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saerins · 2 years ago

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─── 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄

+ sae x f!reader | wc 4.9k | content: angst, fluff, some making out, implied sex, stupid teenager phase

notes: sobs this was not supposed to be this long … one of y’all need to stop me from writing about this man !! i love him too much, pls send help </3 extra: this is the song playing in the last scene :’)

summary: sae has few interests, and one of them is you. but sometimes, being special just isn’t enough.

you’ve always been special.

ever since age three when your family moved across the street from where the itoshis lived. ever since age five when you finally gathered the courage to talk to the pair of brothers. ever since age six when sae invited you to play with him and rin. ever since age seven when you cried because someone bullied you at the playground and sae wiped away your tears. ever since age ten when both of you played with paper rings. ever since age eleven when you and sae would talk endlessly at night through the phone and get nagged at by your parents when they found out.

ever since age twelve when you told sae you’d watch him become the best soccer player in the world by his side.

your presence bleeds into sae’s life and he can’t think about anything without relating it to you; like how his breakfast tastes like ass when you’re not smearing your stupid peanut butter on it because apparently peanut better goes well with everything is your phase at that point of time. like how he’s walking home and he’ll always have to crane his head to the right just to check if you’re on your front porch swing, because if you are, he’ll wave and then you’ll smile and wave back, and sae would feel like it’s a special code you two share.

you’re probably the only thing he pays his spare attention to. and rin. you, rin, soccer. that’s all.

you complain way too much, especially at the fact that sae doesn’t smile often. he counters, “that’s none of your business.”

and you tell him one day you’ll be the reason he smiles everyday.

sae thinks it’s kind of stupid though, because you already are. you just aren’t around to see it. he’ll probably never let you see it too. he wouldn’t hear the end of it if he did.

it isn’t long before you’re age fifteen and graduating middle school and you’re excited to start high school. it didn’t really make a difference for sae, as long as he got to play soccer, he really couldn’t care less.

when you’re age sixteen you tell sae that a boy from class broke your heart because he didn’t accept your valentines’ chocolates. it was as good as a rejection, apparently. or whatever girl code says it is.

frankly, sae’s just offended. you’ve never given him any valentines’ shit. all of a sudden some no name guy is getting it?

maybe it’s true what people say, teenage girls cry over stupid things they consider love that’s not actually love. now you’re getting his soccer jersey wet with your tears and you’re crooning on and on about how boys suck but somehow sae’s still the best.

you’re sixteen and crying on sae’s shoulder, while he’s seventeen and wishing he could torture the son of a bitch who made you cry.

this is the closest you’ve ever been, physically. your heart’s not really broken because whoever you’re crying about has never really had it. but sae doesn’t know that.

teenage girls make really stupid decisions sometimes. and other times, they making stupid passing comments, like when you say “glad i didn’t let him kiss me. would suck for my first kiss to be with a dick who didn’t give a shit about me.”

sometimes teenage boys make stupid decisions too.

sae doesn’t really know what possesses him to do this, but he doesn’t stop it. he doesn’t stop his hand from reaching out to you, doesn’t stop his fingers from tilting your chin up. there’s only confusion in your eyes when he looks into them. there’s only hesitation in his.

sae’s not anything to you except for a childhood friend, and you’re not anything to him, except for one of the most beautiful people he’s ever met. that’s why he does this slowly, so you have time to stop this.

he has no right to do this. he wishes you would just stop him.

you’re both teenagers when sae becomes your first kiss, when your tears stain his cheeks and he tastes like the fruits he just ate. you’re both delirious off of the feeling, like neither of you want this to end because your lips stay connected even when you’re not moving, and your lashes are fluttering against one another’s and sae really wants to kiss you again.

but it’s late and your parents are probably the ones knocking on his door right now so he stops himself and pulls away while rin bounds down the stairs to open the door.

sae sees nothing but you, you and your pretty face and your pretty lips and your perfect perfect person.

“there, now your first kiss is with a dick who does care about you.”

it’s that same summer and you’ve forgotten all about the stupid boy that supposedly broke your heart. you have sae with you whenever he’s free, when he decides to bring you out after practice and explore rooftops to find the best view for the fireworks.

you’re not together, but it sure feels like you are.

then it’s autumn and the leaves are turning orange and red, and you swear you see sae’s cheeks and ears turn nearly the same shade when he holds your hand for the first time as you walk through the park, a white cat crossing in front of you.

sae blames it on his practice earlier and that he’s tired because there’s no way he’ll ever admit it’s because of you.

when winter comes, sae’s still taking care of you. nothing stops him from playing soccer, but nothing can stop him from finding you either. sae’s starting to regret his decisions when you force him to go ice skating and look at him expectantly whenever you see a mistletoe.

you’re a lot of work, maybe you’re worth it.

and then you kiss him again and he thinks yes, maybe he can do this. he can juggle soccer and you, it’ll magically work out.

finally it’s spring and you’re excited because you love the cherry blossoms, and sae thinks maybe he loves something else but he’s not going to go there yet. and while everyone’s watching the solar eclipse that one night, sae’s watching you.

for once, he wants to believe in superstitions, wants to believe what watching the solar eclipse means.

“what’s the matter?”

you’re always so perceptive. you’d make a great playmaker, he feels.

of course you pick up on the tension, barely a minute after you walk into his room. sae doesn’t want to ruin this, whatever this is, whether it’s love or something less, or maybe something more.

but it’s not a democracy, and the answer is crystal clear in sae’s mind. his answer’s always been the same, but it’s not like you don’t exist in his world.

“the club in spain gave me an offer.”

that’s all he needs to say to make you understand. and if you weren’t the most understanding person he knows, you might’ve reacted differently, but you’re still the same supportive, kind girl he met at age four.

“when do you go?” your voice is shaky and he knows you’re trying to hold it together.

sae’s sorry, really.

“next month.”

it’s not a lot of time, but probably enough to say goodbye. then you throw your arms around him and you work your magic, you say you want to try despite the distance, despite the unknown timeline. and who is sae if not someone who’d give it a try?

he’s not even sure he can ever say no to you.

it doesn’t seem real until the night before he leaves, because you’re eighteen and standing in his near barren room, everything already packed into boxes and loaded.

maybe it’s the fact he’ll be gone for a very long time, doesn’t know when he’ll see you again. maybe it’s the adrenaline rushing through his veins when he feels you pressed up against him. maybe it’s the fact he’s denying the depth of his feelings for you and it’s getting him frustrated.

or maybe it’s because he’s selfish and he doesn’t want anyone else to have you, just like how he gave you your first kiss.

he’s your first kiss, and he’ll be your first time, with your hands clawing at his clothes. and you’ll be his, with the way he’s grabbing onto your bare back so desperately.

you’re eighteen and you think nothing’s prettier than the sounds sae makes, especially when his lips are right next to your ear, with his hot breath fanning against you.

sae’s nineteen and he thinks you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted, in all sense of the word. he thinks you look pretty in pink, still pretty when you wear nothing too.

and suddenly sae thinks that maybe it doesn’t feel so crazy to think that the both of you might make it through this.

long distance can work for some people. but sometimes it’s just meant to drive two people further away.

sae’s gaining momentum in europe, and you’re proud of him. you’re proud of your boyfriend, doing his best and showing off his talents and having his hard work pay off.

you’re really, genuinely happy for him. but the bigger of a star he is, the further away he feels, and maybe it’s selfish of you to want him here, to want him to be just your neighbour itoshi sae like how things started out.

maybe it’s selfish and wishful thinking, but you can’t help yourself.

sometimes sae doesn’t even have time to look at his phone. he’s tired and overwhelmed and understandably too. and you feel guilty everytime you subject him to your insecurities.

but you’re nineteen and you don’t know better.

rin’s not much fun to hang around with, especially when he got more stoic and awkward. he’s like a mirror of his brother, and that may fool a lot of people, except you knew him before that. but you’re not going to butt your head in things that don’t concern you, so you leave him be.

and suddenly the itoshis seem further away than they’ve ever been. for the first time in your life, you’re not sure if trying will be enough anymore.

sae misses you. that’s whenever he has the free time to think, when he’s not hounded by trainings after trainings, when he’s not busy from day to night with whatever new training regime they’ve got him on.

is he aware that he’s probably being the world’s worst boyfriend now? yes. but sae can’t force himself to choose that over his dreams. can’t force himself not to choose soccer.

[17:08] she’s fine, idk what you’re worried about.

rin’s message doesn’t alleviate his worries. sae knows you better than anyone, and he doesn’t believe you’re fine.

[08:08] hey sae :)

[17:34] going to bed now, gn!! <3

sae stares at your message for a while in the locker room, while everyone else is showering. you’ve cooled off on the pet names, you’re worried you’re overstepping. you’re worried he’s lost his feelings.

he’s not.

he’d be crazy to.

but he can’t find the energy to convince himself that this would turn out fine. he can’t convince himself that he’s not hurting you every single day by not being able to be everything you need, by not being able to be physically there for you.

this half-assed relationship isn’t what you deserve. and where he is right now, with his bird’s eye view of the world, he doesn’t know if he can ever give you anything else.

[17:49] goodnight. call you tomorrow.

the moment sae breaks up with you, you feel like that kid at sixteen all over again, except this time you don’t have your favourite person’s shoulder to cry on and this time it’s actually love.

all you can think of when you hear him pick up the phone is that morning right before he left for the airport, how his hair’s a mess and how his lashes are way too pretty and how he sounded when he’s all groggy and tired.

but then he tells you the one thing you do not want to hear, and the illusion is shattered into pieces.

“this isn’t working out.”

“what are you talking about?” he’s silent, and you’re anxious. “we’re fine, sae.”

you can hear him sighing over the phone. you so desperately want to fix this, and so does sae but he can’t think of anything more selfish than to ask you to wait for him until he’s ready—he knows what’s the right thing to do. it sucks, but he’s made up his mind.

“that’s bullshit, y/n,” he responds, calmly, and you feel him slipping further and further from you.

“i- look, i-i know it’s hard but we can—”

“give it a break, woman,” sae chuckles, low and deep, and you’re beginning to doubt that you know him at all right now. “we’re done.”

the dial tone is all you can hear after that.

twenty years old is where you have your first actual heartbreak.

and all that talk about how time heals all feels like bullshit when you’re right in the middle of it all. five days in and you’re still a wreck. twenty days later and you’re still staring at the pictures you and sae took together. a month passes and you’re visiting the places you went to together. just a sad, pathetic girl crying on the benches, reliving what she once had.

three months later you’re still watching his matches on tv. you’re still cheering for him inside. four months later and it’s sae’s birthday and he doesn’t even respond to your birthday message. half a year after the breakup and you finally stop crying when you think of him.

but it’s easy to delude yourself when you’re not in the presence of what you grieve. because eight months after you broke up, you see reports that sae’s dating a sports photographer. the next few days, a picture is released of them kissing in a restaurant.

then you get glimpses of other girls being able to be intimate with him. other girls getting to taste his lips and feel his love. other girls getting his attention when that right used to solely belong to you.

and you’ve never felt worse.

“why so glum?”

sae blinks at the woman, indifferent. he can’t even remember her name.

“nadia,” she says, like she’s reading his goddamn mind, holding her hand out. “i’ve been your team’s photographer for a few months now.”

sae shakes her hand out of courtesy because he really doesn’t want his publicist to chew him out again. “didn’t ask.”

“you know, you’re a lot more crabby these days,” she comments, and it’s like he can see the lightbulb going off in her head. “oh, is it girlfriend issues?”

“i don’t have one, so shut it.”

“come on, i promise i’m good at making people forget.” she says this so seductively that sae’s a little disturbed. he just wants to get this shoot done with and go home, maybe even check up on you a little. all in incognito mode, of course, because he can’t risk you knowing he still cares. can’t risk getting your hopes up.

somehow the stars have spent all their time aligning sae’s soccer career and everything else is in tatters because his publicist forces him to take nadia up on her offer and go out with her.

what was supposed to be a one time thing turned out to be something more. she wasn’t even close to you, but she could be close. turns out when he’s not being such a dick, nadia can be moderately interesting.

different, maybe that’s what he needs.

he thinks back to when she kissed him on their first date. sae still finds himself hoping you didn’t see that.

but no, he’s not in love with you anymore. sae’s officially an adult at twenty-one and he’s still the same stubborn guy in denial because he’s looking at pictures of you while nadia’s sitting right next to him.

it’s not healthy, it really isn’t.

you’re twenty-one now and you’re actually going on a date with the sole intention of trying to get over the one and only itoshi sae.

can you even trust your friend? all you know is that the guy is a friend of a best friend’s and that’s all she told you.

“my best friend’s a good guy, so by extension, so is his best friend,” was all she said.

now you’re here, at the amusement park, waiting for your date to show himself because apparently, in your friend’s bid for suspense, she was reluctant to share anything about him except that he’s dreamy and pretty and that his friend describes him as a genius.

and also “oh, he’s a soccer player too so that’s right up your alley, right?”

when the call from date guy comes in (because to stop you from profiling your date she also didn’t give you his name), you kind of like his voice.

“hey, where are you?”

you find out his name is nagi. and that he’s only here because reo stole his switch and he won’t give it back until the date’s over. which kind of works because you tell him you’re only here because you wanted to get over someone.

to which he says it’s a hassle.

there’s nothing you expect out of this, but then you find yourself enjoying your date.

it’s clear by the first fifteen minutes why nagi chose this place to meet. he’s absurdly good at games. he’s won you tons of plushies that you had to give away to some very happy kids. it’s a pattern; every game that he doesn’t know, he only loses once and then he proceeds to dominate.

no wonder his friend calls him a genius.

with nagi it’s easy, fluid. you’ve been spending the whole night there with him, playing together and eating together—well, mostly it’s just you feeding nagi because it turns out he finds a lot of things a hassle.

three days later, you find out that apparently you’re not a hassle in his books. not really, because he asks you out again.

it’s irrational.

sae shouldn’t be this bothered, but he is. he hates seeing your stupid updates about how you’re on a date with this nagi guy. he hates seeing your posts with the two of you wearing matching sweaters for christmas.

he gives it a like.

nadia’s already gone. sae doesn’t have time or energy to waste on people that don’t matter. and you shouldn’t matter. not right now. but here he is, wishing the circumstances were different.

if you and nadia switched places. if you had something to bring you to spain. it’s fucking selfish, he knows. doesn’t stop him from wishing for it. he can’t think of anyone else like how he thinks of you. doesn’t want to.

he really is clueless about everything outside of soccer, because he’s twenty-two when he realises that no one could ever make him forget about you, and maybe he should just live with it.

sae turns twenty-three when he’s in the running for being the world’s best midfielder. he’s gotten rid of the hopes of moving on and he’ll just fake it till he makes it.

maybe that’s why this year is particularly special to him. or maybe it’s because for the first time in a long while, you wish him happy birthday.

at midnight, in japan. because you’re thoughtful that way.

this time he responds.

thanks. how r u?

it’s criminal how easy it is for you to get his heart beating like this. he sees you typing and it’s enough to lift his mood.

great, school’s kicking my ass though.

sae finds himself wishing that he could hear your voice right now. for some stupidly non-complex reason that he finds completely absurd.

i saw your match last week, good game, genius.

fuck. after all this time, he still wants you.

his fingers type i miss you, just for the hell of it. just to see it there on his screen before he inevitably deletes it and replaces it with something mediocre like thanks or i know.

because he can’t just say that after being the one who broke things off. he can’t do that when he still thinks it won’t work out.

all he does is sigh and hit the delete button—except fuck, he accidentally hit send. and he would’ve deleted it if you weren’t already online and read it and he sees you typing for a moment before you stop completely and go offline.

sae has never felt more numb.

it’s been three months since sae said he missed you. you still can’t get that out of your head. the most upfront he’s been about his feelings and he chooses then of all times to be honest?

when your boyfriend was right beside you?

maybe it was your fault. you didn’t even know why you wished him a happy birthday. maybe you missed him too and was just lying to yourself.

god, maybe you’re the asshole in this after all. did you really love nagi? or was he just exceptionally well at making you forget? you really really like him, that’s all you know.

“hey, what’s wrong?” nagi’s looking at you, pushing his hair back, and you can’t help but think you’re lucky to have him these past few months.

but the turmoil inside you wins, and maybe you understand a little bit of how sae felt that night when he broke up with you.

it’s not fair to nagi for you to do this, but it’s not fair to him either to keep him around.

“we need to talk.”

it’s a surreal feeling, to be back in japan.

sae was nineteen when he left. now he’s twenty-seven when he breathes the tokyo air again. he lugs around his carry-on baggage because he’s not staying here for long. not yet. he’s coming back soon, and he doesn’t really know why. he’s milked everything he could from spain, from the rest of europe, some of the americas, and maybe he’s homesick now.

plain and simple.

the cab driver asks him why he looks so sharp, and he simply says, “wedding.”

it’s been seven years since he broke up with you. and your grip on him is as firm as ever. a grip he’ll never let you know you have on him because he’s made this mistake before—said i miss you and then scared you away.

by the next day he couldn’t even find you online because everything is wiped and maybe you hate him, hate his guts. that’s fine. he can live with that.

to him, you’re still the same lovable person as you were at age five. still the same girl at age sixteen that he fell in love with. you’re still his person and it’s fine if he has to just admire you from afar.

when he arrives, he takes a long hard look around the room, filled with guests socialising and drinking their wines and it’s so pathetic but he’s wondering if you’re still around. he’s late, and it’s his plane’s fault but it’s no use playing the blame game.

“hey,” rin calls out when he sees his brother. “you missed the ceremony.”

“yeah, stupid plane got delayed,” sae says, mind still distracted.

rin formally introduces his new wife to sae and she seems nice, polite, the kind that can put his brother in his place if she needs to. that’s nice. sae can’t help envisioning you in the wedding dress though. you’d look nice.

nicer if he was the one beside you.

“oh! as a gift to my now brother-in-law, i have a friend i want to set you up with,” she grins, and as much of an ass that sae is, he just figures he’ll reject the poor girl later. for now, he’ll entertain his new sister-in-law.

rin claps him on the shoulder before smirking and walking off, presumably to get a drink because no matter how much rin has changed, sae doubts he’ll ever become friendly enough to mingle in this crowd.

sae feels someone poking his shoulder and turns around, first to find his sister-in-law grinning from ear to ear, and next to find you next to her, just like he remembers.

pretty in pink, stupid bashful smile, still fucking beautiful.

“have fun,” rin’s wife says before she walks off with a knowing look. she’s already winning points with sae for bringing you to him.

“hey, genius,” you try to suppress your smile but it’s not working.

he thinks he’s dreaming. he’s not. he’s here. and so are you. and this might just be what he missed all this time.

you hold your hand out and he takes it wordlessly, obediently. sae follows you to the dance floor, trying to calm his erratic heartbeats, savouring the feeling of your hand in his once again, remembering that moment back in autumn when he first felt it.

when you wrap your hands around his neck and he wraps his around your waist, it feels like finally, something is real. like there’s something in this country that can really keep him here this time. because now he’s twenty-seven and he finally understands, he’s always loved you but he’s never been ready until now.

