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toruforuu · 4 days ago

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gojo satoru x reader || hogwarts au (18+)

wonderwall chp.7 golden eulogies

✼pairing: hogwarts au - slytherin!gojo x ravenclaw!reader

✼summary: gojo satoru, the golden boy of a famous family lineage of wizards sets his sights on you, a half blood defying his pureblood morals. he makes it a goal in his life to make yours a living hell. years of endless pestering, teasing and rivalry stretching out. as times goes on, he finds himself thinking about you more than he isn’t. he grows torn between his family’s beliefs and the forbidden ache tickling his chest whenever he sees you

✼meaning: wonderwall - the person you cannot stop thinking about (song by oasis)

✼genre/tags: hogwarts au, female reader, strangers to enemies/sort of academic rivals to forbidden lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut, pining and yearning (mostly gojo), built up tension, teasing, bickering and pestering, jealousy, slightly spoiled gojo, obsessed and lovesick gojo, both are pretty oblivious to their feelings

✼warnings: discrimination, death, grief, shitty parents, light bullying, mentions of hook ups, sexual topics, family pressure and trauma, mentions of injuries and violence, degradation, mentions of political views, escalating political situation, lgbtq representation, cheating

✼word count: 10.9k

✼chapter: 7/?

a/n: what’s up guys:) this genuinely turned out to be one of my favs chapters i’ve ever written lmaoo. i looked forward to writing this one ever since i planned out the whole timeline, had to alter it a lot as my ideas kind of just come together as write. hopefully u don’t mind the longer chapters, lemme know if you’d prefer them shorter!

based on this // previous chapter // next chapter (pending…)

˚⟡˖ ࣪: link to playlist

˚⟡˖ ࣪: link to vision-board

Both of you agreed upon restricting your meetings and keeping them out of everyone’s sights. Throughout the next couple of weeks you act like the other doesn’t exist, but when the clock strikes midnight, you’re off to see each other. Every other night you’d meet at the very top of The Astronomy tower, because seeing each other at the edge of The Forbidden forest appeared to be far riskier and less accountable for. In those past weeks, you only went out to see the stag two times. Each time the same as the previous one, the magical being put together by mist patiently waiting and then disappearing into nothingness.

You discussed the possibility of the Patronus living on and wandering with your professor. The same one who offered you extra lessons. He confirmed that the owner of the Patronus truly would have to be dead in order for it to happen.

It provided you with no new information, but at least it felt like you were getting somewhere.

Overbearing hopes of solving the mystery behind the creature begin to decease as time went on, and the two of you remained unsuccessful in your mission. So many questions, so very few books written about it.

Could the appearance be connected to the Dementors floating around the school grounds?

Is it protecting something, or rather someone?

Frustration was swift to bloom due to the lack of answers.

“Sneaking off again?” a quiet voice asks sleepily in the darkness of your dorm-room just as your hand reaches for the handle. You stop in your tracks, heart pounding hard against your ribs as you’ve been caught by your best friend. You’ve shared the circumstances, not immediately, but you did as there’s nothing you can keep from here for too long. Arabella understood you chose to keep it a secret due to her state of mind.

That still doesn’t mean she approves of anything, quite the opposite actually.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually investing yourself into it,” Arabella goes on as you remain utterly silent, your back turned to her with head hanging low and your eyes glued to the wooden door. Her tone isn’t harsh nor meant to strike you, nonetheless, it irks you. Because you know she’s right to disagree with your choice.

“Didn’t your mom tell you to stay away?” her reminder stings, making you finally turn around to face her. Even if she can’t properly see you in the dead of the night — you yourself can barely map out her silhouette.

“Once we figure it out, it’s going back to normal,” you reassure her which causes her to let out a soft sigh, sounding defeated.

“A week ago you were here spiralling that he’s some evil mastermind, and now you’re helping him?” Arabella genuinely can’t see a single reason that turned you from a conspiracy lunatic to actually joining the suspicious outings, despite knowing the truth behind them.

“I told you what happened,” you mumble, tired of explaining of what she’s unable to grasp.

“I don’t want you to get into trouble. It’s still the same Gojo Satoru we’re talking about,” she exclaims, her tone suggesting protectiveness which you appreciate.

“It’s temporary,” you utter and it seems those two words change the course of the conversation towards the end.

Arabella blinks in the darkness, huffing out a sound of surrender.

“Be careful, okay?” is all she manages to come up with, no longer keeping you from going.

“Promise,” and with that you slip out of the door, tiptoeing your way through the common room and the empty corridors which give off sinister vibes under the blanket of the night.

As you reach your destination, you notice the ink-black sky, scattered with stars that feel just out of reach as you climb up the rough stone ledge of the Astronomy Tower. There’s only the light coming from your wand to guide you. A cool scrape of stone beneath your fingers as you hold for security, occasional flutterings of panic in your chest when you sense your foot slipping.

You swing your leg over the parapet, landing softly on the narrow ledge at the top of the stairs. The tower looms above the castle, still and ancient. The crispy wind rushes past like it’s trying to drag you over the railing, it sends shivers down your spine. Both the cold of the upcoming winter hanging in the air and the immense height of the building. You press yourself against the stone, catching your breath to realise you’re alone, he’s not here yet.

The courtyard below looks like a shadowy map, the sky above spread out along with the lake — limitless. You step forward slowly, boots leaping off the cold stone. Your hands reach for the railing, the metal cold.

You wait, arms crossed, heart beating with the thrill of the climb. It’s a completely different experience in the night.

Each minute stretches out like a thread, the silence around you stitched only with the distant hoot of an owl and the soft rustle of leaves. You glance back toward the entrance, half expecting him to appear out of nowhere like a ghost. At the heart of the tower is a massive orrery — a mechanical model of rings that orbit the solar system. It’s draped in a cloak of darkness, the outlook of it eerie. You sigh lightly and proceed to bend your body down to the level of the telescope, eyeing the constellations sprawled across the night sky.

You grow impatient and the chilly weather causes you to shake, which makes you pull your robe tighter against your body.

“Sorry, got held back for a little,” the white haired wizard makes his presence known, your body hitching a little at the unexpected sound. You straight your posture to glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze for acknowledgment.

“It’s okay, I didn’t find anything new anyway,” you shrug carelessly and crouch down to so sit by the railing. Legs dangling in the hollow space while the wintery breeze dances with the strands of your hair, tangling them together into knots.

“Yeah, me neither,” he agrees, stepping near the railing, leaning into it to observe the stars.

“I asked the professor during my additional lessons one more time, and he simply confirmed what we already knew,” your announcement makes him hum softly. You turn your head up to catch a glimpse of him, locks of his white hair curling due to the wind in a similar way.

“What of your extra lessons, doing any better?” with that his body motions to take a seat, throwing his legs over the edge as well. As if in response to that, you drape your arms over the metal bar of the railing and rest your chin on top of it.

“Still not able to conjure up the full form, getting there though,” you share your progress with him, regarding your Patronus. At first, you didn’t mean to tell him, but combing lies into it seemed stupid when the professor could’ve helped you on your hunt for answers. So you did mention your troubles to the Slytherin, expecting him to pester you about it. Surprisingly that never occurred, or at least it wasn’t spoken in between you.

“Good, assumed it would be easy for ya with some extra help,” he snickers with ease, orbs darting towards the sky. Mimicking your tracing of the constellations.

“And let me take a wild guess — you can,” you let out with embroidered irony, deducting the assumption from his effortless ways. You’d be shocked if he wouldn’t agree.

“Without a doubt,” he props himself onto his elbows as he speaks with his usual kind of natural confidence.

Of course he can.

You lightly chuckle, rolling your eyes even though it goes unnoticed by him.

“We’re not cracking it, are we?” you navigate the direction back to your original topic, peaking at him from the corner of your eyes. His eyes are shut as he leans back, trusting his elbows to hold him up — appearance hauntingly angelic under the gaze of the moon.

“I suppose not, but it was one hell of an adventure. You gotta admit it,” one of his orbs cracks open to look back at you while a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, pushing you to admit it was somewhat nice to step out of the circle of your comfort zone.

“It wasn’t bad,” you draw out with a short breath, not giving him the full satisfaction of a confession. Though it was rather thrilling. Having something meant to stay hidden, shared only with a handful of people. Lurking through the castle, meeting here at the tower late into the day had you in a magical chokehold. It smelled forbidden, and it tugs at your heartstrings that this is probably the end of the abnormality you two worked together for.

Satoru simply laughs out, finding your stubbornness amusing.

“I should go to bed, I have to get up early in the morning,” you voice out as the remains of his laughter ring through your ears, the chill of the night creeping onto you as you sit on the freezing rocky floor. You decide to carefully get up on your feet.

“L/N, wait,” his hand flies out, stopping in realisation few inches away from yours. It hovers in the air as his piercing orbs stare up at you, the action making you freeze in movement.

“Tell me another of your stories from the muggle world,” you blink down at him with confusion, wondering what it is that he’s hinting at with his words.

It comes to you a second later as his head cocks to the side, hand awkwardly moving back down.

The night before the attack at the world cup, when you told him the story behind the constellation’s name. That’s what he means.

“Please?” he coos mischievously before you manage to refuse him, and with that you can’t bring yourself to turn him down. You sit back down, doing as he intended which pleases him, but he keeps it to himself.

“Only one though, I wasn’t lying when I said I have a busy day tomorrow,” you mumble under your breath as you nestle your body to sit comfortably on the cold floor, already thinking of which story to tell. There’s so many, multiple of them come rushing to you.

“Get to it then,” he encourages.

“They’re not stories, by the way. They’re called myths or legend, and there’s hundreds of them,” you correct him mindlessly out of habit before you start telling him the history of one of the legends, and he’s okay with it.

“Okay, so The Trojan War is a legendary conflict that arose from a handful quarrels in between the Gods. The last drop was, when a youthful prince of Troy stole Helen of Sparta — the most beautiful of all women and made her fall in love with him. When her husband, also known as the Spartan king, realised Helen had left him for Paris of Troy, he called upon all the kings and princes of Greece to wage war upon Troy,” you kick off with the myth, the one that used to be your favourite when you were little. Your father had to repeat the story in great detail each night as you were about to drift off to sleep. It feels strangely comforting to be the one telling it now.

“He got his brother, Agamemnon, to lead a voyage to find her and get her back. Agamemnon was able to get other Greek heroes, such as Odysseus and Achilles to join him on this adventure. They have their own stories, but that’s for another time,” your eyes slide towards the Slytherin to reassure yourself he’s indeed listening and not doing this for laughs.

One peak at him and you could he’s serious.

“The Trojan War lasted for ten years and it was filled with loads of pointless battles and deaths. It finally ended when the Greeks retreated from camp and left behind a large wooden horse outside the gates of the city. Troyans debated on if they should bring the wooden horse in, and regardless of many warnings, they still brought it inside,” you sense the intensity of his attention, your eyes flickering in between the sky painted with starts and him.

“The wooden horse was a plan made by Odysseus to end the war. The wooden horse was designed to be hollow in the middle so that soldiers could hide inside. After the Trojan Horse was left at the gates, the Greeks sailed away, leaving someone behind. That someone was able to convince the Trojans that the Greeks had retreated from the war and that the horse was a gift that would ultimately give the Trojans a fortune. However, once nighttime fell, the horse opened up and the Greek soldiers came out. From the inside of the city, the Greeks were able to destroy the city of Troy and win the war,” you speak deliberately, carefully and slow enough to be sure he isn’t lost in your retelling.

“As I said the myth aligns with countless others,” you chuckle nervously, afraid you bored him even though he was the one to ask you to share another legend with him.

“I wonder how muggles came up with these stories. They’re good,” his head moves up and down in agreement, barely noticeable and perhaps unbeknownst to his acknowledgment. His curiousness brushes the anxiety off your chest and is quick to provide relief.

“Myths,” he corrects himself as he’s quick to recall your previous words.

“They created their own source of magic, is what my father always says,” you’re hesitant to share any more of you with him, however, you deem none of it could be turned against you and made into a weapon.

“Does he share a lot of these legends with you?” his brows arch up in wonder ever so slightly.

“He’s the reason I know them by heart,” you say while getting off the ground for good this time. The white haired wizard follows, heading towards the stairs leading down to the shadowy hallways.

“Last thing before we go,” he mumbles once you reach the end of the stairs.

“Yeah?” you question curiously, turning towards the corridor.

“Come to the Slytherin common room tomorrow. There’s gonna be a party to celebrate the start of the quidditch season,” he spills out, precisely when you reach the crossroad, each of the directions navigating you to your dormitories.

“You’re inviting me to one of your infamous parties?” you whisper into the silent hallway, expressing cross with mild shock.

“Every quidditch player is invited,” he replies simply, scanning your features illuminated by the shimmer of moonlight.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you answer honestly, anxiety rising within your system as scenarios of getting caught here cross your mind.

“You can bring your friends,” Satoru suggests casually, hand sliding into the pocket of his greenish robe.

“I’ll think about it,” you nod.

“Yeah, do that,”

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

You step through the stone entrance along with the twins and Arabella as it slithers open, a whisper of magic brushing past your skin like a warning, or maybe a welcome. The wall slides shut behind you like a secret sealing itself shut, shutting you into the room. The Slytherin common room has been completely transformed. The usual dim and dignified glow is gone, replaced by flickering green flames that twist unnaturally along the carved stone walls, casting shadows that move like they’ve got minds of their own. The room feels alive. Buzzing with noise, energy and heat. Music thunders from a charmed gramophone in the corner, pulsing with a beat that drives straight through your spine.

The party isn’t for just anyone. Gojo didn’t lie, when he highlighted the fact his infamous parties are impossible to get into. People always whispers about them in the hallways as you circle through them, speculations of students who’ll never see the inside of this room.

You recognise familiar players from the field, their inner circles and of course, the Slytherins. No other exceptions. It’s a celebration of the season's beginning, and not a lot of students get an invitation. If it weren’t for quidditch, you probably wouldn’t see the inside of the room either and neither would your friends.

The fireplace is roaring, green and gold embers shooting high and crackling like they’re alive. The smell of fire-whisky lingers in the air as you move. There’s a certain glamour to it all, the kind of dangerous, sharp-edged beauty only Slytherin can pull off without trying. Players lounge like royalty on the velvet cushions, still half in uniform, cheeks flushed from the anticipation and whatever’s in their cups.

As you and your friends step fully into the space, eyes slide toward you — quick glances, smirks, raised glasses and small greetings. You're acknowledged by your fellow teammates. You somehow belong to this small circle of society, place earned due to playing for years, however, it doesn’t ease you down. And you still feel a sense of not fitting in, claiming your space elsewhere.

You feel the energy pulling you in though, tempting you to lose yourself in it for the night. No rules, no professors, no expectations — just the start of a season that promises everything. You exchange a glance with your friends, unsure of what to do and somehow instantly regret accepting this invitation.

“Girl, are you hundred percent sure you’ll be alright? You know that Margaret’s gonna be here,” the younger of the twins Beatrice carefully hints as you stand on the edge of the room with crowd of bodies moving to the rhythm of the music in the centre. Arabella has been warned the second you mentioned the invitation. Dorothy with Beatrice basically convinced you into going, they too wanted to experience the thrill of joining one of the infamous Slytherin parties before your time at Hogwarts comes to an end.

“Told you I’ll be fine,” Arabella responds with a slight shrug of her shoulders, to brush away your worries. Regardless of her reassurance, you’re not baffled by it. You know your friend all too well. It hasn’t been two whole weeks since they took their break, seeing her surely wouldn’t do her any good. And even though it’s not possible to not bump into her here, she demanded she’d go with you.

None of you doubt her words aloud, despite the looks shared between you and the twins.

Dorothy is the bravest out of you as she begins to crush through the crowd, shielding you and providing an easy path to join the others on the dance floor. If it can be called a dance floor. In reality, it’s just the space of the common room, couches and armchair hidden somewhere in the corner. The music is much louder as you reach the center, crowd thicker as well. Shoulder to shoulder with people you barely recognise, elbows brushing against someone’s robe and arms nudging you admits dancing. It’s all laughter, shouted greetings, some are already tipsy. A crunch cracks under your foot as you step onto cups thrown on the carpet, the dance floor looks half like a battlefield.

You grab Arabella’s hand to spin her without a warning, when you stop somewhere near the center, and she’s cracking a laugh before she even starts moving. The rhythm takes over her, making her forget the circumstance for a little while. The world outside doesn't matter. Right now, it’s just the music, the forest green glow and the fierce movement of bodies. Regardless of your previous caution and conspiracies to skip this one, you find yourself letting go of your baggage too.

The music swirls you into your own worlds, hips swaying to the rhythm while your hands float in the air. Both Beatrice and Dorothy are mindlessly enjoying themselves along with you, pulling dance moves together. However, it doesn’t go unnoticed how Arabella’s eyes fleet across the room in hopes of coming across a face she’s too keen to capture, the opposite of what she actually says. Your friend is too busy to be aware of the fact you’re following her gaze which is achingly scanning the bustling party for her one and only.

As you follow Arabella’s, your gaze picks on someone else instead. He’s standing a greater distance away from you, arms draped around the waist of his girlfriend. Their interlocked bodies pressed into one another and you can’t bring yourself to look away from his stupid ball of white fur. Your heart skips over a beat as his incandescent orbs lock in with yours. The maintenance of the contact is short lived, though those fractions felt much longer as you acknowledged each other’s presence over the sea of people.

When you redirect your curious gaze back to your friends, it’s easy to tell Arabella has already mapped out her target. And indeed, Margaret stands couple of feet away from the four of you. It’s strange how people can go to being strangers again, simply weeks ago you were all bathing in The Black lake and there she is now, avoiding looking in your direction. The corners of Arabella’s mouth twist downward and her movements die down, it causes you to gently grab her hand, which brings her attention back to you. One look passes between you and it’s enough.

You lean into her space, talking loudly near her ear so she could make out what you’re saying. You offer to fetch her a drink and at first she doesn’t look in favour of the idea, but eventually caves in as you agree to have one with her. Originally, you weren’t planning on having anything, yet seeing your friend so miserable changed your mind.

The table with all sorts of unknown liquors lays spread out near the fireplace, vast window right behind it. The glass is showered in droplets of water streaming down as the outside is nothing but darkness, lighting occasionally popping out. You hover above the table, cup already in hand, contemplating what to choose for you and Arabella, when a voice interrupts you all of a sudden.

“Want some help?” the sound of the masculine voice leaves you breathless for a second, so much that you don’t want to face him.

“No need,” you reply politely as your gaze still flickers in between the choices rather than at the person, pushing the moment when you must look up away.

“How are you holding up, preparing for the finals?” his hand reaches out for a bottle, dangerously close to you. You then gather up the courage to lift your gaze, immediately being met with a pair of tender amber eyes you’ve grown to love in the past. A little wave of nostalgia and hurt tugs at your heartstrings, the sight weakening you even all these years later.

“Pretty good, what about you?” you have no desire to drag out the interaction, your goal is to vanish from his peripheral vision, but you don’t have the heart to cut him and storm off. Therefore you push yourself to answer, questioning him in favour of your manners.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” the Gryffindor huffs out as he refills his cup, making you grab a bottle at random to finish what you came here for. You no longer wish to engage in anything with him, this situation makes you uncomfortable.

“Good,” you mumble, placing the cups on the wooden table and then pouring the inside of the bottle into it — smell heavy and musky.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you you’ve been on my mind these past few weeks,” his words feel like slap straight to your face. You place the bottle back at its place, scanning the cups as you’re too baffled to come up with an answer. Who does he think he’s?

“Have I?” your brows twitch, trying to hold back the irony lacing your voice.

“It’s like you had me drink the lovey dovey potion or sum,” he says without an ounce of shame and with that, the scenario of emptying the cups you pick up from the table at him rakes your mind. It doesn’t sound too bad.

“Okay, and the point?” this time, you’re unable to mask your surprise mixed in with disgust, brows furrowing in the process.

“I think we should maybe go out some time,” the sound of his voice is carefree, hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Then sliding into his blondish locks, tousling them into place.

“And I think not,” your response is immediate and you’re ready to bounce away.

“Come on, don’t be so uptight. We weren’t anything serious back then,” his laugh echoes in your ears like a punch to the gut, your vision spins and you’re left numb. Unsure whenever to come apart or laugh into his face.

“To you, maybe. Not to me,” your voice is low, barely audible in the busy environments, however there’s a bitter ring to it.

“You’re overthinking it now,” the tone of his voice doesn’t rise nor becomes unpleasant, yet you can see the change passing through his orbs.

“Gosh, leave me alone,” you finally snap which causes his features to falter further.

“Why can’t you-“

“You heard her, piss off, Gryffindor,” third person joins the conversation and upon a realisation who, your urge to disappear doubles. No, triples. The grip you have on the cups grows tighter and suddenly you feel overly insignificant, forgotten in between their frames.

“Since when did this become any of your concern, Gojo?” you don’t resist rolling your eyes at what your ex boyfriend has to say and as you try to slide your way back into the interaction, you’re cut off by the white haired menace who appeared out of nowhere.

“My party, my rules,” Satoru hisses, irritated as he cocks his head to the side. A clear signal for your ex partner to leave before things get ugly. Before he delivers his response, you already know his shallow ego won’t budge at the Slytherin’s demand.

“I’m not done talking to her,” your ex boyfriend exhales with confidence, posture straight. His eyes narrowed with annoyance fleet over to meet yours for a moment, which pushes you to breathe out and to firmly nod at him. Pleading to take his leave without much fuss.

“Fuck off before I break your jaw again,” Satoru declares with the most bragging smirk you’ve ever seen and you almost choke, reminded of their previous encounter. You watch your ex boyfriend’s face crinkle — anger and resentment. With a pitiful frown, he indeed listens and gets lost in the crowd. Leaving you two alone. And for the first time in eternity, you’re glad for Satoru Gojo’s presence. You’re aware the Gryffindor wouldn’t let you go easily, not when he had you right where he wanted to. Alone.

