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maeintree · 2 days ago

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the crown keeps moving ₊˚⊹ ── l. laufeyson

when the heir to asgard starts pulling away, old tensions resurface. he's not ready. his father doesn’t care. and the crown keeps moving forward, with or without him.

pairing/s: loki x queen!reader (established) warnings: canon divergence (loki becomes king by abdication of thor), heavy dialogue, political intrigue, father-son conflict, royal court drama, legacy angst, arranged marriage, crown tension, jötunn lore, power imbalance, sharp language, emotional hurt/comfort author's note: i've been out of writing for so long because of so much stuff happening and i honestly just stopped because i felt insecure of how i wrote. but now, i really don't care. i hope to whoever this comes up to you, you enjoy it. xx. w/c: 6.4k

This was usually a shot in the dark.

Heimdall couldn’t (or, wouldn’t) find him. That alone said enough.

Your son had never been particularly fond of authority, least of all yours. And with Loki now seated on the throne after a stunning display of diplomacy and deceit that neither you nor the council had managed to fully unravel, your son had become increasingly difficult to track.

The boy was slipping. No, not slipping—choosing.

And now he was here. On Midgard.

You stepped over a gutter, already regretting the decision to wear these so-called boots—thick-soled, clunky things that trapped heat and bent your gait into something unnatural. The jeans itched at the seams. You missed your robes, your leathers. You missed breathing air that wasn’t full of fried meat and synthetic perfume and rubber.

You hated Midgard.

It wasn’t a realm. It was a mess. Everything was buzzing or blinking or yelling. There was no silence. No grace. No reverence for anything except money and men who exploded things for sport.

Maybe you just hated.. New York.

But your son loved it. Or rather, he loved what he could be here.

No expectations. No legacy trailing behind him. No one whispering his name like a question mark at the end of a bloodline.

Just a boy with magic in his veins and his father’s grin on his face. Free to disappear into the back rooms of smoke-filled clubs, or charm his way into the penthouses of politicians’ daughters, or start bar fights with rednecks who didn’t know any better.

He wasn’t here to learn. He wasn’t here to grow. He was here to feel. To touch. To indulge. And maybe to have more bastards than you might admit.

You paused outside a building with red lighting in the windows. Music pulsed faintly from beneath its foundation, bass-heavy, numbing. A line of mortals waited to get inside, their bodies exposed to the night air in scraps of sequins and synthetic fabric. Why do they torture themselves like this?

You felt eyes on you. The kind of stare that wasn’t admiration or threat, but confusion. You didn’t look like them. Not exactly. Your hair was too neat. Your posture too straight. Your face too still.

You ignored the stares.

He’d be somewhere like this. Not the popular clubs, not the polished, glossy rooftops the Avengers flocked to after a long day of “saving the world.” He’d go underground. Where there were shadows and soft mouths and quick hands. Somewhere he could vanish into sex and smoke and pretend, for a night, that he didn’t come from anything at all.

And the worst part?

You understood.

That’s what made it difficult. You understood the hunger he had, for anonymity, for freedom, for pleasure. For the kind of recklessness Loki had once worn like a cloak.

He was his father’s son.

Which meant he was not safe.

You glanced up.

No signage. No symbols. Just the thump of bass bleeding through brick, and a bouncer standing with arms crossed, watching you like he couldn’t decide whether to flirt or run.

You stepped forward, your chin lifting slightly. Composed. Unbothered by the sweat-thick heat rolling from the doors behind him.

“I’m looking for someone,” you said, calm, clipped, exact.

The bouncer didn’t even look up at first. “Yeah? So’s everybody. Keep it movin’, lady.”

You didn’t blink. “He’ll be the only one in there who doesn’t want to be found.”

That made him pause. Just for a second. Like the words hit somewhere deeper than he meant to let show.

He looked up at you fully then, brow raised. “You one of those?”

You didn’t answer. Just stepped forward.

The bouncer leaned back, gave a low whistle through his teeth.

“Vali’s at the whorehouse,” he muttered, half amused, half pitying. “Good luck with that one.”

The heat hit first—humid, sticky, and loud.

Inside, the place was packed. Bodies everywhere. Sweat in the air. Music so loud it rattled in your chest, something electronic with a pop hook you couldn’t make out over the bass.

Strobe lights flashed hard and fast, cutting across the crowd like searchlights. Everyone was dancing, or grinding, or too drunk to know the difference.

From behind you, someone shouted—

“Hey, why does she get to go in? What about us?”

And somewhere in this chaos, your son was doing exactly what you feared.

Why on earth did you let Loki stay with him again?

You stared at the clock on the club’s wall like it might start making sense if you glared hard enough.

It didn’t.

Some blinking digital mess of numbers—1:42 apparently—glowed red against fake wood paneling.

You muttered under your breath, tugged the strap of your ridiculous “watch” one last time, and walked.

The hallway was dim, walls covered in fake velvet. A man at the end—some kind of bouncer—held up a hand. How many “bouncers” does this place need?

“Ma’am, those rooms are—”

You looked him in the eye, already too tired to argue.

He blinked once, stumbled slightly, then stepped aside like he’d changed his mind mid-thought.

You walked past.

The first door you opened, someone shrieked and threw a bottle. The second, there was too much movement to bother explaining. You closed it quickly.

By the time you reached the last room, you already knew.

The air reeked. The bass of some Midgardian music pulsed through the walls like a heartbeat in heat. You didn’t hesitate. No knocking. No warning.

You just turned the handle and walked in.

And there he was.

Váli.

Stretched carelessly across a bed that wasn’t his, like he owned the whole fucking building.

The sheet was tangled loosely around his hips—barely. His torso was exposed, pale skin marbled with shadow where the streetlight bled in through the half-open blinds. Muscle carved sharp across his shoulders, his abdomen lean, his collarbones dusted with faint blue veins like old ink. Scars dotted his left side—quiet things, healed-over and half-forgotten.

His arm was slung across his face, as if the light offended him. One leg hung off the edge of the bed, foot bare, the other bent at the knee. He looked like someone trying not to care.

And failing.

His raven-dark hair was a little longer than the last time you'd seen him. Mussed. A curl clung to his jaw.

Beside him, a girl sat up fast. Mascara smeared under her eyes, mouth still swollen from kissing. The sheet clutched to her chest like it could somehow shield her from the reality walking through the door.

“Who the fuck are you?” she snapped.

You didn’t look at her. You barely even blinked.

You reached—not for a weapon, not yet—but for the thread of seidr beneath your skin. It answered like breath to lungs, like it had been waiting.

The Midgardian clothes disappeared in a shimmer of silver and frost. The turtleneck, the jeans—they folded into nothing. Replaced by your leathers—Asgardian black, panel-stitched and trimmed in deep green, light but regal, sharp at the waist. The vambraces coiled up your arms. The air around you cooled a fraction.

That felt amazing.

The girl gasped, grabbing her garments.

She didn’t argue. No one ever really did. She scrambled out without shoes.

Silence fell.

Váli finally moved, dragging his arm off his face.

And when he saw you, he blinked once. Not in shock—no, he was never that foolish—but in quiet, biting realization.

“Mother,” he said dryly, voice still sleep-hoarse. “What a surprise.”

You looked at your son. He still hadn’t moved. Just looked and squinted at you like you were interrupting something boring.

“Usually,” you said, stepping closer, “your father is the one who comes to collect you. And yet. Here I am.”

He didn’t reply.

You exhaled, short and sharp. “Thor returned from Vanaheim tonight.”

That got him to sit up, slowly, the sheet gathering around his hips.

“And?” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

“And,” you snapped, “Asgard is watching. Everyone is watching. And where is the heir? Where is the prince?”

You gestured around the room. It didn’t need explaining—used glasses, a wine bottle on its side, a discarded bra near the wall.

“Here,” you finished. “Sweating through mortal linen and pretending he’s not some god.”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak. You kept going.

“There are more than enough brothels in Asgard. If that’s all you came for—fine. We have them. Discreet ones. Ones that don’t smell like damp carpet and desperation.”

He looked up at you, face unreadable. “I didn’t come here for sex.”

You stared at him for a beat.

“Then what?” you asked, voice low. “What is it this time? What exactly is so impossible about being home while your uncle—who hasn’t stepped foot in the golden city in two centuries—is welcomed back like a son? What’s so hard about being present for five hours of your immortal life?”

He looked away.

You stepped closer. “I had to leave a council meeting. I had to lie. And do you want to know the worst part?”

He didn’t respond.

You leaned in. “No one was surprised you weren’t there.”

That landed. His shoulders shifted, eyes falling to the floor.

You straightened. “Get dressed. You’ve got less than an hour. We’re leaving before dawn.”

You turned, hand already on the door.

“Why didn’t Father come?” he asked quietly.

You stopped.

“Because he’s king now,” you said. “And unlike you, he showed up for it.”

The flash of the Bifrost faded behind your heels, and the wind of Asgard hit your face like a balm—clean, thin, cold. A realm that remembered how to breathe properly. Finally.

Heimdall stood at the bridge, hands behind his back, gaze already locked on yours. Too calm. Too unreadable.

“Welcome back, My Queen,” he said, nodding. “And Prince Váli.”

Váli brushed past you in silence, walking ahead with the practiced indifference of someone who knew every eye was on him and chose not to care.

You didn’t follow immediately. You stepped toward Heimdall, kept your voice low, sharp.

“I don’t know what bet you two have,” you said, voice even but unmistakably sharp. “But I am your queen, Heimdall. And the next time my son disappears for two weeks and you conveniently can’t see him? You will tell me where he is.”

Heimdall’s jaw ticked. “It will not happen again, Your Majesty.”

You watched him for a beat longer, until his eyes dropped—just slightly—in guilt.

Then you turned and walked.

The palace doors opened before you like breath held too long. The guards lining the hall immediately dropped to one knee, hands over chests.

“My Queen. Prince Váli.”

The echo of your steps stretched across the floor like a quiet warning. Váli didn’t respond, didn’t even glance at them. You could feel the tension coming off him in waves.

You didn’t break stride. Through the gold doors and into the private dining room.

And there they were.

Loki lounged at the end of the table, a half-finished plate in front of him, sipping something dark from a silver cup. Your daughter—Idunn—sat beside him, legs tucked beneath her, a basket of sewing in her lap. Her fingers moved through green silk like it was second nature.

She looked up first.

“Ah,” she said with a grin. “Come back from Midgard, older brother? Did you have fun?”

Váli stopped walking.

His jaw clenched. “Fuck off.”

“Mind your tone,” you said calmly, without looking at him.

“Not in front of your sister,” Loki added lightly, not bothering to look up from his plate. “We do try to set a baseline of civility in this house.”

Váli ignored both of you, stepping around the table and dragging out a chair farthest from them all. He dropped into it like the weight of the Bifrost still clung to his boots.

Idunn raised a brow. “That bad?”

“Idunn,” you warned.

She held up her hands. “I’m just saying. He looks like he fell in a river.”

“I look fine,” Váli muttered, stabbing a piece of bread off a plate he hadn’t been invited to.

Loki finally looked up.

His eyes flicked to you, then to his son. “Were you difficult?”

Váli didn’t answer.

Loki sighed and set down his cup. “You know, when I vanished, it was at least interesting. You? You vanish and get caught in some back alley with mortals and no shoes on. Where’s the art in that?”

Váli glared at him. “Did you bring me back just to mock me?”

“Mock?” Loki echoed, mockingly. “Never. I’m concerned. That you’ve turned out so—” Loki chuckles “—predictable.”

“Enough.” You cut in before Váli could rise from his chair. “I didn’t drag him back for theatre.”

Loki tilted his head, then looked at Váli again—longer this time. “Thor’s here.”

Váli scoffed. “Great.”

“Try again,” you said.

“Great,” Váli repeated, flatter.

Idunn bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

Loki smirked, but it faded. “He asked about you. I told him you were… busy.”

“I was,” Váli said dryly. “Midgard’s women don’t seem to get bored.”

“Váli,” you said.

“No, let him talk,” Loki replied, voice still light but eyes harder now. “Let’s see how far the prince can dig.”

Váli shoved his chair back, standing. “You want to scold me? Fine. Scold me. Just stop pretending you care when all you really want is a puppet that behaves.”

Loki stood too, not quickly, but with purpose. “You think I don’t care? I know exactly what it’s like to have no one expect better of you. I’m trying to do better with you.”

“By humiliating me?”

“No,” Loki said, voice low now. “By not letting you rot. By making sure you don’t become what they always said I was.”

There was a pause.

Then Váli muttered, “Too late,” and turned for the door.

You caught his arm before he could pass.

“No.”

He stopped.

Your voice was calm. Quiet. But final.

“You don’t get to walk out. Not from me. Not from your father. Not from this.”

He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t pull away either.

“Sit,” you said.

And slowly, he did.

Loki watched you both, then sat again himself. Idunn went back to her sewing like nothing had happened.

The door creaked open before anyone could speak again, and you didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“Is that my favorite niece I hear giggling like a brook?” came Thor’s voice, loud and warm and far too cheery for the hour.

He was through the door in seconds—broader than ever, hair longer now and tied back in thick braids that swung over his shoulders as he strode in like a storm in summer. His armor was still dusted with Vanaheim soil, and the faint clink of his greaves echoed through the chamber like a heartbeat.

Idunn squealed with delight.

“Uncle Thor!”

She tossed her embroidery aside and ran to him. He didn’t hesitate—just scooped her into his arms and spun her around once, twice, her laughter ringing through the hall like music. Her feet barely hit the floor before she was tugging something from behind her ear.

“A flower crown,” she grinned, pulling a half-woven loop of pale yellow and green from her sewing basket. “It’s not finished, but you need something ridiculous.”

Thor laughed, huge and unbothered. “I am honored,” he said, bowing low as she placed it over his braids. It sat askew, too small for his head, but he wore it like a circlet of gold.

Loki looked like he might roll his eyes into the next realm.

“Váli,” Thor said, turning now, that same grin stretching across his face. “Still brooding, are we?”

Váli gave a sharp, reluctant nod of respect. “Uncle.”

“Why so uptight, hm?” Thor asked, walking to the table and clapping a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You look like someone told you the ale’s been watered down.”

“It has,” Loki murmured into his cup.

Thor chuckled, then looked between you all. “What’s happened? You all look like a trial just ended.”

You exhaled through your nose and sat again, not quite bothering to hide the weight in your posture. “He disappeared for two weeks on Midgard. Slipped Heimdall’s sight. Ended up in a brothel.”

Váli snapped upright, incredulous. “Really? Tell the entire nine realms, why don’t you?”

Thor’s hand dropped from his shoulder.

Loki sipped again, entirely unfazed. “She did.”

You looked at Váli calmly. “If you wanted it kept quiet, you should’ve kept yourself quiet.”

Idunn had taken her seat again but was watching intently now, the flower thread forgotten in her lap.

Váli muttered under his breath, “I didn’t ask to be dragged back like a criminal.”

“You’re not a criminal,” you said. “You’re a prince. Which makes this worse.”

Thor cleared his throat. “Is... this what I walked into, then?”

“Yes,” Loki said.

“No,” you said at the same time.

Thor blinked, slightly lost. “Should I—?”

“Sit down,” you told him gently.

He obeyed, flower crown still crooked, braid catching in the back of the chair.

Silence fell again—less tense now, more awkward. Thor cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “At least he’s back.”

“Mm,” you hummed. “For now.”

Váli didn’t say anything.

Thor had just finished gnawing on a heel of bread when Loki finally set his cup down.

“Well,” he said, drawing out the word. “There’s a feast in the works. The kitchens are full, the halls are being set, and apparently the musicians are rehearsing in the West Courtyard. All in honor of our prodigal brother’s return.”

Thor grinned. “You didn’t have to do that, brother.”

“I did,” Loki said. “It was the only way to keep the council from making you sit through three hours of policy updates on..” A sigh comes out. “Vanaheim trade routes.”

Thor laughed. “A feast is the better torture, I’ll admit.”

Loki tilted his head, that quiet, long-smile playing at his mouth. “A king suits you well, brother.”

“And you,” Thor said, catching his gaze across the table, “wear it more easily than I ever could’ve imagined.”

Loki raised a brow—and flicked a peanut at him.

Thor caught it in his mouth midair without blinking.

Idunn clapped her hands once. “Again!”

Loki ignored her. “We’ll eat in the eastern wing tonight. I want the royal court in green, nothing too stiff. We aren’t parading, we’re celebrating.”

You were already rising from your seat. “I’ll have my attendants meet us in the antechamber.”

Thor stood too. “I should see to my men.”

Idunn followed, pulling the tangled threads of her sewing basket into her arms. “If there’s music, I want to pick it.”

“You may,” Loki said, already waving her off, “if it’s not tragic and doesn’t last nine minutes per movement.”

You touched Váli’s shoulder lightly as you passed. “Come. We need to—”

“No,” Loki said, suddenly.

You stopped mid-step.

“He stays,” Loki said, voice even. “I’d like a moment with my son.”

You met his eyes—calm, unreadable—and after a beat, gave a small nod. Then turned and walked out with the others.

“Come now, my love,” you said gently, reaching for your daughter’s hand. “Shall we braid your hair—”

Your voice softened into a murmur just as the guards closed the door behind you.

Váli didn’t move, slouching in his chair, one leg lazily crossed. “So,” he muttered, “we’re doing the fatherly wisdom thing now?”

Loki didn’t answer.

He turned toward the servants at the edge of the room. “The tea,” he said. “Leave it. Then go.”

The servants bowed, placed the silver tray down, and slipped out without a sound.

The room was quiet again.

Loki took his time, pouring the tea into two matching cups.

“Sit properly,” he said without looking up.

Váli sighed dramatically and leaned forward.

Loki passed him the cup. “Drink it.”

“I’m not poisoned, you know.”

“If I wanted you dead, Váli,” Loki said with a dry smile, “you wouldn’t wake up in a brothel.”

That shut him up—for a second.

Loki settled back in his chair, watching him. “You need to stop stressing your mother out.”

“She’s fine.”

“She is not,” Loki said, sharper now. “And frankly, neither am I.”

Váli scoffed. “It was two weeks. I’m not a child.”

“No,” Loki agreed, “you are not. You are a prince. And despite your best efforts to behave like a stray cat with a drinking habit, you are being watched.”

Váli drank his tea, not looking at him. “Then maybe stop watching.”

“I don’t watch because I have to,” Loki said. “I watch because I know. I know what it’s like to vanish into the underbelly of a realm that doesn’t love you. I know what it’s like to think that pleasure will fill the void. But you are not me. You were raised in a palace, by two parents who did not lie about where you came from.”

“Must be nice,” Váli muttered.

“It was meant to be,” Loki said, more quiet now. “But you’ve taken that gift and twisted it into entitlement. If you want to run, then run. But do not expect silence when you return.”

Váli tapped the rim of his cup with his nail. “So, what, this is a royal guilt trip?”

“This is a royal warning,” Loki said. “You are not a boy anymore. If you want to disappear, I will let you. But next time you crawl back, do not expect your mother to find you before I do.”

Váli glanced up at that.

Loki leaned forward slightly.

“Do not think me soft, simply because I became a better man than the one who made me.”

Silence. The kind that weighed.

Váli finally looked down, quieter now. “It wasn’t just for fun.”

Loki didn’t blink. “What was it, then?”

“I don’t know,” Váli admitted. “I felt... restless. Like everything here is already decided for me. And Midgard... doesn’t care.”

“No,” Loki said, “it doesn’t. And that is not freedom. That is apathy.”

Váli didn’t respond.

Loki stood.

“We feast tonight,” he said, turning toward the window. “Show up like a prince, or don’t show up at all.”

He paused. “And cut your hair. You’re starting to look like your uncle.”

The feast was already underway when Váli reentered the great hall.

He stood in the archway for a moment, newly shorn hair brushing just under his ears, still damp from a rushed rinse. He was in his court tunic—green, like his father’s—and his boots had actually been polished. He looked younger without the length. Less wild. But also less certain of himself.

You spotted him instantly.

And your mouth tightened.

“What did you do to your hair?”

He walked past you without answering.

You didn’t let him get far. “Váli.”

He stopped, shoulders raised slightly like he already regretted coming back.

You stepped in front of him. “You didn’t need to listen to him. It was a jest.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

You looked at him harder. “You are not here to mirror anyone, least of all to prove something.”

“I’m here,” he said simply, “and I’m dressed. Isn’t that enough?”

He walked off before you could reply.

Behind you, the great doors thundered open again, and the crowd erupted into cheers.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Loki entered in his full regalia—robes cut in black and green, embroidered with gold threads so fine they caught the firelight like stars. His hair, usually left loose past his shoulders, was pulled back now into a neat knot, sharp and deliberate. The crown rested just above the bun, black metal woven with emerald detailing, not overly ornate, but unmistakable.

A king’s crown.

You stared at him from across the hall.

He walked toward you slowly, face calm, the weight of the room moving with him like gravity. Everyone was watching. Fandral, Volstagg, and the rest were already halfway into their cups, roaring about boar and song, but Loki's eyes were only on you.

“You let him cut it?” you asked quietly when he reached you.

“It was warm,” he said simply. “And I thought it might be nice to see his ears again.”

You stared at him.

“Don’t encourage him,” you said under your breath, glancing toward Váli across the room.

“I told him to cut it, not butcher it,” Loki muttered back, dry. “He took it as a divine command.”

You shook your head. “You are—”

“—remarkably attractive this evening?” he offered, smiling sideways.

You opened your mouth, ready to scold, but the look in his eyes made it falter. He wasn’t teasing—not entirely. The compliment was quiet, meant only for you.

Your gown shimmered in the torchlight—deep green velvet, your hair wound up in thin braids woven through with small silver fastenings. You’d worn your formal cuffs, too—symbols of your house, of your station. You looked every bit the queen you didn’t always have time to be.

Loki reached for your hand, brushing his lips over your knuckles. “You are... breathtaking.”

Before you could respond, Idunn reappeared between you.

“Ugh,” she said loudly. “Do you two have to be like this in public?”

You gave her a pointed look. “You’re not even supposed to be here. You should’ve stayed seated until—”

But she was already gone—darting off toward Thor, who caught her mid-run and swung her into the air again like she weighed nothing.

Loki let out a sigh through his nose. “At least one of our children knows how to enjoy a party.”

You turned toward Váli.

He hadn’t moved.

He sat near the end of the long table, posture too straight, fingers locked loosely around a goblet he hadn’t touched. Around him, Fandral was laughing loudly, red-faced, throwing back more ale while regaling someone with a tale that probably wasn’t true. Across from him, Hogun was nodding along, uninterested but polite.

Váli looked like he wasn’t even in the room.

You touched Loki’s arm. “He’s not well.”

“I know.”

“He’s trying.”

“I know that, too.”

“You could—”

“I am trying,” Loki said quietly, eyes still on him. “More than anyone ever tried for me.”

You both watched him for a moment longer.

Then Loki turned to the crowd, raised a hand, and the music swelled.

“Eat, drink, sing,” he called, voice carrying across the stone and silk. “Tonight, we are together. And that alone is reason to celebrate.”

The cheers answered back instantly, mugs raised and voices loud.

But Váli didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just sat there, while the world turned and the hall roared with life around him.

The hall outside your chambers was quiet now. The feast had died down hours ago. Even the laughter from the guards had faded into soft murmurs and echoing footsteps. It was the kind of silence you only got after wine, music, and exhaustion had finally let go of the palace.

Inside, Idunn was already fast asleep—curled up across the wide settee with one arm dangling off the edge, still half in her formal gown, her hair coming undone in tangled braids. You tucked a blanket around her shoulders, brushed a strand off her cheek.

“She didn’t even try,” you muttered, softly amused.

“She never does,” came Loki’s voice behind you. “Just like her mother.”

You left the room quiet, stepping into the adjoining chambers, where the wind from the open balcony fluttered through sheer curtains.

Váli stood outside alone, leaning on the edge of the stone balustrade, the dark sky washing his face pale blue. He wasn’t moving. Not in the way someone watched stars or took in the view. He was just there. Still. Contained.

You didn’t call to him.

You let him have it—whatever silence he needed.

You crossed to the opposite side of the room, into the cool air, standing near the open window. The sky stretched endlessly in front of you. Silver clouds. Thin stars.

The fabric of your nightgown shifted as Loki came up behind you, quiet as always. His hands slipped around your waist before you heard him speak. The way he touched you was slow—deliberate. Not rushed. Not playful. Familiar.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured into the curve of your shoulder. “Gods, I’ve been so busy.”

You felt his lips graze your skin—your shoulder, then up the side of your neck. His breath warmed your jaw.

“So busy,” he whispered. “From my queen.”

His hand slid lower, over the soft folds of your gown and down toward your thigh.

You reached back to stop him—gently—and turned your head just enough to catch his lips in a quiet, searching kiss.

When you pulled away, you kept your voice low.

“It’s time, isn’t it?”

Loki rested his forehead against yours.

There was a pause. Then a sigh.

“Thor spoke with me after the feast,” he said. “Vanaheim is... getting louder. Their nobles want assurance. One daughter. Eight brothers. No marriage alliance. It’s starting to look like an insult.”

You nodded once.

“And how exactly do we explain giving up our daughter to settle a kingdom’s temper?”

Loki drew in a slow breath. “We don’t.”

“What does that mean?”

“We shift focus.”

You stiffened slightly, pulling back enough to look at him.

He hesitated.

Then: “Váli.”

“No,” you said immediately, stepping away from his arms. “No. Loki, no.”

“Just listen—”

“He won’t do it,” you said. “He won’t.”

“He might.”

“He won’t.”

Loki’s voice stayed calm. “They’re asking for strength. They’ll respect bloodline, not temperament. And he’s still—”

“He’s barely holding together now,” you snapped. “You want to throw him into a marriage with a woman he doesn’t know, to keep Vanaheim calm? He can barely be in the same room with Thor without looking like he wants to disappear.”

“I know that,” Loki said. “But if it’s not him—”

“It’s not Idunn,” you said sharply, then quieter. “She’s too young. And too... her. She doesn’t know how to navigate court. She still talks to her embroidery, and Thor.."

“I know,” Loki said again, slower this time. “Which is why it has to be Váli.”

You exhaled, hard.

“And what happens when he finds out we’ve been discussing it without him?”

“He’ll hate it,” Loki said simply.

You turned to him. “And you’re fine with that?”

“No,” he said. “But I’m king. I don’t have the luxury of waiting for everyone to feel ready.”

The wind pushed against the curtains again.

Out on the balcony, Váli hadn’t moved.

“He’s not going to agree to this,” you said. “You know that.”

Loki walked toward you again, quieter now.

“He doesn’t have to agree,” he said. “He just has to show up.”

You stared at him for a long time.

Then whispered, “You sound like your father.”

Loki flinched. It wasn’t a wound, but it hit.

“I’m trying not to be,” he said softly. “I’m trying.”

You looked away again, out into the sky. The stars were still there. Distant. Quiet.

“How long do we have?”

“A week,” he said. “Maybe less.”

You exhaled.

And then, more quietly: “He’ll never forgive us.”

Loki stepped beside you, hand resting lightly against your back.

“No,” he said. “But maybe he’ll survive it.”

The council chamber was colder in the morning.

No fire. No wine. No servants. No distractions.

Just the two of you, adding to one. Who is currently late.

You stood near the long table, dressed in muted green court robes, your hands folded calmly even as your jaw clenched.

Loki sat at the head, crown already in place, dark robes tailored sharp as glass. His expression was unreadable. Controlled. As always.

The door opened with a dull thud.

Váli entered with slow steps, still tugging on the sleeve of his tunic. His jaw was tight, eyes a little bloodshot. He strided in confidently.

“Really?” he muttered, glancing around. “The council chamber? This feels dramatic.”

“Sit,” Loki said.

“I’d rather stand,” Váli replied without pause.

Loki didn’t blink. “It wasn’t a request.”

Váli gave a half-laugh, dry. “Oh, we’re doing that today.”

You took a breath, stepping forward slightly. “We brought you here because this isn’t something to discuss in front of others. This isn’t—”

“Let me guess,” Váli cut in. “Some realm needs a favor, some old king has a daughter, and now I’m the solution. I marry her, there’s a feast, some empty promises, and everyone’s happy.”

He continues. "Isn't this Idunn's job?"

"Do not speak ill of your sister, Váli." Loki grunts.

You hesitated. Just for a second.

That was enough.

He laughed once—ugly. Bitter.

“Oh, you’re kidding,” he said. “That’s really it? That’s why you came to Midgard yourself? Not because I was missing. Not because I could’ve been dead in a ditch. You dragged me out of that realm because I’ve got just the right face to whore out for political stability?”

“Watch your tongue,” Loki said sharply.

But Váli didn’t stop.

“No wonder you didn’t send guards,” he spat. “Would’ve been too cold. And you—” he turned to you suddenly, voice rising, “you woke me like you missed me. Like you gave a shit. The whole time, this was it?”

You took a step toward him. “Váli, that is enough—”

“No, it’s not,” he shouted. “Because this is a fucking pattern. I vanish for two weeks and you show up when it’s convenient. You don’t come to find me. You come to use me.”

“You will not speak to her that way,” Loki said, rising to his feet.

Váli turned on him. “Why not? You do.”

The words hit.

Your breath caught. Loki’s face didn’t change—but something shifted in the air.

“What did you say?” he said, voice low, tight.

“You treat her like she’s a piece of this fucking palace,” Váli snapped. “Something that serves a purpose. Like me. Like Idunn. You think that crown gives you the right to decide where we go, who we become—”

“I am your king,” Loki roared, stepping forward now, voice thunder through stone. “And she is your queen. You will not speak to us this way.”

Váli didn’t back down.

“No,” he growled. “You’re my father, and you barely know how to be that. You sit on that throne and pretend this family’s not breaking while you talk about strategy and bloodlines and positioning like it’s not tearing everyone apart.”

“You are not a victim,” Loki snapped, voice edged and rising. “You are not some lost boy wandering the woods, Váli. You are a prince. Spoken of in halls you’ve never even seen. You carry a name carved in realms beyond this one. Do you really believe this life is a punishment?”

Váli didn’t flinch. His jaw clenched. “It’s a fucking cage.”

Loki’s gaze turned cold. “It is a birthright.”

“Then you can have it,” Váli shouted, stepping forward, fire catching in his chest. “You wanted it so badly, didn’t you? The crown, the throne, the halls and titles—you burned the world for it. So take mine. Add it to yours. Wear both.”

Loki froze. For half a breath, the room stilled with him.

Then, lower—quieter, but far more dangerous:

“You think I wanted this?” he said. “Do not speak of crowns as if they are gifts. I bled for what I have. I was cast out for it. Mocked. Used.”

Váli shook his head, eyes sharp. “And now you do the same to me.”

“I am your father.”

“Then listen to me.”

They stood across from each other, fire and frost locked between them.

Loki’s stare didn’t break.

But Váli pressed forward, bitter now, his voice thinner, tighter: “You don’t listen. You never have. You speak like a king, but you hear nothing. You sit on a throne you once called a lie—and now you pass it on to me like it’s some kind of honor.”

“I am trying,” Loki said, low and steady, “to prepare you for what comes next.”

“No,” Váli cut in. “You’re preparing me to be you.”

There was a pause. Thick. Loaded.

And then—sharp and deliberate:

“You’re a coward.”

The word hit like iron.

Loki didn’t react. Not outwardly. Not a twitch. But behind his eyes, something shuttered. Quietly, violently.

Váli wasn’t finished.

“You always have been,” he said. “You ran from Odin. You lied to Mother." He chuckles bitterly, gesturing to you.

"You tore through realms because you couldn’t bear being smaller than Thor. You want me to inherit a throne, but the truth is—” he laughed once, bitter and breathless, “—you’ve never worn one without looking like it might swallow you whole.”

Still, Loki didn’t yell. Didn’t rise. He turned, slowly, walking to the tall window lining the council chamber, the silence deafening in his wake.

“I came here to speak with my son,” he said at last, voice calm and terrifying. “Instead I found a boy pretending to be a man.”

Váli’s chest heaved. His hands were clenched. But he didn’t speak.

And Loki didn’t turn.

“Leave, if that’s what you want.”

Silence.

“Go ahead.”

But Váli didn’t move.

Not yet.

That was when you stepped between them. Quiet. Controlled. But your voice shook—just enough to give yourself away.

“Váli,” you said. “Please.”

He looked at you.

And for just a moment, something cracked. Guilt flashed across his face—brief, aching. But it vanished just as fast.

“I’m not marrying some stranger because Vanaheim wants to play a kingdom,” he said. “I’m not putting on a smile and waving like this is normal. I won’t do it.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Loki said—still facing the window. Cold now. Absolute.

Váli blinked. “What?”

Loki turned back, slowly. “You will marry the girl they’ve chosen. You will secure the peace. And you will do it with pride.”

“I said no.”

“And I said,” Loki stepped forward, voice low, “you don’t have a choice.”

Váli’s eyes burned. “Then you’re not my father.”

A beat passed.

Loki’s face didn’t move, but his voice dropped.

“No,” he said. “Right now—I’m not.”

And with that, he sat again. No flourish. No order. Just one glance—dismissive, surgical.

It hit harder than any raised voice could have.

Váli looked at you again. One last time. There was something pleading in his eyes—like he was daring you to stop this. To choose.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

And then—he turned. And walked out.

The chamber doors closed behind him with a sound that echoed like finality.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. Neither did Loki.

He sat back in the chair, still crowned, still composed—but his hand flexed slightly against the polished wood of the table, like it took everything in him not to shatter something.

You crossed the space between you, slow and steady.

When you reached him, you didn’t speak. You didn’t accuse.

You just reached up, gently, and cupped his face.

He flinched—just slightly. Not from you. But from what he was holding back.

You took his face in both hands.

“Look at me,” you whispered.

He did.

And then, softly: “Is this really the right choice? Are you sure?”

There was a pause.

And Loki, steady, breathing through his nose, said: “Yes.”

You closed your eyes.

Exhaled.

And dropped your hands.

You didn’t argue. You didn’t plead. You stepped back.

One, two paces.

Then turned.

And left.

The great doors opened again, spilling in the cool Asgardian air. Your gown brushed the marble. Your footsteps echoed.

Behind you, Loki remained seated.

Crowned. Composed.

Alone.

i love the thought of loki being a stressed out king with kids. :)

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #xreader #loki x you #marvel #fanfic #angst #fluff #thor #loki odinson

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bumblingbabooshka · 5 months ago

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Milchick riding a motorcycle was the real plot twist of episode 2

#severance spoilers #Milchick's worst weekend ever #I know he was so pissed as he was stuffing those 'sowwy for firing you <3' fruit baskets into his bag #Mark S is 'accidentally became important at work' personified #Milchick where do you LIVE!!!??? Do you ever go HOME buddy????#Milchick: -commissioning some inhouse animators- It has to be claymation yes. Claymation. C-L-A-Y-Mation.#[long pause]...................C........L......A.......#Seeing him standing at Mark's door looking SO empty holding that fruit basket only for him to be smiling warmly when Mark #actually opened the door? mwah #seth milchick

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rafecameronssl4t · 5 months ago

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C&L Airways || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: inspired by that scene in 50 shades of grey when Christian casually says he bought an airline lol

Warnings: just some rare fluff 🥰

Word count: 986

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

The morning sunlight streamed through the large windows of the kitchen, casting a warm glow over the spacious room. The soft hum of the tv playing, accompanied by the occasional clink of plates and utensils as breakfast was underway. You stood at the counter, a damp towel in hand as you carefully wiped down Madeleine’s small fingers after she’d managed to smear blueberry puree across her cheeks.

Rafe stood across from you, leaning against the marble counter with a cup of coffee in hand. He was shirtless, his toned chest and defined arms on full display, the golden hue of his skin catching the morning light. His other arm was casually crossed over his chest, his expression relaxed but sharp, the way it always was.

Leo sat at the breakfast bar beside Madeleine, swinging his little legs as he dug into his scrambled eggs and toast. Occasionally, he glanced up at his baby sister, giggling when she babbled nonsensical sounds in response. Madeleine, perched in her high chair, was busy waving her tiny hands in the air, her soft blonde curls bouncing with every movement.

You brushed a stray hair from your face, glancing over your shoulder at Rafe. “Do you want to go shopping with the kids and I later?” you asked, your voice casual as you worked on Madeleine’s stubborn curls. Rafe took a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes fixed on you. “Sure,” he replied, his tone low and easy.

You looked at him, a little amused. “When was the last time you went shopping, though?” Rafe’s lips quirked into a slight smirk. “Houston, last week.” That caught your attention. Straightening, you turned to face him, an eyebrow arched. “Houston? What did you buy there?”

