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mawrmyy · 10 months ago

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lucky

Joel Miller x f!reader

warnings:

18+ !!! minors dni !!!

smut, unprotected piv (wrap it up y'all!!), pet names (darling, baby, angel, etc), infidelity but not really (it'll make sense if you read it i promise) oral f! and m!receiving, driving over speed limits, alcohol consumption, dirty bathroom floors. lmk if i missed anything :)

It’s late, nearly midnight. You could be at home now, resting after a long day at work. The weekend welcomes you with open arms, and it smells like laundry detergent and fresh-brewed coffee.

The floor of the bar is sticky. You’re sure every drink that’s been spilled on the linoleum floor has a story of its own, sticking to the soles of your shoes, begging you to listen.

You ignore it, making your way towards the counter, calculating how to get as much alcohol in your system as fast as possible. Whiskey, please, you tell the bartender, and he obliges.

Now, with a cold glass cup in your hand, you finally sit down on a bar stool and allow your eyes to lazily scan your surroundings. A group of four, seemingly in their early twenties, sit at a table to your left, talking and laughing loudly. In front of you sits an overweight man with a long white beard, downing what you assume is at least his seventh glass of beer. He notices you looking and gives you a glance that practically yells fuck you looking at? You take that as your sign to look away, and your eyes continue scanning the room.

That’s when you see him, across the bar. He’s already looking at you, eyes dark and hooded. He’s handsome, probably around his late 40s, with graying hair and a short scruffy beard. You feel your cheeks heat up from the intensity of his gaze, and you look back down to the glass cup between your warm palms.

When you look back to meet his eyes once again, you see he’s taking a swig of his drink before getting up. For a split second your heart drops, assuming he’s leaving, but instead, he starts making his way across the sticky floors, directly towards you. You swallow your anxiety, as well as another sip of whiskey, before setting the cup down with a soft thud. You watch him walk, your heartbeat quickening with every step he takes. Before you know it, he’s sitting on the stool beside you, and your heart is just about to leap out of your chest. He’s looking at you, studying your face carefully, gauging your reaction before he speaks.

“Hi,” He says sheepishly, and you can tell he’s suddenly nervous. “I’m Joel.” He reaches out a hand for you to shake, and you take it, chuckling quietly at the awkwardness of it all.

“Hi Joel,” You say, keeping eye contact and smiling at him warmly. You tell him your name, and he smiles back, a hearty lopsided grin that you can’t help but want to kiss.

“Saw you from across the bar,” Joel tells you. “‘S a nice dress. Suits you,” He says, signaling to the tight little black dress you decided to wear this evening. You blush at his words.

The two of you make conversation, talking for over an hour about how uncharacteristically warm it’s been this winter, and Quentin Tarantino’s filmography, and why the hell are there so many shots of feet?!

He asks you if you have a boyfriend, and his eyes follow yours as you look to the thin golden ring sitting pretty on your finger. Joel swallows, but doesn’t mention it again.

It’s nearly 1 am when you ask him do you dance, Joel? His large hand is in yours as you lead him to the makeshift dance floor near the billiard table. There are two other couples there, swaying to a song you can't quite make out the words to.

You wrap your arms around Joel, threading your fingers and resting them at the nape of his neck. He’s looking down at you, the palm of his left hand running down from your rib to your hip, where it stays. He places his right hand on your other hip and pulls you closer, still never breaking eye contact. The two of you stay like that for a while, hips rocking slowly to the music blasting out of the cheap bar speakers.

It’s maybe two songs in before Joel’s hands start getting impatient, grazing the small of your back and palming at your ass. Normally, you’d be embarrassed letting a stranger feel you up in public, but you know nobody’s looking, each and every person at the bar stuck in their own little world. You look up at Joel through your lashes, taking in his sharp, crooked nose and rugged features. It ignites a fire in your lower belly, the way he looks at you. Pupils blown wide, lips slightly parted. He’s breathing heavily, you can feel his shoulders rising and falling beneath your forearms. It’s so intense, you’re sure that if he isn't inside you within the next minute you might explode.

You let out a soft whimper of his name, and he groans.

“Darlin’,” He says in a pained voice. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” You smirk at that, placing your hands on his chest, tugging at the collar of his flannel. You stand on your toes and lean in so that your lips are mere millimeters away from his, and you whisper a soft–

“Want you, Joel,” before turning away from him and walking towards the bar bathroom. You’re reaching for the door handle when you hear his heavy footsteps following close behind you, and you smirk to yourself. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

Joel’s behind you in an instant, pushing you into the bathroom and locking the door behind you. His mouth meets yours, and it's all teeth and tongue and whiskey and mint. His hands, so big and warm wrapped around your ribs, guide you backwards until your back hits the stiff wooden door.

He’s desperate, hungry. His tongue licks into you, greedily swallowing every moan and sigh you’re willing to give him.

Suddenly Joel is sinking to his knees, paying no mind to the dirty bathroom floor or to the way his bones crack loudly as he crouches. He looks up at you with wide eyes, hands running up your thighs, fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress, pulling it up slightly. Your cheeks flush crimson, knowing full well how wet you are for him. Joel knows it too, smirking as he sees the damp spot on your lacy white panties. His fingers graze your clothed folds softly, teasing you. He leans in to press a feather-light kiss on your inner thigh, and you let out a soft whimper.

“Please, Joel,” You say, looking him dead in the eyes. “Need you so bad. Been wanting you all night,” you add, and that seems to do it. He groans and pulls your panties down to your ankles, licking a long stripe up your glistening cunt. The two of you moan in unison, Joel’s hand holding up your thigh to get a better angle.

“Fuck darlin’,” He groans into you, words slurring. “Such a pretty pussy. You this wet jus’ f’r me?”

“Fu-yes, Joel, just for you,” You tell him honestly.

He’s ruthless, tongue sliding from your pussy to your clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure. Your head falls back against the door, the flickering lights above you blurring into stars as you feel your orgasm getting close.

“Joel, m’gon- oh,” you tell him. He keeps up his pace, eyes never leaving your face, the curve of your jaw, the rise and fall of your chest.

“I know, angel,” He tells you. “Let go f’me, baby. You can do it.”

You’re a wreck. It's only been a couple of minutes, and you’re already close to coming undone on Joel’s tongue. His thick fingers prod at your pussy, slipping in easily. You can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed about how wet you are for him or how close you are to coming when he’s hitting all the right spots. He hasn't stopped looking at you, not since he approached you at the bar a few hours ago. His eyes are glossy, as if drunk on the taste of you. He’s so handsome.

You come like that, the only word on the tip of your tongue is Joel, Joel, Joel. You chant his name like a prayer as you come down from your high, his tongue still on you, working you through your orgasm.

You stay like that for a minute, Joel still on his knees in front of you as you catch your breath. You pull him up by the collar of his shirt and kiss him, tasting the tangy taste of yourself lingering on his lips. You’re both smiling into the kiss, and you only break apart to whisper to him–

“Fuck me, Joel.”

He lets out an animalistic groan, and you reach down to palm the bulge in his jeans. You let out a soft gasp as he grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Not yet, baby,” He tells you. “Wanna do this properly. Take you home and fuck you in my bed, treat you real good.” You can’t help but moan at his sweet filthy words.

Joel unlocks the bathroom door and leads you out of the bar with his hand on the small of your back. He guides you to his car and opens the car door for you, acting like a real gentleman as if he didn’t just make you come all over his face in a public restroom.

His hand is on your thigh before he even starts the engine, and you can feel yourself getting needy again. He says it’s a twenty minute drive to his house, but you get impatient halfway through. You’re at a red light when your hand wanders to find the outline of his cock, still half-hard beneath rough denim. His head snaps to look at you, eyes immediately going dark. You look at him with faux innocence as your fingers slowly unbutton and unzip his jeans. You cup the bulge over his maroon boxers, and he lets out a soft groan.

“Let me make you feel good, Joel,” You say, your hand still massaging his cock as it grows harder beneath your palm.

“Baby–” The car behind you honks as the light turns green, and Joel steps on the gas pedal. “Fuck, okay angel. Make me feel good.” And you oblige, pulling the elastic of his boxers down, freeing his dick. You feel your mouth watering as you hold it in your hand, long and thick and so fucking hard. You run your hand up and down the shaft a few times, testing the waters. Joel moans, and you sink down to lick him, base to tip, tasting his salty precum on the tip of your tongue. Joel places his hand on the back of your head, fingers threading in your hair as he lets out soft noises from the back of his throat. You wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, savoring the warm heavy weight of him on your tongue.

Joel’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel, his grip tightening around it as your head bobs up and down on his length. He’s grumbling and groaning, incoherent words leaving his lips as he drives over the speed limit, needing to be inside of you, desperate to fuck you into the sheets of his bed.

The two of you spend a few more minutes like that, your tongue swirling around the head of his dick, him muttering about your perfect fuckin’ throat, so tight for him, tugging tightly at the roots of your hair. Then he’s pulling into a driveway, shifting gears and parking as you slowly release his cock from between your plush lips. You look up at him with wide doe eyes, your thumb wiping your spit from the corner of your mouth, never breaking eye contact. Joel lets out a guttural grunt before getting out of the truck. He walks around to your side, opening the door for you and taking your hand in his as you walk towards the door of his house.

Joel pushes you against the door and kisses you. It’s gentle, a sharp contrast to the feeling of his fingers tugging at your hair mere moments ago. He reaches around you, unlocking the door and leading you inside.

It’s warm inside the house. Joel walks into the kitchen, and you hear the opening and closing of cupboards and the sound of glass on marble. He walks out a minute later, holding a glass of water in each hand. You accept it gratefully.

You take a small sip and place the cup on the table near you. Joel’s eyes never leave yours as he shakes his head and swallows his own water.

“Drink up, baby,” He tells you, handing you your cup once again. “Gotta stay hydrated, yeah?” You roll your eyes playfully but oblige, downing the rest of the water, feeling it wetting your throat. You only set it down again once the glass is completely empty, before taking a small step forward and wrapping your arms around Joel, kissing him deeply. His hand comes up to cradle the side of your head, thumb resting on your cheek as he deepens the kiss, pulling your chest to his so you’re standing impossibly close to each other, heart to heart. You moan into his mouth and he swallows the sweet sound.

“Joel,” You mumble. “Need you to fuck me. Now,” He hums at your words, lips moving from your lips to place messy kisses down your throat.

“Fuck, I will angel,” He tells you. “G’na fuck you in my bed, fuck you till y’r so full of me. Gonna ruin that little husband of yours for ya’. Be the only one to make you feel this good.” You throw your head back and moan, and Joel takes the opportunity to kiss and bite every pulse point and every vein.

You let out a sound between a gasp and a squeal as you feel your feet being lifted from the ground, Joel’s hands cupping your ass as he carries you to his room and sets you in the middle of the bed. The soft chuckle you let out quickly turns into a moan as he pulls the collar of your dress down, mouth latching on to your bare nipples, licking and sucking at the skin. Your hands find his hair and you tug lightly at the roots, needing more, more, more. The sounds he lets out vibrate against your skin, sending tingles up the length of your spine. Joel’s mouth goes lower, kissing down the valley of your breasts and at the soft skin of your tummy, hands pulling your panties down for the second time tonight. He pulls back to luck at your cunt, glistening under the yellow lights of his room, and he lets out a pained grunt.

“Such a perfect fuckin’ pussy,” He says, fingertips tracing your outer thighs gently. You blush, suddenly embarrassed to be so bare for him. He stands up, peeling off his shirt to reveal his broad chest. He moves to unbutton his pants, but you sit up on the edge of the bed to stop him.

“Wanna do it,” The words slur out of your mouth, and you can feel Joel’s breathing getting heavier. His hand moves to your face, thumb caressing your cheek as your fingers work the button through the hole and pull the zipper down. The denim pools around his thighs, and he steps out of it, kicking it back to a distant corner of the room. He’s left only in his boxers, and you can feel yourself getting wetter at the sight of the outline of his dick against the fabric. You pull his boxers down, and this time really look. You’ve already felt him in your hand and your mouth, but in the darkness of the car you weren't able to really see him. He’s huge, thick with a slight curve to the left and neatly trimmed. God, this man. You feel more slick pooling between your thighs as you stroke him slowly. Joel groans and leans down to kiss you, pushing you backwards to lay on the bed as he climbs on top of you. He’s on his knees above you, one hand holding his cock while the other spreads your thighs open. His fingers move to your cunt, drawing small circles on your clit while you writhe beneath him at the feeling. He stops suddenly, bringing his hand to his lips to taste you. His eyes are on you as he licks the sweet taste of you off his thick fingers. You moan at the sight, and he hums at the flavor.

“Want you inside me Joel, please,” You tell him, brain too foggy to filter any words. Joel smirks slightly, and you admire the soft rise of the corner of his mouth, the almost invisible crinkle in his nose. Joel moves to slide the head of his cock up and down your pussy, the two of you moaning in unison at the sudden stimulation.

“So fuckin’ wet,” He says. “‘S this all for me, baby?” You nod your head furiously at the question, and Joel chuckles. “Or are you thinkin’ ‘bout that husband of yours? Wish he was fucking you instead ‘f me?” You shake your head from side to side, needing to feel him inside you. But Joel doesn't let up. “Say it,” He says. “Who makes you feel this good, angel?” You could cry out of frustration.

“You, Joel,” You nearly scream. “Only you. No one else. M’yours,” A satisfied grin spreads on his lips.

He mutters a soft Damn right before pushing into you. Your head falls deeper into the pillow at the painfully sweet stretch, your velvety walls adjusting to his length as he bottoms out. Your ears buzz, drowning out your obscene moans. Your brain is mush, the only coherent thought being Joel, Joel, Joel.

He’s moving now, deep thrusts in and out of you, mumbling about your perfect cunt and how you feel so good around him, such a pretty girl, God you’re so fucking tight . He leans down, taking your lips in his and kissing you hungrily. Moans fall from your tongue onto his, mixing into a pretty melody, a song only the two of you know how to sing.

“Gonna come,” You tell him. Joel’s pace becomes sloppier but his thrusts never cease, hitting spots inside you that make you see stars behind closed eyes. His lips are on your neck again, leaving marks as if they’re promises that you’re his. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass, needing him impossibly deeper.

“Wanna come with you, Joel,” You whimper, and he groans, his forehead falling against yours. He’s close, his thrusts becoming quicker and more shallow, and he’s so close to you, his hot skin against yours, you wish you could stay this way forever.

“Fuck, baby,” He says, voice broken. “Where d’ya want me?”

“Inside,” You reply breathlessly. “Want you to come inside me.” A strangled grunt leaves his throat at your filthy words.

“Shit, Okay, angel. Come for me, wanna feel you,” You oblige, letting yourself fall into bliss, liquid gold and white heat flashing behind your eyelids as you come undone on his cock. Joel lets out a few more animalistic sounds before spilling inside your cunt, and you savor the feeling of his warmth somewhere deep inside of you.

You relish in your post-orgasm haze, body going limp as your eyes begin to flutter shut. You feel Joel slowly pulling out of you, and you groan in protest.

“Gotta clean you up, baby,” He says, placing a soft kiss on the tip of your nose, but you wrap your arms around him before he can move any further.

“Jus– just wanna stay like this for a little,” You tell him. “Please,” You add, and he gives in, his strong arms circling your waist and pulling you closer to him as the two of you doze off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

__ __ __

Golden sunlight pools from the window as you wake up in your husband’s arms. He’s still sleeping, glowing under the late morning sun. You kiss his lips softly, and he stirs a little, eyes fluttering open and squinting at the harsh light.

“Morning, handsome,” You say with a kiss to his cheek. Joel groans and buries his head into the crook of your neck, pulling your body closer to his. You giggle, fingers brushing through his graying hair.

“Last night was fun,” You say, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, and he hums in agreement. “The roleplaying was a good idea, we should do it more often.” You add. “Though you really didn't have to sit on that nasty bathroom floor.” Joel pulls his head away from your warm body, looking you dead in the eye.

“Darlin’, I woulda’ licked that goddamn floor for you.” You laugh, and he kisses your neck briefly. “M’serious. You better know that,” He tells you. You’re smiling widely, rays of sun bouncing off of your skin as Joel wonders to himself how he got so goddamn lucky.

He briefly brought up roleplay a while ago after you ranted to him about your long day at work while he gave you a foot rub on the couch. He wasn't sure if you’d take him up on the offer, but you agreed that pretending to be someone else for a while could be a nice little escape from reality.

That’s how you found yourself at a local bar, ordering drinks while your husband sits in front of you as you pretend not to know him. All the while, Joel wondering how on earth he got fortunate enough to find you, let alone be the lucky man to marry you. And you looked so fucking gorgeous in that dress. He’s sure every other man in the bar noticed the way it hugged your curves. But he was the one who got to have you. He was the one who drove you to your shared house and fucked you until you couldn’t think straight. He was yours, yours to do whatever you pleased with.

Joel’s train of thought is cut off as he hears the bedsheets rustle beneath you as you move to get out of bed. You’re sitting on the edge of the mattress, your back facing him as you put your hair up into a lazy ponytail. You turn your head back to look at him, eyes twinkling.

“I’m making coffee,” You say. “Y’want some?”

“Coffee sounds great, angel, thank you,” He responds, and you smile as you get up.

“Okay, baby. Be right back,” You tell him, leaning down to kiss him one last time before making your way to the kitchen. Joel still tastes you on his lips as he watches the way your back sways with every step, leaving the room as you hum the tune of the song that was playing at the bar last night.Yeah, he thinks to himself. Joel Miller is the luckiest motherfucker alive.

a\n: zoo wee mama this took me way too long to write!! i pray this doesn't flop, but either way i enjoyed writing it. thank you for reading this far!! criticism is much appreciated <3

picture 1: King Lear by Edwin Austin Abbey

picture 2: @/ Anime♡Star on Pinterest

picture 3: @/ VSPINK on Pinterest

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totheblood · 1 year ago

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GLORY & GORE

CHAPTER ONE: NOW WE'RE IN THE RING

PAIRING: fwb!ellie williams x reader

SUMMARY: a week after you reunite with your estranged best friend, astrid, for the first time in three years, you are heartbroken to discover her sudden and brutal murder. as you dive deep into the world of sagewood university, you uncover astrid's ties to a shadowy society lurking within the institution's walls. in the midst of all of this, you cross paths with ellie, who you met on the very day you saw astrid again. as ellie helps you figure out what happened to your best friend, you're forced to wonder if everything with ellie is truly as it appears, and if trust can genuinely be given to anyone.

WARNINGS: 18+ SLIGHT SMUT mentions of death, grief, related subjects; cursing, mentions of drinking/drugs, mentions of s*x

A/N: i've been working on this one for a while... i hope you enjoy! please send asks, reblog, and reply to this post <;3

WORD COUNT: 6.3k

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched as you stepped onto Sagewood University’s campus for the first time since Astrid’s death.

You spent the days following Astrid’s death curled up on your couch, unmoving. Your gaze was fixed on the ceiling as you let time pass by slowly, counting the clicks of the clock on your wall each second.

Your mom would check on you every now and then, before she had to leave for work or when she came back home. She would leave a plate of food on the coffee table near you, urging you to eat something, but you had no appetite. It was safe to say that you weren't taking Astrid's death well.

Suddenly, your phone chimed, a ringtone reserved for one person.

ellie: You okay?

You picked up your phone, reading the message despite the LED lights burning your eyes. It was obvious to anyone that you weren't okay, so you declined to answer. You put your phone back on the table and stared at the same place on the ceiling. It was starting to look like a face, but you were almost sure you were hallucinating.

The morning they found Astrid’s dead body sprawled out on a table in the library had started like a normal day for you. The sky was still dark when you woke up to your alarm and dragged yourself out of bed. You pulled on the grey hoodie that had been your staple all semester, paired with a red pair of sweatpants you had worn so much they were nearly falling apart. As you walked towards campus, the streets were silent except for the occasional chirping of birds and the crunch of gravel beneath your sneakers. But when you reached the library all seemed eerily quiet; the wide glass windows had been frosted with police tape and blocked by large, black police cars. Fear started to sink into your stomach as groups huddled together, their hushed voices filled with whimpers and tears.

“Hey, uh,” you tapped one on the shoulder, “what happened?”

“They found some girl dead,” she replied in a low voice, “Can you believe it?”

“Do they know who it is?” you asked. Deep in your heart you already knew it was her.

From the very first day you met Astrid, you knew you had found your person. It was like finding the other piece to a two-piece puzzle. Simple, but rare. In elementary school, she was your personal hero, unafraid to get her hands dirty—or bloody, for that matter—when that kid shoved you during recess.

Middle school was weird for everyone, but less so for you because you had Astrid. You two invented your own secret language, a series of squiggles and lines that looked like chicken scratch to anyone else. Those notes you passed weren't just ink on paper; they were secret jokes, each scribble another knot in the thread that connected you two.

High school rolled around, and the stakes got higher, the emotions deeper. You realized you liked girls, and the moment you told Astrid, the air between you changed—but not in the way you feared. It was as if she picked up the weight of the situation and took it on as her own, lightening your load just by being there, just by listening. She didn't offer grand gestures or theatrical declarations of support; she didn't need to. Instead, she guided you, step-by-step, through the maze of coming out, as if it was the most natural path you could walk together.

And maybe it was. Because when you look back on everything, every scraped knee and every coded note, every whispered secret and every shared challenge, it all led back to a simple, undeniable truth: life was messy and confusing and downright hard sometimes—but less so with Astrid by your side.

College was supposed to be a fresh chapter, a new horizon where you and Astrid could explore the world as adults. But instead, it turned into a ripping of a page you never saw coming. Within the first week, something broke. Conversations turned into awkward exchanges, laughter gave way to silence, and the natural ease you'd always felt around her failed to exist. You guys just stopped clicking and after a big argument, you stopped hanging out altogether. She became someone you used to know, a piece of your past.

Time went by, and you got used to life without Astrid. Then, out of the blue, you got a text from her last week. She said she wanted to meet up.

She asked to meet at the campus coffee shop, Brain Brew, on a Tuesday morning. It was practically empty in there when you arrived, something that it almost never was. You came early, thinking you would need to find a seat, but now looking at all the empty chairs was less of a concern.

Behind the bar stood a girl, with short auburn hair and freckles littered across her face, on her phone. When you approached, she straightened up, looking surprised to see you. You read the name on her nametag: Ellie.

“Uh,” she looked you up and down briefly, “what can I get for you?”

“What's good?” you asked, eyes scanning the expansive menu ranging from lavender latte's to plain black coffee.

“Anything I make is good,” she shrugged, eyes still waiting for a response.

“Then, just an iced vanilla latte,” you ordered, tapping your fingers on the counter. She tapped your order into the tablet in front of her and then stopped for a minute, looking you over again.

“You go to Sagewood?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yea,” your brows knit together, as you shifted uncomfortably in your place, “Why?”

“I just feel like I’ve seen you before,” she commented, the price of your latte lighting up on the screen in front of you, “6.74.”

Jesus fuck, you thought, this is why I don't come here.

“It’s a big campus, you’ve probably just seen me around or something,” you tapped your card, looking back up at her, scanning her face to see if you remembered her from anywhere. Then it clicked, “Did you go to Weston Middle School?”

“Shit,” she breathed, shaking her head and laughing, “yea, for a year.”

“I remember you,” you laughed, a smile spread across your face, “you used to eat lunch alone every day and when I tried to sit next to you you told me to ‘Fuck off’.”

You saw her physically wince as she pulled your receipt out of the dispenser, “Fuck,” she shook her head again, closing her eyes painfully, “I’m sorry, that was not a good year for me.”

“I don't think 11 is a good year for anyone,” you joked back, taking your receipt from her, “It’s all good, don't worry about it.”

She let out a little laugh, her cheeks growing a tinge darker as she scratched the back of her neck, “I’ll get that drink started for you,” she moved towards the espresso machine before stopping and turning back towards you, “Wait, can I get your name?” She paused for a moment, examining the expression on your face, “For the order.”

Smiling, you gave her your name, and stood at the end of the counter, waiting for your drink. Astrid was now five minutes late, and you just realized she may be standing you up.

“Do you go to Sagewood?” you asked Ellie from across the espresso machine. She looked up at you over the machine, waiting for the espresso to brew.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “for psych.”

“Oh, you want to be a therapist?” you leaned your hands on the counter looking around the empty room.

“Something like that,” she breathed out a laugh, eyes flicking up to you for a moment, “What are you doing?”

“Journalism,” you smiled, watching as she made your drink, “Do you think I could get your number?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could think. You watched as the smile from her face fell, the blood that was in her cheeks being replaced with pale skin.

“Oh, uh” she fumbled over her words almost dropping the cup of milk she was holding, “I don’t really date, it not my-”

“Oh, not like that,” you cut her off, trying to save yourself the embarrassment, “Just like as friends, I don’t really have that many around campus.”

“Oh,” she breathed out a laugh, relief flooding her features, “Yeah, sure then. I’d love to be friends.”

When she handed you her drink she handed you her phone with the contacts app already open. You took your coffee and the phone, smiling slightly as you put your name and number in.

“Here,” you giggled, “sorry if that was weird. I wasn’t like coming on to you or anything. I mean not that you aren’t attractive cause you are- But it’s also not like I’m not into girls, cause I am. Jesus fuck,” you whispered under your breath, “It’s just that I also... Don’t date,” you lied.

You watched the permanent smirk on her face as you rambled off and she took her phone back and let out another breathy laugh.

“Well, it’s not that you aren’t attractive either,” she rubbed the back of her neck, watching intently as you sipped your drink, “so if you wanted to like, I don’t know, hook up sometime, I would be down for that.”

You practically choked on your latte when she said that, eyes wide as you tried to cover up your spluttering with a cough, “Um, yeah. That sounds cool, or whatever.”

“Cool,” she pursed her lips, nodding before turning back to wipe the counter down, “I’ll text you.”

As if it was fate the bell rang behind you, signaling Astrid’s entrance. You turned to look at her and give her a once over. She looked a lot more frazzled since you last saw her, her blond hair was still as long and came past her shoulders, but it was frizzier as if she had just woken up. The circles under her eyes were more prominent, and when you smiled at her, she didn’t smile back. You didn’t want to approach her first, so you just waited until she came up to you and gave you a hint of a smile.

“Should we sit?” She asked, her voice much raspier now as she looked around to the empty cafe, the tension in her body easing up.

“Sure,” you followed her lead as she led you to the back, away from any windows and farther away from the bar. You looked over to where Ellie was still working, wondering how loud you would need to shout for her to hear you.

“What did you want to talk about?” you started, noticing her slightly anxious state as she took shallow breaths, “I mean, I missed you.”

“This isn’t about us,” her voice was cold when she spoke, the words hurting you more than you thought it would, “I just think you are the only person I can trust.”

“Okay,” you took a sip of your latte, nursing it in your hands, “do you need to tell me something?”

“No,” she took a deep breath, “Just that if something happens to me, it will have to be you to figure out who does it.”

“Jesus,” you breathed out, leaning in to whisper back, “What the fuck have you gotten into, A?”

She winced at the sound of her nickname, looking down at the table before looking around again at the still-empty cafe, “I should be fine,” she sighed, “but if I’m not, you will know what to do.”

“How the fuck would I know what to do?” you spoke a little louder, throwing your hands up dramatically as you leaned back, “I mean this is ridiculous, you completely blow me off freshman year and now you’re telling me I have to worry about someone who doesn’t even want to be my friend anymore?”