“Don’t you think you over did it a little?” you blink away your surprise, mouth slightly ajar as you go over what just happened. You’re so unbelievably in disbelief that you take a sip of the liquor you randomly picked as your ex boyfriend invaded your space.

“Nah, spoke the truth,” you can barely hear him due to the loud music, but you manage to make it out.

“I could’ve dealt with him on my own, you know,” your eyes peak down at your hand, holding the cups, as his blue coloured ones peep downward at you. You’re not mad at him for interfering, not at all. You wouldn’t say you’re entirely happy either, however, you’re at least glad you got ride of your ex boyfriend and meaningless encounter.

Though, you’re certain he will find you again.

“I’m sure you could, I simply made it easier for ya,” the white haired wizard winks at you, smugness and arrogance seeping out of him as always. Perhaps a tad more than normally as he’s overly intoxicated, alcohol flowing in his veins. You could tell he overdid it the moment he stumbled into the conversation. It’s pretty obvious when it comes to him.

“Whatever, Gojo,” you brush him off, not wanting to indulge in this interaction for long either since this is basically his territory and talking to the very starlet of the Slytherin house would definitely bring you unwanted attention. As a matter of fact, pairs of eyes are settling at you by now.

“Enjoy the party, precious,” his hand stretches out, bumping his cup into yours. A gesture symbolising simply what he said, yet the action leaves you thinking the moment was rather intimate. Your mind goes blank and by the time you’re ready to snap at him for using that godforsaken nickname, he’s long gone.

You lightly shake your head, balancing the cups in your hands to steady them before heading back into the crowd as well. Away from the crime scene.

“Did Satoru Gojo just save you?” Beatrice’s voice calls out, aligning with the tunes of the music. You silently hand Arabella one of the cups you’ve gone through hell for and drink a mouthful out of own.

“I wouldn’t use the word save,” you exhale lightly while shrugging your shoulders to appear nonchalant, despite the lingering sensation nestling heavily on your ribcage.

“We were about to go get you when the jerk started being too chatty, but before we could reach you, Gojo appeared,” Beatrice goes on with explaining how the situation went from their point of view.

“We thought we must be dreaming,” Dorothy adds, throwing her hands around and gesturing.

“It’s actually not so surprising, right, Y/N?” Arabella’s words take the air out of your lungs and you instantly want to dig a hole to hide in. She’s the only one who knows about your little adventures, you didn’t share your secrets with the Hufflepuff girls as you don’t deem it as reasonable nor necessary. And right now, you understand your roommate may be still quite upset with you for attending the secret outings, but you can’t help to not feel a tad betrayed.

“Arabella,” you plea but it’s too late, it’s been spoken out loud and the twins are now involved too.

“Gonna explain yourself?” both of the raven haired girls standing front of you cross their arms across their chest, awaiting your answer.

“Not here, later,” you breathe out in defeat, and with that the discussion ends. Part of you can’t glance straight into Arabella’s way, partially afraid and then also sort of irritated at her for spilling your secret which you entrusted her.

Without paying them much attention while your head spins with rising frustration, you excuse yourself and tell them you’ll find them later on. Before they can respond l, you’re nudging into the sea of people, carving your path out to catch a breather.

Your ex boyfriend, Gojo and now Arabella. What in the world is happening?

You find yourself a corner to hide in and lean back against the cold stone wall, arms crossed loosely. The bass of the music thrums through the floor, echoing in your ribs. Around you, the Slytherin common room is alive — drenched in flickering green lights, casting flashes of magic on the dancing people and their wild eyes, bodies moving like smoke in synchrony. They look untouchable. Laughter rises, spun with spells and something stronger in their drinks. If a professor was to barge in, the imagine would probably send them spiralling into having a heart attack.

You watch from your quiet corner, not really part of it, not really apart either. Just observing. Letting the scene blur into something unreal in front of you. It’s loud and beautiful in that reckless, untamed way that only Slytherins can pull off. And as they dance you feel like the only still thing in the room. A shadow with a heartbeat.

“Not having fun?” a familiar figure whose face you’re seeing a lot lately calls out as he drags himself in your direction, finding you once again. Shoulders slumped and a plastic cup filled with a bitter liquid in his left hand.

“It’s alright, but not my thing,” you shrug without any particular emotion as your back leans against the stone wall, hand gripping your own cup.

“What is your thing, that’s the real question,” he teases, hinting at the fact you find a way to complain about literally anything. But he means no real harm. His tone is visibly poking you. To which you merely snicker with an irritated under-layer before bringing the cup to your lips, taking another mouthful of the awfully tasting alcohol.

“Does he bother you often?” Satoru scoots over to you, leaning against the same wall handful of inches away from you, and then he nods towards the table with the punch and other sources of hard liquors. Your gaze slides in synchrony with his, landing on the guy you’ve been trying to avoid all night since the moment he approached you with such an audacity. Your ex boyfriend.

“You heard our conversation, I presume” you remark with a brows lightly lifted in curiosity, head rotating to peak at him. His flawless side profile to your display as he’s looking out into the crowd still, your eyes taking notice of his freshly trimmed undercut.

The emerald lighting paints him out to be painfully charming.

“Mostly, so does he? your head jerks away from him as the sound of his voice reminds you of your surroundings. It doesn’t surprise you that he did hear. You expected it since it’s him you’re talking about.

“Uh, no. Dunno what’s gotten into him,” you openly admit aloud, fingers dancing along the rim of the plastic cup. What you say is true, you weren’t in any contact from the moment he broke up with you and decided to go off dating the girl he was seeing at the same time as you.

Nothing serious, it angered you that’s what he thinks it was, because it for thousand percent was more than that to you.

“I think I do,” he lets out quietly after a set of silence, carefully searching the wave of bodies dancing across the room.

“You do?” you question, possible outcomes racing through your mind.

“I mean, yeah. It’s our last first semester and he’s realised what’s lost,”

“That sounds ridiculous,” you huff under your breath, your voice so muffled you for a moment think it was impossible for him to catch on.

You’re quickly proven otherwise.

“As as matter of fact, he’s watching us right now,”

“It doesn’t prove anything,” your head shakes a little in disbelief, refusing to put any trust in what he has to say.

“Watch what he does now,” his words escape his lips, barely registering them, but he’s already tilting his entire body your way. Taking steps to close the distance between your bodies. It happens too quickly, his movements reckless and hazy. One blink of your eyes and all of sudden, he’s barely inches away from you.

“Gojo- what are you-?” His eyes shine like sapphires glistening in the sunlight — big beautiful gems that watch your every move. However, they aren’t primarily focusing on your own set of orbs. No, much lower than that. You cannot stop your eyes from widening at the realisation, small gasp escaping your lips as you can’t resist peaking down at his lips either. And when he leans in even closer, narrowing the distance between you so much that your bodies nearly touch — he looks lyrical as he moves under the influence.

“Proving my point,” he nibs with a smirk stretching his mouth out, eyes still peaking down on you from his half hooded eyelids.

He’s drunk, you remind yourself as his close proximity causes an overwhelmingly nauseous sensation to take over you.

“Look at him, he’s so pathetic,” Satoru continues, demanding you look at your ex boyfriend with his charming way of words. Despite the acknowledgment of order, your eyes seem to not be able to peel away from his breathtaking appearance, you’ve never seen him up from this close. You don’t know where to look first, whenever at his porcelain skin or his iridescent globes. Strands of his locks are falling over his forehead, and you have to physically force yourself to tilt your gaze to the already mentioned direction. The sight of your ex boyfriend confirms the white haired wizard’s theory. He’s burning holes in your skull, yours and the Slytherin’s.

“I still don’t think this proves anything,” you shake your head a little, bringing yourself to reality as your mind is clouded with his aromatic scent —fresh like crispy winter morning.

He smells clean, bathed in peppermint.

Your resistance to admitting his suspicions urges are correct makes him lean in further. His shoulder brushes against yours and then he presses into you, definitely overcoming the unspoken set of boundaries between the two of you. You gather last bits of courage to glance upwards to meet his gaze, only discovering he’s still hypnotising you with that idiotic grin full of arrogance.

“Might not be obvious to you, but it sure is to everyone else,” he bends down to your level, head cocking towards your temple as he whispers into the shell of your ear, nose bumping into your skin. His warm breath prickling the side of your neck, the unfamiliarity of it causing your functions to cease at working. It reeks of alcohol. Your eyes once again slide towards your ex boyfriend while you swallow the bundle in your throat, anxious at the closeness you share with the white haired wizard. He’s indeed still watching the scene between you and Gojo playing out.

Your gaze maybe lingering on the Gryffindor, though your thoughts lie somewhere entirely else.

Your skin burns with his proximity as you can’t bring yourself to pull away. He doesn’t move either, he should’ve already but he isn’t budging.

His penetrating gaze slides over your features one last time, stopping at a certain part of your lower face before finally taking a step away. With that, you become highly aware of the world’s circumstances enveloping you again. Your gaze hardens, surveying the crowd as sets of orbs stare back in your way. It causes you to step away, the reality slowly enrolling back in your harbour.

It’s as if the white haired menace in front of you hops on the same wave as you, marching away and creating much appreciated distance. Neither of you speak, words dying on your tongue. Until he utters something under his nose, the words not audible. He nods towards the crowd which instantly causes you to turn to the dance floor, eyes landing on his girlfriend who’s a fellow member of his house. A cold sweat splashes at you, her firm expression certainly not meant as a joke. You attempt a smile. That only seems to worsen the situation.

And just like that, he’s slipping past you again.

Did you just imagine it?

You’re left standing in the shadow of green firelight again. Alone, drink in hand, pretending not to care, pretending not to look, but there he is. Sliding right back in the center of it all. Laughing like he owns the night. The room bends towards him like it usually does. Effortlessly, like he doesn’t even know what he does to people. Of course he does though. It’s in plastered in the way he smiles, slow and lazy, eyes half-lidded. Almost as if he’s bored of being adored, and yet still basking in it. He’s a flame, attracting all the moths.

And you hate it. God, you hate it. How he draws people in, how the crowd orbits around him like he’s the sun and everyone else is just lucky to catch a flicker of his light, fawning over his presence.

He doesn’t even try. That’s the worst part.

But still, your gaze sticks to him. You’re stuck in a current you didn’t see coming, not immune to his charming ways either. You try to tear your eyes away, pretend his presence doesn’t matter.

However, your eyes betray you.

You decide that looking for your friends and leaving the party would be the best, you pray they stuck around.

It’s nearly impossible to point them out in the crowd, so you wander around like a lost puppy.

As you make your way past the leather couches, turning in a smaller alley of the Slytherin common room, you catch a voice. It’s sharp, dismissive and familiar. Your friend’s name falling from their mouth.

“Satoru, you know I don’t want Margaret to clash with that ginger Ravenclaw girl she’s been talking to and you basically give her a free entry” Willoughby, Margaret’s older brother, speaks up which urges you to stop in your tracks, hiding behind the corner of the wall. You’re well aware this isn’t right, eavesdropping on them like that. Still, it concerns your friend and surely, she’d do the same thing. It doesn’t matter you’re mad at her right now.

“I invited L/N. She’s on the team, and I couldn’t specifically tell her to not bring her,” the sound of your last name sounds strange coming from Gojo’s lips, regardless of the fact you’ve heard him say it reasonable amount of times.

“Actually, you should’ve,” his friend states firmly, and it’s not the rather sweet boy who checked upon you and Arabella after the attack anymore. Was he thinking this way throughout the tournament as well?

Are they all doused with such a poison?

“Or you shouldn’t have invited her at all,” Robin joins in on the conversations as he was barely a sidekick to it till now. The entitlement lacing their voices boils your intoxicated blood.

“She’s on the team,” the white haired Slytherin tries to drags his point across one more time. You peak from the corner carefully.

“So what? She sympathises too much with the mudbloods in general, and never knows when to take her leave, or keep her mouth shut up,” Margaret’s brother spits out with venom. You retrieve your head back behind the corner, and as much as you’d like to say his words don’t mean a thing, you’d be lying. They shouldn’t, but they sting.

That cold, oily feeling slinks into your chest. You know you should step in and say something, demand they repeat it to your face. Instead, you stay hidden, listening, because this could tell you more than any confrontation.

“And she happens to tag along the girl your sister’s been dating, I get it. You’re annoyed, but stop lecturing me,” Satoru spills out mindlessly, cringing at himself as realisation pierces through the layer of the substance blurring his senses. Your breathing hitches.

No, this can’t be happening.

“The girl she’s been what?” Willoughby demands, pretending he didn’t hear right the first time only to hear the words one more time. For confirmation.

“Uh, what?” Gojo mumbles back, rambling over his own voice in an attempt to play it cool.

“Satoru, what the hell?” Robin states, fuming.

“You knew and didn’t tell me?” Willoughby comes at him again. Both of his friends now up against Gojo while he remains silent. You curiously poke your head from the corner one more time, the shadows that are provided by the surroundings keep you safe from being spotted.

One look at the white haired menace’s back and you can tell he’s conflicted.

“Why? For that girl you’ve been pestering since forever and her weird friends?” both of his friends keep on jumping him, the tension so thick it could be cut up with a knife. From your angle, the gesture of him tightening his fists doesn’t slip your attention. And just when you think he’s about to blow up, he replies calmly.

“I didn’t think it was that important,”

“Don’t lie to me,” he’s immediately cut off by Margaret’s brother, your body tenses and you can’t believe your own ears as a mixture of swirled emotions seizes you utterly.

“Seems like our boy Satoru here is defending her,” this time it’s Robin and he chooses words which seem to struck a nerve, making the attacked white haired wizard all that more defensive.

“The hell? Of course not, she’s a nobody,” he frowns, his tone the most obnoxious and arrogant you’ve heard in a while. The anger then fully devours you. You feel numb, no ache nor sadness. Only regret filling your dulled senses, you should’ve expected this kind of thing from him.

It’s nothing new after all.

“Then start acting like it, for Merlin’s sake,” you see his friend nudge his shoulder in a way that is meant to be a warning, a pleading to stop behaving the way he is.

“Put yourself together, we have a plan to follow,” you barely make out the words as they come in a hushed whisper, heart instantly dropping. A plan to follow. The declaration causes suspicion rise in your system, the same kind you’ve buried two weeks ago.

Could they have something to do with the Death eaters after all?

“Unbelievable,” one of them breaths out, soothing down the side of his face in frustration before he adds: “we’ll talk about this tomorrow, when we’re sober,”

They get a simple hum of agreement from Satoru, his functions too altered by the alcohol to form a better response.

When he finally thinks he’s off the hook, you step into the light.

“God, and here I was thinking you finally got over yourself and became somewhat tolerable,” your voice calls out from behind him, his body instantly turning to the source of sound. To you. Eyes depicting the depths of the ocean blink at you, widen with shock at seeing you. You maintain the eye contact, expression and body language merciless. Letting him know he’s screwed.

“You know damn well that option’s not on the list for me,” his voice is low and unbothered which takes you by a surprise, you hadn’t expected him to remain so cold about it. Perhaps you should’ve, however, part of you hoped he’d react differently to seeing you. You can’t tell why.

“Inviting me and my friends then degrading us in front yours is?” you rest your hands at your hips, offering him one more chance to account for his actions. You’re met with a shallow shrug of his shoulders, nearly making you gasp at his audacity.

“Guess so,” his face expression is hollow, impossible to read as he avoids portraying anything. His indifference makes you scoff sarcastically, you should’ve known this was nothing but a way to toy with you.

“Well, aren’t you simply the greatest thing to ever bloody exist?” your jaw clenches, voice embodying pure irony as your patience ran out long ago. You attack his sense of greatness, aware it’d hit some sorrow of a spot, at least.

“Don’t you dare to come to me again, Gojo,” you don’t bother to wait for his answer, if he’d manage to muster any. No, you’re already walking away by the time he takes in your words — rushing to collect your friends and leave the cursed area of the Slytherin common room.

A storm of conflict rages within you while you. Share the unfortunate news to Arabella or keep her blind?

If their relationship wasn’t done for before, it for sure must be now.

And as simply as that, you went three steps back in a matter of one single night.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

The next day started out as any other day would in late autumn, winter already knocking softly at the door. The illusion of a normal wintery day shattered barely an hour after you woke up with the headmaster knocking at your dorm room, demanding you pack your necessary utilities and hurry with him. Your initial thoughts circled around your illicit outings after curfew with the white haired Slytherin, the ones regarding the mysterious stag. Anxiety crippled within you as sat down in the headmaster’s office, thinking of the ways you could be punished. Robbed of the Head girl label, kicked out of the Ravenclaw’s Quidditch team, or even worse.

Expelled.

Those thoughts vanished as an opened letter was placed in front of you, your mother’s handwriting the first thing you noticed. With receiving it, your gut was already alerted. The familiar pressure in your lower stomach suggested something’s wrong.

The headmaster wasted no time in bringing you to your mother, leaving with warm words displaying sympathy. By then, couple of scenarios poked through your mind. One worse than the other. Unfortunately, simple look at your mother’s teary eyes and all of your worst nightmares were confirmed. The grip on your bag loosened, causing it to drop on the floor of your childhood home. A ringing silence echoed through the house.

You wasted no time in quickly walking up to your mother, hiding yourself in her shaky embrace. Her hand nestled at the back of your head, whispering soft and low words of apologies. You held her back, dull and robbed of everything as she continued to spill her heavy tears into your shoulder.

At first you felt like a monster for not mourning out loud. For not letting the world meet your wrenching sorrows. You wondered if the people surrounding the shut casket silently judged you for your dry cheeks, because everyone else appeared to be on the brim of collapse. You couldn’t bear to properly lift your gaze and meet the crushed expressions of your close family and their friends.

The first wave of grief landed as you entered your house after the feast, the day of the funeral. You put away your shoes along with your coat, hanging it next to your father’s. You brushed your fingers against the fabric of his coat, the fabric rough with years of usage. Your chest tightened while your entire being burned. Hands hesitantly inched forward, bringing the old piece of clothing towards your nose. As soon as you inhaled, familiar scent of cigarettes and mint battled within your mouth. Your throat tightened and hands began to tremble and with no defence, you gave into to the urge and buried your face into it, nuzzling the clothing. You used to hate your father’s smoking and how the disgusting scent would linger on clothes and in the house. Sensing it in that moment felt addicting, like a douse of a drug. You cursed yourself for all of the complaints you threw around instead of treasuring each passing moment. You broke down with the realisation of loss, slid down the wall in the hallway of your strangely quiet home and tightly hugged the coat. Meanwhile your mother stood in the kitchen, listening to your sobs, however, she pretended to not heart and gave you your own space to mourn.

Arabella regretted what she’s done, or rather how she behaved towards you. By the time she gathered the courage to apologise, you were long gone. Nonetheless, she didn’t know that. She was confused as she entered your shared dorm room, finding an empty space with a scribbled note neatly layed out on her bedsheets.

And you indeed weren’t back by dinner time. Your friend Arabella grew immensely worried and couldn’t sleep the entire night, wondering what’s happened to you or if you’re in trouble. Her head spiralled with countless possibilities, including the white haired wizard in almost every single one. She thought of contacting Margaret, not for her sake, but for yours. Part of her hoped she’d provide her with at least a piece of information. Yet, she backed from the idea as she recalled the party and your subtle hints at what angered you so much the previous night. You never got to tell her what precisely occurred as you were so quick to be called off.

Arabella somehow slept throughout the night and when she reached The Great hall for breakfast next morning, she no longer had to be gutted about your whereabouts. Each table representing one of the four houses swirled with the new edition of The Daily Prophet. The twins ambushed Arabella immediately, pushing the newspapers into her chest and demanding she reads instantly. Her eyes glided over the main title and her heart cracked.

The Head Auror of Magical Law Enforcement department resigning

The title by itself was a death blow. As Arabella’s eyes skimmed further in between the bylines, it became worse. The article depicted your mother’s reasoning behind the decision as unknown, meaning she’d no longer be the Head Auror next term which starts in the spring. The authors gathering information for the insufferable newspaper dared to speculate it could be the death of your mother’s husband leading to her resignation. Letting the majority of the wizarding world know of your tragedy.

Arabella tried reaching out by writing you letters as she usually did during your breaks.

It did no good, all of her twenty one letters remained unanswered.

You vanished for two entire weeks. Your arrival back to the school grounds was just as unexpected as your departure. Expect, all could point out the vast gap in your behaviour. You now haunted the corridors with your ghastly appearance, drained of your lively personality. Numbed by the memory of your past life, knowing you can never have it back. The events occurring before the fated morning, when you received the plea to come home straight from your mother through a letter, dissolved. They now seem silly compared to what’s plaguing you right now. Arabella’s ignorance, your ex boyfriend’s snarky approach, Gojo’s hurtful comments and his audacity of spilling a secret which wasn’t his to tell — none of it matters. And it seems like you were living a completely different life only a few weeks ago.

That sort of calm before the storm, you took everything for granted.

And during those two weeks you were at home, much managed to change. Your headmaster who’s been teaching at the school for three decades has been asked to leave his position due to his antigovernment opinions and conspiracies about plans to put a stop to the rise of the conservatives, the anonymous report came with enough evidence to justify itself. Earning the headmaster an immediate dismissal. They were rather quick with the replacement, so as you came back, there was already a new headmaster.

Along with yet another set of rules.

Still, the worst thing is that everyone knows of your father’s death, and you’re getting sick of each pitiful gaze which lands on you. Their mushy condolences targeting the raw wound, the void within your chest. At each subtle mention of your father, you want to come undone and hide away from the rest of the world to sob until there’s nothing left to come.

You walk around the place with swollen eyes and a weight in your chest, invisible to all of the others. Time did ease the rawness of it, but far too little of it passed to actually take off the burden keeping you at rock bottom.

You continue to mould over one simple thought — you never got to say a proper goodbye.

Despite your friend’s efforts, you still avoid and withdraw yourself from your favourite activities while insisting you’re fine on your own. Your friends don’t like that, of course. The three of them nearly never leaving you alone, always bringing you out for walks to see how winter slowly keeps swallowing autumn, and to Quidditch games. The season has officially started, even without you.