His smirk deepened, and he took another sip of his coffee, drawing out the moment just long enough to intrigue you. “An airline,” he said casually, as if he were talking about buying a pair of socks. You froze, blinking at him in disbelief. “You bought a what?” “An airline,” Rafe repeated, his tone nonchalant.

He placed his coffee mug down on the counter, crossing his arms fully now as he watched your reaction with clear amusement. You let out a breathless laugh, your hand resting on the back of Madeleine’s high chair for support. “You’re joking.” “I’m not,” he said with a chuckle. “Thoughts on C&L Airways?”

You stared at him, trying to wrap your head around what he’d just said. “As in Cameron and Loughrey?” “Yeah.” He shrugged, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Thought it had a nice ring to it.” Your gaze darted between him and the kids, who were entirely oblivious to the weight of what their father had just casually announced.

“You literally just bought another yacht and business jet like… last month,” you said, fixing Rafe with an incredulous stare as you adjusted Madeleine’s bib. “Yeah,” Rafe shrugged, utterly unbothered. “That’s for the kids.” You paused mid-wipe, turning to him with an incredulous laugh. “A yacht and a private jet, Rafe. For the kids? You know they’re still in booster seats, right?”

“It’s an investment,” he said, raising his coffee cup to his lips, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Shaking your head, you placed the cloth down and gave him an exasperated look. “Rafe, you don’t just buy an airline.” “Sure you do,” he replied smoothly, his smirk growing. “When the opportunity’s right.”

You placed your hands on your hips, shaking your head as a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re unbelievable.” “And you love it,” he teased, his voice dropping slightly. You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress the small laugh that escaped. Rafe chuckled, pushing off the counter and walking over to you.

His hand brushed your waist as he leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before he turned his attention to Madeleine, who squealed with delight at his proximity. “Well,” you said, still a little dazed. “I guess I’ll have to add ‘flying on our own airline’ to my to-do list.” “Sounds like a plan,” Rafe murmured, his voice laced with amusement.

He glanced at Leo, who was grinning at him with toast crumbs on his face. “What do you think, buddy? Want to fly on C&L one day?” Leo nodded enthusiastically. “Can I fly the plane, Daddy?” Rafe laughed, ruffling his son’s hair. “Maybe one day.” You watched the interaction, your heart softening despite your earlier shock.

As much as Rafe could drive you crazy with his larger-than-life decisions, moments like these reminded you why you’d grown to love him—his undeniable charm, his devotion to the kids, and the way he always kept you on your toes.

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oatmealwrites · 3 months ago

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Catch Kira, NOT Feelings! Ch. 8

Ch. 7 | Ch. 9

Series Masterlist Here | Regular Masterlist Here

Synopsis: You pick up where you and Ryuzaki left off... and things get steamy. Right after a peak moment of climax, you're interrupted by an apologetic Matsuda who leaves behind a very interesting set of documents. The next day on campus, you run into Light's new....girlfriend?!

Tags: Hickies, french kissing, men yearning, ORAL(m receiving, mentions of f receiving), L is a virgin, caught in the act [almost], L is a YEARNER, he's down horrendous for u, some fluff moments, Light is a manipulator, mentions of death, Misa appearance, makeout once again, NSFW, 18+

a/n: at the end!

