressing between your shoulder blades, while the hand on your jaw finds its way to the back of your head. It feels like an out of body experience to finally kiss Sylus, to feel his soft lips you've been eyeing for so long, to bury your fingers in his silver hair, to taste mint and red wine on his tongue, to feel the pulse on his neck under your hand. Your clothed pussy was fluttering, desperate for some attention, so you started moving your hips again, grinding against him, drawing out a low groan from the man.

"If you keep doing that I can't hold back any longer." He warns in a low voice against your lips.

You take his 'warning' seriously and suddenly sit up, kneeling above his lap once again. A flash of confusion (or disappointment) on Sylus' face gets quickly overwritten with surprise, followed by a cocky grin as your hands go to his belt.

He puts his hands over yours, making you look back at his eyes that softened a little. "Are you sure?"

You nod and try to shift your attention back to his belt, but he grabs your chin, his face a breath away from yours. "I need you to use your words, kitten."

You swallow thickly, the blood rushing under your cheeks and ears "Yes, I can't wait anymore."

Sylus gives you one more breathtaking kiss before he opens his belt and unzips his pants, hissing in relief as his hard cock is freed from his underwear. Your eyes widen as they stare at the sheer size of it, your pussy fluttering in anticipation.

You move the bottoms of your outfit to the side, making him groan as he catches the sight of your naked pussy lips, "Fuck, you had nothing underneath this whole time? You'll be the death of me."

Your chuckle is replaced by a soft whimper as he grabs his cock by the base and guides you by grabbing your hip, the tip sliding along your wet folds, grazing your clit. It slides right against your entrance, dipping in and out of your hole, each time a little deeper, before the tip is fully inside and you're already seeing stars. Now both his hands are on your hips, slowly guiding you down as he watches your face intently, a single drop of sweat sliding down his temple.

"You can take it, pretty girl." He chokes back a groan as your walls squeeze around him as he enters you deeper. It takes him every last bit of restraint not to thrust up into you and fuck you senseless.

He rubs soothing circles on your bud, making your legs twitch, the stretch of his dick already stimulating enough to send you over the edge. With a few shallow pumps, he fully enters you.

"That's it, you're doing so good." Pulling you into a tight embrace, his lips find yours, teeth nipping and tongue licking your bottom lip before he trails over your jaw to the sensitive skin of your neck. Holding onto his broad shoulders and nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, you slowly start moving your hips, sweat starting to drip from your back and your chest. He takes off your top, leaving you with only your bottom and the heels on your feet, while he's still fully clothed as you ride him. His tongue drags over between your breasts, drinking up your sweat, his lips then latching onto your pebbled nipple while his fingers play with the other one.

Your sensitive swollen clit keeps rubbing against his pelvis, as you roll your hips on his length.

Sylus hisses against your breast, "You're squeezing me so tight." He grabs you by the back of your neck, his face now close to yours. With his other hand squeezing your butt cheek, his hips thrust up, meeting your pace. "You gonna cum, darling?"

You can only mewl and nod in response. He notices your leg muscles shaking and hips staggering in their movement.

"Let me take over." He knows you're getting tired, but too lost in pleasure and probably too proud to admit it. He slides further down in his seat, letting your body rest completely on top of him. He holds onto your ass in a bruising grip, holding your hips in place as he starts vigorously thrusting up, the blunt tip hitting all the right places and the base and pelvis hitting your clit over and over until you're a panting moaning mess on top of him. His teeth latch onto the flesh between your neck and shoulder as your intoxicating smell, your voice, and pulsing cunt bring him closer to cumming too.

Just when you're about to come down from your high, Sylus suddenly sits up and throws a pillow from the sofa onto the floor.

"Hold onto me." He instructs and you do as you're told, wrapping your arms and legs around him, allowing him to, as gently as possible, lay you onto the floor with the pillow under your head.

He adjusts himself between your legs and continues the relentless pounding. The view on top of you makes your pussy flutter again - strands of his silver hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, lust dazed eyes fixed on you, pupils dilated you can barely see the ruby red irises, wide shoulders and his whole fucking hot face and body you could stare at forever. But you need to feel his weight on your body.

As if reading your mind, he lies down completely on top of you, using one elbow for support while the other arm sneaks behind you and grabs your butt. "I'm so fucking close." He grunts against your lips, but you're too lost in pleasure to say anything back, only moaning and burying your face in his shoulder as your walls clench around his throbbing dick, the pressure of another orgasm building up.

The hand moves to grab your face, thumb tracing over your cheekbone, the gentle touch contrasting with his ruthless hips, "Let me see you, darling." His voice is both soft and strained.

You're the first one to break the eye contact as another orgasm crashes through you. Sylus' orgasm comes only seconds later, enhancing the intensity as his twitching cock spurts hot liquid inside your pussy.

With the last lazy rolling of his hips, you come down from your own highs, foreheads pressed together as both of you catch your breath. He gives you a soft kiss on the lips, and then just gazes at you with a tenderness you haven't seen before. His fingertips trace over the features of your face. "I hope you can spend the night here."

Of course, you accept the offer. And of course, you didn't sleep at all that night.

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #lads sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus smut #sylus x you #sylus l&ds #lads smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace fanfic #sylus fanfic

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bloomzone · 3 months ago

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Do you ever feel like SHIT? Like life is moving so fast, and you’re stuck, tired, or completely drained? cuz same 🙋🏻‍♀️. That’s why I started looking into Japanese and Chinese habits—because I'm searching for slow down type of lifestyle, finding balance, and creating small moments of peace in the dawm chaos. Now, I know some of y’all will say, 'It’s overrated, you’re just obsessed with China or Japan,' but hear me out these habits aren’t about trends—they’re rooted in centuries and they’ve genuinely helped me improve both physically and mentally. If you’re ready to stop just surviving and start thriving, keep reading. These little changes might just change your life too.

Little Habits, Big Glow: Japanese & Chinese Traditions That Changed My Life

First off, warm water in the MORNING. I used to roll out of bed and go straight for coffee or cold ass water cuz my throat is DRYYYY , and honestly, my body hated me for it fr. But then I read about how in Chinese medicine, drinking warm water first thing in the morning is seen as a way to wake up your body gently. And let me tell you, IT WORK. No bloating, no sluggishness—just a simple, calming way to start the day. Sometimes I add a slice of lemon, and it feels like I’m doing something kind for my body before I even check my phone

Two Ikigai.( I talked Abt Ikigai and how to achieve this concept click here!) Japanese concept changed the way I see my day-to-day life. It’s basically finding purpose in the little things—like, not waiting for some huge life-changing moment to feel fulfilled. I used to put so much pressure on myself, thinking I needed to achieve these massive goals to be happy. But Ikigai taught me to slow down and find joy in small things, like enjoying my morning tea or journaling. It’s a game-changer for anyone who feels like they’re always chasing something bigger.

Another thing I’ve started doing is Tai Chi or qing gong. I know I know—it looks slow and kind of boring, but hear me out. It’s like moving meditation, and if you’re someone who struggles with anxiety (like meeey), this will center you like nothing else. It’s not about burning calories or anything like that; it’s about connecting your body and mind in the most peaceful way. Even just 10 minutes a day leaves me feeling lighter and more focused. (Click here to watch a video of it) When I first started, I thought, 'This is way too slow for me.' But then something clicked. The slowness is the point. It forces you to focus on your breathing, your posture, and every little movement. It’s like a moving meditation that clears your mind while strengthening your body.

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dont-look-its-embarrassing · 5 months ago

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To Be Seen

Azriel x Reader

This is my first ever one-shot or fanfiction type writing on here, so be patient with me bc it will be FAR from perfect or good.

This is purely self-indulgent bc again, I'm new at this and just wanted to write an insert or y/n type little blurb.

Summary; Being the best friend of Feyre when she was human, you regretfully got roped in and turned with her sisters as a tool for manipulation by Hybern. As the sister's find it hard to settle in claiming the attention of the two other bats, you attempt to make Feyre's and the inner court's life easier by flying under the radar and figuring it out on your own. However, are you really as unnoticed as you hope or is a certain shadowsinger entrapped by your caring and soft nature as his heart battles his mind for the third sister or you.

Warnings: None really, mentions of PTSD and anxiety, loneliness and self-help, slow-burn, slight angst with a fluffy ending, reader just wants to be seen but feels like she can't ask

Word count: 2,389

Pt2

The sound of a door opening broke you out of your thoughts as you sat in the drawing room in the house of wind. The gentle crackle of the fire Infront of you allowed your body to sit comfortably within the rather cold season and the book you were just reading sat loose in your lap. You haven't gotten used to your enhanced hearing yet as your now longer and thicker hair gently fell from where you had tucked it behind your ear.

"Y/n?" Your best friend's voice echoed into the room as her footsteps followed. A soft smile spread across your features as she came in, confirmed you where there, and plopped down ungraciously on the couch next to you. "Thank the mother you are here."

Her features where stressed, the worry written all over her face as she took your form in.

"What's going on?" You ask, hopeful to help.

Feyre let out a sigh as she let her eyes wonder to the fire Infront of the both of you.

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know, it seems that everything I do to try and help Nesta and Elaine seems to only make things worse." She rung her hands, a trait she picked up back in the human lands when she was nervous or upset. "It just never seems enough to make them comfortable or to try and apologize for everything that happened."

Your best friend's eyes slightly widened as she took her gaze from the flames.

"How are you? Are you doing okay?" The genuine care and concern oozing off of the female Infront of you reminded you of why you cared so much about your friend in the first place. When she was taken, you had searched high and low for her in hopes to get her back only to have her return happy and healthy with a loving man, or male, doting on her every need. You were ecstatic, and expressed yourself as so, even if it was with fae beings. When you and her sisters were taken, that happiness was put on hold to make sure that you are all where comfortable. Feyre's self-sacrificing nature did always drive you mad, even now when she was so close to being truly happy.

"I'm okay Feyre." She shot you a look, trying to dig deeper and call the bluff you made. "Seriously, I'm here with you and in an amazing place that I could only dream of with great people."

"A lot happened Y/n. A lot happened to Elaine and Nesta, but a lot happened to you." She was right, and it was weird for you to be so put together when the worlds of the other two were falling to pieces. With your more emotional and strong relationship with Feyre, you had been held captive with her sisters yes, but you also took the brunt of interrogation that the wicked king deemed necessary to gain any information of her court. You had put yourself in that position, you knew how awful she would feel about her familial blood being brutalized in such a way, so you took the heat. But, in the end, her sisters still took the change harder and refused to accept their new life, making everyone on edge and overexerting themselves to help.

With one look at your best friend's-tired eyes, you knew that she couldn't handle another burden. More like she shouldn't have to handle another burden.

The word tasted sour on your tongue.

Burden.

Shaking your head a small gentle smile graced your face, and you forced your features to emulate that same energy.

"I'm okay Feyre, really. Aside from some cool new power thing that I haven't figured out, I'm fine. " The breath she released could only register as relief in your mind as she met your smile.

"Okay, and we will definitely start working on that when we are all settled here." Her reassurance did little to reassure that it would be investigated. Again, with the two sisters gaining war altering abilities, your random energy (that had yet to manifest) would be put on the back burner until everyone else was settled. Again, the slight dismissal ached, but you understood the need for others to take precedence.

Giving a little nod, you two sit in silence for a bit just listening to the crackling of the fire and enjoying each other's presence. That is, until a wince rippled across your friends face and she slowly rose.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I think Elaine is out and not talking to Lucien and it's a mess-"

"It's fine Feyre, go make sure they are okay." You assure with the same smile. Giving one last 'thank you, I love you' she was gone like the wind that howled outside the windows. The silence that followed her exit had the ringing in your ears become a bit to unbearable. Removing yourself from the couch, you travel down to your room and grab a quick change of footwear.

Today would be a good day to explore the town, or at least good enough to get your mind out of the dark slump of trying to acclimate to its' new body and abilities.

Making your way towards the door, a small flicker of shadow catches your eye.

"Hello?" You call. You know that Rhys is most likely with Feyre and Azriel is also probably there because of Elaine, so you dismiss it quickly after a moment, chalking it up to just a trick of the light.

Opening the door, the slight chill on the wind has a shiver run through you, but the sun quickly chased it away. Breathing a sigh, you look at the vastness of the stairs below you.

No time like the present.

Taking one step at a time and avid breaks when needed, you would rather not admit to yourself just how much time that trek took. However, upon reaching the bottom, the satisfaction that filled you outweighed the journey. Walking down the streets of Velaris, the bustling normality of the people filled you with ease. As your heels clicked against the stones below, your gaze just missed the little shadow that trailed behind your body.

