#it's really easy to take those political stands

[fgumi]

ꕥ maybe this time; — taesan one shot, wc: 1.7k, genre: angst, fluff

the schoolyard is filled with the usual noise of after-class chatter, but taesan hears none of it. his focus is solely on her—the girl with the easy smile and the kind eyes that always seem to be looking somewhere else. she’s sitting on the low stone wall, surrounded by friends, her laughter ringing out like a melody he can’t quite reach. he stands a few feet away, hidden in the crowd, blending in as he always does. it’s safer that way, quieter, less painful. but today, there’s a dull ache in his chest, sharper than usual, reminding him of all the times he’s let the moment pass.

they’ve been in the same class for years, sharing the same space but never really meeting. taesan knows her name, her favorite subjects, and the way she twists her hair when she’s nervous. he knows she loves the first snow of winter and that she always picks strawberries out of her lunch. he knows these things, but she doesn’t know him—not really. not beyond the occasional smile in the hallway or a polite nod when their paths cross.

he’s told himself it’s fine, that admiring her from a distance is enough. but today, something’s different. maybe it’s the way the sun is setting, casting a warm glow on her face, or how she throws her head back in laughter, carefree and radiant. maybe it’s the way his friends nudge him, teasingly whispering that he should finally make a move. whatever it is, taesan feels the urge to cross the invisible line he’s drawn for himself. his heart pounds, loud and insistent, urging him to take a step, just one.

but fear is a stubborn thing. he’s too aware of his flaws—too quiet, too awkward, too much of everything he wishes he wasn’t. she’s surrounded by people who fit seamlessly into her world, and taesan feels like an outsider looking in. he watches as she glances his way, just for a second, her gaze brushing past him like he’s invisible. it’s a tiny moment, a fleeting glance, but it’s enough to send his hopes crashing down.

he turns on his heel, biting back the frustration that wells up inside him. why is it so hard to just say something? anything? he imagines a thousand scenarios in his head—what he would say if he weren’t so scared, how she might smile back, how they could walk home together talking about nothing and everything. but reality is cruel, and those daydreams crumble under the weight of his insecurities.

taesan stops at the school gate, leaning against the cold metal as he watches her from a distance. the shadows are growing longer, the sun dipping lower, and with it, the last threads of his courage unravel. he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, feeling the sting of another missed chance.

maybe next time, he tells himself. maybe tomorrow, or the day after that. but deep down, he knows that the next time might be just as elusive, just as unreachable as today.

the sky darkens, and taesan walks away, the sound of her laughter fading into the background. he doesn’t look back, but the memory of her stays with him, lingering like a half-finished song.

the laughter of your friends fills the space around you, light and carefree, but your mind drifts elsewhere. there’s a familiar weight on your shoulders today, a sense of something just out of reach. you glance around, your gaze sweeping over the schoolyard, half-listening to the conversation but not really hearing it. it’s then that you catch sight of him—taesan, standing alone near the school gate. he’s always been quiet, blending into the background, and you wonder, not for the first time, what’s on his mind.

you’ve seen him around, of course. the quiet boy with soft eyes who always seems to be on the periphery. he’s in your classes, sometimes sitting just a few desks away, scribbling in his notebook or staring out the window, lost in his thoughts. you’ve never spoken much, just polite exchanges here and there, but there’s something about him that draws your attention, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

today, though, he looks different—tense, like he’s carrying a secret too heavy to keep. you watch as he hesitates, his shoulders stiff, hands shoved deep into his pockets. he seems on the verge of doing something, but then he turns away, his expression shuttered and distant. you don’t know why, but the sight of him walking away stirs something inside you, a flicker of disappointment you weren’t expecting.

you wonder what he was thinking, standing there alone while everyone else was caught up in the moment. you want to call out to him, ask him if he’s okay or maybe just say hi, but the words stick in your throat. it feels silly, reaching out when you’ve barely exchanged more than a few words before. but still, you can’t help but feel like you’ve missed something important, something that passed between you in a heartbeat without either of you saying a word.

the sun is setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, and you know you should be focusing on your friends, on the carefree chatter and the plans for the weekend. but your gaze keeps drifting back to the spot where taesan stood, now empty and shadowed. you wonder if he ever feels as out of place as you do sometimes, if he’s ever caught between wanting to be seen and fearing what might happen if he is.

for a brief moment, you imagine calling out to him. maybe you could catch up, ask him why he looked so lost, or just walk home together in the fading light. but the moment slips away, and you let it, too unsure of what you’d even say. instead, you turn back to your friends, forcing a smile as if nothing’s changed.

but you know something has. you can’t quite shake the feeling that there was something unsaid between you and taesan, something that could have been different if either of you had the courage to speak. you steal one last glance toward the gate, hoping he’ll turn around, but he’s already gone, swallowed up by the city streets.

maybe next time, you think to yourself. maybe next time, you’ll say something before it’s too late.

the sun dips below the horizon, and you try to forget the quiet boy with the faraway look in his eyes. but as you walk home, you find yourself wishing that, just once, he would come back. that maybe, this time, neither of you would walk away.

years pass...

the engagement party is lively, a swirl of laughter, clinking glasses, and old friends reuniting. taesan didn’t plan on coming; he never liked these kinds of gatherings, but something compelled him tonight. as he navigates through the room, feeling slightly out of place, his eyes catch a familiar figure near the corner.

it’s you. the sight of you sends a rush of emotions through him—memories of school, missed chances, and all the times he watched you from afar but never said a word. you’re standing with a group of friends, your laughter a soft melody that cuts through the noise. for a moment, taesan hesitates. it’s been years, and so much has changed, but something deeper than nostalgia pushes him forward.

you notice him just as he approaches, the surprise clear in your eyes. “taesan?” you say, your voice tinged with disbelief and warmth.

he nods, smiling in that soft, familiar way. “yeah, it’s been a long time.”

“i didn’t expect to see you here,” you admit, still processing the unexpected reunion.

“yeah, me neither,” he says, a hint of nervous laughter in his voice. “i almost didn’t come.”

there’s a brief, shared silence, filled with the weight of years and all the things left unsaid. but then, as if no time has passed, the conversation starts to flow. you talk about the mutual friend whose engagement you’re celebrating, the twists and turns your lives have taken, and the quiet nostalgia of school days that feel both close and distant. it’s easy, effortless, and taesan finds himself smiling more than he has in a long time.

as the evening drifts on, the two of you gravitate away from the crowd, finding a quiet spot on the balcony. the city sprawls out before you, a sea of twinkling lights and distant sounds. taesan leans against the railing, stealing glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

“you know,” he finally says, breaking the comfortable quiet, “i always wanted to talk to you back then, but i never had the guts.”

you turn to face him, surprised but not entirely. “i noticed you too,” you confess, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i always wondered why you never said anything.”

he chuckles softly, shaking his head. “i guess i was scared. scared of what you’d think. scared of not being enough.”

there’s a vulnerability in his words that pulls at something deep inside you, a sense of recognition that goes beyond just old high school memories. you’ve always wondered about him—the quiet boy with the faraway look in his eyes, the one who never quite stepped out of the shadows. and now, standing here with him, it feels like a missing piece of your past is finally falling into place.

“why didn’t we do this sooner?” you ask, half-serious, half-joking, but the question hangs between you, heavy with what could have been.

taesan meets your gaze, his eyes filled with a quiet determination that wasn’t there before. “i don’t know,” he admits, voice low but certain. “but i’m glad we’re doing it now.”

he reaches out, his hand brushing against yours, and you don’t pull away. the touch is gentle, yet it carries all the weight of your shared history, all the missed moments that led you to this one. you intertwine your fingers, feeling the warmth of his skin, and suddenly, the years of distance between you don’t seem to matter anymore.

the city lights dance around you, and for the first time in a long time, everything feels right. taesan’s arm slips around your shoulders, pulling you closer, and you lean into him, content in the quiet certainty of his presence. the past is behind you, and the future feels wide open, filled with all the possibilities you were too afraid to reach for before.

this time, there’s no hesitation, no fear. just the quiet promise of a new beginning, shared between two hearts that finally found their way back to each other.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. a/n: "maybe this time" has been stuck in my head more than usual... ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too!

taglist: @en-dream ｡･ﾟﾟ･ @onedoornet

[nooradeservedbetter]

+

[bpmiranda]

Not Sweet |l. howlett| nsfw

A/N: neighbor!logan x f!reader, jealous!logan, daddy kink, dom!logan, kind of inexperienced reader, reader is casually hooking up with a guy and logan knows he could do it better for her

Not Sweet II

It was quiet in the apartment building, his heightened sense of hearing sought out and focused intently on the sounds that he happily let keep him up past a reasonable hour. Her sweet moans and hitched gasps, his name choking in her throat as she got herself to that high. Logan grunted, stroking his cock languidly as he imagined what she might look like as she currently writhed and fisted her bedsheets. It was inappropriate for him to listen in on his sweet neighbor, but no one could really prove he was doing it.

Logan couldn’t help the smug smile on his face when they would run into each other in halls or in the stairwell. Her flustered expression and reddened cheeks making the blood rush to his cock as she stammered a polite greeting or a shy ‘thank you’ when he held the building doors open for her.

The only thing stopping him from going across the hall and suggesting she let him pleasure her properly was the boyfriend, or date, or whoever the cockblock was that had started coming by and taking her out. Adam, the name alone irked Logan more than he cared to admit because he knew there was no real reason for disliking him. Logan just didn’t like that he was in her apartment while he sat across the hall forced to listen to the mediocrity that was supposed to pass as sex.

Her moaning was louder when she was alone.

As Logan was leaving for work one morning, Y/N was walking Adam out into the hall in a silky, black robe. Logan pretended to have his key stuck in the door as he lingered, watching him peck her lips goodbye in the most passionless way he had ever seen. “Later, baby.” Adam said and Y/N waved at him with a small smile as she leaned against her doorframe. Adam gave Logan a nod who offered a fake smile.

Y/N noticed Logan standing across from her and she blushed. “Good morning.” She said shyly, raking a hand through her messy hair and blushing as she took in the sight of him in his work clothes. Sleeves hugged his large biceps, shirt tucked into his pants making it all too easy to notice the definition of his torso and abdomen.

“Mornin’,” Logan smirked, moistening his lips as he could more clearly smell her arousal the longer they stood this close together. “You look nice.” He added, leaning back against his apartment door to look at her shamelessly.

“Oh,” She blushed harder, looking at her robe that fell right above her knees and her bare feet, toes painted a light shade of pink. It was impossible to hold a conversation with him where he wasn’t completely catching her off guard with compliments and charming smiles. “Thanks.”

Logan gave her a small nod and his nostrils flared, her scent becoming too much to handle. “Later, baby.” He teased with a wink, making her bite her lip as she hid a grin and shook her head at him before going back into her apartment.

They had several interactions like that. They were good, friendly neighbors who could safely assume there was a mutual crush between them. Logan wasn’t the type to shy away from flirting with a pretty girl, and ever since she had moved in across the hall, Y/N was the prettiest girl he knew. Y/N was simply just too shy to make the first move with Logan, too polite to turn down Adam’s suggestion that she go on a date with him. It made Logan ache that he couldn’t have her, couldn’t seem to find the right moment to show her that he could be what she needed.

It was late at night and Logan was beginning to wonder if tonight was one of those nights where she decided to watch a movie rather than pleasure herself until he heard a knock at his door. After pulling on a pair of sweatpants to cover his cock, he sauntered to the door and opened it. Y/N was standing in front of him, arms crossed over her chest as she wore a nervous smile. “Hey, I’m so sorry to bother you,” She apologized, rubbing her arms from being in the cold hallway in a thin tank top. Her legs were covered by a pair of pink sweatpants, but she was still shivering. “The heat in my apartment has gone out. I really can’t wait until the morning. Could you help me out?”

After grabbing his tools and a tank top, he followed her into her apartment and was immediately overcome with the smell of her. The coffee she was always drinking, the bakery themed candles, the whole place made his mind go fuzzy with lust. Y/N showed him where the radiator was in the back room which seemed to have been turned into an exercise room. He could smell her in here too. Logan knelt down to inspect the apparatus and he hummed. “This packing nut is smooth on the inside now. It won’t hold.” He explained as he dug into his box for a proper one that would seal the leak. As he screwed the new packing nut into place, the radiator began to expel heat properly, the leak stopped, and he closed his toolbox before standing back up.

“Logan, thank you so much.” Y/N sighed, her hand pressed into her chest as she gave him a grateful smile. “Let me pay you.” She said quickly, leaving the room and making him follow her into the kitchen.

“Adam couldn’t come by?” He asked, not trying to pick on the kid, but it was second nature to him.

Y/N looked at him as she paused digging through her purse and she chuckled lightly as she shook her head. “He doesn’t know very much about fixing radiators, or anything of the sort.” She explained, walking over to him and handing him a wad of cash. “That’s all I’ve got on me right now.”

Logan pushed her hand away gently and shook his head. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” He told her and she frowned at him. He smiled at her and held her chin between his index and thumb, caressing her skin softly. “Can’t stand the thought of you bein’ cold and all alone over here.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned hotly and she tried to look away from him, unable to as he continued to hold her jaw in his hand. “Can I at least offer you a drink?”

It surprised him that she had whiskey at all. They were sitting on her couch, drinking and complaining about their shitty apartment building and jobs as the alcohol flowed freely. Y/N was blushing constantly, her body heated from being so close to him. Logan could practically taste her arousal the scent was so thick. “Why that guy?” He asked, throwing caution to the wind as he figured she was at a good number of drinks to not be upset if he asked.

“Oh, um,” Y/N wasn’t expecting that question. As far as she knew, Logan didn’t even acknowledge Adam’s existence. “I guess he’s nice, you know? He’s sweet to me.” She said, downing the last bit of her third shot of whiskey.

“You like ‘em sweet?” Logan asked curiously and she nodded with a shrug. “You don’t seem very sure.” He chuckled, drinking his last shot and setting the cup down on her coffee table.

“Well,” Her throat closed around the words, but he looked at her as if urging her to continue like he knew exactly what she was going to say. “I - I just haven’t been with a lot of guys.” She tried not to come off as if it was something she was embarrassed about. “And the few I have been with were sweet.”

Logan felt his mouth water, his chest swelling at the thought of her having little to no experience. “How many?” He asked, looking over her frame, which was much smaller than his own, and picturing the things he would teach her. Y/N blushed and shook her head as she covered her face. “C’mon,” He smirked, lightly tracing a hand up her shin to her knee. “Tell me.”

“Adam would be my second.” She mumbled, dropping her hands into her lap and looking at him.

“This year?” He asked to clarify and she shook her head. “Ever?” Her nod was all the confirmation he needed and he leaned back in his seat with a smug look that made her insides heat up. “Third time’s the charm, huh?”

Not long after, Logan had her pinned to her bedroom wall as he stood between her legs and held tightly onto her waist. His tank top had been discarded in the living room where she had helped him take it off as their kiss heated up. Her moans rolled off her tongue and into his mouth while her fingers laced and tugged on his hair, her hips bucking into the hard shaft pressing painfully into her core. Her top was ripped off suddenly, thrown aside as he pushed a knee underneath her to keep her suspended while his hands lifted her up so he could kiss her hips and belly. “Oh, Logan.” She moaned, desiring more of him than she had ever desired of anyone.

“Gonna show you how it should sound when you get fucked right.” He growled into her skin, making her tremble in his hold. “None of that sweet shit tonight, baby.” He told her, pulling her off the wall and throwing her down on the bed, quickly crawling back on her as if she would’ve taken the opportunity to get away. Y/N stayed where he wanted her, however, and let him do with her body as he pleased.

“Yes, please, take it.” She urged, lifting her hips as he tugged her pink sweats off. His smirk returned at the sight of her black thong and she blushed madly. “Shut up.”

Logan chuckled, kissing her legs softly, nipping at her inner thighs which made her whine. “I knew you wanted me.” He murmured, pulling her thong off and admiring her as he finally had her to himself. “You want me as bad as I want you, sugar?” He asked, his large hands smoothing along her waist and to the sides of her breasts. Y/N nodded desperately, her body arching into his touch. “Tell me.”

“I want you, Logan,” She breathed out as his thumb caressed her nipple and his other hand squeezed her hip harshly, her hands tugging on the drawstring of his sweatpants as she urged him to take them off. Logan discarded himself of his pants and tossed them, looking down at her as he breathed heavily. A lump formed in her throat when she felt his strength in the way he picked her up and repositioned her on her belly as if she weighed nothing. “Oh, fuck, please. I wanna feel you so bad.” Logan groaned and kissed along her spine down to her ass, biting the fat harshly, and making her whimper. He roughly lifted her on her knees while keeping a hand on her back to press her onto the bed. His nose buried in her, inhaling her arousal, and growling loudly into her womanhood before his tongue lapped at her glistening folds.

“This fucking pussy calls to me all damn day,” Logan moaned, his hands squeezing painfully on her hips and ass while he circled his tongue into her core, swallowing her juices as they coated his tongue. “Fuck, it tastes better than I imagined.”

His filthy words had her riled up, whining and mewling while she tugged desperately on the bedsheets as his mouth brought her down into the pits of a tortuous pleasure. He was relentless, mean with his smacks of her ass and the bite of his teeth. “Oh, fucking shit!” Y/N cried as he brought her to orgasm, her thighs trembling while he simply continued eating at her, holding her firmly against his face so she couldn’t squirm away from him.

“How’s that?” He asked as he flipped her onto her back, settling between her thighs as he slowly pumped himself. She was breathless and she nodded approvingly. “Better than that vibrator?” Her brows furrowed and he smiled, nuzzling his face into her neck as he said, “I hear everything, sweetheart. You’re so sweet when you moan, rubbing your little clit slowly and gently.” His thumb came down between her thighs to do just that. Her moans fell out in a melody and Logan groaned. “Fuck, yeah, like that. Keeps me up all damn night.”

“Didn’t think - uh - didn’t think I was that l-loud.” She stammered, her hands flat on his chest as he slipped two fingers into her pussy with a filthy squelching sound. “Oh!”

Logan chuckled softly. “You could be louder.”

His fingers and thumb continued rubbing and stroking her, his eyes fixed on the features of her face. The way her brows scrunched together from the overstimulation, the pleasure, the pain of his tight grip on her thigh to keep her legs open for him. Her delicate hands pushed at his thick torso in an attempt to move him away, get herself away from this pleasure that was quickly becoming too much to handle. “I-I can’t, Logan, please, make me cum!”