WC: 9.4k

~~~~~~~~~~

If you had to guess the exact tempo, you would put his heart rate at a speeding 170 bpm as it pulsates beneath your lips. For a man of relatively few words, the sound of his voice fills the room as you bite and suck on the flesh of his throat and grind down on his hips. Gruff sighs and moans spill from his mouth as his head tilts further back to urge you even closer to his neck.

You hollow your cheeks and increase the suction on the sensitive part of skin while your nose tickles the area under the gonial angle of his jaw. One hand is flat on his chest to keep him relatively still while the other is pushing away long strands of dark hair that fall in thick tufts around his nape. While your torsos are relatively stable, L’s hips are twitching and squirming as you sit on his pelvis angled over him.

“Nnghh.. Ahh!-- t-that’s…!”

He bucks his hardening erection up into your fully clothed cunt and furrows his eyebrows; eyes squinted shut as his mind seemingly melts from the new sensations flowing through him.

After a few more moments, you run your tongue flat over the bruised skin in a silent apology for the abuse and pull back from his neck to admire the work. The radio is still playing idly in the background, but the pants from Ryuzaki’s lips are the real music to your ears.

As quickly as you pull away, his eyes are shooting open and pouring into yours; black pupils dialated to dissolve the gray irises, he searches your face for reasoning of the pause.

“You.. finished?” he asks, hands keeping you firmly planted on top of him as his voice shows obvious signs of disappointment.

You shrug and smile to yourself, tracing the outline of the blossoming dark purple and red bruise that glows against his pale skin. “Mmmm, I can leave a few more if you want.”

Ryuzaki blinks once and immediately nods before peeling his eyes down to where his hands dig into the plush curve of your hips. Swallowing, he leans his head back down and stretches it back a bit more to open up the entirety of his throat to whatever you have in mind.

The protrusion of his Adam’s apple bobs once in anticipation as you swing back down and run a flurry of small kisses around the other side of his neck. Lips moving and pecking every square inch, Ryuzaki lets out a mixture of nearly giggles and gasps as you tickle him with the action and shifts in his laid out position.

“Gonna be hard to leave another mark if you keep moving around.” You murmur against his throat before sinking your teeth into a chunk of flesh and sucking on it.

Fingers dig into your waist from the sudden action and Ryuzaki shudders with his head back as you continue the assault on his neck. “C-Can’t necessarily.. haaa help it– …. This position isn’t optimal for… ngh critical thinking… “

Ah yes, his explanation for the strange sitting positions was to help him optimally think– to cut off circulation to his limbs to prioritize blood flow to the brain [so he claims.]

You run your tongue against the chunk of flesh in your mouth and move to another spot on his throat before grinding down slightly.

“Ahh-!”

So now that he’s all sprawled out beneath you…that means the blood is finally running to the other parts of his body. The raging hard on in his jeans jerking up into the crotch of your sweatpants is more than enough evidence.

Pulling your lips from his neck and sitting upright once more, Ryuzaki lays beneath you panting as if he had just run a marathon. Cheeks flushed pink and chest heaving as he attempts to ground himself, he only peels his eyes open once the radio cuts to a run of advertisements.

“You ok there?” You tease lightly, enjoying the way he seems to melt beneath you.

L swallows and drags his blown out eyes over the bummy outfit adorning your body as if it were the most sexual arousing pieces of fabric he’s ever seen. Hands that lingered on your waist tug to the kangaroo pouch of your hoodie before pinching the lower hem of the article.

“It’s my turn, right?”

Your coy smirk falters slightly as Ryuzaki pushes himself up onto his elbows and slowly grinds his boner against your cunt as the angle of the position changes.

You blink slightly, taken aback. “Huh? O-oh..”

He sits up all the way and leans against the armrest to keep himself upright before leaning his torso to essentially hug you. Still sitting on his lap, his face is eye-level with your breasts as he tilts his head up to stare into your eyes; his chin and part of his cheek are essentially squished into your right tit.

“Yea…you can leave some on me now.”

Sharp canines poke from his lips as Ryuzaki smiles up at you with eyes glazed over before he turns his attention back to the oversized fabric that keeps him from your flesh. Slender fingers tug the hem once more. “So…can I take this off then?”

You suck in a breath and admire the image of him so patiently sitting beneath you; the dull sound of the radio and the food on the table long forgotten as Ryuzaki looks up with his neck littered with a variety of markings you left on him.

“Of course, L.”

Ryuzaki pauses slightly but swallows it before you can notice the small shift in his demeanor. The fabric of the oversized hoodie bundles together as he pushes it up and you take the folds to pull it over your head completely.

Your bummy ‘at home outfit’ isn’t risqué by any means, now sitting on his lap with uni sweatpants and a tank top, but the exposure of flesh makes you shiver as he takes it all in. To be fair, it’s the most exposed version of you he’s ever seen.

Dark eyes trail from the band of your sweatpants up to the soft skin of your biceps, to the dip of your collarbone that pokes up from your basic tank top. You squirm slightly in your position, feeling so vulnerable despite the layers of clothing you both still wear; the shift of your hips grinds against his erection once more.

As if snapping back to the task at hand, Ryuzaki sits further upright to shift you lower in his lap to point where his head is back at the same level as yours. Slender hands raise to push a few strands away from your face before tilting his head forward to mold his lips into yours.

The objective is to mark up your neck, instead he rocks his head in a waving motion to keep his lips attached to yours. Ryuzaki pulls back once to tilt the opposite direction and reconnect your mouths over and over again as if he needed it to live. Nearly every kiss you share feels ‘different’, as if more emotion is being poured into the action from the last.

He kisses you like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do– as if the stress and worry of the task force doesn’t exist; as if you were simply two twenty-something year olds with nothing else to do but enjoy each other’s presence.

Ryuzaki pulls back first but keeps his eyes shut as his lips trail to the soft perfumed flesh of your neck. He breathes deeply through his nose, the light air gust making you giggle at the sensation, before he latches onto the same pulse point you had marked on him.

The sensation is one you haven’t felt in a while, and you can’t help but lean into desire for more. Tangling your hands in his dark hair, sighing when he pinches his teeth around the skin, and rocking your pelvis against his erection with craving.

“I thought you said we weren’t supposed to move” He teases before trailing his lips to another spot and running his tongue along it.

You chuckle and let out a slight groan when he begins to suck another large bruise on your jugular. “Ahh– would you rather me stop?”

The moment you pause to dry hump against his crotch, Ryuzaki bites the skin a little harder and groans into it. Reverberations making you shiver, L slides a hand from your waist to the under plush of your thigh to pull you back into the rocking motion on his lap.

“N-Never said…” he murmurs along your neck, placing far more hickies on you than you got to on him. “Never said to stop…”

Ryuzaki continues biting and twitching his hips up into you until he’s effectively left an exponential amount of bruises against your flesh. From just under your jaw, to the ridges of your collarbone, to the very seam of your neckline above your breasts is covered in bite marks and hickies.

The raw feeling makes you shudder, pulling his hair slightly to tug his mouth away from its current position on your shoulder.

“I think you’ve done enough, no?”

Ryuzaki’s hooded eyes barely look into yours, instead he finds more focus on all the other parts of your body that seem to call his name– waiting to be signed with his mouth.

He pouts his lip when you keep his head a safe few inches away. “Mmmm, but there’s a few more areas not covered yet…”

It’s a strange sensation to see such a renowned detective effectively pouting at being denied biting your shoulder, but there’s bigger issues at hand.

You run a hand to push his hair away from his face and smile to yourself at the way it messily refalls to cover his eyes, before pushing a hand flat on his chest to lay down flat once more. With a short sigh, you stand on your knees to kneel between his splayed on the couch, watching the way he tilts his head in careful attentiveness to the action.

Ghosting a finger over the swell in his jeans of his throbbing erection, any hesitation you’ve been harboring over the past few days is thrown out the window. You need this.. And with a stressful lifestyle of solving the world’s most difficult cases, you’re more than certain he probably needs this too.

Pinching the hem of his baggy white crewneck, you look up at L and silently tug it; he blinks once and places his hands on top of yours for a moment before nodding and guiding the fabric up and off.

The material hits the throw rug of your living room floor in a silent fall as you take your time to admire the open canvas of his torso. He’s pale. Like.. REALLY pale. His skin is fair enough that the blue and purple veins that tangle inside his body can be traced rather easily with your fingertips.

Ryuzaki stares at your face, trying his hardest to read your mind as you drink in the physique he always keeps hidden from the sun and everyone else’s gaze. Years of sitting inside in front of screens and paper documents have left him with a nimble build with a low body fat percentage, but not necessarily boney.

It’s obvious he’s athletic of sorts, hearing a few stories of his tennis match against Light before you joined the task force, but he’s not sporting muscles like a gym bro. There’s a softness to his belly when he breathes deeply, and touching the faint outline of his abs makes him tense to reveal the beginning of an Adonis Belt.

L squirms slightly as you silently trace the swell of his pecs before finally trailing down his navel to the very obvious beginning of a happy trail that disappears into his jeans. His erection throbs in ache the moment your fingertips even ghost the copper button of the denim restricting it.

“Is it… ok for you?” He whispers.

You blink once and turn back to him with a reassuring smile on your lips. “Oh, yes! Yes… its– you’re perfect.”

Ryuzaki lays as still as a cadaver, unable to move as your praise for his physique renders his mind completely blank for the first time in a long while. Though he doesn’t dislike the feeling of being out of control. If it means his physical senses get to be at 100% performance then he’d gladly lay beneath you whenever you call for it.

You smile down at him and lean to place a slow kiss to his lips as Ryuzaki regains the ability to move and places his hands gently on your shoulder blades– unsure of exactly where to put them at a time like now.

Dragging your lips away from his mouth, you graze further south from his neck, leaving nips and kisses to his erect nipples, the upper swell of his pecs, until you reach the soft flesh of his stomach. Hovering and crawling down lower and lower, your lips plant small pecks to the light ridges of a V-line while your chest is flush against his clothed cock.

“Oh…” a low grumble escapes L’s lips as his head tilts back into the armrest and digs his hands into your hair out of primal instinct of wanting you to go even further. “Ngh..that’s good…feels good..”

You blush at the praise and continue until the pubes that litter his lower navel tickle your nose and your breath is ghosting the most sensitive area of his body.

It’s hot. Everything is hot.

The mature resolve of a genius has melted into the pathetically yearning man beneath you. The way your thighs stick together as your arousal soaks through your painties in a pathetic need. How, despite all the stupid pretenses you both use as an excuse to see each other, your bodies both know how genuine the desire is.

Tracing the belt loop of his jeans, your gaze falls on his erection once more before his hands are tugging your head up and away from his cock.

“W-Wait.”

Immediately you pause and sit upright, cursing yourself for letting your stupid hormones get in the way and moving too fast for his comfort.

Rocking back, he winces slightly when you tug your hands away and raise them in apology. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to pressure you at all… we can stop–”

“No–!” L swallows his rushed answer and sheepishly looks down at his discarded shirt. “I mean… trust me I want to keep going…”

He pauses to make a gesture to his very obvious arousal with his chin before tracing the elastic waistband of your sweatpants absentmindedly– as if not touching you would be the cause of his death.

“I don’t want this or anything further to happen under the explanation that you’re doing it to ‘show me what you did with your ex’ or ‘because it’s part of the job’.” He states, slowly working out the sentence as it processes in his mind.

You wet your lips and look at him, all of him, beneath you as he continues. “I know the little stunts we’ve pulled in the past were for protection, and I still stand by their usefulness. But… I don’t think I can lay here and spend time with you and be fine with pretending it’s all part of an act when I think there’s something more going on.”

“I agree.”

It’s the only words you can find in this very sexually tense moment to describe the mutual understanding he’s just put on the table. Is it a proclamation of love and a devoted long term relationship? No. Well.. if it is, then you aren’t really able to gauge that level of commitment without something a bit more clear.

But it’s an acknowledgement that whatever tension you were feeling, he was too. A shared agreement of exclusivity which opens the door for a face-to-face chat of a real label. For now though, it’s enough to feel comfortable moving forward.

Ryuzaki places his hands back on yours and places them idly at his navel once more. “You agree?”

“Yea...” You run a soft graze along his knuckles before looking up at the half naked man on your sofa. “I want this because it’s with you. Not just because of the case, but because I like this– I like us.”

Ryuzaki half undressed with a raging hard on isnt’ the ideal scenario to sit and have a proper conversation on something more official, but this mutual understanding is more than enough to calm both of your anxieties it seems.

L smiles gently and blinks a few times to himself, no doubt processing not only a new wave of physical simulations he may have never previously felt– but also experiencing the feelings of something more than friends for the time ever in his life. He seems to be taking it well, drinking in the information before swallowing thickly and releasing his grasp on your hands letting you continue taking the lead.

You let out a small chuckle of air, as the erotic scene is acknowledged by you both, before you lean down to pepper a few more kisses to his torso. The light sighs and twitches that escape the man beneath you are more relaxed and natural as his body loosens up to the pleasure coursing through him.

Peeking at him one more time, you turn your attention to his jeans and release the button and fly before shimmying them down. Ryuzaki raises his hips on your command to tug the material to his mid thigh before groaning loudly when your hands ghost over the very large saturated stain on the front of his boxers.

It looks nearly painful. Light gray boxers host a sopping puddle at the peak of the tent as his cock throbs and twitches at being one step closer to freedom. You trace the outline of his swollen tip once, then twice– enjoying the way he squirms in anticipation for more, before moving to grasp the flimsy elastic of the material.

“Ngh.. t-that’s nice..”

A smile adorns your lips as you trace the length one more time before tugging the fly of the boxers open just an inch to let his cock slip partially through. The change in temperature makes him suck in a shallow breath as you admire the scene in front of you.

Though not totally freed from the fabric, you can tell he’s decently long with an average weight; his tip is a warm pale blush color [#d1a19b] that shines with pearls of precum dripping from the slit. Smearing the drippings with your thumb down to his frenulum and rubbing slightly, Ryuzaki throws his head back as his hands clench the sofa cushions below.

“You ok?” You soothe, releasing the slight pinch on his tip to rub a bit more of his own lubrication down the throbbing vein that sits underneath his shaft.

“Y-Yea, of course.”

If it weren’t for the way his mouth hung partially open and his voice was wavering with sensitivity, it would almost look like Ryuzaki was in pain. His eyes are wired shut and his knuckles are pure white from their grip on the cushion– though the way he profusely leaks and twitches makes you wonder if he’s so hard that it actually does hurt.

You hum once and remove your hand, to which he immediately cracks an eye open, until he feels you shimmy his boxers down to join his jeans. Now fully freed, you can take a better moment to enjoy the complete sight.

7, maybe 7.5 inches, throb against his navel as a thick and untamed patch of pubic hair covers his base and most of his balls. His cock is thrumming in an eager desire while his balls hang heavy, most likely undrained from days without the time to jack off.

How often does a guy like him even masturbate? It’s not like he sleeps often either… so when's the last time he could take a moment to himself?

You shake out the meaningless thoughts and can feel your nipples hardening against your bra and your panties becoming uncomfortably sticky. L can feel you’re taking an extra moment, but before he can question himself again, you lean forward and let a long string of saliva drip from your lips and land on his cock.

Smearing it with his precum, you give Ryuzaki a few testing pumps and gauge his reaction before leaning down to place a few licks to his tip. By the time your lips wrap around him fully and begin to suck, the man is gone.

“Haaaa oh my– ngh…!”

There’s not a thought in his head as you inch down lower and lower until your nose is tickled by the long strands that litter his pelvis. His hips twitch beneath you, edging up into your mouth until you gag slightly at the pressure of his tip rutting against your throat.

“Ah s-sorry, just ngh feels…. Haaa”

The lack of a coherent thought process is made up for with physical sensitivity as his hands leave the sofa cushions and tangle in your hair. His cock throbs against the flat of your tongue as you take turns between hollowing your cheeks and sucking, and spitting against his length and jacking him off when your jaw begins to ache.

Ryuzaki’s jaw is slack and open wide as moans shamelessly fall from his lips as his head is tilted over the armrest and hanging idly. It fuels your ego at seeing him unravel so quickly under your control, and a hand leaves your hair to shakily cover his mouth as the sounds increase in volume.

It’s as if you were sucking the soul out of this man– you’re not even sure it’s your best performance given the angle and your own pent up desires, but Ryuzaki squirms and sighs beneath you as if he’s viewing heaven’s gate.

This is what he’s been missing his whole life.

At this point his pubes are saturated in a mixture of saliva and precum, essentially matted to the flesh of his base and balls. It’s an erotic mess of moans and bodily fluids as Ryuzaki’s twitches get more and more impatient and his cock throbs within your mouth. Heavy balls pulse in anticipation as your hands move to massage them and your tongue ruts against his frenulum a few more times.

Babbles and incoherent phrases leave his lips in a volume louder than his normal speaking level as saliva dribbles from your lips, down your chin, and drips onto his thighs.

There’s a mix between a sharp inhale and a choked moan before Ryuzaki’s hips jerk forward and he’s cumming. Hard.

“Oh my– AH–”

One hand is still tangled in your hair, ensuring his length keeps pouring hot seed down your throat, while the other is between his teeth as he bites down to muffle his own sounds. It’s barely been 3 and a half minutes and L has already come completely undone, panting as if he’s just run a marathon.

You swallow what you can– it’s obvious he hasn’t cum in the last day or two given the amount of ropes pouring from his cock– and a few drops escape your mouth and trickle down the sides of your lips. The viscosity is a bit thinner than honey and the taste is relatively neutral with a twinge of sweetness to it considering the amount of sugar that must be coursing through his body.

Ryuzaki seems lost in his own world before you cough slightly at the lack of airflow and he immediately removes his hand to allow you to slide off his length.

“O-Oh sorry! I didn’t… haaaa… didn’t mean to cum so early… would’ve given you a better warning..”

You wipe the few drops from your chin and rock back onto your heels, swallowing the rest of the thick viscosity in your throat and shoot him a reassuring smile.

“No it’s alright… actually kinda fuels my ego a little.”

Ryuzaki nods once but keeps his gaze on the ceiling as he takes several deep breaths. His erection slowly softening, a mixture of cum and saliva dripping from his tip down to his balls, and sweat beads forming on his forehead.

You rub a reassuring hand on his thigh as L comes down from his high, leaning down to plant a soft kiss to his chest right above his heart, before getting up to grab a glass of water. You take a few gulps before refilling it and padding back to let him rehydrate; he chugs nearly half the contents before looking up to you and tugging your hand.

It’s a silent plea that you answer, tilting at the hips to plant a slow and soft kiss against his lips; the remaining taste of his own seed tingling on his tongue as he molds his mouth against yours.

“Thank you…” He mumbles quietly.

You smile and unconsciously clench your thighs together, wondering if reciprocation was in the cards, before sliding back next to him and watching the way he tugs himself back into his boxers.

“How are you feeling?”

L sits upright, still shimmying his jeans, “Well, I think it goes without saying but–”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Hey! Are you home?”

….

You’re silent. The slight smile on Ryuzaki lips dies immediately as the metal front door to your apartment rattles against the hinges.

You glance down at L with a worried expression which he returns with a questionable look. “Are you expecting someone..?” He barely whispers.

Before you can answer there’s another set of knocks at the door as whoever is on the other side is obviously getting impatient. Staring down at Ryuzaki for another moment, you slink off the couch and take a few quiet steps over to the kitchen; L stands up and follows suit with a shrug and obvious confusion.

You pause beside him and usher him to the door which he responds with a head tilt. It’s a semi-silent whisper/telepathic argument for him to check the peephole. He may be half-naked and covered in hickies, but he's the guy, so you usher him forward to the shoe rack by the front door.

Ryuzaki gets maybe another 4 steps away from the peephole before the metal rings out again with another series of knocks.

“Come on, I know you’re in there! Watari told me L already stopped by to drop a few things off–” the voice rings out. Matsuda’s voice.

Immediately you both scramble to swap the positions as quickly as possible; sliding on the wooden floorboards in your socks as you rush back to the living room to throw on your hoodie and scoop up the clothing articles of Ryuzaki.

Erection still deflating in his boxers, you bundle up his crew neck and shove it into his arms as you coerce him into the coat closet next to the entrance. Fluffing your hair and throwing the hood up to cover the sides of your neck, you rush over to the door and swing it open to reveal Matsuda’s hand raised in preparation to knock once more.

“WOA– Ah!” Matsuda startles back slightly. “Geeez, give me a heart attack while you're at it! What took you so long to answer?”

You awkwardly step back and swing the door open wider to invite him inside, taking note of the small bag in his hand as you try to calm the pounding in your chest.

“Ohh, just uh.. Took a shower!”

He watches you shut the door and raises an eyebrow at your very dry hair.

“It was a rinse! Hahah.. Just took a run and rinsed off…”

Matsuda shrugs but doesn’t bother it any further before sliding off his shoes and noticing the obvious other pair of men’s shoes sitting at the entrance. This, he has to comment on.

“Is there someone else here…? Ryuzaki–”

“Just a spare pair of his!”

He pauses at the entrance to your kitchen, just briefly passing by the coat closet, completely unaware of the hidden presence of his boss in your apartment. It’s clear Matsuda is a bit confused by your behavior, but he doesn’t have the motivation to pry much further.

“Right, well I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” He shuffles to the kitchen counter and places his messenger bag on the surface before turning back to you with the small paper bag in his hands. “It’s nothing big, I just wanted to apologize.”

You peel your eyes away from their cautious glance at Ryuzaki’s hiding spot and blink once at Matsuda. “Huh? Apologize for what?”

He places the bag in your hands, and peering down you can briefly make out what seems like a small pastry box. “I know that it took a lot of courage to be open with the group about you and L… and I also know that you both probably don’t appreciate that your relationship becomes the but of a lot of jokes– so I wanted to apologize.”

Ah! He’s so sweet you could probably cry.

Sure, a lot of the off-handed comments are annoying, but that’s all they are at the end of the day. Especially since the remarks are about a relationship that barely fits the definition of an ‘official’ one anyways.

You smile at Matsuda nonetheless and thank him for the goodies regardless. “Was there anything else that you needed?”

He exhales slightly and shifts his attention back to the messenger bag he usually carries with him, taking a moment of silence to stare at the contents before deciding to turn and face you once more. It doesn’t take a trained detective to catch on to the nerves eating away under his skin.

“Well there is one more thing… but it’s not exactly my position to explain it entirely.”

You raise an eyebrow and reach forward to grab the manila folder in his hand, scanning the documents with a frown. Each page seems to be a list of contacts, addresses, and connections to a variety of police organizations scattered across the globe.

Matsuda awkwardly rocks on his feet and organizes the rest of his belongings in an eager desire to leave.

“What…. Is all of this?”

You flip through a few more until a heavy feeling forms in your chest. Emergency contact papers. Though they aren’t for Matsuda– instead it’s a variety of the world’s next best detectives and agencies that can be contacted for assistance if a crisis were to happen.

“It’s from the NPA. Just… a few traditional outlets for help if–” Matsuda looks at the corner of the kitchen and hunches over slightly in a forlorn expression. “If things don’t quite work out under L...”

“Huh?!”

You don’t mean to get mad at him, he’s just the messenger after all, but the tension in the room is palpable.

“So what does this mean? They don’t trust Ryuzaki or us enough to let us make our own decisions?”

Matsuda winces and rubs a hand against the back of his neck. “I’m not sure to be honest, and you had the same reaction as Aizawa. He thinks the NPA is just trying to save face after the death of the FBI agents– if something goes wrong, they want to have jurisdiction again.”

“They were the ones that cut off task force funding in the first place. And besides, what do they even mean if something goes wron–”

You pause and look back down at the names and a heavy silence falls back into the room. Matsuda slings the bag back over his shoulder and inches forward, unsure if he should give you space or offer a reassuring pat on the back.

“It’s unlikely to happen, ok? The only way the NPA can weasel back in is if L lets them.”

If it weren’t for the pair of shoes peeking in the corner of your vision, you would’ve completely forgotten that Ryuzaki was still in the coat closet listening to every word. Matsuda holds your gaze in a mutual understanding that ‘L letting them take control over the investigation’ was synonymous with ‘if L were to die’.

It’s an uncomfortable topic, especially considering your position, and you pity the short straw Matsuda drew to be the one to deliver this information. The list of contacts has a variety of names redacted and edited for everyone’s safety, but a location southwest of London catches your eye. The entirety of the name is blacked out with the only information being the town. There's nothing significant about even the lack of phone number, but your attention lingers on it for a moment regardless.

For a fleeting second you almost feel the same way you did the first night you joined the task force; a feeling of uncertainty on who L really is. Sure the man at the hotel introduced himself to you all as him, a mutual trust formed, but who’s to say that’s really ‘him’. Or if L is an idea, a group, or another person and the man in your closet is merely a vessel or placeholder for that.

Matsuda shifts side to side in an awkward anxiousness and adjusts the straps of his bag. “Well that’s all I’ve got for now. Do you already know where you’re posted for tonight?”

You take a breath and place the folder on your counter before tightening the strings of your hood. “Mmm I’m on PR duty for Misa’s manager– drafting up documents for arrest charges for assumed drug possession. Not like I really know when we’ll be detaining her though…”

“Ah lucky, I’m supposed to be with Ryuzaki reviewing her most recent marketing campaigns for anything that could link her in a better timeline to Light.”

You stifle a laugh and he raises an eyebrow while sliding on his shoes. “Maybe you’ll wind up liking her content.”

He rolls his eyes at you and replies sarcastically. “Ha. Ha. Veeeery funny. Mogi and Aizawa are on call for the transportation of her arrest while I’m stuck in a room with L watching dumb advertisements.” He pauses for a moment. “Ah, that reminds me, I should probably give Ryuzaki a call and let him know I’ll be at our observation spot a bit early.”

You refrain from egging him on even more, knowing full well that the said ‘dreaded activities’ would be taking place with company currently hidden, and push his cellphone back into his chest. “Maybe wait a bit; he messaged me earlier about having to make a few international calls and won’t be available until early evening.”

Matsuda doesn’t question the information and instead heads out the door with a grateful smile. “Thanks for the heads up! Would’ve been awkward if I interrupted something haha.”

You offer a shrug and wave him a ‘goodbye’ before shutting the door and placing a soft knock against the coat closet.

Ryuzaki slides it open a crack before peering at the front door and then looking up at you expectantly. “Is reviewing her materials that much of a dreaded task? I thought it would’ve been rather relaxing for him.”

His shirt is on backwards given the darkness of the closet but his boxers and jeans are back to their usual low position on his hips. Ryuzaki’s neck is still covered in bruises, but the fact that this night’s meeting will be split positions means you won’t have anyone giving you grievances.

“Mmm well consider this his payment for actually interrupting.”

Ryuzaki scoffs in a partial laugh and swings his crew neck around to face the correct position and pads over to skim the documents that Matsuda delivered. “I don’t take this as hostility, but their sudden interest is inconvenient. This isn’t just a list of emergency contacts in case of my absence, but could essentially serve as a hit list for Light.”

You watch him skim through them and shrug. “I doubt it’s information he doesn’t already know considering he probably has access to all the files his dad has. It’s also not like there’s names or photos listed.”

Ryuzaki keeps his gaze on the papers a moment longer before his phone pings with a message from Watari for their agreed pick-up time.

L wanders back over the shoe rack and awkwardly shoves his feet in his own sneakers but doesn’t make an effort to leave. You walk to the edge of the kitchen floor, his baseball hat and sunglass disguise in tow, and hover slightly behind, the list of addresses still fresh in your mind. “You wanna talk about England? I don’t know of any investigation groups near Winchester.”

The man blinks and stands back up, his back against the wall and his shoulder slightly angled away. “At a later time perhaps. Though I was surprised you caught it considering the many notable agencies listed.”

It’s the answer you expect, a dodge with a small compliment thrown in there to appease your curiosity enough to stop prying. You purse your lips indifferently, already aware you weren’t going to get a straightforward answer. “It just stood out to me is all…. Not like I know what half of those contacts actually are.”

Ryuzaki hums to himself with a faraway look in his eyes and gnaws on the corner of his lips, as if making a mental to-do list and organizing them in order of priority. He waits an extra moment until satisfied and turns his full attention back to you. “I’m sorry to leave suddenly, I was hoping we’d have more time.”

A pink dusts your cheeks and you shrug as casually as you can, as if your panties weren’t plastered to your cunt in arousal from the shared moment only minutes ago. “It’s fine… you can just pay me back next time?”

“Huh? Oh, yes! Yes, I would like to return the sentiment if that’s alright.” He snaps the elastic of your sweatpants against your hips once.

You laugh at his phrasing and nod in approval as he slightly beams in excitement. He moves to slip on the disguise and take the door handle but pauses to give you another glance; Ryuzaki is silent but peers at you through the corner of his eye like a dog.

Despite him not wanting to say it, the look is written all over his face that he’s clearly waiting for ‘ahem’ something. Shaking your head and sighing lightly, you step down to the genkan and lean in to plant a small kiss to his lips.

The exhale he releases through his nose tickles your cheeks and when you finally pull back, he chases forward to plant just oneee more peck and spin back around to the door. “Alright, now I’ll be off!”

*****

The evening meeting is split up with varying tasks, members fulfilling a variety of different positions for the upcoming arrest. Matsuda is with Ryuzaki reviewing Misa’s content to ensure the timeline of her and Light match, Mogi and Aizawa are solidifying the transportation method given the threat of apprehending a Second Kira, and Mr. Yagami and Light are at the monthly NPA meeting to give updates on the investigation– of course to also ensure Light’s uninvolvement with Misa’s arrest.

It’s hard to concentrate, though the task at hand doesn’t require much brain capacity anyways. Filling out legal forms, ensuring police warrants are in line, and filing an array of suspected evidence for when lawyers eventually come calling isn’t the most entertaining job, though it’s relatively straightforward.

You almost feel guilty everytime your mind wanders back to how little you really know about the man who reciprocates your interest. For every lingering touch, breathless kiss, and moment alone with him, there seems to be an equal force shrouding him in more mystery.

Part of you doesn’t care at this point, not bothering to get hung up on trivial matters when the connection between you both is so solidified. Who cares if his identity is a mystery that literally only… one[?] person knows the truth of? You enjoy spending time with him and he feels the same… so why should it matter?

You fill out the next line of signatures on paperwork and flip the page, gnawing at your lip and sighing. Of all the times to have what seems like the beginnings of an actual relationship, of course it happens during an investigation for a world-wanted serial killer and with your communicationally void boss.

Whatever, you can settle down officially later…once you catch Kira….graduate…get a job, and a good income… the list is impossible. Maybe you’re doomed to rot away in your apartment alone for the rest of your days.

The evening is relatively dull, with occasional updates from the members before you finish the task and begin to wind down. To you it doesn’t matter who Ryuzaki is, just having him around, alive, is enough to satisfy.

*****

Summer classes are a scam.

Even if you get an additional set of credits that are ‘supposed to put a competitive edge on your resume’, the amount of brain power it requires is not worth it. Most of your friends are enjoying the warm weather on vacation, tanning at the beach, picnicking in parks, and getting some well needed rest after a grueling academic year; you are standing in the cold-ass lobby of the criminology building shivering in a sweatshirt.

The AC is on waaay too strong for the relatively mild weather outside and you're torn between ditching your desire for a diet cola to get a hot coffee when the automatic doors swing open. Too focused on the string of vending machines, you barely register another person on a relatively desolate summer campus until a hand is waving in the corner of your eye.

“Sorry! I was wondering if you could help me–”

You blink and turn to face the voice, immediately dropping your hand from its position at tapping the buttons of ‘A6’ for a compromise of an iced coffee container. Long blonde hair is pulled into partial ponytails while intense evening makeup adorns her features despite the time only being half-past 2pm. Her eyes seemingly flick upwards to a space above your head before her voice pauses in surprise with the same shocked expression you both wear.

Not realizing the two of you indirectly know each other, neither of you make a move until Misa blinks in remembering her request for help in the first place.

“Ah sorry miss, you just look familiar is all haha! I was wondering if you could help me out?”

Her eyes dip to the tattoo of bruises on your neck with an intense scowl, eyes nearly turning red, before she swallows it and continues. “I’m looking for the criminology building.”

You adjust the floppy collar of the hoodie and sheepishly point to the ground. “Oh, this is the criminology building.”

SHIT.

Shit. Shit. Shit. This is exactly what you DIDN’T want to happen.

Misa blinks in embarrassment and turns to face the large floor to ceiling windows of the lobby that open to the courtyard of the eastern part of campus. There’s not too many people walking around, especially during summer classes, aside from a few tour groups guiding potential students around. A certain figure…s.. catch your attention though.

A young man walking casually towards the building with a woman right beside him; the two pause for an extra moment to talk and Misa takes a sharp inhale and begins to sputter an excuse to leave. She barely gets two steps away from your position as the woman who was just speaking with Light waves him goodbye and a man sitting on a nearby bench waves him over instead. A man with terrible posture and tacky looking sunglasses on.

Ok, was there some sort of meeting you were unaware about?

“Light?” “Light?”

You say it at the same time and sheepishly smile at each other before Misa runs out of the criminology building and you scurry after her.

This is bad. REALLY bad. If she’s the Second Kira and gets a glimpse at L’s face… the only thing she’ll need to kill him is a name.

The drink falls to the retrieval area but you’re already out the door and running across the courtyard to bother mourning the wasted beverage. Misa arrives there a second before you, though you bypass her to step directly in front of Ryuzaki and shimmy off your sweatshirt to throw at him.

Both men, partially stunned at the encounter of both of their girlfriends, exchange a look before glancing at the company. You stand with your back to Light and Misa, focused on trying your best to cover his appearance as quickly as possible.

“Ah, you left your hoodie at my apartment!! Better take it now or else I’m keeping it!!”

L lets out a half chuckle but doesn’t protest your attempts at dressing him in your own clothing nonetheless; he lets his head be guided through the hood and tugs the oversized fabric to fit a bit more comfortably. His eyes lighten at your appearance as his gaze traces the bruises that are now on full display from the t-shirt neckline that leaves them exposed.

“Thank you, I was beginning to wonder if you were holding it for ransom as a reason for me to come over.”

Misa, who was previously gushing over seeing her boyfriend, spins around at your conversation and relaxes slightly. L’s gaze is still locked on you, even when you side step to remain in front of him and away from the other woman’s stare.

“Perhaps it’s time for introductions?” Light offers through grit teeth, a hollow smile and empty eyes crinkle at the forced civility.

Ryuzaki leans from over your shoulder, his breath tickling your ear, “A wonderful idea Light! I would love to meet your girlfriend.”

A happy pink flushes Misa’s cheeks at the ‘g-word’ and she steps forward with her hand outstretched. “I’m Misa! Light’s girlfriend.”

There’s an awkward tension between everyone else at that phrase, but no one feels like addressing it. L side steps past you, despite your intentions to keep him hidden, and meets her hand. “I’m Ryuzaki, and this is my girlfriend.”

Misa pauses with a confused expression, her eyes once again glancing upward before laughing slightly. She smiles at the reason for the hickies littering your skin not being because of Light while the aforementioned man scowls deeply at L. You take Misa’s hand next and offer your name and brief working relationship with Light and his father while the campus gets more and more crowded.

A hand now casually holding your waist, Ryuzaki has an uncanny grin plastered on his lips while Light’s brows are furrowed. Before you can shove an elbow in L’s ribs at what his genius plan to get out of this situation is, he tugs you tightly behind himself and protects you instead.

“You know I’m actually a fan of yours, Miss Amane.”

Light steps forward slightly but Misa cuts him off and beams at him. “Really?!”

“Mhmm, my girlfriend here follows your social media. She showed me your movies and the little cafe spots you recommend.”

Despite the response being for her, Light knows the entire meaning is directed for him– a not-so subtle way of letting him know how close an eye he’s been keeping. If Light wants to stalk your ex-boyfriends, why not dig up dirt on his ‘current ‘relationships’?

Misa expectedly turns to you. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Oh! I just didn’t want to make a scene…”

A scene that was very much happening right now.

Despite there not being ample reason for a crowd, a small circle of students and visitors begin crowding around the four of you and whispering.

“Isn’t that Misa Misa? What’s she doing here?!”

“Woa and with the most popular guy on campus…?”

“And there’s Ryuga… that guy barely shows up to classes at all so what’s he doing?”

“Kyahh~ that emo guy is totally my type!”

“You need better standards…”

“The two smartest guys on campus each have a baddie?! Maybe I should start studying…”

Misa doesn’t seem to mind the crowd, instead she flourishes within it and takes the time to offer selfies and promotional content for her big movie or tv show or whatever magazine she’s going to be appearing in. However, the more she entertains the crowd, the busier it gets.

As the group becomes more and more squished together as the onlookers crowd in closer, the grasp on your waist is replaced with a quick squeeze to your hand. Ryuzaki steps slightly to the side and is immediately lost in the sea of people fawning over Misa, with calls for autographs and photos drowning out your voice.

You stumble through the crowd slightly, grabbing onto Light’s forearm for balance when you bump into him; there’s a mixture of excitement in his eyes but a frown plastered on his face when his gaze drags over your neck.

“I should grab Misa and get out of here” he offers with an energetic smile.

Despite the idea of having peace and quiet sounding more appealing than anything, the change in his tone leaves you nervous. Before you can offer a response, a shriek rings out through the crowd and several people back away when Misa screeches out.

“Hey! Someone just grabbed my ass?!”

She looks over to Light with a pout, recognizing his far distance from her meant it wasn’t her boyfriend getting frisky, but instead a pervy onlooker. Several men raise their hands in defense, but when the circle around her clears slightly, there’s a very conveniently placed Ryuzaki standing too close for comfort.

Misa stomps the ground and throws her hands onto her hips while he sheepishly smiles and slowly backs up. “Uhh… I’ll get to the bottom of this! I won’t rest until the culprit has been found and dealt with!”

He slinks further backwards and you frown as the crowd squeezes him out to regain their proximity to the celebrity.

Ok, it’s obvious he has a plan. … right? Not like you’re mad or anything….

…. But why the fuck did he need to touch her in the first place anyways??

Before you can let the anger fester, Light tugs you away from the crowd once he sees a very angry management team pushing through people to reign Misa back in. Ryuzaki waits by a bench idly, stepping forward when he sees you and reclaiming the spot beside you as Light scoffs at the business of the campus.

There’s a bit of a scuffle as Misa’s manager essentially drags her away from the crowd of fans and berrates her about an intense schedule she’s threatening to ruin. Misa doesn’t pout much, she offers a small apology and waves frantically to you all in an eager attempt to offer a future ‘double date’ when she’s not busy.

The crowd slowly filters out and when Ryuzaki makes an effort to grab your hand, you pinch the flesh on his knuckles and shoot him a sideways glance. A pout forming on his lips, he stays silent and takes your pinky finger between his index and thumb to soothe any tension; Light sighs as he watches her disappear, though there’s a faint smile on his lips.

“Well, sorry about the commotion, everyone. Especially you, Ryuzaki, I know how much you hate crowds.” Light’s voice is void of genuine sincerity.

Ryuzaki shrugs. “Not at all. Her surprise appearance is certainly interesting, but I’m glad to have met her regardless.”

There’s an unspoken tension between you three, and before Light can open his mouth again, you cut between them. “I’m going back to class. Walk me there, L?”

His gaze lifts from Light and instantly relaxes when you finally take his full hand in your own; fingers intertwining and tugging him back towards the criminology building. You both give a slight wave off to Light, but before you can question Ryuzaki, a cute ringtone pours out from the front pocket of his jeans.

L shoots you a small smirk and flips it open. “Heellloooo?”

…

You pause. And apparently down the pathway, so has Light; he stands motionless with his phone pressed to his ear.

“What are you doing, Ryuzaki?”

“Oh wow! I guess in the middle of the chaos she must’ve dropped her phone! That’s rather unfortunate.”

The exaggerated voice from his lips makes you think back to the time he called you, when you were on a lunch ‘date’ with Light. It’s coy and way too energetic to be natural; you drop your hand from his to cover the laugh escaping your lips and Ryuzaki looks up with the same pout as when you refused his hand earlier.

Light has stopped responding at this point, and L leans into the phone repeating ‘hello?’ and wondering if the service dropped until there’s a tap on his shoulder.

Pissed off doesn’t begin to describe the emotion dripping off of Light, but Ryuzaki doesn’t seem phased in the slightest. Instead, he shuts the cellphone and slides it into the other man’s hand with a petty smirk. “Ah Light you’re still here! Maybe it would be best to give that back to Misa since you’re in close contact.”

“Right. I’ll do just that.” Each word is spit out and Light doesn’t bother waving goodbye to either one of you before turning west towards the main quad.

Before you can watch him walk off or look around to see if anyone suspicious might be lingering, Ryuzaki reclaims your hand and tugs you into the lobby of the criminology building once more. He walks over to the large windows and flips the blinds down one by one while you pad over the vending machines to see if your iced coffee might still be sitting at the bottom.

It’s not.

Pushing the air out of your lungs, you reach around in your pockets to search for your coin purse until Ryuzaki grabs your arm to steady it.

“I only did it to grab her phone.”

You don’t need a definition of it to know he’s referring to grabbing Misa’s cellphone. “I know.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but settles on silence instead; he looks at the wall clock and tugs the hood of the sweatshirt off.

“Wait, what if Misa isn’t the Second Kira? And maybe there’s someone waiting nearby to get a glimpse of you–mpfh”

Soft lips cut you off as L rocks his head against yours and wraps his hands around the curve of your waist. The shut window blinds make the lobby dark as the LEDs overhead haven’t been turned on yet given the early time of day; the irises of his eyes are darker than usual.