Right, life goes on regardless of you remaining stuck.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

The stadium is loud, cheering and chanting as you hover above in the air. Wind is howling past your ears, somehow it's the first time in weeks you’ve felt remotely alive. The sun above is cold as winter’s approaching, yet the sky is clear without any trace of clouds. You can almost forget the weight that’s been pressing down on you since it happened. Almost.

You hadn’t planned to be here. You'd told yourself you weren’t ready. But your friends were far too persistent, refusing to let you stay locked away in the common room.

It’s who you are, they said.

And now, here you are. Blue and bronze on your quidditch uniform, wind biting at your cheeks, and your heart finally racing for something other than grief. Seated safely on your broomstick, awaiting the start of the game. The pitch hums with anticipation as screams echo from the stands, scarves whipping in the wind. Your teammates remain still nearby, their voices are a blur of strategy and jokes. You only half listen, eyes slipping to the audience to point out your friends.

And there they are.

In the crowd, tucked between a group of giddy third-years and a professor trying very hard to pretend she isn’t amused. Your friends are laughing at something the other had said, eyes squinting in the bright evening light. The moment they notice you they begin to frantically wave at you with the kind of excitement that brings a soft smile upon your lips. Your attention slips away as you repeat the gesture.

A sight of artic hair tousling in the breeze like it has no sense of control making you take a double look into the crowd. You feel it like a jolt. Not the usual nerves before a match, but another feeling. He’s completely at ease. Eyes raking the field.

You turn back to your team, jaw set, trying to fully focus your attention on the game.

The match is fast the second its pronounced as started — Hufflepuff plays clean but relentless. You dive, swerve, breathe in the game like it’s the first breath you’ve taken in weeks. The tiny golden snitch casting a flicker of shine as you fiercely chase it. And for a minute, you believe your friends. You think maybe they were right. Maybe you're capable of doing this.

Then it happens.

You glance over your shoulder — just a second of distraction, and the hit comes from your blind spot. A shove, hard and ungraceful. It sends you flitting forward, losing control of the broom beneath you. Your stomach drops as fear consumes you, body being helplessly pulled down by gravity.

The fall isn’t long, the ground is cruel though. You hit it hard and your sense finally align, letting you know what’s happened. Pain spikes through you instantly like a sharp cut, breath knocked out of your lungs. You can’t bring yourself to move, scream nor react in any way. You barely sense the sheers faltering and whistles blowing. You’re on your back, blinking up at the sky that seemed so peaceful moments ago with your blurry eyed vision.

You bitterly think, maybe your friends were wrong in the end. And then your vision darkens, sending you off into an oblivious state.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

The next time they open, you wake to the soft creak of wood, and that sterile smell unique to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. As you adjust your tired orbs, you assume it’s at least an hour or two before the curfew. The dim flickering fire of the candle rested beside the hospital bed is casting thin gold bares across sheets pulled over you.

Pain makes itself present first. A deep, dull ache along your side. The kind that itches when you try to shift even slightly.

Right. The match. The fall. Your father.

You remember the wind rushing past, the snap of impact, the world spinning out beneath you. And then —pitch black.

Madam Pomfrey appears before you can sit up properly, arms crossed, eyes sharp but not unkind.

“You're lucky,” she says, adjusting the potion bottle on your bedside table, even though you’d never consider yourself that “could’ve been broken ribs, but you landed just awkwardly enough to only bruise them. Not that I recommend making a habit of falling from broomsticks.”

“Noted,” you breathe out, the action sending sharp pain through your left side. Madam Pomfrey offers you a sympathetic smile, rubbing your shoulder. Meant as a comforting gesture to remind you you’re gonna be alright, and that it could’ve been far worse.

A voice drifts in from somewhere nearby when she leaves — soft, familiar. You glance to the side and realize someone’s been waiting for you to wake up. Your senses are still pretty disoriented.

Maybe it’s one of your teammates.

“Thought I’d see how you’re doing, the fall looked pretty bad,” he looks up as you stir, and something in his face shifts. For a fraction of the moment, you think you must be dreaming and part of you wants to hide away under the covers, hoping that the cunning Slytherin would leave. It’d cause a significant amount of pain so you abandon the thought.

You look thinner, he notes to himself as his blue lagoons rake over your displayed form.

“The others are worried about you,” Satoru mentions the other players as he scoots closer to the hospital bed. The room is only bathed in the light of the small candles, casting a rather intimate atmosphere as the rain drops drum against the stained glass of the window behind you.

It’s your first interaction since the party and somehow, it appears as if thousand years stretched in between. Still, it doesn’t make you entirely forgive him for his choice of words, regardless of the fact, you can’t awaken any hint of anger.

You’re back to your usual douse of numbness, plus the physical ache in your ribs.

“How do you feel?” he bribes casually, not caring for the the lack of response coming from your side.

“I’m alive,” you mumble out of pity as he stands beside the bed, looking unlike himself.

“And out of the game till spring,” Satoru attempts to chuckle playfully, wondering if he can get any trace of your banter out of you. You look up at him, eyes painted with exhaustion as you lifelessly lay in stiff bedding, dressed in the pure white gown which almost feels unnatural against your body.

“I’m done,” you say, moving your dulled body to the side and it makes you scrunch your nose due to the overbearing wave of ache. His expression laces with concern as he watches you hiss out in pain.

“What do you mean done?” the white haired Slytherin mumbles, brows furrowing in confusion as he takes in your simple words.

“I’m not playing anymore,” you announce as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And you suppose it is now, even though you wouldn’t be able to phantom anything such as this merely a month ago. You’re nearly scared of how little you care about it.

Silly how quickly can things escalate.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re gonna be brand new for spring season,” his words serve as an encouragement, something you never expected to receive from him. Nevertheless, it doesn’t change anything going on in your mind. You can’t find an ounce of will to carry on with the sport.

“I don’t wanna play anymore,” you voice out neutrally, barely audible while you move your gaze to the ceiling. Unwilling to continue with the conversation.

“You’re being dead serious?” he’s not quick enough to hide his genuine dismay which you miss out on due to your averted gaze. Major part of him took joy in playing the sport, because it was the only way where the two of you clashed. Not in an aggressive way. More like, where the two polar opposites could meet, doing what they have in common without any consequences.

Likely, the only thing they both love.

He can’t imagine not having you on the field ever again. And he’s enveloped in a sentimental longing for a period in the past. If he had known back then, he would’ve cherished the last time you were matched against one another.

If only he had known it was the last time.

His mouth hangs open lightly, the words bitting his tongue as they beg to be let out, but they’re swallowed back into the abstract of his mind — forever unspoken — as he takes in your defeated and unresponsive form.

“Right. It’s up to you anyway,” is what he croaks out, nodding his hand to convince himself to keep his mouth shut. And when you remain unmoving, he weakly sighs and navigates his steps towards the exit.

A powerful impulse causes his body to halt, half in and half out of the room.

Satoru glances at you, turning back.

“I’m-“ he starts off, lips stopping in movement as his eyes bore into your figure on the hospital bed, tucked beneath the white covers, and suddenly he can’t bring himself to say what he meant.

A second time in a row.

“Get better soon,” he breathes out instead.

credits for dividers: [@enchanthings-a @cafekitsune]

taglist: [ @k-kkiana @cuffiescariche @sylustoru @hyori2 @ethereal-moonlit @crankyarchives @jjklover365daysayear @cailliz @kaisenkalogathia @urthem00n @katsukiseyebrows @poopooindamouf @heiejdhdh @tessasweet ]

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muletia · 3 months ago

Note

your yandere starscream snippet?? good lord... 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️as a fellow starscream simp I (and plenty of other followers) are willing to read more if u wanna expand on yandere starscream? (ignore or delete if u dont wanna :3)

[tfp] yandere!starscream x human!reader very incoherent and crack(ish) ramblings because I'm insane about this scrimblo

Imagine it’s four in the morning, and you suddenly wake up to get a drink of water. You lean over to grab the full glass on your nightstand, but you don’t even manage to touch the glass with your fingertips because you notice a pair of scarlet optics staring directly at you in the darkness. Oh, and they’re hovering right above your bed. The best part? This isn’t the first or last time this has happened, because he frequently breaks into your house at night just to look at you.

You’d better hope you sleep through his visit, because if you wake up and Starscream notices, you’ll be bombarded with a monologue about how you don’t pay him enough attention. How dare you bolt the doors against him?! You knew full well he would come to see you. And now, thanks to you, the door is ripped off its hinges, cold air is pouring into your house, and he absolutely detests the cold. So you’d better warm his majesty up—or he’ll shove himself under your blanket. Oh, and it’s only Tuesday, which means you’ve got at least ten more incidents like this to look forward to this week.

Since he enjoys breaking into your house—because it’s nice to have a place where no one takes out their frustrations on you with brute force, and where he’s at least somewhat welcome (or so he convinces himself)—he also loves to snatch a few “souvenirs” for himself. Especially when his obsession reaches its peak and he knows he won’t be able to see you for a while. Usually, it’s your clothes that he takes. They remind him of you when he desperately needs comfort.

He’ll nuzzle and cling to them, imagining he’s doing so with you, using them to stave off complete madness. The only downside of stealing clothes soaked in your scent is that the scent fades far too quickly, especially since Starscream often finds himself in rough patches. So you’ll soon notice your clothes disappearing at an alarming rate. Unfortunately, I’m afraid you’ll never get them back. Starscream will adamantly deny any knowledge of the theft and refuse to return the stolen items. By now, they’ve been so thoroughly abused that they’d never return to their original state of cleanliness anyway.

Without his obsession, Starscream is already demanding attention, but when you add a deranged and unhealthy love into the mix, his need for attention skyrockets. When you’re awake, and Starscream decides to visit you—which happens alarmingly often, especially during his self-imposed exile, he insists you keep your eyes on him at all times.

When you talk to him, you must look at him, listen carefully to what he has to say, and actively participate in the conversation. Otherwise, he becomes unbearable. You can’t walk away or leave him; you’re forced to engage. Any attempt to escape will result in manipulation—and if that doesn’t work, he’ll use force. How dare you use your phone in his presence? He’ll snatch it right out of your hands and force you into a conversation with him. Ignoring him despite his threats and insults? If you’re outside, he’ll pin you in place with his claws, forming a sort of cage, and continue his tirade as if nothing happened. If you’re indoors, he’ll trap you with his body instead.

The problem is that once physical contact occurs, Starscream has no intention of letting go.

He clings to you so desperately it’s almost disgusting. He constantly forces physical contact, whether it’s kissing, stroking, or demanding affection himself, often at the most unexpected times, like that miserable four in the morning. And since he’s nearly impossible to satisfy, these sessions can go on forever.

Hours spent stroking his helm and delivering monologues praising his majesty leave your wrist aching and your throat sore. And the next day? You can look forward to another session of the exact same thing.

He’s intensely possessive and jealous, ready to gouge out the eyes, or optics, of anyone who dares so much as glance at you. You can’t even mention your friends’ names in his presence. He’d be happiest if you stopped interacting with anyone else altogether, shrinking your circle of acquaintances down to just him. You don’t need anyone else, right?

After all, the only thing he needs to be happy is you and you alone.

He’s exhausting, demanding, and unafraid to use force to get what he wants from you, but you’ll never get rid of him, no matter how much you might want to. You can scream at him until your voice gives out, try to fortify your home against his intrusions, but Starscream isn’t going anywhere. He has no intention of giving up the only source of comfort in this vile and unjust world. He’ll fight for you at the cost of his sanity—or even his life.

#be silly #transformers x reader #starscream x reader #obsessed!starscream #yandere!starscream #yandere!transformers

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rainix13 · 3 months ago

Text

It's Okay

hostage by Billie Eilish

masterlist

inspiration was this by @mommyownsmee

Natasha Romanoff x Agent!Reader

words: ~2k

description: after a few exhausting days and not talking about it, it gets too much to comprehend at last

Genre: angst / comfort (mostly comfort I think??)

Warnings: angst, mental breakdown, not really edited/proof read

It's litteraly 7am and I haven't slept yet, my brain is cooked

I don't know if anything makes sense

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Sighing you entered your shared appartment, bringing the groceries straight to the kitchen.

"Baby?" the familar voice came from the office and despite your exhaustion immediately a smile makes it's way to your lips.

You hung your coat over a nearby chair and before you could even turn around, two strong arms wrapped around your waist.

"Hey Natty" you murmured, letting yourself melt against her. "How was your day?"

The redhead grunted in response and adds "Paperwork and recruits."

You chuckled, knowing exactly what she means. You had them just before they went to training with Natasha.

"How was your day princess?" She asks kissing your shoulder.

You turned around , letting your arms hanging loosley around her neck "Was goood"

"Mh, you look exhausted" she stated between to short kisses but you shooke your head.

"Not more than usual" You lied with a smile. It's an easy lie, a casual one. Not necessary but you didn't want to ruin her good mood. And Natasha bought it.

After another quick peck you pulled away completely. "I'm just gonna take a quick shower and then I'll make dinner, okay?"

"Okay, I'll finish my work 'til then. What are you cooking?"

"Pasta!" You shouted over your shoulder, already halfway in the bathroom.

As the hot water runs down your body it felt like everything just washed off. The build up exhaustion faded as you stepped out of the shower, leaving you with something raw. Something that made you balance so close to the edge of a mental breakdown even you began to notice it. You sighed, somehow hoping to get rid of that weight that makes it hard to breath. You looked up, in the mirrior meeting your own empty eyes. Natasha was right, you do look exhausted. Like something drained the last bit off energy from your body. And if you were honest with yourself, you'd know that that's also exactly how you've felt for the last few days. But instead you've drowned that in even more work and exhaustion so it couldn't surface. Not until now at least.

A familiar dizziness formed in your head and you had to sit down. Have you eaten today? Yes, you had a sandwich for lunch. Or was that yesterday? No. Nevermind, it was yesterday.

Stop that's not relevant, you want to breathe. Why did that exhaustion suppress everything else? Why does this come up now? Can your emotions chill for a second? Can your mind please chill the fuck out? Why is this happening now? You need to get up again. You've got things to do. Why do your thoughts feel so loud. Just shut u-

"You alright angel?" Natasha's concerned voice pulled you out of your own thoughts immediately. You eyes snapped up to her standing in the door looking down at you on the floor.

"Uh yeah. J-just sound zoned out a bit" you desperately tried to safe it but your voice was far too shaky to appear convincing. Even if you're voice didn't give you away, you're trembling hands probably would have.

Natasha said nothing, instead she walked over, pulled you on your feet and into a hug. Instinctively you bury your head in her chest, holding on to her as the dizziness came back almost immediately.

Your senses all focused on her now. The faint scent of vanilla mixed with her shampoo. How you felt her breath against your scalp, her hands on your back and in your hair. You heard her breathing. You closed your eyes, trying to let her presence ground you. Tried to let everything overtune your own thoughts.

"What's wrong hun?" the pure softness and concern in her voice were the last straw to make everything fall apart.

Hot tears almost immediately streamed down your face, you buried your face in her neck and clutched onto her shirt. An unwanted sob escaped you and before you realized it would happen, your body collapsed against the redhead. She reacted immediately, picking you up, holding you as close as possible.

Natasha carried you to your shared bed, laying down with you still in her arms. Her heart broke at how small and helpless you seemed to be. How broken your sobs sounded and how desperately you hold on to her. Like you feared she might disappeare if you'd let go.

"Just breathe, I'm here" she whispers. You try to follow her deep breaths and after a few tries you're starting to get there. Your breathing was still short and shaky between your sobs but less ragged now. "Overstim-" your voice broke off into another sob and Natasha tries to pull you even closer. "It's okay, I understand" You knew she did. It's not the first time you were at the verge of breaking down because people were just too much in that moment and it wasn't the first time Natasha was there to keep you in touch with reality. It was the first time you had a breakdown, especially that bad tho. The first time she had to see you like this and you didn't appreciate that. She wasn't supposed to see you like this, you're supposed to be there for her when she needed you.

While she got up and left you for a second, you went down that spiral, getting stuck in a cycle of 'Get your shit together' and 'She deserves better'.

But a moment later, before you can get too far with those thoughts on your own the redhead came back, helping you to put on one of her hoodies before she pulled you back into her embrace.

"What do you need angel?"

"B-being alone-" you choked out and Natasha immediately retreated. Not rushed but without hesitation until you held her back and she met your pleading eyes. "w-with you? i-if than m-makes sense" you asked unsure. Part of you didn't want her stay, didn't want her to see you like this. But the stronger part craved the feeling of safety and acceptance. Craved the way she could ground you and keep you in touch with reality. She nodded, getting back to you "Don't worry, it makes sense. We can be alone together," she reassured you. She was glad you wanted her with you. Glad you trusted her enough to be so openly vulnerable.

You were hit immediately with gratitude but when you tried to speak again you're choking in your own sobs again, slowly growing annoyed at your own inability to exist. Natasha noticed the way your muscles tensed at the failed attempt, she could almost feel you slip away again.

"shh it's okay. You're safe with me"

"I-I it's just too much suddenly. The past days were so exhausting a-and I don't know. I kept it going and e-everything went okay a-and no one noticed" you finally managed to say.

"I've got you, don't worry" Natasha said, pulling you even closer to her, if that's even humanly possible, for a short moment.

"It's just so sudden. I- I-"

"shh it's okay. Just breath, mkay?" she created just enough distance to look you in the eyes "In and out, yeah?"

You take a shaky breath, hands still holding on to the redhead's hoodie as if your life depends on it.

She just holds you tight, one hand softly combing through your hair.

She knows that you don't actually want to talk right now, that words don't make it better. She knows that hearing things would just add to the chaos in your head. So she just holds you, letting you breath her in until you calmed down again. You close your eyes and relax. Her even heartbeat, her scent, her hand on your back. All of her grounded you and finally shuts down the thoughts in your head. You knew she wants to say that she loves you and that it's alright. And she knew that you can feel everything she didn't verbalize.

You let yourself dwell in the feeling of safety as your own heartbeat normalizes again.

"Thank you" you mumured softly, taking a last deep breath before you untangle your legs from hers and want to get up.

"Where are you going?" Natasha holds you back and searches for your eyes.

"Making dinner, Nat. Haven't cooked yet" you explain and try to loosen the grip the redhead has on you but to your surprise she pulls you back, and wraps her arms around you, your back now pressed against her.

"It's okay, Nat. Just dinner" you softly argue, your voice still hoarse from crying.

"Stop being my over independent strong girl for now okay? I love you. Let me take care of you today" she pleads, her nose burried in your neck. You hate worrying her, adding to the stress she already has.

You sighed in defeat and nod "Okay. But I'm fine, really"

Natasha just huffed, picked you up and threw you over her shoulder. "Nat let me dooown"

But she shook her head "mmh no, your my little princess" You can hear the satisfied smile on her lips, making you giggle. "Nattyyy" You try to wiggle out of her grip, still laughing and finally she obliges. "Okay, okay stop moving"

She sits you on the counter, pressing a quick kiss on your nose. "You stay here, I make some pasta" leaving no room for an argument.

So you just watch her, sitting on the counter, dangling your legs. How she moved so effortlessly. In a strange way her calculated but simple movements like chopping onions or just stirring the sauce made you calm down even more. You began to feel the slight burn in your eyes from crying, the actual softness of Natasha's hoodie and how it smelled exactly like her. The stress began to fade, letting you breathe again.

After you ate you end up in bed again, watching some show you didn't really pay attention to. Your head was buried in Natasha's chest still craving every bit of comforting, grounding touch. "I love you" you whisper so quiet you're not sure Natasha could hear it. Any maybe that wouldn't be so bad because you know that she's able to detect the silent apology with it.

But of course she did. She pulled you closer once again, her hand finding it's way to your hair combing through it. "It's okay angel. Just...try not to overdo yourself, okay? You don't need to handle everything on your own" You sigh at the statement, burying yourself deeper in your girlfriends hoodie. "But I should. Especially when it's just fixing something that's my fault anyway. And it's okay. I can handle it ...most days" Your breath turned hot and tears welled up in your eyes again. "I should." You add, angry at yourself.

"That's not true" The redhead pulls away and cups your cheeks, forcing you to make eye contact.

"No one can handle everything on their own. We're a team, remember? You help me all the time. Patch me up. Mentally and physically. So why wouldn't I be here to do the same for you?"

"Because you already have your own stuff to deal with..." You mumble hesitantly. You don't want to be a burden. You don't want to annoy her with your stuff. Not when you can or at least should be able to handle it on your own.

Natasha sighs, pulling you back in. "Did or would you ever not listen to me or try and help me just because you have your own things?"

"No..." you reply not sure how to explain that it's different then.

"Will you tell me when it gets too much next time?"

You take a deep breath, tightening your grip around the redheads waist. "I'll try"

"Thank you angel"

"I love you" you said, this time not saying it as an apology.

"I love you too" Natasha answered.

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#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x agent reader #marvel #mcu #don't we love these breakdowns lmao #i'm so unwell #angst

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hiskillingjar · 6 months ago

Text

Latex (Fox/MC)

i wish i had an evil sugar daddy to buy me expensive sex toys. siiiighs and kicks a rock. anyway, yayyyyy latex i luv u so much

day 16: latex second person. somewhat softer fox but. coerced happy ending, he keeps you forever type of way.

"Well, well, well. Isn’t that a beautiful sight?"

The room almost seemed to shudder, walls contracting and the floor caving in, as the black latex, pulled to a shimmering tightness in the study, metal frame, like a sheet of pure liquid void, constricted around your naked body almost instantly, every inch of breathable space removed by the suction of the vacuum.

You’d had the good sense to fill your lungs with air before it was switched on. Fox has been kind enough to let you know about that, at the very least, so once it was turned off, you did your best to keep your chest still and steady, and your belly was slightly distended from the amount of air you managed to pull into your burning lungs before it was gone completely..

