#my feelings for others are never as intense as their feelings for me and it makes me feel like a bad person

[mononijikayu]

triassic love song — gojo satoru.

“They were together until the very end.” you said softly, your voice carried by the gentle wind. “I hope they’re still together, wherever they are.” The tall man took a deep breath, turning his head to look at you. For a moment, his blue gaze seemed distant, as though he were seeing something—or someone—far beyond the present. But then his lips curled into a small, sad smile.  “They will be, you know?” he replied quietly, his voice deep and filled with a quiet conviction. “Some loves are strong enough to last forever. They…they transcend, even time.”

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation au!;

WARNING/S: edo japan era, nsfw, angst, fluff, romance, hurt/comfort, engagement, hurt, physical touch, implied character death(s), natural disaster(s), mourning, pain, grief, happy ending, depiction of natural disaster(s), depiction of suffering, depiction of character death(s), depiction of violent destruction, depiction of grief, depiction of suffering, mention of implied character death(s), mention of death(s), mention of suffering, mention of destruction, mention of earthquake-related destruction, fiance! gojo, fiance! reader, reincarnated! gojo, reincarnated! reader;

WORD COUNT: 8.6k words

NOTE: this song has ruined me beyond understanding. paris paloma, your album was just insane like im sorry. the fact that she wrote a song about the triassic cuddle inspired me to write something similar and i just??? i can't help myself. ive been so crazy about this song that i just decided, you know what. this is great. this is just something i would in fact like to bawl my eyes out writing. and i did. i did that. and i hope you cry with me and enjoy it. anyway, i love you all so much <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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IT WAS ENJOYABLE TO BE TOGETHER. IIt was forbidden to be together at this time, with the curfew in place, but you couldn’t help yourself. Not when it came to him. The world outside was still, bound by rules meant to keep order, but within the quiet sanctuary of your family estate, the constraints of the outside world seemed distant and unimportant. Inside, warmth and anticipation filled the air, thick as the lingering scent of incense that wafted through the halls. The soft glow of lanterns bathed the room in a warm light, casting shadows across the delicate shoji screens, and reflecting off the polished wooden beams and traditional tatami mats beneath you.

Gojo Satoru sat beside you, his presence magnetic as always, but tonight, something was different. His signature smirk still played at the corners of his lips, and his bright, sparkling eyes glimmered with mischief. But beneath that playfulness was an undeniable depth, a new layer of emotion that wasn’t there before—an unspoken excitement, a shared understanding that you were no longer just childhood friends.

You were now betrothed.

Bound by the ties of engagement that your noble families had arranged, it felt as though a long-awaited dream had finally come true. And though you had known each other all your lives, this new bond between you carried a weight of its own, something that made your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected. The happiness you felt was undeniable, shared in the way Satoru’s hand occasionally brushed against yours, in the subtle glances that said everything words couldn’t.

“You’re quieter than usual, don't you think?" Satoru remarked with a teasing lilt, his voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of something more serious. He leaned in slightly, his gaze locking onto yours, as if daring you to speak first.

You smiled, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks under his intense scrutiny. “I could say the same about you, hm?” you replied, trying to match his teasing tone, though your voice betrayed the flurry of emotions swirling within you.

Satoru chuckled softly, leaning back on his hands, eyes never leaving yours. “Well, it’s not every day you get engaged to your best friend!” he said, his tone light, but his expression softened as his usual bravado gave way to sincerity.

That sincerity took your breath away, and for a moment, the reality of the moment hit you fully. You weren’t just sneaking out to spend time with him as you had countless times before. This was different. This was a promise, one sealed by the love you’d always shared but never fully acknowledged until now.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know?” you admitted quietly, your eyes meeting his. “For us to be more than just... childhood friends.”

Satoru’s playful demeanor softened even more, a rare seriousness taking over his expression as he reached out to take your hand in his. His fingers were warm, and the simple gesture sent a shiver down your spine.

“Me too.” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “For a long time.”

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The world outside was still and silent, but inside this room, the air seemed alive with the energy between you. The gravity of the situation settled in—this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. It was the beginning of something much bigger, something that both excited and terrified you.

“You always did like breaking the rules.” you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension, though your heart pounded in your chest. “Staying out past curfew, sneaking into my room like this...”

Satoru grinned, his usual confidence returning. “I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t, right?” he quipped, though the softness in his gaze lingered. “Besides, how could I stay away from you tonight? Our first night as an engaged couple... I had to be here.”

You laughed, but it was a soft, breathless sound, the kind that came when words failed to fully capture the emotions coursing through you. “I’m glad you’re here, Satoru.” you whispered.

He smiled, that warm, heart-melting smile that was reserved just for you, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered. Not the rules, not the expectations placed on you by your families, not even the looming responsibilities of your engagement. It was just you and him, sharing a quiet, intimate moment that you knew you would cherish forever.

“I brought something for you.” Satoru said after a brief pause, reaching into his sleeve and pulling out a small bundle of paper. “I wrote these for you.”

You blinked in surprise, watching as he carefully unfolded the papers. “Poems?”

He nodded, the tiniest hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks, something you rarely saw from him. “Yeah, don’t laugh!” he added quickly, though the look in his eyes told you he trusted you completely. “I’ve been working on them for a while...”

You took the papers from him, your fingers brushing his as you did. The sheets were neatly folded, each one carefully written in his distinct handwriting. It touched you deeply to know that he had taken the time to craft these for you, that he had poured his heart into something so personal. Something for you, with all his love.

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I could never laugh, my dearest.” you said softly, your voice sincere. “Thank you, Satoru.”

"I made these for you, my beloved." he whispered, pulling out one of the carefully folded parchment from your grasp and unfolded it. "Listen to me, alright?"

His slender fingers traced the delicate paper before he began to read softly, his voice like a gentle breeze:

"Beneath the cherry bloom, I wait  

for you, a light that never fades.  

In silence, your name takes root in my soul—  

a promise written long before time."

His tender words wove into your heart, each syllable filled with the love he had always held for you, now finally given shape. You leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours, comforted by the sound of his heartbeat that matched your own excitement. The future felt certain, and the night was perfect. You kept listening to his voice, letting it guide you into the tender slumber of the night.

Satoru leaned closer to you, watching your expression, his bright blue eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and affection. Your orbs gazed at the tender strokes of his writing.

His calligraphy had always been so beautiful, but to form such words in order to capture not just the feelings he had for you, it was even more beautiful. And to have him read it with such affection, such love — for you and only you…..what could be more beautiful? What could be more perfect, more delightful?

But then, the ground beneath you shifted, a low rumble reverberating through the tatami mats. At first, it was subtle, almost imperceptible, but within seconds, the shaking intensified. It was subtle at first, a low rumble that made the lanterns flicker.

Satoru paused, his brow furrowing. Before you could ask, the ground shook violently, and the delicate house groaned under the pressure. Screams erupted from other rooms, echoing through the halls as the tremor grew stronger.

"Satoru?" you whispered, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest, not from love, but from fear.

He was already moving, his hand gripping yours tightly. “Stay with me, my beloved.” he commanded, his voice steady, though his eyes flashed with a seriousness you had never seen before. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The room shuddered violently as the earthquake hit full force, and you could hear the distant crashing of objects falling in other parts of the house. Screams erupted outside even louder—voices of your family, the servants, all caught in the chaos of the sudden disaster. And then all the sudden, it was eerily quiet. And that made your heart drop to your stomach 

For a moment, you thought that it would finally be over. But then, the earth beneath you trembled once more. You squealed as Satoru let his body encompass your own with the enveloping of his whole body on yours as the world crashed against you both. The walls were swaying left and right, the roof tiles were shattering one after another. It was chaos.

"Hold on to me. Don’t lift your eyes." he said, his voice calm but firm, even as the world quaked around you. “I’ll protect you.”

You clung to him, your heart pounding in fear as the floor shifted beneath your feet. His grip was unyielding, pulling you closer until there was no space between your bodies, shielding you from falling debris as the shaking intensified.

“I’ve got you, my beloved.” he murmured into your hair, his voice steady despite the chaos around you. “D–don’t worry.”

You feared when he stuttered, that he had gotten hurt. But he did not falter. His fingers gently stroked your back, trying to calm your trembling as the earthquake raged on. You could hear the distant crashing of porcelain and wood, your ears ringing from the harsh sounds of the destruction. But in his arms, you felt an odd sense of safety amidst the destruction. Because it was your Satoru holding you, protecting you. Because you’re together. 

As the tremors finally subsided, Satoru’s grip on you loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. His breath was shaky, and when you looked up at him, you saw a rare flicker of fear in his usually carefree eyes. He swallowed hard before giving you a small, reassuring smile. You were still stunned, your head shaking as you tried to make sense of the world.

"Seems like the earth itself wanted to remind us of its power." he joked softly, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. He was just as afraid, perhaps even pained by some injury he would never show you. “We’re….we’re alright, my beloved. Don’t worry.”

You let out a breathless laugh, still clutching his robes as you pressed your forehead against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The night was no longer perfect, but in that moment, with Satoru holding you close, it felt like nothing could tear the two of you apart—not even the earth itself.

The earth, which had momentarily stilled, seemed to shift again beneath you, this time more violently.More catastrophic, more angry and volatile. You screamed as you held tightly to him, his body wrapping itself against you once more. The walls of your room groaned, beams creaking as the tremors returned with a vengeance, fiercer than before. The floor shook so hard you could barely keep your balance, even in Satoru's arms.

He pulled you even tighter against him, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Stay with me. Don’t let go.”

You could feel his muscles tensing beneath his robes, his usually easy going demeanor replaced by something more protective, almost desperate as his entire body forced itself to become a shield against anything against you. What remained standing of your ancestral home rattled more easily around you, dust falling from the ceiling in thick clouds. Outside, the screams grew louder, more frantic as the destruction worsened. Perhaps, it wasn’t even your family any longer. Perhaps it was the town, perhaps it was a neighboring village. You do not know anymore. And that’s what frightened you even more.

You could hear the unmistakable crash of something heavy—perhaps a roof beam—collapsing nearby. Suddenly, a deafening crack split the air. The wide, elaborate shoji doors rattled on their frames before they were blown open by the force of the quake. Your own room felt like it was being torn apart piece by piece. One of the wooden beams above groaned under the strain and, without warning, splintered and fell, hurtling toward the two of you.

Your beloved Gojo Satoru reacted in an instant, pushing you down and covering you with his body just as the beam crashed into the floor where you’d been trying to stand. The air was thick with dust, and the scent of earth and shattered wood filled your lungs, choking you. You shook as your eyes slowly opened to see your fiance pinning you down with his body shielding you.

“Satoru!” you gasped, your hands gripping the front of his robe, desperate to make sure he was unharmed.

“I’m fine, my beloved.” he muttered, though you could hear the strain in his voice. His arm was still braced above you, shielding you from any further debris. His other hand cupped the back of your head, pressing you into the crook of his neck. “We need to move. The house isn’t going to hold.”

You nodded against him, heart pounding in terror. Everything felt surreal, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from. The childhood home that had always felt so safe, so untouchable, was crumbling around you, and the only solid thing left was Satoru. He was all you had, you think. Everything…Everything was gone. Your body was shaking. 

He pulled you to your feet, guiding you toward the door, but just as you reached it, another powerful tremor sent the ground pitching beneath you. You fell forward, and Satoru caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close as the floor buckled and cracked beneath your feet. You could feel the splintering wood beneath your sandals, the whole structure of the house breaking apart beneath the relentless force of the earthquake.

“Satoru, we need to get out—” you started, but your voice was drowned out by the sound of another beam collapsing behind you, followed by a sickening crash from outside the room.

“I know, I know.” he said, his voice tight with focus as he scanned the surroundings. "We’ll find a way out. I promise."

He led you toward the door again, but just as you stepped forward, the entire room seemed to tilt. The floor caved in with a horrific crack, and suddenly, you were falling. Satoru’s grip tightened as you both plummeted into darkness, the floorboards and debris collapsing into the space below.

“Are you hurt?” Satoru’s voice cut through the chaos, his hand cupping your face gently as he pulled you close, checking for injuries in the dim light. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the fear he usually kept hidden so well.

“I’m okay,” you gasped, though your body felt battered and sore.

He exhaled in relief, his forehead pressing against yours for a moment, his breath shaky. “We need to get out of here. Stay close to me.”

Even now, with the world collapsing around you, his determination didn’t waver. He pulled you to your feet once more, and together, you began to make your way through the rubble. The house was a maze of fallen beams, shattered walls, and debris, the once-beautiful estate reduced to ruins in a matter of minutes.

The aftershocks still rumbled beneath your feet, making every step treacherous, but Satoru kept you steady, his arm around your waist, guiding you through the wreckage. The air was thick with dust, and the distant screams of those outside continued, filling you with dread for what might await you once you escaped.

As you neared what used to be the outer courtyard, the quake hit again, this time more violent than any before. The very ground seemed to split open beneath you, and with a loud, earth-shattering roar, the outer wall of the estate gave way. You barely had time to scream before the floor cracked beneath your feet, and you fell into darkness once more.

This time, Satoru’s grip on you tightened, and you felt his body pull you against him, sheltering you as the ground gave way entirely. You hit the ground hard, the pain radiating through your body, but before you could react, you felt the warmth of Satoru’s arms around you, shielding you from the worst of it.

“Don’t leave me.” he whispered, his voice trembling as he held you tighter than ever. “I won’t let anything take you from me—not this, not anything.”

In that moment, as the world continued to crumble around you, his words were the only thing that kept you grounded. No matter what happened next, as long as you were with him, there was still hope. You clung to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his robes, as the tremors finally began to subside, leaving the two of you alone in the wreckage, but together.

You landed hard, the wind knocked out of you as your back hit the ground. The tatami beneath you was torn, and debris scattered everywhere, yet Satoru still held onto you, his arms wrapped tightly around your body, as though his grip alone could shield you from the crumbling world. The force of his embrace had absorbed much of the fall, but the impact still left you breathless. For a moment, everything was a blur—dust and darkness clouded your vision, and the deafening roar of collapsing beams filled the air.

Your body throbbed with pain, and panic surged in your chest, but even through the chaos, the warmth of Satoru’s body against yours anchored you. His presence, solid and unyielding, kept you grounded in the midst of the chaos.

"Satoru..." you gasped, your voice barely audible, but he heard you.

“I’m here,” he whispered fiercely, his voice steady despite the tremors still shaking the earth beneath you. His breath was ragged, but his grip on you didn’t falter. His white hair, now disheveled and covered in dust, clung to his forehead, but his eyes—those impossibly blue eyes—remained focused on you. “Are you hurt?”

You tried to shake your head, but your mind was still reeling, struggling to catch up with what had just happened. The earthquake raged on, though the initial violence of it had passed. The ground trembled beneath you like a sleeping beast disturbed from its rest.

Satoru shifted, pulling you up as carefully as he could. The house around you was nearly unrecognizable—wooden beams had collapsed, shoji screens were shredded, and parts of the roof had caved in. The once peaceful and warm room where you had shared your engagement was now in ruins, littered with broken objects and torn memories.

The sound of screams echoed from outside, faint but piercing. Servants. Family. It was hard to tell who, but the urgency in their voices cut through the haze of shock that clouded your mind. Your breath caught in your throat, panic gripping you once more.

“My family... my parents.” you muttered, scrambling to get up, but Satoru stopped you, his hand on your shoulder, firm yet gentle. “Satoru—”

"Wait," he said softly, though his voice carried the weight of authority. "We need to get out of here first. It’s not safe."

He tried to keep you calm, his steady hands guiding you through the debris, but you could see the tension in his posture. He was on high alert, his senses sharp as he glanced at every unstable beam, every shifting pile of rubble. He was scanning for danger, but more than that, he was trying to protect you from seeing the worst of it—the destruction, the death.

But as you stumbled through the wreckage of what had once been your home, you couldn’t avoid the horrors that surrounded you. Bodies. Littered through the halls, some crushed beneath fallen beams, others lying still in the open. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the world spun around you.

"Satoru..." you whispered, your voice trembling as you pulled away from his protective hold. "Where are they? My parents... my siblings?"

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes darting around, trying to keep you moving forward, away from the bodies, away from the worst of it. But you knew. The silence was louder than any scream. You could feel tears fall from your face and that broke his heart to see.

"Satoru!" you cried, your voice breaking as your legs buckled beneath you. "Where are they?"

He knelt beside you, his hands cupping your face as he gently forced you to look at him. His bright blue eyes were filled with an overwhelming sadness, but he tried to hide it, to be strong for you. He had to be strong. He had to. He can’t be weak, not right now.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But we have to go. We need to find shelter. I’ll take you to my family home. They’ll know what to do.”

You nodded, though the words didn’t fully sink in. Your body was moving on autopilot now, your mind numb to the world as Satoru pulled you back to your feet. With every step, the destruction around you became more apparent, more real. The walls were crumbling, the air thick with dust and smoke, and the scent of burning wood filled your nostrils.

Together, you navigated the ruins of your estate, stepping over debris and through the remains of lives that had been lost in the quake. GojoSatoru kept a firm grip on your hand, leading you with a determination that seemed almost impossible given the circumstances.

But even he couldn’t hide the way his shoulders tensed, the way his jaw clenched when another body appeared in your path, forcing him to shield you from the sight.

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IT WAS A CHALLENGE, TO GO AND LEAVE THE DESTRUCTION BEHIND. The sky deepened into a somber shade of dusk as you and Satoru finally reached the estate’s edge. The once proud gates, symbols of security and honor, now stood twisted and mangled, crumpled by the sheer force of nature’s wrath.

Beyond the gates, the town stretched out in a nightmare of ruin—buildings reduced to heaps of rubble, streets fractured and littered with debris, and the air thick with the lingering scent of smoke and dust. The cries of the wounded and the wails of those searching for lost loved ones echoed through the broken streets, a chorus of despair that filled the silence left in the wake of destruction.

“Keep your head high,” Satoru urged, his voice low but firm as he tightened his grip on your hand. “Don’t look. Just… don’t.”

But it was impossible not to look. How could you not see the devastation, shared by all? Every corner of the town had been touched by this catastrophe, and every person who remained alive carried the weight of loss. It was a destruction understood by all, but none more deeply than you at that moment.

The memory of your home—once filled with laughter, warmth, and the presence of family—now lay in ruins. Your parents, your siblings… their fates were unknown, swallowed by the chaos. You hadn’t seen them, and the hope of finding them alive was growing fainter with every passing moment. Satoru’s words rang hollow in your ears, even as you clung to his hand for strength.

He guided you through the crumbling streets with a fierce determination, always positioning himself between you and the worst of the wreckage. The buildings, once grand and vibrant, had become tombs of stone and wood, each step revealing more of the town’s shattered soul. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, some half-buried in rubble, others left untouched by the debris but claimed by the quake nonetheless. It was too much, too overwhelming.

Every time you stumbled, your legs trembling with fatigue and grief, Satoru was there, catching you before you could fall. His presence was like an anchor, keeping you steady amid the storm of devastation that swirled around you. His hand never left yours, his touch a silent promise that you weren’t alone in this. You didn’t have to face it all by yourself.

The survivors—those who had managed to escape the collapse of buildings or who had emerged from the wreckage—followed behind you, a somber procession of hollow eyes and ashen faces. Their steps were slow, heavy with the weight of shock. No words passed between them, no cries for help—only silence and the occasional sob as they moved like ghosts through the streets, trying to find some semblance of safety, of life, in this broken world.

Your heart ached for them, for their pain, but your own grief consumed you. The memory of your family’s voices, the warmth of your home, felt so distant now, like a dream you had just woken from. And yet, with each step you took beside Satoru, you realized that this nightmare was real, and there was no waking from it.

The earth beneath your feet still trembled occasionally, aftershocks reminding you that the worst might not yet be over. Each tremor sent a fresh wave of fear through your body, your grip tightening around Satoru’s hand. He responded in kind, his hand strong and reassuring, though you could sense the turmoil roiling beneath his calm exterior. His family, too, was somewhere in this mess. Their fate hung in the balance just as much as yours.

As you made your way through the gates, leaving behind the wreckage of your estate, you couldn’t help but glance back one final time. The place where you had grown up, where you had shared laughter, joy, and the news of your engagement just hours ago, was now unrecognizable. In the span of mere moments, everything you had known had been reduced to rubble, leaving behind only echoes of the life you had once cherished.

“Satoru…” your voice cracked as you spoke his name, the words barely audible over the distant cries. He stopped, turning to look at you, his eyes softening with concern.

“I know,” he whispered, his hand brushing against your cheek, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall unnoticed. “I know it’s hard. But we’ll make it through this. We have to.”

His resolve was unshakable, but you could see the grief hidden behind his determination. He was trying to be strong, not just for himself, but for you. His family’s estate lay ahead, yet you both feared what you would find when you arrived.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the land in shadow, you continued onward, the fire of Satoru’s presence the only thing keeping you from sinking into despair. The path was treacherous, littered with fallen beams and shattered stone, but Satoru led the way with careful, deliberate steps. He kept you close, his arm around your waist now, guiding you over the broken streets as you navigated what felt like the remains of the world.

Every glance revealed more heartache—broken homes, toppled lanterns, and the pale, lifeless faces of those who hadn’t made it. But Satoru never let you linger, gently urging you forward each time your gaze began to drift toward the horror around you.

Finally, you reached his family’s estate. Or what remained of it. The grand structure that had once stood proud and formidable was now a heap of collapsed roofs and shattered walls. The once beautiful garden, where you had shared many moments of happiness, was now a twisted, chaotic mess of uprooted trees and scorched earth.

Satoru stood still for a moment, his eyes scanning the destruction with a silent, composed fury. The pain was etched into his expression, though he quickly masked it as he turned to you, his voice low but firm.

"We’ll make it through tonight," he said. "We have to survive, no matter what."

In that moment, even as the world crumbled around you, there was no fear in his eyes—only determination. For now, all you could do was follow him. Follow him through the darkness, trusting that somewhere, beyond the destruction, hope still lingered. 

As you finally reached the outskirts of the Gojo estate, the enormity of the destruction hit you again. The town below had not been spared either. Smoke rose in the distance, and the ground was littered with rubble, buildings half-collapsed, and people wandering aimlessly, searching for loved ones.