You pull away when there’s the sound of commotion and people yelling echoing across the courtyard, but Ryuzaki takes your chin and kisses you again. Everytime you try to break it to speak, he molds his mouth back to yours and slips in his tongue to play with your molars and silence you.

After the fourth attempt at prying him back, you raise an eyebrow and turn your attention to the windows; his hands are still firmly on your waist to keep you pressed into him. He doesn’t let you move, instead he pivots to shelter your face entirely from view of the windows with his back to them and your head in his chest.

“Ryuzaki– what’s going on?”

“Do I still need an excuse to kiss you..? I can think of one quickly if you give me a moment.”

Before you can roll your eyes, he tugs you back to his lips and groans slightly when his cock begins to stiffen in his jeans and grind against your pelvis. Parting for air, he takes a hand from your hip to trace the hickies that litter your neck and frowns when one or two of them seem to be already half-faded. When he doesn’t answer, you pinch his bicep and peer up.

L’s gaze remains on the open spaces of your neck for an extra moment before thinking. “Well… it’s nearly 3pm? It should be nearly finished.”

You pause and look up at the clock with an intense expression. Outside the windows there’s a few more muffled shouts and the sound of police sirens gets louder as a new crowd forms to witness the arrest of Misa Amane.

a/n time: OMGGG

it's getting SMUTTY YIPPEE

it's gonna get to sum p in v later [probably next chapter or so -> i just had to eassseee into it] ALSO sorry this one took so long pookies, i had some school work but i hope it lived up to ur expectation hehe

I wanna post like a small head canon to go with this series this week as well...

-> hex code: [#d1a19b]

-> ch.9 will most likely be a full blown porn with some plot SORRY [no im not]

-> im still debating on the ending of this series, but i'll most likely break the canon and have L live

likes/reblogs/comments all appreciated!

LUV U POOKIES

-oatmeal <3

taglist: @lechatparle24 @irissfoot @iheteeaifs @automaticpatroltragedy @greenapplesaucepi @thesimpnovao @leiiilaaaa @duckydee-0 @dija200 @cherry-san @hanakokunzz @maribellaaaaa @love-of-less @bakugouswaif @kakamixoxo

#l x reader #ryuzaki x reader #lawliet x reader #l x reader smut #lawliet smut #lawliet x reader smut #ryuzaki x reader smut #ryuzaki smut #L smut #L death note #light yagami #death note #oatmealwordslawliet #oatmealwrites #death note smut #death note x reader

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slutzforbueckers · 17 days ago

Note

request for juju watkins

smut prompts— 7,11,12,13,14, and 20

smut action prompts— 11,25, and 13

hi! you can add whatever else you see fit to the storyline, also if you aren’t comfortable writing for ju you can swap her out for paige, thanks!

talk to me, ju

♡— pairing: juju watkins x fem!reader

♡— warnings: smut

♡— synopsis: you aren’t used to juju being so far away… even if it is just for a week.

❥•°❀°•༢

the phone call had went mainly silent, the only noise being the soft hum of the a/c and whatever tv show juju had playing in the background. you sighed softly, you were starting to get bored and usually when you got bored your mind started to wander. memories of when you weren’t subjective to late night conversations—or vibrators with the ghost of her touch—came flooding into your mind.

your thighs pressed together and you sighed again, loud enough to catch her attention. she glanced at the phone even though it was too dark to see your face clearly. “what’s wrong?”

“nothin’” you mumbled, giving her unintentional attitude. ju stared at the phone for a good minute, trying to figure out what she could’ve possibly done to piss you off this late at night. when she didn’t say anything you let out a rough breath.

“use your words,” juju scoffed, starting to get a bit annoyed at the fact that you wouldn’t just say what was wrong. she picked up the tv remote and pressed mute. “c’mon, baby. tell me what’s wrong.”

you paused—just long enough to consider being a little difficult, just to see how she'd react. you decided against it though, that familiar heat was starting to spread through your body and you knew that acting out wouldn’t get you anywhere you wanted to be.

“i miss you,” you finally spoke, voice just above a whisper. juju didn’t say anything right away but you felt the shift, she was paying attention for real now. the tv had been muted so you could hear her breathing. you reached over and turned the lamp on—a soft dim glow spread across your room and your face. “talk to me, ju. i need you so bad right now.”

juju could see the desperation on your face and she realized that if she could’ve seen your face earlier she probably would've recognized it in your tone. she sat up and laid her arm over her head, pulling the camera back slightly. her braids fell perfectly across her shoulders, a pair of clear glasses perched on her nose, her lips were slightly glossy from her lip gloss, and you could almost see the swell of her bicep from where her arm was draped over her head.

she exhaled, long, a little shaky, and her tongue dared out to lick her lips. “touch yourself.”

her voice was low, her accent stronger now. you whimpered but you didn’t hesitate to lift your hips and push your panties down your thighs, still holding your phone tightly in your left hand. ju watched the entire time, her eyes low and a little red but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for her.

after you kicked your panties off your ankles you laid back against the pillows and slipped your hand down between your legs with a soft breath. you dragged your fingertips through your folds, feeling the mess she made you without even being there.

you let out a soft moan as you circled your clit, your lips parted and eyes fluttering shut. juju cursed under her breath as she watched your face, bringing her phone a little bit closer, her breath coming a little quicker. “show me—right now.”

you flipped the camera and angled it down so she could see what you were doing. she bit her lip as her breath caught in her throat. your fingers sped up and you whined, hips jerking into your own hand. ju sucked her teeth and she shook her head, her fingers twitching above her head.

“slow down,” her voice was a little rougher now—a little lower. you whined again— louder this time and a little frustrated—but you obeyed anyway and she hummed in content. “just like that, baby.”

the pace was slower now, you felt every single movement, it almost felt just like when she did it. your head tipped back against the pillows, your hips jutting up again. “fuck, ju—need more, please—“

“slide two fingers in—at the same time. i know you can take it.” she rasped. her hand that was once resting above her head was now sliding under her hoodie, her fingertips lightly teasing her own skin. juju’s eyes never left the screen as you brought two fingers down and slowly pressed them into your cunt, just like she would’ve done.

your back arched with a soft cry and your phone slipped in your hand. your brows furrowed slightly in frustration because even though your fingers filled you fine, they didn’t fill you like ju’s did.

“fuck baby— let me see that pretty face.” juju’s breathing got heavier and when you opened your eyes and noticed how her arm had disappeared from the frame. you turned the camera around again so she could see you. you tried to curl your fingers the way she always did but it wasn’t hitting deep enough. ju noticed the frustration written on your face and she knew that you would need a little bit more than just her telling you what to do. “imagine if i was there right now. i’d go slow, tease you till you begged me.”

you whimpered in response, your thighs twitching as you moved your fingers in and out. your body wanted her bad—the weight of her, the stretch of her fingers, the heat of her breath on your neck when she told you how good you were taking it. you let out a loud moan at the thought of it, your breath coming fast and heavy.

“i’d fuck you with my fingers first, make you look at me while you cum. you want that?” her voice was smooth and dangerously low. you nodded quickly, a small, choked out ‘yes’ falling from your lips. “louder. let me hear you, baby.”

“yes yes—fuck, ju.” her name faded into a long, drawn out moan as you gripped your phone tighter, thighs starting to tremble.

“you look so pretty like this—fucking yourself to my voice.” juju was teasing now but she couldn’t lie and say you didn’t look good. you whimpered and your fingers moved faster at her words, the slick sound obscene in your quiet room. juju groaned, low and breathy. your head fell back, body burning, hips stuttering as you got closer and closer. “look at me. don’t hide.”

you lifted your head again with a whimper, eyes locked on the screen again. the sight of her made you clench around your fingers—her lips parted and glossy, eyes lower than before, her chest visibly rising and falling with each breath. your stomach was tightening now, pressure coiling low and fast. the sound of your fingers slipping in and out only got louder, ringing in both of your ears.

“wish you could feel what you’re doing to me,” she panted, angling the camera down so you could see where her hand was down her sweats. “wish you could taste how bad i want you.”

“m’so close—fuck, baby, wanna cum for you—please please—“ you cried out, back arching and you tried to press your fingers deeper—trying to reach as deep as she did.

“then let go. want you to cum thinking about my mouth on your pussy, about how i wouldn’t stop until your body was shaking.”

her words hit you harder than you expected. you cried out her name, body seizing up as pleasure tore through you—white-hot and consuming. juju’s eyes never left the screen, she watched every single twitch on your face, soaking it up like she would be graded on it later. you gasped as your fingers started to slow, dragging out the last of your orgasm. you opened your eyes as you said her name in a soft breath.

“keep going.” her breath was uneven now and you could hear the small squelch of her fingers fucking into her. you mewled but nodded your head, your fingers starting back up again. your thighs twitched in overstimulation, hips jerking up.

juju moaned out a curse, head falling back for just a second. her voice was shaky now, but still firm in the way that had you doing everything she told you. “shit—that’s it, baby.”

your mouth dropped open in a silent moan, your eyes rolling back as your hips bucked hard into your own hand. juju hissed through her teeth, her jaw clenching, breathing growing moer erratic. you moved your fingers faster, curling them harder, and your thighs started to close around your hand.

you were getting close again, your walls still fluttering around your fingers from your last orgasm. juju’s moans were higher pitched now and you knew she was close, her brows pulled together, lips parting. you let out a desperate moan, louder than before, back arching so hard your phone nearly slipped from your grip.

“oh my god—” your hips jerked off the bed, thighs shaking uncontrollably as you came around your fingers, the sound of your moans filling the room. your eyes squeezed shut and your lips parted in a silent sound before a low, guttural moan fell. juju moaned at the sight, eyes fluttering shut, body tensing as she let the pleasure overcome her.

you both stayed there for a moment, not saying anything, just trying to catch your breath. your fingers slipped out and rested on your thigh, still dripping with your cum. your eyes blinked open and you found that she was already looking at you.

“i miss you too.” juju said after a minute, a small, lazy smile forming on her face. you frowned slightly, remembering more that she wasn’t a few minutes away anymore. her face softened and she pushed her bottom lip out in a small pout. “dont frown. ill be back before you know it.”

“promise?” you whispered, rolling over onto your side.

“promise.”

#m speaks #juju watkins #juju watkins smut #juju watkins x reader #juju watkins x fem!reader #usc wbb #usc trojans

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jessiso · 2 months ago

Text

"A Home in You"

A Criminal Minds one-shot | Post Prison! Spencer Reid x reader

Spencer and his partner (you) share a quiet morning full of tenderness, laughter, and healing. As they hold each other close, it's clear that love—steady and gentle—is helping him feel safe again. Over pancakes and soft smiles, they choose each other.

cw: past trauma/ptsd, recovery from past incarceration, emotional vulnerability, mentions of nightmares and anxiety, healing and intimacy

w/c 1,063

...

It starts with a twitch of sunlight across your cheek and the weight of an arm curling tighter around your waist.

Spencer’s arm.

You don’t open your eyes right away—you don’t need to.

His breath is steady at the nape of your neck, warm and rhythmic, and the slow, cautious way he holds you says more than words ever could.

Ever since he came home—really home—he’s been quieter in the mornings.

Like waking up next to someone still feels like something that can be taken away.

You shift just slightly, just enough to nudge your back against his chest. He responds immediately, burying his nose into your shoulder with a soft sigh. His voice is raspy with sleep when he speaks.

“Are you awake?”

“Mm. Barely.” You smile and slide your fingers along the arm around your middle, tracing the shape of veins and knuckles you’ve come to know so well. “But I will be if you keep talking.”

A low chuckle rumbles from him, and you feel it more than hear it. It’s one of those rare, genuine sounds—one you didn’t get to hear much when he first got out.

Back then, even silence had weight. He carried it like a second skin, and it took time, patience, and more quiet dinners and late-night phone calls than you could count before he even let you hold his hand again without flinching.

“I didn’t have a nightmare,” he says quietly, like he’s not sure it matters.

But it does.

You turn slightly to face him, just enough to see the soft brown of his eyes, still heavy with sleep and something far more fragile.

“That’s good,” you say, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “That’s really good.”

Spencer looks at you for a long moment, then presses his forehead to yours. “I think it’s because of you.”

You blink. “Me?”

“You make it quiet,” he says, “even in here.” He taps the side of his head gently. “It’s never really quiet up there. But when I’m with you, it’s like—like everything slows down. Like I’m safe.”

Your heart clenches, and you can’t help but smile, even as your fingers come up to cup his cheek. “You are safe, Spence. You’re home.”

He leans into your hand and kisses your palm. Soft. Reverent. And just a little shaky.

“I still feel like I’m dreaming sometimes,” he murmurs.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep reminding you it’s real.” You pause. “You, me… this ridiculous amount of pillows you somehow stole from every room in the apartment.”

Spencer laughs. It’s quiet but real, and it fills the room like sunlight.

“I read that proper pillow support can reduce stress,” he says, deadpan.

“You would research the psychological impact of pillow density.”

He grins against your skin. “I missed your sarcasm.”

You nudge his nose with yours. “I missed your nerdy facts. And your smile.”

For a moment, the silence returns—but this time, it’s soft. Comfortable. The kind that settles over two people who don’t need to speak to understand what’s being said.

You press your lips to his, slow and gentle, and he melts into it like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. And maybe, in a way, it is.

When you pull back, you whisper, “Come on. Let’s stay in bed a little longer. The world can wait today.”

Spencer nods, tugs you closer, and wraps both arms around you like you’re the safest thing he’s ever known.

You must have dozed off again, because the next time your eyes flutter open, sunlight’s shifted across the room and Spencer’s no longer lying beside you.

Instead, he’s perched on the edge of the bed in a worn FBI Academy hoodie, flipping through one of the books from the nightstand. His hair’s a little messy, curling at the ends from sleep, and he’s mouthing the words silently like he’s memorizing them.

There’s something achingly gentle about the way he looks when he doesn’t know you’re watching—unguarded, soft, safe.

You stretch, sheets rustling behind him. “You’re reading again? I’ve been awake for five seconds and I already feel under-accomplished.”

He glances back with a sheepish grin. “It’s actually your book. The one you kept trying to get me to read.”

“Oh, now you’re interested?”

“I was always interested,” he says, setting the book down and standing. “But you were usually distracting me.”

You blink. “Me? Distracting? Never.”

He walks over and leans down, kissing the tip of your nose. “Irresistibly.”

You laugh, still half-wrapped in blankets as he pulls you gently upright. “Wait—are we getting up now? I was promised excessive cuddling.”

“You were,” he nods, tugging the sheets off you with dramatic flair. “But I’m offering something even better.”

You raise a brow. “I’m listening.”

“Pancakes.”

“…I’m really listening.”

He smiles, and something about it makes your heart squeeze. You’d give anything to keep that smile permanent.

“I figured we could make them together,” he says, like it’s a peace offering, like it’s more than breakfast—like it’s a way to keep building whatever fragile, beautiful thing the two of you are creating.

So you follow him to the kitchen, still barefoot and drowsy, watching him gather ingredients with scientific precision. It’s endearing, really—how he measures the flour like it’s a chemistry experiment, quotes a study about golden brown texture, and flips pancakes like he’s solving a crime scene puzzle.

And yet somehow, there’s still flour in his hair within ten minutes.

“Spence,” you giggle, brushing it off with your fingers. “You’ve got some… culinary shrapnel.”

He grins. “Occupational hazard of domestic bliss.”

That gets you both laughing, and you swear it echoes through the apartment louder than anything else ever has.

You end up sitting on the counter, legs swinging, while he plates the pancakes with entirely too much whipped cream.

When he finally sets a fork in front of you, there’s a little sticky note folded next to it.

You glance at him, then open it.

“One day at a time. Together.”

— S.R.

It’s not dramatic. It’s not poetic. It’s just… real.

And in that moment, with pancakes between you and Spencer’s knee pressed to yours beneath the table, you realize this is the kind of healing that doesn’t come from time alone—but from choosing love every single day.

From finding home in someone’s eyes.

From staying—even after the nightmares.

#criminal minds #fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #fluff #post prison reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff

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crushpunky · 22 days ago

Text

rafe helps kook!reader find her lost dog

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

warning for lost pet, but happy ending don't worry lol. based on this ask <3

The sun was long gone when Rafe’s phone suddenly rang. He sat up from his position on the couch with a groan, wiping the groginess from his eyes that had begun to creep in as the movie Wheezie had picked (for the movie night she had insisted upon having) played.

“Pause the movie.” Rafe quickly told Wheezie, the youngest Cameron sighing dramatically as she paused the TV. Rafe answered the phone only to immediately be greeted by a barrage of sniffles and frantic breaths.

“R– Rafe, I n– need your help. J– Jack—” Y/n cried on the other end, gasping as she let out a sob. Rafe immediately shot to his feet, quickly rounding the couch as he ran across the room.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Rafe said as he dug through the entryway basket for the keys to his Jeep. “What’s going on? Are you alright? What do you—”

“Rafe, where are you going?!” Wheezie shouted from the couch, pushing up her glasses as she watched her brother frantically slip on a pair of shoes and tug on a sweatshirt over the ratty old t-shirt he was wearing to bed, ignoring her questions. He couldn’t focus on anything else but the sound of y/n’s sobs on the other end of the line, his mind filled with the worst scenarios that could’ve possibly caused her sharp breathing.

“J– Jack he s– slipped out when I went t– to get the m– mail and I c– can’t find him anywhere.” Y/n sobbed through the phone, wiping the tears that fogged her vision with the sleeve of her jacket. Rafe sighed, running a hand down his face as he pulled the front door of Tanneyhill open.

“Ok, ok. I’m coming.” Rafe said as he rushed out to his car.

“W– what if he is hurt? W– what if w—” Y/n cried as she paced up and down her dark street, a bag of Jack’s favorite treats grasped in her hand.

“Y/n— hey— he’s going to be ok, a’ight?” Rafe said as he backed out of his driveway, beginning the short drive from Tanneyhill to y/n’s house on the other side of Figure Eight.

“R– Rafe, I’m so scared. W– what if we can’t find h– him?” Y/n whimpered.

“Y/n.” Rafe said firmly, his eyes scanning the sides of the road as he drove. “I need you to take a deep breath and get back to your house—”

“I can’t! I need to keep l– looking—” Y/n hiccuped.

“Get back to your house. I’ll meet you in the driveway, ok?” Rafe said. “It’s not safe for you to be walking around this late and it won’t do us any good if you get lost too.”

Y/n took in a long, shaky breath, running a hand through her messy hair. Her bottom lip trembled, eyes closing as she attempted to calm herself down enough to listen to Rafe’s words.

“Y’ hear me?” Rafe said again, his grip on the steering wheel tightening at the thought of y/n pacing up and down the darkened streets of Figure Eight, his stomach churning at the thought of what kind of people she could pass at this hour.

“Ok.” Y/n whimpered, turning back towards the light of her front porch.

“I’m going to look for him and you’re going to go sit on the front porch and relax.” Rafe said.

“Ok.” Y/n murmured as she started the trek up her driveway, her feet dragging as she peeked into the surrounding trees for any site of Jack’s golden coat.

“How about you…” Rafe sighed desperately. “How about you call Sarah, ok?”

“Ok.” Y/n responded numbly once she finally made it to her porch, sliding into one of the chairs with a huff.

“It’s going to be ok, girl.” Rafe whispered, his voice filled with a calm coolness that helped to soothe y/n’s racing mind. “Now, I’m gonna hang up the phone and you’re going to call Sarah.”

“Ok…” Y/n sighed. “Rafe?”

“Yeah?” Rafe asked.

“Please find him.” Y/n whispered.

“I will.” Rafe said firmly. “I will. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

Then he hung up the phone, tossing it into the passenger seat. Rafe sighed, his eyes carefully scanning the sides of the road as he drove carefully through Figure Eight.

“Stupid fuckin’ dog.” Rafe muttered to himself, his eyes leaving the road for a split second to turn up the radio. Just as they flicked back up, he saw a sudden blur of fur. Rafe slammed on the brakes, his Jeep coming to a screeching halt as the creature that had hopped into the road stopped in the beams of his headlights. The animal lifted its head, its usually golden fur covered in mud, but his lolling pink tongue and wagging tail were immediately recognizable: Jack.

“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me.” Rafe sighed as he quickly switched the car into park before throwing the door open. Jack stood in the middle of the road, staring blankly at Rafe as he opened the passenger door and motioned for the dog to come.

“C’mere, dog.” Rafe snapped, clapping his hands in the way y/n did as he took a step towards the dog. Jack continued firmly rooted in place, wagging his tail as Rafe continued walking until he stood in front of the dog.

“Jack, come here.” Rafe commanded, the dog ignoring him as he stared up at Rafe. “Dog. Here. Now.”

Jack ignored him once more, simply gazing up at Rafe with wide eyes. Rafe sighed, grabbing the dog’s muddy collar and attempting to pull the dog forward, the dog remaining firmly planted.

“Goddamnit— seriously?” Rafe scoffed, letting go of Jack’s collar to prop his hand on his hips. Rafe scowled down at the dog, furrowing his brow with the same ferocity of a parent and a naughty child.

Noticing no sign of Jack moving anytime soon, Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair before he rolled up his sleeves. He leaned down, his arms scooping underneath Jack’s mud-covered stomach before lifting him off the ground.The dog wiggled in his grasp, moving his head enough to begin licking Rafe’s face.

“No— stop— fuck—” Rafe swore as he attempted to carry Jack back to the car all whilst the dog slobbered all over his face. He eventually found the passenger side, giving his clean car one last farewell before placing Jack in the passenger seat. The dog settled into the seat like he owned it, but not without wagging his tail enough to send splatters of mud across Rafe’s Jeep.

“You’re so lucky— so fuckin lucky— she likes you so much or I would’ve left your sorry ass on the side of the road.” Rafe snapped at the dog before he closed the door. Rafe rounded the Jeep before sliding back into the driver’s seat. As he continued on what remained of the short drive to y/n’s house, Jack turned to rest his head on Rafe’s shoulder, the dog’s foul smelling mouth panting into his ear. Rafe scowled, but returned his attention to the road.

Once Rafe turned onto y/n’s street, and the lights of the front porch came into view, Jack began barking excitedly (once again, right in Rafe’s ear). Sitting on the edge of the porch was y/n, her face tear streaked and puffy as she talked into her phone. However, once Rafe pulled into the driveway, and she saw the happy ball of fur sitting next to him, she quickly hung up before springing to her feet.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” Y/n screamed as she rounded the Jeep before practically pulling the passenger door off its hinges. Jack immediately jumped out, nearly tackling y/n as she dropped to her knees to hug the mud covered dog to her chest. Rafe climbed out, taking his time as he rounded the car before ending up in front of y/n as she littered kisses to Jack’s snout.

“Oh, my baby, you’re ok.” Y/n murmured into Jack’s fur before finally lifting her face towards Rafe and his mud covered sweatshirt. Her bottom lip trembled for a second before she rose to her feet, covering the space between them in a second as she wrapped her arms around him in a suffocating hug. Rafe let out a surprised huff before he rested his hands on her back with a chuckle that reverberated through his chest.

“Thank you, Rafe, thank you so much!” Y/n cried into his chest, her hands grabbing fistfuls of his sweatshirt as she hugged him impossibly tighter. Rafe found a small smile spreading across his lips as he smoothed a hand down her back.

“I told you I would find him, didn’t I?” Rafe smirked as y/n lifted her head to look at him. She let out a small giggle, wiping a stray (happy) tear, before raising up to press a kiss to Rafe’s cheek.

Rafe swore his heart leapt out of his chest, the muddy mess inside his Jeep already well worth it.

taglist: @ladyatwalmart @lilfreakjez @starkeyslutzz @maiya-16 @neonuserlforce

#obx #obx au #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #kook!reader

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chaoticforever · 11 months ago

Text

Thunderous Pursuits | Yandere Thor x Male! Reader

Summary: Let this be a lesson to Thor’s old friend. Love is a fragile thing, easily broken by jealous gods. Especially Thor.

A/n: Smut is present.

Another day of saving the world.

Thor plopped himself down in the booth as his teammates began to settle down beside him. The restaurant the Avengers went to for the evening was a lavish and elegant establishment in New York, with high ceilings, gold chandeliers, and soft, ambient lighting. The walls were painted a deep shade of red, and the booth was comfortable and spacious, with a single red rose adorning the center of the table.

Earlier that afternoon, the Avengers had saved Earth again from yet another alien invasion. To celebrate this victory, Tony decided to take his teammates to a five-star restaurant in the city since some of them hadn't been to one before. He had arranged a private booth in a secluded corner of the restaurant for them to eat.

The God of Thunder opened the menu and gazed through the different choices. Thor didn’t eat earthly food as much, but he was going to enjoy them this evening.

Soon, a waiter approached their booth.

"Hello, my name is Y/n, and I will be your server tonight," a polite voice addressed. "Can I get y'all started on some drinks?"

Thor paused when he heard the waiter introduce himself. That voice... he would know that anywhere. Slowly, he lifted his eyes from the menu, and his eyes locked with the person standing near the table.

And, sure enough, it was him.

Y/n L/n.

"Y/n!" Thor's lips curled into a big smile.

The waiter looked up from the pad in his hands when he heard his name called. A fond grin appeared on his face when he saw the individual who called out to him.

"Hi, Thor!" Y/n walked around the table and the God stood up to give him a brief hug before stepping back. "It's so great to see you again. It's been too long, and wow, you cut your hair! It looks amazing."

"Thank you, old friend," Thor boomed, as he took his seat again, his piercing blue eyes never leaving his old friend's form. "It has been so long. I never expected to find you here, a restaurant, of all places."

The other Avengers quietly observed the exchange. They were intrigued by Thor's familiarity with someone the team didn't recognize. After all, they knew of Thor's brief friendships with Darcy and his ex-girlfriend, Jane, but this one was a new face. As they watched the guys interact, it became clear that Thor and his friend had a history that went back a long way.

Steve spoke, "So, Y/n, how do you know Thor? It looks like you two go way back."

The waiter nodded. "We do go way back. Way back. I was once an Asgardian god."

The five Avengers exchanged surprised glances. Clearly, they had not expected such a revelation. But Thor, on the other hand, frowned at Y/n's choice of words.

"Y/n, what do you mean, you 'were once' an Asgardian God?" His tone was sharp with curiosity, and his eyes searched for answers in Y/n's e/c eyes. Why did Y/n voice that? Was he not a God anymore?

The former Asgardian cleared his throat, a subtle signal that the topic wasn't one he wished to delve into at this moment. "That is a story for another day. But for now, what can I get you heroes to drink?"

Tony was the first one to speak up and he ordered a martini, shaken, not stirred. Steve opted for a Coca-Cola, while Clint chose a cocktail. Natasha requested a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, and Bruce kept it simple, ordering a glass of water. However, Thor remained silent, his gaze fixed on Y/n. His mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts known only to the man.

"Uh, Point Break, it’s your turn," Tony said.

Thor blinked twice, momentarily startled before clearing his throat and tearing his gaze away from Y/n. "Aye, my apologies. I will have... uh, what is that earthly drink you mortals enjoy so much?" He looked to Tony for guidance, who rolled his eyes.

"You mean beer?" The billionaire supplied.

Thor nodded, turning his gaze back to Y/n. "Yes, I will have a human beer, please."

Y/n nodded and jotted down the orders with swift movements of his pencil. He turned to leave but paused, and asked if they were ready to order food or if they needed more time with the menu. As it turned out, everyone was ready to order.

The male server took their food orders, starting with Tony again, who ordered a steak with sides of mac and cheese and broccoli cheese casserole. Steve opted for a classic bacon cheeseburger and fries, while Clint chose a plate of pasta with garlic bread. Natasha ordered sushi with a side of chicken, and Bruce opted for a massive plate of ribs and mashed potatoes. Thor mirrored Bruce’s choice.

After writing down their food orders, Y/n left, heading to the kitchen and leaving the heroes to their conversation. Thor's eyes followed Y/n's retreating figure, his mind racing with numerous questions.

As the Avengers talked, Thor found it hard to focus. His mind kept wandering back to Y/n, his old friend who was now a waiter. He couldn't shake his curiosity about what happened to Y/n since they last saw each other and the implication that the man had given up his godhood.

"Thor," Natasha's voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. "It seems like you and Y/n have quite the history. Care to fill us in?" Her tone was inviting, leaving the decision to share entirely up to Thor.

"I've known Y/n since the dawn of time. He came to Asgard as a young adult and we were very close. We fought in battles and went on countless journeys. Though it seems I missed this part of his journey."

Clint, who was sitting across from Thor, arched a brow and gave him a knowing look. "Dude," Clint wiggled his eyebrows. "you have a crush on him, don't you?" It seems that nothing escaped Clint's gaze.

Natasha playfully nudged Clint, as Bruce shook his head. He muttered something about Clint being an idiot though a small chuckle did manage to escape his throat.

A slight pink hue tinted Thor's cheeks. "I certainly do not have a crush on him."

And that was true — Thor did not have a crush on Y/n. On the contrary, what he felt for his old friend ran deeper than a fleeting crush, even after all these years.

A little while later, Y/n returned with two more servers that had trays filled with food and drinks. They carefully placed everything on the table, ensuring that everyone received their ordered meals. "Guys, enjoy your meal, and feel free to flag me down if you need anything else," Y/n then left the Avengers to their meal.

They ate, and the conversation shifted to their recent battle and the close calls they had faced. Thor, once again, found his attention divided between the lively discussion and his silent observations of Y/n as the waiter efficiently moved between tables, tending to other people.

He needed to speak with him.

So, when the dinner concluded and Tony paid the bill, leaving a generous tip for Y/n's exceptional service, the group began to make their way out toward the waiting limo. However, Thor lingered behind, his eyes seeking out Y/n, who was clearing a table. Thor made his way over to him.

"Y/n," Thor’s voice was low and serious, causing Y/n to pause in his clearing and looked up at Thor, "a word if you please."

Y/n straightened up and offered a smile. "Of course, Thor. What can I do for you?"

"I must know, old friend, everything that has happened in your life up until now."

Y/n's smile remained unwavering. "And I'll tell you everything you want to know tomorrow. Meet me in Central Park at twelve o'clock. You and I will catch up."

The thunderous God nodded, feeling satisfied with that arrangement as he placed a hand on Y/n's shoulder. "Until tomorrow, my friend. I look forward to it."

As Y/n walked away with dishes in his hands, Thor's eyes trailed after him. Why was his friend working as a server in a human restaurant? What had happened to him in Asgard? And most importantly, why'd he say he 'was once' an Asgardian God? Thor had his suspicions about the last question, but he still needed to get the missing piece of the puzzle from Y/n.

The only plausible explanation for Y/n's situation was that Y/n must have been stripped of his powers and made mortal, much like Odin had done to him before.

But the question remained: why? There were only two ways for a god to lose their powers: either through transferring their consciousness into another mortal body or by having their powers forcibly taken away. Y/n still inhabited the same body for centuries, automatically ruling out the first option. This left Thor with the conclusion that someone must have taken his powers, and he hoped that his dad hadn't been involved in such an act.

Suddenly, the restaurant door opened, and Bruce's voice rang out. "Thor, come on! Tony said you have thirty seconds to get out here or he's telling the limo driver to pull off without you. Let's get moving."

With a playful roll of his eyes at Tony's impatience, Thor followed Bruce out of the restaurant and into the waiting limo.

The limo glided through the city streets on the way back to the Compound, and Thor's thoughts inevitably drifted to Y/n. He recalled the curve of his lips when he smiled, the way the black waiter's attire highlighted his handsome features, and Clint's accusation about having a crush.

Indeed, as Thor had voiced earlier, it was more than a crush. The love he felt for Y/n ran deeper than mere infatuation, and it had only bloomed stronger over time.

One thing's for sure: over the years, Y/n had been the object of Thor's late-night fantasies more times than he cared to admit, even during his semi-relationship with Jane. Y/n was the main reason he couldn't fully commit to her. The thought of having Y/n beneath him, moaning his name while begging for release, was a desire Thor had harbored for some time.

In Thor's mind, he felt that this was an opportunity given to him. It was clear to Thor that their paths had crossed again for a reason — because they were meant to be together. Why else would they have reconnected now — when Y/n seemingly needed him? It was a sign from the gods. So, he would first speak to Y/n, and then the two could focus on their relationship.

Thor couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

XXXXX XXXXX

The wait until the next day felt like an eternity for the God of Thunder. He was so ready to see Y/n once more and learn about everything that had transpired in his life recently. He knew that Y/n would be there on time; it was in their nature to honor commitments, no matter how tiny.

Finally, the clock struck twelve, and Thor found himself standing in Central Park. The sun shone brightly, its rays dancing through the leaves of the trees, casting dappled shade on the grass, and a nice breeze stirred in the air. As he ventured further into the park, his eyes spotted a familiar figure sitting at a bench beneath the sprawling branches of a big oak tree.

There, casually leaning back against the bench with one leg casually slung over the other, was Y/n. He looked utterly at ease, dressed in a simple white tee and faded jeans. The outfit accentuated his nice, broad shoulders, and Thor's eyes wandered appreciatively over Y/n’s body.

He looked good.

Real good.

Thor's footsteps quickened, his eagerness to reunite properly with his old friend unmistakable. He knows that he just saw him yesterday, but the short amount of time wasn't enough to satisfy his longing for his company. Y/n noticed Thor approaching and gave him a slight smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Hey, Y/n," Thor greeted, his voice warm and deep. He extended his hand, and Y/n took it, letting Thor pull him into a hug.

"It's good to see you, T-Man," Y/n replied, using the old nickname he had for Thor. Hearing it now made Thor's heart flutter, and he loved the way it rolled off his lips.

Settling onto the bench, Thor's curiosity got the better of him. He knew that Y/n held the answers to the many questions swirling in his mind. So, without further ado, he decided to dive straight into the heart of the matter, forgoing the human tendency to beat around the bush now.

"My dear comrade," Thor began, his eyes locked intensely on Y/n. "You have much to tell me, and I am eager to hear it. How is it that Y/n, son of Hera and Zeus, God of Time, finds himself here on Midgard, serving mortals as a waiter? The last I heard, you were a protector of this realm."

The former God clasped his hands in his lap but he maintained eye contact with Thor. It was always customary to look someone in the eyes when speaking.

"I was the protector of this realm," he confirmed, "But your father and I had our fair share of disagreements. He deemed me reckless and unworthy, and in a fit of anger, he stripped me of my powers and banished me here to Midgard. I've been living as a mortal for almost two years."

A frown marred Thor's handsome features as he listened to Y/n's words, his eyebrows knitting together in anger. Stripped of his powers and exiled here — it was a brutal punishment, one that stirred a protective instinct within the God of Thunder. He knew firsthand the pain of being stripped of one's powers. The idea of Y/n, the mighty God of Time, being reduced to working at a job, was an insult to everything they stood for.

"That old fool!" Thor growled, feeling his anger rising. "To treat you, another God who has served Asgard for thousands of years with such cruelty is an outrage. He cannot keep doing this to people like us," he took Y/n's hand in his, giving it a soft squeeze, and Thor felt a burning desire to set things right. "Rest assured, I'll find a way to have him restore your abilities."

Y/n shook his head. "There's no need for that. I've accepted my fate as a mortal, and in some ways, I enjoy being human."

Thor's eyebrows ascended. "You do?"

Thor's surprise was evident on his face. The tall God remembered all too well the emotions that had consumed him when he was stripped of his powers and sent to Earth — the anger, the bitterness, and the overwhelming sense of tiredness that came with realizing that walking as a mortal was far more challenging than he had anticipated with long distances.

The waiter nodded in confirmation. "I do. There are some drawbacks to being human, like getting tired and injured, and I do miss being able to manipulate time. But being human granted me a freedom I never experienced before," Y/n paused, a faraway look in his eyes as if recalling a fond memory. "And I even found love."

Suddenly, the air in Central Park seemed to grow thick with each passing second. The once-bright sun was now concealed by the gathering of dark storm clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low, menacing growl that echoed through the trees. Additionally, the breeze picked up, carrying the scent of impending rainfalls.

Lightning crackled around the god's left fingertips, a visual manifestation of his rising emotions. His vision darkened at Y/n's words, and he gently withdrew his right hand from Y/n's grasp. Did Y/n just say what he thinks he just said? He had—

Y/n had found love. The word "love" reverberated through Thor like a strike of lightning, sending an unwelcome jolt of awareness through him. Love implied intimacy, tangled limbs, and passionate kisses. The thought of Y/n sharing such closeness with someone else awakened a surge of possessiveness through him.

Sensing the change in the weather, Y/n glanced up, noticing the dark clouds that had gathered. He looked around, seeing people leaving the park, then he turned his gaze to the man sitting next to him.

"Uh, Thor?"

Hearing his name, Thor snapped out of his turbulent thoughts and took a steady breath, consciously calming himself. As a response, the clouds above dissipated, replaced by the hot sun. The harsh wind softened, and the lightning that crackled from his fingertips faded away without a trace. The weather returned to normal.

"Love?" Thor echoed, his tone carefully neutral; he grappled with the unfamiliar emotion swirling within him. He tamped down the spike of jealousy, not wanting to seem possessive or unfair. They had been apart for years now, living separate lives, so what right did he have to claim Y/n's heart? And yet, the thought of Y/n being intimate with a male or a female stirred a possessive hunger deep within him, a feeling he had never experienced before, not even during his brief period with Jane. "Who is this person that has captured your heart?" He dangerously murmured disguised as casual curiosity.

Y/n smiled softly. "Her name is Maya."

"And how did you come to meet Maya?" Thor asked, his tone carefully controlled, even as that name rolled off his tongue like a sweet poison. But he schooled his features, keeping his emotions in check.

"Well, when I was sent to Earth, I found myself in the middle of an open road at night. Maya accidentally hit me with her car, but she took me into her apartment to rest up and recover. We spent a lot of time together, and eventually, we started dating as they say. She's a great woman."

A jaw clenched; Thor's teeth grinded as he forced himself to remain composed. So, Y/n had found love with this... Maya. "I see," his fingers curled into a fist. "And Is she aware of your past?" Y/n nodded silently in response. "Where is she now?"

The h/c-haired male seemed completely oblivious to the undercurrents of Thor’s jealousy as he spoke. "Maya had a hair appointment today, but she should be here soon, and you'll get to meet her."

Can't wait, Thor thought. He needed to see this Maya, to put a face to the name that now felt like a curse on his tongue. But more than that, he wanted to assert his presence, to let Maya know that Y/n was his first and would always belong to him. Furthermore, he would make sure—

"There you are, Y/n!"

Instantly, Thor's head whipped around to see a female approaching their bench. This must be Maya. Her dark hair fell in loose waves down to her back, perfectly complementing her complexion and her radiant smile. She wore a comfortable denim jeans jumpsuit that hugged her hips, showcasing her curvaceous figure.

"About time you got here," Y/n stood to greet her with a soft smile, leaning down to brush his lips on her cheek. Her arms wrapped around him, and the affection between the couple was as clear as day.

"Sorry, I had to get my coffee. You know how I get," Maya let out a soft chuckle, her eyes widening as she looked over at the person sitting on the bench with her boyfriend. "Y-You're Thor!" she turned to Y/n again. "You did not tell me your old friend was the Thor from the Avengers!"

Y/n held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, you knew I was a god at one point, and that I'd be meeting an old friend. Who's the one, popular god that's currently running around New York City?"

"Still, you could've mentioned it was an Avenger!" Maya exclaimed, turning back to The god, who had been observing the exchange with a neutral expression. She held out her hand for him to shake. "It's so nice to meet you, Thor. I'm a big fan!"

Standing from the bench, Thor's tall and muscular frame towered over Maya, but not Y/n, who stood at a similar height. He shook Maya's hand gently, his gaze flickering briefly to Y/n's. "It's a pleasure to put a face to the name of the woman who has stolen my friend's heart," Thor's voice held an underlying current of quiet possession that the other two didn’t pick up on. "He has told me things about you."

"Oh, has he? Only good things, hopefully."

"I promise, only good things, babe," Y/n assured, his eyes shifting briefly to Thor. "So, Maya and I were just about to go to the carnival. Do you want to tag along?"

The God shook his head. "Thank you for the invitation, but I must decline. I have matters that require my attention back at the Avengers Compound." As much as Thor longed to spend more time with Y/n, he did not want to be a third wheel or see these two being affectionate.

The woman nodded in understanding. "I understand. You have the world to save and all. Perhaps next time if you're free."

"Most definitely," Thor agreed, his eyes following Y/n and Maya as they walked away, with Y/n's left hand in Maya's right.

A frustrated growl rumbled in Thor's throat as he raked a hand through his newly trimmed brown hair. This reunion had not gone as he had envisioned. He had imagined catching up on old times, and perhaps, even confessing his long-held feelings for Y/n. But, unfortunately, Maya's presence had ruined his plans.

The desire to remove this woman from the equation burned within Thor, and he knew there was only one way to do that. However, he understood that any harm brought upon Maya would hurt Y/n, and he didn't want to see his old friend hurt. Therefore, Thor decided to let Maya be.

At least, for now.

XXXXX XXXXX

In all honesty, Thor had been planning to return to the Compound. The thought of witnessing someone else's affection for Y/n was too much to bear. He had turned around, prepared to walk in the opposite direction when he changed his mind.

He turned back, deciding to secretly join Y/n and Maya at the carnival. He needed to see for himself the depth of Maya's love for Y/n when they were together.

The God maintained a discreet distance as he trailed secretly behind Y/n and his unfortunate girlfriend, not wanting them to realize he was following them. A few minutes later, he watched as the couple purchased their admission tickets and walked into the carnival, their hands still entwined. Thor lingered at the entrance, his eyes fixed on their retreating figures.

Thor paused at the entrance of the carnival, his mind formulating a plan. With the money Tony had generously provided, he decided to purchase a cap and sunglasses from the nearby store, employing a tactic he had learned from his time with the Avengers — infiltrating places and staying hidden in plain sight.

After getting his disguise, Thor paid for an admission ticket and stepped inside.

The carnival was alive with the scent of cotton candy, popcorn, and funnel cake, mingling with both the excited chatter of children and the loud music blaring from speakers. People of all ages were there today, laughing and screaming as they rode roller coasters, tested their luck at games, and snacked on delicious foods.

Hidden behind sunglasses and a black cap, Thor moved with the crowd, his tall frame blending seamlessly into the sea of humans. His sharp eyes scanned the area, searching for the man he desired.

And as Thor navigated the carnival, his frustration mounted with each passing minute. He searched in vain for any sign of the couple, eyes scanning the crowds for Y/n and Maya, but couldn't find them anywhere. Heat started burning in Thor's chest that had nothing to do with the hot weather — but was rather fueled by his rising impatience and possessiveness.

"Damn it, where are they?" He muttered under his breath, irritation in his voice.

Thor quickened his pace.