“can’t believe you let your brother get married before you,” you say, sarcasm because you’re breaking into a grin. “he actually beat you at something.”

sae pouts slightly, averting his gaze. “what’s the big deal anyway?”

you shrug. “i’d have thought you’d be the first. maybe with one of the girls you met abroad or something.”

there’s a certain bitterness in your tone that he likes, only because it means you minded all this time. the thought of him with someone else. he suddenly remembers something, and searches the room for a familiar face.

gray eyes meet his teal ones before they turn away, disinterested.

“you sure your boyfriend won’t mind you dancing with your ex?”

“probably not, since i don’t have one.” you smirk, sensing the bitterness in his tone too. it’s funny, seeing sae jealous like this.

he has no reason to though, since you broke up with nagi after being honest with yourself—that you’re not over sae and you probably never will be. you’d decided to just live with your decision.

“shame. thought you guys looked cute in those matching sweaters.”

so that was a jealous like, you think to yourself.

“thought you looked cute with that sports photographer girl too, kissing and all,” you say, though it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. “why didn’t that work out?”

for the first time in his life, sae decides to be outright honest with you—

“because she’s not you.” because everytime she said his name, he’d overlay it with your voice in his head. because everytime she’d tried to get close, he’d resent her more for not being you. because no matter how hard anyone tries, they will never be you and that will never work, not for sae.

—to a certain degree.

he’s twenty-seven when he’s finally old enough to understand that it was never a problem with feelings because he’s always loved you all the same all this time. it was just a matter of being ready at the right time. it’s like luck in the world of soccer, where coincidences can only fall to those who are prepared.

and he’s here now. he’s ready.

call him crazy for thinking you’re on the same page because you’re getting closer and closer and closer.

“itoshi sae,” you whisper his name against his lips and he’s reminded of the first time he had you. you drive him crazy and he thinks he’ll keep on letting you. “i missed you too.”

you did. you used to be too young and inexperienced to put yourself in sae’s shoes. too young and naive thinking emotions were enough for two people to stay. sometimes, some things just aren’t meant to be… in the moment. and other times, when you’re both ready, everything suddenly falls into place.

you were sixteen when sae first kissed you. now ten years later, ten years wiser, you kiss again, and this feels significantly better than before. because now you both know.

sae has known you ever since you were three. and he thinks he’ll keep on knowing you, every day, every hour, every minute. he wants to know you forever. and he’s thinking maybe that superstition worked out after all. maybe it was destined to be like this all along.

two people coming together and falling apart only to end up in each other’s arms.

and he thinks fuck superstition, fuck the white cats and solar eclipses and everything else. even if things threaten not to work, this time he’ll make it work.

sae’s known you for so long he overlooked one simple thing. when he kisses you even deeper and is greeted with your lips smiling against his, he knows.

he hasn’t become the world’s best soccer player yet, but when he does, you’ll be by his side.

one day those paper rings the both of you played with when you were little would be real.

you’ve always been special, and you always will be.

now he’s finally home.

#bllk x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae x reader #blue lock x reader #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock angst #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi x y/n #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #itoshi sae angst #itoshi sae fluff #૪ aeri’s fics !

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 11 months ago

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DRABBLE: THEY’RE YOUR BLIND V-DAY DATE ❤️🍷💕 (CROSSOVER ANIME) (18+) (For Black!Fem!Readers)

Writer’s Note: Got another something for V-Day for y’all. I decided to do one for multiple anime characters cuz I’m a slut for all them 2D characters & couldn’t decide on one specific show lol. Plus it sounded fun! And important disclaimers I’ll just make a note of before the actual Drabble. I hope y’all enjoy! ☺️🥰 -Jazz

********

LEVI ACKERMAN (AOT)

The first night, you’re nervous, to say the least, especially when Hange warns you about his appearance.

“Why?” you had asked over margaritas and tacos, already perplexed and slightly unnerved by her warning. “Is he really ugly or something?”

Hange, sitting across from you in her glasses with her locks of long, chestnut brown hair cascading down her shoulders, shook her head. “No, no, my dear!” she immediately protested. “He’s actually quite handsome despite the broody thing. But he does have some scars from a mission gone wrong at his job and he’s blind in one eye.”

She took a sip of her margarita as if to soften the next blow. “And he’s missing a leg,” she finished.

You were taken aback, to say the least, but you didn’t let that stop you. You aren’t prejudiced and you refused to let that stop you from at least giving Hange’s friend a chance.

Apparently, Levi has been a firefighter for a couple of years and has recently broken up with a longtime girlfriend, so Hange figured he could get back into the dating pool and realize that there are great girls out there starting with you!

So the weekend of Valentine’s Day, Hange texts you the name of the restaurant and you take an Uber there after spending the entire day doing your hair, picking out an outfit, and giving yourself a makeover. You decided on a soft glam look as this is the first time you’re meeting the guy and a pretty, red dress that hugs your frame and zips in the back.

When you get out of the Uber in front of the quaint and low-key yet romantic restaurant, you take a table near the door so it’ll be easier to see Levi walk in and flag him down. You still have no idea what he looks like, only that he’ll be wearing a black trench coat, he’s kinda short, and he has a large scar going over his eye.

“His team calls him Scar, apparently,” Hange laughed. “It helps that he has a smooth, deep voice too!”

You admit that you were curious to see him and hear that “smooth, deep” voice she told you about. So you sit and order a glass of wine, waiting for his arrival as you stare out at the passing cars and people…only he never comes.

You wait and you wait and you wait, but he never shows his face. You call Hange, thinking maybe you have the wrong restaurant or time or day, but all is correct. You think that maybe he’s in traffic or something came up, but Hange never calls to tell you either.

When your appetizer comes and the candle sitting in the middle of the table begins to melt, you feel your heart sink to the pit of your stomach. You’ve been stood up.

The realization hits you like a brick to the face. Quickly, you order the check and a box for your food and pay the waiter before running out of the restaurant in tears. You feel stupid. Wasteful. Foolish in your pretty dress and heels.

Hange comes over to see you with the quickness when you tell her that night, ice cream and face masks in tow. “I can’t believe him!” she says, enraged, with a sheet mask on her face. “He told me he’d be there and then he doesn’t show up? Who does he think he is? Why, I’m gonna give that man a piece of my–“

“Don’t Hange,” you sigh, shoveling another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth. “Just leave it be. He probably just changed his mind or wasn’t ready.”

You are ready to move on and forget it, but the universe doesn’t let you. A week later while at work of all places, you get an unknown call. Thinking it’s one of those scammers, you give a sharp “hello”.

“Uh…hi,” a smooth, deep, velvety voice replies. “This is Levi, Hange’s friend. This is Y/N, correct?”

You heart drops into your ass and it takes a moment for you to reply. “Uh, y-yeah,” you answer. “Yeah, this is her. You’re Hange’s friend? Did you get my number from her?”

“I had to,” Levi replies, his voice making your stomach do flips. “I’m sorry if that’s weird, but I just…”

He pauses, sighing. “I had to talk to you,” he finishes, sounding completely beaten. “I’m so sorry for not coming last week. I was so afraid for you to see me because of my appearance. I was so sure you'd find me unattractive and not like what you see. I’m very insecure in that and I let it get the best of me, but that doesn’t mean you deserved that. Hange already went up my ass about it.”

You softly giggle, knowing she would. "So, if you don’t despise me too much and you’re willing, can we meet up for dinner this Friday night if you’re free?”

He sounds hopeful and slightly afraid. You don’t know why you say yes, but you do and you make plans to meet for ramen on Friday. When the day comes, you wear a more casual outfit–-a pretty cashmere sweater, jeans, and some boots––but still style your hair and makeup to look presentable. ‘Second time’s a charm, I guess,’ you think.

It’s a dry, cool night so you wait outside the restaurant for Levi to arrive, texting him that you’re there prior to your arrival. Ten minutes into waiting, you think he isn’t going to show and that he duped you again, but then your phone rings. Your heart leaps at the sight of his caller ID and you answer. “Hello?” you answer, noticing how breathless you sound.

“Look up,” Levi says and you do, seeing him standing before you across the street under a streetlight.

The soft light illuminates his features: a sharp jawline and cheekbones, soft, pale skin, one eye the color of a gray ocean, and the other milky where a long scar runs from his eyebrow to his cheek. He walks towards you slowly with a slight gate in his step, his hand on his left leg where his prosthetic is, and finally makes it over to you. He is extremely attractive and smells like toasted vanilla.

“You’re Y/N, I take it?” he asks, a small smile on his face.

“And you’re Levi,” you reply, your heart battering against your ribcage.

He gives a slight nod, his one eye roaming over your frame. “My God, you’re stunning,” he chuckles as if he can hardly believe it. “Even more than that the first night. I had come, but I never went into the restaurant. I was so intimidated by the way you looked that I just–“

“Stop,” you interrupt, not liking the thought of him standing outside looking into the restaurant window at you, feeling so horrible about his looks.

“That was then and this is now. And you’re wrong, by the way.”

One of Levi’s eyebrows raises in confusion. “I do like what I see,” you say, your voice soft and shy. “For the record, you’re one of the sexiest guys I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

The laugh Levi lets out just about fills you with joy and you just about melt before he holds the door for you to enter the restaurant, not so discreetly staring at your ass as he does.

NANAMI KENTO (JJK)

He’s a professor and he’s a blonde is what you’re told by Gojo…but that’s about all he tells you, the asshole.

“You’re asking me to go on a date with a dude I don’t even know and you won’t even tell me what he looks like?”

You’re sitting with him at brunch with bottomless mimosas when he runs it by you. You get the feeling he just invited you out with the promise of mimosas, good omelettes, and paying just to toss this at you.

Gojo gives you his big, gigawatt smile as he sits across from you wearing his usual shades. “Trust me, babe! He’s a good and attractive guy! If I wasn’t taken, I’d fuck him myself.” He snorts to himself, shoveling some eggs into his mouth. “But I don’t even think I’m his type.”

From what you gathered at the start of brunch, Kento Nanami is Gojo’s very stoic, very introverted, very lonely friend who is in need of a date this upcoming Valentine’s Day. Though intelligent and handsome, Nanami isn’t too good with women and hasn’t been in a romantic relationship is quite some time.

“I swear, he’s not an incel,” Gojo swears, one hand on his heart and the other held high. “He loves women! He’s just…awkward.”

You aren’t sure if you like that answer. “What if I meet him and I don’t like him?” you ask, taking a break from your mimosa. “I mean, I’m only agreeing to this because you said you’d pay me.”

And Gojo did. He figures you’re the perfect girl––smart, pretty, and funny––to bring Nanami out of his shell. “$50,” he sing-songs. “And if you hate his guts, you'll get another $50, I promise. But give him a chance, Y/N! He needs it!”

To not hear him whine and beg, you roll your eyes and agree. Gojo arranges for you to meet with Nanami at a winter light show in the park that is done every year. It’s the perfect place to meet since it’s romantic and very populated.

You dress in your warmest and cutest coat before hurrying to meet Nanami, your boots crunching in the snow. The park is decorated in twinkling lights that line the trees, walkways, and fountains.

You’re so enchanted by the lights that you barely see the slick of ice lining the sidewalk. You misstep and your left foot goes skidding. “Oh, shit!” you gasp as you fall, but you don't feel the ground or the cold snow.

You don’t feel anything at all except two warm, strong arms wrapped around you. You look up into the warm eyes of an older man. An older, extremely attractive man with a blonde undercut and wearing a tan wool coat. “Are you alright, miss?” he worriedly asks. His voice is deep yet warm and sweet like honey.

You’re so taken by the stranger that you barely notice that he has set you upright. “Um…yeah,” you answer albeit softly.

You blink at him, noticing how tall and well-built he is behind his coat. His hands are strong and capable and you find yourself staring at them even when he shoves them into his pocket. “Nanami?” you hesitantly question.

You watch his darker blonde brows furrow in confusion then rise in realization. “You’re Y/N,” he realizes. “Forgive me. Gojo didn’t tell me what you’d look up or what you’d be wearing.”

You think you see his eyes trailing over you, but you can’t focus on it for too long. “That’s okay,” you laugh. “That’s Gojo, for you. How do you know him?”

Nanami begins to walk with you to the line at the entrance gate to enter the event, keeping the same slow pace as you. “We went to the same high school and remained friends ever since. How did you meet him?”

“We met through a mutual friend and just clicked,” you explain. “Her name is Shoko.” Recognition crosses Nanami’s face at the name. “Shoko?” he asks, a light flickering in his eyes. “I know her as well. We all went to the same school.”

“What a coincidence!” you giggle, glad to have something to break the ice (other than your fall). “Thank you again for helping me. I know I’m dumb for wearing these things in the snow.” You nod down at your heeled boots to which Nanami only stares at, never smiling. His expression is unreadable and slightly intimidating. But you can tell it’s just awkwardness. Now you see what Gojo meant.

But rather than be unnerved by it, you find yourself wanting to break through it. You want to get to the warm core of this man. “Um…should we walk?” you ask, nodding at the entrance gate. Nanami nods but looks slightly worried.

“Will you be alright?” he asks, still staring at your feet. “You may want to hold onto me.” He offers you his arm, a slight tinge of pink to his cheeks that one could pass off for the cold. Your heart leaps at the chance to touch him, even be near him.

“What a gentleman,” you chuckle. “I didn't think chivalry still existed.” You take his coat sleeve and let him lead you through the entrance into the park’s first trail.

A chuckle that makes your stomach flip and your pussy leap leaves Nanami’s mouth. “I wouldn’t say all of that but thank you. I would just think I’m being a good human being. So Gojo told me about your job. What is that like?”

The park is truly beautiful, decorated head to toe with lights that twinkle and dance. But you’re not focusing on the lights; just Nanami and his conversation. For such a stoic guy, he can really hold a conversation.

He tells you all about his job as a professor and his students; what subjects he likes; his life outside of work. He asks you about you and all of your habits, hobbies, and joys. He listens intently, putting them all in his brain’s filing cabinet. You find similarities about each other, including favorite books, movies, and your love for the beach.

The date lasts for an hour and you enjoy every minute of it. You like being around Nanami, enjoying his stale humor and shy smile. More than anything, you like his presence.

You like how soft his wool coat feels under your finger. You like how he keeps his arm at reach, even when you release him at times. You like how he keeps the same pace as you, never walking too fast and always staying at your side, his black leather shoes tapping against the concrete.

You’re feeling him and you want to let him know that when you finally reach the end of the park where the last attraction, an ice sculptor decorated in lights, stands.

“Wow,” you sigh. “So pretty.”

Nanami stands next to you as you stare up in awe at the attraction. “Yes,” he agrees, though he isn’t looking at the lights. His attention is solely on you.

He likes the way the lights illuminate your skin which contrasts with his. He likes the brown of your eyes, so warm and tempting like chocolate. He likes your humor and sweet laugh. He likes you and he isn’t too shy to show it. You can see it when you turn and find him already staring at you, bold and heated.

He is sexy. He is alluring. And you want him. “Nanami?” you shyly ask.

His eyebrows raise, acknowledging your question. You turn to him fully and stare up at him through your lashes. “I don’t usually do this, but…would you want to come home with me?”

He is silent, staring at you wordlessly, and your stomach flips with discomfort. “For coffee, maybe?” you add.

Nanami doesn’t have to be asked again.

To end such a perfect date, you find yourself on your back with Nanami on top of you, looking so handsome above you as he pounds your pussy into the mattress. His big hands pin your thighs apart and up to his broad shoulders, your painted toes and skin contrasting deliciously with his lighter skin.

“So pretty,” he groans. “You were the prettiest thing there tonight. Fuck, darling, you’re so tight!”

He thrusts into you harder, faster, making the bed squeak and you lose your voice from how loud you moan. You can feel yourself about to cum after so much foreplay and stimulation (Nanami is a gentle lover).

“Kento,” you whine, digging your nails into his shoulders. “I’m gonna cum! Please…please cum with me!”

And he does. At the sound of you begging, he bursts inside of you with a ragged groan as you cum all over his big cock, your pussy walls squeezing around him and stroking his shaft.

As you do, his lips find yours, giving you a passionate kiss that could melt the ice with how hot it is.

NICO ROBIN (One Piece)

*Note: Reader is plus-sized!

Nami swore up and down that you needed to go on a date for Valentine’s Day to forget about your short-term “situationship”.

“Just give a chance, Y/N,” she said to you over ramen. She treated you to lunch at the best ramen place in town while you were on your work break. “It’s just for one night and I can’t stand the thought of my best friend alone on Valentine’s Day! And she’s a great girl, seriously!”

You looked down at your bowl of ramen, feeling hot under your sweater dress that clung to your plump body. The idea of a blind date didn’t appeal to you much, especially being such a big girl. Usually, when people got a look at you, they either ghosted you after the first date or didn’t give you the time of day. Why did she think this was a good idea?

“Just be careful,” Zoro said, shoveling spicy miso ramen into his mouth. “She’ll charm the pants off of you…or skirt…whatever you’ll be wearing.” Nami smacked him on the the arm hard, making the green-haired hunk hiss in pain. “Don’t listen to him, honey. Robin is just a sweet-talker. You have nothing to worry about!”

But when you finally get a look at your date, you don’t think that’s true. Nami set the date up at a high-scale bar where the working class and hotshot businessmen come for happy hour.

When you walk in, you immediately feel self-conscious despite looking oh-so yummy in your waistband coat that flares around your waist and pink dress that makes your skin and brown eyes pop. But the dress also sticks to your body, accentuating each curve, ripple, and roll. Though your stomach ripples with nerves, you also feel slightly confident catching eyes under the warm lights above.

You sit at the sleek bar and order yourself a cocktail to loosen up a bit more while you search for your date at the door. Nami only told you that she’s “tall with long black hair and might be wearing purple”.

You’re curious as to what this girl is like and if she likes what she sees. You sip on your cocktail and scroll through your phone for a couple of minutes, completely unaware of the eyes you have captured from down at the bar.

When you turn around in your stool to place your glass down, you find another cocktail sitting behind you. Confused, you flag down the bartender. “I didn’t order this,” you tell him, pushing the glass towards him. “It was sent to you,” he explains. “From down at the bar.” You look in that direction, but find no one paying any attention to you. “But I have a date,” you protest. “I can't accept this.”

“That’s correct,” a sweet yet smooth and sultry voice purrs behind you, “and it’s usually rude to deny a drink from her.” The voice causes your body to react instantly: the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end; your heart pounds in your chest; your stomach flips. You turn and see your blind date standing behind you in the flesh.

Beautiful isn’t a word to use for Robin. She is absolutely stunning. A straight vixen oozing confidence and poise as she stands behind you in a purple cocktail dress that illuminates her soft, pale skin and blue eyes that steal the air from your lungs.

She is tall and slender with piano fingers painted in a dark rouge that you want to feel wrapped around your body, but has a rack that can stop traffic and is definitely catching eyes. Her long, shiny, black locks of hair cascade down her slender shoulders, catching the light above. You are in awe of her and her beauty as are the others in the bar.

“Y/N?” she asks in her alluring voice. Wordlessly, you nod and close your mouth to avoid looking like an idiot. “I’m Nico Robin, Nami’s friend. She’s told me so much about you.” She puts a slender hand out to shake yours, giving you a whiff of her luxurious-smelling perfume and a peek of golden Tiffany bracelet.

You put your hand in hers, feeling warm from her touch. “N-Nice to meet you,” you stutter. “Please, have a seat. Do you want a drink?” Robin raises her brows questionably as she settles onto a stool next to you. You flush under the lights, thanking God that he made you Black. “It’s only right since you ordered me one.”