The latex clung to every inch of your body like a second skin, suctioned tight to every curve and crevice of bone structure, rendering your form slick and smooth and utterly featureless.

It was an appealing concept.

One that Fox was good enough to indulge, every now and then.

He was sitting across from you (even if you couldn't see him), smiling placidly and silently watching as the latex continued to suck and squeeze around your curves, only growing tighter as each second ticked by.

Once it was finished, the vacuum clicked off automatically.

It almost felt too good (good enough for you to ignore the breathlessness anyway) to be suspended and kept so still, wrapped up tight like a fragile, and cared for package. The constant thrumming pressure in your body, that made your ear ring and your heart pound, made it feel that much tighter, too.

"Absolutely perfect." Fox purred, sultry and sumptuous, his tail wagging idly behind him, his voice giving away every ounce of his pleasure. “You’ve always looked perfect in bondage, though. Hardly a surprise.”

“Hmmph..." You whined at his praise, almost surprised that you still had the voice to (when your featured were so compressed and smushed down), blinded and helpless as you were as you tried to move, your shoulders flexing and your tight body tensing and relaxing in short succession.

It wasn't bondage in the traditional sense, because you could...sort of move.

But, in the frame and packed between the two sheets of plastic, like a caught animal or insect, each movement was languid and slow, like moving through water, so...you stopped trying to move all together.

He stood, finally, the metal heels of his shoes (putting him at an equal height to you) making you shiver with each step, and moved closer to you, before slowly running his finger tips over the smooth surface of the latex, like he was caressing a rare and beautiful sculpture, his expression caught in a mixture of awe and appreciation, and primal hunger.

You didn’t even need to see it to know that much was true, and just that was enough to make you shiver again.

His fingers were warm and comforting too, without even a hint of claws, a far cry from his usual treatment of you, making the gradual asphyxiation that much more worth it.

"Just look at you." He murmured, his voice a low and hungry, and deeply worshipping whisper, tracing the smooth black like a blind man reading braille. "So beautiful, so lovely, my pet. You're everything I could have possibly wanted.”

He continued to caress you, both hands now slowly moving over and across your body, making every inch of your covered flesh that much more sensitive and needy for him.

"Like a piece of art. Hmph,” He barely suppressed a chuckle. “I ought to hang you on the wall, and charge my best clients to come gawk at you. Wouldn't that be a fine thought?"

You whimpered at the idea (knowing he may very well do it), your thighs tensing slightly under his touch, the most you would allow yourself to move in this state.

He chuckled again, clearly enjoying the sight of you squirming and wriggling in the inky black.

"Even better,” He stared with a little click of his tongue (condescension was his natural inclination, after all). “How about I display all my offerings like this, hm, like my own personal gallery? Let everyone see the masterpieces I get to enjoy whenever I please." He leaned in closer."And you, my darling, you would be my masterpiece. My Mona Lisa."

You couldn't see him through the sheet of latex, couldn’t see his handsome features smirking and goading you, so well suited to his position of dominance over you (over others) but you could feel him, feel his burning warmth, his intimidating presence.

And that too was an appealing concept, certainly...

"Yes, I think I quite like that idea.” He breathed out, his other hand pressed to the empty space beside you as he leaned in, somehow feeling even closer than before. “A little collection of living statues, on display for my own personal viewing and entertainment. And you…”

His slim hips pressed against your thigh, and you could feel the beginnings of an erection stirring in his well-tailored pants, even through the layer of latex and fabric.

“You'd be the perfect centrepiece, wouldn't you, my darling? Trapped and bound, forever on display, like the work of art you are."

Your thighs tensed up again as he rubbed himself against you, another helpless whimper lurching from your throat as breathlessness rapidly approached, as he grew more and more excited and aroused next to you.

"Mmm, such a gorgeous sound," He purred, his hand moving down to the firm, compressed flesh of your chest, feeling for the slightly swelled edge of your nipple, pressed right up against the plastic, and teasing it, continuing to grind his hips against your thigh and indulge himself all the while. "You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you? Spending…nhh,” His body stilled for a moment, overwhelmed by his own pleasure. “T-The rest of your days trapped like this, helpless and trapped on display for my own amusement?"

"Hfff..."

You breathed out your final lungful of air, finding your throat hitching and contracting on nothing suddenly.

“But you should know by now that I’m not asking for your permission, darling. I mean, you can't even talk in this state, can you?" Fox tittered (the authentic, honest cackle of a fox, a predator, instead of the practised chuckle of a showman), watching indulgently as your breath caught in your empty throat, again and again.

He leaned in a little closer, his breath warm and his body hot.

"I bet you wouldn't want to, even if you could. I bet,” He gave your nipple a mean flick, making you whine again. “You'd just want to be a good little sculpture for me, hmm? Hah,” He breathed out another laugh. “I knew someone just like that, before. So resistant to being a person…but the perfect object, when I wanted him to be~”

You tried to swallow another breath as he was reminiscing, but the plastic was too tight, too encasing, too much, fuck, too much-!

"Hmm, getting a little breathless, are we?" He asked with another murmur of pleasure, dark amusement in his tone as he watched you struggle with your breath, your attempts to swallow met with the unyielding rubber caressing and constricting around your throat. “What a shame. I do hate blemishes in my art pieces, though, and well…” He dragged a single finger up and down your trembling stomach. “Air holes are so unsightly, aren't they, darling?"

You whimpered, trying to give your head a little shake, pleading for his understanding and mercy, pleading for breath.

"Ah ah," He chastised you, his fingers stopping at the slope of your mons, giving it an indulgent rub, tittering again when your body stilled and you moaned, without the air to do it. "Can't have you shaking your head at me, now, can we? After all, you're supposed to be a good little statue. Just a piece of art for me to look at and admire, and take down as I please."

You whimpered again, keeping still as best you could (despite how much you wanted to keen your hips forward in the tight space) but pleading, with noises alone, for something, a break, mercy, anything when your head was spinning so much.

He drew it out as long as he possibly could, relishing in your trembling and rubbing his erection against your thigh, jerking erratically as a result of your breathlessness

Eventually, though, he took pity on you. He grabbed the organic seal in the latex, which was slit down the middle of the sheet, in his thumb and forefinger and pulled it apart, providing you with just enough space for your lips to escape the suction of the vac bed and take in a desperate lungful of air.

You coughed as soon as it hit you, taking in gasping gulps, your bound body still shivering as you readjusted, like breaching the surface of an ocean.

"There we go, that's much better, isn't it?" He said with good humour, rubbing his thumb over your trembling lips, letting the seal slide up higher and revealing more of your face to the open air. "Take your time, take everything you need.”

"T-Thank you...hahh..." You breathed out, your head sagging forward slightly (your face slick with sweat) as your spotty vision gradually subsided and you acclimated back to having a body.

"A little gift of mercy," He said with a shrug and another practised chuckle. "I can't have my prized pet passing out on me, after all...mm,” He hummed thoughtfully, tipping his head to the side, his eyes creasing handsomely with thought. “We do need to improve your lung capacity though, don't we? That was barely two minutes..."

"Mm...mmhmm," You nodded as best you could, taking in another few deep breaths and giving him an appreciative (if trembling) smile as you raised your head again to look at him. “Yes, sir.”

"And perhaps if you behave nicely, I'll give you a little extra time to catch your breath," He mused, stepping forward again, his fingers tracing down your neck and over your shoulders. "But I won't give you too much, will I? I do want to admire my pieces as they should be, after all."

"No sir," You replied quickly, giving your head another little shake as you felt a rush of heat run down your body and to your groin.

You knew how to play his game. You played it well.

Exceptionally well, if you did so say yourself.

It certainly also helped that you enjoyed playing the game, too.

"Good girl," He praised, his tone dipping down to something almost soft and light, as he continued to indulgently stroke and caress every inch of your encased body, gently tipping your chin up to look you in the eye. "Are you enjoying yourself, my darling? I certainly hope so, this was an awfully expensive luxury for you, if not..."

"Yes, I’m enjoying it. I just…mm…” You explained quietly, letting your hand shift downwards, with what little breathing room you were allowed, feeling the growing slick between your legs. “I just wanted to feel it. See if it’s as good as it always looked.” You took in a little sigh as your fingers grazed your swollen clit, still looking him in the eyes. “It’s even better.”

“Mm, naughty, naughty…” He smirked, watching as you eased your fingers deeper inside yourself, the latex doing nothing to hide it. “You’re getting excited, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” You replied obediently, not finding any reason to hide it.

He chuckled again at your reply, his eyes intently watching you as you shifted your hand even lower, the latex still sucked tight around your fingers as they twitched and thrust inside of you. "Mm, and feel what exactly?” He continued to probe, moving his hand back to tease your nipple. “The restriction? The way you're completely helpless for me?” His smirk softened slightly. “Or just how completely beautiful and perfect you look right now?"

"Mm...all of the above?" You suggested with a dreamy smile, still a little out of it, as the wet slide of your fingers in your cunt made your breathing shake again.

He laughed his authentic laugh, barking and ripping with genuine delight, which sent a shiver down your spine.

"Of course, a little masochist like you would love this sort of thing. You're really far too much, darling. But I'll give you a reward for your honesty, how does that sound?"

“That sounds wonderful, sir.”

“Good girl. Now, take a deep breath-”

#ren hana #ren x mc #ren x reader #fox tpof #fox x reader #fox x mc #kinktober 2024

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koiifiishy · 1 month ago

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sydney rambles bc this is my blog and mom said its my turn with the communal barbie doll (obligatory disclaimer of this pertaining to my syd & doesnt have to affect how u view ur own games version! also will be referring to syd with he/him)

circle glasses for max moe points. eris buys him contacts after the 3rd time his glasses get broken. still sometimes wears glasses, mostly for aesthetic appeal or when hes too tired to pop contacts in. has absolutely fallen asleep with them in before. ouch.

wears hair loose now adays but will occasionally switch it up depending on the outfit and event. ties his hair with eris' teal ribbon that he was gifted after they started dating. (kylar has probably stolen that ribbon before, but eris just have sydney a new one lmao)

idc if it is or isnt confirmed, ive been thinking of DID sydney well before i saw the tumblr dollies talking about it (those posts only fueled me lmao) and i 100% hc sysney. at least 3 bad boys are in that noggin; pure syd, corrupt syd, third secret spicy option syd that hes not aware of & is the cause for the "huh? what do u mean i just did xyz thing i dont remember that :-)???" scenes.

in my heart of hearts i do believe sydney is capable of knocking sb the fuck out & he would if push came to shove. the warnings he gives arent just for show! would he feel bad after? nngghh.... maybe. more like hed feel guilty for letting it get that far & have a mini spiral about how hes out of control & oh god plz forgive him,,,

only time hes getting to that level is if his partner is in active danger right in front of him. this is secret spicy 3rd sydney's moment to shine. (fyi eris thinks this is Hot AF & reassures sydney he did nothing wrong. ---purity loss interaction lol)

looks a LOT like sirris (dad in my game) but gets sheepish when compared to him. eye & hair color from mom.

this bitch is packing bc i think its so thematically funny for pure syd to go thru the stages of horny grief while ImprisionedTM & during his descent to corrupt sydney. fallen sydney is a lot more confident with his size! if i were to put a numbered range on what in game "huge" is id probably say were talkin pornstar level 9-11in and OUCH but also ykno what. size queenkings geddit. sydney personally? 10. maybe he was locked up for the good of all of doltown lmaaaoo

as ive seen others put it: sydneys got big "sleeper build" body type. you dont expect this nerd behind the library counter to be ripped but when he flexes u see the muscle and its a big slap in the face to ur arousal meter. Q&A's have also stated sydney to be strong but lack stamina. thats fiiine its just something to work on :^)

idr if its been stated in any Q&A's (sighing again that most lore is locked away in fucking discord Q&A's...) but Personally! i think sydney has a beginning low, to medium awareness after corrupting but! his psyche is fucked and he is ACTIVELY denying any supernatural stuff bc he just. cant handle it.

or, at least, most of the alters cant; i do believe on a deeper level once you get past the trauma fueled denial, he does know and acknowledge shit isnt right. faithful alter will always deny it, fallen alter is a 50/50 leaning towards willful denial, and its probably the other more volatile alter that pops up from time to time that fully acknowledges the supernatural aspects of the time.

i have my game set to not really acknowledge genitalia in regards to pc pronouns bc fuck u. HOWEVER realistically i do think sydney learning that eris was trans literally during the rite of promise would be a very pika gasp moment and hes rolling with it bc he loves him but afterwards he Does ask questions bc he doesnt fully get it but he wants to and eris is patient about it but also mildly on the defense bc he doesnt want to be seen any different than before,,, but sydney's respectful! and after a few months of contemplation he confesses that he never really put too much thought in gender outside of "it just is what it is", but that he himself sometimes feels like an ambiguous question mark.

he still uses he/him, but having his eyes opened to the world outside of cishet normatives definitely puts some things into perspective. he DOES have to learn not to be pushy about certain things, like how ur well meaning friend who's still learning will immediately jump to correct somebody even when you urself dont wana cause a fuss lol. but its all in good faith!

no. he will not ask his dad outside of what is absolutely necessary to ask, bc he knows he's just going to leave that conversation embarrassed. he makes the mistake of offhandedly mentioning queer gender theory like Once and sirris is going on a spiel about how its normal in the animal kingdom for blahblahblah humans are the only species to have so many societal rules and blahblahblah. (sirris is very encouraging and tries not to push but he also makes a big "if theres anything u need to tell me syd, u know i love u no matter what" scene that has sydney running away at top speeds bc AAAAA NO NO U MISUNDERSTOOD AAA;;; )

probs the oldest student LI. once read a post saying something along the lines of "sydney needed to stay in school longer bc of the thing with his mom/hospitalization afterwards" and i think that fits. closer to 19 going on 20, taking remedial classes and kind of in this weird grey space of student & teachers (librarians?) aide bc of his age. +being sirris' kid. it makes for a weird reputation amongst the student body, further alienating him from others who see him as "a teachers pet, teachers kid, & a weirdo whos too old to still be in school". (theyre all over 18, but if i had to place them id say: pc/whitney -> robin -> kylar -> sydney. dont ask for my source this all vibes baybeeee).

i refuse to believe sydney would listen to dad rock. idc if it was a joke by the devs or if it was serious my disdain for dad rock forbids this LMAAAO honestly he probably isnt a very big music listener and just passively lets the radio do whatever or lets sirris choose when they drive together. non lyrical instrumental music is probably his preferred go to music, but i can for sure see him getting catchy top 20s pop songs in his head and humming them under his breath b4 catching himself and grimacing bc its not even a good song its just stupidly repetitive,,, eris' music taste is pretty broad and sharing his tunes is a love language in itself so syd gets a good dosing of different genres over time! he gravitates towards whatever eris likes in true sydney-can-never-choose-for-himself fashion buuut i could see him genuinely enjoying hard rock as a kind of cathartic stress reliever.

big baby. we already know this, but i just wana reiterate it LOL. no matter how much fallen sydney tries to be tough and seductive, hes crumpling whenever eris holds him. they are so disgustingly codependent post-rite lol

however, and maybe im delusional!!, i still think sydney leans on the caretaker/submissive top side. yes he likes to be babied to a degree but we've seen in game how he can and does take initiative once hes comfortable enough. what he lacks in skill he makes up for in eagerness to please. faithful syd may be more pillow princess but i think theres enough instances in the game to show that theres also a side of him thats actively willing to lead and will take initiative! (again, didney hc - the differences lie in the altars but we must remember theyre all still aspects of sydney as a whole!)

its loosely talked about in game, that he likes the ocean but hasnt done many beach activities since the mom incidentTM — but i like to think he has beach mementos in his otherwise very standard bedroom. post romance routing him and going on more beach dates, that collection slowly begins to grow again. its a kinda bittersweet thing, and he probably separates the mom-collection from the eris-collection.

i stated it before but again: i think hed be capable of handling a polyship (a 3 person poly relationship only, including himself) but itd have to be corrupt sydney and hed be a bit reluctant - more or less so depending on who it is youre trying to bring into the relationship.

eris canonically has sydney and kylar set as his LIs, which i feel would be the easiest to accept for sydney given their shared history. (kylar is a different story but this post isnt about him lol). hed still need to warm up to it tho, being the king of dol slowburn, but eventually hed be fine with and even include kylar in things.

now how much of this is his "i need to please pc & tailor myself to their preferences" thing mmm. depends on the third person! maybe a little something like this from most to least easily accepted: kylar -> robin -> whitney -> alex -> avery/eden -> BW/GH simply bc ur fucking with his perception of supernatural shit if theyre beastpeople & hes 100% skeeved out if theyre not.

anyways thats all for now :] ! if u hate my opinions eat my shorts its ok bc they dont have to affect ur game's worldstate or how u view ur own version of sydney!!! if u like it, woohoo! questions about anything i didnt mention? feel free to ask! *im not in the discord, im not a dev or contributor, nothing i say is canon, these are just my hcs, etc etc disclaimers.

#looong post #dol sydney #fishy ramblings #sydney the fallen #sydney the faithful

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mercuriians · 1 year ago

Text

say what you want

synopsis ☆ you're forced to confront your feelings for aomine when your plans go wrong at a party.

content info — angst to fluff, some hurt/comfort, fem! reader, mutual pining (reader & aomine are both idiots), little bit suggestive at the end. also, as a WARNING, this work contains references to underage drinking so if that makes you uncomfortable then please don't read this.

word count — 3.1k words.

author's note — first full knb fic i've written!! yeahhh i got carried away so oops. wasn't really sure how to end it but i hope it's alright either way. while i was writing this fic i was listening to take a chance with me and lowkey by NIKI, so if you want to feel the vibes of the story then u should listen to those songs, they're amazing i promise. hope u guys enjoy!!

"you know, ahomine, this entire thing was your fault."

you aim for your words to be sharp, accusatory, and scathing, filled with the type of poison that conveys just how irritated you felt at the moment; they’re intended to withdraw some kind—any kind, actually, since it’s aomine you’re talking to—of guilt or acknowledgement from the boy, or at the very least a sign that yes, he was the one who deserved the blame, and every ounce of it too.

however your objective falls short, and there’s a thought that irritatingly lingers at the back of your unusually sluggish mind: that, really, you weren’t exactly free from fault either. but it isn’t like you want to admit that because even the boy next to you knows the extent of your obstinacy and pride.

it’s a shame, and it’s quite ironic too, that your words are ultimately what betray your integrity. the way they come out breathless, slightly slurred, and definitely nowhere near scathing says more than enough.

earlier, you might have drunk a bit more than you were supposed to.

but to be fair, it was kise's seventeenth birthday. knowing how passionate he became whenever the subject was about parties or having fun or legitimately just having the spotlight on himself, the celebration turned out to be rather wild, to say the least. though when you had all five—technically six—members of the miracle generation gathered in the same area, as well as some of their respective teammates, the pandemonium was likely the only thing you could even anticipate. besides the heavy stench of testosterone of course.

see, your original plan was to spend the night quietly spectating the crowd. you never really liked parties, and you never really liked all the chaos that it brought. what you did like, though, was watching that same chaos unfold before your eyes. you even prepared your childhood friend to be by your side when it all went down, with his fluffy baby blue hair and his innocent, perceptive gaze never straying too far from where number two sat contentedly, playing with a rubber ball.

"how long do you think it'll take before kagami and aomine get into a brawl?" you had mused, hiding your amused grin behind your hand as you watched the two basketball players get into an argument over what the next song would be.

all the while, you hoped that kuroko didn’t see the way your eyes dipped towards the area of skin that aomine’s shirt haphazardly left exposed.

luckily he didn’t seem to notice. either that or—this was more likely—he was kind enough not to comment.

"ten minutes." kuroko had stated bluntly, answering your question. as it turns out, he wasn't far off from the mark.

so, for the first half of the party, your plan worked. you sat by the corner, languidly drinking from your cup of apple juice while you chatted with kuroko about anything that came into your mind. everything was fine, things were going well on your part, and at some point, you even sang along to the cheesy pop music that the speakers blasted.

most of all, you managed to avoid aomine.

but to put it frankly, shit hit the fan the moment the clock hit eleven. a bit surprisingly, the instigator wasn’t aomine, or takao, or even the golden birthday boy himself. no, it was sweet, exuberant momoi.

looking back on it, maybe your surprise was unreasonable. this was the same girl who could make eerily accurate predictions simply based off the statistics she collected from the court, and with you being a basketball player yourself, you knew just how scheming momoi could be when she really wanted to. that, and the fact that she happened to be another one of your childhood friends.

yeah, you probably should have realized that she was plotting something.

yet the realization never dawned on you. not when she offered you three consecutive cups of sake and claimed that “it’s to help you loosen up!”, not when she managed to pull you away from kuroko, not when she proposed the stupidly cliche spin the bottle game, and definitely not when she forced aomine to sit directly across from where you were.

after watching a few hilarious and awkward rounds, it was only inevitable for you to be the one spinning the bottle, and it was only inevitable for the damned thing to land on the one boy you were hoping to skip. and no, not because you hated him, but precisely because you simply couldn’t. it was impossible to not like aomine, even with his laziness, arrogance, perversion, and occasional playboyish tendencies. the truth was that behind every flaw of his, there were just as many positives, whether it was his obstinate loyalty or his unwavering honesty or his genuine respect for those who earned it.

so no one could blame you for the way your breath caught in your throat when aomine held your gaze and when he eventually began to make his way over. “this okay with you?” he asked nonchalantly as if this was a light, casual matter, and as if he didn’t care at all. yet, there was a slight, barely noticeable tightness in his navy gaze. had you not known him for years now, you likely wouldn’t have picked up on that small detail.

but as small as it was, really, it was anything but. and with your heart beating just a bit faster, you knew exactly why.

you nodded your head wordlessly, your lips parting, your eyes meeting his, and your message being spoken and understood through that eye contact alone. aomine leaned in, and you closed your eyes.

his lips were chapped, and his hand felt rough and calloused against your skin, but you felt a trail of fire prickling through your body anyway. quicker than you would have liked to admit, you found yourself falling deeper. you hoped, for a brief, flickering moment, that aomine felt the same. maybe, within his mind, there were thoughts of you.

swirls of past memories, like when you two would play basketball together, sweat dripping down your faces, soaking the fabric of your clothes as you focused on not letting him score; fragments of the future, like what it would be like to attend college together; and wishes for the present moment, like maybe how he wanted you to be his, just as you've wanted him to be yours since the last year of junior high.

you pulled aomine in closer, fingers digging into his collar. the logical part of your mind shrieked, voice raising in volume the longer you pressed your body against his, but you shut the thoughts out.

very, very vaguely, it occurred to you that the alcohol made your heart beat faster, made your spirit burn recklessly in a way that you hadn't known before.

for better or for worse, aomine noticed too.

and the moment you regained all sense of control, you realized that you no longer felt the weight of his body, or the warmth of his lips. bright lights flooded your vision as you opened your eyes. aomine stood a foot or two away, his shirt a bit crumpled from where you had gripped the fabric.

there was a certain kind of look on his face, but the problem was that you were unable to decipher it. this was the first time you couldn't read him.

fear settled into your bones.

had you just ruined everything between the two of you? not just the chances of ever dating him, but your friendship as well? should you have kissed him in the first place? what kind of person did he think you were now?

what had you done wrong, and why did you ever even accept those drinks from satsuki?

suddenly the room was full of too many people, and there were too many sounds and the lights were starting to blind you and damn it you couldn't even hear yourself think. in the heat of panic, you found yourself running, murmuring mindless apologies to whoever you almost crashed into.

you didn't stop until you reached kise's balcony. it was small, barely enough for three people to fit in, but the fact that you were able to taste the crisp june night air was enough.

unfortunately, it turned out that you only had a few minutes to spend alone with your thoughts. before long, the sound of the glass door sliding open disrupted the silence. you closed your eyes, praying to whatever was above that it wasn't the one person you wanted to avoid.