“You’re being melodramatic,” she blinked a few times, before sitting up straight, “I didn’t come here to fight you.”

“No, you just came to make sure I’d be there whenever you got yourself into trouble,” your voice was harsh as you stood up from your seat abruptly, ready to leave.

“Please, sit down,” she urged, looking up at you with her big round eyes.

“No, thanks,” you replied sarcastically, giving her a fake smile, “Go fuck yourself.”

Go fuck yourself.

That was the last thing you ever told Astrid before she was murdered.

The guilt followed you all the way back home that night in stunned silence. You were too shocked to even tell your professor you weren’t coming to class that day, missing a midterm. You knew you would make it up eventually, but now, all you could do was sit and stare and hope to wake up from whatever nightmare you were living.

To make matters worse, as you sat on your bed, still dressed in your clothes from earlier a note was slipped under your door. A thick cream cardstock, with embossed trimmings covered in gold, and written delicately on the front in script, “Keep your mouth shut, or you’re next.”

At the time, you immediately threw it out, not thinking much of it. Your brain was stuffed with things you didn’t want to think about, flashes of your childhood coming back in brief intervals. The vision of the two of you at the carnival, faces stuffed with cotton candy, giggling as you boarded the Ferris Wheel for the first time on your own came back first. You remember going around with her three times until the sun went down and the houses began to look like stars in the sky. Lit up and far away.

Another memory flashed, her crying in your lap in the 8th grade. Jason Charnley rejected her when she asked him if they could go to the dance together. Innocently, you offered to go with her as you stroked her hair, the cries dying out as you cracked joke after joke. By the time she was supposed to go home, she had forgotten what she was even upset about.

Then a memory of senior year when she showed up on your front step, a giant envelope addressed to her with a giant “Sagewood” on the front. She knew she was accepted from the moment she applied, but the confirmation was validation enough. What really surprised her was your admission, meaning you’d follow after her to college as you usually did.

Then a memory flashed from a week ago, an unknown number lit up your screen the night you met Astrid in the cafe.

ellie: Hey, this is Ellie.

ellie: From Brain Brew.

you: wrong number

you: but what are you wearing, ellie?

ellie: Nvm.

you: stooooop come back

you: i was being annoying, i apologize

you: what are you doing rn?

ellie: Come find out.

That’s how you found yourself pressed up against Ellie’s door, her knee wedged in between your legs, a small whimper falling from your lips that were wrapped up in Ellie’s. Ellie's lips were soft and full, her touch gentle, calloused hands gripping your clothed waist. You could feel her heart pounding in time with your own, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

Your hands, no longer under your own control, moved around her waist to pull her closer still, while her hands roamed over your back, exploring, caressing. Your breathing grew heavier as you felt her hands roam up your body

The kiss deepened as you explored each other’s mouths with your tongues. Her lips were insistent, demanding as if she couldn't get enough of you. You were overwhelmed by the taste of her, a mix of mint and coffee. She slipped her hands under your shirt, her hands traveling up your back, causing goosebumps to rise exclusively where she touched. Her hands found the clasp of your bra, undoing it, her mouth never leaving yours as you moaned into her mouth. Ellie’s hands, still under your shirt, moved to cup your tits in her hand, pushing you back against the door as she did so.

She broke the kiss, her lips trailing down your jaw, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed and sloppy kisses on your skin. Her teeth nipped at the skin on your collarbone, sending shivers down your spine. Her hands began teasing your nipples with gentle squeezes and flicks. She was relishing in every sound you made, every way you squirmed underneath her touch. She could feel herself getting wet from the small sounds alone. Then you moaned out loud as Ellie's lips found their way to your neck, sucking and biting, marking you as hers, and she was gone completely.

Her hands moved lower, sliding down your sides, over the curve of your hips, until they reached the waistband of your pants. Before you knew it, her fingers slipped beneath the fabric, two fingers circling your clit as she worked you.

“Shit,” she whispered under her breath, “this is for me?” The sound of her fingers and your cunt made an obscene noise, her fingers now completely coated in you. Your hands fumbled with the buttons of Ellie's shirt, desperate to feel her skin against yours. You popped them off one by one, fingers faltering as she touched you, revealing her toned stomach, and you couldn't help but run your hands at the place right above her worn-out jeans, feeling the muscles twitch beneath your touch.

Ellie pulled back slightly, her eyes searching her face for any regret, any idea that you wanted to back out now. "You want this?" she whispered, her voice low and rough. You nodded, unable to form words as your body leaned into her.

----

That’s all you remembered that night, slipping out sometime before Ellie woke up. You assumed that since this was “strictly a hookup” she wouldn’t want to see you there in the morning. She did vaguely reference you sleeping over, but you didn’t want to overstay your welcome.

So before the sun came up, you slipped from Ellie’s grip, slipping on the clothes you came in and doing the infamous walk of shame back to your dorm. This wasn’t a relationship, and the proactive version of yourself had to be reminded of that many times that week.

You began to think that if you maybe hadn’t gotten so wrapped up in Ellie the week after meeting with Astrid, you would have noticed something. Maybe even have been able to prevent her death. A part of you wanted to resent Ellie for that, but you knew at the end of the day you were trying to put the blame on anyone but yourself.

She reached out for help, but you denied her.

The best friend you swore to protect, who swore to protect you was now dead, and you could have prevented it. Wallowing in it wasn’t helping much, but provided some emotion to feel other than numb. So back in your childhood home, your fingers lingered over Ellie’s contact, wondering if you should text her back. You didn’t have a plan to return back to school yet and you didn’t want to give her false hope.

Maybe she could fuck the grief out of you, or wrap her to-

you: as good as i can be

ellie: This sucks.

you: truer words have never been spoken

ellie: But hey, I need to talk to you. Do you know when you’ll be back on campus?

ellie: I’m not trying to like fuck you or anything cause that would be fucked up.

ellie: Ignore that last message. I’m just realizing now how weird that was. I'm sorry.

ellie: Anyways, I just need to talk to you about something, it’s serious. Don’t wanna text it to you.

you: i should be back soon, i don't know yet.

ellie: Well, when you do come back, let me know.

You stared at your phone, your fingers ghosting over Ellie’s message before deciding to reply with a thumbs up. Pathetic, but it was all you could muster as you finally sat up and ate the food your mom left for you. It was about time to return to your life, falling behind not being an option anymore.

You worked too hard to get into Sagewood in the first place to stop now, a year before you were set to graduate. Sagewood was on par with the Ivy League schools, bearing an acceptance rate of 9% and accepting students internationally. There were about a thousand on-campus clubs, sororities, and study groups. There were even rumored secret societies, but you were never one to believe in that sort of thing. People who graduated with a degree from Sagewood were set for life. There was no room to screw up three years of good grades okay grades.

So that’s how you found yourself back on campus, tightly gripping the straps of your bag. As if snapped back into reality, the memories of that night flooded back. You just began to remember the note you threw away that threatened your life, as you made your way to your morning class, an unsettling feeling setting in your stomach. It almost felt as if you were being watched.

As you sat in class, you shuffled in your seat as the kid a few rows in front of you turned to look at you. When he noticed you staring back he turned around quickly. The whole class you had your eyes trained on the back of his head, watching as he would occasionally look at you, notice you looking, and turn back around. You knew you were being paranoid when you first walked onto campus, but now you felt validated.

As the teacher dismissed the class, the kid who kept staring at you collected his things and attempted to leave the room quickly, but you wouldn’t let that happen. You rushed to meet him at the door and stood in front of him, a bitter look on your face.

“You’ve got a staring problem,” you commented accusingly, hands folding across your chest.

“You’re just really,” he coughed, looking around as other people pushed past you to the exit, the professor included, “pretty. You’re pretty, that’s why I was staring.”

“I know I am,” you turned to shut the door behind the last person exiting the room, “but do you really think I’m that stupid? What gives?”

“I’m late for my clas-” he began to stumble out before you took another menacing step towards him.

“You won’t make it there if you don’t tell me why the fuck you were staring at me,” you pointed a finger right in the center of his chest, making him gulp loudly.

“It’s just,” he takes another step back, “you were friends with the dead girl.”

“The dead girl?” you spat back at him, your tone laced with venom, “Her name was Astrid, you dick.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He breathed out, “I’m just a true crime junkie, I’m intrigued about her case.”

“Her case?” you questioned him, taking a step back to make him feel more comfortable. To make him open up to you.

“Just that they have no leads yet,” he scoffed, “which is weird if you ask me. No suspects yet she’s killed in a very public place?”

“That happens all the time,” you retorted, hands still crossed protectively across your chest.

“It’s not as common as you think,” he shrugged, “they haven’t questioned you yet?”

Now that he brought it up, the whole situation was weird. If they were trying hard to find out what happened to her, why weren’t you called in for questioning? It wasn’t like you had done it, but you did have a motive, and you had just come into contact with her again, shortly before her murder. If there was any person to question, it would be you, but yet here you were, untouched.

“No, they haven’t,” you mumbled back, your mind moving a million miles per minute.

“See,” he smirked, “weird.”

“Wipe that stupid ass smile off your face,” you spat back, “she’s still dead, and just because you ‘like true crime’ doesn’t give you a right to talk about her. It’s not like you’re going to solve her murder.”

“I just might,” he stated simply.

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed, turning towards the door to leave now.

“Did you know she was part of a secret society?” he questioned, making you still for a moment.

You turned back around to face him, eyes squinted again, arms crossed firmly over your chest, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head, something sinister in the way he hung his head, “I do my research and I do it well.”

“You sound like a nutcase,” you spat again, trying to stop the anger from bubbling inside of you. It felt weird to talk about Astrid as if she was a mystery. In all the people in the world, you knew her the best. You knew each and every corner of her life, even when you weren’t speaking. But now, as you stood here, you weren’t sure you ever knew her at all.

“They are called Oculus Noctis,” he shrugged again, standing up taller as if he had just won this fight, or whatever this was, “look them up, then come find me,” he walked closer to you now, making you want to cower away, but you didn’t. You planted your feet down, straightening your posture. Although he looked more confident now, you could tell he was still intimidated by you, “my name’s Corbin Nott. I run a podcast, look me up too.”

Smiling, he brushed past you leaving you standing alone in the room. You let out what felt like a deep breath you were holding for a while, your breath coming out shallow and shaky. Your heart felt like it would beat out of your chest, and come out of your ears and nose as you bled out on the floor, but you just stayed unmoving taking deep breaths as you placed a hand over your chest to steady yourself.

Your hands began to shake a little, trembling as you moved to sit down at one of the desks, a failed attempt at calming yourself. The breaths came quicker as it started to feel like you couldn’t breathe, like your heart was pumping blood into your lungs and you were drowning. Your vision blurred as you stared at the desk, which was now full of wet droplets. Were you crying? You lifted a shaky hand to wipe at your cheeks, and as you expected you felt your damp skin covered in tears.

You were trying hard to collect yourself now, knowing that students from the next class would probably start flooding in and you wouldn’t be able to move. You would just sit at a front desk crying as whatever poor professor tried to teach. C’mon get it together, get it fucking together, you thought. What was it they said to do? 5 things you can see, 4 things you can touch, and the other three got lost on you.

You looked around, and through teary eyes you could see a clock on the wall, ticking slower than usual. You could see the whiteboard in front of you, smugged with black dry-erase markers, and you could see the dark hardwood floors, clean and polished. You watched your hands and your tears on the desk and suddenly your breathing started to feel normal.

Thank god you did because by the time you were wiping your last tear from your eyes, the door to the classroom was swinging open and a student was walking in. You kept your head down, so they wouldn’t see your teary eyes and red nose, but that also stopped you from seeing them. So when the person called your name out, you had to look up, only to see…

“Ellie,” you mumbled, watching the smile on her face drop as her eyes scanned your face. Gripping her backpack straps she walked closer to you slowly, crouching down in front of the desk you were sitting at. Her green eyes darted from your eyes to your nose, to your lips, and to the desk, clearly wet.

“Hey,” she whispered, “are you okay?” She reluctantly reached a hand out to wipe at your face, unsure if you were okay with being touched or if you even liked to be comforted. She wiped a tear away from your cheek, her calloused thumb rubbing your cheek gently, “What happened?”

“I-I’m fine,” you stuttered out, closing your eyes at the skin-to-skin contact, “Still upset I guess,” you let out a shaky laugh, hoping to see a small smile on Ellie’s face as you opened your eye, but she just looked worried. Her brow wrinkled a bit, and it looked as if she was still searching for something in your eyes, but was coming up empty. She cleared her throat before looking away, retracting her hand from her face.

“You’re not fine.” She grumbled back, standing up now, causing you to look up at her, “You shouldn’t be back here so soon.”

“What?” you joked, “Not excited to see me?”

She rolled her eyes playfully, a small blush tinted on her face as she nudged your shoulder lightly, “Not excited at all,” she commented sarcastically, making you crack a bigger smile, “c’mon let’s get out of here,” she motioned her head to the door, making you stand up shakily and stand in front of her.

“Don’t you have class?” you asked, your own expression laced with worry. You watched as her face softened slightly at this, pursing her lips and looking you up and down.

“I can skip it,” she shrugged, “plus, I wanted to talk to you.”

You let out a small laugh, “God, you sound obsessed with me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she dismissed you, walking towards the door, pulling it open, and holding it for you, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Giving her a small smile you walked out with her, your hands placed firmly in your pockets. You stepped out onto the main grass of Sagewood, where people were sitting, laughing, as their lives moved on. The smell of the grass was strong, as you walked down the cobbled path, Ellie looking at you quickly before taking a deep breath.

“So, I went by your room the day after your friend-” she started,

“Astrid,” you practically whispered back.

‘Astrid,” she paused, “After she died,” she cleared her throat, “I’m so sorry by the way.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to say that.”

“Sorry,” she cleared her throat, “Anyways, I went there the day after and you weren’t there, but there was this book on your desk.”

“What?” you stopped in your tracks looking at her, “There was no book on my desk when I got back.”

“I know,” she sighed, looking around, “I took it,” she watched as your eyes widened and you took a step back.

“Why the fuck would you take something off my desk?” you questioned, anger written all over your face. Ellie shifted uncomfortably, chewing on her bottom lip as you questioned her.

“Because it was Astrid’s, and I thought,” her voice died out, and your wide eyes just pressed her on, your arms once again folding over your chest.

“You thought what?”

“I thought that it was evidence,” she breathed out, “I thought that if they found that in your room it would be pinned on you.”

“You think I killed her?” your voice was loud now, making people around you stop and stare. Ellie looked around uncomfortably, closing her eyes as she took another deep breath.

“Of course not!” she whisper yelled back, “You were at mine the night she was murdered, but if they found that in your room, it would have been on you.”

“So, you stole it,’ you deadpanned, eyebrows raised and accusing, “Why do you even care if I go down for it? You barely know me.”

“Because believe it or not, you are one of my only friends,” she looked away, her arms crossing over her chest as if to protect herself, “Like ever. So forgive me if I didn’t want you to be framed for murder.”

Your expression softened, arms falling to your sides as you looked up at her and then back at the ground, “I appreciate that.”

“You can have it back, obviously,” she mumbled, eyes trained on her own shoes as her arms uncrossed and her fingers began to play with each other, “I just… didn’t want you to get in trouble. It’s all gibberish anyways, just a bunch of words that don't make sense.”

That made your heart stop, as you blinked up at her. “What did you just say?” She looked up at you, shrugging as she rolled her eyes.

“The journal, it’s like just a bunch of random words, I tried to find out what language it was but I came up short,” she was still playing with her fingers, obviously nervous as she picked at her nails, “But, I understand if you don’t want to talk to me anymore. It was a weird thing to do.”

“I still want to be your friend, Ellie,” you sighed, “I just need to see this journal, like now,” you watched as a small smile flashed across her face and he shoulders seemed to lose all their tension.

“Yeah, we could head over to my dorm right now,” she began walking, turning her head back to make sure you were following her, “I’m sorry agai-”

“Ellie, if you apologize again I’ll jump you,” you teased, smiling up at her as you walked side by side.

“Doesn’t sound like much of a threat,” she teased back, voice low as she let out a small laugh.

As you walked into Ellie’s dorm, you instantly became nervous again, your guilt creeping up the back of your neck. The night Astrid was killed, you were in bed with Ellie, laughing as she traced circles into your inner thigh. She talked about how much she hated her professors, working and Brain Brew, and how weird everyone on campus was. Well, everyone except for you.

That night you stayed up and watched 30 Rock on Hulu until Ellie fell asleep, Ellie’s laughter gradually fading into soft snores. Her head found a resting spot on your shoulder, her rhythmic breaths warming your neck. You slipped out quietly, walking back to your dorm with a shit-eating grin on your face, and fell asleep unassuming.

Your fingers traced the outline of Ellie’s desk, as you eyed Astrid’s journal that was sat in the center of it. It was covered in green felt, her name embossed on the front of it in gold letters. You pulled out the chair in front of the desk, sitting at it to begin reading the book. You paused for a moment, wondering if you even wanted to open it. Flipping open the front page, there was the language you created in middle school on every page. Pages and pages, the book was filled. When Astrid said it would be up to you to solve her murder, she meant it literally.

On the front page was printed “Fepi Quslo Vurte Dabru” which translates to “My Oculus Noctis Journey.”

“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath, finger brushing over the letters on the page, feeling the imprint the pen made on the paper.

“What?” Ellie stepped forward, looking over your shoulder at the book, “You know what this says?”

You sighed deeply, eyes trained on the words, “Yeah,” you turned to look up at her, “I do.”

“How?” her tone was more curious than shocked, sitting on her bed as she watched you.

“It’s a language we created in middle school,” you closed the book, stuffing it in your bag as you turned to stare at Ellie. You watched as she looked at you in amazement, eyes wide and mouth hung open.

“You created a fucking language?” she asked, laughing a little, “Jesus, you Sagewood students are crazy.”

“Ellie, you also go here,” you laughed, leaning your elbow on the desk, “Plus, Astrid mostly created it. She was smart like that.”

Ellie looked at you again, a small smile playing on her face, “You’re smart too, you know.”

“Not as smart as she was,” your smile turned to a sad one as you looked at your knees, not wanting to cry again.

“Hey,” Ellie said, voice low as she tried to get your attention. When you looked up, she smiled at you, eyes soft, “You're really fucking smart, just remember that.”

You gave her a forced smile, looking back down at your feet, “Thank you,” your voice came out cracked, “I needed that.”

“What did the first page say?”

“My Oculus Noctis Journey,” you replied, shrugging.

“Oh shit,” she laughed, “she was involved with those freaks?”

You sat up straight at this, scanning her face, “You know about them?”

“Sadly,” she replied nonchalantly, “I don't know much about them except that they exist. They tried to recruit me, but I don't think they know that I know that it was them.”

“What? What do you mean?” you asked eagerly, words coming out quickly.

“They recruit people on campus but they make it seem like they are just regular clubs,” she recounted, “Like they had a ‘coding club’ and at the club fair they had this code that they asked people to encrypt, it was extremely hard too. I did it and they sent me this weird email, asking me to do more shit. I just kind of didn't respond but traced the email to their own web service.”

“I thought that the secret society stuff was just like rumors.”

“Nope,” she popped her lips on the ‘p’, “Real shit. I just don't know what they exist for or anything.”

“I think I may have to figure that out.”

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams oneshot #modern!ellie williams #college!ellie williams #ellie williams one shot

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obsessedfics · 11 months ago

Text

Soft Rain: Gojo Satoru x Reader (SMUT! Mature/Explicit) Part 1

I want to first say I usually try to find a photo that fits the aesthetic of the story but this one was way too good to walk away from. Everyone enjoys this gem <3. Also, this fic because it's too damn long is split up into two parts. Part 2 is already up and will be linked at the bottom of this page.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*Rating: Mature/Explicit (Sexual scenes)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*Summary: You are in a coffee shop one rainy day when a sad beautiful stranger enters. Slowly, you open up to each other in the warm confinement of the cafe. Little did you know that you would fall in love with this man, and he with you.

I wrote this from the perspective of seeing Satoru with his barriers down. No masks, no facades, just him when he's alone with his haunting thoughts. I wanted to give him a more human perspective and touch on some of the things that plague his mind. I know I have been MIA for quite some time, if you were someone who was waiting for this I am sorry! Life has been a rollercoaster recently but I am finally back to being in a place of stability. This is certainly a longer fic, so I hope you all enjoy it. As always feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comments below!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*Word Count: 25k+

September: When I met you

“Your coffee, miss.”

“Oh, thank you,”

Finally, you tore your eyes away from your book to smile at the girl handing you your drink.

You gratefully accepted the liquid, hands wrapping around the warm ceramic mug as you inhaled deeply. The bitter scent of coffee with a hint of vanilla kissed your senses, causing you to smile.

Taking a sip, your eyes wander to the large window as the warmth travels down your throat.

Soft rain fell from endless gray.

It had been raining for hours now, which drove you into the small cafe. You were pleased when you entered the space. A warm cozy atmosphere fragranced with coffee and paired with the sound of rain.

What more could you want for a reading environment?

You let yourself settle further into the oversized couch, watching placidly as drops of rain slowly travel down the planes of the window.

Such a perfect day.

Peering down at your watch, you sigh. It was nearly 5 pm. Idly, you run your fingers along the soft threads of the couch, drifting further into your own thoughts. You knew you had to leave sometime soon, but willingly tearing yourself away from this serenity seemed like a crime.

“Is this seat taken?”

Huh?

You pull your eyes away from the window to find a man standing before you, soaked to the bone in rainwater.

Soft white hair stuck to his porcelain skin. It drew your attention, eyes unable to look away. However, when your eyes met his, your breath caught. They stole your attention; piercing blue that seemed to know everything .

“No, go ahead. Do you need a towel?”

You realized you were staring all while feeling slightly awkward. There were many other open seats, why did he need to choose the one that was adjacent to you?

“Do you have one?” he asked with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Giving him a curt nod, you began digging in your purse until you found your folded hand towel. Silently, you handed it to him and he accepted it, sitting down with a huff, roughly drying his hair.

Beginning to feel uncomfortable, you set down your coffee and resumed reading your book. Your fingers lightly played with the cover – feeling the embossed words, you traced the shapes, mind unable to focus.

Who is this guy?

You peered at him over the cover.

He had unzipped his black athletic jacket and draped it over a chair. He now wore a simple white button-down shirt and it clung to his muscular body. The color of his skin bleeds its way into the white, stealing your attention. With eyes discreetly tracing the planes of his body, you noted the pale blue veins that delicately decorated his hands.

You blushed, feeling as if you saw something you shouldn’t, so you quickly turned your eyes to the book – pretending to read.

Is he some kind of gym rat? Why is he so fit? He looked like a noodle a second ago…

“Miss?” his low voice calls, breaking your thoughts.

You meet his eyes over the pages. His hair, now more dry than wet, began sticking up in multiple different directions. The male is holding your towel out to you with a sad smile on his lips.

Deciding reading is futile, you close your novel, placing it to the right as you shake your head.

“Keep it,”

You don’t want a wet towel in your purse and it seems he doesn’t have an umbrella. It’s not much, but you hope it’ll give his spikey head a little coverage.

“You sure?” he asks, already leaning back to find comfort in his seat. You control the urge to stare at his body. So you grab your coffee, forcing your eyes to look at the deformed latte art.

“I’m sure. It seems it’ll get more use with you. Why were you outside in this weather anyway?”

It had been raining for hours, most people would be in their homes by now.

He eyed you for a moment, white eyelashes downcast, almost like he was recalling a painful memory.

“I wanted to be alone, my thoughts were loud, so the rain helped block them out. What about you?”

How can you say something like that so casually?

“Honestly, I was on my way home. But it had started raining and it led me here. Pulled out my book, and yeah…”

You shrugged your shoulders.

If you were being sincere, it was a needed escape. The walls of your home felt too suffocating, you looked for any excuse to not return.

“What’s your name?”

You now fully looked at his face.

He is handsome, with a sharp jawline and regal features. Nothing about him was mundane, it seemed as if he was a sculpture; something perfect and unattainable.

“Y/n, you?”

“Satoru. What do you do for a living?”

With eyebrows knitting together, you eyed the man.

What is this, a surprise interview?

“I am an author and I do some remote networking for a hospital. What about yourself?”

His eyebrows rose at your response and you couldn’t tell why. It’s not like your profession was anything to be shocked about.

Taking a sip of coffee, you sigh. The warmth slides down your throat as the delicate taste coats your tongue. Silently, you savor the feeling – the easy calm that washes over you.

“I am a sorcerer,”

The cup nearly dropped out of your hands.

Well, shit.

It’s not that you didn’t know they existed, it’s that you did your best to distinctly distance yourself from that world.

That explains the physique at least.

“I am sorry, then.”

You watch as his eyes turn sorrowful, then he faces the window, cheek in his palm.

“I don’t see any cursed energy coming from you, how do you know about us?”

It’s a simple question, but in truth, it was perhaps the heaviest one to ask you.

“A close friend. They went missing about 6 years ago. Police never got a trail, so I dug and I stumbled upon a lot of information I shouldn’t have. Been doing my best to ignore it since.”

You weren’t sure why you were talking to this random stranger. Maybe it was something in his expression, with the way his eyes longingly looked out the window – as if he too missed someone close to him.

Satoru hummed as he tapped a finger against his thigh, perfectly in tune with the soft rain.

“I lost someone too,”

The man spoke so softly you hardly picked up on his words. If you hadn't been paying attention to him, you may not have caught it.

“A lover?”

Judging by his expression, you guessed it had to be someone he loved. But, to your surprise, he let out a humorless laugh.

“No, but you could see it that way. He… Was like the other half of me. Someone I could trust. I knew with him, I could let go and be myself. I could breathe. Because he was the only person who saw me .”

Endless blue plagued with deep sadness gazed towards you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

“When it rains, it reminds me of him.”

Your heart dropped.

“Where is he now?”

Becoming fully invested in the man in front of you, you cross your legs, leaning your body forward.

“I… He’s dead. It’s been a year,”

Satoru’s eyes turned down again.

Unable to stop yourself, you reached out, gently taking his hand, rubbing the cold, soft skin of his knuckles. Your touch shocked him for a moment, but he slowly relaxed into it, large palm melting in your delicate fingers.

The contact made your body shiver.

When was the last time I touched someone?

“Do you want anything?”

You didn’t want to offer him fake pleasantries, for you thought he wouldn’t appreciate it. However, you also didn’t know what to say. Nothing comforted you when your friend died, and you were positive it was the same for him.

“No, I am good. Thanks though.”

Nodding softly at his words, you reluctantly remove your hand to find your drink. Again, you welcomed the warmth of the liquid, relishing in its taste.

“Do you plan to leave soon?” the question left your lips in a whisper.

“Yeah, but if I am being honest, I don’t want to go back. I kind of just want to forget, y’know?”

At his honest words, you sighed, taking another long sip of your coffee.

“Unfortunately,”

He laughs at your answer. The pure sound makes you smile into your cup, shaking your head to try not to join him.

Maybe some company wouldn’t hurt.

With eyes falling to your coffee, you let your laugh die in your throat. It had been so long since you willing had a conversation with someone. Now you felt stiff and awkward.

“I-If you want, my home isn’t too far from here. You can wait out the rain there. I have some extra clothes that might fit you, that way we can wash your current ones.”

Finding a little bit of confidence you offered the man a small smile, to which he returned with his own.

If you were being honest, it seemed like he needed someone.