Robin smiles, her pearly whites and dimples making you damn near melt. “How sweet of you,” she giggles. She orders herself a dirty Martini with extra olives and thanks you again when it comes. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. I got caught up in some work.” She slowly crosses her soft, long, milky legs over one another. You do your best not to stare.

You give her a smile, pretending that you’re not turned the fuck on by her, and lean your elbow against your chin. “So you’re an archaeologist, right? That’s such an interesting job.”

She smiles at the compliment and at the mention of her career as you sip your cocktail. “Well, I’ve always been attracted to history since I was young. I’m attracted to intelligence too, which you seem to have a lot of.” Her smile turns flirty and now you know what Zoro was talking about. You’re already charmed by her. “Tell me: what’s your job like?” she asks.

Your conversations last for hours and flow perfectly, especially after you get your second drink in you. You tell her about your job and quietly gush over her curiosity and awe, realizing how much she loves learning. You talk about everything, from city life to books to anime, learning that you both love magical girl anime, especially Sailor Moon.

You didn't expect that from Robin because of how poised she is and her love for dark colors, but as soon as you mention Sailor Moon, her eyes widen in excitement. “I love Sailor Moon!” She laughs. “I cosplayed as Sailor Mars two Halloweens ago. I bet you’d look so pretty as a Sailor Scout, especially with the skirt.”

That’s another thing you learn about Robin: she’s a flirt. She sneaks in little sly compliments to obviously make you flustered…and it’s working. You try to do the same, complimenting her on her outfit and her smile. “I can see why everyone is so fond of you in here,” you say, nodding at the group of businessmen playing pool who are not so discreetly staring at you both from across the room.

Robin giggles, turning back to you with a hooded gaze. “Too bad,” she sighs, not at all sounding disappointed. “I’m here with you.”

As the night goes on, it gets looser as you both become more comfortable with each other. You talk about everything and anything, telling each other funny stories and showing pictures of your pets. “You’re a dog mom too?” you coo, gushing over her wallpaper of her and a fluffy, brown animal dressed as Santa Claus though he has pointed ears and horns.

“Reindeer mom,” she corrects you and titters at your confusion. “It’s a long story, but that’s my perfect little boy. His name is Chopper.”

Other than Robin being a sweet-talker as Nami said, you also find out many other things about this alluring, attractive woman. Like how much she loves plays and Disney movies, becoming so excited when you ask her about her favorite films. “I love musicals,” she shyly says, an endearing blush on her face. “Can you tell I’m a secret theatre kid?”

Or how she tends to ramble about information she’s obtained from books and documentaries about tribes long gone and age-old urban legends. You could listen to her talk for hours. Unbeknownst to you, she feels the same about you whenever you speak about yourself and your interests.

As the alcohol takes its affect on you both, she also tells you that she’s a devil fruit user, a term you’ve heard before since many in the world are, including your mutual friend Luffy. When you ask her about her ability, she just winks behind her third martini glass. “A woman never draws all of her cards…not all at once, anyway.”

As the night draws on, so do the drinks and soon, you’re feeling loose and bold. You decide to show her your hidden talent which is rolling your eyes to the right and the left. “I can wiggle my ears too,” you say, showing her much to her amusement. She applauds you, giggling at your talent. “My, you’re full of surprises,” she giggles. “And so am I.”

You suddenly feel something tickling your sides and look down to see two disembodied hands tickling you. Robin’s hands. You look at her in shock as she retracts her extra arms, using them to grab her third martini and take a sip. “The perks of being a devil fruit user,” she chuckles. At the sight of your expression, she grows concerned. “Do they frighten you?”

“No,” you answer honestly. “They’re…” You stare at her extra hands, wondering how many more she has and how they would feel on your body. “Pretty,” you decide to answer with. That is enough for Robin to decide what she wants from you tonight.

So when you’re both still sitting there when the bar is emptying out, she makes it known. “Oh, dear,” she sighs, exhaling in disappointment as the bartenders clean and the drunk crowd empties out. “It appears that our date has become to an end.” She turns to you, placing a warm hand on yours. “I really enjoyed meeting you, Y/N,” she says, a smile on her face that makes you ache.

You don’t want tonight to end. You don’t want her to go. You need more of her touch. She seems to understand and see the mutual disappointment in your eyes because she doesn’t release your hand.

“Unless you want this night to continue,” she adds, her voice like honey in your ears. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t very attracted to you too, unless I’m mistaking the chemistry.”

You can’t speak, so you shake your head and her eyes twinkle. She leans in toward you, engulfing you in her scent. “Just say the words and I’ll go with you,” she whispers into your ear.

Desire overwhelms you and you squeeze her hand, interlacing your fingers. “I’ll call a Lyft,” you exhale. Robin smiles, keeping her hand in yours.

She doesn’t let go even hours later when your fingers are interlaced with each other while your legs are pinned open by her extra hands on the bed. Your moans and whimpers fill the darkness of your bedroom as she moves her tongue against your clit, moaning eagerly and sloppily into your pussy as she eats you like there is no tomorrow.

“Now I can really show you how good I am with my hands,” she giggles, looking up at you between your thighs. “You’re so cute like this, pretty girl.”

You can feel that knot in your core tightening the more she moves her jaw, going faster and faster until you have no choice. “Robin,” you whine. “I'm gonna…gonna…!” Your back arches and your legs shake around Robin’s face.

Her hold on you tightens, her hands gripping your thighs.“Cum for me, gorgeous,” she hums. “I’ve got you. Cum all over my face like a good girl.”

One thing is for sure while you gush around Robin’s face, loving how she eagerly laps up everything you give her: another date is definitely in the future for you and her.

PRO!KATSUKI BAKUGOU & KIRISHIMA EJIROU (BHNA)

*Note: Reader is plus-sized & a bimbo!

*Disclaimer: Bakugou & Kiri are both aged-up (over the age of 18) in this drabble!

You don’t know why you agreed to do this blind date thing, but your friend put you up to it after she reminded you of your NY resolution to try new things to help yourself.

“You need to put yourself out there more, girl!” she argued over the phone with you. “Do you see how hot you are?! You deserve to have someone on your arm!” You pouted as you painted your toe nails a pretty bubblegum pink, your feet hanging over you bathtub smelling like vanilla bubblebath.

Though she is right about you deserving a nice guy to tell you how pretty you are, most of the guys you dated either used you as arm candy, hit in then quit it, or just stopped talking to you because of your, uh…bimbo-ness. You know you have no filter and sometimes you do come off as dumb, but you’re trying your best! And you’re kind and the sweetest person anyone will ever meet! Isn’t that enough?

“Yeah, but a blind date though?” you complained into the phone sitting on your sink. “How am I gonna go on a date if I can’t see, girl?” You gasped, even more mortified. “Or will my date be blind?! How will be able to see me and my cute outfit?!”

Your friend just laughed. She knows you’re not the brightest crayon in the box, but you’re just too cute and sweet. “Honey, no! A blind date is when you meet someone you’ve never seen or met before. Someone else sets the date up for you.”

Your heart resumed its normal pattern and you relaxed into the water. “Ohhh,” you realized with a giggle. “Well, if you’re setting it up, can you tell me anything about him?”

Your friend refused, much to your dismay. “Nope, but you’ll meet him later this week. Saturday night at 7 PM, don’t be late. I’ll give you all the details before then.” You hung up, a bit nervous but excited, already picturing your outfit for the day.

The Saturday of Valentine’s Day weekend, you go to the cafe your friend tells you to go to which is only a few blocks from your apartment. You dress in a pink sweater that does nothing to hide your voluptuous bosom and a pretty, cherry red skit that hugs your tummy and voluptuous ass, the damn thing so short that the ruffles stop mid-thigh, a sliver of your asscheeks seen whenever you bend over. You pair your V-Day outfit with some warm stockings and high black boots before putting on your favorite fluffy, pink coat.

An hour later after putting on some vanilla-scented body spray and giving your lips a slick of your favorite Fenty Gloss in a sparkly pink, you stand in line to order your food, hoping that will ease your nerves over today. Because your friend loves you so much, she set you up for two dates today: one at the cafe and the other later tonight at your favorite bar.

Your first date is a redheaded hunk, according to your friend. “He’s got red hair and he’s a fucking giant,” she giggles. “And he’s SUPER fine. You’ll know him when see him.” You melted at the details. “I do like big guys,” you sigh dreamily. Your second date is just as fine, but a hothead. “My friend works with him at his agency and apparently, he’s got a mouth.” Your friend rolled her eyes. "The dude is like a pit bull, but he's so fucking sexy.”

“I’m a little nervous though,” you mumbled, starting to feel insecure. “You think he’ll like me?” Your friend looked at you like you were insane, making you laugh. “Who wouldn’t? You’re adorable!”

And you feel adorable when you go next to the counter and the cashier’s eyes shoots straight to your tits. You don’t notice, too busy feening for some sweet, sugar coffee. “Hi, can I please get a peppermint mocha latte with two pumps of caramel, please?” You are so damn cute that the guy blushes and quickly rings you up. You pay and thank him when you get your drink before walking off, but stop when something captures you.

There, hidden behind a glass container behind the counter, are a bunch of seasonal-flavored doughnuts lined up in a row. Your eyes immediately go for the one coated in pink frosting, powdered sugar, and red and pink sprinkles. “Oooh,” you coo to yourself. “So pretty.”

“Agreed,” says a raspy, sexy voice from behind you. You turn a little too quickly and a bit of coffee sloshes over the top of your drink and onto the crotch of the guy standing behind you. “Oops, I’m so sorry!” you gasp. “I didn’t even see you! Oh, it’s gonna stain! Here, quick!” You quickly reach for a wad of napkins and begin to dab at the man’s crotch, not even realizing how it looks.

Still not even bothering to look up, the blonde furiously blushes while the redhead behind him stifles a laugh. “That’s quite okay,” he chuckles. “At least now he smells like peppermint down there.” The blonde growls like he wants to commit murder. “Plus, Katsuki was standing way too close to you in line, weren’t you, ‘Suki?”

You hand the napkins over to the blonde, hyper-focused on the nickname. “‘Suki,” you giggle. “That’s such a cute…” Your words die in you when you finally, finally, look up into the eyes of the two finest, sexiest men you’ve ever seen in your life.

One of them has long, red hair cascading down his broad shoulders, fanged teeth that flash at you as he smiles, friendly, crimson eyes, and piercings––dangling from his ears, embedded in his eyebrow, and snakebites in his bottom lip.

The other sports a platinum blonde undercut and a scowl that slightly softens at the sight of you. He, too, has crimson eyes that widen at your pretty face and outfit and one piercing in his plump bottom lip. The only things similar about the duo are how tall, buff, and sexy they both are. “Name,” you weakly finish. “I-I’m Y/N.”

The redhead grins, putting his big ass hand out for a shake. “Ejirou,” he says, “but my friends call me Kiri.” You do so, noticing how calloused his palm is and how much his sweater stretches against his pecs. The blonde has the same issue, his V-neck shirt way too tight for his toned body. “Bakugou,” he grumbles, giving you an intense stare that makes you melt on the inside.

Those gears in your head start turning and you gape at the duo. “Wait…I know you two!” you gasp. “You guys are those superheroes, right? Dynamight and Red Riot!” Kiri tosses his head back and laughs while Bakugou glares daggers at you. “Damn, could you be any louder?” he growls. You cover your mouth, flushing with embossment. “Sorry!” you whisper. "I’m just a big fan of you two! I almost didn’t recognize you in normal clothes. I have your posters and all of your merch!”

Kiri gives Bakugou a look that he would seeing a cat do something cute. And that is what you are: a cute little kitty. Something adorable and sweet yet you have a sexiness to you that both men are coming to find. “Well, it's always a pleasure to meet a fan. Especially such a cute one.” He grins at the way you giggle bashfully. “I’m guessing you’re a fan of sweets? Me too. I was actually planning on getting one of those for my boyfriend, my date, and I.”

You notice Kiri gaze at Bakugou when he says “my boyfriend” and you quietly gush to yourself. “Oh, you two are dating?” you coo, much to Bakugou’s dismay. He’s so cute when he blushes! “That’s so sweet! Here, I’ll treat you guys to ‘em to make up for that nasty spill.”

Kiri is just about ready to scoop you up and take you home with them when you dig into your bag for your Hello Kitty wallet. “Well, isn’t that sweet? You up for somethin’ sweet, Katsuki?”

Though Bakugou feels the same way, he still wants to feel you out and see if this “bimbo-esque” personality you’ve got going on is a fake. “It’s whatever,” he grumbles. “But you’d better get me the chocolate one. I don’t want the one with all of those sprinkles and shit on it.” You vigorously nod, taking out some cash. “You got it!” you giggle and hand them the cash. After getting back in line, Kiri orders one chocolate and two strawberry donuts and his and Bakugou’s drinks.

You thank the cashier when she hands you each pastry individually wrapped in a paper bag, nice, warm, and toasty from the oven. You turn to the pros and hand them the treats. “Here you guys go,” you sweetly say. Bakugou grumbles as he takes his while Kiri gives you a big gigawatt grin. “Thanks, cutie,” he chuckles. You expect them to start eating them, but you’re shocked when Bakugou hands one of the strawberry ones to you.

You freeze, confused. “But…this is for your date,” you say, completely clueless. “Aren’t you gonna give it to them?” Bakugou pinches the bridge of his nose like a dad with a dumbass child. “Oh, my God,” he groans. Kiri thinks it’s endearingly hilarious, holding his stomach as he laughs. “You are our date, silly girl!” he giggles. “Well, mine, technically. Your friend set us up to have dates with you at different times today, but we both just came together since we’re dating. I hope that’s cool.”

You gape at them, wondering if they’re serious. Two of the hottest pros on a date with you? At the same time?! You just about squeal with excitement. “Sure!” you giggle, your heart leaping for joy. “The more, the better! Let’s go sit down so we can get to know each other more.”

The two are happy to oblige. Kiri picks out a table in the back that is more secluded and near the window for the sights. Before you sit, you turn to Katsuki with an apologetic pout. “I’m sorry again about the spill, Bakugou.”

The blonde cuts his eyes at you and you can't tell what he’s thinking due to how permanent his scowl is. But that changes when he pulls your chair out for you. “Katsuki,” he replies. “And stop mentionin’ it. Besides, I know some other way you can make up for it later…maybe with your number.” He gives you a lopsided smirk that makes you tingle between your thighs.

“Chill,” Kiri cuts in, rolling his eyes. “Sorry about him. We don’t usually flirt too hard on the first date…but you’re just too cute to resist.” He boldly looks you up and down, tugging lightly on his bottom lip. You wonder what else he can do with his mouth as the cafe’s atmosphere becomes more tense between the three of you. “Well, I could say the same about you two,” you purr, a shy giggle leaving your lips.

That’s what the duo want to hear. Bakugou’s smirk widens, a twinkle in his vermillion eyes. “Glad the feelin’ is mutual, mama,” he whispers. “So you sittin’ or what? My fuckin’ coffee’s gettin’ cold.” You do so and you never want the date to end…unless it’s to spend more time with them in private.

NICHOLAS "NICO" BROWN (GANGSTA!)

You stand outside of a jazz club one chilly night, watching the passersby and wondering which one may be your blind date.

Worick told you all about his friend, Nico, but you’ve never met him before. You only know that the two work together and have known each other since childhood. You’ve only known Worick for two years after he helped you out of a messy financial situation with your asshole ex-boyfriend who, according to Worick, nearly shat himself when Worick threatened to bring Nico in to handle things.

Apparently, Nico is well-known throughout the town for being an extremely threatening and intimidating figure.

Why in the fuck would Worick want to set you up with someone like that? “He’s a cool dude, really!” he assured you over coffee. “Just…quiet. And it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s deaf. He’s just a quiet guy; a little awkward; introverted…”

‘Not to mention threatening and intimidating,’ you thought to yourself. “And you thought I was just perfect for this guy?” you scoffed. “What will we even talk about? How can I talk to him if he’s so quiet?”

“If you ask him something, he’ll answer you,” the handsome blonde replied. “And don’t worry too much about signing. He can read lips, but just make sure you slow down with your words.” Though Worick knows you know sign language due to your father being deaf since you were an infant. He can tell you’re still hesitant to say yes and folds his hands into a prayer.

“C’mon, sweetie,” he begs. “The guy has NEVER been on a Valentine’s Day date before and his last girlfriend was a fucking bitch who dumped him because he was deaf. All she wanted was his massive dick…sorry.”

He apologized when he saw your reaction. You didn’t need to know that his childhood friend has a big dick! ….Though you are curious to know just how big. “He needs someone kind, considerate, and sweet. You fit the bill! Just give him a chance, please?”

Before you agreed, Worick told you all about Nico’s ex, happy to do so when you asked. Apparently, she was the daughter of a rich family that he and Worick were in charge of guarding for a couple of months. She and Nico grew closer, had a sexual relationship, and Nico caught feelings while she didn’t, claiming it was because she didn’t want to date someone deaf due to it being “too much work”. You felt bad for Nico, especially when hearing how much it hurt him.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you sighed at Worick’s pleading stare. He clapped his big, calloused hands and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Love you too, sweetie,” he chuckled. “I’ll fill you in on the details later this week.”

He instructed you to meet Nico at an underground jazz club that Nico particularly likes for its seclusion and because no one bothers him too much in there. You dressed in a simple cocktail dress, flats and a cardigan to keep warm in the chill. Combined with your styled hair and soft makeup, you think you look pretty. You hope this “Nico" person thinks so too. When you look down the street among the other stores and taverns, you see a man walking up the road and you immediately know that your date has arrived.

He is big. Huge! The man is nothing but bulky muscle hidden beneath his black tee, baggy jeans, and leather jacket standing at six-foot-something. He towers over you as he gets closer, so much so that you have to look up at him to actually look at his face. You can see why he's so intimidating.

Other than his height and build, Nico carries himself with a roughness and a confidence that is unshakeable and undeniable. It’s scary…yet also thrilling. Kinda sexy too.

Under the soft glow of the street lamps, you get a good look at his features: he has a soft tan to his skin, thick, soft-looking lips, and eyes a deep, dark chocolate that you can get lost in forever. Silver dog tags hang from his thick neck that has your blood going hot and slight scars and bruises that you can see on his knuckles. You wonder, briefly, how he got them. He’s very, very handsome.

Realizing he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you clear your throat. “Uh….hi!” you greet, giving him a wave. He nods, barely cracking a smile. “You’re Nico?” you sign with your hands and verbally ask. “I’m Y/N, Worick’s friend.”

Nico shakes your hand and you notice how big, warm, and calloused his palm is. It makes your pussy tingle embarrassingly so. “The teacher, right?” he signs with those thick fingers. “He told me you teach little kids.” You nod, smiling proudly at your occupation. “Yes, pre-K,” you giggle. “They’re adorable, but a handful.”

There is an awkwardness between you, mostly because Nico is such a silent guy. He also keeps that stoic scowl on his face, so you don’t really know what he’s thinking. “So what do you do?” you curiously ask. “Worick never filled me in on that. He just said you do ‘business’ together as Handymen.” At this, Nico cracks a crooked smirk. “Something like that,” he signs. That intrigues you a bit.

