#it got a content warning label the first time and it was making me mad | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fairytales-and-folklore · 5 months ago

Text

Fate, Feelings, and Other Forked-Up Nonsense

The Good Place » Cheleanor

Title: Fate, Feelings, and Other Forked-Up Nonsense

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: The Good Place (Masterlist)

Relationship: Chidi Anagonye x Eleanor Shellstrop

AO3 Rating: Mature (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Eleanor wrestles with her feelings for Chidi and whether or not she should tell him about the tape. One fateful afternoon, the decision is made for her, when Chidi walks in right as Eleanor finally decides to watch it.

And that's when she hears the sound of her front door opening. That's when she remembers that she'd given Chidi a key. "Eleanor," Chidi calls from the hallway, his voice laced with anguish and concern. "Eleanor, I don't like the way we left things before. Could we just…" He sighs heavily, pockets his keys, and paces toward the living room. "Could we maybe talk about it? Get some frozen yogurt, and just— oh— oh my god!" "OH MY GOD," Eleanor screams back at him as he rounds the corner, eyes wide in abject horror as he stares at the moving figures on her television screen.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

The tape sits at the bottom of a bookshelf in Eleanor's creepy, clown-clad living room, shoved under a stack of ethics and morality textbooks and Better Homes and Gardens magazines that Chidi had taken to leaving there.

No one will ever want to watch Cannonball Run 2, she thinks. It's perfectly safe in that battered old VHS sleeve.

Irony, thou art a heartless bench.

A couple of days later, in the middle of one of Chidi's lectures, Jason picks up the tape and starts playing with it, absentmindedly sliding the cassette in and out of its sleeve, far too easily amused by the loud thwacking sound it makes every time the flimsy plastic collides with its worn paper casing.

Eleanor looks up from jotting down a few bullet points in her notebook and freezes as she catches sight of it, eyes growing wide when she notices a little white label slapped across the side of the tape that reads Eleanor & Chidi Doin' The Nasty written in bright green sharpie, just barely visible as it peeks out from the top of the case.

"Whatcha got there, buddy?" Eleanor whispers as cheerily and casually as she can manage, nudging Jason in the ribs. Jason looks down at the little rectangular box and gasps in surprise, only just realizing what he'd been holding.

"Oh dip, I didn't know you had Cannonball Run 2!" he exclaims, and bless him, he sounds genuinely excited. "I never saw the first one, but I heard it was pretty good…and I passed out halfway through the second one because me and Pillboi did too many jello shots at one of Acid Cat's house parties."

His face lights up with a gleeful expression as he giggles at the memory.

"Uh huh," Eleanor says with an enthusiastic nod, eyes glued to the tape.

"I kinda want to see how it ends," Jason says thoughtfully, twirling the movie case between his fingertips. "But the Xbox in my bud-hole only plays DVDs. Do you think maybe Janet has a VCR we could use? I should ask her. Hey, Jan—"

"Nope!" Eleanor shouts as she makes a mad grab for the video tape, swiping it out of Jason's hands and promptly sitting on it, for lack of a better hiding place.

Eleanor looks up, flustered, and realizes that everyone in the room has heard their little squabble, eyes all swiveled in her direction; Michael, sporting his usual impatient grimace; Tahani, looking positively scandalized by the interruption; Chidi, standing at the chalkboard, lips poised around a word he'd lost track of mid-sentence, looking thoroughly confused and a little crestfallen.

Eleanor barks out a nervous laugh and playfully punches Jason in the arm as he attempts, yet again, to reach for the tape.

"Hey man," she says in a half-assed attempt at a reprimand. "Chidi works really hard to teach us all how to be good people, so we're not gonna watch some dumb 80's movie in the middle of one of his lectures, got it?"

The forced cheerful smile that Eleanor painfully grits at Jason scares him more than the horrible clown paintings, and so, after a few more minutes of dramatic pleading and complaining that he's bored out of his mind, Jason sighs in defeat, settling into a childish pout as he slides down the couch cushions, picks up his notebook, and resumes doodling penguins dressed in bowties.

Eleanor breathes a sigh of relief as Tahani and Michael nod in agreement and turn back around to face Chidi, who blinks a few times in surprise and then shoots Eleanor an appreciative smile, before picking up his chalk and finishing his Venn-Diagram.

Eleanor's face flushes hotter than a sunburn in hell, uncomfortably aware of the sharp corners of the plastic VHS tape digging into her thighs. That night, she moves the tape to the bottom drawer of her dresser, and buries it under a mountain of questionable-smelling laundry.

• • •

That forking tape is haunting her.

It keeps popping up everywhere, like it's just begging for her to watch it. But she isn't going to watch it. Because she doesn't want to know. Every time she even thinks about watching it, she moves it to another location.

The bottom drawer of her bedside table, hidden under a stack of magazines.

The back of the closet.

The washing machine.

The oven.

Underneath the couch cushions, tucked away amidst a collection of moldy pennies and half-melted sticks of gum.

The very back corner of the tallest cabinet in her kitchen, hidden behind a couple of boxes of expired bowtie pasta.

At the back of the freezer, next to a pint-sized container of freezer-burned pistachio frozen yogurt, and…forking hell, how did she ever think this was the Good Place?

But no matter where she moves it, she always ends up waking up in the middle of the night, digging it out, and staring at it, and she has no idea why.

She really should just forget about it. Pretend it never happened.

Why would she even want to watch something that happened like a hundred-something reboots ago, and will probably definitely never happen again?

What does it even matter? It's not like they're going to like…end up together or anything.

Eleanor allows herself hardly more than a second to picture it; her hands skimming across his bare chest, blankets curled around their naked, entwined bodies, the curve of his lips as he'd settled into a blissful, sleepy smile, the way he'd stared into her eyes with pure adoration, holding nothing back.

I don't know what's going to happen to us, but I need to tell you something—

A shiver runs down Eleanor's spine that makes her feel like she's just swallowed ice. She shakes her head, quickly dismissing that particular train of thought. Best not to waste time thinking about something she can never have…

Not that she wants him, or anything. Just, you know, hypothetically speaking.

The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that it would never actually work between them. They're just too different.

Except…what's that saying about how opposites attract?

But even so, this version of Chidi clearly has no romantic interest in her.

Except…sometimes she thinks maybe he does?

It's hard to tell. The guy's an enigma wrapped in indecision and an ugly sweater vest. But sometimes, she thinks…maybe?

It's little things.

Like the way his eyes always seem to flicker toward her whenever he speaks. The way he loses his train of thought and stumbles over his words whenever she gives him an encouraging smile. The way his entire face lights up every time she challenges one of his theories, and engages her in a heated discussion that leaves the rest of the group groaning and rolling their eyes.

The fact that he always stays late after every class, idling to tidy up the kitchen or to straighten his already perfectly aligned book stacks as everyone else rushes out the door.

The way he keeps making up excuses to take Eleanor out to dinner or brunch or for frozen yogurt to celebrate some random new achievement he clearly just made up on the spot, just so they can spend a little more time together.

Or maybe she's just imagining it.

Yeah, she's probably just imagining it.

Because someone like Chidi…someone as kind and selfless and amazing as Chidi…would never want someone like her. And that's totally fine. Good, even.

It's not like Eleanor cares either way. It's not like she has feelings for him or anything. It's not like she gets lost in thought standing in line at the frozen yogurt shop, heart leaping into her throat every time Chidi's hands accidentally brush against hers.

Nor does she catch herself staring at his hands as he gesticulates wildly, sweeping them across the chalkboard at whirlwind speed as another avenue of thought overtakes him.

She doesn't think about what his hands might feel like, curled around her hips, laced through her hair, gently cradling her face.

She doesn't find his passion for his studies endearing, or smile to herself whenever he gets carried away and nerds out like that.

The word adorable totally doesn't pop into her head.

She doesn't feel a spark of adrenaline jolt through her chest every time he catches her staring (because she's totally not staring,) and she absolutely does not blush fifty different shades of red as she quickly looks away and pretends she was taking notes.

Her eyes don't involuntarily find their way to his, or linger on his lips as he speaks, wondering if they taste like his morning coffee or his afternoon tea, absentmindedly counting all the ways she could put that quick-witted tongue of his to good use.

She doesn't wake from dreams of stolen kisses and tangled sheets, calling out his name in a strangled cry and wishing that the space beside her didn't feel so cold.

And she isn't the least bit curious about what's on that tape.

Nope, not even a little bit.

• • •

Exactly one month after the fake reboot, Vicky decides to throw the entire neighborhood a One Month-Iversary Party to celebrate the day that all three hundred and twenty two of them first arrived in the Good Place. To say that the evening hadn't gone exactly as planned would be an understatement.

"This is an absolute nightmare," Chidi whimpers, frantically pacing back and forth across the length of Eleanor's tiny living room. "I don't know how I could have ever possibly thought that siding with an actual demon to take down a whole bunch of other demons was a good idea. I am literally working with the enemy."

"Thanks a lot, jackash," Michael spits furiously, fixing Chidi with a pointed glare. "But last night's fork-up wasn't exactly my fault."

If looks could kill…well, it's a good thing Chidi's already dead.

"Let's review, shall we?" Michael says, his tone dripping with condescension. "You all agreed to work with me, and I agreed to let you keep your little memories this time around, as long as you keep pretending you have no idea you're not actually in the Good Place."

"I gave each of you one job at Vicky's party last night, and you all blew it," he complains. "Eleanor was supposed to get drunk and smuggle out as much cake as she could carry. Chidi was supposed to be all nervous and jittery and embarrassed by his fake soul mate's crude behavior. Tahani, still reeling from that epic party planning failure a few weeks back, was supposed to be a little resentful, a little haughty, but still the very picture of elegance and grace. Jason was supposed to be silent and inconspicuous."

"And what ended up happening instead?" Michael asks, angrily pacing the room as he ticks off each of their names on his fingers.

"Instead, Tahani is the one who gets drunk, and starts smashing away on the grand piano to a really, just truly awful rendition of one of her sister's songs. Jianyu breaks his vow of silence in order to cheer her on, and then, of all the asinine things, starts breakdancing in the living room to one of Bach's cello suites, kicks a couple of people in the face, and permanently lodges one of Antonio's testicles right up into his body. Eleanor is sober, fists and pockets and bra completely cake-free. And Chidi, who's normally wound so tight you could shove a lump of coal up his ash and in two weeks, you'd have a diamond…which, pro tip, is an excellent Bad Place torture method…"

Michael lets out an impish little giggle in spite of himself, but when he looks around the room and sees that no one is laughing along with him, he heaves a disgruntled sigh, and his anger returns with gusto.

"Out of the four of you, I would have at least expected Chidi to not break character," he grumbles. "I mean, the guy's so predictable, you could set your watch to his stomach aches. But nooooo. Last night? Swing and a forking miss. Instead, Chidi is so relaxed, he looks like the poster child for Ativan."

"To make matters worse, he and Eleanor spend half the night with these stupid, slack-jawed expressions on their faces, whispering God knows what to each other, giggling away like idiots at the bar. Meanwhile, Vicky is up my ash every two minutes, threatening to tell Shawn that I have forked up a grand total of eight hundred and two times now, when he thinks we're still on version two," Michael finishes, an edge of panic flaring up around the slow-simmering anger.

"And now they're onto us," Chidi groans in exasperation, resuming his panicked pacing. "They're going to figure out that Michael didn't actually erase our memories, and then they're going to torture us for all eternity. And I, for one, really don't want to find out what four-headed bears, bees with teeth, and butthole spiders are like."

"See, this is what I was talking about," Michael complains as he gestures toward the blur that was once a frantically pacing Chidi. "Why couldn't you have been this panicked and sweaty last night?"

"Oh come now, last night wasn't a complete disaster," Tahani chirrups encouragingly, one hand on her hip as she sashays about in a pretty floral sundress like she's on a Parisian runway. "At any rate, I still looked marvelous."

"Are you forking kidding me?" Michael rages at her, a bulbous blue vein throbbing in his temple. "You made a complete fool of yourself! I mean, really, did you honestly think that you could ever sound half as good as Kamilah?"

Tahani freezes, eyes growing wide as she dips her head downward in shame.

"Well, perhaps I'm…not handling the finer details of my death as well as I thought I—" she mumbles quietly.

"Hey man, lay off Tahani," Jason says indignantly. He frowns rather than glares at Michael, like a tiny puppy sizing up a polar bear. "I think she looked real dope on that piano. And I wasn't breakdancing to some old dude playing the guitar. I was breakdancing to Tahani's song. You sounded real good, homie."

Tahani perks up in surprise, blinking several times before responding.

"Well, I…thank you, Jason. That was very…" she says quietly, humbled by the sincerity of his words, naïve though they might be.

No one has ever jumped to her defense like that before, and it's left her feeling equal parts elated and embarrassed. She offers Jason a small, appreciative smile, which he returns in full; a big, goofy grin that lights up every inch of his face.

Michael catches sight of this little display and recoils in revulsion, wondering what the hell happened between those two to make them so chummy all of a sudden. Then, he remembers that human emotions are stupid, and that he doesn't give a five-headed flying rat's ass.

"You four," Michael admonishes, pointing a threatening finger at each of them in turn. "Had better get your forking shirt together. Do you have any idea how much damage control and ash-kissing I'm going to have to do? I can only use the humans are forking morons excuse so many times before I—"

"You know what, bro?" Eleanor seethes, crossing her arms as she turns toward Michael. "I don't even want to hear it after the stunt you pulled at Gunnar's birthday party. You have some nerve getting on our case when you nearly blew our cover a few weeks back."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have spiraled into that stupid little existential crisis if the human rain cloud over there hadn't forced me to think about retirement," Michael retorts, glaring daggers at Chidi.

"Your hurt feelings are not Chidi's responsibility," Eleanor argues hotly. "He was just trying to get you to understand what it's like to be human, so that maybe you would finally start taking his classes a little more seriously. All he's ever done is try to help you, and you've been nothing but ungrateful."

"Yeah, okay. Whatever. Thanks for the lecture, mom," Michael grits through clenched teeth.

"Don't call me mom," Eleanor scoffs. "Chidi and I are not your parents, dude."

"Well, you certainly act like an old married couple," Tahani mumbles under her breath, just loud enough for Eleanor to hear.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Eleanor snaps, rounding on Tahani instead.

"Oh please, the two of you are downright insufferable," Tahani groans dramatically. "Whispering away in secret and cackling like hens at some stupid inside joke about John Rawls, constantly dominating the conversation during Chidi's lectures while the rest of us struggle to keep up—"

"Well maybe if you actually showed up to class once in a while—" Eleanor retorts.

"Because you're so perfect, Miss I Once Had An Emotional Breakdown In The Middle Of A Bed, Bath, And Beyond Over A Family Pack Of Toothbrushes!"

"You suck at keeping secrets!" Eleanor whines, genuinely hurt by Tahani's betrayal.

"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God," Chidi panics, resuming his frantic pacing.

For lack of nothing better to do, Jason starts making a series of loud, unintelligible noises like vroom vroom and beep beep just so he can feel like he's part of the conversation.

Michael rolls his eyes at the four of them, mumbling something about stupid, useless human emotions.

After that, it doesn't take long before everyone is at each other's throats, insults flying as they all attempt to blame one another for the evening's atrocities.

"Wait a minute," Jason exclaims amidst all the shouting, eyes sliding in and out of focus as he attempts to piece everything together. "You guys, I think this might be the Bad Place!"

Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, and Michael all turn to look at him, stunned to silence.

"Are…are you serious right now?" Chidi asks, head tilted to the side in genuine concern.

Jason merely shrugs, the corners of his mouth twisted into a frown.

"I thought you guys were supposed to be friends," he says simply. "And friends don't fight like this, or blame bad stuff on each other, or call each other mean names like you guys are doing. So there's no way that this is the Good Place."

Eleanor sighs heavily, kicks off her shoes, and slides down the opposing wall, sinking to the floor as she tucks her head between her knees and covers her face with her hands. Chidi closes his eyes and rubs his temples with the tips of his fingers.

"As much as it pains me to say this, Jason is right," Chidi admits begrudgingly. "Arguing and blaming each other isn't going to accomplish anything. We're supposed to be a team. Team Cockroach, remember? What we need to do is buckle down and work together to come up with a better plan."

"But we've already tried a bunch of different plans, and they've all failed," Eleanor groans, raking her fingers through her hair. "Last night, we failed so hard that we couldn't even manage to pretend to be ourselves. Let's face it! We're just a bunch of dumb, dead humans who thought they could go up against actual hellfire demons with Men in Black mind-erasy powers. I mean, we're talking about three hundred and eighteen immortal motherforkers who stuck us with a clam chowder fountain and a restaurant called the Hokey Gnocchi. These nut-jobs are pure evil."

"I think you're forgetting about the fact that we've managed to outsmart Michaelover eight hundred times now," Tahani reminds them all with a radiant smile. "No matter how many times he kept rebooting this little afterlife torture sequence of his, we kept figuring it out. That's got to count for something."

"Well, fork you too, Tahani," Michael says bitterly.

"What I meant," Tahani amends with an air of impatience. "Is that if we can outsmart Michael, then tricking Vicky should be easy-peasy."

"Eleanor, actually," Chidi corrects her, his expression thoughtful. "Eleanor kept figuring it out. Every. Single. Time. That's…incredibly impressive, when you think about it."

Tahani mumbles something unintelligible and turns her back to hide an exhaustive eye roll.

"I know that what we're trying to undertake here seems impossible, and it's easy to get carried away with anger and anxiety," Chidi adds with a self-deprecating little smile. "But I think that as long as we've got Eleanor, we have a fighting chance."

Eleanor's lips twitch into a small smile in spite of herself, face growing hot under Chidi's intense, unwavering gaze. Even in moments of complete chaos, when everything seems hopeless, Chidi always tries to look on the bright side. He's her flashlight.

A series of resounding groans and retches of nausea snap Eleanor out of her reverie, and when she whips around to face Michael and Tahani, she's surprised to find them scoffing and rolling their eyes at her.

"What the fork is your problem?" Eleanor hisses, anger flaring up anew.

"Look, I'm sorry you're still upset about the whole me figuring out your stupid little torture plan thing," she says, eyes narrowing as she glares back and forth between Michael and Tahani. "And I'm sorry you're still salty about the fact that the Arizona dirtbag figured it out before you did, but that doesn't mean you can just—"

"No, no, it's not that," Tahani sighs, waving a hand dismissively. "It's you two."

She points one perfectly-manicured, accusatory finger between Eleanor and Chidi.

"What," Chidi stutters as he leans back against the blackboard and casually rests his elbow in a pile of chalk dust. "What do you mean us two?"

"You and Eleanor," Tahani says, rolling her eyes like it should be obvious. "The secret glances, the simpering little smiles, the longing looks. You think the rest of us don't notice, but we do. You're not exactly subtle."

Chidi looks like someone just slapped him across the face.

"I don't…um…underst—" he flounders, his face growing hot under Tahani's scrutinizing gaze.

"Just fork each other already," Michael practically shouts, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation. "Clearly you both want to. You can smell the pheromones from a mile away. Literally."

Michael pinches the bridge of his nose and mimes vomiting.

"Excuse me?" Eleanor and Chidi shout in unison, looking positively scandalized. They turn to face one another, lips curving upward in twin smirks, Eleanor on the verge of shouting, Jinx! You owe me a soda! before they remember the intensely awkward situation at hand, and their eyes widen in horror, cheeks blushing an identical shade of crimson.

"You see what I mean?" Tahani says conspiratorially, nudging Michael in the ribs. "Completely insufferable."

"I couldn't agree more," Michael says, sneering at the pair of them.

"Old married couple, just like I said. They've even started mirroring one another. It's very unsettling," Tahani says, adding in a disgusted little shiver for dramatic effect.

"Yeah, whatever, crazy lady," Eleanor dismisses with a nervous laugh.

"Me and Eleanor?" Chidi agrees, his voice shrill and a little hysterical. "The very idea is preposterous."

Eleanor's fake smile falters for the tiniest fraction of a second, heart dropping down into the pit of her stomach. She steals a glance up at Chidi, waiting for him to take it back.

"Uh huh, yeah, sure," Michael chides, rolling his eyes. "Look, I get that humans have limited eyesight and can't see in all the same dimensions that an all-powerful immortal being like myself can see, but trust me, the human colloquialism you could cut the sexual tension with a knife is applicable here. And it's disgusting."

Michael grimaces as he wafts his hands through the air, batting away an invisible cloud of sexual tension.

Eleanor slips further down the wall until she's practically lying on the floor, splayed out like a ragdoll, and covers her face with her hands.

Chidi looks like he's just swallowed a lemon.

"What we mean to say," Tahani amends in what she imagines is a sage, soothing tone. "Though perhaps not as ineloquently as Michael has just phrased it…is that whatever this thing is that's transpiring between the two of you…it's proving incredibly disruptive to our classes. And anything that delays my one-way ticket to the actual Good Place is a complication that must be snuffed out. So please, for the sake of our sanity and your own, spare us all another month of having to deal with the…in Michael's case, literal…suffocating sexual tension that pollutes the air every time the pair of you are in a room together."

"Yeah, not only is it disrupting ethics classes," Michael chimes in. "But it's bleeding into the way you two interact when you're out in public together. Instead of hating each other's guts, you're mooning about making doe-eyes at each other, and it's starting to make everyone suspicious."

"We're not doing anything—" Eleanor protests, but Michael cuts her off.

"I just don't get how you two can't see it," he says thoughtfully, his tone softening a little. "I mean, it's glaringly obvious to the rest of us. Heck, they're a bunch of idiotic demons who don't know their ash from their elbow, and even they can see that you two have got it bad for each other. So just…do something about it, will you? Get it all out of your system so you can stop inflicting this will they, won't they garbage on the rest of us."

Chidi makes a short succession of high-pitched choking sounds, mouth hanging open in shock as Michael crosses his arms and giggles wickedly, only just realizing how uncomfortable he's made the two of them.

"On that note," Tahani trills happily, looping an arm through Jason's and dragging him toward the front door. "I think we ought to leave these two alone to…chat, as it were. Michael, would you care to join us for brunch? I hear they're serving savory cheesecake at The Good Plates."

Michael sighs and begrudgingly agrees, shooting one last pointed glare at Eleanor and Chidi, and mouthing get your shit together before whipping out the door after Jason and Tahani.

• • •

The silence that settles into the air is stifling, and Eleanor can say with absolute certainty that she has never felt so uncomfortable in her entire life. Every inch of her body feels like it's on fire. Even her teeth are itchy.

The seconds tick by at an agonizing crawl, the only sound punctuating their panicked breathing the fake cheerful birdsong playing on a loop outside of Eleanor's kitchen window. After a few moments of unbearable awkwardness, Eleanor chances a peek through her fingers and glances up at Chidi, who looks like he's on the verge of having a heart attack.

"So that was—" Eleanor starts, not entirely sure how she wants that sentence to end. She falters, battling the instinctual urge to beat down her feelings and write the moment off as a joke. She studies Chidi's expression, trying to gauge his reaction.

"Interesting," she says, decidedly neutral.

"Yeah, that was…something," Chidi agrees, pushing his glasses all the way up his forehead until they're perched on top of his hair, before realizing that he can't actually see without them, and then slapping them back down onto the bridge of his nose.

"I mean, it's crazy, right? You and me…together," Chidi lilts, and Eleanor could almost swear she hears a note of hope in his voice. Like he's asking her to prove him wrong.

Instead, the words yeah, crazy tumble out of her mouth before she can swallow them back, followed by a heavy, defeated sigh.

"Cool," Chidi says softly, his voice betraying the tiniest hint of pain as he scrambles for an excuse, any excuse, to get as far away from Eleanor's tiny, cramped living room as he possibly can, before the all-consuming tension between them threatens to swallow him whole.

Feed his cat. Water his plants.

Except, he doesn't actually have a cat. Or plants.

Well, maybe he can ask Janet for one or the other. That way, it won't be a lie, whichever excuse he chooses.

Sure, that seems reasonable. He'll just get a cat. Ethical dilemma solved.

"Cool," he says slowly, making his mind up. "Hey, you know what? I…uh…actually have to get going. Gotta head back to my apartment, because…I just realized…that I...forgot…to…water my cat."

Well…gold star for effort.

"But you don't have a cat," Eleanor says, head tilted to the side in confusion.

"Feed my plants, water my cat…it's one of those two," Chidi chokes out around a manic laugh. Without further word or warning, he sprints toward the front door and sweeps from the room before Eleanor has a chance to say anything else.

Yeah, she thinks to herself. Crazy.

• • •

She's not entirely sure how much time she spends sprawled out on the floor, staring at her front door, willing Chidi to walk back in and say…something. But the minutes tick past until she's lost all feeling in her toes and the muscles in her back have started to cramp horribly. And so, with a heavy sigh, Eleanor eases herself up off the floor and begins pacing the living room in a very Chidi-esque manner, wracking her brain to try to figure out what the hell just happened.

Married couple. Secret smiles. Longing looks. Pfft.

They're wrong, obviously, Michael and Tahani. They're way off the mark. Chidi even said it himself…the very idea of the two of them together is just ridiculous. If that's not confirmation enough, then—

But the hurt in his eyes when you agreed with him, Eleanor's brain chimes in, and her heart does a summersault in her chest.

"Nope!" Eleanor shouts into the silent void that is her living room.

"This is stupid. Feelings are stupid," she says, repeating it like a mantra as she paces the length of her living room.

She absolutely doesn't have feelings for Chidi. Sure, she likes him well enough…as a friend. And why wouldn't she? He's a great person. He's kind, and he's patient, and he's selfless to a fault. But that's all. Their relationship is strictly platonic, that of a student and a teacher. And yeah, it's not like she's against the whole sleeping with her professor thing, but this is Chidi we're talking about.

Chidi, with his stupid Clark Kent glasses and his extensive turtleneck collection. Chidi, with his obnoxious whining and his exhaustive indecisiveness. Chidi, who always gets a stomach ache at the slightest hint of stress. There's way more stuff that she hates about him than likes about him. For instance…

The way he drones on and on about his favorite philosophers, timing out at a two-hour monologue about John Rawls. (Granted, he did laugh and kinda make fun of himself after he found out she'd been timing him. It was actually a pretty nice moment. But still.)

The way he twitches his eyebrows whenever he says absolutism. The way he says cleanliness is next to godliness as he chastises her for leaving piles of dishes and dirty laundry all over the house.

The way his irritatingly superior way of talking to her always makes her feel like everything he says is a backhanded compliment. (And yeah, she knows he doesn't mean to come off that way, and he always apologizes whenever he accidentally does, and he never, ever makes fun of her, even when she sounds like an ignorant garbage person, which is nice.) But that doesn't mean that she's in love with him or anything.

Would she go so far as to say that he's attractive? Sure. Chidi's not bad to look at. He's actually kind of cute…but in like an incredibly nerdy, Super-Dork Jones kind of way. And he's surprisingly jacked (which she found out by accident that one time when a bee flew into his shirt and he flipped out and stripped down to his skivvies. It was hilarious.)

But Eleanor can't think about him like that, because he's Chidi. Best friend slash afterlife savior slash weird annoying teacher that she hates Chidi.

Chidi, with his stupid, adorable face that lights up every time he sees her. Chidi, with his annoyingly infectious laughter that makes her feel like she's just downed a mug of steaming hot coffee laced with caramel and a shot of bourbon on a cold winter morning.

Chidi forking Anagonye, with a smile like actual motherforking sunshine that melts the ice and barbed wire around her cold, dead heart, warming every bit of her from the inside out. Chidi, with his kind, dark eyes that pierce hers with such a fervid intensity that she's worried one lingering glance will give her away, and—

Oh fork, she's in love with Chidi.

And with that, the floodgates burst open, and suddenly she's drowning in a cascade of daydreams she's tried so hard to fight against.

The two of them, staying late after one of his classes, locked a heated argument that sparks bold confessions and surprised gasps.

The two of them, caught in the middle of a thunderstorm, giggling and shouting as they run to seek shelter, stolen kisses and breathless laughter, hands grasping at each other's rainsoaked clothes as Chidi pulls her into his side to keep her warm.

The two of them, wrapped up in a sea of blankets, Eleanor's head resting against his chest as Chidi's fingertips trace constellations in the freckles that dapple her skin. All the things she wants, but knows she can never have.

But you did have it, that little voice at the back of her mind whispers. Once.

Twenty times, actually, Eleanor retorts with a smug smile.

"Fork it," she sighs, dashing to her bedroom and digging out the battered old copy of Cannonball Run 2, hidden at the bottom of her underwear drawer.

Because she's tired of wondering. Tired of guessing. Tired of filling in the blanks and building it up into something more than it probably was. Tired of letting her imagination run wild, because she's willing to bet that the real thing isn't even half as good as all the stuff she's been imagining.

She's fed up and frustrated, and so over dealing with this emotional rollercoaster of what-ifs and maybes, so she might as well just get it over with and watch the damn thing.

• • •

Janet pops into the living room the moment Eleanor calls her name, which all but gives Eleanor a mini heart attack. After reassuring her nearly a dozen times that no one but the two of them can view Eleanor's search history, Janet promptly installs a VCR adapter into Eleanor's television, and disappears the moment Eleanor thanks her.

Eleanor double-checks the lock on her front door, closes all the blinds, and makes absolutely certain that she's alone, before popping the tape into the VCR. She holds her breath as it starts up, and watches it in little increments, pausing and un-pausing like she's anticipating a jump-scare in a horror film.