Obliged, he knelt down and sucked on her clit, fingers pumping faster and deeper until she was shaking again, high from the ecstasy of pleasure. Logan definitely didn’t fuck like the others, not even close, and it wasn’t even over yet. “Had enough?” He asked as he watched her body tremble in her sheets and noticed her half-lidded eyes looking at every inch of him. Logan flexed his chest teasingly and she bit her lip, shaking her head to his question. “Good, cause the best part’s coming.” He winked, hovering back over her and holding her thighs together so he could push them into her chest. Y/N cried softly as he ran the leaking tip of his cock along her puffy lips, teasing her until tears fell from the corners of her eyes. “That’s it, sweet girl, cry it out.” He groaned, the sight of her pouted lip turning him on all the more. “Let daddy do what he’s gotta do.”

His cock pushed into her, filling her quickly in one thrust which made her sob. “S-so big.” She whined, her hands resting on his strong thighs as he dragged his dick back out, slow so he could inspect that every inch was coated in her cream. “I can’t take it.”

“Looks like you can from here,” He taunted, pushing back in and hissing at the sight. “Fuck, it looks really good from right here.” Y/N’s vision blurred with hot tears as he kept a steady, slow, and brutual pace. The stretch stung and she could feel him deep in her, hitting spots that had yet to be discovered. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” He coaxed her, keeping her knees over his shoulder, his hand held onto her thighs and the other wrapped around her throat. His lips met hers in a kiss, soft and gentle unlike the rest of his actions as he was now rutting into her with an animal-like purpose.

“You’re in - sniff - really deep.” Y/N sobbed, her fingernails were digging into his thighs and he groaned in approval as he felt her legs start shaking violently - she was close again. “It’s too - ah - too much!”

“Is this my spot, sweetheart?” He asked, pressing firmly against her cervix which made her whine loudly, her hand weakly punching on his leg because she was so close. She nodded, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes and that pouty lip that just made him wanna force her to take more. Logan wanted to push her to her limits, maybe even a little further. “Yeah? Is this daddy’s spot?” He asked, his swollen tip pressing harder into her cervix.

“Yes-s, it’s yours!” She cried, unable to take the pain of the tension in her abdomen. Logan growled, the sound rumbling in his chest and she felt the vibration against the back of her thighs. “It’s your spot, daddy, p-please!”

“Wanna cum?” He asked, kissing her neck softly as she nodded, sucking on her sensitive skin as his hips continued in their rut, the contracting of her walls squeezing the hell out of his girth. “Cum, sugar, cum on my cock.” He encouraged, staying deep in her as he pounded harshyly into her and repeatedly slammed into her cervix. Y/N cried, sobbing as she felt that tension come undone, her orgasm gushing around his thick member and soaking her bed sheets - she had squirted for the first time in her life. “Goddamn!” Logan growled as that feeling made him unload his release in her without a second thought. He couldn’t think of the consequences when he was well aware of what he wanted; he wanted to fill her with his seed.

Y/N cried softly, her face buried in his chest as he let her legs go, resting between them still as he slowly pumped every last drop of him into her, throbbing in her as he waited for her to calm down. Logan kissed the top of her head, his arms caged around her head as he slowly rode out their highs. Her teary eyes met his and he looked concerned for a moment until she smiled weakly at him, her hands cupping his bearded cheeks as she pulled him down to her lips for a kiss. Logan sighed and kissed her while he sat up on his knees, his arms wrapped around her body to hold her close so she straddled him. She whined as she sunk onto him, his cum spilling out of her and down the sides of his shaft. “That wasn’t sweet?” She murmured playfully which made him laugh. His laugh shook her body as she was pressed closely to him.

“Careful, baby.’ He smirked as he laid her down gently and slipped out of her with a wet noise. She winced and he kissed her nose. “Don’t talk yourself into something you can’t handle.”

In the morning, Y/N was still dozed off on his chest while he laid contemplating their interaction, smiling to himself as he caressed her bare back slowly. A knock came from the living room and Logan carefully got up and pulled on his sweatpants before answering the door.

It was Adam.

“Oh,” Logan grinned, leaning an arm against the doorframe as he glanced behind him at her bedroom door. “Hey, bub, she might be too tired for this brunch date.” Adam stood dumbfounded, looking from Logan to the apartment door behind him which he was sure was where this guy lived. “I’ll let her know you stopped by, yeah?” Logan winked at the kid before he closed the door and rejoined her in the bedroom, finally on the right side of the door.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

I have so much stuff in my drafts🤭 ‘Adam’ is just a random name I pulled out of the air btw

Masterlist

[yanderenightmare]

TW: noncon, yandere, omegaverse, subjugation, some type of sexism, angsty, also a little fluffy?

fem reader

Discussions about superiority and inferiority between Alphas, Betas, and Omegas have become more popular lately. It’s always been many people’s opinion that the weak should cater to those stronger than them—but a debate with that as its topic is unsavory. Unfortunately, they’ve found new ways to phrase it. 

A resonating “Unmated Omegas are a danger to themselves!” garners much more sympathy…

And with the rise of people talking about it in the media, it was only natural to move the conversation into school as well.

You keep your head bowed in class as the chill runs down your spine. You feel the glare of thirty fellow students—the points of their teeth, too, and how they snicker under their breath. It’s always been rather scary being an omega, but you can’t say you’ve ever felt quite so alone.  

The teacher’s an alpha, so why should he care how what he says impacts you? He’s preaching to the choir, and you’ve never had the right to sing. The three other Omegas in your class have all chosen to stay home. They probably have the right idea—wait it out until it all blows over.

But you don’t know when that might be… You don’t know if that will be.

Society is on the precipice of critical change—new politics, new laws, new systems, new rights that separate you from them. You wallow in fear of the outcome, lying awake at night and scrolling through the news under the safety of your duvet. The statements seem endless. You wonder, why are all politicians Alphas?

You don’t want any of the things they’re suggesting—mating homes to help you find the perfect Alpha to bond with, systematic pairings done from birth, auctions. Is no one going to suggest they put shock collars on all Alphas and Betas to keep them in check? They’re the ones who need to—

“Your scent is distracting the whole class—don’t you feel ashamed?” 

It’s too easy for him to have you bent over the desk, your wrist on your back in his big fist as he wraps his tie around them. He and his goons stand around, all smiles—watching—enjoying it. It’s as if they’ve planned the whole thing, the way two of them peel away from the crowd to grab each their pick of your feet. Parting them, they use your own shoelaces to tie them to the desk legs.

The ringleader laughs. There’s an awful smell coming off him in waves—it makes you quiver. He flips your skirt up and whistles at the sight, showing everyone your ass and cotton undies. The bulge he presses against you is enough to make your tears spill despite how hard you’d fought to keep them at bay, knowing it only arouses them further.

“Aww, don’t cry, little bitch. You should be happy,” he coos, leaning over your trapped form to whisper right at your ear. “Don’t you know? You’ll never feel happier than you will bouncing on my big Alpha dick. It’s all your little Omega cunt dreams about, isn’t it?” He snickers, fiddling with his belt buckle—you flinch at every sharp clink as he jostles the metal. “Well, salvation is here—”

“Keep it to yourself.” Another voice breaks through the sounds of hollers and cheers.

Your eyes open to see him. You despise how your heart jumps in relief.

“Oi, you—” the guy at your back challenges, stepping away from you and toward the interruption.

“Yeah, me,” he states blankly, jaded. He eyes the rest of the guys with disinterest—five betas, zero threat—before telling them, “All of you. Scram.”

They all take a step to walk out as if his voice alone had compelled them, but then the previous guy interjects, making them stop in their tracks again. “Tch—you know what they’re saying. All unmated Omegas are free game, and I won this one. So back off.”

It was like watching a match of tug-of-war.

“Heh,” the intruder laughs. “That rule only counts for Alphas.”

You spot your aggressor's fists curl—there’s a growl rumbling in the back of his throat. “I am an Alpha, asshole.”

“Really?” he feigns, sizing him up with a cocky tilt of his head. “Couldn’t tell.” He doesn’t seem fazed in light of the aggression—actually, it seems to amuse him if anything. “To me, you smell no different from all these other Beta losers.” 

He takes a casual step forward, hands in his pockets and a smile on his face—baring canines with grace.

“But if you wanna prove it, I’m ready when you are.”

It’s quiet after the declaration. The betas are unsure who’s side to pick, none of them eager to get caught in the middle. It becomes a competition purely between the two Alphas.

Without backup, your aggressor backs down and leaves.

“Thought so,” your savior jeers, showing the crowd out, closing and locking the door behind them.

It’s quiet after they’ve left.

You hide your face. Listening to his footsteps approach—he sighs when taking the place of the former guy. He doesn’t touch you, though.

“Y’know…” he starts. “That guy might be trash, but he isn’t wrong…” He picks up your skirt and drapes it back in place. “None of this would ever happen if you weren’t unmated.”

You speak through grit teeth. “Untie me.”

He chuckles familiarly at that, clicking his tongue at you. “What? Aren’t you gonna say please?” But he does what you say anyway. Squatting down, he starts with your ankles.

The scent of your fear still lingers in the air despite your tough act. You’ve always been so steadfast, ever since you were kids, even when it does you no good. He frees your feet—one, then the other, slowly—he even reties your laces into pretty bows before he’s done. 

He remembers it being so obvious. The sun rose in the morning and the moon at night, and you were supposed to be an Alpha while he a Beta at best. You promised you’d be by his side to keep him safe forever, and he wanted nothing more.

But then puberty hit, and nothing was as you’d imagined.

He stands and unknots the tie keeping your wrists restrained.

You immediately push him off—already storming away.

“Do I get no thank you, no nothing? Always so stubborn—” He grabs your arm.

You spin around, an unnatural snarl on your face. “Let go!”

You’d have been a terrifying Alpha. But as fate has it, you’re not. And you shouldn’t act like it. It only lands you in trouble.

But he doesn’t say that. 

“You been watchin’ the news?” he says instead, ignoring your cry and keeping a firm grip on your arm. “Seems like auctions are winning the voters. You know what that means?”

He feels you flinch, followed by a quiver. He can tell. No matter how good you are at hiding it. He can see—the way you’re fraying at the edges, barely holding it together. Always acting so strong. He can’t tell whether you enjoy torturing yourself or if you’re just that good at convincing yourself you’re fine.

“Pretty soon, new authorities are gonna come storming in here, roundin’ up every sorry unmated Omega they find, and put ‘em all on a farm where pompous Alphas can have their pick of the litter.”

He can never tell what you’re thinking, but he knows he doesn’t need to tell you any of this. You’re not stupid, you never have been. He knows you already know. But…

“You should decide now while it’s still your choice.” 

You must be terrified. He understands. But truly… it’s obvious what you have to do, isn’t it?

“It’s not like you have many options.”

It’s obvious. It always has been.

You don’t meet his eyes. You haven’t for a long while. Actually, you haven't since both of you got your test results. He understands this wasn’t what you had in mind, but you can’t afford to mope about it forever—

“How am I supposed to choose any Alpha when you’re all such assholes…”

Your mutter stunts him. It wasn’t what he expected. Or, the words were more or less exactly something he’d expect from you, but that voice—quiet and soft, dangling on the brink of sweet. If you’d said anything else, he’d have taken it as a confession.

“Can't argue with that,” he ends up chuckling again.

You hate how easy this is for him. He would cry at every turn when you were kids. It’s unfair. 

“But you can’t keep doing this, either,” he states. His voice is soft, paired with that ugly authority they all have when talking to you—talking down to you. “Just look where it gets you—scared and exhausted because of it. At least have the brains to stay home.” He says it as if it’s a joke, but you both know it isn’t. His chuckles are light—far from fullhearted.

He bends down, trying to find your eyes. He still holds onto your arm, knowing you’d sooner stomp away than listen to him. His other hand brushes your cheek gently, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You hear the call from the rafters—it’s not about what you want anymore. It’s about what you need.”

That’s what they say, isn’t it? What you need. You want to slap him. Scratch him with claws, bite his throat out—make him choke on his own words. Need? What you need is for them all to fuck off.

You mean to say it with the same sentiment, but something hard and rough in your throat makes all your words come out wobbly. “Mate an Alpha to stay safe from other Alphas. What a joke.”

You bow your head further. The tears return. They burn as they trail down the sore streaks from before.

He’s never seen you like this. He won’t lie, it makes his pants tight—feeling the urge to suck your cheeks, hold you close and comfort you. But knowing you right, you’d probably never let him. Your face would probably scrunch up in disgust, punch his gut, knee his groin, then turn on your heel and leave him on the floor wheezing.

You really would have made the most terrifying Alpha. 

“The world isn’t fair,” he agrees. “But you get nowhere cryin’ about it—do it my way, and you’ll never—”

“Have any freedom,” you cut him off with a sniffle. 

It’s about the most adorable thing he’s seen in his life.

He gets why you don’t like Alphas—they’re all gross. He makes himself sick sometimes. He can’t believe he’s getting off on watching you have a mental breakdown. There’s something seriously wrong with his side of the species. His throat’s tight, mouth watery with the urge to reap your vulnerability. 

Suppressing it only makes his inner beast furious. Some of that aggression comes out in his next words.

“I’m sorry, but the world doesn’t give a shit about your freedom.” 

The grip around your arm tightens, and you look up in shock—watching his narrowed eyes through your watery ones. 

“What you need is safety—now more than ever. Or do you like being preyed on by every Alpha around the corner?” 

Your bottom lip trembles at the reality of it—a little while ago, you were almost— 

“One of these days, I'm not gonna be here in time, and you’ll be a slave to some fucking—” 

He huffs and hangs his head. His hand loosens up—it trembles where he holds you in place.

“In all honesty, I think I’m more scared than you,” he whispers under his breath. “I think I might kill—”

He stops himself again. You don’t know if it’s in an effort not to frighten you or himself.

“Speak about needs…” he begins anew, now softer. “I need to know you’re safe. I need to—” He looks up. His eyes are back to being round. “I need you more than you need me, probably.”

There’s a desperation on his face. It almost looks like he’s on the verge of tears himself.

“So… please?” he begs. “Will you keep me safe like you promised and stay by my side?”

Your tears dry and prickle. Looking into his eyes now, you see the same boy you knew back in your childhood—that one who’d chase you all over even when you’d call him a sniveling crybaby. You realize, Alpha or not, he hadn’t changed all that much at all. 

“It’s not like you need my permission,” you end up saying.

You’ve always been so hard-headed. He has to smile. “No, but I want it.”

You nibble your lip. You can’t believe you’re at the mercy of this big dumb hunk of… you don’t have the words to describe him. He wasn’t exactly a crybaby anymore. 

“Okay. You win.” 

His eyes widen as you bear your neck with a stretch. Head high and shoulders slack. 

You swallow thickly. “Get it over with.”

He shudders at the sight. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but now it almost seemed too soon. 

“We should be supervised by a professional—you know how wrong things can go—”

“Hurry up before I change my mind.” Your eyes remain shut, and your lips pursed.

His tongue grows thick in his mouth at your bark. A sudden stroke of performance anxiety makes his palms sweaty, hands heavy and shaking. But then the sight of your soft neck has his mood shift, becoming drowsy.

He has no control over the growl that begins rumbling from his gut.

But he doesn’t apologize for it either.

He bends forward—breaths on your chest before he licks your throat. You can’t help but whimper at the warmth. He watches you through hooded eyes—your usually angry face is now all cute, riddled with anxiety you try hiding paired with the grim anticipation of pain.

“Shh,” he soothes, kissing the spot softly. He sways you against him, then lifts you up on the desk for you to sit. Grazing your neck with teeth when feeling your hands tangle two fistfuls of his shirt. He expects you to push him away, but you don’t—you tug him closer instead as if silently telling him to hurry up.

But he doesn’t want to rush, doesn’t want to lose himself—that’s how accidents happen. So he sticks to sucking gently, only tiny nibbles that leave your skin hot and lightly bruised in their wake.

You give a moan once he finds the spot, and he growls in restraint upon the pretty sound—feeling you relax despite being threatened with his teeth right at your artery. He almost humps your leg in return, feeling the boil of blood pump him hot and heavy in his pants—breaths turning equally hot and heavy, each one laced with rust.

Drool coated your neck in a cool sheen, soothing the marks made beneath it, while his lips and fangs aroused pleasure in the spot that now ached for the sting of his bite.

“Please,” slipped from your mouth while tugging him closer. 

His eyes, completely drunk on the pretty prayer, had only a slim rim of color left surrounding the hungering bottomless pits, blown full and black with opium.

No one could come and take you away from him now. Not with his print so pretty on your neck. You were his—just as you were always supposed to be.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Natsuo, Amajiki, Mirio ♡ JJK – Yuji, Yuuta ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ DS – Tanjiro, Zenitsu

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[just-jordie-things]

headcanon request: how would the jjk guys react if someone's trying to flirt with them but they're already in a relationship with their s/o?

YES i love some light jealousy teehee ___

GOJO SATORU

has no chill if someone's flirting with him. or worse, he thinks someone's flirting with him, but they're just taking his order, or letting him know his shoe is untied.

he's literally "I'M MARRIED"

(for the untied shoe one, he definitely trips when he runs off)

he's so annoying abt it fr. always throwing "i have a wife" (even long before you're married) around even when unnecessary

and ppl do flirt with him, he's gojo, but sometimes... he's just a lot.

even if someone looks at him too long, he's wrapping his arm around you and loudly announcing "in front of my wife? you're lucky i'm holding her back!"

and you're just standing there bewildered with the box of cereal you were about to toss into the cart and wondering who the hell he's talking to- and when the hell did he propose??

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

for the most part he doesn't really notice when someone's flirting with him. i think it would take some very obvious hints.

so say someone is really trying to get him to catch on, pulling all the stops- fluttering eyelashes, unnecessary touching, one too many comments about his eyes, and finally, slipping a piece of paper into his hand with their phone number.

megumi can accidentally be a little cold.

he scowls at the phone number before crumpling the paper and dropping it.