"wow, you really don't want to talk to me, huh?" a gruff, low voice dryly remarked. well, shit.

your eyes flew open. "i—uh, aomine," you cleared your throat hastily, "what did i.. did i say that out loud?"

"sure did," he confirmed. you heard him walking towards you before you saw him slide into the narrow space on your left. cautiously, you snuck a glance; his expression seemed to be unbothered, but knowing what happened ten minutes ago, you wouldn't risk a bet on it.

his eyes met yours. "you've been acting off," he remarked.

you refrained from rolling your eyes, like it wasn't already clear enough. "yeah, well, the sake that satsuki gave me was.. um, expired." you lied, and quite messily too. "made my stomach feel weird."

"she made me check the expiration date before her mom bought it," aomine deadpanned, and for the umpteenth time that night you wished that the floor was kind enough to swallow you whole. "and your stomach seems fine to me."

"well you wouldn't know that," you shot back, somewhat angrily. "and why did—how did satsuki even get her mom to buy alcohol in the first place?"

"her mom was the one who suggested it," aomine shrugged. despite the twinge of surprise that you felt—you weren't exactly sure if an adult was allowed to buy alcohol for seventeen-year-olds—it was quickly washed away and forgotten, overshadowed by the look that the boy suddenly gave you.

"so, are we gonna keep dodging the topic or what?"

your shoulders sagged, your arms crossing over your chest instinctively. "what is there to talk about?" you muttered.

"look, between the two of us, you're definitely the smarter one," aomine stated bluntly. "so quit actin' like you don't know what happened back there, (name)."

a heavy sigh escaped from your lips, frustration welling up within your chest all over again. you found it quite difficult to even breathe at the moment. "i don't want to do this right now," you stated. "so please just leave and we can pretend like—"

"that's the problem right there," aomine interrupts, an unprecedented twinge of emotion filling his voice. it was anger and frustration akin to yours, yes, but there was something else—something that you could reluctantly guess stemmed from a place that he'd kept hidden until now. "you keep avoiding me like i'm the damn plague or something. i didn't even do anything wrong, and if you feel like i did, then i can't do anything about it because you're not telling me shit."

and that right there brings you to the present moment, the buildup to the storm that's about to wreak havoc and tear up the land.

"you know, ahomine, this entire thing was your fault." you hiss, every ounce of your feelings pouring out without abandon. it's messy, it's unorganized, and it's raw; maybe none of it even makes sense, or maybe all of it does. you don't bother trying to wrap your head around it because there's no use in doing so.

for once, you don't think, and you let your words spill out like water from a broken faucet.

"it's your fault because you made me feel this way about you, even though you're one of the laziest, rudest, and most obnoxious people i know, not to mention that you read those perverted magazines. but you're also one of the most loyal and genuine, and i know that you would never lie. not on the court, and not outside of it, either. and that just—a-all of it frustrates and confuses me because we're polar opposites. you say whatever's on your mind, and you don't care about what people think about it. i can't do that."

you take a moment to breathe, to slow down, and to collect your scrambled train of thought. "i think that's why i don't tell you things like this. i'm probably drunk right now, but i think you want someone who's as unafraid as you are, someone who takes charge of the situation instead of being in the background. the only time i can be bold is when i play basketball. because then it's just—"

"just you, the ball, and the person in front of you," aomine finishes. surprisingly, his tone is soft, even understanding, and you look up to meet his gaze. "i know how that feels."

"it's like nothing else matters when you're on the court," you whispers, and the boy next to you nods. "all of it is simple. it's nothing like having to deal with your emotions, and having to understand them."

"you're right about that," aomine agrees. there are a few, shocking beats of silence that ensue, both of you seeming to ponder on your individual thoughts. "but, you know, the way you kissed me back there said a lot."

your face flushes pink. "yeah, i know," you mumble, turning your head away as you rest your arms against the railing. there's an uncomfortable feeling that sinks into you, just being aware that aomine knows how you've felt about him for years. you don't remember ever feeling as exposed as you do now.

"you're a good kisser," he comments somewhat offhandedly. "makes me wonder how it'll feel like to do that again in the future."

you pause.

your mouth drops open. "huh?" you stammer embarrassingly. "you can't joke about this, aomine—"

"look at me," he interrupts, softly but firmly. with hesitation swirling within your mind, you raise your head to meet his sapphire eyes. there's no trace of humor, or scorn, or sarcasm anywhere on his face, however. in fact, the seriousness exuding from his expression feels undeniably out of character.

and yet he's never looked as breathtaking as he does now.

"i hate saying this, but i think satsuki really did succeed this time." seeing the confusion on your face, aomine explains, "i tried pretending like i didn't have feelings for you either, because like you said, it feels weird. i guess ignoring them was more convenient for me, too. but, satsuki being satsuki, i guess she got bored of us being idiots and pulled this entire thing together."

"she's an orchestrator," you mutter, astonished. "wait, so, this means that you like me too—i'm not hallucinating?"

"nope, your ears are working perfectly fine." he states. "i've liked you ever since you broke my ankles and put me on my ass back at teiko."

overcome with surprise and glee—none of this feels real, still—you can't help but snort. "weren't you pissed when i did that? i mean i remember kise drooling over me, and akashi-kun giving me a compliment, but you were definitely upset." fond memories flash within your mind as you remember the sheer embarrassment and anger on a thirteen-year-old aomine's face.

"and i was, believe me," the boy chuckles. "but that was the first time a girl played against me and won. usually, they would just crowd around me and ramble about how hot i was. it was an unexpected change, but it was nice. kind of turned me on, too."

the last part almost causes you to choke on your saliva.

"such a pervert," you accuse him, a tint of pink staining your cheeks. "i don't even wanna know the thoughts that filled your head."

"i was thinking about how great of a girlfriend you'd be," aomine grins, stepping towards you. he reaches out, his hand moving to fix the strands of hair that covered your face. "and how pretty you'd look wearing my jersey."

"we can talk about that later," you swallow, looking up at him through your lashes, the party long forgotten. "right now, all you have to think about is kissing me again."

"that's easy," he retorts, his strong arms circling around your waist protectively. aomine leans down, his eyes slowly sliding shut, and his distinctive scent—cedarwood, smoke, and a hint of sweat—washes over you as his lips slot against yours.

unlike before, the kiss isn't frenzied or desperate; still, it maintains an air of passion, which both of you can clearly feel. his hands are curious, wandering and tracing areas all over your clothed body, almost as if he's trying to imprint them into his memory. they finally rest comfortably on the small of your back, with your own hands perched on his broad shoulders.

sneakily, he bites your lip, prompting a small, sharp whimper. your mouth opens invitingly, and his tongue sneaks in, swirling around your own.

when you pull away a little while later, you find yourself panting. your chest heaves with every breath, and your knees start to feel weak. "and you say i'm the good kisser," you say breathlessly, reaching up to give him one more peck.

"well i wasn't lying, was i?" he raises his brows slightly, making you giggle. "i had to stop myself from going even further."

"nobody said you had to stop," you whisper under your breath, catching him by surprise.

"trust me, i didn't want to," aomine leans down again, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. "but we're both a little drunk right now."

his words bring you a renewed sense of clarity, or at least something resembling it. he's telling the truth, really; doing anything reckless under the influence of alcohol is quite far from being a good decision. "and i thought you were supposed to be a delinquent," you tease him harmlessly.

"even delinquents use their brain sometimes, (name)," he rolls his eyes. "besides, i'm starving right now. i wanna eat some of the onigiri that kagami made, even though he gets under my skin."

"he's a really good cook," you sigh in admiration, examining aomine's expression closely, "and he's handsome, too.."

he scowls. "watch it," the boy warns, "don't say anything you're going to regret later."

"sorry, daiki," you apologize with a grin. "it's just fun to tease you."

"whatever," aomine mutters. "tomorrow, i'll get my payback."

#kuroko no basket #knb fanfic #knb aomine #aomine daiki #aomine x reader #knb x reader #knb x you #aomine fluff #kuroko's basketball #i love him #✎— ❝devon writes❞#knb.writing 🏀

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ranhaitanisgf · 1 year ago

Note

Hello Hana💖 Can i request Tenjiku Ran + dating app? lol. Something like:he gave it a try just bc rindou forced him to do it, he had no interest in dates/romance until he matches with y/n (y/n also felt the same way?) then they have a date and became good friends? and after a lot of time spent together & enjoying each other's company ,they realize they are in love? idk, do you magic lol change everything if you want. (i trust your talent and i love that man so much that i'll be happy anyway) Maybe it's an awful idea 🌚 but i'm not longer a teenager //.u. i go to college and i have no other way to delulu how can i met him if it's not through those 💩 apps hehe.

Thank you sweetie, have a wonderful day🥺💖

i guess i can try it out...?

synopsis: rindou signed ran up for a dating app...how is this date going to go?

☆ a/n ˎˊ˗ i i i... STRUGGLED WITH THIS .... this was such a cute req and idea omg but i have never used a dating app 😭 i do not know if i did this right but ! i hope you all still enjoy !! and thank you so much anon for requesting this !! xoxoxo

☆ characters ˎˊ˗ ran haitani x g/n!reader

☆ wc ˎˊ˗ 1.8k+

masterlist

❥ ran has never really found much interest in dating apps; why would he be interested in meeting someone in a fake way? maybe it’s the little romantic in him, but he doesn’t want to try to actually meet someone he wants to spend time with in a way that feels ‘fake’ to him. he wants to be able to meet someone he likes in an organic way, though he himself isn’t quite sure where this notion comes from, (maybe the romance movies his mom used to watch?).

“here.” “what’s all this?” “you should find someone, aniki.” “oho? where’s this coming from all of a-” “you’re home too much.”

❥ ran is genuinely hurt by this.

❥ begrudgingly, he creates a loose profile, not putting a whole lot of effort into it. he doesn’t really see the point in all of this, so his profile consists of a single blurry picture of him with his brother, (not specifying which one he is) and his bio merely states his name, age, and that he likes to sleep.

❥ surprisingly, he gets matches despite having such a bland and blank profile, but he doesn’t even respond to any of the messages asking to meet up or asking for more information about him. he leaves them all on read, feeling wholly uninterested in talking to any of the people who were trying to get to know him.

❥ and so, rindou decides to take the matter into his own hands. he’s able to get a hold of ran’s phone rather easily, (the man does not wake up, so he was still snoring away while rindou entered his room) and proceeded to fix up his profile to a more suitable one, even going so far as to respond to at least one of the people who he thought might be a good match for his brother.

❥ one can probably imagine ran’s surprise when he wakes up in the morning and sees his formal wear set out on his dresser, and you could most definitely imagine his surprise when he sees a ‘okay, sounds good! see you then :)’ message from the dating app on his phone.

❥ he strides into the kitchen, his phone in hand as he pointedly looks at rindou, who is sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee while watching something on tv. there were no words said between the two of them for a few moments, rindou merely looking up at ran with a look that said ‘you got a problem?’.

“rindou.” “aniki.” “dear brother…what is this?” “you have a date today at 7.” “i don’t think so.” “you’re going.” “no, i’m not. end of discussion.”

❥ it was not the end of the discussion.

❥ ran ended up agreeing, but it was only because rindou promised to pay for his hair appointments for the next six months, (it was a pretty good deal; the salon he goes to is very expensive). he wasn’t too thrilled about this since he thought of it as more of a waste of time, but he decided to put on his nice clothes anyway, spraying some of his good cologne on his wrists and neck. he even left his hair out of its usual plaits, testing out a few different hairstyles before deciding to just leave it down.

❥ before he left, he’d taken a glance at the profile of the person he was supposed to meet. despite the fact that he was annoyed about this date rindou had set up, he has to admit that his brother does know his tastes pretty well, so he starts to feel just the tiniest bit of amusement and curiosity, (maybe he should get flowers? nah, he’ll just play it casual and see where it goes).

❥ when ran arrived, he wasn’t surprised to see it was a typical restaurant/bar type of place, though he was a bit amused at the fact that it was located still in roppongi, (he thinks it would be funny if someone came up to him in the middle of the date because they recognized him).

˗ˏˋ𖤐ˎˊ˗

“hey, are you ran?”

“hm?” ran looked up from his place at the bar, seeing a somewhat familiar face looking back at him. he leans a bit closer, his eyes squinting to get a clearer picture…ah, the person he’s supposed to be meeting.

cute.

he stood up from his spot at the bar, pasting a charismatic smile on his face as he held his hand out. “correct. you must be (y/n), right?”

“yes! it’s nice to meet you!” you beamed, giving your hand for a handshake. ran was a bit amused when he noticed your rather firm grip while shaking hands, but it only made him just a bit more curious about you.

the two of you went to sit down at your table, ran politely pulling your chair out for you, (he had been debating on whether or not to play the gentleman card, but he decided to go with it). after he sat himself down, he decided to wait for you to speak first, wondering if you were going to pique his interest.

a few moments of silence passed by as he watched your eyes flicking around the place, examining everything before coming back to him. when the two of you made eye contact, your lips ghosted a polite smile, your fingers moving to fidget with a piece of your hair.

“just to be clear, i’m not really into this whole…dating app thing. i think it’s kind of stupid, but my friends told me to go on at least one date, so i’m here. i’m sorry, i just…” you paused for a moment, pursing your lips. “...i didn’t want to give you the wrong idea. i hope we can still have a good time though.”

consider his interest piqued.

“well, if we’re clearing things up, then i’ll admit that these sorts of things are not something i enjoy. my brother is the one who messaged you, and i’m here because he said he would pay for my hair appointments if i came.” ran was curious as to how you would react at his words; would you make a scene by yelling at him and then leave? would you just storm out? maybe you would even cuss him out!

what he wasn’t expecting was for you to let out a big sigh, seemingly of relief, as you laughed a bit, your posture seeming more relaxed and open.

“hah! that’s so funny actually!” you mused. “i guess we’re the perfect match then, huh?”

“seems like it.” ran answered, an amused smirk on his face. “maybe the whole matching thing on dating apps do work after all.”

“right? this seems like too much of a coincidence to be true!” after a moment, you suddenly seemed to get an idea, leaning forward a bit with a grin. “how about we just hang out for tonight as potential friends? none of that weird polite romantic bullshit that you see in first dates. just two people getting to know each other, completely platonically.” ran let out a laugh at your suggestion, his lips upturned in a casual smile.

“sure, why not?”

˗ˏˋ𖤐ˎˊ˗

❥ for the rest of the night, the two of you had a pleasant time chatting about various topics, talking about the latest fashion and hair trends to how you secretly think that pigeons are spying on the people of the world, (ran wholeheartedly believes in your theory; you made a very good argument). he hadn’t been expecting something like this, but when the night ended, he realized that he actually felt a bit sad at the fact that the two of you were going to be parting ways.

❥ this fact made him quite amused, and so, he suggested that the two of you hang out again. as friends, he says, explaining that he actually enjoyed your company and chatting with you, (he felt a little bit more than that, but he could save that for another time).

❥ when he comes home and rindou asks how everything went, he just laughs and says ‘it was interesting’ then turns in for the night, leaving rindou wondering what the hell happened, and does interesting mean good or bad??

❥ the next time he sees you is by coincidence while he’s out grocery shopping for the week. he happens to run into you in the ice cream aisle, though you see him before he sees you; he’s quite focused on which flavor of ice cream to buy.

“ran?” “hm? oh, (y/n). funny seeing you here.” “yeah, no kidding! which flavor are you eyeing?”

❥ the two of you decide to have an impromptu hangout after that, both of you going to your respective apartments to drop off your groceries before meeting at a nearby cafe. it wasn’t anything crazy but there was a comfortable vibe, casual conversation and playful jokes being exchanged between the two of you as you sipped on your drinks.

❥ ran hadn’t expected to have enjoyed talking with you so much, but before he knew it, the sky outside had changed from blue to orange, the sun setting in the distance. now that he had hung out with you for a second time, he knew that he was definitely interested in you, your joking and fun personality being something that he genuinely enjoyed, (he thought that you were also pretty cute, but that was another thing).

“hey, let me take you home.” “haha, i thought we said we were just going to be friends?” “i can’t take my friends home to make sure they’re safe?” “hmm…well, if you insist! who would’ve known you were such a gentleman~”

❥ there wasn’t anything romantic about it, but there was a bit of a palpable tension between the two of you as he walked you home; the way your hands were just barely brushing against each other, the way you two were walking much closer to each other than friends would normally do, the stolen looks in the silent moments…ran knew you were feeling it too, but neither of you said anything.

❥ there were no words spoke about it when the two of you arrived at your apartment, both of you just saying your goodbyes and leaving. ran is for the most part a patient man, so there’s a part of him that wants to keep quiet and see where everything goes. on the other hand, he wants to bring it up to you and maybe see where it takes the two of you.

ranh_18: you looked good today. are you free on saturday? let me take you out for real this time.

❥ ran supposes he can be impatient every once in a while.

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more-sonorous · 1 month ago

Text

falling down, down, deeper still

another new au instead updating my fic I KNOWWWW you're disappointed I KNOWWW but i promise the new chap is coming out this weekend i'm just enjoying my mardi gras rn

(happy fat tuesday to all who celebrate hells yeah)

in the mean time, have another au.... and yes jack kelly is a farm boy in this au and yes it will be javid eventually this is me writing it... but rn have some David Jacobs character study

.....

At some point, skyscrapers faded into the distance and concrete walls became swathes of neverending foliage. The shitty family car descended down, down, down past the pine curtain, into the sticky-hot arms of the American South. David Jacobs could not have been any less thrilled.

The beat-up minivan rumbled painfully beneath him, creaking and moaning its ancient age (his parents bought the beast sometime in the 1970s) and near refusal to continue their cross-country trek, lugging a U-Haul all the way from New York City to Nowhere, Georgia. David’s headphones sat heavy on his head as his Walkman crooned The Smiths, and he was sure he’d never felt so miserable. They were over 800 miles away from everything he’d come to know and love– everything from their decent apartment to their synagogue and the private school the children had been attending since they were little. Leaving everything behind because of a stupid accident and a stupid lawsuit with an ever stupider settlement.

David was brooding, for lack of any better explanation. As they passed more and more signs ushering them further into the Southern States, he sunk further into misery. Misery being the frayed leather seat in their struggling vehicle– but misery nevertheless.

His twin sister Sarah nudged him once, twice, and he begrudgingly removed his headphones to hear his father’s voice cutting over the cheery synth-pop playing on the crackling car radio.

“Look, everyone– welcome to Georgia!” Mayer grinned as the minivan rolled past the blue welcome sign with its corny peach decal. His father was smiling behind his graying mustache, acting like he wasn’t committing his family to a miserable life in a southern hellhole. “This’ll be a new adventure for all of us.”

David kindly resisted the urge to scoff and instead chose to listen to his excitable younger brother Les pipe up from the third row of seats– one he’d claimed all for himself. “Aba, how far away is Atlanta from where we are now?”

“About an hour and a half, Leshem.” Esther, their mother, replied from the front seat, where she was navigating. A massive East Coast map was sprawled out in her lap, full of highlights and notations indicating their route.

“But remember– we aren’t living in Atlanta. I’ll be working at a factory just outside of the city, but our new house and your new school are about forty-five minutes out of city limits.”

Sarah nodded robotically– they’d heard this spiel at least ten times. Esther and Mayer told the twins that spending their last few years of highschool in ‘the countryside’ would be a welcome change. What the parents would never say aloud was that Atlanta itself was too expensive, but David and Sarah knew as much without needed to be told. Their parents used the chump change they won from the lawsuit to buy up some cheap real estate in a tiny town nearby, ironically named: “We’re living in Peach Creek, Les-Kah. Not Atlanta.”

“Surely a town named ‘Peach Creek’ won’t be crawling with antisemites…” David drawled, staring fixedly at a sudden outcrop of buildings. They were passing through yet another nameless town, obviously growing and expanding judging by the mid-construction McDonalds.

“David… let’s remember to have a positive outlook.”

If he heard that sentence one more time, he was sure his ears would explode. “Sorry, Ima.”