And maybe you did, too…

“Inviting a stranger over to your home? That’s awfully brave.” Satoru said with some found bravado, which only made you chuckle.

“Well yes, you are a stranger. But you also look like a wet, sad cat. It would break my heart to leave you stranded.” you tease back, earning yourself a smile from the male which made you bite the flesh of your inner cheek.

He really is beautiful, it's kind of unfair.

To hide your blush, you stuff your face into your mug, gulping down the remnants of your coffee.

“Alright, as long as I don’t end up in a crop top and short shorts.”

It was your turn to laugh. You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of your throat, just imagining him in such an outfit was ridiculous – all long limbs in hot pink and denim.

Somehow, you think he would pull it off if he tried.

“Oh I don’t know, now you’re giving me ideas~” you coo playfully, wiggling your fingers in his smiling face. He feigned being offended, crossing his arms over his chest, and looking the other way – which only caused you to laugh harder and him to join you.

The two of you giggled uncontrollably a bit, hands lacing over your stomachs. It was the only sound that could be heard other than the soft pitter-patter of rain.

Deciding you had overstayed your welcome, you began collecting your items. In a pair, you exited the building. Your bodies huddle together under the umbrella that Satoru held. The male looked down at you with a wicked smile, then jumped in a puddle, effectively splashing the both of you with cold rain. You laughed and pretended to be annoyed, joining in his childish behavior.

At some point, you began chasing each other in the rain, umbrella forgotten. You laughed like children till you reached your home, the two of you completely soaked.

Still giggling, you unlocked the door, wiping your hair out of your face.

“Wait here, I’ll get you a towel.”

Knocking off your shoes, you padded over to your hallway closet, grabbing two towels. You were already running yours through the length of your hair when you returned to the male. He gratefully accepted the fabric, using it immediately against his unruly hair.

It was then that you noticed his height and stature. His body is elegant and lithe, whereas he is tall, easily towering over your frame.

This somehow annoyed you.

Why do all the good genes go to one person?

“You’re staring,” he commented and you shrugged.

“Just thinking you’re unfairly blessed,”

A long sigh escaped your lips as you dropped your towel to the floor, hoping to clean some of the water off the polished wooden planks.

“You wouldn’t be the first – Is that a cat?”

Catching the excitement in his voice, you smile.

“Yes, that’s Noir. Before you say it, I know she’s white. I just like the novelty of the name.”

Slightly shaking your hair, you hang up your jacket, watching Satoru stare at your cat out of the corner of your eye.

“Will she attack me?” he asks and you hear an audible gulp .

Satoru places his towel on the floor, cleaning up his own puddle of water with his foot to hide his embarrassment.

Who knew such a big man would be so cautious of a little feline?

“Here,”

Holding your hand out to the male, you lightly cock your head to the side, wet hair tickling the nape of your neck. He places his large hand in your small one and you lead him to Noir, who is currently perched on your gray couch, cleaning herself.

Gently, you guide his hand to your cat, allowing her to give him a sniff. Then, she affectionately nuzzles her head into his palm, purring when he scratches under her chin. You watch as he smiles like a big idiot, squatting down so he’s at eye level with your pet.

“I think she likes me,” he whispers to you happily, and you roll your eyes playfully.

“She likes everyone . That girl is also a glutton, the T-R-E-A-T-S are on top of the fridge. I am going to take a shower, keep my precious furbaby company will ya?”

You couldn’t help the tight squeeze of your heart at the sight. In a way, they kind of resemble each other. Right down to the unruly fur and knowing blue eyes.

“I wouldn’t let anyone harm her for the world,” he promises, and you chuckle.

“Good,”

—

Feeling some life return to him, Satoru pads over to the kitchen, securing the treasure; treats for Noir.

“Here girl,”

He makes kissing noises and the soft feline comes running over. She has a fluffy white coat, and if she had been asleep on the couch he may have mistaken her for a throw pillow.

The cat ‘meowed’ at the sight of the bag, spinning in a circle then sat down, staying perfectly still.

Oh, did your mommy teach you tricks?

“Oh, good girl, Noir!”

He excitedly plucked out a treat, placed it in his palm, and then brought it down so she could lick it off his skin. The scratchy feeling of her tongue tickled his hand until the snack was gone. Then she was sitting again, big blue eyes begging him for more.

“Let’s see,” Satoru hummed happily, grabbing another treat from the bag, holding it a little higher than the cat.

“Jump!”

Noir did as commanded, gracefully jumping, catching the treat in her mouth, and snacking while walking in a triumphant circle.

“Ohhh~ You’re such a smart girl!” the cat rubbed his leg, purring affectionately into him. He knew that she was buttering him up, but he didn’t care.

Over and over, he played with Noir. Giving her treats with each performed trick, petting her lovingly after every graceful action. Eventually, he sat down, ignoring the bite of the cool kitchen tile, letting the cat lay on his chest.

He closed his eyes, enjoying Noir’s warmth and soft fur against his skin. Her soft purs tickled the pads of his fingers, making him smile to himself. The feeling ebbed some of the ice out of his chest, blocking out the whispers of loneliness.

“I see my little lady has captured your heart,”

He cracked open one eye.

Y/n was smiling down at them, wet hair surrounding her soft features. She dressed simply in a white t-shirt and sweatpants, but she still looked beautiful.

He sighed, kissing Noir’s soft little head, then stood. Y/n’s eyes followed his movement, every bit of curiosity easily readable on her face. He couldn’t remember the last time he was around a non-sorcerer. However, her presence was calming, and he was willingly letting himself drown in her serenity.

“The bathroom is down the hall on the left. I put the spare clothes on the counter along with a fresh towel,” her eyes raked his frame. She then clicked her tongue with a disapproving look on her face.

“Put those ruined clothes in the hamper and place them in the hall. I’ll wash them.”

Oh, she’s just not happy about my clothes. It wasn’t toward me.

“You got it, boss,”

Satoru smiled playfully, finding his familiar mask. He heeded her words and headed down the hall. Once in the bathroom, he shut the door and got to work.

Quickly, he peeled himself out of his now-damp clothes and placed them in the empty clothing hamper.

She’s kind.

Hiding behind the door, he slid the hamper into the hallway.

“Clothes are out!”

It was a bit odd, calling to her as he hid his naked body. It made him feel slightly embarrassed somehow.

“Alright!”

At her response, he closed the door.

He felt a blush creep up his cheeks as he turned on the shower, stepping into the comforting heat. It warmed his rain-chilled flesh, blotting out some of the emptiness inside him.

Why do I feel so nervous?

While raking his hands through his hair, he let his day settle over him.

In truth, he never meant to enter that cafe. He simply meant to walk around aimlessly, letting the rain soak him to his bones. Thoughts of Suguru always plagued him on days like this, and with the anniversary of the day he left passing, it was worse.

He couldn’t let his students see him like this, so he sought to punish himself. Walking in the rain for hours, dropping all barriers, letting his body turn frigid.

Then he saw her .

He watched as she had to tear herself away from her book, brightly smiling at the barista handing her the coffee. She settled into the couch, drinking her drink while looking out toward the rain with such serenity he couldn’t help but be drawn to her. It was as if she was tranquility itself, surrounded by the warm glow of the industrial lights, dressed elegantly in soft white and pink.

At that moment, she pulled him away from his haunting thoughts.

Feeling the unwavering need to be closer to her, he stepped into the shop. He didn’t know what he needed, but he found himself relaxing little by little under her whimsical gaze. The woman didn’t probe him or shy away. Instead, she offered her silent kindness and pleasant smile. He then found himself opening up to her, saying things that he hadn’t said to anyone in years .

She surprised him, when she softly grabbed his hand, asking if he wanted anything rather than giving her sympathy. He allowed himself to get lost in the kindness of her eyes. He let her touch him, having to hide the shiver that ran down his body from her warmth.

Then, they were laughing.

Before he knew it, they were chasing each other in the rain like children. Even though she was soaked down to her socks, she was spinning and laughing, hair sticking to her skin as she happily jumped into cold puddles to splash him. It was as if they had no care in the world.

Not once did thoughts of Suguru attack him, even with the feeling of rain tracing his skin.

A light smile tugged on his lips.

Who knew I just needed to feel normal?

—

You were setting out the items to make dinner when Satoru entered the kitchen. When you turned around, you had to stifle your laughter.

The sweatpants, though several sizes too big for you, came to about mid-calf length on him. It also didn’t help that he was wearing a baby pink t-shirt and a pair of fuzzy house slippers to match.

“You look dashing,”

Placing a hand on your hip, you motion for him to twirl with your other, earning yourself a bemused glare from the male.

“I look like a twink,” he huffs, a blush lightly kissing his pale cheeks, making you giggle.

“Can you cook?” you ask, completely avoiding responding to his statement. His eyebrows knitted, taking in the ingredients on the counter.

“If you instruct me,” the words leave his lips slowly, still trying to piece together the dish you’re making. You laugh, walking up to him and placing a reassuring hand on his broad shoulder.

“Don’t worry too much. It’s pasta, if you mess up just add more cheese.”

Letting your eyes meet his, you hold your breath.

They were softly looking down at you, corners folding kindly as if he was looking at something precious. The difference was so stark from the emptiness you saw earlier – it made your heart melt.

“I’ll blame you if it goes wrong,” Satoru winked down at you, hand coming up to your hair, ruffling it lightly.

“H-Hey!” you retort, and he laughs, easily avoiding your swipe at him.

“What’s first?” he asks innocently and you huff while rolling your eyes, unable to hide your smile.

“Let’s hope you don’t burn down my kitchen.”

—

Turning on some music, you and Satoru worked together to make dinner.

Laughter sounded throughout your home as you instructed the male. You watched as he fumbled with different utensils, unsure of what to do with each item. He would turn red, blaming you for not instructing him properly when you would tease him – which only resulted in you both laughing under your breath.

Noir had joined the party, nimbly weaving between your two bodies, brushing up against your legs as you cooked. Once you were waiting for the pasta to finish cooking, you were humming and swaying your hips to the music. Satoru noticed and took your hands, joyfully dancing with you.

You both danced around your kitchen, laughing infectiously. At some point, he picked up Noir, snuggling her close to his chest with one arm as his other spun you.

The silliness continued through the night as you turned on a rom-com movie and halfway through Satoru was tearing up, asking you why he would leave the girl. You were too choked up yourself, shaking your head and cursing at the male lead, holding Noir close for emotional support. With both of you fed up, you decided there was no way you were ending on a sad note, so you turned on a children's movie to feel better.

Which, somehow, made both of you more emotional.

Once the movie was over, you washed the dishes together. It was only then you saw the time.

“Oh my god!” you cried, almost dropping the freshly dried plate.

“What?” Satoru asked, much calmer than you.

“It’s midnight! Do you live close by? I’ll pay for your taxi back. I am so sorry, I lost track of time.”

The male only laughed, making you pout.

Why is he laughing?

“No, I don’t live near here. The taxi would be expensive. I’ll find a hotel, don’t worry about it.” he smiled softly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

You shook your head aggressively.

“I can’t make you pay for a hotel! After all, I invited you over, so I should take responsibility.”

“I, um…” running a hand through your hair you sigh. There’s really only one option but that seems a bit much.

“You can stay the night, the couch is moveable so I’ll just make it into a bed for you.” heat rushed to your cheeks. You were so embarrassed.

I got lost in the moment .

“Are you sure? I don’t want to invade your space.” he took the plate from your hand and put it away.

“I’m sure. I spend most of my time alone, anyway. Your company isn’t��entirely unwelcome.” you could only hope you sounded natural. Internally your brain was screaming at you.

Satoru rolled his eyes, making you chuckle.

“Oh, wow, thanks. Makes me feel so wanted.”

“I am glad you feel that way!” you chirp, playfully elbowing his side as you finish putting away the last dish.

Satoru picks up Noir, nuzzling his nose against her pink one as he starts bad-mouthing you.

“Your mommy is very mean. You should come live with me, I’ll give you lots of treats~”

Rolling your eyes at the sight, you make your way to the hallway closet to pull out an extra blanket and pillow.

Tossing the items on the couch, you cross your arms over your chest. Satoru was possessively holding Noir close to him, eyeing you suspiciously.

“She sleeps with me,” the man-child announces, and you roll your eyes.

“If you truly feel the need to claim her for the evening, then fine. Just don’t be surprised when she’s on your head in the morning.”

Still eyeing you, he slowly places Noir down. The furball comes running up to you, rubbing her head lovingly against your leg.

“Traitor! I just gave you so many kisses.”

Laughing, you motion for him to help you move the couch. He obliges and you work together to shape it to a somewhat bed that will work with the length of his body.

“You should learn spooky magic that makes you shrink.” you huff, eyeing his long frame.

Again, he was back to looking like a noodle. But you knew that he packed muscle under the semi-baggy clothes.

“It’s called jujutsu and I don’t think that exists. Also, you’re staring again,” he notes and you sigh, waving a dismissive hand.

“I am going to bed, if you need anything just knock on the door.”

You turn and you hear him chuckle.

“Avoiding me?”

Looking at him over your shoulder, you run your eyes over the length of his body, this time letting him watch your features.

“You’re beautiful and strong. However, you’re also hurt and trying to piece yourself back together…”

Pausing, you consider your words.

A fallen angel. Made of pure moonlight and stars. But shattered like the image seen through a kaleidoscope.

“I hope you heal your heart, Satoru.”

Without waiting for his response, you closed your door, locking it behind you.

Your worlds are completely different, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine what he had been through. Nor were you going to pretend to know.

But if there’s one thing you could relate to, it’s trauma.

—

Satoru spent the entire night tossing and turning. Noir was resting above his head, purring softly against him. With each passing hour, his throat became drier and drier, until eventually, he was coughing.

My head hurts and my throat feels like sandpaper.

Once the first rays of morning sunlight trickled through the window, Satoru was coughing aggressively while his body felt extremely hot.

Am I sick? There’s no way.

Y/n came out of her room with her hair a mess and her pajamas wrinkled. The second she heard his cough she was rushing over.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, voice soft and somewhat gravelly.

She was rubbing the sleep out of her hazy eyes, already moving to press the back of her hand to his head.

“No, I am fine–” he coughed and she flicked his forehead.

“You're burning up. Most likely a cold from the rain. I’ll go get you some medicine, just rest.”

Sighing, she ran a hand through her tangled hair.

“Really, I’ll be okay. I’m–” Satoru couldn’t even finish his sentence. He started coughing aggressively, each retch of breath making him feel like he was eating sand.

“Right, and I can fly. Don’t be stubborn.”

Rolling her eyes, the woman padded over to the kitchen.

“I can fly!” he shouted hoarsely like a petulant child, plopping back against the cushions, and reaching up to grab Noir. The second his fingers wrapped around her soft warmth, he brought her to his chest, rubbing his nose into her fur.

“Good for you!”

This is humiliating .

After a few minutes, she returned with a mug in her hand.

Slowly, he sat up. His chest felt like it was caving in and he felt incredibly lightheaded. Satoru eyed the mug and then gingerly took it from her small hands.

“What is it?”

He sniffed and she raised her brow.

“It’s ginger tea with honey and lemon. It’s hot. The honey and temperature, once it cools a little , will help soothe your throat.”

Why does it sound like she’s talking to a kid?

Giving Noir a loving pet to the head, she crouched down so she was at eye level with the feline.

“As for you, my sweet girl, your food is in the kitchen. Watch over this big child for me.” the cat seemed to understand its master because she ‘meowed’ in response.

“I’m not a child,” Satoru said begrudgingly. Y/n only stood with a bemused expression.

“Right.” she eyed him up and down once, then walked away.

Satoru felt his face become hot, and it wasn’t from the steam kissing his cheeks.

Usually, women threw themselves at him. It had happened so many times now with both men and women that he assumed he was everyone's type. But it seems Y/n couldn’t care less about his looks.

For whatever reason, that bothered him.

How can she call me beautiful but be so cold toward me?

Without thinking, he gulped his tea, only to quickly pull away due to the heat burning his tongue.

Cursing softly, he set the mug down on the coffee table, pinching his burnt tongue between his thumb and forefinger. He tried to reach for Noir for comfort, but she had long abandoned him for her breakfast.

Y/n exited her room, hair pulled into a loose bun as she wore a baggy white t-shirt and black cargo pants. He couldn’t help but think she looked cute in her streetwear.

Once her eyes saw him, she sighed, a soft smile on her lips.

“You know, I did mention wait to drink your tea till it had cooled. I thought you were a good listener. But it appears I misjudged you.”

With an elegant wave of her hand, she bid him farewell. He watched as she slid on an army green windbreaker and black Dr.Martens. Then she grabbed her purse and left, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Knitting his eyebrows together, he turned his head toward Noir. She was eating her special food neatly, back to him as she softly purred.

“Is your mommy always so mean?”

—

Walking down the street you couldn’t help but look at the puddles decorating the ground. Yesterday was the first time you laughed and had fun in years.

When you and your best friend moved to Japan it was scary. You were a foreigner and you didn’t know anyone. So naturally, when she passed, you became more isolated. You tried going outside to meet people, but sometimes it felt like too much. People were more interested in the fact that you’re from the States, they were never really interested in you .

To add, you work remotely from home, so opportunities are truly limited.

“Eh, adulting is hard~” you whispered to yourself as you entered a local convenience store.

The clerk at the desk welcomed you in and you gave them a slight bow in response.

Immediately you B-lined for the medicine, grabbing the items you needed. Then, because you were already here, you began searching the aisles for snacks.

I was expecting him to be gone this morning. Even if he’s sick, I can’t say I am not happy for the company.

After checking out you started to head home, thinking about all the trivial things you needed to get done today. You had deadlines to meet for your book and you had to look through the servers to make sure there were no network issues.

Grabbing a coffee from a small shop that you frequent, you began frowning, feeling the lines form on your forehead as your daily list seemed to keep stacking higher.

You were sipping on the last remnants of your iced latte when you opened the door to your home, finding Satoru fast asleep.

Softly closing the door, you shimmied out of your jacket, hanging it on the wooden coat rack. Noir padded over to you, the sound of her little paws tapping on the floor sounded through the space. Smiling sweetly, you pat your cat on her soft head as you take your boots off.

Making your way to where Satoru was on the couch, you note he seemed to look worse. His cheeks are flushed and his skin is pale. You make press your hand to his forehead, but you feel like you're touching a wall.

What?

Your fingers were splayed flat against an invisible barrier, hovering right over Satoru’s body.

“Strange,” you murmur in wonder, trailing your finger over the length of the wall. It stretched all around his body, protecting him in a bubble.

Satoru opened his eyes, softly blinking as he adjusted to his environment, taking in your features.

Suddenly, that wall is gone, and your hand falls limply to your side.

“It’s called Infinity,” he rasps, light cough already pressing out of his throat.

You hold up your hand to silence him, quickly grabbing the medicine you purchased earlier.

“Don’t worry about explaining anything. Just drink this. There’s a sleeping agent in it, so expect to feel drowsy.” he opened his mouth to protest, but you shot him a pointed look, effectively silencing him.

The male sat up, accepting your carefully measured medicine. He drank it, making a face as it went down his throat.

“It tastes like shit,” he coughed and you rolled your eyes.

“You know what that tastes like?”

Leaving the medicine on the coffee table, you make your way to the kitchen.

“You’d be surprised.” he shoots back, voice already sounding better.

“Oh, I am sure~” you make your voice annoyingly sweet as you prepare a bottle of water for him. Once you made your way back to the couch you saw his features flatten, not taking your teasing kindly.

“I have seen things that would probably make you piss your pants and cry.”

He catches the bottle you toss him and you shrug your shoulders.

“Maybe, maybe not. I may not be as soft as you think I am.” Satoru’s eyes widen in surprise and you turn away.

Plopping down on the overstuffed chair adjacent to him, you pull out your laptop from the convenient cushion/storage. Once you obtain your computer and headphones, you place your feet comfortably on the cushion, letting your back sink into the softness of the chair.

“You’re a non-sorcerer, what have you seen that’s on the same level as curses?” his voice calls, no prejudice in his words, just general curiosity.

You roll your shoulders. Suddenly, they felt heavy. Every time you thought about your past this happened. Your shoulders would ache as cold sweat licked your spine.

Opening your computer, you sigh, remoting into the network server you manage.

Maybe if I talk about it while working it’s not so bad .

“Curses are born from human's negative emotions, right?” you start slowly, not wanting to look at him.

“Right,” Satoru confirms, confusion in his tone.

“You see, some people act on those emotions. Anger, fear, sadness, resentment…” Swallowing thickly, you continue.

“I think you’ll find that some of those people are much more ugly than curses. Curses don’t wear masks, they are just as they are. People, however…” you cracked your neck, diligently typing in commands into your computer, eyes scanning your screen.

I am not my past. It does not define me.

You repeat this mantra to yourself, steadying your nervous heart.

“Have you experienced it? The ugliness of humanity?” you could hear the caution in his words, almost as if he was scared to say the wrong thing to you.

Your hands had stopped typing entirely.

You opened your mouth to answer but felt the words die in your throat. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as your eyes shook. It was like two hands were wrapped around your neck, thumbs pressing into your windpipe, choking you.

Taking a deep breath, you steady your heart.

I am not my past. It does not define me.

“Y/n–”

“You should sleep, I’ll be in my office. It’s at the far end of the hallway. If you need anything just ask.”

Closing your laptop, you place your headphones in your ears. You see Satoru say something, but you pretend not to notice, watching as his features twist with confusion and self-doubt.

You walk away, playing music in your ears but you hear nothing. Everything is silent.

Sorry, it’s not your fault .

Once behind the door to your office, you let out a shuddering breath.

Why did I pay for therapy if I can’t even talk about it?

You spent years trying to feel normal, and for the most part, your brain let you forget. You could be fine for months, but then you get thrown into a space that’s a little too crowded and suddenly you can’t breathe. Someone touches your shoulder and you feel like a thousand spiders are crawling all over you. If you were in a space where there were too many noises, your brain would turn everything into white noise, leaving only the sound of your erratic heartbeat in your ears.

It was the reason why you were single. The last relationship you were in ended with him telling you that you were too complicated . Your love language is physical touch, but sometimes that touch was too much, too overstimulating, or triggering. You enjoy being outside, but can’t be in crowded spaces without being plagued by anxiety, and living in Japan, well, it’s always crowded.

Maybe I am just better off alone.

—

Satoru awoke to the sound of Y/n humming softly.

Cracking open his eyes, he peered over the edge of the couch. It seemed she was making something, but her headphones were in and she was swaying lightly.

He recalled the way she looked just hours prior; shoulders caved in, sweat running down her face, eyes distant. She looked like she would run away any second. So many questions circled in his mind, but more than anything he wanted to hug her. He had seen that look too many times.

Turning his eyes away from the female, he checked his phone.

Shit, they’ve been calling me.

Yaga had called him 6 times whereas Megumi texted him.

“Where are you?”

“I won’t be back for a little bit. Hold down the fort, kay’?”

Megumi immediately responded.

“What are you talking about? Are you on a mission?”

“Don’t worry~”

“Stop being weird.”

“If anyone asks, I am handling a personal matter.”

“Whatever.”

Satoru had a sneaking suspicion that if he admitted he is sick, he would never live it down.

“You awake?”

Y/n’s head was now peering over him, the ends of her hair tickling his face. He searched her features, but none of her earlier fear remained. She looked calm, but now he couldn’t help but wonder what lies beneath the surface of that practiced tranquility.

“You’re staring,” her soft voice teases, making him chuckle.

He moves to sit up and she removes her face from his view, stepping around the couch to hand him a bowl. He takes the dish from her hands to find a broth-based soup with meat, noodles, and vegetables.

“Did you make this?” he asks as she takes up a seat beside him, blowing on a spoonful of golden liquid.

“Mhm. You’re probably not very hungry, but try to eat a little bit.” she hums as she takes a bite of her food, bringing one leg under her other, comfortably settling into the couch.

Satoru follows her lead, blowing on his soup, and then taking a bite. The warm liquid soothed his throat as the broth coated his tongue. It was light but enjoyable.

“Do you cook often?” he asks, turning to face her and she does the same.

Watching as she shrugged her shoulders, he bit back a smile. Her hair was a little messier and her cheeks were lightly flushed from the steam of the soup.

“If I can, I avoid going out too much. I’m a homebody.”

He nodded his head at her words, understanding what she meant. He was the same way, but also different. Being out on a mission or being at Jujutsu High made it difficult for him to eat homemade meals like this. More often than not he would eat out. If he had a choice though, he would rather relax like this.

“Do you not like people?” he ensured his voice was neutral, not wanting her to feel cornered or pressured.

Meeting her eyes, he watched her swallow thickly, considering his words.

“It’s not that. I just don’t do well in crowded, loud spaces. Were you able to sleep?” she changed the subject so naturally he barely caught it. Somehow, he found himself frowning, feeling as if he’d been robbed of an opportunity.

“Somewhat. You said you’re an author right? How’s writing going?”

He watched as she scrunched up her face, shaking her head.

“Annoying. I keep rewriting this scene, but I can’t seem to get the atmosphere right.”

Taking an aggressive bite of her soup, she set the bowl down, leaning her head back against the couch.

Even when she pouts she’s cute.

“What’s it about? Maybe I can help.”

He wasn’t much of a writer, but he was also curious about what her story was about.

Her face suddenly became red, so much so to the point that she turned her gaze away from him.

“I-It’s not important. You said you slept somewhat well, right? Is anything uncomfortable?” she asked without looking at him.

Smiling, he set his bowl down and poked her red cheek.

“Eh? Why don’t you answer my question first~” she swatted his hand away but he kept pressing, now lightly pinching her cheeks.

Y/n faced him, eyebrows furrowed as she shook her head, taking his hands with her.

“No way! I will not divulge secrets of my unpublished novel to you.”

Her small hands wrapped around his wrists to pry his hands away, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he moved his hands to her sides, tickling her waist.

“Hey! Ah, what’re you doing–”

Laughter filled his ears, and it was like sweet music. He laughed with her, now moving her body to fully face him. She kicked her legs furiously, not caring that she was kicking his thighs at all.

“Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!”

Her hands were frantically grasping at him. She was grabbing his arms, chest, and neck, pulling him closer to her squirming body as she was shouting while laughing.

“No, ah, please stop!” She cried helplessly, hands fisting the shirt that rested on his body, and grabbing it so harshly it pulled his body forward, making him catch himself on his hands to not crash into her.

His eyes widened.

Her face was inches from his own as her hot, heavy breaths tickled his skin. Shocked eyes stared into him and he took in her features. Long dark eyelashes fluttered against her flushed cheeks as her lips, full and parted, began distracting him. Her dizzying scent filled his nose– soft rose with a hint of sandalwood. He could feel the ghost of the rise and fall of her chest as her hands, still fisted in the fabric of the loaned shirt, trembled.

Beautiful.

Hesitantly, he reached up and traced the curve of her cheek. She closed her eyes, body shuddering as she leaned into his touch. Her skin was soft beneath his fingertips, and he let himself enjoy the feeling of her warmth seeping into his pores.

“Y–”

Noir jumped between the spaces of their bodies and planted herself right on Y/n’s face. Satoru reluctantly removed himself from the scene, allowing Y/n to pluck Noir off of her.

“I– what has gotten into you Noir?”

The woman held the fluff ball right above her head. The feline flattened her ears while she swayed her tail back and forth.

“I think she doesn’t like sharing her mom,” he suggested and she lifted a brow.

“Or maybe, my precious girl was saving me from my assailant.” She spoke in a baby voice, gently shaking Noir.