Taking in the colors and vibrant people, the ease and happiness that covered their faces had the ache in your gut grow more and more. Your mind wandered to if you would ever be that happy and mundane. With everything that had happened so far, the familiar life in the human forest (although had its struggles) seemed like an ideal. It was the lack of routine, lack of knowledge, the newly sprouted life, the misplacement, all of it plus more. You didn't notice your breathing gain more weight and take longer to fill your lungs than it did at the house. You also didn't notice the little skitter of the shadow that had followed you as it raced away towards some unseen location. The heat in your body seemed to increase as the sight of a simple family loving and walking together entered your mind.

Would anyone love you like this?

You couldn't think.

Ducking into a nearby ally, the overhead sheets and covering allowed it to be shaded and darker than the streets 20 feet away. Even then, the darkness of the ally seemed to illuminate with your presence there. However, it wasn't the light, it was the lack of grasp of oxygen you could inhale and the strenuous shaking your body couldn't stop. The tears that fell without your knowledge burned their tracks into your skin and sizzled as they hit the ground. Your body gave way to the spasms that took ahold of you as your mind raced. Burring your head into your knees, you attempted to shut the world out and let your mind slow but to no avail. You wished the darkness of the alley would swallow you whole, allow the sun and light to escape you being seen just this once.

Almost as if your prayers where in fact answered, the light surrounding you died as the darkness of the ally surrounded you. Picking your head up to view what cloud or magical being answered your plea, your eyes were met with those of hazel crouching Infront of you.

"Azriel?" You hadn't met this male for more than a couple days ago. He was nice, offering to go with you places or chat every so often. You had a couple nightly talks with him where you shared some stories between the two of you. Nothing out of the ordinary though, you felt safe around him when he was near. Confusion washed your features and for a moment your brain stopped running in circles and focused on why the male might be in front of you in this very unfortunate situation.

"You're okay." His large hands had gently pried your head from between your own. He Slowly, as if not to spook you further, reached for your hands and took them in his own. As twisted as it sounded, the morbid scarring that littered his skin grounded you further and pulled you back to this moment and out of that forsaken cell and cold water. "Focus on me, breathe."

The ease of your breath returned as the seeming dark cloud that surrounded you peeled back revealing that same dampened alleyway. However, the slight char on the walls and burns on the ground was distinct enough to question. Looking around, more of those marks surrounded you but faded as it got further from you. Opening your mouth to ask, a quick look from the male had you hesitant as he shook his head.

"One thing at a time sunshine." You nod, ignoring the small butterfly that hatched in your stomach at the nickname, but the pain in your head from the little outburst brought you back to reality. Bringing your hand up to caress the muscle between your eyes, Azriel scanned you from head to toe checking for any other possible injuries. "Let's get you back to the house, okay? Have Madja take a look at you and maybe give you something to help process."

Although the beginning of his statement was directed at you, for an answer, the second part was mumbled more to himself.

"Okay." The short response was all you could get past your lips as he sent you a small smile and opened his arms.

Looking at him questionably, he held back a chuckle.

"Have you never flown?" Shaking your head, no, you had never flown before. Winnowed? Yes, but never in the arms of one of the three males residing in the same house at you. The aspect of Azriel being your first had a little flush cover your cheeks. He approached you carefully, scanning your eyes for any aversion to being touched or space invaded. If you didn't just have a literally breakdown in the middle of Velaris, you could've sworn there was a deeper emotion residing in his eyes.

Guilt?

Worry?

Longing?

You couldn't place it and decided not to keep the process waiting. Taking a step towards him, he kept his arms spread out to accompany your space against his.

"Wrap your arms around me." His voice was lowered with your closer proximity. Slowly you brought your arms to wrap around the back of his neck. He waited until you settled there before moving to hoist you up into his arms and walk slightly out of the alley to give his wings more room to take flight.

While doing so, you couldn't help but settle into his warmth as it felt nice against our colder frame. With all the adrenaline wearing off, you were left shivering.

"Make sure to hold on." He noted, which was all the notice you got before suddenly you two were no longer on the ground. Tightening your grip instinctually, you shut your eyes as you could practically feel the male smile at your nature.

"How did you get down there anyway?" With the loud wind it was hard to hear, but again due to the lack of space between the two of you his voice rang clear.

"I walked."

"Down those?" Without realizing the easygoing atmosphere he created, you had peered open your eyes to look down at the stairs you both were currently soaring over. Only a brief look however as you still had some human tendencies and did have a slight aversion to heights.

"Yeah." You nodded and went to shut your eyes once more to finish out the flight, but as you did you caught sight of a new look on the spymaster's face.

Pride.

Landing as softly as possible, Madja was already there waiting for the two of you to arrive. Without thinking, you blamed it on the spymaster's shadows (but grateful they were there). Feyre also stood to the side of her, worry wringing her hands again and you let out a sigh of defeat.

Stumbling out of Azriel's arms, he steadied you, giving a once over before his high lady had shot him an inquiring look. She looked at you shortly after.

"You are never to lie to me again Y/n, you hear?" Her chastising voice was filled with love and worry all the same.

But before you could open your mouth to respond with a thousand reasons why you might, a certain male beat you too it.

"Don't go too hard on her, admittedly we have all been a bit busy to check in." You both glanced back at the male in question as his shadows wrapped around him in song. He has said it was so to promise his attention to fix the problem, which warmed your core.

"She will be okay Feyre." Meeting eye contact with him, he had sent you a small nod of his head and smile before disappearing into the dark.

Your best friend looked at you in question, but a deeper thought was spinning in her head. However, the little throat clear of the healer nearby jumpstarted the next 24 hours of care and therapy from your best friend and the best healers in Prythian. The whole endeavor couldn't tear your thoughts to a certain inner court male and the way his arms felt around you.

Maybe you would be okay.

#acotar #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #feyre archeron

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crookedteethed · 2 months ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 who do you love? . • ° 　 .　 *　: r. cameron

synopsis -- mistress! reader goes bonkers and films a surprise video for Rafe and his wife's anniversary. ۶ৎ

warnings -- 18+-mdni, smut (unprotected p i v), breeding kink, video voyeurism, infidelity, mention of alcohol usage, age gap, cursing, pussy whipped! rafe, homegirl is... yeah

other woman masterlist |taglist | based on this ask | wc: 1.7k

You knew exactly what you were doing when you typed her name into Facebook's search bar. Your fingers moved with purpose, guided by an obsession you couldn't shake.

There it was - Rafe's wife's profile, and right at the top, exactly what you'd been hunting for: a fresh post celebrating their decade of marriage, complete with a photo from their younger days when their love still seemed pure and untainted. You stared at their beaming faces, letting the bitterness wash over you.

Each scroll feels like turning a knife in your own heart, but you can't stop.

Their life unfolds before you like some twisted fairy tale: Rafe teaching their daughter to ride a bike, their annual trips to the Maldives, their matching Christmas sweaters with those damn Dobermans.

And her—always her—wearing that diamond tennis bracelet you once saw in his browser history, claiming the life that should have been yours.

This should be me, the thought burns like acid.

Your fingers hover over a photo of their Mediterranean cruise, her perfectly manicured hand resting on his chest, that massive engagement ring catching the sunset.

She has everything: the weekend brunches at that fancy place downtown, the Range Rover you've seen in their driveway, the three beautiful children with his eyes, the garden parties you watch from afar, and him—God, especially him.

The life that slipped through your fingers because of timing and trust funds. She had everything you didn't: old money, country club connections, and most crucially—age.

While you were still learning to drive, she was already the perfect socialite, the appropriate choice for a man of Rafe's standing. The Seventeen-year age gap between you and Rafe might as well have been an ocean—one that she had already crossed long before you even learned to swim.

Sometimes you wonder if that's what drew him to you in the first place: your youth, your naivety, everything that made you so different from her. Everything that ultimately made you impossible.

Your wine glass is empty again. When did that happen?

A tear escaped your eye as jealousy carved deeper into your chest, the pain spreading until you could barely breathe. Your trembling fingers found your phone, muscle memory still remembering his number after all these years. You knew it was wrong—God, you knew—but you pressed call anyway.

One ring. Two rings. Your heart threatened to burst.

"Hello?" His voice, still so familiar, sent electricity through your body.

"I—" your voice cracked, "I need to see you, Rafe. Please. I can't… I can't stop thinking about you, and I'm so alone tonight. Please come over, I need you."

The silence that followed felt eternal—like light years away, stretching between your world and his, filled with everything unsaid.

You could picture him there, standing in his perfect house with his perfect family just rooms away, probably running his fingers through his hair the way he always did when he was conflicted.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you heard him move, presumably stepping outside or into his study. Then came that familiar sound—the slow exhale through his nose that you remembered from countless late nights together, when difficult decisions hung in the air between you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough with something that might have been regret or desire or both: "I'm on my way."

Three simple words that shattered whatever remained of your resolve. You ended the call before he could change his mind, before reality could catch up to either of you, before guilt could claw its way back in.

Your hands shook as you set the phone down, knowing that in fifteen minutes—twenty at most—you'd hear his car in your driveway, and everything would change again.

When he steps through your door, the world narrows to just this: his loosened tie, your trembling hands, the soft thud as his back hits the wall. "We shouldn't," he whispers, even as his fingers dig into your hips, even as he pulls you closer.

You silence his protest with a kiss that tastes like regret and wanting, knowing tomorrow will bring guilt but tonight—tonight belongs to muscle memory and bad decisions.

Your hands roam greedily over each other, ripping clothes away with primal urgency. Your mouths hungrily devour one another, teeth nipping at lips as you guide him to the bedroom. Your heart races with desire and anticipation, knowing what awaits in the heat of passion.

The phone you carefully propped against the lamp earlier blinks silently in the darkness, its camera catching everything. You position him perfectly in its view, letting him think it's just desire guiding your movements.

"God, I've missed you," he breathes against your collar bone, completely unaware that every word, every moan, every mistake is being captured. You almost feel guilty—almost.

Then you think of her Facebook shrine to their perfect marriage, and something shifts inside you—guilt crystallizing into purpose.

Your phone keeps recording in the darkness, anticipating to capture every betrayal, every whispered confession.

Soon, her perfectly filtered life won't matter anymore. Soon, you'll have something far more precious than any photograph: Rafe—cornered, desperate, and finally yours.

Without hesitation, you shoved Rafe onto your queen size bed. Straddling his naked body, you disregarded any notion of foreplay.

As much as you craved the feeling of his tongue on your clit or his thick fingers probing you, all that mattered was having Rafe's cock buried in your cunt.

"Damn, you weren't kidding. You really do need me," Rafe smirked as his palm immediately found its way to your dripping core, but to your dismay was swatted away.

With a seductive grin, cooed in your sweet, high-pitched voice that made Rafe's brain mush. "Un huh, now be a good boy and let me take care of myself," you purred, guiding his rock-hard cock to the entrance of your wetness.

"Are you going to let me do that?" Your tone was condescending, but it only fueled the intense desire between you both, and because Rafe's mind turned to mush the moment you said you needed him, he nodded, totally pussy whipped and enamored by you.

The sharp gasp that escaped both of your lips was matched only by the intensity of your desire.

Slowly, you sank down onto Rafe's throbbing cock, savoring the feeling of him stretching you just as he always did.

"You're so tight, baby," he groaned out, his voice dripping with lust.

As you remembered the phone set up hidden by your side table lamp, a mischievous thought crossed your mind:

"Am I tighter than your wife?" you asked, already beginning to rock your hips on his length. Naturally, Rafe's hands found their way to your waist, not to guide you but to bring you closer to his lips.

"So much tighter, shit," he breathed out between hot kisses, with each agonizing slow rock.

"You're gonna leave her for me, huh?" you asked, face to face with Rafe, cradling his jaw to peck his lips. Slowly, you began to pick up the pace.

Your rhythmic movements escalate into frenzied bouncing, his hard length molding perfectly to your slick walls, stretching you to the limit. You lift yourself up and press down on Rafe's chest for leverage, driving him deeper and harder into you

Rafe's eyes rolled back as you bounced harder, your pussy gripping him like a vice. "Fuck, I… I don't know," he groaned, his hips bucking up to meet your thrusts.

You leaned down, your breasts brushing against his chest as you whispered in his ear, "Come on, baby. Tell me you'll leave her. Tell me I'm the only one you want." Your walls clenched around him for emphasis, drawing a strangled moan from his lips.