“I know this is a big change, boychik, but–”

“It’ll be nice to leave the city for a bit. I know.” He grumbled, furiously unzipping the well-loved backpack on the floorboard between his legs. His Doc Martens stared up at him, silently begging to be polished again. He added that to his mental to-do list as he tugged a book out of the backpack, cracking it open in his lap. “You’ve said. Many times.”

In fact, they’d used that excuse every time he brought up any complaints about the move. Most notably the fact that their new school didn’t offer any sort of music program– so he’d go from playing piano for one of the best high school orchestra’s in New York City to living in a town where there wasn’t even anybody to offer lessons. Also, there were no advanced courses to take at Peach Creek High. David’s dreams to get into Juilliard were suddenly jeopardized, but his parents refused to compromise with him. He’d begged and pleaded– tried every angle like the Debate Team captain he was– let me get a job, let me live with old Aunt Chavah, let me do anything to stay here. Nothing swayed them.

“Davey, we’re gonna have a whole backyard all to ourselves.” Les grinned as he poked his head into the middle row of seats, freckled cheeks dimpling. “Like the rich people do.”

For Les, nine-year-old baseball player and sports enthusiast, that was probably an exciting prospect. For David, piano-player and certified nerd, he could not care less. “We had a backyard in Poland.”

“Well, I wasn’t even born yet when we lived in Poland, so I’ve never had a backyard.” Les answered rather petulantly, still wearing a bright grin.

“That’s true,” David acquiesced, sighing deeply as he ruffled his brother’s head of messy curls. The kid was always sunburnt and ruffled– he spent way too much time playing with the other neighborhood kids at the park on their block. Les and Sarah were both like that, though. They could make friends with anybody and they seemed to thrive when surrounded by people. David was the outlier. Always had been. “Maybe you can invite your new friends over to play at our place.”

Les’s cute face brightened and David couldn’t stop his own smile. “Yeah! I’m gonna mow so many people’s lawns and I’m gonna buy myself bases and spraypaint and make my own diamond in the backyard, and…”

As Les chattered on, David slipped his headphones back over his ears and glanced back down at The Picture of Dorian Gray. He’d read it a million times over and read it once again on that torturously long car ride, too-long legs bent uncomfortably behind his mother’s seat and unhappy face set in a semi-glower. David was a New York City boy at heart. He didn’t know how he’d ever learn to enjoy a place like Peach Creek.

They passed through Atlanta and the sight of the city only made David long for home. Atlanta was nice, yeah, but it was nothing like staring up at the behemoth buildings in NYC. The spires seemed to touch the stars and pierce the clouds from below, and the skyline was an awe-inspiring sight like nothing else. It was under a lot of construction, too. Massive multi-lane roadways were being built, and Atlanta screamed of suburban sprawl that 1987 New York wasn’t really experiencing. They were widening roads and building interstate-highways that stretched endlessly into the distance, and David liked Georgia less with every second.

Then the city died and they started rolling through even more stretches of endless farmland. Tons of orchards– be it pecans or apples or the famous peaches– accompanied fields of blueberry bushes and so much cotton. It was September, so the stuff was in full bloom, and fields of it went on as far as the eye could see. Agriculture was the heart of this land, and oftentimes they passed massive tractors rolling down the road instead of fellow cars. David hated it.

A brown sign, probably made sometime in the 50s, read ‘Welcome to Peach Creek!’ in a falsely cheerful font. Apparently the town had been established in the 1840s. The people living there probably still thought like they were living in the 17th century.

And calling it a town was generous. They drove down Main Street, which might as well have been the only street, because it was crowded with just about everything the town could boast as its own. Peach Creek General, Peach Creek Grocer’s, a little 24-hour mom and pop diner– not a record store or kitschy bookshop in sight. Mayer mentioned there being a library down one road and the town’s three schools down another. It was enough to keep people alive, but David didn’t know how they considered this to be living.

David was utterly and entirely disheartened by the time they finally reached their house. Everything was so far apart. He’d have to walk three miles to get to main street and it was a whopping eight miles to get to school. Which meant he’d have to take the bus. Back home, their apartment was seven blocks away from school, and walking a mile in any direction would lead you to a plethora of gas stations and hole-in-the-wall restaurants to find food.

At least the house seemed nice.

“Woah!” Les cried, tumbling into the space between Sarah and David’s seats. “It’s huge!”

David privately agreed that it was much larger than he assumed– with a big front lawn that rolled right into an even bigger backyard. Their nearest neighbors were at least an acre away in either direction, and the property was speckled with trees. It seemed like Georgia was right on the precipice of autumn, and he figured that any day now, colors would begin bursting from the trees. The oranges and reds would look nice with their house. It was made of white paneled wood with a blue shingled roof, and they even had a porch with stairs that Les was already running up.

It was about the size of their house in Poland– though David didn’t remember it very well, he knew it was sizable enough with a room for each child, the parents, and David’s paternal grandparents– and much, much larger than their two-bedroom apartment in NYC.

“Well, yeladīm?” Mayer asked hopefully, wrapping one arm around each twin. “What do we think?”

“It’s pretty, Aba. Very nice.” Sarah replied with an easy grin, tucking one dark curl behind her ear. She had an effortless sort of smile– it crinkled her brown eyes and softened her features. Sarah had always been very pretty– very likeable. She knew when to smile and when to laugh, knew when to bat her lashes or shut her mouth. The better twin by leaps and bounds, inarguably. She looked relaxed and happy in this new environment, even when David was feeling anxious enough to burst. He hated change. Sarah took it in stride, evident in the way she was staring lovingly at their new house.

David nodded in silent agreement with her assessment, eyes roaming over the windows and the chipping paint on the columns holding up the porch. It needed a little bit of love, but it was a nice house. At least they wouldn’t be miserable and cramped. “I like it.”

His father smiled a warm, pleased smile, and pressed a kiss to the curly brown hair of each twin. Sarah first, then David, as always. “Good. You two are getting your own rooms, you know…”

Sarah grinned and David smiled to match, suddenly brightening. “Really, Aba?”

“Yes, really. Four bedrooms in this house, one for each of you and one for Ima and I. I figured you’d enjoy such a change– you’ve been sharing spaces for nearly thirteen years, now.”

The twins exchanged a look, matching expressions of sheer excitement coloring their faces. David was already thinking about the posters he’d try to get his hands on. Hopefully he had a nice window to read by, and maybe even enough room for a desk one day– obviously Sarah was having similar hopeful thoughts, because her bright grin was positively bedazzling. Mayer looked beyond pleased with their reactions, and he carefully adjusted his glasses over the strong bridge of his nose.

“Sarah, you’re the first to the left. David, you’re the door after that. Now, why don’t you two grab some boxes and help your mother and I start moving everything in?”

They’d been driving since five in the morning, when they left their hotel before the sunrise and continued their southbound trek. They reached the house at ten in the morning and didn’t finish unloading the U-Haul until half past eight, and by then, David’s arms and legs were aching for respite. Who knew such a tiny NYC apartment could be crammed with so much stuff? Boxes upon boxes, the couch, Mayer’s armchair– the hardest piece to move was the old upright piano David loved so dearly, which took pretty much everyone’s best effort to lift up the front steps. Since Mayer couldn’t help, his arm still wrapped in a sleeve, the other four family members struggled for at least an hour with the heavy instrument. By the end of the night, nobody could even think about unpacking, let alone driving out to meet their neighbors.

Dinner consisted of hastily made sandwiches and whatever road trip snacks they had left in the van, and soon the entire family was splayed out on the porch with food on paper plates in their laps.

David had never experienced weather like this before. The evening was hot and sticky, almost clinging to his skin. The wildlife was loud, replacing the sound of frantic car horns and sirens. Instead he heard crickets, calling birds, and croaking frogs. It was a symphony of its own, filling the air as the sunset soaked the sky in a deep orange. Sweat beaded his brow as he picked at the wonder-bread crust of his sandwich, the taste of mustard not exactly mixing well with his gas station hot fries. God, it was hot, and it was only September. How did people survive like this?

He absent-mindedly watched Les absolutely rip into some beef jerky, scarcely noticing someone sitting on the steps beside him until an elbow gently nudged his ribs. There sat Sarah, her curly hair piled into a messy bun atop her head. “Hey, baby brother.”

“You really do enjoy holding those thirty minutes above my head, don’t you?”

“Always.” She grinned, reaching a freckled hand out to ruffle his curls before gazing out at their new front yard, peaceful in the sunset. “You excited to have your own room, David-Kah?”

He gave an enthusiastic nod as he peeled the top piece of bread off his sandwich, carefully layering chips over the cold lunch meat. “Very excited. I can finally read in peace.”

“You mean you can finally avoid the world in peace, and play your weird emo music at full volume.” Sarah teased, bumping their shoulders and knees together with that easy smile of hers. David couldn’t help but roll his eyes, despite the stupid grin he knew he was wearing.

“My music is art, Sarah, thank you very much.” He scoffed, fully ready to playfully rehash the age-old argument they’d been having since 1982 when a twelve year old David Jacobs discovered The Smiths, and his entire life was changed. “Just say you don’t understand Dag Nasty and go back to your Madonna and Whitney Houston–”

Sarah snickered and stole a hot fry straight out of his bag. “Okay, nerd, I don’t understand Dag Nasty. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with Madonna. She’s bitchin’.”

“Ooh, bitchin’.” His sister gave a great big eye roll before shoving him, and David found himself thanking G-d for giving him a twin. He couldn’t imagine his life without Sarah– she was his closest companion. They knew each other like they knew the freckles on the back of their hands, and even though they’d grown apart in style and attitude over the years, they were still thick as thieves.

He laughed to himself and took small bites of his dinner, listening to the hushed whispers of conversation between his parents as they watched Les run around the yard, searching for rocks amidst the freshly mowed grass. Apparently a neighbor had cut it for them in preparation of their arrival. The sun sank behind the treeline and David watched with slight awe as stars appeared. More stars than he had ever seen in his life– bright and dim, speckling the sky sporadically. Like the freckles on his own back. He was awestruck. Almost too awestruck to hear Sarah whisper–

“I don’t think this is going to be as bad as you assume it’ll be.”

David felt his mood plummet nearly instantly. He folded his empty plate in half with a little sigh and shook his head. “I’m trying to be optimistic, Saz, I really am… it’s just– there isn’t even a synagogue here. And how am I supposed to act like this hasn’t totally ruined my shot at Julliard?”

“Hey– don’t talk like that.” She insisted, immediately grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together. Though they were twins, Sarah was much tanner from softball practices and time spent window-shopping with friends. “You’re gonna get into Juilliard. You’ve practically already got a spot reserved, you’ve played so many recitals for their faculty members– you’re gonna get in, David. Things will turn out right. And look on the bright side; we only have to spend a year and a half here, remember?”

He allowed his head to drop dejectedly onto her shoulder, feeling frustrated tears sting at his eyes. “That almost makes it worse. Why’d they have to move us right after our junior year? Why couldn’t we just wait?”

“Because Aba’s employers are certified douchebags.”

At the mention of their father, both teens glanced towards their parents. The two seemed to be in their own little world, sitting on the other end of the porch in silence. Esther held her husband’s hand as they gazed absently at Les, whose energy had entirely disappeared. He was laying spread-eagled, staring up at the inky blue night sky. David stared at Mayer’s arm, at the almost imperceptible twitches in his shoulder, and felt red-hot rage bubble up in his chest.

“They just wanted to get rid of him.” David whispered, months of ridiculous court proceedings flooding his mind. “Didn’t want anybody else to find out about what happened. So they moved us down to this backwards-ass state and ruined our lives.”

For once, Sarah didn’t have any optimistic advice. David knew she felt the same bitterness welling up within her. Earlier in the year, their father had been pretty brutally injured at his factory job. The injury messed his arm up and rendered it pretty much useless– but instead of compensating the family, the company fired him. Unable to find work and scrambling for a solution, their parents decided to sue.

Of course, lawyers and attorneys drain money. Their money was drained. By the time the court proceedings finished, the family was knee-deep in debt and too tired to celebrate Mayer’s small victory over the corporation. They’d offered him a new job as a manager, pay raise included, at a plant all the way down in Atlanta. The family also received a small sum of money to help relieve hospital debts from the accident, but it barely made a debt.

When faced with the option of scraping by for work and looking for a new job that would hire a man with only one functional arm, versus moving down south with a guaranteed job in an area with cheaper rent, Mayer chose the latter. Much to David’s dismay.

Some days he found himself wanting to throttle the corporate men that sent them down here. Other times he wanted to scream and cry. At that moment, sitting in the uncomfortably hot evening with little asshole bugs biting at his exposed arms, he just wanted to curl up in bed and never leave again.

The porch groaned beneath them as Esther went to collect her sleeping baby from the grass, gathering him up in her arms. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, the heat turning time into something slow and syrupy. David watched his mother carry Les inside; listened to the screen door swing shut behind his retreating father; felt Sarah squeeze his hand as the night cooled around them.

“We can make the most of this.” She insisted, almost sounding like she was trying to convince herself. David didn’t respond and let her continue her resolute speech. “We’re going to go to school next week– settle into our classes, find some new friends– it’ll be fine. We’ll have a good year and a half here, and then we’ll go back to the city for college and everything will turn out right. This isn’t the end of anything.”

He couldn’t make himself believe her. Not when her voice was warbling unsteadily like that.

And maybe Sarah didn’t believe herself either. After silence settled heavily between them, Sarah squeezed her brother’s hand and climbed to her feet. David listened to her leave, and shut his eyes to focus on the unfamiliar noise of crickets and bullfrogs.

In two days, he’d attend his first day of classes at Peach Creek Senior High. No doubt he’d be surrounded by the children of farmers and country folk, raised on hatred and bred on values that threatened everything David loved. He wasn’t going to let this backwards town change him, though. No, he was going to show these people academia and true strength that didn’t come from hauling hay bales or corralling livestock, and he wasn’t going to back down. If David Jacobs was anything, he was stubborn. Stubborn and bound and determined to continue being himself in a place that simply didn’t want him.

Either way, David had a feeling that Peach Creek was going to be miserable. He was correct (for a while, at least).

#newsies #david jacobs #davey jacobs #new au #small town #1980s #hell yeah #emo davey jacobs #sarah jacobs #les jacobs #jacobs family #jewish jacobs family #jewish davey jacobs #sonorouswrites #the javey in this gonna be saurrrrr good

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tkaulitzlvr · 1 year ago

Note

I NEED A PT2 TO THE 'DID U MEAN IT' ANGST PLEAAAAAAAAAASE IM BEGGING

DID YOU MEAN IT (2)- T. KAULITZ

synopsis: you see tom for the first time after calling off your casual hookups - unsure of what to make of tom’s confession after he says something that makes them so much more. it seems that he has had a change of heart, determined to put things straight, no matter how hard you resist.

content: angst & smut

a/n: lowk forgot i even wrote did you mean it LOL, i meant to write a part two a few days after but that never happened😭i’d recommend u read part one before this to remind urself of what happened cause this has sat in my drafts for weeks and i have finally found the motivation to finish it🔥

“truth or dare guys come on!”

a noticeably tipsy voice shouts over the loud music, everybody placing their drinks down and walking over to the large circle that begins to form in the centre of the living room. i contemplate joining, swirling the drink in my hand aimlessly, praying that no one will notice me. normally i would rush towards games like this, enjoying the thrill that came along with them. but that excitement is replaced with dread, because he is here.

my friends hadn’t told me that tom would be at this party - knowing that i would never have agreed to come if i had found out. but it was far too late to leave now, my breath catching in my throat when i had spotted him from the other side of the room, my heart aching as the wound of whatever we had is still fresh. and he spotted me too - his eyes locking onto mine, no longer paying attention to the small blonde clinging onto his frame. though a couple weeks had passed since i had walked out, i know that i’m not ready to speak to him yet, so for the rest of the party i ignore him, despite the obvious glances that he sends my way.

and i was able to do so easily - until now. a game like truth or dare means that i have to face him directly, something which i have strictly avoided. my eyes are glued to his frame - adorned in baggy attire as usual - as he joins the circle himself, no longer accompanied by the girl he was with when i arrived. and just when i think i have managed to get away with missing out on the game, i am dragged over to the circle by one of my friends, unable to resist her strangely strong grip. as i near the circle, tom’s eyes dart to mine, somehow spotting me out of his peripheral vision. if my luck wasn’t bad enough, my friend sits just a few seats beside him, tom now not even a metre away from me, this the closest we have been since we last fucked. i ignore his eyes clearly burning into mine, focusing on the glass bottle that is placed in the centre, watching as it begins to spin around.

“the first person it lands on has to choose truth or dare, the second chooses what they have to do.”

the bottle begins to slow after a few seconds, everybody’s eyes fixed on it - everybody’s except tom’s, who still refuses to tear his gaze away from my body. i groan internally when the glass bottle finally stops, landing directly on me. it spins again, landing on some random guy who i hadn’t seen before.

“truth or dare?”

“dare.” i state confidently, deciding that if i am sitting here, i might as well do something fun, rather than answer a shitty question that would probably be along the lines of ‘what’s your body count?’ or ‘where’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?’

“i dare you…” the guy pauses, visibly contemplating over what to instruct me to do, adjusting himself in his seat before continuing. “to sit on the hottest guy in the room’s lap for five minutes.”

seriously? i scoff quietly at his dare, wondering how he failed to come up with something at least a little more interesting. though when i lock eyes with the brunette that had been eyeing me up the entire night, it suddenly doesn’t seem that bad. he is cute, soft brunette curls adorning his structured face, deep green eyes and plump lips, i had spotted him almost as soon as i had entered the party. and he had seen me too, sending me quick glances and smiling at me. the opportunity seems perfect as i grasp it with open arms, standing up and adjusting my dress that was probably too short.

though as i begin to walk over, my steps are quickly restrained as a hand wraps itself firmly around my wrist, pulling me backward to sit on their lap. i turn around, a familiar pair of brown eyes looking back at me, his expression harsh, jaw clenched and gaze darkened. he doesn’t seem at all fazed, his hand remaining firmly on my wrist as he adjusts himself, ignoring the quiet gasps that sound from the people around us. all i can do is stare, somehow unable to scold him like sober me would. i don’t even contemplate getting up just yet, far too shocked to do anything but stare into his eyes, ones that i hadn’t seen since i had caused tears to spill from them the last time we had been this close.

“start the timer.” tom mumbles just loud enough for the rest of the circle to hear, his voice low as he refuses to look away from me. he adjusts my position on his lap, his hands moving to rest on my waist securely.

“what the fuck are you doing-”

“who is that guy?” he completely ignores my question, tightening his hold on me and pulling me even closer, diverting his gaze to the brunette who i had intended to walk over to, though like everyone else he is submerged in conversation with his friends.

“i don’t know.” i groan, feeling his arms tighten around my waist once again, pulling me in so my back is flat against his chest. i hear him tut behind me, his low breaths seeming to get closer and closer to my ear. “maybe i would if you hadn’t fucking pulled me over here-”

“i wouldn’t even let you find out his fucking name.” he quickly cuts me off, voice laced with an anger i hadn’t ever heard before, far beyond the heat of the moment frustration he had displayed a few weeks ago. this time jealousy edges it, the idea of me wanting to entertain another man leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. his lips are now centimetres away from my ear, close enough to be able to just ghost over it, but he stops himself. “you won’t speak to anyone else. because we’re talking about what happened, mhm? that guy isn’t going anywhere fucking near you.”

i scoff at his statement, his bold attitude somewhat amusing. he hadn’t been this possessive ever - when we were fuck buddies we would have sex, then he left. he would take me out for food sometimes, though it always ended in the same way - wrapped up in some random hotel room sheets with his dick inside me, leaving almost just as fast as i had entered. this is new. he had always gotten tense at any mention of me with another guy, yet he never had the guts to call me out. maybe he was jealous, but the most likely explanation is that he simply didn’t care. so why now?

i open my mouth to speak, though i am quickly cut off by the sound of a dull alarm ringing from the other side of the room. the guy that had given me the dare pulls his phone out of his pocket, ending the timer and uttering a quick ‘times up guys’. tom however doesn’t budge, keeping his hands firmly on my waist, despite it being literally impossible for him to have not heard the alarm.

i quickly detach his hands from my hips, standing up and exiting the circle before he can attempt to stop me, wanting nothing more than to be as far away from him as possible. though not because he frustrates me, not because i am seconds away from punching that jealous look off of his face, but because the butterflies that erupt in my stomach from his touch shouldn’t be there - not after i had ended things. my mind had told me that i would be fine without him, and until now i had believed myself. but fuck, i would be stupid to ignore the feeling that his presence ignites, his touch almost enough to make me run back into his arms. though i know that would be irrational, the alcohol in my system not helping my ability to make the right decision, forcing the morally correct part of me to get the fuck away from him before i make a mistake.

the music gets quieter and quieter as i carry on walking down the hallway, pressing my ear against one of the doors on the left, sighing in relief when i hear silence. my hands reach for the handle, pulling it open, silently thanking god that it is not only a bathroom, but an empty bathroom, something that is a luxury at parties of this size. i close the door behind me, turning to face the large mirror above the counter, adjusting my makeup and pulling my dress down - knowing that tom is the reason why it has rolled up so much. the mere thought of him leaves an uneasy feeling in my stomach, his actions totally unexpected and more than anything - annoying.

sure, i had been confident in my decision to cut things off before, but seeing his face and being so close to him proves too much to handle, the unexpected realisation that i am not where near over him beginning to set in. i groan loudly, resting my elbows on the marble counter and placing my head in my hands, quickly realising that i should never have come here in the first place.

the door handle begins to turn, though i don’t even have the energy to see who it is, mumbling a small ‘someone is in here’, hoping that they will move on. though the door fully opens, creaking quietly as i hear footsteps behind me.

“are you fucking deaf? i said-”

my mouth falls open when i turn around, my eyes meeting the brown ones that are the last things i want to see. his dreads hang loosely along his shoulders, tied in their usual ponytail. his expression is stern as he closes the door behind him, twisting the small lock beneath the handle.