Satoru didn’t hesitate. He pulled you forward, his grip never loosening as he led you through the streets toward his family’s home. But when you arrived, the sight that greeted you was even more devastating.

His family estate, much like your own, had been reduced to little more than a broken shell. The grand gates had collapsed, and the once beautiful gardens were torn apart, now little more than mounds of earth and stone. The house itself had fared no better, with parts of the roof caved in and walls shattered.

Satoru’s face paled as he took it all in, his hand tightening around yours in a desperate attempt to remain calm. But you could see it in his eyes—the grief, the disbelief. This was his home. His family. And now, it is gone.

For a long moment, he stood still, his gaze fixed on the destruction before him. His breathing was shallow, his grip on your hand tightening almost painfully. But then, with a sharp breath, he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

As you both began your journey toward the Gojo family estate, the weight of the day settled heavily on your shoulders. But Satoru’s hand never let go of yours, a silent promise that even in the face of unimaginable loss, you would survive this—together.

When you and Satoru finally reached the outskirts of his family estate, the sinking feeling in your chest returned with full force. What should have been a place of refuge, a sanctuary from the horrors you had just fled, was nothing but devastation. The Gojo estate, once majestic and proud, had fallen to the same fate as your home.

The gates were twisted and mangled, barely hanging from their hinges, and the walls that had once stood tall now lay in heaps of rubble. Smoke rose from what remained of the manor, a bitter scent of burning wood and stone hanging in the air. The destruction was so complete, so absolute, that it felt like the very earth had swallowed everything whole. The silence was deafening.

Gojo Satoru froze at the sight, his grip on your hand tightening until it almost hurt. You looked up at him, but his expression was unreadable, his usual brightness dulled to a vacant stare. His family, his home....everything he had known, everything he had grown up with. All was gone. Nothing was left but the earth where it all once stood.

You tried to say something, to offer words of comfort, but the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak. More tears could only pour out of your eyes from then on. All you could do was squeeze his hand, hoping he would feel your silent support. He didn't need to hear your words right now; he just needed to know you were there.

For a moment, he stood motionless, his blue eyes scanning the destruction as if trying to comprehend it, trying to find any sign of life among the wreckage. But there was nothing. Just like at your estate, the earthquake had consumed everything.

Finally, Satoru exhaled a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. But even in his grief, he didn’t break. He couldn’t—not with you depending on him. He glanced down at you, his eyes softening with a kind of sadness you had never seen in him before. 

Satoru stopped for a moment, turning to you with a look of determination in his eyes. “We’ll make it through this,” he promised, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed the fear he was trying so hard to hide. “We’ll get some place safe here, and I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you again. You hear me?”

You nodded, though the world felt unsteady beneath you. The future that once seemed so bright, the engagement that had filled your heart with hope, now felt overshadowed by the tragedy that had befallen your lives. Still, with Satoru’s hand wrapped securely around yours, you knew one thing for certain—no matter what came next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

“We need to stay warm tonight.” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not safe to wander around in the dark. We’ll make a fire here, and then tomorrow, we’ll figure out what to do.”

He led you to a relatively clear patch of ground, away from the worst of the rubble. The sky was darkening, and the air had grown cold, a biting wind cutting through your torn clothes. Satoru quickly set to work, gathering what dry wood he could find, his movements steady and focused despite the grief that must have been tearing him apart inside.

You watched him in silence, too exhausted to help, too numb from everything that had happened. When the fire finally sparked to life, its warmth was a welcome reprieve from the cold that had settled deep into your bones. You sat beside him, huddled close to the flickering flames, the only source of light in the endless night.

Your Satoru didn’t speak for a long time. He simply stared into the fire, his expression distant, lost in thoughts you couldn’t fathom. His hands, usually so relaxed and playful, were tense, gripping his knees as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.

But then he turned to you, his gaze softening when he saw the exhaustion written on your face. Without a word, he pulled his outer robe from his shoulders and wrapped it around you, tucking it gently against your chin. He tried to do it, smiling like nothing happened. As though to comfort you even in all this suffering. And yet, you could see it all in his eyes. He was exhausted, he was in pain. And he didn’t know what to do.

“Sleep, my beloved.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’ll keep watch.”

You wanted to protest, to tell him that he needed rest just as much as you did, but your body betrayed you. The exhaustion, the grief, the sheer weight of everything you had been through—it was too much. You nodded weakly, laying your head against his shoulder as you curled into the warmth of the robe.

Satoru shifted slightly, easing you into a more comfortable position so you could lie down near the fire. His hand rested on your arm, a protective gesture that reminded you of his earlier promise. Even as the world fell apart around you, Satoru Gojo was still there, watching over you.

As you drifted off to sleep, lulled by the crackling of the fire and the steady rise and fall of his breathing, Satoru leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. His lips lingered there for a moment, as if he were afraid to pull away, afraid that something might take you from him if he let go.

“I’ll keep you safe, my beloved.” he whispered against your hair, his voice trembling with the weight of his vow. “No matter what happens. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

The fire flickered, casting shadows across his face, but his resolve was unshakable. He couldn’t save everything—his home, his family—but he would save you. That much, he was certain of.

As you slept, Gojo Satoru remained awake, his eyes scanning the horizon, alert for any sign of danger. The devastation around him was complete, but his focus never wavered from you. You were his world now, the one thing he had left in the midst of the ruin.

The night stretched on, cold and unforgiving, but Satoru didn’t move from his spot by your side. Even as the grief gnawed at him, even as the weight of everything he had lost threatened to crush him, he stayed strong. For you. Because no matter what came next, no matter how uncertain the future had become, Gojo Satoru had made a promise—and he would keep it.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

THE YEAR 2018 WAS AN INTERESTING YEAR FOR DISCOVERIES. You remember reading about it in the newspaper on your way to university—the discovery of two lovers found in an eternal embrace, huddled together in a shoreline cave, their bodies preserved for three hundred years by the elements that had claimed their lives. 

The volcanic eruption, the earthquake, and the tsunami that had ravaged Japan centuries ago were some of the worst disasters the country had ever known, obliterating entire villages and swallowing countless lives in an instant. And yet, even in the face of such unimaginable destruction, these two had remained together, their bond undisturbed by the passage of time.

Standing quietly in front of the memorial, you felt the weight of their story settle around you. The air was still and somber, carrying with it the distant hum of waves crashing along the shore. The stone monument before you was simple yet profound—a silent marker of the love these two souls had shared, a love that had endured in the most unimaginable of circumstances. Their bodies had been found in the ruins of a household long buried by the mud and debris, a household much like the ones surrounding this coastline, now reduced to scattered memories.

You had followed the story from the beginning—the day the archaeologists uncovered them from the earth, the painstaking care they took in revealing the remains. The headlines had drawn attention, not because of the tragedy alone, but because of the story those two bodies told.

There were no names. No clues as to who they had been, what their lives had looked like before the disaster struck, or even how they had ended up in each other’s arms when the end came. But it didn’t matter. Their identities weren’t needed to understand the significance of what had been found. What mattered was that they had faced their final moments without fear. They had faced the end together, with love.

It was that thought—the resilience of love in the face of overwhelming disaster—that had touched you most deeply. In a world where so much is fragile and fleeting, the strength of their connection had remained, even after centuries had passed. It was as if their love had transcended the destruction, as if they had chosen to defy the disaster by holding on to one another in their last breath.

You stepped forward, placing your hands together in silent prayer. You wished them peace, a kind of peace that transcended the tragedy of their death, that honored the love they had shared.

You prayed that their spirits had found rest, and that wherever they were now, they were still together, watching over the place where they had once stood. The offering you placed at the memorial was simple, a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, symbolizing purity and remembrance.

"I pray that you'll always be together, the two of you." you murmured, your voice soft, barely louder than the breeze that rustled through the trees around the monument. "Wherever you are, I hope you’ve found peace, and that your love is still as strong as it was in those last moments."

You stayed there for a while, the silence of the memorial surrounding you, offering its quiet comfort. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the scene, a contrast to the deep sense of loss the place carried. But you didn’t feel sadness. Instead, there was something almost beautiful about it—knowing that even in the face of disaster, these two had been together, and their love had transcended time. As you prepared to leave, footsteps approached from behind. You turned slightly, curious to see who else had come to visit this quiet, forgotten place.

A man with striking white hair and bright blue eyes under the rim of his glasses stood at the edge of the memorial, his head bowed in silent prayer. He was tall, his presence commanding even though he moved with a quiet grace. His features were sharp, but softened by a kind of deep, unspoken sorrow. He knelt down beside the monument, laying a single white flower on the stone, his fingers brushing the surface with reverence.

You watched him for a moment, feeling an inexplicable sense of familiarity, though you couldn’t quite place it. The way he stood there—tall and composed, with an air of quiet reverence that just seemed to draw you in.

There was something almost ethereal about him, as if he was intrinsically linked to the story of the lovers you had come to honor. The connection felt deeper than mere coincidence, as though his presence was a significant part of the narrative that had touched you so profoundly.

His white hair glowed softly in the fading light, and his posture was relaxed yet dignified, embodying a calmness that contrasted sharply with the turmoil you had felt as you reflected on the lovers’ fate.

His eyes were closed in prayer, his face serene, as if he was offering a deeply personal tribute to the souls who had been found together in their final moments. The sense of connection was so strong that you could almost feel it emanating from him, a silent bridge spanning the centuries between his presence and the lovers' tragic end.

You hesitated, not wanting to intrude on his moment of solitude. Yet, there was something compelling about the situation—an unspoken invitation to acknowledge the shared significance of this place and the story that bound them all together. Your curiosity and empathy drove you to speak, despite the quietude that hung between you.

“Excuse me.” you began softly, breaking the stillness of the memorial. Your voice was gentle, barely a whisper against the backdrop of the crashing waves. “I couldn’t help but notice… There's something about you that feels so familiar, so connected to this place. I… I’ve been deeply moved by the story of the lovers found here, and I can’t shake the feeling that you share a connection with them.”

The man turned toward you, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of surprise and understanding. He seemed to consider your words for a moment, his expression thoughtful and measured. There was a softness in his gaze, as if he had been waiting for this moment, this conversation, even if he didn’t quite know why.

“Oh.” Gojo Satoru whispered back, his cheeks tinged with a flush of surprise, as if your words had caught him off guard. He seemed momentarily at a loss, his usual confidence replaced with a bashful vulnerability. “Yeah, I… I saw the news, and I thought, I just had to come. It felt… it just felt right, you know? To come here and see them off, to wish them well.”

There was a sincerity in his voice, a raw honesty that struck a chord. You could see that this wasn’t just a casual visit for him; it was something deeply personal, a moment of reflection and respect that went beyond mere curiosity.

“I see…” you mumbled, your gaze softening as you looked at him. A smile slowly spread across your face, touched by his heartfelt gesture. “That’s kind of you to do.”

Gojo Satoru shook his head slightly, a rueful smile on his lips. “Ah, not… not really,” he said with a sigh, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “If anything, I think you were more kind. You brought them white chrysanthemums and everything. You probably had more of a proper prayer for them than I did.”

You waved off his comment with a small laugh, the sound light and airy in the quiet of the memorial. “Oh, not at all. I think… I think your intention was purer than mine. You came here just on a feeling, an instinct that something was right about being here. I was… I was interested historically before I was here emotionally, you know?”

His eyes met yours, a flicker of understanding passing between you. “I guess we both had our reasons,” he said softly. “But in the end, it’s the connection that matters. Whether we came here out of personal feelings or historical interest, it’s our respect and acknowledgement that count.”

You nodded, feeling a shared sense of purpose in your conversation. There was something profoundly meaningful about how your paths had crossed at this place, driven by a mutual respect for the story of the lovers and a desire to honor their memory. The distinction between your reasons for being here seemed to dissolve in the face of a greater truth—that both of you were here because of a deep-seated respect and a wish to pay tribute to the enduring power of love.

“So……” Gojo continued, a slight smile returning to his lips, ���I’m glad we met here. It feels like the right place for this kind of encounter, don’t you think?”

You agreed, feeling a warmth in his words. “Yes, it does. It’s like the universe brought us together in this moment to remind us of something important.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, something like that. It’s nice to know that even after so much time, and despite all the changes and challenges we face, there are still moments that can bring people together in such a profound way.”

You stood together in silence for a moment, the weight of your shared understanding settling around you. The memorial continued to stand as homage to the lovers’ eternal bond, and in that quiet, sacred space, you felt a connection that transcended all the limits given by the bountiful universe.

“They were together until the very end.” you said softly, your voice carried by the gentle wind. “I hope they’re still together, wherever they are.”

The tall man took a deep breath, turning his head to look at you. For a moment, his blue gaze seemed distant, as though he were seeing something—or someone—far beyond the present. But then his lips curled into a small, sad smile. 

“They will be, you know?” he replied quietly, his voice deep and filled with a quiet conviction. “Some loves are strong enough to last forever. They…they transcend, even time.”

There was something in his tone, a weight to his words, that made you wonder if he was speaking from experience. You gave him a respectful nod, choosing not to pry into the emotions that seemed to flicker beneath his calm exterior.

The two of you stood there in silence for a while longer, both paying your respects to the nameless lovers who had defied death with their love. The sun continued to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the memorial. Finally, the man rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes before turning to you.

“Take care, stranger.” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that contrasted with the sorrow that had lingered moments before. Then, with one last look at the monument, he began to walk away, his white hair catching the fading light like a beacon.

As you watched him go, something tugged at your heart. You didn’t know who he was, but in that moment, you felt as though you had shared something important with him—an unspoken understanding of love and loss, of holding on to someone even when the world falls apart around you. 

Somehow, there was something stirring within you—a feeling that you couldn’t let him just walk away, not without knowing more. There was something about him, an invisible thread connecting you, as if fate had brought you both to this quiet place for a reason.

"Wait! Hey, mister!" you called out softly, taking a few steps toward him. The man paused, turning back to face you, his expression curious but calm.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. But then, with a gentle smile, you extended your hand. "I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself. My name is……"

He looked at you for a moment, as if weighing whether to reciprocate. Then, with a small, almost teasing smile, he took your hand in his. His grip was warm, steady, and comforting in a way that felt strangely familiar.

"I'm Gojo Satoru." he said, his voice smooth, yet laced with something deeper, as if his name carried a history he didn’t fully reveal.

The name hung in the air between you, and for a brief moment, you felt a flicker of recognition. But it was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had come. You smiled politely, though something about the way he said it, the way his gaze softened as he looked at you, made you feel like there was more to his introduction than simple formality.

"It's nice to meet you, Satoru." you replied, feeling a strange sense of ease as you spoke his name. There was something about the way it rolled off your tongue, as if you'd said it a thousand times before.

He tilted his head slightly, his sharp, crystal-blue eyes studying you with an intensity that was both disarming and oddly reassuring. It was as if he could see beneath the surface, understanding more than what was immediately apparent. Yet, instead of feeling exposed, you felt a sense of comfort, a silent acknowledgment that he grasped the depths of your emotions and thoughts.

With a gentle, almost shy smile, Gojo Satoru reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, extending it toward you. “Put your number in,” he said, his voice tender and inviting. “I think… I think you know more about this story than I do. I’d like to know more, if you’re willing to share.”

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the request, but the sincerity in his voice and the warmth of his smile compelled you to act. With a nod, you took his phone from him and began to enter your contact information, a small flutter of excitement rising in your chest. There was something intriguing about the prospect of continuing this conversation, of sharing more about the story that had brought you both here.

When you handed his phone back to him, a playful grin appeared on your face. “It’s your turn,” you said, taking out your own phone and extending it toward him.

Gojo Satoru chuckled softly, his eyes lighting up with amusement as he looked at your phone. “Well, alright.” he said, taking it with a mock sigh of resignation. “If you insist.”

As he entered his number into your phone, the atmosphere between you shifted from one of solemn reflection to one of friendly connection. The small act of exchanging numbers felt like a bridge, linking your shared experience at the memorial with the potential for future conversations and deeper understanding. Maybe, just maybe — you’ll understand life the way these two in front of you did. Just maybe.

When he handed your phone back to you, he looked at you with a genuine smile. “Thanks for sharing this moment with me. It’s been… meaningful. I’m glad we crossed paths today.”

You smiled back, feeling a warmth in your chest that came from more than just the shared experience. “I’m glad too. It’s not every day you meet someone who understands the significance of something like this so deeply.”

Finally, Satoru spoke again, his tone lightening slightly. "Well, I should be going. The train is leaving soon. But... It was nice meeting you." He paused, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "Maybe we’ll see each other again."

You smiled, feeling the same unspoken connection. "I’d like that."

With one last look at the memorial, Satoru turned and began to walk away, his white hair catching the fading light of the day. You watched him go, a strange sense of calm settling over you.

As you stood there, the weight of the lovers' story still fresh in your heart, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last time you would see Gojo Satoru. Something told you that your paths would cross again, in ways you couldn’t yet predict.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the memorial, you whispered one final prayer—not just for the nameless lovers, but for yourself, and perhaps for Satoru too.

"May we all find each other, in every lifetime."

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

By Wednesday afternoon the whole of Hawkins High had exactly one piece of gossip on their minds.

You and Eddie Munson. Specifically you and Eddie Munson appearing hand in hand that morning, much to the shock and in Jason's case worst nightmare.

No one had to know that the little show you were putting on was fake...

It had been your idea to approach Eddie and casually bring up the subject of fake dating. Because why not piss off a mutual enemy? You knew Eddie couldn't stand Jason and vice versa.

Plus it might be the little bit of vengeance you had been waiting to exact on Jason for months now; ever since he had tried to get you to date him.

When you refused he took great delight in humiliating you. After months of bidding your time you figured out the perfect way to get back at the asshole.

Naturally Eddie was suspicious when you approached him. Not that you could blame him. It's not like the two of you ever interacted. You weren't super popular or anything but you were friends with Chrissy and Jackson.

So yeah, you totally understood why he was hesitant to talk but he quickly came round to your way of thinking.

"I like the way you think sweetheart and anything that pisses Carver off is good in my book. What are the rules though? Like kissing and shit like that?" you nod and count the rules.

"Kissing is okay, I mean it has to be believable. Holding hands, hugs. I swear he watches me like a creep all the time and since I turned him down he's been even more of an asshole, maybe if he thinks I'm seeing someone, especially his enemy he will leave me alone" Eddie frowns then his eyes light up with mischief.

"Well that's even more of an excuse to piss him off. I'm in sweetheart" the two of you shake hands and you smirk.

"Pleasure doing business with you Munson"

...

From the minute that the two of you started introducing your "relationship" to the world it caused an uproar in the high school gossip chain.

Jason as expected was fuming and Eddie found it hilarious. He made a show of fawning over you and calling you "milady", doing sweet gestures (kissing your hand and calling you princess was one of your favourites)

He was hilarious, snarky and sarcastic and you actually liked spending time with him.

Your first kiss with Eddie is meant to be something that's quick and done just to advance your "relationship" but the minute Eddie's lips met yours it was intense and passionate, honestly it blew your mind a little bit.

It's not like you didn't notice how handsome Eddie was. He was gorgeous. Even some of the girls who ridiculed him and called him a freak mentioned how hot he was. So it's not like you were blind to his charms. His goofy, overdramatic and passionate gestures never failed to hold your attention.

The two of you were having fun and yeah you liked spending time together but that's all it was. Or at least, that's what you kept telling yourself.

...

It was a rowdy lunch at Hellfire Club as usual, you were perched on Eddie's knee and listening to the chatter while ignoring Jason's glare in your direction.

Thankfully he seemed to be leaving you alone...at least for now. Who knew how long that would last? The current conversation takes your mind off Jason and you focus on that.

"Don't you two ever get mixed up sometimes? I mean the two of you get pretty close all day?" Gareth asks curiously. Eddie shrugs and you find yourself feeling sick with anticipation for his answer.

"It's just fake. It's not as if we have real feelings for each other or anything" Eddie waves off Gareth's concerns and something inside you breaks.

Of course that's how he felt. It was like a cold dose of reality and boy did it hurt. It was so easy to lose yourself in this, for the lines of fake and reality to blur.

Faking a smile you nod along and then bury your head in Eddie's chest, he probably thinks you're doing this to annoy Jason but it's so he doesn't see your tears.

You were so stupid for falling for Eddie when all of this didn't mean anything to him.

...

Yes I will be expanding on this if people want that 🥰❤️

[2amriize]

˚⟡˖ RIIZE angry confessions

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist genre angst, fluff pairing riize x reader

ᯓ★ SHOTARO

Shotaro had been in love with you for a while, but he always felt that you only saw him as a good friend. Because of this, he decided not to confess his feelings. You two had known each other for years, and although he only realized his feelings a few months ago, he had always felt a bit strange when he saw you with other guys. Back then, he didn't admit it, but he was jealous. He couldn't understand why, despite laughing with him more than anyone else, you still seemed to prefer other guys. Deep down, he felt like he wasn't enough.

Since he realized he was in love with you, you hadn’t mentioned liking any other guys, so Shotaro hadn't felt jealous in a while—until it happened.

One day, while you were having an afternoon snack at a café with Shotaro, something you did often, you spotted a guy from your class who you thought was really cute entering the café. You couldn’t help but feel nervous.

"Oh my god..." you murmured, trying to look away.

“What’s up?” Shotaro asked, turning to see what had caught your attention.

“It’s that guy from my class… He’s…”

“Oh, do you have a crush on him?” Shotaro glanced at the guy for a few seconds before turning back around and letting out a small sigh. “He’s not good for you.”

“Huh? Why do you say that?”

“He looks like trouble. And I don’t think he’s right for you.”

Shotaro had never said anything like that to you before, and it made you a bit angry. What was he implying?

“Since when do you care about what's good for me, Shotaro?” you asked, giving him a serious look, clearly upset by his words. He looked back at you in silence for a few seconds.

“Since I…” He bit his lip and shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“Since what, Shotaro? Why do you suddenly care about the guys I like? It’s none of your business…”

“Because I’m in love with you, Y/N!” Shotaro cut you off, standing up and looking at you intensely. “That’s why, alright? Are you happy now?” He grabbed his things and stormed out of the café.

ᯓ★ EUNSEOK

It was the way Eunseok looked at you that made everyone else realize how much he liked you. Well, everyone except for you. From the moment he met you, Eunseok knew he had feelings for you, but there wasn’t much he could do about it because at the time, you were dating someone else.