It starts with the two of them arguing, because of course it does. They've locked themselves in Mindy's guest bedroom, and are fighting about how best to take down Michael. Eleanor keeps suggesting that they somehow throw Tahani under the bus ("Maybe we throw her a little bit harder…maybe under a bigger bus!") and Chidi is rolling his eyes and calling her impossible. He's yelling at her, she's yelling at him, and things are getting pretty heated as they bicker like an old married cou— nope!

Normally, Eleanor is the ballsy, shameless one when it comes to seduction, which is why she's shocked when Chidi makes the first move. Both versions of Eleanor let out a surprised gasp that quickly turns into a contented sigh, because even in his passionate spontaneity, Chidi is gentle, careful, and sweet.

He cradles her face in the palms of his hands and kisses her softly, slowly, straddling that fine line between fervent and tame so effortlessly, and damn he looks good when he closes his eyes and weaves his hands through the length of her hair, urging her closer until she's pressed right up against his chest. She's never seen him like this before. This isn't the Chidi she's used to. He's all fire and confidence, and it's…actually kinda sexy.

And then he pulls back and fixes her with this frightened, shamefaced expression and immediately starts apologizing (and there's the Chidi she knows.)

"Oh my god, Eleanor, I am so sorry," he says in a panicked rush. "I…I don't know why I did that, I just…didn't know what else to do…you kept interrupting me and talking over me, and I was just so overcome with this urge to just—"

On-screen Eleanor interrupts him again, but this time it's with a kiss of her own. Her style is a little rougher, a little more self-assured as she tugs him closer by the collar of his button-down shirt, delighting in the way it elicits a soft, low moan from the back of his throat.

"Guess I interrupted you again," she teases, drawing back from him with a cheeky little smirk. "What are you gonna do about it?"

And Chidi…honest to God smiles. It's equal parts exasperated and amused, and…maybe a little flirty? At least, that's what she thinks Chidi would look like if he ever tried to flirt.

Things move pretty quickly from there.

There's a whole lot of kissing, and then they're taking each other's clothes off, and all the while, Chidi is repeatedly asking her if this is okay, if she's sure she wants to do this with him. Eleanor punctuates each enthusiastic yes with a kiss, winding her way down the length of his neck and all across his chest and shoulders.

And then he's kissing her all over, taking his time as he teases her, slowly, languidly. Then she's got him pinned to the bed, propped up on his elbows, staring up at her like she's a work of art.

And then she's prowling up the length of him, straddling his hips and positioning herself just so until she's hovering teasingly above him. For one split-second of a moment, the world is still, and then—

Oh.

And that's when she hears the sound of her front door opening.

That's when she remembers that she'd given Chidi a key.

"Eleanor," Chidi calls from the hallway, his voice laced with anguish and concern. "Eleanor, I don't like the way we left things before. Could we just…"

He sighs heavily, pockets his keys, and paces toward the living room.

"Could we maybe talk about it? Get some frozen yogurt, and just— oh— oh my god!"

"OH MY GOD," Eleanor screams back at him as he rounds the corner, eyes wide in abject horror as he stares at the moving figures on her television screen.

Eleanor smashes the off button, but only succeeds in hitting the up arrow for the volume, making it louder and louder until the only ambience left in the room is the sound of their breathless moans, calling out each other's names as the squeak of Mindy's guest bed hums along in a steady rhythm, the sheer volume of their on-screen dalliance all but shaking the house as it reverberates off the living room walls.

"Help me turn it off!" Eleanor shouts at him frantically, jumping up and down on the couch cushions.

Chidi shakes his head as if coming out of a daydream, tears his eyes away from the screen, and grabs the remote out of Eleanor's flailing hands. With one simple click, the screen disappears, and they're left with a resounding silence that fills their ears with a deafening ringing.

"Oh my god," Eleanor whines, drawing out the syllables with a strangled cry as she plunks down onto the couch cushions and covers her face with her hands, wondering idly if it's possible to die from embarrassment when you're already dead.

"So, um," she says after a few moments of unbearable silence, tossing him a sheepish smile. "You were saying something about fro-yo?"

Chidi purses his lips into a very thin line, closes his eyes, and shakes his head.

"Eleanor," he chokes out, his voice breaking an octave higher than it usually is. "What the actual fork did I just see?"

"It's…uh…" Eleanor flounders, desperately grasping at any excuse she can use to avoid actually having to tell him the truth.

For fuck's sake, she hasn't had nearly enough time to process it herself, let alone sit down and have a conversation about a sex tape that neither of them remember starring in with the man she — apparently — is in love with. Was in love with? She's not quite sure how this whole reboot thing actually works.

In any case, she's absolutely mortified, and her brain is screaming abort! abort! but she knows there's no way in hell she'd ever get away with lying about it. Not with Chidi, the morality-happy human lie detector.

Besides, there's not enough brain bleach in the universe to wash away the lurid images he'd just burned into his retinas, so Eleanor sighs in defeat, and begrudgingly tells him the short and sweet version of what happened when they went to the Medium Place to visit Mindy a little over a month ago, leaving out as many dirty little details as humanly possible. By the end of her story, Chidi is staring at her with pure, unbridled shock.

"If this is some kind of weird, twisted joke you're playing on me, Eleanor, it's not funny," he says, pacing back and forth across the living room in a perfect imitation of how he'd looked just a few hours prior.

"I'm not forking with you, I swear," Eleanor insists, fiddling with a loose string on one of her throw pillows and looking anywhere but directly at him.

"So...what, we just...I mean, you and I, we…" he quavers, swallowing thickly. "How?"

Eleanor's eyes grow wide.

"Oh come on, dude, please tell me I'm not gonna have to have the birds and the bees talk with you," she scoffs. "You're a nerd, sure, but it's not like you're not attractive or anything. You're actually kinda hot, and surprisingly ripped. There's no way that you died a virg—"

"No," Chidi interjects, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples. "No, no. I've had sex before. I can assure you that I know exactly what I'm doing when it comes to…that…it's just…I didn't think that we would ever—"

"You're tellin' me, buddy. And twenty-something times, no less," Eleanor says with a small shake of her head, vehemently trying not to think about the fact that Chidi apparently knows exactly what he's doing when it comes to—

"TWENTY TIMES?!" Chidi shouts, quieting down immediately when Eleanor shushes him and waves emphatically at the nosy neighbors in the house next to hers.

"We had...I mean, you and I, we...twenty times?" Chidi asks, exasperated.

"Could've been more, I don't know," Eleanor guesses. "That's only accounting for what Mindy The Pervert kept track of. Twenty times over the span of eight different days."

"That's an average of 2.5 times per day!" Chidi exclaims, and Eleanor can't help but snort in amusement. Of course he would be thinking about math at a time like this.

"But how?" Chidi insists, raking his hands through his hair. "It's just so unbelievable."

And, okay, that hurt a little more than she thought it would. It's not like she's hideous or anything.

"We were paired off as soul mates," Eleanor says defensively. "It's not that huge of a shocker."

"Yes, but from what I can gather, we always slept together after we had already figured out that the whole thing was a set-up," Chidi reasons. "It wasn't something we did out of obligation, because we actually thought that we had found our one true soul mate. In fact, in some of the reboots, we weren't paired up with one another, and were therefore technically cheating on our soul mates with each other."

"And yes, I know that none of it was real and they were all demons in disguise, so there really isn't an ethical dilemma there, but still," he says. "That means that over the course of eight hundred and two different timelines, in a seemingly perfect afterlife containing three hundred and twenty other people, you and I somehow managed to not only keep finding one another, but kept ending up romantically entangled."

"Think about how remarkable that is," he adds with an air of excitement, slipping into full-blown professor mode as he dissects the logistics of their interactions and subsequent feelings, finding comfort in the abstract and the theoretical. And they say romance is dead, Eleanor muses.

"This impossible, serendipitous phenomenon happened, over and over again in a multitude of different ways, across eight hundred and two different timelines," Chidi says. "Against all odds, we kept seeking each other out. Something kept drawing us together…but what and why?"

A million and one different ways to ruin the moment run through Eleanor's mind, threatening to break through that flimsy filter. She opens her mouth, poised on the edge of a terrible joke, but Chidi barrels past the interruption, far too caught up in his ideological rambling.

"When you really think about it," he says, pacing the living room in a dizzying blur. "It begs the question of one of the oldest philosophical arguments ever posed…the existence of fate, destiny, and free will."

Chidi pauses mid-pace and chances a glance over at Eleanor. His expression softens.

"I'll admit," he says, the faintest hint of a smile flickering across his face. "When Michael first told me that I had a soul mate, I was…cautiously optimistic. The hope of finding true companionship, well…it seemed too good to be true. And it was…or so I thought."

"Now, I have to wonder if the concept of soul mates isn't just idyllic hokum, yet another torture tactic dreamt up by Michael and his minions to toy with our emotions," he says. "Perhaps I do have a soul mate after all…and maybe that's why, no matter how many times we're forced to forget one another, against all odds, we keep finding our way back to one another."

Eleanor's heart thunders in her chest, taking in the gravity of what he'd just said. Back on earth, her two basic instincts were either to bolt or make a bad joke whenever someone tried to get all srs bsns about emotions with her. And right now, she's fighting harder than she ever has to keep both of those reactions at bay.

"We knew that we weren't actually supposed to be together right from the off, yet we still ended up wanting each other," Chidi continues, a self-satisfied little smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "So in that sense, we do have free will, because we chose each other. And we kept choosing each other, over and over again, in spite of the fact that our very environment was so vehemently against us doing so. The question is: why? Why were we drawn to one another, over and over again?"

"Hate sex?" Eleanor ventures with a sardonic smile, her resolve shattering as she vies for the latter defensive tactic, and the words come tumbling out of her mouth before she can think them through.

"Maybe you were talking way too much like you are right now and I jumped your bones just to get you to shut up. Or maybe you stopped questioning every little detail long enough to notice that I'm a hot piece of ash and you couldn't keep your hands off of me."

"Be serious, Eleanor," Chidi sighs wearily, the hopeful little smile fading from his lips.

"Oh come on, are you honestly suggesting that we might actually be soul mates?" Eleanor asks shrilly, genuinely terrified that it might actually be true.

"I—" Chidi falters, considering her. "I don't know. Maybe? It's hard to identify what our motivations were, given that our memories kept getting erased."

"Were there deeper feelings involved, or was it purely physical?" he theorizes. "Perhaps there's some truth to your jesting. After all, it's not hard to imagine that from a biological standpoint, we would be drawn to one another. As you've stated on several occasions, you're not opposed to my physique. And you are conventionally beautiful, and charming in a weird, quirky kind of way that makes my stomach flip…sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad way…"

Eleanor's head spins as she takes this all in, trying her damnedest not to latch onto the fact that Chidi said she was beautiful, or that sometimes, she makes his stomach flip in a good way.

"So it's not implausible," Chidi presses on with a slight frown. "To think that it was merely physical…some carnal, animal instinct born out of tension and heightened emotions…and maybe, in some of the reboots, it was as simple as that."

"However, the sheer volume at which it kept happening," he counter-argues, lips quirking upward into an unmistakably smug smile. "And the fact that we were repeatedly drawn to one another, despite our dramatic differences and constant quarreling, leads me to believe that there was something more at play, something deeper…some mysterious, magnetic pull, driving us toward one another on an unconscious level."

As Chidi slows to the end of his speech, his voice is barely above a whisper, soft and soothing, and despite Eleanor's pounding heart, the gentle sound of his voice keeps her calm, steady, focused. And fuck, this guy must really be worth it, because Eleanor has never fought this hard to suppress her natural instincts before.

Every nerve ending in her body is lit up like a live wire, adrenaline swimming through her veins, screaming at her to run, because feelings are stupid and love is weakness, but all she can think about is the way she looked on that tape when she confessed to Chidi that she loved him. Happy, relaxed, secure.

And even now, when she looks into Chidi's bright, hopeful eyes, there's no pang of guilt because someone fell harder for her than she did for them, no wave of nausea at the thought of having to open up and talk about her feelings, no desire to just bounce without so much as a cursory breakup text.

When she looks at Chidi, she sees a man who's fighting just as hard against his own insecurities and instincts, because he honestly believes that what they've got is something real, something worth fighting for. That Eleanor is someone worth fighting for….which is something Chidi has proven to her, time and time again in a multitude of different ways…and she can't believe it's taken her this long to realize it.

"Maybe…" she sighs heavily, heart leaping into her throat as she glances up at him. "Maybe you were onto something with that whole deeper feelings thing."

Chidi seems to struggle with an internal battle for which emotion gets control of his facial features. In the end, cautious curiosity wins.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" he asks, dragging out the words with slow uncertainty, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"Oh god, um…okay. So there's something kinda important that I forgot to tell you about that tape," she says shakily, anxiety ramping up to full capacity as she realizes what she's about to admit.

"And I need you to not freak out, okay? Because if you freak out, then I'm gonna start freaking out, because I've never actually said this before and meant it, so it's kind of a big deal, and I—"

"Eleanor," Chidi says softly, and she could swear she's never heard her name sound so sweet. "It's okay. Just tell me."

"Okay, here goes," Eleanor sighs. "At the very end, after we—"

Eleanor falters, and Chidi quickly changes his expectant expression to an understanding nod, for which Eleanor is immensely grateful, because right now, she feels like a blushing teenager in high school sex ed.

"We were cuddling," she admits hesitantly, because even that is a foreign concept to her. "And talking about what was going to happen to us if our memories got erased again, and I…I told you that I love you…and you said it back."

Something ever so subtle shifts in Chidi's expression, a sense of wonder mingled with cautious disbelief that tugs the corners of his lips up into a tentative smile. They stare at one another for what feels like ages, willing themselves to remember some small sliver of those stolen intimate moments. And then—

"Show me," Chidi says suddenly, his tone uncharacteristically confident, decisive.

Eleanor blinks rapidly, startled back to reality.

"What?" she asks, a little sharper than she'd meant.

"Show me the tape," he says simply.

Eleanor's eyebrows rise so high they're practically straddling her hairline.

"You…uh…you want to see us having—"

"No, no," Chidi assures her with a nervous chuckle. "No, I mean…show me the part at the end, where we…where we said—"

"Oh," Eleanor sighs in relief.

"I mean no offense to you," Chidi explains, worried that he's somehow upset her. "But I can't just take your word for it. I need to see it for myself…hear myself saying those words."

"Yeah," Eleanor agrees with a small nod. "Yeah, that makes sense."

Chidi holds out a hand for Eleanor to take, and gently pulls her to her feet. For the smallest span of seconds, she feels the hastened thrum of his heart against hers, reverberating against her ribcage as she's pressed right up against him, his lips a mere few inches from hers.

With a regretful sigh, she draws back from him and grabs the remote off the top of the bookcase where Chidi had left it. She clicks the button to turn it on, fast-forwards a little, and watches as a miniature version of herself from a hundred alternate realities ago drapes an arm across Chidi's chest, nuzzling in under his chin as he curls an arm around her side and gently caresses her shoulders.

I don't know what's gonna happen to us, but I need to tell you something. I love you…and you don't need to respond, because I know you have trouble saying how you feel—

I love you, too.

The Chidi on-screen smiles down at her warmly, before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her forehead. A few seconds later, the tape cuts out, and the screen goes blank. Eleanor and Chidi turn to face one another.

"See? I wasn't lying," Eleanor jokes, but it comes across a little more defensive than she'd meant it to.

"I never thought you were," Chidi assures her. "It's just so…unbelievable."

Eleanor makes a sound like a wounded kitten, and Chidi's eyes grow wide.

"No, no," he says apologetically, reaching for her hand and gently encompassing it between his own. "I don't mean that the idea of someone loving you is unbelievable, trust me, it's just that—"

Chidi sighs heavily, trying to compose himself.

"I've never admitted feelings like that without hesitation before," he explains, looking slightly chagrined. "Even on the rare occasion where I did finally say it to someone, I was never really certain if I ever actually meant it, or if I had simply said it out of a sense of guilt or obligation."

"Regardless of the reason, it never truly felt genuine," he says. "From that point on, and in fact, until well after the relationship had ended, I constantly questioned it. Sometimes aloud, while I was with them. It drove all of my ex-girlfriends crazy, and quite frankly, I don't blame them for resenting me because of it. Looking back, it was probably the driving factor that ruined the majority of my adult relationships. They were always the first to say it, and I just…paused…and stared at them blankly."

Eleanor quirks an eyebrow, fighting back a self-satisfied little smile at the idea that Chidi — or at least, some version of him — had loved her more than any of his exes.

"But on that tape, with you, all those lifetimes ago," he says softly, his voice like honey. "I told you that I loved you with such unequivocal conviction that I almost didn't recognize myself. And maybe that means that somewhere along the line, you began to have just as much of a positive effect on me as I did on you…that you taught me how to be a more decisive person, to be true to myself and to what I wanted, rather than just relying on what I thought was morally right. And in that timeline, I wanted you."

And this, this is exactly what Eleanor means when she says that Chidi's smile is like actual sunshine, because the look he gives her is so bright, so warm, so full of pride, that it melts her heart.

Somehow, this turtleneck-wearing, ethics-obsessed, indecisive nerd with a penchant for unapologetic candor and tedious rigidity has found a way to inject more poetic heart and soul into one string of words than all the cheesy love songs, cliché rom coms, and trashy romance novels Eleanor has ever tried to escape into.

Eleanor can't help but smile, lips poised to respond with something she hopes is just as sweet and sincere, when—

"Of course, the exact opposite might be true," Chidi counters, killing the moment with a swift dose of cynicism. "There is the terrifying possibility that none of this is real…that we're all just pawns in Michael's game…that everything on that tape, the Medium Place, Mindy St. Clair, even Michael defecting to our side…is all a lie."

And just like that, Eleanor's smile disappears. Dark clouds roll over the sun, and an aching emptiness that she doesn't quite understand settles into the pit of her stomach. Their memories have been rebooted so many times, and they've been teased and tortured and forked around by a team of hellish demons whose second nature is to lie between their teeth and make it sound like a kiss, that it's hard to tell what's real anymore, or who she can trust.

She looks up into Chidi's eyes, expecting them to reflect the same hurt and confusion that she feels, but his expression is nothing short of calm, assured, and genuine. And in that moment, she instantly knows.

Chidi.

Chidi is real.

That flutter in her chest when he holds her hand. That's real.

And that's good enough for her.

"Or," Chidi says softly, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze. "It could be real."

He smiles down at her encouragingly, coaxing her to follow suit.

"You see, there are certain things that you just can't fake, regardless of how powerful an immortal entity you are," he says with a casual roll of his eyes.

"True, Michael has been erasing our minds, but what about the residual effects our actions and experiences have had on our bodies? What about muscle memory? What about all the little details that can't be accounted for? Dreams about places we've never been…familiar faces we could swear we've never met…the way our hearts race when we look at someone and can't quite figure out why a perfect stranger could have such a strong impact on us," he says, tilting his head forward to emphasize that he means her, and Eleanor can't help but bark out a nervous laugh.

"Even though we can't remember it, it all still happened," Chidi presses on. "So, if we truly were together as many times as Mindy said we were, then at some point, we would have started to pick up on each other's preferences and idiosyncrasies. I, for one, would have memorized the way your lips felt against mine…the way you liked to be touched."

A shot of adrenaline prickles the back of Eleanor's neck, sending shivers down her spine at the images he's just conjured. She bites her bottom lip to hide a smile, delighting in the way it makes Chidi falter for a moment, lost for words.

"Certain details," he says, eyes fixed on the curve of her lips. "Instinctual reactions, learned habits and routines…can't be so easily unlearned. Some part of us, in some small way, might be able to remember…even if it's not quite in the way that we expect."

Eleanor tilts her head to the side, trying to reason out what he'd just said.

"So, what, our bodies might remember what our brains forgot?" she asks curiously.

"It's a working theory," Chidi says with a surreptitious smile.

"Out of curiosity," he adds. "How many times did we say that to one another?"

"Just the once, according to Mindy," Eleanor replies.

Chidi hums thoughtfully.

"Okay," he says with a small, decisive nod. "Well, that doesn't mean that those feelings weren't still there, all those other times. Theoretically speaking, in various alternate reboots, one or both of us could have fallen for the other, and just never worked up the nerve to say anything."

Eleanor smirks.

"An emotionally constipated narcissist who bottles up all of her feelings and a tortured academic who can't make up his mind about how he feels? Yeah, that checks out," she says, and Chidi lets out a breathless chuckle.

"So, given that line of logic…you could argue that there is a very real possibility that one or both of us…is doing that right now?" he asks slowly, tentatively, urging her to read between the lines.

Eleanor pauses, considering him.

"Cheedster," she says, because she still can't help but ruin the moment just a little bit. Hey, she's not perfect, but she's working on it. "Are you trying to tell me that you have a crush on me?"

Chidi honest to God laughs, and Eleanor could swear she sees the faintest hint of a blush curl across the curves of his cheekbones.

"I might have been developing certain romantically inclined feelings toward you over the past few weeks," Chidi admits, and Eleanor can't help but laugh at his calculated, overtly logical sincerity.

"Okay," she says, taking a deep, shaky breath, because hey, maybe feelings aren't exactly stupid, but they're still hard to say aloud. "So yeah, maybe I have too."

They stand there for a moment, staring up at one another with big, goofy grins plastered across their faces, when a sudden thought occurs to Eleanor.

"So, wait, if you like me too, then why did you bolt earlier? I mean, Michael and Tahani outed us big time. That would have been the perfect moment to…you know…make a move," Eleanor says, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "So why didn't you?"

"Honestly?" Chidi says with a heavy sigh. "Nerves…and doubt…not about my own feelings, just…major doubt that you would ever feel the same way about me as I do about you. And, as you're probably painfully aware, I don't work well under pressure. I got too deep inside my own head, imagining all possible avenues of failure and rejection, and I just…panicked."

Eleanor offers him a sympathetic smile, because, well, she's been there.

"I actually ran back to my apartment," Chidi admits with a self-depreciating chuckle. "Good to know my exercise-induced asthma still kicks in in the afterlife, by the way."

"Oh, you poor thing," Eleanor frowns, running her free hand up the length of his arm in a comforting gesture.

"I was kicking myself all afternoon," he confesses. "Eventually, I made the decision to just go over to your house and…well, I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do, to be honest. I just knew that I had to see you, and going out for frozen yogurt was the first thing that popped into my head. I figured it would give us time to talk, and I could gauge your reaction and see if you felt the same way that I did…but then, of course, I got distracted by the sight of us having sex on your giant television…in graphic, vivid detail, I might add."

"But I mean…it looked pretty good, didn't it?" Eleanor giggles, nudging him playfully.

"It certainly sounded like we were both enjoying it," Chidi agrees, a note of pride in his voice. Eleanor's smile grows even wider.

"So this…how we feel right now, that's…that's real?" Eleanor asks hesitantly, because she has to make absolutely certain that she isn't just assuming here.

"It feels real," he says softly, eyes alight with hope.

"And it's mutual?" Eleanor asks, needing that extra little bit of reassurance. "None of this unrequited pining bullshirt?"

Chidi laughs, and even though Eleanor knows it's kind of at her expense, it's still the best sound in the world.

"Yes, Eleanor," he says, smiling brightly. "It's mutual."

"So, that means…that means that what we said on the tape…that was real, too," Eleanor says softly.

"Well," Chidi sighs, reaching for Eleanor's other hand and lacing his fingers with hers. "There's only one way to find out for sure."

He closes the distance between them in one swift stride, slipping one of his hands out of hers to gently cup her face. He leans in slowly, eyes fluttering closed as Eleanor gasps in surprise and starts to mirror him, but the delicate sound makes him skittish and he wavers for a moment, like his brain is two steps behind his body and he's only just realized how bold of a move he's just made.

He reaches forward to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear, eyes meeting hers with panicked uncertainty, almost as if he's silently asking her, Is this okay? In lieu of an answer, Eleanor laces her arms around his shoulders and presses her lips against his, more delicately than she's ever kissed anyone before.

It's simple, and it's sweet, and it lasts barely more than a few seconds, but that's all the time she needs to know how she feels. When Eleanor pulls away, Chidi is gazing into her eyes like she's just told him that magic is real.

"Wow," he says with a breathless chuckle. He starts to smile, but pauses midway when he sees the confused, slightly frustrated look on Eleanor's face.

"Is something wrong?" Chidi asks, starting to worry.

"You've got to be forking kidding me," Eleanor says with a small shake of her head, but to Chidi's immense relief, her tone is light and playful.

"I really am in love with a nerd," she laughs, a brilliant smile spreading across her face as she looks up at Chidi, and before he has a chance to let those words truly sink in, she's pulled him back toward her by the collar of his button-down shirt, and captured him in another kiss.

More confident this time, Chidi responds in kind, arms wrapping around her waist, one hand placed firmly against the small of her back to keep her steady, like they're slow-dancing.

Led as if by instinct, they make their way back to Eleanor's bedroom, giggling as they trip over the stupid non-stairs, pausing only for a moment when Chidi lifts her up and gently places her on the ledge, edging between her legs and kissing her with fervor.

When they finally make it past the ledge and through her sliding bedroom doors, Eleanor wastes no time unbuttoning Chidi's shirt and gliding her hands across the canvas of his chest, reveling in the way his smooth, taut muscles feel beneath her fingertips.

Chidi shrugs off his shirt with a casual roll of his shoulders, and Eleanor bites her lower lip, eyes roving the length of him with pure admiration. She meets his eyes and curves her eyebrows suggestively, and Chidi can't help but laugh, face growing hot as he pulls her flush against him. Ever so carefully, he slips his hands underneath the hem of her shirt and slides it off of her in one swift, fluid motion.

Light as a whisper, he presses his lips against the back of her neck, taking pleasure in the way it makes her hair stand on end, sending shivers down her spine as he trails kisses across her collarbones, and is rewarded with a soft, low moan as Eleanor dips back onto the bed, winding her arms around his shoulders and gently pulling him down onto her. She's just reaching for the loop of his belt when one of his hands comes up to stop her.

"Eleanor, I just want to make absolutely sure…is this—" he says around a breathless moan as her fingertips tease the growing bulge in his trousers. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I mean…with me?" he clarifies in an echo of the way he'd sounded on the tape, uncertainty overtaking him. Eleanor shimmies up the length of the bed and props herself up on her elbows until she's eye-level with him.

"Do you want to?" she challenges, worrying for a moment that he somehow feels obligated to—

"Yes," he answers without missing a beat, followed by a quiet little chuckle in surprise at his own eagerness. "Yes, I definitely do."

His heart skips in his chest at the sight of her elated smile.

"Okay, then," Eleanor giggles, hands pressed against the curves of his chest as she skirts back down underneath him and makes quick work of the buttons of his trousers. "Shut up and help me get your pants off."

She's met with an exasperated laugh and an amused eye roll as Chidi slowly peels off the rest of his clothes, feeling the prickle of a blush across the apples of her cheeks as she takes in the sight of him, lips parted in surprise.

Chidi offers her a sheepish smile, biting his lower lip as he kneels before her, easing her out of her jeans, and taking his time as he slides that last little bit of sheer, lacy fabric down over her hips, before burying his lips into the curves of her thighs, spurred on by a series of dulcet moans and gasps as Eleanor tips her head back and her eyes flutter closed.

He brings her teasingly, torturously close to the edge, and then pauses, winding a trail of kisses along the edge of her hip bones, smirking his way up the length of her torso as she giggles and writhes beneath him, noting every ticklish patch of skin he finds and pocketing those vital details for future teasing.

As he reaches the soft, pink pout of her lips, he captures her in a slow, languid kiss, pouring every ounce of affection and longing into their gentle embrace as he settles his hips between the delicate curves of hers.

Eleanor presses her forehead against his and closes her eyes, feeling the weight of his chest against hers, the thrum of his heart as it matches hers beat for beat, breathing in the comforting scent of him and burning every detail of him into her memory, not wanting to forget a single second of this.

Because they might be in hell, but Eleanor is pretty damn sure that this is the closest to heaven she's ever been.

• • •

"Eleanor?" Chidi asks softly as they lay there sometime later in the evening, chests rising and falling in a steady rhythm, a mountain of blankets pulled up around their shoulders.

Eleanor hums as a way of response, fingertips skating across the length of Chidi's finely-chiseled chest, smiling to herself as she replays a highlight reel of the last few hours, lost in her own little world.

"I love you," he whispers, and how he manages to evoke such heartfelt intensity into those three little words will never cease to amaze her.

She jumps at the chance to say it back, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar need aching in her chest, when that last little nettlesome pang of doubt creeps into the back of her mind, and she pauses.

"Are you sure?" she asks tentatively, easing herself up off of his chest and fixing him with a quizzical look. "Because I don't want you to feel like you have to say it, or—"

"Eleanor," he says softly, leaning forward and placing a swift, sweet kiss to the top of her forehead. "I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life."

Eleanor bites her lower lip to keep a ridiculously goofy grin from forming as she snuggles back down and rests her head against his chest.

"I love you, too," she whispers, pressing a series of kisses across the curves of his torso.

They lay there like that for a little while longer, soaking in the serenity of the moment as Chidi grazes his hand along the arc of Eleanor's shoulders. In a world unfamiliar, Eleanor has never felt so at home.

"What do you think is going to happen to us?" she asks as she worries her lower lip, echoing the same fear shared by a not-so-different version of herself from a hundred lifetimes ago. "What if our big deception plan fails, and they send us all to the real Bad Place? I don't want to have to forget you again."