"God, yes," Rafe panted, completely lost in the sensation of your tight heat enveloping him. "I'll leave her. You're all I want, fuck!"

Hearing those words sent a thrill through you. You began to bounce faster, slamming yourself down onto his thick cock with abandon. Your breasts bounced enticingly and Rafe reached up to cup them, pinching your nipples between his fingers.

"Say it again," you demanded breathlessly, grinding your hips in circles. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours, baby," Rafe panted, thrusting up to meet your movements. "All fucking yours."

You leaned down to capture his lips in a searing kiss, your tongue tangling with his as you continued to ride him relentlessly. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with your shared moans of pleasure.

"Gonna cum for me?" you asked, clenching your walls around him. "Gonna fill me up? Gonna give me one of your babies?"

"Yeah, gonna stuff your sweet pussy with my hot load, fuck, I'm about to explode," Rafe moaned, his nails digging into your flesh, leaving red marks on your hips.

You reached down to rub tight circles on your clit, chasing your own release. "Me too, don't stop," you gasped.

With a few more forceful thrusts, you both toppled over the brink together, moaning in bliss as powerful waves of pleasure engulfed you. Rafe followed suit, releasing his hot and sticky load inside you, filling you up completely.

The afterglow lasts exactly thirty seconds before Rafe is already reaching for his clothes, his movements quick and efficient like this is just another business meeting wrapping up, breathing hasn't even steadied.

"I need to get back," he says, checking his watch. "We have dinner reservations at La Maison."

"Of course. The anniversary dinner." Your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears. "Rafe?" He pauses, shirt half-buttoned. "Did you mean any of it? What you said while we were…?"

He crosses the room, cups your face, and plants a soft kiss on your lips—the kind that feels like goodbye. Then he's gone, the front door clicking shut behind him.

You sit in the twisted sheets, his warmth already fading, listening to his car fade into the distance. Your hands shake as you reach for your phone and stop the recording. The email address you've had memorized for months appears in the recipient field without hesitation. You attach the video—forty-three minutes of undeniable truth—and watch the upload bar creep forward. In the subject line, you type five words that will demolish their perfect life: "Happy Anniversary, From Us Both."

Your finger hovers over 'send' for just a heartbeat before pressing down. Let her enjoy those reservation plans now.

Now he'll have to choose, you think, watching the loading bar reach 100%. And this time, he'll choose me.

a/n -- thanks for making it to the end, as always all likes comments, and reblogs keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

taglist --

@rafestoothbrush @alexxavicry @trapistani @Hejsj @neslayuh @hotvampdragon @alyisdead @jelybely @elmolovesw33d @littlelamy @futuremrscameron @percysley @rrafeswhore

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daylighted · 3 months ago

Text

dean winchester x angel!reader — take a shot or six.

or, dean's feeling it five in, but he's not going to let you win. or, dove beats dean at his own game.

cw, drinking, alcohol, tipsy dean sjkefdh, sexual tension SORRY

word count:

notes, by @depressionbarbie2023's suggestion... except i make it more tension riddled because i like my cute stuff with a dash of spice hehehe HOPE U LIKE IT STILL

★ ˚⋆

how were you supposed to know that the glass decanter on the accent table next to dean's chair was whiskey? he's staring at you now, like you just killed his entire family with your bare hands, as you hold a crystal glass full of it in between your nimble fingers.

you blink. his eye twitches.

"do you know how long that whiskey aged before it got to me?" he asks you slowly, like any of those words or processes are meant to ring any sort of bell in your head.

you shake your head. "why... do you let a drink age?"

another eye twitch. "enrichens the flavor." he nods toward the glass in your hand, nearly spilling over the brim. quickly, you raise the glass to try and alleviate the problem, sipping on the overflowing top loudly. "tastes good, doesn't it?"

your shoulders lift in a mindless shrug. it burns in your throat for a split second, but other than that, it tastes like caramelized oak, like wind through a nighttime forest, as sweet and secretive.

"what do you mean by—" his shoulders lift now, in a mockery of your shrug, which does nothing but make your head tilt in confusion. dean's quirks were something you were used to, at this point, but never before had you not been able to clue together why he was behaving like he was. "that's a 15-year old whiskey you're drinking like water. gimme that."

his boots echo on the solid floor as he stomps up to you, snatching the crystal glass from your fingers, letting the liquid slosh over the top and onto the both of your hands. dean gestures with his head again, his lips pursed in that look that you think, honestly, is reserved solely for you. "c'mon. lick it up. no wasting this shit."

being bossed around, and being bossed around by dean, is something you don't often let fly. his eyes stay on you as he lifts the glass to his lips, taking his own mindful sip, slow and deliberate like he's working it around his tongue before he swallows. much to the opposite of how you'd been throwing back the entirety of the decanter.

"oh, jesus christ," he grumbles when you actually do start to lick it off of your skin, the salt and the sweet burn making a surprisingly decent flavor, to his clear chagrin.

like always, it seems you do the wrong thing. since he'd shown you how to drive baby, arms around your body as he held you steady, dean had been pulling back. he was already a bit distant, but now? it felt like you were strangers all over again, and he wouldn't tell you what you'd done wrong.

it didn't stop you from coming around, though; your duty was to help the winchesters, and unfortunately for dean, helping him through his disdain for you was a part of that.

his lips stay pushed together in that signature irritated dean look, wrinkles embedded in the corners of his mouth, eyes betraying nothing of the thoughts in his head.

"i'm sorr—"

"don't even start," dean shoots back sternly, turning to weave out of the pillars of the living space and toward the kitchen area. naturally, you're inclined to follow him, your lips already downturned into a frown that could only be described as insistent. why couldn't he see or accept that you were sorry? "don't even know what you're apologizin' for."

he's opening cabinets too tall for you to reach with his free hand, eyes narrowing as he searches for something. "yes i do," you say fiercely, hurt flashing across your face at the accusation. "i upset you, and for that i'm sorry."

"oh, no, dove," he says with a little laugh, setting the crystal decanter on the countertop, using that hand to hold his weight as he reached deep into the cluttered cabinet. "you did not upset me. well," another tip of his lips into that unreadable expression, "i was, but not genuinely."

you blink at him, confusion melting into the hurt look on your face. "that does not make any sense."

"you see everything in black and white, dove," he says, a bottle of deep caramel liquid in his grip. his free hand goes to the crystal tumbler, a frown gracing his pretty expression, "two things can be true at once. i can be upset and not upset at the same time."

your mouth opens to answer him, but closes. his eyebrows flick up in amusement. "you should know that, with how often you give me that look. confused but not confused." he lets out a deep sigh through his nostrils. "christ, this is like, minimum five fingers of whiskey. whole damn hand's worth."

"there are no fingers in that." you watch as he lifts the glass to his mouth, his eyes locked and intense on yours the entire time. he downs half of it at once. "and it is inappropriate to say that."

"oh, piss off," he murmurs into the open mouth of the glass, though his eyes glimmer now, while they stay locked on yours.

your deep frown becomes a hesitant smile. no, maybe he is not-not mad anymore, actually.

he finishes the glass off with a groan that is entirely too sinful to be able to be created by one human man, albeit one that's been to hell and back. "see, this is why m'not pissed at you," dean says, voice thick and raspy as he tips the glass in your direction. "because i've got a helluva tolerance, and that burns. you... you drank that entire decanter like it was fuckin' kool-aid."

a pause and a blink. "juice. like juice. m'not explainin' kool-aid to you today. not in the mood."

his nails tap lightly on the countertop, drawing your attention there. "m'gonna guinea pig the shit outta you real quick."

"guinea pig?" your voice is a soft mutter of confusion. "you cannot—"

the sound of something popping open makes you blink in surprise, caught off guard by the sound of the cork popping free from the bottle on the countertop. "we're gonna play a game, dove. s'all you need to worry that pretty, confused little head about."

"oh."

dean pours a sip's worth into the crystal glass, before he pauses with the bottle in the air, and pours another of the same amount in. then, he passes the glass to you. "bottoms up."

"you are not getting me to show you my bottom, dean," you say sternly, with so much more authority than anyone could expect from an angel with a glass of whiskey in your fingers.

dean actually laughs. it's such a nice sound, hearty and rare these days. you wish you could bottle it up and cork it instead of what's already in there. surely, whatever it was wasn't as good as the sound of cackling. "means drink up, dove."

if only he'd actually just said that. you fluster, but you attempt to hide it behind the glass as you raise it to your mouth and sip it down in one gulp.

he tips his head in a small nod, eyebrows to his hairline, watching you with a look you can't explain in his eyes. impress? shock? affection? they're all things he rarely shows you, especially anymore. "what?"

dean raises his hands in mock surrender. "you just tossed back at least an eight hundred dollar double shot like juice, dove. let a man be impressed."

you choke belatedly. that little amount was eight hundred dollars? no wonder he'd been so angry, when he'd stumbled into you finishing off the bottle in the living space.

"nuh uh, pretty thing," he wags his finger, before the motion becomes a snap until you hand him back the glass, "no gettin' shy now. i wanna see you off your ass."

you bristle at that. "you have an obsession with my... my ass."

dean's grin becomes downright wicked. "yeah, i do."

the words take a second to register, and by the time they do, he's turned back and pouring another two shots worth into the glass. thankfully, too, because the last thing you want is for him to see the flush of pink on your cheeks.

"c'mon. one more." dean turns, holding the glass out for you. his eyes are a little glazed, and he seems lighter on his feet. not so tense around you as he'd been for weeks. you suck your lip between your teeth as you debate it, a little nervous, admittedly, to know what it's like to be off your ass. "nope. none of that."

his free hand cups your cheek suddenly, thumb dragging your bottom lip out of your mouth. "what?" you say, blinking your confusion. "none of what?"

"that," he answers, waving his hand in a broad gesture in front of your face. "m'feelin' too warm and buzzy to watch you bite your lip like a little temptress right now."

temptress. you? just because you'd— "oh." you feel your heart skip in your chest, and the feel of it nearly makes you jump. too close. he's too close. did you always feel like this when he was near, or was this one of those new feelings you stumbled across sometimes, that left you a bit breathless in your confusion?

the glass in his hand presses to your puffed bottom lip, the coolness of it dragging it open further, until it's in a little open o-shape. dean is close enough that you can hear the shudder in his inhale. you wonder, for a second, if it's because his heart, too, is stumbling over itself in his chest.

he begins to tip it back, pouring it in a slow stream between your parted lips. "yeah, that's a good girl," he mumbles, his voice rougher than you've heard it before. the praises always make you feel headier than usual, warm all over like the whiskey felt in your throat. "little more, c'mon. i know you can take it. yeah, just like that."

your eyes are locked on his the entire time, and you watch in real time as his pupils double in size, the green of his irises disappearing into a thin ring. once the glass is empty, he holds it to your lips a blink longer than necessary, his own mouth parted with words he didn't yet say.

another blink, and the glass is away from your mouth, and he's at the sink, back turned to you. "feel it yet?"

your hands do feel warm, like static runs through your veins, like each of your movements is more fluid. "i feel... something."

dean turns on the stream of the faucet, rinsing the glass out in silence. but softer than a breath, you hear him say, "yeah. so am i, dove."

tags,

@figthoughts, @jasvtsc, @titsout4nicholas, @deanswidow, @whyyouegg,

@bombarda-babe, @whisperingwillowxox, @underground-secret,

@bitchykittenconnoisseur, @jensenacklesantidote,

@keira-kaz2y5

#──★ dahlia's jrnl #──★ dean x saga #dean winchester x angel!reader #jensen ackles #dean winchester #angel!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester one shot #spn #supernatural #supernatural one shot #spn one shot

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strwbabydoll · 3 months ago

Text

The Feeling Came Late (I'm Still Glad I Met You)

pairings: grumpy!college student! Harry x fem! sunshine!reader

summary: Harry hates Y/N, it seems like it's been like that forever. He's quick to insult and correct her even when she's right, he's just always been the only one to pick on her no matter what she does. She doesn't understand why it's like this between them or what she did to make him dislike her so much, but what if it's all just a lie?

overall warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, sexual tension, kind of enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol consumption and drug mentions, foul language, Harry is a major asshole in this toh, heavy on the grumpy x sunshine in this.

chapter 3/? (wc: 4.8k)

masterlist

001 | 01 | 02 | 03

Chapter 3 - The First Session

The sound of a muffled alarm is barely heard in Harry's room, he’s too busy being occupied with other things.