When you broke up with that guy, Eunseok was there for you whenever you needed him, supporting you. But that was all he could do—be by your side—because he felt like you didn’t see him the same way he saw you. Even though everyone always mentioned how Eunseok looked at you, you would always reply with, “I don’t know why everyone keeps saying that, Eunseok looks at everyone like that…”

To be honest, sometimes you had thought about it—whether Eunseok really had feelings for you like everyone said—but it didn’t make sense to you, so you would quickly brush it off. On the other hand, Eunseok was finding it harder and harder to contain his feelings. It never seemed like the right moment to confess, especially since you had been going through an on-again, off-again relationship with the same guy for a while, something Eunseok couldn’t stand.

“You got back with him again?” Eunseok asked with a sigh as you both sat on the grass at a friend’s birthday party. You had stepped outside to get some fresh air.

“Yeah… I feel like it’s what I should do.”

“Why, Y/N? Sometimes you make the dumbest decisions…”

“Excuse me?” You looked at him, surprised by the way he spoke. Eunseok had always supported you, and this was the first time he sounded frustrated. “It’s not dumb…”

“Isn’t it? To keep chasing after someone who doesn’t treat you the way you deserve?”

“What do you mean, Eunseok? He treats me well… we just have a few little fights sometimes. Besides, I go back to him because he’s the only one who cares about me at the end of the day, because…”

“Oh my god, Y/N, how can you be so blind?” Eunseok interrupted, looking at you with clear frustration.

“What…?”

As he stood up to go back inside, he murmured, “I don’t understand how you can’t see that the person who loves you the most is right in front of you…”

ᯓ★ SUNGCHAN

Sungchan had been looking out for you since day one. You had known each other since elementary school, and ever since then, you had always been together. He was always by your side, making sure you were okay and safe. You two spent so much time together that people who didn’t know you well often thought you were dating, something you always denied immediately to avoid awkwardness.

Sungchan never took it personally when you denied it—he tried to brush it off quickly—until it happened in a situation unlike any other before. You had never had a boyfriend, mostly because you hadn’t really been interested in any guys… until now. There was this one guy you’d been noticing lately, someone you found intriguing, but you hadn’t told anyone about it because it made you a little shy.

To your surprise, your friends invited this guy to a lunch gathering that you and Sungchan were also attending. When you saw him approaching with your friends, you couldn’t hide your nervousness, which Sungchan immediately noticed. And, as usual, the guy asked how long you and Sungchan had been together.

“No, him and me? We’re not a couple. Not at all. Never,” you said quickly, letting out a nervous laugh.

Sungchan stared at you in silence. He couldn’t believe what you had just done. Normally, you would simply say, “No, we’re just friends,” but this time, it felt like you had overreacted, and it hurt him. As you continued talking more with the guy, Sungchan started to feel left out (and jealous), so he let out a small laugh and walked away to another spot.

It took you a few minutes to realize Sungchan was no longer there, behind you, where he had always been. Confused, you quietly excused yourself from the group to go find him. After searching for a bit, you finally found him leaning against a tree, sipping his drink. You approached and touched his shoulder, and he looked at you with an expression you had never seen on him before.

“Why did you leave, Sungchan? Did something happen?”

“It seemed like you didn’t need me there anymore,” he said, turning his gaze away from you.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t know you hated the idea of people seeing us as a couple… or rather, that he saw us as a couple.”

“Sungchan, you know that’s not it. We’re not dating, you know? I always say the same thing. I don’t get why you’re acting like this now…”

“I’ve been following you around like a lost puppy since the day we met, yet you couldn’t see?” Sungchan turned to face you, locking eyes with you for a few seconds.

“What… what do you mean…?” you murmured, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“It’s… nevermind,” he said, walking away.

ᯓ★ WONBIN

Wonbin was a friend of one of your friends, and although you had met him several times before, you didn’t really start talking until a few months ago. To both of your surprise, you had a lot of common interests, which meant you had been talking more and more lately.

Whenever you hung out with your group of friends, it wasn’t unusual for you and Wonbin to spend the entire time together, which led to people starting to suspect there was something going on between you two. However, everyone knew that you had been interested in another guy for a while, a guy who constantly gave you mixed signals. But you were so blinded by the way he treated you that you couldn’t see he was just playing with your feelings.

This was something Wonbin knew, and it was starting to bother him more and more. At first, he didn’t care much, but the more he got to know you, the more frustrated he became with how this guy was treating you. And that’s when he realized that maybe he didn’t see you just as a friend anymore. The moment he came to that realization, he regretted it, knowing that you only had eyes for someone else, and he felt like you’d never notice him.

One evening, you were hanging out with your friends, and for some reason, you all decided to drink. Wonbin wasn’t very good at drinking, so it didn’t take long for him to get tipsy, his cheeks flushed. When Wonbin got drunk, he became even more affectionate than usual. You had also been drinking, but it didn’t affect you as much.

At one point, Wonbin went outside to get some fresh air because he was feeling a bit dizzy, and you followed him to check if he was okay. While outside, you started talking about the guy you liked, and unlike usual, Wonbin didn’t respond or pay much attention. When you noticed he was staring off into the distance, you looked at him.

“Wonbin? Are you okay?”

He stared at you for a few seconds, and just when it seemed like he was about to say something, he sighed and buried his face in his hands, muttering, “Do you like that guy so much that you can’t see what he’s doing to you?”

“Huh? What are you talking about, Wonbin? He treats me really well…”

“Yeah, that’s what you think…”

“You don’t have the right to talk about him like that when you don’t even know him,” you said, getting annoyed at how Wonbin was speaking badly about him.

After a few seconds of silence, Wonbin looked at you and shook his head.

“…This is why I knew I shouldn’t have gotten close to you.”

“What are you talking about, Wonbin?”

“I just… wish you wouldn’t keep seeing that guy.”

“You don’t have the right to say that.”

“I wish I did.”

ᯓ★ SEUNGHAN

Everyone, even you, knew how much Seunghan liked you. But you always ignored his feelings because you preferred not to face that reality. You had been friends for so many years that you didn't want to risk your friendship over it. Still, you couldn't deny that you treated him differently from everyone else, being much more affectionate and always relying on him when you needed someone. Seunghan was always there for you, no matter what. It didn’t matter if you were on the other side of the city and only needed a pen—he would come and bring it to you. That’s how much you meant to him, and everyone could see it.

That’s why, when he heard from others that you were starting to get to know another guy, he felt his heart break a little. He knew you two weren’t a couple and that he had never confessed his feelings, but it still hurt to find out from someone else, especially when you knew how he felt. The thought of you with another guy was something he couldn't stand.

He tried to distance himself from you for a while after hearing the news, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t say no when you asked him to pick you up from class to take you home, even though he knew you probably had an important date. Despite knowing this date might be with the other guy, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse, so he picked you up just as you had asked.

The whole ride, he was quiet and serious, something you found odd since Seunghan had never behaved like this around you. He was always so sweet and cheerful when he was with you.

"Seunghan, is something wrong? You seem really serious," you asked when he parked in front of your house after the silent ride.

"No, don't worry," he murmured without looking at you.

"I know something’s bothering you…"

"Don't you have to go get ready for your date?"

The way Seunghan looked at you and the tone he used when mentioning your date made you realize he knew about it, and he seemed quite upset.

"Seunghan, you know I care about you a lot, but it’s just…"

"You know. You know I love you and took full advantage of the fact that I'd do anything for you. And I know that. I just kept at it, hoping that one day you'd value me just as much."

You froze after hearing Seunghan’s words. You couldn’t help but feel bad for making him feel this way, though it was never your intention. Before you could even respond, Seunghan spoke again.

"Just… get out. You’re going to be late."

ᯓ★ SOHEE

There had always been a sort of romantic tension between you and Sohee. Both of you were playful and touchy with each other, but that was all—just tension. Even though you both probably had feelings for each other, neither of you had confessed.

In fact, you were always waiting for him to confess, but that moment never seemed to come. The longer you waited, the more tired you grew of holding onto hope. Yet, despite that, you couldn’t seem to let go of the idea of him.

Knowing all of this, you still couldn’t ignore the guy who approached you at the party. You had come to the university party with Sohee, but he had gone off to talk to his friends. The guy, someone you hadn’t seen before, wasted no time approaching you once he saw Sohee wasn’t by your side.

You two talked for a while, and the guy even brushed your arm occasionally while locking eyes with you. You couldn’t deny feeling a bit nervous around him. He was charming and very attractive. After chatting for a bit, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, promising you’d be right back.

You didn’t expect to find Sohee waiting for you outside the bathroom. You quickly noticed he’d had a few drinks.

"Sohee, have you been drinking?"

"Who was that guy?"

"Are you talking about the one I was talking to earlier? He’s a new guy at our faculty. He’s pretty nice. I was about to go back and talk to him."

"Don’t go back to him," Sohee muttered, lowering his head.

"Sohee, you can’t decide what I do."

"I know I can’t, but I don’t want you to talk to him again."

"Sohee, you’re just drunk and saying things that don’t make sense," you said, walking past him, heading back to the party.

"Y/n, I love you," you heard Sohee murmur as he grabbed your wrist, only to let it go after a few seconds. You looked at him, stunned, for a moment. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?" he said before walking away into the party, leaving you standing in the hallway, unsure of what to say or do.

ᯓ★ ANTON

You and Anton had been best friends for as long as you could remember. You went to the same school, and your mothers were close friends, so you spent many summers together. Even after graduating, you both ended up attending the same university, so you still saw each other daily.

It felt like you two were inseparable—until you started getting to know another guy. It took you a while to tell Anton about him since you’d never really talked about that kind of stuff before. When you finally did, you thought he took it well at first, but you noticed him starting to act strange, becoming more distant.

Although he said nothing was wrong, he always had excuses to avoid walking home with you, claiming he had plans to study with classmates in a café, something you found odd since he didn’t like studying in public. Even so, you decided to trust him and give him the space he seemed to need.

One day, as you were heading home, you spotted Anton walking in the distance. It had been a while since you’d seen him in person, so you decided to catch up with him. He smiled briefly when he saw you, but then quickly looked away and started walking faster.

"Anton, I feel like you’ve been acting weird these past weeks. Is something wrong?"

"Huh? No, you know… exams, new people… It’s just that. Nothing’s wrong."

"Are you sure? I feel like you’re pulling away from me, and if I’ve done something wrong, I want to know."

"Nothing’s wrong, y/n. You’ve just got other friends now, and I get it," he mumbled coldly. You stood there, thinking for a moment. In high school, you’d made new friends, and yet you and Anton still acted like you always had. Why was this time different?

"I feel like you’ve been off ever since I told you about Ricky…"

"Y/n. I just… don’t want to talk about it."

"Well, I do, Anton. I feel like you’re being selfish, only thinking about how you feel and not about how you’re making me feel," you said, frustrated, stopping in the middle of the street. Anton turned to look at you, serious.

"Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay? But it happened, and I can’t do shit about it."

"You… what?"

Anton stared at you for a few seconds, pressing his lips together before turning his back on you.

"Forget it, y/n. I’m just tired from all the studying."

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist taglist: @regularsuh @gacktsa @totheseok @kkumistars @taroddori

[gyuuberryy]

a love affair in colour

pairing: art tutor!jay x princess!reader

synopsis: as a princess exploring her artistic passions, you’re drawn to jay, your mesmerising art teacher whose lessons stir more than just creativity. what begins as a quest to master your craft quickly becomes a whirlwind of tension and forbidden desire. with every brushstroke and shared moment, the line between teacher and lover blurs. but when societal barriers and personal doubts threaten your connection, will you both find a way to embrace a future together, or will your love remain a beautiful but fleeting masterpiece?

genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden relationship, comfort

warnings: kissing, lots of tension, mentions of status difference, angst, a little suggestive

note: i used my experience in art to detail all the content related to it so bear with me if it seems a little modern, i don't know much about how they did art in the olden times. also jay just constantly raises my standards??? i love that man so much he's so husband material it hurts TT enjoy reading!

word count : 11.1k

royally yours masterlist | prev:heeseung | next: jake

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

you’ve always been drawn to art. as a child, while other princesses were learning courtly etiquette or practising diplomacy, you were sneaking into the gardens to sketch the trees or hiding in your chambers, fingers stained with ink as you copied paintings from the castle’s grand halls. but those were mere indulgences, fleeting escapes from the rigid structure of royal life.

when your parents noticed your growing talent, they encouraged it—as a hobby, of course. something to amuse yourself with between diplomatic meetings, public appearances, and the pressures of royal expectations. but for you, art was never just a pastime. it was a passion. an escape. a way to express the parts of you that didn’t fit into the carefully curated image of a princess.

so, when you told your parents you wanted to pursue art seriously, it was met with initial resistance. a princess has duties, obligations, responsibilities. but you persisted, and eventually, they relented. if you were going to study art, they wanted the best for you. that’s how jay came to the palace—an accomplished artist in his own right, though he came from modest beginnings. he was hired to help you master the craft before your trip to paris, where you’d study under the finest artists in the world.

jay’s reputation preceded him. he was known not only for his skill but for his ability to bring out the best in his students. when he arrived at the palace, you were both eager and nervous, unsure of what to expect.

your first meeting was in the grand studio, a room that had once been your sanctuary. now, as you stand by the window, gazing out over the palace grounds, you feel the weight of what’s to come. you’re no longer a novice; this isn’t just a casual hobby. this is the beginning of something serious, something real. and the thought of it is both exhilarating and terrifying.

the door creaks open behind you, and you turn to see him—jay. he’s younger than you expected, though older than you by a few years. his clothes are simple, a stark contrast to the luxury of your surroundings, yet he wears them with a quiet confidence. his dark hair is tousled, as though he’s just come from a long day at work, and there’s a certain intensity in his eyes, a focus that makes your stomach flip.

“your highness,” he greets, bowing low.

“please, just my name,” you say quickly, hoping to dispel some of the formality that hangs between you. “if we’re to work together, there’s no need for titles.”

he straightens, and for a moment, you think you see a flicker of something—surprise? amusement?—in his expression, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “very well,” he says simply. “shall we begin?”

you nod, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves as you lead him to the easel set up near the window. it’s been prepared for your first lesson, a blank canvas stretched taut, waiting for the first stroke of charcoal or paint. you’ve done this before, hundreds of times, but never under the watchful eye of a teacher like jay.

“before we begin,” he says, setting his bag down on the table, “tell me why you want to do this. not because you have to—because you want to.”

his question catches you off guard. you’d expected him to dive straight into the technical aspects of drawing or painting, not to ask about your motivations. but there’s a seriousness in his tone that tells you he’s not just asking out of curiosity. he wants to understand. he wants to know you.

“i’ve always loved art,” you admit, folding your hands in front of you, feeling a little exposed. “it’s the one thing that’s mine. in a world where so much is decided for me, art is where i get to choose. it’s... freedom.”

jay nods slowly, as if weighing your words. “art is freedom,” he agrees quietly. “it’s expression. it’s telling the world who you are without saying a word. but it’s also discipline. and commitment. if you’re serious about this, i’ll push you. i’ll make sure you’re challenged. does that sound like something you’re ready for?”

your heart beats faster. his intensity is palpable, and it’s hard not to be swept up in it. “yes,” you say, though the word comes out softer than you intended. “i’m ready.”

he regards you for a moment longer, then reaches into his bag, pulling out a small sketchbook and a piece of charcoal. “we’ll start with something simple,” he says, handing you the charcoal. “i want you to draw me.”

you blink, surprised. “draw you?”

“it’s a good exercise,” he explains, moving to stand a little distance away. “if you can capture the essence of a person, you can draw anything.”

your fingers tighten around the charcoal as you sit at the easel, facing him. it feels strange, having him as the subject. his features are sharp, defined, but there’s something else—an intensity in his gaze that makes it hard to concentrate. you take a deep breath and begin to sketch, the sound of the charcoal scratching against the canvas the only sound in the room.

it’s not easy. his face is a study in contrasts—strong jawline, soft eyes, dark brows furrowed in concentration as he watches you work. you find yourself getting lost in the details, trying to capture the exact curve of his lips, the shadow beneath his cheekbone. but the more you focus, the more elusive it becomes.

“you’re overthinking it,” jay says suddenly, breaking the silence. he moves behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, though he doesn’t touch you. “you’re focusing on the parts, not the whole. step back. see the bigger picture.”

you try to follow his advice, but his presence behind you is distracting, and the scent of him—earthy, with a hint of something fresh—fills your senses. your heart beats faster, though you try to ignore it.

jay steps closer, his breath warm against your ear. “here,” he says softly, reaching out to guide your hand. his fingers brush yours, sending a jolt through your body, and you almost drop the charcoal. “loosen your grip. let the lines flow.”

you do as he says, though your heart races at his nearness. his hand lingers over yours for a moment too long before he pulls away, but the connection between you doesn’t fade. the air feels charged, as if something unsaid hangs between you.

when you finish the sketch, it’s rough, imperfect, but there’s something there—a spark of life, of emotion. jay leans over your shoulder to examine it, his expression unreadable.

“better,” he says after a moment, his voice low and approving. “you’ve captured something real here.”

you look at the drawing again, trying to see what he sees, but all you can think about is the way his hand felt over yours, the way his voice seemed to wrap around you like a secret.

as he moves to gather his things, you realise that this is just the beginning. the first lesson. but already, something has shifted between you. something neither of you can name yet, but it’s there—in the shared glances, the lingering touches, the unspoken connection.

and as jay turns to leave, promising to return for your next lesson, you can’t help but wonder if this is really just about art—or if something far more dangerous has already begun.

the days following your first lesson with jay felt like a strange new rhythm. art had always been a deeply personal escape for you, something that existed in the quiet moments between royal duties, but now it had become something more. each session with jay stirred something inside you—not just the desire to improve, but a spark of something you couldn't quite name.

jay had been nothing but professional, his focus always on your craft. but beneath his calm demeanour, there was an undercurrent, a kind of intensity in the way he looked at you during your lessons. it was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was there, like the brushstrokes of a painting hidden beneath layers of paint.

today, as you enter the studio, you feel it more than ever. the room is bathed in soft light, the kind of glow that makes everything seem warmer, softer. jay is already there, setting up supplies on the table, his back to you. you watch him for a moment, your eyes tracing the broad lines of his shoulders, the way his hands move with such precision and care.

“good morning,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice comes out softer than you intended, the room swallowing the sound.

he turns, a brief smile crossing his face. “good morning.” there’s a hint of warmth in his tone, but as always, it’s controlled, measured. jay has never been one to show too much emotion, though lately, you’ve caught glimpses of something more.

“i thought we’d try something different today,” he says, gesturing to the large canvas in the corner of the room. “i want to work on your observation skills.”

you nod, intrigued. “what do you have in mind?”

instead of answering immediately, jay picks up a chair and places it in the centre of the room, angled toward the sunlight. he then takes his sketchbook and charcoal, positioning himself in front of the chair but far enough away that there’s space between you.

“i want you to sit,” he says simply, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before flickering away. “i’m going to sketch you.”

the request catches you off guard. “me? but... shouldn’t i be the one practising sketching?”

he smiles faintly, shaking his head. “today, i want you to feel what it’s like to be the subject. to understand how the artist sees you.” he glances at the canvas, and then back at you. “it’ll help you observe the world around you with more empathy, more connection.”

the thought of jay watching you, studying you so closely, makes your heart race. you’ve always been behind the canvas, never in front of it. to have his eyes on you, not just in passing but with the intention of capturing every detail—it feels strangely vulnerable.

but you trust him. there’s something about jay that puts you at ease, even when you’re unsure of yourself. so, you sit in the chair, adjusting your posture slightly, your hands resting in your lap.

“relax,” he says softly, his voice gentle. “you don’t have to pose. just be yourself.”

you try to do as he says, leaning back into the chair, though your heart is beating a little faster now. the room is quiet except for the faint scratch of his charcoal on the page, and you’re acutely aware of his gaze as it moves over you—your face, your hands, the way the light falls on your hair.

he works silently, his brow furrowed in concentration, and you find yourself watching him, trying to read the expression on his face. there’s a softness there that you hadn’t noticed before, a kind of careful attention that feels almost… tender.

for a while, neither of you speaks. you’re not sure how long has passed—minutes? hours? time seems to lose its meaning in this space, as if the world outside the studio doesn’t exist.

“so you want to pursue art huh?” jay’s voice breaks the silence, and you blink, surprised by the question.

“yes” you reply, shifting slightly in the chair.

he doesn’t look up from his sketch. “why did you choose art? out of everything you could have pursued?”

the question is one you’ve asked yourself many times. you think back to your childhood, to the afternoons spent sneaking away from your tutors to draw in the gardens, the way art always felt like a safe space in a world full of expectations.

“i think… it’s because art lets me be free,” you say slowly, choosing your words carefully. “in everything else, i’m the princess. i have to be perfect, poised, controlled. but with art, i can be messy. i can make mistakes. it’s mine.”

jay pauses, his hand hovering over the sketchbook for a moment before he continues. “freedom is important,” he says quietly. “especially for someone like you.”

there’s something in his tone, a weight to his words, and you wonder what he means by that. does he understand what it’s like to feel trapped by expectations? to want something more, something beyond the roles you’ve been given?

before you can ask, jay looks up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since he started sketching. his gaze is intense, but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. it’s more like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, in a way that no one else ever has.

“you have a natural grace,” he says softly, almost as if speaking to himself. “but it’s more than that. there’s something… untamed about you.”

your breath catches in your throat. no one has ever spoken to you like that before. not with such quiet certainty, as if they’ve seen beyond the surface of who you are.

you don’t know what to say. the air in the room feels heavier now, charged with something you can’t quite name. you shift in your seat, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, but jay’s expression remains calm, thoughtful.

he tilts his head slightly, observing you with the same intensity he’s had since the beginning of the lesson. “there’s more to art than technique,” he says, his voice low. “it’s about connection. about understanding the person you’re drawing, not just how they look, but who they are.”

his words stir something inside you—a sense of being understood in a way you’ve never experienced before. you’re not just a princess in this room, not just another student. you’re you, with all your complexities and contradictions, and somehow, jay has seen that.

it makes you feel exposed in a way you hadn’t anticipated, and yet there’s a comfort in it, too. you’ve spent your whole life hiding parts of yourself, but with jay, it feels like you don’t have to.

finally, he sets the sketchbook aside, standing up and crossing the room to where you’re seated. he doesn’t hand you the sketch immediately, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s unsure about showing it to you.