Dodging between families and groups of teenagers, he walked past the game booths, bumper cars, and food stations.

His determined search finally paid off as he spotted Y/n's distinctive profile at the milk bottle toss game booth, a ball in his hands as he prepared to throw it. Maya stood behind him, holding a sundae cup with two spoons, as she cheered Y/n on.

Adjusting his sunglasses, Thor stepped closer to them. He watched as his friend threw the ball and knocked over a stack of milk bottles with accuracy. That didn’t surprise Thor; Y/n had been a seasoned warrior for thousands of years, after all.

The man behind the booth handed Y/n a stuffed animal—a tan plush dog— which Y/n then gave to Maya. Her smile lit up her face when she received the nice gift.

The couple walked away, sharing the sundae and laughing together. Thor's fists clenched at his sides as he fought the instinct to march over and pull Maya away — to claim what was rightfully his.

Instead, Thor forced himself to maintain a cool and distant demeanor, following his prey. He remained hidden, observing their interactions without them knowing. He kept his distance as the couple rode roller coasters, played more games, and indulged in stupid affectionate gestures. Throughout it all, Thor's anger bubbled, especially when Y/n had the audacity to cup Maya's cheek and kiss her softly.

That did it.

Thor knew he had promised himself that he wouldn't hurt Maya for Y/n's sake, not wanting to see him unhappy. But — after witnessing their interactions throughout the day, something snapped within him, and he didn't care about his promise. He decided that Y/n was meant to be happy with him — and him alone. The thought of anyone else having Y/n's heart was unbearable, and Thor found himself no longer caring about the consequences. He had no choice but to get rid of Maya.

On Friday night, Maya was leaving her workplace alone, while Y/n was at work. The night air was crisp, carrying a hint of a chill, as the streetlights casted orange glows along the pavement. Thor silently followed her. He kept a careful distance, mirroring her movements: walking when she walked, turning the corner when she turned, and stopping when she stopped. He hid when she turned around as if she knew somebody was trailing behind her.

A gust of wind rustled the leaves. Maya shivered from the cool, spring weather and pulled her jacket tighter, quickening her pace considerably. Her eyes glanced but she saw no one there. Unbeknownst to her, the threat loomed closer than ever.

As Maya passed an alleyway, the wind picked up again, and she felt a sense of unease. She stilled, feeling like she was being watched, "H-Hello?" she called out, her voice trembling. "Is someone there?"

Silence answered her, but Maya could've sworn she felt eyes boring into her back. She turned around, but the alleyway was empty. With a sense of unease lingering, she began walking, her steps faster now as she hurried towards the safety of her home, never pausing. Finally, she arrived at her apartment building and sauntered inside, the door closing firmly behind her.

As Maya set her keys down on the table and turned around, she let out a startled gasp at the sight of Thor standing there.

Quickly, Thor locked the top and bottom locks, feeling satisfaction from noticing the fear that flashed through her eyes.

Good, Thor thought, satisfied, be scared.

XXXXX XXXXX

The morning sun's rays filtered through the thin curtains, their warmth caressing Y/n's features, gently waking him up. He stretched languidly, and sat up, yawning. Then, the e/c-eyed man opened his eyes completely and headed to the bathroom.

One of the first things Y/n incorporated into his life as a mortal man was a nice skincare regimen. Maya had explained to him that humans often used facial masks to keep their skin clear and free from acne. In his previous life as a god, Y/n had never had to worry about such concerns, as his skin had always been flawless. Without his powers, however, he now found himself susceptible to the same skin issues that plagued mortals. So, he used these facial skin care masks.

Though Y/n can admit that he quite enjoyed these face masks. The soft texture against his skin was surprisingly wonderful, and the masks worked great.

He feels like his sister, Aphrodite.

After completing his morning routine, he grabbed his phone and made his way to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, already prepared, as he dialed Maya's number. The ringing tone echoed aloud and was greeted by her voicemail.

The phone heading straight to voicemail didn't entirely surprise Y/n. He knew that she loved sleeping in after a hectic work week. He decided to pay her a surprise visit since he had been given a spare key.

Y/n opened the door and was prepared to step through it when his feet paused and looked down, suddenly noticing the white envelope on the ground. Frowning in confusion, he bent down to pick it up, his eyes scanning the words inscribed on the envelope: "To Y/n, From Maya."

Intrigued, Y/n opened the envelope, his eyes reading over the paragraph, and the frown on Y/n’s features deepened. Huh—

The note read: My dearest Y/n,

Hope all is going well. I just wanted you to know that you’ll always have a special place in my heart, and our relationship is the best thing that ever happened to me.

It pains me to say this, but, to be honest, I have fallen out of love. Our relationship has run its course, and I think we are no longer meant to be. My love for you has faded like a flower wilting under the sun.

Please know that this was an incredibly difficult decision for me, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

I wish you nothing but happiness. May you continue to find love and fulfillment in life. And who knows, maybe our paths will cross again when we least expect it. Until that happens tho, farewell, my love.

With a heart full of memories,

Maya.

The note left Y/n stunned and confused. Maya had seemed happy and content in their relationship. How could she just fall out of love and walk away like this? It didn't make sense to him in the least. There's no way this letter could be real.

What—? Huh—? More questions plagued his mind as he couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal and hurt. What had he done wrong? Had he pushed her away without realizing it? Or was there someone else?

Shaking his head, Y/n left his apartment building and headed straight for Maya's place. He needed to hear the reason for her decision from her own mouth, rather than reading it on a piece of paper. That wasn't fair to him and he deserved more.

Y/n's footsteps echoed hurriedly against the pavement as he hurried along the streets, rounding corners and navigating crosswalks. Finally, he arrived at Maya's place and hastily knocked on the door.

There was no response.

Then, Y/n inserted the spare key into the lock, twisted it, and marched inside. He stepped further into the room and called out to Maya when he noticed something.

Maya's apartment was empty.

It was completely devoid of her personal belongings — no furniture, decorations, nothing at all. He searched every room, drawer, and closet, but found no trace of her here. It was as if she never lived here.

Y/n pulled out his phone and tried to call Maya again — but it just went straight to voicemail. The realization sank in — this letter wasn't a joke or a prank. Maya had surely left him, and she hadn't even had the decency to do it in person or provide a proper explanation for her decision.

It was a hurtful and callous way to end their relationship. That's so messed up.

Y/n's hands balled into fists at his sides, the letter crumpling within his grasp. He felt a prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes, and he realized that he was experiencing two very human emotions:

Crying and heartbreak.

Y/n knew that gods experience human emotions such as crying, too. But now that Y/n was human, the experience felt different. In that moment, he understood the depths of his feelings for Maya. This was why mortals spoke of love as both a blessing and a curse — it can give you joy but could also inflict unbearable pain.

He exited Maya's apartment building, the crumpled letter still clutched in his hand, a tangible reminder of what he had lost. His eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, were facing downward as he walked, his thoughts consumed by these emotions. It was this lack of focus that caused him to accidentally bump into someone else, knocking their umbrella from their hand.

Crouching down, Y/n wrapped his hand around the umbrella to pick it up, but he found that he couldn't. Y/n bent down to retrieve the fallen umbrella, however, to his surprise, he found that he couldn't lift it. He tried with both hands this time, but the umbrella remained stubbornly out of reach. Jeez, this simple umbrella feels as hard as trying to lift Thor's hammer—

Wait a minute.

Y/n's eyes drifted upward, and he found Thor standing there, which means this umbrella was Thor's hammer in disguise.

"Oh, hi, Thor." Y/n’s voice came out soft, despite the emotions currently coursing through his mind, releasing his hold on the hammer. "Might want to pick that up."

Thor complied, lifting the hammer, eyes fixed on Y/n's e/c eyes. "Are you okay?"

Y/n’s response was quick. "Yes, I’m fine."

Unconvinced by Y/n's fake composure, Thor placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes filled with concern. "You know you don't have to pretend to be okay when it comes to me. You can tell me anything."

Finally, Y/n conceded. "Maya left me. Out of the blue, she broke things off and disappeared, and I don't understand why."

Thor's eyes softened, and he pulled Y/n into a comforting embrace. "I'm so sorry to hear that," his voice was, unknowingly, laced with feigned sympathy. "That lady doesn't deserve the honor of your love."

Unbeknownst to Y/n, a smirk played on Thor's lips, his eyes gleaming with a mix of vindication and triumph. He didn't like seeing Y/n in pain, but it was necessary.

The pain was only temporary, and Y/n would eventually get over this simple mortal. Then, there would be room for Thor, and they could finally be together.

In the weeks that followed, Y/n slipped into a deep depression. He spent most days lying in bed, thoughts consumed by the memories of Maya. He questioned everything, from his own worthiness to the nature of love itself. He didn't get it. Why had she left? Was he truly enough? These thoughts ate away at him — like maggots devouring the flesh of the dead.

Additionally, the only thing that stirred him from his bleak existence was his work. The familiarity of the restaurant, the mechanical tasks of serving tables, provided a fleeting sense of normalcy.

And throughout it all, there was only one person who was there for him — Thor.

The God of Thunder checked in on him regularly, offering words of comfort and support for his pal. He brought takeout, watched movies with him, and listened as the man poured out his heart, sharing his heartbreak and confusion. Thor was a great presence during his time of need.

In Thor's presence, he found himself smiling more. His appetite returned, and the dark circles under his eyes gradually faded. Y/n felt a little like himself again.

One evening, after Y/n finished his shift at the restaurant, he found himself with Thor in his bedroom. A movie played in the back, but they were too engrossed in conversation to pay attention to it. Thor had asked Y/n about his deepest desire.

"Well, being here on Earth for a long time made me desire love the most," was his admission as Y/n thought back to when he thought he had found love. "It seems that love is the emotion humans desire the most. I guess I'm one of them too."

Thor's eyes roamed over Y/n's face as if searching for something. And then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in closer, his thumb gently stroking the back of Y/n's hand, sending shivers down his spine.

"I can give you the love you crave, Y/n," Thor murmured, voice deep and husky, his thumb continuing its gentle caress.

Y/n sat up straighter, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. He grabbed the remote and turned off the television, their conversation now the sole focus.

"What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

"I mean," Thor's voice rumbled. "I can show you what it means to be desired."

Y/n opened his mouth to ask the man to elaborate when Thor surged forward, his left hand cupping the back of Y/n’s neck and capturing his lips in a brutal kiss. Y/n gasped into the kiss as Thor's tongue, invaded his mouth, tasting and claiming, leaving no doubt about his intentions.

E/c eyes widened in surprise at this, but Y/n didn’t immediately pull away. Thor's kiss was demanding, possessive as his free arm wrapped around Y/n, placing a hand on his back, pulling him closer. Y/n could feel Thor's hardness against his left thigh, straining against the fabric of his pants, and he moaned into the kiss.

Suddenly, Y/n pulled away slightly, breathless. "Thor, I—"

"Shh," Thor placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "You want this, Y/n. You want my touch, my possession. Admit it, and I'll give you the love that you desire. You’ll forget all about that mortal, Maya."

Stunned by this turn of events, Y/n could only manage a breathless, "Alright," he knew that he did crave this intimacy and always found Thor attractive. He wanted to feel that type of intimacy once more.

Suddenly, he felt the powerful urge to assert his agreement more physically, more explicitly. So, he pushed Thor onto his back, straddling his muscular thighs.

A devilish smile curved Thor's lips as he tugged on Y/n's shirt, eager to taste the body of the guy that he had daydreamed about countless times. With a sharp tug, buttons flew across the room, revealing smooth skin and toned muscles beneath.

"Dangerous move, little waiter," Thor murmured, his hands roaming across Y/n's chest, thumbs grazing perky nipples that tightened, hardened from his touch. "Now, I get to have my way with you."

Then, Thor trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along Y/n's jawline and down his neck. His teeth scraped gently over Y/n's pulse point, nipping and sucking until a dark bruise formed. Y/n's breath hitched as Thor's hand glided lower, his fingers tracing the waistband of his sweatpants.

"You like it when I touch you, don't you?" Thor whispered, his hot breath fanning across Y/n's ear, "Tell me what you want."

Y/n craned his neck to allow Thor better access to his neck and shoulders. "I... I want you to touch me, Thor. Everywhere."

Thor didn’t need a further invitation. His hand slipped beneath the waistband of Y/n's pants, exploring the terrain of his six-pack abs before dipping lower. Y/n arched his back, his breath catching as calloused fingers brushed against the length of his already long, stiff cock.

"You're so hard for me, little one," Thor murmured, fingers teasing the outline of Y/n's length before pulling away. "I want to see it. Want to watch it throb for me."

With trembling fingers, Y/n removed his pants, sliding the fabric down his legs, along with his boxers. His cock twitched eagerly, the head already glistening with pre-cum. He had never been so aroused, so desperate to be touched and taken.

Thor's eyes darkened with desire as he reached for Y/n's cock, stroking it firmly, his right thumb teasing the sensitive slit. "That's it, my beautiful God. Let me see you. Show me how much you want this."

The former God's lips parted on a moan, his hips involuntarily bucking into Thor's hand quickly. "Please, Thor... don't stop."

Thor smirked, the possessive gleam in his eyes undeniable. "I plan to take this much further. But first, I want a taste..."

And with that, Thor leaned down, his hot breath tickling the head of Y/n's cock before his tongue darted out, licking a thick stripe up the underside. Y/n cried out, his hips jerking at the unexpected pleasure, and Thor chuckled, the sound vibrating against Y/n's sensitive flesh.

"So responsive," Thor murmured, his lips wrapping around Y/n's hardness as he sucked and teased with practiced skill.

Y/n threaded his fingers through Thor's hair, his head falling back as sensations bombarded him. Thor's tongue swirled and twirled, his lips sucking on his cock, driving Y/n wild with need. He looked up at Y/n through his eyelashes, reveling in the sight of his pleasure-clouded eyes, and he sucked Y/n's length deep into his mouth, his hands caressing Y/n's thighs, thighs that now tremble with anticipation.

"Please, Thor," Y/n begged, his voice raw with need. "I want to feel you inside me."

Thor released Y/n's cock from his mouth with a lewd pop, saliva dripping from his lips as his fingers unfastened his pants. "Time to see what a real god looks like."

Thor sat up, his eyes flashing with promise as he slowly revealed his thick, veiny cock. Y/n's mouth went dry at the sight, his own spent cock twitching with some renewed interest. Reaching inside the nightstand, Thor discovered a bottle of lube and slicked up his cock for Y/n.

"Damn, Thor, that's huge," Y/n whispered his gaze devouring every inch of Thor's masculine glory. "Even bigger than mine."

A smug grin stretched across Thor's face as he pushed Y/n back against the bed, kicking off his pants in the process. "Get a good look at this and commit this to your memory and your heart, because I intend to make you scream my name."

With that promise ringing in the air, Thor climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself between Y/n’s thighs and lining up the tip of his cock with his entrance.

"Tell me you want this, Y/n. Tell me you want me to fill you up." Thor's voice was low and commanding, his eyes intense.

Y/n nodded eagerly, his breath coming in short gasps. "Yeah, Thor. I want you. Please, take me. I need you inside me."

Hmm, Thor mused and pressed forward, his thick cock breaching Y/n with a slow, relentless thrust. Y/n cried out, his back arching off the bed as he was stretched wider than Y/n could remember. Thor paused, giving him a moment to adjust, but the reprieve was simply short-lived.

Thor began moving, his powerful thrusts driving Y/n into a euphoric haze. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound joined by the lewd slapping of skin and Y/n's loud moans as Thor’s hips moved.

"That's it, take it," The God of Thunder let out a growl, hands gripping Y/n's hips to gain better leverage. "You feel too good wrapped around my cock. I've dreamed of this... dreamed of claiming you, babe."

Y/n's eyes squeezed shut as he clung to Thor, his nails digging into the tall God's broad shoulders. "Oh, Thor, right there," he gasped, his entire body trembling on the edge of release. "Damn, I'm so close."

Thor's pace quickened, breath coming in hot, ragged gasps. "Open your eyes and look at me," he demanded, causing Y/n's eyes to snap open, his gaze locking with Thor's, and the Avenger's hand found his cock once again. "You make me feel like a true God. I could fuck you forever, but right now, I want you to come for me."

"Oh... fuck..."

In response to Thor's words, Y/n's body tightened like a coil, and he came with a hoarse cry, his release coating Thor’s fingers. Then, Thor emptied himself into Y/n, his hips stuttering as he rode out his orgasm, painting Y/n’s ass hole in ribbons of white. He maintained eye contact with Y/n the whole time. Mine.

Panting and sweaty, Thor pulled out of Y/n and they collapsed against the bed, hearts beating fast from their encounter.

Thor pressed a tender kiss to Y/n's lips, his hands stroking the sweat-dampened skin of Y/n's torso. "You're incredible, Y/n. We were always meant to be together."

This was a known fact, and tonight was simply proof of their love for each other. Now, he needed to make sure Maya was fully out of the picture (Thor forced her to write that note to Y/n, and had set up a secret camera in Y/n's apartment, the footage transmitted to a hidden monitor in another location where he kept Maya chained and captive). Now that she had seen the love between them, he would tell Heimdall to execute her, ensuring she posed no threat to their happiness again.

Now, all that remained was for Odin to restore Y/n's powers. Then, they would be together forever, unburdened by the constraints that mortality has on people.

Just as it was meant to be.

XXXXX XXXXX

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ryes-brownies08 · 3 months ago

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flights, not feelings [jake x male reader]

˙⋆✮ genre: ANGST ˙⋆✮ roles: top! jake, bttm! mreader ˙⋆✮ word count: 2.4k words ˙⋆✮ inspo: flights, not feelings - aespa

SYNOPSIS: Busy, busy, busy. Those are the words your life would speak if it had a voice. You were on your way to catch a flight, ready to embrace a corporate life for a change. A job where you’d be filing some paperwork, working in an office, and having dinner with coworkers was all something you thought suited your personality as it mellowed out. But on your way there, you bumped into your ex. The two of you didn’t end on bad terms, and were in love while it lasted, sharing a bittersweet conversation. But, now it was all just a ghost of the past, and you had a flight to catch.

WARNINGS + TAGS: ex bf jake, swearing, u both want each other but are denying it, changed people, post-breakup, flights, final goodbyes, depictions of any irl character here does not reflect who they are irl this work is purely fictional, etc

You know, you hadn’t actually gotten the chance to sit down and take a break for a while, but now that you had a moment to yourself, it was lonelier than you’d expected.

You sat in the waiting lounge of the airport, looking to your left as the airplanes behind the terminal glass wall of the airport hovered towards the horizon, soon to take off to unknown destinations. The sun was setting, casting a temperate orange glow on the rows of empty seats in front of you, illuminating how the only person there, was you - M/n L/n.

You’d recently resigned from your job as a human resources manager, because you were always occupied managing the interactions of fed-up employees against tyrannical managers, and barely had time for yourself. It’s actually why you booked this flight. You were gonna go to Toronto, have a fresh start, and live a better, corporate life for yourself. Of course, you were already somewhat in the corporate life, but now, your hours of work would strictly be kept from 9 to 5, and would never spill into your home life.

As you grew and got worn out by the world, you began to mellow out. You lost a lot of ambition and were comfortable reaching for the basic office life. Moreover, you began losing some of the things you’d valued most in your life and yourself.

Your passion for the arts, extinguished by your family ages ago, the brightness of your personality, deemed ‘too much’ for others, and the right to feel worthy of love, wiped clean from your esteem. You were in a shit position right now, and no, you didn’t wanna talk about it. M/n was the guy who made jokes about his life, and didn't tell anyone how his decaying soul lies dormant within the ribs of his slender chest.

Suddenly, you were caught off guard by an announcement going off over the speakers. “We would like to announce that Flight AC456, with service to Toronto, Canada, is boarding at Gate 12F in 15 minutes.” After taking a look at yourself in the glass wall’s reflection, fixing up your long charcoal cotton coat, and ensuring your navy sweater and beige pants rested coherently under its embrace, you made sure your suitcase was all zipped up and began to make your way to your gate. Your outfit wasn’t actually that bad at all; it added an edge to you, without washing out your (S/c) skin color, or making you look cold and antisocial. Your silver necklace sat immobile on your chest, adding a little bit of bedazzle. Nice outfit, M/n. You didn’t flop your choice for the airport.

You began to take off, looking around to see any signs that indicated Gate 12F was nearby at all. You looked to your right, noticing how there was an increase in people going towards a particular hall that you hadn’t seen that densely crowded before. That must’ve been where your flight was. The closer you walked to what you began to realise was a corridor, you saw a sign saying ‘GATE 11J-12H’, and you knew that you were in the right place. Bless those strangers’ hearts for taking you there.

Eventually, you were met with another large, longue-looking area, and found yourself reaching in your pocket to hold onto your passport, for reassurance. To your horror, you couldn’t find anything. As people walked all around you in numerous different directions, and anxiety slithered all up in your body like a snake made of icy slime and tar, you were close to being overstimulated. You properly started rummaging with your both hands in your large coat pockets, and were now regretting the choice of wearing it at all today.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfu-

That’s all that ran through your head at that moment. Everything and everyone should’ve just gone to hell. You felt yourself spiral, and just when you couldn’t get anymore lost in your thoughts, you started sinking in an episode of self-doubt and self-loathing. You wouldn’t have been so depressed about this a few years back. You’d probably have laughed, and got a random stranger to help you. That stranger would’ve had fun, too.

You’d make someone’s day and all you’d have done was smile. You tend to do that less nowadays. But before you could fully drown in your thoughts, you fell to the floor when you felt a thud against you.

*Thud*

*Thump*

*Gasp…!*

“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” You heard a male voice call out, and for a split second it felt somewhat familiar to you. Maybe you were overthinking it. When you turned to look up, an exuberant light behind his head and the suitcase in front of you blocked you from seeing his face. He reached out his hand to you, and you took it after a moment of regaining clarity.

“Ah.. it’s okay..” You said. Well, at least after all these years, you were still a polite person.

“I should have seen where I was going, man, I just..” You stood up, and as you did, you could finally begin to make out who it was. You knew him. And you didn’t know if that was a good thing. “I dunno, are you alright?” He asked. He looked up at you as you got up, your height a bit taller than his. Yeah, you knew him.

His Aussie accent was unmissable, alongside his slightly longer, yet nevertheless ethereal face. His eyes were large and almond shaped, expressive and captivating, just like you’d remembered. His nose was straight and well-sized with a soft tip, his cheekbones and jaw decently prominent, and his pink lips decently full for a dude. This being said, his visual was boyish, and attractive. He looked young, yet chiseled, and ready for anything, which was exactly what he was.

The man in front of you was Sim Jake, your ex. And you watched as his eyes widened and features softened as he looked at you in a mixture of surprise and wistfulness.

“Hey, Jake..” You said, your face shifting to a muted, half-smile; a grin with a bit of regret to it.

“Hey…” He said, clearly a bit unsure. “You okay?” He asked, after a moment of hesitation. You could feel the tension dissipate at a moderate pace, but while it lasted, it was more than notable.

“Yeah, I’m.. I’m fine.” There was a bit of a pause, and you two were sort of awkward in that moment. You decided to try and make a bit of conversation. “How’ve you been, Jake?” You inquired placidly.

“I’ve not been bad, what about you?” The way he said those words in his thick, milky accent - ‘whaute abaut you’ - just reminded you of the memories where all you’d known was how much you loved him. The two of you broke up due to a difference in schedules, is what you liked to tell yourself. But you knew it was all your fault.

You were a bright, pure soul, not too long ago. People treated you like shit, and your heart started graying from then into the carcass it was now. He ached seeing you lose your light, and you took his care for you as pity, and broke up with him. You should’ve known it was love. Now, you were resilient, but at the cost of your inner glow. You wondered what he would think if you’d stayed with him. Maybe you’d have been able to retain your light but still be resilient. The thought just depressed you, cause you knew you made the wrong decision, and you didn’t wanna dwell on that. Not at all.

“Not bad, actually. Thanks.” You said the last part with a bit more gratitude than you’d usually offer. You felt a warm smile creep up onto your face, and the tension was lifted for sure now. After all, he was a great person to you.

“That’s great, babe.” A pause arose at the use of the latter word. He let out an embarrassed scoff. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” You smiled, chuckling. He laughed with you. You remembered the way his undereye would crease when he smiled, and his teeth bared themselves in a beautiful surrender.

“Where you flying, M/n?” He asked. Again, you also forgot how much you liked it when he said your name. Just the way the sounds flew in the ripples of his unique tone, becoming nothing but a cozy collection of consonants against the cadence of his voice.

“Toronto. I’ve got a job there as an office worker. I start in two months.” You smile at him, and he nods, pouting his lips in awe. But underneath that, you could detect him feeling a bit of loss at the thought of you going away. It made you sad, but you told yourself to ignore it. “What about you, Jake? Where are you heading?”

“Back to Seoul. I’m visiting my family. It’s been a minute. But that’s great, ba-” He bit his lip, shaking his head, trying to not say ‘baby’. He would say it so casually before. “I meant M/n.”

“That’s cool. I’m happy for you.”

“I know, I’m really excited, can't lie.” Caunte lie. There’s the accent, again. “So yeah… I’m… I’m happy for you. You’re gonna go to Toronto. Is that far?” He asked, kind of hoping you’d say no, even though he probably knew it was. It was clear you both were over each other, but it was also clear that you missed what you had. I mean, it’s not like either of you did anything to hurt one another, so that was more than warranted.

“It is. You’re probably not gonna see me for a while.” You said, not rudely. You offered him a polite smile to compensate. After all, you had nothing but respect for him.

He nodded, looking down at his feet, his hand fidgeting a little. He bit his lip. You felt bad. A silence arose.

“You know, you can call me baby.” You said to him. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. You can just say it for fun.” You smiled softly whilst tilting your head, trying to reassure him a little. He looked up, and wore a wistful smile. He appreciated it, but obviously knew the true meaning behind it was in the past. You knew you should have been going to board your plane, but for the first time in your stick-up-the-ass life, you’d remained there, feet firmly planted in the ground. You didn’t wanna part ways at the current moment. You were meeting Jake again, and there clearly wasn’t any tension at all. It was a comfortable vibe, with a comfortable resolution to the post-breakup tensions, if there even were any.

“Do you wanna get going?” He asked, feeling bad.

“Not at all. It’s okay.” You replied. “We have time.”

“We would like to announce that Flight AC456, with service to Toronto, Canada, is boarding at Gate 12F right now. Please arrive as soon as possible.” The speaker called out. You and Jake both looked up at the roof, as if trying to find the voice over the speakers.

“Fuck..” You laughed. He laughed too, undereyes creasing adorably and everything.

“You gotta go, huh?” He chuckled, the sound a bit defeated. “Happens, mate.”

“Well, this is where we part ways.” You smiled at him, as warmly as you could in that moment. “Thanks for this. It was… it gave me clarity.” You said, taking a deep, composed breath. You were hurting as well, but kept it subdued although not hidden, whereas he showed it without much filter.

“Me too. You’re a good dude. Know that, yeah?” He mustered up a smile, his care for you genuine, and his regret very real. You kept telling yourself that he was completely over you, but he clearly still had a place for you in his heart. A small enough gap to operate normally, but big enough to still be thinking of you on a cold, lonely winter night.

You offered a final smile, and just as you turned to walk away, you heard his voice again.

“M/n, wait.” You turned. “Can I… can I have a hug before you go?” He asked, and you couldn’t say no, especially given the look in his eyes; vulnerable and longing. You could deduce that he might have wanted a kiss, or a second chance, but you recognised the fight in him to not ask for anything more than either of you were comfortable to do in that moment. He truly was a solid individual.

You nodded, walking into him without hesitation, and felt yourself sink into his warmth. He was a bit shorter than you for sure, but you still felt safe in his arms. Jake was always the protector of the relationship. You can’t lie, you’d wanted to kiss him, just this one last time. But you didn’t.

“M/n. If you need anything - if you need me -,” He paused, and hearing his dejected voice muffle into your coat pulled a fair bit at your heartstrings. You felt yourself falter for a moment. “You just let me know. Okay?” He asked, and it sounded more vulnerable than you’d have expected. It hurt your heart hearing him like that.

Eventually, after a long breath, the two of you untied from each other's arms, and you flashed him the last soft smile, not knowing if you’d ever see him again, before turning your back and walking to your gate. The last thing you’d seen from him was his faltering smile as he watched you walk off into the distance. As you walked away, you felt something move in your pocket. When you reached in to pull the object out, you found it, right there; your passport. For a second, you caught yourself wishing it would do it’s little passport magic and you’d meet Jake once again. Admittedly, part of you didn’t want that moment to end.

But you weren’t going to call him. You didn’t want to. And you’re not sure if you ever would, but you knew you weren’t going to soon. The thought of reaching out to him didn’t deter you the way you thought it would, but you just decided in the current moment that you were never going back just to hurt him again. At least not now. You had to hold onto that. You just had to. Just for now.

Because after all, you had to catch a flight, not feelings.

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jr-acrux101 · 3 months ago

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Soldat's Kin PT.2

Summary: He's alive but different. PT.1 Warnings: dark fic, kidnapping, no direct smut Word count: 4.6k Глупый - stupid Вверх - up Полоска - strip Симпатичный - pretty h/l - hair length береги её - keep her safe E/C-eye color H/C- hair color Сидеть - sit Кошка - cat Иди сюда - come here Зайчик - bunny

2024 -New York City

Sam scanned the battle field, looking for any survivors. The buildings were destroyed, half crumbled while others completely gone. He pulled up the screen attached to his wrist, he scanned, slowly, making sure to assess every pile of rubble. Before he decided to shut it off, he saw warmth emitting from the grabble. It was small; child-like. He rushed over, throwing the rocks off the small boy. He grabbed the child, not paying attention to his face, just trying to do his best to not hurt the body.

“Jamie!” A woman appeared, eyes red, face full of sorrow.

You cleared more of the rocks, as Sam was able to pull the boy fully out. He laid him carefully, the scanner gave full body heat; he checked the pulse, it was strong. He turned to the boy's face, and saw… Bucky Junior.

He watched you hover over the kid, desperation evident in your tone, “Jamie? Jamie!”

The young boy emitted a groan, showing he could hear you. “Oh thank god,” you bawled, one hand clutching your chest, relief in your veins. You drew a shaky breath as you turned to Sam, grabbing his hands in yours, “Thank you so much. Thank you.” Your voice was shaky, your heart still lost in fear.

“You don’t have to thank me ma’am.”

You nodded furiously, ready to talk, when a soft voice was heard, “Mom?”

Eyes wide, you turned your attention to your son, “I’m here. I’m here Jamie.” Hugging the boy, as he gained further consciousness. Sam gave a soft pat on the shoulder, along with a nod, before walking away.

‘That kid looks like it could be Buck’s twin.’ His mind went to Zemos, and Bucky’s devoid of emotion, at that moment. He turned to see you with your son, still there helping him slowly get up, ‘She looks too normal… too nice.’ He watched as you dusted the debris of your son, long h/c hair in a braid, eyes full of love - something Hydra agents lacked.

It ate at the back of his mind for weeks, before he finally asked something, “Hey Buck?” The park was full, as the two grabbed lunch.

Bucky paused, mid-bite, eyebrows furrowed, “What?”

“When,” he hesitated, what if he was wrong.

The man with the metal arm seemed to know what the question would be about, “What about Hydra Sam?”

“Did they- like, make you do other things besides killing?” The words were heavy as the atmosphere turned tense.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his right arm fixing his hair, “Why the sudden interest?”

Sam looked away in the distance, taking in the park square, “I saw a boy who looked like you.”

The ex-Winter Soldier paused, “That can mean anything, people have like 10 doppelgangers in their life.”

“I don't know Buck, that kid is like the spitting image of you. The only thing that was different was his eyes, they were e/c.”

Bucky's mind flashed his with an image of e/c eyes, red from crying. “So what, you think one of the orders I had when I was the winter soldier resulted in a hydra spawn.”

“I don't know about hydra spawn, the women looked sweet. But you know what they say, looks can be deceiving.”

“None of them would want- they were all power hungry women with no compassion for kids. Plus I was a lowly soldat, they probably wouldn't have kept the kid.” Bucky avoided eye contact, only moving his food around, hunger disappeared.

Sam nodded, the solemn mood growing too heavy for each other's comfort. Sometimes, often, the universe liked to prove that it was full of humor. “Jamie! Come back here!” There you were, holding an ice cream cone.

A young boy came cycling towards his mother, lo and behold to Bucky, there was the boy who was the spitting image of him. Sam’s eyes widened, he quietly whispered, “That’s her! That's the kid!” Bucky just stared, the boy was his twin; except, just like Sam had said, his eyes were e/c.

He started to gain a migraine. He stared and stared until they were passing them by. He heard a laugh drop from your lips, “Jamie come one, quit being silly and eat your ice cream. This is the only place that sells pancakes and syrup.” The two men turned to one another, upon hearing the child's name and favorite flavor. Bucky was a sucker for pancakes.

The child nodded to you, putting the training bike next to the bench. He sat finally, politely asking for his ice cream. You smiled at the boy, sitting next to him. Breathing in a deep breath of air, you felt eyes on your figure. Looking up, there were ocean blue eyes of the man with the metal arm. The two of you made eye contact, and suddenly you were back in hydra’s base; being dragged to your daily session with soldat.

Bucky internally flinched, the look of terror was evident on your face, he was no stranger to that look. Whilst it never crossed Sam’s name before, it dawned on him the roles could also be reversed. Before he could stop his friend, Bucky was out of the chair heading towards the mother and son. Sam narrowly missed Bucky. Your breath was caught in your throat, here was the father of your child; The Winter Soldier. “Soldat.” It was a whisper that Bucky caught, it heartbreakingly confirmed his suspicions.

The little boy took his attention away from his ice cream, seeing the man all clad in black and another in simple outing attire; plaid button up and jeans. The boy stared at the dark skin man before recognition set, “You’re the Falcon! That means you’re the Winter Soldier!” The boy jumped up off the bench, forgetting he had ice cream. Splat. It laid on the floor, as the child stared at flatten ice cream, tears welling up. He gasped through his sobs, “Mommy..m-my… ice… cream…”

Before you could react, Bucky lowered his height to match the 4 year old, “Hey it’s okay, I’ll get you a new one. It’s our fault for distracting you.”

The boy calmed down, his sobbing turned into sniffles, his face turning less blotchy red, “Promise?”

He held out a pinky, which Bucky held out his own, “Promise.” The little pouty lip turned into a toothy white smile. You watched the scene, this man didn’t seem like the Winter Soldier. Sam watched your reaction, you were more calm.

Sam made his way towards you, “If you want I can take your son to the ice cream shop, while you talk to Bucky.”

E/c eyes snapped to brown, “Bucky? I thought his name was James.”

“He likes to use his nickname.”

Hesitantly nodding, she stared at the man a bit more, “You’re the hero that rescued him?”

He held out his hand, “Sam Wilson, or as your son called me, The Falcon.”

She shakily took his hand, “Y/n L/n. Okay, well um-his flavor was blueberry pancake.”

Sam nodded, giving a little smile: in the back of his mind, that name rang a bell. “Okay so the little man likes that pancake flavor.” Jamie’s eyes snapped to Sam, excitingly nodding his head. Sam gave a laugh, “Alright, come on, I’ll buy you a new one.” The boy jumped for joy, taking Sam's hand and giving his mom a gummy smile.

Bucky sat down in the empty seat next to you. Muscles flinched as he did, your eyes trained on the shoes of people walking by. The man clenched his jaw before he spoke, “I’m sorry.” You didn't speak, so he continued, “I… I don’t remember even that happened in the base, with the torture, cryogenesis and… brain wash. I remembered everyone I killed but being in that basement is… fuzzy to me. I’m sorry for what I did and I am sorry for not remembering all of it. Most of the memories I have are only your eyes crying.”

You slowly faced him, as he was already seeking you, “I forgive you,” his mouth dropped as his eyes widened, “You spoke as someone who was under control, always about the ‘mission to procreate,’ I… I got help, therapy; 2 times a week. Even though my therapist said I didn’t have to forgive you, I wanted to. You were trapped there, just like me. Plus, I’ve always been a crier, so most remember me that way.” You gave an awkward laugh, uncomfortable with the past being brought to light. ‘I liked it,’ Bucky clenched his jaw again as the thought from his deep subconscious awoke. He opened and closed his mouth, like a goldfish, searching for the words to continue. You beat him to the punch though, “He’s yours, Jamie. He’s going to turn six soon.”

“Six?” ‘The boy should be older.’

“Yeah, when the blip happened…he uh… he was gone. He should be 10… but I’m just glad he’s back,” there was a sting behind your eyes, you rapidly blinked it away.

“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing Bucky could say at this point.

“He’s named after you.”

“How… did you find out my name? And how did you get out?”

You sniffled, “Vlad, the soldier assigned to me, let me go. His daughter… he said I reminded him of her. He also kept the other men away from me; Soldat’s Property. When he let me go, we passed a grave, it was filled with another person. I thought I was going to be killed. No more Soldat, no more Sodalt’s kin needed,” you inhaled thinking back to the time Vlad dragged you through the forest, “But he let me go, said you were an assassin and you were nowhere to be found. They panicked, not sending another person with Vlad to make sure the job was done, or maybe… the person in the grave was the second person. He told me your name was James, hence Jamie.”

Even though Bucky didn’t care for his name, he was touched. “Thank you,” it was small and almost unheard.

“You know, you weren’t a monstrous assassin in the room. I’m not sure if maybe you were given an order to be… hmm gentle, but you were. You call me cимпатичный every time...”

He nodded, he here was being comforted by his own victim, “Still, what I did to you, it's unforgivable.” His foot started to bounce, anger at himself was flooding his veins.

You shrugged, “It’s my choice, and I chose to forgive you.” You were hesitant to ask, but did so anyway, “What does it mean, cимпатичный?”

‘How could she forgive me! I’m a monster! She shouldn’t even be letting me near her or the kid!’ His thoughts were in a whirlwind, and the target was himself. You could see the internal struggle, this man was easier to read than his counterpart, “Sol-,” you cleared your throat, "Bucky?”

He looked at you, fully taking you. You were there, sitting with big eyes staring at him. Your h/l sat naturally, you s/t was glowing, as the sun hit your face he could see why he the Winter Soldier said that word. “He called you pretty.”

You sat a little straighter, mind reeling from knowing now that was his nickname and what it meant, “Oh, okay. Thank you.” You didn’t realize what you said, just reminiscing of every time the Soldat would call you that when he would finish inside you.

Bucky stared at her, brows furrowed and oblivious to where your mind was wandering, “Don’t express gratitude, what I- how cou- why? Why forgive me?” His tone was hard, a different remembrance was stirring inside you.

You were snapped back to the moment, head shaking, “I told you already. You were brai-.”

“No! You can’t just forgive so easily,” shock and anger were held in his soul.

“Please.” It was a hushed whisper as you clench the metal bench, stopping yourself from crying. The Soldat would never yell at you, but the tone of anger was similar.

Bucky turned upon hearing you, his anger evaporated as quickly as it came, “I-I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he cut himself off, hands tugging down on his face.

You never wanted to admit it, “I fell in love with you, with the soldat.” You avoided the man's face, embarrassed to have revealed the secret you kept hidden for so long, “Like I said, you weren’t horrible in the cell. We were fucking almost every night,” a hollow chuckle left your lips, “You would hold me, like you needed my contact to breathe. And… you started to smile, you would take off the mask and do this little smirk or smile when we were done. You become less rigid, a little more human when we were together,” a sigh left your lips before you continued, “I don’t know, it was probably some form of Stockholm syndrome, but that doesn’t make what I felt any less real.”

His jaw hurt from clenching, “Do you miss him?”

Your eyes were the familiar red, holding back tears, “Insanely…yeah I do.”

He softened his demeanor, “I’m sorry.”

“You don't have to keep apologizing, I’ve already forgiven you.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop,” he hung his head, so many emotions clouded his person; shame, guilt, self-loathing. ‘Симпатичный.’ It was a whisper in his head, but Bucky was too late.

You glanced at the man, his stare turning blank. You leaned further back, the similarities he was presenting was the Soldat. As his eyes became glossy, he became emotionless. Your eyes widened: whilst you were true in your word about love, the fear of what he was always took up the back of your mind. You glance around the park, no sight of Jamie or Sam, ‘He must be watching him as he eats the ice cream.’ You hoped this was true. The gaze of the hollow man finally turned to you, “Симпатичный.”

You sucked in a breath, “Soldat?”

“Да.” He was here, staring at you.

A pit grew in your stomach, “Can… can I please talk to Bucky again?”

His gaze hardened, with his jaw clenched he spoke, “No,” it was anger filled.

‘It’s okay, just relax.’ You had to make it okay. Drawing in a breath to slowly release it, “Okay soldat. Did you want to keep talking here or did you want to go to yours?” You prayed it was the latter, not wanting to cause whatever the Winter Soldier could release.

The Soldat paused, relishing in being able to make a choice, “Mine.” He looked at you, emotionless eyes have a hint of humanity now.

The direct eye contact made your body flush, “Okay let me drop Jamie off at his play date and then we’ll go to yours.”

He shook his head, “No, kin stays with us.” He wanted the little boy to be with both his parents now.

You drew in another breath, calming your nerves. You leaned in, and he let you, gently touching his lower jaw. Your tone turned softer for him, always softer for the Soldat, “After okay, we can watch movies together or go for a walk, whatever you want but he has to go so we can talk Soldat.”

He glowered, teeth clenching his mouth shut. His nod was curt, barely visible to the untrained eye; but to you, it was evident. You slowly pulled back, when a long forgotten cold touch grabbed your hand, “Jamie?”

You nodded, a small smile forming on your lips, “Yeah Jamie.” He gave a nod of approval before letting you go, “Okay, I will be back in 10 minutes okay. Can you wait here?” Another stoic nod was given before you hesitantly turned away from the assassin.

You saw Sam and Jamie on the bench right outside the shop, the man gave you a smile unaware of the current situation unfolding. He stood up, lowering his voice so the child wouldn’t hear him, “I thought it would be best to let him eat it here, in case y’all weren’t done talking.”

You licked your lips, mind still really in from what was happening. “Sam?”

His smile slowly started to falter, fear was visible on you, “Yeah?”

You turned to Jamie, happily oblivious to the turn of events unfolding, you grabbed your cell phone - 1 inbox notification.

‘Hey almost there, walking to the ice cream shop :P’ It was sent 3 minutes ago, ‘Okay she should be here right now then.

“What’s going on?” Sam wasn’t liking how the atmosphere was feeling, his shoulders hunched and the smile was replaced by a frown.

Before you could speak, your sister was there, “Y/n!”

You whipped around the voice, giving a small tight smile, “Jamie come on, your aunt is here.” With the last bite of the cone shoved in his mouth, Jamie hopped off the bench running full speed with his little legs.