“what the fuck do you want, tom?” i sigh, rubbing my temples as the alcohol in my system creates a small headache that begins to throb painfully. he steps a little closer as i move backward, my back hitting the cold counter behind me.

“to talk.” his voice is calm, still laced with anger as he places his hands in his pockets, his gaze never tearing away from mine.

“we have nothing to talk about.”

“don’t play that bullshit with me. we have fucking plenty to talk about.” he cuts me off firmly, tone lacking the composure it had just seconds ago, becoming more frustrated by my somewhat nonchalant attitude. in my head i am screaming, pleading, my mind thinking the exact opposite of what my voice utters, knowing that if i give in, i won’t be able to stop myself. the room turns silent, the uneasy kind that leaves a sinking feeling in your stomach, one that tempts me to leave the room and sprint home.

“i miss you.” he eventually speaks into the silence, tearing it apart with one of the most heavy sentences possible, leaving my voice caught in my throat, unable to do anything besides stare into his eyes.

“the sex you mean? me and the hookups are two different things.” my voice is harsh, probably harsher than i had intended as he scoffs at my statement, shaking his head and clearing his throat. he takes another step towards me, now within arms reach.

“why did you end it?” he completely changes the subject, tone matching the harshness of my own as his eyes narrow, feet shuffling closer to mine as his hands move to rest at either side of the counter, trapping my body between his own and the counter.

“because you said you loved me then changed your mind within ten fucking minutes. don’t act stupid tom.” i shake my head at his stupidity, wondering how he could ask such a question, the answer totally obvious. he still doesn’t budge, arms trapping me against the counter. “why do you care anyway?”

“you wanted to end it, not me. that’s why i care.” as much as it irritates me, he is right. i was the one to call off our regular hookups against his pleas not to. “and that guy is lucky he can walk out of this party alive. he’s been eye-fucking you all night.”

“so what? i’m not your’s tom. i never was. all we did was hookup, i can do what i want.” his jaw clenches at my response as he turns away from me, hands remaining fixed on the counter whilst his head is turned towards the door. he exhales loudly, his grip on the counter seeming to tighten as he grits his teeth, swallowing before looking at the ground.

“what so that’s it then? you don’t even care?” his voice raises now, not far off yelling as he finally backs away, eyes darkened as they scan my own, his expression hurt.

yes i care. of course i fucking care. my heart begs me to scream the words out, to bring him close to me and kiss him like we aren’t complicated. like we have the most simple relationship ever, even though it is everything but. we never dated, nothing beyond a regular hookup, and my heart shouldn’t ache the way it does over somebody who was never mine. somewhere within me, my rational side manages to take control, prompting me to speak after a few painful seconds of silence.

“care about what? look, i don’t understand what you want me to say. we had sex sometimes, now we don’t, that’s all there is to it. bye tom.” each word stabs me in my own heart as i speak them, knowing deep down that i don’t mean any of it, that i will regret pushing him away one day. when my hand reaches for the door, not able to spend another second this close to him, i know that i want nothing more than to show him how i really feel. though the second my palm twists the door handle, it is forcefully pulled backward, my entire body pushed harshly against the counter.

i am unable to object or even question what is happening as tom presses his lips onto mine firmly, silencing any attempts to fight back before i can even utter them. his hands attach themselves to my waist, pushing me further against the counter as his body presses against my own. my eyes close, lips moving to kiss him back without any real thought.

“don’t say shit like that.” he mumbles angrily against my lips, groaning quietly into the kiss as he deepens it, his tongue sliding into my mouth. his lips are soft, just as i had remembered them, always contrasting with the harshness of his metal lip piercing, something which i had grown to love over the course of our hookups - not that i would ever tell him that. never breaking his lips from my own, his hands reach under my thighs, lifting me up and onto the counter in one swift motion. he uses one hand to move my legs apart, standing in between the gap as his mouth works against mine. it is this change in position that soon makes me realise where he is going with this, and no matter how much i want to, i can’t give myself up.

“we can’t.” i mutter against his lips, my words getting through with little success as he mumbles a quiet ‘hm’ against me before kissing me with just as much hunger as before. i place my hands against his chest, pushing him back, though he only takes this as a sign to attach his lips to my neck, planting sloppy kisses all over the skin as his hands run up and down my waist.

“tom we can’t do this.” my voice is much louder this time, firmer than before as he pulls his head from my neck, not moving far as his face is inches from my own.

“why not?” he is breathless, chest rising up and down as his hands still rest on my waist, body resting in between my legs. when i don’t respond, he sighs lowly, moving his head back into the crook of my neck, resuming his lips’ movements on the skin.

“tell me to stop.” his grip on my waist becomes tighter as he presses our bodies flush against each other. the kisses on my skin become much harsher, bordering messy as they aim to caress every inch of my neck. and when i struggle to form words, i realise that tom knows exactly what he is doing, his kisses pausing momentarily to speak. “say you don’t want this. say it and i’ll stop.”

“i-i….” i pause, thinking things through for a second. i choose my words carefully, deciding what to say, wondering if i even mean what is about to leave my mouth. because we both know the real answer, the one that my heart pleads for me to say, even when my words come out as a choked whisper, saying the complete opposite. “i don’t want you. stop…”

“you’re such a bad liar.” he breathes out against my skin, moving to rest his forehead against my own, his eyes flicking between my own gaze and lips, swollen and slightly parted. he doesn’t waste much time though, capturing them in to a harsh kiss, even more desperate than the ones before. his hands move under the small dress that hugs my figure, the pads of his fingertips now dancing along the bare skin of my waist, his touch creating goosebumps along it as i moan lowly into his mouth.

slowly his hands begin to trail down, my mind paying little attention to these small movements, until his finger teases the waistband of my lace panties. my breath gets caught in my throat, lips momentarily stuttering against his own when he wraps his fingers around the lace, tugging it down at a slow pace. his lips still work against mine, only much slower now, pulling away once my panties pool at my feet.

“you have no idea how much i’ve needed you.” he shakes his head whilst his fingers scramble to undo the button of his jeans, pulling them down and stepping out of them. he reaches for his t-shirt, not getting far as i stop his movement, my hands taking the fabric and pulling it over his head, revealing that toned upper half that i had been close to so many times. but no matter how many times i had seen it, i would never get used to it. the muscle that lines his frame, broad shoulders and slightly built arms, trailing down to his somehow perfectly crafted six pack, god he looks good.

and he knows it too, a soft smirk tugging at his lips when he registers that i am staring. “it’s all yours. it always has been, but you had to be fucking stubborn about it.”

he reconnects his lips to mine, spreading my legs apart even further as one finger slips downward, teasing my entrance as i moan into his mouth. i gasp against it when he slowly inserts one finger, knowing just when to curl it to elicit those sounds out of me that he longs to hear. and he knows that whatever he is doing is working, my lips stuttering against his as my head falls backward, legs subconsciously spreading wider. just as i feel myself getting close, he pulls his finger out, placing it in his mouth as his tongue swirls around it, releasing with a small pop. all i can do is watch, my eyes glued to his fingers, staring as they move toward his boxers, hurriedly pulling them down as his dick springs free. his size had always been something that excites me, though now, after being without it for two weeks, my thighs clench together at the sight, needing nothing more than to feel it inside me.

he takes his shaft in his hand, pumping it slightly whilst the other reaches behind my back, undoing the zipper of my dress and pulling it downward. he uses his other hand to pull it completely off of my body, stopping in front of me for a few seconds to take in the view in front of him. his tongue comes out of his lips to gently poke at the metal piercing that adorns it, eyes widening slightly once they make contact with my breasts.

“you’re so beautiful, want you all to myself.” he mumbles quietly, spreading my legs apart and lining his tip up with my entrance. “you ready?”

he waits for my consent, smiling weakly when i nod my head. that is all he needs to begin sliding into me, his head falling backward at the feeling. my walls attempt to stretch out to accustom to his size as i hiss in pain, hands clutching onto the countertop. though i never tell him to stop, deciding that any pain is better than ruining this moment, waiting patiently for it to subside. he finally bottoms out inside me, and i swear i feel his tip prodding at my cervix, the sensation causing my mouth to fall open, tom’s already placing messy kisses on my my chest.

he slides out slowly, almost pulling out completely until only his tip is inside, before thrusting all the way in without warning, my entire body jolting forward at the feeling. he repeats his motions, my body practically on the verge of giving out, hands flying to his chest in search for any form of support. my teeth sink into my bottom lip, hissing quietly as dull flashes of pain wash over me, eventually becoming less and less frequent, instead replaced by pure pleasure.

tom finds a steady pace, his head still buried into my chest as his lips work against it, leaving purplish marks in place of their kiss. my ability to speak is long gone, desperate mewls of his name spilling from my lips as he grabs my hips, using them to speed up his thrusts even more. he moves his head closer to mine, somehow managing to kiss my lips at a slow pace, tongue exploring my own whilst his cock thrusts in and out of me far more relentlessly than ever before.

“doing so good for me, missed this pussy so much…” his praise is cut off by short and almost inaudible groans every few seconds, his nails digging into my waist whenever i clench around him. he pulls his head away from mine, and through half lidded eyes i see his own gaze flash to the large mirror behind us, his pace faltering momentarily as his expression changes, eyes darkening. and before i can question why, he quickly pulls out of me as i whine at the loss of contact, not having long to complain as he takes my body, bending it over the counter as i now look at myself in the mirror, mouth falling open as he thrusts into me once again.

the new angle is almost too much, my body now fully bent over the counter as i almost lose my balance, eyes squeezing shut and eyebrows furrowing. i can feel every inch of him inside of me, every vein seeming to leave its mark inside my walls as i clench around him. my head falls downward, close to being flush against the counter, though tom reaches around to grab my face, forcing me to be level with the mirror once again.

“no no no.” he mutters breathlessly, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he pauses, holding my face harshly in his hands, his grip likely to leave a mark. “watch yourself. look at those pretty faces you make as i fuck you.”

my eyes almost roll backwards when his tip prods directly against my g-spot, fighting the already strong urge to close, determined to comply with tom’s request as he continues to hold my face, his eyes locked on mine through the mirror. his muscles tense with each harsh movement, face twisting lightly after each thrust, the noises he lets out becoming more and more unrestrained as he gets closer and closer to his release.

“i’m so close.” he groans, finally letting go of my head, trailing his hand downward to rub fast circles on my clit, pushing me closer to my climax as the knot in my lower stomach begins to tighten. my legs buckle at his movements, quickly becoming overstimulated as i try to keep myself upright, pressing my body firmer into the counter. tom’s dick begins to twitch inside of me, signalling that he really is close, the soft groan that leaves his lips quickly followed by a much louder one as ropes of his thick cum begin to shoot into me. his head falls backward, low curses pouring from his lips as his cum continues to spill into me, his fast and deep thrusts fucking it upwards, followed by my own release. my hands clutch onto the counter desperately, using whatever little strength i have left to hold myself up, eyes locked on tom’s face as he cums, milking his cock slowly until he can no longer keep going.

he slides out of me, a mix of our juices seeping out of my hole, soon collected by the tissue that tom grabs from the side. sweat lines his body, showing just how tired out he is, if the loud and heavy breaths that leave his parted lips don’t show it enough. he lazily lifts me onto the counter, standing between my legs and pecking my lips softly, doing so repeatedly until our breathing has returned to its normal pace. he slides my panties on for me, grabbing his own boxers and quickly slipping them on, leaving the rest of our clothes on the floor. his forehead rests against mine, hands reaching to move any loose hairs out of my face.

“i meant it.” he states quietly into the silence, his lips ghosting against mine as i look back at him in confusion.

“you meant what?” i ask, my arms wrapping loosely around his neck. he smiles weakly, his thumb coming upward to stroke my cheek gently as i lean into his touch.

“when i said i loved you. i meant it.” no matter how daunting his confession is, he never looks away, his brown eyes searching my own as he blinks slowly. “i know i was a dick when i said it the first time. i didn’t want to scare you away, because i know it was just sex. and don’t get me wrong the sex is great, but it’s been more to me for a while. it did slip out, but i meant it, and i still mean it.”

my eyes widen, unsure of what to say, slightly hesitant to believe him instantly and instead wondering if this is just another ploy to fuck with my head, like he had done the last time. after a few seconds, i attach my lips to his, the kiss much softer than before, lacking the lustful intent behind it that had brought us to this position. he smiles into it, his hands resting on my lower back as his thumbs creates soft circles over the skin.

“i love you too.” his eyes light up at my response, arms wrapping tightly around my waist as he pulls me into a hug, lips pressing short kisses to my shoulder. he pulls away after a few seconds, smiling and reaching down to hand me my dress, quickly slipping on his own clothes and helping me down from the counter. he glances at the mirror, noticing that it is steamed up, his eyes lighting up as a childish idea flashes across his mind.

‘we just fucked :)’ i giggle quietly as he guides me out of the bathroom, glancing quickly at the mirror and reading the messy writing spread across it, hitting his arm playfully. he flashes me a quick smile, placing a hand on my lower back as we rejoin the party, my eyes immediately locking with the boy from earlier. tom quickly spots where i am looking, his eyes darkening as he refuses to look away. instead of walking toward him and starting a fight like i had expected, he places a hand firmly on my ass, kissing my lips roughly, his eyes still locked on the guy as he scoffs, shaking his head and walking elsewhere.

“i told you that he wouldn’t go anywhere near you. you can’t tell me i don’t stick to my word baby.” he smirks in my direction, taking my hand in his and leading me through the crowd, glancing behind him every so often to make sure that i am okay.

thank god for truth or dare.

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tokiohotel #tomkaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #kaulitz twins #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz angst #kaulitz #tom kaulitz fluff #bill kaulitz

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riririnnnn · 10 months ago

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The sole inspiration of this theory is this post by @someprettyname.

You know, one of the topics Kaneshiro-san hasn't talked about in the Manga yet is academic pressure on a student, and this topic perfectly suits Shidou out of all the characters in Blue Lock. He is like the perfect candidate to showcase a burnout student who had to put up with all the pressure their parents placed on them, and I have three reasons to believe in this theory:

-> Monologue

All his monologues during the U-20 match has one common theme, "Leaving a proof of yourself for the world to remember you." And one common belief in a household with great academic pressure is that you are made to believe from a very young age that if you can't achieve something in your life, then you are completely worthless. These kind of parents think that being happy with one's life isn't enough, you need to and got to be something or do something big in your life.

One more thing that slipped through ALL of our eyes is that Shidou is actually a pretty smart person:

Shidou was so quickly able to correctly judge Kunigami and Reo, and I think that's a pretty good testament for one's intelligence.

Of course, I do not believe that a grade can fully show a student's capabilities, but I do also believe that you need to have, at least, some kind of intelligence to score good grades. And considering all of this, I can place a safe bet that Shidou was some kind of scholar student and being a smart kid in an Asian household means having to carry lots of academic expectations!

-> Behaviour

You don't even need to fully know about Shidou to understand that he is far away from a student who is considered ideal and that's the point I'm trying to make! He isn't an ideal student because he is tired of being one for so long!

Okay, to understand my point better, imagine this:

You are being forced to be at the top of your class, to be a good, well-mannered, well-behaved student. It's like a constant invisible rope of expectation tied around your neck that never goes away and it's eating you up inside, so what would you do?

Most likely: rebel.

And that's what Shidou is doing! He is aggressive, violent and foul-mouthed—everything that can NOT be found in a trait list of an ideal student. Also, dyeing your hair in bright colours has been a pretty common thing any student does in order to 'rebel'.

You getting me? Please say yes.

-> Favourite song

His choice of music was the first thing that made me believe that Shidou is just being a rebel student. Hide, as stated by Wikipedia, was (or maybe is) considered as the icon for Japanese youth to rebel against the 'conformist' society of Japan. And Pink Spider song goes deeper than it appears—this and this beautifully explains about the above mentioned song.

Here are some few excerpts of the articles:

This song's meaning in Shidou's case can be interpreted in various ways, and I would love if you guys come up with your own interpretations.

For me, it's like Shidou felt trapped in whatever way he was living. He was made to feel that if he followed every rules, got good grades, behaved like an ideal student, then everything will be fine and will work in his way and that his elders really know the best for him and that he is just naïve. This type of living ended up suffocating him even more—he wanted to truly live—he bottled everything up and one day, he just snapped and that was when the Shidou Ryusei we know was born.

One more small and very personal reason for me to believe that he was a scholar student with too much academic pressure is that one of his favourite subjects is Art.

Speaking from personal experience, I've noticed that people who were forced to study and do well academically usually end up falling in love with making art.

I don't know how to explain it well, sorry.

That's it, I guess.

What do you guys think?

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock theory #bllk theory #shidou ryusei #雪 ranting

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empressdede · 11 months ago

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Me, U & Jealousy - Chapter 3

Previous chapter

This story is written in both present and past. Italics is the past and regular font is written in the present.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"So, you’ll be able to go?" Jada asked, excitement seeping through her voice.

Sorai rolled her eyes. She was kind of regretting the terms and conditions that came with her going to this party. Especially since Sefa kept trying to tease her about her ‘schoolgirl crush’ as he would call it.

“Yeah. I can go but Joseph’s going to be there.” She explained and Jada’s excitement dimmed just a bit.

“How do you know he’s going to be there?” She asked and Sorai let out a sigh.

“He heard us talking a couple days ago about me wanting to sleepover at yours. I’ve been trying to get him to change for the past three days but he’s not budging.”

“Well…. At least he’s not as bad as his older brothers. Like, that could be way worse. Plus, if he goes that means Monica will be there and Monica is going to distract him for majority of the night.”

Sorai rolled her eyes again. Monica. She couldn’t fuckin’ stand her. But Jada was right, if Monica was there, Joseph would keep his attention on his girlfriend instead of her.

“You’re right; She’ll probably do what she does best and open her legs and keep him preoccupied for majority of the night.” Sorai agreed with a nod of her head but that caused Jada to burst out laughing.

“Girl, no way you just called Joseph’s girlfriend a hoe.”

“Only thing that ever comes out of her damn mouth is ‘He beat my shit up. Girl, when I tell you he sat me down and tore my shit up. Who knew Joseph could eat pussy like that.‘

Sorai mocked in a high pitched tone to mimic the girl she didn’t like, letting out a huff of annoyance when she was done. “I wish she would shut the fuck up sometimes, don’t nobody wanna hear that.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.” A teasing voice came from behind her. Sorai let out a sigh before she turned around to face the person. Joseph.

There he was with a smirk on his face as he stared at her. She wanted to smack it off of his face.

“Jealous of what?”

“All the experience she gets to have, that you’re dying to gain yourself.” He easily replied.

“Joseph don’t do that. Cause who knows, maybe Cameron will finally put the moves on her -“ Jada started but Sorai slapped her shoulder to shut her up.

But it was too late, the playfulness got wiped off his face as he stared at both girls.

“If I find out that he puts his hands on you, it’s over for the both of you.” Joseph stated, warning tone in his voice.

“Joseph, you can’t keep te-“

“I can.” He interrupted, the glare in his eyes showing he wasn’t playing with her. “The twins don’t got no plans as far as I know, so Cameron better be on his Ps and Qs if he knows what’s good for ‘em.” And with that he walked away.

She turned to glare at Jada. She knew how much those boys were overprotective over her, and here she go pushing that imagine in his head.

He was already skeptical about letting her go is and she didn’t need another to give him another reason to change his mind.

“Don’t worry about it sis. You know Joseph is the only one who takes it easier on you. He won’t ruin this night for you, he just wants you to be careful.” Jade assured and all Sorai could do is hope she was right.

————————

Joseph had convinced his older brother to let him borrow his car to go out, and since he had already promised to pick Sorai up at Jada’s house that’s exactly what he did.

The two girls sat in the backseat of Joshua’s car doing last minute check ups on each other’s outfits that was all planned by Jada. She wanted to make sure that Sorai looked good tonight. She knows how much her best friend liked Cameron and she was going to make sure this was a good night for her…even with Joseph tagging along with them.

The ride to Aaliyah’s house wasn’t eventful; in fact Sorai kinda wished she rode with anybody else because no matter Joseph promised her, Monica always seemed to be stuck to his side at every event.

“Babe we’ll be able to enjoy ourselves right? I don’t feel like watching kids tonight.” Monica pouted and Sorai rolled her eyes.

She hated being around her, but she had to play nice tonight. Especially if she wanted Joseph to take it easy on Cameron.

“Don’t worry babe, you’ll still be able to enjoy yourself.”

Jada’s eyes locked with Sorai’s and they both fought to keep a straight face. Sorai decided to keep her comments to herself because she wanted to be on Joseph’s good side tonight.

She really wanted to get away and be with Cameron tonight.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Aye man, I can’t believe you’re here. Its been forever. How you been?” Josh asked once Sorai got settled in a little corner as far as she could be away from these guys.

She shrugged at the question, “Graduated College and I’ve been dabbling in journalism for a couple years now. The only reason why I’m here is cause of Jada.”

Jon nods his head at her, “Yeah, we don’t really see her much since she’s with the NXT roster majority of the time, helping out with talent creation. Any time we ask her about you, she act like she too busy to talk."

"I’m sure if it was that important to you, you would’ve found a way to reach out." Sorai stated simply with a shrug. At that, all the boys smacked their teeth.

"That’s not true, we’ve tried to reach out but it was never successful. We only knew how you been through our parents." Jonathan states.

"And even then, you blocked us… or me anyway - so it made reaching out to you that much harder." Sefa finally speaks up. The sound of his voice made Sorai inwardly roll her eyes. Damn, hearing him irritated her the most.

"I changed my number like a month after you guys left, but it’s okay. I know how much you guys wanted this, especially since the beginning years of college. Following in your dad’s footsteps must mean so much to you guys. Plus, being a superstar means you’re busy so I understand. I’m happy for you guys." Sorai spoke from the heart, even though their departure hurt her, she was happy they were getting to live out their dreams.