"i don't want that," he's completely expressionless when he speaks, and honestly, the flirt-er is lucky he said anything at all rather than straight up walking away. "i have a girlfriend"

and then he walks away.

and when he meets up with you again he's a little more affectionate than usual, holding you a little longer, pulling you closer when you settle on the couch or bed or wherever, kissing you a few extra times for good measure.

don't get him wrong, it's not out of guilt or anything. he just wants you to know that he thinks of you when you're apart, and that he appreciates and loves you to death. nothing could ever change that.

ITADORI YUUJI

i don't often add him to my brainrot posts but i SHOULD and i had the most brilliant thought for him specifically

if he's getting hit on, he'll shut it down casually enough, and just blatantly tell them they're not his type.

and then he'll just start listing everything about you. and lover boy is BABBLING ok, no one could shut him up

he's describing your hair your eyes your nose your hands your style- and once he gets thru the physical stuff, it gets random

he's talking about your hobbies, your weird interests or collections, how sometimes you're a bad driver but you try your best lmfao he gets on such a tangent i don't think he'd even realize his tactic for defusing the flirting is just confusing the other person to the point of no longer wanting to give him their number

and once he's done with his dreamy little speech, he just goes "like my partner!!" all excited and bubbly

he's always rushing off to meet up with you then, having got himself so eager to be around you some more

OKKOTSU YUUTA

he's polite, but firm. he can also be a little quick to say he's taken, but it's only because he wants to let people down easy!

he's very kind when urning down phone numbers or flirty advances, always giving a gentle smile and saying no thank you, or actually i have a girlfriend. and he never apologizes when he says the second one, but that doesn't mean he's cruel! he's just thoughtful and respectful of you!

yuuta's a total gentleman.

but. god forbid. if he gets one of those nasty ppl that pull the "your girlfriend doesn't have to know" bullshit. oh boy. he does not handle that well.

toxic!yuuta jumps out a little!!

for as polite as he can be, he can get nasty when provoked just right, and someone disrespecting you? his beloved?

first it's a lecture- how dare you suggest such a thing? do you often try to break up people's perfect love lives?

then it's standing up for your honor- do you know how wonderful and lovely my partner is? you couldn't even understand the lengths that their radiance extends to. this part usually gets a little messy. he can get carried away when talking about you.

and lastly, he gets personal. deeply. personal. if they're having a not-so-great hair day, or if their attempts at slipping him their number were particularly weak, he's pouncing on that. he sniffs out weakness like a goddamn Chivalrous Boyfriend Bloodhound and sinking his claws in. i think yuuta could be really mean if he wanted to.

but that's kinda hot tho

INUMAKI TOGE

definitely the funniest of all of them. bcuz if he's getting hit on, he kinda just... stands there.

._.

CAUSE HE LITERALLY CANT SAY ANYTHING ???

sure, he could play it off like he doesn't understand what they're saying, or even type a little note in his phone saying he has a partner... but...

toge definitely prefers to stand there, completely blank faced, and stretch out the discomfort as long as possible.

sometimes people just scowl and walk away, finding it rude

one time tho someone actually started tearing up and completely ran away

(you came back just as it happened, an ice cream cone in each hand and a confused look on your face. but there's no way your sweet, mute boyfriend made a person cry, right?)

[saerins]

𝐒𝐀𝐄 // 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒: 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓

+ sae x f!reader | wc 5k | content: angst to fluff, breakups, exbf!sae, exes to lovers

notes: this is the alternate ending to conversations ! (requested by one of my anons) i’m so sorry this took so long !!! and i’m 100% sure you did not expect me to write anything this long but i’m sorry my hand slipped >_< again … i’m super rusty but i hope you guys still like this ^_^

summary: sae’s willing to throw everything else away to prove that out of everything in his life, you’re the one sure thing he needs. problem is, will you accept him after what he’s done?

he’s sorry.

he repeats it in his head, over and over again, his fingers almost numb from repeatedly pressing the call button on your number—over and over and over again.

sorry, sorry, sorry.

it’s no use, he knows. it’s why he’s here—why he’s taking a flight, bare-handed, back to japan, back to home, back to you.

“please switch off your phone, sir,” the flight attendant says politely, dutily, as the plane starts to move.

begrudgingly, he resigns, but the moment he starts hearing your voicemail message play, he sighs, speaking into the receiver.

“look, i know i fucked up and it was stupid of me to keep it from you. i’m sorry, okay? and i know you don’t want to speak to me right now but i can’t just sit around and do nothing. i love you, so i’m coming back home, and we’ll talk, and then… i promise you, nothing like this will happen again.”

yes, because he’ll make sure of that. he’ll make sure he doesn’t make decisions like a stupid teenage boy and he’ll make sure to trust you at every turn instead of trying to hide anything from you because you’re right. never in the course of your relationship did you ever doubt sae.

which is a feat. because given his profession and status, any number of girls would’ve been distrusting had they been in your position. not that sae knows, what can he say he knows about girls? nothing, apparently. after today, that much is sure.

as he turns his phone on aeroplane mode, he throws his head back and looks out of the plane window. less than a day till he’ll be there to see you in person. he’s not sure if you’re going to even want to see him, but he’ll try. you deserve that much, at least.

in his head, the same words repeat over and over again.

i’m sorry.

i love you.

you’re all i ever want.

by the time sae’s plane touches down, it’s night time in japan, close to midnight. you should be resting, probably tired out from crying; he can imagine, because stupid as he may be, he can at least say he knows you this much.

your words can be hard, cold, cruel, but you never are. you’re all soft inside, and you’d rather face your emotions alone than let anyone know how you feel. at least, when those emotions concern sae. you’ll keep them to yourself and keep crying, day after day, until you can’t find it in yourself to care anymore.

passport in one hand, his phone in another, he whisks off toward the taxi stand, mind in a mess because his phone’s now ringing with messages from everyone that isn’t you, probably concerning his absence from the last match of the tournament.

fuck the final match.

you probably thought he’ll play anyway. that he’ll play the match, and only afterwards would he attempt things further with you.

funnily enough, that’s what sae used to think too. before any of this happened. never in his life did he think he’d sooner rather sabotage his own career than lose you. it’s laughable, really, how much he’s so afraid of losing you that it clouds his judgement.

he should’ve been honest with you from the start instead of letting you find out on your own. it was that easy.

“could you step on it, please?” sae sighs, irritated at everything keeping him from you; the distance, the traffic, the stupidity.

the taxi driver narrows his gaze at sae through the rear view mirror, clearly annoyed. “i’d rather not get a ticket,” he replies monotonously, and sae sees that he’s driving at the speed limit. “wouldn’t want to get into an accident, would you?”

well, if he did, that would put a real hamper in his plans, so sae just shuts up and switches off his phone. none of them are you anyway. there’s no point.

as he stares out the window at the now-quiet city, he finds that, for the first time, he’s afraid of losing everything.

mira [7.28pm]: make sure you get enough rest! bought some soup for you in case you haven’t eaten :)

you look at the time now—12.14am. fuck, did you really sleep the entire day away?

the sliver of moonlight that shines through your blinds is all you see next to the pitter patter of the heavy rain against your window. it’s pathetic, really, for you to take a day off just because of that argument (if you can really call it that) the night before. you couldn’t bring yourself to even watch his game like you’d promised him you always would, once upon a time.

something tells you that he should expect that, though. even without watching his game, you know they’d win. sae has always been magical like that, being the playmaker he is. you imagine he’s probably with his team now, celebrating the win. or are they asleep right now? you never could get used to the time difference. it’s too much of a headache.

aside from mira, you see a voicemail message in your inbox. from sae. it makes your heart skip a beat. are you even ready to hear him and whatever he has to say? it’s why you’d been avoiding him since yesterday—you’re afraid you’re just going to crumble and forgive and get taken advantage of. it threatens to spin the same old story you’ve always known.

you click on it anyway.

“look, i know i fucked up and it was stupid of me to keep it from you. i’m sorry, okay? and i know you don’t want to speak to me right now but i can’t just sit around and do nothing. i love you, so i’m coming back home, and we’ll talk, and then… i promise you, nothing like this will happen again.”

will it though? how much can you trust his words after he already failed once? it makes you think twice, no matter how badly you want to forgive him because you do believe him. it’s most likely nothing, and what he said is most likely true, but it makes you upset that he thought of hiding such a thing from you.

just as you toss your phone aside, you hear a series of urgent knocks on your door, the thunder ruthless outside. slowly, you get up, dragging your feet against the hardwood floors and flinching a little as you hear how loud the banging is. you’re half afraid and half agitated, halfway between hiding yourself under the covers and threatening to kill whoever it is outside.

but then you swing the door open and you’re met with that pair of teal eyes you’ve always loved, his bangs matted against his face as he pants, the rainwater drenching him from head to toe.

“y/n,” he calls out, as though it’s been ages since he last heard from you. it’s only been a day, but it’s enough to make sae feel as though it’s been forever.

you’re a little shocked, your brain trying to process every single question that comes to mind.

is that really him? why isn’t he in spain? if he played the game, the timeline doesn’t add up—how did he get here so fast? is this actually a dream? holy crap it feels so real, though? why isn’t he saying anything?

“s-sae?”

you’re not even sure if you said that out loud—you’re a little too shocked to make sense of anything right now. but the moment the corner of his lips tug upward, revealing that lopsided smile you love, you know it’s real.

he’s here.

“i… came to talk,” is all he can say. he’s tired from running up the stairs. apparently tonight, everything was against him. there was an accident right at the street before the corner of your apartment, so he’d had to end the trip early and start running for it. by the time he got here, the elevators for your block were all undergoing maintenance and unusable. but fuck if twenty flights of stairs are enough to make him turn away.

you’re blinking a lot, as if you find it unbelievable that he’s here in the first place, but you nod anyway and step aside to let him in, wet clothes and all.

“how was work today?”

it’s definitely not what he came here from spain to talk about but you entertain it anyway.

“didn’t go,” you tell him, a little coldly, but you think he deserves that much, at least. “how was the game?”

“don’t know, didn’t go.”

you two are similar that way.

“why not?”

“i had other important things to do.”

“you do? pray tell.”

it’s the first time sae’s hearing you like this and he’s sure now that he never wants to make you like this ever again—going against your nature.

it’s lame, and overused, and you deserve an essay for why he shouldn’t and wouldn’t ever do this again to you but it’s sae and he’s never sure what’s good in these situations so all he can manage to say is, “i’m so sorry.”

you cross your arms as the both of you stand in your dimly-lit living room, the storm raging on outside. it’s not like you don’t know that. that aside, you’re pretty sure he’s the most sorry he’s ever been. and if you were still the same naive girl you used to be ten years ago you probably would’ve forgiven him by now.

but you’re not.

“okay, is that all?”

it’s not what you really want to say. you kind of just want this to be a dream; that picture of him and that random girl with their lips locked, that fight that you had that made you cry to sleep. you wish it was some sort of stupid nightmare that didn’t make him ruin your trust but it did.

sae, on the other hand, seems restless. he’s taken aback, not quite sure how to get through to you because he’s never made a mistake like this before. “just- could you… forgive me?”

the ache you head in his voice breaks you, and you’re sure he can see the tears threatening to spill, but you stand with your choice. “can i? i don’t really know, to be honest,” you respond, voice soft and low, not quite daring to meet his eyes in case you falter.

the contrast between how you were and how you are kicks him in the gut and he has no one to blame but himself. he doesn’t want to, but he can sense where this is going. he’s not stupid, he just… doesn’t want to believe it.

“please… don’t do this?” sae swallows the lump in his throat, the foreign way his heartbeat quickens out of fear stumping him. there’s probably more he should say, but maybe that just wouldn’t be enough anymore. his words can’t find him and he can’t find it in himself to reach out to you. not when he realises you out of all people hate the most for having to do this.

if you just blindly follow your heart, you’d leap in his arms right now, fuck how soaked he is. because you still love him. you know that, and you think maybe he knows it too, but judging by the perplexed look on his face, he probably doesn’t realise it. that’s why your brain does the deciding for you. it had already made its choice the moment you saw that picture, the moment you saw the headlines on that gossip rag.

“i… think we should break up, sae.”

before today, if you’d told yourself that one day, you’d say these words, you wouldn’t believe it. but here you are, breaking up with the love of your life.

sae is just standing in front of you, staring at you, the happy picture of the two of you during your second year anniversary hanging on your wall haunting him this very second. the command he gave his assistant to help him get that ring for you sending him into the pits of despair. he’s so stunned he doesn’t know what to say or do.

“you’re… serious?”

there’s no expression in his eyes. they’re just dull, and dark, and nothing like how you’re used to.

this time, you’re the one trying to force the words out of your mouth, calmly, because you’re afraid that the tears will just spill out. “you’re… you’re the one who told me to be kinder to myself, right?”

sae chuckles softly, helplessly, as he realises you take every word he says to heart.

EIGHT YEARS AGO

it was beyond him why you let yourself be subjected to this. nobody was a saint, but surely you deserved better than to be treated like trash?

sae understood a little of where you were coming from. it was hard to let go of a three-year relationship, but having you visit him crying in the middle of the night wasn’t exactly what he would condone.

“you can do better than him, you know that right?”

the words slipped out of his mouth before he knew it. he’d once sworn that he wouldn’t meddle in your relationship, that he’d let you figure it out on your own, but your heartaches were getting too often those days that sae just couldn’t hold it in anymore.

it probably wasn’t the best thing to say to you, considering how you were bawling your eyes out and staining his entire jersey with your tears, but sae was never one to filter his words.

“everyone says that.”

which tells sae you didn’t believe that.

“which means there’s some truth there,” he sighed, leaning back against the couch as you continued to bury your head in his chest. sae saw rin from the corner of the room, peaking out of the hallway and gave him a quick wave to signal him to leave them alone.

“i… don’t know what to do.”

you rarely ever did. having been your friend for the past four years before this taught sae two things: one, you gave your all for your relationship, and two, you were one of the kindest people he’s ever known. (and by extension, it simply meant you knew what had to be done, but you refused to do it.)

sae took a deep breath, eyes gazing up at the ceiling before he resumes, “i don’t know why you let people treat you like that.”

you stayed quiet, sniffling, though it’s getting softer now, so sae continues.

“you know, you’re one of the nicest people i know,” sae told you, fingers absentmindedly stroking your hair—the way he always wanted to but never let himself admit. “which is why it kinda sucks that you’re so stupid to let yourself be hurt by that asshole over and over again.”

the both of you chuckled at that. sae was glad to know you understood he meant only well.

“stop… letting people hurt you and then letting them get away like that, okay?” he said it softly, but you definitely caught it. “be kinder to yourself, fucks sake.”

he felt your fingers curl, gripping at his shirt as you stopped yourself from crying. you looked up at him that night, smiling as your tears dried, and sae remembered telling himself that he’d never want to be the reason you had to feel upset.

“when you say it like that, how can i say no?” you joked, laughing, wiping the last of your tears away. “besides, even if i was still being stupid, i’d always have you with me, right?”

sae remembers.

he remembers not answering you, but he remembers thinking yes, always. and he has a feeling you knew back then too, that sae would always be there for you regardless.

only if it’s you.

maybe even back then, you already knew how he felt for you. and you would always listen to him. you’d always believe in him. now he feels even more stupid for everything that transpired. with his words thrown back at him, he finds himself speechless.

“you’re right,” he replies, voice hoarse, his gaze dropping to the floor. sae was being stupid, and he’s crazy if he thinks he’ll be let off that easy.

you’re sniffling a little, and he does you the courtesy of not looking at you even though you’re already turning away. “i’ll mail you your stuff.”

“it’s fine, i’ll get rin to help me take ‘em.”

it’s a diplomatic breakup. polite, nothing out of line, just two adults deciding that maybe now just isn’t the time.

after a long pause, sae gets the guts to speak. “you know you’re the only one for me, right?” because he feels like maybe you’d been doubting it recently and he doesn’t want you to feel worthless. maybe it has the adverse effect and maybe it’s selfish but he needs you to hear that.

you don’t acknowledge it, and you barely acknowledge him, even as he turns to walk out the door. this time, you’re the one not giving the answer, but sae feels like he knows how you feel anyway. you need time away from him. a proper break from him. so sae leaves wordlessly, clinging on to hope that maybe one day, he’ll be deserving of you again.

the moment sae closes the door, you fall to the floor, wailing into your cushion pillow, having one of the worst nights of your life.

THE NEXT WEEK

annoying jr [10.48am]: oi stupid, i’m here.

—followed by an incessant ringing of your doorbell.

when you groan and swing the front door open, you’re greeted by a smirking rin. at least he hasn’t changed one bit since you’d known him when he was a kid. well, at least not to you.

“did you have to ring it so obnoxiously?” you whine, plopping down on your couch, burying your head in the leather seats.

rin shuts the door behind him, scoffing. “you’re the one who always used to wake up late,” he quips, rolling his eyes (you don’t have to see it, you just know how he’s going to react).

“and someone was always the third party on dates,” you snap back, sticking your tongue out at him.

he deadpans, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “hey, wasn’t my fault my stupid brother kept using me as an excuse to go out.”

right, because back then his parents were a lot more strict than they are now, back before they didn’t know you.

realising that the mood had grown a little somber, rin clears his throat, changing the subject. “how’s work so far?”

you chuckle under your breath, finding it funny how both the brothers’ go-to question is to ask about your work. though, they’ve never been that good in conversations so you can’t blame them.

“it’s fine, promotion period’s coming up so i’m preparing for that,” you respond lacklustrely, getting up off the couch, dragging your feet to your bedroom before resurfacing just ten seconds later, carrying a box full of sae’s things.

it’s full of his clothes, care products and the like, but mostly clothes, because you’d realised you liked to steal his jerseys, wear them like they’re your own, but mostly because they smell like him, remind you of him when he’s not physically around and makes you feel better.

doesn’t make you feel good when you have to pack them up, though. you cried all the way again. pathetically. but rin doesn’t have to know, so you keep up your unbothered facade.

rin takes the box from you, thankfully not mentioning his brother. “hope you get that promotion then,” he says politely, though you sense he might have something else to say that he doesn’t know if he should.

you sigh, because sometimes rin looks like a neglected younger brother and you don’t have the heart to ignore him like sae does sometimes. “go ahead, say what’s on your mind.”

it takes just a moment of hesitation before rin heeds your words. “did you see sae’s interview last night?”

part of you doesn’t want to think about anything related to sae, but most of you still misses him, so it’s a canon event that you still look out for any and every news of him. it’s sad and pathetic and that’s why you make extra care not to mention any of that to anyone.