Chidi ponders that for a moment, tensing ever so slightly and then uncoiling, all within the span of a few seconds. He wraps his arm around Eleanor's side, pulling her closer and holding her tight as he presses his lips against her temple.

"Then we'll just have to keep finding one another," he says, far calmer and more confident than he's ever sounded before. "I have a feeling we always will."

He laces his fingers with hers, giving her an affectionate, reassuring squeeze.

He makes it feel like a promise.

#the good place #cheleanor #chidi x eleanor #chidi/eleanor #chidi anagonye #eleanor shellstrop #the good place fanfiction #fate feelings and other forked up nonsense #fairytalesandfolklore #fairytales-and-folklore #fairytalesandfolklore fanfiction #fairytalesandfolklore the good place

4 notes · View notes

silkendandelion · 2 years ago

Text

Pomegranates, A Stardew Valley fanfiction

Pairing: Lance (SVE) x Farmer (male, character sheet here)

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Farmer Max didn't listen to the wizard's warning and encounters a spell that shows him a version of his life where he married Elliot, instead of Lance. Hurt/Comfort, happy ending.

AN: Spoilers for Lance's 10-heart event and several late game quest lines, references to the outcome of these quests or rewards. Player is an OC with established characteristics, story, mannerisms. It's fine, we have fun anyway.

Rated Teen and Up Audiences for sexually suggestive content, unsafe situations, characters worried about infidelity (No actual cheating). One-shot. Cross-posted to Ao3 here. Send me a DM: yell at me, send flowers. Cheers.

He always saved the best pomegranates for Elliot.

The shiniest fruits of the batch, so heavy with juice they nearly jumped off the branch and redder than wine-stained, kiss-swollen lips. They always got washed separately, scrubbed twice, and packed in a box that had become known as “Elliot’s box” because of the blocky, handwritten label that declared it.

“That time of the year again?” Lance smiled as he set his satchel on the kitchen floor, mindful of the farmhouse’s stone counter-tops ever since they discovered that life elixir is surprisingly acidic. Luckily, the microwave now hides his shame.

“Just in time for his birthday too, since the summer was so cool,” Max said, clicking the crate shut.

“Well, I’m off to the Highlands.” Lance glanced in the fridge while the farmer tugged on his boots. The sticky rice he made the night before was untouched, a cursive note that read ‘goodnight, my love’ still attached to the top.

Poor farmer, he works so hard, he thought. “Actually. There’s not much to do the first week of the season, besides observations. If I only do a half day, I could make it back by say… 8 o’clock? What do you think, love, want to quit early with me?”

His mushy thoughts of hiking up to the bath house and splitting a pot of cider on the couch were dispersed by Max reaching for his coat with a wince. “I’m sorry, honey, probably not. Leah wants to do a brunch thing tomorrow for Elliot’s birthday and I gotta turn in early if I’m gonna finish the chores before I go.”

Lance opened his mouth to point out the flaw in his plan, but settled for a frown as he slung his satchel over his shoulder. “No worries, love, just a thought.”

They parted ways with a kiss, soft and sweet: the farmer’s preferred choice of apology when he knew Lance wasn’t actually looking for one.

“Stay safe up there. And say hi to Marlon for me if you see him,” Max said.

“Of course. Safe travels, farmer,” Lance teased him with a smirk.

He watched Lance leave their homestead and down the road, the smell of freshly-tilled soil washing away the scent of his husband’s soap before he even turned the corner. By the fifth day of the season, the crops were all settled into their neat little rows, the promise of pumpkins already in curly little saplings, and colorful mushrooms peeking up from plush, sleepy grass. The trestles by the fence would have grapes on them soon enough—best to keep an eye out for Petunia then, lest his horse be tempted out of her stall and he find her foundered in her sin.

Elliot loved the fall.

And Max almost slapped himself as he started the rest of his chores.

The wizard had warned him, “you can peruse my library at your leisure, but don’t touch any of the books behind that altar. It’s for your own safety,” and gestured to a menacing golden creature atop a spell circle, the statue’s ruby eyes seeming to follow him around the candlelit room.

It was one book.

A simple spell, just a single, short paragraph among the hundreds of others, found by parting the book to a random number and beginning in the middle of the page. The spell explained itself to have no ingredients, casted only by reading, though Max couldn’t have guessed how literal the instructions were.

“Spirits alive, spirits alike, spirit made flesh. The mind is a shallow cup, cursed to overflow with too many memories, but the soul remembers. Never forget, dear spirit. Recall your journeys, dear spirit… allow us to enter your mind, spirit. And look with us.”

Even Max knew not to speak aloud from spell books, but just reading the words left him breathless, his wheeze condensing in front of his face. He slammed the book shut, quick and careful to replace it on the shelf exactly as it had been found before fleeing back to the warp hall, his fumbling hands yanking at his coat’s zipper.

“Too creepy… Never again,” he said, believing now that Magnus wasn’t exaggerating when he placed the shelf off limits.

But the spell was already cast, brought to life by being read, and Max found himself visited by the most vivid dream he’s ever had—and hasn’t had one like it since.

A farm, what must have been his farmhouse, and an autumn day like today. A striped cat rushed to the kitchen under his feet while the writer hummed at the stove, his ginger hair pulled back to the nape of his neck.

“Good morning! Come eat, darling, I made your favorite.”

He never cared for pancakes but his stomach growled regardless, heart squeezing unbidden when the writer fluttered over to greet him with a milk coffee kiss.

Lance drank his coffee black.

It wasn’t his farm, not his cat, not his husband, so why did it feel so warm?

Why did he wake up missing the rosy lens of that other place? With syrup on his tongue and a pain in his chest for a man he’s never looked at before with anything other than friendship? His heart sank, belly cold as he rolled over to seek the warm back of his sleeping husband, minding the pomegranate hair draped over his pillow.

“Mm—hello,” Lance rumbled with fondness, awoken by the way the farmer squeezed around his middle.

“Go back to sleep, Lance,” he said against his hair. The smell of magic never did manage to wash out, like lightning in a forest. A happy huff was his only reply, though Max would stay awake for the rest of that night, and for days after.

He never should have read from that damn book.

The dream wasn’t anything more than a glimpse. He didn’t know the farmer’s story, who raised him, but he knew why his belly twinged when the writer kissed him. And if this flash of a feeling could haunt his thoughts in broad daylight, he knew he would die if he ever knew the truth about their entire life together, killed gloriously by the knowledge of one single lifetime, out of the thousands this other valley might know.

And he would never recover if Lance knew.

How could he ever say that in another life, some other place just like their valley, he was married to Elliot? And that they were so happy?

He couldn’t, he would rather jump naked into a bath tub of lava slimes than hurt Lance.

Lance, who when he was contemplating giving up farming to be a full-time adventurer declared with that self-assured grin that Max was the only one who could help him with his research.

Lance of the First Slash Clan, seasoned adventurer, who becomes as red as his hair, suddenly shy when Max reminds him that on his first visit to the First Slash Guild Hall, he took off his clothes and suggested they squeeze into the single bed.

The same man who when Max came to him with the insane idea to turn their cellar into a guild hall, didn’t poke holes in his dream or complain about how much the construction would cost, instead swelling with pride to say “My farmer, always thinking of others.”

Lance, whom without the world would have no spring.

Max looked at the crate in his hands, having walked all the way to the beach after his chores, and knocked on Elliot’s door with his boot. What am I doing?

“Max, hello there!” He opened the door with a gasp. “Are those for me?”

“What—yes. Fresh from Haddenfield,” he said reflexively, pulled from his thoughts to follow Elliot inside and put the crate on the piano bench for unpacking.

“Oh, they’re beautiful,” he said, holding one up to the window to admire it’s ruby glitter. “Won’t you let me pay you this time?”

“No no, of course not,” Max waved his hands. “I brought it to you without asking, it’s a gift. Happy birthday.”

“Well, thank you.” Elliot bowed his head, but was struck by a thought. “Wait. This is heavy, too big for Petunia. Did you walk all the way here? Let me make you a cup of tea before you go.”

Max remembered the smell of green tea from his dream, knowing what he would offer even before Elliot opened the metal canister. “I’ve got green tea, do you mind a travel cup?”

This life is enough. No memory, intangible and false, will come between him and his valley.

“I’ve actually gotta get going. Somewhere to be. Thank you, Elliot, and happy birthday!”

“Thank you, Max, please be careful. Say hi to Lance for me!” He called as Max was already marching his way up the beach with a wave. ____ ___ __ _

Good, Marlon didn’t take the boat, he thought as he found the dinghy by the mountain dock, tied and ready. The trek to the Highlands always managed to be twice as long when you were in a hurry, and Max prayed the clouds gathering overhead would hold off on their rain until he made it to the outpost.

A distant crackle of thunder caught Lance’s attention, and he paused his note-taking where he was crouched beside a sleeping mushroom sprite.

“That’s enough for today, I guess,” he said, accidentally startling the creature awake and having to cast a recall spell to avoid its tiny rage.

On the river, Max struggled with the frantic sail of Marlon’s little boat, holding his own against the wind despite the way the waves slapped against its fragile sides.

“I can hear the conversation now—Sorry Marlon, I took your boat out into the storm without your permission but it was all for love! No no, it’s in pieces but I’ll buy you a new one, I promise.” Max yelled to no one as the little boat bobbed and thrashed around the last bend before the dock.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Inside the outpost, Lance closed the line on his emergency phone when no one answered.

“He must be on his way home… oh, I hope he’s all right,” he said, going to pilfer his satchel for supper.

“Oh no,” he groaned, realizing his packed dinner was still in the fridge at home, probably next to the forsaken sticky pudding.

“Crumbs,” he said with a huff. Rain on the stone roof meant it was too late to try to fish, too far to try to go home.

A loud thud came from the direction of the dock, heard clearly even through the heavy wooden door, and the hair on his arms stood up.

Debris from the storm? No, it sounded like a person. Marlon? But why? It could also be a monster.

“The warding should keep them away…” Unless the storm fractured my spell circle.

The lumbering came again, closer now, until both Lance and the mysterious noise stood on opposite sides of the door.

His fingertips sparked with a welling of magic. “Aureus lux—“

The door flew open to crash against the opposite wall. “DAMN it all—”

“Max!” Magic leapt from his hand to scorch across the stone wall, but at least the attack hadn’t landed on his soaked husband, frozen in the doorway.

“Did you just try to zap me?!”

“Of course I did! How am I meant to know you’re the one stomping around like a Golem in the middle of a storm? What are you doing here?” He helped the farmer inside, setting him down at his workbench to begin taking off his boots. His fingers shook on the dripping laces, but not with magic.

“You’re soaked—what were you thinking?! What if the boat crashed, how would I ever even know what happened to you? Drowned, or, or—” Max hushed him with the hand that wasn’t holding his bag.

He pulled him close, uncaring he was likely dampening Lance’s shirt, he needed to feel him before he floated away. “You forgot your dinner.”

Lance blinked at him, watching the farmer open his bag to take out two portions of curry and a bottle of wine. Blue Moon, his favorite. “No hard feelings that it’s not from Haddenfield,” Max said, like every time he gifts it to him with the same cheeky grin.

“Have dinner with me? Maybe?” He tries again when Lance is quiet.

“That was an incredibly foolish thing you did,” Lance finally says, flat, but his eyes are soft when he pulls him into a long kiss. They can hardly tell which one of them deepens the kiss first, lips sliding and tasting of petrichor by the time they part to breathe.

“… So you’re not mad?” Max says, dazed and a little warmer where his jacket collar bows away from his skin.

“Of course I’m angry. But I’m also helplessly in love with you, farmer.” He shakes his head and reaches for the bottle.

“I’ll open the wine if you’d like to change your clothes.”

“You have extra clothes here?”

“No,” he says, flat again, and punctuated by both the pop of the cork and his affectionate smirk.

Well, at least the bed is dry, he thinks as he sits in his underwear. Lance never stayed mad for long, and by the time they finish supper he’s coaxing the farmer under the duvet and into his arms. For body heat, he insists, not because the outpost bed, while bigger than the one at the guild hall, is still a squeeze for two grown men.

“It reminds me of that first night at the First Slash,” Max said, accepting the wine bottle when Lance passed it to him.

“Oh Yoba, hasn’t my heart been through enough tonight?” Lance rubbed his tired eyes, albeit smiling behind his hand.

“Don’t be embarrassed, you were very charming,” Max grinned and passed the last sip back to him.

“How long had we been dating? Not long at all, and I threw myself at you.”

Max grabbed his hand to invite his gaze. “I caught you, didn’t I?”

Lance waited a beat, eyes softening as he squeezed their hands. “Yes, you did. Handsome farmer, I couldn’t help but need to know how you felt.”

“I promise, the fact that you were pressed up against me with your abs out had no influence on my answer.” Lance’s chuckle made his stomach flip, a familiar feeling he wanted to happen over and over for him alone.

He drifted easily into a useless dream about keeping Petunia away from the grapes, deeper than he’s slept in weeks, and wondered if pomegranates would be important in his next life too.

#stardew valley #stardew valley expanded #lance sve #lance stardew valley #lance x reader #lance x player #original character #do player fics count as x reader?#stardew oc #stardew farmer #oc fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #hurt/comfort #pomegranates #x reader #x oc

19 notes · View notes

arvandus · 2 years ago

Note

‼️JJK SEASON 2 SPOILERS WARNING ‼️

So normally I view shipping as kind of a fun silly thing to do when part of a fandom. Like yeah it’s be cute if these two characters ended up together but obviously that relationship isn’t the focus of the story and the creator focuses on the progression of the plot and conflict with the protagonist and antagonist, etc. So I’ve never really had an otp before, just a handful of ships that I’m like “yeah that makes sense and it’d be cute and stuff but I wouldn’t harass other fans and content creators about it”.

But…

SatoSugu is on a whole different level. For the first time you can’t convince me that Satoru and Suguru weren’t romantically involved with one another… I mean, the two are literally soulmates. Yin and Yang. One cannot exist without the other. Darkness in the light and light in the darkness. The betta fish in the outro for season two representing their tragic fate is perfect. Satoru follows the path of the black, sickly betta fish (representing Suguru and his struggle with depression) with concern, while Suguru barely acknowledges the white, healthy betta fish (representing Satoru and his constant upward progress). Male betta fish cannot be kept in the same tank because they are bred to be fighters (both of their powerful family lineage and high expectations placed upon them) and eventually one will kill the other (and we know how that went).

Fate of the Stars by Tally Hall plays in my head whenever I think of them. I feel it’s fitting and kinda sounds like an auditory version of Gojo’s Infinity, but also Geto’s descent into madness. Anyway I felt I needed to ramble bc I can’t explain this to anyone irl without going insane bc I love them so much. Like I got a really nice gojo figurine and there’s a matching Geto one coming out next year and I gotta get it obviously so they can be together on my shelf all happy.

(*´꒳`*)

Oh boy anon, I am so with you. I don't think their relationship will ever be given an explicitly canon romantic label (they never are sadly), but this is honestly the closest we'll get to it. Regardless, we all know that the history is there, the dichotomy, the light vs. dark and yin vs. yang. It's a story about tragedy, about love lost (whether romantic or not, although bruh... *gestures wildly*).

It's all the little details that went into their relationship to each other that really stand out for me. Like in the latest episode when Getou requests something sweet because he knows that Gojo will have some of whatever he gets. Like, not only does that tell us that they share food regularly (or more like gojo takes it lol), but that Getou is constantly considering Gojo's desires when it comes to his own decision making. He knows him better than anyone, and vice versa. It's what makes Getou's downfall so hard to take. Getou always requires purpose to everything, he's all about rules. He's incredibly disciplined. So to have someone who seems so incredibly rock solid turn around and make the decisions he made... It must have gutted Gojo. Because Gojo can understand it even though he doesn't want to, and it holds a mirror up to his own darkness, his own potential for violence. And with his ability, that would be catastrophic. So now Gojo is forced to step into Getou's shoes against Getou who used to be his rock. ASDF;ALSJFA I could go on forever about it.

For me, I find angsty pleasure in the tragedy of perhaps they weren't official; perhaps they never reached a point where they could explicitly express their feelings for each other before everything went south. But they were both aware of it, and its that energy that follows them everywhere until Getou's end, and it continues to follow Gojo even now. It's about regret, and loss, and loving even though we shouldn't anymore, because we can't erase their memory. It's about mourning what could-have-been, it's about hope and how it leads us astray, and it's about repercussions and consequences. It's all very human, tragic, and beautiful.

#arvandus answers #anon #jjk #jjk spoilers #getou x gojo #suguru x satoru

6 notes · View notes

saetoru · 2 years ago

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。APOLOGIES — SHIDOU RYUSEI.

✩ — contents ⋮ fluff, gn! reader, established relationship, post argument make-up, annoying shidou as always, reposting bc it got marked w a label the first time even tho it’s sfw

dating shidou is not easy, it takes maturity and patience and the will of god’s strongest soldier. in fact, most of the time, dating shidou means you’re constantly drifting in and out of being mad at him—which, right now, you’re quite mad.

“shidou ryusei, it is one am,” you glare, opening your door and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. he has a wolfish grin on his face—it’s cocky, and it widens as he stares you up and down in your little batman pajama pants. normally, you wouldn’t answer the door for someone you’re mad at, boyfriend or not, but shidou makes it hard to ignore with his incessant knocking.

you value your sleep—and more importantly, you value not being kicked from your apartment for noise complaints.

“aw, not the full government name,” he says slyly, and it only makes your blood pressure rise even more as you practically feel a vein pop.

“ryusei,” you warn. but he doesn’t pay attention, just as you expect. instead, he whistles lowly.

“i like the uniform. ‘s cute,” he cackles, eyeing the way your pants are hung a little lower on your hips from tossing around in bed, exposing a bit of skin that he drinks in shamelessly.

“thanks,” you say dryly, “they’re fuzzy and they were half off. now why are you here?”

“just visiting,” he shrugs.

“at one am?”

“it’s twelve fifty-two,” he corrects like he lives to defy you in every corner. and you bet he loves it—in fact, you know he’s positively enthused by the way your lips curl into a scowl and your eyes glare at him so fiercely. he stares down at the way your hips slant as your cross your arms, and he chuckles (which you think is almost passable as a giggle at the sheer giddiness.)

only shidou ryusei would be giddy from turning you halfway near homicidal, and only he would find the murderous glint in your eyes cute, wholesome.

“what do you want,” you say bluntly. he takes a step forward, and no matter how mad you are, you can’t help but stand painfully still as he leans closer, trying your damn hardest not to lean in when his hot breath fans over your face as he stares at you.

“your bed would be nice,” he hums, “preferably with you in it.”

he’s insufferable. everything he does and says makes you want to chuck bricks at his head and hope it fixes the loose wires he seems to have. but you don’t even get to finish saying, “fuck off, ryu—” before he cuts in.

“c’mon, don’t make me find a way in myself,” he curls his lips wickedly, like he’s got you in checkmate, like the cards have been in his favor all along as you play the game he’s written. but this time is different—this time, you’re determined not to let shidou take advantage of your weak heart through his rough and tough charms.

this time, you have a point to prove.

“i’m going to call the cops on you,” you threaten, “tell them i’m being harassed by a pink-haired freak.”

“i wouldn’t mind getting married in jail,” he grins, and you can practically make out the hearts in his eyes as he looks at you. it makes you want to slam the door in his face and go right back to bed. but that would only mean he’d go back to pounding on your door and singing your name, and you’re pretty sure you’re one more instance away from your neighbors collectively petitioning your eviction.

“i don’t want to marry you,” you hiss.

“don’t be like that,” he reaches to poke your cheek, “being inmates would be fun. we could give the officers a show as we fuck—”

“ryusei,” you hiss.

arguing with shidou always ends like this. he worms his way in and knocks down your walls without ever saying i’m sorry. he eases his way back into your heart with wide grins and cheeky comments and that charm of his that really shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. he never admits he’s wrong—but the way he tries harder the next time, makes sure he does it right, makes sure he’s better just for you, you know he cares. he never resolves things in the way you would consider the standard method of patching up after those unavoidable couple fights—but this time you decide it’s different.

this time your feelings are hurt—really hurt. the kind of hurt that makes you wonder if you’re annoying. or if you talk a lot. or if he even wants to be around you. or that maybe you tire him out. or that the sound of your voice is grating. or that you overstep boundaries.

this time there is no brushing the cracked shards of your heart under the rug and acting like he can kiss the pieces back together. this time you want to hear it from him—and if you have to stand at your door at ungodly hours of the morning and milk it out of him…well, you’re inclined to do that.

“c’mon, babe. are you gonna keep me out here all night? lemme in—”

“you’re not coming in until you apologize,” you say bluntly. he groans, throws his head back, and slaps his hands over his face as he grumbles into his palms.

“god, you’re killin’ me here. seriously, you know i didn’t mean it—”

“‘for fuck’s sake, i’m not your damn kid’,” you mock his voice from the other night, reminding him of his own words like he’s forgotten. he only stares at you with pursed lips and a blank face, but that doesn’t stop you, however, as you scowl at him and continue, “i don’t know. you seemed to really mean it when you said that.”

“i was just tired, you know that—”

“i was just trying to look out for you,” you don’t even seem like you’re listening to him anymore, poking a finger at his chest accusingly as he lets you, “i watch you sleep at unreasonable hours only to wake up before the sun itself—”

“yeah, and i told you i’d work on that—”

“and then i ask you, have you eaten today? and you know what you tell me? yeah, i had a protein shake this morning—”

“okay, and that was like one time—”

“and then i hear that you get into a fight, and lo and behold, you show up to my place with a bloody nose and cracked knuckles—”

“but you should’ve seen the other guy—”

“and then i come over to your apartment, and your laundry isn’t done, your dishes aren’t washed, and you have eighty million socks on the floor,” you start to put a finger up for everything you list, making him fiercely fight back a chuckle that he knows would seal his death wish, “and all i try to do is take care of you so that you can be healthy and play your best and what do you do? yell at me and tell me it’s not my responsibility to—”

you’re cut off by lips pressing onto yours harshly, the rough feeling of a calloused hand cupping your cheeks and bringing you closer. and maybe if you had a bit more self-respect, you would shove away the rude, ungrateful, irritating, tacky-haired douchebag of a boyfriend that stands in front of you, but you simply choose to lose all dignity when it counts most. you choose to give in, melt into his touch, lean closer and fist his shirt as your lips press back just as firm.

and when he gently pushes you back, you let him. you even let him step into your apartment and spin you around, shutting the door and pressing your back against the cool surface. his body cages you so that there’s no room for escape—not that you think you could even run from him now that he’s let himself in, anyway. but with one more peck to your lips, he pulls away, pressing his forehead against yours as he clicks his teeth and sighs.

“fine, i’m fuckin’ sorry. ‘s that what you wanted to hear?”

“not if you’re only saying it to make me un-mad,” you say stubbornly.

he clicks his teeth again, shoots you a look of irritation that you return tenfold. “‘m sayin’ it ‘cus i want to, dumbass. you think i’d say that shit just to say it?”

“i don’t know, you’re rude,” you shrug, not meeting his eyes. he rolls his eyes before he leans in and kisses your cheek, then the other, then the tip of your nose, then just over your brow, then your eyelid—and when he sees the beginnings of a smile crack on your lips, he nibbles on your cheek and pulls a soft giggle from you against your will.

“said i was fuckin’ sorry, stop being stubborn.”

“don’t yell at me again,” you huff, “and fix your sleep schedule.”

“okay.”

“and eat proper meals.”

“fine.”

“and maybe clean up.”

“kay, i’ll try. happy?”

“and stop getting into fights—”

“let’s set realistic expectations, here,” he cuts you off, earning a huff from you. but you seem significantly less angry—and he’s glad. because sleeping without your body to squeeze in the dead of night and not hearing you hum that stupid song you always listen to as you wash dishes and not getting those back to back pings on his phone as you spam him with daily updates is starting to get to him. so he wraps an arm around your waist, tugs you flush against his chest as meets your gaze, “are you still mad? because then you’re just being difficult.”

“no,” you sigh, making him grin.

“good.”

“i just love you,” you mumble, and there’s that cute, innocent little pout that you always do tugging at your lips, the one that drives him mad and reminds him he’s just as in love too. “i want what’s best for you—”

“yeah, yeah,” he grunts, “okay. i love you too. i’ll start being more responsible and shit. now can i come to bed?”

“fine,” you cave, “but—”

“great, let’s go,” he drags you along, not wasting a moment before your body is tossed onto the mattress and his lands on top of you, head tucking into your neck. and it’s warm—where his lips are, where he traces kisses along the awaiting skin.

dating shidou ryusei is exhausting—but there are a few perks, you have to admit.

“you’re a headache,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair. he snorts, shakes his head from his place in your neck, earning a small giggle from you at the way it tickles.

“yeah? so are you with your nagging.”

“i don’t nag,” you slap his shoulder. he laughs—it’s that low, soft rumble that he only laughs around you, when his head is tucked into your neck, and your hands rub up and down his back, and he’s content.

and maybe a little in love.

“you do. but i love it, it’s hot when you’re mad.”

“go to sleep, ryusei,” you roll your eyes. and then you wait a moment or two—just so he doesn’t get a big head when you begrudgingly mumble, “and i love you too.”

half of this is just filler with dialogue but wtv. take this lil scenario in my head of arguing w shidou bc he’s a living train wreck

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#shidou x reader #shidou x you #shidou fluff #shidou ryusei fluff #shidou ryusei x reader #shidou ryusei x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock fluff #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk fluff

2K notes · View notes

creganslut · 3 years ago

Text

riven headcanons.

after shifting to fate the winx saga for a little while, i finally got some muse to write, so here is a realistic headcanon list for how it would be like to date riven!! this is based on my shifting experiences but they are also realistic imo based on his personality in the show.

𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

warnings: smuttish, not really descriptive but mentions of sex and mature themes, cursing

when he first sees you at the annual specialist party, he tries to shoot his shot with you but you’re better than that, and you turn him down

he respects the game you’re playing, and backs off for a couple of days

one night you all go out to a pub and get drunk, and you finally open up to him a little more. he takes you back to your room and makes sure that you are safe before going back to his own room

he never formally asks you to be his girlfriend; labels aren’t really his thing, but he doesn’t deny it when people call you his girlfriend.

despite being in a relationship with you, he is still extremely friendly and flirty to everyone he comes across. it’s something he subconsciously does, and he doesn’t even notice.

if you call him out on it, he would absolutely gaslight you. sorry, but it’s the hard truth about riven, he would say you’re overreacting and you have nothing to worry about.

he’s a god in bed. absolute sex god, rough but knows how to control his strength in a way that doesn’t make it uncomfortable. no aftercare whatsoever, usually a kiss on the forehead and he knocks the fuck out.

if you’re mad at him, it takes him some time to notice. he’s quite oblivious. when he does notice, he doesn’t really like to deal with emotions, so he buys you random gifts to show that he’s sorry.

having to be the angel on his shoulder 24/7 — constantly stopping him from shoving someone, punching someone, saying rude things…and sometimes encouraging it.

he’s like a guard dog, especially when you go out to social events like parties or pubs. he watches over you with a glare and a pint in hand, his free hand always connected to you.

his love language is absolutely physical touch. he always has to be touching you in some sort of way, whether it be an arm draped over your shoulder or a hand resting on the small of your back.

that’s all i can really think of for now, but if you want me to write more riven content let me know & give me some ideas!!

#riven #ftws #fate #fate the winx saga #ftws riven #riven x reader #riven headcanons #riven oneshot #winx #winx saga

974 notes · View notes

i-arch-my-backula · 3 years ago

Note

hi I luv your content, can do you some headcannons for dwayne? 🥹🥹

Dwayne my beloved. I still laugh thinking about Billy just walking around shirtless all the time on set. It's pretty funny to my. Again talking about my mutual Lost (@/lostbxys) Dwayne is his favorite boy and I'm stealing a lot of these head cannons from him. Also Lost I know you won't do this but just in case don't try to cancel me for these lmao.

General and Relationship head cannons for Dwayne tlb

Warnings: None I can think of.

I agree he was turned in the 1700's. He was the first boy to be turned out of the four of them.

He got mad hoes. Like everyone was kinda scared of him so he picked up chicks and dudes left and right.

I can see him bonding with Paul at woodstock about being labeled something for how many partners they have had.

He isn't like the actual biological big brother to Laddie he still fills the role. He's very protective over Laddie and takes the role of being a big brother seriously.

He probably has something for his hair that he uses to keep it so nice. He's from the 1700's he knows some like plant oils or whatever to keep his hair nice and clean.

Also has only three shirts. One from Woodstock, one from the night he turned, one from when he was a kid and I think Lost mentioned a fourth one but that was awhile ago.

He's great at shoplifting he just doesn't do it often. When he does he uses Paul and or Marko as a distraction.

Listens to more "girly" music (by that I mean female artists and artists popular with women and girls) with Star sometimes. Not his favorite kind of music but it's nice to listen to with Star.

Made his jacket with the help of Marko. Probably stole it from a victim. Maybe a greaser from the 50's? I like the idea of the boys being greasers.

He scolds Paul all the time for how he treats his hair. "Paul your hair is so fried I can blow on it and it would snap in half." Forces Paul to let him wash out his hair once at week at least. Also probably steals hairspray for him.

Has a few tattoos on him here and there.

Makes sure the boys keep the swearing down around Laddie. They get very creative with their insults too. "Marko if you looked up while it was raining you'd drown." "I can't drown stupid we're vampires."