“you can tell a lot about a person by how they draw,” he says quietly, standing in front of you now, his gaze unwavering. “but you can tell even more by how they let themselves be seen.”

your pulse quickens, the weight of his words settling deep within you. it’s not just about the sketch anymore—it’s about everything. the way you’ve been navigating these lessons, the way you’ve been letting him into your world, piece by piece.

he holds out the sketch to you, and when you take it, your fingers brush against his, a fleeting touch that lingers in your mind longer than it should.

the drawing is beautiful. he’s captured you in a way that feels both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. there’s a softness to your expression, a quiet strength in the lines of your face, and yet… there’s something else. something deeper.

“it’s beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the lines with your fingertips. “i’ve never seen myself like this before.”

jay watches you carefully, his expression unreadable. “that’s because no one’s ever looked at you like this before.”

the words hit you like a gentle wave, their meaning sinking in slowly. you glance up at him, unsure of how to respond. there’s a new tension between you now, but it’s not the kind that comes from desire or rushed feelings. it’s deeper than that—a connection, a shared understanding that goes beyond mere attraction.

for a moment, you sit in silence, the sketch resting in your lap as the light from the window shifts slightly, casting long shadows across the room. you can feel the change in the air, but neither of you moves to break it.

and as jay steps back, giving you space, you realise that this—whatever it is—will take time to fully unfold. you’re not rushing toward anything, but there’s something between you now, something real and undeniable.

but for now, you’ll let it simmer. there’s no need to rush. not yet.

the days have passed like pages in a book, each art lesson with jay slowly building a tension that you feel in the very air of the studio. his presence is constant but controlled, his touch fleeting yet always careful. you’ve found yourself looking forward to these lessons more than you’d ever anticipated, though not only for the sake of art. something else draws you here each time, something that’s harder to admit even to yourself.

when you arrive at the studio today, the familiar scent of paint and canvas greets you, mingling with the crisp morning air. jay is there, of course, already preparing the materials, his back to you as he arranges brushes and bottles of linseed oil. the sun filters in through the tall windows, casting long beams across the room, turning everything into shades of gold. today feels different, though you can’t quite pinpoint why.

he turns as you approach, offering you a brief smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "good morning," he says, his voice as calm and composed as ever, though you think you detect a slight hesitancy behind his words.

"good morning," you reply, your heart already beating a little faster. the last few lessons have been charged with a new energy, a subtle yet undeniable pull between the two of you. you've tried to keep your thoughts focused on the art, but with each session, it’s become harder.

jay steps over to the large canvas he’s set up for today’s lesson. "we’re going to work on technique," he explains, holding up a palette of mixed colours, the vibrant hues blending like a sunset in his hands. "i want you to feel the texture of the paint, how the brush moves against the canvas. it’s all about control and release."

you nod, though the concept seems easier said than done. painting has always been more of a challenge for you, especially when it comes to finding that balance. jay, however, has a way of guiding you through each step without ever making you feel inadequate.

"let’s start with the basics," he says, handing you a brush. his fingers brush against yours for the briefest moment, and you feel a spark travel up your arm, though you’re sure he doesn’t notice.

you position yourself in front of the canvas, trying to steady your breathing as you dip the brush into the paint. the first few strokes are tentative, careful. you focus on the movement of your hand, but your mind is distracted by the weight of jay’s presence behind you. it’s as if the air in the room has thickened, every sound, every movement, magnified.

jay watches in silence for a few moments, then steps closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his body behind you. "here," he murmurs softly, his voice right beside your ear. "let me show you."

before you can respond, he places his hands lightly on your waist, adjusting your stance. the touch is firm but gentle, and it sends a shockwave through your body. your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of every point of contact—his hands on your hips, the warmth of his chest just inches from your back.

"relax," he whispers, his voice low and calming, though you can hear a slight strain in it, like he’s carefully keeping something in check. "you’re too tense."

easier said than done. you can barely think straight with him so close, let alone concentrate on the canvas. but you try, forcing yourself to take a breath, to focus on the task at hand. jay doesn’t move away. instead, he steps even closer, his chest nearly brushing your back as he moves his hands from your waist to your arm, guiding your wrist as you hold the brush.

"feel the paint," he says, his breath warm against your ear. "don’t fight it. let it flow."

his hand wraps around yours, firm but careful, and he moves your arm in a slow, fluid motion. the brush glides across the canvas with ease, the paint spreading in smooth, even strokes. his touch is light but deliberate, and you find yourself following his lead, your body responding to the way he directs the movement.

"you’re doing well," he murmurs, and you can feel his breath against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "just like that."

the room feels smaller, the air thicker, as if the space between you is shrinking with each passing second. you try to focus on the canvas, but it’s impossible with jay so close. his presence is overwhelming, consuming, and you’re acutely aware of every shift, every movement.

"you don’t need to force it," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper now, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "let the brush move with you."

you nod, though your throat is too dry to speak. the closeness between you is intoxicating, and you can feel the tension building with each breath you take. jay’s hand tightens slightly around yours, and for a moment, you wonder if he feels it too—the pull, the unspoken connection that seems to have grown stronger with each lesson.

he guides your hand in another slow stroke across the canvas, but this time, the brush slips slightly, leaving a streak of paint that’s a little too heavy. you let out a soft, frustrated sigh, but jay only chuckles, the sound low and warm.

"don’t worry about perfection," he says, his voice rumbling in your ear. "art isn’t about being perfect. it’s about feeling."

his hand lingers on yours a moment longer before he lets go, stepping back slightly. the sudden absence of his touch leaves you feeling off-balance, as if the ground beneath you has shifted. you exhale a breath you didn’t realise you were holding and lower the brush, your heart still racing.

"good," jay says, his voice a little more distant now as he moves back to the table. "you’re getting better. it’s all about control and release, but it takes time to find that balance."

you nod, though your mind is still reeling from the intensity of the moment. you’ve never felt so aware of your body, of your own reactions, as you do when jay is close like that. it’s as though he knows exactly how to touch you, how to guide you, without ever crossing the line—but just barely.

you place the brush down on the easel, turning to face him. jay is busy cleaning the palette, his face unreadable as he focuses on the task. but there’s something different about the way he holds himself, a tension in his posture that wasn’t there before.

"thank you," you say softly, breaking the silence that has settled between you. your voice sounds a little shaky, but you hope he doesn’t notice.

he glances up at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before flickering away. "it’s my job," he replies, but there’s something in his tone—something almost… uncertain.

the silence that follows is heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that has been growing between you for weeks. you can feel it in the way he looks at you, in the way his hands linger just a little too long when he helps you. it’s as though you’re both standing at the edge of something, but neither of you knows how to take the next step.

finally, jay sets the palette down and steps back, putting a little more distance between you. "we’ll keep working on this," he says, his voice returning to its usual composed tone. "you’re improving, but there’s still more to learn."

you nod, feeling a little breathless, though you’re not sure if it’s from the painting or from the closeness you just shared. "i’ll keep practising," you say, though the words feel almost trivial in the weight of the moment.

jay gives you a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "good," he says softly, before turning back to his brushes. "we’ll pick up again tomorrow."

you linger for a moment, watching him as he carefully cleans the paint from his hands, his movements precise and controlled. and as you leave the studio, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed between you, something that neither of you can ignore for much longer.

the pottery studio feels different today. the atmosphere is heavy, thick with anticipation, but you try to ignore it as you sit at the wheel, your hands already messy with clay. the wheel spins slowly beneath your fingers, but no matter how many times you’ve tried, the clay refuses to cooperate, collapsing into a lump before you can give it any real shape. you groan in frustration, watching another failed attempt crumble under your touch.

“take your time. it’s all about feeling the clay, not controlling it,” jay says softly from behind you, his voice calm but carrying that familiar undercurrent of something unspoken. he’s watching closely, his presence as steady as always, but today it feels more intense—like a subtle hum in the air that makes the space between you vibrate with tension.

you sigh, wiping your hands on your apron. "i don’t think i’m getting this at all," you mutter, staring down at the shapeless mound on the wheel. pottery has proven to be a far bigger challenge than painting—there’s something about the unpredictability of the clay that throws you off balance.

jay steps closer, his footsteps almost silent on the studio floor. "you’re too tense," he observes, his voice low and measured. "let me show you."

before you can respond, he’s already moving behind you. the air shifts as his body nears, and suddenly, you can feel the heat of him pressing close. he slides onto the bench behind you, his legs on either side of yours. the intimate position makes your heart race instantly, your pulse quickening in response to his proximity. his chest brushes your back, his breath warm on the side of your neck, and suddenly it’s hard to focus on anything other than how close he is.

he pauses his movements. “is it okay if i sit behind you like this? i may need to touch your hands as well.”

you nod at his soft words, “yes that’s alright.”

the studio feels smaller, the world outside forgotten as you’re enveloped by his presence. you can feel the solid warmth of his chest against your spine, the way his thighs gently cage yours. every point of contact feels electric, the tension simmering between you palpable.

“relax,” he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper, low and soothing. his breath brushes the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “you’re trying too hard to control it. you have to let the clay respond to your touch.”

his hands move to cover yours, his fingers sliding over your clay-streaked knuckles. his touch is firm but gentle, guiding your hands to the wheel as it starts spinning once again. the sensation of his fingers wrapping around yours sends a ripple of awareness through your body, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the warmth of his skin, the weight of his hands over yours.

"feel the clay," jay instructs, his voice quiet but filled with intent. his breath is warm against your ear, and the proximity, the intimacy of the moment, makes it nearly impossible to concentrate. "it moves with you. let it guide you."

his hands press lightly against yours, directing your fingers as they glide over the surface of the clay. the wheel turns slowly beneath your palms, the soft texture of the clay smoothing out under the pressure. you try to focus on the task at hand, but the sensation of his body against yours—the gentle weight of his chest pressed to your back, his legs framing yours—is overwhelming. the world narrows down to the feel of his touch, the sound of his steady breath so close to your ear.

"you need to feel the shape," jay continues, his voice lower now, more intimate. his hands move with yours, guiding your fingers as they dip into the soft clay. his touch is deliberate, patient, and it feels like he’s not just teaching you pottery, but something deeper, something far more personal.

your hands move together as you both shape the clay, your fingers sliding inside the hollow of the vase. the action is slow, almost sensual, and the suggestiveness of the movement doesn’t escape you. the pressure of his fingers over yours, the way his hands direct yours in shaping the delicate interior, feels too intimate, too deliberate. the tension that has been building for weeks now feels almost unbearable.

your breath quickens, your heart hammering in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. jay’s chest presses more firmly against your back as his hands guide you deeper into the clay, shaping it from within. his fingers dip, mirroring yours, and the act of molding the vase becomes something far more intimate than you could have ever anticipated.

"just like that," jay whispers, his voice huskier than before, his breath hot against your ear. his hands slow, his fingers lingering on yours as you move together. the wheel spins quietly, the clay yielding to your touch, but it’s hard to focus on the art when the closeness between you feels like it’s about to explode into something more.

you can feel every movement of his chest against your back, the rise and fall of his breath growing uneven. the heat of his body is overwhelming, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the clay. your pulse is racing, and you’re certain he can feel the way your body trembles slightly under his touch.

suddenly, you realise you can feel his heart. it’s beating erratically against your spine, matching the rapid rhythm of your own. the awareness crashes over you like a wave—he’s feeling it too. the tension, the pull between you, it’s not just in your head. his hands tighten slightly over yours, his chest pressing more firmly against your back, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like the world is tilting.

you bite your lip, trying to keep your breathing steady, but it’s impossible with him so close, with the weight of his body grounding you while simultaneously setting you on fire. your fingers dip into the clay once more, but all you can feel is the warmth of his hands over yours, the way his presence fills every corner of your mind.

jay’s breath hitches, barely audible, but you hear it. you feel it. the tension between you has been simmering for weeks, and now it’s at a boiling point, undeniable and heavy.

after what feels like an eternity, jay finally pulls his hands away, the absence of his touch leaving you cold and disoriented. his chest moves away from your back, and he stands slowly, as if he, too, is struggling to shake off the intensity of the moment.

"good work," he says, his voice quieter than usual, almost strained. he steps away from the wheel, his hands clenching and unclenching as though he’s trying to regain his composure.

you remain seated, your hands still coated in clay, your heart still racing. the silence between you is thick with everything unsaid. you can still feel the echo of his hands on yours, the warmth of his body lingering against your skin.

finally, you glance over your shoulder, your eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some indication of what he’s thinking. but jay’s expression is unreadable, his gaze fixed on the now-complete vase on the wheel.

"you did well," he repeats, though his tone is quieter, almost distant. there’s something unresolved in the air, something that neither of you dares to acknowledge aloud.

as you stand, your legs unsteady, you can’t help but feel that something between you has shifted irreversibly. the line you’ve both been walking for weeks feels dangerously close to being crossed, and the question now is whether either of you is ready to take that step.

the last day of your art lessons starts with a sense of melancholy that you try to push away. you know that this will be your final session with jay, and although you’ve learned more than you could have imagined, the thought of no longer spending time with him feels like a loss. he greets you at the studio with his usual warm smile, but there’s something different about him today—a lightness that wasn’t there before.

“we’re not staying inside today,” jay says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “i figured we’ve done enough of that. you’ve been using my supplies, so i thought it’s time you get your own.”

you blink, surprised by the suggestion. “you mean we’re going shopping?”

he nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “you deserve your own tools. besides, i want to show you my favourite spots.”

the idea excites you more than you’d expected. it feels intimate, personal—like he’s sharing a part of himself with you outside the confines of the studio. and so, you follow him out into the bustling streets, the city alive with activity as you walk side by side, the sky overhead a muted grey that promises rain.

the first shop is a small, unassuming place tucked between two larger storefronts, and you wouldn’t have noticed it if jay hadn’t pointed it out. inside, it’s a treasure trove of art supplies—shelves stacked high with paints, brushes, and sketchpads of every kind. the scent of paper and wood fills the air, and you can’t help but feel a little like a child in a candy store, overwhelmed by the endless possibilities.

jay moves through the aisles with ease, clearly at home here. he picks up brushes, testing their weight in his hand before handing them to you to feel. “this one’s perfect for detail work,” he says, holding up a fine-tipped brush. “and this,” he adds, pulling out a thicker, more rugged one, “is for broader strokes, more expression.”

you watch him as he speaks, his voice low and sure, and you find yourself more captivated by him than the tools he’s showing you. there’s something about the way his hands move with such confidence, the way he seems to understand the soul of each item, that draws you in. it’s a side of him you haven’t seen before, one that’s less restrained, more passionate.

he catches you staring, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “what?”

you quickly look away, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “nothing,” you mumble, pretending to examine the brushes in front of you.

but you can’t hide your growing admiration for him, and you suspect he knows it. he moves closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he reaches for a set of soft pastels. “try these,” he says, handing them to you. “i think they’ll suit your style.”

you take the pastels from him, your fingers brushing against his in the exchange, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged. you swallow hard, trying to focus on the colours in your hand rather than the way his touch lingers in your mind.

from there, you move to the next shop, a slightly larger one filled with canvases of all sizes and shapes. jay pulls you toward a display of stretched canvas frames, explaining the difference between cotton and linen, the various textures and how they interact with different mediums. he talks with such enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile, his passion contagious.

“pick a few,” he says, gesturing to the rows of canvases. “you’re going to need a variety if you want to keep experimenting.”

you nod, feeling a sense of freedom in the choice. as you select your canvases, jay hovers nearby, occasionally offering suggestions but mostly watching with a quiet intensity that makes your skin prickle. you wonder what he’s thinking, whether he’s just as aware of the subtle tension that’s been growing between you over the weeks.

the third shop is more modern, filled with high-end supplies—gorgeous palettes of oil paints in jewel tones, sleek metal easels, and handcrafted wooden boxes for storing brushes. it’s clear jay has saved the best for last, and as you wander the aisles together, he shows you some of his favourites, his voice soft and reverent as he talks about the craftsmanship behind each item.

“i’ve always wanted one of these,” you say, running your fingers over a beautiful wooden palette, its smooth surface gleaming under the soft light. “it’s almost too nice to use.”

jay grins, standing beside you as he watches you admire it. “you should get it,” he says, his voice warm. “every artist needs something that feels special, something that inspires them to create.”

his words send a shiver through you, and you glance at him, the closeness between you suddenly palpable. the quiet intimacy of the moment, standing together in the softly lit store, surrounded by the tools of your shared passion, feels heavy with something unspoken. you nod, slipping the palette into your basket, trying to shake the fluttering in your chest.

as you leave the last shop, your arms full of bags and supplies, the sky opens up, releasing a sudden torrent of rain. the drops fall fast and heavy, soaking you within moments. you yelp in surprise, pulling your hood over your head, but it’s no use—you’re drenched almost immediately.

jay laughs, a rich sound that cuts through the noise of the rain. “looks like we’re in for it!” he shouts over the downpour, his hair already dripping wet as he holds a hand out to catch the rain.

you can’t help but laugh, your spirits lifting despite the sudden storm. the two of you stand in the rain for a moment, looking at each other, before jay suddenly grabs your hand.

“come on!” he says, pulling you into a run.

you follow him, laughing breathlessly as you race through the rain-soaked streets, splashing through puddles and dodging other passersby who huddle under umbrellas and awnings. the bags of art supplies jostle against your sides, but you barely notice, too caught up in the exhilaration of running with him through the storm.

the rain comes down harder, drenching you completely, your clothes clinging to your body and your hair sticking to your face. but none of it matters—you’re both laughing, the world around you a blur as you sprint through the narrow streets, your hand still held tightly in his.

jay pulls you into a narrow alleyway, ducking under a stone archway for shelter. it’s barely enough to shield you from the rain, but you’re both out of breath, giggling uncontrollably as you lean against the cold stone walls.

you’re both soaked, your clothes dripping water onto the ground, but the warmth between you is undeniable. jay’s hair is plastered to his forehead, droplets sliding down his face as he looks at you, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

you can feel the heat radiating from his body, even through the dampness of your clothes. you’re pressed so close to him in the narrow space that you can feel the tension building, the awareness of every inch of space between you—or rather, the lack of it.

jay’s laughter fades as his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the air between you shifts. his gaze softens, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something more serious, more intense. you’re both still, the rain beating down around you, but inside this tiny archway, it feels like time has slowed.

he reaches up, his fingers brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, and the simple gesture sends a shiver down your spine. his hand lingers by your cheek, and you can feel the warmth of his touch even through the coolness of the rain.

for a moment, neither of you say anything, the space between you heavy with everything that’s gone unsaid. you can feel your heart racing, your breath catching in your throat as his eyes drop to your lips for just a second, but it’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

then, without thinking, without hesitation, he leans in.

the kiss is slow at first—tentative, as though he’s testing the waters. his lips brush against yours softly, almost delicately, and for a moment, it feels like the world stops. the rain, the city, everything fades away, and all that exists is the warmth of his mouth on yours, the softness of his kiss.

your heart stutters, your body frozen for a split second before you kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his chest. the kiss deepens, and the tension that’s been building between you for weeks unravels in a rush of heat and longing. his hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, pressing into him as though you can’t get close enough.

the rain falls around you, forgotten, as you lose yourself in the kiss. there’s a desperation to it, like neither of you knows when—or if—you’ll ever get this chance again. it’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and everything you’ve been holding back spills out in that single kiss.

when you finally pull away, breathless, jay rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close as though he’s afraid to let go. you’re both panting, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, but you can’t seem to move, can’t seem to break the connection between you.

the kiss lingers in the air, an invisible thread still tying you to jay even as the rain continues to fall. his forehead rests against yours, his breath shallow and quick, matching the erratic rhythm of your heart. for a moment, everything feels right, the world outside forgotten, the storm cocooning you in your own little universe.

but then something shifts. you feel it in the way his grip on your waist tightens briefly before loosening, in the way his eyes darken, filled with a sorrow that cuts through the joy of the moment.

he pulls back, just a fraction, enough to put space between you but not enough to break the connection entirely. his gaze drops to the ground, as though he can’t bear to meet your eyes.

“we… we can’t,” jay whispers, his voice heavy with regret.

the words hit you like cold water, the warmth of the kiss suddenly feeling distant. “what do you mean?” your voice is soft, confused, almost pleading. you take a step closer, unwilling to let him slip away. “jay, what are you saying?”

he sighs, running a hand through his damp hair, his shoulders tense. “you know what i mean,” he says quietly. “you’re a princess. you belong to a world of crowns and thrones, and i… i’m just your art teacher.”

you shake your head, the rain beginning to soak through your clothes, but you hardly notice. “i don’t care about that! my parents wouldn’t either. jay, this—this connection we have, it’s real. you can’t just pretend it isn’t.”

his eyes finally meet yours, and for a moment, you see the same longing reflected in them. but then he looks away again, his jaw tightening. “maybe your parents wouldn’t care, but i do. i won’t let you throw away your life for me. you have responsibilities, a future. i can’t be the reason you turn your back on all of that.”

your heart aches at his words, at the way he’s trying to protect you even as it tears you both apart. you reach for his hand, holding it tightly. “you’re not asking me to give anything up. i’m telling you what i want. you. you’re what i want, jay.”

he looks at your hand in his, and for a second, he doesn’t move, as though he’s frozen between what he wants and what he believes is right. “you don’t understand,” he says quietly. “you’re used to a life of luxury. i can’t give you that. i won’t let you settle for less.”

the frustration bubbles up inside you, mixing with the hurt. “it’s not about that. it never was. do you really think any of that matters to me if i’m not happy?”

jay’s gaze softens, but the doubt lingers in his eyes, a shadow of the barriers between you. “i need time,” he says, his voice pained. “i need to think about this.”

you bite your lip, the tears you’ve been holding back threatening to spill. “take all the time you need. just… don’t take too long. please.”

he nods, his face filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. then, like the gentleman he is, he steps closer, offering you his arm. “let me take you home,” he says softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that only deepens the ache in your chest.

the walk back to the palace is quiet, both of you wrapped in your own thoughts, the sound of the rain the only noise between you. his arm around yours feels protective, grounding, but it’s bittersweet knowing that he’s still holding a part of himself back.

when you finally reach the palace gates, jay pauses, turning to face you. the light from the lanterns casts a soft glow over his features, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still.