“nope, was it about their recent win?”

you try to go on as per normal, like sae isn’t just the love of your life that you still wanted.

“mhm.” rin, at least, doesn’t tease you about it. whether he means to or not, you’re grateful for that. “they asked him, though. about that game.” (but of course, you knew that already.)

ah, that game. the game that he abandoned to come find you. the game that led up to your breakup. the game that sae probably had to pay dearly for for knowingly ditching.

“oh, i see. what about it?”

a resigned sigh leaves rin’s lips as he looks at you with the full sincerity of a younger brother concerned with his older brother’s fuckup. “he… really loves you, you know? he’s just… stupid.”

you snort at his last remark, both of you breaking out into a small laughter. it’s bittersweet, thinking about how this might be the last time you see rin, but you’ll probably get over it. you’ll get over this, and sae, and move on someday—now if only you could get yourself to want that.

“i know,” you mutter quietly, deciding that it’s best not to speak too much about it. it’s dumb, considering everything that happened, but his words made you feel relieved, even if just for a second.

just before he leaves, you give him one last hug. “thanks, rin.”

THREE MONTHS LATER

“please don’t give me another heart attack like last time.”

sae huffs, annoyed, although he knows he probably deserves that. his poor assistant went through hell trying to appease everyone on the team due to sae’s last stunt. luckily, there are exceptions made for the best soccer player on the team, so no punishment was dire enough that he had to get kicked.

“i’m just going out for some air.” sae leaves before his assistant can get any words out, entirely too tired today to listen to anything anyone else has to say.

besides, today is a special day.

the moment he’s out of earshot, he calls one of the only contacts on his phone. for some reason, his heart is thumping wildly and his fingers are fiddling with the hem of his windbreaker. the weather is nearing negatives but somehow, he doesn’t feel it.

“hello?”

sae nearly gets a heart attack of his own when a deep, low voice is what he hears, until he realises that he recognises it.

“rin, what’re you doing there?”

he can make out the sadistic chuckle from halfway across the world. “what, disappointed?” (if sae could punch him right now he would.) “relax, we’re just at her birthday dinner and she’s busy,” he explains, though sae doesn’t nearly care about any of that other than the fact that he wants to talk to you.

“where’s y/n?”

“she’s the birthday girl, people are lining up just to take pictures with her,” rin raises his voice over the background, and sae’s never been more frustrated. “she’s taking pics with some handsome guy right now, and he’s got his hands around her waist,” rin whistles right after, and sae can just sense his smugness through the phone.

whether what his brother said was true or not, sae is in no position to be jealous anyway. (even though he is and he’s sporting an unamused frown that’s enough to scare the living daylights out of anyone watching him.)

“wish her happy birthday for me then.”

rin snorts. “sure. disappointed you didn’t get to hear her—” sae hangs up before he can be subjected to anymore of his brother’s nonsense. all he really wanted was to just hear your voice, but he won’t be greedy.

staying friends was already a miracle. that’s only possible because you have a heart of gold, and he knows that if he ever pushes it too much, he might just risk losing you forever and he knows he can’t have that. so for now, this’ll do.

he’ll wait, no matter how long he has to.

later that night, when the moon is high up in spain, sae receives a notification from you. there, attached in your thread is an audio message.

“itoshi sae… thank you.”

the little laugh you leave at the end is enough to make him smile at his phone. he counts his blessings for you, and starts counting down to the days he has left in spain. if he wants you, he needs to go all in.

ONE YEAR LATER

“you ready yet? i’m at your lobby.”

sae can just barely make out your panicked state from the other line. you’re late, and you know he’s fine with waiting, but because you’re a perfectionist, you really really don’t want him to have to.

“yeah, just gimme like, five minutes!” which sae knows translates to i actually need twenty but i’ll rush. there’s a certain satisfaction it gives him—knowing that he knows you in these ways that nobody else can.

“take your time, i have to pump some gas anyway, running low,” he tells you, an excuse which you accept right away because it’s convenient.

sae doesn’t even need any gas. it’s full, so he parks his car by the entrance and waits inside, turning up the air conditioning because he knows you’ll be sweating a little by the time you inevitably still choose to rush down.

it’s exactly one year since the last time he wished you happy birthday (through rin). and this year, he’s happy enough he gets to actually take you out. the past year’s been filled of sae restarting the relationship from ground zero—back to being friends and gradually coming back again to where you are now, dating. sure, it’s taxing having to do it all over again, but he’d do this however many times you want him to.

SIX MONTHS AGO

“hmmm, i dunno how to feel, i kinda like this.”

sae had been calling you up often, and he feels good inside knowing that you might miss him as much as he misses you.

“kinda like what?” he asked, wishing that he could see your expression right now.

“kinda like you chasing me all over again,” you giggled, shameless with your words. “what if i just never agree to be your girlfriend again? what if i just make you chase after me forever?”

he knew for a fact that you weren’t that sadistic, but even so, his answer would still be the same. “then i’ll stick in this phase with you. forever.” although that would render the ring that he bought for you useless.

“oh really?”

sae hummed in faux contemplation. “nah, maybe not. maybe i’ll just ditch you and run off with ryusei or something.”

he got a laugh out of you for that.

“ryusei? not even some other girl, but ryusei?”

sae chuckled—he still remembered his mistake. and he’d never put you in a position to feel that way again. even if you two were just joking around.

“y/n, there’s no one else except you.” he was rarely ever serious like this, especially considering how you bantered as friends, but sometimes, he knew he had to. nowadays, more than anything, he just wanted to know that you had no doubts about how he felt for you.

you didn’t give any response to that, but considering how you started to ease up around him even more after that, sae felt like maybe there was a solid hope there of reviving this after all.

the knock on his window brings him back into the present, your pretty face doing wonders in lighting up his mood.

as you get into the passenger seat, sae steals a glance at you from head to toe—you’re so beautiful and so worth the wait and you’ll always be.

“so, where are you taking me today, mr itoshi sae?”

he leans back against his seat, tilting his head as he looks at you, feigning contemplation. “depends, ms l/n y/n, do you trust me?”

you press your lips into a line, the corners threatening to tug upwards. you’re so adorable that sae’s actually going to go insane but he dons a straight face like he always has because letting you know the power you have over him is more than you need to know.

“i think it’d be a little weird if i couldn’t trust my boyfriend.”

suddenly it’s like time stands still and sae’s hands are stuck on the steering wheel and he’s left staring into space wondering if he heard you right. boyfriend? he turns around to look at you, teal eyes searching your own for answers but all he sees is a smirk on your face—you definitely know the power you have over him.

“wow, want me that bad, huh?” you joke, giggling as you tell him to hit the gas. “i… wasn’t kidding though.”

and as he pulls out of the parking lot, he thinks about the little velvet box that sits in his jacket pocket, thinks about the fact that he’s one of the luckiest people in the world thanks to you. heat rises to his cheeks, and he has to look away from you.

“you know one day you’re still gonna be mrs itoshi, right?”

this time, you laugh—but not like you think it’s a joke, more like the kind where you think was there even any other option? and even then, you offer him assurance.

“there’s nothing i want more.”

[erwinsvow]

you have this awful way of teasing him. logan doesn't like to be teased—at least not the way you do it.

all polite, sweet smiles when the room is filled with your peers and his students. they're not really his, but the feeling has stuck as of late.

logan shouldn't let you keep going. you're getting the wrong idea—thinking that this, whatever this is, can be something. something more than heated stares and heavy breaths. he's no saint—the thought has run through his head at least a hundred times a day.

how easy it would be to get you alone. to find an empty hallway and push you against the wall, keep one ear listening for footsteps and the other focused on how fast your heart is beating. it picks up everytime he's in the vicinity.

shit. when had he started zeroing in on you like this? it's not just your heart, it's your breathing too. hitched. if your breath is like that and your heart is racing, then what could be going on between your legs? he doesn't have to be a mind-reader to figure it out, but you're lucky anyways, that he's not. he might not be able to hold himself back.

not like you want him to. it's too obvious—if others haven't picked up on it yet, they're going to soon. your friends probably giggle with you late at night, help you perfect your plan to get the big, bad wolverine into the palm of your hand.

or maybe not—maybe you're quiet about it. maybe it's a running joke but nothing more, nothing shared with anyone except you and him. private, just between the two of you. looks that no one else understands, an ache that no one else feels. it doesn't make it less wrong, but it almost feels that way. like pining is supposed to help.

teasing certainly isn't the answer, not that you care. you're all pretty smiles, cocking your head and laughing sweetly, replying to something he said without caring about what he said. you ignore that part, electing to keep the conversation going even though he can't make it more obvious that what he really needs is for you to go.

you get closer, even when others prying eyes are still present. a hand on his arm, brushing up against him and then apologizing without any real sincerity behind it, even the way you rest your body against his doorframe, staring at him with teasing eyes. it's all you fucking do—tease, tease, tease.

logan would like to think some things about you haven't changed on his behalf. he pretends that maybe you always wore short skirts and tight tops, or that maybe you'd put them away for the winter and that's why they keep making appearances. but it's still cold out and somehow, the shortest and the tightest things are decked out just when he's around.

it's menacing. a girl as sweet as you shouldn't be capable of such devious things. the sliver of exposed skin between your white tank-top and your denim skirt, a place where his hand would fit perfectly. one touch and your entire body would get warm, he knows it—you wouldn't feel cold no matter what you're wearing or what month it is.

the way the hem of your sundress rides up when you take a seat next to him, legs crossing over and an endless expanse of smooth skin visible. all the way up to your upper thigh, any higher and he'd get a glimpse of panties—and what color would those be? matching? he can only think about it for a second until he snaps out of it. and when his gaze moves from your legs to your face, there's that smile again. devious. devilish.

you've been put on earth to torment him. he keeps trying to do the right thing—avoid you at every turn, lock doors if it means keeping you out. conversations are short and civil, no matter how much you both would prefer to keep them going.

it's just wrong. you're so young—you don't know any better. or maybe you do, and you choose to ignore it, but he can't do this too, on top of everything else. he has to get something right, and it's just your misfortune that this is the thing he's chosen to stay steadfast about.

because otherwise he wouldn't stand a chance. with every passing stare at your glossy lips and soft, pretty skin—skin that just so happens to be waiting for him to mark up—and clothes that are waiting to be torn off, bits and pieces of his resolve start withering.

you know what you're doing to him, and you don't stop. you don't plan on stopping until you've gotten what you want. yes, it's wrong, but there's not much in the world that's right anymore. you think you at least deserve this. and logan's a good sport—behind every closed door and curt word, his eyes reveal what his mouth won't. a simple truth known to both of you—that he wants you as badly as you want him.

it's a long game, one you're willing to play. you move the pieces same as usual—a shorter, tighter skirt here, a too-big tank top that leaves your straps somewhere on your arm there. conversations get a little longer, his stares get a little more heated, a little more aggressive. you can even hear him taking out his frustration on the punching bags instead of just giving in and taking them out on the object of his frustration.

but you're close—and if there's one thing that you are, besides a tease, is patient.

at half-past ten, all the kids are asleep. there's some older students scattered around the house, some upstairs and others watching tv, but you know your destination tonight, and where the occupant of a particular room is. the baggy button-up you'd put on over your dress, just to make it a little more appropriate for the day, was abandoned on the back of a kitchen chair. you made one stop to the fridge before heading up here—to logan's room.

patient you were, but a saint, you were not. there was only so much a girl could take. you knock twice, and without even realizing it, your heart rate picks up. it always does when logan's nearby, and then you curse under your breath. he might not open the door if he realizes it's you—but then again, who else would come knocking this late?

you hear it—a deep breath, footsteps getting closer. your back straightens automatically, biting your cheek in anticipation. when he opens the door, you beam up at him, knowing exactly what he's about to say.

"kid, you needa go t'bed-"

"i brought you something," you say, with another bright, sweet smile. you offer it to him with outstretched hands—two beers, still cold from the depths of the fridge you had buried them in, lest one of the kids saw them, or one of the jerks drank them.

"how'd ya even get these, huh?"

to anyone else, logan would look the same as he always did—gruff, angry, unforgiving. but you're not just anyone else. you noticed it—picked up on it immediately. the way the tension in his shoulder lessened, just barely. how his grimace softened. how the expression in his eyes betrays him—he sounds upset but he's really not. there's humor in them, sparkling back at you, because he thinks it's funny.

that you show up with beer this late. that you wear a dress you really, really shouldn't wear—the one he thinks of as his favorite, before trying to expel the damn thought entirely.

you roll your pretty eyes, pushing through the man blocking you. of course if he actually wanted to keep you out, he'd barely have to try. one push and you'd be on the other side of the wood, but like always, you know him.

"you do realize i'm not actually a kid, right? i can buy beer," you reply—and even your words, coated in humor and sarcasm, still come out sweet as sugar.

you couldn't be mean if you tried. logan can't be nice if he tried.

"yeah, yeah. c'mon kid, y'can't be in here this late-"

"late?" you repeat back at him, taking a seat on his bed. logan closes the door, wandering back over to where you're perched. you really shouldn't have sat down—not with how much he's pictured you under these very sheets. "don't be such a grandpa, logan. it's not even eleven yet."

"cuttin' a little close to your bedtime, huh?"

"ha-ha," you say dryly, holding one of the bottles towards him. "i didn't bring a bottle opener."

he takes it out of your hand, fingers brushing over each other for a second. it's nothing, twisting the cap off with his hand, tossing it somewhere to the side. you keep staring up, watching through fluttery lashes as he takes a long sip, enjoying the view a little too much. the cherry on top is the exhale logan takes after he finishes, fisting the beer bottle a little too tight.

"do you like it?" you ask quietly, heart thudding fast again. you suddenly hope he can hear it now, even clearer than before.

"yeah, kid." he takes a breath, and your eyes close for a second. "it's wrong." another breath, one from you this time. "shouldn't have beer in the house."

"yeah," you agree, eyes opening and taking him in again. you had planned everything perfectly, picked the best time to come. his flannel was flung on the bed next to you, nothing but the white wife-beater covering his chest. "nothing wrong with just once though, right?"

"kid-"

you stand up, much too close for comfort. your little pink dress looks even prettier like this, so close that he can almost feel the material. one strap has fallen—like they always do—but this time, your wish finally comes true. logan takes the strap between his thick fingers, sliding it up your arm and around to your shoulder, bringing it all the way up. even after it's secured, he doesn't let go.

his touch—barely present as it was, is enough to light your skin on fire. it's just as you thought it would be, and now all you want is more. your eyes shut again.

"i probably shouldn't tell you this," you start, and you hear logan groan—a soft noise, something that has imprinted into your brain forever. "but i really love it when you call me that."

"y'killing me, kid-" he says, all in one breath.

"what's it gonna take, hm? do you want the other beer? i brought both for you, i don't even like the stuff-"

he shuts you up by closing the space in between the two of you. logan's mouth is hot, hot just like the rest of him, blazing to the touch. huge hands wrap around your waist, bringing you in even closer, if it's even possible to be any closer. it's everything you dreamed it could be—the sheer intensity of how he kisses you, the way his tongue feels in your mouth, how hard he grips you. your hands find his shoulders, gripping on as hard as you can, nails digging in while you moan into his mouth. you should be quiet, anyone could hear, and yet, you keep going. and it's all of it at once, the taste of the beer and those cigars he loves so much. if they taste anything like this you might find yourself addicted to those too.

when he finally pulls away—and of course it's him that pulls away, you would stay attached forever if you could, and you plan to make it a reality—there's lines of spit between your mouthes, still connecting you. he wipes the corner of your lips with his thumb, and breathless you stare up at him.

your hand traces down his arm, all the way to his wrist and then his hand, resting just above his knuckles, running your soft fingers over them.

"logan," you breathe out, your heart as fast as he's ever heard it. "can i go lock the door?"

"yeah kid," he says, the gruffness in his voice something entirely new, laced with a desire and wanting you had only hoped to hear tonight. "go lock the door."

[biteofcherry]

A promise that won't be upheld

part of Venomous Vows series in collaboration with @jamneuromain

mafia!Ari Levinson x female reader

summary: Your first impression of Ari isn't exactly a bad one, but it solidifies your decision to never have anything to do with him.

warnings: mafia!Ari Levinson; mob!Ari Levinson; soft dark!Ari Levinson;

Author's Note: This is sort of prelude to everything that happens. If you read the thread that started it all (and which is the core of what happens later), you will understand the title of this ficlet - why exactly this promise won't uphold 😏🤭

The sense of power doesn’t thrum through your veins as you cut across the lavish floors of the club, even though people part aside to let you through; neither it pulses as you take the spiral staircase to the VIP upper floors, where curious and hungry gazes glance your way, but no one dared to approach. 

At least not yet. Your father’s name is enough to keep most in line, but there is always someone who would be either too dumb or too drunk to make a move on you. The fact you could get rid of him with the mere mention of your last name didn’t give you a sense of power, either.

It’s the moment when you stepped down the narrow corridor that changed from lacquered black into burnt wood panels, which finally gave way into a beautiful oasis. 

Here, in the private garden sprawling above the city, you feel that rush. 

It’s not just a VIP area. To be allowed here is to be the inner circle. The very few who your father trusted. 

Or to be a monster equally influential as him.

Ari Levinson isn’t a close associate of your father. He doesn’t belong to the inner circle. He doesn’t belong to anyone, but the hell pit alone. 

But he’s here tonight. Exchanging who knows what false politeness and cutthroat deals with your father. 

You know he’s highly intelligent, brutally fast and decisive. Father wouldn’t sit down with anyone who didn’t deserve their position of power. But he’s not the kind of man you want to spend any minute with. 

Especially not on your birthday.

“I’d ask if he’s a stripper, but I’m not yet drunk enough for playing a dumb bimbo,” your friend chuckles next to you. 

She likes to play those games, especially with the dark and dangerous crowd - whom she proves to be idiots led by dicks. She’d almost cross a boundary, but make it so cute that the most ruthless of enforcers and mob soldiers were turning smitten and protective. 

Figures she’d set her sights on Levinson. Danger always lures her. On top of that, his looks also grab full female attention.

“That one is better to be left alone.” Averting your gaze from him, you turn and walk over to the further side of the roof garden, where garlands of lights are hung above a table set for a small group of people. 

Unlike your best friend, you’re not interested in poking the dragon. 