“Do you wanna go inside?” you ask, nodding at the door. “We’ll freeze before we get a chance to get to know each other more.” You give a small laugh to which he only nods, making you feel like a fish out of water. He opens the door for you, surprising you, and nods you into the warm club.

“Thank you,” you whisper, catching his intoxicating scent of cologne and lavender soap as you walk in. A bit of cigarette smoke clings to his clothes too, but it doesn't bother you much. The club is small yet cozy and dimly lit for a more intimate feel. Many people are at the bar or on the dance floor near the small stage where a band plays, the sounds of piano and cello mingling in the air.

After getting your drinks from the bar (you get a cocktail while Nico picks a beer), you pick a table near the window and Nico pulls out a chair for you. You flush bashfully at his actions, not taking him for such a sweet guy. “Such a gentleman,” you laugh as he pushes you in and takes a seat across from you. “Worick didn’t tell me that. He said you’re very quiet though.” He shrugs his broad shoulders in his jacket. “Just don’t got much to say,” he signs.

You nod as you shed your coat, revealing your naked shoulders and dress to him. You try not to be intimidated by his unwavering gaze. “That’s okay,” you sign and say. “We can talk about whatever you want.” The corners of his mouth quirk upward. “You sign really well,” he praises you. You smile proudly and bashfully, glad to have impressed him. “My dad is deaf and taught me how to sign since I was young.”

His smirk turns more dry and almost forced as he signs to you: “So me being deaf doesn’t turn you off?” he jokes.

You immediately remember his ex and feel your stomach fall. “Not at all,” you sweetly answer. “Though I don’t like beer drinkers.” You wrinkle your nose at Nico’s drink. He raises an eyebrow, confused at your distaste. “It makes kisses taste like beer.” You lean forward a bit, giving him a secretive, flirtatious smile. “I like my kisses sweet.”

Your eyes tick down to his lips and he notices. But he barely reacts. If anything, he looks disinterested and your heart sinks. “Was that too much?” you ask worriedly. Did you go too far? Are you misreading this?

Before you can babble an apology, he stops you. “You asked what I do for work with Worick,” he signs. You nod, your heart thumping madly in your chest. He takes a deep breath before signing again. “We do almost everything, but I do dirty work,” he tells you. “I used to be a mercenary, but…I’ve still got human blood on my hands.” He pauses, watching for your reaction. That explains the marks on his fists. ”Does that bother you?” he asks, apprehension in his brown eyes. Before you can respond, someone knocks into the table, nearly toppling it over.

You squeak, grabbing your drink before it can topple over while Nico straightens the table. “Oh, my God, are you alright?” you gasp, immediately helping the guy onto his feet. He turns to you, all crooked teeth and bloodshot eyes. “Now I am,” he drunkenly chortles at the sight of you. “Damn, darlin’, you’ve got a body on you! You wanna dance?” You immediately step back, warning bells going off in your head. “U-Uh, no, sorry. I’m here with–“

The man turns to Nico who has been staring daggers at the drunk the whole time. “Him?” he cackles. “That fuckin’ cockhead? You can get someone better than that, darlin’. Someone who can take care of this bo–“

The drunk cuts himself off with a whine of pain as Nico grips his hand so hard that he cracks the drunk’s knuckle bones. Unbeknownst to you, the drunk tried to touch your behind and Nico wasn’t having that. Doesn’t he know who he’s fucking with? You gape at your date as he steps between you and the drunk, a hulking mountain, and gets deep in the drunk’s grill.

And then he opens his mouth: “Back up,” he warns, his voice deeper and raspier than you pictured it though loud due to his hearing. “Unless you want your head in this table, I suggest you leave her alone. She’s with me.”

He then releases the drunk who scampers away, clutching his hand to his chest. Nico composes himself and turns to you, an apologetic look in his eyes. “Sorry,” he signs. You don’t say anything and he is so sure that he fucked this up. Now you see who he is. Now you see that he’s just a Twilight. A mercenary. A no good–

“Nico?” you softly ask. His hurtful thoughts take the back burner when you step to him, looking up at him with those precious, brown eyes. “Do you want to dance?” you ask, signing the words to him.

He blinks at you, so sure that you're scared of him. When in reality, you're just trying to push the nasty thoughts of him kissing you silly and fucking you up against the table with that big, sexy body and massive dick out of your mind.

Him defending you but still being a complete, gentle giant to you is getting you going completely, but it’s still the first date. You want him to open up and maybe a slow dance can do that for you. “Not much of a dancer,” he signs, looking sheepish.

You smile and offer your hands to which he takes. “I’ll show you how,” you giggle, pulling him along onto the dance floor filled with slow-dancing pairs. A soft, slow tune with a seductive saxophone and piano plays as you stand eye to eye. You place one hand on his shoulder as you interact your fingers with his with the other. Slowly, you begin to sway to the music, beginning to melt within the music and each other.

And when lean your head onto his shoulder, finally feeling at peace, Nico comes to feel that this is where you belong: with him, in his arms.

KEISUKE BAJI (TOKYO REVENGERS)

*Disclaimer: Baji is aged up (over the age of 18) in this drabble!

“You’re the worst blind date I’ve ever had,” you very boldly and irritatingly tell the annoyingly sexy man sitting across from you.

The attractive man with the long, wavy black hair, sharp eyes the color of milk chocolate, and a sharp, canine smile looks across from you at the table littered with remnants of your Italian dinner. Baji is his name apparently, a close friend of Mikey’s and one of his gang members. You never understood that gang shit, but they never give you problems.

If anything, Mikey’s gang ‘Toman’, protects you and makes sure you go about your days without any bother. “I’m guessin’ you’ve been on many blind dates before me?” Baji suggests as he chews on his pasta. “Huh. That’s a shocker.”

You sharply squint at him, catching onto that shade. “Why is that so shocking?” you ask, digging your nails into the table with how irked you are. You can’t believe Mikey set you up with him. It’s been 25 minutes into the date and so far, each conversation was an argument and shot after shot.

Your personalities clash horribly, not to mention every woman in the place has their eyes on him. And he knows it! Not to mention that he’s an extremely messy eater (which led your mind to other places), he is way too into himself, and he has no idea how to act in a classy setting like an Italian restaurant.

He’s a wild. He’s argumentative and hot-headed. He’s a rugged, tough-as-nails, roughneck dude…and he’s turning you on.

Baji leans back against his chair, widening his legs in a way that makes you want to scream. Why the fuck does he have to be so goddamn fine but such an asshole? Is God punishing you? “Well, bein’ the fact that you’re the very definition of ‘a stick in the mud’,” he explains, “and a tighter than a drum, I can hardly believe how any guy sat across from you at a table. At least you’re pretty.” He goes back to eating his pasta like he didn’t just insult you.

“Excuse me?” you hiss, feeling your blood boil. Thank God for your dress or else, you’re sure you’d boil over from the anger you feel. “And I can’t imagine how any self-respecting woman can sit with a lowlife, cocky, smart ass narc like you. And unlike me, your looks do nothing to take away any of that.” Baji’s thick, black eyebrows raise at the shot you took. “And you’re snarky,” he chuckles. “Lucky for you, I’ve got a thing for snarky girls.”

He uses his sinful tongue to lick a bit of sauce from his bottom lip. You catch a glint of metal on his tongue as he does and you realize that he has a tongue piercing. ‘Fuck,’ you think, clenching your thighs beneath the table and gripping the hem of your dress. You lean your hand against the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on. “I can’t believe I said yes to this shit,” you sigh into your hand. “Fuck the $50. I’m gonna have to tell Mikey that–“

“Mikey?” Baji cut in, pausing from eating. “Mikey put you up to this?” His brown eyes widen in shock and you feel a spark of joy at shutting him up. “Yes,” you proudly say, venom in your tone, “he did. And you know why? It’s because no other girl wants to date you. You’re unromantic, you’re a slob, you’re always looking for an argument, and you seem to push every single guy’s buttons in here.”

He stares at you for a moment, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, and then he begins to laugh so loud that the others in the restaurant look at him. You hide behind your hand, embarrassed. “Oh, shit!” he cackles. “I swear, that motherfucker is desperate to find me somebody.” You nod, pushing your dinner to the side. “Agreed. Why he ever thought I would be a perfect match for you is beyond me.”

Baji looks at you now, an unreadable expression on his face as his smile fades. “Maybe it’s because you’re such a fuckin’ brat,” he replies though his tone is different. You stare at him in disbelief, scowling. Did he really just say that? Deadass?

Baji smirks at your reaction. “You heard me: B-R-A-T. You’re a brat and fortunately for you, baby girl, I’m just the guy to handle a chick like you.” He leans in toward you, folding his ringed knuckles beneath his chin. “Someone who doesn’t shut the fuck up or know her place.”

“Know her place?!” you snap, earning the attention of the restaurant. He barely reacts, though his smile grows and a strange twinkle appear in his eyes. “You know what? Fuck this and fuck you. Why you even have an ex-girlfriend is beyond me if this is how you talk to them.” You stand up in your pretty, body-hugging dress and grab your coat. “I’m leaving,” you huff, snatching the coat on. “Have a good Valentine’s Day, dickhead.”

Without another word or waiting for him to respond or even stop you, you leave the restaurant and step out into the cold February night. You barely get down the street before you hear your name being called. You turn, seeing Baji jogging towards you, those black locks flowing in the wind. “Y/N!” he calls in his deep ass voice. “Hold up, wait!” You don’t know why you stop, but you do, putting a hand on your hip. You glare at him and pout those plump lips when he finally stops in front of you. “You left your dessert.”

He presents a small brown box to you and opens it to reveal a small chocolate fudge cake with chocolate mousse on the inside and Godiva flakes coating the top. “I didn’t order any dessert,” you say in a tight voice. He smirks down at you, standing several heads taller than you. “I know; that’s why I ordered ya one. C’mon, you don’t like chocolate cake?” You look back down at the cake and close it before he hands it to you. “What, is this an apology?” you snort. “Sorry, man, but you’re gonna have to try much harder than–“

“You’re wonderin’ why I have an ex, right?” he interrupts you. You pause, confused, but he just smiles mischievously at you. “I have an ex, and many of them, because I’m an asshole, unfortunately. Force of habit.” He shrugs, but actually looks guilty for it. “But I’ve had many girlfriends because I know how to tame them.”

His smile is flirtier now, creating more of that sexual tension that you felt at dinner. You still stare at him, speechless, and he figures that you’re clueless about what he means. “I put it down,” he explains. "Give good dick. Knock their boots. Am I makin’ any sense here?”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the thoughts running in your head of just how good he is in the bedroom. “I know what you mean,” you snap. “So why the fuck are you tellin’ me this?”

Baji smiles at you, his canines glowing at you as if they are illuminated by a light within them. They thrill you and bring a ferocious and needy part out of you that you didn’t know was even there. He takes a step toward you, getting closer, until you can reach up and kiss him if you want to.

“Because I know you’re attracted to me,” he murmurs matter-of-factly. “What, you think I can’t see it? The way you squeezed your thighs tight together at the table. The way you kept starin’ dead at my hands. The way you’d get so lost in thought as if daydreaming about somethin’ else way more exciting.”

You flush embarrassingly, more at your behavior than the fact that Baji noticed it. You can’t help how attracted you are to him. But Baji doesn’t want you to be embarrassed or ashamed. He wants you to want him the same he wants you.

“Lucky for you, mama,” he purrs, the pet name making your pussy jump, especially with his voice, "I’m just as whipped for you, especially in that dress.” His fingers lightly glide down your arm, sending shivers down your spine. “I’m sorry about tonight, but I can show how sorry I am in other ways if you want me to.”

You can tell he genuinely means it and isn’t just trying to get in your pants, but even so, you still scowl up at him, your jaw set and eyes narrow. “And why do you think I’ll say yes?” you question. He just chuckles, still flashing you that sharp, sexy smile. “Because you know I’m the only one who can handle that bratty ass of yours.”

He then turns and waves a hand. You don’t know what for until a taxi suddenly glides over to the curb and stops. Baji walks to the backdoor and opens it before looking back at you expectantly, his eyes molten with lust.

“Now get in the fuckin’ car, Y/N.” You know you shouldn’t get in the car and go anywhere with him, but you can’t deny how much he makes your pussy throb. So against your better judgment, you crawl into the backseat of the cab and tell the driver your address.

Hours later after being stripped out of your dress, shown extensive foreplay, and having your pussy eaten like Baji hasn’t had anything to eat in decades, you find yourself being fucked against the wall with your arms and legs wrapped tight around the long-haired, tattooed man who holds you against him as he pummels his thick, hard cock into your tight, wet pussy again and again. The bedroom is filled with the sound of your mixed moans and skin slapping against skin as he pistons his hips into you, making you see stars.

It doesn’t take long for your pussy to start quivering around his cock, squelching and dripping the more he fucks it. You’ve never been fucked like this in your life and you’re able to hold back anymore. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Baji!” you practically scream. “Can’t…can’t take it! I’m gonna cum!”

Baji shakes his head, gripping your hair with one hand while he hikes you up onto his waist with the other, showing you how lightweight you are to him. “Uh-uh, bratty girl,” he huffs. “Not yet, mama. I need to feel more of this pretty pussy flutterin’ around me.”

He thrusts harder, faster, drawing whines and sobs out of you. You begin to claw at his back where a large tattoo dedicated to Toman is inked into his back muscles. “You cum when I say, understand?” he growls into your ear.

You weakly nod, willing to do anything he says if that means you can cum. “Now shut the fuck up, and take this dick.” You do so, stopping your protests as he fucks you stupid until you cream all over his cock while he fills you up to the brim…but of course, you only do it when he says so. You find that you love doing what he tells you to.

When everything is said and done, you both crumble to your bedroom floor and Baji pecks your cheek. “Best blind date ever, right?” he chuckles.

BENIMARU SHINON (FIRE FORCE)

*Note: Reader is Goth!

“God, kill me,” you sigh, standing in front of the theater doors. “Why did I agree to do this? He could be a serial killer or something!”

You contemplate leaving, but you already promised your best friend that you’d go through with this stupid blind date on this stupid ass holiday. “Please just try and go along with it for tonight, Y/N!” she practically begged. “I promise he’s a nice guy! And I already told him you agreed! Just give it a chance and I promise you that I’ll never bother you about dating again.”

You groaned, sitting across from her at a bar. “Fuck,” you sighed. “Fine. Can I least pick the movie?” Your friend eagerly nodded, so you purposely picked a romance/horror movie marathon showing that the theatre does every year for Valentine’s Day. The kind with blood n guts, gothic vampires, and slashers. Surprisingly, the guy still agreed to come much to your dismay and you had no choice but to come out.

You know that your friend did this as a way to get you to start dating. You swear she thinks that one of these days that you’ll hang yourself from the shower rod with how lonely you are…and this has zero to do with you being goth. Though you love the color black, but you’re not depressed. You love dark makeup and rock music, but that’s what you love. You’ve always adored gothic fashion and the aesthetic, so that’s what you live.

However, some people think it’s weird. Though Tokyo is full of eccentric and different type of fashion, goth isn’t particularly “popular” in your Black family or side of the city. And it certainly isn’t popular with the guys. You don’t care. You love yourself and you’re not about to change for anyone. So you dress in your finest black attire with a mini leather skirt, thigh-high stockings, and boots that make you feel powerful and sexy. Your makeup is dark, your mascara is sharp, your nails are as long and sharp as claws, and chains drip from your leather jacket.

You wonder what your date will be like. Apparently, he’s a well-regarded and respected officer in the Special Fire Force, among the strongest there is. But you don’t recognize him when he comes up the road from his side of the city. He is tall and has a lean build that is hidden behind a black sweater and baggy jeans. His locks of black hair hang in his face, but not enough to hide his different set of eyes: his right pupil is a red circle with one black dot in the middle while his iris is black; his left is red with a white X in the middle, reminding you of a game of tic, tac, toe.

“Hey,” he greets easily. “You waitin’ for someone?” You scowl at him, crossing your ams over you chest. “Why are you asking?” you ask sharply. The stranger raises his big hands in defense, taking a step back. “I’m not trying you, I promise. I’m just wondering if you’re this Y/N that’s supposed to be waiting here for me.”

You squint at him, cocking your head to the side to see him at a different angle. “Benimaru?” you question. “Huh. You don’t look how I thought at all.” He is handsome but not enough to knock you off your game. He quirks a small smirk and you have a feeling that this dude don’t smile often. “I hope that’s a good thing,” he wryly chuckles. “For the record, you’re not bad on the eyes either…if that’s what you meant.”

You don’t acknowledge his compliment or react even though your stomach flips. You’re not used to anyone complimenting you on the account of your black lipstick and mascara. “So should we go in or stay out here to freeze to death?” you sarcastically ask. You huff and turn on your heel before Benimaru can even answer or follow you.

He easily beats you to the door on his long legs and opens it for you, towering over you as he does. “Is sarcasm just natural for you?” he asks, dry humor in his voice as you step into the theater. You feel a pang of guilt at your behavior. It’s not his fault your friend orchestrated this.

“Sorry,” you apologize. “I’ll admit, I’m not too hype about being here. Dating isn’t really my thing, but my friend insisted I come on this stupid blind date…no offense.” Benimaru barely blinks at you walk to the ticket counter. “None taken. My friend, Konro, swore I needed a Valentine’s Day date when the whole holiday isn’t even a holiday. It’s pure BS.”

“Ugh, agreed,” you scoff, rolling your pretty, brown eyes ringed in mascara “It’s just a way for companies to continue to capitalize off of hopeless romantics and couples. Not to mention all of that pink.”

Benimaru nearly misses that, too busy thinking about how pretty your eyes are. “I’m takin’ you don’t like pink?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you. “Not that your clothes are a dead giveaway or anything.” His interestingly alluring eyes tick up and down your outfit, making you feel hot under all of the leather. “I just like black,” you laugh. “But don’t get me wrong; I wear other colors sometimes, but only on a minuscule level.”

“Your friend said you were a gothic chick,” he chuckles, giving you a mischievous smirk. You send it right back as you take out the two tickets your friend sent you for the movie. “As gothic as they come,” you retort. Benimaru just hums in response, particularly liking you in that mini skirt and the way it swishes around your thighs.

After buying the tickets, you two wander into the small waiting area where a bar, a cafe, and an arcade occupy the space. “So the movie starts in about fifteen minutes. Should we head in now?” Benimaru doesn’t answer at first, too busy staring at the arcade games. “Nah,” he replies, nodding at the flashing, noisy games. “We can kill some time in here.” He begins to walk over, expecting you to follow. “Your friend also said you’re shit at racing games,” he says with a smirk shot your way.

“Not true!” you scoff, crossing your arms. He shrugs pausing in the threshold of the arcade to wait for you. You finally give in, taking off your jacket to reveal your black crop top. “Fine, but only if we got time for the shooting games too. I wanna kill some zombies.” Benimaru nods, secretly laughing to himself as you follow him into the arcade.

You spend way more than fifteen minutes in that bitch, playing all the games you can. Benimaru is good at almost everything, playing each game with skill and precision. He lets you win most of the time, just liking to see you smile and laugh in pride when you win a racing game or beat him at ping pong. During the zombie game, you get overrun by the undead while holding your plastic machine gun and you feel him lightly touch your elbow to point the gun straight. His touch sends shivers all over you. You win the first half until you run out of time and Benimaru smirks at you. “I totally helped you with that,” he sniggers.