Joe sat on the opposite side of the room of Sorai and was analyzing her body language. Something was off with her, he’s noticed it the first time in the hallway with Kayla. He was getting the feeling that not hearing from them probably hurt her feelings. "We appreciate that Rai, thank you. Just remember, if you need anything you can let us know and we gotchu’ you know that right?"

She nodded at him; "Thank you Joe. So…. What’s it like running the locker room?"

"Nah, let’s get into something else." Jonathan stated, walking towards her. "Earlier, when we said you didn’t have time for heartbreak and you said it was a lil too late for that… you let some bum break yo heart?" He asked, tilting his head at her. How ironic, one of the people who helped break her heart was asking who was responsible for the damage.

Sorai let out a tired sigh, she didn’t want to get into this, especially right now. "Guys, we haven’t seen each other in five years. A lot has happened within that time."

"We know that, but that doesn’t mean we don’t care. A couple years may have gone by but that doesn’t change anything, you still our lil sis, and I hope you know that a couple years didn’t mean you stopped being our family." Josh spoke up this time.

Sorai’s heart felt heavy at the statement because at a point and time she really called these boys her family. Her brothers. Damn, she remembers when she didn’t like calling them that, she loathed it. But now, her heart crumbles at the memories. Fuck she missed them - just when she thought she was over the situation. Being around them did nothing to stop the hurt she still feels even five years later.

"Rai?" Joshua questioned after a pregnant pause took over the room. Sorai’s head snapped up to face Josh, but her eyes scanned the room quickly. All of them were staring at her with concern. "You okay?" Josh tries again.

Sorai hopped out of her seat, sending her most convincing smile towards the group. "Perfect. And I still care too so hopefully during my time here we could rebuild that relationship." She states.

Rebuild?

But before any of the guys could reply, Sorai continues. "I actually have to get going. Maybe we can catch up when we have some free time okay?"

Without giving them a chance to respond, she bolted out of the locker room. The boys looked around at each other in confusion. Each and every one of them having one thought running through their minds: what the hell just happened?

Sorai couldn’t do it, all these years and she thought she had healed from this but seeing them… seeing him made her realize that she’s not over what happened.

Back in the locker room, he wanted to know exactly what happened to Sorai since they’ve left. Did she meet someone who took her time, is that why she didn’t reach out? Did this person hurt her to the point where she was embarrassed and didn’t want to bring it up to them, to him in specific.

He needed to find Jada because something happened to Sorai and he was hell bent on figuring out what it was.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

How we feeling, be honest? 😭😭 The next chapter is where everything falls into place 😭 I hope I’ve done a good job otherwise. Btw Idk if I made it Known but I made the twins 2-3 years older than Sefa instead of a whole 8 soo the story could make sense😂😂

Tagging the lovelies: @southerngirl41 @reci1996 @skyesthebomb @christinabae @leighla3 @whatdoeseverybodywant @harmshake @yana3sworld @angiedawn02 @theninthwonder

#empressdede #empresswriting #wwe #black reader #sefa fatu x oc #sefa fatu x black reader #solo sikoa x black reader #solo sikoa x oc #solo sikoa #sefa fatu #MEYOUANDJEALOUSY

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npuppet · 2 months ago

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A list of things I have noticed in LaDs pt. 2.1 ft flowers (Xavier and Rafayel)

Ik this has been done countless times over but I wanted to put together the lads flowers together cuz it’s so interesting to read into all of them. Also I also know multiple flowers are attributed to the LI’s so bear with me

TLDR; getting into way too much detail abt flowers (thats not pertinent to the lore lmao) for fictional men in an otome game

Xavier

(I’m starting with him cuz I found the most interesting theories abt his)

His flower looks the closest to (and probably is) a Forget Me Not, meaning eternal true love, respect, remembrance, devotion/faithfulness, and royalty (King Henry IV made it his flower idk lol)

There is a European legend that states that a woman was trying to pick some flowers and fell into a river. A knight saves her but he cannot save himself so he yells “forget me not” to her as he gets swept away. The woman names the flowers Forgot Me Nots and wears them till her death.

Self sacrifice for a woman?? Hello?? Xavier????

But a post from Reddit by @/mimi_gail figured that one of Xavier’s other flowers could be a Menzies baby blue eyes, the post states

“It means woodland loving and has been derived from latin nemos and Greek PHILOS.”

(Menzies baby blue eyes on the left, forget me nots on the right)

Have u seen the memory Starry Sound where Xavier and MC are in the woods where Forget Me Nots like to grow?

Yeah

(Ik im mixing flower lore but it kinda makes sense… maybe not)

Menzies baby blue eyes are attributed to love, innocence and healing from past trauma and abuse, especially from masculine figures. I think it’s a bit of a far stretch to say Menzies are close to Xavier, even with philos from its Greek name. Philos primarily means friend and can also be lover or love. For example philosophy means love of wisdom. In the Bible it’s is mainly translated as friend. Multiple meanings. Take that as you will.

And also more lore on Forget Me Not’s from @/mimi_gail,

“DID YOU know that ANOTHER name for "forget me not" flowers is "chico XAVIER", they are known as XAVIER flowers. Do you think that's why xavier's appearance is blonde hair and blue eyes??? Because of how the flowers look???”

I looked that up and it’s actually a person, a Brazilian spiritualist who used Forget Me Not’s as a kind of medium. Interesting stuff. Probably an insane coincidence but still cool.

Another post on Reddit (@/prlmlkt) says blue flax flower is another good one stating,

“It could be the blue flax flower... It symbolizes life and death cycles, purity, perseverance, and rebirth. In some cultures, it symbolizes faith in action and loyal love.”

The blue flax flower is a resilient and hardy flower, very reminiscent of how Xavier had to be, being on Earth for so long. It also symbolizes delight and simplicity, like how I feel Xavier had fallen into a sort of quiet life before me met MC again.

Wavyleaf Sea Lavender comes up as it’s mentioned somewhere he uses it as a sleep aid (it’s canon lol) Since he loves sleep it does make sense. It symbolizes remembrance and tranquility. Google AI says it can also express “I miss you” but I dunno where it got that from. I just wanted to add this in here.

I have also seen that some people say cosmos’ are a good candidate too. I looked a bit into it and cosmos symbolize order, harmony, and peace. Blue cosmos in particular symbolize desire and inspiration like a muse. It is also the birth flower for October! I dunno if I buy into cosmos but still very interesting to learn abt

Rafayel

(I’m going to be so honest and say I know the least about Raf’s lore and overall story but I’ll try my best)

Rafayels flower is a Flame Lily, also known as the Gloriosa Lily.

A striking and vibrant red, yellow, and pink that suits Rafayel perfectly.

It symbolizes passion, love, and nobility, also harbinger of good fortune (how ironic). It is a strong cultural symbol in our world, finding ties in Africa, India and Hinduism. National flower of Zimbabwe, it likes hot and dry climates and is highly toxic to humans lol.

I always found it morbidly ironic that the god of the sea who sacrificed his people for his bride was reborn(?) with a fire evol. That and his underwater civilization was dried up into a desert, where the fame lily would love to grow.

(There’s lore in this picture I just know it but I dunno what it is yet) (just look how he’s holding his, Zayne’s, and Xavier’s flowers) (lore is there I know it)

Another flower I feel like would a good fit is a bleeding heart (cuz.. yknow)

Bleeding hearts symbolize sorrow, passionate love, and loss/abandonment. I know I’m getting very literal but you can see it right??

Another is camellia flowers. Symbolizing affection and admiration, the pink ones show longing for someone and the red ones deep desire.

I also think the many petal layers of the camellia parallels nicely to how deep and complex a character Rafayel is. He seems aloof and bratty but the deep seated fears of abandonment and rejection that keep popping up is heart wrenching. This man is so anxious for MC to remember and love him again. (;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`)

and very briefly ik there are theories as to some of his accessories being safely pins and bro auggghhhh that really hurts to know how much he is just barely holding on for her.

Part two of this flower analysis will be for Zayne and Sylus and the final part will be for Caleb

#love and deep space lore #love and deepspace #lads #lads xavier #lads rafayel #lads flowers #l&ds rafayel #l&ds xavier

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starryhutcherson · 1 year ago

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do you do male requests? If u do I have an idea 😄 maybe a one shot where the reader is pinning desperately over clapton, but doesn’t think he’d like someone like him since he’s a bit nerdy. But in reality clapton is also the biggest dork ever and likes him just as much:3

━━ OPPOSITES ATTRACT

author's note: i try to keep all my fanfiction gender neutral, except for smut which i write with a female reader, just because i don't really know how to write good male smut, so seeing as this is just a fluffy fic i made it gender neutral as usual thank you for your request! also i stayed up until the ungodly hours of the morning to finish this so pls dont judge if its shit i did my best

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: clapton davis x nerdy!reader warnings: swearing word count: 2500+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

After you’d reached Junior year at Grizzly Lake High, you’d accepted the plaguing reality in which you were a nerd. With your plethora of knowledge regarding random facts, active participation in the school newspaper editorial committee, and expertise in your pre-calculus class, it’s reasonable to say that you were not a typical, soulless high-school student like the rest of the Grizzly population, and it was something that you’d grown to accept.

Being sort of geeky wasn’t all that bad – you had a close knit circle of friends who shared similar interests, and you were excelling in all your classes, so there wasn’t really a reason for you to have contempt towards your social status, right?

Wrong.

You had one very strong reason, a reason adorned in obnoxiously colored clothes and a reason that you were recently paired up with for a science project.

Clapton Davis.

You’d had the privilege of sitting near him for nearly a year now, thanks to Ms. Hudson’s seating plan which had situated you just a few desks away from him. To state that you stared at him for the duration of most (all) lessons would be a little creepy, but it was hard not to, when the afternoon hit its peak and you were able to watch the syrupy sunlight crease right over his figure like fine silk — how are eyes that warm possible? Is that shade of brown even real?

You’re in far too deep for someone who you’ve hardly spoken a word to, sure, but could anyone blame you? You couldn’t help it– the lingering glances sent from the overcast shadows of your desk, tucked into a corner of the classroom, pining hopelessly, bouncing your knee with repeated, tense motions and scattering love-heart encircled initials all over your paper.

Fuck.

The real kick in the teeth was the fact that Clapton was somebody, at least at this school. He was propped up by popularity and people, effortlessly perched at the head of the social pyramid of Grizzly High, and you certainly were not. Superficial bullshit like this never bothered you in the past, but the fact that Clapton was so comically out of reach felt like a deliberate joke aimed squarely at you, and for lack of better words, it sucked.

It was taxing labor to try and tolerate your complete lack of a chance with him at the best of times, when you were nestled in the back of classrooms, hopelessly admiring his figure, or passing him in the halls and basking in the fleeting smiles you exchanged – but seeing him up close, being a mere breath away from him, hands making contact for abiding moments that spark against your skin… you deem it the cruelest torture of all.

The project you’d been paired up for was relatively simple – creating some predictable poster on mitochondrial DNA, but considering the prospect of working alongside Clapton, it became of far greater interest than it should be, science became a highlight of your timetable, a rarity even for you.

And it’s where you are currently, tense against the stool you’re seated at, knuckles pulsing with a dull ache from cracking them right against the maple wood of the desk — Clapton’s complaining about the point of this whole thing and you attempt to explain the delicate concept of nucleotide composition, while trying not to sound like a complete and utter loser. You’re failing substantially.

“No, so– the phosphate group is part of the main components which are what form the DNA, but deoxyribose–”

“De–what?”

You huff, wiping sodden palms against the plane of your denim-bound thigh.

“It’s not—”

“I can’t focus here anyway. It’s too loud,” he grunts, opting to etch his initials onto the side of the desk with deliberate, harsh carvings of his pencil.

Your gaze swallows up his convex figure. Boredom. Ouch.

“I can just do it all, if you, uh, want.”

His head cocks upwards – it’s a tempting offer. But he’s not a douchebag. No matter what people might insinuate. A gradual smirk tugs downwards at the curvature of his lips, hands stilling their previous motions as he turns up to you.

“No, you don’t gotta do that. Just come over to my place after school or something, you can explain it there, right?”

Your throat clots as though you’ve swallowed mud— your words feel heavy on your tongue and you don’t dare glance upwards from the paper in front of you, in fear of him finding the elation that’s erupting across your guise.

His house? His house? It feels like an elaborate prank – how how how were you supposed to resist him if he was openly inviting you over? Your nails bite into the exposed flesh of your palm, leaving raw crescent marks in their wake. You couldn’t turn down the opportunity, even if every second would be agony, having him dangled in front of you, so close yet so far.

You croak out a weak, “Oh, sure, that sounds good—” it sounds better than good.

But it also sounds worse than it as well. You develop a looming sense of nervousness, forcing your fingers deeper into your skin, choking back a scream of intolerance. What would you even talk about? Sports? Shoes? Or just this stupid project?

He seems to sense your displeasure, because he answers it with a chuckle. “Chill. I don’t bite. Y’know, unless you want me to.”

Cocky prick.

✩‧₊˚

The walk to Clapton’s house went smoother than you anticipated, casual conversation playing on loop as you wind through the bends of each mundane neighborhood that Grizzly Lake has to offer – his house is the same as a thousand others, but you wear a smile and offer lousy compliments anyway, to which he rolls his eyes a little and tells you that it’s nice or whatever.

Maybe he’s picked up on your inherent adoration, maybe he’s just toying around with you. You’re not sure– but his damn hypnotic eyes are distracting you from your purpose– mitochondrial composition. Super interesting.

The pair of you are slumped against his bed, surrounded by sunwashed memorabilia as the afternoon begins to bleed into the evening. Your progress is limited, but you don’t care. Your proximity is the only thing settling in your mind, like dust upon your shoulders and in your throat– you can taste his breathing as it fans across your neck.

Cedarwood seeps into every crevice of your skin – he’s too damn close. You’re not sure you can take this.

“It’s sort of like lego.”

Your voice cuts through the incessant tide of your wandering thoughts.

“Lego?” “Yeah. Y’know— like, okay, the phosphate is the base, and then the sugar molecule connects to that, and then the nitrogenous base is like, your unique pieces, y’know, color, size, whatever, it gives the DNA it’s unique features.”

“Sort of… following?” You grin at the achievement.

“That’s good!”

“I never usually get this stuff, so uh, thanks.”

Your heartstrings tangle into one unfathomably tight knot, and your nerves pulse in sharp bouts beneath the surface of your skin. He’s thanking you. And he’s smiling too, pearly whites seeming near opalescent, but maybe that’s your mind, warped with ecstasy. You wished you had more to talk about though. More to offer. But what were you supposed to bring up, your comic book collection? He’d probably laugh in your face.

“It’s all good. I’m glad I could help you.” His grin widens fractionally.

“I’m glad too.”

A moment’s silence flutters by.

“So uh–”

"Should we-"

You chuckle, a smidge awkward, as your sentences overlap.

“You first,” he tells you, and you shift timidly on his bed, accompanied by the dull squeak of his mattress.

“Just uh… wondering if I should go.”

He appears to tense, just for a moment, as if your words had implications that you weren’t aware of, but it dissolves as quickly as it came and you can’t analyze his feelings in time.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you want.”

Whatever you want. You’re sure he doesn’t want the true answer to that. What you want, what you absolutely want, is mere inches away from you, looking preternatural in the first whispers of a mid-autumn sunset, splayed across his bed with a boyish grin, whatever you want is right there, waiting and daring you to try and take it. You don’t. You can’t.

“Okay. Uh, see you tomorrow then.”

Shit.

✩‧₊˚

The aforementioned tomorrow is so inconsequentially boring that you debate coming home early. You’ve got nothing planned, no important subjects, and every time you pass Clapton in the hallways, greeted with an elusive raise of the eyebrows or a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it grin, it gets harder and harder to ignore the fiery feelings in your body.

You can barely take the spiderwebs of angst growing across your stomach, tangled into your thoughts– Clapton. That’s all you can seem to find threaded into every fissure in your psyche. It feels like every stray thought is the gnawing reminder that Clapton isn’t yours. How are you supposed to focus on physics when those honey-sweet eyes are eternally burnt into the forefront of your mind? You’re seconds away from tearing out your own fucking hair, it’s so unlike you to get worked up by something like this.

Yet here you are.

Here you are, staring emptily down at your worksheet, filling in the answers with ease, wondering how much easier it would be to attract attention if you had more appealing interests. If you knew how to skateboard instead of the elements of the periodic table, if you spent your money on clothes instead of comics. Shit. Shit, you really liked him and he really probably didn’t like you. It stings like a childhood wound, like hydrogen peroxide festering amongst skinned knees.

Fuck this.

✩‧₊˚

The day is achingly slow, boredom clinging to the air and swallowing you whole. Each class just feels like going through the motions, your thoughts are stuck on one thing and one thing only, and you hyperfixate on every previous interaction with him, sourly regretting every word you’ve ever spoken, praying he didn’t think they were as weird as you did.

You want to scream! The schoolbell released you after what seemed like decades, and now you’re shuffling down the streets back to your house, where you can hopefully catch a break from your constant stream of deprecating thoughts, but no.

The roll of a skateboard pounding against the graveled roads becomes audible as it slows behind you, a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“Going home?”

It's him.

You turn around, plastering a weak smile across your face.

“Uh, yeah. Why?” He inches a little closer, picking up his board and tucking it under his arm. “Can I come over?”

Your stomach snags on itself, an airy sensation spreading across every tense limb. It’s a bold move, but it’s a welcome one.

“For the project?” He shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Also just to hang out.”

You perk a smile at this, for a brief moment, before it melts directly from your face. Clapton in your house? Clapton in your room? You visualize each poster, each stupid certificate your mom made you hang up on your wall— he can’t go in there. You’d die of shame.

“Oh, uh, I’m kinda— busy.” He frowns. “Seriously? C’mon, just for, like, an hour.”

“Clapton—”

“Please?”

It should flatter you, how desperate he comes across, but you’re too worried that after he sees you, like, the real you, presented through your room and your stuff and your interests, that he’ll be weirded out, and scamper away to some cheerleader or something. Still, those pleading eyes work wonders on you, and it becomes impossible to refuse them.

“Okay, fine. An hour,” you mumble, and set off back on your journey home with him following close behind.

You make it to your house, hesitantly guiding him into your bedroom– he doesn’t seem to have much of a reaction. You were definitely overthinking it.

He makes himself welcome, collapsing on your bed with a sigh, laying sprawled on his back with his eyes trained on your ceiling, eye to eye with your collector’s edition Return of the Jedi poster, limited edition, signed.

You tentatively join him.

“You like Star Wars?”

He asks, gesturing to the poster, no teasing present in his tone.

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

“Seriously? What’s this one about?”

You can’t help yourself– he seems properly interested, and even if the question was merely to start conversation you attack it, spluttering eager sentences about the plot and the characters and oh fuck, you’re really going on about it. His eyes have left the poster and he’s rolled onto his side, vision stuck straight on you, he’s probably judging you.

You cut your own sentence midway, feeling the apples of your cheeks redden with embarrassment as you shrink back down to your previously timid self.

“Sorry. My bad,” you mumble, picking a loose thread on your duvet. He notices, faltering a little.

“What? No, come on. I’m invested now.”

You sigh, your eyes drilling holes into your shoes, where they stay staring. “Why? Why do you keep, like, talking to me and stuff?” He sits up so he can join you, shoulder resting beside yours. “What’d you mean?”

Your body feels uncomfortably taut with the suspense of this tangible moment, and you decide that you might as well get this swollen feeling off your chest before it bursts inside of you.

A moment’s silence. A bated breath. You harness whatever confidence you can find in yourself (though it’s pretty barren), and go for it before your thoughts can catch up to you.

“I just– I’m not, like… I’m not like your other friends. And I… I dunno, I… look, I like you. Like, I really like you, and I know it’s stupid, but I feel like you keep on giving me, like, mixed signals– but I don’t wanna—”

“Wait, you like me?”

You let out a begrudging exhale. “I know, it’s stupid–”

“What? You’re kidding right? You’re, like, perfect.”

Your head jolts to him so quickly you’re surprised you don’t get whiplash.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re super pretty, but like– you’re smart, and you’re nice, and you’re funny… you seriously like me?”

You’re barely processing. It feels like you’ve swallowed rose thorns, like every grain of sand has settled in the pit of your stomach, filling you up from the inside out, drying out the cavity of your throat.

“Y–yeah?”

He chuckles, a noise you want sewn into your memory forever. “I like you too. I totally have for ages.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull. “Are you serious?”

Again, he flaunts that grin that you’ve marveled at for far too long. And it takes you a moment to realize he’s not replying– not with words. But his face is closer than before, and suddenly you could count every freckle, you could name every color in the ring of his iris, and he’s closer still, and only your eyes are doing the talking, and then his soft lips hit yours and everything stone inside you cracks.

He moves gently, as if you’re made of frozen sugar; his hands find your waist, he paws at it slowly, too much, not enough— and then he pulls away.

“That serious enough for you?”

You stammer out a butchered sentence, before roping yourself together, somewhat. “You can’t do that!” You choke, though there’s no malice in your tone, because he can hear your smile, even before he can see it.

“Just did, baby.”

“You’re unreal. This— this isn’t real,” you chuckle in awe.

“Mmm… I’d say it’s pretty real,” he smirks, reaching for your hand and squeezing it for emphasis.

“Why’d you like me?” If you hunt for it, you can still taste the vestige of him on your trembling lips.

“I just said, remember? You’re really generous, and you’re, like, patient with me, when nobody else is. And you’re painfully hot.”

You snort at this. “You’re the hot one.”

“Hey, we can both be hot.”

You giggle, squeezing his hand back, you fall into a pattern. You fade into him.

“Oh my god, I actually can’t believe this.”

He presses a chaste peck to the canvas of your cheek, spreading a ruby flush that’s all for him.

“Believe it.”

And you start to.

masterlist

✩‧₊˚

#clapton davis x reader #clapton davis x you #detention 2011 #josh hutcherson smut #mike schmidt fluff #clapton davis fluff #clapton davis smut #clapton davis #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader

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