"Oh fuck, just like that baby. Doing s'good f'me." Harry moans as his grip tightens in the brunette's hair. Her mouth feels heavenly as she chokes on him, her throat tightening around his tip when she takes too much. He rolls his eyes back and curses out loud when she slows her pace, her tongue circling his tip when she reaches it before slowly gliding back down.

She pulls away long enough to spit onto her hand and quickly takes his leaking dick back into her more than welcoming mouth. She begins to bob her head slowly as she uses the hand she spit on to quickly jerk off the rest she can't fit in her mouth. Harry hums in appreciation as she slows her pace again, taking her time to suck him off.

Harry can feel the spit dripping from her lips and onto the fern tattoos on his v-line as she continues, alternating between fast and slow, and she experiments with different things. As she comes back to his leaking tip, she runs her tongue over the slit and Harry shakes in pleasure.

"Oh fuck, just like that baby. You're g'nna make me cum, your mouth feels so good." He says between moans when she picks up her pace and uses the hand that was wrapped around him to cup his balls as she moans softly around him.

He can feel his stomach beginning to tighten as he slowly begins to fuck her mouth. He's close, he's so close he can taste it as she goes lower and lower. More spit falls from her lips and she begins to get messy, more careless, just wanting to taste his seed going down her throat. The sound of her soft gags and the wet sounds of him slipping in and out of her mouth only egging him on.

She speeds up just slightly and goes back up, choosing to suck softly on just the tip. He can feel his balls drawing up and his length beginning to twitch as his hips begin to falter.

"Oh fuck, I'm cumming, s'good baby. So good for me, that's it, swallow it all." He moans as he slowly continues thrusting in her eager mouth, milking himself for all he's worth as his eyes flutter shut and he releases the grip on the brunette's hair.

He sighs as she gets up and sits next to him, her hand gently rubbing small strokes on his thigh as he comes down. He can feel her begin to kiss his jawline softly, slowly trailing down his neck and he hums softly.

"Wait, what’s that sound? Do you hear that?" He asks as his eyes open and he looks around, the sound of his alarm is audible but just only barely. He quickly gets up from his bed and scrambles around his room in search of the small item.

Quickly grabbing a pair of black Calvin Klein boxers from his dresser, he yanks them on before searching the pile of clothes on the floor. In the process of him pulling his pants up to search the pockets, the desired phone falls and lands onto the brunette's discarded shirt, the sound of the alarm becoming louder. He grabs it and stops the alarm and curses under his breath when he sees the time, the alarm’s been going off for over fifteen minutes.

He instinctively turns his attention to the halfway dressed girl sitting on his bed, and frowns.

"You gotta go." He says as he throws on a hoodie and some shorts, messily throwing his hair in a bun as he gets dressed.

"What do you mean you gotta go? Don't tell me your girlfriend is on the way?" She asks, her voice raspy as she frowns at him.

"No, but you gotta get out like now. I gotta go somewhere." He watches her shake her head as she searches for her discarded bra and curses at him, yelling at how horrible he is and what she's supposed to do now as he yanks a pair of socks on.

She angrily huffs as she walks out of his part of his dorm and slams the front door. He rolls his eyes as he slips on a pair of vans before grabbing his lone textbook sitting on the edge of the bed, heading to the front door. He gives a small pet to Delilah as he opens the door, telling the small kitten he'll be back soon and closes the door. He quickly locks it and jogs through the dorm building, down the stairs and outside towards the parking lot.

He's never been more grateful for parking nearest to the building as he quickly spots his car. He picks up the pace slightly as he gets closer to his car, the wind pricking at his eyes causing him to squint. The short jog feels like forever as he gets closer, close enough to unlock the door and reach a tattooed arm to the door and pull it open. He rushes into the car, pulling the door closed behind him as he puts the keys in the ignition and turns them, the car stuttering to life as he quickly backs out and begins his journey to the library.

He passes different trees, stores and restaurants on his way. The world seems to move in slow motion and he huffs angrily.

Fuck Y/N for being so smart and fuck her and her stupid schedules. He hates her, if it weren't for him needing a tutor, he'd be balls deep inside of the brunette from earlier.

— — —

He huffs in annoyance as he pulls into the parking lot of the library, choosing to park in the spot closest to the building he spots her bike sitting in the rack all tied up and he's kinda grateful she chose to stay. He turns off the car and quickly heads to the entrance as he clicks the button on his keys to lock the door. He opens the door and looks around, tall bookshelves lining the walls and standing in straight rows block his view of finding Y/N.

He huffs as he wanders through the library, eyes scanning for any sign of her in between the walls of books and at the tables scattered throughout the empty spaces. As he wanders through the building and makes his way to the back of the library, he can't help but to feel a slight flutter in his chest; it's definitely,actually there’s no way in hell that it could be, not one of excitement but he doesn't think he's nervous so he's not sure what exactly he's feeling.

His eyes scan over his surroundings and he finally spots her standing at one of the empty tables in the corner. He begins to slowly make his way over to her and he watches as she begins to put all of her belongings into the tote bag. Even though he can tell she's upset, it’s written all over her face, she still manages to gently place everything away. He clears his throat and she quickly turns around, her eyes narrowed and a frown sits on her face as she glares at him.

She gently places her bag on the back on a nearby empty chair and begins to cross her arms.

"You're late.." her voice wavers but he knows better than to comment on it. He chooses to avoid the conversation, simply nodding in response as he moves to sit down next to her bag.

"No explanation? I think I deserve something since you're over an hour late Harry. You were supposed to text me and let me know." She pulls her textbooks out from her tote bag and sets them gently on the table.

She sighs softly as she pulls a couple worksheets from one of her binders and sets them alongside the textbook.

"You know.. don't even know why I allowed myself to get upset, you were never one to be on time. This is normal for you, it’s my fault for expecting something more out of you, " She says with a small laugh and he furrows his eyebrows ever slightly, the frown only increasing with every sentence that comes from her lips.

He's never been so close to her like this and it throws him off. He can make out the mascara coated lashes that fan her cheeks with every blink and her perfume fills his nose which only increases his already grumpy mood. In a feeble attempt to distract himself, he scoots his chair away from her subtly and rests his head on the back of his hand.

The library's quiet, the only sound in the room is the humming of the air conditioner and the faint shuffling from the students as they walk around. The smell of old books fills the air and a few rays of light filter through the glass windows sitting high on the white painted walls. Students walk in, idly whispering among each other as they quickly silence their phones as they walk over the tall wooden shelves and search for the book they need.

His eyes quickly flit back to hers, green orbs meeting soft irises filled with annoyance as she tilts her head to the left ever so slightly.

"You're not even listening to me. I'm trying to explain all these so your attention would be very much appreciated." She says and he hums quickly, eyes staring straight ahead as he crosses his arms and leans back into the uncomfortable wooden chair.

As she begins to explain the basics of poetry, pointing to all the different elements as she lists them off, Harry can feel his mind wandering once again. Small glimpses of happier times, easier ones flash through his mind, quickly jumping from one scene to the other. He breathes through his nose in annoyance, the action not going unnoticed by Y/N but she chooses not to speak on it. She figures she'll allow him to wallow in his grumpiness as long as he pays attention.

She can't help but to sneak peeks of Harry as she speaks, turning her head ever so often as she explains what each element is and why it's important. A couple stray curls have fallen from his bun and framed his face, a furrow formed in the middle of his brows as he stares at the middle of his side of the table, and she can't help but smile softly at the fond memories.

"Reminds you of something?" She asks and all she gets in return is a very soft grunt, one that could be considered either agreement or disagreement.

She gently turns the pages towards the grumpy boy sitting next to her, her polished finger points to the beginning part of the poem.

"Can you tell me what this is?" She asks, her voice slightly above a whisper so he can hear her. He hums once, turning his gaze to her as a small smirk begins to form on his lips. He shrugs once as he pushes the paper away with one hand, his intense gaze never leaving hers. He watches her features begin to harden and turn into frustration.

Her brows begin to furrow and her mouth turns downwards, her eyes darting between his and the paper on the table as he pushes it away. She stares at him in disbelief before shaking her head and shutting her eyes, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose as she sighs.

"I can't do the work for you Harry, you have to do it so you can remember it. You don't wanna repeat again do you?" He hums twice as he keeps his gaze on her face, mapping out the three little lines resting in the middle of her eyebrows.

She brings one hand over to the discarded paper and pulls it back towards him, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she pulls her hand away. The silence is deafening as they stare into each other's eyes, frustration meeting stubbornness, warmth colliding with cold, two complete opposites fighting internally as the stare-off continues.

The sound of someone laughing breaks the silence, but it's only briefly; the air conditioning fans cold air throughout the building and goosebumps begin to form on the back of her neck. She sighs softly as she breaks her gaze away from his intense gaze, moving her hands to fidget with the ends of her long sleeves as she stares at the paper laying on the desk.

She knows he's always been stubborn so this shouldn't be a surprise. He's like this with everybody but she can't help but to wonder why he seems to treat her worse. She doesn't expect them to be best friends but he definitely shouldn't hate her. As her thoughts run through her head, she brings one hand back to the table and moves the discarded paper in between them.

"I cannot do the work for you and I will not do it. You should want to pass this exam Harry. I get that it's the first lesson and I wasn't expecting this to be smooth sailing - but I was at least expecting even the tiniest bit of cooperation here. It's okay if you don't like me, but for your sake can you work with me here? This will all be done a lot faster if you try." She says as she points to the paper between them, a finger pointing towards the beginning of the poem where they left off.

Harry stares at the paper briefly before reluctantly opening up the textbook laying in front of Y/N and flipping the pages to the section she's attempting to teach from. His eyes skim over the page, aiming to get the session done as soon as possible and for him to not have to hear her voice more than he has to.

He quickly finds the answer and he silently points to it. He can hear her sigh sadly and it's full of disappointment, he can’t bring himself to care though. It’s not like he asked to be tutored by her so of course he’s not going to make things easier for her, he only technically agreed to this because he’ll have so much fun making things annoyingly difficult for her. All of this is overwhelming for him, there’s just so much happening all at once. The ends of her hair graze his hand as she leans over just slightly to check his textbook page and her floral scented perfume fills his nose once more and he frowns at just how well it suits her, soft and sweet, inviting and comforting. Being this close to her for this long is affecting him, he thinks, messing with his brain and ruining his plan. He can’t let that happen though, it’d fuck everything up. A soft smile begins to form on her lips as she leans back to her own seat after looking over his answer.

"It wasn't that bad right? You got it right, good job Harry." She murmurs as she turns to look at him.

She takes note of the way his mouth is turned downward and she wonders how his muscles

aren't in pain constantly from having to sit like that all the time. It’s a little funny the more she thinks about it, seeing him always having a frown and the worst attitude and having his face stuck like that forever. She imagines him years down the line, working at maybe a tattoo parlor or wherever he chooses, at his wedding (if he ever manages to actually settle down) with his signature frown plastered on his face. She can’t stop the laugh that spills from her mouth, but quickly stops it. That doesn’t stop Harry from looking at her with narrowed eyes and raised eyebrows, it’s a brief look like always. His frown comes back as he shakes his head as if he’s shaking some thoughts from his mind. She pulls the paper to her and quickly marks it with her pen, highlighting important parts and little things she thinks might help him remember. She gently slides the paper back over to him and smiles softly.

"I've left some notes about everything so as long as you study this after we're done, next time won't take as long."

— — —

The time passes rather slowly but Y/N thinks it's simply because she's the only one talking. She's tried to initiate conversation with him, asking him about his classes, the latest tv show, and even attempting to talk about the weather! He refuses to talk to her, either replying with a blank stare, a simple huff or gruff hum accompanied by a shrug.

She doesn't mind the silence usually, but not when there's supposed to be a conversation. She thought he would take this at least somewhat seriously and she'd have to answer all of Harry's questions - work related and unrelated because she knows he likes to try to annoy her and get under her skin - and at least they'd make small talk about school, after all this is a tutoring session and she knows that he doesn’t understand everything she’s talking about. This silence is anything but comfortable, it's awkward and full of tension, it’s smothering and claws at her throat as it tries to pull out any sense of conversation; it's the kind of silence that makes her blurt out all these random questions and statements to try to fill it so she won't end up packing up all her things and running out as fast as her legs can carry her.

She should be used to this type of tension between them, the way he's always picking on her, throwing harsh words and nasty glares that she does her best to ignore. But to her, this tension feels different, it feels thicker; it could have something to do with the fact they're in close proximity, sharing the same table and the way her hair keeps grazing his hand which causes him to freeze up and scowl at her until she moves back to her side of the table, not that it’s much further than where she is as she looks over the paper.