You also play basketball, shooting them repeatedly through hoops. He always gets the farthest hoop and the highest points, winning every round. “You only won ‘cause you’re taller,” you huff, bumping your hip with his as you walk by. It gives him the perfect opportunity to watch your ass sway in that damn skirt, making him hard as a rock for you.

As walk to get something to drink, you stop at one game in particular: the crane game. It holds dozens of little plushies that you’re obsessed with, including the little black plague doctor with its big eyes and fluffy beak. Benimaru smirks at you staring at the game, walking up beside you. “I saw you looking at this thing the whole time,” he says. "You couldn't have been any less discreet.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, still staring at the plushie. He notices and pulls out his last arcade coin. “What, you want it?” You quickly shake your head, turning to leave. “We’re gonna miss the movie anyways, so–“

“Fuck it,” he carelessly interrupts, shocking you. “You obviously want that penguin, so I’ll get it for you.”

You roll your eyes, sighing. “It’s not even a penguin; it’s a plague doctor Squishable. It ain’t a big deal for me to have it, Benimaru.” But your date just glares at you as he bends down to put the coin in the slot. “And it ain’t a big deal for me to get it for you,” he argues. “If we miss the movie, we’ll just go for food.”

You are floored by his stubbornness and refusal to give up until he’s made you happy. How can that be? You only just met and yet here he is, using his last coin to try to get you a stupid plushie! You watch with bated breath as he plays the game, moving the crane slowly as he fixes his eyes on the plushie. Once he’s moved the crane right over the plushie, he hits a button, causing the crane to sink down into the sea of stuffed animals. The crane’s hooks latch onto the peak of the plushie and, slowly, he moves it over to the opening in the corner to release it.

The crane plays music and lights up in victory as the plushie rolls down the chute into Benimaru’s hand. He turns to you, an unreadable look on his face. “Here,” he says passively. “I figured goth girls didn’t like cute shit like this…but he is kinda creepy.”

You take the plushie, just staring at it for a moment. All of the sudden, you feel weird. You feel tingly and butterflies flutter around in your stomach. That never happens, but it’s happening for this guy! “Thanks,” you softly, and very shyly, say. Benimaru shrugs like it isn’t anything to him, but it is to you. “Y’know, the movie marathon is gonna be showing another night too…” You trail off, looking down at your shoes to avoid seeing his eyes.

“So you want another night with me?” he asks. Quickly, you turn on your heel and stomp out of the arcade, leaving him utterly confused. “What?” he calls after you, sounding genuinely baffled. “It was just a question!”

A second night with him does happen two weeks later and you do see the midnight marathon, but neither of you pay any attention to the first move that plays. You’re too busy bouncing on your date’s thick, veiny cock in the darkness of the theater to watch the film, biting back your moans despite the seats being empty. Benimaru softly grunts and moans into your ear as your walls flex around him, his eyes transfixed on the way your ass jiggles as he lifts up your skirt.

“Fuck, Beni!” you moan. “Y-You’re s-so fuckin’ big!” You grip his thighs with your long nails as his dick stretches you out in the best way, a delicious ache coming in your calves with the effort it takes to bounce on him. Benimaru stands up and bends you over the seat in front of you, beginning to fuck you from behind. He is fast and nails that single spot every time that makes you have to cover your mouth because you’re so loud.

“Shh, shh, baby,” he coos into your ear as he continues to pound into you from behind. “You don’t want security comin’ to find us, do you? Or maybe you do, you little slut, fuckin’ your date in the movie theatre.” He takes a fistful of your hair and pulls, much to your enjoyment of being slutted out in the dark. Anyone could walk in and see you fucking right now. It’s so naughty. So sexy.

The thrill of it must be getting to Benimaru too because he speeds up his thrusts, his balls slapping against your clit as his hand smacks against your ass, gripping it tight. “Shit, baby, you’re gonna make cum!” he groans, tossing his head back at the feeling of your tight walls squeezing around him. “Cum with me! Make that pretty fuckin’ pussy cum around my cock!”

You quickly begin to rub you swollen clit in time with his thrusts and soon enough, you’re cumming all over his cock. “Fuck!” you scream into your hand as your orgasm tears through you. Benimaru cums too, filling you up with a long groan that he bites back as best as he can among the movie playing. He lets you come down from cloud nine before pulling out, letting his cum leak down your thighs. He turns you around, pumping his cock soaked in your juices. “Not yet,” he growls. “Put it back in your mouth and taste yourself.”

You get on your knees, panties at your ankles and leather skirt hiked up. Benimaru wastes no time thrusting into your mouth, using it as his very own fucktoy, as he watches your brown eyes ringed in mascara stare up at him eagerly. When he pulls away to cum again, your black lipstick stains his cock, marking him as yours.

“Fuck!” he gasps as he cums all over your pretty face, ruining your eye makeup. It is now but black smears down your cheeks as his nut drips all over your face and cheeks.

“Poor baby,” he chuckles. “Your mascara’s runnin’. I bet you worked so hard on it.” He takes a napkin from your movie snacks and dabs away the cum. “So cute,” he sighs, marveling at how utterly adorable you look. You giggle, feeling deliriously good and cute, just as he says.

Yeah. A third date is most definitely in the future for you now.

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lingering-42-long · 2 years ago

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141 + extra when they get home from war

Y’all be too much lol. This is my third head cannon and the Mother’s Day one is still on the top of the likes list and I don’t know why like that one was my trash one and everything else I like put time and effort into. It’s like offering people a gourmet meal or Ramen noodles with chicken nuggets, lol I’m glad everybody does enjoy my Content though, and I hope that you all enjoy this one as well!

COD x Female Character

Warnings: PG-13, mentioning of sex, fluff, suggestion of angst

Captain John Prince

• when he gets home, he’s usually pretty tired.

• Don’t be alarmed if he just wants to sleep when he gets home.

• Usually you pick him up from the airport and he will load in his bags with a grunt and say that he could really use some good sleep.

• He smells like gun powder and dirt, even though he just took a shower.

• When he gets home, he will give you a kiss, then head off to bed no matter what time of day it is.

• He’s just that tired.

• When he wakes up the first thing he does is go back over to you and give you a proper kiss and a proper greeting.

• Make sure that you have some food for him. He’s going to be hungry, and he really needs some thing that’s more sustainable than MREs.

• He wants to hear about your life and what you’ve been up to while he’s been at work.

• Listening to you talk is one of his favorite past times and it helps him relax. Sitting in front of the couch while watching some TV show while you’re rambling on about the past months and about what you’ve been up to really brings a smile to his face.

• He likes to catch up on his reading.

• This man enjoys reading with a cigar in his mouth and a glass of bourbon.

• If you’ve picked out a new book for him to read, he will be gladly appreciate of of it.

• But most importantly, he would want you to be in his lap while he’s reading, but if you don’t like the smell of cigar smoke near your face, he will make sure not to smoke near you.

Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

• Simon comes home as Ghost.

• The persona of a vengeful wraith and the shell of a once human is what your are graced with.

• He is very quiet, very solemn, and very cold.

• This is because he’s just dealing with his PTSD.

• He needs time to heal from recent encounters. This can take as little as one week to as long as three months.

• After badgering him enough times, to go see a therapist, he obliges.

• Though he’s pretty cranky about it.

• Give him space. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but right now, he doesn’t trust himself, especially with the nightmares raging through his mind.

• His nightmares are so vivid that it can be hard to distinguish Friend or foe.

• This is due to the fact that he needs to be working or else those vile thoughts come hunting him.

• He will never tell you about what goes on while he’s away.

• Once Ghost disappears, Simon takes his place.

• The poor broken man is just tired, and he just wants to lay next to you and hear about your day or months.

• Once you become stable enough, he begins to be more active around the house instead of just brooding in the bedroom.

• He hast to keep himself busy at all times.

• No rest for the wicked.

• Hast to sleep with a lamp on.

• Even though he seems harsh around the outside, he loves you deeply, and that’s why he separates himself from you for a certain time.

Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish

• Opposite of Ghost, Johnny is so excited to see you!

• As soon as he gets off the airplane, he runs over to you!

• This man is all over you before you even see him!

• He starts asking you 1 million questions about how your months have been and what’s been going on with his family and any news on the recent football (soccer) matches.

• You actually have to calm him down because he’s all over the place.

• When you get into the car, he is kissing you all over your face.

• This man has enough energy to run to the moon and back, and it shows.

• He’ll try to take you right there if only he wasn’t in a car confined by a seatbelt

• Johnny is quick to help around the house and do whatever task you need to do.

• He says he’s making up for lost time.

• If you’ve decorated the house in a new way, he will always compliment what you’ve done to it.

• Johnny wakes up early in the morning and practically begged you to join him on a hike.

• It could be down pouring for all he cares about but he really wants to be with you while he’s working out.

• He will bring you back a souvenir probably something stupid like a rock or a jar of sand.

• If he gets any scars, he shows you and starts pointing them out and tells you the story about each and everyone of them.

• He won’t go into great detail about how gruesome the battling was.

• He wants you to be in his life every step of the way, even if you’re at home.

Sargent Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

• Kyle is grinning from ear to ear when he sees you!

• He’s not as hyper as Johnny, nor is he a stoic as his captain.

• He has the perfect mix between excited and tired

• When you to get home, he says that you two should just order pizza and he’s dying to play a video game with you even if he’s a little tired.

• Kyle doesn’t go into a lot of detail about his work. He’ll just make an occasional gesture about what he saw what he did.

• Like soap, he’ll bring you back a souvenir.

• He actually takes time with his souvenir shopping though, and we’ll go to local markets installs to actually pick you out some thing that you might like.

• Happy to be with you and glad to be away from the fighting.

Commander Alejandro Vargas

• When he comes home, his first instinct is to drop his bags by the door, and bring you into a warm and passionate kiss and hug.

• As much as he loves his job and all of his soldiers and team, some thing about being at home with you makes him feel truly loved.

• He may be tired, but he still going to serenade you like it’s his last day on earth.

• If you haven’t started making dinner yet, he will help and participate with whatever you’re doing. He may be tired, but he’s never tired for you.

• He loves watching you move around the house.

• He’s not going to deny it, but you wearing his clothes and cooking dinner with him really turns him on.

• After dinner, he may propose a night in bed to you.

• This man serenades you in sex especially after he’s been away for a long time

• Physical touch is his love language, and he loves being with you.

Sergeant Major Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

• Like his commander, when he comes home, all he wants to do is drop his bags and immediately embrace you and a warm hug while rubbing your head and whispering how much he’s missed you.

• He also wants to help you cook dinner, or do some thing, but if you go, tell him to take a shower and to relax, he won’t deny that he needs it.

• Rudy loves reading a book with you so after dinner he will want to skip the washing dishes and ask if you would like to read with him before going to bed. No matter what time it is in the day. If he’s tired enough, he will once to at least read a little bit before falling asleep.

• Once he’s asleep, the bags underneath his eyes seem to disappear. He knows you’re close and he knows that you’re safe and that’s all that he could ever ask for to make him happy.

König

• As soon as he gets off the airplane and sees you amongst the crowd of people, his anxiety stops, and he immediately makes his way to you.

• He can’t sleep on an airplane, but as soon as he’s in the car, he’s about ready to doze off. You have to remind him not to though, because waking him up or trying to drag him out of the car is near impossible.

• He is really trying hard not to pass out in the car.

• Once he gets home, he stumbles into the kitchen looking for a nice tall glass of water to drink, and a sandwich or two to eat.

• Make sure that you keep the sandwiches stocked.

• This man will then make his way to the bedroom, take a cold shower, get into some warm PJs, and then slip into bed.

• Once he’s asleep, he will stay in his hybernation for roughly 3 days.

• He will only wake up to use the restroom, get a drink of water, or to eat some thing.

• When his mind is on the battlefield, he rarely puts himself into a sleep state, but when he’s at home, it’s like all of the hours that he missed, sleeping or suddenly compiled in a single week.

• Just let him rest, and sooner or later, he’ll wake up from his hibernation, and will seek you out so that he can give you kisses and hugs and ask how your time has been away from him.

Alex Keller

• When Alex gets back, like everybody on this list, he is tired.

• His leg is very sore from the prosthetic. Prosthetics are not comfortable and cause I’m serious leg and back pain.

• He will ask very nicely if you could massage his leg for him when he gets home.

• Once he’s in the car, Alex is taking off that damn prosthetic leg and rubbing his stump.

• You can tell he’s in a lot of pain just by the way, his eyes crease, and a frown forms.

• In order to get him off of the pain, you talk to him about his time.

• This usually makes him perk up since he enjoys talking to you about his adventures.

• His personality is like a mix between Johnny and Kyle, but leans more towards Kyle.

• When you get home you’ll have to help him walk because he really does not want to put on his prosthetic.

• You just leave the bag in the car to get later.

• When Alex gets into bed, it’s like a huge sigh of relief washes over him.

• You can see how red and agitated his amputated limb is.

• You do what you can to make him feel better by applying some numbing cream and giving him some pain relieving medicine.

• He always feels better once you start massaging his leg and even more so if you give them a back rub.

• This man is a simple man and enjoys a simple massage after months of no rest.

Philip Graves

• Like a soldier from World War II coming home to meet his best girl.

• He always surprises you when he comes home and has one of his shadow men drive him to the house.

• He always buys you a huge bouquet of flowers and some pretty jewelry as well.

• When he walks through the door, he asks where his baby girl is.

• And of course you come running and giving him a huge hug and crying, which he immediately envelops you into a hug.

• He’s whispering in your ear with that southern drawl about how much she misses you.

• He gets a little into himself when he’s talking about how his mission is or how he was able to handle such a dangerous and daunting task.

• As egotistical, as this may seem, it is his way of expressing his love for you in a slightly weird way.

• In the evening, he’ll probably swoop you up into a dance, with both of you, smiling and laughing.

• He tells you how much he misses you and how much he loves you.

• In bed, he shows you how much he means both of those things.

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voltronisanobsession · 1 year ago

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Oh boy, oh boy, do I have something for you. I really hope this is as good as the other requests I’ve given you, but can you imagine a Percy x Zagreus!reader?

The Reader is the child of Zagreus himself, who doesn’t have a good relationship with the Olympian queen. This means Hera is against his child as well and, despite being a goddess of marriage, tries to keep them away from their father as much as possible. But the Reader doesn’t care, they’ll fight their way to the Underworld no matter how long it might take.

So… how do you think Percy would react with this one? Think he’ll fall head over heels for their determined attitude? Join them in their runs? Patch them up while also scolding them if they come back terribly injured? You gotta tell me what you think.

Hope this is good, hope your day is going well, and have a good morning! Or afternoon…? Maybe even night?

And no, no, I did not draw inspiration from the Hades game, slowly falling in love with it, and trying to find as much gameplays as I can. Nope, don’t know what you’re talking about (😉)

Percy with a Child of Zagreus Reader

OOOOO😻😻 I can smell the bitterness of this reader coming from a mile away💀

I didn’t even know there was a game called Hades, Imma have to look a little into. I kinda mostly focused on reader for this one if I’m being honest

Not proofread💔

EDIT: After playing the game I realized I mischaracterized Zagreus and Hera BUT WE WON'T TALK ABOUT

Being a child of Zagreus, Hera has put reader through HELL growing up

Like gods aren’t normally supposed to interfere with demigods and whatnot but since she has a bone to pick with the underworld god, you would never be on good terms with Hera

Zagreus would’ve wanted to raise you himself lowkey, probably if your mother died unexpectedly, and mostly to protect you from the wrath of the goddess

But this is Hera we’re talking about, she’s a very bitter and unfair goddess, so she’s willing to tear you both apart if it means seeing Zagreus continuously suffering

Reader is forced to grow up alone, running away from danger that seems to follow them at every corner and turn

The only thing you would have of your father is a pendant of his, and the distant memory of his face

Maybe he even gave you a blessing of protection and perseverance, something that would help you before you were taken away from him

I think Hera would have some curse placed on you and your father, something that keeps y’all from each other

Him trapped in the underworld and you forced to walk the world of the living, cursed to never find an entrance to the world below

Yeah you grow up very untrusting towards others because of Hera’s constant tricks

Most people you’ve met had always broken your trust and betrayed you in some way

So it’s no real shocker when you keep your distance when you first meet Percy

Percy had probably saved you from being eaten by a monster or even helped you run away from some situation that escalated badly

Whatever happened, he’s eager to talk to a new demigod!

It’s not everyday he meets a new halfblood outside of camp

And as nice and silly as he is, you can’t let yourself get close to him, after all this could just be another façade sent to distract you

So it surprises him when you walk past him without introducing yourself or thanking him

You kinda just look at him and move on with your life💀

And that’s what makes you so interesting to Percy! With the way you walk like you’re on a mission, since he has nothing better to do, he decides to join you!

And that’s how his journey with you begins

He fills the empty silence left by you with loud talking and ramblings, and somewhere along your journey, you actually begin to enjoy his company

One worded responses turn to small comments to actual conversations

You can’t help it honestly, you’ve been alone for so long that you crave the presence of another person

It’s a weakness that has led to so much heartbreak and betrayal in your past

But you allow yourself to indulge in Percy, allow yourself to believe he won’t turn against like the others had

Percy definitely notices how you don’t reveal much about yourself

You’re so closed off to a point where he basically only knows your name

And yet he can’t stop his heart from beating faster when you let a smile slip when he says something stupid

I think it would be during the dead of night where you finally reveal why you’ve been wandering around

Like y’all have been traveling together for a while and you ACTUALLY trust him

Percy is so sincere and doesn’t make false promises or comments

He’s an open book basically😭 you can tell he’s a genuine person, and from what you’ve heard about the demigod, he’s a good person

You dare say you might have even grown to like him😦

He honestly admires your perseverance and bravery, like you’ve been on your own for YEARS

Your determination to see your father again captivated him

He feels sorry for you too, you’ve been separated from the only family you know and with no way to get to him

He’s also lowkey scared of your lack of respect towards the powerful goddess

He’s learned to never make a god angry, but he guesses that doesn’t apply to your situation since the goddess had been after you the second you were born

Percy would totally mention how his friend, Annabeth, claims that Hera has a vendetta against her too

If this is after the first war with Kronos, I think you might even reveal how you fought along side him

Percy is shocked to hear that but not really surprised since you never had a good relationship with the Olympian

Kronos promised you that you would be able to see your father again, so you willingly joined his army

Like having this convo with you, it really makes Percy see how anyone can be influenced by the experiences they go through in their life

Percy really wants to help you so I think he might introduce you to Nico

“Nico might actually be able to help you get to the underworld! He’s the son of Hades, by the way.”

“Wait, are you serious? Hades has a son? Why didn’t you say anything sooner?!”

It takes time trying to contact the younger boy, but you still jump on Percy and hug him cuz AHH

You might actually be able to see your father!!!

And Percy is just as happy to see you smiling brightly as the younger boy makes his appearance

Hell you might even give him a small peck on the cheek as a thank you teehee (this dudes face would be REEEDDDD)

But danger finally strikes you all when Nico leads you to an entrance to the underworld

Monster quite literally spawn out of NOWHERE, mostly attacking you and keeping you away from the one place where people would stray far away from

You dodge any swipes and attacks aimed at you, inching closer to the entrance until you’re launched back

Battered and bruised, you get up only to be pulled away by Percy

He would try to explain that it was too dangerous to continue, that you all needed to fall back and come up with a plan!