Or to even look at him too long, in case the devil snatches your soul somehow.

You prefer your partners to be more controllable. Lawyers, who have the brains and enough cockiness to make it spicy, but won’t get an upper hand over you. Mob boys who are in the higher ranks, but didn’t display alpha male behavior. CEOs who are too busy with their own empires to be hungry for having power over you. 

“He has to be a really big deal, if you’re saying that,” your friend muses, taking a seat beside you.

And he is.

Ari Levinson isn’t a man you’d want to find yourself near. Not only because of his reputation of being a ruthless and lethal leader. But because he’s not easy to control. He never would be. 

He’s a man who grips the reins of any interaction right away, twisting and pulling and lashing with a crop until any mare submits to him fully. He’s like that in business, but you have no doubt he’d be the same in any relationship.  

“Ladies.”

A voice smooth and rich as the last sips of thick, hot chocolate, resounds unexpectedly behind you. Startling you. 

When you turn, the devil himself is standing right there. His expression is neutral, void of any mischief, or malice. 

So damn controlled. To the tiniest muscle in his handsome face. 

“Mr. Levinson.” You greet him politely, hiding your annoyance at the fact you can’t read anything off his face, or his body language.

His body - impressively broad and thick, while still holding a jungle’s predator’s grace to it - isn’t stiff in discomfort, nor is it alert for a threat. It isn’t fully relaxed either. Somehow he’s perfectly balanced and in tune with his surroundings.

Yeah, definitely a man to stay away from, if you want to maintain your goal of always being in control.

Even if a small part of you wants to stretch along that body and rub your softness everywhere where he is hard.

“Wanted to pay my respects and wish you a happy birthday,” Levinson inclines his head your way. 

“Thank you.” It calms you, realizing it’s just a typical show of manners, which the mafia world puts such emphasis on while not batting an eye at killing. It’s quite comical. 

“I must admit, I’m surprised.” He adds, his tone for the first time betraying some kind of emotion.

Amusement?

“A mafia princess’ birthday being so modest? No party for hundreds of people and social media pictures? You must be setting new standards.” 

He doesn’t laugh, nor smirk, but you notice the way his blue eyes spark. It’s a short, fleeting thing, but it’s enough to grate on your nerves. It’s also enough to have your friend snort. Because of course she made nearly the same comment a few days ago, when you mentioned you just want a nice dinner and a few glasses of wine, not to party all night long.

Not only because you have enough noise and masses on a daily basis as you manage hotels and the party side of casinos - the legal front for the very illegal things your father runs. 

But because, as he called you, a mafia princess is never just a person of the evening for genuine celebration. 

You’re not naive or dumb to not know that those types of parties are a means to be shown around like a prized auction item to lure the highest bidders. Your father loves you, but you’re aware at some point he will arrange your marriage.

You want to spare yourself at least the whole circus of potential husbands, or their representatives, watching you and assessing your worth. 

“I’m not a college student on a spring break, nor a spoiled teen on a sweet sixteen.” You roll your eyes, not voicing the real reasons for the small celebration. 

Which was a tiny victory on your part, because your father couldn’t exactly show you off and wait for offers while it was only him, your friend and two cousins you were still waiting for. 

“No, you’re not.” Levinson agrees, his voice dropping an octave lower.

His eyes stay on your face, but it somehow feels as if he just dragged his gaze down your body in the most inappropriate way. You feel a warm tingle awakening beneath your skin.

“I wish you all a lovely evening. Once again, happy birthday,” he rolls your name on his tongue and his lips curve in a teasing smile.

“May it be a memorable one.”

You watch him turn and leave, moving with the confidence of a predator who knows the jungle holds no secrets from him. 

But he’s not reckless or stupidly cocky, you think. He’s simply (annoyingly) aware of his power. Which makes him all the more dangerous to be around. 

You make a promise to never find yourself in his orbit for longer than necessary. 

[dragon-kazansky]

The song in our hearts

Lestat De Lioncourt x Female Reader

A musician with a heart that sings and an admirer who wishes to see his songbird thrive. Two beings in different worlds get caught up in each other when someone threatens to steal his songbird's spotlight. Loving Lestat isn't simple, and your life will never be the same again. What is eternity without chaos?

{Masterlist}

{Next Chapter}

Chapter One - Secret admirer

Music fills the room as you press the keys with a loving touch. Your eyes are closed, no longer needing to follow the notes on the page for you have played this piece a hundred times over until you perfected it. Music burns in your soul and you will honor every note in every song. Playing music was as easy as breathing for you. Natural. Those who listened to you would agree.

As the song came to an end you let the final note linger slightly, holding onto the bliss and happiness playing the piano brought to you. You had almost forgotten you were not alone. Applause shakes you from your momentary peace and you turn your eyes to your audience. The theater was full of adoring fans of yours, all standing up to give you praise for your music. You smile and stand, taking your bow. Playing your music for these people was a delight, but playing music in general was your pleasure.

Not wishing to linger, you give one final bow and exit the stage, your section for the night is done. You make your way down to your dressing room, other performers patting you on the back or applauding you as you pass them by. The itch to return to your solitary room never felt greater.

They do this every week. Congratulate you. Every time you perform on that stage, always a Friday night, they make a fuss over you. Music was your passion, not the glory after. Of course performing for people would always be special to you, but you were more prideful in the music than the performance. You didn't want people to make a fuss over you, only the music.

That didn't mean you didn't appreciate the small gestures.

As you get back to your dressing room, Amelie is waiting for you. She's a dancer from France. She came to America having been promised a big break, but what she found instead was very different. Now she performs in the theater with her heart full of wishes. She could be worse off as things go, but she certainly wanted more. Perhaps the world as her stage.

“You have more gifts.” She smiles as she opens the door for you. You roll your eyes knowing exactly what she refers to. Your secret admirer.

“Please, Amelie, no need to get so excited.”

“But they're from him!”

“Of course they are. They're always from him.”

You walk over to your dressing table to see a bouquet of flowers, different from the week before, and a small box sitting underneath them. You pluck the card from the flowers and look at the beautiful handwritten note.

‘When your music plays, my heart sings.’

“He's so romantic.” Amelie fans herself dramatically, letting out a small high. She's clearly teasing you.

“He is very kind.”

“What's in the box?” She asks.

You pull the box closer and open it carefully. Inside is a very expensive looking ruby teardrop necklace. This is the first time your mystery admirer has gifted you jewelry. You can't help staring at the jewel. It's beautifully rich.

Amelie stares at it in awe. Her eyes sparkle. “A necklace? He must really love your music.

You barely take note of Amelie as you stare at it. You close the book softly and put it down. “I need to get ready to go home.”

Amelie stares at you as if you had grown a second head. “Just like that?”

“Yes,” you say, standing from the table. You take her arm and usher her out gently “Don't wait up.” You close the door behind her and gather your things.

The manager at the theatre shows you out. He, like all the others, congratulates you on your performance. He reminds you that he looks forward to hearing you perform again next week. You just smile politely and try to make your exit as painless as possible as you leave.

The walk back to the little shed-like house you call home isn't a short one. Like most evenings, you decide to cut through the park to get back. Luckily, New Orleans was very much awake after dark. The streets were always full of people and clubs were open to anyone passing by. You felt safe enough walking home. There's a bench you always walk past cutting through the park. Tonight there was only one gentleman on it. He watched you walk by, but didn't say anything. That was the only interaction you got from anyone tonight.

It's Friday again. Your turn to perform was coming up soon. You were in your dressing room with Amelie getting ready. As you look at your make up in the mirror, Amelie leans on close over your shoulder and looks at you through your reflection. “You should wear the necklace.”

You meet her eyes through the looking glass. “Why?”

“So he will see it.” Her smile was so telling. Since the first gift from your admirer arrived she had been on the case. She was obsessed with the thought of you and this stranger. Amelie found it romantic.

“I don't know.”

“Oh, you have to! Maybe he will come see you after the show.”

You stand quickly from the table and look at her. “Please, Amelie. We don't know who this is. The gifts are welcome and I adore the thought, but I can't feed into this.”

Amelie pouts. “Please wear it. You know we'll never let anything happen to you.”

You sigh softly and eye the box on the table. It had been kept in your dressing room all week. The manager had seen to it that it was looked after.

You reach out and open the box, ignoring Amelie's squeal behind you as you gently lift the necklace from its safety cushion.

“Let me help.”

You let Amelie take the necklace. She places it around your neck and connects the clasp. You gently touch the ruby teardrop hanging comfortably around your neck. It really does look expensive.

“It's beautiful,” Amelie whispers.

You agree with her.

Your name is called and you know your time for dawdling is over. Amelie leaves in a hurry and you take a moment to summon your confidence to go out there. Despite doing this every week, performing with an audience never felt any easier.

You took a deep breath and walked out onto the stage. The room filled with applause as you approached the piano. You faced the audience and took a bow, but kept your gaze low. You couldn't bring yourself to actually look out at them, especially knowing your admirer was among them. You took your seat at the bench and focused on the keys. They were calling to you, begging you to touch them and play your wonderful music.

A few beats of silence fill the air as your fingers rest upon the keys. You feel them under your fingertips. A welcome feeling. Then you begin. Music flows freely from your fingers and your magic takes hold of the hearts in the room. Your music lures your audience into a silence so they can hear every note.

The man in the box leans forward in his seat. His eyes are trained on you with desire and fascination. His angel has blessed his night with her music once more. You had no idea the power you held over him. He longs to hear you play for the rest of time. Your music is your gift.

For the next half hour you fill the room with your music. As usual you blank out the people listening, not even letting their applause break you out of your zone this time. It's just you and your piano. Your dearest and oldest friend.

As you near the end of the song, you nearly want to make it never end. You could simply keep going just to enjoy the magic a little longer. Except, you can't. Your time is up and you have to end the show. You finish the piece and get barely any time to lift your fingers from the keys before the room is flooded with applause. You lift your gaze and see everyone on their feet. You take a deep breath and stand, bowing to the crowd before taking your leave.

Your admirer watches you go with keen eyes. The glitter of red around your neck brings his lips into a satisfied grin.

When you return to your dressing room Amelie squeals and pulls you into a hug. You smile and give in, returning the gesture. On the dressing table you notice more flowers. As Amelie gushes on about your performance, you walk over to the flowers and take a look at the note. It's written in the familiar handwriting of your admirer.

‘A star like you deserves to sparkle.’

You smile softly. Subconsciously, you reach for the necklace around your neck. Amelie is still talking behind you as you take a seat at your dressing table. However, she's cut off when someone knocks on your door. You turn and call for them to enter. The theater manager enters and smiles at you.

“There's a young man here wishing to meet you.”

You stand and look at him curiously. “Who?”

The manager steps aside and in walks a handsome young man. There is a smile on his face as he comes to stand before you. He reaches for your hand and brings it to his lips. You find yourself enamoured by him as he looks at you with those fascinating blue eyes.

“Bonjour.’

The air from your lungs feels like it's all gone with that one simple greeting.

“Hello.”

His smile seems to widen, if that were possible. He's tall, has blond hair that reaches his shoulders, and those eyes… He chuckles which breaks you out of your staring at him. You drop your gaze, slightly embarrassed at being caught.

“It's alright, you can look.”

You feel even more embarrassed now.

The moment is broken when Amelie comes closer with a grin on her face. You turn to her slowly and narrow your eyes slightly. You're silently asking her what she was doing, but she wasn't even paying you any attention. Her focus was solely on the man who was still grasping your hand. The realization that your hand was still in his has you pulling away. The man doesn't seem to mind, he simply smiles as he watches you.

“You came to see us?” Amelie asks.

“Ah, well, not quite.” He focuses on you. “I came to see you.”

Amelie looks between you both and then gasps. You both look at her, him with amusement, you with confusion.

“He's your admirer!”

The man chuckles and turns back to you with his sharp eyes. “I am indeed.” He reaches out and lifts the ruby up from your chest. You glance down and notice his long nails trailing along the jewel. You lift your gaze back to his eyes.

“You?”

“Oui.” He seems incredibly proud to admit it, but you suppose he would be. He had been sending you gifts for weeks without so much as his name tied to them.

“Who are you?”

“I am Lestat De Lioncourt.” He grins. “I know who you are.”

For some reason, him saying that sent shivers down your spine. You're unsure if you like it or not.

Amelie stands there and realizes there is no room for her at this moment. She feels a little hurt you haven't even introduced her to this mystery man. She's been invested in this exchange since the gifts first started coming. Amelie receives the message and slinks out of the room unnoticed.

Lestat makes himself comfortable nearby on the stool at your dressing table. At first he looks at his reflection and then he turns to look at you. “Disappointed?”

“Huh?”

“Are you disappointed?”

“By you? I don't quite understand why I would be. I really appreciate the gifts.”

Lestat is pleased by what you have said. “I have admired you since I first came here. From the moment I discovered you.”

“I'm… honoured.”

His lip twitches with a grin. He's amused. “Honoured? Not… flattered or charmed?”

His words send a little tingle through you.

“Well, yes, I suppose. Those too. I don't have many admirers.”

“Non? I find that hard to believe.” There's a slight purr to his words. He's speaking smoothly and it tickles your brain in just the right way. His accent is beautiful.

“You're French?”

“Oui.” He grins. It makes you smile.

“What brought you to New Orleans?” 

“You could say… the people.”

You can't help smiling and turning your gaze away. You've been in the room with him for a whole five minutes and he already has such a huge effect on you.

“Why the gifts?”

His strange blue eyes seem to brighten when you ask that. He leans forward slightly with a grin. “To express my admiration for your talent.”

You smile. “Do you like the piano?”

“Very much. I play too.”

“You do?”

He nods his head. “I would be honored if you accepted my invitation to come play for me in private at my home.”

You stare at him with surprise. That had been an unexpected invitation.

“I don't usually…”

“You are free to decline, but I would be delighted to host you.”

“I… I'd be very happy to.”

The smile on his face seems to grow as he stands from the stool. He takes a couple of steps toward you and reaches for your hand. You watch, unable to look away, as he kisses your hand gently.

“I shall send details soon.” With that, he leaves. You spend a good couple of minutes staring at the door after he's gone, only to be broken out of your trance by Amelie coming in.

“Well?” 

You smile. “I think… I have a date.”

@awanderingghost @theprettiesthead @cosmixstar @theblueslytherin @katherine2098 @sawendel @floofdeloop

[to-be-a-dreamer]

I can’t stand that TikTok trend that’s like “just saw Hadestown and my boyfriend is walking the entire way back to the hotel without looking back at me to prove Orpheus was a chump” because not only do they not get the whole point of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth they also Were Not Paying Attention to the musical they just saw.

Hate people who see WSS as “just a Romeo and Juliet retelling”. Hate people who see Hadestown as “Just an Orpheus and Eurydice retelling”.

Hate people who watch a musical that takes a classic story everyone knows and uses it to explore/critique our modern society and only see it as a funky retelling.

Not Getting The Point of WSS is one thing because it’s more subtle and it can be really easy to just see it as a modern R&J, especially if you don’t really know R&J.

How the fuck do you watch Hadestown and see it as just an O&E retelling? It is one of the most heavy-handed political musicals out there how are so many people missing the point?

Orpheus has to fail. Not because that’s how the Greek myth ends but because that’s the whole point of the message of Hadestown.

Social reform is hard. Changing the world is one of the most challenging things you can try to do. So often we see people try to make a difference in society, to change some kind of injustice in the world. And so often we see those people fail. It can feel so impossible to actually do some good in this fucked up world because we see these people who are smarter and stronger and more qualified than us fail over and over again.

Why do we even keep trying?

Because we have to.

Because one day, someone will try and they’ll succeed.

One day Orpheus won’t turn around.

One day the people of Hadestown will get to see someone escape and they’ll know they can escape too. Only then does the world get to change.

So we have to try. We have to keep singing the sad song, no matter how many times Orpheus turns around, because one day he won’t.

In the Greek myth, Orpheus fails because he loves Eurydice.

In Hadestown, Orpheus fails because we fail.

We try and we fail to make a difference. We try and we fail to change the world for the better. We try to see the world for what it could be and it keeps letting us down.

But we don’t give up. We don’t stop singing.

Hadestown is genuinely one of the best musicals ever. Full stop. This musical is one of the reasons i wish I was smarter because I would love to be able to do an entire thesis on this show and all the themes and messages in it. Some of them are subtle. Some of them aren’t.

It is not just an Orpheus and Eurydice retelling. I am begging people to hear the real message.

Never stop trying to change the world.

One day we’ll make it out of Hadestown.

We just have to keep singing the song.

[catcze]

OKOKOK BUT LIKE

Your idea about a reader who doesnt like tea BUT still drinks it just to spend time with wrio, and then they come clean eventually PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE that boy would cry </3 i need someone to write this omfggg

GOTCHU GOTCHU I GOTCHU BABY

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

This, all of this, starts because you're too polite. Too polite to refuse your boss' offer of tea one afternoon after sorting through files together, even though you cannot stand the stuff.

It was because he was very kind about it, you reason to yourself. Not to mention it's widely known that he's very fond of the drink. How would he feel if you refused? One cup wouldn't hurt. It's just one cup.

But turns out that it was not, in fact, just one cup. A few days after forcing yourself to drink the tea without cringing, after you've once again found yourself sorting and organizing papers in his office, he asks if you'd like tea again. So you gulp. And you say yes. Like an idiot. And now you're knee deep in the lie that you're as into tea as he is.

It's not all bad, though. Though you had taken his invitation out of politeness at first, you had found that his grace is actually very fun to talk to. He's much less rigid than other employers in the past, and you'd even dare to say that the atmosphere during tea is rather friendly.

Wriothesley lets you talk his ear off about whatever has caught your fancy recently— whether it be a new book you've read, or some news you've heard from the surface, he always listens whenever you talk. He gives you his full attention, nodding and asking questions where it's appropriate, sometimes even sharing bits and pieces of harmless gossip from around the fortress, too. And over time... well, you've found that you've become more willing to grin and bear the taste of overpriced hot leaf water, if just to be able to hang out with him. He's funny, what can you say. And nice. And he seems interested whenever you talk. And it 's definitely a plus that he's easy on the eyes too.

But the problem is that there is this guilt that weighs in your chest whenever you come over for your regularly scheduled tea time (regularly scheduled tea time!!! archons, the lengths you're going just to hang out with him) that only grows when he proudly shows you whatever new tea he's acquired for the both of you to have.