Relationship head cannons

Dwayne probably met you when he saw you helping Laddie when he got lost. He'll notice how attractive you are and probably will ask you out from there.

Will get teased by Paul and Marko and will roll his eyes about it. He'll get protective over you too and insist to David that you're not gonna be a victim.

Will tell you about the whole vampire thing before you two start dating. Won't force you to turn but he will let you know it's gonna have to happen eventually. But who doesn't wanna be a vampire with a hot vampire boyfriend.

I mentioned this before but Dwayne's main love language is quality time. He loves spending time with you doing things you both love. Playing game on the boardwalk, watching the sunset if he gets up early enough, walks on the beach, reading to you, going for rides alone, whatever he can do with you he wants to do.

Is ok with physical touch but he's gonna have to warm up to it a bit. Not really used to it all that much but he's not totally shut off to the idea. He'll hold your hand often and give soft cheek kisses around the boys. Won'r do much physical affection around Laddie however.

If you ask about it he will go over his past, leaving out some bits he wants to forget about along the way. He's been alive for over 3 centuries so he's got a lot of stories to tell. Will tell you stories about the other boys too. I like the idea of him telling you about the time Marko got bucked off a horse and the reason he got on the horse in the first place was because "I grew up on a farm. I can ride horses."

When you do turn he's going to make sure your first hunt is special. Just the two of you together and the victims. After this he'll help you get the hang of all the new vampire stuff. "Dwayne my nails keep breaking." "Don't worry about it darling they grow back quick."

That's another thing. He loves pet names. Darling, pretty boy/girl, lovely, honey, dear, handsome, beautiful, etc. Lot's of pet names.

#dwayne x reader #dwayne the lost boys #dwayne lost boys #dwayne tlb #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n

81 notes · View notes

xoxo-teddybear · 4 years ago

Text

She’s Baby - Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: Cursing, fluff, crack

Summary: On a mission, Y/N gets hit with a quirk. Basically, she returns back to being a baby. And obviously, her boyfriend is left to take care of her.

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

A/N: Y/N has the Cheshire quirk I mentioned in another post. The main thing you’ll need to know is that she can teleport and she can shape shift into any feline creature.

“......What am I looking at right now?”

Bakugou stared down at the small child being held by Kirishima. She oddly resembled his own girlfriend, with the same E/C eyes and H/C hair. Kirishima stood nervously as he let out a chuckle while sweat dripped down his face.

“Uhh..this is your girlfriend Bakugou. Some things happened on the job with Fat Gum and now Y/N’s a baby,” Kirishima explained. It took a second to process but once Bakugou finally got it, he started cackling. He bursted out laughing with tears streaming down his face. He went to pull out his phone and took a picture of your baby form, which was currently chewing on her foot through her pink onesie.

“Hehe, cute.” He whispered to himself as he looked at the photo.

“Ehem, anyways. Considering you’re in a relationship with Y/N, we decided to have you be her caretaker until she returns back to normal, which should be in just a few hours.” At his teacher’s words, Bakugou’s eyes popped.

“What?! Do I look like some damn babysitter to you?!” The blonde screamed.

“No, you look like her boyfriend. So man up and deal with her!” Kirishima said as he shoved you into your boyfriend’s arms and shut his dorm room door. Bakugou grunted and sighed before he looked down at baby you in his arms, he softly smiled down at your cute form that was cooing at him and reaching for his face.

“If our future kids look anything like you, they’re gonna be cute as fuck.” He said as he tickled your tummy.

—

After a few hours of having baby Y/N in his dorm room, Bakugou thought it’d be a good idea to get you both some food. A healthy meal made by the Japanese Gordon Ramsey himself should suffice.

Bakugou walked out of his room with you, not in his arms, but you standing on his shoulder, tugging on his blonde locks. Your baby form apparently loved high perches, which made sense due to your quirk being cat-related. As the two of you made it to the common rooms, the students of class 1-A took notice of the oh-so casual Bakugou that held a baby-you atop of his head.

“Uhh, Bakugou? You have a baby on your head.” Kaminari mentioned from the couch.

“I’m aware, Dunce Face.” Bakugou said as he entered the kitchen. “It’s just Y/N. She got hit with a quirk and now she’s like this.”

“Ohh, she’s so cute!” Mina said as she walked up to you two and took you away from Bakugou.

“Hey! Give her back!” Bakugou said as he reached for you. Mina moved back to dodge his attempt and succeeded.

“No! I wanna hold her! You’ve been with her all day!” Mina argued.

“Because Mr. Aizawa told me I had to take care of her!” Bakugou replied.

“Well if you don’t want to then I’ll happily do it!” Mina said.

“No! She’s my girlfriend so give her back!” Bakugou said, finally successfully getting a hold on you.

“She’s my best friend so let me have her!” Mina said as she jumped on Bakugou. Unfortunately, they both fell to the floor and landed next to each other on their backs. As he fell, you flew out of Bakugou’s grip and everybody looked to your falling baby form and gasped. “Oh no!”

Before you landed, your body teleported next to Bakugou. Your boyfriend looked at you in shock before grabbing onto you. “Shit! You scared me, Y/N.”

“Woah! She can still use her quirk?” Sero said as he walked to you three.

“I guess,” Bakugou replied.

“You guess?!” Mina said. “So she could’ve fallen and you weren’t gonna do a thing about it?!”

“It all happened so fast, okay?! And besides, I didn’t see your dumbass doing anything!” He argued as he held you against his chest.

“Because I was on the floor!” Mina argued.

“And that was your fucking fault!” The blonde said before he got up. He perched you on his hip as he grabbed ingredients to make a simple dish. He began cooking while still holding onto you and while some students offered to hold you so that he could focus on the meal, he only growled at everyone’s attempt to take you away from him. He refused to let anyone but him hold you after that almost falling fiasco.

—

Finally, it was time to feed you! Unfortunately everything Bakugou made wasn’t to your liking. Udon? No. Tamago Sushi? No. Curry? No. Oyakodon? Nope! Eventually he gave up and brought you to the supermarket so you could pick out some baby food. While you looked for food, your boyfriend couldn’t help but notice the stares he was getting.

‘These damn idiots must think I’m her daddy or something....well in a way I guess they’re right,’ the hormonal teen joked to himself ‘but I’m not no damn teen father!’ Bakugou went back to searching for something for you to eat and gagged as he looked at all the jars of mush.

‘Peas and Carrots. Spinach. Chicken and Rice. Gross. Who would feed a baby this shit?’ He thought. He held you in his arms as he watched you reach for a red-ish, pink paste in a jar. You smiled as you held it up to him while he read the label. “Dragonfruit and Chia Seeds..doesn’t sound half bad. Alright brat, let’s go,”

—

Back at the dorms, Bakugou set you in the common room couch. He would’ve put you in the kitchen, but there were no booster seats and that put you at a safety risk. The couch was the next best thing. Low to the ground, soft cushions, and you would have a carpeted fall if an instance were to happen.

While you got comfy on the couch, Bakugou took a seat infront of you on the coffee table. He pulled out the small jar of food along with a baby spoon and that’s when his group of friends walked in.

“Hey man! Whatchu’ doing with lil Y/N?” Kirishima asked as he hunched over the couch to allow you to play with his hands.

“Just feeding the brat,” Bakugou said as he opened the jar. “C’mon Teddy Bear, you gotta eat.”

Kaminari snickered at the pet name. “You’re still calling her ‘Teddy Bear?’”

“Yeah? She’s still my girlfriend dunce face!” The ash blonde said waving the spoon around. “She’s just, in a different body.”

“Yeah, a baby body,” Mina teased with a laugh. The Bakusquad (minus Bakugou) all laughed with her.

“Well at least I’m not calling her ‘babe’ or anything like that!” He reacted fiercely. “Whatever, Y/N, just eat the food.”

You looked at the spoonful of mush that your boyfriend was offering you and after staring at it for a hot minute, you smacked it out of your face. The scoop of food landed against the wall making a splat sound. The group of teens all looked at you in shock as you just laughed and clapped your hands together in excitement.

Bakugou was getting irked as he knew what was coming. But there’s no way, right? This kind of stuff only happened in TV. Right?

—

He was wrong. The jar was empty, but Y/N wasn’t full of any food. She had flung spoonfuls of dragonfruit on the walls, the ceiling, the floors, and the Bakusquad. You were the only thing in the room that was clean. The group of friends all stood covered in pinkish blotches as they circled you. They now all had a spoon that held the last bits of food. They were going to feed you. No matter what it took.

“Go!” Sero screamed and the friends all jumped into action. Kirishima dove in first but you teleported out of the way. He spilled his spoon as he hit the ground. When you reappeared, you looked to your left and saw Kaminari standing there. He smirked down at you with a crazed grin and when he tried to grab you, you transformed into a little kitten and knocked the spoon out of his hand, dropping its contents. You transformed back into your baby state and there, you met Sero. Not because he was standing there, but because the mad man was swinging with his tape trying to get to you. You once again teleported and he crashed into the wall, obviously getting the small amount of food on there as well. You stood on the kitchen island and Mina popped up behind you and got a hold on you. She successfully got the food into your mouth and smiled at the sight. She held you up in victory and the squad all cheered. Unfortunately, as Mina brought you closer to her face level, she looked at you and you spit the food right back into her face.

“Ah!” She screamed at the feeling of having baby mush in her eyes and dropped you. You teleported again and stood on the coffee table. There, Bakugou gently picked you up in his arms and cradled you. You fussed but he held the spoon in front of you and begged you to eat.

“Please Y/N. Just eat the damn mush.” He softly spoke. You looked up to your boyfriend who stared down at you with pleading eyes and you kindly took the spoon into your mouth, swallowing the food. The squad cheered again while Bakugou contently sighed in relief. He pecked your forehead before putting the spoon in the sink. “Hey Pinkie, mind giving Y/N a bath while I clean the place up?”

“Why me?” Mina asked, wiping her face.

“Because you’re both girls?” Bakugou said, looking at her as if she was dumb.

“So? You’re her boyfriend. Are we gonna act like you haven’t seen Y/N naked yet?” Mina said, smirking at the blushing blonde with a hand on her hip.

“S-Shut up! And this is different! I’m not looking at her bare baby body!” Bakugou complained while looking flustered with red cheeks.

“Fine, fine,” Mina said as she walked to Bakugou, taking you from him. You whined at the loss of touch from Bakugou and reached out for him with sad eyes and grabby hands. He smiled down at you and played with your baby hands.

“Relax you damn brat,” he said with a soft smile, “it’s just for a little bit. Okay?” He asked and you cooed at him, almost as if you were telling him you understood. He kissed your forehead before going off to clean the room while Mina walked away with you to give you a bath.

—

Mina returned with a clean baby in new clothes that she had Momo made. She gave you back to Katsuki who was waiting for you on the now clean couch. Once you were in Katsuki’s hold, you giggled and reached for his face. He smiled and leaned forward to allow you to squish his cheeks, just like how you would if you weren’t a baby.

“Yup, you’re definitely Y/N.” He chuckled before giving you another forehead kiss. The Bakusquad all sat with him again and watched their friend interact with the mini you. Kaminari was sitting next to Bakugou and kept trying to play with you, and you definitely enjoyed the electric blonde’s entertainment.

“Hewo there my baby waby~” Denki cooed in baby talk as he tickled your chin. “Our lil coco-moco-chucka-wucka-OW!” You bit his finger. The squad all laughed at the sight and even the bitten blonde chuckled before petting your baby head...in hesitation of course. Bakugou laughed before bouncing you in his arms to get more comfortable. He leaned back on the couch and you crawled up to his upper chest and got comfy. He held a hand below you to make sure you didn’t fall as he smiled in content. It was an adorable sight, truly.

“You know man, you’d make a pretty good dad.” His best friend said. Bakugou looked towards Kirishima with a weird face.

“Ugh, Shitty Hair, this is my girlfriend, not my daughter.” He said, rubbing your tiny back.

“Yeah we know, but the way you interact with her baby form, you’d make a great father!” Mina said. “And plus, we all see how Y/N is around children. Kids love her. You guys would be really good parents.”

The thought of you and him being parents put a blush on his face. You, him, a mini Y/N and a mini Katsuki. A dog with a big yard in the back of a big house once you guys are big shot pros. Sounds like a dream to Katsuki. He snapped out of his daydream once his friends all awed at him for blushing and smiling as it was obvious to what he was thinking.

“Shut up you idiots! We’re going to bed!” The ash blonde said before getting up and carrying you back to his room. He placed you down on the bed before turning around to get some sleeping clothes for himself. As his back was turned, a white glow went on behind him and when he turned back around, he saw you in your normal form, naked under his blankets.

“Uh, Suki? You mind?” You asked with a little giggle. He smiled at you before handing you a big tee and a pair of his compression shorts. You put that on and once again got comfy under the sheets. Bakugou got dressed for bed and joined you by jumping into the sheets.

He covered you in kisses and you giggled at his touch. “I missed you baby.”

Man did it feel good for Katsuki to call you that again and not have it be weird. “I wish I could say the same but it feels like I just saw you before I left for the job.”

“Well, you were with me the whole day. I guess that quirk just puts your brain on pause for a bit while you’re in baby form so it makes sense that the last thing you remember is the battle.” He said.

“I still can’t believe I was a baby. Bleh. Tell me about it!” You giggled. He laughed with you in his arms.

“Uh, I don’t fucking know. You were a cute kid.” He mentioned.

“Were? Baby, I’m still cute.” You said with sass and flipped your hair, he laughed at you again and kissed your cheek in agreement.

“Yeah, you are. But baby-you was really adorable. You almost fell but surprisingly your quirk still worked and you knew how to control it so you were safe.” He told you, but you pushed his chest away to look at his face.

“You almost dropped me?! Katsuki!” You yelled at your boyfriend.

“I know! I know! But, you didn’t fall!” He replied. You only huffed and sighed before having him continue,

“Anyways. Then I had to feed you but your picky ass wouldn’t take anything I made. Which is weird because you love my cooking. Mini you just wanted to be a pain in the ass.” He said ruffling your hair. “So I took you to the store and everyone there thought I was some teen fucking dad or some shit!”

“Wow Katsuki~ I didn’t know you had kids. Who’s the mom?” You teased.

“Shut up, dumbass.” He said with an eye roll, “besides, if I were to have a kid with anyone, it has to be you. I’m not putting a kid in anybody else. I refuse.”

That made you giggle and you felt the heat rush to your face. “Same here Katsuki. I don’t want anyone else but you.”

A comforting silence came over the two of you as you remained cuddled in his arms. A few minutes of silence and Katsuki finally asked his burning question. “Um...how would you feel..about growing up with me? And getting married. And-..I don’t know, kids?”

His breath got stuck in his throat as he waited for your answer. You looked up at him with a sweet face before giving him a loving smile and peck on the cheek. “I only want my future to be with you, Katsuki.”

He smiled again and kissed your lips. “Same here, Teddy Bear.”

A/N: Horrible ending but..whateva i guess :/

Taglist: @sxcker4you @aomi04

2K notes · View notes

theladyofdeath · 3 years ago

Text

Every Other Weekend {4}

Summary: Rowan was just looking for a night of fun after his divorce. Aelin was looking for one last reckless moment before selling her soul to her everyday grind of 9-5. Neither had any idea of just how much one night could change somebody’s life.

Warnings: Mature content throughout. Language, sex, drinking, etc. Explicitly NSFW will be labelled at the beginning of chapters containing NSFW content.

A collab with @theladyofdeath

It had been one week since Rowan and Aelin’s date, and Aelin was still walking on air.

Her week had been utter perfection and he surely had something to do with it. Those little nightly phone calls after their long night together… Lysandra had been right. Aelin was smitten.

He had invited her to a game night at his house tonight, an annual thing that he and his friends did once a month with Oliver. Aelin took him asking as a sign that he thought their newfound relationship was going well, too.

Although the last week had been going well, there was one thing that weighed on her mind.

Whether Aelin could even date a student’s father.

She had spent her afternoon, since her students left, searching through every guide she knew existed. She supposed she could just go ask her principal, but that was too intimidating. She was a first year teacher at this school, after all. She didn’t want to do anything that would paint her in a…bad light.

There were rules on student/teacher conduct and misconduct, parent/teacher conduct, as it applies to emails and parent teacher conferences, and even on a field trip. But…no mention of dating or even outside fraternization anywhere.

She took that as a good sign.

Packing up to leave, Aelin stuffed every printout, photocopy, and spiral bound handbook she had into her bag. She may not have seen anything that would get her in trouble, but she knew someone else who was better at reading between the lines.

Her lawyer boyfriend, who’s home she was supposed to be at in… Aelin looked at the clock over her door.

Forty-five minutes.

She swore and was out the door, calling Rowan before she even made it to her car.

He answered on the second ring. “Hey, I was just-.”

“I’m probably going to be late,” she blurted. “I’m just now leaving the school, I’m sorry. Your scary, impatient friend is going to hate me.”

Rowan laughed, quietly. “You’ve still got forty minutes. It won’t take you that long to-.”

“I have to stop for wine,” she said, getting into her car.

“Is it a night of interruptions?” he asked, but didn’t sound mad. He was perfectly amused.

“I can’t show up empty-handed.” She frowned. “It’s my first time meeting your friends. I want to make a good impression.”

“It would be impossible for you to make a bad impression,” Rowan promised. “But, do what you feel you must.”

Aelin started up her engine and sighed. “Should I bring anything else? I feel-.”

“Aelin-.”

“I want to contribute in any way I can-.”

“I’m ordering-.”

“What if they do hate me?” Aelin asked. “Should I bring something other than wine? I mean-.”

“Aelin!” Rowan laughed. “Just bring yourself. Ollie has been asking when you’re getting here all afternoon and, trust me, if he’s happy, everyone is happy, too. Besides, I don’t care what my friends think, I like you and I want you here.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” he laughed. “By the way, beer will get you a lot farther with Lorcan than wine will any day.”

“Noted,” she nodded, even though he couldn’t see her.

“He likes IPA’s,” he chuckled, and she heard Ollie asking in the background, “Is that Miss Aelin?”

“It is, she’ll be here soon,” he said, and then added, “I’ll see you when you get here, okay, gorgeous?”

The call ended and Aelin audibly sighed.

Lysandra was definitely right.

She was smitten.

After getting through the worst of the afternoon traffic, Aelin was in the liquor store staring at a wall of IPAs having no idea what to choose, considering she wasn’t a fan.

She eventually settled on a twelve-pack with skeletons on the packaging and, after grabbing a bottle of white wine, was on her way to Rowan’s.

The closer she got the more nervous she was. She knew it was ridiculous but just couldn’t help it.

With the case of beer in one hand and the bottle of wine in the other, Aelin was ringing the doorbell.

And waiting.

It was Oliver who answered. “Miss Aelin!”

“Hey buddy,” she said, chuckling. “How’s it going?”

“Good!” He smiled, and waved for her to enter. “I’ve been waiting to show you my toys!”

“Not yet, buddy,” Rowan called from the kitchen. “Miss Aelin needs to come meet Uncle Lorcan and Aunt Elide.”

Oliver took the bottle of wine, which looked so much bigger in his tiny arms and took her free hand in his. He led her into the kitchen, where she was met with Rowan and a dark-haired man and woman. The man she’d seen before, sitting next to Rowan at the bar the night they’d met. His gaze had been as intimidating then as it was now, leaning against Rowan’s kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

The woman, however, had a kind face. She was petite, barely reaching the man’s chest, but she was smiling at Aelin, almost as broadly as Rowan was.

Aelin smiled as well, even more so as Rowan came to take the beer from her hands and the wine from Oliver. “Hi,” he whispered and kissed her cheek.

She blushed again. Damn it. “Hi.”

Before stashing the beer and wine in the fridge, he pulled one out and set it in front of Lorcan. “Aelin, this is Lorcan. Best friend since grade school, don’t ask him for embarrassing stories about me, because I know more about him.”

Lorcan scowled at Rowan, but picked up the beer and investigated it before giving an appreciative hum. He swigged from the beer and nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Aelin replied, with a little wave.

“And this is Elide Lochan,” Rowan introduced. “She has chosen to shackle herself to this asshole for life, all of her own free will.”

Aelin laughed quietly. “Nice to meet you both.”

Rowan was watching her which was nearly intimidating in itself. She almost asked for a glass of warm wine to ease the tension, mostly in herself.

They all settled in the living room and Aelin gave Rowan’s house a good looking over as they did so. She had yet to go to Rowan’s house, had yet to see where he lived and explore the depths within.

It was nice.

She could definitely tell that two men lived there, especially a little man who liked toys considering they were strung about all over the place.

“So, your Ollie’s teacher?” Elide asked, sitting in a chair across from the couch Aelin had plopped down on beside Rowan.

Aelin nodded. “Such a smart kid. He already knows everything I introduce…and tells me as much.”

Rowan shot Oliver a look, who was currently building a Lego rendition of a creeper from Minecraft. The five-year-old was focused on his task and couldn’t be bothered by his father’s glare.

“He really is,” Elide went on. “He started talking before he was even three months old.”

Aelin looked to Rowan and asked, “What was his first word?”

His eyes flicked back to her from his son, but they’d darkened a bit. “Mama.”

“Ah,” she replied, clearing her throat.

“Thirty-five percent of babies say mama first,” Elide explained, in a voice that told Aelin this was not the first time this conversation had taken place.

“And fifty-two say dada first,” Lorcan sighed, and Aelin knew this conversation had taken place before. “And five years later, Whitethorn is still butt hurt he said Maeve’s name first.”

“I’m not butt hurt,” Rowan muttered, looking up at Lorcan. “Not that that stops you from constantly reminding me of it.” He looked at Aelin. “Did I mention he’s an ass?”

Aelin let out a breathy laugh as Elide said, “You both are, but you love each other nonetheless.”

The two women got down on the floor and started playing with Ollie while Rowan and Lorcan ordered their dinner from a little mom and pop place a couple miles away.

“What do you do?” Aelin asked.

“I work with Rowan, actually,” she said. “I’m the secretary at the law firm. He’s the one that got me the job. We all went to school together.”

“How long have you been with Lorcan?” She asked.

Elide looked to the kitchen and her eyes softened when they landed on the giant brute of a man. “He was my highschool sweetheart. We started dating junior year and have been together ever since.”

Lorcan, sensing her eyes on him, met her gaze and gave her a little smile.

“That’s sweet,” Aelin replied, but her voice had taken on a sad tone as she thought of her own high school sweetheart. “Rowan said you two were engaged. Have you set a wedding date yet?”

She beamed. “Yeah, it’ll be this spring.”

Aelin silently wondered if she’d be there. She asked to distract herself from the thought. “Does Lorcan work at the law firm with you?”

“Hel no,” the man himself replied as he walked back into the living room, a drink in each hand, Rowan right behind him. “I’m the one that brings this dumbass idiots to prosecute.”

“He spent so much time with the cops in his teens that he decided to become one,” Rowan added, handing Aelin a glass of wine.

“I was only arrested…once…” Lorcan said, tossing an arm around Elide’s shoulder.

“Yeah, once a month from freshman year to junior year, when this one finally got you under control,” Rowan said, nodding at Elide.

Elide grinned.

“Uncle Lor has been to jail?” Oliver yelled, eyes wide, his hands stilled.

Lorcan didn’t hesitate. “I used to be naughty. I didn’t have a good daddy like you do to keep me in line and teach me how to be nice.”

Aelin didn’t hear Oliver’s response. She was watching Elide, who gave Lorcan the softest look of pure adoration that it made her feel like she had interrupted an intimate moment. When her eyes shifted to Rowan, he was watching them both, too.

They carried on with their playful discussion until the delivery worker arrived with two bags full of boxed up food.

“Mind giving me a hand?” Rowan asked.

Aelin nodded, jumping to her feet and following him into the kitchen.

“They’re really nice,” Aelin said, once they were alone. “Even Lorcan.”

Rowan chuckled as he began pulling the boxes out of the bags and placing them on the counter. “Yeah, he rubs off on you.”

Aelin was opening to-go box lids and getting things ready to serve when she felt Rowan’s arms snake around her waist. His lips were on her neck a second later. “I like having you here.”

“In your kitchen?” Aelin asked, laughing quietly as she dumped a tub of mouth watering macaroni and cheese into a serving bowl.

“In my kitchen,” he murmured, kissing her neck again. “In my house. In my life.”

“I like it, too,” she admitted.

Rowan was quiet for a second, but his arms tightened around her. “The idea of Ollie doesn’t run you off?”

She turned in his arms until she was facing him, his hands pressed against her lower back. “It’s something I’m not used to, sure,” she admitted. “But I plan on having kids of my own one day. So…no, he doesn’t run me off.”

“Good,” Rowan breathed and leaned in to kiss her.

“We’re hungry, assholes, let’s go,” Lorcan called from the living room. They heard a smack, from Elide undoubtedly, but then Oliver said, “That’s a bad word, Uncle Lor.”

Shaking his head, Rowan released Aelin and continued getting the boxes opened and ready.

Dinner was amazing, the conversation had never been a struggle, even if Lorcan was a condescending bastard sometimes. It was clear Ollie loved him though, and he even convinced the man to give him a popsicle when his dad wasn’t looking. After the sugar wore off, he crashed on the living room rug, one hand still on his GameBoy. Aelin volunteered to take him up to his bed and lay him down, and as soon as she carried him up the stairs, Rowan found his friends’ eyes on him. “What?”

Lorcan only smirked, but Elide said, “You really like her, huh?”

He sighed and nodded. “I haven’t cared about someone this much since…Lyria.”

It wasn’t often that Rowan mentioned his former girlfriend’s name, especially not after Maeve made her distaste for her known.

Elide only smiled softly and said, “It’s only been a few weeks. Take things slow, yeah? You’ve got Ollie to think about, too.”

He nodded. He knew that. He was about tell her as much when there was a knock on his front door.

He, Lorcan and Elide all stilled.

Lorcan asked, “You didn’t order dessert, did you?”

“No,” he said, slowly, standing. Heading for his front door, he could tell through the frosted designs on the glass exactly who stood on the other side.

He opened the door, sighing. “What are you doing here, Maeve?”

She stood on his front porch, arms crossed. “Ollie left this in my backseat when I picked him up today.” She held out his blanket.

He took it and said, “Thanks, you could have told me you were coming over. I have company.”

“I did,” she replied, coldly. “I texted you. And I see that.” She eyed Lorcan’s Camaro in his driveway and Aelin’s little blue car behind it. Her eyes narrowed on Aelin’s car. “I didn’t know Elide got a new car.”

Rowan looked behind him and before he could step out onto the porch and shut the door behind him, Maeve pushed past him and stepped inside.

“The hell are you doing?” Rowan asked, grabbing her hand and pulling her back into the foyer before she could step into the living room. “You weren’t invited in, you can’t just walk into my house.”

“Just wanted to say hi to Lorcan and Elide,” Maeve crooned, the light in her eye letting Rowan know that he knew full well what she was doing. “They love me. Besides, Oliver needs his blanket to go to sleep, and I know he’s still up-.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie. Lorcan despises you,” Rowan said, his voice low. “And Ollie’s already sleeping, so that only shows that you know nothing. You need to go.”

“It’s almost like you’re trying to hide something from me,” Maeve replied. “Or someone.”

“I’m going to ask you one last time, nicely, to leave,” Rowan said, his jaw set.

Maeve snatched her hand away from him, her smile wicked as she shook her head. “I’m going to pick him up in the morning for mommy-son date day at the zoo. Have him ready by ten.”

“You get him next weekend,” Rowan grumbled. “You can go then-.”

“Cairn is out of town next weekend-.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Rowan snapped, his voice turning to a growl. “Cairn doesn’t need to see my son. Get out of my house before I-.”

“Before you what?” she asked, running the tips of her fingers down his cheek. He jerked away. “Lay your hands on me?”

“Before I go get the cop that’s in the other room to take you down to the station for trespassing,” Rowan shot back.

The two of them stared at each other for a minute, Rowan’s pissed off expression offsetting Maeve’s cruel seduction.

Rowan prayed Aelin wouldn’t come down the stairs until he could get Maeve out of his house. It wasn’t that he wanted to hide her from Maeve. It was that he hadn’t figured out how to tell his ex-wife that he was dating their son’s teacher.

Were they dating? Or were the just having sex?

Aelin had mentioned kids earlier, so that meant she saw a future with him, right?

He was thinking way too into everything at that moment when really, what he needed to focus on, what getting Maeve out of his house.

“Is there a problem in there?” Lorcan asked, closer than he’d been when Rowan had left the living room. He waved him off and turned back to his ex.

“Oliver and I have plans tomorrow. You will see him on Monday when you pick him up from school,” Rowan said, opening the door wider. “Now get out.”

Maeve narrowed her eyes. “Have fun with your new little girlfriend. I can’t wait to meet her.”

The smile on her face as she left sent ice down Rowan’s spine.

Rowan shut the door behind her and locked it out of good measure, out of habit. Lorcan was silent behind him, and Rowan’s hand lingered on the lock for a minute before his hand dropped.

“I know I tell Oliver that it’s wrong to hate people,” Rowan began, quietly, “but, I hate her.”

“Me too,” Lorcan agreed, and sighed. “You know, we can make it so that every time she comes here without your permission, she gets arrested.”

“I know how the law works,” Rowan snapped.

Lorcan wasn’t offended. He knew it wasn’t directed at him.

“Sorry,” Rowan said, anyway. “I just… I don’t want her around Aelin. We know what she’s capable of.”