She doesn't have to wonder if she's the only one to feel the difference because Harry's body language tells her everything she needs to know. She can see how tense his shoulders are, how he's been bouncing his leg from underneath the table for the past hour and the way he's moved his chair as far as the table will allow him but kept the worksheets and textbook in the middle so she can see.

Her phone buzzes from in her back pocket as she explains the different types of poems, she quickly excuses herself as she grabs her phone and unlocks it. She sees a message from her best friend asking her to come over so they can binge watch their favorite tv show, she smiles softly as she replies quickly - telling her that she'll be over as soon as her study session with Harry is over. She quickly puts her phone back into her pocket and goes to apologize to Harry when she's met with him already looking at her.

The frown is still plastered in his face and his eyebrows are furrowed. He still looks angry but he also looks confused, like he’s angry that he’s confused and curious about whatever is going on inside of his head. He looks lost in his own thoughts as his emerald eyes stay locked on her face. The silence that fills the building seems to become even more deafening because the look on his face is one she hasn't seen before and it confuses the hell out of her.

She doesn't know whether to comment on it or to simply ignore it and move on with their session. There's two ways this interaction can go; if she comments on his behavior there's a chance he'll get upset and leave early, and if she ignores it she's afraid whatever tension is happening between them will get awkward (even though it’s already awkward as hell).

She exhales loudly as she breaks eye contact, her eyes choosing to focus on the textbook in front of her instead of the viridescent orbs beside her. Her hands play with the corners of the pages, her thumb running upwards causing the pages to slide against it as they fall.

She bites her bottom lip nervously as her eyes graze over the words written on the page explaining all the different kinds of poems and the best way to use each one.

She can't tell how much time has passed, but she can't help but to wonder how long until their session is up. All of the silence and tension between them is draining her, all she wishes to do now is curl up on her bed and take a much needed nap. Her eyes feel heavy as she continues scanning the pages, her hand now resting on the bottom corner of the page.

She slowly turns her head to face Harry, she can't help but to see how tense he looks. His hands enclosed in a tight fist as they rested on top of the table, the frown prominent in his face seems to grow deeper every time she looks at him, accompanied by the deep furrow in his eyebrows, his leg bouncing rapidly underneath the table and his green eyes focused on the wall ahead of him. The question she was gonna ask is now stuck inside her throat, the fear of upsetting him any more takes over the want to make sure he understands the information they've gone over today.

She hums softly as she gently begins to pull the worksheet from beside him and closer to her. She grabs her favorite pen and begins to write a few small notes on the empty space on the bottom, leaving a few smiley faces in the corner as she makes sure to write clearly so he can understand everything.

Her notes are simple, but she feels like it's just enough to pass him over until they decide when to meet up next for their next session. She smiles softly as she looks over everything and then slides it back over to him. His eyes quickly glance over in her direction as her hand gets closer in his space and then quickly moves back to their original spot focused on the wall.

She can't believe how he's acting as if being close to her is such a problem, she's only seen him this quiet and stiff once but that was years ago. After he got over whatever it was, he started hanging out with different people, becoming louder and completely changed who he was.

That's when everything changed and now her mere presence bothers him deeply, one strong enough that he looks like he's about to explode if he has to stay at this table any longer. There's a faint beeping from the elderly librarian checking out books combined with the soft tapping of the keyboard as other students type up papers for classes and doing research that fills the silence that sits between them.

She opens her mouth but quickly shuts it, she's afraid that she's just going to upset him even more and then he'll call off for the rest of their session. She hates this, she hates how he always makes her afraid to speak and she hates how he knows that he has this effect on her.

She clears her throat and shuts her eyes, if she can't see him then she should be able to talk to him properly.

"I've written some more notes on it, and if it's hard to understand I can type it all out on a separate document and give it to you. I'll probably do that anyways if I'm being honest. Hopefully it all makes sense to you! If you have any questions or if you don't get something, you can always text me and I'll respond when I can!" She opens her eyes just in time to watch his figure make its way through the space and towards the entrance.

Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times before she finds her voice and at this moment, the frustration takes over the logic that she's still in the library. She huffs in annoyance as she slams the textbook shut.

"You could've at least grabbed the textbook!" She yells as his frame exits through the door, causing all the students and the librarian to look at her with accusatory looks on their faces.

She's too annoyed to even think about apologizing, gathering all the extra paper and the textbook as she stacks everything together. She grabs her tote bag and stuffs everything in there, mumbling under her breath as she clears off the table. She's upset, she's mad, and she's confused as fuck.

She can feel the tears begin to well in her eyes as she stares at the door, her hand clutching the strap of her tote bag as she holds it close to her body. She sniffles as she makes her way to the entrance, softly apologizing to the librarian as she passes. The short walk feels as if she's walking in slow motion, the door feels heavy against her hand as she pushes it open.

As soon as she steps outside and the sun setting in the sky paints the sky with beautiful pink and orange meshing together, the soft breeze blowing her hair behind her slightly makes her feel even more upset. The tears begin to fall freely from her eyes, staining her cheeks as they cascade down her cheeks.

She's upset at him for leaving so coldly after being late and barely even acknowledging her existence. She's mainly upset at herself though, she gave herself this stupidly false hope that this one session would somehow make it easier for them to tolerate one another. She's upset about arriving early and staying up later than she would've liked to plan out everything and print out the worksheets for him. She's just sad!

She knew that this wasn't just gonna magically change anything, and she knew that the first session more than likely wasn't going to be easy, but she wished that it went better than how it did. She felt a little embarrassed at how little attention he gave to the lesson, let alone her during the hour and a half they spent in the library as she checks her phone and sees the time.

She sighs as she heads to the bike rack and bends down to undo the lock holding her bike to the metal rack. She wipes her tears before setting the chain and lock in her tote and pulls her bike away, swinging one leg over the middle as she gets situated. She begins to pedal, her bike moving on the far end of the sidewalk as she begins to make her journey over to her friend's house.

— — —

She huffs, slightly out of breath from the long ride from the library to her friend's house as she sets her bike against the front of the house. She gingerly walks up to the white framed door and raises her hand to knock on it as the door

swings open. She's met with her friend sporting a big smile as she wraps her arms around her friend.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so happy to see you! Come in, come in!" she exclaims and Y/N nods happily. She follows her friend inside and sits beside her on the beige colored couch.

"So how was the session?" With the reminder of how it ended, a frown forms on her face.

"Oh it was so bad! First he arrived late, and then didn't even explain why! To make matters worse, he didn't even speak to me for the whole hour and a half we were in the library, and then he just walked out without even letting me know he was leaving!" Y/N exclaims, she can feel her eyes begin to burn as tears start to form in her eyes.

Her friend doesn't waste a second before she's embracing the young girl in her arms, wrapping around her shoulders tightly as Y/N begins to sob in her shoulder. She can't recall a time she was so upset, and it's almost embarrassing how this little incident is making her so upset. She just wishes everything that has to do with Harry wasn't so.. hurtful.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harrystyles #— 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 #harry styles fan fic #harry styles one direction #harry fanfic #harry styles angst

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tthoroughfare · 3 months ago

Text

kerosene // ellie williams

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: the setup of a slow burn between you and ellie.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: jackson!ellie x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: sfw

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 1.7k

so... this actually started out as NOTHING. i planned for it to be nothing. just me, my pages app and my love for jackson!ellie & that fuck ass hoodie against the world. howeverrrr i may or may not have written almost 10k so far that i'm planning to split up (and continue) into an ongoing series just focusing on you and ellie living in jackson, spending time with your friends, slowly falling in love. real piners rise

god i just love jackson ellie so much. her little nerdy cocky self

the idea of being friends and pining over each other for literal years because you’re both too scared to say anything… catching the other staring, having a few little moments here and there but chalking it up to nothing because you both don’t believe the other would see you like that.

and then she starts dating cat and you’re just like welp. guess this is really never ever gonna happen after all. you let yourself mope for a while, not wanting to go out as much for fear of seeing them together and feeling that strange pang in your chest — just overall being weird and avoiding ellie. you feel silly, really, locking yourself away and listening to sad music over someone you were never even with.

you selfishly hope it doesn’t last long, that it’s just a fling, but when months go by and they’re still together, you come to some sort of acceptance. you even date someone else for a short while to try and take your mind off of her, but quickly realize you’re just searching for scattered parts of her in someone else. and something in your gut tells you that while nothing’s wrong within the relationship, it just doesn’t feel right. doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to.

meanwhile, ellie’s mindset was that she never really saw you as attainable in the first place. and she did genuinely really like cat, so when she initiated the relationship, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t excited to see where it went. you were always at the back of her mind, though. she didn’t like the way you’d distanced yourself. you were never best friends, but definitely fairly close. she felt the switch almost overnight, the way you stopped going out of your way to talk to her, stopped asking her to tag along when you'd hang out with jesse and dina. she didn’t know what your deal was. the thought that you might be jealous did cross her mind, but she quickly swatted it away. why would you be jealous? it’s only her.

when you started seeing someone yourself, it was like confirmation. nothing was ever gonna happen, you weren’t jealous; how could any of that be the case when you were right there, with someone else? she cursed herself for even thinking about any of it, guilty conscience thick when her mind would then turn to cat. she knew she shouldn’t be deliberating whether you were jealous, whether you liked her, whether anything could ever happen between you, when she had a girlfriend.

she tried her hardest to push you out of her mind whenever you’d arise. she still saw you around, sometimes alone, sometimes with your girlfriend. you’d talk pleasantly, share a few laughs, but it wasn’t like it used to be.

and then one day, when she’s on her way home, she sees you by yourself. you’re sitting under a tree reading, headphones in. she can’t help but notice you look a little melancholy, like you don’t want to be bothered. she deliberates on whether to disturb you or not, stopping, then going to walk away, then stopping again. against her better judgement, she wanders over to you and nudges you gently with the side of her foot.

you look up, offering a small smile and tugging your headphones out. “hey.”

“hey.” ellie mirrors you, shooting back a soft smile of her own. a beat of slightly awkward silence passes as she tries to think of the reason she actually came over. she doesn’t even have one.

“what’s up?” you ask after a few seconds.

“uh… not much. just… uh… wanted to say hi.”

the corner of your mouth quirks into a slight smirk. “well… you just did.”

ellie breathes out a quiet chuckle, bringing her hands together to mess with her fingers. “very funny.” she pauses, then hesitantly crouches and sits beside you. “whatcha reading?”

you turn the cover so that she can see it. “mystery book,” you say, eyes flitting between ellie and the novel, before you rest it back in your lap, starting to lightly read again.

“you want me to tell you who the killer is?”

you chuckle, looking back up at ellie. “sure, take a stab at it.”

ellie’s eyebrows raise slightly. “pun intended?”

you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow as you realize what you just said. “nope. guess i’m just too witty.”

she looks down and smiles lightly, before looking up at the sky in feigned thought. she clicks her fingers. “it’s the priest.”

you let out a laugh. “there isn’t even a priest in it.”

“that’s what you think,” she quips back, feigning seriousness. “he will be introduced in… 43 pages.”

you roll your eyes, unable to hold back a smile. “shut up.”

“nope. wanna hear some more of my predictions? 100% accuracy guaranteed.”

“sure.”

“… you’re in a shitty mood,” ellie says matter-of-factly, before her voice softens. “seriously, you good? you look all…”

she trails off, gesturing at you slightly.

you chew at the inside of your cheek. truth be told, you are in a shitty mood, but you didn’t realize it was visible. plus, you don’t really want to talk about it. especially not to ellie, of all people. “yeah, nah, i’m fine.”

she just gives you a look in reply — one to say, ‘i’m not stupid’. to which, you let out a small sigh and shake your head. you’re not good at lying to ellie. “okay, i guess i may be in a… tiny bit of a slump.”

she shuffles a bit, leaning back on her hands. “why? what’s wrong?”

you pick at your nail, pausing. “i don’t know, man. just… yeah. stuff.”

“what kinda stuff?”

you curse her in your head for pushing, but simultaneously feel a pulse in your chest that she cares. you don’t particularly want to talk to ellie about your relationship. or lack thereof. it feels embarrassing, for some reason. in the end, you let out a small, defeated sigh. “ugh. just… so… i’m not with you-know-who anymore.”

ellie raises her eyebrows, trying to ignore the way she feels selfish relief. “damn. that sucks.”

you shrug. “i suppose so.”

another awkward pause occurs as ellie tries to think of what to say. comforting people has never really been her forte, but she wants to try for you. plus, she’s curious. “…wh-what happened?”

you look up, eyes flitting around the scenery, pulling a small face as you think. “nothing, really. just… wasn’t working. like… didn’t really feel right, y’know?”

she quirks an eyebrow, looking sideways at you. “so it was you, huh?”

you let out something between a breathed out chuckle and a groan. “…yeah. i felt really mean.”