Wriothesley always gets this excited gleam in his eye, like a dog with a stick, and you'd be a monster to stomp on that excitement. So you nod, you ooh and you ahh and you always compliment the tea after, pulling flowery words and pretty descriptions out of thin air because even if it's just flavored water to you, he likes it.

Doesn't stop you from feeling guilty, though.

"I'm telling you—" Wriothesley says one fateful meeting for afternoon tea. You've yet to even touch your cup, but he's practically already finished half of the teapot. "I don't mean to assume, but I really feel like Jurieu and Lourvine? I really feel like those two are seeing each other, and just using their work as a cover," he sighs, taking a sip of his tea. "Not that it's even an issue if they are, but— hey, you okay? You're looking a little... unsettled, there."

And it's probably true. You've been sitting and debating if today was finally the day you're going to come clean. You've been pinging the thought around in your head before you've even stepped into his office. Worn you lip and the inside your cheek with nibbles as you feared how bad it could go.

You've no doubt that you look bothered. Your hands are gripping the teacup so tightly you think you might accidentally crack it any second.

"I... I have to tell you something," you blurt out, not meeting his eyes. The abruptness of it leaves him blinking.

"Is it the tea? If it's not to your liking, i can find a different blend," he offers, and you groan.

"No! Wait— yes! I mean, yes it's the tea but it's not—" the words come out a mess, and you're flustered. "It's not the brew of the tea I don't like. It's just that... I... Idon'tliketeaperiod." It's a jumble of words, slurring together as you spit it out so fast you barely understand what you said yourself. But you said it! You finally said it— oh, you can feel the guilt come off you like a weight, and you slump back into the seat, exhausted by the sheer effort it took to say that.

Wriothesley's lips are parted, brows furrowed as he looks at you, clear confusion on his face. "You don't... like tea?"

You shake your head weakly. "Nope."

"At all?"

"At all."

He pauses, like he's trying to process the concept of it. Then he laughs a little, finishing his cup in one swig, and leans back against his chair. He looks a little defeated, a hand running through his hair, mumbling under his breath that, that sure wasn't what he expected to hear.

"You could have told me sooner, you know? I do have more than just tea down here in my office. I can't imagine how many weeks you've had to put up with it."

You groan, hiding your face in your palms and cringing, because talking like this was not your definition of fun. Telling the guy you found attractive (despite his penchant for the worst tasting drink in Teyvat) why you stuck around was not what you had readied yourself to do today.

"I know," you say. "I just... It was to be polite at first, but overtime i found hanging out with you fun. You're nice to be around, and to talk to, and you listen to me talk even if I ramble. And..." you sigh, one hand coming to rub your temple, still hiding your face away in embarrassment. "And I don't know— drinking all that leaf water was worth being able to be around you. Or something. Ugh."

You're ready to be evicted from the office. For Wriothesley to toss you down the stairs and out his door or something. You're not expecting him to laugh, to sport a blush high on his cheeks. He clears his throat when you look at him in surprise, but he can't wipe the small smile from his face.

"Honestly, when you said you had something to say, I had expected it to me more along the lines of that," he admits, running a hand through his bangs. You're silent, still rather lost on what to do next, what to do now that the man you're smitten with had practically admitted to having wanted to hear a confession out of your mouth.

Wriothesley reaches across the table and gently plucks your untouched teacup out of your hands, bringin it to his own lips. You can still see his smile behind it brim.

"Well, if you still want to see each other, I'm not opposed. How does this weekend sound? We can go someplace that serves more than just 'leaf water', so you can enjoy your drink too."

The blood rushes to your face and your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. A date. Was he asking you out on a date?

"Yeah, sure," You respond when you get your mouth to work. Your heart is beating rapidly in your chest— you're excited. "This weekend works."

And Wriothesley's eyes gleam. He sets the teacup down, and that smile is back on his face. "Sounds good, sweetheart."

[estellan0vella]

A Chance Encounter Older Brother Sukuna AU HFBU

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the faint scent of pastries in the bustling café. You sit by the window, the warm sunlight streaming through the glass, casting a soft glow on your sketchbook. With each stroke of your pencil, a new design takes shape, intricate patterns and delicate lines flowing effortlessly from your hand. It's your sanctuary, a place where you lose yourself in the art, forgetting the world around you.

Suddenly, a shadow falls over your sketchbook. You look up to find a man standing there, his pink hair catching the light, his red eyes locked onto your drawings. He's tall, muscular, and covered in tattoos, each one more intricate than the last. He exudes an air of confidence and mystery that makes your heart skip a beat.

"Those are some impressive sketches," he says, his voice deep and smooth. "Do you mind if I take a closer look?"

You nod, feeling a mix of surprise and curiosity. He studies your drawings with a keen eye, his expression thoughtful. After a moment, he pulls out a business card and scribbles something on the back before handing it to you.

"I'm Sukuna," he introduces himself with a charming smile. "I own a tattoo parlour nearby. I'd love to see more of your work. Here's my card, and I've added my personal number. Give me a call if you're interested."

With that, he walks away, leaving you with a fluttering heart and a business card that feels like a golden ticket. You can't help but smile as you slip the card into your pocket, already anticipating the conversation you'll have later with your flatmate.

That night, you and Gojo settle into your usual routine: wine, face masks, and a cheesy movie playing in the background. The soft glow of the TV casts a cozy ambiance in the room as you recount the events of the day. Gojo's eyes widen in disbelief, his face covered in a bright green face mask.

"Wait, wait, wait," he says, sitting up straight and nearly spilling his wine. "You're telling me a drop-dead sexy man gave you his personal number? This is not a drill, Y/N! We need to talk about this."

You laugh, feeling the warmth of the wine and Gojo's infectious excitement. "I know, right? He owns a tattoo parlour and seemed really interested in my sketches. I think I might actually call him."

Gojo's grin widens. "You absolutely should. This is fate, my dear. Sexy tattoo artists don't just walk into your life every day."

You sip your wine, a thoughtful look on your face. "I mean, what if he was just being polite? Maybe he gives his number to a lot of people."

"Y/N," Gojo says, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Men like that do not just hand out their personal numbers. He's interested. And he owns a tattoo parlour? That's like, instant cool points."

"I guess," you reply, unable to keep a smile from forming. "He was really intense, though. Those red eyes... I felt like he could see right through me."

Gojo leans forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Tell me more about him. What else did he say?"

"He asked if I worked anywhere and complimented my sketches," you say, replaying the encounter in your mind. "Then he handed me his business card with his number on the back and told me to call him if I was looking for something more."

Gojo gasps theatrically. "Y/N, this is like something out of a romance novel! You have to call him. Imagine all the possibilities. Maybe you'll get an amazing job and a hot boyfriend out of this."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Slow down, Satoru. It's just a phone number. Besides, what if he's not looking for anything serious?"

Gojo waves his hand dismissively. "Please. You won't know until you call him. Worst case, you have a fun fling with a gorgeous guy. Best case, you get a new job and a fantastic relationship. It's a win-win."

"You make it sound so easy," you say, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. "But what if he's not what I'm expecting? What if he doesn't like me once he gets to know me?"

Gojo places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "Y/N, you're amazing. If he doesn't see that, then it's his loss. But you owe it to yourself to find out. Take the chance."

You nod, feeling a surge of determination. "You're right. I'll go to the parlour in a few days"

"That's my girl!" Gojo cheers, clinking his glass against yours. "Now, let's focus on this movie and see if the heroine ends up with the handsome prince."

A few days later, you find yourself standing outside Sukuna's tattoo parlour, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. The shop is a blend of modern and edgy, with bold artwork adorning the walls and a sleek, inviting atmosphere.

As you step inside, you're greeted by two men lounging near the reception desk. One has long black hair tied back, and the other is muscular with short, spiky hair. They glance up as you enter, their eyes lighting up with curiosity.

"Well, well, well," the long-haired man says with a smirk. "If it isn't the pretty woman from the coffee shop. Sukuna's been talking about you."

The other man chuckles, giving you a once-over. "I'm Geto, and this is Toji. Sukuna's been in a good mood since he met you. I gotta say, we're all curious."

You blush, feeling a bit flustered under their teasing gazes. "I'm Y/N. Sukuna invited me to come by and show him more of my sketches."

Before you can say more, Sukuna emerges from the back room, his eyes lighting up when he sees you. "Y/N, you made it," he says, his tone warm and inviting. "Come on back, I'd love to see what you've brought."

You follow him into his office, the walls lined with more of his impressive artwork. He motions for you to sit, and you spread out your sketchbook, showing him your latest designs. He flips through the pages, his expression thoughtful and appreciative.

"These are incredible," he says, looking up at you with admiration. "Have you ever thought about doing tattoos yourself?"

You hesitate, then shake your head. "I don't think I could. I have epilepsy, and I wouldn't feel comfortable working on someone's skin with the risk of a seizure."

Sukuna's expression softens with understanding. "I get that. But your designs are too good to go unnoticed. How about this – you design the tattoos, and I'll handle the inking? We can call it a collaboration."

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "That sounds amazing. But are you sure? Mixing business and pleasure can be tricky."

He leans in closer, his eyes locking onto yours. "I'll make an exception to the rule this time. How about we discuss it over drinks?"

You agree, and later that evening, you find yourself in a cozy bar with Sukuna, the atmosphere relaxed and intimate. As you sip your drinks, he tells you about his three-year-old brother, Yuji, and how he became Yuji's legal guardian after their parents died.

"It's been a challenge," he admits, his eyes reflecting both pride and a hint of weariness. "But I wouldn't trade it for anything. Yuji's everything to me."

You share a bit about your own background, mentioning your strained relationship with your wealthy family. He doesn't press for details, respecting your boundaries.

"I want you to have this," you say, handing him a small card. "It's instructions on what to do if I have a seizure. Just in case."

Sukuna takes the card, his expression serious as he reads it. "Thank you for trusting me with this," he says sincerely. "I want to make sure you're safe."

You smile, feeling a connection growing between you. "I've got some stories if you're interested."

His grin returns, and he leans in closer, eager to listen. "I'm all ears."

You take a deep breath, recalling some of the more memorable experiences. "Once I learned what the aura was I used it to my advantage so when I'd feel one coming on I'd freak out my asshole family members by saying some freaky shit before dropping into a seizure"

Sukuna's eyes widen with intrigue and amusement. "Freaky shit, huh? Give me an example."

You laugh, taking a sip of your drink to gather your thoughts. "Okay, so there was this one time at a family dinner. I felt a seizure coming on, and my aunt was going on and on about some new business venture. I interrupted her and said, 'Auntie, the spirits are restless tonight. They demand a sacrifice.' Then I started to convulse and dropped to the floor."

Sukuna bursts out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "No way! That must have scared the hell out of her."

"It did," you reply, grinning. "She screamed and started throwing holy water at me. It was pure chaos. My parents were mortified especially when other family started recommeding exorcists. My aunt, bless her, she never quite looked at me the same way again."

"I can imagine," Sukuna snorts. 

The night continues with more stories and laughter, the bond between you growing stronger. When it's time to leave, Sukuna insists on walking you back to your apartment.

As you approach your building, you spot Gojo waiting by the entrance, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees you with Sukuna.

"Well, well," Gojo teases, a grin spreading across his face. "Looks like someone had a good night."

You laugh, feeling a bit shy under his scrutiny. "Gojo, this is Sukuna. Sukuna, this is my flatmate, Gojo."

Gojo extends a hand, shaking Sukuna's firmly. "Nice to meet you, Sukuna. I've heard a lot about you."

Sukuna nods, his demeanor friendly but reserved. "Likewise. Take care of her, Gojo."

With that, Sukuna bids you goodnight, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turns to leave. You watch him go, a smile playing on your lips.

Inside the apartment, Gojo wastes no time. "Okay, spill. How was it?"

You flop onto the couch, feeling giddy. "It was amazing. He's so kind and understanding. And did I mention how sexy he is?"

Gojo laughs, grabbing his phone. "Let's see this parlour of his. If he's as hot as you say, I need to check out his work."

You both gather around the laptop, pulling up the website for Sukuna's tattoo parlour. The screen fills with images of stunning artwork and a few photos of the team.

Gojo points to one of the pictures, his eyes widening when he spots one of Sukuna's co-workers. "Is that one Geto? I want to lick him like a lollipop."

You burst into laughter, the wine and the excitement of the night making everything feel surreal. "Gojo, you're incorrigible."

He grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "What can I say? I have a weakness for hot guys with tattoos. But seriously, Y/N, I'm happy for you. He seems like a great guy."

You nod, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. "Yeah, he really is. I think this could be the start of something special."

"So, Y/N," Gojo begins with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "it's criminal that you didn't go home with Sukuna tonight."

You playfully roll your eyes, knowing where this is headed. "Oh, come on, Gojo. We had a great time together. That's what matters."

He gives you an exaggerated sigh, as if disappointed by your response. "Fine, fine. I'll let it slide this time. But," he adds with a pointed look, "you owe me."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "I owe you? What for?"

Gojo leans in conspiratorially, his grin widening. "You're going to start working at Sukuna's parlour, right? Well, since you'll be seeing that sexy man every day, it's only fair that you set me up with Geto."

You burst into laughter, shaking your head at his audacity. "You're shameless, Gojo. But I'll consider it."

"Consider it?" he exclaims dramatically. "Y/N, my dear friend, this is a matter of utmost importance! Geto needs to know that I'm interested."

"You're impossible," you chuckle, picking up your phone to check the time. "Speaking of which, I should probably text Sukuna and let him know I got home safely."

Gojo perks up immediately, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Ooh, can I help with that?"

You raise an eyebrow suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

He grins devilishly. "Give me your phone. I'll text him for you."

You hesitate for a moment, weighing the risks of letting Gojo loose with your phone. But after a moment's thought, you hand it over with a smirk. "Alright, but no funny business."

Gojo takes the phone eagerly, his fingers flying over the screen as he composes a message. "Don't worry, I'll be on my best behavior."

He taps away for a few seconds before showing you the screen. "There. Sent."

You read the message aloud, your eyes widening in surprise. "It's Gojo. Does Geto like men?"

Gojo grins triumphantly, handing the phone back to you. "Now we wait for Sukuna's response."

"You're unbelievable," you laugh, shaking your head as you put your phone down. "I can't believe you just did that."

As you set your phone down, still chuckling at Gojo's audacity, it suddenly lights up with an incoming call. Your heart skips a beat as you see Sukuna's name flashing on the screen.

"Oh no," you mutter, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "He's calling."

Gojo raises an eyebrow mischievously. "Well, aren't you going to answer?"

You hesitate for a moment, debating whether to let Gojo handle the situation. But before you can make a move, Gojo snatches up your phone with a grin and answers it before you can stop him.

"Hello, Sukuna," Gojo says casually, leaning back on the couch as if he's answering his own phone. "Yeah, it's me, Gojo. Sorry to disappoint, but Y/N left her phone with me. So, does Geto like men?"

You lunge forward, panic rising in your chest. "Gojo, give me that phone!"

But Gojo dodges your grasp effortlessly, grinning as he keeps his attention on the call. "What? Oh, she's fine. Just a bit annoyed that I'm hijacking her phone. So, about Geto..."

You let out an exasperated groan, trying again to grab the phone from him. "Gojo, seriously! Give it back!"

Gojo laughs, evading your attempts with surprising agility as he continues speaking into the phone. "Yeah, yeah, Y/N's trying to kill me for asking. But hey, inquiring minds want to know."

You dive for the phone once more, nearly toppling over the coffee table in your pursuit. "Gojo, I swear!"

Gojo dances away from you, effortlessly dodging your furious attempts to reclaim your phone. "Hold on, Sukuna. Let me put you on speaker. Y/N's dying to hear the answer."

You freeze, realizing you're caught in Gojo's playful trap. You give up your chase for a moment, glaring at him with mock fury. "Gojo, you're impossible."

He grins mischievously, finally relenting and putting the call on speaker. "Alright, Sukuna. Now that we have an audience, spill the beans. Does Geto like men? I need to know if that criminally sexy hunk of man meat is my future husband"

"For fuck sake," You mutter, taking a big gulp from the wine bottle. 

The room fills with Sukuna's laughter as Gojo's audacious questions ring through the speakerphone. You groan inwardly, burying your face in a nearby cushion as you listen to your friend's shameless interrogation.

Sukuna's amused voice cuts through the air. "Gojo, you're certainly direct. I can't say about Geto's preferences, but I'm sure he'd appreciate the attention."

Gojo, undeterred, continues his playful banter. "Alright, fair enough. Now, on a scale of one to ten, how hot do you think my best friend is?"

You shoot Gojo a death glare, mouthing 'stop it' furiously, but he's too engrossed in his antics to notice. You grab a cushion and hurl it at him with all your might, hitting him square in the face.

"Ow! Hey!" Gojo protests, momentarily distracted from the call. "Okay, okay, I get it. Just asking for a friend."

Sukuna chuckles on the other end of the line. "I'd say she's a solid eleven."

You groan again, your face burning with embarrassment as you snatch the phone from Gojo's hand. "I'm so sorry, Sukuna. He's incorrigible."

"No need to apologize," Sukuna replies. "It's been entertaining, to say the least. But Gojo, you might want to tread carefully with those questions."

Gojo rubs his nose where the cushion hit him, his grin undiminished. "Understood, Sukuna. But one last thing – you don't cry after doing it, right? Because if so, you're not allowed near Y/N. She's been through that before-"

Sukuna's hearty laughter echoes through the speakerphone again as Gojo's teasing provokes another exasperated response from you. You grab your sketchbook from the coffee table and fling it at Gojo with all your might. The sketchbook sails through the air, narrowly missing Gojo's head as he ducks, still chuckling.

Before Gojo can finish his sentence, you launch yourself at him with a primal yell, tackling him to the ground. He lets out a surprised grunt as the two of you crash onto the floor, cushions and blankets flying everywhere.

"Gojo, shut up!" you yell, wrestling to pin him down while he continues to laugh uproariously.

You manage to wrest the phone from Gojo's grasp and, without missing a beat, dash toward your bedroom. "Sorry, Sukuna! Give me a second!" you call out, sprinting down the hallway. Gojo's laughter follows you as you slam your door shut and lock it, leaning against it for a moment to catch your breath.