“Aelin seems like someone who can take care of herself,” Lorcan said. For him, it was the highest of compliments.

“But she shouldn’t have to,” Rowan said.

“Have to what?”

Rowan spun around to find Aelin at the top of the stairs, slowly walking down, a crease between her brows. Lorcan took it as his hint to leave.

“Take care of myself?” Aelin followed. “Because I can.” When she reached the bottom of the stairs and Rowan still hadn’t said a thing, she asked, “What happened? I heard voices.”

“Maeve came by,” Rowan said. There was no point in lying. He didn’t want to lie.

“And?” Aelin asked, but her voice was soft as she stopped in front of Rowan.

“I know we just started dating,” Rowan said. “But, I really like you. I want you to know that.” “Dating?” Aelin asked, a soft smile on her lips. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“I hope so,” Rowan said, and took her hand. “And when you’re dating me, Aelin, I have some skeletons in my closet.”

“Like Maeve?” Aelin pushed.

Rowan nodded and looked down at their clasped hands. “She’s not a good person, Aelin. I mean, she’s a decent enough mom, but…she’s not a good person.”

She was chewing on her bottom lip, but nodded. “I get it. My…foster dad was similar. Manipulative, always making me feel like shit, but… He took care of me after my parents died.”

Rowan didn’t say anything about the heartbreaking kernel of herself she’d just revealed to him, a pain, too, he knew all too well.

“I can take care of myself,” she repeated, resting her hands on his chest. “But it means a lot to know that you want to take care of me.”

He smiled and said, “I’d be an idiot not to. Someone else could come along and try to sweep you off your feet.”

Aelin rolled her eyes but laughed, her head falling back as she did so. Rowan watched and suddenly wished that Lorcan and Elide, although he loved them both, would make themselves scarce so that he could do with her what he willed.

“Should we get back to the others?” Aelin asked, nodding her head toward the living room. “It is supposed to be game night, after all.”

“Yeah,” Rowan breathed, and pulled her into him to kiss her, quickly, just once.

They melted into that kiss for a moment, though, but when they pulled apart they rejoined Elide and Lorcan for a night of laughter, drinks, and games that they eventually became too drunk to play correctly. Rowan wouldn’t let Maeve ruin his night.

Even if her words did linger in the back of his mind for hours after she was long gone.

#rowan #aelin #rowaelin #sjm #fanfic #fanfiction #modern au #multichapter #fluff

126 notes · View notes

fairydares · 2 years ago

Text

Chasing Tails Chapter Three: Trees and...

AO3 Link; fanfiction.net link ; Chapter 1 on here (you can find the “back of the book”-type summary here or at one of the other links)

Chapter Summary: Natsu finds a tree. Nashi finds Natsu. (Happy voice) And then...!

Author’s Notes:

First and foremost: Chapter 3 took forever for me to publish. Oops.

I genuinely expected zero people to read this, so when it actually got some hits, and I even got kudos, comments, reviews, reblogs, likes, and favorites (Thanks so much! You have no idea how much you guys helped!) I had an, “oh, shit” moment where I realized I actually care about making this story halfway decent. A lot of the work I did went to outlining and research (even though most of the research will be blatantly ignored lol). I hope it will pay off and allow me to publish chapters more frequently, but I have also been busy.

NOW. onto notes that are actually important to the story:

Initially, Layla’s earthbound last name was “Turner.” It was supposed to be her last foster family’s surname. However, I edited and changed it to O’Neil because I realized that made more sense. Sorry for any confusion. I went back and edited a couple other details, too, but nothing too big.

For anyone waiting for smut/lemons, I’m going to try to label chapters with lemons (at least on AO3). We’ll see how that goes. Nothing this chapter.

*Content Warnings:

Almost everything to do with Nashi’s upbringing on Our Earth is a very inaccurate portrayal of CPS, foster care, and the police. I didn’t bother doing deep research on those things because it’s only vaguely relevant to most of the story. Please criticize cops and the failings of the foster care system, just not on the basis of this fic.

Also: Drug & Alcohol abuse mentions; swearing; graphic violence; nausea & puke mentions; ignorant ableism (mostly by Nashi/Layla, whose top personality trait ATM is “just wrong” but still); bullying mentions; death mentions (not any OC’s); discussions of sex.

tbh, most of that’s gonna be standard fare for this fic.

*Tumblr-Specific Tip: I recommend scrolling to the bottom and reading the footnotes first. That way, you won’t need to scroll all over the place. I listed them all with context for this specific purpose.*

----------------------

“This tree is talkin’ to me!” […] “Yes, Great Tree!” - Natsu’s line, Episode 76, English dub [~2:45]

----------------------

“Oi, Mad Cow! If you don’t quit whining and drive faster, I’ll break your damn neck! You hear me?!”

The thick throat bobbed under Natsu’s forearm in response to the growled threat. “Y-yes,” came the hoarse choke. “But…it’s Mad Bull, not—“

“Like I care!” Natsu snarled, managing to hide his vehicular distress behind a scowl he fixed on the little mirror the big bastard’s eyes kept darting to. Sweat crawled down his temples.

It had taken mere minutes for his despair to burn into rage after Nashi left—and it didn’t even happen because of how badly their reunion had gone. The guy Nashi had just finished thrashing had been holding a weird-looking Mini-Comm to his ear as exited the same door she had, too distracted by his conversation to notice the pink-haired man curled wallowing on the ground amidst a scattering of untouched bills.

Natsu would barely have noticed him, either—if he hadn’t caught part of the asshole’s side of the conversation:

“—think I tried that?! The little freak was gone by the time I could sneak into the—yes, I’m fucking sure! How the hell could I miss her pink hair?!”

Natsu had stilled on the ground.

“—sure that’s the little bitch’s apartment building?…Well, whatever…don’t need an exact address, I’ll kick down every door in the damn place till she comes out if I have to, and make sure that whore regrets the day she ever—ARGGHH!”

The hulking man had bellowed in pain as he staggered from the Dragon Slayer’s sucker punch. His weird Min-Comm skidded across the ground, going totally silent as it audibly cracked against the ground.

“YOU’LL PAY FOR THAT, ASSHOLE!” the big man shouted, lunging.

Despite the brand new wave of near-paralyzing vertigo, it had been easy for Natsu to take him down. First, because the loser really was a huge waste of size and strength. Second, because of the rage which had driven him to his feet.

The world had both seared red and spun around him. In the back of his mind, he noted that the dizziness was almost definitely at least partly due to the fact that his fire was trying and failing to rise to the surface. Every attempt at using his Magic in this world, so far, had resulted in shattering dizziness. He didn’t worry about it too much. He wouldn’t have been able to control his Magic, anyway—not when he was this pissed.

After easily slamming the man to the ground, Natsu yanked the bastard’s arm across his back until it trembled on the verge of breaking or (even more likely) dislocating.

“I know I didn’t just hear you call my daughter a whore, you bastard!” he’d hissed, pulling the massive arm an inch further back, barely refraining from ripping it off.

“D-daughter!? You’re—?”

“SHUT UP!”

Natsu had garroted the freak’s throat with his free arm and chuckled darkly when he spluttered and gagged. He’d thought quickly, fighting his ongoing dizziness for clarity.

“Right. You’re going to take me to Nashi’s apartment. Now! Then you’ll get lost and stay lost, you got it?!”

“N-Nashi? Who the fuck—?”

“THE GIRL YOU WERE JUST TALKING ABOUT, MORON!”

He’d been forced to accept a car ride—very reluctantly, giving in only when Mad Cow had spluttered that it would take them hours to walk to Nashi’s building.

Now, sitting in a moving car yet retaining the wherewithal to keep the guy’s throat locked under his arm from the back seat, he remained as creeped out as he’d been at the beginning of the journey. He’d always thought it would be awesome if he could ride in a vehicle without getting sick, that Wendy was basically a miracle-worker whenever she used Troia to help him out.

Now, under these circumstances, with his heightened senses stolen from him—Natsu found himself disturbed as hell by his ability to keep his wits in a dreaded moving Magical Vehicle.

It made an awful kind of sense, though. Whatever this world did to Magic sucked so much out of you, Dragon Slayers even had their motion sickness reduced. Maybe to the point they didn’t have it at all, eventually, if Nashi’s ability to ride a Magicycle was anything to go by.

In any case, Natsu’s nausea was still pretty bad—but not so bad he had to let go of Mad Cow, which was good because the asshole had already tried to attack him once, when Natsu was reluctantly oozing into the car. The bastard paid for it with a head slam that created a small crack in his Magical Vehicle’s window. As satisfying as his scream of pain and frustration had been, it had tested Natsu’s already overtaxed temper. He couldn’t hurt the guy badly enough that he couldn’t take Natsu where he needed to go, but boy did he want to.

Sweat slithered down his face, stomach rocking persistently, but he managed to hide his strain until the car finally swished and jerked to a halt across the road from a medium-tall, crummy building. With a trembling, meaty hand, Mad Cow pushed the stick he’d been holding forward between the two front seats then quickly lifted his hands like a robber.

“W-we’re here…” he sniveled.

Natsu glanced around, eyes narrowing as they briefly latched onto the Magicycle gleaming under a street lamp before returning to meet Mad Cow’s beady gaze in the little mirror. “Right.” He pulled his arm tighter against the thick throat, relishing the distressed-sounding gargles he got in response and the way a Vulcan-ish hand started clawing uselessly at his arm. “If you even think of laying a hand on my daughter again, I’ll flay you alive! You got that?!”

Natsu had to let up on Mad Cow’s throat just enough to hear the wheezed affirmative, wishing badly that he had his fire so he could brand this freak with the threat. There was something in the way those dark eyes gleamed and darted around that he didn’t trust.

But he didn’t have the option, and his stomach was rocking violently. The lump on Mad Cow’s head and the crack in his Magical Vehicle’s window would have to suffice. If he got any ideas about trying something, Natsu would be nearby to protect her, anyway.

“Good!” For the first time in living memory, Natsu was able to stagger right out of a Magical Vehicle and stay standing, albeit by the skin of his damn teeth. He scowled after the car as threateningly as he could as it roared away. Only after it had screeched around a corner did the Dragon Slayer double over to groan in agony.

After recovering, he stared up at the apartment building for a minute, somber and contemplative. So. This was where his daughter lived. Angry shouting emanated from broken windows, slurry arguments, violent threats, and the sounds of loud sex layered over each other. A man puked on the cracked bricks of the building’s side. From the dark alley of the other side, a pair of shiny eyes stared at him unblinkingly.

Lucy would have blown her top if she found out their daughter had been living in a place like this. Natsu couldn’t say the looks of the place was doing his blood pressure any favors, either.

Noting the location of the building, he’d hobbled off in search of food. As reluctant as he was to lose walk away from where Nashi was, passing out from hunger wasn’t going to help either of them. Fortunately, he’d thought to grab the money Nashi threw on the ground and shove it in his pocket just before ordering Mad Cow to make sure his Magic Vehicle didn’t shake too much. An order which had made the bastard splutter excuses about how “that was impossible!” and which he had not obeyed.

Natsu panicked slightly when he realized everything Nashi had given him only a couple hundred jewel-things. But when he found an open food stand (with wheels?! What sick bastard combined something so beloved with something so terrible?!) he sighed in relief upon reading the low prices. Jewel-whatevers went further here, obviously.

He proceeded to cheerfully order all the spiciest things on the menu until he was out of money. He wished it was Lucy or Mira’s cooking—and that it came with his usual side of fire, but the food was tasty enough. Nothing could could clear his head or perk him up like good grub. He felt much better as he hobbled away from the wheeled food stand, waving back at the beaming (and oddly weeping?) family talking excitedly in a language he didn’t understand.

Still, being clearheaded wasn’t as much fun as usual, at the moment. He brooded as he ambled back to the dumpy building, the truth sinking in like a rock in a pond.

Nashi didn’t believe him. Not just about the fact he was her dad, but about…anything. Hell, she didn’t even go by the name “Nashi.” Natsu could sort of start to understand how she’d come to be called “Layla”, seeing as it was her middle name. He worried about the specifics of the name change, though. Fairy Tail’s Strongest Team had had to use fake names on a few missions, mainly to infiltrate dangerous groups and take them down from inside.

Another guildmate who’d used fake identities in the past was Jellal (now the official Master of Fairy Tail’s Branch Guild, Crime Sorcière). Aside from playing Mystogan back when he’d been a fugitive, he’d done it mainly to prevent enemies from retaliating against Fairy Tail or his family. Then there was Mest, who Natsu was pretty sure still did spy things for the guild, but thankfully didn’t manipulate his own memories any more. None of the reasons he could think of for why Nashi might be hiding behind an alias made him feel too good, especially after his encounter with Mad Cow.

Even more concerning was the fact that Magic didn’t exist here. That you were considered insane if you mentioned it at all. Even Nashi, one of only two born Dragon Slayers in history, thought so. What the hell was he even supposed to do with that?! He couldn’t even protect her from whatever had forced her to take the name “Layla.”

He stopped in front of her apartment building and scowled up at it for the second time, struggling to think straight enough to come up with a plan with how physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted he was.

It was supposed to be simple: find Nashi and everyone else who vanished into those portals, then bring them home. Since the day they all vanished, that had been his main goal. Hell, it was the self-appointed mission of pretty much all the Mages left in Fiore—most of whom had also lost at least one person close to them to the mysterious portals which erupted across the country. Natsu had achieved the first part of the mission only for Nashi herself to become a new obstacle. In every possible way, he was lost.

His head felt like it was going to split. The pain made it even harder to think clearly. But standing there, Natsu did manage to draw one important yet unfortunate conclusion: kicking down the door to his daughter’s apartment building and yelling her name till he found her was almost certainly a bad idea.

He sulked at the realization. That was exactly what he wanted to do. Patience had never been his strong suit, and he was barely clinging to it at all after finding his daughter only to immediately learn she was in danger and living in a shit-hole. It was only what wisdom he’d gained as a grown man, a husband, and a father that allowed him to accept all he was likely to get from chasing her down again tonight was another kick—not to mention a lower chance of ultimately convincing her he was her dad. Something he had no chance of figuring out how to do when he was this tired and frayed.

Eventually, reluctantly, he headed to the park across the street from her house.

Or, uh, maybe a park? he wondered, eyeing all the dirty, bedraggled people curled up on benches or over the grass. Maybe travelers of some kind, seeing as some of them were in tents not too unlike the one he and Lucy had started bringing on missions after they’d started getting frisky. So long ago, now, but he could remember like it was yesterday.

He chuckled to himself at the thought and suffered the wave of ensuing (decidedly less-than-pure) homesickness. The breeze cooled Natsu’s skin pleasantly as he scanned for a good spot to rest for the night, quickly spotting a tree with wide branches.

He didn’t particularly like dozing in trees, preferring to spread out and/or cuddle Lucy as much as possible. But being able to was a skill that came in handy as a Mage—especially for S-Class missions that required initial reconnaissance.

Besides. In terms of this “mission”, the tree’s largest branch also happened to overlook Nashi’s apartment building. Even from here, Natsu could see her Magicycle gleaming beneath its street lamp, well in-sight of the tree branch he had his eye on. From there, he could watch over her.

“Oi, watch it!” someone snapped when he tripped over them on his way over to the tree.

“Oops, sorry! My bad, man!”

The tree bark was merciless against his palms. He grimaced at the trouble his knee gave him going up and grunted as he pulled himself onto the wide branch.

“This sucks,” he grumbled, shaking out his arms and glaring at his bloody, dirty knuckles. An entire lifetime of training dedicated to both his Magic and his body. Now he couldn’t even punch a couple people without exposing bone, could barely climb to the lowest branch of a damn tree. He wondered idly if this is how Loke felt when he’d remained on Earthland for such a long time.

He wondered how Nashi must have felt, when she landed here. How hard it must have been for her. At least she hadn’t been all alone. Even if Harley couldn’t fly, now, Nashi had confirmed they’d been together. The thought provided a sliver of comfort.

He settled his back against the trunk and peered out over his left shoulder, pleased he’d been right: from the perch he’d found, he had a clear view of Nashi’s Magicycle and apartment building perfectly. The nearly empty road between them sat like a dark and eerily still, silent river far below. Which apartment was hers? Could she look back at him, if she stood at a window?

“I’m keeping my promise,” he vowed softly, staring at the apartment building. “No matter what, I’m taking you home, Nashi.” He sniffled a bit, swiping the tears from his cheeks before they could wet his smiling lips.

Natsu crossed his arms behind his head and fell into a rather easy sleep, considering the bruises and aches on his weakened body.

----------------------

Thud!

She fell back to the ground with a cry of surprise and pain. A small one—the squeaky cry of a child no older than five. Frustrated tears gathered in her eyes. She groaned, propping her elbows beneath her and squeezing warm dirt between her fingers.

A huff met her ears, and she lifted her eyes to focus on the person strutting towards her. It wasn’t until he stopped right in front of her, blocking the sun with his head, that she could make him out. A scowling boy. Bigger than her, older, with hair the color of midnight.

It was when she noticed the edges of his form shimmering under the sun that Layla realized she was dreaming.

It had been a while since she’d had this dream…

The bright scent of fire and the smell of coming rain hung strong in her nostrils, so sharp they were breathtaking. So sharp they kept her in the dream despite her awareness of it. The combination of scents was inexplicably comforting. Familiar.

The boy crossed his arms over his bare chest, grunting irritably. “Would you quit?! Jeez! How many times have I told you to quit following me around, ya damn pest!?”

“Too bad!” she growled, still trying to get up. Her arms and legs weighed about a thousand pounds, and she wound up flumping backwards with a groan. “I-I’m gonna beat you, I swear!”

He rolled his eyes. “You mean like you said you were gonna yesterday? And the day before yesterday? And the day before that? And then also the—“

“Shut up!” Her cheeks burned. “Today’s gonna be different!

“You get that I’m, like, way older than you, right?”

“So what?!”

“So I’m bigger and stronger, that’s what!”

She groaned, pushed again. Once more, she fell. This time her head thumped against the dirt.

Concern peeked through the boy’s scowl, his arms dropping back to his sides. “Oi! Take it easy for once, would you?”

She ignored him. “Get up!” she growled, fighting back tears of frustration. “I always get back up!” Moving her legs was like swimming through sand. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get them under herself. Finally, her frustration boiled over, and she stabbed a finger at the boy. “GET UP!”

“YOU’RE THE ONE THAT’S ON THE GROUND!” [*1]

He took a couple deep breaths. However, it became clear his efforts to calm himself didn’t work when he exploded, “Why do you wanna beat me so bad anyway, huh?! I mean, the hell’d I ever do to you?!”

“It’s not that!” she groaned, still pushing. “It’s not like you did anything! I wanna beat you because…because you’re so strong! If I wanna be the best, I can’t waste time fighting a bunch of babies! If I wanna be the best, I gotta be able to beat the best!”

She could feel his gaze on her as she finally managed to push herself to her hands and knees, breathing heavily.

He huffed again, and this time, the sound was less annoyed. “That’ll never happen,” he chuckled, then sighed. “Damn…you really are a pest, you know that, Nashi?”

Just as she gritted her teeth, preparing to stand, a hand appeared in front of her face. She looked up in surprise to find the boy smiling down at her. The irritation in those strange, clear blue eyes—fringed in long, dark lashes—had softened into an exasperated sort of fondness. His outline was clearer, now. Less shimmery. “Well? Thought you said you were gonna beat me. Can’t do that from down there, can you?”

----------------------

It was when she took the sparkly Edward Cullen child’s hand that she woke up. Always then.

Awareness of the pain in her battered body slammed into her like the morning’s white light against her eyelids. Groaning, she flung an arm over her eyes only to hiss when the movement tugged at muscles stiffer than cold taffy. Harley stirred at Layla’s abrupt movement, a purr emanating into her side. Her joints throbbed as did the underside of her right jaw.

She could tell from the din of traffic floating through her closed window that it was past time to get up. She’d had an absolute shit of a time falling and staying asleep the previous night, but she couldn’t afford laziness now, when the Championship fight was less than a week out [*2].

Unlike most fighters of Layla’s caliber, she didn’t have top-notch sparring partners, a doctor, or a nutritionist at her beck and call. She didn’t have money to throw around so she could pay other people to make her the best; she didn’t even get paid anywhere near as much as the assholes she fought, whenever they won a fight. Hell, she didn’t even have one coach any more. She was the best because she woke up earlier, trained harder, gave more, and aimed higher. It was up to her. Her alone. It’d always been that way.

And yet…that morning, for a few longing minutes, she tried to let sleep keep her. She clung to the details of the years-forgotten dream, heart pinching inexplicably as they faded despite her best efforts, like smoke slipping through her fumbling fingers. The smell of fire and coming rain were swamped by the pungent odor of sweaty clothes and kitty litter. The echo of the boy’s voice slipped away beneath the sounds of traffic and the couple next door’s shouting.

Unfortunately, the one part of the dream she wanted to forget—the detail she’d stewed over all night—stuck to the front of her brain like it’d been superglued:

“Damn…you really are a pest, you know that, Nashi?”

…Nashi…

That damn name.

Rage Layla had been too tired to fully realize the previous night boiled up in her chest as “NASHI” screen-savered through her head, the memory of that homeless, pink-haired wingnut popping up between the floating words like a bad jump scare. She gripped her bedsheets with swollen, lilac knuckles and clenched her teeth so hard, they creaked like they were going to break.

Why? she fumed silently, struggling to swallow the hot, frustrated scream clawing its way up her throat—only because she didn’t want to scare Harley. Fucking WHY?

It was bad enough that she’d stewed over the bizarre encounter until the not-so-wee hours of morning, unable to sleep thanks to her shithead roommate and her “friends” making a bunch of sounds she’d never wanted to hear in her goddamn life! (Not to mention the conversation she overheard between two of Gracie’s creep-ass “guests” right outside her bedroom door, two guys egging each other to “get the pink-haired girl involved in the fun” until Gracie lured them back to the living room—lucky for them.) But when she’d finally started to drift off, she’d sworn not to think of the incident until after her fight four days from now.

That’s right...she thought grimly. Four days.

The Championship.

Her shot at redemption.

Her stomach churned. The frustrated scream climbed higher in her throat.

It was humiliating and infuriating enough that Pinky Wingnut had caught her off-guard so bad. For most of the night she’d raged at herself for engaging with some freak who was so clearly insane, let alone almost believing him, let alone asking him about…that name, a name she didn’t even give a shit about anymore. A name gathering dust in the bottom of the tattered, locked trunk across her room, right along with the police file it was tucked away in.

It felt like she’d had an embarrassing childhood toy she didn’t remember burying shoved into her arms without warning. And instead of throwing it back in the jerk’s face and telling him to fuck off, what had her stupid ass done? Asked him where he dug it up. Oh, and paid him for his trouble.

But no, she brooded, dropping her arm from her face and letting the light sear her eyes so that she could glare at the ceiling. Worse than the fact that she’d let him wobble her mentally and emotionally, worse than the fact she’d given him $250 she couldn’t really afford to hand out…worse than any of that was the bastard’s timing.

The moments following her win had already been a shitshow, even if no one but her knew it. It’d been that way the whole past year, but last night—the semi-final fight—had definitely been the worst. The second Lee had thrown her away from Mad Fuck or whatever and she’d managed to pull herself out of “fight mode” to convince herself that yes, she’d actually won, her mind had eagerly jumped to her corner—only to remember it was empty, now. There was no one there. No strong, smirking older blonde boy or a tiny, old one-eyed man offering up one of his rare, proud smiles through his mustache.

Just a little bit of hope had kept her heart from sinking too far as she remembered that her friend from the system, Rose [*3], had promised to come out to watch her tonight.

The triumphant smile and pose had been a facade, one which she struggled more and more to keep up this past year. The effort had felt monumental while she strutted around the perimeter of the cage, heart warming a bit at the sight of some regular fans cheering from the front row, decked out in what must have been homemade merch with her name all over it, even as she remained desperate in her search for skin pink and slightly warped with an old burn; messy brown waves of hair; and large, dreamy hazel eyes in the crowd.

She never found them.

As her eyes’ search had faltered, realizing her friend wasn’t there like she’d promised she would be, they’d begun to sting, much to her horror. Bitterness nipped at her crumpling heart.

I…have nothing—

It was with the thought she barely managed to stifle, this time, that she’d been completely unable to maintain the facade, all of her effort needed to smother the pit trying to yawn wide inside her. The throbbing, gloved fist she had lifted in triumph had begun to drop, the smile had fled, her vision had blurred…

And then Pinky Wingnut had appeared like a bolt from the damn blue, bellowing the name she’d been so close to finally forgetting. In front of a shit-ton of people, no less. He hadn’t even looked embarrassed for himself. Had thrown himself into the arena like he had any—no, every damn right to be there, obviously not caring who he had to punch, elbow, or throw to get there. Had shamelessly barked and pitted himself against the ref, Lee, whose very presence demanded respect.

No, he was too crazy for shame, something which had finally been driven home during their second “reunion” when he’d started yelling about Harley—a name he definitely shouldn’t have known. Not even if he somehow had a copy of the same police file she did. Her police file. In the notes they took during the interview with her five-year-old self, the cops had consistently misspelled Harley’s name as “Charlie,” one of the many ways those dolts had fumbled and fucked up while trying to figure out who and where her parents were.

At least “Charlie” makes more sense than “Nashi Layla Dragon O’Neil”…she thought, eye twitching at the thought of the ridiculous name the pigs claimed her five-year-old self told them. Granted, Little Layla had been pretty obsessed with dragons. Even more than she had been throughout most of her childhood in the system. Even more than Pinky Wingnut. Maybe even enough to make up such a ridiculous name, one which literally contained the word “Dragon.”

If she remembered the interview correctly, she’d even whined that she was hungry and begged the cops for some fire to eat—that was, when she wasn’t too busy crying because Harley wouldn’t talk to her or making up wild shit about how her parents were warlocks or whatever, how she belonged in a fairy tale. She hadn’t even bothered to specify which one.

Throwing her blanket off herself and the cat in question, who beeped hoarsely in protest, Layla swung her legs out of bed. Her bruised bare feet slapped against the cold, cheap, off-white tile as she fumbled for her trusty bottle of pain pills on the nightstand, popped a couple, then brought her water bottle to her lips to wash it down.

She stood and stretched her arms above her head with a groan, scratching at her tan, toned stomach and wincing slightly as she tottered over to her bedroom window, tripping over piles of manga volumes on the way [*4]. She’d gotten lucky with her view of the park across the street, especially with the big, half-dead old tree which dominated the middle of the panes.

Now, Layla was so busy raging at herself, she barely registered the sight. Didn’t see the sunny day, the homeless people rolling up their tents and clearing out before someone driving by called the cops. She glared at the cars moving below, seething with her own thoughts so hard she could almost feel steam pouring out of her ears and nose into the room.

No more goddamn distractions, she swore viciously to herself. No more crying during her victory lap like a pathetic weakling. No more getting sidetracked by delusional Pinky Wingnuts. No more thinking about…that name and all the mortifying bullshit that came with it. Four days out was Championship night. Until then, no more fucking distractions.

She sat there, staring unseeingly at the old tree and tried to amp herself up, frustration detonating slowly in her brain as her heart barely stirred at her own lecture. No matter how hard she worked, how much she tried, or how many times she yelled her catchphrase at the end of her fights…for the past year, something just wasn’t there.

“I’ve got a fire inside me you’ll just never put out!” came closer and closer to getting completely stuck at the back of her throat—and staying there. It felt more like a lie every time it left her lips.

Frustration finally hitting boiling point like a fucking teakettle screaming, she stomped back over to her nightstand, less tripping over her manga than kicking the pile, this time. She unplugged her phone from its charger, scowling as she scrolled through the notifications to see that not only had Rose not bothered to show up, she hadn’t even fucking texted to explain why. The last text she’d ever sent came two days ago, just the words, I’ll try n be there punctuated with a shitty smiley face.

“You fucking liar,” Layla seethed under her breath, croaky voice shaking.

Distantly, she registered Harley (who’d apparently decided to quit being a lazy little lump) twirling around her ankles, mewling for breakfast.

She told herself it was anger making her heart wince, not pain. She knew Rose struggled. She did. She knew that. Her life hadn’t been any easier than Layla’s—in ways, much harder after the fire which left them both scarred in different ways. After Layla and a reluctant Gracie had managed to convince her to get help a couple years ago, she’d been so much better for a while. But now…

Now whatever, Layla thought viciously, black flames licking furiously at her insides. One thing, she’d asked for. It wasn’t like she wanted anything crazy, just for one person who mattered to show up for two of the biggest fights of her life (so far). She’d long given up on Gracie, but Rose used to show up—even if it was only occasionally. Sometimes even when she was going through a bad period. Layla had been there for Rose as much as she could after juvie, had picked her up after benders, beat the shit out of anyone who made fun of her burns. And her “friend” apparently couldn’t pay her back by just freaking showing up once or twice.

So much for “Foster kids don’t ditch each other,” she thought bitterly.

Fuck you too, Rose, she typed aggressively. Seriously.

Layla hit Send. Then, after pausing for a second, she typed out:

If you’re not there Friday night, I’ll fucking kill you!

Layla hit Send again. Clicking out of their conversation, she scowled as another text from an unsaved number made itself known through bolded font:

Yo, congrats on the win! Looks like we’re up again! A fist emoji. Good luck...you’ll need it...

That text was punctuated by a winky face. Another text followed it up:

I heard some crazy shit went down at the end of your fight, tho…u good?