“damn. you’re ruthless. heartbreaker,” she teases deadpan in response, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

to which, you roll your eyes and snicker, the smile lingering on your face. even in the worst mood, you’d noticed, ellie could always make you laugh somehow. “shut up. it wasn’t like that.”

“then what was it like?”

you shrug lightly, toying with the cover of your book. “i don’t know. went as best as it could, i suppose. i have nothing against her, nothing happened, it just… yeah. like i said. wasn’t right.”

ellie hums in acknowledgment, looking away in thought. her silence feels a little uncomfortable, driving you to babble on. “i don’t know, she’s nice and everything, but it just felt like we were kind of… wasting each other’s time. i didn’t see it actually going anywhere. i know we’re still young, and… y’know, it’s hardly like we have to marry each other or whatever. but something just felt missing. i don’t know.”

you glance at ellie briefly, then back down at your book, tracing the cover art with your fingertip. “like… you and cat. you guys seem happy. what does that feel like?”

she feels a little taken off guard. she’s not used to talking about this with anyone; anyway, nobody’s ever really asked. she shifts, sitting cross legged and leaning her forearms on her thighs, messing with her hands. “uh… i don’t know. i haven’t really thought about it.”

you furrow your eyebrows slightly. not really the reaction you were expecting. “oof. what does that mean?”

ellie lets out a drawn out hum, wrinkling her chin. “… i don’t know. i suppose it just feels… hm. it’s just… what it is. i guess.”

you pull a face, blowing air through your nose. “wow. don’t get too sappy on me, now. you’re gushing.”

her eyes roll in response to your sarcasm, a lopsided smirk on her face. “shut up.”

you mirror her smile, meeting her eyes for a few seconds, trying to shove down the way it burns a hole through you, makes your chest feel like it’s constricting.

the moment is broken by a call of ellie’s name. you both automatically look up, spotting cat strolling over with a bright smile on her face.

“speak of the devil,” you murmur jokingly, turning to look back at ellie briefly.

she scoffs in response, moving to stand up. when cat presses a small kiss to her lips in greeting, resting a hand on her arm, you avert your eyes.

cat looks down at you, offering a soft smile and a wave. “hey.”

“hey,” you reply, looking back up. you did really like cat. you weren’t necessarily friends, but she was cool, and funny, and always nice to you. you flit your eyes between her and ellie as she turns back, addressing her girlfriend.

“i was on my way to yours. we still watching a movie tonight?”

ellie looks down at you, then back at cat, an unreadable expression on her face. “uh… yeah, yeah. for sure.”

cat smiles at ellie, taking her hand and lightly swinging it between them. “… well, we’ll leave you to it,” she says to you.

you nod slowly. “yup. catch you two later.”

you wave half-heartedly at them both as they walk away hand-in-hand, free hands returning the gesture. you busy yourself with putting your headphones back in and choosing a new song, but if you were looking up, you’d have seen ellie look back at you. twice.

#tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams fluff #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams tlou2 #wlw fic #lesbian fic #my writing

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celestie0 · 1 year ago

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

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When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time.

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago.

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile.

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

But why was he remembering all of that now?

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision.

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines.

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door.

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles.

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once.

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on.

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings.

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you.

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter.

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time.

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him.

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either.

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid.

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.”

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he’s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside.

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass.

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away.

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment.

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high.

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him.

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime.

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game.

3-2. UTokyo’s win.

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink.

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again.

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe.

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle @purplehallow11 @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @erencvlt @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @hojoslutoru @drthymby @ninitoru @btszn @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @fvsm4x @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @cierocanteat (thank you to everyone <3)

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ladyloveandjustice · 9 months ago

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Yuri Manga for New (AND Not-So-New) Readers

I was talking on discord about some good yuri for beginners, and figured I'd repost here.

I get way more detailed some of these recommendations in this post, and there's great recs from another person too! Check it out!

I'm doing this accounting to various tones and tastes, so what works as a beginner yuri for one person might not for another, just read the info to figure out what your jam is.

I'll put a star by the ones about adults (which is the majority of them) since I've found that's always something people want.

Goodbye my Rose Garden (Victorian yuri w/ beautiful art, just beautiful all around)*

How Do We Relationship? (messy adult relationships and lots of actually realistic intimacy)*

She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat- (A woman loves to cook but doesn’t have a huge appetite, only to find the woman next door to her does! She cooks for her and they really start to bond over food and the trials of being working adults. Yes, this is the one where the woman googles lesbian. It's really good)*

Bloom into You- a common go-to yuri for beginners for a reason, about a girl who believes she can't fall in love meeting a girl who wants to date her specifically BECAUSE she can't fall in love. Find out more about it and hear my thoughts here. It has a gorgeous anime that doesn't cover the complete story.

Doughnuts Under the Crescent Moon (sweet office lady romance, ace rep) *

Catch These Hands! (These two women were delinquents and rivals in high school, they meet up again, one reveals she was always into the other, she challenges her to a fight on the condition that if the other woman loses she'll date her. Lots of slapsticky fun and great for any lover of girl delinquents)*

Run away with me, Girl (there's some abuse shown in this one, but it's a story about healing, the premise is these girls dated in high school, but one of the pressured herself "normal" and marry a man, that man turns out to be abusive, so when the former lovers reunite, they decide to run away together. It's got beautiful art and a well done story)*

The Moon on a Rainy Night (absolutely spectacular, explores the relationship between a hard of hearing girl and her closeted classmate, the characters are complex and the writing is so good!)

Kase-san And...- Starting with Kase-san and the Morning Glories, this is a very fluffy and sweet high school romance. It also has a short movie. (as the manga goes on they become college students, too)

The Two of Them Are Pretty Much Like This (slice of life about a voice actress and anime screenwriter who live together as a couple. Unfortunately the ending is a bit abrupt (and likely premature) but I love their relationship)*

My fave Otherside Picnic is great for scifi and (mild) horror lovers. It's Scifi creepypasta adventure yuri. It's a slow burn but does truly spectacularly deliver on the gay. Has an anime, it's not great, you should start with the novels. Wrote an article here. https://www.animefeminist.com/how-otherside-picnic-masterfully-uses-horror-to-explore-abuse-and-show-healing-queer-love/ *(v young adults, college students)

The Guy She was Interested in Wasn't a Guy at All: (A web manga about a girl who works at a record shop. Her classmate , Aya, wanders in but doesn't recognize her because she has her hair hidden with a hat and is wearing a face mask, and Aya assumes she's a guy. They bond over music and slowly start to get closer...and Aya's finds her heart is fluttering not only over this mysterious boy, but her female classmate that seems a lot like him...) It's going to get a physical release soon.

This Monster Wants to Eat Me: (A depressed girl who's been searching for death gets approached by a mermaid who wants to eat her...but the thing is, our monster mermaid is a gourmet who wants her to be as delicious as possible, which means she's going to make her happy first (as apparently that enhances her flavor), and fight off all the other monsters who want to kill her. This is TOP TIER yuri horror and a must read for any lover of monster girls, especially monster girls drenched in the blood of their enemies, it's so good)

I Married my Best Friend to Shut My Parents Up (girl and her friend get married simply so her parents will stop bugging her about being single. You can probably guess where it goes from there) *

I Married my Female Friend (similar premise, except no parents involved, it's a platonic marriage they both agreed to with the promise they'll divorce if one of them falls in love. But one woman has decidedly not platonic feeling for the other that she's hiding from her, so It will likely turn romantic, it hasn't all come out here yet so I haven't finished it)*

Whisper Me a Love Song: (A girl named Himari sees her upperclassman, Yori, perform with her band and falls in love with her music. She confesses her love of Yori's music, and Yori mistakes it as Himari confessing to being in love with her. Yori falls head over heels at first sight. (if you don't like miscommunication, dw this is cleared up fairly quickly and new drama ensues) Has an anime covering early material)

Monthly in the Garden with my Landlord* (it didn't really hit with me but I might give it a shot again, it's solid despite the terrible title, a woman moves into a house and finds she'll be cohabitating with an idol) (Some more titles I haven't fully read that could appeal: Still Sick*, Cheerful Amnesia*)

Hana and Hina After School: (a cute three volume about a gyaru and shy girl working together at a shop after school and catching feelings)

After Hours: (A cool punk girl meets a girl who's been abandoned by her friend at the club, and she introduces her to the world of DJ'ing...and romance!)*

My Cute Little Kitten (two roommates adopt a cat...and maybe fall in love?)*

I think all of those work as solid intro- though it does depend on what flavor you're looking for!

This article also covers some of these recs and some manga I didn't mention due to not having completely read it. so check it out: The Beginners Guide to Yuri Manga.

Here's some titles to try when you're a little more familiar with yuri (or you can try them now! I'm not your boss!)

SHWD (action yuri that's taking forever to come out over here physically, featuring extremely muscular women fighting monsters. I think it was forced to end prematurely too)*

Kiss and White Lily for my Dearest Girl: (I'm only three volumes in, but it's really enjoyable. The main storyline is about two academic rivals, where one is determined to rank first in class, and the other is an effortless genius who becomes intrigued at the possibility of someone beating her. Honestly they have the kind of messy combative sexual tension I wish we'd see more often in yuri because it's so good. The story follows other couples too. However, big warning for some nonconsensual kisses in early volumes, and a storyline in volume 7 that has implied incest and an age gap, though the older sister doesn't go through with it onscreen).

Sweet Blue Flowers/Aoi Hana- (This one is a little bit dated, and boy is the ending weirdly paced, but a lot still holds up imo. A painful and sweet coming of age tale, it also has an anime that's good but ends too soon.

One teenage characters backstory involves incestuous (older cousin) the perpetrator of which pulls the "oh no did I turn you gay? thing" but it's definitely framed as a bad thing. )

The Summer You Were There: (For tragic and doomed yuri lovers. A deeply depressed girl starts her journey to healing thanks to a girl who courts her and enjoys her writing. Unfortunately, said girl is terminally ill. The manga is a heart wrenching meditation on grief, redemption, and how being sick doesn't mean you can't still be loved).

Yuri is My Job- a story about messy lesbians in a yuri-themed cafe, and how their real relationships differ from the personas they put on. Read more about it here. Big warning for sexual assault of a minor (by an adult villain) in volume 12. Has an anime covering early material.

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lizzyiii · 6 months ago

Note

just read “his lady love” and i’m completely obsessed with your writing, i definitely need a part 2 for that please 😭😭😭

His Lady Love (2)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.8k words

summary | you return to westeros, to find that the young prince has become a man and his burning infatuation with you has not died out and you reconnect with helaena

tags | no warnings? usual mention of targaryen incest (but let's be real, everyone who reads hotd fanfic has now normalised targcest), and child marriage (my poor bby Helaena), filler

note | oh my god, y'all 😭. idk what I was thinking with that dramatic ass mikaelson reveal. as we all know the reader is never described, but as we all also know the mikaelsons are white af. so I'm making it clear that the reader is NOT mikael's daughter, leaving the reader's description and race unknown, esther was busy getting her freak on and her real father will never be disclosed. because in my mind the reader or y/n is and will always be a curly-haired, brown-skinned baddie....so each to their own. AND I'm pretty sure this is going to be a series cause for the life of me I am unable to make a oneshot without further exploring a story.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

Five long years had stretched into nearly two thousand sunrises since Aemond Targaryen last laid eyes upon you. Each passing day weighed heavily on his soul, a slow burn of a thousand bitter memories. Some days, the tempest of his emotions roiled within him, bidding him to hate you—for your departure, for the way you had vanished from court like a wisp of smoke, leaving only echoes and shadows in your wake.

But the flames of that hate flickered and faded, giving rise to a deeper yearning, a gaping void where love had once flourished. Even now, after all this time, your spirit held his heart captive, stolen under the very nose of fate when you chose to forsake the realm.

In the wake of your absence, thirteen year old Aemond had become a specter haunting the hallowed halls of the library, pouring over tomes and scrolls in a frantic quest for knowledge of House Mikaelson—a house that seemed to dissolve into the mists of myth with each turn of the page. The histories were silent, and when he turned to his elders, the lords and ladies of the court, their ignorance stung deeper than any sword. Your name was but a whisper lost amongst the louder clamor of dragons and destinies.