“goodnight, princess,” he says, his voice gentle, though there’s an unmistakable distance in his tone now.

you look up at him, wanting to say something—anything—to make him stay, to convince him that this is worth fighting for. but the words stick in your throat. instead, you nod, forcing a small smile despite the heaviness in your heart.

“goodnight, jay.”

he gives you a final, lingering glance before turning and walking away, the rain continuing to fall as his figure disappears into the night. you stand there for a long time, watching him go, your heart aching with every step he takes.

as you finally turn and walk inside, the warmth of the palace feels stifling compared to the cool rain outside. the emptiness left in jay’s wake presses down on you, and the realisation that you might not see him again for a while hits you like a blow.

in the days that follow, the quiet is suffocating. you try to fill your time with painting, with other lessons and royal duties, but nothing seems to lift the weight pressing on your chest. each moment stretches on, and the palace, usually filled with the comfort of familiarity, now feels hollow without him.

your parents notice your change in mood but don’t pry, their knowing glances suggesting they’re aware that something more than art is on your mind. still, you keep jay’s name on the tip of your tongue, unable to speak it without feeling the ache of uncertainty.

and so, you wait. you wait for a letter, for a word from him—anything to tell you that he hasn’t let go, that he’s still thinking about you as much as you are about him. but with each passing day, the silence only grows louder, the doubt harder to ignore.

what if he doesn’t come back? what if he decides you aren’t worth the risk?

the thought makes your heart tighten painfully. you sit in your art studio, staring at an unfinished painting, the brush limp in your hand, as you wonder if jay is fighting the same battle within himself.

it feels like an eternity has passed since that rainy day, since that kiss that felt like the world shifted. and now, all you can do is hope that he finds his way back to you before it’s too late.

the days stretch long and quiet after that night in the rain, and the distance between you and jay feels more unbearable with each passing moment. you keep replaying his words, the look in his eyes, the way he had kissed you—like he wanted to hold on forever but didn’t know if he should.

you throw yourself into your art, hoping the colours and brushstrokes will distract you from the weight of his absence. but the empty space he’s left behind is hard to ignore, especially as you finish the final piece you’d been working on for weeks—a vibrant painting of a parisian street, your future awaiting you there.

paris. the word itself sounds like a dream. the trip is supposed to happen soon—your long-awaited opportunity to study art in the heart of a city known for its creativity and beauty. it’s everything you’ve worked toward, yet now the thought of leaving without jay feels hollow.

what was once the pinnacle of your aspirations now feels incomplete. you had imagined this adventure, this new chapter of your life, and pictured jay being a part of it. but now, with his silence lingering between you, you’re uncertain of whether he’ll still be there when it begins.

sitting at your desk, you stare down at the blank parchment, the quill hovering in your hand. you haven’t spoken to jay since he walked away that night, but you can’t bear to leave for paris without reaching out, without giving him one last chance to understand how much he means to you.

the words come slowly at first, but then they start to pour out, your emotions and thoughts spilling onto the page.

dear jay, it feels strange writing to you after all this time—after all the moments we shared that now seem so far away. i’ve been thinking about what you said that night, about how we come from different worlds, about the future you think i deserve. but you need to know that none of it matters to me if you’re not a part of it. i’ve wanted this trip to paris for as long as i can remember, to learn from the best, to immerse myself in art and culture. it’s something i’ve dreamed about for years. and yet, now, as the day of my departure gets closer, all i can think about is you. i don’t want to go to paris and leave you behind, wondering what could have been. you’re as much a part of my passion for art as any paintbrush or canvas. you’ve shown me new ways to see the world, to express myself, and i’ll always be grateful for that. but more than that, you’ve become someone i can’t imagine my life without. i know you think i’m giving up too much, that i’m risking my future. but my future isn’t just about royal duties or titles. it’s about choosing the life i want—and i choose you, jay. i wish you could see that. paris is calling, but so are you. i can only hope that when you think of me, it’s with the same longing that fills every moment of my days without you. i hope that when you think of our time together, you’ll realise that this isn’t about status or sacrifice—it’s about love. i’ll be leaving soon after my birthday, but before i go, i need to know: will you come with me? or will i have to leave you behind? with love, [your name]

after sealing the letter, your heart is heavy with both hope and fear. you send it to jay, knowing that the next move is his. each day that passes without a response stretches the wait longer, the ache of uncertainty growing.

you try to stay busy with preparations for your trip, packing supplies and finishing your artwork. your parents notice the change in you—the excitement for paris dimmed by something you can’t quite bring yourself to share with them yet. they ask if you’re nervous, if you’re ready for the adventure, and you smile, telling them what they want to hear. but deep down, all you want is to hear from jay.

paris is just around the corner, but so is the decision you’re waiting for—the choice that could change everything.

the ballroom is a swirl of colour and laughter, filled with nobles, artists, and well-wishers all gathered to celebrate your birthday. the chandeliers above glitter like stars, casting a golden glow over the elegant space, and the music weaves through the conversations like a living thing, light and joyous. your parents spared no expense for this occasion, not only to mark your birthday but also to celebrate the upcoming adventure to paris.

it’s your birthday ball, but your mind is elsewhere, your heart tugged toward a memory that refuses to leave. you stand in front of your painting, the centrepiece of the night, hanging proudly on display for all to see. nobles and artists alike gather around it, marvelling at the vivid colours and delicate brushstrokes. you nod and smile politely as they offer praise, but inside, your thoughts are distant, wandering to a day not long ago when everything felt simpler.

the painting is of the marketplace—a bustling, lively scene full of energy and warmth. it’s the day you and jay had gone shopping together for art supplies, the day you let yourselves be ordinary, blending in with the crowds. the colours are bright and rich, capturing the vibrant chaos of the market: vendors calling out, the smell of freshly baked bread, the sound of coins clinking and people bartering for goods. in the corner of the canvas, nestled in the shadows of an alley, is a small, quiet space. it’s where you and jay had shared a moment away from the crowd, a stolen minute of peace amidst the noise, where the world had seemed to slow just for the two of you.

every brushstroke is infused with that memory—the warmth of the sun on your skin, the soft brush of his hand as he reached for yours, the unspoken connection that had blossomed between you in that hidden corner of the market. it was a day that felt like freedom, a glimpse of something more, something forbidden but undeniably real.

“your highness, it’s simply breathtaking,” someone says beside you, pulling you momentarily back to the present. a noblewoman in an exquisite gown stands at your side, her eyes wide with admiration as she gazes at the painting. “the light, the detail… it feels as though i’m standing there in the market myself.”

you nod and smile, offering a polite thank you, but her words barely register. all you can think about is him.

the weight of his absence has been heavy, pulling at your heart with every passing day, each one more difficult than the last. and now, on the night of your birthday, as you prepare to embark on a new chapter, all you can think about is the chapter you left unfinished.

you glance at the painting again, tracing the familiar lines of the marketplace, the hidden alley. that was the moment you knew there was something between you and jay, something more than just student and teacher, more than just friendship. it was the moment you allowed yourself to hope. but now, standing here alone, you wonder if that hope was misplaced.

and then, through the hum of voices and the soft strains of music, you hear it—a voice that sends a jolt through your entire body.

“you captured it perfectly.”

the sound of his voice makes the air around you seem to freeze. your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat. slowly, you turn toward the source, and there he is—jay, standing just a few steps away, his eyes locked on the painting, his expression a mixture of awe and something deeper, something raw.

for a moment, you’re not sure if you’re dreaming. after weeks of waiting, of wondering, here he is, standing before you, his presence filling the space that had felt so empty without him. he looks different tonight—still himself, but dressed in a way that blends with the formality of the event. yet, there’s something in his posture, in the way his dark eyes flicker between you and the painting, that betrays the turmoil he’s been carrying.

“jay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. but he hears you, as he always does.

he takes a step closer, his gaze shifting to meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you disappears. the ballroom, the guests, the music—it all fades into the background, leaving only the two of you in this fragile, suspended moment.

his eyes soften as they take you in, and there’s a vulnerability in his expression that you hadn’t seen before, something that makes your heart ache even more. “you remembered,” he says quietly, gesturing toward the painting. “the marketplace. that day.”

you nod, your throat tightening. “how could i forget? it was…” you pause, searching for the right words, but nothing seems adequate. “it was perfect.”

jay’s gaze lingers on the painting, as though seeing the memory play out all over again. his lips part, but no words come. instead, he takes another step toward you, his presence so close now that you can feel the pull between you—the unspoken tension that had simmered just beneath the surface for so long.

“i’ve been thinking about that day,” he says, his voice low and rough. “about us.”

your heart hammers in your chest. “and?”

his eyes flicker with a mix of emotions—regret, longing, and something you can’t quite place. “i thought i could stay away. that it would be easier, safer, for both of us. but i couldn’t.” his voice wavers, just slightly, and the vulnerability in it makes your pulse race. “not tonight.”

you swallow, your chest tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. the distance between you feels unbearably small, but also impossibly vast. he’s here. after all this time, he’s finally here. but the question still lingers, heavy in the air between you: what happens now?

just as you open your mouth to speak, to ask the questions that have been burning inside you for weeks, jay steps closer, his eyes locked on yours. the noise of the ballroom fades even further into the background, until all that’s left is him. and in that moment, with his gaze so full of emotion, you know that nothing has been forgotten. every stolen glance, every brush of hands, every whispered word—it’s all still there, between you, as real and undeniable as ever.

the night may be full of celebrations, but the only thing that matters is this: jay is here, and nothing will ever be the same again.

the grand ballroom continues to pulse with life around you, but the world feels quiet in the cocoon of jay’s presence. you haven’t even fully processed the fact that he’s here, standing in front of you after weeks of silence. his eyes—deep and full of an emotion you’ve longed to see—are fixed on you, as though he’s drinking in the sight of you, afraid to blink in case you disappear.

the weight of his absence, the unanswered letter, the uncertainty—it all rushes to the surface, but you force yourself to stay grounded in the moment. you open your mouth to speak, to ask the questions burning in your chest, but before you can, jay takes a step closer.

“you never stopped painting,” he says quietly, nodding toward the marketplace painting, his voice filled with a mix of awe and relief. “you’ve grown even more since i left.”

his words are a gentle balm to the ache in your heart, but they only skim the surface of what you truly want to know. you swallow hard, the emotions too thick in your throat to speak.

your breath hitches. “why didn’t you respond to my letter, jay?”

there’s a beat of silence before he looks away, the rawness of his feelings flickering across his face. “because i didn’t know if i was strong enough to walk away again,” he admits. “and i wasn’t sure if i could give you the life you deserve.”

“after everything we’ve been through, you still think i care about that?” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of all the unspoken words. “i just wanted you, jay. that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes another step forward, closing the distance between you until his presence is overwhelming. “i couldn’t respond, because i knew that if i did, i wouldn’t be able to stop myself from coming back to you. and once i did, i’d never want to leave. but you… you have paris, you have a future.”

“and i want you to be part of that future,” you say, your voice stronger now. “i’ve had weeks to think about this, jay. i’m leaving soon, and i need to know where we stand before i go. please, just tell me how you feel.”

jay’s eyes flash with a storm of emotions—hesitation, fear, and something deeper, something that has been bubbling just beneath the surface. he reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing yours, the touch sending warmth rushing up your arm. “i’m terrified,” he admits in a voice so soft it makes your heart ache. “i’ve never felt like this about anyone before, and i don’t want to ruin it.”

“you won’t,” you say, stepping closer until your hands are fully entwined, your pulse quickening as his warmth floods your senses. “i don’t care about titles, status, or what anyone else thinks. you make me feel alive, jay. that’s all i need.”

his grip tightens on your hand, and for a moment, it seems like he’s grappling with the depth of what you’re offering. his breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts, as though he’s trying to hold himself together.

“i don’t want you to sacrifice everything for me,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “you’re a princess, destined for greatness, for a life most people can only dream of. i’m just... a man who paints.”

you step even closer, until there’s barely any space between you. “and that’s enough for me. more than enough.”

for a split second, he looks at you as though he can’t believe you’re real. but then, before you can say anything more, he steps forward, pulling you into his arms in one swift motion. the warmth of his body against yours is overwhelming, but in the best way, and as his arms wrap around you, holding you tightly, you feel the tension that’s been building between you melt away.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear as he holds you close. “for leaving. for making you wait.”

you close your eyes, leaning into him, your heart swelling with the relief of finally having him here. “you’re here now,” you murmur against his shoulder. “that’s all that matters.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting gently on your arms as his dark eyes meet yours. and in them, you see everything—the love he’s been holding back, the fear, the hope. “i love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “i’ve loved you since the first day we met, and i’ve been fighting it ever since. but i don’t want to fight it anymore.”

your heart swells at his words, the weight of them settling deep in your chest. “i love you, too,” you whisper, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you as you say the words out loud for the first time. “i always have.”

the smile that spreads across jay’s face is like sunlight breaking through clouds, and before you know it, he’s lifting you off the ground, spinning you around in a burst of joy and laughter. the world around you spins with him, but you don’t care—because for the first time in what feels like forever, everything is right. everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be.

when he finally sets you back down, your feet touching the ground once more, his hands stay on your waist, grounding you in the moment. his eyes, full of love and warmth, search yours, and for a second, neither of you speak. you don’t need to. the silence is filled with everything you’ve both been waiting for.

“i want to be with you,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “but i don’t want you to lose yourself for me.”

you smile, shaking your head. “i’m not losing anything. i’m gaining everything i’ve ever wanted.”

jay’s hand finds yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he looks at you, his gaze full of the future. “paris,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “you’re still going?”

you nod, your heart racing at the thought of what’s to come. “i am. and i want you to come with me.”

he hesitates, just for a moment, as though the reality of what you’re asking is still sinking in. but then, his smile grows, and he nods, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “i’ll come with you. we’ll go together.”

your heart leaps at his words, the hope you’d been holding onto finally blossoming into something real. paris—together. it’s everything you’d dreamed of, everything you hadn’t dared to believe could happen. but now, standing here with jay, it’s all within reach.

“we’ll see the world,” he says, his voice soft but filled with excitement. “we’ll paint, we’ll live, we’ll—”

“we’ll be happy,” you finish for him, your smile widening as you lean into his touch.

he nods, his forehead resting gently against yours. “yes. we’ll be happy.”

and in that moment, as the ballroom buzzes with life around you, as the painting of your shared memory hangs on the wall behind you, you know it’s true. you and jay—together, free, and full of love. the world is yours, waiting to be explored. and with him by your side, you know that this is only the beginning.

as you stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the future stretches out before you like a blank canvas, waiting for you to fill it with all the colours of your love, your passion, and the adventures you’ll share. together, you’ll paint a life full of beauty, one brushstroke at a time.

and as the night fades and the dawn of a new chapter begins, you know—this is your happily ever after.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

taglist: @punchbug9-blog @firstclassjaylee @capri-cuntz @addictedtohobi @jaysfavoritegirl @yuniesluv @isa942572 @academiq @missychief1404 //the ones in bold could not be tagged for some reason. im so sorry guys tumblr is acting up :(

[yandere-yearnings]

Weird thought rant ‼️

I always see in smuts that the MC gets a belly bulge and all that but okay, hear me out, how about MALE belly bulge? I have no idea if that’s possible due to male anatomy but I just thought that would be something

Join the cause and support Male belly bulge 😸

dw nonnie, i'm alr w/ you😌✨ (+ for reference it is possible!!)

anyway, this, for vio bc i feel like it'd be more prominent on him than my other ocs. also as a little smth for all the vio fuckers who continue to dominate the inbox🥰

NSFW under the cut!

“Shit.” Gasping breaths. Intakes hitched harder and harder. “Fuck, please. Please, I’m sorr-”

Vio's words never quite made it out of his mouth, not when your fingers quickly found their place within the wetness oozing from the space between spongey tongue and roof. Teary greens straining to meet your gaze, pleading mercy like what you were doing to him was torture, even though Vio was the one who slammed his ass back to meet your hips each time, without fail. 

“Aren’t you a fucking mess?” The amusement in your voice was palpable, and you knew it got him off, what with the way he keened, forehead pressing to the sheets and hands fisting the fabric as though it could save his life. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard an apology from these pretty lips,” your point was driven home when he gagged, and your spit-slicked digits slipped out just for you to smear it to a shine on them, “best not start now, hm? It might make me wanna take pity on you and then-”

He cried your name, and you watched the muscles in his back ripple as he convulsed. Sweat glistening, mesmerising in the way rain droplets were when they ran races against glass windows, dripping into the divots of sacral dimples you were aching to dig your thumbs into.

“And then who’s gonna fuck you like this, huh?” Your cleaner hand reached out, wrapped around his throat tight enough to choke him, and pulled him up. It drove you deeper into him — had Vio's eyes rolling to the back of his skull, had him clawing at you with almost the same intensity as he moaned. “Fuck you this good,” your hand trailed to his abdomen, where skin stretched thin, “fill you up, make you scream. You know I’m the only one who can do it for you. Only I know who you are, what you deserve. Right, Vio?”

“O-Only you,” Vio rasped, “only you, Y/N. Please.”

“You keep saying that,” you hummed, pressing a kiss to his jugular absent-mindedly. His pulse was fluttering, light and so fast in a way you thought suited the image of delicacy he’d crafted for the world. The way his body molded to your shape said otherwise, unbreaking, despite your efforts to do just that. “What are you begging for? What have I not given you?”

“Everything.” Wisps of blue flurried in your vision, and they were all you could see for seconds after Vio tilted his head back on your shoulder. The ocean, in the colour of his eyes. Lapping waves that undulated and moved towards you. “This much isn’t enough.” Seasalt at his nape, on your tastebuds, becoming addictive. “Give it all to me.” Threatening to drown you. “Y/N.”

For a second you were gone, and then his voice, weighted only momentarily, had you snapping back into reality, into motion, into him. “Greedy,” you tittered, index up his Adam’s apple to tap on his chin and push it down, “can’t you see that I already am?”

“Fuck.” Vio's eyes widened, the slightest bit — you wouldn’t have caught it if you weren’t looking. Your palm smoothed over where his belly bulged, applied a little pressure and watched his pupils blow. It was funny to you that he hadn’t noticed before. “Fuck. Y/N, wait.” Between his legs, Vio's dick twitched, clearly not as spent as either of you had first assumed, not with how it was leaking now. “Wait!”

There are things you’d never know about him; what type of pleasure coursed through his veins on seeing the strain you put on him, if it was a physical fulfillment, if it was solely the feeling, or the thought, being claimed, stretched, ruined. You never wandered about it long — after all, it didn’t matter. In seconds, the ocean overflowed for you. He spilt for you.

Vio lost his mind for you.

[judyvan]

No Hands - Chris Sturniolo Fanfic

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Summary: After picking on Chris for being an extremely touchy person, the two of you make a bet. Will Chris be able to control himself long enough to win?

Warnings: MDNI/ smut/ chrisxfem!reader/ bf!chris/ unprotected p n v (use a fucking rubber)/ oral (fem receiving)/ touchy! chris x needy! reader/ competitive! chris/ use of "you"/couldn't tell ya how many words

A/N: Time for a Chris fanfic! I am still new to writing, so bear with me. The song loosely relates to the fic. Interactions are appreciated! Pls don't steal my shit. Thx!💋

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

"Keep your filthy fucking paws off of me," Nick says pushing his brother, Chris, away from him. Chris had wrapped his arm around Nick's shoulders as the two of them spoke.

Your boyfriend Chris is probably the most physically affectionate person that you know. He is always eager to touch those he cares about the most. Whenever it comes to you, Chris loses all self-control. He needs to be touching you in some way at all times; like he'll go insane without the feeling of your body against his in some way, shape, or form.

"You have got to be the touchiest motherfucker that I know, seriously," Nick continues, dusting the remanence of Chris' hands off of his shoulders.

"Shut up," Chris chuckles, pushing Nick backwards.

Nick looks up shocked. His eyes move back and forth from yours and Matt's, Nick and Chris' other brother. You and Matt begin to laugh uncontrollably.

"Please tell me you two fucking see this. I mean this is absurd! Even when I ask him not to touch me, he touches me. It's crazy!" Nick states completely dumbfounded.

Chris is laughing along with you and Matt. He begins to walk towards Matt, reaching out to grab his arm as he loses control of his body.

"Don't bring that shit over here," Matt says out of breath, wiping the tears from his eyes, failing to reel himself in.

Chris looks at you through squinted eyes. You simply open your arms as he walks towards you. He knew that you wouldn't turn down his touch. Chris stands in front of you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head in the crook of your neck, laughing profusely into your skin.

"Can we please talk about this?!" Nick begins, still completely shocked. "I have never seen anything like this. Like he actually needs to be studied. He has always been "touchy feely", but ever since he got a girlfriend, it has multiplied by a gabillion." The room is still filled with the laughter of Chris and Matt, yours no longer producing noise.

"I mean seriously, I feel so bad for you. I can guarantee that you never get a fucking second to just breathe!" Nick exclaims.

You somehow manage to catch your breath and gain composure.

"It doesn't bother me. I've gotten used to it," you reply, rubbing your hand up and down Chris' back, attempting to calm him down.

Nick releases a scoff, letting you know that he doesn't believe you.

"Anyways, back to what I was saying," Nick begins shaking his head. He's looking at you, the only one stable enough to understand him. "Me and Matt are going to the store; do you want us to get you guys anything; besides some fucking giggle juice?"

"No, I think that's all we need," you reply, letting out a small laugh. Your whole body is now shaking at the intensity of Chris' reaction to Nick's last statement.

"Alright, we will be back in a few hours," Nick says, practically dragging Matt out of the door, him and Chris continuing to crack up.

The door shuts and Chris is eventually able to control himself. He pulls his head out of your neck and looks in your eyes, a huge grin spread across his face.

"Let's go to my room and find something to do until they get back," Chris says, his fingers running up and down your sides. You meet his lips with a short peck.

"I've got something in mind," you say smirking at him.

The two of you walk to Chris' room, holding hands of course. You have been trying to convince Chris to watch all of your favorite movies and now is the perfect time to start. Chris turns on the movie, "Five Feet Apart," and the two of you lay in his bed. As the film goes on, you can't help but think about what Nick was saying earlier. You are now very observant of how often Chris asks for a kiss or squeezes you tighter. When he gets up out of bed to grab a drink, you begin to laugh out loud at your own thoughts. Chris comes back into the room as you're laughing uncontrollably, trying to think of any moment he has spent any amount of time without physical contact.