Your sister crouched down, meeting the child for a hug, “Jamie, aw I’ve missed you buddy. Are you ready to hang out with your favorite auntie?”

You walked forward, giving your family hugs, and waving them off. You watched them walk away, as you turned back to Sam, the Winter Soldier stood behind him. With your eyes wide and breath hitch, Sam turned around, not noticing the different demeanor yet. “Buck, my man. How did it-,” as Same went forward to talk to his friend, the brainwashed soldier flashed forward gripping his throat.

Sam coughed out, “Shit.” The realization that this man was no longer his friend. People started to stare, and you started to shake; anxiety was clawing at your throat.

“Soldat, please. Let your friend go.” You approached the man, gently holding his right arm. He gripped your hand, it was firm.

“This man is not my friend.” His grip loosened regardless.

“He’s Bucky’s friend, by an extension of yours. Please, let’s go to yours to talk, remember? That’s what you picked?” You prayed he would listen.

He let Sam go, you knew better than to rush and help Sam; it might upset the Soldier. The man was on the floor gasping for breath, the Soldier looked at you nodding his head to the direction, “Come.”

You gave Sam a small sad smile, mouthing ‘Safe,’ to him. With that the Winter Soldat gripped your hand with his metal one, taking you through the sea of people.

Sam hit the floor, “Fuck!” He stood up, running to his car, Joaquin's number already on dial.

The Soldat’s grip was firm but soft, he led you through the city, weaving in and out of alleyways. You were pretty sure that he added extra courses to throw you off. He pushed through a double door, you weren't able to read the name of the complex. You were indeed winded after 4 flights of stairs, the Winter Soldier seemed fine of course. He looked at your hand as he grabbed the keys, “I’m not going anywhere.” It was reassurance he needed, another slight nod before he let you go. The keys turned and a low click, and the door opened. There was another sound, bells jingling. A soft white tuft of fur was seen behind the arch, Soldat waited for you to enter first, which you complied.

The cat peaked its head out, a little meow hitting your ears. The cat lazily stretched forward, before going to inspect you. You knelt for Alpine so he could sniff, sniff, and sniff again; he patiently sat, waiting for a pet. You giggled at the small animal, the fur was soft and vibrations started to emit from it. A gruff voice was broke through your concentration of pets, “Кошка. Alpine.”

“You’re a very cute kitty,” you gave a last pet before the cat made its way to the Soldat. It purred as it rubbed itself against him. You saw the hesitation in the man’s eyes, “Give him a soft pet if you want.” He tentatively reached out, favoring his right arm this time, and he would agree the lush fur was soft and silky. Satisfied, the cat walked away into the hallway before lying down on the rug, ready to take a nap.

He stood next to you, a metal arm extended for you to take. You did so, dusting yourself off. The Soldat stared at you, you didn’t seem to age; not that he knew anything about you, only physical. He led you again down the hall, to his room; wooden floor, one seat, and a bed on the floor. The layout had you thinking of the base, just nice furniture and place. He stopped in front of the bed, “Сидеть.”

He followed his own instructions, he tugged at you gently, “I still can’t understand Russian Soldat.”

“Сидеть; it means sit, Зайчик.”

You nodded, now confused at the other word said. You shifted, and the bed creaked: memories creeped their way into your mind, your body burning as a result. You avoided the Soldiers gaze, knowing the flush of your skin was very much prominent. Soldat smirked, knowing what was being conjured in your head. “Y/n.” Your eyes widened, he never said your name before. You gave a nod as he looked to see if you heard him, “I… I have… missed you,” the words felt foreign on his tongue.

“I’ve missed you too, Soldat… But, why did you return Soldat?”

“Are you not happy to have me?”

Your eyes soften at the man, “Of course I am happy, but from my understanding Bucky has you…” you bit your lip trying to find the right word, “... has you… restrained.”

The Soldat smirked, “He is only in control because I let him.” Your face betrayed your thoughts, and he seemed to notice, raising an eyebrow he spoke again, “I saw you. I will be honest, I do not care what Bucky does most of the time but he was upsetting you.”

“So you came out to - in a way- stop yourself ?”

“I want to be with you, Y/n. Bucky was ruining my chance to see you more.”

You looked away, as the butterflies fluttered in your stomach, “You have grown a lot Soldat. But, this is also Bucky’s life. While we have a child together, I do not think he wants to be with me. And I have to respect that, it’s his choice.”

“What about my choice?” He gave a low growl, teeth clenched at what was said.

“You were in charge… no… what I mean is; while you had to take orders because you were brainwashed and had to survive, during that time - it was you in control. Bucky was trapped in his own mind for years Soldat, it’s only right he has his… time to be in control.”

“I don’t care.” You pressed your mouth into a thin line, of course Soldat would be hard-headed. “Call me James.”

Your brows knitted together at the name change, “Okay… James.” You leaned forward, and he followed your actions, “I need you to let me talk to Bucky please.”

“No.”

“So-,” you cleared your throat, “James please. I need to speak to Bucky.”

“No.”

“Please, I am begging you.”

He smirked, “How about you beg a different way?”

The man in front of you was very different as well, compared to the man you knew. You felt the heat slowly burn through you, “You speak a lot more now.”

The smug look was still on his face, “So do you. As I remember you moaned a lot more.”

With his guard let down, Buck was able to take back control. With a smug turning into wide eye fear, he jolted back. His breath was heavy, eyes frantically taking in his surroundings, “How did you awaken him?”

“I didn’t awaken him, I…not-I, I wouldn't know how to.”

Fear turn to anger quickly, now a familiar feeling cold metal touch ripped your throat, “How the fuck did you awaken him!”

You gasped for a breath, but to no avail. Black dots slowly clouded your vision, gasping one last sentence, “Soldat… or.. Buc-Bucky.”

The metal touch was quickly rescinded as fast as it came, he stood there horrified at what he had done. “Fuck! I-I cou-didn’t mean too.” You hunched over, breathing as much air as you could.

Bucky shot up, and moved himself to the other side, “I’m sorry. I-I… I just don't understand how he came out.”

You gasped again, the oxygen supplying your brain, “He said you were fucking up talking to me.” A couple of coughs slipped past your lips, as your throat tickled still.

He paused, “What?”

“He said he wanted to see me more, and you scared me away. He had to stop it.”

A stupid look made its way to his face, “So, the assassin who is my brainwash counterpart, high-jacked my body to do damage control? Is that what you're saying?”

You rubbed your throat, rolling your eyes at the man, “Yes, basically. Could you not ask James this yourself?”

“James?” His eyebrows continued to knit together.

“That's what he wanted me to call you.”

He was at a loss for words, the Winter Soldier was… gaining humanity. This wasn't supposed to be the future, the Soldier was supposed to be buried and gone. It dawned on him, “He loves you. In his own twisted way, the Winter Soldier actually cares about you.” Fear coursed through him, “You activate him.” It was whispered to himself but you heard it.

Your voice turned soft, “I think he just wants me around.”

Bucky started to breathe heavily, as if the oxygen was being withheld. He gripped the counter top, fighting to breathe. You made your way to him, touch and voice still soft, “Hey. Hey, it's okay. Focus on my voice, or focus on my hand. Can you feel it?”

He gasped again, but nodded. “That's it, you can breathe. One deep breath in: one, two, three. Hold; one, two, three. Exhale; one, two, three.” He started to follow along, till he vision wasn't blurry, till his breath was deep and strong. You rubbed small circles on his back, “It's okay, you're here.”

Bucky gave one loud inhale, he eyed you, “Did you do this a lot for him? Comfort him?” There was no malice, just curiosity.

You gave a shrug, “Not really, he comforted me more than I did him. Not with words, more with actions.”

“What did he do?”

“He held me a lot. After um… what was needed. He would hold me til I fell asleep. Sometimes I would feel the metal arm slowly graze my back or massage my head. When I would cry, which was a lot, he would wipe my tears and kiss me to distract me.”

Bucky nodded, he continued to melt into her touch, his body no stranger to it. They stayed like this, in each other's space, relishing in one another's presence. The comfort the two of you gave each other, it put Bucky’s mind at ease. Slowly, memories of the past were in a way granted access to Bucky.

There's gonna be a part 3

Taglist: @thenameswinter99 @sebastians-love @otherotherplace

#dark!winter soldier x reader #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #dark!winter soldier #winter solider x y/n #winter solider x reader #the winter solider x reader #winter solider fanfiction #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark #marvel

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arcane-fox · 10 months ago

Text

See How She Rides

Pairing🔹 Joel Miller x f!reader Rating🔹 Explicit, 18+ MDNI Word Count🔹 4.4k [ AO3 ] Summary🔹 BoatMechanic!Joel Miller is just doing his job when you show up unannounced to soak up some summer sun. Warning🔹 Reader age undefined. Joel is late 40’s. No Outbreak. I don’t want to ruin the plot but this one is mostly smut. Unprotected P in V. Oral. Infidelity. Sleazy behavior. Not beta'd!

F I C U P DA T E S 🔸 M A S T E R L I S T 🔸 A O 3

“S’cuse me, Ma’am.” The greasy boat mechanic says when he notices your shadow looming over him from the dock. “Didn’t know anyone was coming out today.” He leans back from the engine compartment to get a good look at you.

You are standing there in your skimpy bathing suit with a sheer coverup. A wide brim hat and worn flip flops. A canvas tote slung on one arm and your other hand holding a small cooler.

To his point, it was mid-week and an unusual time to be at the marina. Your no-good husband had been on a ‘business trip’ and you were tired of spending the hottest days of summer cooped up at home.

You pull your sunglasses down slightly and look over them at the greasy mechanic in your husband's boat.

Greasy and absurdly handsome.

It was high noon and the sweltering sun rays were wearing him down. He looked wilted and totally done for. The deck of the boat was a mess of tools and oily rags. Clearly he was not expecting company.

He grabs an oily cloth and wipes his hands on it. He looks up at you with scrunched eyes as the sunlight was facing him.

“I’ll be another 10. You mind waiting?” He brings his hand to his brow to act as a visor so he can see you better. You notice how the sun catches the emerging gray streaks in his messy hair and how his weathered skin shows years of hard work. He was probably in his late 40’s if you had to guess.

Not at all. You think to yourself. In fact, this was exactly the type of excitement you needed. After all, why shouldn’t you get to have some fun too.

The soothing sounds of the water plopping against the side of the boat and the dock creaked under you. It made the pause seem extra dramatic and drawn out.

“Hurry up then.” You snap at him, with a hint of playfulness.

He nods and tosses the nasty rag on the floor as he kneels on the backseat and lowers himself back over the engine area. He stretches his arms out long as he reaches to tighten something with a wrench. A sliver of his skin on his lower back peeks out at you and shows more and more the further he reaches. Sweaty and tanned by many hours in the sun.

He was doing some sort of maintenance your husband probably requested they do. He cared more about that boat than he cared about you, that was for damn sure.

You decide that standing on the dock and waiting wasn’t really your style, and you want a better view. You toss your canvas bag and cooler over the edge and step into the boat from the side dock. It shifts slightly with your weight and brings attention to your presence.

The mechanic turns around with a concerned look.

“Careful, ma’am” He reaches his filthy, oil-stained hand out to you as you step into the boat. You grab it, reluctantly, to help with your balance. With both feet firmly inside the boat, you look up at him. You are taken aback by his size. His wide shoulders and tapered waist sculpted perfectly as his sweat soaked t-shirt clings to his body for dear life.

“Joel Miller.” He introduces as he gives your hand a squeeze with his massive paw and pulls it away after you share yours. The corner of his lip pulls up slightly and he eyes you up and down briefly.

“Be outta’ your hair soon.” He turns back to the engine, but can’t help looking over his shoulder to steal one more look at you.

Typical sleaze, but this one was charming.

You let out a deep breath, not realizing you had been holding it. You wanted to tease him initially and have some innocent fun, but now you feel a heat bubble inside you. It was obvious to Joel, too.

You grab your things and kick off your sandals. You make your way to the front of the bow.

This was your favorite part of the boat. The open bow had a lounger that wrapped along both sides and plenty of room to sit at the very front too. It was the perfect place to read a book and sunbathe. The perfect place to distract Joel.

You pull off your coverup and toss your hat to the side. Your hair falls loosely over your shoulders. Your royal blue bikini was an excellent choice for today. This one tied around your neck and made your boobs look fantastic. Your bottoms were strappy and high cut and accented your curves beautifully.

You reach into your bag and grab your suntan lotion. You tie your hair up into a messy bun.

You take your seat at the very front so that you are facing towards the back of the boat. Joel is bent over the lifted back seat where the engine was stored, and head first in there working.

His jeans were tight on his ass when he was bent over. His meaty thighs sticking to the grungy denim. He looked hot and uncomfortable working in the heat, but damn he looked good.

You slather yourself with the lotion while you watch him work, getting more turned on by the minute. When he backed out of the engine to grab a tool his biceps flexed and his sweat beaded on his brow as he met your eyes. He caught you looking.

You bend your knee on the lounger and rub the lotion slowly up the full length of your leg while you turn your eyes away from him. Pretending to be busy and uninterested.

You can still feel his gaze on you as you spread your legs spanning between the two loungers and work on the other side. The minimal coverage from your suit leaves little to the imagination.

Joel stands up with his back to you and his hands on his waist. He shakes his head like he is telling himself not to get involved and closes the engine compartment. His knee turned outward just slightly in a slutty stance as he waits for the hydraulics to finish lowering the lid.

He pushes the top firmly to make sure it latches, and his arms flex as he puts his weight into it. He looked so strong. So capable. So competent. Masculine in every sense of the word.

As he turns towards you he pulls the front of his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face. His tanned and sweat slicked skin glistens. You can see his tastefully toned abdomen in all its glory. Your eyes can’t help but notice how his jeans hug his hips and a messy thatch of hair trails up his belly.

“Got a water on ya?” He interrupts your gawking.

He wipes his face once more with the shirt before letting it fall back in place. He scrunched his eyes and his lips pursed while he waits for you to respond.

“Yeah. Sure.” You snap out of your daze and reach into your cooler for a water bottle and bring it over to him.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The bottle crinkles under his grasp as he makes quick work of it.

He hands it back to you, empty, and smirks when your fingers feather over his.

He gathers his things and poorly wipes down his grease stains with the cleanest of his shop rags.

The back of your boat looks recognizable again with a full length seat spanning the width of the boat and another padded lounge area above it. Your other favorite place to spread out in the sun.

Joel tosses his things onto the dock. He turns around and leans on the edge of the boat. His fingers tap the sides and he is stalling his departure, maybe deciding if he is going to make a move or be on his way.

You are also wondering if you should just say goodbye and be done with it. It would be the right thing to do, after all. Even though your no-good husband was probably knee deep in his mistress at this very moment. You had little loyalty to him these days, and tolerated just enough to get by with your comfortable life.

“She’s a real beauty.” He slides his hand along the fiberglass edge, slowly and intimately. He pushes himself back up to his feet. He is towering over you again.

“Excuse me?” You know he isn’t really talking about the boat, but you play dumb.

“Would love to see how she rides.” He eyes you up and down and has a deadly serious expression on his face. He chews the inside of his cheek while he waits for your reaction.

You were done for now.

“I’m sure my husband paid you well. Better check your work, and all. Be thorough.”

Joel’s serious expression tries to hold back a grin. His brow softens.

“Alright, I’ll be thorough.”

You bite your lip to hold back your smile and hand him the keys.

Joel goes into full captain mode and starts the boat up. He jumps onto the dock to unwind the ropes from the metal cleats. He was a sight to behold. Letting out a few grunts as he scooched down to the ropes.

You make yourself comfortable on the passenger side lounger, knowing full well you will be in his line of sight while he drives. You grab yourself a wine cooler.

“Listen to her purr.” He taps the steering wheel as he gets back on the boat. He stands at the wheel and moves the throttle just enough to ease out of the slip. He tunes the radio to something playing yacht rock.

It doesn’t take long to get through the channel. The lake is quiet today.

When you finally reach open water Joel pushes the throttle and your sporty boat glides over the waves. The breeze is refreshing and the occasional mist from the waves when the boat catches them just right feels good.

From his angle Joel has a perfect view of your cleavage. You bring your knees up and knock them to the side so he can get an eyeful of your entire body. The suntan lotion makes you shine in the sunlight and you smell tropical and delicious. Coconuts and vanilla. You let your hair down and it blows in the breeze as you cruise along.

After a few minutes you are in the middle of the lake. There is little boat traffic and you are far enough from land on either side. You look like specs in a sea of water.

You reach your hands back and untie your top and let it fall to the floor. You lay back with your chin up and arms to your side, pretending to soak in the sun. All you have left is the tiny strip of fabric barely covering your mound.

It makes you feel alive and rebellious. No one can see your naked chest. No one except for the one you are showing off for.

You are not looking at him, but you know he is staring at your body. You know his jeans are getting uncomfortably tight. You know where this is going.

“Goddamn.” You hear him mutter and out of the corner of your eye you see his arm move to rake through his hair.

Joel slows down the boat and kills the engine. The radio continues to play softly, but the sounds of the waves clacking against the boat are much louder.

“Does it bother you if I do this? I don’t want tan lines.” You innocently ask as you turn your head over your shoulder at him.

Joel is eyeing you.

“Bother aint the word for it, sugar.” He rakes his hand down his face and scratches his scruff. He crosses his arms in front of him and leans against the captain's chair.

You puff your chest out as you adjust in your seat.

“You gonna stop teasin’ and get over here already?” He asks.

You drape your legs back properly to the floor and push yourself up, sliding your skimpy suit bottoms down. You saunter over to Joel, naked and confident.

He is still looking greasy and miserable, but considerably more refreshed. Your eyes go to the bulge in his denim and you reach out to grab his waistband. You want to climb him like a tree.

“I will...” you hook your fingers over the top of his jeans. “.. if you keep this little boat ride between us.” You trail one of your hands lightly over his zipper.

Joel looks you straight in the eyes with a feral hunger. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Deal.” He enunciates it with finality. No more charades.

He grabs your waist and pulls you into his lap as he sits back in the seat properly. Your legs are straddling him and you can feel his hardening cock grind against you. He presses his mouth into yours and roughly pushes his tongue into you. His hands roam your body.

You break away for a moment and grab for his shirt. He pulls it over his head and lets it fall to the floor. You bring your hands to press flat against his chest. His skin is firm and his muscles are tense. He smells sweaty and metallic. It isn’t pleasant, but it brings out some animalistic lust inside you and you don’t want him any other way.

His calloused hands find your tender breasts and he grabs at you. His rough fingertips brush over your nipples and he thumbs your hardening peaks. He is so rough, and it is exactly what you need.

He breaks his mouth away from yours and nips at your jawline and the supple skin in your neck. His movements are ravenous. His hands travel further down your body until he has them firmly on your hips.

He hoists you up so you are sitting on top of the steering wheel. You brace one arm on the side windshield of the boat and the other grabs onto Joel’s hair as he dives into your pussy.

He licks a broad stroke from your asshole all the way up to your clit, taking pause to swirl his tongue when he reaches your most sensitive part.

You let out a moan and buck into him, tangling your fingers in his mess of curls and holding on for dear life. His scruff scratches against your tender skin.

Joel pushes further into you and puts your legs over his shoulders, giving himself more control. His nose nudges your clit while he presses his tongue inside you and laps at the wetness he is extruding from you.

You lay your head back and gasp for breath as he just goes at you deeper and with more ferocity. It is a good thing he is supporting you with his shoulders as your legs are becoming weak. He digs into your hips to pull you even closer into his face.

“Joel! Oh my… god.” You can barely speak. He is devouring you and you can feel your insides surge with elation as he worships you. Your thighs start to clamp firmer on him as you feel the wave of pleasure building and building.

He pulls away briefly and sneers up at you.

“What a messy cunt she is.” His words are crude and vulgar. His mouth is as filthy as he looks. It makes you pulse even more.

He resumes lapping at your folds and is relentless. Pressure is building inside you and you grind against him as he starts to pull away and deny your release. You whine a little, relishing the final brush from his scruff leaving your thigh.

You were so close to coming. This was surely payback for teasing him.

“Ain’t you a sight to see.” He sits upright in his chair and keeps you at arms length with his hands still firmly grabbing your hips and your legs slip off his shoulders. He eyes your swollen and needy cunt. “I got just the thing for you.” He brings a hand to his jeans and unzips.

The audible moan you make when you see its size makes him smirk. He is already hard and leaking. His shaft is impossibly thick. Uncut and girthy.

“You want this?” He strokes his full length and the head of his cock is swollen and seeping as he pumps himself. You have never seen such a beautiful dick. You feel like a feral cat, ready to beg for scraps.

You let out a moan and slide yourself back into his lap. The heavy weight of his cock slaps against your belly. You try to rut up against the underside of his shaft. Anything for some friction. He denies you contact and takes it back into his hand.

“Gonna’ have to ask real nice, sweetheart.”

“Joel. Please.” You beg.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me.”

Joel shifts under you and gets up from his seat, pulling you up with him. One arm finds the small of your back and pulls you up close to him, and the other he snakes between you. He brushes two fingers up and down the length of your slit until they are wet. He thumbs at your clit and plunges his two fingers deep inside you.

The stretch is a lot to take so suddenly but you are primed and begging to have any part of him inside you. His fingers were thick. If you weren’t soaking wet for him you might shudder at how gritty and filthy they were.

He can feel your walls flutter around him as he thrusts his fingers deep, finding that perfect spot inside that makes you come undone.

“There she is.” He smirks as he looks over his nose and down to you and watches your eyes go wide when he touches you just right. Writhing by his hand.

He fucks you until you come, soaking his fingers with your release and breathlessly moaning his name.

He pulls his fingers from you and licks them clean with his tongue. Savoring your sweetness. Pleased with his handiwork.

While you are looking fucked out but still wanting more he doesn’t give you time to recover.

“Oh, did you want a taste, sugar?” He doesn’t wait for you to respond and presses his mouth into yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue. Under normal circumstances you may have found that revolting, but he had a way of making you feral for any contact with him.

You moan as he wraps his tongue around yours. His taste mixed with yours is intoxicating. He reluctantly bites at your lip when you find the strength to pull away.

As much as you enjoy being pleasured by his touch, your mind is clouded by desire to have his cock inside you. Under the baking sun, nothing could quench your thirst more than having his cum spilling into your throat.

“Your turn.” You bite your tongue as you hold back a wicked smile and press away from him. You tug at his jeans and boxers enough that they slide down him. He hastily kicks off his work boots and steps out of them fully.

You take in his perfectly sculpted body. Under all that filth he really was a sight for sore eyes.

You drag your hand down his chest and your fingers trace over his thick happy trail. You step towards him and back him to the edge of the boat while your hand wraps around his shaft. Your delicate, soft fingers are laughable in contrast to his size. You slide a finger down his full length, tracing his pulsing vein. You tease his sensitive tip with a feather touch. He is ready to burst and you don’t want to wait another moment.

He widens his stance and groans softly as you drop to your knees and take him in your mouth. Your hands hold him at the base while you swirl your tongue around him and lick the underside of his cock.

His fingers tangle in your hair as he firmly holds onto you.

You bob your head slowly as you take in more and more of him and he bucks into you. You move your hands to wrap around the back of his thighs as you take him deeper.

You can feel his restraint to take it slow and gentle but it is waning the longer you have him in your throat. Your eyes swell with tears as you try to relax and let him fuck your mouth.

“Look at you. Taking me so well.” He rests his head back and grunts as you pull back and suck on his tip. The salty taste of his precum invigorating you to suck harder as you hollow your cheeks. You feel his cock twitch and pulse and he is so close to bursting inside you.

He suddenly pulls you off of him with a rough grip in your hair. Your swollen lips and open mouth looking pitiful as it loses contact from him.

“Not yet.” He groans. “Gonna make that pussy mine first.” His words fire out through clenched teeth and his eyes are blown out and dark. He pulls you up by your hair. You gasp at the audacity and his roughness.

You stumble over your words of protest and excitement as he pushes you over to the back seat. Even if it’s morally fucked up, you do want him to claim you.

He bends you over the back seat so your knees are perched on the seat and your body is splayed over the back. He pushes his body up against you and nudges you with his cock as he leans over you to speak into your ear.

“Look.” He sighs, picking up that you are having some concerns about this behavior. “Seen him fuck more than one woman on this boat. He’s a loser.”

“Don’t I know it.” You nod in agreement.

He presses his cock against your ass and has you pinned down under his weight. He slides a hand up the side of your thigh and around your front to make a little room between you and the seat. He gently grazes your clit and lets his middle finger dip into you to gather some of your slick. There is no hiding how wet you are for Joel Miller.

“I’m gonna fuck you right, f’this is what you want.” He kisses you in the crook of your neck as you push back against his cock.

You want him inside you. You need him inside you.

“Fuck me, Joel.” He drags his free hand down your spine as he stands upright. You arch your back as he slinks his hand between your legs to press them open.

His cock is still wet from your saliva and he rubs your slick over it for good measure.

“Alright, sugar.” He pushes the head of his cock into you and you claw at the seat under you. His fingers were a lot but they paled in comparison to this. He grunts as he pushes in deeper, taking it slow and letting his cock drag heavy against your walls.

“Goddamn you’re tight.” He picks up the pace and digs his nails into your sides as he pulls you hard against him.

The stretch from him hurts so good. With each thrust he makes more room for himself inside you and you welcome him in eagerly.

He grabs a fistfull of your ass and slaps you hard. You wince at the sudden sting. He claws his fingers back into your sides and holds you tight. He has to be close to finishing. He has been painfully hard for too long to hold out much longer. You are almost there yourself. Filled to the brim by his thick cock.

He lifts one leg onto the seat for more leverage as he pounds into you. He pulls you up so your back is flush with his chest and furiously grabs at your breasts. Each plunge of his cock goes deeper and harder. His hands grab desperately at anything to hold onto, pinching at your skin.

You are teetering on the edge of release. Screaming his name loudly where no one can hear but him. It's cathartic.

He pushes you back down roughly and comes undone inside you. Snarling and panting as he unloads his hot cum deep inside you.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” He pants.

You moan and milk his cock as you ride out your shared climax.

As your breathing slows he plants his foot back down and eases out of you slowly. His spend drips out of you and down your leg. You feel like a slut. Joel’s slut.

You crawl down into the seat and lay on your back, with the biggest smile on your face. You have never felt more alive.

You both take a much needed dip in the lake before ending your boat ride. It is refreshing and intimate floating with Joel. For a greasy boat mechanic, he was good company.

When you get back to the marina and Joel parks the boat the moment is bittersweet. You know this can’t happen again and you know you will never stop wanting it to.

“She rides good.” Joel teases as he peels himself away from the captain's chair and goes to step off the boat. “Hope my works’ to your satisfaction, ma’am.”

“Joel?” You bite your lip as you smile at him.

“Mmm?” He looks at you from the dock.

You smile, shyly, struggling to find the words. Joel makes a zipper motion across his lips. He knows exactly what you are trying to say.

“Between you and me, sweetheart.”

With a wink he turns and disappears down the dock.

You resume your leisuring in the sun, plotting when you can do this again.

As always love to my sluts 🧡 @magpiepills @legendary-pink-dot @exquisiteserotonin @for-a-longlongtime @pink-whiskey-woman

@youandmeand5bucks @sparklefarts38 @redhotkitchen

And tagging friends who I hope will enjoy this one too. Love you all, thank you for supporting my shenanigans 🧡

@toxicanonymity @joelsgreys @yxtkiwiyxt @itwasntimethatdidit40 @thebeldroramscal

@schnarfer @tonysopranosrobe @milla-frenchy @nerdieforpedro @mountainsandmayhem

@sin-djarin @strang3lov3 @guiltyasdave @iamskyereads @maggiemayhemnj

@gasolinerainbowpuddles @yourcoolauntie @inept-the-magnificent @604to647 @sawymredfox

@murder-wife @pedroswife69 @yorksgirl @moonlitbirdie @pedropeach

Banner by me. Divider credit to @saradika-graphics

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal fandom #the last of us hbo #the last of us #arcanefox fics #see how she rides #boatmechanic!joel #boat mechanic smut #pedro pascal #sleazy joel

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theamberparadise · 13 days ago

Text

BEN DROWNED THIRSTS

includes three NSFW drabbles. (dear lord. Here we fucking go) (I'm not even sure if these are counted as drabbles anymore they're so long.)

TWs; semi-public s3x (in the mansion's living room) , use of "b1tch", "wh0r3", improper use of wires, reader's boyfriend ch34t1ng on her, very brief mention of gore, blood from aforementioned gore, BEN begging for reader to send n00ds, cnc

BEN shoving the handle of his game controller inside your sopping wet cunt after making you lose the game on purpose.

You dont know how you got here.

Well, actually, you do.

You were about to lecture BEN on freezing your character on purpose during your fifth round of street fighter just to make you lose, enabling him to snag the unfair ultimate win.

You were fuming. You pressed every single button on your controller in a fury, squeezing on the L and R tabs before the back of your neck is grappled onto and your face suddenly meets the cushion.

Trying to rise up, your body strains and fails, falling back face-first once again onto the stuffy covers of the couch, a pair of cold, heavy metal chains weaving through your wrists.

Your knees can feel the hard structure under the soft material, and your back was aching on how much it ended up arching against its whim.

You were restricted. And you were exposed.

And yet, you've made no other effort to try and struggle against BEN's control.

A part of you tried to say something, but only a whimper slithers its way through your lips.

BEN chuckles at this, a few repeats of his guffaws loops over again in a glitched out manner, seeing your thighs tremble right before his very eyes. You twitch as soon as his ice-cold fingertips made their way under the waist band of your red boy shorts, tugging them down until your bent knees.

You feel a regrettable heat across your face when the cold, empty, mocking air kissed your bare cunt.

"No panties, babe?" his thumb pressed on the space right between your asshole and the edge of your cunt, almost as if it was threatening to shove itself inside.

You can only do so much but let out only a whine, hands balling into fists-- both in frustration and impatience.

His thumb then slides itself down until it meets your clit.

Your teary eyes close themselves, hips moving on their own nudging at him, begging to be finally relieved of what you've been so deprived of since coming to this hell of a mansion.

BEN notices this, of course. He grins even wider at the effort, clicking his teeth at the show he found himself tuning in.

"Just like that, bitch. Grind on it, grind on it just like that. Fuck yeah," he chided.

The blinking screen with the paused game displayed was long forgotten. It had been so long since you felt like this, not even your vibrator can match the feeling, not even close.

And as if he can read your mind, he struck your ass and gripped it like he wanted to mark you.

"Much better than that subpar pathetic little vibrator of yours, huh?" you thought you couldn't get any redder. But then again, he wasn't any better.

You manage to choke out, "N-not like your tentacle hentai c-can do much e-either..."

You can basically feel his stare getting hotter by the second.

"So you do know these walls were thin," His grip was tighter, now. "And yet you kept on using your little pink pill. It's like you wanted me to hear, didn't you, pixie?"

Without warning, he raised his free hand up and shoved two fingers inside your sopping cunt, immediately curling itselves inside you, while drilling in and out rapidly.

You squealed and whined in inconsistent, loud bursts. Your thighs seem to be moving on their own, swaying and pushing your own cunt more and more onto his fingers.

Maybe you really did wanted him to hear you almost every nightnight, if this is what you would get in return.

"You have any idea on who's really been controlling the settings on your toy, pixie? Any idea on who's been turning it on and off whenever you're about to cum?" his fingers continued to ram itselves so deliciously inside your dripping pussy while you wallow in the sudden realization on why your vibrator has been misbehaving lately.

Honestly, you should've known. Your room was beside his, and you already had an idea on how flexible his abilities can be. You just never realized he'd take so much interest in using it on you.

The sudden absence of his fingers put you off-guard as you see his shadow reaching out to the table. You growl in frustration.

"Easy now, girlie. Wanna do something," He condescendingly muttered.

When you feel him sit upright on the cushions behind you, you turn your head at him.

In his hand, sits his controller. He waved it at you like a mocking reward, before glancing at it once again.

With a slight raise of his eyebrow the controller suddenly began vibrating like it would when his game character took a hit, except this time-- it was him making the offense.

Your eyes widened, and before you begin to say anything he shoves the handle of the controller inside your cunt, its constant bursts of vibrations shakes you like a leaf. You moan, almost scream in ecstacy, like a curse within you was finally lifted.

"Ben!" you moaned out, dragging his name out on your drooling tongue.

"Yeah, pixie? Got something to say?" He mocked, nudging the controller up and down repeatedly, watching small spurts of your juices stain the cushions beneath him and you.

He laughs, free hand reaching down once again to rub your clit harshly, catching endless amounts of your slick ont his cupped palm.

"Shit-- don't you think you're liking this a little way too much than you're supposed to, bitch?" he scoffed, while you can only muster up another loud squeal, the vibrations getting more intense by the minute.

"If you do actually like this, then," he sighed, chuckling darkly while pressing the controller deeper, making you let go and squirt all over him and the couch, leaving behind a big, shameful mess that dripped on the floor. "Fuck. I think it's game over for me too, baby."

While inside an abandoned networking station that The Operator had sent you two out to recon and investigate in, BEN takes advantage of the isolation and fucks you with the overlaying wires that tangled from the ceiling. And instead of telling him off, you dance for him.

It was easy-- get in, scope the place, see if the routers can be repaired and leave.

Except, now you couldn't do that; because when you leaned backwards onto the dusty table where the monitors lay, pesky wires started to slither under your shirt.

You breathed, then smiled.

Upon looking up, you find your cheeky mission partner grinning at you.

At his side, his fingers were wiggling and twirling, it was clear on who had control of these neglected tech that were now paying attention to you.

BEN just couldn't resist ogling at your presses tits under the corset you wore, and you swear you felt him lightly grazing his fingertips just above where the rips of your leather pants reveal your skin.

The drive was almost an hour long, and now he finally gets to touch you without disturbing your focus-- and you weren't complaining.

In fact, he keeps on pestering you about sending your nudes to him every time he gets horny. (And those times, were-- well. Every time.)

And you loved it. You loved at how his black scleras almost tear up whenever you try avoiding him in the hallways, how his code flashed at you for a moment when you give him a little sneak peek in front of the others, and the slight tint his ears would emulate when you let yourselves check each other out on training.

You giggle at the thought. You can feel the coolness of the metals that were sticking out of the slender rubbers, sending goosebumps wherever they touch.

"Begging for a preview, baby boy?" He pouts at the nickname, earning you a slap on the side of your ass from a thick USB wire.

You squeal playfully before reaching up on the zipper of your corset, licking your freshly glossed lips before pulling them down ever so slowly.

But before you can even get to your midriff, an aux cord wrapped itself around your wrist firmly, raising your dominant hand up in the air.

Then, another wire raised your other hand until both were wrapped over your head. Your feet were now being grappled on by the lower cables behind your heels, and you looked as if you were being crucified.

The monitors behind you suddenly flicked on, displaying bright white static as the speakers above you blared a song-- which of you knew was BEN's choice.

The side monitor on your left (by which you figured was the source of the audio) flickered a tab, with the iconic pause-play buttons with a title on top.

"Is There Someone Else? - The Weeknd"

The beat started and you can hear the own sounds of your zipper being pulled all the way down until it popped, dropping your corset to the ground.

Your belt followed. Then your pants, then your bra, then your panties.

BEN was watching you like a hawk ready to eat. And you were more than happy to take the place as his prey.

It wasn't long until two wires started prodding at your clothed cunt, rubbing and circling at your hole.

You couldn't help but moan when the wires entered you, ramming in and out, both at separately delicious paces.

Your hips were met with BEN's cold palms. He leans in-- close, until his chin was resting on your shoulder, swaying your hips side to side.

You were gasping and whining his ear off, the constant please, please, please that leaked from your lips like sin, begging to be forgiven.

BEN rocks your hips back and forth, left and right in accordance with the song's distorted and echoing beat, making the gooey, spongy spot inside you melt from the constant prodding.

Another wire wedged itself between your teeth, wrapping itself around your head, making you bite on a makeshift gag.

You play along, nudging your clit on the metal of his belt for more friction, tilting your chest up and down so your nipples can harden even more.

He notices this. He notices everything. From the way you squeal a little louder than you already were when he rocks your hips faster, the way your teeth gently bites the side of his jaw a little more tighter when he forces you deeper...

"C-cock.. pleash.." you desperately begged, his hard on practically staring at you from below.

"Aw," he cooed at you as if you were but a baby. "So now you're desperate?"

He lifts his head, making your foreheads touch each other, the forced proximity between you two releases even more slick from your cunt, adding more wet onto the floor.

"Can't believe you were hiding all this from me," he reaches for your nipple and tugs at it harshly, before patting your hip in cunning encouragement.

"C'mon, girl... work for it."

After witnessing your boyfriend's head blow up in front of his screen in real time, a digital entity pushes you inside your former lover's hentai porn, causing you to be used by the entity while you watch your boyfriend's corpse bleed out while you get ruined in a digital realm of sex.

If only you got there in time.

You were getting stalked, not by a real person, but by something. And that something: was a cursed version of Zelda who goes by the name of BEN.

At first, you didn't know what he wanted. But his intentions became clear after three weeks of mental-- and sexual torture that he himself instilled.

All it took was one sketchy link on a sketchy website promising a part time job at a little restaurant to get him to appear.

You tried to resist. You needed to resist. Because the way he made you feel, was anything other than what you have experienced before.

And when he revealed to you that your "scum of a boyfriend" was cheating on you on several sites after it was eating up at you ever since your second anniversary with him.

You sobbed, of course. You were at an all time low, now. The person you gave two years of your life to, was sexting other girls behind your back.

But after he told you he was about to kill your not-so-significant other, you panicked.

You tried to tell him that it might be you the police will accuse the murder of, but he was already gone.

So, you put on what you could from your laundry basket and sprinted to your boyfriend's apartment, but once you saw the haunting red pooling on his bedroom carpet, it was too late.

His corpse seemed shell-shocked. You glanced at his monitor screen and you can see flickers of green code glitching in and out of a hentai anime your boyfriend apparently watched. You blush.

Out of stupid curiosity, you slowly stepped closer and closer to the screen, before being pushed inside the surprisingly physically accessible.

You grunt at the fall and after you take a look at your now-animated hands, you come to the conclusion that you were in a world that wasn't yours.

You met the entity face to face, and bit by bit, one thing led to another.

A lick turned to a kiss. A kiss turned into hickeys. Hickeys turned to undressing each other.

He terrified you. Yet, you didn't fight back.

And before you knew it, you were being pounded doggy style against the virtual barrier that reveals the gnarly sight of your now-dead boyfriend.

BEN tugs your hair up, giving you a full view of what he's done.

"Look at him. Fucking look at him!" he hissed, ramming into you even harder.

"What the fuck did I tell you, huh? What the fuck did I tell you?" the side of his face was touching yours, his breath lingered on your ear.

"H-he..ungh!" you choked out. His other arm was hooked on your neck, leading to your voice becoming strained and broken.

"He what? What, pixie?" he growled in an awfully, mocking glitched manner.

"H-he... ishn't.. Guhck! good enoufgh... for-- m-me!" you broke out. His chuckle was echoing in your ear.

"And who the fuck owns you? Who makes you feel this way?" when he realized you were too cock-drunk to respond, he strikes on your ass, earning a squeal from you.

"Y-you! Only you..!" You mewled out.

"That's right, bitch," he rammed into you harder. "Fuck-- you're gonna make me insane, girl."

You were screaming in ecstasy at this point. It didn't take you long to finally let go what you've been holding in for him, shaking and squirting all over the animated floor in his digital world, feeling his warm cum coat your ass.

You drop flat on the floor, your red, sore ass remaining in the air, fully exposed to him-- and only to him.

"Whore," He spat. Chuckling in a repeated manner, he palmed your ass, lotioning in his cum deeper and further up to your hips. All you could do was whine pathetically.

"I wonder how that would look like in real life," he teases. "Preferably with you covered in that pig's blood. Oh-- red would look so good on you, pretty."

#ben drowned x reader #ben drowned creepypasta #ben drowned headcanons #ben drowned #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta au

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vagabond-umlaut · 8 months ago

Text

ramé

love.

a word everyone spells as l-o-v-e, except one certain young sorcerer – to whom it appears h-a-p-p-y, to whom it appears h-a-v-o-c – to whom it appears the shape of the letters of your name.

you, on the other hand, forget how to spell when the same word is before you – a fact which, your admirer reckons, would have been a major problem were he not he – that is, were he not the one and only 'gojo satoru'.

and thus begins, the plan.

and thus begins, the six steps to catch one's crush's eye — by the six eyes.

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

tags: set during gojo's past arc; childhood friends to lovers; pining-since-forever!gojo; oblivious-since-forever!you; tooth-rotting fluff; adorable banter; height difference; all your friends ship satoru & you; they all are very tired of you both as well; satoru & you-hashtag [not-canon-yet] relationship goals; angry protective gojo; hell lots of teasing; misunderstandings; arguments; angst with a VERY HAPPY ending

wc: 12k+ (i'm genuinely so proud of this, guys(gn) :D)

notes: decided to republish my most popular fic so far to celebrate my blog crossing 1000 followers! tysm for all the love and support u hv shown me, besties!!! <333 btw, jjk isn't mine. dividers by @/inklore. hope u enjoy reading this!

|1/6| overhaul your wardrobe.

a low whistle leaves gojo as he appraises himself in the mirror.

snow white hair neatly trimmed with short bangs, sunglasses from gucci giving a peek of his transfixing blue gaze, a fitting tom ford white shirt paired with black slacks and designer shoes, and, to top it all off, a perfume by bleu de chanel he bought especially for today...

there's no way in hell you won't find him attractive today.

with a smug smirk, the first-year swings the door to his dorm wide open, ready to astound the two waiting outside with his insanely good looks - and pauses, boisterous shout dying within his throat.