“Don’t say it like that! It makes me sound like a creep.”

She sat up, pulling Noir close to her chest as she placed a kiss on her head.

“You attacked me, as far as I see it, I am speaking the truth.”

Turning her head in pure defiance, the woman set down her cat as she stood, taking their finished bowls of soup with her.

“If you just told me I wouldn’t have attacked you!”

“You admit to your crime, then?”

“I plead the 5th.”

What was that just now?

Satoru placed his hand on his chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart. His cheeks felt hot, and he wasn’t sure if it was from his sickness or the lingering scent of her perfume.

She scoffed and he heard the sound of water running. The only noise that filled the space was the sound of dishes being washed, and her making something. Once the woman returned, she was holding out a mug toward him while holding one of her own. He took the liquid from her hand, and she rejoined him on the couch.

Eyeing the cup, he noticed it was the same tea from earlier, but much less hot. Y/n fidgeted with the string of her tea, he watched as she brought her knees up to her chest, eyeing him sidelong.

“About earlier, I am sorry.”

She lowered her dark eyelashes, eyes refusing to meet him as she took a sip of her tea.

“Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have asked you something personal.”

His response seemed to surprise her. She faltered for a moment, then set down her mug, slightly facing him. Satoru took a drink of his tea, the temperature pleasantly warm, easing his sore throat.

“It’s not that. It’s just hard to talk about, my mind will suddenly go blank and I can’t think.”

She wrapped her hands around her knees, resting her cheek on them as she let her eyes meet his. Solitary sadness peered at him, whispering of isolation and numbed scars – a look he knew all too well.

“It doesn’t hurt me anymore, but forcing myself to relive memories is harder than coping with them. People always say talking about it makes it easier to deal with, but I think that’s bullshit.”

He laughed lightly at her words, making the corners of her mouth lift softly.

“I haven’t talked to anyone about Suguru since it happened. I don’t think they would understand me if I said what I was really thinking.”

His finger traced the rim of the ceramic mug, memories of his youth playing in his mind.

“Whatever you feel, it’s valid. It doesn’t matter if it’s right or wrong.”

His chest suddenly felt tight. Her words eased some of the tension out of his shoulders, making him avoid her gaze.

“Can I ask you something?”

She hummed in response and he swallowed his saliva. He needed to be careful, for he tended to be too insensitive at times.

“You seem so at peace, but earlier, you looked…”

He couldn’t find the right word.

Distraught, lost, fearful, horrified, panicked? None of the words seemed to fit.

Y/n laughed, shaking her head, and letting it rest between her legs.

“Years of practice. It’s a mask of sorts. I let myself forget most days, and it’s easier when I fall into a routine. But sometimes, something will trigger me, and I kind of just… Shut down? I don’t know how to describe it, but I become numb to everything for a while.”

Her words struck him. He placed his mug down and leaned forward, forearms on his thighs as he resonated with her.

“How much do you know about the Jujutsu world?”

Maybe we can relate to each other.

“The basics. A lot of the times the Gojo family and the Six-Eyes came up in my research, but honestly, I skimmed through those bits, understanding almost nothing about it. Why do you ask?”

She eyed him, and he inhaled deeply. Her stare was piercing; like she was dissecting him.

“I am the strongest sorcerer of this generation. I am also a teacher to the new generation. I’ll save you from the specifics, but my role is incredibly isolating. Naturally, I can’t ever fail. There was a time when I thought I would be able to share this burden of power, but my dreams were crushed by the reality of my strength.”

Satoru opened and closed his hands, familiar frustration rising in his chest.

He looked at her and that frustration vanished. She gazed at him with open sincerity. Kindness traced her features, listening to every word he said earnestly. No sign of awe or admiration, just pure intent on understanding him.

He cleared his throat.

“You see, despite the blessings I have been given, not once has this power made a difference. When it mattered the most, I was unable to save those who I deeply cared for. So I smile, laugh, and pretend I am okay. But in truth, I want to destroy the system and people that have stolen the youth of so many, consequences be damned.”

The truth of his words lingered in the air. The only way he could cope after Suguru was by dedicating himself to a new goal, something substantial that would transcend through generations.

“I can’t claim to understand the isolation of power, I am just an average person. But, I do understand the loneliness and yearning for someone to understand you…”

Finding her tea, she paused, took a deep breath, and then continued.

“I never knew my parents, I was an orphan. Whether they died or gave me up, I don’t know. But I bounced around from one temporary home to another. Most weren’t great. Some kept locks on the pantry and fridge so I couldn’t eat. One would lock me in a small closet as a form of punishment, that is if they were too tired to hit me. Either way, there’s not a lot of people who relate to that. So it’s isolating.”

Y/n softly smiled at him. No tears filled her eyes, despite the heavy words that left her lips. She just smiled sadly, eyelashes softly kissing her cheeks; it felt as if she was peering into his soul.

He didn’t know what to say, so he took her hand in his, wrapping his fingers around hers, softly stroking her knuckles. She squeezed, soft skin hugging his own. He could feel the slightly rough texture of her fingertips as her warmth seeped into him, calling to his nerves.

She laughed lightly, shaking her head, setting some of her hair free of its confinement to frame her face. Again, he was struck by her alluring beauty.

“What?” the question left his lips in a breathless murmur.

“Usually, I can’t talk about that without my heart beating out of my chest.”

Without another word, she gently guided his palm to her chest, right above her heart. Subconsciously he held his breath as he felt the steady thrum of her heart. It softly beat against her chest, and he could feel it through the fabric of her shirt. Her lovely warmth kissed his skin, and he couldn’t tear himself away.

She smiled.

“No anxiety,” whispering in astonishment, her eyes searched his in wonder.

He was locked in her innocent gaze – eyes swirling with perplexed emotions.

Satoru smiled down at her, allowing her fingers to intertwine with his.

If only for now, let me be human.

“Tell me more.”

—

You spent the rest of your day exchanging stories of your youth with Satoru. Sometimes you laughed, and other times you teared up, but either way, you both listened to each other earnestly.

It was different somehow.

There was an ease to the flow of the conversation, and it washed away any lingering fear in your heart. It was like you could breathe for the first time – you could be you, and you didn’t shy away from it.

“How are you feeling?”

Having finished your 5th cup of tea, you were starting to get a little stir-crazy. Satoru seemed to be in higher spirits as his fever died down. From the looks of it, the medicine and his stupidly good genes fought off the germs quickly.

“Better,”

He sighed, stretching out his long limbs.

You pulled your eyes away from the sight, trying not to look at where the shirt had risen over his stomach.

“Well, would you like to join me for a walk?”

It’s a small offer, though asking still made you feel self-conscious. Your fingers fumbled with the damp tea-string idly, a welcomed distraction from the growing heat on your cheeks.

It’s not like I am asking him on a date, so why am I getting so embarrassed?

Satoru gave you a knowing smile but then gestured to his clothes.

“Just like this? Fuzzy pink house slippers and all?”

Rolling your eyes at his tease, you motion toward the bathroom.

“Your clothes and a toothbrush have been laid out since this morning. The outfit choice is yours to make. Brushing your teeth, however, is non-negotiable.”

“Oh, planning on stealing a kiss?”

The male stands, and you now have to crane your neck to meet his gaze.

A smirk tugs at his lips, and it makes your mouth go dry. Despite the playfulness of his demeanor, there is something predatory in his eyes. He takes another step forward, invading your space. Not close enough to feel his breath on your skin, but it was the distance that lovers stood from each other.

Finding some bravado, you speak.

“Fantasizing about me already?”

You feign confidence by placing a hand on your hip while puffing out your bottom lip.

To say that you’re not attracted to this man would be an outright lie. Also, to say that you only have platonic feelings for him would be another lie. But you weren’t going to let him know that, nor were you going to let him toy with your feelings.

Satoru's smirk doesn’t falter, instead, he lowers his eyelashes elegantly, looking at you in the way men look at women they’re enamored with.

“You want to make those fantasies a reality?” his low, breathy voice caught you so off guard to the point your eyes widened and your cheeks became heated.

“I– wha?” incoherent words fumbled out of your mouth.

Then Satoru laughed.

“You should see your face!” he said between breaths, making you only blush harder.

Embarrassment rising in your chest, you kick his shin, grateful his magical protection bubble wasn’t up.

“Ow!“

“Don’t pretend to be hurt! Go change you bastard!”

—

Cold night air nipped at the skin of your cheeks as you and Satoru walked silently side by side. The quiet was welcomed as you relished in the calm of the night. The warm glow of the street lights complimented the cool evening sky. Though only being just past 9, the streets were empty, which you appreciated.

Peeking at Satoru out of the corner of your eye, you smiled.

His eyes, beautiful and alluring in the night air, took in his surroundings. They seemed to be swallowing every detail, brain dissecting and memorizing the scene in front of him: Stone tiled streets lined with a mix of old and modern homes.

It made you wonder if he ever had moments of quiet like this. Because right now, he looked like a child who had never been outside a day in his life.

“Do you not go on walks often?” you ask, breaking him out of his reverie.

The male, with hair that of moonlight and eyelashes of silver, blinked – your words registering in his mind.

“It’s not that. Usually, I am on a mission. It’s not often that the world is this slow .”

Clasping your hands behind your back, you consider his words, trying to piece together an understanding.

“Care to elaborate with the class?”

The need to understand was greater than your pride. Even if you were to come up with a plausible answer, your guess would be further from his truth – and every part of you screamed to know that truth.

You hear him chuckle under his breath, then he turns his eyes to the stars.

“My eyes are special. To put it simply, they allow me to process everything around me at a much faster rate than the average person. So, usually, when I am out I am surveying my surroundings so much to the point where the simplicity of life is lost. Beautiful architecture no longer captures my eye, rather its existence becomes how I can use its shape to my advantage in a fight…”

His eyes found yours as he held your curious stare side-long.

“But right now, my mind is quiet. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this. With you, everything seems to slow down. Almost to the point that I feel normal.”

The sound of your skipped heartbeat filled your ears.

Unable to hold his burning gaze, you turned your eyes to the starry night sky.

The stars, bright and alive against midnight blue are surrounded by the white glow of the moon. They captured your attention – reminding you of the male at your side.

“I don’t think I could ever see you as normal if I am being honest.” the words left your lips in a whisper.

“Why’s that?”

His voice was filled with innocent wonder, so you answered.

“Everything about you is unnaturally beautiful. Not a single feature that decorates your skin is flawed. It’s like someone painted you into existence.”

Perfect and unattainable. Something to be admired, but never to be kept.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you allowed your eyes to peer over at the tall male. He was smiling softly, eyes staring up at the night sky, the stars that rested there reflected in his irises.

It was like he was talking to the stars, and they glittered brilliantly in response.

“You see me so poetically,” Satoru murmured, mostly to himself.

“How do you see yourself, then?”

The question left your lips before you could consider its weight. You watch as he takes a deep breath in, whether it is to calm himself or to simply enjoy the atmosphere, you can’t tell.

“Honestly? Objectively, I know who I am and the weight of my power, it’s not fueled by ego or feigned confidence, it’s just a fact. But when I look at my reflection, it’s blurry. I can’t see anything, because I resent myself. If I had just tried a little harder, been less selfish, and paid more attention, maybe things would have been different.”

His honest words cracked your heart.

You silently grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers. He leaned into your touch, molding his hand to yours, thumb idly sweeping over the flesh. Unable to resist the smile that tugged at your lips, you let his warmth seep into your skin. Your hands swayed lightly, and to anyone else, you would’ve looked like a couple.

If only for a short time, I will open my heart to you.

“You know, someone once told me that you can choose to live in your past, to let it define you and your life. Or, you can learn from it and grow into the person you’re supposed to be, carrying the memories of those most precious with you. So, when I feel lost in the murky darkness of my thoughts I tell myself: I am not my past, it does not define me.”

You’ve never been this raw with anyone. Part of you was fearful he’d laugh in your face, but the other part of you whispered for you to let go. To continue baring your soul, because with him, he made you feel seen .

Satoru tugged your hand, halting your movement, stopping both of you in place. You met his eyes, a sheepish smile on your lips as you tried to hide your embarrassment.

“You are… A surprise.”

There is a hint of shyness in his voice, which in turn made yours rise. The tips of your ears felt hot, but you couldn’t pull away from his stare. You allowed yourself to be swallowed up in the moment, surrendering yourself to him under the gaze of the stars.

“Meeting your expectations?”

You bite the flesh of your inner cheek, feeling naked under his knowing blue eyes.

“Exceeding them and more,”

His eyes folded kindly, white eyelashes kissing his cheeks as soft moonlight illuminated him in an otherworldly glow. You couldn’t help but be swept away by his beauty – as if he was pure moonlight itself with dazzling stars for eyes.

For the second time this evening, your heart skipped a beat.

If you keep looking at me like that, I am going to fall for you, you idiot.

“Let’s go back, yeah?”

With forced enthusiasm, you turn around to head back the way you came. A light laugh escaped his lips as he allowed you to pull his body, which you were grateful for.

What he didn’t know was the act was to hide your deepening blush.

“Yeah,”

The evening ended and you went to bed feeling lighter than you had in years.

But in the morning, it vanished.

—

“Good morning,” you greeted him, having just finished freshening up for the day.

Satoru was dressed in the clothes you met him in, with the addition of a black blindfold covering his eyes. You saw that your couch was arranged the way it was previously, and Noir was eating her breakfast.

He cleaned and fed my cat.

“Morning,” his voice was somewhat distant, so you stood in front of him, placing your hands on your hips.

“You leaving?”

The fabric of his mask rises. Taking it as you surprised him, you rolled your eyes.

“I have to go back,” Satoru answered and you nod your head, taking a deep breath.

It’s not like you didn’t expect this. However, after yesterday, you knew you were going to miss him.

“I see. Thank you for cleaning up and feeding Noir.” You say pleasantly, trying to make your voice bright. There was no way you were going to let your feelings show. It isn’t fair to him.

Satoru took off his blindfold and stood, taking your face in his hands.

The sudden contact surprised you, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you steeled yourself, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“You don’t have to put on an act, Y/n.” his thumbs rubbed the soft skin of your cheeks as his eyes, endless sparkling blue, stared into you.

You let out a small laugh, allowing yourself to lean into his touch. Closing your eyes, you begin committing him to memory – The callouses that peppered his hands, the warmth of his skin, the faint scent of fresh summer rain.

“You don’t have to make it harder, you know.”

Your words left your lips in a whisper, barely audible to yourself. But he heard it, tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Is it so hard to let me know that you’ll miss me?”

His thumb traced your lower lip, and you shivered, tucking away that memory, too.

“Yes, because then I’ll be admitting something to myself I am not ready to face.”

With eyes stinging, you smiled sadly, drinking in his features for the last time. Soft and elegant with eyes that looked at you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Let him go.

Lightly wrapping your hands around his wrists, you pull his hands away from your face, separating your bodies.

“Please, go, and be safe.” Satoru nods.

Don’t leave.

“Goodbye, Y/n.”

I know I don’t belong in your world.

“Goodbye, Satoru.”

Will you miss me?

Leaning down, Satoru pressed his lips to your head. The soft, warm pressure made your skin tingle as his scent invaded your senses, giving you a false sense of safety. He lingered for a moment, hand brushing down your arm, making you bite your lip to hide your helpless whimper.

You closed your eyes and felt his warmth disappear. Only when you heard the ‘ click ’ of the door did you allow your tears to fall.

Curling up into a ball on the couch, you hugged your knees, crying into your skin. Your heart felt like it was breaking into two.

He was never mine, to begin with, so why did I get so attached?

His scent lingered on the couch and you clung to it like a child, desperate and hopeless. You couldn’t breathe, and you were sure you were shouting. Noir came to comfort you, soft body brushing up against yours as you cried violently.

That’s the first time he said my name…

—

Satoru had to force himself to walk away. Her cries reached him through the door, and it took everything in him not to turn around.

When she told him to leave, her eyes begged him to stay. When he kissed her forehead, drinking in her scent for the last time, he felt her small body tremble. While he walked away, his heart screamed at him to turn around, to pull her into his arms and soothe her pain.

But that would only make it worse.

Because their reality is that she is just a normal girl, and he is the strongest sorcerer of his time. Their worlds are completely different, and she would be in danger if he allowed her to be close to his heart.

And he wasn’t about to allow himself to lose another person to his strength.

Fall in love with someone else and be happy, Y/n.

—

“Why do we keep stopping in cafes, you don’t even drink coffee,” Megumi asks begrudgingly, but Satoru simply waves a nonchalant hand.

I thought I saw her…

“I just can’t help but chase the sweet smell of mochi!”

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Satoru continues his leisure walk with his student. He hears Megumi let out a deep sigh – clearly getting more fed up with him.

“Where are we going anyway? You’ve been shut in your office ever since you came back from your ‘personal matter’. Why drag me outside with you all of a sudden?” another long sigh accompanied by an eye roll.

“I needed some fresh air and wanted company.”

It was half of the truth, but he was leading them to a training ground so they could have a private conversation. Too many untrustworthy ears at Jujutsu High.

“You really need friends your age. Or get a girlfriend, you’re getting old. At this point, you’re going to die alone.”

Before he could get offended, a woman in an army green bomber jacket and a book in her hand walks right by him.

Without thinking Satoru turns around and grabs the woman’s wrist. Her frightened eyes peer up at him and his heart sinks for the 10th time today.

“U-Um, excuse me, do I know you?”

Not Y/n.

Megumi yanks him by his collar. Satoru let him, of course, but nonetheless, he yanked hard .

“Sorry ma’am, he confused you for someone else, forgive him.”

The boy didn’t even wait for the woman’s response, he walked, dragging Satoru with him.

“What the hell is wrong with you today?” Megumi whisper-yelled, spitting venom in his direction.

Satoru sighed, letting his brief defeat wash over him as he righted himself. He put infinity back up, moving his student’s hand away from his frame, no longer wanting to feel the touch of another person.

“I rather die alone.”

That was all he said for the rest of their walk, pointedly ignoring every cafe they walked by.

Part 2

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piscesmoonpress · 8 months ago

Text

Art Heist, Baby! by otrtbs (@otrtbs)

When James Potter answers a mysterious ad in his local coffee shop, the last thing he expects is to be thrown into a world of white collar crime, but how can he resist when the mastermind behind the operation has dark hair and brooding eyes and promises wealth beyond James' wildest imagination? He would do anything for that boy named after a star, including stealing millions of dollars of fine art.

Pairing: Regulus Black/James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Alice Longbottom/Frank Longbottom Fandom: Harry Potter

Disclaimer: otrtbs no longer allows binds of Art Heist, Baby!. This edition was first typeset and bound in May of 2023. Please do not use this post as a permission to bind Art Heist, Baby!.

Art Heist, Baby! was one of the very first jegulus fics I read, and eventually became my second-ever bind. The original binding for this fic was done over the course of a single weekend, which makes me cringe a little now—but I am still so proud of this typeset and the bind itself, despite its flaws.

Half-Letter | 219,117 words | 609 pages

Title and Drop Cap Font: Bodoni 72 Body: Adobe Garamond Pro Accent(s): Gill Sans, Futura Condensed

Typset by me in Word.

Materials

Cover Bookcloth: Duo in Blue Jean HTV: Siser Brand in Gold Metal and Powder Blue Endbands: Mettler Silk Finish Thread Endpapers: Chiyogami Paper

Eventually, I found that the structure of my previous binding was less-than-ideal, and I decided to rebind my copy. Given that I couldn't change the typeset, I spent a lot of time deciding on a cover design, and eventually settled on using Ivan Aivazovsky's Ship on Stormy Seas (a painting synonymous with this fic) as inspiration.

The process of turning the boat from this painting into something that could be used with a single shade of HTV was difficult, but I eventually settled upon a design I was happy with after messing around in Illustrator for a couple weeks.

When I removed the cover from this bind, I also trimmed and painted the edges, sewed double-core french endbands (two-tone, to match the bookcloth), and reinforced the spine (though I couldn't do much for the pre-existing swell). Overall, I am thrilled with how it looks, and with how my original typeset fits with my more developed design style.

Thank you to Nat, for writing such a beautiful (and heart-wrenching) story. Art Heist, Baby! is free to read on ao3, here.

#jegulus #wolfstar #bookbinding #fanbinding #my books #marauders #ficbinding #james potter #regulus black #marauders era #sirius black #renegade bindery #art heist baby

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adore-laur · 8 months ago

Text

WINDS OF CHANGE

— here’s an update on dad harry & the fam <3 please reblog/comment, or i will haunt you

——

You've been dreading this day since March began.

Every time you passed the calendar on the refrigerator, you averted your eyes so you didn't see the specific date circled with the words "Lovebug's First Day" written inside it.

Time ticked by in an unyielding manner. Like an apex predator lying in wait, it crept up on you and pounced, leaving you disoriented, helpless, and wounded. You couldn't mentally process the breakneck speed of reality sprinting straight at you. When you merely blinked in a daze, another month unfurled, leaving no chance to recover.

The day arrives with a strong western wind and a brilliantly bright sunrise that mocks your low spirits. You're awake before anyone else, which is rare. Sleep evaded you last night, your eyes rejecting the heaviness that always comes with sleeping in Harry's warm embrace. The restlessness was paired with a fierce ache clutching your heart and holding on tight until the early morning.

At almost four years old, your eldest daughter is attending preschool today. After being a stay-at-home mom since she was born, you're finally setting her free to grow somewhere new. It was always in the cards, considering you would like to get back to working part-time to help provide for the family. You love bonding with and nurturing both your girls, but you're eager to put your brain to use in a different environment. It's time to return to other identities besides being a mother and a wife.

You begin brewing coffee, then open the kitchen curtains to allow the sun to pour in. For some odd reason, the atmosphere feels different. It feels like your first day of school all over again, where there's that nostalgic zest in the air fused with an underlying fear of the unknown. It's impossible to describe lucidly, but its presence is strongly felt nonetheless.

Today will forever change your family's routine, and it will make you want to rip your hair out and also burst with pride. There's a tug-of-war match taking place in your heart right now. Your nerves feel frayed; anxiety's merciless hands are harshly plucking at the threads. It's like fighting a biological battle with no shield—your brain is futile against all the attacks.

The sound of the wooden stairs creaking dissolves your whirlwind thoughts. Harry appears, wearing a snug black sweater and athletic shorts. He yawns, the sparkling sunlight accentuating his face gorgeously—the neatly trimmed scruff on his jaw he kept throughout winter; the tired shape of his eyes; the wispy way his hair curls after his morning shower. It's a blessing to be able to see the serene side of him that just woke up and isn't burdened by stress.

"Hi, sweetheart," he says, taking the mug of black coffee you prepared for him and sipping with an appreciative hum. "Both kids are still asleep."

You simply nod, afraid that if you speak, your poise will crumble instantaneously. Your hands distract themselves by lighting the wick of a sandalwood-scented candle. A part of you falsely hopes the comforting aroma will calm you down, but you know nothing will break through the full-body anxiety you're currently experiencing.

"No cuddles in bed this morning?" Harry asks curiously, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He smells like his sage and citrus body wash. "I missed you. Thought we'd have a little cry session before leaving."

Did he really have to mention the elephant in the room? You force your tears to save their arrival for later and say, "Sorry. I'm just trying to avoid crying as much as possible today."

His sigh is weighted with emotion as he sets his mug down and massages your shoulders. "I'm losing my composure already," he admits, laughing weakly.

At least he's in the same boat as you. Being a father has cracked him open in the best way possible—he's more softened than ever, and these parenting milestones always make him tenderhearted.

You rest your head against his chest and say, "This is harder than I thought it'd be." Every outcome you predicted involved an aching heart. Now, in the thick of it, you're defenseless.

"Remember our first night at home with her?" Harry asks, applying pressure with his thumbs to get rid of the muscle knots in your shoulder blades.

"Yeah. You woke me up because she had the hiccups."

He groans into your neck, almost like he's reliving the panicked moment. "I was so scared something was wrong."

You recall opening your eyes in the dead of night, the mellow lamplight illuminating Harry's troubled expression. Your baby, so small and precious in his arms, had harmless hiccups leaving her mouth. While you were half asleep, you reassured him by saying it was probably because she fed for too long. He agreed, yet still brought her to bed and gently rubbed her tummy until they were gone. You two were learning and tag-teaming through pure exhaustion. It was tough, but the rewards came in refreshing waves.

"Then she threw up on me," Harry adds, shaking his head fondly.

You turn around and slide your palms under his sweater, feeling the gloriously warm skin of his sculpted stomach. "Remember when she said her first word?"

He smiles reminiscently. "Mama."

"You started crying, if I'm not mistaken."

"Because she recognized you. It was special."

"Are you surprised she didn't say Dada first?"

"No, considering I talked about Mama all the time around her." His knuckle strokes under your chin. "Still do."

You hum thoughtfully, welcoming the pleasant memories that replay behind your closed eyelids. "Our girl is all grown up now. What are we going to do?"

Harry tilts your head to kiss the sensitive spot behind your ear. "You and I will be okay. It'll take time, but we'll eventually sink into this new normal."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Our love is steadfast, and nothing will ever change that." He hugs you in an all-consuming way—it's intimate and infuses you with safety, warmth, and a hopeful spark that everything will patch together the way it's supposed to.

——

When the preschool comes into view, you get slammed with immediate sadness.

You toured it with Harry months ago, ensuring it was where you wanted your daughter to be during the weekdays. The curriculum focuses on outdoor learning and is nestled in a safe neighborhood only ten minutes from the beach house. The teachers, classrooms, and overall energy of the place made you less anxious, but now it's back with a vengeance, eating away at your calm facade.

Kids linger outside the building, the sun shining on the blacktop that's scribbled with chalk drawings. A few participate in supervised hopscotch, while others twist their bodies nervously. A gated playground area is off to the left, with colorful swings, slides, and seesaws. To the right is a woodsy area with a large sandbox and flower beds. The stone pathway is decorated with little handprints that must have been dipped in paint. It's darling.

In the rearview mirror, you watch your daughter kick her legs in excitement and hug her tiny ladybug backpack, all ready to go. She woke up happy as a clam and impatiently scarfed down the big breakfast Harry had made her. After that, Harry braided her hair while sitting on the front porch, the March winds and briny air bringing the spring season with them. Pictures were taken, hearts were broken a bit more, and then you all were off to part ways.

Harry to the restaurant; you to your part-time job. No babies to look after, just an empty house waiting to be filled with love again.

Your youngest daughter, who's ten months old now, sleeps peacefully in the car seat. She's getting bigger every day, and it's a double whammy to see both of your children become more cognizant. You want to curse time for being such a thief.

She'll be dropped off at the nearby daycare center next, which will further twist the knife. It's possible for separation anxiety to occur, and while you can handle it, your baby girl's reaction will be a mystery. You sincerely hope the transition from home to somewhere unfamiliar will be smooth sailing.

Harry parks the car and looks over at you unwaveringly. "It's now or never," he whispers.

You draw in a deep breath, then exhale slowly. "Let's go."

Stepping out of the car, you open the back door and let your daughter hop out. You'd walk her to the door, but you want to stay near your youngest.

As she bounces with anticipation, you open her backpack and double-check that she has everything—her lunch box, a change of clothes, sunscreen, and the comfort blanket she's had since she was born. You zip it back up and then unhurriedly help her arms into the straps, trying to stall what happens next.

Harry, never the one to procrastinate, kicks things into gear by crouching and cradling her head. "You have the best day, all right? Be kind, make friends, and have fun. I'll be picking you up later."