Layla’s eye twitched. Ever since that motherfucker Helio thwarted her attempt to take the championship title from him a year previously, he’d decided to fuck with her mind by sending annoying texts at least a few times a week. If that naive, gullible dumbass Rose wasn’t the one who kept giving him Layla’s number, insisting he “wasn’t such a bad guy” Layla would have killed her.

She gritted her teeth hard enough to give herself a headache, almost mangling her phone. No matter how much she tried to tell herself she was too experienced a fighter to let that stupid douchebag psych her out, the rage burning in her chest and the fact that she still hadn’t been able to make herself rewatch last year’s championship fight—the only one she’d lost in the semi-unders—said otherwise.

The most she’d ever sent him was a poop emoji. Their “conversation” was basically just littered with them. But now, her temper was so close to snapping that she just deleted the conversation entirely with hard taps, refusing to give herself a chance to reply something stupid.

For all the fucking good it did. This time, the frustrated scream did leave her throat, making her sound like a fucking demon smoker.

She threw her phone on her bed with more force than necessary, breathing heavily while she watched it bounce.

“Whatever,” she breathed to herself like a fucking bull. “Forget it, whatever!” At least she didn’t get any texts from that other, much worse bastard anymore…obviously, changing her number a bunch of times had done the trick.

Harley, wholly unperturbed by her outburst, decided to up the breakfast-begging ante. She went from weaving around her ankles to clawing viciously at her bare leg, meowing louder.

“Ow!” Layla snapped, swatting at the little gremlin to shoo her off. “You fish-addicted, fucked up cat!”

Harley yowled petulantly. The little shit was Layla’s best friend, and she loved her to death, but she could really be a monster when it came to her damn “fishies.” Or scratching the shit out of her furniture and walls. Or if anyone other than Layla came near her (though Layla didn’t really blame her for that one).

The little cat leapt atop one of the few still-intact pile of comics and manga near the window, white tail swishing agitatedly. Those odd, blank-but-not, round, charcoal eyes of hers an unblinking, salmon-filled demand. Layla was geared up to ignore her and get ready for the day—maybe even eat her own damn breakfast first, for once, if Harley was going to be such a little brat!—but her anger cooled when the morning light streaming in from the window illuminated the sheen of pink skin peeking through her white fur. Barely visible, but still there. A burn gained in the same fire as Rose’s, before Layla managed to get her out.

Layla didn’t feel bad for calling Harley “fucked up.” She didn’t. She was a cat, for crying out loud. She couldn’t even understand a word she said anymore than she could fly like Pinky Wingnut the Stalker, seemed to think.

The fighter sighed. “Tch…well, who wants a fishies, then?” she half-cooed, half-grumbled her usual morning phrase—which she’d never, ever say in front of anyone else—then snorted and made to get dressed when Harley practically sang a meow at hearing her favorite words.

----------------------

“Fuck off, Gracie!”

Her shithead roommate was the absolute last person Layla wanted to see while she and Harley were trying to enjoy their breakfast that morning. Especially when the jerk was practically naked—clad only in a thong and one of her loser “friends’” shirts (Layla assumed); especially when the apartment had gained a new beer can and burnt tin foil rug overnight; and especially when she was trying to steal Layla’s food.

She slammed a bruised fist onto Gracie’s lanky hand as it snaked to towards her bacon. The table, silverware, and Harley’s bowlful of raw salmon rattled as she pinned it to the wood hard enough to leave a bruise.

“Ouch!” Gracie squeaked, wriggling her hand out from Layla’s fist, Layla only letting her up after giving her a good long glare.

Harley, perched on the table right next to Layla’s morning feast, was barely fazed by the jolt to the table or loud sounds. However, she was clearly not happy with Gracie’s nearness. If Layla hadn’t been there between them, there would have been a real concern for the safety of Gracie’s hands. She lifted her head from the bowl of raw salmon she’d previously been loudly scarfing to stare down their lanky, pale roommate. Though her tail briefly bristled like a soda bottle, she quickly returned to devouring her fish to no one’s damn surprise, although she ate more quietly now.

Meanwhile, Gracie pouted, rubbing her hand and eyeing Harley with a distaste that was far too familiar. Then she finally returned her angled, glinting dark eyes to her angrily flushed roommate. Her pout grew bigger as she threw her skinny, naked ass into the chair on the opposite side of the table from Harley.

“Seriously? You have that ginormous breakfast and can’t even give your own bestie one tiny slice of bacon?”

“Bestie” was a major stretch, especially at the moment. But admittedly, it was a big breakfast:

One huge veggie omelet and a sizable hunk of meat (bacon, today) both marinated in enough spices to turn most peoples’ tongues to leather. Whole wheat toast with almond butter. A big protein smoothie to top it all off. It was a ton of calories, but every one would be needed for today’s training.

Makar, Layla’s old coach, would have skinned her alive if he’d been around to know she wasn’t taking the day after a fight to rest [*5]. She’d always thought it was a stupid rule, but she’d grudgingly followed it out of respect for her coach.

But now, Mak was buried in the graveyard a couple blocks over, and so was the “Rest Day Rule” as far as Layla was concerned. She hadn’t rested a single day the past year, not even when sick. Rest was for spoiled douchebags like Helio who had an entire team dedicated to shaping him into an amazing fighter like a ball of fucking golden clay. Hell, he even had a fight manager now that most of his fights were in the “real” octagon rather than the semi-underground.

She should know, since she’d been watching all his fights since forever.

(Just not theirs.)

Layla bared her teeth at Gracie. “No, I can’t! I need the energy for training! And even if I could, I wouldn’t! Get your own damn food!”

“Ugh.” Gracie rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her braless chest. “Don’t tell me you’re butthurt about last night. God, it’s not even that big a deal. You are such a slut-shamer.”

“Don’t fucking call me a slut-shamer!” she snapped back, throwing her chopsticks down on her plate just to taunt Gracie with the fact that she wasn’t even eating the breakfast she refused to share. “As if that has anything to do with shit! Last night was the semi-final—“

“I forgot,” Gracie sniffed, turning away while closing her eyes.

“Like hell you did, liar!” Layla snarled. “I reminded you like a thousand times!” She scooped her chopsticks back up, squeezing them so hard they threatened to break. “I don’t care who you bone, but I’ve got four days to the Championship fight, and I’m not getting there like a zombie because I had to keep listening to your shitty crooning! Next time, I’ll throw their asses out!”

She pointed her chopsticks at the girl whose aura was now definitely souring, ignoring the sounds of Harley now loudly licking her chops from the other side of the table.

“And while we’re on the subject, how does that scenario even happen!? ‘Oh, hey, Rando, do you happen to be a huge asshole?’” She pretended to pause as if listening, then to brighten with a mocking amount of pageantry. “ ‘Oh, you are? Fantastic! You pass the audition! Come on over around 8 for a gang-wang!’”

“It’s ‘gangbang’,” Gracie sneered, her laughter making Layla’s ears heat with embarrassment. “Seriously, how do you get to ‘gang-wang’?” Layla hunched her shoulders in an attempt to hide the effect, hoping Gracie would just move on. But since when had she ever gotten what she wanted?

“And also, I just meet guys at parties, get their numbers, and text them. Really not rocket science. But then, you wouldn’t know that, would you? Since you’re such an oblivious prude. Not to mention an imbecile.” She stood, turning away to stretch and giving Layla an unfortunate full view of her bony white horse butt. “But then again…” She turned smirking over her similarly bony shoulder. “That’s only to be expected from a gorilla.”

Layla stiffened as the cruel nickname was thrown at her for the second time in as many days.

Let it go, she tried to tell herself. She’s just pissed because you called her out. Foster kids don’t ditch each other. They stick by each other.

But this time, the placations didn’t work; her rage leapt to her tongue faster than she could bite it.

“Go fuck yourself, Third-Base Grace!”

Her roommate froze, turning to stare at her with wide eyes full of horror and disbelief as Layla glowered up at her, cheeks tinged in anger. She’d never resorted to calling Gracie that. Ever. Hell, she used to beat people up when they called Gracie that, after they both left juvie and wound up in the same high school.

The worst part was that she couldn’t even make herself feel bad for pulling out the mean high school nickname. Not when she was having such a shit morning. Not when the resentment had been festering within her for this long.

Not when Gracie had done the exact same thing to her—several times, now.

When their glare-off lasted for several seconds, Gracie’s devastation transformed just as surely and quickly as Layla’s had. Layla could see it in her eyes. For a second, she thought Gracie was going to say something really nasty, and she geared up, ready to fucking throw down if it came to it. Throwing her naked ass out was looking more appealing by the minute, let alone by the day, if she was being honest.

But then, as soon as Gracie’s eyes narrowed and the fire flared within them, her anger was muted. Not exactly gone, but looking like a veil had been cast over it, darkening it.

“Whatever,” she scoffed, snatching her phone off the couch she’d been crashing on for months and stalking towards the bathroom. “Get that hideous thing you call a cat off the table.”

Harley, obviously unable to understand the girl, paid the words no mind, flicking her bristled tail while she watched her walk away.

Layla, on the other hand, felt her temper spike. “Her name is Harley! And fucking make me!” she snapped back. “And all this shit better be cleaned up by the time I get back, or so help me—“

The slam of the bathroom door cut her off, leaving Layla cursing under her breath.

Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry any more, but she forced herself to shovel down the rest of her breakfast as quickly as possible. She told herself it was the spicy food making her eyes burn.

----------------------

A good, hard run served as Layla’s daily warm-up for training. Always had, as far as she remembered. As per usual during the flaming can of garbage that was the past year, she felt like she was flagging the entire time. According to the timer on her phone, her times were better than ever. Yet she’d never felt slower.

Sometimes, it felt like her phone and even her Wikipedia page—which documented her unbroken record over the past year—were lying to her, playing tricks on her. Like a light scale, something she’d had to deal with occasionally back when she competed at other types of martial arts for Mak as a kid [*6].

It also didn’t matter that she refused to look at the graveyard when she passed it on her route; she could always hear Mak’s voice , like the loudest bastard of a ghost ever from the moment she dashed her first step.

“GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR! DON’T EVEN FUCKING THINK OF LETTING THOSE BOYS BEAT YOU!”

Nevermind the fact that she didn’t run alongside any boys to beat, anymore.

“Foul-mouthed…old…man,” she wheezed to herself, leaning against the big, dying old tree where she always finished her run, the one she could see from her window. She ignored the passersby who gave her strange looks.

Jeez, she thought after a while. It’s really taking me a long time to catch my breath. She felt way better, but she could still hear herself. In fact, it almost sounded like…

Her eyes widened. Hold up! That’s not someone catching their breath, and it sure as shit ain’t me.

Instead, it sounded like…snoring? Pretty loud snoring, too. Layla straightened. Warily, she glared down several of the passersby, wondering if one of them was fucking with her or something. To her fury, several of them eyed her suspiciously, like she was the one standing there in broad daylight snoring out loud like a fucking freak.

“What the hell are you looking at, huh?!” she snapped at one old man with a weird green had and a particularly disdainful glare. He huffed something about “rude brats” while shuffling along.

She frowned as he vanished, glancing around to see that most people in the immediate vicinity had cleared off. Yet the snoring raged on, sounding like a bear except when it would stop entirely, turning into these obnoxious little snorts. With a huff of confusion, she walked around the tree, frown deepening as she looked to see if someone was sleeping on the other side.

“Alright, seriously?!” she exclaimed throwing her arms up before flinging them across her chest, pouting in thought. She was stumped. If the snoring wasn’t coming from her, then what, was it coming from the freaking tree?!

She paused, actually considering the possibility. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. “Huh…” she muttered, eyes widening in fascination as she crouched down, putting a hand against the bark and wiping at her sweaty forehead with the other. “Well, I mean, plants gotta breathe, too, don’t they?” At least, she thought she remembered learning something like that in school.

Suddenly, the snoring ceased, turning into a groan. Layla yanked her hand away from the tree like it burned her, eyes bugging. “W-what the hell?!” she whispered, now officially getting creeped out.

Then the tree fucking gasped.

And then, Layla finally figured out it wasn’t the tree when the gasp was followed up with an unfortunately familiar voice crying a hoarse, “Nashi!”

She looked up.

She screamed.

----------------------

Footnotes:

*1. On Layla telling the “Edward Cullen” boy to get up when she’s the one on the ground: You might recognize this interaction from the original story. Natsu said it to Gray when they were fighting as children in one scene. I couldn’t resist borrowing the moment as both a hint and for nostalgic reasons.

*2. On having two fights within the same week: In the UFC, fighters have ~5 fights a year at most. The idea of someone doing a sport as violent, intense, and damaging to the body as UFC-level MMA even multiple times in one month is ludicrous. Doesn’t really matter since this is a Fairy Tail fic, and I won’t correct everything that’s inaccurate, but if I don’t roast myself just a little all my research was for NOTHING!!

*3. On mentions of characters from “Our Earth” such as Rose and Helio: Little characters and details like this are genuinely important to the fic and will ultimately be relevant even to Fairy Tail’s OC’s, I promise. This is NOT going to be one of those fics that’s ostensibly a Fairy Tail fic but in execution could really be totally unrelated to the original story, I promise.

*4. On Layla/Nashi’s manga volumes: Nashi’s love for manga (including eventual mentions of stories some of you may recognize) is as close to a crossover fic as this story will ever get.

*5. On Layla not taking rest days after fights: no

*6. Meaning of “light scale”: a scale that gives out readings less than one’s actual weight, an infamously common problem with the scales provided by US Olympics in sports such as Judo, where fighters have to cut (lose) or make (gain/maintain) weight to compete in certain weight classes

----------------------

Author’s Notes:

Hmm…could “Makar” be an Edolas-like parallel, I wonder?

Again, sorry this took so long! Tried to cut back on the “Our Earth” exposition, but kind of think it might still be too much? I’m also nervous about Layla/Nashi’s second debut. She’s definitely been something of a handful to write. But this is just how the story developed in my head, so oh well.

Like I said, I’m going to try to get chapters out faster, from here on out. I’d like to aim for at least one every week and a half, but I won’t give you guys a real, hard number until I figure out what works for me.

Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoyed!

#chasing tails #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #fairy tail fan fiction #nalu fanfiction #nalu #gruvia #gajevy #jerza #fanfiction #fan fiction

8 notes · View notes

erodasfishtacos · 4 years ago

Text

Three Minutes

Prompt: Harry slips up and it’s only right his wife serves him a little punishment.

Word Count: 3.2 k +

Warnings: Language, Sexual Content (sexting, dirty talk, public, subby!h)

AN: I’m excited to share this!! I’m pretty sure I’m going to do a part 2. Let me know if you’d like to see this! I’m dedicating this to @harrywritingsbyme because she’s an amazing writer and you need to read everything of hers! Requests open ☺️

Reblog if you can!

Harry was dreading his interview with Howard Stern. The guy was an obnoxious prick who had no filter and liked to put people on the spot - it’s what he’s doing right now.

You were off to the side, watching the interview next to Jeff. It was matter of time before Howard brought you up to pick and prod at your husband.

“So Harry, you’re married, yes?” Howard asks, typical sunglasses on and curly permed hair donned. His mouth a little to close to the microphone.

“Yeah, I am,” Harry smiles tightly, hands rubbing on this upper thighs. He spares a quick glance over to you.

“She’s here, right?” Howard looks over at you and winks, “Fucking gorgeous babe, huh?”

You roll your eyes at the interviewers remark and Harry’s isn’t pleased but nicely responds, “She’s amazing, way out of my league.”

Howard laughs, “Now I have to ask you, does she tour with you?”

Harry replies, “Yeah. For the most part, sometimes she’ll go off to visit family or friends for a bit.”

The interview smirks, “Does she get worried you’re going to fuck other people while she’s not there? I mean you have girls falling at your feet. It must be hard to avoid temptation.”

You blink owlishly, attempting to contain the offended scoff bubbling in your throat. Jeff snickers and you send him a elbow.

Your husbands face can’t hide his annoyance at the question, “Are you asking me if it’s hard not to cheat on my wife?”

“I mean you could have a line up of girls after every show willing to blow you. I couldn’t be satisfied going home to the same thing every night.”

The band is looking back and forth at each other - clearly uncomfortable. Mitch’s face completely blank - of course.

“Well, I mean - I think that kind of stuff like...people going crazy over you was exciting when I was a bit younger. But no, I mean I’m very much in love and also consider myself a monogamous person.”

“Man, I mean - some of the songs you write about her? Watermelon Sugar, that’s clearly about eating her out,” Howard laughs, the tune playing softly in the background.

Jeff nearly chokes on the water he’s drinking and you pat him hard on the back - as payback for making Harry do this interview.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had pussy so good I’d write about it,” the interview jokes crudely. The women interviewer tittering in the background at his antics.

Harry fumbles, “Uh-uhm, it’s not uh- necessarily about anything or any act like...in particular. Just about having a good time with the person you love.”

The female interviewer who stays mostly quite chirps in to break the tension, “Is it hard to be long-distance when she’s not on the road with you?”

“Not at all. Most of the time she’s with me but we’re lucky we have technology that helps us not feel so far away from each other.”

Howard smiles, “How do you not go crazy being without sex for long amounts of time?”

It’s odd how obsessed this guy is with sex. As well as painting Harry as some sex-crazed rockstar who can’t go a day without.

Harry then goes on to put his entire, big ass foot in his mouth. “Y‘know that’s uh-that’s what good about FaceTime and Snapchat.”

The interviewer grins like a predator at Harry’s admission. You’re face is bright fucking pink. You’re gonna murder him.

“Well you heard it here first, folks. The key to how Harry Styles - one of the greatest artist of his time- keeps a happy relationship with his wife while he’s on the road. Dick pics and FaceTime sex.”

Harry glances over at you, his face apologetic as he already knows he in trouble.

You’re not that embarrassed - it not like it’s a weird thing to do but you didn’t want him talking about it with a trashy talk show host.

The interview is almost over which is good because Harry’s about to lose his temper after he’s asked about his step-father’s passing and the stalker who was harassing you two.

During the interview however, you get a wonderful fucking idea as easy payback for Harry’s little slip up.

After Harry’s tossed his headset and microphone pack off with a little too much force to be unnoticeable - he’s sliding up beside you.

“Baby love,” He murmurs sheepishly into your cheek, nuzzling there for a moment, and breathing in the scent of your shampoo.

“You did good, H,” You reply softly, landing a soft kiss to his lips before pulling back to brush his hair off his forehead.

“Y’not mad?” Harry asks warily, knowing he got nervous and gave a little too much information.

“No baby, not mad at all,” Your voice steady and believable. It was true - you weren’t mad, just a little annoyed.

He seems confused. He knows you like the back of his hand and usually, you get peeved when he says something in interviews you’d rather the word not know.

Like the one time he let it slip you had an affinity for hooking up in hotel pools after dark. Prat.

Harry multiple appearances that day and it ends in a dinner at a fancy restaurant in Beverly Hills with big wigs.

You were invited but declined, despite Harry’s pouting and whines for you to go. You were the only thing that made these work obligations go faster.

However, you had other plans and a little bit of revenge to play on your unsuspecting husband.

All in good fun - of course.

Harry sits down with a group of people from his label. They’re all dressed in tight suits and rolex watches.

Harry on the other hand is in a flowy button-up only halfway done and a tight pair is skinny jeans. Jeff is dressed pretty casually too.

They were talking about tour dates and had just received their appetizers when he gets the text from you. Your name in his phone as baby love.

Harry nearly chokes on his water when he opens the message to reveal an image of you nearly naked in your shared bed. You skin tone standing out against the baby blue comforter.

You have one of his vintage tees on as well as some creme boyshort panties. The shirt is lifted though, rumpled up by your collarbones to reveal your breasts.

Harry wants to drool over the picture but doesn’t want to risk anyone else seeing his wife in any state of undress. So he quickly responds.

Baby, I’m at dinner.

You reply with another picture. A hand tucked down your underwear, cupping your heat. He can see the outline of your fingers underneath the thin fabric.

Already have something you could eat.

Harry can already feel himself twitch in his jeans. Cut it the fuck out now

Another. Fucking. Picture. Comes through.

This time you’re completely stripped, tits visible with soft pink peaks, and a hand strategically covering your cunt.

Make me, H.

It clicks what game you’re playing. You rarely sent anything risqué when you where together because you had each other physically.

Harry curses under his breathe, locking his phone and pushing back his chair a little too fast - excusing himself to the loo.

As soon as he clicks the lock on the single-person restroom, he’s pressing on your contact information and you pick up on the very first ring.

“You bloody brat, I’m out at dinner,” Harry hisses at you, giving himself a rough squeeze through his tighten trousers.

All he hears back is a breathy moan. He’d know that sound anywhere - you’re touching yourself.

“What the fuck are you playin’ at?” Your husband demands, but the clipped edge in his tone tells you how much it’s affecting him.

“Just a little payback, babe...for spilling our dirty secrets,” you hum innocently, deciding to send him another picture.

It’s a simple photo without context some might not even understand. It’s just your hand but your fingers glistening with your arousal.

Harry’s hand is about to crush is phone into bits as his eyes roam the picture. He was nearly panting, already able to imagine the taste and smell.

He takes a deep breath before he threatens you, “if you don’t pull your desperate little self together right now- I’m not going anywhere near that needy cunt and I’ll make you spend all night choking on me.”

Instead of the typical, sad whimpers he expects to hear - he receives a patronizing, high-pitched giggle.

“That’s not how it’s going to work tonight, H,” you inform him in a matter-of-fact manner before continuing, “we’re playing by my rules.”

Your husband laughs in disbelief, echoing against the bleak bathroom walls, “and what those rules, sweetheart?”

“You’re going to go sit through your nice little dinner, rockstar. And I’m going to send you pictures, maybe some videos to watch to keep you entertained. If you don’t open them within three minutes each time and reply - you’re not coming tonight. The couch will have a blanket and pillow ready for you.”

If he was in charge, he’d laugh and remind you that you two have three lovely guest rooms he could choose from. But he doesn’t want to push it.

“Fuck,” Harry spits, having to cram his hand into his jeans to adjust himself so he doesn’t look like a pervert when he goes back out.

But he was so fucking game.

He’d do anything you wanted from him - no matter if he could embarrass himself in front of business partners or fans. He was besotted, whipped, whatever you wanted to call him.

“Are you going to be good for me, baby?” You coo tauntingly, from the other end of the line. Basking in his little huffs of air and the agitated lift in his voice.

“Yeah, m’gonna be good,” he murmurs gruffly, his demeanor had changed now that he wasn’t in charge any longer - always willing to let you be dominant when you wanted to be.

It wasn’t often - but when you did, Harry would fall into a nice, fuzzy headspace of compliance and submission. He always wanted to please and this amplified all of his desires.

“Best husband I could ask for, you know?” You reward, knowing that the games are just getting started and you wanted to make this last.

“I love you s’much,” Harry automatically returns, with deep devotion and honesty. His voice as sweet as maple syrup.

“Are you hard, H?”

He grips himself, like he’d just remember, “m’really fucking hard for you.”

“Snap an picture for me, pull yourself together, and then go back to your table - don’t forget the rules.”

“Yes ba-“

Then you end the call while he’s talking.

Harry’s a little shaky as he swipes onto his camera. He grips the thick outline of his cock, rings glinting in the dull lights, and takes a picture.

He hopes it’s good enough and quickly sends it before splashes some cold water on his face and thinking of anything but his naked wife laying at home in their bed - wet and horny.

Jeff gives him a side-eye when he sits back down, casually throwing a napkin over his lap because he can’t help the semi that refuses to go down all together.

“You alright?” His manager asks him, the others still in the throws of tour venues and vendors discussions.

Harry nods, lying easily “the missus couldn’t find her phone charger - thought I nipped it.”

“You do love to steal those,” his friends agrees before cutting off one of them men to suggest three days at Madison Square Garden instead of two.

Harry’s clutching his phone like a lifeline, anticipating the indicative text vibrations that let him know you’ve sent something.

However, despite how many times he checks, fifteen minutes pass and still nothing has sent from you. He almost starts to worry if you’re okay.

But just like the sneaky little thing you are, you wanted to give him enough time to calm down and relax before rilining him up again.

When it finally alerts him, he’s unlocking his phone and opening the message thread as fast as possible.

The picture makes his jaw almost drop on the fucking carpeted floor. You’re in one the large closets in your home- the one that holds all of his Gucci suits in particular.

There is a massive floor to ceiling mirror in this room that you’re standing in front of. You’ve slid on one of his custom silk Gucci button-ups that has styles embroidered on the breast pocket without doing doing up any of the buttons.

He’s an absolutely goner for you in anything that makes you look like his property - the large engagement ring and wedding band on your left ring-finger satiates that feeling quite well.

It takes he a moment before he realizes what else you’re wearing. Your fucking collar. It sat tight around your neck, the expensive leather biting into your skin.

Your one hand was holding the phone and the other had a hand teasing at one of your hardened nipples through the silk fabric of the shirt.

He keeps his phone in his lap with a dim light setting so nobody can risk a chance at seeing such explicits pictures of what’s his.

You look so good with my name on you, baby. Please, want to see you in just the collar, take off the shirt.

Harry fumbles along with the conversation, that’s revolving all around him, “Yeah, I loved Argentina. Definitely want to got there again.”

Buzz.

How’d you already forget I’m in charge? Maybe I’ll just go to bed if you’re not going to follow instructions.

As punishment - if you can really call it that - in the next image you don’t have the collar on any longer and you’ve done up a few buttons on the silk shirt.

Harry feels panicked at the thought of you stopping. He was in a nice, soft headspace clinging onto anything you were willing to give him - desperate to make you happy.

I’m sorry, baby. I’ll be good for you. You’re so fucking sexy. I can basically taste you on my tongue.

“Harry?” Jeff draws him out of his haze. He’s looking at him expectantly, eyebrow quirked, and a martini in his hand.

“What did you say?” Harry asks, eyes itching to dart back down to the screen of his mobile.

“Would you want Kacey to open for you again in North America?” Jeff repeats with annoyance.

“Oh, uh-yeah, that’d be great,” he tells them without really think about it.

He should be paying attention to this pretty important meeting but he can’t when he gets another alert.

The video is back in the bedroom, your delicate fingers sliding down your torso with the button-up pooled around your ribs.

Your hand slowly, at a near crawl- traces down with the camera until the manicured tips of your fingers are at your mound.

Harry’s stomach is tensing in excitement as he watches your fingers dip into the part in your slick, swollen folds.

He has to bite back a groan when the video cuts off and he reads the text below the attachment.

Was this the pussy you enjoyed eating so much you won a Grammy writing about? Was Howard right in his interview?

If Harry was in charge, he would have delivered a few resounding smacks to your arse for how cocky you were being - despite it being the absolute truth.

Did he write and win a Grammy based on a song about how much he loved eating his wife out? Sure fucking did.

Baby love. Yeah, wrote it about you. Write all my songs about how much I love you and your body. Everything is yours.

Harry is so good when he’s subby - is the thing.

Harry was a sappy sod anyways, always ready to tell you how much he loved you and thousand of other sweet things. This just amplified all of his warm, fuzzy emotions.

Send me a picture of your left hand

He hesitates for a moment, still nodding along to the ebb and flow of the business talk but having no actual idea what they’re talking about.

Harry places his large, wide hand flat on the table in front of him. He knew why you wanted his left hand - you were just as possessive as him.

You want to see his long, slim fingers that feel so good inside of you. You want to see the glimmer of his wedding band as well as the tattoo of your name on the outer curve of his hand.

He doesn’t think to turn off his flash. It ends up going off in the dimly lit restaurant and blinding the table, reflecting off the silver flatware.

He looks like a complete knob - taking a picture of his hand but also something weird Harry may do anyways and upload to his Instagram.

The men blink a few times and look at him with a confused expression. Jeff jabs him roughly in the side.

“Uh, snapchat streak,” he mumbles, tucking his phone back into his lap and sending it.

You were cutting it close, babe. 2 minutes, I don’t like waiting. But fuck, who’s name is that on your hand, who’s that ring for?

You, you baby. All of its for you, promise. I belong to you, only you for the rest of my life.

The response is quick.

But...you have girls falling at your feet, lining up to blow you.

A direct quote for the interview today. Brat - she knew how he hated when people assumed or talked like he had no self control or morals.

Only want your mouth, your cunt, your tits. So bloody gone for you, baby. Please send me another video.

He really shouldn’t be egging you on.

Your being greedy but you’ve been following the rules so I’ll allow it.

The video does not disappoint. You’re hand is nestled down between your thighs, pinching at your puffy, stimulated bud. Just the amount of pain you like. It’s a short clip but it has him wriggling in his seat.

He watches it again but before he can finish it - Jeff is snatching his phone out of his shaky hands and tucking it into his own pants pocket.

The manager’s obviously sick of the lack of focus and honestly, how disrespectful Harry’s being which is something he usual never is.

“Pay attention,” he whispers with a sharp, irritated tone before clapping Harry on the back to play off the scolding to the group.

Harry feels a knot form in his stomach as his phone sits stagnant in his friends pocket. His wife sitting, impatiently waiting for his response that she’s not going to get.

He watches his vintage wristwatch as fifteen minutes pass, he hears a few buzzes from his phone that go unattended.

Harry’s not fuzzy anymore - well not in a good way. He has anxiety bubbling in his tummy and his semi had finally disappeared from nerves of disappointing you.

He decides to engage in the conversation to keep his mind off of what is waiting for him at home. He craved to look at those images and videos again. To have it in real life.