"Finally," you mutter, bringing the phone to your ear. "Sorry about that, Sukuna. Gojo can be a bit... much."

Sukuna's laughter is still present in his voice. "No worries, Y/N. It was entertaining. You have quite the energetic friend."

"That's one way to put it," you sigh, feeling a mix of exasperation and fondness. "So, about what Gojo said..."

"Don't worry, I'm not a crier," Sukuna says and you breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thank God," You say.

"I'm curious to know about the crier," Sukuna's voice has a teasing lilt to it. 

"I'll tell you!" Gojo calls through the door. "Her ex would cry almost every time they-"

"Gojo, I will take the kitchen knife and-" you start to threaten, your voice carrying a mix of genuine frustration and playful menace.

Gojo's voice interrupts you through the door. "And do what? Cut my precious hair? You wouldn't dare!"

"No, I have some garden shears reserved for your hair!" you call back, your tone dripping with mock menace. "Rusty and blunt."

Gojo's laughter booms through the door. "You wouldn't dare. My hair is a work of art!"

"It's a work of something, that's for sure," you retort, a grin spreading across your face despite yourself.

Behind the door, you hear Gojo's exaggerated gasp. "I am hurt, Y/N. Deeply hurt. I thought we were friends."

"We are," you chuckle, shaking your head. "But seriously, stop eavesdropping."

Gojo's voice turns playful again. "Fine, fine. I'll leave you and Sukuna to your romantic phone call in peace. But remember, if you need any tips on handling a tattooed bad boy, I'm your man."

You roll your eyes, the amusement clear in your voice. "Thanks, Gojo. I'll keep that in mind."

Once you're sure Gojo has retreated, you settle back against your bedroom door with a sigh, bringing the phone back to your ear. "Sorry about that, Sukuna."

Sukuna's warm chuckle fills your ear. "No need to apologize. Your friend seems... colorful."

"That's one way to describe him," you agree, feeling a smile tug at your lips. "So, what were you saying before we were interrupted?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to come to the parlour again," Sukuna says, his voice taking on a slightly more serious tone. "But this time, it's closed, and I thought we could have a different kind of date."

Your curiosity piques. "A different kind of date?"

"Yeah," Sukuna continues, his tone gentle yet filled with anticipation. "I have some fake skin for tattoo practice. I thought maybe you could bring your sketches, and I could show you some basics. If you're interested, of course."

The idea sends a thrill through you. "That sounds amazing, Sukuna. I'd love to learn more about tattooing from you."

"Great," Sukuna replies, his voice warm with approval. "How about tomorrow evening? I'll set everything up, and we can take our time."

You feel a rush of excitement at the thought of spending more time with Sukuna and delving into his world of tattoo artistry. "Tomorrow evening sounds perfect. I can't wait."

"Me neither," Sukuna says softly. "I'll text you the details. Until then, Y/N."

"Until then, Sukuna," you reply, feeling butterflies flutter in your stomach as you hang up the phone.

As you hang up with Sukuna, Gojo bursts back into your room with his usual dramatic flair. "So, spill the tea! What did Sukuna say? When's the next hot date?"

You chuckle at his enthusiasm, shaking your head at his antics. "Tomorrow evening. We're going to the parlour after hours."

Gojo's eyes widen in mock surprise. "Ooh, after hours? That's scandalous. Are you sure you're ready for that level of intimacy?"

Rolling your eyes, you play along with his teasing. "It's not like that, Gojo. We're just going to practice tattooing on fake skin."

Gojo raises an eyebrow suggestively. "Sure, sure. Tattooing. I get it. Wink wink."

You laugh, swatting at him playfully. "Stop it, you perv."

Ignoring your protest, Gojo flops down on your bed dramatically. "Seriously though, I'm happy for you. Sukuna seems like a good guy. And hot, let's not forget hot."

"You're not wrong," you admit with a grin, unable to deny Sukuna's attractiveness.

"And what about Geto?" Gojo prompts eagerly, propping himself up on his elbows. "When are you setting me up with him? You promised!"

You shake your head, amused by his persistence. "I'll see what I can do, Gojo. But don't get your hopes up too high."

"I'm counting on you, Y/N," Gojo says dramatically, clutching his heart as if wounded. "My future happiness depends on this."

"Your future happiness depends on many things, but sure, I'll add 'Geto matchmaker' to my list," you reply, teasing him gently.

Gojo grins, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. "You know I trust you with my love life, Y/N. You've got impeccable taste."

"That's debatable," you quip back, enjoying the banter with your friend.

He sits up suddenly, his expression turning serious for a moment. "But seriously, Y/N. I'm glad you're hitting it off with Sukuna. You deserve someone who appreciates your sketches and makes you laugh."

Your heart warms at his sincerity. "Thanks, Gojo. That means a lot."

"Anytime," Gojo says with a grin, returning to his usual playful demeanour. "Now, back to Sukuna and Geto. Double date soon, perhaps?"

You laugh, shaking your head at his relentless matchmaking efforts. "Let's see how tomorrow goes first, okay?"

"Fair enough," Gojo concedes with a shrug. "But just remember, I'm counting on you."

"I won't forget," you assure him, already looking forward to the next chapter with Sukuna and whatever adventures (and matchmaking schemes) Gojo might drag you into next.

taglist - @sad-darksoul @thejujvtsupost @kyo-kyo1

[shitsndgiggs]

Could you do one where reader gets all jealous and when Lamine finally notices he teases her before he assures her that he’s hers ?

A/N: I just realized that I wrote it a little differently. Sorry about that.

YOURS TRULY - LAMINE YAMAL

Watching Lamine being surrounded by touchy fans is never easy

Lamine Yamal x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The event had been a whirlwind of excitement, with fans crowding around for autographs and photos as soon as Lamine stepped into the room.

It was always like this when we went out together—his popularity meant he was constantly in the spotlight, and I had grown used to sharing him with the world. But today, something felt different.

I stood a few feet away, watching as a group of enthusiastic fans gathered around Lamine. They were all smiles and giggles, their admiration for him clear in the way they looked at him.

Normally, I’d find it endearing, but when one of the girls draped her arm around his shoulder a little too comfortably, I felt a pang of jealousy twist in my chest.

She leaned in close, whispering something in his ear that made him laugh. I knew it was harmless, just a fan enjoying a moment with her favorite player, but it didn’t stop the insecurity from creeping in.

Another girl joined in, her hand lingering on Lamine’s arm a bit longer than necessary as they took a picture.

I couldn’t help but notice how close they were standing, and how easily they seemed to forget I was there, watching.

Lamine, always the gentleman, smiled politely and took a step back, gently removing the girl’s hand from his arm.

He was subtle, but I noticed how he made sure to put a little distance between them, respecting my presence even as he entertained his fans.

As the girls finally moved on, giddy with excitement, Lamine’s eyes searched the room until they found mine.

He must have seen the unease in my expression because his smile faltered slightly as he made his way over to me.

“Hey,” he said softly, slipping his hand into mine. “You okay?”

I forced a smile, not wanting to seem upset over something so trivial. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

But Lamine wasn’t convinced. He gently cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing over my skin as he looked into my eyes. “You know you can be honest with me, right?”

I sighed, feeling a bit foolish. “It’s silly, really. I just… I got a little jealous, I guess. Those girls were all over you, and I know it’s part of the deal, but it still bothers me sometimes.”

Lamine’s expression softened, and he immediately pulled me into a warm embrace.

“Hey, it’s not silly at all. I understand why you’d feel that way. But you have to know that you’re the only one I care about like this.”

I leaned into his chest, taking comfort in the steady beat of his heart. “I know. It’s just hard seeing other girls get so close to you.”

He pulled back slightly, tilting my chin up so I had to look into his eyes. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice firm but filled with affection. “You’re the one I’m with, the one I want. Those fans, they admire me for what I do on the pitch, but you’re the one who knows me beyond all that. You’re the one I come home to, the one I love.”

My heart fluttered at his words, the jealousy melting away as he spoke. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” Lamine said, his eyes shining with sincerity. “I wouldn’t want anyone else. You’re mine, and I’m yours. And I’ll always make sure you feel that.”

I felt a smile tugging at my lips as I looked up at him. “I love you, Lamine.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “I love you too. More than anything.”

The kiss was sweet and lingering, a promise that no amount of fan attention could ever come between us. When we finally pulled apart, I felt lighter, the earlier tension completely gone.

“Come on,” Lamine said, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Let’s get out of here. I think we could both use some time alone.”

[anonymous-dentist]

Or: The Vampire Prince has run away from home. Coincidentally, a hot guy has passed out on Roier's doorstep.

For Day One of @ender-princee's QSMP AU Week! Idk how many of these I'm going to do, but I wanted to get at least this one done!

-

Since the death of his son, Roier has spent his days peacefully laying in the pond behind his house and watching the clouds. Sometimes he makes up stories for them, sometimes he fills his mouth with water and waits for his lungs to collapse, sometimes he imagines Jaiden on the shoreline sketching the clouds out with Bobby by her side.

It's pretty chill.

He's alone these days. Kinda? Technically, Jaiden lives with him, but he hasn't seen her since the Federation took Bobby away. He thinks that she has an apartment in the city now. Good for her, honestly. If the city makes her happy, then she should be there.

It's very quiet.

Roier's house is in the middle of the woods miles away from the nearest city. He's close to the border between the Human and Vampire Kingdoms, but he doesn't really get many visitors. And that's fine! Really! He doesn't need visitors, he has his pond, and he has his son's grave to talk to when he's lonely.

Every morning at the crack of dawn, Roier goes to the pond. He gets used to the water's temperature first, and then he flops into it face-first and sucks in enough water to make him choke. And then, once he's sputtering for air, he turns onto his back and coughs the water up and falls asleep. By mid-afternoon, he's inside and completely naked and drying his clothes out and trying not to remember what he shouldn't be. And then, in the evening, he's back in the pond just in case some polite water spirit wants to drown him, and then it's inside for bed.

This morning, though, is weird, because there's something blocking Roier's front door from the outside. After a bit of pushing and grumbling, Roier eventually manages to get the door open just to see... a man. A really attractive man: scars, facial hair, the works. A really attractive man just completely passed out and entirely unconscious on Roier's doorstep.

Roier looks at the man. He's pale- too pale to be human. And, adding in the slight point to his ears, that means that this guy? Vampire, 100-percent. So that's cool.

The sun is about to rise, so Roier decides to do his one good deed of the year, and he drags the vampire into his house. It's entirely too easy to do, the man's so light, but who's Roier to judge someone's eating habits when he's barely been making himself one meal a day since Bobby's death? Could be a similar circumstance, who knows?

Once the vampire is settled on a pile of old blankets near the stove, Roier stands up, cracks his neck, and heads outside to go wallow in the pond.

If there's one thing that Roier is besides a bad father and a brilliant chef, it's punctual.

-

It takes two days for the vampire to wake up, and Roier spends those two days in the pond floating and in the forest hunting. He thinks that vampires prefer fresh blood, but he also thinks that this guy won't care what kind of blood he gets after how long he's been passed out.

And he's right! The second the vampire is awake, he's beelining for the jug of deer blood on the table.

Roier, shirtless and drying his clothes by the fireplace after that morning's soak, hardly reacts to the poor guy guzzling down the blood like it's the first thing he's had to eat in days (mostly because it is the first thing he's had to eat in days.) He isn't naked if only for the vampire's comfort, even if it is a little uncomfortable sitting in wet clothes.

Once the vampire is full, he collapses onto a chair at the table with a groan. He leans back, throws his head back, covers his face with his hands, and groans again.

Me, too, Roier thinks.

(He and this vampire could probably be very good friends.)

"What the fuck?" the vampire moans.

Roier shrugs in response, not expecting to be noticed. Does the vampire even know he's there? Probably, vampires can hear heartbeats and stuff.

Eventually, the vampire looks at Roier through his fingers.

"Dude," is the first thing he says to Roier.

And then:

"Why are you shirtless?"

Now, Roier can't exactly say that he's trying to visit his (dead) son, so he just says, "Fell into the pond, man, what does it matter?"

And then, because he's a bit of an asshole, he teases, "What, are you shy?"

"No! I'm just confused!" the vampire quickly responds. "Like, okay. I fainted outside of your door, I guess? And then I wake up, and you're shirtless. It's just a lot, you know?"

Roier nods. "So you are shy. That's fine, I get it."

The vampire's hands fall from his face, and he looks at Roier with slight confusion, slight annoyance, all handsome.

"Where am I?" he asks.

"My house. We're, uhhh... two days' walk from the border? The nearest city is Quesadilla, that's four days' walk."

"Oh," the vampire quietly says.

He looks around the house curiously.

"And you're human?" he asks.

Roier grins. "Yep! Unless my dads have been keeping something from me, anyway."

The vampire lets out a quiet laugh. And then he winces and presses a hand to his ribs.

Roier politely turns back to the fireplace. None of his business...

"I hate to ask you this, but... can I stay here for a little while longer?" the vampire asks. He sounds pained- out of breath, very tense. "I... may have broken my ribs earlier. When I was. Mm, fuck! Out there."

It's very quiet in the woods now that Roier's son is dead and his co-parent is gone. Roier hates the quiet, but he can't really imagine anything else anymore. He doesn't want his guest asking questions when he sees Roier going outside at dawn.

But, like. He feels bad, okay? He remembers being all alone and hurt in the woods after what Spreen did to him, he knows the pain, he knows how fucking annoying it is to be running through a dark forest with a busted rib and a bleeding hole in his chest and back.

So he nods and says, "Sure, man. Stay however long you want. Just don't eat me, eh? I have people who'll miss me."

(He thinks.)

The vampire audibly rolls his eyes. "Vampires don't eat humans, but I guess I won't eat you. You don't look very tasty, anyway."

Hurt, Roier spins around to shout at him in protest with an, "Ayyy!!!", and thus begins what he's sure will be only the first of many arguments.

-

The vampire's name is Cellbit, and he doesn't ask questions. He sleeps for most of the day and spends his nights in the back garden tending to some wildflowers he's decided to cultivate or inside reading.

On his second day awake, he'd told Roier where he had hidden his bag before passing out, and he'd sent Roier to get it. Roier still doesn't know all of what's inside, but he does know that it's one of those special bags that are bigger on the inside, and that Cellbit has a couple of extra sets of clothes and a lot of books in it. He also has a couple of 'blood supplement pills' that are supposed to make him less hungry, but he says those are for emergencies because "they taste like shit".

Cellbit doesn't say anything about his personal life, and he doesn't explain why he ended up hiding his bag and passing out in the middle of the woods so close to the Vampire Kingdom's border with what has turned out to be several broken ribs and a broken fang and a sprained ankle and a black eye, but that's fine. Roier doesn't need to know, just like how Cellbit doesn't need to know all of Roier's baggage.

For Cellbit's sake, Roier doesn't strip naked in the afternoons when he's drying his clothes. Nah, he changes clothes and lets his wet ones dry outside in the sun. And then he lays outside and dries in the sun, and it's almost as relaxing as laying in the pond is.

It's still quiet, but there's a nice buzz in the background all day that almost reminds Roier of when times were better and his son wasn't dead.

Almost.

-

Just after sunset, Cellbit comes outside to water his flowers.

He lets out a pained breath as he kneels down next to them with his makeshift watering can: an old bowl with a hole cut in it, and an even older cup with holes punched to it stuck onto the side of the bowl.

Roier floats.

"You know," he says, "I can go into the city and get you some actual seeds if you're planning on sticking around."

"I thought you said the city was four days away?"

"Yeah, but it's not like I have anything else to do."

(It would give him an excuse to see Jaiden again.)

"Well. I don't need seeds. I like wildflowers for a reason. They get to just... be. No human intervention." A pause. "Or, well, vampire intervention."

Mmm, that sounds like a metaphor for something.

Cellbit waters his flowers. They're pink little things: ruffly like a skirt with white stripes and big, broad leaves. They're pretty, definitely something Tilín would have liked.

Roier's head bumps against the rocky wall of the pond. He grumbles and uses his hand to push himself back towards the pond's center where it's deepest.

"It's nice out here," Cellbit says. "Maybe I'll build a house here. We can be neighbors!"

Roier smiles at the thought. He moved out here with Jaiden and Bobby to get away from the city and all the bastards in it, but he wouldn't mind some company. He likes Cellbit, he thinks. Definitely neighbor-worthy.

...Though the house will be just that little bit quieter.

Maybe he and Cellbit can have their meals together. Or something.

Cellbit grunts as he stands, and then he hobbles over to the pond and sits down. He pulls his socks and shoes off and puts them next to him, he rolls his pants up to his knees, and then he sticks his feet in the water.

Roier gasps, "What, for free?"

He cackles as Cellbit kicks a wave of annoyed water at him. Some water gets in his mouth, but that's fine. Nothing he isn't used to.

-

Roier goes hunting twice a week so Cellbit has blood to eat. Drink? Feed from? Whatever.

He used to hunt more before he moved into the woods with his family. He and Spreen and Missa and Quackity and Mariana would all go out together to the outskirts of the city and see who could bag the biggest deer or the most rabbits, and it was awesome! Spreen always won, but that was just how it was.

Spreen always won.

Every time Roier carves the heart out of a deer and drains its blood, he pretends that it's Spreen's body beneath him. Spreen's final breaths- panicked and pained and pathetic. Spreen's heart- ugly. Spreen's hand holding his and Spreen's voice begging him to stop and Spreen's voice apologizing but not meaning it, never fucking meaning it, because he went too far and he didn't fucking care and-

And then Roier fills a jug with blood and brings it back to the house. Cellbit only needs to feed once a week, supposedly, but Roier likes having extra blood in the house just in case.

Cellbit seems to appreciate the thought, at least. He always brightens when Roier walks into the house with a fresh jug of blood, and he always tries helping Roier go hunting even though he can barely walk on his fucked-up ankle.

He's sweet. Roier almost doesn't want him to go, but he's going to, eventually.

They always do.

-

Roier needs to go into the city to stock up on medicines for the winter, and he tells Cellbit this and asks if Cellbit needs him to stock up on extra blood before he goes.

"I can just go with you," Cellbit replies. He rolls his ankle around in a small circle. "I'm feeling much better, and I want to get some actual gardening stuff."

'And I'll be lonely without you', Roier knows Cellbit's heart is saying, because his own is saying it, too.