"Can we eat ice cream after?" she asks, clasping her hands and standing on her tiptoes. "And play on the beach?"

He kisses her forehead. "We can do whatever you want, lovebug."

You can envision it now. Harry will bring the girls home, exhausted from work. He'll make dinner and wait for you, then you'll all sit at the kitchen table and attentively listen to her talk about her day in great detail. Then, as the sun sets, he'll entertain her by the shore until he insists on bedtime. Come tomorrow, he'll do it again with the same steadfast devotion because that's what good fathers do.

"We love you so much," you say, petting her braided hair.

"Love you," she replies distractedly, eagerly glancing at the front door. "I gotta go now, Mommy. Bye, Daddy."

She turns, ready to break free, but Harry stops her and says, "Not so fast, little lady. Give us some love to get through the day."

She shyly hugs him. She's growing out of her clingy tendencies and becoming more independent, and you can tell by Harry's sad smile that he recognizes it too. She briefly hugs your leg before running to the front door, where teachers are waiting with enthusiastic expressions and name tag stickers.

Harry slowly stands, never taking his eyes off her. He's more adjusted to not seeing her as much during the week than you, but you know the sentiment of her starting school still weighs heavy on his heart. After watching her disappear, he slings his arm around your shoulders and guides you to the car.

Inside is where you fall apart. The first cry that escapes has Harry blowing out an unsteady breath and embracing you. Against your neck, he sniffles, letting his piled-up emotions finally fall to pieces. He's not much of a crier, but when he does, it's a raw sight to see.

"Reservation for a cry session? Table for two?" he says humorously, rubbing your back and lightly scratching it.

"We're so lame," you whisper, gripping his sweater like a vice.

"God, I know. I even packed tissues." Harry takes an on-the-go pack out of his pocket, plucks two tissues out, and wipes both his and your tears with them.

"Eventually, we're going to have to do this again," you say. From the passenger seat, you peek at your baby girl and shoo away the thought—you still have more than enough time with her before she starts school.

Harry kisses your cheek. "One day at a time, honey."

Undoubtedly, this routine will get easier. It will become second nature, and you'll discover the exquisite simplicity of watching your children grow before leaving the nest and soaring through the sky.

They came into this world like a soft spring breeze, carrying seeds and dispersing them into your life. The roots emerged from under your home and flourished into a bountiful garden. Each day, there are new blossoms to admire and appreciate. And each day, you aim to help them thrive with support from Harry's sunshine.

Try as they might, the winds of change won't cause harm. Your family's roots are firm in the ground.

——

#harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles au #dad harry #dad!harry #dadrry #adore-laur #harry styles

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bullet-prooflove · 1 month ago

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Kinktober 24: Worship At Your Alter - Chibs Telford x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @anime-weeb-4-life @kishie8 @nu1freakshow @darqchilddaydreamz

Companion piece to :

Smoke - You and Chibs share a joint on the loading dock.

Complicated - Both you and Chibs don't want anything complicated.

No Words (NSFW) - You and Chibs don't need words to express how you feel.

“Show me, how you like to be touched.” Filip whispers in your ear as he sits beside you on your bed, his thumb chasing over the line of your jaw.

It’s your second time together and as much as he enjoyed the first, he wants to know what pleases a woman like you. Your head tips back as his beard grazes your skin, his heated lips leaving a trail down the curve of your throat.

“That…” You whisper, your breath hitching when he finds that sensitive little spot just underneath the hinge of your jaw. “I like that.”

“What else?” he asks in that rough Scottish lilt of his. “What else do you like?”

Your fingers entwine with his, guiding his palm down to your breast. His thumb begins to trace over your nipple through the silk and you bite your lip as he brings it to it’s peak.

“What if I used my mouth?” He asks you. “My tongue, my teeth?”

“Find out.” You murmur as he begins to undo the buttons of your shirt one by one until it hangs open. He drinks in the sight of you, clad in pretty emerald lace and his cock starts to throb within in the confines of his jeans.

“Did you wear this for me?” He asks you as he guides you back into the sheets, his mouth chasing over the curve of your breast. “Because you knew you were going to see me today.”

“Yes.” You whisper, your fingers threading through his hair. “I hoped…”

You trail off because you don’t voice the things you wish for anymore, your ex-husband saw to that long ago.

“…That we would end up like this.” Filip finishes, his teeth grazing that swollen bud, sucking it into his mouth. Your hips arch as you say his name and his palm starts to push up the hem of your black pencil skirt until his thumb caresses the lace of your stockings.

The two of you haven’t spoken about what happened the last time you were in his house, how you ended up tangled up in his sheets after helping him to revise his will. It’s the only thing he could think about in court today when you were standing there beside Juice, arranging bail.

“I didn’t get to taste you last time.” He grumbles as his lips delve lower, beard scratching across your navel. “I want to love, I want to make you come on my tongue before I fuck you.”

“Filip.” You whisper. “I’ve never…”

And he pauses then, his dark eyes flickering up to meet yours because that can’t be true, not with a gorgeous cunt like yours.

“Never?” He repeats and your cheeks flush with colour. “Oh lovey that’s fucking criminal. I’m fucking appalled that no one’s tongue fucked the life out of you. If I was your husband I’d be spending every damn day on my knees, praying at your alter.”

His reaction breaks the tension of the moment, making you throw back your head and laugh. That sound, it’s the most beautiful thing in the entire fucking world. You reach for him, your fingertips lightly brush over the scar etched into his cheek and he leans into your touch because you are the only woman who has dared caress him in such away.

“You wanna be my first?” You ask with a boldness that makes him smile.

It speaks to how much you trust him in this moment, to take care of you, to love you like you’ve never been loved before.

“Oh Evelyn.” He sighs as he settles himself between your thighs. “It would be my fucking pleasure.”

Love Chibs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#chibs sons of anarchy #chibs imagine #soa chibs #chibs x reader #chibs telford #filip chibs telford #filip telford #filip telford x reader #soa

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carminecherry · 1 month ago

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ENCLOSURE | mikey sano

this is part four of the series kill the lights

⇝ PAIRING: timeskip!biker!mikey sano x fem!reader

⇝ SERIES SYNOPSIS: after moving by yourself to tokyo, you black out at a party and wake up with a new friend. as she sweeps you up in her fast-paced city life, you feel yourself falling deeper and deeper for her mysterious brother. but something dark is brewing in the city. as his past threatens to resurface, mikey must fight not only physical enemies but the mental battle of his feelings for you. he can't resist you , but could he ever forgive himself if something happened to you? he'll love you selfishly and protect you savagely.

⇝ PART FOUR LENGTH: 2k words

⇝ PART FOUR WARNINGS: mentions of violence (18+ minors do not interact):

all characters are 20+; Alternate Universe! Canon Divergent. a friend from university invites you to his house party. as the drinks flow, you slip into a pleasant buzz. that is until a particular masked man makes his appearance, unveiling himself.

⇝ AUTHOR'S NOTE: a short chapter with a little spice at the end ;) more chapters coming soon! keep an eye on the tags and stay safe! <3

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.

Your eyes flutter open as morning light trickles into your room. You bury your face in your pillow, trying to buy a few more moments of sleep. You had been having the most wonderful dream. It felt so real. Those delicious lips on your neck. Your hands running over his toned chest. The heat of your bodies pressed to one another. Please, just five more minutes. Five more hours. But your body betrayed you.

With a frustrated whine you turned over, resigning yourself to being awake. Rubbing your eyes, you feel your mascara clump under the pressure. Shit, had you fallen asleep in your makeup? You sat up, blinking sleep from your eyes. Your throat was dry to the point of being a bit sore but other than that, you had escaped one of Yuuki’s house parties without a hangover! You could count on one hand the times you’ve woken up after one of Yuuki’s parties without hating your life.

You rise, feeling gross from sleeping in your party attire. Quickly shedding your clothes and tossing them in the wash, you move to your bathroom. You washed your face gently and thoroughly, each splash of water a prayer that you didn’t get a breakout. You brush your hair and hop into a nice warm shower, rinsing off the unpleasant feeling that comes from not completing an evening ritual. Also taking the time to finish what your dream didn’t. After toweling off, you slip into the pajamas the sober you from last night had so kindly left out in preparation for the drunk you. Things don’t always go to plan, clearly.

Whipping up a quick breakfast, you rummage through the door of your fridge for the carton of iced coffee, grabbing a yogurt cup before closing the door and moving to your spot in front of the TV. There is decent counter seating at the small island in your kitchen, but you usually opted for sitting on the floor in front of your coffee table, resting your back on the sofa. You click the button on the remote and the screen illuminates, the news coming back from a commercial break.

You dig into the meal as you finally check your messages. The sound of the TV is mostly white noise as you open several messages from Emma. There is a thread of spam from the party. Her spelling getting progressively worse.

11:00 I lost you Im heading back frm the bathroom.

11:03 OMG Senju is here! You’d lioev her! Come meet her! *Blurry selfie

11:07 Where arrrreee yyyooooooouuuuu??,,

11:08 Og shit I forgot you an Mi

1:20 Y/N I lovw yoi thx ro tnotight

10:00 Fuck me. I’m so hungover. What happened last night?

You reacted to the message from this morning and quickly typed up.

“I’m so sorry! I Didn’t see these last night!!! … Are you sure you wanna know?”

You send the message before clicking out to open a message thread from Yuuki,

1:30 “It was great to see you Y/N. Hope you got home safely!”

You heart the message and reply,

“It was seriously AMAZING! Thank you so much for the invite! I hope the damage is’t too bad. LMK about next time uvu”

Just then, the report on the news caught your ear and your attention was dragged away from your phone screen. “Developing story: There was an Arson Attack at a car dealership in Roppongi in the early hours of the morning, Saturday. Police are reporting extreme property damage and evidence of a robbery as well as several cars missing from the lot. Two employees are in serious condition at the local hospital. A security guard has been placed under arrest. He is suspected of conspiring with the attackers after reviewing security tapes from the crime scene. The situation is still developing and anyone with information about this event is being urged to report details to the number below.”

The TV replayed clips from the security tape showing three masked figures and the security guard. They cut to a wide shot of the building now with a reporter in front, smoke still rising from the charred building as a phone number scrolled across the bottom of the screen. You shuddered. Japan was a safe country, but it meant that when something did happen it was big news. The faces of the two employees appeared on the screen, one younger and one who looked to be in his fifties. You mentally wished for a speedy recovery for the two of them. The news cut away to the newsroom and switched to the weather. It’s jarring how the world keeps turning, you think.

Your phone buzzes and your attention returns to the smaller screen in your hand. You take a big bite of toast. You read a new message from Emma.

“Noooooooooooo~ Is it bad, I’m gonna KMS”

“It’s not BAD bad, you were cute ;p But you should probably buy Yuuki a new houseplant”

“skull emojis”

“Regardless, I had a blast with you last night <3 I’m still up for coffee tomorrow if you are~”

She hearted the message and replied,

“Yeeeeesss~ I wanna check out that cute place you told me about in Shimbashi!”

Now it was your turn to heart the message,

“Meet at the station and then head there together? What time is good?”

“How about 11?”

“Sounds good to me! See you then!”

You finish the last of your yogurt, taking a sip of your coffee. You pull yourself up, depositing your dishes in the kitchen sink with a small clatter. Today was shaping up to be a lazy day. Your phone buzzes again, a message from Emma appears on the screen,

“Mikey is here and being annoying, do you care if I give him your number?”

You can’t help it when your heart beat increases, images of your dream flash in your mind. You type out,

“Sure! No problem, thank him again for dropping me off last night <3”

“Thank him yourself, I’m going back to bed”

She concluded by sending his contact details. You input his contact as Mikey with a strawberry emoji next to his name. A smile plays on your lips. You followed Emma’s instructions and typed up,

“Thanks again for last night!”

As you send the message you get another from Emma, a picture attached. You click it before shutting your phone quickly, face heating. You compose yourself. Opening it again. Emma’s message read,

“What the hell?”

And attached is a shirtless picture of Mikey, seeming to toss a plastic bag of something at the camera. It’s a bit blurry but the bruises wrapping around his ribs are clear as day. Mortified doesn’t even come close.

“AAAHSHHSHHSHHGGG!!!!!!!”

“Did you guys get into a fight or something? Please tell me you won ;p”

“Oh my god! *dead* I didn’t realize I was holding on so tight :’)”

“He drives like a maniac, I don’t blame you you should squeeze harder next time, just Heimlich him”

Emma’s joking helped to calm you down. You still felt an icky feeling that you had hurt him.

“If this job hunt keeps tanking, I’ll consider it the next time he’s hitting 100mph on the highway”

She likes your message before sending a short video. You press play. You see Emma chucking a pillow at him and yelling “Put on a damn shirt!” before the video cuts. You laugh, sending a pillow emoji. You open your chat with Mikey and follow up with another message,

“Hey, I saw the damage, sorry about that”

A bubble with 3 dots appears.

“I’ve had worse.”

He replies. The period at the end makes his message weirdly formal. You pause, unsure how to continue the conversation when another message pops up.

“You’re welcome.”

Period again. You like the message and respond,

“Next time I’ll squeeze lower, maybe we can get a cool pattern going.”

You cringe and move to unsend the message. A+ flirting. He likes your message before you do.

“Maybe we can come up with a better story too. Something other than you being a little wuss. Something that’ll impress the guys.”

“I’m not a wuss >:( look what I can do to a tough guy like you, and not even a scratch on me.”

He is typing a response for a while, you migrate to lie on the sofa under the AC.

“Touche.”

Is all he responds with. Feeling the conversation go dry, you lock your phone. You lay there, soaking in the cold air. You start a mental list of chores for the day; vacuum and mop, do a load of laundry, run to the grocery store. The joys of adulthood. You didn’t hate it as much as you used to. You learned to find peace in those little moments. Mindless tasks that allowed you to clear your head. An added bonus is having a tidy environment does wonders for your mood.

When you were younger you lived in organized chaos, your parents constantly chiding you to clean up. When did you become so sensitive to your surroundings you wonder. You peeled yourself from the couch, pulling up a podcast to keep you company while you set to your tasks.

It's always nice to have an enclosure day once in a while. Today had been much needed after all of the socialization yesterday. You hang your laundry to dry out on your balcony. Before retreating back indoors. Your house sparkled and you reveled in your hard work. You throw on a simple outfit for a grocery run. Your list was short, it would be a quick trip. You kill the AC in your room and check that your balcony door is locked before hunting for the remote to turn off the TV.

As you flip your couch cushions over, another news report flashes across the screen. “Breaking News. A young woman has just been attacked and stabbed in Roppongi. The attack occurred in broad daylight. The attacker is still at large. Witnesses say the attacker is a male, mid to late 20’s, around 180 cm and medium build. Residents are being urged to stay out of the area for their own safety. Be warned, footage of the attack taken by security cameras and bystanders are now circulating on social media. The suspect’s identity is still unknown. Viewers, please be advised that the following clips are graphic in nature. Those with any information about the attacker are being asked to report to the number at the bottom of the screen.”

The news cut from the caster to a grainy video shot on a cellphone. The woman’s body is blurred out. It showed the man standing over her before fleeing into an alley. The man was masked and the video was grainy and slowed in an attempt to reveal any identifying features. The same scene from a different angle is played. Finally a collage of screenshots of the man’s covered face are displayed on the screen.

The woman’s picture came up on the screen with her name and age. She was 22 years old. There had been no gore in the video, but you felt sick to your stomach. You flipped the TV off, sliding down the couch to sit on the floor. You weren’t close to that area of the city but you couldn’t help feeling scared. This type of crime, so violent in nature, is not normal here.

What really gnawed at you is that she was young, just making her way out in the world. You wondered if she had just graduated university. Your mind was spiraling. What dreams did she have? Why had that man done this? That pit in your stomach grew deeper and you felt sweat begin to prickle on your body. How long had you been sitting there? You hit the remote control to turn the AC back on. The TV remained off. You reassessed your fridge with new motivation and decided a grocery trip wouldn’t be necessary tonight.

#mikey sano x reader #manjiro sano x reader #manjiro x you #mikey x reader #Mikey Sano #Mikey Sano smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tr x reader #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tr smut #tr x you #carminecherry fics

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bitesizedpoetry · 5 months ago

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hello x

what are your favourite poetry blogs?

I did not expect this innocuous question to make me so sad. Because I went through my following list and this is a snippet of what stared back:

Almost all my favourite poetry blogs are either inactive or have been deactivated, and now I'm wishing I saved their poems that took my heart in their hands and shook it like a snow globe.

Still, here are my favourite active (at least within the year) poetry blogs in no particular order: also included some excerpts of their writing. And hopefully I didn't miss anyone. If I did, might have thought you were inactive, but I still love your poetry, promise!

@prasannawrites "You offer me your hand to hold & I look to your palm, creating a deity out of this" "…creating small gods from the mundane…" "How could I fit words into a prayer, when I can just as easily warm your hand on a cold night?"

@palladiumfragments "you're only worth something when you're suffering" "you have become the women in the mythology you loved so much as a child." "a dagger is the only thing that awaits you on the altar. you can reinvent yourself all you want but the rot is in the thread."

@amiablesummer "You laugh and laugh, lie down on the kitchen floor where you're not meant to lie, let alone laugh, and you're not meant to die there either. But what if we did, what if we stayed on the floor of the kitchen forever until the world burned from the too-bright sun and the oceans drowned all our utensils, one by one?"

@haikkun "I was a bird once / Tore my feathers in a dream / Though I beheld six kinds of light / Could only chase them via screams"

@kiisuuumii "i am still, just a small rabbit, fur grown in, black, and it is in my nature, still, to be taken, simply, as prey…" "…in the willingness to succumb to nature…" "i place my neck between the jaws of the wolf."

@ellisnightingale "It’s cloudy out, I like that best. Rain dusts the windowpane. So light it hardly makes a sound and the sky is dark again. I’m sure it’s cold but I won’t check, I’ll stay here where it’s dry. I don’t need sun on days like this."

@conversationswithme "I remember more this time, 1:52 in the morning / 10/29 - my cat is dead and I can’t whisper the / ugly in his ear. I have to write it here. / for me. / for you. / anyone. / I remember - that pungent, burnt smell - that / I can’t forget, and now knowing it / was the meat of a small person, / known as me. / I heard she grew up okay, though."

@cherokeeghostwriter "I am / four hours of sleep / meets, uncounted cups of coffee / meets, my fascination with the rain / dripping from the roof"

@memories-beneath-the-skin This entire poem

@leechteethwrites "Some things I could have never prepared for…" "The way the sky stretched itself after I no longer believed in heaven." "…I am still haunted by unshakable cruelties…" "The parts of my mother's girlhood I failed to rescue."

@sincerelygarden "I look at myself and lose my mind" "My instinct is telling me to find shelter / I can not blanket myself with this skin-" "I am in it, I know this. I can not crawl out, I am in it, I know…" "I look at myself and she doesn't make sense to me but I remember when she did"

I remember being asked similar questions years ago, and here are some of my answers when my other favourite poets/writers were still active. Please go through their archives, and you'll find so many hidden treasures. (And if any of them see this now, please start writing & sharing your work again soon. And to the active ones now, please continue writing & sharing, and I see some of you are starting to not be active now too...don't do that pls & ty)

If anyone has recommendations or if you have a poetry blog, please let me know in the replies or reblogs (so that more people can see this, maybe?), or message me privately. This ask made me realise I need more poetry blogs to follow.

#anonymous #spilled ink #poetry #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #literature #writeblr #poets corner #spilled thoughts #writing #poems on tumblr #dark academia #light academia #i hope none of the links are broken #thanks for the question anon <3

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musings-of-miss-j · 2 months ago

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the magician and the sparrow

a lyney x reader fic

notes: fluff fluff soooo much fluff, lots of plot too though and a sprinkle of angst to taste, set in the canon genshin universe but follows a fictional turn of events, they/them pronouns used for reader but they do wear makeup/skirts

author's notes: this was so much fun to write i fear also please don't hate the closing scene guys i'm so bad at romance

word count: 7045 bc i am simply incapable of anything less

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘

You and the other members of the wandering troupe were always awake at the crack of dawn, when the watery sunlight spilled over the edge of the horizon and dappled every surface with a splash of muted gold, when the earliest and most ambitious of birds let loose their melodic cries. Similarly ambitious and hardworking, the troupe’s grandmaster and magician extraordinaire Lyney personally barged into every compartment on the train to make sure the entire crew was ready for the ridiculously early rehearsal he’d insisted on carrying out. You were less than thrilled with the prospect; normally the troupe’s mornings consisted of checking on props and skimming lines over cups of coffee, while a full-on rehearsal brought about a set of much more trying procedures. Like putting on the finicky, elaborate costumes and doing bloody stage makeup.

You stifled a yawn as you threaded your corset with red ribbons, tailored to match the troupe’s current colour scheme of reds, teals and blacks, your fingers constantly missing the grommets and making you considerably frustrated. With a curse, you dropped the corset and ribbons and muttered a simple spell under your breath so it would lace itself up while you struggled with the sheer black tights you wore beneath your skirt. Really, it was a miracle none of the troupe members had killed Lyney for enforcing such senseless appointments, and you were stewing over the inconsiderate nature of his scheduling when he knocked against the doorway of your compartment as you wriggled into the corset and tightened the lacings. You shot him a withering glare through your ancient, gilded mirror while you applied a swipe of lipstain. He grinned back.

Lyney and Lynette had started the wandering troupe, now known throughout the lands as Cirque Extravaganza, when they were only fourteen years old. They were prodigies, plain and simple, and they’d built themselves a considerable reputation and a proper troupe to boot in the past few years. You were one of the oldest members. After running away from the overbearingly aristocratic Lawrence family in Mondstadt you’d snuck onto their train and bartered with Lyney for passage to Inazuma; one of the rare moments where you appreciated your parents for forcing you to conduct political debates as a child. You were eleven years old on that fateful night when Lyney, only a handful of years your senior, threatened to throw you off the moving train. Now you were, and you quote, ‘an indispensable member of Cirque Extravaganza.’

“Lyney, I hope you’ve been told that you’re an utter ass for this,” you said, pulling on your gloves.

“By the nineteen other people on this train save for my darling sister, who called me a name I’d rather not relay in your presence,” he replied. He never really shrugged off the magician persona, you’d realised; even after a show, the instinct to sweet-talk and smooth over the rough edges of his words with fanciful phrases was always imbedded within him. A stark contrast to your own matter-of-factness; after spending a decade of your life weaving your speech with meaningless niceties you gladly embraced the chance to bluntly speak your mind.

“Your sister is the hero this troupe needs,” you muttered in response, sitting on the floor to lace up your shoes. They were probably your most prized possession after the diamond jewellery you stole from your parents when you ran away; the soles were carefully inscribed with a charm of balance to protect you on the tightrope, one of the first spells you’d ever written, and the laces you’d spun by hand from the finest spider silk that cost you a month’s worth of wages while chanting an invocation of grace that Lynette had taught you.

Well worth their weight in gold.

“Every day you awaken with the intent to wound my heart, it seems,” Lyney mourned. You didn’t miss the hint of amusement in his tone and the twinkling in his eyes; years of travelling and performing together left you as open to each other as books.

With a final tug, you tied the laces of your shoes into place. “Be grateful I only choose to wound it figuratively rather than literally.” You rose to your feet in a fluid motion that came as naturally as breathing, tipping the brim of Lyney’s top hat over his eyes as you walked past. He chuckled under his breath, watching you hop down from the train and scale onto the makeshift tightrope. The little clearing by the train tracks bustled with activity, from stunt performers swallowing swords, contortionists folding themselves into impossibly small boxes, vision holders shaping flames and water and crackles of lightning into beautiful patterns and illusionists practicing their tricks in front of mirrors, making horns grow out of their skull only to retreat moments after and pulling colourful handkerchiefs from their noses.

You stepped onto the tightrope and walked across it a few times to warm up, then began your newest routine while the mechanics of the troupe finalised the model stage. You heard Lyney’s voice calling out advice and instructions, Lynette close behind him tweaking costumes and props and correcting people’s forms as she strode past. They made a fantastic duo, and the Cirque Extravaganza flourished under their guidance. You used to wonder how a pair of fourteen year olds had such a remarkable grasp on magic and leadership, until on the night of Lyney’s eighteenth birthday when he got black-out drunk and revealed that this was part of their ‘training’ to become fully fledged members of the Fatui. You’d stared at him, slightly shocked but mostly worried that he wasn’t meant to reveal this information; to your dismay, he’d kept talking, explaining how their ‘Father’ adopted them before leaving them to fend for themselves once more to prove themselves worthy. He’d grabbed the ruffled sleeve of your old costume and pouted when you’d tried to leave before he could divulge anything more, and you found yourself powerless to resist his drunken pleas. You learned more than you’d wanted that night.

Now, a few years later, you sprinted across the tightrope with the troupe’s yelling and pacing back and forth stretched out below you. You heard Lyney release an ear-piercing whistle, and a flock of snow-white doves emerged from the trees, flapping their wings and chirping back at him. You paused mid-motion to watch them, frozen on the tightrope and eyes glazed with wonder; no matter how many times you saw Lyney pull this exact trick, you couldn’t help but be amazed. How you envied birds and their unfettered freedom; you could swing from a trapeze and dance across a tightrope all you wished, but you’d never have wings of your own to unfurl and take to the sky with. It brought a half-hearted, melancholy smile to your face as you watched the doves flutter across the achingly blue sky in perfect formation again under Lyney’s guidance. You still didn’t know how in Teyvat he’d managed to train them.

The rehearsal went off without a hitch. In everyone else’s opinion, at least; the troupe’s magician extraordinaire insisted that there were still a few wrinkles that needed ironing out. You had to resist the urge to throw your shoe at him when he asked why you did three flips in the air rather than four, and only refrained because they were too valuable to accidentally ruin.

“I’d like to see you stay in mid-air long enough to pull off four backflips,” you’d retorted, grumpy thanks to the post-session muscle pains. The dent in the back of your knees was redeveloping the mottled bruises that rarely faded from the press of the trapeze’s bar, and every inch of your body throbbed. You loved it. You hoped this would be the rest of your life.

“Ah, mon moineau, I’m but a humble magician!” He protested with a grin. “How could you possibly expect me to ever compete with your boundless grace?”

You groaned, lying back on the grass to stare up at the setting sun. Rehearsals were no joke; it had taken almost twelve hours.

“Shut up, Lyney. I’ll give you four flips onstage tomorrow. And a fist to your face right now if you don’t stop nagging.”

“So generous,” he replied, collapsing next to you on the ground. You watched the sky darken from blues to oranges to dusky purple, and he watched the same colours reflected in your eyes. Infinitely more beautiful than any sunset, he thought. The familiar snapping sound of his cards brought you out of your thoughtful stupor.

“Pick a card, any card,” he said in his stage voice, the one that oozed charisma and urged the listener to believe him, trust him and his magic. You reached over and pulled out a card from the deck without looking; this little ritual was something of a routine. While Lyney could easily find the card you picked with his magic alone, he liked to practice genuine sleight of hand in private, with you or Lynette. Lynette, while her magic wasn’t quite as flashy as Lyney’s, was much more skilled in sleight of hand than him and frequently criticised his technique. Sometimes Lyney just wanted a starry-eyed member of the audience to applaud him, and while you were resolutely unmoved by his charm he knew you enjoyed his little displays. So he graciously accepted your compliments when he correctly picked your card.