It had been three hours since he responded. The people at the table insisting on dessert and alcoholic coffees despite Harry saying he was exhausted from a long day of promo.

At the end of dinner, Harry would love to lie and say he’s recovered from his shakiness but he hadn’t.

After shaking the hands of the record label men, he walks to his car with Jeff. He gets a nice talking to before his phone is being placed back into his hand and he’s sliding into his obnoxious vintage Ferrari.

He takes a deep breathe before he unlocks his phone. The buzzes he heard where not all from you. A few from Twitter, his mum, Niall. There was only one from you.

Game Over. You lose.

—

Thank you for reading💕🥺

#harry styles #harry styles fic rec #harry styles masterlist #harry styles writing #harrystylesfanfic #fanpic harry #fic rec #husband harry styles #Harry styles shut #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles prompt

1K notes · View notes

oitommothetease · 4 years ago

Text

Invisible String (11/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 2.3k words

Warning : fluff, angst, shitty Steve, Don’t ask me why I make Steve so unlikable in every thing I write( PS I’m still mad at endgame Steve), mention of sex

If someone had told you that you would wake up snuggled to your boss — naked — you would have told them to fuck off and leave you alone. Not that the idea of James in your bed was repulsive, no, it was actually quite the opposite. You wanted him so much that it scared you because he — well, he was so gorgeous, and you were you. And he even looked better lying in your bed while the sunlight peaked onto his face from the window, making his stubble and hair appear golden-ish. Even as hard his exterior was, everything about him, mostly sleeping in your bed, appeared soft.

“You know, watching people while they sleep is kinda creepy,” James said, his voice gruff from sleep and you felt heat rushing through your body. God, his morning voice was so hot. It took a second for your brain to register his words and when it did, you moved your gaze away from him.

“You’re beautiful,” you blurted out. You could feel him rumbling as he rubbed his still sleep-dazed eyes.

He gently lifted his hand to place it on your face, caressing your cheek softly with his knuckles as he said, “You are beautiful."

You jokingly rolled your eyes and shifted your face slightly to plant a kiss on the inside of his palm. “Don’t you have a club to run?”

“The club can wait,” Bucky’s hand trailed off from your face to your waist and he flipped you, situating you on his lap and kissed you lazily while his hands roamed around your body.

***

Bucky felt like he was dreaming, he felt as if any moment you’ll slip out of his grasp and he would have to wake up. This was too good to be true, you were too good to be true. After an incredible morning, which included him pounding into you in your bed and then on the kitchen worktop and then in the shower. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself, he needed to touch you — feel you — make sure you were here with him safe.

It wasn’t just sex, it was so intimate that it felt so much more. The time when he wasn’t buried inside you, you’d talk about everything. He told you that when he was a kid, he loved baking. His mom worked, so he spent most of his time helping his sister with her new hobby. Rebecca soon grew out of it, but Bucky didn’t. He told you he’d love to open a bakery in a foreign country.

“You know, we can go to Europe,” you suggested. “You can open a bakery and maybe some chocolate whiff is all I need to break out from my writing slump.”

Bucky’s heart ached at your confession, he was delighted to know that he wasn’t the only one that was fantasizing about a future with you. He had never told his ambitions to anyone, mainly because when he did tell someone, they laughed at him. His career and exterior did not match his dreams, and soon those dreams died. But you made him desire that peaceful life. He wanted peace and tranquility in his life with you. Maybe tomorrow he would wake up and realize that this was some dream, and he was alone in his apartment and not in your bed.

“Have you thought of a name yet?” you asked, “For the bakery.”

“Did you recall that song you were humming?”

“No,” you said, “But I’m sure it will make a great bakery name.”

You curled up into his chest, you were almost asleep. He kissed the top of your head, refusing to succumb to sleep, holding you tightly so that even if this was an elaborate fantasy that his mind had conjured, he was adamant to still make the most of it.

***

After leaving your house to get ready for work, that's when he finally realized that this was real. You were his, and he was yours in a sense that no amount of words could comprehend. You hadn’t put any official labels on your relationship, but the way you moaned his name and breathlessly whispered, “I’m yours. All yours.” multiple times in his ears was enough.

Bucky hated when people called him James, it reminded him of his father, but the way you said his name with adoration filled in your eyes and tone made him content. You made him feel content and happy with everything you did without even realizing it. Bucky hoped he could do the same for you — make you feel at peace.

“I’ve been calling you since morning,” Steve commented the moment Bucky entered his office. He eyed the group of people — Steve, Sam, Clint, Pietro, Wanda, and Peter in his office before exhaling. Although Bucky was their boss, that didn't deter them from treating him like the friend he was. He didn’t mind that either, these people gave him a sense of belonging — a family, and he would give his life for them just like they would for him.

“I was asleep,” Bucky lied. And of course, his friends didn’t buy it.

“I came by your place this morning. You weren't there sleeping,” Steve retorted. He didn’t like how his best friend who he saw as a brother was hiding things from him.

Fuck, Bucky thought. Admittedly, he wasn't at his place, he was at yours. He didn’t know what to say when six sets of eyes were looking at him expectantly. He couldn’t tell the truth, he wasn't a kiss-and-tell kind of guy. He wanted to avoid telling because you met these people every day, and it would become awkward for you; but mostly he didn’t want anyone to find out because it was so new for him that he was scared to even mention your relationship, terrified of jinxing it.

Just when he was about to muster up an excuse, a soft knock on his office door snapped everyone’s attention towards the entrance. Bucky’s relief was short-lived the moment he realized it couldn’t be anyone except you. Now everyone was looking at Bucky impatiently, waiting for him to respond.

If it were anyone else Bucky would have asked them to go away, but it was you. You were knocking at his door. He wanted to see you, see the marks hidden behind the concealer or collar when he sucked your neck a little too hard the previous night and this morning. Mainly, he wanted to see you.

“Come in,” He said, ignoring the stares his friends were giving him. His breath hitched at your sight, you were really breathtaking. You weren't looking at him or anyone in the room. No, you were holding two coffees and a bag of donuts in your hand. Your eyes were focused and you were looking inside the bag, searching for a dish to put his donut in, when you said, “I knew you'd skip breakfast after you left this morning. I brought you -”

“Y/N,” Wanda cut you off.

Bucky internally thanked Wanda because he didn’t have it in him to stop you from speaking. And that’s when you finally looked up and were met with seven people staring at you. Sam, Wanda, and Pietro were looking at you with a smirk on their face. Peter looked down at his feet. Clint was clueless and confused. Steve wasn’t looking at you, he was staring at his best pal who lied to him about his whereabouts. And Bucky’s eyes were fixed on you and when yours landed on his, he smiled at you and shook his head, telling you that he got you.

“What are you doing here, Y/N? Your shift doesn’t start till night,” Pietro informed, he was clearly teasing you. And soon a sense of understanding came to Clint’s senses when he joined the dots and his eyes widened before a smirk formed on his lips.

“I… I,” you stuttered. Your brain couldn't come up with an excuse this quickly. Bucky opened his mouth to say something, but you raised your hands and the packet of donuts with it and excitedly said, “I brought doughnuts!”

“Thank you!” Bucky exclaimed, swiftly walking towards you, taking the donuts from your hand, and placing it on the table. He draped his arm around your waist before leading you outside his office. His friends knew now, he wasn’t going to tone down the PDA in front of them. He just didn't want you to feel awkward or under anyone's subjection.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” you started once you were away from everyone. “I wouldn’t have if I knew -”

Bucky’s lips landed on yours, stopping your rambling. His arms snaked around your waist, pushing you flush against his chest, and you wrapped your hands around his neck. “It wasn’t your fault,” he mumbled adjacent to your lips and you sighed in relief.

“I just wanted to bring you breakfast since we couldn’t have it,” you pouted, flusteredly thinking about the morning activities that stopped you from having breakfast.

Bucky beamed down at you and planted another soft kiss on your lips. “How about I make it up to you at lunch,” he suggested, “I'll bake something for you too.”

You nodded excitedly and were about to leave when Bucky gently took your wrist in his hand. “Doll, text me when you reach home, yeah?”

***

Bucky dreaded going back into his office, he knew he would be bombarded with questions and knowing smirks. He decided to rip off the band and entered the office. “Okay, go for it, ask away.”

“How long has this been going on?” Steve was the first one to question.

“I mean, officially since last night.”

Sam was about to drop a snarky comment when Pietro chimed in. “Who asked who out?”

“I asked her out,” Bucky answered, and was bewildered. “Why is that important?”

“I knew it!” Wanda cheered and raised her hand, palms up, towards the blond. “Pay up,” Pietro grumbled before handling her sister 20 dollars.

“You guys bet on us?” Bucky asked and was met with amused snickers from everyone except Steve. Peter stepped forwards before saying, “I had no part in this, Mr. Barnes.”

The twins rolled their eyes before Steve interjected another one of Sam’s almost snippy comments. “She is the reason you attacked Rumlow, isn't she?”

Sam raised his hands in frustration and turned towards his husband. “Come on, babe. You just had to ruin the fun.”

Bucky exhaled and answered honestly, “Yes, but I can’t tell you why. You just have to take my word for it and trust me that he deserved it.”

“Buck, I’m not saying I don’t trust you, but you have to understand where my fear is coming from,” Steve said, “I know Rumlow and I know he's planning something big. We have to be careful. You can't be distracted by this girl, pal.”

Bucky was furious. He did not expect his best bud to say that. Steve knew how much Bucky pinned for you, he knew how much Bucky wanted you. How could he just say that about you after knowing all of this? “That’s rich coming from you after you told me to be happy.”

Bucky huffed in disbelief, his voice filled with venom. “Well, guess what, pal? She makes me happy.”

Nobody dared to intervene between the childhood friends. Everyone knew that Steve was saying stupid shit out of concern, but Bucky couldn’t see it. Bucky would fight anyone for you, even his best pal.

“You attacked our enemy because of this girl that you’ve been with since what — a day?” Steve scoffed sarcastically, and Bucky’s breath was drawn and his fists balled.

“I attacked him because he-” Bucky cursed himself and inhaled sharply. He couldn’t do this to you, it wasn't his decision to tell. You had decided that nobody would find out about what Rumlow did to you, not even cops, and Bucky respected your decision. He wouldn’t do this to you, especially not out of anger and in front of multiple people you didn't even know.

Before Steve could say something, Bucky’s phone vibrated on the table. A text, Bucky assumed it was you, informing him that you had reached home. You — thinking about you made him take a breath and calmed him a bit. He decided he would text you in the privacy of his office, after his friends would leave. He would text you back or better call you when he wasn’t fuming with rage at his best friend, then he would take you out on a lunch date.

Bucky was about to reach for his phone when Clint finally spoke up, “Steve, we will be careful, okay? We will contact our sources and find out about Rumlow’s plan.”

All the heads present in the office accepted this decision. Sam scolded Steve and Bucky and made them hug out their issues like kindergarteners. Peter offered to make a drink and everyone made their way downstairs towards the bar, leaving the office and Bucky’s phone unattended.

What Bucky didn’t know was that Rumlow’s plan was already in action, in reality, he had even succeeded in his plan.

If Bucky had checked his phone, then he would have realized it wasn't a text from you, instead, it was a text from an unknown number with an attached photo. The picture was of you tied to a chair, your eyes half-lidded with drugs and tears, and a bruise forming on your left cheek.

TAGS : @bananapipedreams @akkinda10 @rivers-rambles21 @emmabarnes @valsworldofcreativity @boofy1998 @marvel-3407 @mybuck @priii @coffeebooksandfandom @ladydmalfoy @shaking-a-jar-of-bees @elizamalfoyy

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky fic #bucky fanfic

173 notes · View notes

amortentiaparker · 4 years ago

Text

RED (and blue) + p.parker series

+ chapter six

→ Y/N, a swiftie, jokingly reposts the “Red (Taylor’s Version) boyfriend application form” on her instagram story.

The details are as follows: Looking for a boyfriend for the last week of August to the month of November- right before RED (Taylor’s version) drops to be exact. Applicant needs to make me fall in love with you immensely and you are required to break me like a promise before the deadline.

And somehow Peter Parker finds himself as the top candidate.

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: some swearing, doubting, and fluff!!!!

word count: 4.1k

series masterlist + my masterlist

buy me a ko-fi?

five | six

The autumn cold had finally entered New York City, but it was nothing compared to the warmth you felt whenever Peter was around.

Lines and labels were still blurry like the fog that misted the classroom windows, but you were content with what you had and you liked to think Peter was too. There was no rush to calling each other things and you were content with this romantic phase. Cindy and Ned weren't too ecstatic about switching seats, but the gazes you and Peter shared made up for it.

Right now, Mr. Harrington was discussing some stuff about decathlon, but you couldn't truly concentrate, not when Peter was rubbing his thumb over your intertwined hands.

He thought you were mad at him for ditching your study date yesterday, and even if the rain check was kind of out of character for Peter, you assured him that you weren't. Usually, your study dates with him were during after-school hours but right before the sun sets, so you found him canceling a bit odd but you let it go. You did not want Peter to worry but you also didn't mind his way of "making it up to you".

The jacket around you had done a good job of keeping the chill away, but now your body felt a little too warm with how much Peter was making you flustered.

Sweet was an understatement. It had been two weeks since your first date at the book shop and three since the party. You two decided that study dates were the best way to go whenever school works got a little too demanding. And that his Aunt May needed his help every once in a while so you don't mind the time spent in the school library. But you squeezed in trips to yogurt shops or Delmar's as a nice treat. They weren't extravagant but it was the little things that mattered.

There had been moments where you'd get freaked out at the date, the looming November starting to appear in calendars, but every time, with no fail, a simple text from Peter would soothe your worries. Texts from other classmates weren't so relieving though. You had been getting random DMs from schoolmates you barely interacted with and their questions are always one and the same; you and Peter?

You never bothered to reply to any of it, but in real life, the stares were starting to get under your skin. You'd hear the whispers with the words boyfriend or girlfriend thrown in the mix and you had to restrain yourself from going up to them and tell them off. You were starting to think that those people can do that to you because you were always hailed as the 'good girl', especially in your past relationship.

Peter gently poking your cheek was what pulled you out of your thoughts.

"Hey, you alright?" He asked as he started to put your tote bag over his shoulder. He answered your questioning look with a light chuckle, "Practice is over."

"Oh," You answered, cheeks blazing. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to." Peter gives you a cheeky smile and wiggles his fingers to signal that he wants to hold hands.

Even though you didn't tell him, Peter knew that the stares and whispers were bothering you. He was worried that you'll get flashbacks from a similar time and situation, but he knew your smiles and reassurances were genuine.

The look on Peter's face was familiar, "I know that look. What are you guilty of?"

"What?" Peter blinked. "I'm-i'm not guilty--"

"You have to help May, don't you?" You asked. You mimicked Peter's thumb movements from earlier to assure him that you weren't mad.

Last night, Peter texted you that you'll just have your study date today and you could see right through him that he was feeling bad for canceling once more.

"Yes," He sighed, dropping his head in defeat. "Kinda? Gotta do our groceries."

"Sounds fun! Can I come with?" Peter's eyes widened at your enthusiasm. "I always keep forgetting to buy this tea that I like. Fun story actually, I met Spider-man the last time I bought it."

Peter's eyes widened this time for a completely different reason. He knew that he technically didn't have a reason to be scared at the mention of Spider-man between the two of you but he couldn't help it. Your ex had his own secrets that he kept from you but Peter felt as if this one was so much bigger. And the fact that you remembered the little details from that fateful Sunday night.

"So you associate Spider-man with this tea?" What a question.

"Hmm, I don't know? But now that you've mentioned it..." You teased and bumped your shoulder with Peer's as you walked. "Why? You jealous?"

"Wha-what?" Peter sputtered before straightening his posture. "You're my girl. He should be the one that's jealous."

This time, you were the one left stuttering. You couldn't form a comeback and Peter had to bite his lip to refrain from smiling when he heard your heartbeat pick up to his words.

Needless to say, your voice only returned when you got to the grocery store. The whole walk over was filled with shy glances and winks from a cocky Peter, but you enjoyed every minute of it.

The store entrance was littered with autumn leaves and the faint scent of pumpkin in the air reminded you of Halloween.

Your past memories of the unofficial holiday was filled with cliche trio costumes and even if you tried to fight it, Harry's face popped up in your head. There was one party in sophomore year where you two went with Peter. The blonde insisted that Peter should go as the third wheeler character and the thought of it got you flared up again.

You opened up your mouth, about to bring up the shared (and tainted) memory with Peter, but he was in his own world- chuckling and pointing at the Christmas decor on the shelves.

"It's barely thanksgiving!" He said to you.

Peter's laugh immediately cheered you up and you let him make fun of the cheesy Santa ceramics. He went on to talk about how much him and May loves to watch Home Alone every single time before they leave for a Christmas trip for a good laugh.

Peter mentioning his Aunt reminded him what he came to the grocery store for and immediately sprung into action, not wanting to waste anymore time or else he'll get in trouble.

Even though you said that you were only supposed to pick up the tea that you liked, you ended up going for a grocery cart to seriously stock on food for your home. Something about Peter walking next to you, his own grocery list in one hand and pushing his own cart in the other felt so... domestic. Your cheeks warmed at this and decided to pretend to think over two cereal options when in reality you were thinking about how you have never felt like this before.

Sure, you've been in love. And even if there's still more to experience, you know that each time, it would feel different. This- whatever it is, with both your shadows under the grocery lights, felt homely. Like a warm hug at the end of a long day. It was an unfamiliar feeling, scary almost, but with Peter it provided a sense of safety. You can feel yourself free of any more friction, and in this peace you find yourself forever going with the flow.

Considering the amount of items in each of your respective carts, the two hours you and Peter spent in the grocery was unnecessary. The self-checkout didn't need to take up as much time as it did if you two weren't goofing around. Your heart was still fluttering when Peter insisted to take a sort of mirror selfie in the checkout camera and you saw that he made it his wallpaper. Both lock and home screen.

When you two left the store, the city was cloaked in a warm golden glow. You were about to take a deep breath in, somewhat feeling that you could inhale sunlight when the weight on both your hands was lifted.

"What are you doing?" You asked Peter, who was now holding six (six!) grocery bags. You had to push away the little menacing voice whispering in your head how Peter was barely breaking into sweat and how attractive he looked right now.

"I got it." He simply shrugged.

This brought your attention to the backpack resting on Peter's shoulders and you felt even more guilty because a) you should help him and b) but he looks so good.

You were about to protest when Peter pulled the bags away. He was lifting them even higher just to prove that he was perfectly capable of handling grocery bags.

"Sorry, can't let you carry these," The slight lilt in Peter's voice told you to prepare for his teasing, "Who knows I might need another beer pong teammate."

You burst out laughing at the fact that even though you barely got three cups in during that party, but you found it so endearing that Peter put you on a pedestal. Peter took your heartwarming laughter as a distraction and started to walk steps ahead of you. He lifted one arm, then another as if he was using the grocery bags as gym weights just so he could coax another giggle out of you. Luckily for Peter, he succeeded in his plan.

The two of you walked side by side on the streets and even though you wanted to take your time, you noticed Peter glancing at his watch every once in a while. Whether he was doing it on purpose on not, you also noticed how fast he was walking. Only did he halt when you caught up to him, albeit panting.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"You gotta help your Aunt May, I know," You cut him off before he could say sorry for something he shouldn't even be apologizing about. "I would never hold you back from that, okay, Pete?"

It was obvious that Peter calmed down whenever you mentioned the nickname. Something that you noticed was that Peter was this ball of energy, always fidgeting in the slightest and usually ends up breathless after speaking continuously. It warmed your heart whenever he seemed to relax when you address him.

"Yes, but sorry, I gotta get home before six.."

"Six? No problem.." You tried to be sneaky, trying to reach for the bags, but somehow, Peter always, managed to react first. Sometimes even before you did anything.

"Nu-uh, Missy." Peter shook his head. The little pout on his lips sent you into another laughing fit.

In the end, you got to your place just ten minutes before six. Peter huffed and gave you puppy dog eyes as you tried once more to carry the grocery bags.

"C'mon, don't you have any faith in your beer pong champ?" You said, placing a kiss on your right pec for dramatics.

"I do. But I don't think my champ can handle bringing three full bags up this stoop so I want her to let me help."

"Damn you, Parker." You huffed at the emphasis in his voice.

In any other circumstance, the word 'my' would have sounded icky and possessive, but when Peter's using it when referring to you, you wanted to hear it for the rest of your life. But on the other hand, you knew that Peter was having fun with the effect it had on you, and oh, do you love a challenge.

As soon as everything was set up, with half your groceries placed on the top shelves by Peter, who insisted he wouldn't want you walking to school with an injury from stepping up on the kitchen counters, Peter still had exactly a minute left before the clock struck six.

He was now standing against your door, just like the many times before when he walked you home. The sun had finally gone down yet he still managed to look as lovely as ever. It didn't matter if he was standing underneath the bright sunlight or bathed in the moonlight, Peter Parker had always managed to take your breath away. Maybe he always had, even when he had those pair of thick-rimmed glasses in the ninth grade.

"Ahem,"

There he goes again, with that cheeky smirk and sparkling eyes as Peter brings you back to earth.

"Right," You roll your eyes playfully. "Text me when you get home, okay? Say hi to your Aunt May for me."

You haven't met the woman yet, but you knew how much she meant to Peter. And with his stories, she seemed like such a great person to be around. Maybe you were in over your head but you were hoping you'd get to meet her.

"I will," Peter nodded. "Bye."

Peter leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek as a farewell, as he always does after spending the day together, but he wasn't the only one that was quick. In a split-second motion, you turned your head so that your lips would be close to his. If one moved in the slightest, they would touch.

And even though you pulled a cheeky move to make sure Peter knew he wasn't the only one that can make the other blush, you were pretty sure your face was flaming up too.

Your eyes closed on their own accord, yet you can feel that Peter was smiling. With the most accuracy you can muster, you softly nudged your nose against his.

"Good night, Peter."

The first week of October rolled around quickly and that means double decathlon practices were doubled even more.

You loved being a part of the team again and everything that comes along with it. Studying, memorizing, anything of the sort. But as much as you enjoyed doing those, most often than not you were distracted by wanting to kiss Peter.

The feel of his soft breath against your lips that night left you wondering what it was like if you had just moved closer.

"So are you two together now?" Flash asked as you and Peter awkwardly munched on the fruits he offered you two.

Surprised was an understatement to how you felt when Flash told Peter that he could join you at his house for annual movie night. Your group of friends hasn't had a movie night in quite some time now but Cindy had put her foot down saying "screw school" though you knew that was just for the weekend.

"Uhm.."

"Uh"

Even if it was a moment of uncertainty, Peter and you managed to giggle like kids when you looked at each other during your stuttering.

Peter cleared his throat, "Yes."

You released a breath you didn't know you were holding. You were relieved to hear Peter confirm instead of beating around the bush for an excuse to deny. In a fleeting moment, you felt bad for yourself that you were used to somebody being embarrassed of you instead of being proud of your relationship. The word relationship lingered in the back of your mind and you wondered if you were ever going to have a talk about putting a label on this.

Peter had gained your trust easily, so you always felt guilty about the intrusive thoughts that think what if the reason we weren't talking about it is that he will stick to the application form's goal? And every time you remind yourself that it was Ned who filled it without his knowledge. But then there could be the chance that Peter was such a good guy to the point he'll date a girl as some way of apologizing for his friend's actions—

"Y/N, you okay?"

Peter's concerned voice threw every single one of your thoughts out the window with only one memory remaining: I won't break your heart. He said it as a promise, and you know for yourself that he wouldn't have said it at all if he didn't mean it because Peter Parker is just like that.

"I'm good." You smiled and squeezed his hand.

The furrow in Peter's charmingly uneven eyebrows went away at your actions.

It was as if the world around both of you went out of focus and all you could see was the light in Peter's eyes and the freckles that littered his face like constellations. The sound of Flash setting up the TV in the background got your attention but it seems that the digital clock on the wall got Peter's.

You cupped his cheeks and gave it a pinch to stop him from sayong the apology you knew that was on the tip of his tongue, "It's okay."

Peter got up to fix his backpack upon his shoulders and you could feel the curious stares of your friends on the back of your head.

"Hey, where's your boyfriend--" Flash started but try as Cindy might hide it, you knew she elbowed Flash's side.

You were thankful for Cindy. She was always there for you to lean on and she always listened to you whenever you doubted yourself about everything that ensued after the damn red application form.

"I'm sorry, I got to help my Aunt." Peter said. His fingers playing with the backpack straps were a clear indication that Peter heard Flash's words.

"Oh, it's fine, man." Flash replied, the hint of concern on his voice making you smile.

You walked Peter to the door and your worry skyrocketed when Peter looked troubled at a notification on his phone.

"Is everything okay?" You asked, a slight tremble to your voice.

"Yes, just an emergency." Peter's breathing was frantic, which completely defeats the purpose of him saying everything was fine.

"Do you need me to come with you?" You tried to be as calm as you can but your mind was racing with worry for Peter's Aunt May.

Peter frantically shook his head and pulled you in for a hug, "I'll text you later, okay?"

You nodded into the crook of his neck. You wanted nothing more than for the hug to last but you knew Peter was needed somewhere.

Peter gave you one last squeeze before pulling away, "Gotta go, baby. I'm sorry."

Maybe it was the blood rushing to your head out of worry for this unknown emergency, but your hands had a mind of its own and pulled in Peter's face to yours.

You gave him a quick peck and pressed your forehead against his as a way to say that you're always going to be here. The kiss was short but the electric feeling lingered on your lips even after pulling away.

"Be safe." You whispered.

"I will."

The moment you returned to sit on the sofa with your friends, your face started to flush as it dawned on you that that was the first time Peter called you a term of endearment.

And that it was your first kiss with Peter.

Sleep didn't come easy to you that night.

You laid in bed, and your subconscious always told your hand to go up to your lips and savor the feeling that stayed from earlier.

Also, Peter didn't text you (technically he did but you were passed out already) and you were left wondering what the kiss could mean.

At this point you think that it's ridiculous to doubt Peter anymore. Sure, you made a point to guide your heart but the butterflies in your stomach wouldn't mean a thing if you weren't contemplating on giving Peter a fair chance.

But maybe, just maybe, all this time spent doubting Peter was actually just a way of denying yourself that the doubts were personal. You had every right to be scared of going into a relationship, no matter how odd its beginnings were, because of your past.

But living in the shadows of yesterday is tiring. You often found yourself thinking about it when you were alone. You're tired of recalling memories that had passed; you wanted to always feel what you felt when Peter's around.

And as you sat all alone in your kitchen sipping on your coffee, you decided to forfeit on controlling things. In this moment of clarity, you'd let it take you away. For the first time, what's past is past.

A knock on the door wasn't anything you were expecting. You did contemplate on ordering some food but that was for lunch and you have yet to finish your morning bagel.

The familiar scent hit you before you even had the chance to open the door. You let Peter in. Figuratively and literally.

"Good morning, is everything okay?" You immediately doted on Peter before he even sat down on a stool.

His text from last night, or this early, early morning, was vague enough as it is. You wanted to call him but even through a message, you could tell that he was tired for an interrogation from his.. well, what are you?

"Yeah, I'm fine, May says hi too." Peter smiled.

You would have reciprocated his expression in glee at the fact that his Aunt acknowledged you, but the bruise on his cheek only painted a frown on your face.

"Peter, what happened?" You asked, hands raised yet not daring to cradle his face because you didn't want to hurt him. He explained that he hit a door frame in his hurry to get to May.

Peter sensed your hesitation so he took your hands in his and slowly brought it up to his cheeks. You tried to pull back but all Peter did was lean in closer.

"See? Doesn't hurt," He said as soon as your fingertips softly padded across his freckled cheeks. One was painted with a purple-yellow mark but you were still left stunned at how beautiful the boy in front of you was.

"Oh, Pete," You whispered. His eyes fluttered close and you took your time admiring how his eyelashes perfectly framed his honey eyes.

You stood like that for lord knows how long, with you holding Peter and him letting you. Any negative thought swimming in your mind earlier had left. That was simply the effect Peter had. Even long before you were given the silent permission to hold his hand and kiss his cheeks. He was always able to get your armor to fall when he came around. From now on, you would stop looking it as a sign of weakness.

The grumble of his stomach tore through the silence and was the reason for the two of you to end up in a laughing fit.

You glanced at the Delmar's paper bag, it was plain and brown but you could tell by the little writing on the corner, on the table. You pulled your hands away from Peter's so he wouldn't feel them get clammy.

"Do you, uhm," You started. You couldn't meet Peter's eyes. "Do you want to go to my room?"

You only looked up at him when you heard his breath hitch. The brown doe eyes looking at you melted your heart. Your own breath hitched when Peter nodded his head.

Peter gathered the sandwiches in his right hand while the other was linked with yours as you lead him down the hall.

You stopped at your closed door and shut your eyes before speaking up, "Listen, about what Flash said.. I mean we shouldn't let him get to us, right?"

Even though you didn't specify what your friend said, Peter completely understood.

You felt Peter's hand slip from yours and you gulped, starting to mentally scold yourself, but before you could call yourself stupid, Peter tilted your chin up to face him.

No words were exchanged, but you knew. You knew that you understood each other despite the lack of words; that the conversation belonged to the two of you and no one else's, and that you would face it with both of your slates clean.

You slowly pushed your door open, nervous of what Peter would think of your room. You turned back to see him look completely enamoured with your decathlon medals next to the mountain of your romantic comedy books.