"'toru!!" you exclaim as you jump off the balustrade you were seated on and rush to him, a wide grin splitting your face into half. "surprise, i caught an earlier train!"

in spite of the shock, the boy feels his lips lift in a smile.

it's been nearly a year since the last time the two of you were face-to-face; you're still as beautiful as you were then.

"hey shortie," the words leave him in a whisper as you wrap your arms around him - only for a pained 'ouch!' to escape him a second later. massaging his side where you pinched him, the boy watches you step back with a scowl. (faux, of course.)

"call me that one more time and no one can save you from my wrath."

"wrath?" chuckling, gojo bends a bit to be your eye-level. you narrow your eyes at him. "you think that can scare me? the gojo satoru?"

"it sure can," folding your arms across your chest, you throw him a smirk in the next instant. "if it makes me share all the mochi i bought with ieiri senpai and geto senpai, and not give you the tiniest bit of it."

eyes widening behind glasses, a gasp escapes him. "you wouldn't!"

"i would," you answer, the same smirk as before still on your lips.

gojo backs off.

you're nothing if not awfully determined to make your promises see the light of the day. if he continues pestering you, the young sorcerer knows he'll actually not get a single morsel of those delicious sweets.

"you know what," a familiar voice cuts in through his thoughts and the boy twists to find his best friend walking towards him. sending him a discreet wink (which he deems is 100% suspicious), suguru reaches your side and continues, "satoru here was really excited about you coming to meet him."

"oh, is it so?" your smirk gives way to an angelic smile. gojo wishes it was directed at him instead of that long-haired bastard.

"yeah," said bastard meanwhile agrees with an overeager nod. "shoko and i too were really excited to meet the girl our friend is so infa-"

a tense silence befalls the corridor when suguru abruptly stops in the middle of the sentence. gojo swears if you weren't standing there, in front of them, he would have murdered his friend in cold blood today.

"infa-?" you prompt, smile dropping a little as your confused gaze darts from one to the other. gojo forces a chuckle out.

"it's nothing, don't you worry," he tries to draw your attention away, when shoko swoops in, like the savior she is (gojo decides to buy her one month's supply of cigarettes) and inquires, "hey, you haven't seen satoru in months, right? any change you find in him?"

that seems to be the trick. a curious glint shines in your eyes as they travel up and down his figure - appreciatively for sure, the boy says to himself. you too seem to have a liking for expensive things, after all.

after two seconds of close inspection, you turn to shoko with a bright smile. gojo's soul goes soaring at the sight in the clear skies above.

"nope! he's the same old 'toru i've always known."

gojo's soul crashes down upon the earth, splintering at the impact.

his two classmates give him a look before shoko asks again, a mild disbelief to her tone, "you really don't find anything new about him? like, maybe he has grown taller? or maybe, more handsome?"

"anything else which you never even expected, maybe?" suguru pipes in from beside him. gojo shoots him a grateful look, all past offenses already forgiven and forgotten.

a beat passes before you shake your head. "nope. nothing about him is new. though, when you speak about unexpected..." you trail off with a contemplative look.

shoko encourages you, "when we speak about unexpected-"

"i never expected you to be so pretty," you finish the sentence for her with a small smile. gojo's jaw drops to the ground. okay, what the fu-

"oh," shooting him an amused smirk, shoko faces you. "and why is it so? why did you not expect me to be so pretty?"

"it's not my fault," you reply, sending him an accusatory glance as you continue, "when i asked 'toru if his new classmates are good-looking, he said they aren't. he said you all look really plain."

"do you find me plain or handsome?" suguru butts in, ignoring the blue-eyed glare boring holes into the side of his head.

"you're plain," the short reply comes in an instant from you - and even in the midst of his gloom for going unnoticed, gojo finds it within himself to smirk at his best friend's withered face.

in the meantime, you continue speaking to shoko, unperturbed.

"yeah, so imagine my surprise when i met you at the torii gates earlier today. with such a stylish bobcut, cute face and flawless skin... i really thought you were a model, ieiri-senpai."

you pause for a second - undoubtedly to catch your breath from that non-stop chatter; gojo knows your habits like his own by now - then ask the girl who's watching you with a pleased expression, an excited grin threatening to bloom on your face, "are you a model, senpai?"

said senpai lets out a chuckle in response.

and despite feeling dispirited (and very, very jealous of that shoko for hogging all your attention), the white-haired boy cracks a fond smile, watching you be so cheery.

yeah, you certainly are one very dense dumbass.

but, he too is gojo satoru - and he will get his feelings across to you.

|2/6| display your strengths.

being a show-off is what gojo's the best at - besides yearning for you from afar, that is.

a wide grin stays on his face as he watches you approach him, a tad ahead of your classmates - two boys, nanami kento and haibara yu.

being in the first year, neither of you three can take part in the kyoto sister-school goodwill event - that doesn't stop you all from being spectators, though - which is what's enough for the gojo's plans.

a call of his name drags him away from gazing at you - you look good in that tee of his, you accidentally shrunk in the laundry - and twists back to find his teacher frowning at him.

the second-year finds it hard to wear the same grin. "yo yaga sensei, what's up?"

the man lets out a long-drawn sigh.

"don't overdo it, satoru," he says - the boy opens his mouth, ready to retort with a quip - only to be stopped by an unfamiliar expression overcoming the teacher's features.

it's a horrific insult of a smile, the young sorcerer realizes after a beat.

yaga, meanwhile, continues with that same expression, "i too was young once. i can understand what you're going through now - which is why i won't stop you from showing your talents to her or whatever. just... remember no one should die."

a quiet nod is all the boy manages in reply, too overwhelmed for a bit by the fatherly care yaga insists on giving him despite the annoyance suguru and he equally insist on being to their sensei.

with a pat on the shoulder, yaga leaves in the direction of the other faculty and staff. schooling his expression, gojo shoots suguru a look.

"hey suguru, how did yaga get to know about me and her?"

"who is her, gojo senpai?" a sweet voice chips in, soon followed by your teasing grin floating into his line of vision.

the boy averts his gaze for a beat - flustered by the sheer proximity between both of your faces which could be closed were he not such a coward, stop smirking, suguru - before sending you a wounded look.

"since when did i become gojo senpai to you?"

"since today," you reply with a tight smile. gojo doesn't like it one bit on your face. "i've been asked by the higher-ups to act professional with you."

a moment passes - wherein the boy registers the statement - before red flashes in his vision. placing his hands on your shoulders, he asks, or rather, demands to know, "did they hurt you? or threaten you? give me their names. who were those fucking bastards?"

brows furrowing, you place your much smaller hands atop his. "relax. nothing happened," you whisper, so quiet only he can hear it, "they don't have the guts or power to hurt or threaten me. all they told me is to, i quote, refrain from calling you such terms of endearment again. and i was like, okay."

a small smile settles on your lips as you take his hands in yours and start rubbing circles into them. the boy feels a lot of his tension drain away. smile brightening (you too seem to have realized the effects of this gesture on him), you add, "plus, it's only four years. once we've both graduated, i can get back to calling you whatever i want to call. those old geezers can't direct me then."

"they still can't now..." gojo begins - then stops.

with that bootlicker eldest brother you have, those old rats can now.

you give him a tired smile, words unneeded to confirm that the both of you are indeed cursing the same set of people now.

you open your mouth to say something - funny probably, if the shine in your eyes was anything to go by - before a muted cough pops the bubble you two had unconsciously slipped into.

and with an entertained smirk at the boy, who immediately seperates your linked hands, shoko informs, "sensei's calling for you, gojo. the competition's about to begin."

acknowledging her with a brief nod, gojo returns his focus to you, looking for a sliver of fear or anxiety in your face - one he'll soothe away with a gentle smile and maybe, just maybe, a forehead kiss - only for all his dreams to be dashed in the dirt.

you're peering up at him, beaming excitedly.

"go, beat 'em, senpai," you cheer him with a fist pump. an amused snicker sounds somewhere behind. your zeal doesn't budge one bit. "go, kick those kyoto students' asses. i know you will win."

and win, your white-haired senpai does - nothing new it it.

and you too seem to be very happy at it - again nothing new in it.

'cause when do you not congratulate him with a blinding beam every time the boy is successful - be it at making those pretty origami stars the way you taught him to; or at defeating a weakass sorcerer in a lame match.

however what is new is the fact you've grown rather competitive - not that gojo minds it in the slightest, though. quite the contrary, in fact.

"aren't you being a little too confident?" you inquire, throwing him a peeved glance, "every opponent you face in the future won't be as weak as those two kyoto boys today. you sure you'll stay invincible then too?"

resting his chin on the chair he is straddling, the second-year smirks, "any way you can prove i won't, shortie?"

geto sends him a questioning look while ieiri looks away from them to the scenery outside, giving a long sigh. his other two kouhais, nanami and haibara, pause in their game of cards to look at you, confusedly.

gojo observes you ignore them, eyes trained on him only, lips curving slowly into a sharp grin. gods, can you get any lovelier than this?

"well..." you drawl, keeping your focus on him. a flush creeps up the sides of his neck, which he earnestly hopes goes overlooked by you.

it doesn't go overlooked by your too-serious classmate, though - gojo spots nanami's eyes widen for a mere instant before reverting to their typical indifference.

you continue, grin simmering to a daring smile now, "why don't you find it out on your own tomorrow? twelve noon. practice field. what do you think, senpai?"

the sorcerer pretends to take a moment to regard your proposal, then shrugs. "sure, why not? sounds good enough to me."

with a wordless nod, the boy watches you return to the video game you were playing with his best friend - then look back at him on your name being called. an eyebrow rises in silent question.

seeing that the cue, he asks, "but what will the loser have to do?"

the reply comes with a smirk, your eyes dropping to your game. "you can buy me the latest version of this game. that'll be fine, i guess."

gojo was wrong - said person realizes as he watches the orange-red glow seep in through the window and render you an ethereal glow.

your competitiveness isn't the only thing new to him this evening.

your ability to make him even more head over heels for you than the boy already is (an impossible feat, really, given the chains and locks guarding him within, apart from the layer of infinity without)...

...this is yet another new thing gojo learns about you, this evening.

|3/6| gather info on your crush.

"oh, you wouldn't want to be friends with her."

the comment cuts through the air with a noisy chuckle and a raucous chorus of giggles - gojo's knuckles grow white with the painfully tight grip he has on the glass of mocktail.

suguru shoots him a contrite face from the other side of the crowd, mouthing an apology with a helpless shrug. the boy looks away from his best friend to throw a glance at the two girls a few seats away.

a beat passes wherein shoko and utahime share a brief look, and the former speaks up, an odd edge to her voice as she leans forwards, a smirk directed at the boy. "and why wouldn't geto? she seems like a pretty nice girl to be friends with."

your cousin scoffs. gojo seriously wishes there wasn't a strict rule set by his father for the clan members of not meddling in the other clans' matters, to maintain an image of neutrality and amiability.

(it's not like he prefers not to break rules or is afraid of his father, the boy thinks grimly as he gulps the last sip of his mocktail and returns the glass to the table with a thud. it's far from being either of those.

it's just that with a small response from him in this matter, you will be dragged under the elders' scrutiny; your friendship with him too will be - and that's something he would never wish upon you. so the boy stays quiet, opting to-)

"what the fuck did you just say?"

the chitter-chatter dies down to a deathly silence in an instant.

rising from his seat, gojo stalks towards the boy sitting on the couch. from the background, he can hear few voices urge him to stop, to get back, with repeated 'satoru, no' and 'satoru, relax' - but the boy finds not a cell in his body wanting to heed those voices. marching right up to your cousin, who shoots him a pathetically fake smirk now, the boy repeats himself, "what. did. you. just. say."

the target of the query huffs a chuckle, drunk and stinking - and your friend realizes now just how much of a diluted description of him you gave him the other day. the guy isn't just some petty irritating relative of yours, he is a fucking bastard.

a fucking bastard who's going to get beaten into a pulp, if he doesn't choose his next words wisely.

another chuckle leaves him, before he gets up from his seat, a slight sway to the action as he sneers at gojo. now, were the circumstances different, the white-haired boy is sure such a brazen person would've impressed him, who is the strongest sorcerer there is, but not today.

not when you're the one who is the innocent undeserving recipient of such a remark as the one he utters next.

"i just said, my cousin's a freak who can read someone's mind without them knowing - and she does that all the time for her sick enjoyment. no one can ever trust that bitch."

a fist connects with the side of your cousin's face and before anyone can realize what's happening, the two boys are rolling on the floor in a brawl, gojo obviously with the upper hand as he lands blow after blow and yell after yell on the other.

a quiet voice whispers to his conscience, chiding his response to the situation to be too harsh, too cruel - but no sooner does it appear than it is stomped down and shoved away by images from the past.

images of a little girl crying, yelling, screaming, eyes squeezed shut, how everything's so loud, how everyone's so noisy, how everyone just can't seem to stop talking of her - in the shocked silence of the party hall.

images of being informed over the phone, his friend won't be coming to play today either - for a class or a function or a cold, he cares the least for - before overhearing later at dinner, it's the fifth day the girl's been comatose since her last treatment.

images of brash celebrations revelling in the discovery and return of a technique, long thought lost - the new messiah, they exclaim - while the said person looks at the elders with face steeped in what, the boy doesn't need his six eyes to know, is terror.

images of a girl, saying in a surprisingly void tone, how horrible, how terrible, how despicable a weapon they've made her into - sneaking into people's minds to steal the meaning of their lives away - before giving a suggestion, too smart, too sharp for a girl of ten; although-

"satoru!"

the singular word snaps the sorcerer's thoughts into two, making him move his irate gaze away from the bloodied face of the bitch to the door-

oh.

it's you.

you, standing in the school uniform, a bag slung over your shoulders.

you, eyes round and lips parted as you stare at the scene before.

you, who takes only a second before you rush forwards, moving him away from your cousin, worried gaze raking over his features instead of the bruised wailing mess of a relative left behind.

"'toru," the word escapes you in a whisper as you maneuver him into sitting on the couch.

another voice wafts over to him, a lot like suguru's, but he pays it no mind, wanting to focus on you and you only, while your fingers travel over his face, brush his bangs away, tuck them behind the shell of his ear, then finally come to a rest on the apple of his cheeks, the grazing of the thumb soothing a minor cut.

though the way your eyebrows furrow at it, emotions darting across your face a million a second, from confusion to concern to anger - gojo reckons, were anyone to see you now, they would think it ain't a tiny nick but a gaping wound.

the white-haired boy grasps your wrist in his fingers.

"i'm okay, shortie," the second-year reassures you in a whisper. you peer at him closely in turn for a beat longer, before a long sigh leaves you though the frown on your lips stays the same. he would've called you cute if not for the murderous intent rolling off you in waves...

gojo decides to call you hot now.

a seething gaze with a soft "what happened, 'toru?" reaches him next.

oh yes, gojo swoons inwardly, you're being so fucking hot.

nuzzling into the palm cradling his cheek, the boy smiles. "nothing you need to worry about."

"it's your cousin," a female voice butts in before a known pair of heads walk into his vision, one smoking a cigarette while the other looks at him then you, mildly stunned.

shoko continues, as laidback as ever (as if she too wasn't glowering then), "suguru there asked him something about you to which the pig replied with some nonsense, because of which satoru here jumped in to defend your honour." your eyes travel from her to him. a whoosh of air leaves the girl and she takes a long drag from a cigarette. "nothing very serious, to be honest..."

"but nothing too unserious either," utahime adds, which earns a small nod from her girlfriend, "if the asshole dares to lie about you once-"

"what's to say he won't again," you finish the sentence for her, a dark shadow looming over your face, then throw the culprit a harsh look. "and what shit did you spout, mr. resident douchebag of the clan?"

a corner of gojo's lips quirk up at the nickname you gave, then part in a grin at the reaction your cousin gave to that. embarassed, for sure, yet never going farther than glaring at you from those swollen eyes.

if you weren't standing here, caressing his face, your friend's certain, he would have gone to tear him a new one - the latter still scowling at you whilst intermittently yelping at the pain of his wounds.

a long sigh escapes you, visibly tired and annoyed.

"i know you can hear me just fine by that stink eye you're giving me, so fess up now - what the fuck were you telling about me?"

an absolute silence answers your question, and just when gojo thinks he might have to leave your warm cocoon to go beat your cousin up, again, suguru's voice sounds from beside, "he was talking about your CT."

"oh?" a brow rises. "and what about it?"

"apparently - and i quote," the long-haired boy adds with palms raised and faced forwards, at the scowl he shoots him, "you can read others' minds without their knowledge, and you do that always. for fun, your cousin claims."

you blink, and turn to your relative; a mask, gojo observes with a hint of melancholy, slipping over your features - not that the boy blames you, though. you need a mask - now, most of all times.

"you said that, aniki?" you inquire, the caressing hand over gojo's skin stilling with a slight tremor. he envelopes your hand in his; an action you respond to with a squeeze, continuing, "but why did you? after all that happened, after all that everyone in the family knows, why?"

a stubborn scoff sounds from the other end of the room; one of the six eyes twitches in its socket.

"i don't think you should ask this question, shortie," the second-year hums, pulling a nonplussed face from you. he grins, "you can simply read his mind, no? your aniki won't be forced to give a reply; your ask too will be answered. besides, this isn't gonna be the first time you're breaking into someone's mind, and, your cousin's not even gonna feel his mind being read - a painless procedure - isn't that right, aniki?"

"fuck no!!!!"

and bingo!

gojo watches you cast a long look at him, then back at your cousin, before a slow smile spreads on your features, the glint so dear to him making a comeback in your eyes.

"not a bad idea, senpai," you say, lifting your free hand and directing it at the culprit. a few gasps sound around you, soon followed by a few murmurs - your senpai watches them slide off your skin like water off a duck's back. you announce in a sing-song fashion, "well, here goes nothing~"

then stop at the anguished cry, your smile widening into a grin.

sweet and smug, like the cat who got the canary.

gojo feels three pairs of eyes look at his smirk, all at the same time - the boy lets them look. the two of you share dynamics, the nature of which none, except you two, can ever dream of comprehending.

wailing, your cousin rises and stumbles over to you, hands folded in a pleading gesture.

"please, no, no, no," he sobs, very nearly falling at your feet before you take a step backwards, disgust overtaking your grin, sending the boy reeling back. "i beg you, no. please don't kill me. i was just kidding; it was just a joke. i'm sorry, don't kill me."

"kill you?" you let out a shocked gasp, placing a hand over your chest, "i would never. i was just trying to read your mind, aniki. why on earth would that kill you? you won't even feel anything-"

"it's the binding vow, you bitch!!" the boy spits, interrupting you, "the one you took years back, 'cause you didn't want the higher-ups to use you as a spy again; giving up the element of secrecy of your CT to-"

your cousin pauses, the realization and the ensuing horror and regret dawning over his face; gojo presses him, sharing a smile with you.

"to?"

the answer arrives as a shuddered whisper - a whisper audible to all, however, thanks to the heavy silence in the room.

"to make it lethal on its victim instead; an attack none can stop, not even a special-grade."

the crash of a glass, or five, impacting with the ground sounds; you give a satisfied nod, smirking.

gojo runs a palm over your dishevelled hair, undoubtedly from driving with the windows down to this stupid meet of the teenagers from the jujutsu clans. you give him a smile, mouth opening to say something, but he doesn't let you. "don't thank me, stupid."

"okay," you acquiesce, a slight huff to your tone before it grows softer, "but can i at least say you were being very cool then? i'm impressed."

"who's impressed with whom?" a crass voice interrupts the moment before gojo can even form it entirely between the two of you.

three - nope, five (even your classmates are here, tch!) teasing smiles float into his vision; the second-year opens his mouth to throw back a retort - except you snatch the opportunity away from him.

"i'm impressed with gojo senpai- any problems, anyone?" you say, tilting your head to one side with the cutest little furrow in the midst of your brows. all five shake their heads, smiles widening before one of them falls on your next words.

"but the next time i see you, geto senpai, asking others what sort of a person i am - don't you dare deny it, you asked two of my friends too the same thing, they told me; god knows why you need my character certificate, though, and for whom; you're acting as if you've a sibling i wish to date and you wanna know everything about me before giving the green signal, but whatever it is, senpai-"

you heave a breath, a break from your tirade - while the remainder of the room's breathing stays suspended.

gojo glances away from you to find the attention of all the attendees fixed on you. he wraps an arm around your midsection and rests his chin on your shoulder. you lean the side of your head onto his.

"i promise i'll create problems for you, more if i see gojo senpai being dragged into the aftermath of your curiosity - okay?"

gojo watches his best friend look at you, terrified, for a second before turning to throw him a glare. the white-haired boy bites back a grin.

placing hands on his hips, suguru exclaims, "you know what, i tried to help but no one here is worthy of my assistance."

"no one asked you for this help, suguru," shoko interjects smoothly, "you were the one who insisted, something about this method being the most effective or something if they want to catch her attention-"

"whoa, whoa, whoa. who wants to catch my attention?" you inquire, cutting them two off. gojo's classmates stop and the blood flowing in his veins drops to a subzero as he cranes his neck to look at you.

you twist to look back at him. "is there someone who wants to catch my attention? do you know them?"

"i-uh-um," the boy stutters, mind scrambling for a reply - something, anything - before nanami interrupts, a small smile on his face, "yeah, there is someone, actually, and we all know him. geto senpai was just gathering some data on you as his wingman."

"oh," you mutter, gaze dropping to the ground, then lifting to gojo. the boy simply blinks back, which draws a frown from you in turn.

retrieving a pair of shades from your bag, you hand it to him and turn back to suguru, a barely-there smile on your lips.

"next time he wants some info on me, ask him to ask me directly. i'll appreciate it."

"noted, boss," the words escape gojo before the addressed can even reply, utterly unmoved by the five exasperated glares [honestly, it's four: haibara can never really glare at anyone] - the next step of the plan already whirring to life in the shades-donning boy's brain.

so, so giddy at the fact of being told of the golden key to your heart.

|4/6| gather info from your crush.

"the moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

"so are you."

a long minute passes between gojo and you, gazes fixed on the other person and only them, before you lick your chapped lips - the boy's attention instantly going to that hynotic motion of your tongue...

and you pinch his arm.

"ow shortie!!!! what the fuck was that for!?!?" the boy yells, massaging the sore spot on his arm, before out of nowhere, the red signal glows green and he has to shift his focus to the steering wheel.

you toss him a mad scowl from the passenger's seat, one he catches effortlessly, winking, when an observation crashes upon him and he coos. "aww, did my itty-bitty-shortie-baby just get flustered by me? aww, is she blushing? aww, she's so cute!!!"

"i asked you to help me learn how to confess, gojo," you grumble with a glare at him, "not make fun of me."

your co-passenger makes an affronted face at your words, although, internally, he is beside himself. and to be honest, how can he not?

you're in the same car as him, on a three hour long drive from tokyo to nikko, exchanging declarations of love with one another while the boy's (spare) shades slide down the bridge of your nose and he hums along to the songs you choose on the stereo... if a few facts are being ignored (like the one where this is your mission and the two of you are in your uniforms), the second-year can totally imagine the two of you going on a weekend getaway as a couple now.

a soft smile settles on his lips, as he sneaks a glance of you from the corner of his eyes. "i wasn't trying to make fun of ya, shortie," he says, "i was just responding to your statement."

"but that directly?" you ask, shock and embarrassment flooding your face. your friend stifles a chuckle. "i commented on the moon being beautiful. you should've said something like 'it is, isn't it?' - but no, you went and replied, 'so are you'. my admirer will never be so direct with me; why don't you try to understand that simple fact?"

there are a few days when gojo is really divided between wanting to flick your forehead hard and wanting to kiss you senseless.

today seems to be one such glorious day.

swerving the car onto a stop by the side of the road, he lets his head fall onto the steering wheel and lifts it to lock his eyes with yours.

"and what makes you think your admirer won't be a direct guy?"

"the fact the guy couldn't even show his face to me once, and did not even want to share his contact details with me, despite me pestering him via suguru and nanami, for ages now."

okay, ouch, that one's on him.

yet, never being the one to accept defeat, he throws back, "and what if he wants to build up some mystery before your first meet? you love mysteries, don't you? the guy likes you; he must be trying to use that knowledge to confess to you."

"i like only murder mysteries, 'toru," your deadpan response arrives in a beat, which then evolves into curiosity when you ask, "but how do you know so much about these things? how many relationships have you been in, 'toru?"

it's gojo's turn to grow embarrassed now. hand reaching out to fiddle with the bracelet on your wrist, he answers, "zero."

"hey, don't be embarrassed," he watches you shoot him a grin. a tiny smile is all he manages to return while you continue, "i too have never been in a relationship. anyone you ever confessed to?"

"isn't that evident from my previous answer?"

"nope! you might've gotten rejected; who knows~"

the grin on your lips widens; gojo looks at it for once before dropping his gaze. under the interplay of the light and shadow from the leaves of the tree, there appears to be something different about you - the sorcerer can't really pinpoint what it is but he knows there is, and he doesn't want to dwell on it - lest he loses his self-control.

"i have never confessed to anyone, and whatever confessions i have received, i've either ignored or rejected them all."

"ooh, same!" your excited voice ringing within the confines of the car, you lift his palm to meet yours in a hi-five. gojo lets you do so - before you place it between your two palms and clasp it, a sharp gasp drawn from him at the action. you shoot him a concerned look.

"your hand's freezing cold, 'toru? you okay?"

"yeah, yeah, i'm fine," the boy mumbles, moving his hand away from your comforting warmth - an action he doesn't want to do but has to, for the sake of propriety. something happening out of sheer impulse isn't how he wants to start his story with you - you don't deserve that.

"um, okay," you mutter, then inquire, timid and awkward, "i've one last question on your love life... can i ask that? you can totally ask me to stop though if you're feeling uncomfortable."

"ask away," the boy answers with a smile, he can see, is tense in the mirror as he restarts the car and returns it to the road. a long second passes before you ask, "have you ever liked anyone, 'toru?"

"yeah... there's one girl. i love her."

"oh."

the monosyllabic answer sends a torsion through his chest and gojo twists towards you - only to find a cryptic smile resting on your lips.

discarding your shoes, you fold your knees upto your chest and rest your head atop them, facing him. your senpai is really thankful a soft song comes onto the stereo next, for were it not so, he's certain your soft question would have gone unheard.

"how does your first love feel? beautiful, right? the way it's in books, songs and movies... isn't it?"

gojo takes a moment to mull over your query.

it is... yet it isn't.

the flutters in his heart when you skip past him in the corridors with a beam; the butterflies in his stomach when you plop on the chair next to him in the cafeteria; the dizziness in his head when your face is too close to his; the utterly-unplatonic thoughts of you plaguing him, day and night, dusk and dawn...

the fictional works sure have got this aspect of love right.

but they aren't right in so many other aspects of it.

falling in love with you isn't love-on-first-crash nor is it from a magical transformation in one of you nor is it after ages and ages of ignorance and denial and the final mind-numbing feeling that oh shit! you're the one for him; always have been; the girls with whom he's been till now are mere mirages of you; but it's too late now... you're moving abroad on a flight in two hours, with a boyfriend who's far better than him.

no.

the goggles-wearing sorcerer's catching feelings for you is way more realistic and easier to digest than that.

the two of you are friends, friends, friends - until the morning the two of you are munching on an ice cream tub, and with a casual glance at you, the boy muses what he feels for you is weird, not like his feelings for his other friends - and after a month's worth research, reaches the conclusion of him being in love with you.

quick. direct. smart.

just like the heir of the gojo clan himself.

a small smile lining his lips on this short trip down the memory lane, your senpai hums, "it's complicated. you'll understand when you have your first love."

a soft sigh is the only response you give and gojo reaches over to give a small knock to the side of your head. "don't overthink, shortie," the boy says in a fond tone, a feeling which expands within himself at the smile you offer him, "everything's gonna be okay; i'll personally make sure it is."

"oh, yeah?" a brow rises while your eyes crinkle in a cheeky grin. "and how exactly do you plan on doing that? you gonna have a serious talk with my admirer or something, before our first date?"

if talks in the mirror over the bathroom sink counts, the white-haired boy has had countless discussions so far - but he doesn't tell you that - choosing to return your question with a question of his own.

one which has been pestering him for a while now.

"but, shortie... why the hell are you practising-"

"to confess now?" stealing his words from the tip of his tongue, gojo watches you let out a long tired exhale, then slump back in your seat, a hint of a smile on your lips. flying strands of your hair, from the wind rushing in through the open window, form a halo around your head-

your friend thinks you are an angel descended from above, no matter how you look.

a titter breaks his enraptured gaze on you, and he blinks, finding you with a tiny curve of your lips. you continue, "i wanna stay prepared. if not for this date, then another. if not for this guy, then another. but the thing is, i wanna stay prepared. for love and for everything that comes with it - besides..." your smile grows bashful, an emotion gojo instantly realizes is impossible for him to get tired of seeing on you; you shrug.

"the heart does what it wants, does it not?"

really??

the young sorcerer looks away from you for a beat, letting his gaze travel over the rows of trees dotting the increasingly mountainous terrain, then looks back at you.

the two of you are awfully close to the destination of your trip.

removing a hand from the wheel and reaching it out to intertwine his fingers with yours, the boy asks, "wanna go visit that patisserie i was talking of the other day after this mission? i've heard the sweets there are worth dying for."

"but won't it be late evening by the time our job's done?" you ask back with a frown, "and we also have to return to the school... why don't-"

"it's a full moon tonight, shortie," gojo interjects you with a soft little smile. you stare befuddled at him for a while, before the bulb lights to life in your brain - an event bringing a semblance of relief to the boy - and you laugh.

"oh, oh, oh!" you exclaim, waggling your eyebrows, "i know exactly what you're going to do. you're gonna create a romantic atmosphere to teach me how to confess, aren't you? method teaching - eh, 'toru?"

a chuckle is what gojo decides to offer to your buzzing curiosity, until later this evening.

"i'll let my heart do what it wants to do."

|5/6| splurge on gifts.

"and what can this be?"

the silver of the bracelet glints, the tiny sapphires in its rim adding a sparkling effect as you show it to gojo. the boy drags his gaze from it to you, lips pressing into a line as he takes in the way you're looking at him.

two months back, if someone even merely insinuated at the fact you might be growing distant from him, he wouldn't have thought once before retaliating with a mean word or hit.

and, to be just, why on earth would he not?

yes, the 'date' he had proposed to take you on post mission remained just a proposal - many thanks to the old geezers and their knack for providing severely understated mission details [bitter sarcasm wholly intended] - but that didn't drive a wedge between you both; quite the opposite, in fact.

two months back, he found you sobbing at his bedside in the school infirmary, lips pressing kisses to his bruised knuckles time and again, while you kept mumbling on how you should've been more wary and cognizant of your surroundings, how he shouldn't have switched his infinity off to guard you from the caving roof and how you would buy him a milion sweets if he promised to not be reckless, but wouldn't hesitate to kill him with your CT if he broke the promise even once.

lovingly overprotective in an irresistibly cute way - that's exactly how you grew to be around gojo in the days he was healing, in the latter's eyes. suguru and shoko's comments too grew less teasing and more encouraging with time then - something which made him think, the feelings in his being might not be as one-sided as he tends to believe at times.

something which made him think, there might not be a day he has to imagine without your radiant grin directed at him, for him, because of him.

yet, now... as he regards you with utmost attention...

the sorcerer can't help but deem the unimaginable to have occurred.

face grim, eyes dull, lips puckered into a scowl, every fucking time you've come across him since your return to school from your home...

it doesn't really take a genius to gather you don't really want to be in his vicinity - a realisation which leads to your best friend of a decade and a few years to shower a torrent of gifts on you.

under the impression, that's what will return your keen undivided gaze to him - an impression, he watches, being tainted wrong with every other second that passes under the fading daylight.

you return the bracelet to its box and place it in the bag, one the boy knows contains the other gifts he had left at your doorstep or sent via shoko or haibara to you, the past month - and one you intend to give him back - 'cause for what else could you have asked to meet him at the training grounds this evening, carrying the bag, if not this?

wishing, not for the first time, for his six eyes to be able to glean your current state of mind, he asks, scooting slowly, deliberately to your seated form on the bench, "did you not like it, shor-"

"please don't call me that."

the grin slowly unfurling on gojo's lips stutters, then vanishes in the heat of the fury of your eyes. he watches your gaze roam over his face once before skittering away. your voice grows a mild tremor, "please don't call me that. i don't want to hear that nickname ever again."

the soda can nearly slips from between his fingers onto the grass below before he grasps it again, firmer this time, and tosses it upside down to empty it into his mouth. it's a brand you had introduced him to, gojo reminisces, on a day just like this... grins and squeals as you jumped in front of the vending machine, so, so joyed that it had your favourite drink.

soon after, it became the white-haired boy's favourite drink too - but no longer now. not when the fruity tang of the liquid, which endeared it to you as you claimed, tastes like the metallic clang of blood to him.

now, many might call gojo overdramatic here - you've asked him not to call you that countless times now, for fuck's sake - but many don't know you the way your friend does. in horrifying contrast to before, a note of revulsion exists in your words.

undisguised disgust paired with loathing.

sharp enough to pierce infinity, past skin, muscles, ribs and layers of tissues and chains, into that stupid organ strumming melancholic rhythms now, your name bleeding raw from its walls.

superfluous, some might scoff - but they'll have never known there's a dark side to love, the one gojo's traversing now. though... the young sorcerer muses, finishing the drink and sending it into the trash can with a flick of his cursed energy, they'll never have known you. they'll never have known the degree to which the boy adores you, either.

a strong whoosh of wind hits the two of you, carrying the smell of wet earth with it. a sign of the arrival of your favourite season, your friend absently notes as he looks back at you.

the tip of your nose appears flushed red.

"and may i know why?"

shock brims your gaze at the soft question. gojo watches you cough up a strained chuckle. "i knew you to be more assertive. demanding. never thought you could request for an explanation... what changed, 'to-" you still for a beat, then continue, burning another bridge, same as the boy feared an instant too early, "i mean, gojo-senpai?"

"you're the best person to answer that," the mentioned person replies with lips forming a gentle curve. yes, the limitless user's always been one hell of a self-assured person - it comes free with the package of receiving god-like treatment by most from before you can crawl - but there exist times when all that - the fight, the zeal, the energy - every one of those just ebbs away from his body, rendering him the hapless spectator, and victim, to the car crash.

except a car crash might hurt less than the careless sneer you shoot his way, coupled with an eye roll. you never gave him such a look in the past, before you went back home for the vacation. just what-

"i think you know why i called you here, yeah?" you ask, picking the bag up and pushing it towards him. the things inside it rattle; the boy wonders if you even went through those two books he sent you. they were from the series you had babbled, ranted and gushed to him on for hours on end on numerous occasions, once upon a time.

gojo nods briefly, though doesn't spare it even a glance. it doesn't go past your notice, he notes, given the way your eyes jump from him to his gifts, then to your fiddling fingers. "well, that's one box ticked off," you say, "and as for the other-"

"i know that too; you need not say every fucking thing out loud," your senpai cuts you off with a mirthless inflection to his tone, eyes falling down onto his sneakers. it was a gift from you on his last-

bloody hell, why does everything have to be a sore reminder of you?

"not saying it out loud doesn't make it any less real," your quiet voice tears through his thought, and he looks up. hoping, desperately so, a tender smile is waiting on your features, reserved for him - only to see every hope of his get dashed into the dirt by your frown.

his best friend was right. gojo's pathetically down for you.

a thunder rumbles in the distance.

you continue, "but since you've asked me not to, i guess i won't. that's the least i can do-"

"but what went wrong?" the question hurtles past the confines of his mouth into the stormy air. and, for once, gojo decides not to conceal the moisture in his eyes behind his shades. removing the eyewear, he moves to sit right beside you, approaching to take your hand in his.

you jerk away from him.

as if you were fire and he, water.

as if you were sun and he, non-luminous scarred moon threatening to eclipse your joy.

the white-haired boy retracts his hand away. you glance at him once before averting your gaze away. he watches you clench your hands in a tight fist. "nothing was wrong, senpai," you mumble; gojo bites his lower lip to keep it from wobbling, "but there's always something tiny wrong in everything going right, ya know? i just feel we outgrew our phase of being friends."

the growl of thunder sounds closer this time. a drop of water lands on his thigh - the sorcerer doesn't bother to know if it is his eyes or those clouds above which finally welled over. voice thickening and breaking, a scoff leaves him, "you know, as well as me, that's the lamest excuse ever. and you called us being friends, right?" you take a moment then nod weakly. a pained sigh leaves him, "then what happened to being open with each other, hm? i thought we kept no secrets from each other."

the boy watches you keep your gaze stubbornly trained on the grass beneath. something within him breaks.

"c'mon, don't play dumb," gojo urges, plopping down onto the object of your attention, just so he can have a better view of your face. you face away with a frown. he prompts you again, hints of helplessness sneaking in between his words, "c'mon, shortie. don't look away with the shitty reason of us outgrowing our phase of friendship. we were - no, are the closest. you know, right? that you can tell me any-"

"not everything's meant to remain the same always, senpai!" the loud exclamation leaves your mouth. gojo stills and so do you. his eyes fall on the way you wring your hands once before stuffing them into your hoodie's pockets.

it isn't oversized on you, the realisation clicks into place in his mind.

you let out an exhale through your mouth, then pin him down with eyes teeming with what seems like weary distaste.

"can you please get up? you're creating an unnecessary scene right now."

if your words weren't enough, it's the way you utter them that leaves cracks and fissures in him. one more blow, and the boy's sure he'll be blown away into smithereens - an outcome he's trying to avoid [but knows, can't; every piece of armour he dons turns flimsy before you].

"is it 'cause you tended to my injuries then?" he asks. your lips strain into a line. casting him a sideways glance, you shake your head, "i'm many things but a liar ain't in the list, senpai. when i cared for you, it was from my heart. when i no longer wanna associate with you-"

a dark shadow falls over your features. rising from the bench, you shift your gaze skywards and back on him, "it'll rain pretty soon. you should get back inside."

there's something between summer evenings and you and him, gojo muses as he peers up at you.

it was a summer evening when you first came to visit the boy at this school.

it is a summer evening when you're turning your back on him in this same old school.

with the glaring exception of there being the warmth of your form beside him then versus the gnawing chill you're leaving behind now.

"you never completed your sentence," gojo points out, whispering.

[too loud and the sorcerer fears, the last interaction between the two of you will end as a horrid yelling match. besides, you like things with happy endings, don't you? he'll be sure to give you your happy ending as the last gift.]

you send a restrained twitch of lips his way. "i remember being asked not to say every fucking thing out loud, senpai."

a shaky smile is the only thing he finds he can muster in return, at the moment.

"suguru said you're leaving for your home tonight again," the student says, getting up from the ground and moving closer to, yet too far a distance from you. "don't drive with the windows down, okay? the weather's bad, you might catch a cold."

a muscle in your jaw twitches. the valley between your brows furrows.

gojo lets his smile widen a bit. so shallow. so hollow.

"don't worry," he says, "i'm taking this as seriously as you want me to. it's just that..." trailing off, the boy takes a step away. your feet move an inch towards him before you immediately withdraw them. a small mimicry of a laugh leaving him, gojo fixates his gaze on the iridescent colour of your irises.

"i've always seen you as someone way more than a mere childhood friend, y'know? and no matter what you say or do, i can never and will never stop seeing you the same way. i love you that much, short- oh! sorry, i'm not supposed to call you that, am i?."

a beat passes, then another, and another.

your response comes out as a garbled mess of letters and tears. "you're the worst person ever, 'toru. i hate you."

and with that and not another glance wasted anywhere, you whirl on your feet and dash back to the school.

leaving behind the echo of your words ringing in gojo's ears, louder than the thunder of the lightning crashing on a tree a little away.

|6/6| this isn't really a way. if you're at this step, just fuckin' stop and retreat. your crush won't ever notice you – you sad, pathetic loser.

"is that what you really think?"

gojo wonders if a momentous occasion as the one now deserves one brawl thrown into it or not. it won't be anything much; just dumping a bowl of soup down suguru's shirt and/or landing a pretty solid kick to his stomach and/or-

"careful, senpai or you might've to go home, bloody and beaten," the most monotone voice ever possible crashes into his thoughts in the worst possible way. a snicker, far too familiar, joins in. "yeah, nanami's right. besides, we haven't even clicked a pic yet. you wouldn't want to wear a black eye in it, would you?"

clinking his glass with shoko's, the white-haired watches suguru gulp down a shot of tequila, then give a mighty firm shake of his head. "no, of-fucking-course not. today is our dearest kouhai's important day; i don't wanna get involved in any drama now; though..." trailing off, the black-haired boy shoots gojo an awfully obvious side-glance before a look shared with the others.

the boy lets his eyes wander away from them. an abominably sharp acrylic nail pokes him in the cheek. gojo exhales a sigh, so exhausted.

were it just a day, the boy's certain to the hell and back, that he would have whipped up a snarky insult to the stink-eye aimed his way. the boy would have slapped his drunk classmate's hand away, calling her sense of fashion the worst names possible.

gojo, however, decides to resort to neither today. he decides to settle for a sigh - the second in the last minute, longer and wearier than the one before - and rests his face into the hollow of his palms, screwing eyes shut.