“The magician extraordinaire strikes again,” you remarked, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Yet he can never strike gold when it comes to what he truly covet; the heart of his beloved.”

You cackled unabashedly; that was definitely one of his cheesier lines. With a bracing smack to his shoulder, you rose to your feet.

“You’re losing your touch, old man.” You stretched your arms above your head, then loosened your hair from its elaborate up-do and made your way to the train before night could fall in earnest.

“You wound me so, ma cherie,” he said, putting on a rather good show of looking distraught. Still, the amused twinkle in his eyes didn’t escape you.

Lyney was a chronic flirt, plain and simple. You supposed it came with the trade; magicians were masters of deceit, after all, convincing the audience to see what they wanted them to see and nothing more. Such a philosophy could be applied to many other circumstances; he could make people feel wanted, desirable, with a few well-placed honeyed words. Besides, Lyney liked flirting. He found it amusing, an enjoyable and effortless little pastime that he frequently employed to get what he wanted, whether that be an additional attendant for the night’s show or a dance partner at the latest ball. So you didn’t take it personally; Lyney was a chronic flirt who could flatter the sky into being red if he so wished but still couldn’t get you to blush. It irked him greatly, your immunity to his charm; but it made you all the more attractive. He’d tried to chalk it up to himself liking a challenge, and you presenting just that in the past; but deep down, he’d always known he wouldn’t be able to fool himself for much longer. Now the box of his feelings was starting to strain at the seams, and you still showed no signs of surrendering to his smooth, flattering whispers.

You smiled at him before sliding the door of your compartment shut. He was a goner. He’d been a goner for a long time, now, and Lynette took the liberty of appearing out of thin air to reinforce the fact.

“Lyney. Focus, you can’t afford to get distracted.” Twins they may be, in many ways Lynette was his polar opposite. Where he lured others into rooms of smoke and mirrors with his sliver tongue, Lynette was blunt and to the point, intimidating where Lyney was welcoming. Regardless, they employed different methods to achieve the same goal; trick the right people into doing what they wanted. Lynette raised her eyebrows in his direction. “Or confess and get it over with.”

Lyney sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Dearest sister. You make it sound so simple.”

“That’s because it is, and you’re just a coward,” she replied unapologetically, dragging him away. “Keep your head on your shoulders, this show is important.”

“Sometimes I forget I’m the older one because of how bossy you are,” he grumbled.

“Not my fault you don’t take initiative and live up to your position.”

He huffed and pinched her cheek until she slapped his hands away.

You slept like a rock and woke up to find the train on a new track; the one leading directly to Fontaine. Flinging open the window, you stuck your head out and relished the familiar sound of the turning wheels and grinding gears, taking in the sight of the lush countryside whizzing past. A contented sigh slipped past your lips, and you propped your elbows on the windowsill and your face in your hands to watch the rows of trees fade to clusters of bushes and miles and miles of flowers. A series of knocks on your door startled you out of reverie, and you grudgingly opened with it complete certainty of who you would find on the other side.

Lyney beamed down at you.

“Good morning, mon moineau.”

You covered your mouth with the back of your hand to stifle a yawn. “Morning, Lyney. When will we reach the city?”

“If old Jacques is right, then we should be eating the finest of Fontaine’s cuisine before noon.”

He was clearly excited; you could tell from the way he couldn’t stand still and the perpetual little smile on his face, one of the genuine upturns of his lips that weren’t merely for show.

“Someone’s excited,” you remarked, running a hand through your hair to tame the mess.

“Ah, can you blame me?” He chuckled, leaning against the entrance of your room. “Nothing compares to the Nation of Justice, truly.”

His enthusiasm was infectious, and you couldn’t help the little bounce in your step as you got ready. The show may have been hours away, but there was an infinite number of loose ends that needed to be tied before then. Lyney pulled his trademark deck of crimson cards out of nowhere, shuffling them back and forth absent-mindedly and exuding zeal and vigour; now that they were back in Fontaine, his father could perhaps see how far he and his sister had come. Maybe they’d finally be recruited into the Fatui. His heart hammered at the thought until his gaze landed on you, leaned over the shelf below your mirror and tying up your hair. A strand slipped out of the ribbon you were trying to tie it into, and he was seized by the urge to tuck it behind your ear. He would be forced to abandon the troupe if he was recruited. The thought had occurred to him, countlessly, endlessly, ceaseless and persistent and much more discomforting than he preferred; at some point between you mopping the floor with him in your very first argument where you bartered your way into the troupe and now, where he watched you get ready and predicted your next move without thinking from your tiny gestures and expressions, you’d wormed your way into his life and he wasn’t sure how he’d fare without you in it. The knowledge that you’d adapt without him just fine made it sting all the more.

“Lyney,” you said impatiently, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Quit staring at me like I threatened to steal your wages.”

“Apologies, mon amour. I was entranced by your beauty.” Even after contemplating such a dizzying prospect as not seeing you again, complimenting you came so naturally. He firmly believed it was duty to do so, with how effortlessly you took his breath away.

“Flirt,” you muttered under your breath, half exasperatedly and half affectionately. It made his stomach swarm with butterflies and his brain cloud over with visions of you with him. Archons. You were ruining his life without even lifting a single finger.

“You know, getting to Fontaine was my initial goal when I ran away from home,” you remarked to his as you rummaged through the trunk of clothes by the foot of your bed. “I’m as far as I could possibly be from that life.” You tossed something in his direction, and he caught it without thinking. “I have you to thank for that.”

He opened his fist to reveal a delicate silver chain from which a teardrop shaped diamond hung. He looked up at you, incredulous.

“What… what is this?”

“A necklace, you numbskull,” you replied simply, pausing at the gilded mirror to brush away a smear of rouge from your face. You made your way to him, tugging him down by the frilled collar of his shirt to plant a kiss on his cheek. He was quite certain he caught a glimpse of Celestia when your lips touched his skin. “It’s my thank you. And your very late birthday gift.”

There really was no saving him.

“(Name), wait. You can’t- I can’t accept this.”

You laughed. Every last drop of his easy charisma had completely evaporated, leaving him hot and bothered and flushed to the tips of his ears. It was… cute.

“You think I’m stupid? You’ll be disappearing with your darling sister soon, won’t you?” You said, raising your eyebrows. There was a touch of glitter dusted across your cheekbone, probably from the previous day’s rehearsal. He wondered in a daze how it would look on his lips instead. “And once you’re gone, you’ll need something to remember the person you failed to charm by, no?”

“But- this is an heirloom,” he said, staring down at you. “You told me yourself.”

“Didn’t think you were so attentive.”

As if you could do anything without capturing his complete attention.

“Ma cherie, I-”

“Shut it, Lyney. Accept the damn gift. Maybe you won’t be whisked off after this show and you can sell it and treat yourself. Celestia knows you need a proper pair of stage shoes.”

He watched you disappear into the costumes compartment, utterly dumbfounded. Being members of a circus, savings were worth double their value due to the erratic nature of the amount and timing of wages. You’d given him a genuine diamond necklace. As thanks. As a birthday gift. Something in his chest wouldn’t stop fluttering.

Fontaine was stunning in every sense of the word, from the meandering streams slicing through pristine strips of greenery to the towering buildings and bronzed mechanical arrays. You understood why Lyney loved it so much, and even Lynette was smiling to herself instead of her usual impassive expression. This show would likely be the grandest one yet; Lady Furina was well known for her love of dramatics and the troupe was eager to impress. Performers, you’d discovered when you became one of them, thrived off two things: an audience’s avid praise and the thrill of a perfect show, and the Cirque Extravaganza was indeed extravagant enough to cater to both. Your life had been a performance, before, but without the inherent whimsy of stage lights and silk curtains and the sheer ecstasy of doing something that made your head spin and heart hammer. You performed for your parents, for other nobles, and unwilling actor on a stage you wanted nothing more than to burn down; the next best thing was yelling a good few obscenities at the cast you so despised then leaping off it, which you wholeheartedly did when you ran away. Nothing, not even the saccharinity of a certain magician’s whispers, was sweeter than the knowledge that you’d well and truly escaped the life in which you were forced to fill a role you had no interest in. Freedom was a drug you unreservedly savoured, waking up on a circus train with its taste on your tongue as the engine huffed and puffed, a place where tattered silk and velvet adorned every surface and the scent of passion and perfume hung heavy in the air.

You and the troupe made a quiet arrival through the gates of the city. The grand introduction would come later that night, when Lyney would take to the stage, captivating the crowd with his magic and mesmerising them with his charm as you and your fellow performers offered tantalising glimpses of your own tricks and left them with dazzled expressions and gossip to last at least a month or two. The familiar buzz of anticipation rushed through your veins as you prepared for that night’s show, and you welcomed it with open arms. The troupe’s yelling, the clattering of props and the faint sound of the classical music Lyney and Lynette always played before a show for good luck formed the cacophony of a chaotic circus, the top floor of the Hotel Debord thrumming with excitement.

Lyney waltzed through the open door of your room, wearing the black and maroon outfit he’d recently acquired and a wide smile.

“Well, ma cherie? How are you feeling?” He asked, leaning against the vanity as you perfected your hair and stage makeup. Superstitious as you were, doing these touch-ups in front of a mirror that wasn’t the old, gilded one in your train compartment was a little unnerving. You were so accustomed to seeing the ornate golden roses frame your reflection, the plain steel of this hotel mirror was… lacklustre.

“How are you feeling, magician extraordinaire?” You countered with a teasing wiggle of your eyebrows. “Looking awfully dapper, that’s for sure.”

He hid his blush behind a gloved hand, laughing. “Why, thank you. I never thought I’d have the honour of bringing you to my homeland. It makes everything all the more delightful.” That was the problem with Lyney; try to tease him with a borderline flirtatious remark and he’d return it tenfold.

“Hope it’s delightful enough to get you through this show,” you said, slipping on your shoes. “Six hours onstage is nothing to turn your nose up at.”

He shifted just behind you to glance at his reflection in the mirror, adjusting his top hat. Out of habit, you reached up and nudged its brim over his eyes.

“It will be the grandest show we’ve ever put on,” he declared with a grin, readjusting the hat. You shot him an amused look.

“Grander than last year’s show during the summer festival?”

Lyney groaned, hiding his face in his hand. You cackled; it was considered taboo to mention that. It had been an utter fiasco.

“Ah, why must you remind me of that, ma cherie? Surely it’s bad luck to mention disastrous events before such an important show as this one.”

“Performers’ superstition,” you muttered under your breath.

“As if you don’t paint your nails red for good luck!” He returned with a chuckle.

“You’ve infected me,” you deadpanned, grabbing the bow on the back of his suit and dragging him with you to the door. You refrained from telling him that red was your lucky colour because it was his trademark, and Lyney was truly the first blessing fortune had bestowed upon you. No doubt he’d never let you live it down if he found out. “Let’s go, magician. This audience won’t dazzle itself.”

And of course, the troupe did indeed dazzle the audience. Cards and confetti flew through the air, vibrant smoke from coloured flames hovered over the crowd, kittens and tigers leapt through hoops and then exploded into clouds of glitter, all while the orchestra played a hauntingly beautiful melody that echoed unnaturally through the Opera Epiclese’s soaring hall.

You did a fair bit of soaring yourself, on your trusty trapeze from one post to another then bounding over the tightrope as though it were a bridge miles wide with the air rushing past you and ruffling your hair, the ribbons tied to your wrists and ankles streaming behind you.

Lyney’s grand finale involved a tenuous dance with Lynette while dodging various pyrotechnics that flared up at random intervals across the stage, stepping through a wall of fire then twirling Lynette into nothingness with a flick of his wrist. From the rehearsals alone, it promised to be a magnificent trick.

One problem: Lynette was nowhere to be found. Or at least, that’s what Lyney wanted you to believe as he watched you perfectly execute the four somersaults you’d promised him and land directly- in his arms?

This wasn’t right. How did Lyney intercept your landing? And so seamlessly, without a single hitch, for that matter? (Quite simple. He’d watched you obsessively every time you rehearsed, terrified you’d slip, fall, topple off the impossibly thin rope and down onto the unforgiving ground. Your pride would never allow for a net, so Lyney took it in his own hands to make sure he could be your safety measure if the need ever arose, to make sure he could protect you from your own determination, your own certainty that you were truly unconquerable while metres up in the air. Sometimes he half-expected wings to burst from your shoulder blades, other times he nearly tore his gloves into ribbons from how hard he clenched his fists, frozen with dread and surety that this time your grace would fail you, that your balance would never come and you’d be yet another body bleeding through the chapters of the book that was his life.) No matter. You were here now, on the stage with the golden lights bathing the two of you in warmth, and most importantly, every eye trained on you. If practice and repetition were the bread and butter of any artist, then as performers improvisation was the layer of jam, the extra sweetness and embellishment that set the art form apart; and now, in this unpractised, unrehearsed position with Lyney’s hands on your waist and the audience’s attention on you and the still-present hum of adrenaline from the tightrope in your veins, you exhaled and placed your hand on Lyney’s shoulder. The opening stance of the dance. His lilac eyes met yours, and you gave him an imperceptible nod. The orchestra swelled once more, and you let yourself relax, muscle memory from hours upon hours in the ballroom of your family’s estate taking over. A searing flame surged up from the floor, and you twisted to only just dodge it. Another pillar of blazing red, dangerously close to Lyney’s top hat; he swept into a bow, hat off, as though inviting you to another dance. You curtsied in response, and the same flame missed your hair by half an inch as your head dipped down. Crackling sparks behind you; Lyney pulled you to his chest. A roaring fire to your right; you led him in a slow, purposeful circle around it. Red, red, red, raging and hot; sweat dripped down the back of your neck and smoke tickled the back of your throat. The audience gasped and cheered as you deftly side-stepped every last flicker, the sound mingling with the roaring inferno and the distant music from the orchestra; a trumpet note here and a skilful bit of piano there, and most of all, Lyney’s off-kilter breathing and faint panting for air. His touch seared your skin, more scorching than any fire. With a final gasp, he lifted you above his head as a tower of sizzling fireworks exploded from where you’d stood a moment before. A last quivering chord from the violin. Lyney’s face just inches from yours, sharing the same smoke-tinged breath. For a brief, horrifying moment, nothing; a curtain of blackness so deep and impenetrable you almost feared you’d never be found again. You supposed this was the part where he made you disappear. Sensations rushed back. Dimly, the eruption of wild applause and his chest heaving against yours.

Archons, he wanted to kiss you so badly. He doubted a more tempting dilemma could ever be presented to him. Before he gave in and crushed his lips to yours, he pivoted on his heel and bowed to the audience with a flourish. You followed suit, and the stage was soon littered with flowers. You could discern Lady Furina’s voice, high and clear, shouting ‘Bravo! Bravo! Magnifique! Enchanteur!”

The greatest of all performances, indeed, thrown in hopes that his Father would witness their accomplishments and take them back. So why was he so relieved that he didn’t glimpse her piercing, unmistakable gaze throughout the whole show? Why could he think of nothing besides your glowing eyes, your features softened then sharpened by the fire, the scent of your perfume mixing with the smoke?

Backstage, you picked at the singed ribbons on your wrists and ankles while the rest of the troupe hurried about, exhausted down to the bone and ashes in your throat. Eventually you gave up on a particularly stubborn knot, leaning your head back against the wall and sighing, only for Lyney to appear at your side and work at the ribbon with his nimble fingers instead.

“Are you alright?” He asked, propping your limp wrist in his lap.

“What happened? Where did Lynette go?”

“Answer my question,” he replied sternly, pulling the ribbon off your wrist and tracing the veins there with his fingertips.

“Answer mine,” you immediately retorted, stubbornness flaring. He chuckled.

“If you’ve got enough energy to argue I suppose you’re fine.”

“Well?” You demanded after a brief pause where you simply sat together in tired silence. “What went wrong with your trick?”

Surprise crossed his face. “Went wrong? I thought it was perfect.”

You lifted your head to shoot him an incredulous look. His fingertips continued to trace the network of veins snaking across your wrist.

“Lyney. You know what I mean. I wasn’t supposed to be involved at all!”

“Maybe it was meant to be, then,” he suggested with a wink. You groaned, running a hand though your hair.

“It’s impossible for you to take anything seriously, isn’t it?” He was inclined to disagree. There was nothing he took more seriously than your safety and presence in his life.

“Is Lynette alright?” You asked next, curling up and leaning your weight against him, tiredness rapidly setting in. Lyney held very still, afraid to make a wrong move and have your comforting warmth removed.

“She’s… she’s fine. Making tea, I suspect.”

You hummed in agreement, resting your head on his shoulder. “You’re not a very comfortable pillow,” you remarked. “You should eat more.”

“Anything for you, cherie,” he all but choked out, desperately flustered by the way you’d draped yourself over him. He could acutely feel every curve and dip of your body pressed against his. Was death by overheating possible?

You grumbled, pinching his arm. “Shut up, this isn’t the time for flirting.” Any time was perfect for reminding you how wonderful you were and how much you meant to him. “And don’t try to catch me like that again, it scared me. You’re not supposed to interrupt my routine.”

“I apologise.” “Damn right you do,” you retorted, pushing yourself off him and stretching. There was a very unsavoury pain in your lower back, and you hissed as the tender muscle strained. “So.” You turned to properly face Lyney, crossing your legs beneath you and grinning. “Was your Father there? In the audience?”

You were determined to be supportive, to share his enthusiasm at returning to the Fatui, even if your heart wobbled strangely at the thought of him leaving. He faltered in the face of you excitement. Were you that eager to have him gone…?

“…No,” he finally replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. You misread the sudden disheartened sag in his shoulders and downwards tip of his mouth as disappointment, and rushed to somehow comfort him.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure word of your incredible performance will reach every ear in Fontaine. It’s only a matter of time,” you said, not unkindly. When his dejected expression didn’t budge, you sighed and pulled sharply at the bow on his shoulder to regain his attention. “Hey. Stop frowning like that. A pretty face like yours shouldn’t be ruined by premature wrinkles.” You didn’t tell him that seeing him so lost and hesitant made your stomach drop, or that the sight of his smile would bring one to your face. A magician who could make your heart disappear the moment he had it in his grasp didn’t need to know that.

“…Is it pleasing to you?” He murmured with a touch of his usual teasing, glancing back up at you while his fingers still lingered on your wrist, tracing an invisible pattern. “My face?”

“To me and every young lady within a five metre radius, I’d wager.”

“But especially to you?” Lyney pressed, smiling in earnest now. You had a terrifying way of doing that, flipping his emotions with nothing but a few sweet words from your lips, and he was quite happy to surrender his heart to your whims if it meant he could have these precious few moments where he could almost fool himself into thinking you reciprocated.

You sighed, turning slightly so you could lean your back against his side. It’d be better if he couldn’t see the way you blushed at your reply, so soft it was almost drowned out by the sounds of the troupe celebrating another successful show. “Yes, Lyney. Especially to me.”

(The troupe quieted down when they saw the two of you fast asleep backstage, propped against each other with your head on Lyney’s shoulder and his fingers loosely wrapped around your wrist. If several Kameras ran out of storage that day, then it was strictly an everyone-knows-except-you-two situation. The particularly adorable photos become a secret currency. Everyone wants the singular copy of the one where you’re both smiling gently in your sleep. Lynette smugly refuses to part with it.)

Life in Fontaine was so jarringly steady, an uninterrupted flow of café visits and wandering the countryside and tossing spare change into the Fountain of Lucine, fields of flowers and an endlessly blue sky forming a mild backdrop for picture-perfect moments. It was so different than what you’d grown accustomed to; the constant rush of being on the move, the train’s constant rumbling and puffing, haphazard memorabilia strewn across every surface and late night drinking and card games with the boundless night as your only witness. The first few weeks off the train find you and many of the other members with wobbly legs, unused to solid land rather than the shifting and swaying you were familiar with. Jokes about being akin to sailors are popular and repeated in every possible iteration during this time, and you were in such good spirits that you laugh at every single one.

As you’ve come to expect, the initial rush from yet another one of the Cirque Extravaganza’s triumphs in conquering a new stage quickly gave way to throngs of over-enthusiastic fans cropping up through the city streets, country roads and anywhere else you decided to venture. The little children are sweet and eager, and you regale them with clumsy attempts at sleight-of-hand when Lyney isn’t there, offering them flowers and candy that they gleefully accepted. Some, those who are sceptical about the validity of your skill, ask you to scale the nearest tree or lamp-post, or do a backflip, or some other trial to prove that you weren’t a fraud of some sort. You humour these requests, and any disbelievers leave in a state of awe with an autograph clutched in their hands. One girl, bolder than most with a grin bright enough to be on stage, asked for one of the ribbons you wore during the performance. Charmed by her confidence, you gave her the least singed one, and in that instance you also left with a piece of paper, one where she scrawled her address with a heart doodled in the corner. Lyney was oddly indignant when he found it, and sulked rather impressively all day until you dragged him to an ice cream parlour you’d heard word of even back in Mondstadt. It was, in a way, a tribute to your older sister Eula; the two of you would often daydream together about prancing freely about in a faraway place and eating desserts with no concern for etiquette or the reputation of your family. You wished you could share this experience with her, but she’d been adamant on staying and becoming a Knight. Although- you cut a glance towards Lyney, who’d ordered a blackberry and cherry mix that matched almost perfectly with the hues he was currently fond of wearing- this is nice too. You took the lift to the highest floor it could reach, then scaled the wall surrounding the city with considerable difficulty, ice creams in hand, to sit on the edge and admire the sprawling view of the water dotted with light from the stars.

Lyney hadn’t quite forgotten the overzealous advances you’d entertained, but being in your company in the City of Love, sharing laughter and smiles and anecdotes over treats every bit as saccharine as the affection he held for you was the most effective soothing balm against the sting of knowing your attention wasn’t solely devoted to him the same way his was to you. The moonlight helped, too; it added to atmosphere and greatly appeased his romantic side.

(You stole glances at him when he wasn’t paying attention, tucking glimpses of his relaxed expression away in your memory. It was nice to see your Lyney every now and then, rather than the magician extraordinaire of the Cirque Extravaganza.)

You reached over to steal a spoonful of Lyney’s ice cream, and he swerved away to avoid you so energetically that he nearly fell off the edge of the enormous wall surrounding the Court of Fontaine. You grabbed the hood of his cape to steady him before he could tumble down to a painful death.

“Don’t go falling off after all the trouble I went to get us up here,” you said, amused, and Lyney huffed indignantly as you smugly ate the bite of ice cream you’d managed to steal from him.

“I doubt the fall would be half as painful as falling for you, mon amour,” he smoothly replied, even having the unparalleled audacity to shoot you a wink as if he hadn’t been on the precipice of his demise mere moments before.

“That’s it, I’m pushing you myself,” you deadpanned, kicking his foot with your own where they dangled off the edge.

“You’re all bark and no bite,” he accused with a laugh. “You couldn’t survive a day without me.”

You levelled him with an unimpressed look, lifting a spoonful of ice cream to your mouth.

“Every day you astonish me with your sheer arrogance.”

He grinned, leaning forward to emphasise his next words. “You didn’t deny it,” he pointed out in a slightly sing-song voice. “Admit it, cherie.” Lyney’s heart hammered dizzyingly loud in his ears. This felt like such dangerous territory to tread, perched as high off the ground as you made him feel. Should he retreat, let your delicate waltz of quips and flirtations go on?

“Admit what?” You replied, trying to sound dismissive but failing when your breath caught in your throat as he inched closer. Surely you only felt dizzy because of the height. Surely it wasn’t because Lyney’s eyes refracted into a hundred shades of violet, stars reflected in their surface, or because he was so close a strand of his hair brushed your cheek. “You make it sound as if I’m a criminal on trial, about to plead guilty and confess.”

“Maybe you should confess,” he breathed, lifting his hand to your face. You watched his movements raptly, heart racing. “Archons know you’re guilty of stealing my heart, mon moineau, and there’s nowhere for you to fly away and evade your charges.”

Words died on your tongue when his knuckles brushed gently across your cheek, and your heart fluttered like the sparrows he was so fond of comparing you to. This wasn’t like his usual flirting, you distantly realised. He was seriously asking you to confess. His fingers twirled a strand of your hair before tucking it behind your ear, bringing you closer by the nape of your neck. You frowned at him.

“I am not verbally admitting to liking you in this lifetime.” He looked so crestfallen you could almost laugh. “They do say actions speak louder than words, though,” you added with a whisper, then carefully leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. Lyney, to his credit, quickly recovered from his initial surprise and the overwhelming fact that you tasted like ice cream, then made shockingly swift work of trying to deepen the kiss by grazing his teeth along your lower lip, to which you responded with a choked yelp and jumping away. You couldn’t possibly fathom the effort it took not to grab you and drag you back to continue where you left off.

“Archons, Lyney!” You hissed, out of breath and red-faced, fingers carefully pressing against your tender, swollen lips. Lyney subconsciously licked his own at the sight, completely and utterly devoid of any semblance of shame, in awe of how the moonlight set you aglow. He marvelled at how easily it was to exasperate you as one of his hands moved to your waist, trying not-so-subtly to bring you closer again.

His grin could only be described as self-congratulatory. “What?” He asked, not even bothering to feign innocence. Before you had the chance to heatedly respond, he swooped in to peck your cheek, then your lips, flustering you all over again.

“The one time I try to be romantic and you ruin it by being greedy,” you lamented, shooting him a joking glare.

“You’ll have plenty more chances to be romantic in the future, amour,” he replied with a grin. “Just kiss me for now.”

“So demanding,” you breathed. “What makes you so sure there’ll be future chances, hm?”

“Come now,” he coaxed, tilting your chin up just so. “You know you can’t resist me.”

“Shut up, you arrogant magician,” you grumbled, then silenced him with your lips on his, because maybe, just maybe, he was right.

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘

#how are we feeling about this one chat #genshin impact #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin lyney #genshin lyney x reader #genshin lyney fluff #genshin impact lyney #genshin impact lyney x reader #lyney x reader #genshin fluff #genshin scenarios #ARE THERE ANY TAGS LEFT BRUH

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fullofwoe5321 · 2 days ago

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It's impressive how people continue insisting in label Tyler as a cold manipulative guy who never cared for Wednesday.

You guys really have to force this narrative! But with me, this is not gonna happen!

We have SCENES where he genuinely smiles alone after talking to her or something like that.

Oh but he said he liked killing... Have you ever watched the show? Have you ever realized he was possessed by the Hyde when he said that? Have you ever realized he was on the verge of crying after the revelation? We don't know the dimension of his corruption or his Hyde, but on the show it's said that the Hyde becomes the willing instrument of whatever nefarious agenda this new master might propose.

OH let me save you some time, Wednesday was not furious because he killed some people (AND PLEASE, he didn't kill Eugene on purpose because he was Wednesday's friend) or he was the monster. She was furious because she was outsmarted and betrayed by Tyler. The only person she opened her black little heart and he was the one who stomped it. He was the monster under her nose and she underestimated him. That's why he humiliated her with that monologue in the police station. He knew she was very competitive and the only way to hurt her was bringing that fact in to her face. By the way, ABSOLUTE CINEMA! Praises to Hunter.

At the end, Wednesday understood very well what happened during the monologue about how Laurel manipulated and enslaved Tyler. And then we found out he was tortured, drugged, abused, groomed and corrupted in order to unlock the Hyde. So I fail to see him as the real villain.

Oh but he hated Wednesday and wanted to kill her! Excuse-me but Wednesday is not an angel: she almost killed 2 normies tossing piranhas in the pool, she said she would go further in the pranking against Xavier LOL she was about to hammer Tyler's knee if his father didn't interrupt her! And he possibly was ordered to kill any outcast before see her in the woods after Goody healed her.