“Percy let go of me! I’m so close, you can’t do this to me!”

“We need to get back now! Please! We won’t be able to beat them! They’ll kill you!”

It’s a complete surprise to him and Nico when you pull out a sword against him, it being half celestial bronze and steel

Nah cuz this would be a major breaking point for both of y’all, having such a dangerous weapon would cause Percy to question your morals😭💔

You would slowly back away from him, realizing that he didn’t betray your trust, but you betrayed his

You would separate from him as you fight your way to the underworld entrance, looking back once to him, heart breaking at the sight of his hurt expression

Your alone in the underworld now, and Percy can’t help but feel hurt that you would be so reckless and driven to this state

He would totally go in after you though despite Nico’s warnings

If Percy can find you before you run into any more trouble, then maybe your fate won’t end in tragedy

Zagreus!Reader is actually pretty reckless when it comes to being reunited with their father. It’s something that Percy admires and hates about them, since most of the time it leads them to getting hurt in the end

He just wants to help you in anyway he can, you just gotta let him help. Your untrusting nature might be the cause of your downfall if you don’t learn to trust others💔

(I love this reader tbh, so much potential when it comes to the underworld hehe)

#pjo x reader #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo #Percy jackson #percy jackson x you #percy jackson headcanons #pjo headcanons #Percy jackson and the Olympians #x reader #headcanons #pjo percy

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idkmanwtfishumanityanymore · 4 months ago

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GOOOOOOOOOOOD EVENING DWELLERS OF TUMBLR AND TSBS FANS ALIKE! I JUST FINISHED COOKIN’ UP A NEW ESSAY. HOPE Y’ALL CAN TOLERATE HEAT, CAUSE THIS ONES GONNA BE SPICY

FIRST FUCKING OFF, USING THEM AS CLICKBAIT? AGAIN? REALLY? WOOOOOOOW GREAT TO SEE YOU’VE LEARNED NOTHING. GREAT TO SEE Y’ALL DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE FANBASE.

SECOND OFF, OHOHOHOHO BOY. HOLD MY MENTOS GUM AND SPRITE, BECAUSE THIS IS GONNA GET FUCKING UGLY.

OKAY SO LIKE 2 MINTUES IN YOU’RE DRILLING IT INTO EVERYONE THAT THE TWINS ARE “IRREDEEMABLE”, WHEN AS I’VE SAID BEFORE, THEY FUCKING AREN’T. WE *SAW* THAT THEY COULD HAVE HAD ATLEAST A CHANCE WHEN THEY LIVED WITH FOXY AND FC.

AND YOU’RE SAYING THAT BLOODMOON HAVING A CODE WITHIN THEM THAT *MADE* THEM *NEED* TO KILL AND CONSUME BLOOD, WHICH IS ALREADY CANONICALLY ESTABLISHED SEVERAL *FUCKING* TIMES, IS A HEADCANON WE MADE UP???? WHAT???

OH AND DON’T EVEN GET ME *STARTED* ON ECLIPSES WHOLE “I made them to cause chaos” BULLSHIT. YOU MADE THEM, *FOR KILLING*. I IMPLORE ANYONE READING TO PULL UP THE RECEIPTS FOR THESE, BECAUSE THEY *FUCKING EXIST,* AND STITCHWRAITH HAD THE *GALL* TO SAY “THEY’LL ACCUSE US OF RETCONNING”, OF COURSE WE’LL SAY YOU’RE RETCONNING WHEN *LITERALLY* FUCKING *ARE.*

I’D HAVE REALLY THOUGHT YOU’D STOP BEING *DICKS* TO YOUR COMMUNITY AFTER WE COLLECTIVELY CAME TOGETHER TO PROTEST LAES BEING TERMINATED, BUT NOOOOOOOOOOO.

THIS WHOLE EPISODE WAS JUST THEM SHITTING ON US, EITHER BY SHITTING ON OUR THEORIES, OR JUST SHITTING ON US IN GENERAL, THEY WERE JUST BEING DICKS TO THEIR ENTIRE COMMUNITY, NOT *JUST* BLOODMOON DEFENDERS THIS TIME.

BACK TO THE BLOODMOON TOPIC THOUGH, ECLIPSE SWID THAT THIS PODCAST WAS OF “IRREDEEMABLE VILLAINS”, SO WHY THE *FUCK* IS HE THERE WHEN HE’S *HAD* A CANON REDEMPTION ARC? WHY IS STITCHWRAITH THERE WHEN THEY GOT A HINTED AT REDEMPTION OF SORTS BY SAVING FOXY AND FC?? WHY ARE 2 VILLAINS WHO’VE CANONICALLY HAD SOME FORM OF REDEEMING QUALITY, ON A PODCAST OF “IRREDEEMABLE VILLAINS”, BUT STILL SAY THAT BLOODMOON IS COMPLETELY IRREDEEMABLE?

PAIRING THEM WITH THE OTHER ACTUALLY REDEEMED OR SEMI-REDEEMABLE CHARACTERS JUST *PROVES OUR POINT.*

THE TWINS, COULD HAVE BEEN, REDEEMED. MUST I REMIND EVERYONE THAT BLOODY COMPLETELY *BROKE* INSIDE WHEN HIS BROTHER DIED? DOES ANYONE WHO CAN BE SO UTTERLY BROKEN AND NUMB FROM A LOSS, REALLY COUNT AS IRREDEEMABLE?

FROM WHAT I’VE RESEARCHED, (AND YES. I DO FUCKING RESEARCH ON THIS SHIT), IRREDEEMABLE MEANS THEY HAVE *ZERO* REDEEMING QUALITIES, NONE, NADA, ZILCH.

BEING UTTERLY AND COMPLETELY BROKEN OVER THE LOSS OF A LOVED ONE, IS NOT WHAT WOULD BE IN AN “IRREDEEMABLE VILLIAN”, BECAUSE HAVING ANY REDEEMING QUALITIES, *MAKES THEM REDEEMABLE.*

TELL ME, READERS, WHEN YOU THINK OF A COMPLETELY IRREDEEMABLE, DISGUSTING, HORRIBLE VILLAIN, DO YOU THINK OF;

A: Someone with no remorse, no sympathy or empathy, no attachment to anyone, and just a pure drive to torment and slaughter

B: Someone who is completely and utterly SHATTERED by the loss of a loved one, to the point they begin to lose themself, lose the will to live, and actively TRY to die. Someone who can and DOES feel sympathy and empathy, but only for people they care about?

Me personally, from my research, A IS IRREDEEMABLE, AND B IS REDEEMABLE.

GUESS WHICH ONE IS FUCKING B???

BLOODMOON.

I WILL NOT BE SILENCED. I WILL NOT TOLERATE BEING TREATED (even if not PERSONALLY) LIKE I’M *CRAZY* FOR DEFENDING A CLEARLY REDEEMABLE CHARACTER.

I WILL NOT TOLERATE THEM BACKTRACKING AND RETCONNING PRE-ESTABLISHED LORE JUST TO FIT THEIR *OWN PREFERENCES*

while sure, some may argue; “These are *their* characters, *their* story, and *they’re* the ones in control of it, not us!”

THAT DOESN’T GIVE THEM THE RIGHT TO FLAT OUT CLAIM WE’RE MENTALLY UNSTABLE FOR DEFENDING A FICTIONAL CHARACTER WHO JUST SO HAPPENS TO BE A MURDER HOBO.

I, AND MANY OTHERS, ARE FUCKING *SICK* OF BEING CALLED CRAZY, UNSTABLE, MENTALLY DERANGED, INSANE, ETC, FOR DEFENDING A FICTIONAL CHARACTER, WHOSE WORST CRIME IS A BODY COUNT IN THE THOUSANDS.

PEOPLE DEFEND CHARACTERS WITH WORSE CRIMES ALL THE TIME, AND SURE THE FANBASE ITSELF CALLS THEM (rightfully, especially if they’re defending a character whose S/A’d people before) CRAZY, BUT DO THE CREATORS CALL THEM CRAZY? NO? BUT THE WRITERS HERE CAN CALL US DERANGED FOR DEFENDING A COMPLETELY FICTIONAL MURDERER?

THE MATH, ISN’T, MATHING.

THEY JUST DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO ADMIT THAT THEY DESTROYED A CHARACTER WITH POTENTIAL TO BE A BETTER PERSON, BECAUSE THEY COULD. BECAUSE THEY DON’T CARE HOW IT’LL AFFECT THEIR FANBASE. BECAUSE THEY DON’T CARE THAT PEOPLE WILL RIGHTFULLY BOYCOTT THEIR CHANNEL AND SCREW THEIR “BUSINESS”.

IT’S FURTHER PROVEN THAT THEY’RE JUST MAKING UP FOR THEIR MISTAKES AS SHITTY WRITERS, BY THROWING THE TWINS AT US IN THE MOST CLICKBAITY WAY POSSIBLE AND ESSENTIALLY SAYING; “HERE TAKE YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTER AND SHUT UP ALREADY”.

This concludes my… *calculating how long it took me to write this bc of how many breaks I had to take from being livid* overnight essay about the recent clickbait usage of BloodMoon and the writers “justification” of their actions via retconning. Eat up, feel free to add on, I’m gonna go fucking die now.

(For legal reasons, by die, I mean sleep because of how mentally draining this whole ordeal is and consistently will be until they fix their fuck ups or atleast admit to it.)

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probably-writing-x · 2 years ago

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Armour - Chapter Four

Summary: Having your heart broken was one thing. But Rafe watching somebody break your heart? That was something nobody could prepare for.

Warnings: Alcohol, cursing, I think that’s everything <3 Oh, and hella slowburn, I’m sorry y’all

Author’s Note: I love this chapter and I hope you guys do too <3 Once again, inspired by this gif (:

London wasn’t like it looked in the pictures - all of the tourist attractions were constantly flooded with people that didn’t walk fast enough, there was no use walking or driving anywhere when the tube existed, people were constantly using their phones on the street and not looking where they were going, and everything was expensive. But you somehow loved it. It was the complete opposite life to living in the Outer Banks. There was constantly something to do, always places open, always new faces on the streets. It was refreshing. You were a little fish in a big pond here - no longer outgrowing your surroundings.

You’d spoken to Sarah a fair bit in the few weeks since you’d been here, but still nothing from Rafe. You weren’t even sure if he knew you’d moved - and it was now over a month since the two of you had spoken at all. If you thought about it for too long, your heart ached for him to come back to you. And the way to cope with that? Not thinking about it.

Instead, you were going on your first date today since splitting up with James. It was a guy you’d met at the supermarket the week before as you’d asked him where to find the eggs, and he’d offered to help only in exchange for your number. You’d declined at first but he’d found you at the checkout and slipped his own number into your hand - telling you that if you ever changed your mind, he was a text away. It was after one too many glasses of wine that night that you’d decided to call him. He’d picked up instantly and laughed at your voice on the other end, telling you that he’d only accept your offer for a date if you also agreed on it sober. You’d texted him the following morning and that’s when the two of you had set up this date. His name was Oscar and he shared no resemblance to James - that was all you needed to know for now.

Within the hour, you were walking towards the bar he’d suggested that you meet at on one of the busy streets opposite one of the theatres - you were yet to get used to everything in this city but you mildly recognised the street. He’s leaning up against a wall waiting for you when you approach.

“(Y/N)!” Oscar smiles, his eyes lighting up behind the thin frames of his round glasses, “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show!”

“I’m sorry, I’m still getting used to eastbound and westbound on the tube,” You comment, tucking your hair behind your ear, “I promise I wasn’t trying to be late.”

“I’ll believe you,” He chuckles, gesturing a hand towards the door to the bar, “After you.”

It’s already pretty busy in there by the time you get in and you find yourself met with a shifting wall of bodies near the door. You feel Oscar’s hand rest on your back, high enough up that it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, as he guides you through the crowd, his frame just taller than you. And you reach the bar eventually as if you’ve broken into a clearing.

“Here, there’s a table by there, do you want to grab it?” He offers, “I’ll get you a drink, what do you fancy?”

“I’ll have a vodka lime please,” You return, heading over to the table and sitting down on one of the elevated stools with your bag resting on your lap, glancing around the room.

You could do this. Your first date in almost a decade. Easy. Right?

Oscar comes over soon after with two glasses, one with your drink and one with a pint that almost spills over the top.

“Okay, so, tell me about yourself (Y/N), what made you come to London?” He asks as he sits down opposite you, his eyes focused on you as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Um, that’s a bit of a long story,” You laugh awkwardly, “But I guess it’s a good place to start.”

You’re five drinks in and three hours through before you start to realise that the alcohol is hitting you a little. You’d explained to Oscar that you’d moved here temporarily to get away from home for a while and he’d laughed and told you that nobody should move to London to escape home. He told you that he worked in the supermarket as his second job because he was saving to buy a house, and he was currently flat-sharing with a guy that was learning the drums and so his apartment wasn’t the best place to be. He told you his favourite restaurants in London and gasped when you said you hadn’t been. He said he’d love to go to America some time and you promised him there wasn’t much around you that he was missing, even if it was paradise on earth in the Outer Banks.

“Okay, so, the bar is about to close,” Oscar comments, “We better get out of here.”

You nod and push yourself to stand up from your chair, bag slung over your arm as you follow behind Oscar out of the bar.

The cold air hits you as soon as you step outside - the weather being another thing you weren’t completely used to from being here.

“Are you going to be able to get home okay?” He frowns, “Let me grab you a cab.”

“No, I’ll be okay,” You nod, “It’s only a few stops on the tube away.”

“Exactly, so it won’t be much in a taxi either,” He points out, waving down a taxi that pulls in at the side of the road next to you.

You smile and turn to open the door but he stops your hand.

“So, I had fun tonight (Y/N),” Oscar comments, “Maybe next time i can take you to more of the places you’re missing out on in London.”

“That would be great,” You encourage, “Thank you.”

You’re certain there’s a look in his eye that makes you think he wants to kiss you. But you ignore it, opening the cab door and stepping inside. You watch as Oscar hands over a couple of notes to the driver and hits the top of the cab before you start to drive away, telling the driver your temporary address as he starts travelling the streets to get there.

You pull your phone out of your bag and find yourself scrolling through your contact, passing by each of the names until you get to the ‘R’s. You swallow the lump in your throat as you stare at the name on your screen, staring at it until the letters seem to blur in front of you and the alcohol seems to course through your system enough that you can hear it pounding in your ears.

The car eventually comes to a halt and you climb out with a quiet ‘thank you’ to the man before he leaves. Your temporary apartment building stands tall in front of you but you don’t go inside, instead dropping yourself down to sit on one of the few steps leading up to the door, the stone too cold beneath you.

The phone rings but you can still only hear the blood in your ears, the way it seems to pulse in your entire body, increasing in the way you shiver against the cold. But when you hear the crackle of the call being picked up, you’re sure it forces a surge of heat through you.

“(Y/N)?” Rafe’s voice begins on the other end of the line.

“Rafe,” You hiccup, the word catching on your tongue.

“(Y/N)? Is everything okay?” You can practically hear the frown in his words, the way he would stop in his tracks with the worry that flurries it’s way through him.

“I went on a date tonight,” You mumble, “A first date.”

“You did?” You’re not sure of the tone this time, somewhere between concern and disappointment.

“His name is Oscar.”

“Oscar? At home? I don’t think I know him,” Rafe returns, “Is he new?”

“He’s from London,” You half-giggle, “I moved.”

“Wh- what are you talking about (Y/L/N)?” You can hear the increasing concern in his tone, “Is Sarah there?”

“Sarah’s at home,” You swallow, “I’m not.”

“What time is it where you are?” Rafe says, “Wh- what time does it say on your phone?”

You pull the phone away from your ear and glance at the bright light in front of you, “zero zero twenty six.”

It’s as if you can feel the realisation wash over him, as it settles in the digital connection between you, in the way your voice cuts out in the distance.

“You’re in London.”

“You know, I keep telling people it was to get away from James,” You practically wince over the words, “But it was your fault too.”

“(Y/N) I-“

“You and your big city life, with your big city job. You think you’ve outgrown home, you’ve outgrown me,” You’re practically tumbling over your words but you don’t stop, confident that the best thing you can do is let them out now before you bottle them up forever, “And that’s it. You left and went back to the city and you left me. And you weren’t even going to say goodbye. And that’s really shitty Rafe.”

“You knew I’d have to leave eventually (Y/N) I-“

“Why did you leave in the first place?” You hiccup again, “Why did you go to New York?”

“We’ll talk about this another time (Y/N) I-“

“Why?” You can hear the tremble in your own words, the way your bottom lip quivers.

“Because there was no point in staying if you weren’t going to be there.”

You feel the chill sweep over you again, your limbs feeling numb around you, your head seemingly twirling the world in front of you. But your ears are yet to lose focus, as each of your other senses slips away from you, all you can focus on is hearing him.

“Because you’re waiting for me to come home,” You mumble the words so quietly that they dissipate before getting the chance to transfer through the phone to him.

“(Y/N)? Are you still there?” He proceeds, “Are you safe? Do you have somewhere to stay?”

You don’t respond.

“(Y/L/N) come on, throw me a bone here.”

“I’m outside my apartment,” You swallow the lump in your throat.

“Okay can you go inside, please?” Rafe proceeds, “And can you stay on the phone until you’re inside too?”

You push yourself to stand from the stairs, turn around and stumble a little to the door, push your key in and go through to where the elevators are waiting. The whole time, neither you or Rafe utter a single word to each other. But you know he’s there. And he knows you are too.

Eventually, you reach your apartment and push the door open, and the sound of it closing behind you is what makes Rafe speak again.

“You’re okay? You’re safe?”

“Those are two different questions,” You mumble, flopping down onto the couch and staring up at the ceiling.

He laughs a little, “Okay, so I know you’re safe. Are you okay?”

“I didn’t want him to kiss me,” You mumble, staring at the paint around the edges of the ceiling where it has dripped a little onto the walls.

“You didn’t what?”

“I thought he was going to kiss me when we left, and he didn’t but I just know I didn’t want him to,” You hiccup once more, “He was nice and he was funny and he laughed at my jokes and he listened to me and he asked questions and he was handsome but… I didn’t want him to kiss me.”

“Well, why not?”

You’re silent.

“(Y/N)?”

Somewhere between his words and the comfort of the couch, you find yourself drifting to sleep, the phone hanging in your hand until it eventually drops against the cushioning of the rug on the floor.

A thousand miles away, from his apartment in New York, Rafe doesn’t hang up. He potters around the kitchen fixing together a dinner from what he had left in the cupboards, pours himself a water, sits down with a bowl of food and lets himself scroll through Netflix to find what to watch. He lets an entire hour pass by with you on the other end of the phone - still no response. But there’s a weird comfort in it. Like he likes the feeling of you being there, even though you were completely absent. And part of him dreads the thought of you waking up in a city away from home, on your own, in a place that didn’t feel like yours. He dreads the thought because he knows how it feels - he knows it from every morning that he’s woken up here.