"What the fuck is so funny?" Chris asks, taking a sip of his Pepsi as he stands in his doorway.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed to face your boyfriend.

"I was just thinking about what Nick was saying. I genuinely cannot think of a time that you went 5 minutes without touching me," you say.

Chris smirks and shakes his head. He begins to walk closer to you.

"Do you really think that I touch you a lot?" he asks, taking another drink.

"What do you mean think? You can't keep your hands off of me," you let out a small laugh.

"Yes, I can," Chris states in a cocky manner. "You touch me just as much as I touch you." He sits his drink down and gives you a smug look, stepping closer to you.

"Fine then. Let's make a deal. Until Nick and Matt get back, we have to keep our hands to ourselves. You can't touch me, and I won't touch you," you flick your brow up as you propose the idea to Chris.

"And why would I do that?" he says, laughing at your playfulness.

“To prove a point.”

Chris looks around the room for a second, thinking about what you said.

“How about we make this a little bit harder, since Nick and Matt aren't here,” he says, an arrogant look on his face. Chris bends down to whisper in your ear. “How about I do some things that make it harder for both of us to keep our hands off of each other.”

He then places an open-mouthed kiss to the spot right behind your ear. He tugs lightly on the bottom of your earlobe before pulling away. The combination of his warm breath, wet kiss, and teeth pulling on your skin, sends a feeling of arousal throughout your body. Chris looks at you with a shit-eating grin on his face, clearly able to see what he's doing to you.

"And why would I that?" you say, mocking him. Chris' eyes trail up and down your body, not missing a single curve.

"If I win, I get to touch you anywhere I want, wherever I want, anytime I want for a week, and you don't get to say shit to me about it." Chris runs his tongue across his bottom lip as he finishes his sentence. Just the thought of having any part of you at his fingertips whenever he pleased made him grow hard.

"And if I win," you start, noticing the tent forming at the crotch of his pants, " I get to wear as little as I want, whenever I want, and you can look all you want, but you can't touch, for a week." You smile up at Chris, seeing him picture you in the smallest article of clothing in his head.

"I think you've got yourself a deal," Chris says, moving even closer to you.

You lift off of the bed slightly, sliding your hands underneath of your ass, pressing them into the bed. Chris places his hands on the bed, one on either side of your hips. Your lips connect almost immediately, the two of you aching to touch now that you can't. The kiss is deep and passionate, the both of you long for more. You remove your hands from underneath you, pulling off the shirt and pants you're wearing. Chris' lips leave yours and meet your collarbone without hesitation. His hungry kisses across your skin deepen your desire for him to touch you. Chris has seen you in a bra and underwear plenty of times. Removing your clothes doesn't seem to faze him much.

"This is too easy," you say, a smile spreading across your face. Your hands reach behind your back and unbuckle your bra. You drop it on the floor, scoot away from Chris, and lay down on the bed.

Chris stands up completely. His eyes roam over your entire body, lingering on your breasts. Lacking a good poker face, Chris' expression confirmed that you just made things 10 times harder for him, in multiple different ways. He tugs at his bottom lip as he soaks in the amount of skin you have exposed.

"That's not fair," he laughs, his eyes touching every part of your figure that his hands should be feeling.

Chris removes all of his clothes, only leaving his boxers. Your eyes trail over his body. Your eyes widen when you see the bulge in his underwear. A small chuckle escapes Chris' lips at your face. His eyes never leave yours as he removes his underwear seductively, his entire body now on display.

"Now we're even," he says. Chris moves across the room and climbs on top of you, careful to keep both of his hands on the bed.

The air chills your uncovered body. Chris' lips only momentarily heating the areas that they touch. It isn't enough. You need his hands on you. Messy kisses are placed all around your frame as he travels down you. After reaching the waist band of your underwear, Chris moves directly to your inner thighs, devouring them. Your hips begin to buck upwards, wanting his mouth on the place covered by soaked fabric.

"Take them off," Chris says placing a single gentle peck to the front of your underwear.

You shake your head while biting your lip. You earnestly wanted his hands on you and refused to help him out any longer.

"You do it," you said, your heart racing.

"I'm not losing this bet," he responds placing a gentle kiss to either side of your pelvic bone. Suddenly, his tongue slides under the left side wing of your underwear. He pinches the material between his teeth and slides one side of your underwear down to your thigh. He slowly moves to the right side of your body and performs the same motion. His intention is to draw this process out as long as he can, hoping you'll cave. Tongue, bite, pull, switch. Tongue, bite, pull, switch. As soon as one side reaches your ankle, you begin to shake them off yourself, flinging them into the floor.

"Someone's impatient," Chris smiles. He knows you won't last much longer.

His head dives between your legs, his tongue licking up the need that is dripping from you. You let out a whimper, gripping onto the bed sheets, miserably trying to keep your hands busy. Chris' tongue splits you in half as his nose applies pressure to your clit. He begins to speed up his motion, his tongue now forming small circles around your most sensitive area. Your legs begin to squeeze inward, Chris' head between them acting as a magnet. You can't help but squirm, the intense feeling of pleasure taking over your body. All of your movement is making it difficult for Chris. He is unable hold your legs down, forcing them to stay put.

"If you don't stop moving, I'm going to have to stop," he says, momentarily pulling his lips off of you.

Your moans get louder as Chris proceeds to eat you out. Your legs begin to shake as you attempt to keep from moving, not wanting him to quit. His tongue slips inside of your opening. Your back arches off of the bed. He begins to eat you as sloppily as he can, wanting more than just his tongue to be inside of you. Your toes start to curl. He begins to shake his head back and forth, his tongue flicking in all directions, only stopping to suck on your ball of nerves. You cling onto the sheets for dear life. You're starting to get close. Don't do it. Your hands lose their hold on the bedsheets and find themselves in Chris' hair as you practically levitate off of the bed.

"Oh fuck!" you scream, on the edge of release.

Chris pulls away from you. You did touch him after all. Suddenly his eyes meet yours from in between your legs. His thumb brushes over his lips, gathering all of your remnants before sucking them off of his skin.

"I win," he says with a cocky smirk.

In a swift motion, Chris grabs your leg and throws it over his shoulder, plunging himself inside of you, burying his dick as deep in your walls as possible. As he thrusts in and out of you frantically, his hands touch every part of your body, making up for lost time. The two of you moan loudly at the feeling of him touching you inside and out. It doesn't take long before your stomach clenches and you reach your orgasm, Chris' warm cum coating your insides at the same time. As the two of you ride out your high, your hands continue to feel every part of each other. Chris slumps on top of you, wrapping his arms around you, and burying his face in your chest. Your arms embrace him, pulling him closer. After a few moments of relishing the feeling of you both on top of one another, Chris leaves your body to grab a towel and pull on his clothes. As he cleans you up, he makes sure to touch you in every way he can. He throws the towel on the floor and grabs your clothes, insisting on dressing you as well. He starts with your underwear and pants, wanting to see you topless as long as possible. Before putting your bra back on, he takes your breasts in both of his hands and squeezes, kissing you tenderly.

"You better get used to that," he says, pulling away from your mouth and sliding your bra on. "I've got a whole 7 days to do that whenever I want."

For the next week, Chris took as much advantage of his prize as possible. When meeting up with his family he would hug you as long and hard as he could. When around his brothers at home, he would palm your ass with both hands, squeezing roughly and kissing you with passion. Even when hanging out in public settings with your friend group, you would find at least one of his hands wandering from your thigh and meeting the sweet spot in between your legs.

[chestersturniolo]

𐌕Ꮤ𐌉𐌔𐌕𐌄𐌃

• inspired by “Robbers” The 1975 •

Chris Sturniolo x fem!reader

- robber!chris -

warnings; guns, violence

•

“The money didn’t matter. It never had. It was something deeper. This is your world, where nothing else matters but the rush, the chaos, and each other.”

•

The fluorescent lights of the 7-Eleven buzzed above, casting a clinical glow over the empty parking lot. You glance over at Chris, his face hidden behind the balaclava, just like yours. His eyes however are glinting, filled with that familiar, wild excitement. The kind that made your heart race, not with fear—but with thrill. You both had done this before. The money didn’t matter. It never had. It was something deeper. This is your world, where nothing else matters but the rush, the chaos, and each other.

Chris reaches behind you, firmly tapping your ass twice with his gloved hand. it’s your code—two taps. it’s always been that way, a silent message that says it’s time.

Two taps—and the world shifts.

The pit of your stomach churns, but it’s not nerves. It’s adrenaline. You love this feeling. You love him. It’s all a rush, the kind that pulls you closer together every time.

With that, you both start running towards the door. Chris swings it open with you following closely behind, the bell overhead chiming like a death knell. The lone cashier barely looks up before Chris strides over, gun in hand.

“Hands up!” Chris barks, his voice hard and filled with venom. The cashier freezes, his eyes wide with shock. Immediately raising his hands. Not a hero type. Perfect.

“P-please—”

“Shut up” Chris snaps, stepping closer, the barrel of the gun just inches from the man’s face now. “Dont fucking move”

You slip behind the counter, your fingers moving automatically to the register. The familiar click of buttons sends a pulse of calm through you—this part is yours. You’ve done this before, you’ll do it again. Chris handles the heat; you handle the take.

The cashier makes a small, jerky movement, maybe instinctual, but Chris is on him in an instant. “What did I just say?” he spits through gritted teeth, his hand pushing the gun harder against the guy’s head. The man stiffens again, you can feel Chris’s intensity, his anger barely contained, and somehow, it only sharpens your focus.

You get the register open, the cash spilling out in neat stacks. Your hands move fast, grabbing everything in sight, your heart pounding louder in your ears with every second.

“Come on, babe-“ Chris calls over to you, his voice still hard but laced with that twisted sense of pride. “-You got this. Quick and clean.”

You glance up at him for just a second, feeling that pulse, that connection between you two, like this dangerous game is the only place the world makes sense. He shoots you a wink—a gesture just for you, like a promise, like he’s telling you we own this moment.

You stuff the last of the bills into the bag, zipping it up with swiftly. You’re fast, you’re good. And Chris knows it.

“Thats my girl” he murmurs, his voice softer now, only meant for you. It’s like no one else is there. Just you and him in this twisted bubble you’ve created. No consequences. Just the thrill.

The cashier makes a small, pathetic whimper, his body trembling under Chris’s watch. “Please, don’t hurt me—”

Chris growls “You keep y’mouth shut, and I won’t”

There’s a beat of silence, tension thick in the air “Let’s go” you whisper,

Chris backs away slowly, the gun still trained on the cashier, his steps deliberate and controlled. “You remember this-” he says, his voice filled with menace. “-don’t do anything stupid once we’re gone, or you’ll wish you hadn’t”

The cashier nods frantically, too scared to even breathe. Chris shoots you one last glance, that dark look of satisfaction crossing his face as he jerks his head toward the door. You both slip out into the cool night air, your heart still hammering in your chest, the rush of the moment still pulsing through you.

Chris grabs your hand as the two of you start to run, the sound of your feet hitting the pavement syncing up, like the beat of your hearts, like the rhythm of this insane life you’ve built together.

The bag of money swings at your side, you glance over at Chris, and suddenly, he breaks into this deep, wicked laugh—dark and unhinged. It spreads through you instantly, and before you know it, you’re laughing too, the sound wild and uncontrollable. The both of you howling like you’ve completely lost your minds.

You don’t stop running, both of you panting, adrenaline coursing through your bodies.

Once you’re far enough, hidden in the shadows, Chris pulls you close, his breath warm against your neck through the fabric of his mask. “That was perfect-” he whispers breathlessly, his voice full of pride. “-you’re perfect.“