Did Tyler hate her? You guys make me laugh! He hated her so much he wanted to kiss his nemesis! He hated so much he learned how to prepare that happy birthday coffee in one week! He hated her really bad that he prepared a date he knew she would like. What kind of hate is this? He saved at least 2 times as the monster and the first time was his free decision. He didn't know about her being an important key (!) to laurel´s plan.

I'm not saying here that he didn't manipulate her or lied to her. I know what he did. But he was forced to do those things! Do you really want to believe he wanted to lie for her? They really liked each other's company. It's not difficult to find the hints about how they are comfortable with each other. He loves her personality and she loves he likes her despite her personality! Isn't that obvious? They are not toxic as people keeping saying, but they were envolved in a toxic situation.

I'm really tired of people wishing Tyler's death on Twitter because they believe he is threat for Enid and the Wenclair ship. But let me save you more time because I'm genererous today: it's not gonna happen! Tyler is a main character. He is not gonna die. Wednesday has some sort of connection with him and we will find out what it is on S2. Besides that, the Hydes lore begins now. We have so much to learn and see! Let's wait.

That's it. Regards.

P.S.: I'm thinking about translating this text and transform into a thread on Twitter to bring more hate to my life from anti Tylers.

#weyler #wyler #wednesday x tyler #tyler galpin #tyler x wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday netflix #wednesday season 2 #tyler and wednesday #tyler wednesday #wednesday theories #wednesday spoilers

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neesieiumz · 2 years ago

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venus ⸻⸻⸻ k.nanami

synopsis ⸻⸻ after five years of you being his lawyer, nanami shows you just how much he appreciates you

warnings ⸻⸻ smut. 18+ minors do not interact. lawyer!reader. mafia!nanami. black-coded reader. female reader. afab anatomy. praise kink. slight degradation kink. kento has a thing for your titties. starts off with him being arrested. slight open ending incase i feel like doing a part two. slight power imbalance (after all, he's fucking his lawyer.)

writer notes ⸻⸻ yes yes i know. *another one*. I'm in love with this man and you can't keep him away from me. will it surprise y'all that i started this a month ago and just finished it now? anyways, i hope you all enjoy it! see you in the next one.

wc ⸻ 4.5k

Who would have thought one’s life would be this way?

You remember the days, desk surrounded by coffee and energy drinks, books as thick as statues as you studied for your next exam in Legal Methods. Hair matted for days, not even knowing when your next shower is. Struggles while at Law school, to take the bar exam, every single decision has led you to this very moment in your life.

You stood amid the officer, staring at you as if their looks will put you six feet into the ground, “If that is all, you have absolutely nothing to hold my client. Release him immediately.”

Blonde hair and brown eyes stare at you, as the officer in front of him glanced between the two of you. The man sighed, pulling his ring of keys. The detective standing not too far from you turned to glare at him, but he had already moved to take the cuffs of your client. Kento rose up, his figure towering above rest as he rolled down his sleeves, buttoning his cufflinks. Taking a deep breath, you moved out of the way, allowing Kento to leave first before following him. You walked towards the receptionist's desk, grabbing the release papers for him. He didn't say anything as he waited, leaning right near you as you filled out the papers. The smell of off-stale coffee and donuts soon permeated your senses as some stood right next to you.

“How does it feel to represent someone who has killed people,” you felt someone whisper in your ear.

You glanced to your left, the detective that was standing too far from you back in the interrogation room. She glared at you, hard as you finished signing the final line. Handing the papers to the detective herself, you gave her a smile, a cold one.

“You forget the word allegedly, and on the 1000-thread silk sheets with the money, he pays me,” you whisper back to her, before looking over at Kento.

With that single look, Kento stood up and followed right behind you. He pushed slightly in front of you, opening the door for you, allowing you to walk into the cold night. There stood a car, with a tall standing man right near the back entrances. Once Kento got close, he bowed before opening the door and gesturing towards it. You glanced towards Kento, who stood right behind you, taking your briefcase from your hands. A normal routine was what ran through your mind as you climbed into the low-rise small limo. You got comfortable as Kento took the seat in front of you. The man closed the door, before running around towards the front. The moment the door shut, you relaxed into your seat, sighing as you fell back into the comforting leather. You reached over, grabbing a rose champagne bottle, which was pineapple flavored along. Along with the drink, you grabbed a clean glass.

“Kento, you are probably my favorite client but please, never again get arrested like that again,” you grumbled, pouring out the drink, and filling it to the brim.

The car began to move at the same time he chuckled, the low rumble matching the roar of the car.

“Probably? You act as if it was my intention to get arrested like that,” he says, rubbing his fingers against his temples.

“But still Kento,” you said, “if you’re gonna make big moves, let me know. If I have to jump out of my hot jacuzzi bath because you got taken down to the big house, I would like it to be known.”

He grabbed a glass from his side of the car, holding it out towards you. Leaning forward, you poured out teh rose for him. As you pour, glancing towards his eyes, seeing them linger along your chest, before looking away.

“Thought you were more of a red person?” You asked, leaning back and taking another sip of your drink.

“In the mood for just about anything right now. I feel sloppy, tired even. I haven’t been on top of things, that’s probably how they even arrested me.”

Shuffling in your seat, you stared at the man, as he swirled the rosé within the glass. His hair was ruffled, his eyes heavy with bags, and his eyes strained with red. He took a sip of the alcohol, taking a long one before pulling it away from his lips. A bit of it dripped down his lips, his tongue flicking, licking up the rest of his lips as well. Taking a deep breath, you looked away, taking another sip of your drink as well.

“Well then, you’re lucky I’m very good at my job then,” you smirked, causing him to glance at you, “fuck up all you need to get your head back in the game Kento, I’ll make sure the law doesn't bother you.”

You glanced at the text once more.

Come by Venus in an hour. Dress up a bit. Leave the pantsuits at home.

You could almost scoff at that last sentence in his sentence. This wasn't the first time you were invited to Kento’s clubs, one of his many places of income. Venus was one of his new places, which opened up a year ago. There were many times your own friends had invited you out to the exclusive nightclub. They knew of your relationship with the owner and hoped you would be able to get them in. You had only gone there for meetings with him concerning the legalities of his endeavors, but the way he texted you, he wanted you to come over for something more informal. It's been over ten minutes, and he’s probably seen that you’ve read his text. Walking around your penthouse, you glanced around at everything, massaging your temples. Heart pounding, you look around your place one more time. Glancing back down at your phone, you let out a sigh, before typing out a response.

Fine. Don’t make me regret it. Kento

With that, you moved with purpose, going up the stairs to your room. With you already freshly showered, it wasn't a matter until you found something to wear. It was an impulsive decision, a red latex dress with a side split, showing off some cleavage. You pushed back your faux locs behind your ears and shoulders, showing off the amount of skin you were showing. Grabbing a red coat, draping it over your shoulders as well. You picked up a simple pearl layered necklace, with its matching earrings and bracelet, you are set. Grabbing your things and stuffing them within a red latex bag that matched the outfit, you head out. Before you left, you grabbed a pair of sunglasses, holding them right in your hands as you walked down the steps of your high-rise luxury place.

The club was packed, lines stretching down the way. The moment you pulled up, a person came and opened your door, immediately prompting you to turn off your car. One of the valet people helped you out of your car, their gloved hand matching your own. You handed the keys to another person who handed you a ticket. As soon as you took another step, a man dressed in an all-black suit appeared right beside you.

“Mr. Nanami is expecting you inside, ma’am,” he guided you towards the door with his hands.

Saying no words, you nodded, the man escorting you inside as well. The interior was glowing a deep red color, an irony considering your chosen outfit for tonight. Money was everywhere, within every step you took. Velvet couches surrounded poles, dancers for parties twisting and folding themselves along the poles. The air smelled rich, expensive alcohol being seen at every turn, carried by different bottle girls.

Taking a breath, you followed the club bouncer through the crowds, eyes not leaving all the different exotic dancers. He led towards the twisting stairs, cut off from the rest of the world by two other bouncers in matching uniforms to the one leading you and velvet rope. The man whispered to his coworkers, who glanced at you and at their tablets before nodding. The man to the right reached for the velvet robe hook, unhooking it and gesturing for you to go up the stairs. The man continued to lead you up the stairs. As you reached the top of the stairs, past the guards that were posted there as well, you found the area calmer, and more serene yet it was even more intoxicating than the ambiance on the lower floor.

You swayed through the crowd, eyes drifting to those all around you. As you passed by a couch, you caught eyes with a certain blue, peeking from tinted glasses. Beside him, his usual companion, two peas in a pod people would call them. Kento would call them acquaintances, while they would call him “his closest friends.” Before the man could lay eyes upon you, you looked away and continued on your journey to the man who invited you to this very place.

As you walked further and further into the crowd, the lights dimmed darker and darker, until you couldn't see barely two feet in front of you. There were not as many people around anymore, and it seemed they were standing around something. The bouncer sifted through the crowds, the people parting their way to let you two through. He soon approached a door, locked behind an ID scanner. The bouncer who led you here pulled his own out, pressing it against the small machine. The door unlocked, revealing a short hallway leading into some kind of private living room. Ahead was a couch, surrounded by a few people as well. And in the midst of them, was the man himself, Kento Nanami. He wore a white shirt, ruffled with its first few buttons unbuttoned. He was mostly alone on the couch, with two of his associates he often does business with. He was talking slowly amongst himself, taking sips from his crystal glass.

The bouncer soon stopped right in front of the couch, nodding to Kento before gesturing toward you. The moment his eyes landed upon you, he rose up from his lean position, eyes locking with you. The bouncer nodded one more time at his boss, before walking away, disappearing back into the real world. The blond man stared at you for a few more moments, before smirking right at you. The two people he was talking to also looked at you, but your focus was right on Kento. You took a couple of steps towards him, walking around the small table the men had amongst themselves. Kento closed his legs up, making even more room for you as you sat down right beside him.

Kento glanced at his two associates, who looked amongst themselves before getting up at the same time. At the same time, the people who were also doing business within the room got up, without a word filed out of the room. They gave a slight head nod towards Kento before waving off into the crowd, probably up to the lower floor to chat up some poor girls. It was just the two of you for a moment before a girl came up with a tray. She placed down a tall wine glass, along with a bottle of wine, rosé to be more specific. It was your favorite bottle too, one of the more expensive bottles. One that you usually get when you’ve had huge wins. The girl nodded toward Kento, before holding the tray close to her body and walking off. The moment she was gone, it was just the two of you, as if the people around you dissipated.

Kento grabbed the bottle of wine, twisting the top off of it with ease. You heard a pop, with slight steam flowing out of the bottle. He poured it out, filling it ⅔ of the way before placing the bottle down, taking the wine glass in his hands, and handing it over to you. You thanked him quietly, before taking a sip of the wine. As you sipped, Kento grabbed the bottle of whiskey on the table, refilling his own glass. Keeping your eyes on him as he finished poring, placing the bottle down, and taking another sip of his hard drink. You took another sip at the same time as he did, lowering your glass and looking over at him.

“Why am I here, Kento?”

The man sighed, leaning back into his side of the couch, “I just wanted to have a celebration with you, a more private one.”

You said nothing, continuing to look at him with a knowing look. The man smirked, letting out an almost silent chuckle.

“It’s been five years to the date since I officially asked you to be my lawyer.”

You blinked, sitting up a bit in your seat. Pulling out your phone from your purse, you glanced at the date under the time. May 14th. He was right, the anniversary of him officially asking to be your client. At the time, you were an overworked and underpaid lawyer at a big-time law firm. Your bosses were putting major cases on you, you did all the evidence finding and the hotshot lawyers above you would take your findings and use them in court. Using your hard work and they took all the glory for it. Kento saw how they took advantage, his previous lawyer being one of his bosses in fact. He offered you a deal, a way out. With that, you built your own law firm, with his support being the main backbone. Kento Nanami was your first client, and the reason you are as successful as you are now.

You looked over at him, giving him a soft smile, “why, yes it is. Can’t believe you remember that to date. I didn’t even remember”

He nodded, taking another sip of his drink, “I tend to remember things important to me. You were an overworked, unappreciated lawyer and I was someone who had fired their own lawyer.”

You rolled your eyes at that, “yeah “fired” and right after that, you had to face a jury on whether or not you torched the man to death, Kento.”

Scoffing, you took another sip of your drink, looking away from him.

“Yeah, but you can’t lie, you liked the rush.” You glanced over at him the moment he said those words.

You couldn’t deny that you thought to yourself as you smirked. Taking another sip of your wine, looking at Kento as he placed his glass down. The two of you looked at each other for a moment, unresisting in the way your eyes glanced over his huge form once more. You couldn't lie to yourself, Kento Nanami was a desperately handsome man.

“The rush is definitely a nice perk to the job but that check you paid me after was extra nice,” you winked at him, heart pounding away in your chest.

The more sweet wine you took, the more your inner inhibitions cracked. You could feel the blood rush through your veins, feeling hotter and constricted within this dark area. You knew there were people around you, but the room was so dark that you couldn’t even see anyone around the two of you. Finishing the glass, you held out your hand with it, expecting more which he fulfilled with ease. He lifted his own glass in his hand, before tipping it towards you, clinking them together.

“To a longer partnership,” he cheered, and you smiled a bit, cheering with him.

“A long partnership.”

The both of you took a long sip, sighing before placing your glasses down on the table before you. You looked around in the low-lit room, the golden spotlights glowing against the golden-themed room. Feeling slightly cold hands rest upon your chin, you found yourself behind turned to face right back at Kento. Glancing down at his fingers before looking back at the man, narrowing your eyes at him.

“What’s your game here, Kento?” Your voice lowered when you spoke his name.

He shook his head slightly, “no games here for me, just appreciating what’s in front of me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “In front of you, you say?”

“you ask me to come to your nightclub, an exclusive nightclub at that. You ‘say’ you just want to celebrate our partnership, but I’m not an idiot, Kento Nanami. You know this.”

As you spoke, you leaned closer, your large red coat falling off your body as you did, revealing the straps of your glossy red dress. His eyes dropped down to your cleavage, revealed by the low dive of the neckline. Easily, you maneuvered the rest of your coat off your body, the huge fabric falling onto the couch. Reaching up, you placed your thumb right on his lips, and the feeling of his soft lips electrified you.

“Well,” he said with a softness you’ve never heard from him, “what exactly do you want me to say?”

Right after he said that his hand came up around your bottom, stroking it against the smooth latex. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him but the smile was still present on your face. His hand soon moved down to your neck, slowly wiping away the little bit of sweat that was dripping down your neck. The tension that had always built between the two of you was reaching an all-time high as your own hands found their way to his collar, fumbling with the ruffled collar.

His large hands found their way around your hips, lifting you up with ease before placing you right on his lap. With no more words that could be said, you rested your hands against his chest before he captured your lips into a hot heavy kiss. The force stumbled you back for a moment but you kissed back immediately, gripping at his pure white shirt. You could feel his hands slide to your hips before scooping up around your bottom, grabbing at the rubber-like material on your body.

You could feel yourself grind against him, desperate for some kind of feeling. Hands gripping his shirt, they fumbled against the crisp fabric, trying their best to unbutton the dress shirt. His own hands come up to your zipper, quickly unzipping it, a cool air breeze against your open back. Frustrated, you took the top of his shirt, before ripping it, buttons flying all over the place. Feeling him smirk, hands shifting underneath your dress, grabbing at bare skin and the matching red lace panties you wore underneath the dress. His hands guided you, lifting and resting your hips against him. He commanded your every movement, your pussy dripping against him as he did so. Placing your hands on him, hands resting on top of muscular pecs. The sudden cool air you felt dissipated, heat rising between the two of you.

Letting go of the kiss, you braced your arms around him as his hands moved up from your ass. He grabbed at the rest of the dress, slowly peeling it off your body and revealing your breasts to him, no bra. The dress began to pool around your hips as he lifted you up into the air. Immediately, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you towards another room, one with a bed in it. Barely paying attention to what's around you, he basically dropped you onto the soft bed, before climbing right on top of you. With a quick motion, he removed the rest of the dress off you, leaving you in nothing but your thin lace panties. He tore off the scarps of a shirt before slowly unbuttoning his pants, and sitting right on top of you. Kento grabbed the back of your left leg, slowly pushing back as he sunk further and further down toward you.

Once he was close enough, he captured you into a heavy kiss, his free hand coming to your titty, giving it a quick squeeze. You gasped into the kiss as he did so, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer. He soon let go of the kiss, giving you a quick and light kiss all down your neck before dipping into the valley between your breasts. Once he reached one, he wrapped his lips around your nipple, eyes closing as he sucked away at it. His other hand rested on your other titty, massaging within his heavy hand. Back arching, clenching around nothing as you hissed in pleasure. He hummed against your warm skin, tongue swirling around the sensitive tit. Slowing down his massages, he wrapped his thick fingers around your free nipple, slowly pressing down and adding pressure.

Moaning, you couldn't help but say, “I always knew you had a thing for them.”

Inhaling sharply at the sudden pinch of pain that shot through you, you narrowed your eyes at Kento who smirked as much as he could against you before lifting his head up. His lips wet with drool, he immediately switched between the two, sucking away as well. You were soaked, pussy dripping away within your panties as he did this. Soon he let go before immediately moving down, resting his hands around your hips, and maneuvering his fingers underneath the lingerie. He pulled them off your body, throwing them onto the floor. His eyes stared right up at you as he lowered his head, before glazing down and focusing on what he was doing.

“Oh fuck—” your loud voice cut through, and your head was thrown back as you felt his lips wrap around your clit, sucking away harshly at it as well.

You could feel his fingers rubbing circles into your inner thighs licking and sucking away at your pussy. Feeling his thumb, parting your inner labia before placing his lips right back on your sopping cunt. Your body squirmed, yet his firm hold on your thigh could only get you so far. He was a madman, sinking two of his fingers within you as he continued to eat away at you. Kento brought you to depths you had yet to understand yet, and the highlight of the night wasn’t even here.

“So wet,” he mumbled against you, leaving wet kisses against you.

You cried, curling into him as he continuously devoured within you, sinking another finger into you “want more, please, please, fuckfuck, gimme more! Fuck!—!”

You screeched, back arching towards the sky as you came unexpectedly, clenched tightly around his now three fingers still moving deep within you. Your hands suddenly weaved themselves within his blond hair, pulling harshly as your arousal dripped all over him. Your sudden orgasm deterred nothing from him, Kento still lapping away at and within you as if you didn’t reach your peak of the night. Your body began trembling unconsciously, your clit feeling the effects of overstimulation.

“Oh wait, fuck fuck fuck too much! Oh my GOD!”

Still, he didn’t stop, his ministrations leading you to another, much shorter orgasm for the night. Breathing heavily as you felt him slowly remove himself from you. Arms stretched across your face as you caught your breath, peeking from behind as you caught a glance of him slowly removing his boxers. Once he tossed his boxers to the ground, he reached out towards you, screeching as he grabbed at your hips before pulling down towards him a bit. He wrapped your legs around his own waist again, lifting right up off the bed. Cursing, you immediately hold onto him across his neck, so you don’t fall. About to speak, before feeling sudden pressure right against your cunt. Slowly, he lowered you down, his thickness stretching you out in different ways.

“Kento, oh, oh my fucking god!”

His loud heavy grunts and groans resonated through the room, vibrating especially in your ear. Your grip on his was tight as he lifted you up and down his cock.

“Fuck— don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he groaned in your ear.

Gasping, you moved your face to look at him as he spoke to you.

“My pretty little lawyer, all fucked out, look at you,” his tone had a twinge of condescension.

“You’ve been so good to me these past five years,—fuck— “

His words had you clenching around, unable to say anything as his thrust got quicker and quicker, hitting deeper and deeper inside you. His lips soon began pressing harsh kisses on your neck, feeling his hot breath blow against your sensitive skin.

“Taking me so fucking well,” he mumbled again, his tongue lapping up the sweat dripping down.

“Kento,” you moaned, “oh my god, ohmygod ohmygod,” was all you could say as you convulsed within his hold, feeling his mushroom tip kiss up against your cervix.

“Hmm, you gonna come for me, you gonna come all over me?” His own thrusts were erratic, his short hair falling over his forehead.

Throwing your head back as your body let off a violent tremble, “yesyesyesYES!”

With that final shout, your orgasm came crashing down, spilling all over him. Your shaky movements didn’t stop Kento, his thrusts still as heavy as your cum dripping down your thighs. His actions consumed you all over again, before letting out a heavy groan, slamming into you for the final. Gasping, feeling the way he filled you up, his grip on your thighs having the possibility of leaving deep-dark bruises all over.

“Fuc…” gasping, your head dropping onto his shoulder.

You could feel him carrying you towards the bed, before slowly laying you across the comfortable sheets and blankets. Slowly regaining feeling within your limbs, you began to sit up as you felt the space beside you sink down. You pulled the blanket up to you, relishing in the soft feel as you saw a movement towards your right. Glancing over, you found a hand holding a glass with ice within it. Thanking him softly, you took the glass before taking a sip, the drink cooling your body down. It allowed you to move up, sitting up fully, bringing the comforter with you.

“Feeling better?” His voice was slightly hoarse as he asked you

You nodded your head, not saying anything as you finished the glass, placing it on the nightside table. You could feel the comforter move right under you before feeling warm arms wrapped around, squealing before feeling pull you down into the bed. You couldn't help but giggle, squirming a bit as you felt his warm breath brush up against the hairs of your neck.

“If only your men knew how much of a cuddle buddy you are,” you mumbled against him, feeling his arms wrapped around your waist and hips.

You placed your own hands underneath your head, right on top of his chest.

“Well then, looks like it's another secret for you to keep then.”

You laughed at that, before slowly closing your eyes, a heavy tired feeling falling over the two of you.

taglist: @joviallljas @bokutossidepiece @cienakim @monsterha-blog @slvt4dabi @teenagecookieexpertangel @gyusbrownie @genofae @5cmbackto-you @eddiesbunnie @wheresclaire @ryumiii @prexeca @nanamikentobrainrot @ddymarie @sugarloafi @atsumulovemail @axidthot @rzrsblog @sxylenaa @gardenof-venus @whimsical--duck @kakashi-mask20 @banolicious @a-mars-0 @diorlov3er @justnamuaf @lik0 @artistyuki-blog @Iysa1201 @poutyoonkook @black-mariposa22 @guguug1 @tookiostqr @daddybugs101 @dionne-dior @reapersan

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delicrieux · 1 year ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 & 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐞 | endless oneshots (winter edition)

pairing—regulus black x reader genre—angstyyy summary—a moment shared in the living room word count—3.4k

masterlist. ☕. reqs are open!

the wall distracts you. the great family tree of the noble house of black. on their velvet sofa you find yourself quite small faced with the vastness of the room – in front, the magnificent tapestry of a lineage woven into time and into objects, like a permanent impact; in back, the frost covered windows, and further still, the late afternoon glow of the sun burning the whole of london. you imagine, briefly, yourself painted in. your small portrait and your name. you long for it in moments; you know no other wish. the shape of you has been made for this only.

how tedious. how meticulously exact the needlework must be to look appealing. how with your wand you can only return the inner lapel of regulus’ coat to its pristine condition and begin again. each time, the frustration threatens to spill through bitten lips. an uncaring loop thrusts through skin and hits bone. you give up, almost, with the silver thread coiled around your fingers like a hair. r. a. b. shouldn’t be too hard, should it? three letters only, sown by hand, a small, meaningless claim to a coat he already owns. as if he can’t recognize his things, how silly. by the seventh poke you wonder if this odyssey has any significance to it. why grapple to capture a tempest in a teapot? you could easily weave it into existence with magic.

it would still be a kind gesture, a thoughtful one. an affectionate one, even, if regulus cared to look – see the tired hands, the waxen expression, the lapel grasped so tightly. the look you’d give for a second because you couldn’t bear to be more honest than that. i did it for you, please wear it and think of me.

but no, it must be done by hand, else the magic won’t work. something about labor, the repetitive loop and pull that sows in more than letters. fixes more than thread. such a potent protection, only from what you can’t say. in a blood-warm waters of a dream, you puzzled over a crystalline cave in search of something precious, only you couldn’t recall what. in april of next year, regulus will die there, and you’ll never know. but he’ll wear the coat with his initials woven by your hand, and that will be enough.

you don’t look up when he enters, but you recognize the footsteps. regulus is never direct, at least, not with you. he’ll circle the tapestry and then circle the windows and circle the coffee table and then he’ll have nothing left to admire so he’ll admire you. sit beside, throw a glance at your pious work and draw, with his eyes, the shape of your profile. think, perhaps, of a branch of the family tree from his portrait to something that doesn’t yet exist, or the rose-bush pattern of the couch and how one branch connects his shoulder with yours.

“what are you doing?”

“making sure you don’t lose your things,” what a non-response, as if he’s known to misplace objects or articles of clothing. regulus can be careless, but never to warrant worry over useless matters such as this. he has many coats, and can purchase just as many if not more, and if petty, he can pilfer from sirius and row because the silence had grown too loud, “don’t make fun of me, it has to be hand-stitched or the enchantments will fade."

"i was never going to," he says, a faint twitch of amusement about the mouth. regulus always likes that you take his jokes seriously or his comments too light. that, from anyone else, you'd hardly even register. it makes him special, perhaps. as though only he is worth the recognition, or you desire him to have it, "...is this my birthday gift?"

"birthday, don't make me laugh," you mumble, biting the inside of your cheek, "would hardly be appropriate. it's a christmas gift."

"christmas." is the offhanded response. a statement, an assessment, but without judgement. only regulus can wield that so cooly. can live in between worlds that should not overlap. androgyne in tone and disposition, and the sound of it, your name, sweet as any chocolate. you glance up and smile wryly, "oh."

"oh indeed," you utter, and the final, hesitant thread is plunged to the fabric. his initials gleam as freshly cut silver. you offer him the needlework, "there." pride fits in your mouth like a candy well liked, sweetens the tone into something likely mocking, "not bad, is it, regulus? or perhaps you think hand-stitching is out of fashion and outdated, a lost art of our aristocratic roots."

regulus doesn't respond. his touch is a cautious one. fingers slide gently across the intricate curve of his initials and trail it upward to the collar and you pretend not to notice. regulus must always inspect things like an artist inspects his pieces. with a certain amount of scorn and longing.

"if it's for christmas," regulus says quietly, still running his fingers along the letters, "do i need to return a gift to you?"

you stop yourself short of giving the response that is right at the tip of your tongue. the verbiage is odd. instead, "return?"

"yes. to match, or rather, one that compliments. does such a custom matter much?"

"ah, well," it does, of course it does. such gifts are not for two sides. they're something sacred for one side only. he's not nimble with his fingers nor patient enough to wield a needle. he'd quit before the first draw of blood on cloth from his useless hands. he could magic it, but that would feel like a lie. what is this offer, or is it a suggestion? an implication? more daring than the look he gives you, certainly. no, he couldn't possibly imply something so domestic. regulus is not the type. so it can only be you reading too much. a stanza where there should be none, "you'd ruin my coat."

"naturally," regulus doesn't smile, not even to go along with his deadpanned tone, as though he could think of no better possibility, but you know better, or at least you tell yourself this. you do; how his head tips slightly towards you, the steady gaze, and the quirk of his brow, it's a rare breed of expression he dons only to you, when he can't bring himself to a more chaste form. you could spend hours sorting every fraction of difference, so keen they are to the point that you swear they must exist. you wouldn't be surprised if someone else says they see nothing,"... a handmade gift for a handmade gift. just for you."