After an hour passes, he hangs up, letting his eyes stare at your name on his phone as if he had to convince himself you had been there. That, in a moment when all of your inhibitions were lowered, all of your barriers lowered, it had been him you’d wanted to call.

~~~

The following morning, you wake up with eyes heavy and your back aching from how you’d slept across the couch. You groan and reach a hand around on the floor until it finds your phone, pulling the screen up above your face to read through the notifications. Amongst the unimportant messages, there were two that seemed to matter.

Oscar: Last night was fun x Let me know when you fancy exploring more of London

Rafe: You didn’t say anything bad, I promise

Your mind focuses on the latter for longer than it should do, seven words that felt like the most connection you’d had with him since that night you’d gone swimming. You remembered the call from last night - though as much as you remembered it, it didn’t mean that you didn’t wish you hadn’t done it. Sober you wouldn’t have called him, or spoken to him about your date, or even told him about London. But drunk you had done exactly that. You’d ignored every single one of the mental blocks you’d put between you and Rafe. Because in that moment, you needed him.

You lock your phone once again and set it down onto the coffee table of your apartment, pushing yourself up from the couch. You take off last night’s makeup, shower until it feels like your skin couldn’t be scrubbed any cleaner, and let your damp hair fall in locks around your shoulders, wrapping a robe around yourself and flopping back onto the couch. Today could just be one of those days.

It’s not long after you’ve settled into your fifth episode of the office that your phone starts to ring from the coffee table, buzzing so much against the surface that it starts to move just slightly as if it is being drawn towards you. It is Rafe’s name that pops up on screen and you feel a sinking feeling in your chest at the thought of it.

But you answer anyway.

“Morning sunshine,” He begins brightly on the other end of the phone, “What’s the time over there?”

You pull the phone away from your ear to look at the screen, “It’s 11 in the morning.”

“Right, yeah, five hours difference, I’ll remember now,” Rafe continues nonchalantly, “It’s 6 here so I just woke up.”

“What are you doing?” You frown against the screen, reaching a hand over to pause the episode on an awkward freeze-frame of Dwight’s face.

“Well, I’m going to the gym first, and then I’m heading into work at nine, but I’ve got a half day today so I’ll be done before two,” He explains, “What’s your plan for the day?”

“I don-“ You clear your throat, “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t miss a beat as he says, “I’m calling you. Is that allowed?”

You feel your heart flutter just a little, the way it seems to push against your chest like it’s begging to be released, “Of course it’s allowed.”

“There we go then.”

“But why are you calling me?”

He pauses for just a moment on the other end of the call, “Because (Y/N) you’re living on the other side of the world, so I’ve got to make sure I’m at least checking up on you, you know?”

It’s easier to say yes than to question him more, it’s easier to accept it now than to listen to him come up with other roundabout excuses for why he was on the phone to you almost seconds after his alarm had woken him up.

“So, I’ll ask again, what are you doing today?”

You explain to him that you planned on doing absolutely nothing today and he tells you to at least get out of your apartment, that you’d regret missing a day of London as soon as it came to when you’d have to leave, and he says that’s the exact mindset he has about New York - though he has no plans to leave there and you’d gladly stay in London without thoughts of going back, but neither of you mention that. Rafe doesn’t mention last night, he knows with you it’s easier to avoid the topic. Though he can just imagine the way your cheeks would flush as the mention of your embarrassment, or the way you’d look away from him instantly as if the thought of his eyes on you was enough to stir your stomach. He smiles at the thought as you explain to him how you’ve already struggled with how they say things differently over here.

When he’s getting ready, he sets his phone on speaker so that he can talk to you whilst he’s brushing his teeth, and you do the same as you’re boiling the kettle for a cup of coffee. He tells you he’ll pick a coffee up on his way back from the gym and you recite his order before he has a chance to tell you what he’s getting - though he’s switched to decaff recently because the guys in his office tell him that caffeine is terrible for you. You tell him that New York has changed him. He laughs and you hold onto it for a moment longer.

“Okay, so, I need to go before I just end up skipping the gym completely, but I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

“Okay.”

He hangs up after that final word and your heart sinks just a little, like an odd piece is missing. But it dawns on you then and you feel your heart rise and swell once again - he never said goodbye.

~~~

You go about the rest of the day oddly more productive than you’d expected to be. You tidy up the apartment, go grocery shopping despite feeling completely lost in comparison to the tiny shops you were used to at home, and then come back to your apartment to plan out what things you wanted to do in London whilst you were here. You were yet to reply to Oscar’s message but what was there to say? He was a lovely guy, he was funny and genuine and polite and interesting and everything else. But you just didn’t feel like you had the words to respond, or at least not the ones he’d be wanting. So for now, you’d leave the response empty.

By the time evening rolls around, you fix up some pasta from the groceries you’d bought today and click on a film to watch on Netflix, not paying much attention to it as the scenes play out. Instead, it strangely feels like you’re waiting for the inevitable that you’d not even realised you should be waiting for. But when your phone lights up with an incoming call, you reach for it before your instincts can stop you.

“Hello again,” Rafe speaks on the other end of the phone, “How’s your day been?”

“Hey, pretty good thanks, I’ve been looking at a bunch of things I want to do whilst I’m here,” You nod, setting him down on speaker beside you, “How was work?”

“Not bad, nothing exciting,” He says, “This city loses it’s excitement a bit when you’re working here every day.”

You’re both silent.

“Rafe, can I ask you something?” You ask, turning your fork around in the bowl in front of you.

“Always.”

“What’s going on here?” You clear the lump from your throat, “Like, what are we doing?”

“I’m calling you. We had this conversation this morning.”

He says it so simply, so flippantly, but he speaks again before you get the chance to prompt him into it. Rafe had a habit of answering your questions before you’d asked them.

“I spent the longest time I’ve spent with you in years when I was home. And it made me realise that I miss you,” You can hear the certainty in his voice, “And this whole time I was thinking ‘it’s fine because she’s home and I can go back to her’. And then you call me last night and all of a sudden you’re on a whole other continent.”

“I just ha-“

“And last night you told me that it was my fault. Why?”

You don’t respond.

“When we were with each other the other week, it felt like the old us. And I don’t want to lose that.”

“I don’t want to lose it either,” You whisper, the sound barely audible over the speaker of your phone.

“But the old me was in love with you.”

The words hit you like a knock to the chest, all air seemingly escaping from your grasp. Your hands feel numb in front of you, like they no longer belong to your body. And, soon, your entire body doesn’t feel like your own - only your heart and your head racing to keep up with each other, the only parts of you that felt like they could function. The words seemed to float into the space in front of you, contorting themselves until they could practically engrain onto your mind, carving out their place to silence the other buzzing thoughts.

“And this new me is too,” Rafe continues, “I always have been.”

Despite his confession seeming to settle into realisation, you still can’t find any words to say - anything that would be right for the moment, anyway.

“(Y/N), I’m not expecting you to tell me you feel the same and fly back here or anything. In fact, I don’t want you to do any of that. You just got out of a long relationship, and I don’t want to be just… filling a space,” He clears his throat, “But, if you do feel the same, I want you to be ready. I want you to want to fall in love with me, and want to be with me.”

Still no words.

“I’ve waited a decade already, I can wait again. And I will. I’ll wait for you to come home, like always.”

You don’t realise that you’re crying until the tears fall down onto the phone screen, that had now found place in your hands, food discarded onto the coffee table. The tear falls and hits the glass, trailing down towards the red button to end the call. You watch it move, the way its path dips as if contorting around the flat screen.

“You gotta say something now, (Y/L/N).”

“I don’t-“ You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I don’t know what to say.”

You can practically feel the defeat through the phone, picturing the way his hands would lose their strength just a little and his shoulders drop, settling like a weight had just fell from above.

“Okay,” You manage to croak through the tears now coating your cheeks.

“Okay?” The slightest glimpse of hope in his voice.

“Okay, we’ll wait,” You laugh a little, “We didn’t work when we lived on the same island, or even in the same country, maybe different continents will be good for us.”

He chuckles softly and you can tell he’s close to tears too, “Yeah, maybe. Who cares about a time difference? Five hours is nothing.”

“You know, it would’ve been better if you’d told me all this when we were both home.”

“No,” Rafe dismisses, “I think you’re wrong. You need the time, and the space, and whatever else it is that’s going to let you fully move on from what’s happened with James - and I can’t do that for you. But I can sure as hell wait around until you’re ready.”

“Okay, so, we wait,” You confirm, your words feeling more certain now.