And in this strange, chaotic way, it feels like you are.

~~~~~

You and Chris sit on the worn-out couch, the same one you’ve spent countless nights on. The adrenaline hasn’t faded yet, not completely. It lingers, buzzing under your skin as you empty the bag between you, the crumpled bills spilling out onto the coffee table. It isn’t about the money, but something about counting it afterward feels like part of the ritual, part of the bond.

Chris leans back, his balaclava pushed up onto his forehead now, revealing that grin of his, that wild spark still dancing in his eyes. He watches you as you start organizing the money, stacking it in neat little piles.

“Look at you-” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “-you looked so good out there tonight”

Your hands pause for a second, heat rushing to your cheeks, but you keep counting. There’s no hiding the way your pulse quickens when he talks like that, especially after a job like this. He knows it.

“You should’ve seen yourself-” he continues, his tone both proud and admiring. “-fast, sharp... just like I taught you” His eyes narrow slightly, but there’s a playful gleam in them. “My very own little bandit, huh? movin’through that store like you owned the place”

You glance up at him, biting back a smile. Bandit. It fits. You love how he sees you—fearless, bold, someone who can stand next to him in all this madness. There’s a part of you that craves this chaos, craves the way he looks at you when you’re in the thick of it together. Like you’re both untouchable.

“You’re not so bad yourself-” you reply, leaning back, “-I mean, the way you handled that guy?”

Chris chuckles as he reaches out, his hand gripping your thigh as he leans in a little closer. “You’re the one who keeps me sharp ma—couldn’t do it without you”

His fingers trace lazy circles over your thigh, his touch grounding you, reminding you that this is your world, the one you’ve built together. A world that no one else understands, but that makes perfect sense to the two of you.

You lean in, closing the distance between you, your lips connecting. It’s not just about the crime, not really. It’s about this—this moment where everything feels electric and alive, where nothing else matters but you, him and the wild, reckless freedom that comes with being together.

Chris pulls back just enough to look at you, that grin still plastered across his face. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “You n me, baby. Against the world.”

•

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

a/n - i think this is possibly my favourite thing i’ve written, maybe it’s the raging 1975 fan in me idk, but i love this concept of robber!chris x reader and their twisted relationship/recklessness i think it’s hot as fuck. i’m planning on doing more on their relationship, headcannons, blurbs, more fics etc. lemme know what you think, i hope you enjoyed it!!

r̳̿͟͞o̳̿͟͞b̳̿͟͞b̳̿͟͞e̳̿͟͞r̳̿͟͞!c̳̿͟͞h̳̿͟͞r̳̿͟͞i̳̿͟͞s̳̿͟͞ a̳̿͟͞u̳̿͟͞ l̳̿͟͞o̳̿͟͞a̳̿͟͞d̳̿͟͞i̳̿͟͞n̳̿͟͞g̳̿͟͞….

- 𝑺𝒂𝒈𝒆 ♡

MASTERLIST

taglist; @sturnobsessedwh0re @nayveetbhh @phone4pills @demzzz @dripgodnay @sturniooolos @monroesturnns @mattsbitchh @slutforsturnioloss @pvssychicken @tsturniolo4 @brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @stvrlighht @witchofthehour @ilyttmatsa @asherrisrandom @l0ver-i @starstrucktyrantinfluencer

[okwonyo]

ME AND ‎ ‎𓈒 ‎𓈒 ‎𓈒 MY (FAKE) HUSBAND제이크 ！ ‎ ‎

엔하이픈 제이크 ♡ f ⦂ r ! 5OO fluff established relationship ── spy au au fake dating kissing skinship not proof-read ⠀ ｡｡ ⠀ ( 𝑜𝑜𝑒𝑢𝑣𝑟𝑒𝑠)

지아 ⠀⦂ ⠀never went this long without posting .. woah TT enjoy 🎀

rblgs♥︎fdbcks & C𝑙𝑖CK

your first encounter with him wouldn’t even be a tad bit intentional. none of you would know that you are spies, none of you would know that you have a mission in common.

after a fighting with a man that wanted to hurt someone, with your chest heaving as you pant and your mouth apart as you get up, someone would try to hurt you and he would jump on you to save you. 

like in the movies, would find a way to land on his back so he is not crashing your whole body. your nose buried in his neck, his arms around you. your breath would be caught in your throat when your eyes would land on his beautiful face. 

and him, would fall for you in an instant. would even fail to ask you if you are alright before hearing another loud song coming from outside. 

you would tell him to follow you, taking his hand in yours and then running as fast as you can.

there would be no other words exchanged, you would both go your own without knowing that love was just a word away. 

what a surprise it would be when you step foot into your boss’ office and see that handsome man sitting next to the chair that, you would assume, is destined for you. 

“this undercover mission will feature a married couple on their honeymoon.”

training times would be quite intense and the awkward phase would quickly vanish after that sudden announcement.

preparing for a mission takes time and hand-to-hand combat is important as spies. so you would have to train together. a lot.

“pay attention, princess, eyes on me.”

his flirting and the little smirk tugging on his lips wouldn’t go unnoticeable by you when you train and end up on top of him. you won, so why does he seem satisfied by that? 

his flirting would manage to get worse by the time the mission starts and your heart ability to not calm down around this man too.

it would be exceedingly ridiculous— his soft and subtle touch would make your whole body vibrate and the kisses you share would make your knees feel pathetically weak. 

the sweet nicknames he would smoothly slide in his sentences would never fail to make you giggle and blush. and to your misfortune, he would drink your natural reactions like water. 

what would drive the most insane would be the fact that he is acting and that you are a spy, it wouldn’t be the first time you do that— and not the last— but he would be the first to make you feel that way. 

until he speaks, his words guiding you out of your spirals. with his warm and strong hand holding yours against his beating heart. 

“i know this is supposed to be all made up—and it is! but these feelings i have for you and the beating of my heart getting faster as your touch lingers, it is real. since i saw you taking that big guy down that night. he was coming for me and you saved me.”

the rest of that story would be for you to tell.

ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open.

[astuteology]

Some more astrology notes/observations🍀🦫

🪐Aries placements are more observant than Scorpio placements. Here's why- they are the babies of the zodiacs, and as a baby, they observe everyone and everything around them. Learning things on their own. Knows who has bad aura or energy.

🪐Planets in the 5th house makes you more appealing to others than planets in the 1st house.

🪐Capricorns placements are hard to anger but once angered, their rage is worse than an aquarius or a cancer.

🪐Underdeveloped cancers fit the stereotype of gemini having 2 faces than gemini itself.

🪐Mercury in the 1st house individuals are turned off "badly" by people who talk shit and speak with half knowledge.

🪐1st house moon has this brightness on their face that makes others stop and stare. I'm sure they've had this question "do I have something in my face?". Actually you do, it's your magnetism.

🪐Underdeveloped Scorpio rising are all talk and no action. They're gonna be like "oh I'm gonna show them why they shouldn't have done that!". And then they run away, avoiding confrontation.

🪐As much as an aries like direct, clear and open communication, they themselves act passive-aggressive sometimes.

🪐Speaking of aries, their love for freedom is above everything. They want love that frees them. Same goes for aquarius.

🪐Virgo's perfectionism can make them loyal and dedicated partners.

🪐Cancer sun + leo moon, when in an argument with their love, they became dramatic and attention seeking, needing reassurance.

🪐Aquarius sun + Scorpio moon makes the individual fear intimacy and emotional vulnerability. Aqua's reluctance to open up and scorpio's intense emotional needs. This create a push and pull dynamic.

🪐Taurus venus + Sagittarius mars makes an individual have conflicting desires. Commitment vs exploration. Stability vs adventure. Emotional intensity vs intellectual connection.

🪐Scorpio placements are often lost in their thoughts even more than gemini or pisces placements. They often feel like outsiders, observing life from afar.

🪐Leo placements are passionate. Like VERY passionate. They do be having a tendency to burn the bridges, quick and fast.

🪐Capricorns often possess a witty, understated sense of humor.

🪐Speaking of Capricorn, they are sooooooooo slow to trust. Even more than a Scorpio.

🪐Aries moon is as sensitive as cancer and pisces moon. They feel so deeply.

🪐Aries placements competitiveness can lead to sabotage and self destruction.

🪐Cancers strive for perfection more than a virgo. But this can lead to anxiety and burnout.

🪐Taurus placements can love you and never let you know. Ever.

🪐I've seen virgo placements being obsessive in relationships more than Scorpio placements. (Tell me why, please.)

🪐Sagittarius placements are often restlessness. They are looking for something that they don't even know.

🪐Mars square uranus- self destructive tendencies.

🪐Aries venus in the 12th house: hidden vulnerability- fear of loss. Fear of losing themselves or their lover.

🪐Mercury square neptune- inner turmoil and emotional depth.

🪐Moon square Saturn: inner critic. Perfectionism.

🪐Gemini in the 12th- easily distracted. Easily scattered. A small memory can scatter them.

🪐Cancer moon in the 12th: fear of abandonment. Fear of emotional rejection. Difficulty in trusting others.

🪐Sun square Jupiter- confidence or arrogance?

🪐Sun conjunct saturn- fear of not shining. Fear of not meeting the expectations. Self doubt.

🪐Mercury conjunct pluto- obsessive tendencies.

🪐Mercury square chiron- self doubt that feels like it goes on forever. Self criticism.

🪐Venus square Saturn- harmony or authenticity?

🪐Libra venus in the 12th- fear of opening up. Fear of being judged. Fear of angering your partner.

🪐Pluto square moon- terrified of superficial people tbh. They are very very very scared of opening up.

🪐Pluto trine neptune: rebirth. Transformation. Regeneration. Renewal.

🪐Jupiter square uranus: restlessness for something. Something that needs a change.

🪐Jupiter conjunct mars- fear if the unknown. (Strange? I know.)

🪐Saturn square moon- weight of responsibilities. Their head are usually heavy. (I'll fight with god to take half of your responsibilities.)

🪐Uranus square venus: detachment. Fear of intimacy. May even lose interest in love.

🪐Neptune square moon- reality or illusion? Is it real or is it fake? Am I being guided or am I being lied to?

🪐Scorpio in the 8th house is same as the Scorpio sun, moon or venus.

🪐Aquarius moon experience emotions in different ways, often needing space to process.

🪐Aquarius ascendant- unpredictable first impression.

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

I love the way you write Logan, it's so comforting! Can't wait to see more of your work, it's lovely💗

Idk if this would be your thing so feel free to ignore obviously!

How do you think Logan's dynamic would be with a reader having intense intimacy issues, to the point where they struggle to even think about doing anything more than make out with him? I really haven't found any fic like that and I think that you would a concept like that more than justice

I do see him having some intimacy issues himself (traumatized wet cat💀)

this is so sweet, thank you so much! My brain immediately supplied a list of head canons, I hope that you enjoy <3

~ So I am thinking about Logan from the original trilogy for these in particular ~ He definitely has some intimacy issues, more so on the emotional intimacy side than physical intimacy ~That is, until he meets you. You're a professor at the school, and while he can tell you love the young mutants with a large part of your heart, you remain physically distant from them. When the Youngers ones reach for a hug, you meet them instead with a fist bump or a high five. Never cruel, but always setting your boundary. ~The first time you catch him noticing your habit, you expect him to roll his eyes, or hit you with a judgy side eye. Instead, he quirks his head and resumes what he had previously been doing. ~Eventually, the two of you start spending a lot more time together. He will nudge a cup of coffee your way, and ask after you when you have a headache. He never encroaches on your space, despite being quite touchy with the other faculty.

~You spend a week working up the courage to confront him about it, strategizing the best way to ask for the reassurance you want but have trouble asking for. You expect him to blow you off, but when you knock on his door, he ushers you inside and lets you choose where to sit in the room, choosing his seat to be close enough to show he is invested but far enough away for your comfort. It isn't even a conscious thought for him, it's natural. ~You fumble through your question, doing your best to explain your line of thinking, before eventually just spitting out "do you hate me?" ~He is so shocked that he doesn't know what to say for a few seconds, which only makes your anxiety feel worse. ~He takes a few seconds, collecting his thoughts, and then you can see the typical Logan smirk start sparkling in his eye again. "Sweetheart, it's a little hard to hate the person you're acting a fool over". Your eyes practically bug out of your skull, and he chuckles to himself. He is twitching in his seat, and you can tell he is trying his best to not gather you up in his arms. ~You extend a hand out to him, palm upturned. He takes it instantly. He raises your entwined hands halfway towards his mouth, before meeting your eyes and waiting for your reaction. ~You nod, holding your breath and he drops a kiss on the back of your hand, before adjusting so that he can kiss your palm as well. ~When he hears your heartbeat stutter, he is quick to hold your hand again, resting against his knee. He confirms that you feel the same way, insistent on getting verbal confirmation. Your face feels like it is on fire, but you reply in the affirmative. "We are going to take this as slow as you need. I... I care about you so much, and your comfort always comes before anything else." ~You feel a few tears well up, and he moves to wipe them away as they begin to fall. Again, he pauses before actually making contact with your face, waiting for your gentle nod. ~From that day on, you are even more attached at the hip than before. Logan loves knowing that you are with him for more than his body, and he is constantly making sure that you know how much he values you. ~Overall, I just imagine him being very sweet and understanding and taking it as slow as you need. He is protective of you when you meet new people, often coming in between you and others who are not as considerate as he thinks they should be. Definitely sends his protective instincts into a bit of an overdrive, but you also appreciate having the scary dog privilege when you are out in public as well. People are definitely giving you a wider berth than you are used to. You always feels safe and taken care of with him, which is exactly how he wants it to be

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (2)

Summary: Terry and Treece are feeling the sparks again.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,659

Part: 2 of ??

Warnings: None. This one's a safe for work slow burn. Enjoy.

Previous

Grocery shopping was Patrice's private pastime. She was the queen of her universe when she walked through aisles every Saturday morning. Every flash bargain and value-sized item bent to her will for a chance at making it to her humble abode and fulfilling its one purpose in life. Employees greeted her like royalty. Customers started conversations like old friends, always giving her the scoop on any sale they'd overheard in their neighborhood Facebook groups. She was happy. She was zen. She was in her element.

"Do you need this?" 

She was a woman dragging around a large man intent on breaking any modicum of concentration she had left.

Patrice stopped and looked over her shoulder at Terry, who held a bag of cotton candy grapes up in the air for her inspection. "No, TJ. Put it down." 

"Why? You like grapes." 

"Because we're getting grapes from the farmer's market. Now, put it back."

Her rebuke was sweet but stern. Having him as a way too familiar roommate was becoming easier as the days passed. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss the freedom to go for a walk, watch a movie on the couch, or even enjoy an intimate moment alone in her own house without a man looming somewhere in the very near background. 

He didn't allow her to travel alone, and she never had the energy to protest. 

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm a kid," he grumbled as he put the grapes back in their place.

"Then stop acting like one. I have a list. I know what I need." 

"I know what I need." He exaggerated his mimicry for maximum effect. 

"You see how that was childish?" 

"Whatever." 

Patrice ignored him in favor of browsing packages of beef for the best deal. If she didn't respond, maybe he would get the hint. And, for a few moments, he did. Terry took a break in conversation to scan the immediate area quietly. He noted each patron and their most important details before checking the exit and entry points at the front of the store. They weren't secure enough, but he could manage if the situation required evacuation.

A lack of action soon turned his attention back to Patrice, who still hadn't decided. He gave her a slow once over and smiled at how much focus she put into such a simple choice. Her brow remained furrowed in intense thought, transforming her into the ninth-grade Patrice he met during a chance encounter in the library. Truthfully, he didn't have much of an opinion either way. He just wanted to talk to her every second of the day, even if it meant being annoying. 

"Get that one." 

His sudden interruption startled Patrice out of her zone, adding a final straw to an already exhausted camel's back. Terry grinned in triumph as she closed her eyes for a calming breath. 

"Terry," she spoke, slow and measured to keep the peace. "Take the other half of this list and get out of my face. Don't come back until you find everything. I'll meet you at the register." 

She didn't give him much time to protest before she shoved a carefully torn half of paper into his chest and sent him on his way. He gave her a sarcastic salute, which she waved off without a second look. She needed a moment alone and didn't care if he came back with Fruity O's instead of Fruit Loops if that meant he would be out of her hair for more than 10 minutes. 

Terry found himself slowly meandering around the grocery store with a tiny basket in tow, exhausted by all the options on each aisle. If Patrice hadn't been so meticulous with her lists, he would've given up on the mission and gone back to home base with his tail tucked between his legs. 

After sourcing the perfect pint of Oreo ice cream as an apology for his behavior, Terry found himself drawn to the sound of laughter on the next aisle. Sure enough, Patrice was parked by the frozen vegetables and engaged with a man dressed in the store's colors with his eyes directed far too low to be looking at Patrice's face. 

Terry quickly reached her location, stopping behind Patrice to show her guest the full extent of his scowl. 

Patrice noticed how his once loose body language had gone stiff and sighed. She didn't need to investigate the problem. Only her human pitbull could make a man cower in fear like that. 

"Derrick, this is Terry. Terry, this is Derrick. He usually helps me get stuff to my car." 

"Ah, man. It's a good thing I'm here, right? We don't need you taking too many breaks from stocking. Mornin' rush can get crazy." 

"Terry," Patrice admonished with a harsh whisper and an elbow to his stomach. 

Terry remained steadfast, keeping his eyes on Derrick while taking one step closer. A taunting smile tugged on the right side of his mouth. He waited on any sign of fight from his unspoken adversary. 

Derrick stood in palpable discomfort, sizing up the outcomes if he decided to test his luck. Each mental scenario led him back to some instance of physical harm on his last shift of the week. He had plans for the weekend, none involving a trip to the emergency room.

Patrice stood between a rock and a hardheaded man, praying that the Lord would end her suffering.

"That's what I was about to say," Derrick answered before shifting his attention back to Patrice. "I think I oughta get going. See you around, Ms. Ellis?" 

"Same time next week." 

He nodded in half-hearted agreement and hurried out of dodge, with Terry keeping a watchful eye until he was safely around the corner. 

Patrice groaned with one hand, rubbing tight circles at her temple. "What in the hell was that about?" 

"He wouldn't even look you in the eye. If he can't look you in the eye when he's speaking, he can't protect you, and he doesn't respect you." 

"I'm not looking for his protection. I need this water loaded into my trunk every week when you aren't here!" 

"I'll never not be here. Problem solved."

His declaration was so sure, so matter of fact, that it left Patrice no room for retort. So she resorted to schoolyard antics. 

It was her turn to mock him with an exaggerated, deep voice. "Problem solved. Push the damn cart since you got so much energy." 

He obliged without protest and a proud, self-satisfied grin that Patrice couldn't see while she led the way to the register. An unexpected system error had halted all transactions, leaving them log jammed in a long line of restless customers. 

Together, they stood sharing light banter and running through weekend tasks, resembling any other couple making a store run to strangers observing them from the outside looking in. Former acquaintances, however, had no problem drawing attention to the pair from three spots back in line. 

"I know that ain't who I think it is." Both Patrice's and Terry's eyes darted up to find the source of the loud outburst, only to whisper 'fuck’ in tandem when they spotted Katrina Spivey waving her arms to grab their attention. "Hey, Terry Richmond!" 

Terry pretended to ignore being singled out by turning his back, earning a stifled laugh from Patrice. Katrina, not one to be deterred, used the moment to push past patrons in line until she reached her destination with a host of angry faces in her wake. 

"Well, if it ain't Mr. and Miss Homecoming in the flesh. You two finally stopped kidding around and got married?" 

"No," Terry answered without much explanation, his back still turned. Patrice reluctantly made up his slack. 

"What Terry meant to say was that we're not married. We're not together at all, actually. But he's here to visit me for a while." 

"What a blessing it is to have friends you can lean on when you need a helping hand."

"Amen."

An awkward tension settled into the conversation's lull, compounded by Terry's outright refusal to engage. Patrice was in deep water without a paddle and a co-captain who had already jumped ship.

Katrina wouldn't let the conversation end and take her newfound place in line. She continued to pry.

"Both of y'all look good! How long has it been since we last saw each other, huh? Gotta be since Terry's graduation send-off." 

Patrice feigned interest with a hollow smile. "Yeah, I think that was it. A looong time ago. All grown up now."

"And thank God for it! I remember how sad you looked all night because ol' Terry was moving away. Like a little crying puppy!" 

Katrina's laughter didn't quite reach Terry or Patrice, who bristled at mentioning one of the more contentious nights in their friendship. 

"Everybody's been a little young and dumb, right? Like when you and BJ got caught underneath the bleachers during state championships." 

Checkmate. A little reminder of her indiscretions had turned Katrina's condescending smile into a mean mug that could burn through anyone not equally as stubborn. 

Terry showed his approval with a light nudge against Patrice's arm. That was his girl. Sweet as pie but a tongue coated in venom when backed against the wall. He'd been on the receiving end on one too many occasions. It felt good to be on the winning side this time. 

Three seconds of a Western standoff had culminated in a gift sent via store intercom. 

"Apologies for the stoppage, folks. Our registers are back up and running. Thanks for your patience." 

Terry moved the cart to place items on the conveyor belt while Patrice waited for the conversation to resume.

Recovering from the sharp end of a verbal lashing, Katrina cleared her throat and grabbed hold of her cart in preparation to skip lines. 

"Well, I don't wanna hold y'all too much longer. If y'all don't think you're too good to mingle with us Francis High Hornets anymore, Corey's throwing a little Juneteenth gathering at his daddy's pool hall. This is my personal invite for the both of you."

"We were already invited. Maybe we'll make an appearance." 

"That'd be grand." 

"I bet it would."

Nice nasty smiles passed between the two foes until Katrina was off to harass some other unsuspecting patron. 

Patrice tried to let go of her frustration with an angry huff before turning to catch up with Terry, who was casually moving groceries from the bagging station to the shopping basket. He waited a moment before acknowledging the obvious. 

"You over it now, or do I need to iron a shirt for tonight?" 

"I'm over it," Patrice answered plainly. She calmly handed over payment for the day's groceries and smiled ever so sweetly to bid the cashier farewell. To an outsider, she'd returned to her zen state without much effort. Terry was no outsider and kept a cautious eye on her as they loaded bags into the trunk and got settled in the front seat of her SUV. 

"You sure you're good," he asked as he backed out of their parking space. 

"I'm sure, TJ," she answered with almost too much enthusiasm. Terry started a mental countdown for the other shoe to drop. "I'll iron the shirt. You need to shave." 

--------

The final verdict? A plain white T-shirt. 

An hour of searching, choosing, rejecting, and choosing again led them to a plain, crisp white tee. Patrice said it went better with her yellow wrap dress, which she chose because her girlfriends were all in dresses, and she wanted to match the occasion. It all sounded like made-up bullshit to Terry. Still, he accepted being treated like a Ken Doll because it meant that his Barbie would agree to a two-hour hard stop at the festivities. 

He'd already started his stopwatch when they pulled up on a busy street in front of an even busier hole in the wall.

The smell of fresh grease greeted them upon crossing the threshold from outside into Mister C's Bar and Lounge. Fried fish, French fries, and wings in any flavor you could ask for sat in the service window, waiting for their delivery to any one of the patrons packed from wall to cinderblock wall. Terry inhaled deeply and let his scowl drop for one second to fantasize about a bite of Corey Sr.'s signature catfish and fries basket. 

Next came the familiar mix of sweat and weed near the dancefloor as bodies intertwined to some GloRilla song neither of them recognized. Thick traffic in the center of the room paused Patrice on her path to the pool tables, locking her between Terry and a crowd that wouldn't budge. 

"Excuse me!" she shouted over a swell of crowd reaction to a new song. "I need to get by!" 

No response. Not even a look back as she used a hand to create space between her and a group of men debating nonsense. Before she could try again, Terry used one hand to push her forward and his voice to clear the way. 

"Yo, step out of the way. We need to get through." Direct and to the point. He left no room for misinterpretation, and his baritone's boom left no confusion about who was calling the shots. Patrice watched with her lips slightly parted in awe. 

The first reaction to his demand was the embers of confrontation. Each member of the group sized Terry up, noticing his heavy scowl and size in comparison to their own. Then, they realized that this wasn't a winning game. 

The flashiest of the group nodded, though disdain at the mere suggestion that he was in the way kept his mouth in a tight frown. "Yeah, you good, OG. My fault." 

Another light push propelled Patrice forward as Terry maintained with each man until they had passed. 

Once they were out of the mix and nearing their destination, he advised, "Stay close." Patrice nodded her compliance, shocking Terry into a slight smile in appreciation for her obedience. 

Sparks of electricity shot between them but had no time to turn into a total current before Corey called out to them. 

"Treece! Terry! We over here!" 

Surrounded by familiar faces from Francis Edward's Class of 2010, Corey welcomed them with open arms and his ever-present 100-watt smile. At a slight 5'6", 150 on his best day, he'd always been larger than his frame would suggest. Loud and flamboyant had always been the name of his game, earning him anything he set his sights on.

It didn't take long for the trio and Corey's wife, June, to fall into familiar habits and friendly jabs at one another as they took their seats in a makeshift VIP section by the pool tables. The Three-Headed Monster was their moniker in high school, and they moved like a military force. Terry was the enforcer, while Corey and Patrice served as judge and prosecutor. If you had an issue with one, you had an issue with all three. 

"Your security is lax. Who trained them?" Terry pointed out during a dead spot in conversation. 

Corey followed his eyeline to the two young men standing at the door and back. "My boy at the sheriff's office. What you see?" 

"They look soft. It wouldn't take much to overpower them and get in for some drama. You only have one exit. Somebody breeches this place, and you're on the hook for a tragedy. Plus, the one on the left is scared. He'll be the first to leave if things get hot. Watch him."

"Impressive," June remarked, smiling at Patrice, who subtly playfully waved her off.

"Hm." Corey took a long pull from his cigar, taking in the information before responding." You here for a minute, T? I got some connections over at Liberty if you looking to get back in the swing of things." 

"Contract?" 

"Whatever you need, man. You know I'm good for it."

Terry looked over at Patrice for some indication that she believed in Corey, and she returned with a subtle nod and encouraging smile. June looked between them and then at her husband before clearing her throat. 

"It looks like Kel and his boy are back on the pool table. You know he still owes you a game from when he cheated last week." 

"Hell yeah," Corey agreed as he turned in his seat to get a look at his enemy. "Aye, T, you trynna make $100 real quick?" 

"It's either that or you gotta come dance with me," Patrice challenged. "This rum and pineapple got me feeling a little loose." 

She wasn't lying. A taste of alcohol in her system was starting to make her want to explore parts of the Patrice she thought she left at North Carolina A&T. Every heart-rattling thump of Megan Thee Stallion's latest and greatest had her thinking about reminding everyone in the room that she could move with the best of them. 

Her little grind in her seat made Terry show teeth in a small grin before he stood to his full height and looked down at her. His eyes were hooded and dreamy from some combination of exhaustion and a contact high, reintroducing that spark from before.

"Don't go too far. I'll be back with your money in a little bit." 

Patrice's tongue felt too heavy to respond coherently past a punch-drunk nod. June watched her watch him make his way down the platform and into the crowd until both men were out of earshot. 

She whistled and shook her head. "That's a good-looking man, ain't he?" 

"Who? Corey? He alright. He's like a slightly more attractive Taye Diggs." 

"First off, ouch," June laughed. "Second, I was talking about Terry. He was cute in high school, but I'll be damned if that second puberty didn't take him to a whole 'nother level." 

"Don't tell him that. His head is big enough."

"You know you wrong for that." If the music weren't so loud, everyone in the building would've heard the pair guffawing over Patrice's petty insult. 

Once they contained themselves, June took a sip from her margarita and shifted in her seat to get closer to Patrice.

"He likes you still." Five plain words shook Patrice internally as she struggled to maintain a poker face. June continued. "I see the way he looks for your approval and damn near trips on himself to fulfill your every whim. You're all he talks about when he and Corey get on the phone." 

"They talk?" 

"From time to time. I think he needs a man's opinion sometimes, you know?" 

Patrice wrestled with the influx of information as June continued. 

"That man is mean as a snake. Always has been and always will be. But, you bring something out of him. Even if you can't always see it." 

"If that were the case, things would've been different for us back then." 

June shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe you're right where you're supposed to be. I know I can't make you do what you don't wanna do, but if what I say means anything, focus on today. Thirty-two-year-old Terry is so much more prepared to love you than eighteen-year-old Terry was." 

Punctuating her advice, June tapped Patrice's leg twice before taking a step away to refill their tray of food. 

Focus on today.

The words replayed in her mind repeatedly; even after their two hours were up, Terry had returned $100 richer, and they were back on the road to their quiet slice of the world. 

They rode together in content quiet, letting the Quiet Storm host talk while Terry tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. 

Randomly, he would glance in her direction, assuming she had lost the sleep battle to her old friend Bacardi. When he reached over to adjust the air vent on her side of the car, he was surprised when she mumbled a low "thank you." 

"My bad. I thought you were sleeping." 

"No. My head is swimming, though. Don't let me drink that much anymore." she laughed. 

He chuckled along with her but didn't agree to keep her from letting her hair down occasionally. In his eyes, seeing her relaxed and carefree was a gift to the world. 

The opening notes of Tevin Campbell's "I'm Ready" swirled around them, sounding like a secret message to Patrice as she focused on streetlights to keep the contents of her dinner inside her stomach. 

"Hey," she whispered before she could catch herself. Terry acknowledged her with a glance. "Do you think you're still scared?" 

"Of what?" 

"Of whatever kept you away for so long?"