...So maybe they're a little codependent already. But it's been almost two full months of them living together, and they're both two very attractive men, and they're both more than a little lonely.

Roier shrugs and agrees, and that's that.

Four days later, they're in Quesadilla, and Roier is at the pharmacy loading a basket full of everything he thinks he might need for the winter. He gets sick easily, and he gets sick often, and he does not want to die alone in a cabin in the woods during his first winter by himself. That would be embarrassing.

Cellbit is at the garden supplies shop down the road, so Roier is by himself as he waits in line to pay. And, because he's a nosy bitch, he listens as the women waiting in line in front of him gossip.

"It's been two months," one says, "he's definitely dead."

The other rolls her eyes. "Vampires can't die, idiot. He's probably just stuck in a dungeon somewhere."

"No, but he should be dead after what he's done," the first woman sniffs. "I hope the Federation dealt with him properly."

Roier stifles a wince at the mention of the Federation; ugh, he hates those guys!

"I don't know," the second woman sighs, "he is a prince. Are they even allowed to arrest princes?"

"See, this is why I'm glad the Human Kingdom has a council and a king. The Federation can arrest anybody breaking the law, and it'll be fine!"

"Well, at least he wasn't the heir to the throne. The Vampire Princess seems like a much more decent person."

"I mean, if our standards for 'decent' are if they're literally evil, then, sure, she's decent. Better than, uh... what did he do again?"

The second woman looks to the first in confusion. "I thought you knew?"

"I thought you did!"

Ignoring their arguing, Roier sneaks around them to cut in line and pay. Whoever they're talking about, Roier likes him. Anybody Cucurucho hates is a friend of Roier's!

-

Jaiden fills him in via a letter that arrives shortly after Roier and Cellbit return to the house. Roier reads it, and he tries not to look at Cellbit as he does so.

'So here's what I've heard,' the letter says. 'The Federation was interested in opening a branch in the Vampire Kingdom's capital city, and the king and queen were kind of into it. Their kids aren't, though. Princess Bagi wants to establish a more settled list of regulations- which Cucurucho is not into, by the way- and Prince Cellbit has been flat-out just arguing with Cucurucho and the other employees up there.

'But here's the thing, Prince Cellbit hasn't actually been seen in months! Cucurucho says that he's being 'dealt with' by his parents, but everybody knows that he's probably actually dead. It sucks for him, but I don't think he should've argued in the first place. I mean, the Federation does good work. If he hates it so much as to kill workers like everybody thinks he's been doing, then maybe he should be dealt with. Not by being killed, obviously, but maybe prison isn't too crazy. Hopefully that's where he ended up.

'Thanks for visiting, by the way. I missed you. I'll try and visit you before the first snow falls. I want to see Bobby one last time before the Solstice.'

Roier tosses the letter into the fire as soon as he's finished reading it.

-

By the time the first snow falls, Cellbit is fine. His ankle is better, his ribs are better, his eye is better. His fang is absolutely fucked, but he doesn't really need it if Roier is filling jars for him.

The pond, unfortunately, is frozen over. Roier sits by it the way he used to with Bobby back when they'd lace up their skates and get ready to go out onto the ice.

After a couple of minutes of dusk, Cellbit comes out to join him with a small smile. Their arms press into each other, and Roier fights the urge to rest his head on Cellbit's shoulder.

"This is my first winter away from home," Cellbit tells him.

"This is my first winter by myself," Roier tells him.

Cellbit looks mildly offended.

Roier smiles at him and gently nudges his side.

"By myself with you, gatinho," he teases. "How could I forget you?"

Cellbit looks positively regal in the snow. The way it settles in his hair looks like lace, his eyes are already as blue as ice. All he needs is a silvery crown, and he could be the Winter King from all the stories Roier heard when he was a kid.

He rolls his eyes and nudges Roier back.

Roier nudges him again.

Cellbit nudges him again, slightly harder.

Roier nudges him with his hands, pushing him over and into the snow.

Moments later, he's being tackled into the snow by a very chilly vampire. He's absolutely freezing, but his face is still very warm as Cellbit pins him down and looks into his eyes with a smile as wide as his handsome face.

Slowly, Cellbit leans his head down. At the same time, Roier props himself up on his elbows, raising his head to meet him. He moves on instinct, heart pounding, eyes fluttering shut.

Chapped lips brush against his, and Roier feels warm aaaalll over.

-

On the day of the Solstice, Roier visits Bobby's grave with a book. Every year, he and Jaiden and Bobby would snuggle together in Bobby's bed and read A Solstice Song to him; he never got into the Solstice spirit, but he loved the ghosts.

Roier clears the snow off of the bench by Bobby's tombstone. He sits, opens the book, and reads.

Hours later when he's finished, he's crawling into bed shivering and crying. He doesn't look at Cellbit, he doesn't do anything except shed his coat and hat and gloves and shoes and drop the book to the floor and get into bed.

A few very hesitant moments later, Cellbit joins him. He stay sitting up, though one of his hands finds its way into Roier's hair.

"'Fred was dead to begin with'," Cellbit reads, "'There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk,the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Elena signed it. And Elena’s name was good upon ’Change, for anything she chose to put her hand to.'"

Roier turns to hide his face in Cellbit's side, and he cries.

-

Spring comes, and Roier drains the pond to clean it.

It's as he's knee-deep in mud and dead leaves as the sun sets, and that's when Cellbit comes outside with a guilty look on his face.

"I haven't been totally honest with you," he says.

Roier sighs and sticks his shovel down into the much and leans against it.

"Is this about the Vampire Prince stuff?" he asks. "Because I don't care about any of that. You're my gatinho, and that's all that matters."

Cellbit's entire body freezes. He seems to think for a long, long moment before his shoulders start loosening.

"Oh," he says. He's smart, but he's also stupid. He didn't even give Roier a fake name, gods.

Roier takes pity on him and blows him a kiss that Cellbit gladly catches and pulls to his unbeating heart.

"I don't care what you did," Roier gently says. "I don't care what people say you did. I don't care if you're the prince or some homeless guy I took pity on, you're my Cellbit. As long as you don't hurt me, I don't care."

Cellbit's eyes widen immediately in panic. "What? No, never! I'd never hurt you! I'd hurt for you, but never you. Never."

Roier smiles at him. "See? Problem solved. Now, get a shovel, we need this cleaned and refilled before mid-spring."

Cellbit wrinkles his nose at the mess, but he goes to get his gardening shovel from the shed that he and Roier built.

"Why?" he asks. "What's in mid-spring?"

Roier swallows and looks up at the still-setting sun.

"Bobby's birthday," he answers.

He waves to the setting sun. Goodnight, sweet prince.

[see-arcane]

I am almost fine with people saying he has one brain cell, because I have seen dozens of people make the worse claim that he is "an arrogant, smug, proud of his rationality Victorian who laughs at the locals for their superstitions."

It is such a prevalent assesment that it's now considered a core character trait of his. When today's entry indicates nothing of the sort.

UH OH, YOU’VE ACTIVATED MY TANGENT CARD

(Text Brick Incoming)

Jonathan’s fundamental flaw at this stage does involve looking down on or viewing the locals and their traditions as quaint/idolatrous/ridiculous et al. He uses poor terminology too, owing to the Doylist reason of his author’s knowledge and biases, while the Watsonian reason is easy enough to read as Jonathan 1) Having to rely solely on biased/incomplete knowledge from his homeland’s writings on the place and 2) What I think is him trying to overcompensate as a trained reflex

I’ve always pictured Jonathan and Mina as having not only a lower social and monetary standing, but possibly a hindrance of race. (Case in point, I suspect a certain unique prop Jonathan brandishes later on is something he inherited, not something picked up by happenstance.)

That said—they are poor, they are not the idealized picture of the fair English Citizen…but they are both polite, charming, hardworking, and masters of ~making friends~ as a defense mechanism. And I’d bet money that included relying on what few positive nods their peers allowed.

“You’re so nice! So industrious! Your physiognomy really counters your origins! And you are wise enough to look down on those silly foreigners, aren’t you? Of course you are! You’re one of the good ones.”

Now, regardless of what headcanon is landed on as far as race/ethnicity/other backgrounds go, those last points are key. Because they go towards Being a Good Englishman/woman. Being wiser than to buy into fretting non-English superstitions. Knowing to ogle the people of other lands like curiosities in a zoo. Judging people by their face or the shape of their skull. This is the Norm. This is Good of the Victorian Englishman Abroad.

And we see Jonathan hold to all these stereotypes…to a degree. But we see within these same early entries that his instincts and general good nature chafe against that social training. He’s too much himself to do entirely as a Proper Englishman should.

He went out of his way to study all the limited info he had access to, incomplete or half-informed as it was. He delighted in learning everything he could of the places and people as he traveled, wanting to embrace and be educated on the land. And even when a lifetime of advising against it, of insistence upon derision, tried to take over when the crucifix was offered? He still accepted it. He still wears it even when the old woman departs, whether or not he believes in its importance.

And, vitally, his instincts are very Very awake to the fact that Something is Off. A Proper Englishman (and many an oblivious or stubborn dad in a ghostly horror movie) would shrug this unease off at once. But Jonathan doesn’t. He remains on Dracula’s route only because he has no other choice. All he does is mention quietly that he hopes Mina gets his diary if he happens to die on this journey.

Imagine that. Bracing for and acknowledging the sense that You Might Die on This Little Business Trip and just…having to go along with it. Because what will you tell your boss otherwise? What will you tell your fiancée?

These aren’t the concerns of a well-off stuffy snob of a man. It’s the resignation of someone who understands they live on the lowest rung of the ladder and that they will risk losing what little progress they’ve made if they dare to turn back.

As for sneering at the locals’ superstitions, period, consider: How likely would anyone really be to suddenly believe in monsters after coming out of the background Jonathan has? What could possibly have convinced him of the reality of the situation OTHER THAN SEEING IT IN PERSON? (Note, a key plot point for certain other characters later!)

The point of his being unable to take the supernatural aspect at face value is that, well, Why Would Anyone Immediately Jump to a Supernatural Conclusion in His Place?

What possible context does he have here!? Maybe he should have read Dracula first, ha ha—

Oh wait. He can’t do that. Why?

Because this man has never read Dracula BECAUSE HE IS LIVING AND WRITING THE BOOK DRACULA!!

Anyway.

tl;dr: I am very tired of both the Stuffy Victorian Snobprick and Oblivious Idiotbaby takes on my good friend Jonathan Harker

[twst-rose-prisms]

How do you think TWST boys (the ones below 170 cm like Riddle, Kalim, Epel etc.) would act like around s/o who's insanely tall? I keep reading fics that go like "he put your head on his shoulder" even though I'm almost a feet taller than him and I just end wondering how that's possible. (I'm 17 and is 6'5)

Hi hi~ First of all, thank you for your request anon! Sorry if you have to wait long enough cuz I was a bit busy with school 😭 Anyhow, I hope you like this because I put a lot of braincells into it hehe (also anon you're so tall, like literally a head taller than me-)

Twst boys with a partner that's a lot taller than them

Characters: Epel, Lilia, Riddle, Kalim x Reader Genre: Fluff Warnings: None!

🍎Epel

- I feel like he would be conscious of how he looks and his height but doesn't act too worked up over it, so if his partner is hella tall then he probably won't be bothered much unless they tease him about it. However if his partner is both tall and physically strong then he'll be very impressed at their strength instead! Probably asking things like what's their training methods or things like how to improve your muscles, etc. - He probably thinks it's a bit troublesome that he gotta look up to you every time you two are chatting, but as long as there's no teasing at him then he won't pay attention to that much, he won't admit he's secretly jealous of your height though... Okay, he will be, just a little bit, but afterward he just thinks about how cool you are when you always appear a head taller than most people in school and how it's so easy to spot you among the crowd. He seriously wants to be cool like you! - Don't treat him like he's a small, frail boy who needs help every time, that's the top thing on the "Absolute no" list for Epel. Even when you have an advantage in height, so what? He won't let that be a thing for you to make fun of him! In fact, it just gets him even more fired up to work himself better so he can catch up to you quickly! He has a lot of room to grow and he definitely won't give up either. - He definitely boasts about how cool his partner is or how tall they are to others with a proud look on his face. He is lucky for sure to have such an amazing partner like you, no one would ever be able to look down on you (in both ways) and that's what he loves to see! You're so strong and cool... sorry, did he already say that? Well he couldn't help it, you really are in his eyes! - He gonna insist on carrying you a lot of times even though you told him it's not necessary, but he would ask things like "Are you underestimating me?" with one of those "polite smiles" of his just to get you to give up or mess around, and he always success every time he did that. Much to your surprise, he actually might be able to lift you up! And that surprise looks on your face is exactly what he wants, just because you're a head taller doesn't mean he can't be a man around you! He would look super smug about it as he ended up teasing you a bit about this or bringing it up occasionally to see your reaction. He can be a bit of a prankster as a treat~

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🦇 Lilia

- Despite being fairly short, I think Lilia never gets bothered in the slightest mainly because he can teleport or float in the air like a bat he is. So even if his partner is insanely tall, he can just float up to their eye level with ease and even use their shoulders for leaning support. (he's just being the silly he is yknow) - But he would be fairly impressed for sure with how tall you're as you easily stand out in the crowd with your head above others or how easily it is to spot you. He thinks it's cool how humans can be so tall but also so short, it's really fascinating for a fae like him! - He can easily take books from the highest shelf or reach out for that one apple hanging on the tree, but sometimes, this guy would start acting like the tease he is and ask you to get it for him. "But you can just float?" "Hoho, but I'm feeling like walking today though~" and just land on the ground so casually like the prankster he is... as you just sigh and get the thing he requested with ease while the fae chuckles in the background. - He loves surprises, so don't question it if he suddenly floats up and kisses you out of nowhere when you expect it the least. That look of pure shock on your face is just priceless for him, peace and quiet is not an option if you're Lilia's partner no matter how tall you're. He definitely lives long enough to seen and talk to people that are as tall or even taller than you, so he knows how to handle it perfectly or even startle them back. - He also loves messing around, so he'll just appears out of nowhere, his body upside down as you got so startled you nearly froze when your eyes meet each other, and he laughs, like a lot. He just loves it when he can throw you off with such remarks and randomness, just because you're a head taller doesn't mean he can't scare you~ - You can try and surprise him back, maybe when he was being a bit too absorbed into chatting with you about something and you lean in, face inches away from his as both of you just stare at each other for a good second before you lean away and ask him to continue. Believe it or not, Lilia was thrilled at that attempt he ended up laughing like an idiot for a good minute, oh silly you, do that again next time! He'll only end up fascinated by you even more if you act like that, so surprising yet so exciting~

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🌹 Riddle

- He's very conscious of his height and could easily get angry or irritated at the slight mention of it, so I think he would feel even more conscious if his partner is a head taller than him. He always wanted to be the cool, reliable type of boyfriend in his partner's eyes, but to think now they're the taller one, a head taller even... He is not bothered at all. Not at all! - But that doesn't stop him from wanting his partner to depend on him too, considering he's still an honor student and a housewarden, he'll try to look past the height difference between you two and act like a reliable boyfriend and offer to help you out whether with your study or other things. He knows having a tall height has an advantage like be able to reach for high shelves easily, and whenever you do so, he just tries to not get flustered over it and thanks you properly... Don't worry, he's just being a bit shy~ - He hopes that his partner, being insanely tall, doesn't make fun of his height or mention it too often. He'll try to let it slide if you bring it up in a way that doesn't sound irritating to him, he might easily get upset but he always tries his best to not get unreasonably angry at you, that's the last thing he wants after all. - Whenever you two sit next to each other and when he can easily reach your face better, he will take it as a chance to appear more "boyfriend-like" to you... not that he already isn't one, but sometimes he can't help but wish he could reach your face easier so he can kiss them or cup your face better. Occasionally, he would even lend his shoulder for you to lean on too, not only does he feel like he's doing a good job being your partner but also feels taller too somewhat... That's a secret he'll never tell you though. If only he could be as tall as you... but rest assured, he still has more room to grow. (Or at least that's what he likes to believe) - You can be a bit of a tease by leaning down and randomly giving him a kiss, he'll be as red as his hair with those gray eyes looking all shocked! He probably scolds you to not do that so suddenly the next time but don't worry, he's not mad at all~

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☀️Kalim

- He's probably the one that's the most unbothered in this list since he doesn't care for things like height or appearance in general, but he'll definitely be impressed at how tall his partner is and shows it outwardly, he never holds back when it comes to compliments! - Though I think he'll love having a tall partner too as he can ask them to help him reach high shelves or just be able to spot them so easily in the crowd is enough to make him happy! Just imagine a cheery and bright Kalim running towards you from miles away while waving at you with the way your head pops up in a crowd, that would definitely bring a smile to your face for sure!! - He also isn't too conscious of his height or think too much about it, he is pretty carefree overall so it won't be at the top of his head! However, due to your height difference it would be a bit troublesome when he wants to kiss you but he can't... so he came up with a solution to jump up for that! And don't underestimate him, he's good at jumping despite his short height! (As he bounces up the air and you just so happen to lean down, both of your heads collide... Jamil questioned why both of you got a bump with a worrying look but neither of you explained it truthfully which only raised his suspicion even further... Don't tell him okay?) - Piggyback ride? Piggyback ride! Because of your insanely tall height, you definitely can lift him up and he is excited to say the least! He loves being carried around! So whenever he can wrap his arms around you as you carry him and run around the campus, he'll have a really big, happy grin on his face. Either that or you two do a jump challenge of whoever can reach that tree branch better (even though you know it's a surefire win for you) and the winner gets a free coconut juice! Kalim definitely tried his best to win every time despite his short height, and even when he lost he never appeared sad and the total opposite instead, he just has so much fun being around someone cool like you! - He also loves carrying others too, and he would also do the same to you despite your insane height. Similar to Epel, although you keep telling him it's fine but how can you say no after he give you that cute grin full of sunshine... so you just so happen to say yes, and as enthusiastic as he is, he quickly swoops you up off the ground, see, he definitely can carry you with ease! ...And it doesn't last for long as you both fall over to the ground. He felt bad for dropping you like that and quickly apologize before giving you a big grin and a cheek kiss as an apology gift, so cheeky and adorable of him~

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Fun fact: Did you know Ruggie escaped this post with a clutch? He's 171cm, just 1cm away from being in this list~