Desperation guided his steps toward the Queen’s solar, where his mother resided. He pressed forth, demanding answers of her, yet it was peculiar; though he sought her wisdom and guidance, she seemed to have forgotten the very reason of why she had made you one of her ladies-in-waiting. Her brows knitted with confusion as he spoke your name, her big brown eyes clouded with a nostalgia she could not place.

Yet Aemond could see it in the gentle curve of her lips, in the way her gaze drifted past him, as if searching for a phantom. She missed you, that was clear. Her heart held a chamber of memories crafted from your offered comfort amidst the whispers of court intrigue, from the grace of your presence that had brightened the darker days.

The weight of five relentless years bore heavily upon Aemond Targaryen. Through trials of fire and blood, he had forged himself anew, emerging both mentally and physically formidable. He was now the most skilled swordsman within the keep’s sturdy walls, a warrior of such caliber that even the esteemed Ser Criston Cole would struggle to match his prowess. Secluded in the dim light of solitary training grounds, he immersed himself in the ancient tomes of philosophy and the illustrious history of House Targaryen, dedicated to honing his mind as keenly as his sword.

Yet in this relentless pursuit of strength and mastery, the warmth of his heart had withered, leaving behind only the chill of calculated ambition. His facade, meticulously crafted, rendered him cold and unyielding — a visage so fierce that even the bravest souls flinched at the thought of meeting his gaze directly.

Thus, it was with a jarring dissonance that Aemond entered his sister, Helaena's solar that day. It was a ritual he had come to cherish against the backdrop of his darkening spirit, visiting her and the twins for a fleeting moment of respite. However, as he stepped across the threshold, the air thickened and his breath caught in his throat.

Helaena sat with delicate artistry upon a chaise, embroidering threads of vibrant colors while keeping a watchful eye on her children. But it was not the familiar sight of his sister that seized him. No, there, in the heart of the chamber, stood his mother, Queen Alicent, holding the hands of a woman whose features were obscured from his view. However, even with your back turned, he recognized you and your unmistakable figure.

Alicent’s large, expressive eyes caught his, shimmering with an emotion he had not anticipated. “Aemond,” she uttered softly, the sound piercing through the tension-laden silence.

With the calling of his name, you turned, and the breath in his lungs faltered. The years stretched out like an endless tapestry between the two of you, but as he beheld you standing there after all this time, it felt as if no time had passed at all.

Five long years had passed, and in that span, Aemond had transformed. His once-boyish frame had hardened, each line of muscle now finely chiseled, his stature soaring to a height that eclipsed yours. He had shed the skin of youth and emerged a man forged by the fires of ambition and vengeance, yet he could feel a familiar tug at his heart as he stared at you.

But you… you had remained untouched by time’s relentless march. Your face, flawless and luminous, bore no marks of age; not a wrinkle nor blemish dared mar your smooth skin. Your form he remembered was preserved in perfection, your hair framing your figure in the same glorious waves that had enchanted him years ago.

You were the embodiment of memories he cherished, the same as ever.

For a fleeting heartbeat, Aemond dared to believe you were but a haunting mirage conjured by his yearning heart. If not for the watchful eyes of his mother and sister resting upon you, he would have thought himself lost to despair, ensnared by the fantasies of his own making.

An eternity seemed to stretch in the daunting silence that enveloped the two of you, the world around forgotten as each of you engaged in a quiet, yet profound examination. Your eyes sparkled like the night sky in the light of the day, and when you smiled—the same saccharine smile that had once filled his heart with joy during the innocence of his childhood—it left him breathless. “My prince,” you spoke softly, your voice dancing in the air, “how you’ve grown.”

In that moment, something within him shifted—a profound balm against the bitterness he had nurtured like a dark plant within his chest. All the resentment, the stinging remembrance of your abandonment, and the shadows of sadness that once clouded his thoughts dissipated at the mere sight of your smile. His throat was dry as a winter's night, thoughts scattered like ash on the wind, and yet, the corners of his mouth began to lift involuntarily, mirroring the warmth radiating from you.

Mikaelson.

A name that struck terror into the hearts of countless souls. Yet, here, in this strange realm of Westeros, where dragons soared and the icy dread of White Walkers loomed behind the walls, such fear was but a whisper lost to the winds. No, this land, though foreign and fierce, offered you sanctuary—not the kind woven from solace and warmth, but the kind fortified by distance and the absence of your cursed siblings.

Here, there were no vampires lurking in the cloaks of night, nor were there werewolves howling beneath the pale moonlight. Instead, there were dragons, fierce and resplendent, and direwolves, proud and wild. Most crucially, there was no Mikael—a freedom that tasted of hope amidst you heart's turmoil.

True, you thought often on whether you should have brought your siblings along, for Mikael would never find this place. Yet, a heavy foreboding gripped you; you understood all too well that the Mikaelsons (Niklaus) very presence would shatter the fragile peace you sought. Westeros was far from a land of plenty, riddled with poverty and further burdened by the cruel fate of women, yet in its chaos lay distance.

So, you fled, slipping away into the shrouded embrace of night, abandoning the only family you had known—or, more accurately, what was left of it. It was the sixteenth century, a time when hope flickered dimly in the eyes of men and women alike. You had not laid eyes upon Finn since Niklaus, in his relentless wrath, had condemned him to a tormented existence, and staked a dagger in his heart. Kol fared no better; his defiance had earned him Niklaus' ire, leaving him to face the very same fate that had befallen their eldest brother.

Months had slipped by as you braved the tempestuous seas, each wave an echo of your desperation, each gust of wind whispering promises of a new beginning. You had set sail toward the edge of the earth, guided by an insatiable yearning for freedom—until at last, you had discovered Westeros.

You had arrived in Westeros with an unyielding ambition, your ethereal beauty concealing a fierce determination that allowed you to easily compel your way into the court of Queen Alicent Hightower as one of her ladies-in-waiting. The smell of dragonfire and the whispers of civil war clung to the air, a distinct reminder of the foreign heritage of the Targaryens.

The first time you had seen one of the great beasts aloft, its shadow sweeping across the land, leaving you breathless and in awe. Dragons were an embodiment of the Targaryen power, but alongside that power lurked a shocking underbelly of normalized incestuous unions and the festering decay of traditional familial bonds. For a girl raised among the Mikaelsons, who had danced among the vices of immortality, this was both familiar and grotesque.

Your new world was laced with intrigue—rumors skittered through the halls like restless spirits. The whispers spoke of Princess Rhaenyra and the seed of doubt surrounding her claim to the Iron Throne, the barbs of scandal raised even higher by her many alleged bastards. These complexities intrigued you, compelling you to observe from the outside, where the machinations of power were far more amusing than any political play you had encountered in your old life.

Queen Alicent, though esteemed and regal, bore the weight of her flaws almost indiscernibly, like a cloak of gold marred by rust. From what you could tell, the Queen wielded herself like a pawn—her father being Otto Hightower, an unseen puppeteer, tugging at the strings of her choices. Maternal instinct flickered in Alicent like the candle flames that lit the chamber at night; she faltered and stumbled but made an earnest effort to nurture her children as best she could, though in your opinion she had failed miserably with Aegon. And yet, her fund of effort, a raw and poignant endeavor, resonated with you. The Queen was imperfect, yet within that human frailty lay a semblance of motherhood that Esther Mikaelson had failed to give you.

Thus, in your role as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, you discovered a sanctuary of sorts. The court became a twisted labyrinth of alliances and betrayals, yet amidst the swirling intrigue, you found comfort in Alicent’s earnest attempts at kindness towards you.

In the two years you had spent in Westeros, you had found solace in the delicate friendship you created with Princess Helaena—a rare gem among the Targaryens, whose sweet and gentle spirit seemed devoid of the cunning that defined her kin. Helaena's quiet understanding struck a chord deep within you, reminiscent of a time before death had twisted your mind. Once, you too had lived in a world that felt like a dream, until Niklaus tore down the veil of your innocence with his ruthless reality check. He had carved fear into your heart, reminding you of the darkness that lurked within the world.

But as you observed Helaena, an overwhelming sorrow enveloped you. The Queen's decree to betroth the princess to Prince Aegon sank like a stone in her gut. Aegon—a broken soul, defined by indulgence and ambition—was a force of chaos that echoed the wickedness of their own familial bond. In many ways, he reminded you of Kol, with his infectious charm and volatile spirit, yet where Kol harbored a flicker of love beneath layers of darkness, Aegon radiated a depravity that sent shivers down your spine.

Your heart ached at the thought of Helaena being shackled to a boy so unworthy of her light. The specter of Aegon’s reckless nature loomed large, and you feared for the princess's fate. You could see it clearly: with every passing day of their union, Helaena’s spirit would wither under the weight of neglect and cruelty, her gentle soul extinguished in the fires of a loveless bond.

And then there was Prince Aemond, the second youngest son of Alicent's brood—a striking boy marked by a fierce determination to embrace his responsibilities as a prince. You often felt a pang of sympathy when you witnessed the relentless taunts from Aegon and the scornful jeers of his nephews, sorrow swelling in your chest at the knowledge that he was the only Targaryen without a dragon to call his own. And it was hard to ignore the tender glances he cast your way, his violet eyes lingering on you whenever you graced a room.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Aemond standing at your door during the elusive hour of the wolf, his ethereal silver hair, tousled and framing a face streaked with tears, the light of hope dimmed in his now singular violet eye. Fury ignited in your core when he confided the harrowing tale of how Aegon had dragged him to the Street of Silk, that dark sanctuary of vice—your heart shattered for the innocence that had been ripped from him, for the heavy shame that now clung to him, marked by his brother who should have looked out and protected him. By now, Aegon was six-and-ten, he should have gleaned wisdom from his years, yet he chose the path of cruelty instead.

In an effort to soothe the wounded prince, you opened your heart and your arms to him. You conceded to his requests, bathing him with tender care, allowing him the sanctuary of your presence as he lay beside you. Your intentions were pure, untainted by anything but the desire to comfort a boy you had come to deeply care for.

And yet, with a heavy heart, you turned your back on Westeros, your mind haunted by the echoes of family. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, you found yourself yearning for the bonds that had once defined you. The Targaryens, ensnared in their web of resentment and betrayal, made it clear that true loyalty and love were rare treasures. Their familial discord stood in stark contrast to the fierce devotion of your own bloodline. For all the chaos wrought by the Mikaelsons, love remained their unyielding anchor.

Niklaus, with his volatile nature, was both feared and revered by you; yet, beneath that fierce exterior lay a soul tormented by the shadows of his past, perpetually haunted by the specter of abandonment. Finn and Kol, locked in eternal slumber by Niklaus’s cruel whim, lay undisputed in their coffins, yet your brother stood sentinel over them, unwavering and steadfast. The thought of returning to him was chilling; the mere sight of you would surely earn a dagger in your own heart.

You resolved to escape, to steal away before Queen Alicent could impose a husband upon you like a gilded cage. It was meant to be a brief respite, a momentary retreat from your burdens. You had once believed that seamlessly integrating into the intricate tapestry of Westerosi society would be a simple endeavor. Yet, the relentless weight of expectations proved stifling. Each encounter demanded a dance of delicate grace, a façade meticulously curated to meet the desires of those around you, and in turn, it drained your very spirit.

Thus, you sought solace in the sun-drenched lands of Essos, a realm that defied the rigid conventions you had grown weary of. Essos was a land of vibrant colors and broken norms, where the sun shone unabated and the very air seemed to sing of possibility. Gone were the burdens of being gracious and demure, replacing those restraints with the intoxicating freedom to explore the wild tapestry of cultures sprawled before you. In a realm filled with mercenaries and traders, where the scent of spice mingled with the salty sea air, you couldn’t help but feel invigorated.

Shame washed over you like a cold wave, a sharp pang of regret settling in your chest as you sat in Princess Helaena's solar, surrounded by the laughter of her twins, Jahaerys and Jahaera. The children, mere five summers old, served as a vivid reminder of your absence; Helaena had brought them into the world at the tender age of fourteen, while you had been lost in the allure of Essos. Your own selfish pursuits had drawn you away from Westeros, leaving your dear friend to navigate the tides of motherhood without your companionship.