"for me," is all you can muster in response, perhaps hoping you'd hear it clearer, and less vague and silly, in your mouth than his. he has given you presents. lovely, but impersonal. his brother shows more interest even if he has none for you. sirius hears but regulus listens and then willfully picks things everyone would like to receive. the ideal gifts, never with heart or consideration, yet you wear them proudly to hide your bitterness, because such attention is not unwanted, and neither is this. regulus is not incapable of more but his more is reduced to a subtle nothing, like a glance at the tapestry and a thought.

"...the needle's sharp." is the offhand observation, "you're bleeding."

regulus's concern is odd and undefined; you're not the most affectionate of friends. the fondness shared, the gentle jibes, are for you, really, because how else can you convince yourself you're happy. or to soothe the aching of that pesky hope, the wish and want of the moon reflected upon water. your gaze is steady. your hand is steady, "see how much i care?" and you hold up your middle finger with a smile, "i bleed for you."

he does look at it. his lips quirk into a ghost of a smile. "do you." he says, and returns to you, the trace of a frown on his face as though he's grown distressed with such a gesture, and like an adult will scold their pet for bad behavior, says, "really, that's quite silly. no, worse. don't do such unnecessary things to your pretty hands."

pretty, he says, and how easy would it be to mock him or put him in his place with a joke and a teasing word or two. is he making fun of you again? it's only an insult when delivered to the point. and it would feel worse when he isn't, when he's just offering a compliment in a strange sort of way.

"doesn't hurt that much." you say with a confidence unshaken, and the wounds are so meager they're not even worth healing. they'll dry and close before he can lift his wand for episkey or conjure a bandage. but they'll remain, for a day or two, as proof of your diligence. the methodical elegance that comes from creating a handmade gift. you'll look at your hands and know they have worked to protect him.

it hurts a bit more when he reaches for them. if you really did want to press, he'd insist or, with a haughty glare, defy you and prove the strength of his own silly pride, but he only asks, and then, does so with such tenderness you would think he held glass and not your injured hands, the result of a restless task meant for his comfort. your fingers stings the slightest against the brush of his fingertips, calloused and slightly cold, "...you've always been a fool."

"only when it matters," you say softly.

when he says your name, he lingers on the last syllable, with the tilt of his head and the curious narrow of his eyes. to pick apart and discern. to wonder. only briefly, like all his attentions, does the hand linger. the expression you want is not one he'd be willing to show so clearly, not even in the warmth of the dying light.

"stop saying ridiculous things." regulus says after a pause. he won't, however, release your hands. they remain there in his grip, unmoving and together.

"learn to take a joke," you answer.

he leans forward. "make it funny and perhaps i will."

"funny," you can't say a thing to that, yet you've thought up many. later, when he is asleep and his pale face is illuminated by the moonlit night, you'll recite all the things you could not.

"got nothing else to say?" a quirk of the lip. joined hands, fingers intertwined, though not so securely. loose enough that if the mood strikes or a strange sentiment overcomes him, he'd break them apart and away.

"oh, plenty," you can't keep your face straight, and so your smile is quick to return, "i’ve only taken pity on you. did you miss the sound of my voice already?"

"very presumptuous, aren't we," he glances aside, "and really, so outlandish. the nerve. you have the nerve."

"i suppose i do." you squeeze his hand lightly, "nerve. candor. the quality that earns a great admirer."

"or the ire of all who know you best," he tilts his head to the side, glances quickly at you, and with a surprising amount of assertiveness, curls his fingers tighter around yours, "i appreciate that you'd like to share your charisma but some people don't consider charm to be a particularly laudable virtue."

"that's such a bad lie that i might as well be told you don't think i'm charming at all, not in the slightest. and oh, there we are, what a pout. you're entirely predictable."

"and you entertain me, still."

"you're the one that holds my hands hostage," you note wryly, wiggling your fingers slightly.

regulus doesn't have a quick response for that. at most he offers the roll of his eyes. doesn't let go, simply presses. let's a drop of your blood stain his skin. when he speaks again, he's grown thoughtful, "...hostage, yes?"

"...oh, do stop that," a pause. the silence lingers, "no, that's quite unfair."

"do you think so or not?"

your pulse throbs loud enough to deafen you. it is a foolish question and the answer is a clear enough indication of what you think. what motive could he have? to delight at the humiliation of your confession or to watch you tangled in a lie you clearly don't believe? the truth is so obvious it's untactful to inquire about its validity.

he sounds so serious as his thumb brushes along the dips and hills of your knuckles, "well? your answer? or is a minute not enough to think of something witty?"

at this, you frown, "regulus." and it comes quiet, like a warning.

"thought it came naturally to you. such creativity."

he has grown to be cruel sometimes. most times, rather, when it suits him to be. a petty, petulant thing not yet ready to leave its comfortable shell and grow beyond, "you must be eager for me to release you," he adds. a bitter afterthought.

"are you done?" you ask.

"what shall you do with your hands once they’re free?" he wonders, "sow something for sirius? he’d be wrecked if he didn’t receive a gift like mine."

"regulus." you repeat with a frown, "don't."

"why not?" he blinks.

"a gift doesn't mean anything if it's a gift for the masses."

"well, it'll be custom, i imagine," he says, "with his initials this time."

"regulus," a third time you've said it, a sharp tongue to cut, "stop it. you're being mean."

his eyes are cast downward, expression impassive. "if this is what it takes to get you to respond, then perhaps i am."

this isn't the game. the one where he'll pretend not to care so as to observe how you'll react. it is the type where you'll act cold enough he'll hesitate. then he'll carelessly expose himself so the hurt can be delivered with ease. an offense so great you'll seek the sweet relief of exile.

"i made it for you," you utter, barely a whisper, "no one else."

"is that so."

"if you don't want it, i won't force you to keep it."

"no, i like it," his expression has remained the same, if not with a certain lack of conviction, a flat tone you want to interpret as some half lie, but you don't. instead you nod. a half-hearted turn of your head before meeting his eyes.

"a bit possessive, don't you think? getting so cross over a made up problem?" you inquire.

"made up, huh?" you like the inflections of his voice, and even in his reluctance he maintains them, the gentle flow, the steadfast determination to the subject.

"mhm."

"thought it was logical to assume. you're friends."

"i have a different gift planned for him."

"different?" he clarifies.

"quite," you say, all sorts of bitter, "a broom cleaning kit."

that, at least, seems to somewhat appease him. and regulus settles, ever so slightly, his brow a faint twitch. the motion you always want to trace with your fingers, and map along until you memorize every curve and line and plane of his face.

he adjusts your hands again, idly thumbing over the slope and curve. he is thoughtful again, contemplative and somber and nothing more. a lingering fear clings to the curve of his mouth, "do you ever wish you could disappear?"

the question has no context, and it strikes you as the type that never did, with a subtle heaviness he is familiar with the implications of. it is only in a selfish way that the fear occurs. his isolation, perhaps. or he must assume that all others can share a similar loneliness, though only in different quantities.

"do you?" you ask instead.

"perhaps. sometimes. maybe not." he does, you think, look as though he often considers running away to somewhere no one else is aware of him. or if he's not wanted there, then elsewhere. somewhere remote and a touch fantastical. a desperate escape from family tradition, from being the second born son. a desire, or rather, absconding from responsibility. to be far and forgotten; to live a life you believe would bring you some semblance of peace and happiness, though not enough for the longing to subside and never enough for him to admit to it. no, regulus would first die than admit it out loud.

admit the envy he has for his brother. admit to wonder if anyone would look for him if he was to disappear.

you would. even if the rest wouldn't, you would. and if they did, how angry it'd make them if you refused to quit searching. it strikes you suddenly and without remorse, as if you've been pushed into a pile of snow. it's him you were searching for in your dream.

"no, then?" his voice shakes you away. your expression had frozen over, had it? how rare it is, to see worry worn so openly in the shape of those brows.

"sometimes," you answer honestly, though you're never quite sure where that might be. a growing, restless worry expands in the pit of your stomach. as though your nightmare is not so far from becoming reality. that one day, you'll search for him to the edge of the earth only to never find him again, "you aren't thinking of leaving, are you?"

he's taken aback by your expression. "of course not," he reassures, and he seems as though he means it, "i'm only indulging hypotheticals."

"alright."

"are you okay?"

"sure. yes. yes, absolutely."

regulus peers at you closely, scrutinizing, the gesture intense and pointed in its nature. and he returns to tracing the veins on your skin, a practiced art. a light tickle that has you shivering, not that you'd want to move away. never from him.

you hear him, soft and hushed. perhaps it is more suited to the intimacy of the moment and not that he's become ashamed. a faint, lovely mumbling that you would like to indulge forever if possible, "i'm really not going anywhere." he brings your hand to his lips after a moment of hesitation, like he needs the courage, the comfort. an earnest reassurance in a form of a small kiss as if it were his own insecurities at play, "here's okay. here's more than enough."

you nod. whisper, when you realize how close the two of you have become, "yes, stay here."

"...you as well."

"i will."

"wouldn't want to run around looking for someone who's meant to stay within my sights, anyways."

and it is you that laughs a little too hard to seem genuine, "as though you'd do such a thing."

he answers with a confidence unshaken yet poorly disguised by the restraint shown, "i don't plan on ever losing sight of you."

your eyes meet and hold, but neither will ever confess to be the one who glanced away first. for different reasons, perhaps, and no less of a humiliation. no less difficult to accept. the sight of him is too difficult to bear; the hair framing his face and the gentle hue of pink that grows steadily redder the longer he holds your gaze. he drops your hand first, and you resist the urge to run your fingertips down the sharp of his jaw and feel the softness of his skin or tug his bottom lip and hear the shuddering intake of air. to feel what can't be expressed, at least, not so simply.

you can't blame regulus for not wanting to admit it. he's shaped by his surroundings, has grown up in a family that doesn't permit affections. he doesn't know the structure of i'm sorry or thank you or i love you. but if only for a second, surely, he can try to imitate. you treasure each of his clumsy syllables and failed tries because he has never attempted anything of this sort for anyone else. the success doesn't matter, because he is earnest, at least to the degree of his own understanding and limit, and it's easier to say what's painful in silence.

or, maybe, nothing's difficult when the sun's nearly gone. when the window pane burns pink and white, and when the stars appear through the haze of fog and snow, and you think of the future, with him, but as the heirs of two prominent houses together, and it feels like a fairy tale that way, not quite real. so long as you imagine it with a dreamy detachment, you can convince yourself it doesn't matter further than a wish that will never come true.

because you've never learned to say i'm sorry or thank you or i love you, either.

thank u for reading <3

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus x reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter #hp #hogwarts #imagine #imagines #reader #reader insert #xreader #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #regulus black imagine #the marauders #the marauders x reader #ITS TIMOTHEE CHALAMET !

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angel-of-the-moons · 4 months ago

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A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Annnngsssstttttt, mentions of sexual abuse but nothing is depicted, Steven being the bean that he is, Reader does a smort, knowledge is power, and knowing is half the battle lol

A/N: Finally! Things are falling into place! Will Steven reveal the truth? Nah.

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika @fog-sama @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @badbishsblog @lillycore555 @stardream14 @meowmeowyoongles @kate-ohara @kittenlover614 @patchesofwork @enheduannasposts

Chapter 15:

Sphinx of Black Quartz

"Steven?"

Steven winced when you said his name, almost shrunk away when your hands squished his cheeks as you peered into his eyes; your gaze full of confusion, concern and... maybe a little hurt?

"I, uh... well... I..." He blathered, tugging on his sleeves anxiously, his nails pinching the threading in an effort to ground himself.

"Wait, what?" You released his face pressing your finger to the sides of your head as you gawked at him like he'd grown a second head. Not that that wasn't too far off the mark...

Technically speaking, we could be considered Cerberus then, couldn't we? Steven had asked himself.

"No, what?" You asked again, blinking at him as your brain struggled to catch up. One minute, you and Marc and Puck were just relaxing and chatting over some coffee, and then... The moment you got that phone call about the shipment you'd gotten approved for, and then Marc was just... screaming, yelling at the air. "Stay away from her!" He had cried, "She's our friend!"

Did he have a psychotic break? Had something happened on that trip he had taken--

Wait.

The "trip"? Was that even the truth? How was it, that Steven Grant sat before you know, where just moments before, Marc Spector had stood?

"Steven?" You repeated.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed at the lump there, and he nodded, a few stray curls bouncing free as he hunched over a bit on himself, continuing to pluck at the long shirt you'd loaned him.

"Y-Yes." He replied softly, his eyes shying away from you. Looking anywhere but you.

He was... he was afraid. Steven was afraid of you?

"I..."

Steven had taken a scant second to lock eyes with you again, taking in the depths of your gaze with lucid intensity--before darting away again.

"Steve." You breathed, rubbing your temples. "I... what? What happened to--did Marc--I... Can you please explain before I have an aneurysm? Did Marc have a psychotic episode?"

"Not... not far from it, actually." Steven mumbled again. His posture stiffened when Puck meowed at him, sauntering up to crawl into his lap, rubbing herself along his chest.

"Oh, hello... who're you?" Steven asked, getting distracted by the furry critter. His hands stopped plucking and tugging on his sleeves in favor of stroking Puck's silky black fur, "You're a sweet one, eh?"

You blinked for the millionth time at him, your brain abuzz with confusion, wanting--no, craving--some sort of explanation. You watched for another moment as Steven was suddenly laser-focused on Puck, speaking softly to the cat, petting her with his shaky hands.

"Steven.." You said gently.

His shoulders jumped when he remembered you were staring at him. "O-oh, s-sorry, luv."

Puck curled up in his lap, loafing as she blinked up at you slowly. Oh, you wished you could read her little kitty mind to hear what she thought of the situation...

Steven swallowed roughly once more, his hands petting Puck again--likely in an effort to relax himself from suddenly being brought to the forefront of this situation. His tongue swept across his lips before drawing it between his teeth; trying to think about where to begin.

"Marc is... W-We are..." He began to murmur, staring intently down at the soft black cat occupying his lap.

"It's difficult to explain, um... But we--Jake 'n me--we... We live in Marc's head. S-Sort of? We--we share the body, we... Uh. B-But it's not all the time, er... Sometimes not all of us are aware of what goes on when one of us is in control of the body, and..." He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead while the other continued to almost frantically stroke Puck.

"Oh, bollocks! We--we didn't want you to find out like this, but Marc..." He hissed out an upset sigh; "He was--he was upset, and... I tried to calm him down from inside, but he just... he checked out, and..."

You stare intently at him, his nervous posture, how he just seemed more... Submissive in the moment. A complete change from the guarded, stiff Marc you'd come to know. And the rather calm and carefree (almost) Jake, at Steven's admission.

Your brain began connecting the dots; one by one. So... Jake had been in control of the body these past few weeks. And... Marc and Steven weren't aware. You remembered how shocked Marc had been when you'd told him about having dinner with Jake in your flat; how Marc--and now Steven--didn't recognize Puck.

You always thought the three of them looked too similar to be triplets--they even had the same scars on their hands.

They "shared" the body. But at times weren't aware what was going on when one of them "checked out", as Steven had plainly put it.

Jake was apparently nowhere to be seen, Steven was trying to be a calming influence on Marc...

"Steven..." You said slowly, watching as his deep, soulful eyes finally crawled up to lock with yours. "Do you--do you have dissociative identity disorder?"

Steven rocked his head back, shaking it slightly as he gawked at you, bewildered, "How do you--"

"I own a bookstore, Steven," You said to him, your voice rather deadpan. "I've definitely read a few of the dozen and a half of the psychology textbooks and studies on psychological disorders."

"Oh... right. Heh..." He coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"So..." You reached out and clasped his fingers in yours, making Steven's heart leap with anxiety once again.

Puck jumped from his lap as you took his other hand, gently guiding him to his feet and leading him back to your sofa. "...explain it to me, okay? If I ask a question that upsets you... please tell me. You won't have to answer it. I just... I'd like to know who I've been making friends with."

Layla groaned as she crawled back through the window, cursing as she bonked her head on the windowsill. Yeah, she had the helmet, but it was still annoying to have her proverbial eggs scrambled.

She spent most of the day hammering down on a cruel scheme begotten by a group of rather cruel landlords and real estate agents--they would find legal loopholes in contracts and leases, they abused the power they held over their tenants--in some cases sexually in return for "breaks" in rent--some, they would evict with little to no reason, sell out the rentals from beneath the feet of others...

Taweret had pleaded with Layla to put a stop to it. Even Khonshu had helped her for a bit, watching from the sidelines and giving his (not really wanted) input. The truth was, it was a sort of criminal gang behind it all, they just paid the landlords and agents to get a hefty chunk of the proceeds from their illicit goings-on. But... somewhere during her mission, Khonshu had left. Taweret had seemed miffed; annoyed that Khonshu would up and leave after being so bothersome and insisting that they "needed his help"...

She arched her back, groaning as the helmet slid away; vanishing to free her curls with a bounce. Pressing her hands against the curve of her spine, she looked around as the rest of her holy garb melted away.

"Marc?" She asked the empty flat.

No answer. Strange. She left him here earlier. He'd expressed no interest in going out today; especially given the weather outside.

Layla pulled her cell out of her back pocket and unlocked it, dialing the boys' phone. As she held it up to her ear, she became aware that the ringtone buzzed from somewhere in the flat.

"Marc?" Layla asked, not hanging up quite yet as she walked through the proverbial minefield of Steven's books, DIY'd desk, past Gus & Co's fish tank... to the bed in the back of the room.

It was made neatly--Marc's habit, definitely. Steven always left the bed in a mess, often forgetting to make it until just before he settled down for the night. Odd, how he would leave it a tangled nest all day and only be able to sleep in it if it were made up just before cosying down to sleep.

She shook her head and furrowed her brows as her eyes settled upon their cellphone, laying tossed at the edge of the bed, ringing.

"Lonely is A Man." Steven's favorite little jingle that she'd be lying about if she didn't say it got caught in her head every other day since coming back to London from doing Taweret's work in Cairo. It annoyed her how often she would find herself humming the tune...

She picked up the phone and hung hers up, sliding it back into her jeans, staring at it curiously as she walked back into the main area of the flat, and into the kitchenette.

She sighed, frowning even deeper. Khonshu's work, no doubt. The old bastard always had something to do with it when Marc (and by extension Steven and Jake) would vanish with no word. But why leave their phone? Did Khonshu have them doing something dangerous? Shady?

"Gods, what have you gotten yourselves into, Marc..?" Layla groaned, pressing her hands to her forehead as she leaned over the counter.

As she opened her eyes, she looked over the granite countertop, staring at the abandoned phone. Something was wrong. Something she didn't quite like. She--

Her long eyelashes batted for a moment, sweeting her cheeks as she tried to fathom what else her eyes had just landed on. Mail. Not just any mail, but bills in Marc's name. The address for some of said bills being...

She and Marc's old address, from when they had been married.

Her fingers quickly snatched up the envelope and used the letter opener to get a look at its contents. As she unfolded the paper, her eyes scanned the writing with lightning efficiency.

It was a receipt. A receipt for paid rent and utilities. Had he really been paying the rent and electric at an apartment he no longer used..? Why? Why wouldn't he mention that?

Taweret suddenly appeared, her ears flopping about in concert, "Layla? Something the matter, m'love? I sensed you were upset."

"Marc is gone. Left his phone." She replied on a mumbled breath as she continued to read through the other receipts, blindly walking through the flat until a sparkle caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

A keyring. Marc's keyring, glittering under the buzzing fluorescent lights of the flat.

"Layla?"

"He's been paying our old bills, still." Layla further explained, setting the receipt on the end table by the door as she plucked the ring off the hook on the wall.

Her thumb caressed the scratched-up colorful key once depicting a rather cheery cartoon house; faded writing that said "home" at the flattest end of it, making her heart twinge slightly.

Some things Marc just really couldn't let go...

"He must still be doing mercenary work. Or, Jake is at least, to be able to afford both flats on his own."

Taweret frowned, tilting her head to the side, "What are you going to do?"

"Well, I'm going to see if he's been by the place, today... and when I get back--assuming he's back home by then--lecture him for letting me sleep in that sofa of his. I got a crick in my neck from it!"

The goddess giggled, nodding, "Be careful, Layla. Oh! And grab your umbrella!"

The woman grinned up at her, grabbing her scarf Jake had knitted for her, and her coat; before snatching up said protection from the sleet outside, wiggling it.

"Way ahead of you."

"So... Marc was arguing with... one of you?" You asked, your brows pinched as you try to make sense of thr fragmented story Steven was unfurling before you.

"Well, er... kind of. He was having a bit of... panic?" He laughed anxiously, his fingers carding through Puck's fur. The little cat seemed content to let Steven work out his nervous energy by petting her; her silky fur being a very nice texture for his hands to fiddle with while he rambled on for you.

"He has been having a bit of internalized guilt, lately, over... things."

""Things" being..."

"Things that, um..." He scratched Puck's chin as he thought carefully of what to say. He couldn't just spill the proverbial pot of beans to you. Like you'd believe him, anyway. Having cursory knowledge of the psychological... problems that they suffered with was one thing, but he sincerely doubted you believed that Egyptian gods were real, or that they and Layla were Avatars to two of said gods...

"I don't know if Marc would be comfortable with sharing much of it, 'm afraid."

"Does it... have something to do with him being a Marine? I know how common it is for soldiers to develop PTSD." You murmur softly, your eyes casting down into your half-empty mug. You and Steven had switched to decaf tea; the gravity and air inside your flat far too tense for the caffeine-loaded drinks you and Marc had imbibed just before.

Your eyes looked back into his, and, uncharacteristically, Steven was gazing right back, connecting with you.

"Is... that how... you know. You and Jake..?"

Steven shook his head, his curls flopping about, "No, DID sort of... it typically happens during traumatic events during childhood. In some people it isn't obvious until much later, and is sometimes misdiagnosed as schizophrenia or multiple personalty disorder. Marc has just been feeling... guilty, lately. Over people he... couldn't save."

As he uttered that last phrase oh so meekly, you could see that poor Steven was feeling Marc's internalized guilt as well. Your heart broke for them. You reached out and placed your hand on his shoulder, feeling how tense he was.

"Does Layla know?"

"Yes. That's part of why... why Marc has been so upset lately." Steven replied softly, nuzzling into Puck as she stood with her front paws on his soft chest, sniffing at his hair.

"He had an... episode. He woke up and... he was on top of Layla and he was--he was going to hurt her, and--he snapped out of it, but--"

"He feels guilty about it." You finished for him, your heart sinking in sympathetic despair.

Steven nodded and looked up at you, practically hiding behind Puck, "Yeah. Layla told him it was okay, that it happens, but Marc is just so... stubborn. He tries to handle everything himself when it comes to stuff like this; doesn't want the help Jake and I try to give 'im."

"And what does Jake have to say? Is he... listening right now?" You asked.

"No. He and Marc are..." Steven forced out a sigh as Puck settled down again, rolling to show her his belly that he was more than happy to rub for her, relishing in how hard she was purring, the vibration soothing as it thrummed through his hands.

"Sometimes we... we recede into the background. Into our own little "rooms" in the headspace." He explained difficultly, your poor brain trying to follow. "When we're in there, we aren't really aware of what's going on, or even feel each other. It's why I didn't know Marc or Jake existed--why I didn't know the body wasn't actually mine."

"Your headspace is where you share things with each other..?" You tried, tilting your head.

"Yes! Well, in basic terms. It's... I don't know how else to explain it to you, I'm afraid." He muttered awkwardly, poking at Puck's toe beans one by one.

"That's okay... I think if you try to explain anymore my head is going to explode." You chuckle softly, sipping at your tea.

Steven finally cracked a smile.

"It is quite a lot to absorb, innit?" He asked you, smiling a bit wider as Puck grabbed his hand with her paws and tugged it closer to her body.

You smiled affectionately as Puck seemed so intent on helping Steven relax, pulling out every ounce of cute feline charm her tiny body could muster. "Puck really likes you guys... Y'know when she first met Jake she snatched his glove and ran off with it? Stuffed it right into her little cubby where she hoards her toys I keep buying for her."

"Oh, no!" He laughed quietly, booping Puck on her little nose.

"Mhmm... that's kind of why I named her Puck." You explained, setting your mug onto the coaster on your coffee table.

"After the trickster fae from A Midsummer Night's Dream?" He grinned widely.

His knowledge of folklore didn't surprise you one bit; you nodded, grinning right back. "She doesn't spoil milk or lead people astray at night... But she certainly has her moments."

Steven sighed, smiling fondly at the fluffy little terror currently occupying his lap, "No, I'd say she does a very good job at bering very sweet when she wants to be..."

A comfortable, pregnant silence stretched between you, only interrupted by Puck's very loud purring. Until, Steven cleared his throat, rolling his shoulder as he looked away briefly.

"So... you invited Jake up here, too..?"

"Oh, yeah. That goof! I walked in on him at the market trying to buy one of those cheap microwave meals!" You huffed, rolling your eyes.

Steven seemed appalled at the news, but not at all surprised, "He didn't!"

"Nope, 'cause I didn't let him." You told him, "I finished my shopping and dragged his butt back here and made him eat an actual meal."

Steven was quiet for another moment, fidgeting awkwardly in his seat. His face seemed to get a little flush as he cleared his throat once again, the sound rough and forced.

"What's wrong?"

"Jake didn't... oh, bloody hell." Steven wiped a hand down his face, unable to meet your eyes as his face heated up, "Jake didn't... didn't try to... to..."

He swallowed, "...do it with you or anything?"

You could just hear the record scratch on an antique vinyl player as your brain came to a halt. His words sank in, and you couldn't keep down the laughter that bubbled out from inside of you, rocking back onto your side on the cushion as the humor of his question overtook you.

"I--! I'm only askin' because he's--he's kind of done it b'fore!" Steven squawked nervously, confident his face was eight shades of red right now. "Bloke thinks of himself as a bloody Casanova, he does! Damned bellend..."

You giggled again, sitting up to look at him, mirth overtaking the glimmer in your eye, happy the tension in the air was finally alleviated, "No, Steven, Jake and I didn't "do it". We had dinner, and Puck annoyed him for a bit. That's it."

He seemed to deflate and relax at your admission, trusting you wholly, "...Oh. Well, good. We'd rather him not ruin one of the relatively normal friendships we have by... boinking you."

His choice of words once again made you break out laughing, tears burning in your eyes as he floundered about nervously.

"Oh, my god--Steven! What are you, twelve?" You snorted, trying to gasp for air. ""Do it"? "Boinking"?! Pfsh!"

"H-Hey! The more vulgar language is usually Marc and Jake's territory, not mine!" He sputtered. "I try to stay more civilized, thank you very much!"

You snickered as he began to get all huffy, defending his quirky and conservative way of speaking rather haughtily.

"Right... right. Steven Grant, a man of absolute--snrk!--rectitude!" You squeaked, covering your mouth as a tear beaded in one of your eyes.

"Exactly! I'm the most sensible of--" Steven jerked his head to look at you, his mouth open wide.

"Wha--hey! You're still havin' a go at me, aren't you?!"

You just rolled back onto the couch, crying tears of laughter at the absurdity of your day as Steven fretted, muttering under his breath with a faint glow to his cheeks.

Chapter 16: Link

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #layla el faouly #Taweret #Khonshu

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