"Y/N Y/L/N," At first you thought he was reading your name off the trophy in front of him, but Peter turned to step closer to you.

"Would you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?"

Here you two stood, alone and aware of your changing minds, but you were decisive now, having only one answer to this question.

The question was a surprise and you never saw him coming into your life like this after everything you went through. But after spending the last few years of your life thinking that love was a ruthless game, you were ready to face this worthwhile fight .

You were ready to begin again.

tag list: @woahmrstark @elios-timotea @decadentwastelandtrash @thevery-firstpage @xetherealbeautyx @love-you-to-saturn @givebuckyhisplumsnow @imawhoreforu @ysywyw626 @spideyspeaches @cocojoco @undiadeestos @bakugouswh0r3 @lauramacch @justanotheruser48 @moonykiss @616films @starknik22 @celestialholland @parkerpeter24 @alinastarkrovs @daiiybuugle

if your username is crossed out it means i couldn’t tag you 🥺

send an ask/message if you want to be added to my tag list! x

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #red (and blue)#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker angst #mcu!peter parker #mcu fic #tom holland #red (taylor’s version)

127 notes · View notes

dccomicsimagines · 4 years ago

Text

My Business - Clark Kent x Reader

Requested by Anon - A superman x reader imagine with the prompt: "I found your nose! It was in my business."

Requested by warblinglion0 - Hi! Could I request a Clark Kent imagine please??

***

Clark closed his eyes against the blowing snow. He flew over the city, using his super hearing to guide him. The city was quieter than normal. The snowstorm had shut almost everything down.

He sighed, swooping down to help a woman carry home groceries. “Thank you, Superman,” she shouted once she was at her building. Clark waved at her and took off into the sky again.

Most of his day was spent helping stranded people with the storm. He had already written his article about the impact of the storm on Metropolis’ sewer system. Perry could forgive boring content when the storm created a slow news day. Clark snorted. He bet Lois found some kind of amazing story in this weather.

He landed on the top of the Daily Planet. The cold air felt sharp in his lungs. It reminded him of winters at home. He looked out at the snow covered city, thinking of turning in. A cup of hot chocolate while watching that documentary he felt would give him an edge in a story he was researching. He felt warm already.

“Get lost, jerk.” Your voice hit his ears. Clark’s eyes widened in surprise. It was like he was subconsciously listening for you sometimes. Your voice always came to him in the moments he never suspected.

He floated into the air, searching for you. You sounded too close to be at your apartment across town.

“Stupid, country bum,” a man’s voice echoed near you. Clark heard a door slam. He flew faster before slowing when he found you trudging through the snow in the street. His stomach dropped at how underdressed you were. You didn’t even have a coat on.

He almost flew down to you, but he stopped himself. People couldn’t see Superman around you. Too risky. He quickly flew to his apartment only a block away. Changing into regular clothes, he made sure to pick up an extra coat for you before zooming back to you.

***

You wrapped your arms around yourself and cursed your situation. Why didn’t you bring a coat? Why did you decide to go the the club during a snowstorm? You shook your head, feeling the snow settled on your head. Everything was shut down. You shivered, crossing the street to make the long walk home.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing out here?” Clark’s voice made you jump. You spun around, seeing him run over to you. Ironically, he was dressed for the weather. Funny since he couldn’t feel the cold. “Where’s your coat?” He had an extra coat over his arm, which he quickly wrapped around you. You slipped your arms in the sleeves, noting how warm it was.

A shaky laugh escaped you. “I found your nose. It’s in my business...again.” You tapped his nose before struggling to zip up the coat. Your fingers were already numb, burning from the cold. Clark shook his head, smiling as he zipped it for you.

“Come on. It’s too far for you to go home now. My place is nearby.” He wrapped a strong arm around you and led you home. “Now why are you out in this weather?”

He was so warm and his big frame blocked the wind. “Well, I got invited to a club by some friends of Lucy’s.” You bit your lip. “I thought I’d go, but then one of the guys started making fun of me when I didn’t know what...” You stopped yourself from spilling the embarrassing conversation. “Never mind.”

“You’re always getting in trouble.” Clark unlocked his building’s front door and held it open for you. You hurried inside, stomping your feet to knock off the snow. Shivers rocked your body, you could have swore ice was forming on your body.

“And you’re always popping up to help.” You rolled your eyes. “I never would have thought my good old brother, Pete, would ask you to keep an eye on me so much. Do you two even talk that much anymore?”

“We do.” Clark bit his lip. Pete Ross didn’t call him that much, but they always caught up when Clark went home for a visit. It was actually during one of those visits that Pete asked Clark to keep an eye on his younger sibling who got it into their head to move to Metropolis. Pete thought you were in over your head, and honestly, most of the time you were.

You pulled Clark’s jacket closer as you both headed to the elevator. “I mean there was that time where I was in that bad roommate situation, so you helped me move. Then I wanted to rent that one place for really cheap and you stepped in to show me how bad it was. Of course, then you came in with that offer to live with Lucy Lane in a nicer part of town.”

Clark blushed slightly. “Well, it’s the least I could do. I mean you’re practically family, (Y/N).”

Your stomach soured slightly. You were afraid he only saw you as Pete’s little tagalong sibling. Who could blame him when you felt so helpless most of the time? “I personally think it’s because you want to make up for breaking up my mud mask business in the fifth grade.”

He laughed hard, almost doubling over. “You were taking mud from the pond and mixing it with your mother’s perfume. It made three people break out in hives.”

“I had a warning label on it.” You smiled at his reaction. “And it was five dollars a bottle.”

Clark shook his head. “Ma actually bought one from you. She didn’t use it though. In fact, I think she still has it sitting in the garage.”

“Too bad for her. Lana swore by it. Said it cleared up her acne just like that.” You snapped your fingers, chuckling along with him. The elevator doors opened and Clark led the way down the hall to his apartment.

“In all seriousness though, you shouldn’t have went out with a storm on the way. The city shuts down during snowstorms.” Clark unlocked his apartment door and pushed it open to let you in first.

“The club was still open.” You wandered inside, flicking on the lights to take in the bland surroundings. The only personal items were a framed newspaper article and three family pictures of the Kents.

“Stupidly still open, yes.” Clark shut the door and locked it. “I’ll make some hot chocolate. Make yourself comfortable, (Y/N).” He took off his coat and shook it out before pulling off his shoes. You kept the coat on, still warming up.

Clark went into the kitchen and you trailed behind him. “Were you as helpless as me when you first moved here?” you asked suddenly as you took a seat at the counter. Clark blinked, turning to look at you while he turned on the stove.

“Yes. I had no idea what I was doing and I had a few tricky situations myself.” He smiled. “I’m glad I can help you not to make the same mistakes I did.”

You hummed. He turned back to start warming up the milk. “Of course it was easier for you. Being Superman and all.” Clark flinched, looking at you with wide eyes. You laughed at the sight. “I know. I know. We’re not supposed to talk about it. It’s the thing we know, but never speak of.”

Clark sighed. “I don’t think that made it easier for me.” He cleared his throat, turning back to the stove. “It was hard to hide my powers. To have some much noise around me all the time. Not to mention when I decided to become Superman.”

You watched him, noting the tension in his shoulders. Part of you wanted to go hug him, but you resisted. You didn’t know how he would react. “I remember the first time we knew for sure that you were something special. It was during winter break one year. You, Pete, and Tommy Johnson were trying to go ice fishing at the lake. I followed you because you wouldn’t let me come and I was being stubborn.”

“You fell through the ice because you walked on the thin part.” Clark hummed, getting out the chocolate mix.

“No one would have noticed, but you heard me scream.” You crossed your arms. The chill from the freezing water felt like a permanent scar every time you thought back on that day. “I went under the ice and I couldn’t find a way to get out.”

“I dived in after you.” Clark mixed in the chocolate slowly. You wondered if he was remembering how cold the water was too, even though he didn’t get cold. “I had to break through the ice once I found you. Pete and Tommy ran over to help. I let them pull us out. Tommy couldn’t believe I broke through the ice, but Pete told him it was thin there too.”

“None of us said anything about it, but you did save my life that day.” You took a deep breath, slipping off your chair. Taking off his coat, you were finally warm enough. “We always knew, but never really talked about it. I remember I tried to ask Pete to ask you to lift this big rock for me and he slapped my face.”

“He slapped you?” Clark spun to you, staring at your cheek like Pete just slapped you right this second. You chuckled and touched your cheek. It had stun a lot. You cried at the time.

“Pete was protecting you. Like I said it’s the thing we all knew, but never talked about.” Your face burned at the concern on his face. “I’m fine, Clark.”

Clark bit his lip, turning away to grab two mugs out of the cabinet. You snorted when you saw he had a superman mug. “Ma gave this to me. She thought it was funny.” He handed you a filled mug and turned off the stove.

“It is if you know.” You took a sip, licking your lips. “This is good.”

“Thanks, I learned from the best.” Clark took a sip of his own hot chocolate. “I was going to watch a documentary for work if you want join me? Otherwise, we can just watch regular TV, I’m not picky.”

You headed into the living room and made yourself comfortable on his couch. “The documentary is fine. I like learning.”

“I bet Mrs. G just rolled over in her grave at that.” Clark laughed. “I remember how you made her so mad that her face turned completely red like she was going to burst into flames.”

“Good times.” You laughed, relaxing as Clark sat down beside you. Shyly, he grabbed a blanket and covered you and himself with it. You hesitated before cuddling into his side.

Clark paused. You saw a mixed expression of emotions cross his face. “You comfortable?”

“Yep.” You took another sip from your mug. Clark relaxed and turned on the documentary. The two of you snuggled while the snowstorm raged outside.

***

The next morning, Clark was startled to hear eggs frying in the kitchen. He slowly got out of bed and was about to leave his bedroom until he remembered you. Quickly, he pulled on an old Smallville High t-shirt. No reason to scare you with his bare chest.

You were in the kitchen. Clark stopped in the doorway, his breath taken away. He had forgotten he had given you a shirt of his to wear. You turned when you heard his gasp. “Good morning.” You waved innocently before turning back to the stove. “I hope you don’t mind that I made us breakfast. I figured it was the least I could do since you let me stay here last night.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to send you out into the storm.” Clark sat down at the table. His body threatened to burst into flames. Why did you look so good in his shirt?

“You could have flown me home.” Clark watched you as you made a plate for him. He almost groaned at how domestic it was. Part of him wished you could be here every morning. However, the other part of him knew you were Pete Ross’ sibling. Off limits.

Clark cleared his throat. You set the plate in front of him. “Thank you.” He dug into the food to distract himself from the racing thoughts.

You laughed and made a plate for yourself. Clark tensed when you sat down right next to him. “So it’s still snowing outside,” you said, picking at your food.

“It is.” Clark glanced out the window at the winter wonderland outside. “I’ll have to insist you stay here.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have to insist.” You met his eye, winking at him. “But what are we going to do all day long?”

Clark took a big bite of eggs. His heart fluttered at your wink. “I do have to write an article, but after we could...I don’t know...maybe break out that game we used to play?”

“You still have that? And you have it here?” You gasped, clapping your hands.

“Ma sent it to me a year ago. Said I might need it.” Clark chuckled. He avoid mentioning that Ma only sent it after she found you out were moving to Metropolis. Come to think of it, Clark wondered if Ma knew something he didn’t. Then again, she always did.

You went into a story about when you all first played the game. Clark listened, remembering it himself. You, Pete, and Clark played the game for the first time in the basement of his house while there was a tornado warning. A warm fuzzy feeling came to his chest. Clark decided then and there that he would call Pete once you went home and ask him for permission to ask you out.

#clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #superman #superman x reader #superman imagine #dc comics imagines #dc reader insert

400 notes · View notes

weelittleweasley · 4 years ago

Text

It’s Complicated (c.d.)

Prompt inspired by anon request: Cedric wanted a relationship, you wanted something casual. This made for a complicated dynamic between the two of you to say the least, but Cedric was determined to make things less complicated simply and plainly.

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ sexual content (rough sex, male receiving oral, FILTHY TALK), language, but also fluff? Idk I tried to do it all with this one LMAOOO

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: Bro lowkey after i wrote this I was like.....yo do i wanna fuck cedric?????

Rising from the bed quickly, you started pulling your clothes back on, preventing Cedric from pulling you back onto the bed and into his arms. You heard him groan in disappointment, “Why can’t you stay?” You laugh and shake your head, sliding your jeans on. He always wanted you to stay after one of your encounters. “For five minutes?” he tries to bargain with you.

You take a look at yourself in the mirror and wipe away the smudged eyeliner under your eyes. Without turning back to him, you speak, “As tempting as you offer is, I’m still going to go.” Cedric sighs. “Besides, I don’t think friends with benefits snuggle with each other,” you joke around as Cedric just rolls his eyes before a small smile tugs at his lips.

This friends with benefits relationship started last year between you and Cedric. The two of you had undeniably chemistry and after one night of sitting in the common room together, you had shared your first kiss which eventually developed into something more that night. The thing about this relationship was that you didn’t expect it to go on for this long. You had been sleeping with Cedric on and off for about a year which was never your intention. You thought that it would maybe last three months, but instead you found yourself knocking on his door for longer than that.

You couldn’t help it. There was something about Cedric Diggory that made you want more. He was charming, smart, and handsome. What was not to like? The only thing that stood in your way of a casual hook up with him was Cedric’s blossoming feelings for you. You made it very clear to Cedric that you didn’t want a boyfriend; you would rather be in a situation-ship rather than a relationship. In a relationship, you had the capability of being hurt. It was best for you to be on your own and sleep with whoever you wanted rather than be tied down to one person.

Cedric on the other hand was mad about you. He originally had the same intentions as you when starting this arrangement. Sex and sex only. No dates. No labels. No PDA. No nicknames. No exclusivity. Just sex. But he started having second thoughts about four months into your agreement. The thought of you flirting or sleeping with other guys made his stomach churn. The more time you spent together, Cedric realized how intelligent, kind, and passionate you were. Cedric was falling for you and he was falling quickly.

Was it still wrong to be sleeping with the boy who had feelings for you when you didn’t want a relationship? Sure. But you justified it every time. The sex was great, Cedric was a good guy, he wouldn’t be a dick and tell the school about your affairs, and at this point, it would be too late to stop. You were in the thick of it, there was no escape now.

Cedric sits up and pulls his boxers back up. “(Y/N), you know how I feel about you,” he justifies, but you hold up a finger and stop him from going any further. You didn’t need a declaration of love right now. What you needed to do was get out of his room and go to the library and meet up with Luna for your study session. Cedric doesn’t stop though, he rises from his bed and walks towards you as you lean against his desk. When he reaches you, he places his hands on your hips, pulling you close to him. “Why not give us a shot?”

“Because we agreed that this is just a casual thing,” you retort, pushing his hands off of you gently as Cedric sighs in defeat. “No labels remember?” Cedric sadly nods and you have to look away from him or else you’ll get sad too. A relationship with Cedric wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He was a great guy and you knew he would be the perfect boyfriend. But you weren’t going to get a head of yourself. You brushed the thought aside and simply kissed his cheek. “I have to run, but I’ll catch you later. Alright?”

The boy in front of you just smiles gently, knowing that he’ll just be disappointed again when you come over and leave. His yearning to be more than just sex to you grew every day. But he didn’t tell you that. He kept seeing you rather than losing you altogether. “Yeah,” he nods as you give him a smile.

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment, thinking of how messy this arrangement was. Cedric, hopelessly crushing on you, while you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t want a relationship. Before you register what you’re doing, you press a gentle kiss to Cedric’s lips, him immediately kissing you back with no hesitation. The kiss is gentle, sweet, and short. You don't know why you did it. You never kissed him goodbye. But today you felt like you wanted to. Almost needed to. Cedric looks like he’s about to say something, but you just speak before he can, “Alright then, bye, Cedric.”

You walk to the door, leaving quickly. “Bye,” he calls after you as you shut the door.

As you walk down the steps of the boy’s dormitories, you can’t help but mentally beat yourself up. This friends with benefits thing was going too far; it should stop. But the thought of not being with Cedric made your stomach twist. It was good for you to set a boundary, right?

You evade the thoughts from your mind as you enter the library, spotting Luna waiting for you at a circle table. “Sorry that I’m a little late,” you huff while sitting across from her. “I got caught up with something.” Luna looks at you and blushes before looking back at the book on the table. “Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?” you touch your cheeks.

She shakes her head. “Um, no, dear,” she giggles. “You, erm, you’ve got something...right here,” she points to her own neck for reference. Your face heats up with embarrassment as you slap your neck, realizing that Cedric had given you a massive hickey. “No judgement here. Do what you have to do.” You groan and close your eyes. You hated when Cedric gave you hickeys; they always lasted forever and you got teased relentlessly on them by your friends. Luna notices your frustration and takes the light blue scarf from around her neck off and hands it to you. “Here you go.”

“You’re the best,” you thank her as you wrap the scarf around your neck. “Fucking Diggory...” you huff as Luna giggles, looking at you a little concerned. You were never this disheveled after seeing Cedric. In fact, you were always in a pleasant mood after being with Cedric. You notice Luna’s gaze and speak with a sigh, “It’s complicated...alright, enough of that, what are you working on?” ----------

The next day, you sat in the grass with a few of your friends, all chatting and munching on small snacks. It was a gorgeous spring day, the sun was shining, flowers blooming, and the smell of fresh grass danced in the air. The day was seemingly perfect.

As mild chatter was exchanged between a few classmates, you scanned your surroundings. That’s when you spotted Cedric. He sat on a bench, eyes focused on the book in his hands. You smiled to yourself as you watched the way his eyes maintained a soft focus on the words, him running one hand though his hair pushing it back. He looked other worldly in the moment, like a Grecian god. Your heart fluttered, but you prevented a blush from coming onto your cheeks by taking a deep breath in.

However, you thoughts came to a screeching halt when Cedric’s gaze lifted from his book and landed on something, rather someone, else. His mouth moved to greet the person who sat on the bench next to him. Cho took a seat next to him as he draped an arm around her shoulders, her giggling. Your stomach became sick at the sight and jealously flooded your chest. What was he doing? The pair start talking as Cho laughs at something he whispers in her ear. Your blood is boiling at this point.

“You alright, (Y/N)?” one of your friends asks you.

“I’m bloody brilliant,” you speak, your eyes not moving from Cedric. “One moment.”

You ignore the calls of your friends as you rise from the grass, grabbing your bag, leaving the circle. You weren’t going to do anything to Cho Chang. She did nothing wrong. In fact, you weren’t going to do anything to Cedric either. But you were going to make sure he knew that you saw what he was doing.

Making yourself looking as unbothered as possible, you shake your head, snapping yourself out of your funk. You let yourself relax, a soft smile relaxing on your face. You walk in their general direction, not stopping to say hi to them, just passing the bench the pair was sat on. However, Cho looks up and speaks. “Oh, hi, (Y/N)!” she beams.

Matching her energy, you speak, “Hi, Cho!” You smile at her and send her a wave. Looking at Cedric, you say nothing and continue to walk, ignoring his whole presence. As you walked away, you felt his eyes on you the whole time, a smirk playing out on your lips. “Prick,” you huff under your breath.

You walk into the castle, leaving the garden area. But that’s when you hear footsteps behind you, quickly approaching. “So you’re going to ignore me now? Is that what we’re doing?” Cedric’s voice calls after you as you smirk, knowing you’ve won. “Hello?”

Sarcastically, you turn around and pretend to just notice him. “Oh, hi, Cedric. I didn’t see you there. Anyway, I need to get going now,” you tell him. “You shouldn’t leave Cho alone. It’s rude to do that.”

Cedric laughs, “You’re joking, right?” You just shrug and turn around, walking away. “Merlin, (Y/N), you should be one to talk! You leave me alone constantly after you’ve had your way!” he exclaims. His words make passerbys oooh as your face flares up with embarrassment. “What? You’re gonna play all shy now? ‘Cause last night you were anything, but shy,” he continues as people’s interests peak.

You look around at multiple pairs of eyes on you as you grab his hand and pull him into a vacant classroom. You push Cedric in first, you shortly following, locking the door behind you. “What the fuck was that?” you yell at him, pushing his chest back, completely enraged. Even though there were a handful of people who knew about you and Cedric, you weren’t keen on the whole school knowing about it.

“Well, now that I have your attention,” Cedric starts as you slap his arm. “What? You’re mad because I’m talking to another girl. Merlin, (Y/N), it’s not like I kissed her!” You roll your eyes. “So, it’s okay for you to talk to other guys and flirt with them, but when I do it, it’s wrong? You’re mental!”

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. You hadn’t flirt with anyone else; maybe cheeky banter with George Weasley once, but nothing that should have had him sweating. You retort, “That’s a load of rubbish, Ced, and you know it! You wanna know what else is? You tell me how much you like me and then you go ahead and do shit that says otherwise!” Cedric pulls at his hair, unable to comprehend the situation. It’s not until a tear hits your lips that you notice that you are crying. This game was driving you crazy. “Cedric, I don’t know what we’re doing!”

“No, (Y/N)! You don’t know what you want!” Cedric yells back as you stop, shocked at his accusation. “I’ve been very clear with you this whole time. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long and it’s only you who I want. You make me happy. I want to call you mine and all mine. I don’t wanna worry about someone asking you to be theirs. I want you to be my girlfriend. But it seems like that’s something you don’t want!” he throws his hands over his head, in full surrender. Cedric is crying now too, but he angrily wipes his tears away.

Gulping, you decide to confess to him why you’ve been so persistent on not being his girlfriend. “It’s because I don’t wanna get hurt, Cedric!” you yell, throwing your hands up. His face changes from frustration and softens into concern. “I’ve been how relationships can affect people. I’ve comforted too many friends before. Heartbreak seems too painful and I don’t need anymore pain in my life. Because I know if I lost you, it would be the greatest pain of all,” you cry out.

After you spill out your feelings to Cedric, you bury your face in your hands and sob. It isn’t long before Cedric runs over to you and holds you in his arms, you burying your face in his chest, sobbing into his robes. His one hand rubs your back and the other cradles your head rest on his chest. He lets you cry into him and doesn’t say a word. Cedric lets you cry and cry and cry into his chest for as long as you need. The only words he speaks are, “I’m not going anywhere.” His strong hands comb through your hair, relaxing you as you sniffle into his robe, calming down. He places a soft kiss to the top of your head. His embrace brings you comfort and peace, his grasp feels familiar. Like home.

You pull away from his chest and look up at him and he takes your face in his hands, wiping away any leftover tears. “I’m not going anywhere. I swear on my family name that I will never hurt you. I am going to protect you with every cell in my body. I promise I am going to make you the happiest girl in the world if it’s the last thing I do. And if I fail to do that, then I’ll be damned. But I am going to be the best man for you,” he swears to you, looking deep into your eyes. His eyes swelled with honesty and compassion, something you had always admired about him. In his moment, you couldn’t admire him more.

“I want to be yours,” you tell Cedric. “All yours.”

Your words make Cedric’s lips turn upward into a childish grin and he chuckles, “You mean it?” You nod as he laughs before pressing his lips firmly onto yours as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close to you. You sighed into the kiss, relaxing your whole body. Finally. It felt so right. Standing beside Cedric, kissing him, but this time as boyfriend and girlfriend. “Say it again,” Cedric whispers against your lips before reattaching them, not wanting to stop this moment.

You smile into his kiss and mumble against his lips, “I’m all yours, Cedric Diggory.” He quietly moans into your kiss as you feel him pressing his hips into yours. “All yours,” you repeat as his hands trail down your cheeks, neck, to your chest to grab your breasts through your robes. You moan and push against his hands as you can feel him smile.

Cedric breaks your kiss and looks at the door, making sure it was locked before drawing his wand and casting the Muffliato spell. You look at him baffled that he would want to have sex in a classroom. You thought since he was a prefect that he would want to play things safely. But your mind was quickly persuaded otherwise as both of your robes hit the floor, uniforms shortly following, Cedric pushing your blouse open so he could kiss the exposed flesh on your chest. You tangle your fingers in his hair as he leaves dark purple hickeys on your breasts, marking his territory. “I wanna hear you moan my name,” he demands, roughly ripping your bra off as you gasp, the cold air hitting your nipples. Cedric takes one of your nipples in his mouth, kissing and sucking on it before making his way to the other.

You roll your head back and let his name fall from your lips with a moan. The sound of you saying his name made Cedric moan as he sucked on your breasts, sending vibrations through you, the wetness between your legs growing. “Ced, baby,” you pant as he kisses up your neck before taking your bottom lip in between his teeth with a smirk, pulling on your lip gently.

“What, baby?” he asks, voice deep, making you weak in the knees for him. Which gives you an idea.

With a small smirk, you drop to your knees and yank down his boxer as Cedric stares at you with wide eyes. You watch as his hard dick hits his stomach before you take it in your hands, slowly pumping. Cedric sucks in a breath through gritted teeth. “You want me to suck you off, baby?” you look up at him through your eyelashes before licking up his shaft from his balls to the tip.

Cedric groans, “Bloody fucking hell, yes.” With that, you take his length into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip, letting your saliva and his precum wet his erection before you take anymore of him. Cedric thrust his hips, forcing you to take all of him as once, making you gag a little. “Fuck,” he pants as you start to suck his dick, hollowing out your cheeks, bobbing your up and down him. “I love your pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock,” he breathes out as you suck on his tip, hands massaging his balls. “Fucking shit, (Y/N),” he moans out as you take his whole length in your mouth, his dick pushing your gag reflex. “Let me come inside of you. I wanna cum inside that tight little pussy,” he pulls out of you with a pop.

He pulls you up from your knees before grabbing a condom from his back pant’s pocket. “Naughty,” you laugh at him, surprised, but not that he’d carry around a condom with him during school.

Cedric rolls the condom on his hard length and then pulls you close to him. “Get over here,” he smirks. Cedric grabs your thighs as you jump, wrapping your legs around his waist. He pushes you against the wall, so he can fuck you against it. “You’re mine. You got it?” he growls which only makes your need for him grow, your pulsating vagina begging for him.

“Fuck me, Ced, please,” you dig your nails into his back, aching for him.

“Only good girls get fucked. Now say who you belong to, slut,” he demands.

His sudden change in demeanor makes your heart race. “You, Cedric, you. I belong to you. I’m all yours, baby. No one else. Just you,” you whine as he teases you, dragging his tip in between your wet folds. “Fuck me, baby. Fuck me like I’m your little slut.”

With that, Cedric pushes his whole length into you as you sigh out in pleasure. Cedric groans before starting to thrust in and out of you, not letting you adjust to his size. You wince a little bit at his size. He notices and says, “Take it like a good girl.” His words make you wetter for him as he pounds in and out of you, hips crashing down onto you. “You like that? You like the way I fuck you, baby? Who else fucks you like this?”

You dig your nails into Cedric’s back and dig your heels into his lower back, pushing him deeper inside of you. “No one else. Only you fuck me like this,” you pant with each thrust, making your breasts bounce with each thrust.

“Good girl. That’s my baby,” he praises you, grabbing your chin, forcing your gaze onto him. “Let me hear you moan my name, baby. I love hearing it coming out of you.”

You smile, lips slightly parted as you stare into Cedric’s eyes that are dark with lust. “Cedric, fuck,” you moan out. “You fuck my pussy so good. I love feeling your hard dick inside of me.”

Cedric grabs onto your thighs tightly, leaving small bruises as he groans. “Mmm, yeah,” he moans before pressing his lips on yours, sloppily snogging you, tongue massaging yours. “I want you to come all over my dick, baby. I want you to scream my name as you come.”

Obeying his demand, you roll your head back, focusing on the feeling of his dick rocking in and out of you, your walls tightening around him. You feel his thumb roll sloppy circles onto your clit and that’s what sends you over the edge. Waves of pleasure wash over you as your mouth falls open. “Shit, Cedric, I’m gonna fucking come,” you moan out, eyes screwed shut.

“Come, baby, come all over my dick. I wanna watch you come all over me. Scream my name,” he whispers in your ear.

With a few more thrusts and sloppy circles, you curl your toes and dig your nails deeper into his skin. “Fucking hell, Cedric!” you cry out with pleasure, releasing all over his hard cock as he moans shortly after you, shuddering inside of you, telling you that he had finished. He continues to thrust in and out of you, riding out both of your highs.

Beads of sweat fall down both of your faces as your chests rise and fall rapidly. You both catch your breaths as Cedric gently puts you down. You hold onto his biceps, needing a little help standing, your legs feeling like jelly. “Bloody hell,” Cedric pants with a light laugh. You join in his light laughter, both still in euphoria about how great the sex was. Maybe the best you’ve ever had.

The two of you get changed back into your uniforms and robes, cleaning yourselves up after your little quickie. As you fix your hair, Cedric grabs your hips with a large smile on his face. “So, you’re my girlfriend now?” he asks as you roll your eyes.

“I guess so. You’re stuck with me now, Diggory. Happy now?” you tease him, pecking his lips gently. Your heart fluttered at the sight of the happy boy in front of you. It may have taken you a while to come to terms with it, but this was right. Cedric was right.

Cedric squeezes your hips. “Happy is an understatement,” he confesses with a kiss to your forehead. This was so right.

#cedric diggory imagine #cedric #cedric x reader #cedric oneshot #cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory x you #cedric x y/n #cedric diggory smut #cedric diggory dirty imagine #HP #harry potter #cd #harry potter imagine #harry potter fandom #Harry Potter Smut

574 notes · View notes