But now, fate had drawn you back to Westeros, though the reason for your return eluded you—perhaps it was mere curiosity, or a desire to witness the Targaryens as they embarked on a path toward their own ruin. Perhaps it was simply the lingering comfort of a maternal embrace that Queen Alicent had once offered you. One thing remained certain: you were back, unchanged yet bound by the curse that clung to the Mikaelsons. You still appeared as you had, forever encased at the tender age of six and ten, the same age at which you had died nearly six centuries ago.

The twins were a study in contrast. Jaehaerys, the young prince, was somber and introspective, casting shy glances your way from beneath the curtain of his silver hair. In contrast, Jaehaera exuded a lively spirit, her laughter as bright as the morning sun. She was a sweet girl, eager for your attention, her small hands clutching her beloved dolls as she beckoned you to join her in playful realms of castles and grand adventures. Every so often, Jaehaerys would join in, indulging his sister’s imagination by taking on the role of a fierce dragon, albeit with a reluctance that made his quiet demeanor all the more endearing.

“I have missed you,” Helaena said softly from her place on the chaise, delicate fingers working through the intricate patterns of her embroidery, her gaze never leaving the fabric.

You met her gaze, a frown momentarily shadowing your features, your heart tightening at the sight of her. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you replied, "As I have missed you, princess. I offer my sincerest apologies for my prolonged absence."

“But you have returned, and that is what matters,” she replied with a tranquil certainty, her expression unwavering.

With a nod, you maintained your tight-lipped smile, the corners of your mouth struggling to lift fully. “Indeed, I have, and I hope to stay here for as long as fate allows.”

As you resumed your playful moments with the twins — Helaena’s voice broke through the lighthearted chaos as she called your name. “Pray tell, how old were you when you came to court?”

Your lips pursed gently as you recounted, your tone tense but soft, “I was but six and ten years, my dear princess.”

An oblivious smile spread across Helaena's face, illuminating her features. “And yet you appear unchanged, as if untouched by time’s passage. Like a Lepidoptera,” she remarked, her imagination weaving images as vivid as the embroidered fabrics around her.

Your brows knitted in puzzlement. "A what, my princess?"

"A Lepidoptera," she patiently repeated, her eyes shimmering with youthful curiosity. "It is a classification that encompasses butterflies, which remain breathtakingly lovely until the end of their days."

A bittersweet pang echoed within you at her words, for you were destined for a far different fate, cursed to wander the shadows as a creature of the night. Yet, you offered a slight nod, managing a soft, "Thank you, my princess," as you absorbed the weight of her innocent compliment.

“And yet, I cannot claim to have missed you as intensely as Aemond has,” Helaena mused, her gaze distant as you idly threaded your fingers through Jaehaera's shimmering locks of silver.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite grasp what you mean,” you replied softly, masking your understanding with a facade of innocence.

“I believe you are quite aware,” Helaena said softly, a melodic note in her voice, her smile lingering with a teasing warmth, “Aemond has loved you since he was a mere boy.”

You cast her a sidelong glance before adopting an air of nonchalance. “Love is a weighty term for one so young, Princess. Surely, it was nothing more than a fleeting fancy.”

Helaena shook her head, her needlework a steady rhythm in her hands. “No, I do not believe so.”

Deep down, you didn't believe so either. Ever since your return to the depressive halls of King's Landing, a sensation had accompanied your every step—a watchful gaze lingering upon you. Aemond had worked to keep it hidden, but your heightened senses revealed the quiet intensity of his interest, as vivid as the summer sun.

There had been numerous revelations awaiting you upon your return to the Red Keep—the prideful births of young Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, the scandal of Rhaenyra and her uncle Daemon's elopement, and the grim decline of King Viserys's health, shadows stained upon the Iron Throne. Yet, the most haunting transformation was that of Prince Aemond.

Aegon had blossomed into the drunken sleaze you had always anticipated, a replica of the whims that dictated his every choice, but Aemond—oh, how he was the exact opposite of what you had envisioned. The youthful boy, once soft and unassuming, had unfurled into a striking figure, sharpened like the blade of a Targaryen sword, each line of his form etched with the harshness of time and expectation. His stature now towered over you, his presence immense, a tempest contained within the boundaries of a man’s body.

He seemed to carry within him a quiet fury, a storm beneath the surface, and it stirred something deep within you, a memory of that boy who had once been desperate for approval and had hope for a dragon. His boyish softness had been replaced by the resolute presence of a true dragon, a stark reminder of the power and peril that resided within his bloodline.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #ewan mitchell #the originals #mikaelson #vampire!reader

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sugarlywhispers · 6 months ago

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b.katsuki x fem reader | virgin!bakugou × experienced!reader + first time + both heroes.

a.n; i was watching the Twilight movies, and when Breaking Dawn started, one particular scene inspired this… sorry, not sorry. ✌🏻🙃

The first time Bakugou Katsuki and you are intimate is a completely different experience for both of you.

For you, it has been a night you'll never forget. It has been the most magical and intimate experience of your life. His hands caressing the skin of your body has marked you as his forever. His kisses on each corner of your body has sealed a pact in which your soul became one with his. And when he finally entered you, you felt doomed and blessed at the same time. He flew you to heaven with each thrust, each shared breath. But the sight of his red eyes made you feel the burn of hell. The desire, the passion, the all consuming warmth of which you would gladly get addicted to.

It has been a magnificent night for you.

Yet for him…

When you wake up, you feel the pleasurable ache of your limbs and the satisfying burn down there, witnesses of the best night shared with the love of your life. Perfect. It has been perfect. You smile happily, opening your eyes, and finally taking in your surroundings. Headboard of the bed was destroyed, and no amount of effort could repair the damage of broken and burnt wood. Some pillows had been ripped, small feathers still dancing in the air around you. Even the sheets had been burnt and ripped in some places, specifically where his hands had been placed.

Your smile turned a bit cheeky. And proud. Honestly, it is a lie if you say that the environment that shined around you doesn't bust your ego up a bit.

Your boyfriend is nowhere to be seen though.

But you find him after a few minutes of searching for him.

Katsuki is sitting over the arm of the couch in the living room, head hanging low and an almost grunt leaving his mouth showing his annoyance. That's weird.

“Hey, love,” you say almost in a whisper. Knowing your man the way you do, you are always slow and gentle in your approach. He has healed tons after the war, but you are still careful and considerate to not provoke any bad reaction –even though he has told you millions of times that he doesn't mind you, or anything that came from you.

Katsuki raises his head towards you as you stand in front of him in between his legs, your arms immediately surrounding his neck and fingers playing with the hair in the back of his head. His expression softens immediately, but it doesn't match your shining smile.

You're expecting a “good morning, love” in a sweet tone, yet what you receive is completely the opposite.

“How badly are you hurt?” His tone is annoyed, angry almost. But also there's worry right in the front, so you know he's not angry with you.

Yet you can't avoid but to frown in confusion, “What? I'm not-...”

“Fuck, yes, you are… Look,” he signals the mirror right behind you as he pulls down one side of the robe you put on right when you got up from bed, exposing your right shoulder and a bit of your back.

Your eyebrows shoot straight up at the sight the mirror reflects, surprised. There's bruises that are turning purple and small burns that definitely weren't there before last night started.

A flashback immediately fills your mind, remembering you what provided such a wound.

You close your legs around his hips as he slowly raises the strength and speed of his thrust. Your moans and whines sing in his ears as the most beautiful song he has ever heard. He is so close to you, face almost hidden in your neck as he breathes strongly, eyes closed.

You get bold and decide to kiss and lick his neck, right under his ear. And that is what finally gets him to make a more prominent sound, groaning from deep within his chest, one forceful thrust that almost takes all the breath from your lungs and makes you see stars behind your eyes. One of his hands instantly holds the back of your shoulder to try and ground himself from the sudden burst of pleasure both of you felt.

You remember feeling a bit of a burn, but honestly, you had been so lost in the pleasure you barely felt it.

“Baby, that's nothin’...”

“No, it fucking isn't! Look here!” He pulls up the end of the robe, exposing now the back of your left thigh.

Oh. Wow. The burn there is way more deep and red and painful looking. That will definitely need an ointment or something. You get now why it hurt a little bit when you walked.

And again, a flashback.

Of Katsuki resting his forehead over yours, grunts and pants leaving his mouth freely as his thrusts get a bit erratic, desperate to catch that orgasm that is pushing him from the inside out. His left forearm is resting next to your head –you remember now hearing some tearing sound then– holding his weight as much as he can, yet you feel all of him over you. And you love it. His other hand holds the back of your thigh tightly against his hip, like it is the anchor that reminds him where he is. Like the only thing that keeps him from losing himself in the farthest cloud of heaven.

One, two, three more thrusts, and he loses the battle to all of his senses as your hands almost scratch the skin of his back, your walls closing on him and pushing him towards an exquisite feeling he couldn't describe. It is too precious to define it in one mundane word.

Again, you felt the burn at the moment, but it had been so filled with pleasure as you both came together that your mind barely registered it as a wound.

“Fuck! I'm so sorry…” The desperation and regret are clear in all his face and movements as he walks away from you towards the other side of the room.

You feel… disappointed. Why is he getting away from you? Why is he so angry? This is definitely not how you imagined the day after being.

“Don't. Don't do this…” You protest, walking again towards him. “I'm fine-...”

“NO. Don't you say you're fine, ‘cause you're clearly fucking not!”

“Katsuki, please, don't ruin this!”

“I already fucking ruined it!”

You sigh. You know what's happening. He's letting his self-destructive thoughts get to him. He's blaming himself over something that he didn't have control over. And that makes you sad. So you approach him again, this time more calmed.

“Love, I am a hero too. I have been injured way worse than this… Please. Don't you see how freaking happy I am?”

Your tone is calm, sweet even. And he lets you get closer again, your hands touching his chest, sliding up towards his neck. He breathes in deeply.

“Or was, five seconds ago. I'm actually a bit pissed off now…” You admit.

“You should be fucking angry with me.”

You roll your eyes. “Katsuki, we talked about it. We knew our Quirks could backfire a bit on us, especially in a moment like that… Neither of us were alert enough.” Your hands caress his cheeks, body pressing against his. But he doesn't touch you, or moves in any way. “For me, it has been one of the best nights of my life… I don't know… I hope that… it was at least good for you too…”

He snorts, “That's what you're worried about? That I didn't fucking enjoyed myself?”

Your eyes don't look at his. Bakugou Katsuki had never been with another woman before you. He has been so focused on his job and dream of becoming one the best heroes in the world that he never made time to even think about a partner. Never let himself feel deeper than friendship for anybody. Until you appeared in his life. Like a whirlwind that shook his entire life, twirling a fucking chaos inside his being and made him question everything he believed in and gave him new sensations he never felt before.

He admits that he felt happy once again when you came into his life. And he will always be hugely grateful for that.

He fucking loves you for that.

However, you don't know exactly what or how he felt last night. So you don't know if he actually enjoyed it as you did.

You suddenly feel his forehead press over yours and you look up at his eyes as he says, “Not one single fucking word is enough to express how fucking perfect last night was for me. Not even the word ‘perfect’ encompasses the feeling of what it felt to be one with you… Not a word, or expression, fucking exist to describe it.”

Your eyes water at his confession, chest filled with the love Katsuki just washed you with thanks to his words.

“I love you, Bakugou Katsuki.”

You smile standing on your tiptoes, trying to reach for his lips. He's way taller than you, so you push him down with a hand on the back of his neck so you can succeed. He lets you do it. Lips finding each other, kissing sweetly and slowly. But a fire raises inside you, yearning, screaming for him. You try to deepen the kiss, your mouth opening and catching his bottom lip between yours, sucking on it lightly but clear in your intentions.

That's when he puts both of his hands on each side of your shoulders and pushes you away. A little bit and gently. But he pushes you away.

You frown. And he's frowning too, but not looking at you.

Realization washes over you.

“You're not gonna touch me again, aren't you?”

Katsuki's eyes find yours, filled with a sadness that makes your heart hurt. He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand.

You shake your head, “That's not what I meant…”

You know what is happening. He's so afraid to touch you he doesn't even let the inside of his hand, where his Quirk is expelled from, get in contact with your skin. And that's… sad. You feel offended for him. Even when the offender is himself.

He can see the protest in your eyes, but he completely ignores you by saying, “I'll make you some breakfast, okay?”

He sounds wounded. And you know the expression on your face probably looked like that too.

Bakugou walks away towards the kitchen, leaving you there alone. Sad and hurt. But so in love with this man, it's almost unbearable.

So you decide then… you're not going to give up. You love him, and you're not going to give up on him.

a.n; am i also gonna write when Bella begs Edward to have sex? yes, i am. wait for it~😉

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