“We wait,” Rafe says and you can imagine the smile spreading onto his lips at the words, “So, what are you doing tonight?”

~~~

The next ten days you feel like you’re never not talking to Rafe. Whether it’s a text in the morning, a call on his lunch-break, or a facetime when you’re both home in the evening, you were always speaking to him. He’d started telling you gossip about the people he worked with - who he liked and who he hated. You’d send him photos of everything stupid that you saw in London - like the ugly pigeons in Leicester Square, or the guy dressed up as a Transformer that you’d seen at a cafe in Covent Carden. He told you what book he was reading and you’d bought the same one from a shop on your walk home. You told him you fancied sushi one night and both of you ordered it for dinner one day, eating it on facetime whilst you tried to sync up the film you were both watching.

Rafe was sure he’d never felt content like he did now. He started appreciating the little things so that he could send them to you, started remembering things more so that he could tell you about them later. Sure, he woke up a few hours earlier than normal and ate earlier so that he could match your schedule a bit better - but they were easy sacrifices. And it was true, he’d never been happier than this.

“What’s got you so happy?” Mikey, one of the young guys from his office, walks into the break room as Rafe is stirring a spoon aimlessly around the cup of coffee.

He hadn’t realised he’d been smiling.

“What’s not to love?” Rafe jokes, shrugging his shoulders.

“Are you kidding? We’re drowning in work out there,” Mikey scoffs, hitting him on the arm, “Seriously man, what is it?”

Before Rafe can respond, his phone flashes up on the countertop with a message from you, and another, and another.

“Ohhhhh,” Mikey raises his brows, “Who’s the girl?”

Rafe smirks, he’d tell you about this later.

“It’s (Y/N),” He says so casually, certain that his heart would still always somersault at the sound of your name.

“The chick from home?”

“Come on, chick?” Rafe scoffs, “Are you twelve?”

“So, what’s so good about her? She’s like five hundred miles away surely?”

Rafe looks down at his feet and smiles just a little, “(Y/N)’s in London, actually.”

“London?” Mikey laughs loudly, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Rafe bites at the inside of his cheek and shakes his head, “Nope, not kidding. London. So more like three thousand miles away.”

“Fucking hell,” Mikey shakes his head, clasping Rafe on the shoulder, “There isn’t a single girl in the world that’s worth three thousand miles, trust me.”

Rafe forces a smile in his direction and looks back down at his shoes, the ones you’d said made him look like a real New York commuter when you’d seen them on facetime the other day. His lips part and he laughs a little before glancing back at Mikey, his jaw tilting his head slightly like he was even more sure of himself as he responds;

“(Y/N)? She’s always worth it, trust me.”

With that, he picks up his phone, coffee cup in the other hand, and pushes his way through the door and back down the corridor towards his office. When he’s inside, he takes the first opportunity to call you, the few taps on his screen feeling like second nature by now.

You pick up on the second ring.

“Rafe Cameron are you slacking off?” You say instantly, “This isn’t your lunch break.”

“No, no it’s not,” Rafe laughs gently, the phone feeling hot pressed against his skin, “I just-“

He doesn’t say anything then.

“Rafe? Everything okay?” You chuckle just a little but he can tell it’s injected with nerves, a sort of uncertainty.

“I just-“ He scoffs, scratching at the back of his neck as he leans back in his seat, “I just called to tell you I love you.”

“You wh-“

“I love you,” He repeats, “I told you I was in love with you but I’ve never properly said it and I had to say it.”

“Rafe I lo-“

“Wait!” He cuts in quickly, staring down at a little aeroplane toy on his desk that one of his colleagues’ sons had given him, he envisions it flying up and out of the office, crossing the atlantic until it landed at your door.

“Wait?”

“Don’t say it back now,” He shakes his head, “Wait until I see you.”

———

Taglist: @viianey @baby19sthings @tsokaro @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @starkeylover @kylianswag @eggingamazinglove @allsmilesreally7 @m-indkiller

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itsdannysworld · 8 months ago

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One Last Kiss

Hiii! Im back with some angst with a lil bit of fluff and then more angst Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Reader Warning: angst, breakups, sad shit lmao (also I listened to xxxtentacion while writing this so I feel like the song remedy for a broken heart fits this)

enjoy-

“So this is it? Really y/n?” Sam and you had been arguing for over an hour, both of you sitting on opposite sides of the couch. “Yes Sam, it really fucking is. I’m done not feeling cared for! I know you're busy but Jesus Christ Sam! I just ask for the occasional text back and maybe for you to actually be home but no, I never get that.” You knew his schedule was packed, leading him to spending many nights sleeping on the uncomfortable couches of the studio. But also nine times out of ten he was crashing on one of the guys couches after drinking away his liver. “Fine then, I guess this is it.” You lowkey wished he would’ve fought for y’all more. “Sam, did you ever even love me?” You were starting to cry at this point. You hated that he was seeing you cry over y’alls breakup, but your tears were hard to contain. “Oh y/n baby, of course I loved you. It’s just, shit man.” His eyes welled with tears.

“Loved?”

“I guess, I mean I love you. I’m just no longer in love with you.” You don’t know what snapped but suddenly you were filled with an overwhelming amount of anger. “So you’ve just been leading me on Sam? Seriously? Fuck you.” Your voice broke at the end. Saying “Fuck you” to him was so foreign. You rose to your feet and went to grab your keys and purse, barely being able to see through the tears streaming down your face. “I’m so sorry y/n.” He had stood up and started walking towards you. “This is going to sound so pathetic.” You whispered. “No love, what's up?” He replied with the same tone you had. “Can I have one last kiss before I go? Please.” He nodded before pulling you in. You ignored the mixture of snot and tears as you leaned in for a final kiss, wishing everything was normal.

Three months later, give or take

It took awhile, but you sorted life out and had adjusted to being single. You started working for a record label as an assistant, which kind of sucked, but interacting and working with music had always been your dream. That’s probably what made you and Sam connect so well, the shared love of music.

Fuck why am I still thinking about him?

You had gone a week after the fight to pick up your things, there were many more tears, and a surprising amount of kisses for two people who had just broken up. Y’all hadn’t spoken since, and as much as you hated to admit it, you missed him.

That's why it caught you seriously off guard when you walked into a meeting to find the entirety of Greta Van Fleet sitting across from you.You wanted to turn around and run to your car, and you could probably get away with it considering how much your boss loved you. You felt bad though, not wanting to ditch her and your job.

“Hey y’all!” You plastered on a fake smile. Sam looked normal, which oddly stung. You didn’t want him to look or feel awful, but you wished maybe he would give off the appearance that the breakup hurt him as much as it hurt you. “Y/n! I didn’t know you worked here?” Josh stood up from his chair and gave you a massive hug. His bear hugs were something you had always loved, and it immediately put you at ease with the situation. “Yeah! It’s pretty new.” You smiled and took your seat.

After the longest meeting ever, you said your goodbyes and hurried out of the room. You stayed quiet for most of it, but caught Sam’s eye more than you’d like to admit. “Hey, y/n.” You heard from behind you. You spun around to meet Sam’s eye. “Hey.” You replied monotonously. “Can we uh, maybe go get coffee or something? I think we should catch up.” He offered. “Um, sure. I get off in an hour.” It took everything in you not to give him a hug or tell him you miss him. “Cool cool, well I gotta run to the smoke shop and I’ll be back to pick you up?” You nodded. “Yeah Sam, that’d be great.”

The hour passed by a lot quicker than you wanted it to. You said goodbye to your boss and headed out the door. You quickly found Sam’s car and knocked on the window before hopping in. You had always done that so you didn’t catch someone off guard before hopping into their car, and Sam always bullied you for it. “So you still do that?” He said as he backed out of the parking space. Mhm.” You absentmindedly reached into the cup holder where he always kept his vape, picking it up and taking a large hit. You exhaled and immediately realized your fuck up. “Shit, I’m so sorry I should’ve asked first.” You said. “No hun, don’t worry about it. In all honesty, I got green apple because I know it’s your favorite.” He admitted sheepishly. “You’re sweet.” You smiled. So maybe he did miss you.

After riding in silence you finally arrived at your usual coffee spot. He parked, but spoke up before you had left the car. “Look y/n, I’m so fucking sorry. Leaving you and treating you like I didn’t care was the worst decision I think I’ve ever made” “Sam, you said you didn’t love me.” You muttered. “Well I guess my dumbass does, because you are all I ever think about. I miss you more than I can even explain. I guess I was just in such a weird rut I convinced myself I didn’t love you anymore? Fuck I don’t know how to explain it.” He looked frustrated, mainly with himself. “Sam, I miss you more than anything. And I love you beyond words, but I just can’t do us again. I was and still am so so fucking hurt. I’m sorry.” At this point you were both crying. “No, I get it. And this is going to sound so pathetic.” He mumbled the last part. “Mhm?” “Can I have one last kiss? Please.” “Of course Sam, I could never deny you that.”

#gvf #jake gvf #danny gvf #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #danny wagner x reader #sam kiszka gvf #josh gvf #fanfic #danny wagner #sam kiszka x reader

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years ago

Text

Broken Glass (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! (Coming Soon)

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life).

TW: Hospitals, illness, allusions to abuse. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: It’s good to be back, my lil’ darlin’s! I’ve missed y’all! Broken Glass has a decidedly different feel than Pink Scarf, and I really hope that you enjoy it. This will be more of a slow burn and not quite as smut heavy as PS, but we’ll get there eventually! The original character of Dolores can also be read as Reader, but her back story needed to be pretty specific so I decided to go the OC route. I’m excited to dive into some of my favorite tropes with this one, and hopefully I can do them justice.

Delicious 1960 Post-Army E has me in almost as much of a chokehold as ’69 E, so it was only right that I give him the attention he deserves!

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance!

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences!

Bellevue Hospital

New York City, New York

March 1960

“Nurse Cannava!”

The shrill call of Charge Nurse Irma Hunt grates on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, but you don’t dare show it on your face. Instead, you take a deep breath through your nose and hurry over to the severe woman.

“Yes, Nurse Hunt?” you say as evenly as possible. You’ve only been an official Registered Nurse for a few months and cannot afford to make a wrong step with this drill sergeant of a woman. You’d rather be extra deferential and placating than looking for a new job, no matter how much you want to run in the opposite direction any time she calls your name.

She looks at you critically, peering down over her glasses with her sharp stare. “Nurse Calhoun was pulled away to surgery before she was able to finish her other duties. I need you to change the sheets for our VIP patient while he’s upstairs for x-rays. I need you to be quick. In and out, no funny business, you understand me?”

“Of course, Nurse Hunt,” you nod frantically. It’s the middle of the night, so it is strange for the patient to be doing tests at this hour. Though if they are trying to keep his identity under wraps, it makes sense that they would choose an hour where less people were involved.

“And absolutely no telling anyone about our patient. We must uphold the strictest confidentiality, now more than ever,” she adds with a glare.

The threat is clear:

Don’t mess this up.

“I understand.” Curiosity of who it could be itches at the edge of your mind, wondering about this VIP that has the woman in more of a harsh mood than usual.

Maybe it’s Ricky Nelson or Mario Lanza or Marlon Brando, your mind titters, but it’s probably just some stuffy politician. You figure it’s better to have low expectations and be pleasantly surprised than to have high ones and be disappointed.

Ever the realist.

Regardless of who might be, you don’t have time for silly schoolgirl fantasies. There is a job to do, and you best be getting to it before getting into trouble.

You scurry away to gather fresh linens, then make your way back to one of the few private rooms on the floor. Most patients are relegated to the open wards here in Manhattan’s biggest hospital, but there are special cases, such as this, it seems, where a more private setting is needed.

There’s a large man at the door, keeping watch, and he looks you up and down with narrowed eyes longer than you’d like, sending a chill into your gut. But this is nothing new. You hold your ground, straightening your spine and lifting your chin.

“Nurse Hunt asked me to change the sheets,” you say, clipped. He smiles, as if in on a joke you’re not privy to, then opens the door.

At 20, you are the youngest nurse on the ward. People, especially men, tend to underestimate you, but you have something to prove and no time for nonsense. Graduating high school early, you were thrilled to be accepted to Bellevue School of Nursing, one of the best programs in the country. The four-year experience had been grueling, but since you had to live in the dormitory, it got you out of the house and away from your damned father and his cronies.

In the process, you discovered that helping people truly is your calling. So, while young, you are good at your job and take it seriously.

This is why you hurry in and start stripping the bed as quickly as possible. As curious as you are as to who this mysterious man might be, getting the job done is much more important than snooping around the room.

You tug and pull the sheets as taut as possible, perfect hospital corners making the bed crisp and neat. Your attention to detail and cleanliness are a sense of pride, so spending a little more time than necessary making sure the bed is perfect is worth it. The intention isn’t to linger, but if this VIP is as important as everyone is making him out to be, you want to make sure everything is done right.

Finally, after inspection, you gather up the dirty sheets and make your way around the bed, just as the door opens to the room.

Damn. You weren’t fast enough.

Your gaze cannot help but drop to the man in the wheelchair. A bandage is stuck at the edge of his thick chestnut locks. Although he is obviously ill, his sapphire eyes rimmed with dark circles and his pallor pale, there is absolutely no mistaking who the VIP is.

America’s biggest rebel-turned-G.I., the one and only Elvis Presley.

You are not a fan, but your heart unwillingly kerthunks against your ribcage anyway because he’s still one of the most famous men on the planet, and you are shocked at how pictures barely do the man justice.

Dear lord, even sick, he is wildly gorgeous in person, you catch yourself thinking. His essence seems to fill the room, pushing all the oxygen out, because suddenly you can’t catch your breath. Suddenly, you understand why millions of ladies fall faint at his feet.

Surprised to see someone in his room, his eyes rake up your body from your toes to your little white nurse’s cap. You hold back a shiver as those famous bedroom eyes finally land on yours.

“Well, hello there, little bird.”

Little bird? You know you shouldn’t let it bother you, but the pet name rankles you in its familiarity. You’ve been called all manner of things by all manner of men, both in and out of this hospital, but this is a new one, and though certainly not the worst, it bothers you all the same. Perhaps it’s because he acts as though he is owed this familiarity and expects you to be grateful for it.

His lilting Southern drawl is creaky and hoarse from illness, making him a little less mystical, which allows you to quickly recover your wits. Trying not to show annoyance on your face, you straighten your posture while moving aside to let the orderly push Elvis into the room and help him onto the bed.

“Goodnight, sir,” you say politely, as pissing off this VIP will do you no favors, but your eyes harden at the way his gaze openly lingers on you. You attempt to skirt around him as quickly as possible, but the room, though private, is not large, and the wheelchair and the two men take up much of the space.

“Hey, little bird, wait!” he calls out before you even reach the door.

Stopping in your tracks, your infernal heart continues to pound in your ears. All you want is to get out of this suffocating room, but you inhale and turn around instead. The orderly gives a wink before sliding out of the room behind you. You resist the urge to huff.

“It’s Nurse Cannava, sir,” you say firmly, trying to take the edge out of your voice, albeit unsuccessfully. “Is there something I can help you with?”

That sly, signature grin spreads almost bashfully across his face and if you weren’t so perturbed by the suggestiveness of it, you might keel over from its brilliance filling the small space.

“Call me Elvis, little birdy,” he drawls, blatantly ignoring using your given name, as requested. “Could ya be so kind as to get me some water? Please?” he asks kindly, which is far more than you expect.

“Yes, certainly, sir,” you reply, equally ignoring his request to call him Elvis. You turn on your heel and escape as quickly as possible before he can ask any more of you.

A breath shudders through you once you’re out in the hallway. You hadn’t realized you were holding it. You are as bothered by this reaction as by the fact that you must get this man water and go back in there without showing him that you are in any way affected by the fact that he’s Elvis Presley or that his behavior has you decidedly on edge.

He’s a patient, you remind myself silently, and this is part of my job. A job I desperately need to keep if I want to get out of that nightmare of a house...

This thought steadies you more than anything. You’ll do almost anything to be in a position to permanently leave home and to do so without having to marry that mook Gianni. And hell, you’ve dealt with much worse in terms of patient behavior. Getting Elvis water is objectively the easiest thing you’ve had to do all shift.

You can’t seem to help straightening your starched white apron before taking a deep breath and marching back into the room, pitcher of water and a glass in hand.

“Here you are, sir,” you say, trying not to sound terse, trying not to look directly at him. It’s almost like the feeling that you shouldn’t be looking at the sun, yet your eyes want to do it anyway. Even without looking at him, you can sense his heavy gaze lingering over you. You blush involuntarily, the blooming warmth a betrayal of your modesty. In response, you place the pitcher and water down on the table near him and turn to flee as quickly as possible without making it seem like that’s what you are doing.

“Hey, now, little bird,” Elvis says, catching the hem of your skirt, halting your exit. “Why ya tryin’ to fly away so fast?”

“Oh Madone,” you mumble under your breath, your Italian heritage making an appearance as you roll your eyes to the heavens before turning back around and pulling the fabric from his long fingers. Heat washes over you in an angry wave, turning your blush a deeper shade of red.

“I have other patients to tend to, sir.” It’s not a lie but sure feels like one with the strained way it falls off your tongue. Your lips press into a thin line of a smile, desperately trying not to glare at him but catching his eyes with your unamused ones all the same.

“Elvis,” he corrects me, maddingly, that smirk playing on his lips, a playfulness in his glassy, feverish eyes. “And I was just wonderin’ if ya could pour me a cup, since it’s all the way over d’ere?”

The water is on the table right next to the bed, and he certainly looks able to pour it himself, and you both know it, but he just smiles, playing this infuriating game, wasting your time.

Finally, you sigh and relent. It’ll be faster to just do it than to try an argue about it. He’s a patient, after all.

You still feel his eyes on you as you turn sideways and dutifully pour the water out. His presence, especially when focused on you alone, feels incredibly overwhelming, mixing a healthy dose of trepidation in with your irritation. You keep your face as neutral as possible and hand over the glass.

What you don’t expect is for him to touch you, his fingers circling over yours, blazing hot from the fever he looks to have. You loathe the way your heart flips in your chest when he looks up at you through impossibly long, feathering lashes, those gemstone eyes of his expressive beyond imagining and conveying more than just playfulness.

“Thank you, little bird,” he whispers. The sound swirls up your spine, breaking through your annoyance just enough to see the blithe, handsome boyishness of him. It promises an unfamiliar temptation, one you’ve seen only in movies and never willingly and truthfully experienced for yourself. Your mouth goes bone dry.

He is dangerous, you think, but not because you are afraid of him in a physical sense (and lord knows you’ve feared too many men already in your short lifetime). No, his is a danger of an entirely different sort. He makes you want to trust him, and in your experience, men are never, ever to be trusted.

“Nurse Cannava! What are you doing in here?” Nurse Hunt’s shrill admonishment startles you out of the hypnotizing stare of the teen idol, causing you to jump back as though he was on fire. You let go of the glass, slipping your hands out of his, but he does the same, and the glass spills water all over the newly changed sheets before tumbling to the floor where it shatters with a crash.

The tinkling of the glass explodes in your head, and a latent and all-too-familiar fear associated with the sound freezes you to the spot. Try as you might, you cannot stop the involuntary trembling that rushes through your limbs. Air attempts to fill your lungs, but the breaths are too short and shallow to do any good. The wave of panic threatens to undo you, right here, in front of both your superior and the most famous man in the world.

It's just broken glass. I’m safe. I’m at work. He can’t hurt me here. The mantra plays in your head over and over as you clasp your shaking hands in front of you, trying to pull yourself together before anyone notices anything amiss.

“I told you to be quick and quiet, not go around cavorting with our patient!” Hunt hisses harshly, glowering, but it snaps you out of the trance-like state that has overtaken you.

Now, instead of fearing things that cannot hurt you here, you are suddenly afraid for your job. Nurse Hunt is a terrifying and formidable leader and being on her bad side means a world of hurt going forward. Your heart feels like a hummingbird’s, fueled by anger, embarrassment, and lingering panic. You resist the urge to give Elvis a scathing look, knowing it will likely just result in more trouble. Instead, you quickly raise your eyes and catch a strangely curious yet concerned look from the man.

“I-I’m s-so sorry, Head Nurse,” you finally stammer out, realizing she is waiting for you to say something. “I’ll clean that up right away.” You start for the bed but are stopped by the crunching glass beneath your practical white nurse’s shoes.

“Ma’am?” Elvis croaks out suddenly, gently, capturing the older woman’s attention. “I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t mean to be a bother, but it wasn’t the young lady’s fault at all. I asked her for the water. She was just doin’ her job, and I distracted her. It’s my fault.” His bedroom eyes widen with an almost childlike deference as he looks at her through those long lashes.

Elvis oozes an effusive charm that makes the formidable woman’s hardened veneer crack. It might not be obvious to one who doesn’t know her, but her gaze softens ever so slightly.

You almost want to roll your eyes and scoff, but the strange thing is that it doesn’t feel at all like a put-on. It first strikes you as some sort of malevolent manipulation, like he wants to impress you somehow by getting you out of the mess he got you into, but he seems nothing but honest. He looks truly sorry.

You stand stock still, hands still clasped in front of your apron, needing to know your fate before moving. Nurse Hunt finally sighs, having weighed her options of denying her VIP’s puppy dog eyes or making your life miserable.

“Alright, Mr. Presley. Nurse Cannava will help you move to that chair there so she can change your sheets again and clean up this mess,” she says through pursed lips. “And you let her be and do her job, you hear? You’re not the only patient on the ward, young man.”

“Of course, ma’am. I really am sorry about the mess,” he says softly, seriously, nodding.

“Quickly, Nurse!” Nurse Hunt barks. Picking your jaw off the ground, you hustle to the other side of the bed, still amazed he was able to soften the old goat in any way.

It’s not until your arm is around his waist while the other steadies him in a well-practiced and trained move that you realize that you are holding a barely clothed Elvis Presley. A brief but decidedly improper and embarrassing thought flirts in the back of your mind as you help him into the chair in the corner. His skin is hot with fever, easily felt where your skin touches his and it radiates through his thin hospital gown. It burns into you, through you, melding with the unnerving, angry fire that already consumes you. You can feel his eyes on you but don’t dare to look at him, not with Hunt watching, making sure you don’t drop the prize patient.

You suppose you are glad for the fact that your cheeks were already on fire from humiliation, so neither can see just how uncomfortable and ashamed you feel right now. The way emotions flash rapidly through you, you’re amazed you can concentrate at all, but you manage to deposit the singer in the chair, unscathed.

Nurse Hunt huffs a little, but seems satisfied, and takes her leave, on to the next crisis.

A relieved but shuddering breath releases from you and without looking at the man in the chair that has caused so much trouble tonight, you jump to removing the sheets you made so perfectly not minutes ago.

“Hey, little b—Nurse Cannava,” Elvis catches himself, “I-I-I meant what I said—I really am sorry I made things harder on ya.”

You refuse to look at him. Instead, you grit your teeth and yank the sheets off, furious. Storming out of the room, you quickly retrieve a new set of sheets and a broom and dustpan for the glass on the floor.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he mutters as you stomp back in the room, dutifully ignoring his presence. You busy yourself with the glass first, sweeping it into a pile, then bending over to sweep it into the dustpan. You realize too late that you’ve just effectively but unwittingly shown Elvis your rear end. You can practically hear the smirk on his face, which is confirmed once you flit your eyes over to him.

A new wave of heat flushes over your cheeks, but you pretend you don’t notice his leering. Nothing good has come tonight from you paying any sort of mind to what Elvis is doing. You go about your business as swiftly as possible, counting the seconds before you can remove yourself from his suffocating presence.

“You just gonna ignore me now, honey? Come on, I-I-I said I-I was sorry,” he stutters petulantly after another minute of silence.

Your response is to tug the sheets as tight as you can. You move around the other side, hating that your behind will be in his face while you finish the bed, but it can’t be helped. You grit your teeth and focus on smoothing the sheets instead of the hole Elvis is burning through your backside.

“Well, at least I got a nice view in the room…of the city, I mean,” he chuckles. The innuendo is crystal clear.

You whirl around and want to slap that stupid grin right off his pretty face. You’ve never felt so unprofessional or off the rails as you do with this man.

He’s a patient, he’s a patient, he’s a VIP patient, you remind yourself, trying to take calming breaths. But try as you might, you can’t seem to keep your damn mouth shut, that Italian temper flaring, boiling your blood.

“Eyes up!” you snap your fingers at him. “I have work to do and a job to keep, and talking with you only gets me in trouble, so leave me be!” Blood throbs in your ears as you attempt unsuccessfully to keep your fury at bay.

“Ooh, I heard New York cherries were feisty, but I hadn’t the occasion to see it for m’self,” he muses, thinking he’s just about the funniest thing since Lenny Bruce.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” you mutter under your breath, fuming, turning around to finish the bed. Once it’s done, you breathe a sigh of relief and make to leave.

“Hey, little bird, you want an autograph or somethin’?” Elvis asks, still vying for your attention for whatever reason.

God, the ego on this one. “I don’t want anything from you.” You can’t help but turn towards him, even though you know you should leave as fast as your legs will carry you.

“Not a fan, huh? Bet I can change your mind,” he says, his left eyebrow quirking up suggestively. The man is as gorgeous as he is infuriating.

“I prefer Ricky Nelson, so no thanks,” you shoot back at him.

He fully laughs at that, a big, hiccupping, musical sound that under any other circumstance might be attractive and endearing, but now it just seeks to make you angrier. Your seething seems to amuse him all the more, however, as he erupts into more peals of laughter.

“You’re somethin’ else, lil’ bird,” he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. But his face suddenly turns alarmed as he can’t seem to catch his breath, the laughter turning into gasps.

“Elvis, enough of that. Let’s get you into bed.” Your training immediately overrides whatever negative feelings you might have towards the man. “Try to take slow, deep breaths,” you say calmly, crossing the room quickly.

His face turns red and panic starts to bloom in his darkening, churning eyes as he wheezes. You help him up and out of the chair, and he shudders, leaning all his weight on you. His breathing is too labored and he’s burning up, and you’re not sure he’ll make it the short way to the bed.

Indeed, the two of you only make it a single step before his long legs give way, and it’s all you can do to brace his tall, lean body and keep him from hitting the tile floor hard. Instead, you slide down together, and you make sure to cradle his head as he collapses.

You don’t panic. In fact, you are the calmest you’ve been since meeting the superstar because this you know you can handle. This is what you were born to do.

“We need some help in here!” you shout out to the ward before turning your attention back to Elvis, now sprawled on his back on the floor. You quickly grab the oxygen mask from his bedside and turn the nozzle to get the air flowing.

“Elvis, you’re going to be okay. I need you to try and breathe deep for me, as deep as you can,” you say, fitting the mask over his mouth. He coughs, struggling to get the air in his lungs. He seems in and out of consciousness, those panicked eyes of his now a stormy, glassy gray as they try to focus on you.

“That’s it, just breathe now,” you coo at him, taking his vitals. His pulse is too fast and thready. You give him a small smile, trying to keep him calm.

An orderly, a doctor, and another nurse rush in. You quickly rattle off numbers and facts regarding his respiratory distress.

“Let’s get him on the bed,” the doctor orders, and the four of you lift him on a count of three.

Elvis flails his hand, gripping your arm. It’s certainly not the first time a patient has grabbed you out of fear, but it is the first time you’ve ever felt a jolt of electricity running through you from it. Looking in his eyes, the terror you see there gives you pause.

He’s just a man, you think. A very frightened young man.

And he wants comfort. Care. So, despite wanting to throttle him earlier, you hold his hand. He clings to you as the team tries to stabilize him. Your touch seems to settle him a little, despite the way his eyes flutter and he still gasps for breath.

You all manage to get him breathing better, but he won’t let go of you. He starts to panic again every time you try to move away, throwing his vitals into a tailspin. As weak as he may be, that strong guitar-playing hand of his has you in a vise-like grip. The doctor looks at you judgmentally, and you make it clear that you have no idea why this is happening, that you’d rather not be relegated to hand-holding duty. But since his vitals are better holding your hand, the doctor nods his okay.

Give the VIP patient what he needs, is the clear message.

Elvis stabilizes. The room clears, and you stand at his bedside, waiting for him to fall asleep, to relax, to release you—anything that will allow you to leave and get back to work and forget the last half an hour ever happened. His eyes are closed, but every time you try to slip away, he just pulls you back. You try not to sigh audibly, to let your frustration show. You are usually much more compassionate and professional, rarely letting patients get under your skin. But Elvis…well, he seems to bring out an unwanted side of your normally mild and shy self.

He’s not consciously trying to be bothersome like he was earlier; he’s much too scared and out of it for that, you reason.

And at least this is better than cleaning bedpans, you chuckle, finally deciding to sit on the edge of the bed and make yourself a little more comfortable. You take this somewhat surreal moment to really look at him.

He is truly beautiful. There is an almost angelic innocence about him with his pale skin and high cheekbones, the way his cheeks are somehow both full and soft, but his jaw chiseled at the same time. His lips are pillowy and full, though nearly colorless now due to the lack of oxygen. His hair gleams, a deep, golden chestnut—a far cry from the rebellious black locks he was known for at the height of his fame a few years ago. With his straight nose and fanning, long lashes, it seems as though he was carved in stone by the masters and brought to life somehow.

Your heart skips, quite involuntarily.

Of course, there are imperfections. He’s got a day’s worth of dark stubble growing and you can see places where his skin is mottled from what was probably youthful acne. The circles around his eyes are too dark and…

I am really reaching here, you think. No, you are quite at a loss because even his “imperfections” add to his beauty.

Okay, so objectively, he’s pretty—when he’s quiet and sleeping. It’s just when he opens his big mouth that he becomes less attractive. This reminder makes you feel better and less like a fawning teenager.

Finally, his hand relaxes, and you slip out of his grasp without him reaching for you. As if trying not to wake a sleeping baby, you very slowly and quietly raise yourself off the bed. But curiosity gets the better of you, halting your leave, and you quietly open his chart at the end of the bed.

Your eyes scan the pages quickly, widening, hardly containing your disbelief. They glance up at the unrealistically beautiful young man in the hospital bed. Though you barely know him, and what you do know of him has already driven you mad, you can’t help but feel a sense of sadness and dread.

It’s the thing all his bravado and beauty distracted you from.

Elvis Presley is a very, very ill man.

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