an exasperated grumble - or two, maybe - permeates the air.

"gojo senpai," the words ring out in a tone far too soft and worried. he muses he doesn't need to look to see the sympathetic frown haibara must be wearing, nor the varying degrees of pity and concern etched into the others' features. a warm hand squeezes his shoulder slightly.

haibara continues, "geto senpai is not entirely wrong, y'know? yes, of course, implying you might kick up drama is sorta wrong, i admit so. but otherwise... you could've tried to, i don't know, somehow find out the reason behind her sudden distance from you?"

opening his eyes, gojo twists to face his kouhai, ready to interrupt him, but stops at the earnestness in his gaze. "turning into a recluse or moping around isn't gonna solve anything, senpai. it's been more than a month since then and from what little i've seen, i can say it's eating the both of you alive. you, way more than her. so, go, speak with her," he urges him with a smile, "the others are not very well at showing their emotions but trust me when i say, we all are worried for you both, senpai."

the white-haired boy drags his gaze away from the speaker. suguru gives him a smile, shoko pokes him in the cheek again, nanami offers a fleeting impression of something smiley before looking away with a grimace.

gojo's eyes flit back to the encouraging boy before.

"okay," the upperclassman relents with a sigh, which instantly grows into a frown the moment every piece clicks into place in his mind and the goggles-wearing boy swears his heart skips a beat, "but what did you say about seeing shortie and know-"

stopping in the middle of the question, the boy stiffens.

three glasses shatter on impact with the floor, freed from the waiter's grasp, soon followed by two maids screeching your name in the most terror-struck voice ever manageable. gojo's six eyes provide him with enough details as always; albeit it seems miles from enough now, the way it always is in your case, further deepening the sorcerer's need to physically see you once; to soak in the brilliance of your gaze and the sweetness of the curve of your lips once.

who knows if he'll ever see you again from as close as- okay, no, wait-

"did you just run all the way here-"

"i love you."

"-in your heels?"

everything falls silent the moment the last word leaves gojo's lips and a shuddered breath escapes him into the bittersweet fragrance of the citrus perfume he remembers you using. in a lilac dress with a messy hairstyle and diamond studs, the youngest and newest leader of your clan stands before him, cheeks stretched in a wide grin.

whirling his seat round completely, the boy gives you one long look, only to earn a hauntingly soft look in return.

you smile.

"i know you might see me as the most inconsistent, lying, crazy bitch at best or as the most opportunistic bitch ever, trying to seduce you, for lack of a better term, to satisfy her craving for power, at worst; but no matter how you see me, how others see me, how i see myself - i'm in love with you, that's one thing which won't change no matter what."

you pause.

and as he watches you catch your breath after that long as hell sentence para, the first realisation which crashes on gojo's otherwise numb brain is: you too haven't changed.

not. one. bit.

from the way you stick to your minimal makeup look; to the way you speak sans any break and curse yourself as you confess to something (you think you did) wrong; to the way your gaze remains fixed on him, acutely trained on even the mildest twitch of his facial muscles... one whole month has passed since that stormy evening yet you're still the same you.

a little sweet. a little sour. a whole lot perfect-

who loves him-

you. love. him. too.

for the first time in an apparent eternity, gojo feels his lips lift in a free smile. although the chuckle leaving him sounds laden with moisture and emotions.

"i'll die before calling you a seductress, shortie," the boy says, "you're way too dumb and naive for that." your eyes move to the girl drinking beside him for a second, before settling back on him, a light sheen in them. smile widening yet growing a tender quality, he goes on to say, "and i know you aren't a liar; but regarding the inconsistent claim... i think an explanation's long overdue, isn't it?"

you huff a mild chuckle. stuffing your hands into your dress pockets, your senpai watches you draw in a long breath before letting it out in a whoosh, a tiny smile nestling in the corner of your lips. you begin.

"you know, right, my eldest brother was the clan leader before me? y'know, after my father just decided, one fine day, he's growing old and so he wants to retire somewhere peaceful now, with my mom, leaving me in the care of takeshi nii-chan and his wife?"

four pairs of eyes switch to him in silent query. ignoring them, gojo nods. it isn't everyday you speak so openly of your family, especially this topic concerning them.

considering how painful and sore it is for you.

how big of an escapist your father is.

how big of an asshole your brother is.

how utterly difficult it is for you to navigate in this household daily.

your sigh interrupting his thoughts, he hears you continue, "well, all was going well until it was not; and i decided i'd already spent too much time being a spectator to my life and future keeping getting kicked around like a fucking soccer ball."

few gasps sound in the vicinity, undoubtedly at you cussing. nanami's smooth voice cuts in through their shocked surprise, and through the bubble, gojo was under the impression, he and you had slipped into.

judging from the tiny start you give, the white-haired boy surmises you too must have felt the same.

your classmate's solemn voice sounds in the hush, though traces of a hesitation can still be found in it when he asks, "they... didn't arrange a wedding for you in the month you were here... did they?"

"they did," you're quick to answer, voice growing a steely quality, "the higher-ups and my brother decided to get me engaged to-"

"to whom?"

gojo's lips quirk up at the way you roll your eyes at suguru's impatient question, then look at him, a tired smile creeping onto your features. but, hey! is that a tinge of shyness on your face that the boy can see?

you point your chin at him. "to 'toru, who else?"

the second (or maybe, the third) bout of silence would have followed this statement of yours too - if not for the cackling girl beside gojo. the latter makes no effort to conceal his irritation, shooting the most vicious glare ever; shoko simply raises her glass, as if in a toast, then tosses you a smirk.

"you love him, still you don't wanna get hitched with him? not very clever of you, yeah?"

"yeah," haibara chips in, albeit much less teasing and more a worried timbre than shoko, the shades-wearing boy deems. the other student continues, brows creasing together, "plus, i doubt gojo senpai saying no to the proposal. so, why didn't you go ahead with it?"

your head tilts to one side. your lips twitch in a knowing fashion.

"you just said the reasons yourself, yu-kun."

years later, if someone asks gojo when's the time he realised he's in love with you, too deep and too far gone to ever consider anyone but you by his side, as his other and undoubtedly better half, the sorcerer will grin the goofiest grin ever and sigh the dreamiest sigh ever, and say, "every day."

which is the truth, really-

yet, from those 'every day'-s, there exist few such days, whom the six-eyes user's brain subconsciously frames in a golden frame and places on a dust-free pedestal.

for instance, today.

a day your senpai dreaded to begin by leaving the comfort of his bed, knowing the person whose ascension to the metaphorical throne he has been invited to witness today, blood chilling and condensing into tears on his lashes as memories from long ago and not-so-long-ago hurtle into his brain.

only to morph, by evening, into the day the boy realises: love isn't just what made him switch his infinity off and pull you under him, a shield to protect you from the crumbling roof, forgetting everything except your safety and life; but love is also what made you push him and the emotions within yourself away.

forgetting everything - the boy knows from knowing you these many years - except your very evident aim of shielding him from the vicious schemes of those responsible for this damned jujutsu hierarchy.

no matter how easy and rewarding the other path would've been for you.

no matter how difficult and painful this current path must've been for you.

just 'cause you love him.

just 'cause you know, at the end of it all, he's going to be safe, away from the manipulating hands of the higher-ups - away from even the slimmest chance of experiencing a shred of the ordeals you suffered as a child, losing your free will and living as a mere puppet, subject to those old geezers' whims and fancies.

the two of you are not-too-near to the threshold of adulthood; still, through those unsure lenses of transition between immaturity and maturity, gojo feels sure this very moment that his eyes are viewing now - of watching his feelings being reciprocated not only in words (which, he knows, are true; your body language is as familiar to him as the back of his hand) but also in actions - so pure, so selfless, so utterly... loving-

the boy reckons his six eyes have never landed on a sight so ethereal and just so good, that it makes his heart want to burst right out of his chest.

drinking in the way you're regarding him, fingers fidgeting and teeth gnawing on your lower lip, gojo cracks a smile.

your restlessness abates a little.

"you became the clan leader just to make sure this story remains ours and only ours, didn't you?"

you take a moment before answering with a big nod.

"yeah," you say, "but that doesn't mean you need to be grateful to me or anything of the sort. you can give me any answer you want to give. you can also give me no answer, now or ever, if that's what you really want to do. just know that i love you, and that your answer can never really put a dent in it, no matter what it is."

"no matter what it is?" your senpai echoes your words back to you. a small nod is what you send in reply; yet it seems to be more than the quantity of oil required to set the cogs of gojo's brain whirring to life and mischief. eyes narrowing, he asks, "not even if my response is an 'i love you too, shortie', hm?"

the clock in the room ticks thrice.

two known voices mutter curses behind him.

five maids of yours scurry out the door, whispering excitedly.

you narrow your eyes back at him.

"i asked you to not feel pressured, didn't i? tell me what you want to say, 'toru," you say; his name in your mouth sounds sweeter than the sweetest mochi the boy's ever tasted, "and not those stuff you think i want to hear you say."

your statement draws an amused chortle from gojo. "did you really forget what i told you last that day, shortie? or did you not again not understand what i was telling you then?"

"what's there to not understand in that!?" your indignant reply arrives without missing a beat, "you said you've always seen me as way more than a childhood friend: true 'cause we're best friends. then- oh yeah," with a click of your fingers, you add, face steeped in contemplation, "you also said- oh."

"yep, oh," gojo nods his head in an exaggerated fashion, revelling in the way you're looking at him right now, eyes round as saucers and cheeks ruddy as the expensive wine being served now.

you still seem so beautiful to him.

it takes a pinch more than a while before you breathe out a breathless giggle. straightening in his seat, gojo feels his cheeks hurt a bit from the wide smile digging indents into them.

"you really lo-"

"ma'am, the guests for the evening party will be here very soon. you should get ready now," one of your maids interrupts you. the sorcerer feels his smile shrivel a little. you're barely back with him; yet you'll be stolen away from him-

"aw, is it so?" your entertained query cuts in through his thoughts. the boy looks up from his shoes his gaze had moved to before, to you, an awfully fake apologetic smile lighting up your face.

gods, why do you look so fucking kissable when you're like this?

"you know what, the people invited aren't really the kind i want to talk to and ruin my mood. besides, i've already met 'my' guests, so..." the boy watches you inch closer to him slowly as you trail off; your maid's eyes narrow before widening. you grin. "toodles, mrs. matsui!"

that and the salute you throw at everyone in the room are the last two memories clear in gojo's mind, before everything turns into a mush of everything yet nothing in the end.

well, barring a few exceptions, of course.

your contagious chortles, for instance, while you both dash down the hallways of your mansion; or your delighted gasp when he wraps his arms round you and warps to that patisserie in nikko; or your million-watt-bright beam to him, as you slap the latter's sneaky hands away from stealing a bite from your plate, whilst the latter declares this to be where you two will celebrate the future milestones; or the-

"ieiri senpai was right, y'know?" your tired voice cuts in through your senpai's rather-muddled recollections. the latter tears his gaze away from the inky-black night sky dotted by the twinkling lights of tokyo, to your drowsy form resting her head on his chest, his one arm tight around your shoulders, while the other rests behind his head on the cold hood of the car.

moving to brush the strands of hair away from your forehead, the boy presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, earning a sweet kiss to his chin in return, and hums, "not really the person i wanna chat about right now with my girlfriend..." you suddenly twist your body towards him, throwing an arm over his stomach and nuzzling into his neck; making a mental note to address you as that more often, he sighs. "but carry on, i guess. you won't be you if you can't gush about that damn shoko every third sentence or something."

planting your lips to his jaw for a mere second, gojo watches you pull away an inch from him, grinning. "senpai said you'll be the first one to confess but i'll be the one who makes things official and public and all that shit," you explain, then gasp, grin turning wider.

"oh my god," you mutter, "geto senpai and iori senpai are gonna lose so much money to her. them two never thought you could ever say 'i love you' to me, did you know that? oh my god... i kind of feel bad for those two."

the gleeful expression you're wearing tells your boyfriend otherwise - choosing to ignore it, he throws you a smirk. "well, i don't. those two people shouldn't have doubted me. i'm the one and only gojo satoru," he proclaims, puffing his chest out a bit, "of course, I'll be successful in my mission of getting you to notice my love for you."

"nah, i don't think so," you shake your head the very next instant. lips into the most adoring curve he's ever seen on you - something which steals his retort away from him and makes him want to pinch his arm hard, to see if he's dreaming or not - you hum.

"you could confess your love to me, not 'cause you're gojo satoru. but because you're my 'toru and i'm your shortie... isn't it so?"

gojo thinks back to the time utilised in carefully drafting and finalizing the steps via which he can catch your eye, only to watch them not go the way planned.

gojo looks back to you, only to find your eyes trained on him, glitters of love in them unbelievably similar to those loud crackers bursting in his chest right now.

the young sorcerer runs a reverent finger down the side of your face.

"yeah, it is because you're my shortie and i'm your 'toru, sweetness," he whispers, "and we'll always stay this way, yeah?"

you reply by engraving the shape of your smile into his.

AND MY MAGNUM OPUS IS OVER, BESTIES!!! 🥳🥳😊

tysm once again for always showing me sm love and support, y'all 🥹🥹🥹 i cherish each and every one of u so so SO MUCH - plesae keep supporting me and my works the same way in the future too, my loves 🥹🥹❤️

masterlist

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #kit posts 📝

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alucards-boots · 2 months ago

Note

I'm going crazy about and Alucard x f! reader ball scene! Can you imagine this guy being like "May I have this dance?" in that gorgeous voice of his😩 I would simply die. I would prefer along the nocturne timeline, but whatever you like best is great

Thank you for writing, it absolutely makes my day when I go on Tumblr and see that you have posted, you are truly talented!!

Hello dear, This takes place after season 2, celebrating by heading around the ball.

My heart soars knowing people are glad to see my work, thank you, sweetling anon. I wish you upmost well and grace.

“Goodness,” you dropped your fan, the feathers hitting your gown you wore just for your date, you slumped back onto the chair after standing for nearly 30 minutes looking for your date, long enough that people may think youre finding excuses to show off your dress.

But no, your date ditched you,

Of course, a man always runs away even with a pot of gold beneath the soil shining right at him.

You rubbed your brows, you took time on your makeup that showcases your defined features that fits well with your (s/c) tone, making you radiant, you wore a dress that fit your pallete and had beautiful intricate designs, you took all this time just for a coward to ditch you. Shameful.

You lift your fan just to fan yourself again, trying to wave off your stress like it is some easy dust to be blown right off.

…

You saw three people walk in, one was a beautiful lady dressed in a yellow dress that fitted her skin tone very well, her brown hair complimenting her eyes and a man who looks like a teen, having his arm held by her, looking flustered. Young love.

But you noticed one man.

He looked like an embodiment of the word ‘ethereal’, a star that had not ignited, the moon.

Your hand paused your fanning before noticing his eyes somehow caught your (e/c) ones, you looked down, fluttering your eyes closed, hiding them behind your fan, you could have heard a chuckle from him.

You could have mistook it for an angel’s giggle.

He must have had a date, you presume..

You drank one more glass before you leave, the taste of wine, white wine—

“Hello, i couldn’t help but notice you—“

You yelped at such scare, nearly choking on the wine.

“Ah— forgive me.. please—“

“No, no, it is all alright..”

brief silence overtook the atmosphere before he broke it once again.

“I couldn’t help but.. notice you have been alone for nearly the entire ball..”

You gulped the last wine like it’s some beer before replying, “i have a date— well.. ‘had’”

Alucard’s brows furrowed before tilting his head to the side. “Had? i presume he ditched you?”

“Yes, at this point, i am accepting it, i was just going to take my last wine before i leave.”

“And to go where?”

You shrugged, “home?..”

“Well..” he cleared his throat. “Is a ball not .. fun? I suppose if you put it that way.”

Sighing, you tucked a strand your hair at the back of your ear.. “only if you have a date..well.. where is yours?”

He remained silent for a moment before chuckling. “I’m alone, im watching two of .. i’d say ‘my children’ in case if they wreak havoc.”

You both share a chuckle, you barely noticed another hairstrand fell front your face once again.

But he caught it, his gloved hand tenderly tucking it back to your ear.

“Adrian.. Adrian tepes.”

“Y/n l/n.”

“Y/n l/n..” he repeated, your name rolling off his lips like a man telling the story of a beautiful woman..

“Would you like to dance, y/n? To.. well, not bore us both.” A graceful smile painted his ethereal face, you could have sworn an angel asked you to dance.

You were taken aback for a moment before folding your fan and placing it to the side, taking his outstretched hand.

“I would like that, Adrian.”

His hand found your waist.

#alucard castlevania #castlevania #adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes #castlevania alucard #castlevania nocturne #adrian fahrenheit tepes #castlevania alucard x reader #castlevania x reader

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ewanmitchelll · 1 year ago

Text

Imagine you can fix him. No, really, you can.

Warnings: drama, angst and (explicit) smut; long post; some canon divergence…

***

You’ve been raised at court as part of Princess Helaena’s retinue. Due to your noble status, this isn’t different any other lady of your station might’ve expected.

You have grown close to the princess, and the two of you are very good friends—more like sisters, truthfully. Due to your similar nature, both of you found yourselves reading, sewing and dancing when possible.

But as you grew, you eventually found another companion to spend your time at court with. The second wayward son of King Viserys, Lord Aemond.

Here’s how all it began…

***

• (I) Broken infancy.

Right after the mess where the Queen confronted her stepdaughter about what had happened between Rhaenyra’s offspring and Aemond, you opt to go after him.

It’s dark. It’s late and you should be elsewhere, but you pay little mind to these rules. You find Aemond outdoors, sitting in the stairs as if he’s contemplating quietly the price paid for losing an eye.

You think you hear a sniff, but you’re not sure. You wait until silence is absolute before making yourself announced.

“L-Lord Prince.”

Aemond turns abruptly, completely out of guard. He hates the vulnerability, but before he can come out with a snark response, you step forward and say:

“I do not mean to intrude. But… may I offer you company?”

The boy looks at you with distrust.

“What are your business here, Lady Y/LN? You should be with my sister.”

“I was worried about you…”

“I don’t need your pity”, and saying so he spits out.

“You don’t”, you agree calmly even if you’re shaken inside. “But everyone needs a friend.”

There is a small pause where you anxiously wait for him to give you some space. Eventually he does since there’s no one around.

“Well. Helaena doesn’t like many people, but here you are, the only one she actually spends time with”, mumbles Aemond.

You smile before taking a seat by his side.

“It appears so.”

Neither of you speak for a while. You know Aemond is still getting used to your company, so you speak nothing.

“I’m sorry”, you tell him.

The prince casts a look at this y/c haired lady of the house y/c dressed in the manner of the Hightower. Despite the remaining distrust in his eyes, you know he reads you.

What a process to forge a bond, and yet here you are.

“For what? You did nothing wrong.”

“No. But I lament for the loss you went through.”

“Well…”, and here he inclines his head towards the great shadow flying over the dark skies. “It was worth the dragon I reclaimed.”

“Like every Targaryen before you.”

Something about you said seems to knock his defenses down. However this isn’t something Aemond is prepared to admit. Yet.

***

• (II) Darkness & Light.

Aemond keeps an eye on you as much as you keep an eye on him. You’ve grown to a handsome woman, wearing gowns that reinforce your curves even though nothing in your actions deem other than innocence.

You and Helaena are almost twins. Could be so had you been birthed by Queen Alicent. Perhaps this is why Aegon looks down on you as much as he does to his sister-wife.

But the wayward, gloomy Prince, who at times opts to find his path towards his… whore, cannot divert away of you.

In fact, he is rather surprised to see you gravitating towards him just as he leaves the room.

“Y/N”, Aemond whispers your name, hands behind his back, not turning his head to welcome you… and because he hopes you don’t spot a slight, timid smirk that forms on his lips due to your presence.

“My dear Aem. Going to practice with Ser Criston again?”

You purposely link your arm to his, nudging his side playfully to tease him the way you know he doesn’t like.

But the prince can’t get rid of you, can he?

“Like always.”

“May I watch it?”

“If you want to.”

Aemond knows silence is not your best trait, something that he, in fact, appreciates.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been out of my sight again”, you muse, eyeing him closely.

He avoids your gaze, aware of what you talk about. But why does he feel a hint of shame knock his pride?

“Hum”, it’s all he says.

You sigh heavily. By how you breathe heavily, Aemond knows you are about to lose your temper.

“Don’t “hum” at me, Aemond Targaryen. You’ve been whoring again, haven’t you?”

To your surprise, he stops abruptly, turning at you in such a way that makes you blush. Aemond reads you, him too baffled when discovering you might actually have feelings for him.

How else would you feel so possessive towards me, Y/Nickname?

Today, your hair is tied in two perfectly braids. They are long enough to fall over your waist, Aemond notices. Your eyes are livid, he can tell the amount of repressed feelings that are behind the colour that paints them—and he is intrigued to know what these are.

You are chewing your bottom lip, a sign of nervousness—he never took you for an insecure person.

Are you afraid of losing me?

And then there’s something about the gown, green like always, that makes him want to rip it. He can tell your breasts are tied… and he wants to release the pressure this gown is making on them. Suddenly, comes to his mind a scene where he is sucking your nipples, rubbing one with his thumb all the whilst using his tongue to play with the other.

Perhaps you’d like that, Y/N. To be treated well. Perhaps you’d be a better replacement than my whore.

Indecent thoughts that he cannot sweep off his mind, but that his mind plays a good effort to it because you are a good precious damsel who doesn’t serve to be part of his dark, sinful self.

And yet… what he sees in you is the light that blinds him. Another sight he cannot lose. So he does what’s best of him to do: push people away.

“How does this concern you, Lady Y/N? You’ve been a good friend, but you are nothing more to me.”

Words that shouldn’t have come out this way. But they do. When seeing the hurt in your eyes, Aemond knows the weight of his lies. Suddenly, he realizes he wishes he could be saved.

And you, as his savior, have been pushed away.

“I am not quitting on you”, you wear your prideful mask, which intrigues him. “Still going to watch your practice though. Besides, I was only asking… because of your mother.”

Aemond cannot amend the awkwardness, but his mind screams at him for not bothering in doing so.

“I know.”

So he turns his back on you. And to his consternation, you stay.

Whilst Aemond practices with his sword, you shut yourself in your world. Your eyes are carefully down whenever a courtier passes by—you detest to get the male attention, not when you wish for more on Aemond’s part.

But you little foolish thing, he doesn’t want you. The prince sees you as a friend, is all. An extension of Helaena.

You struggle with your tears as this thought occurs you, but perhaps this isn’t so bad, is it? Duty often sacrifices sentiments. Perhaps you should tell your sister, Queen to be, that you are ready to marry and then… stay away of him for good.

But the courage in this decision soon dissipates the moment you raise your eyes and find Aemond staring at you.

And you know you’ve been trapped.

***

• (III) Scars.

You are about to slip under your blankets when the door of your bedchambers are abruptly opened. You are frightened when hearing the sound due to your exposed state: your line nightgown poorly covers your nipples and you still have no time to throw robes to cover yourself when he stands before you.

Distressed, anguished. In who he really is. In one broken state you’ve only seen once.

You forget yourself when you run to hold Aemond Targaryen in your arms.

“My love”, you whisper, letting him sob. “My prince”.

You pull him to yourself, the only one Aemond trusts with his being. The only one he knows he can be himself, with his scars and open vices. He clings onto you, he digs his fingers onto your waist, letting him be guided to your bed before burying his head against your belly.

You can only imagine what had struck him like this. A feast of demons over his head, each fighting for his flesh. And yet you are here, battling against them.

When he finally stops sobbing, he looks up at him. You’ve never seen him so fragile, so famine for affection. And here you are. Providing what he needs.

“Tell me all”, you whisper.

“I do not want to. You’ll find a monster in me”, and yet he holds onto your hips, fearful you’d let go of him.

“You are not a monster, Aemond. You may have some vices, but you are a human being like anyone else”, you tell him gently. “Come here.”

Aemond obeys you, sitting in front of you.

“Let me tend you”, you whisper. “I’ll prepare your bath.”

“Y/Nickname…”, he holds your wrist firmly.

“I won’t leave you. I won’t abandon you”, you assure him. “Do you trust in me?”

Aemond nods his head.

“My boy, then let me bath you. Besides”, and here you dress your best smile. “You smell like old dragon.”

Finally something that pulls out a smile of him. As he sits there, you are quick to fetch servants to prepare him a good bath. When you go back at him, Aemond gives you that intense look which gives you shivers.

And wets you in between your legs too.

But this isn’t the moment nor the time.

“Come. It’s ready.”

You lean against the wall of the privy quarters as Aemond starts to undress. Even though he is damaged for what he’s done, he likes to feel the weight of your gaze on him. And he smirks when he stands nude before you.

“I don’t think you’ve seen me like this”, he muses.

You don’t look away when he says so. Aemond feels a heat growing inside him.

“No, I don’t. Not physically anyway”, you point out.

“Don’t look away”, he asks.

You dare to scan his body with your discreet gaze, eyeing his well build muscles, attentive to his scars and… his manhood, which is now erected. And quickly you look away, blushing, as he chuckles.

“You’ve never seen one up before, my lady?”, he asks, sliding into the tub.

You gently knee behind him and get to rub his back with a sponge.

“Do not take me to your whore, Aemond”, you snap at him.

The prince smiles at it. He lets you clean him before he dives into the water. When coming back to the surface, the prince is disappointed for not seeing you there.

A moment later, though, when he’s dressed in clean clothes, says Aemond with a subtle accusation tone:

“You left me there for one moment…”

“You surely can handle yourself as you finished you bath. I am only your friend, wasn’t that what you called me?”

Aemond sighs.

“Y/Nickname, I shouldn’t have said that.”

He comes at you and rests his arms around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. When you side look at him, you spot that old fragility rarely seen.

It’s what melts you down.

“Very well. Come here. Let me tend you”, and now back to your bed, you and him lace your fingers together, his head in between your breasts. “What did you do, Aemond?”

You stroke his hair with your loose hand, aware that he’d done something bad. But where others see him ruthless, you see a broken boy trying to find his worth in this misadjusted world.

“I…”, his embargoed voice has your attention.

“Yes?”, you lift his chin, now cupping his face; removing his eyepatch, you gently force him to look at you.

And here comes a tear.

“I killed him. But I didn’t mean to.”

“Who?”

But you know the answer.

“…Lucerys.”

Old wounds that never close… bleed endlessly. You sigh heavily, but rest your forehead against his.

“You shouldn’t have done that, my dear”, you speak softly.

“I understand.”

“But I won’t abandon you, you know that, do you?”, you hope to transmit him that, regardless of this sinful secret he shared with you, together you two are stronger.

“You are the only one who knows my weakness”, he buries his head against your neck, needy of you, weak and feeble. Fragile. “Do not dare to leave me.”

“You have always been sacred to me to be profaned now, Aemond”, you whisper.

He leans his body close to yours, transfixed by your irradiating beauty… and your unending loyalty.

The prince touches your face and you tilt your head, letting his slander fingers brush over your face and then going down to your neck. You partly wish that he goes below… a perception he sees evident in your eyes.

Aemond knows he’s as vulnerable as you. And yet his hand moves to your collarbone, unlacing your nightgown.

“So beautiful. You look as if I can be redeemed.”

“You can”, you lean closer, not minding how purposely your breasts slip out of the line. Your eyes remain locked with his all the whilst you take his face with your hands. “You can be redeemed.”

Aemond waits no further: his dragon fire awakes and he is about to burn you. You welcome his hungry lips thus, sighing in content as he crawls over your body, ripping impatiently your gown, promptly reclaiming you the same way he did Vhagar.

You subdue easily to him, letting him have his way to you. That his lips make his kiss ache every part of you gets a moan out of you, which in turn makes Aemond smirk.

You are mine and mine alone. I possess you, I take you as who you are, my lady Y/N.

Such are his thoughts, which you need naught to have the ability to read them; for they are readable in his tight grip of you, in how his tongue dominates yours along with his body.

Trapped under his dominance, you are found breathless and a puddle of mess when he parts the kiss to let slid his tongue over your jawline and neck, his fingers now pulling your hair gently, tangled in your curls.

Then he stops what he’s doing to contemplate your state under candlelight. And here he smirks.

“Divine you are, my lady. How can a man like me be worthy of a woman like you?”

You sensually lift your legs to pull him by his hips as you adjust your body so his can mould better in it. You like the lust in his eyes, one of the kind that doesn’t conceal his vices nor his virtues… one that shows his genuine feelings to you.

“You deserve all the love in the world, my dear Aemond. Let me heal you”, you stroke his cheeks, smiling gently.

“A flower soon to be deflowered by a rogue”, he sneers under his breath, but there’s no despise in his eyes, only the same old scars.

“I am your woman”, you tell him, and he’s surprised to find in you the same possessiveness there is in him. “I am not any flower, though.”

Aemond smirks. Whatever insecurities laid behind his good eye, now they are no more.

“You shall be more than that, darling”, he brushes his lips against yours, biting your bottom lip not long after. “My consort, mother of my heirs.”

As if to assure you he means every word, he not only kisses your neck and gets a few moans out of you, but leaves some bruises there. You’ve been marked.

Aemond, however, cannot take out of his thought the idea of corrupting you. Though it flings him with some guilt, the way your legs are wrapped around him, your bodies so perfectly moulded that leaves no doubt that it is hardly sinful what’s to be done.

You may spot some of it, so to assure him there’s no question of the legitimacy of the deed, you put yourself under him properly so he looks down at you… and yet your hand takes hold of his erect manhood.

“Y/N!”, he gasps in surprise.

You give him a malicious smirk at the same time there is nothing to encounter in your gaze that is not innocence itself. Inexperience you may be, but you have ears that long heard of maids doing so with their partners.

But to feel his cock responding well to your moves is a positive indicator that you are doing it well.

“My lady!”, he wants to stop you, but fuck it it’s so damn good. Aemond rolls his eye, almost falling over you. “You should not…”

“I want you”, you whisper in the back of his ear as you caress his face and hair with your free hand. “Carnally, emotionally, all that is between. I want my prince Aemond Targaryen the way he really is.”

It’s enough to wipe out any reasonable thought he may have in regarding preserving you of such naughtiness. Aemond lets out the repressed lust for you, his sentiments towards his lady—of the kind only his whore knew about—, and bloody seven hells… you know how to make him feel good!

All the whilst you enjoy feeling his precum getting your hand soaked, and twirling your thumb around the tip like he instructs you to—the very fact he’s the one teaching you also arouses him quite.

“Fuck”, and he growls against your skin, burying himself into your breasts, biting your nipples and sucking each ardently with the devotion of a lover.

So you too welcome a different sensation of bliss, a pleasure never before felt, hitting on your in waves of heat that get your body out of control. It does “worsen”, though, the moment he does to you what you do to him.

Aemond captures the surprise that flashes behind your eyes when he finds you soaked to the core. And then… not deeming to waste his seed, he takes your hands and pins over your head.

As his thighs are over yours, you see this handsome man towering over you. His well build muscles, his handsome manhood…

“Do you like the view, Princess?” Aemond asks gently, though the way he looks at you there’s nothing innocent or gentle.

And he sees how your body reacts. Which only arouses him further.

“Yes”, you are almost breathless. “Please, do not make me beg.”

Aemond chuckles low, hands wrapping around your neck.

“Oh, but aren’t you begging already, my love?”

And then he releases the pressure by inserting another finger in your womanhood.

“Mm. You like that, do you not?”, Aemond groans as you deliberately give yourself to him, a complete mess. He likes the view, to know he ruined you too.

And then he bends over… only to slowly insert his manhood into you.

“Oh Gods!”

Aemond side smirks at you.

“It’s going to be a long night, Princess Y/N.”

And to seal his promise, he pursuits your lips in a passionate kiss.

***

• (IV) The Great Escape.

As you stand quietly in the royal chambers, you detect grey clouds rumbling in the sky. You furrow your eyebrows at the sight, perceiving it as a bad omen.

It’s when Helaena comes at you, so suddenly and silently that you are almost startled by her presence.

“I see the boy”, she whispers at you, the only one who understands her. “He will conquer all.”

“Do you mean any of your brothers?”, you ask in the same tone.

Helaena smiles quietly, though in her eyes you detect a mix of apprehension and concern. You know she hesitates, so you hope to transmit calmness.

“Laena, do not fear. I shall keep your secret with me”, and you point to your heart.

She looks at your hands before giving a look at the horizon. You give her time. Then she turns her head and says:

“He shall not be king until other dies”, another pause. “You should not be here when Aegon becomes king.”

You are more than aware that Aegon is not really fond of you.

“Is war coming, dear Laena?”, you ask.

“No”, and here she smiles. “Not for you nor Aemond.”

You have the decency to blush. You’d think your secret encounters with Aemond remained a secret, but didn’t you underestimate your closest friend?

“I…”

“Do not apologize. You’ve brought him the light out of him.”

And in her own way of saying thanks, Helaena rests her head against your shoulder. So suddenly the announce of storm is dissipated… and your fears, likewise.

But before this light prevails, it is yet the time to cross the dark. Therefore, you are not entirely surprised to find Aemond vulnerable again. It’s late night and he comes for you in seek of solace. The one kind he’s been refused by his family.

Aemond slides through the half open door, already suspicious in not finding your privy chambers completely close. Hearing voices, a fang of jealousy threatens to bring out his worse when he comes to find out you and Helaena have been spending time together.

It is a relief, somewhat one that makes him smirk, to seeing you getting along with his family. Not that he cares about it, but…

He waits until Helaena is gone to surprise you. You are wearing a pink gown with details in pink and are just untying your braid, completely unaware of his silent presence.

Aemond is reclining against the wall, watching you remove the courtly garments that you wear daily, noticing in your distracted face different expressions he is used to see in you.

“You look exhausted”, his voice comes out as a single whisper right as you are caught off guard and almost crying out as a result. “What’s wrong?”

“Aemond!”, you yell. “Are you out of your mind? Always like a rat, aren’t you?”

He chuckles at your reaction, moving to where you stand so he can have you all to himself. You melt instantly in his arms, but then quickly recompose when noticing that vulnerability only you spot on.

“Wait. What happened?”

“You didn’t answer my question”.

You know it’s pointless to argue with him so you shrug your shoulders and say:

“Just tired, is all.”

You don’t think wise to tell that lately you’ve been having strange morning sickness, so you motion to fetch yourselves some wine before getting at him.

“Now your turn.”

Aemond doesn’t buy your lie, though. But taking the wine offered, he opts to keep that in his mind for a moment later.

“I’ve met the Strong boys.”

“Oh.”

And here comes the thunder…

“What do you mean by “oh”? I’ve been teased out and about, Y/N”, says a very moody Aemond. “Jacaerys and Joffrey think they can have their way out?”

And here he comes to burst in tears. That broken boy hasn’t been healed nor taken care of. You put your glass aside and move to embrace him. Like a needy child, he comes for support which you give him without second thoughts.

“What happened then?”

“A fight was only prevented because of my mother. She welcomed Rhaenyra and her bastards here.”

You let him burst out his anger, silent and pained, as you hold him. In moments like this is when he undress the rogue mask he often wore to public; -and it’s here his fragility is seen, which leads to a more intimate moment.

“You don’t feel at peace here.”

“No”, Aemond admits. “Not here not anywhere. But I aim to reclaim Harrenhal.”

A stranger shiver crosses your spine and even the prince feels it. He looks up at you, quizzically so.

“What was that?”

“Oh, the shiver? You felt it too?”, you try to make a joke about it. “So tight you felt it as if it were you, uh?”

But Aemond is serious.

“I am not joking, Y/N.”

“I had a bad feeling about this. You know the stories of Harrenhal.”

Now the silver haired man chuckles.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dragons could be a myth, and were treated as such before the Conquest by the Westerosi. And yet here they are”, you tell him firmly. “Stories contain a degree of truth. I did my homework.”

“I can tell.” And softening, he rises to cup your face and kiss your nose and lips. “I did not wish to distress you. But I cannot stay here any longer,Y/N.”

“Well…”, and you smile as you rest your forehead against his. “Let us runaway, Aemond. Together.”

“To where?”, Aemond isn’t sure about the idea, but this possibility does bring some relief to him.

“The Free Cities”, you decide. “You aren’t the first Targaryen who flees King’s Landing to locate somewhere there. Essos is one of those who traditionally welcomes these Valyrian kind.”

Aemond chuckles, pleasantly surprised by your wit.

“We need little convincing, don’t we?”

“It is what you need most, my beloved. Some peace of mind and spirit will do you well.”

So the plan is architected. And the promised consolation shall come.

Yet, night arises and with it, demons that come to dispute over royal flesh. Aemond is tormented by his nightmares. As he watches you sleep peacefully, he envies your serenity.

Part of him riots against the idea of being with you. Running away sounds coward-ish and the ilidic paradise is an idea fit for poets and story tellers.

Reclining against the wind, naked, he is vulnerable and to feel it only makes him feel irc about it.

It’s when you notice the bed getting colder. As you turn around, you see you are alone once again. You almost panic at the idea of him leaving you, but this is wiped out of your mind when seeing the state he is.

“Aemond”, you don’t mind the clothes. “Come to bed”, you rest your chin over his shoulder. Suddenly you notice how tall he is.

He tries to avoid your gaze, but it is difficult to ignore you when you recline your body, so warmt, against his. In a stark contrast of fire and cold, he is like an ice berg to you.

“Please”, you ask him.

Aemond turns at you at last and acquiesces with your request. Silently he follows you, but he doesn’t sleep straight away.

“You are worthy of love”, you tell him, cuddling him. “You cannot ignore the wounds that hurt you.”

“I fear I am incapable of healing”, Aemond whispers, a tear rolling down his cheek. “How can you conceive the idea of us together, Y/N?”

“You can be saved.”

He snorts, eyes closing as he slowly drifts to sleep under your tenderness.

“Maybe I do not want to be saved.”

“To be saved or to be redeemed. Is there any difference? Sleep my life. The night may be long and full of terrors, but light always comes to win over it.”

You’d think Aemond had fallen asleep as you take the blankets and cover yourselves, but as you too lie down, your hear him say:

“I love you, Y/N.”

You smile warmly because this is the first time he admits it out loud. Wiping away your happy tears, you lean to kiss his forehead.

“I love you too, Aemond Targaryen.”

Indeed, funny as it is, you are now officially part of the House Targaryen. Daeron and Helaena had been the only witnesses of the ceremony that made you officially Lord Aemond’s wife.

“Welcome to our family”, greets Daeron. “Just hope one does not notice the mess we are.”

“Oh, nothing too different of my own family, my lord.”

“Lord?”, Daeron scoffs. “We are family now, sister. There is little need to use formalities.”

Aemond smiles quietly when spotting a blush turning your cheeks into crimson. And speaking of informalities, Helaena welcomes you in her own way. To a general surprise, she in fact hugs you close before saying:

“Never forget. A king will come soon. To conquer all. The line must carry on.”

And then she takes Daeron away, leaving you baffled.

“What did she say?”, asks Aemond, curious.

“I’m afraid this time I didn’t understand what she meant, husband.”

“Well”, he shrugs his shoulders. “Not many of us do. Ready, my lady?”

You smile warmly and the sight makes Aemond content. Sun is rising in the horizon when he helps you mount old Vhagar.

And when she is ready to fly, you cling tight in your husband like a monkey.

“Oh my Gods!”

He laughs away. Never before he laughed so unpreocuppied, so carelessly, so free.

You know it. You feel it too. For when you look at him, you could tell how successfully you fixed him. Didn’t you?

***

• (V) Essos.

You may think you are brave for riding Vhagar, but braver so for mounting your husband. Now that you have enough trust to do so, you come to find out that is a lot better than in your wildest dreams.

“Oh Gods!”, and like any other day you are louder,a sound the servants are already used by now. “Aemond!”

It’s been three months since you and Aemond settled in Essos, and ever since the city not only welcomed you two properly like the royalty both of you are, but is also becoming the stage to Aemond’s ambitions—to which you turned a blind side to.

“So good, my wife!”, Aemond groans, pleased like always to see your boobs bouncing and how synced his body and yours are in one single move.

But domineering he is, so in a matter of seconds you are under his power again, a “victim” of his intense thrusts. And as he seeds you, it’s only then he comes to notice the changes of your body. Your breasts are bigger, you are curvier and your appetites… are different too.

As he collapses against your side, Aemond holds you close to him, though. Stroking your hair and helping to straighten it after messing you good, he smiles.

“I cannot believe myself when I recall the enormous quantity of years that took for us to get married.”

“You are slower than I’d assumed to be, husband”, you tease him, earning a few tickles.

“Life here isn’t as bad as it seems, though”, Aemond contemplates after kissing your forehead. “I think we can rebuild our life here in the manner of Westeros.”

You know there are certain ambitions that do not die, no matter the efforts in healing scars. It’s a side of his character that you’ve always accepted. Then you are reminded of Helaena’s prophecy and somehow you made your peace with it.

“Indeed, I…”

Oh no. Not that nauseous morning again! In a matter of seconds you are running to your privy quarters and throw all that you’ve ingested earlier the day… out.

When Aemond rushes after you, though, he doesn’t take too long to realize that an heir is coming. At last.

“My dearest wife”, he kneels after you. “Let me help you. The way you help me.”

For the first time in years he sees your vulnerability, your fragility. You try to conceal it, but he doesn’t allow you to shy away.

“Y/N… Do not be stubborn”, he helps you clean. “There is nothing wrong with it. Do you not realize what does this mean?”

When you give him a quizzical look, the prince chuckles.

“I cannot believe that I am the one to tell you… but you are carrying our child, my love.”

News that would come to change your lives…. But others too.

***

• Epilogue.

Three years later.

You are giving birth again—the price you pay for delighting yourself by engaging in marital affairs with your handsome prince—when news come from King’s Landing.

Aemond is holding baby Rhaella in his arms all the whilst watching his son, Aegon, practice sword ship. He’s very prideful over his eldest son taking so much after him where brain matters are concerned—and abilities too—, but the sweet temper is something the boy takes after you.

“See, Rhae? Your brother is going to protect you just fine”, Aemond smiles before kissing his daughter’s head.

She giggles, a sight he adores to behold, but every smile dies when a messenger dressed in green comes in.

“My lord Prince”, this young lad greets Aemond, sounding somewhat nervous.

“Who is this? Sent by mother, I presume.”

The lad delivers him an old parchment. When opening it carefully, the prince frowns.

“What does this mean?”

“There is war in Westeros, Ser. And King Aegon has summoned you.”

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