He thought for a moment, wanting to make sure he was clear with his word. "No. I was never afraid of you. I was afraid of bringing you along for a ride I might not survive. That's not a threat anymore. So, no, I'm not scared anymore."

You know I'm ready

To love you

Forever 

Patrice reached across the center console until she reached Terry's hand to interlock her fingers with his. He gave her an appreciative squeeze without taking his eyes off the road. 

"I-I don't think I'm scared anymore either."

Her heart raced wildly behind her ribs, and Patrice was that if Terry pressed his wrist close enough to hers, he could feel her pulse accelerate. He didn't mind either way. Sweaty palms and trembling fingers would never be enough for him to let her go. Not again. 

As if she'd break if he moved too fast, Terry brought her hand to his lips slowly. One kiss. Another. Two more. And a final one for good measure. 

When he'd had his fill of her skin, he pressed the spot up against his cheek. He needed to feel and absorb her until they were one body. 

But, for tonight at least, this was enough.

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse

[librababe99]

In the Shadows of Gotham

cw: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, smut, Bruce Wayne x Girlfriend!Reader, fingering, p in v,  oral (f! receiving), overstimulation, body worship word count: 3.1K Summary: Bruce Wayne, the man who lives in the shadows of Gotham, the protector and savior of the city, has only one true weakness—you. After a long night of crime-fighting, Bruce returns home to indulge in your presence.

A/N: This is my first time writing for Bruce and I've had a few ideas swirling around for some time...I was ready to get something out! Happy reading <3

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The weight of Gotham’s night clung to the man you loved. Shadows danced through the large windows of Wayne Manor, wrapping their cold tendrils around the walls of the lavish bedroom where you lay waiting. The clock on the bedside table ticked past 3 AM, a constant reminder that Bruce was still out there, somewhere in the darkness, risking his life for the city that never slept.

You had grown used to the late nights, the endless hours of waiting, but tonight felt different. There was a heaviness in the air, thick with anticipation. You had caught glimpses of it over the last few days—how the tension seemed to coil around Bruce’s muscles like a bowstring, how his eyes darkened with an unspoken need whenever they settled on you. You could feel it building, the way you felt the storm brewing over Gotham before it broke the sky open.

The low, familiar sound of the Batmobile’s engine pulling into the hidden cave beneath the manor jolted you out of your thoughts. Bruce was home.

The idea made your heart race with a blend of excitement and nervousness. He had been so distant lately, his focus entirely on Gotham’s latest wave of crime. But tonight, as you lay in bed, waiting for him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change.

The door creaked open, and there he was, standing tall in the shadows of the room. Bruce Wayne. The man, the myth, the enigma wrapped in darkness. He shed the Bat like an old skin, letting it fall away as he stepped toward you. His broad shoulders were still encased in the black of his suit, but his cowl was off, revealing the intense blue of his eyes that locked onto you.

"You're awake," he said, his voice low and rough from the night's exertions.

"I couldn't sleep." Your voice was soft, inviting.

Bruce stood at the edge of the bed, towering over you. His gaze roamed over your form, lingering on the way your body was partially hidden beneath the sheets, but exposed enough to draw his attention. You felt the burn of his eyes on you like a physical touch, and heat bloomed in your core.

"You should rest," he murmured, though his voice was threaded with something darker, something deeper.

"I was waiting for you," you replied, sitting up slightly, the sheet slipping further down your chest, revealing the curve of your breasts.

His eyes darkened further, and a low growl of approval rumbled in his chest. "You shouldn't have to wait."

"But I want to," you whispered, your voice a breathy invitation. "I always wait for you, Bruce."

His control snapped like a taut wire. In a heartbeat, he was crawling onto the bed, moving with a predator's grace. He loomed over you, one hand coming up to cradle your face with surprising gentleness, while the other slid beneath the sheets, brushing over the softness of your skin.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he rasped, his lips inches from yours. "How hard it is to come back here night after night and not just...devour you."

"Then don't hold back," you breathed, leaning into his touch. "I want you, Bruce. All of you."

His lips crashed against yours in a kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. It was desperate, needy, filled with all the pent-up emotion he'd kept locked away behind the mask he wore for Gotham. His tongue slid against yours, and you moaned into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his thick, dark hair.

The hand that had been caressing your face moved down to grip your hip, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, and it sent a wave of heat pooling between your legs.

But Bruce didn’t move to undress you right away. Instead, he pulled back, staring down at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"I need to touch you," he said, his voice rough with desire. "All of you. I need to remind myself that you're here. That you're real."

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as he slowly peeled the sheet away from your body, exposing your naked form to his hungry gaze. His eyes roamed over every inch of you, as if he was memorizing the way you looked, committing it to memory in case he never got another chance.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

You flushed under his praise, your body trembling with anticipation as he lowered himself down beside you. His large hands, rough from years of fighting, slid over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He started at your collarbone, his fingers tracing the delicate line of your neck before dipping lower to cup your breasts. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and you gasped, arching into his touch.

He took his time, worshipping every inch of you with his hands, his mouth following the path his fingers had blazed. He kissed the hollow of your throat, the curve of your breast, the soft swell of your stomach. Each touch, each kiss, was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the taste of you, the feel of your skin beneath his lips.

You were lost in the sensation, your body humming with pleasure. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

“Bruce,” you whimpered, your hands fisting in the sheets as his mouth trailed lower, kissing along the inside of your thighs. “Please...”

He groaned against your skin, his breath hot as he kissed his way closer to where you needed him most. “Patience, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me take my time with you.”

You whimpered again, your body aching with need, but you knew better than to rush him. Bruce was a man who controlled every aspect of his life with iron discipline, and that control extended to the bedroom. He liked to draw things out, to savor the slow build of pleasure until you were trembling on the edge of release.

And that’s exactly what he did.

His mouth finally found your core, and you cried out as he dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, teasing you with featherlight touches. He hummed against you, the sound vibrating through your entire body as he tasted you. His tongue circled your clit, drawing tight, controlled patterns that had you gasping for air.

Your hands flew to his hair, gripping the dark strands tightly as he continued to torment you with his mouth. He licked and sucked, his tongue never stopping its relentless assault on your clit. You could feel the orgasm building, a tight coil of pleasure winding in your belly.

“Bruce,” you gasped, your hips bucking against his face. “I’m so close...please...”

He groaned again, his grip on your thighs tightening as he increased the pressure of his tongue, pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel the heat building, could feel yourself teetering on the brink of release.

And then he stopped.

You cried out in frustration as he pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal. “Bruce, please...I need...”

“I know what you need,” he growled, crawling back up your body. His eyes were dark with lust, his pupils blown wide as he hovered over you. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could protest, he was kissing you again, his mouth hot and insistent against yours. You could taste yourself on his lips, the salty sweetness of your arousal mixed with the raw, masculine flavor of him. It was intoxicating, and you couldn’t get enough.

His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your slick entrance and slipping inside you. You moaned into his mouth, your body arching off the bed as he began to pump his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot deep inside you.

“Bruce,” you whimpered, your nails digging into his back. “Please...I need...”

“You’ll get what you need,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “But first, I want to feel you come around my fingers. I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you clenched around his fingers as the coil of pleasure in your belly tightened once more. He added a third finger, stretching you in a way that was just on the edge of too much, but it felt so good that you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat.

His thumb brushed over your clit, and that was all it took to send you tumbling over the edge. Your body seized, and you cried out as the orgasm crashed through you, your walls clenching around his fingers in waves of pleasure.

Bruce groaned, watching you with a look of pure, unadulterated lust as you fell apart beneath him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “That’s my girl.”

You were still trembling from the aftershocks when he pulled his fingers out of you, his lips crashing against yours once more. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the tang of your release mixing with the roughness of his kiss.

Bruce pulled back, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, his eyes darker than the Gotham night. His hands were still on your trembling thighs, holding you open for him, and the way he gazed at you was as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. There was something primal in his expression, a need so deep it made your pulse race all over again.

"You're stunning when you come," he said in a low, gravelly voice, the sound vibrating deep in your chest. His fingers trailed up your thigh, teasingly grazing your oversensitive folds, and you whimpered at the sensation. You were still throbbing from your first orgasm, and even the slightest touch made you shiver with both pleasure and overstimulation.

But Bruce had other plans for you tonight. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’m not finished with you yet, sweetheart.”

A thrill shot through you at his words. You could feel the weight of his desire pressing against your thigh, hard and insistent, but instead of giving in to his own need, Bruce seemed intent on worshiping you, on drawing out every ounce of pleasure he could. You had seen him like this before—focused, deliberate, a man on a mission. Only now, his mission was you.

You bit your lip as he kissed down your neck again, his lips and tongue tracing the path of your earlier shudders. He was slow, methodical, savoring the way your body responded to him. Your skin was hypersensitive after your release, and every kiss, every brush of his rough hands, sent sparks of sensation through you.

“Bruce…,” you breathed, unsure whether you were begging for more or asking for mercy.

His lips curled into a smirk against your skin. “Too much?” he asked softly, though there was a teasing note in his voice. His hand slid back between your legs, his fingers lightly tracing your swollen, soaked folds. "Or maybe... not enough?"

The ache between your thighs reignited at his touch, and you moaned softly, your body arching toward him. You were caught between the lingering sensitivity of your first climax and the overwhelming desire for more. The pleasure had barely faded, and already, you felt it building again. Bruce's fingers dipped inside you once more, stroking you with a maddening slowness that made you squirm beneath him.

"I want to feel you come again," he said, his voice rough with need. "I want to see how many times I can make you fall apart for me tonight."

His words, dark and delicious, sent a new wave of heat pooling in your belly. You could feel the tension returning, the slow, insistent pulse of pleasure building as Bruce continued to work his fingers inside you, his thumb brushing over your clit in rhythmic circles. You clenched around him, your body already betraying you, already chasing the high of release again.

He was relentless, patient, his fingers curling against that sweet spot deep inside you, his thumb rubbing circles around your oversensitive clit. You could barely think, barely breathe as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to overwhelm you. You had never been so close to overstimulation before, and it was both too much and not enough all at once.

“Bruce—please, I—I can’t…” You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“You can,” he growled, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You will.”

His thumb pressed harder against your clit, his fingers moving faster inside you, and the coil of pleasure in your belly tightened so quickly you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat. You were trembling, shaking with the intensity of it, your entire body on the verge of shattering under his touch.

Then, without warning, the orgasm hit you again, harder than before. Your vision blurred, your entire body arching off the bed as the pleasure exploded through you, wave after wave crashing over you. You cried out his name, your voice hoarse with the force of your release, and Bruce groaned in response, watching you fall apart beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Let go, sweetheart.”

Your body trembled with the aftershocks, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Bruce’s fingers slipped out of you, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness, at the loss of his touch. But he wasn’t finished.

He kissed you again, his lips soft but insistent, and you melted into him, still shaking from the force of your second orgasm. His body pressed against yours, his hardness unmistakable as he settled between your legs. You could feel the heat of him, the weight of him, and it sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his lips trailing down the curve of your neck. “But I need more. I need to be inside you.”

You moaned softly, your body still thrumming with overstimulation, but the thought of him filling you, of him finally giving in to his own desire, made the ache between your thighs flare with renewed intensity.

"Please," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "I want you, Bruce. I need you."

He groaned at your words, his resolve crumbling as he reached down to line himself up with your entrance. He was thick, hard, and the moment the tip of him pressed against your slick heat, you gasped, your body arching toward him in anticipation.

Slowly, agonizingly, Bruce pushed inside you, stretching you in a way that had your toes curling in pleasure. You moaned softly, your hands gripping his biceps as he filled you completely, inch by inch. It was almost too much after everything he had already put you through, but the pleasure far outweighed the pain.

“God, you feel so good,” he growled, his breath hot against your neck as he finally bottomed out inside you. “So fucking tight. So perfect.”

He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to the feel of him, but you could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles trembled with restraint. He was holding himself back for you, trying not to overwhelm you too soon, but you didn’t want restraint anymore.

"Bruce," you whimpered, rolling your hips against him, urging him to move. "Please…"

That single word broke him.

With a deep, primal groan, Bruce began to thrust into you, slow at first but with a growing intensity that had you gasping for air. Every stroke sent a shock of pleasure through you, your oversensitive body responding to him in ways you hadn’t thought possible. Each time he bottomed out, the head of his cock pressed against that sweet spot inside you, and the pleasure radiated outward, overwhelming you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, your back arching off the bed as you moaned his name over and over again. He was relentless, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force, each thrust driving you higher and higher toward that precipice you had already tumbled over twice tonight.

"Look at me," Bruce growled, his hand gripping your jaw, tilting your head so that your eyes met his. His gaze was intense, filled with heat and adoration, and the sight of him above you, so consumed by his need for you, made your heart race. "I want to see you come for me again."

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. The tight coil of pleasure in your belly unraveled, and your orgasm hit you like a freight train. You cried out his name, your walls clenching around him, milking him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

Bruce groaned, his hips stuttering as your release triggered his own. With a deep, guttural moan, he buried himself inside you, his body trembling as he spilled into you. His thrusts slowed, becoming more erratic as he rode out his orgasm, until finally, he collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing hard, slick with sweat and sated.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the sound of your ragged breaths mingling together. Bruce’s weight was comforting on top of you, grounding you as your mind slowly returned to your body. He didn’t pull out right away, staying inside you, still hard enough to keep you full as he kissed your forehead, your cheek, your lips.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice rough but filled with something softer, something tender.

You smiled up at him, your hand sliding up to cup his face. "So are you."

Bruce let out a soft chuckle, his lips brushing against yours in a lazy, languid kiss. “I think I might’ve broken you,” he teased, his thumb tracing the curve of your swollen lips.

“You did,” you admitted with a breathless laugh. “In the best possible way.”

He rolled over onto his back, taking you with him so that you were lying on his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and you let out a contented sigh as you snuggled into the warmth of his body.

“I could stay like this forever,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his chest, just above his heart.

Bruce smiled softly, his hand stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. “So could I.”

For a while, the two of you simply lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten. There was no crime, no shadows. There was only the two of you, tangled together in the aftermath of your shared pleasure, basking in the warmth of your love.

[faithshouseofchaos]

Checo taking on you the frustration of the race result, in front of the mirror doggy style meandom!checo

“Fucking Baku” — Checo Perez x reader

Warnings — smut mean!dom!checo p in v unprotected sex doggy style mirror sex degradation + some praise slight pain kink and fear kink humiliation kink? Checo also calls reader a good girl,toy and outlet… so hint of free use name calling and objectification probably some other things to I can’t remember.

You can also pin point the exact moment I got bold and said fuck it.

Word count 3.3k

@selfishpresley

Your smile dropped as you and everyone watched as Checo, your husband, and Carlos collided on the second to last lap of the Baku Grand Prix. “Holy shit,” you said out loud as you listened to the angry radio message that came from Checo. Checo has had a bad season for racing and today was somewhat of a redemption day for him all up until the crash.

Checo arrived home, a look of anger on his face, slamming the door behind him and throwing his bag on the ground. He knew you’d be waiting for him and he made his way over to you. “That race was going so well. Why? Why did he have to ruin it for me?”

“It was an accident, Checo,” you said, attempting to calm him down, but he just wouldn’t budge. “I know it was, but still... It's so damn frustrating. He ruined everything.”

He leaned against the kitchen counter, his hands gripping the edges tightly as he continued to rant. “I was doing so well and I was so close to getting onto that podium again. But then he had to go and screw it up.”

You approached him, placing your hands on his chest in an attempt to soothe him, but he shrugged you off. “I just wanted a good race. Just one good damned race, but it didn’t happen. It never does.”

Frustration was seeping through his voice as he ran a hand through his hair, the stress getting to him. “I work so hard, but nothing ever goes my way. I’m stuck in this constant cycle of disappointment and it’s driving me crazy.”

You understood his feelings, you did; the long hours spent training, the sacrifices he made to achieve success, only for it to slip through his fingers time and time again. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t let it get to you like this,” you said gently, trying to reason with him.

“Is there anything u can do to help?” You asked.

He let out a heavy sigh before answering, “I don’t know, maybe I just need to hit the gym, blow off some steam. Or I could just go for a drive…” Then, a cheeky look appeared on his face. “Or there is another way you could help me relax…”

His words were laced with a hint of suggestion and a devilish smirk played on his lips. He pushed himself away from the counter and sauntered closer to you, closing the distance between you two.

His hand came up to caress your cheek, his gaze intense and filled with a mix of frustration and desire. “You’re always so good at helping me forget, you know that?” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

He stepped closer, his chest nearly touching yours as he continued to speak. “And I’ve been really stressed lately... maybe you could... help me relax,” he whispered, his eyes darkening with a smoldering look.

Your heart skipped a beat as he continued to lean in, his hot breath on your skin sending a shiver down your spine. He was so close, you could feel the heat radiating off his body, the tension in the room electric. He leaned down, his lips just barely brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’m sure you know exactly what I need right now…”

Then, he pulled back, his eyes meeting yours as he waited for your response, his hands resting on your hips. “Oh yes, I have a few ideas…” you replied, your voice laced with a sultry tone.

He grinned, clearly pleased with your response. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

He leaned down again, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, and you melted into him. The kiss was intense, filled with pent-up frustration and desire. He pulled you flush against him, his hands roaming your body as he deepened the kiss.

He spun you around, pressing you back against the counter, his body flush against yours, the hardness of his muscles against your softness. His lips left your mouth, trailing hotly down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bite marks in their wake. You gasped, arching into him as his hands reached the hem of your shirt, quickly pulling it over your head.

His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every inch of you, his gaze filled with hunger. “You’re so damned beautiful,” he breathed, his hands sliding up your sides, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. He leaned back in, kissing and biting at your neck, his mouth moving down your collarbone and along your chest. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, needing to feel more of him.

He shifted position slightly, his thigh sliding between your legs, pressing against you, the pressure sending a wave of pleasure through you. A shiver ran down your spine, your fingers threaded into his hair as you let out a soft moan.

He chuckled against your skin, his lips curving into a smirk. “Mmm, I love the sounds you make for me,” he said, nipping at your earlobe. “I think I could make you make even better noises though…”

His hands slid down your body, stopping at the waistband of your pants, his fingers brushing against your skin, teasing you. “Let’s see if I’m right, shall we?” he said, his voice dripping with desire.

You let out a soft gasp as he slowly pulls your pants down, his fingers tracing the lines of your underwear. He pauses for a moment, his breath hot against your skin, before he slips his hand inside your panties, his fingers brushing against your wet folds. "Fuck, you're so wet already,"

He looked up at you, the look on his face was filled with pure hunger. “You know, I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he said, his fingers tracing over the fabric of your underwear. “I’ve been imagining all of the things I’ve been wanting to do to you…”

Your breath hitches as he slowly slides your underwear off, baring you to his gaze. "Spread your legs for me, beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and commanding. You comply, parting your thighs as he settles between them, his warm breath on your most intimate area.

A whimper escaped your lips, and you pressed yourself against him, needing more. “Checo,” you gasped, your fingers gripping onto his shoulders. “Please... don’t tease me like this.”

“I’ll do what I want you're not in charge here and you should remember that” Checo responded standing up changing his mind at the last second. Your breath hitched in your throat as he stood up, the commanding tone in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. You swallowed hard, your heart racing. You knew he was right; you weren’t in charge here, and he was clearly in control.

“Y-Yes, Checo,” you managed to stutter out, a mix of fear and excitement in your voice. A smirk appeared on his face as he saw the effect his words had on you. “Good girl,” he said, his hand gripping your chin and tilting it up to meet his eyes. “You’re going to do everything I say, aren’t you?”

You nodded, your eyes wide and filled with a mixture of fear and arousal. “Yes,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. “Anything you want, I’ll do anything.”

A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes, a look of satisfaction on his face. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

He leaned in, his lips moving to your ear, his voice low and husky. “Now, be a good girl and get on the bed. I want you facing the mirror on your hands and knees.” Your heart pounded in your chest as you obeyed, moving to the bed and positioning yourself as he instructed. You felt exposed and vulnerable, and it was both terrifying and arousing. You swallowed hard and glanced into the mirror, seeing your reflection staring back at you, waiting for his next command.

He came up behind you, his hands on your hips, his touch firm and possessive. He leaned down so his lips were next to your ear. “Look at yourself,” he growled, his voice low and rough. “Look at how beautiful you look, waiting for me.”

You looked at yourself in the mirror; your hair messy, your cheeks flushed, your chest heaving. You did look beautiful, but also vulnerable, and a shiver ran down your spine as you waited for his next move. He pulled away from you for a moment, and the sound of him quickly removing his clothes could be heard. Then he was back behind you, his body pressing against yours, his hands roaming over your body.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “All yours.”

He chuckled, his fingers trailing over your side, his touch sending tingles through your body. “That’s right, you are mine, and I’m going to remind you of that over and over again my slut to ruin.” His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through you. You were completely at his mercy, a submissive plaything for him to do whatever he wanted with. He stepped back momentarily, and then his hand was on your hip, his touch rough and possessive. “Keep looking at yourself,” he ordered, his voice a deep rumble. “Don’t take your eyes off the mirror.”

You couldn’t do anything but obey, your eyes fixated on your reflection in the mirror. You saw how vulnerable you looked, and how your body was responding to his touch. It was a mixture of humiliation and arousal, and you couldn’t do anything but submit to his will.

He stepped up behind you once again, his body pressing against yours, his chest against your back. You could feel the hardness of his body, the heat from his skin, as he aligned himself behind you. He leaned down so his lips were near your ear. “Are you ready for me, baby?” he asked, his voice huskier than usual. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice shaky as you braced yourself for what was to come. “Yes, I’m ready.”

Without another word, he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of him just pressing against you, sending a wave of anticipation through you. “You look so good like this,” he muttered, his hands holding onto your hips tightly, steadying you. “So ready for me.”

Your heart was racing, your breath coming out in quick, shallow gasps as you waited for him to move. “Please,” you gasped, your voice pleading. “Please, I need you.”

“Shhh, I know what you need,” Checo replied softly, his hands tightening on your hips. With a slow, deliberate motion, he began to push inside you, inch by inch, allowing you to feel every hard ridge of his erection as he stretched you to accommodate his size.”

“Good girl.” His grip on your hips tightened, and he slowly, tantalizingly, pushed himself into you. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips as he filled you, your head falling back momentarily before you quickly looked back at the mirror, remembering his command. “Eyes on the mirror,”

he reminded you, his tone firm. “Don’t take your eyes off yourself.” You obeyed, your eyes fixed on your reflection in the mirror, taking in every detail. The way your body was pressed against his, the flush of your skin, the way your body responded to his every touch. “You like that?” he asked, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction.

His hands roamed over your body, caressing your curves, squeezing your full breasts, his touch possessive and demanding. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your shoulder blade as he began to move within you, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in.

You nodded, all you could manage was a desperate “mhm” sound in response, too overwhelmed by the sensations flooding through your body. He chuckled, the sound a mixture of amusement and pleasure. “I love hearing how desperate you are for me,” he murmured, his hands gripping your hips even tighter. “It’s so beautiful, the way you submit to me.”

He started moving, his pace slow and torturous, driving you to the edge of ecstasy. Every thrust sent jolts of ecstasy through your body, your eyes fluttering closed as the pleasure became too much. You were completely at his mercy. He suddenly leaned forward, stopping his movements, and grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking it back roughly. “I said, keep your eyes open,” he reminded you, his voice rough and commanding. “Don’t you dare close your eyes?”

With a swift motion, he began to move within you again, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming more powerful. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

You gasped, your eyes fluttering open again as you forced yourself to look in the mirror. The sight of yourself, completely under his control, was both mesmerizing and humiliating. He let go of your hair, but his grip on your hips didn’t release. “I want you to watch yourself as I make you lose control, " he growled. “I want to see you fall apart for me.” He adds pounding hard into you.

You couldn’t do anything but obey, your body shaking with the pleasure coursing through you. Every time he moved within you, every touch of his fingers burned hotter on your skin, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Maldito Buka, Maldito Sainz arruinando mi puta carrera” Checo seetha his grip on your hips tightened his nails dug into your skin sending waves of both pleasure and pain through your body causing you to fall onto your forearms and your head hung low.

He continued to fuck you mercilessly, his words a constant stream of profanity and abuse as he lost himself in the moment. "Fucking useless piece of shit, can't even win a race without fucking up," he spat, his hips slamming against yours with renewed vigor.

You groaned, your head dropping down as his words and actions hit you. “I know, baby, I know,” you pointed out, your body trembling with need, your voice filled with both sympathy and arousal.

“I’m so furious,” he growls, his voice deep and guttural. “I was doing so well, and then that idiot ruined it all…”

His fingers dig into your skin, a mix of anger and lust fueling his actions. The pain and pleasure mix, sending tremors down your spine. You can feel his frustration, his anger radiating through his touch. It’s both terrifying and exciting, knowing that he’s taking it out on you, using your body to release his aggression.

His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more forceful as his anger took over. He let out a low, animalistic growl, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he continued to drive into you. “Look at yourself. Look at how beautifully you take my anger.” He grunted.”

“Uh-uh,” Checo says, yanking you back up by your hair, your back flushed against his chest, his now around your neck as he whispered into your ear. “I thought I told you to keep your eye on the mirror?” Checo says.

“See,” he growls, “see what I’ve been reduced to?” He tightens his grip on your neck slightly, a possessive gesture that makes your heart race with a mixture of fear and pleasure. “Because of that idiot.” You can feel his breath on your skin, hot and ragged. He’s completely enraged, and you’re the outlet for all his anger and frustration. The feeling of his grip on your neck, the sound of his voice in your ear, it’s both terrifying and thrilling.

“You’re mine,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a possessive whisper. “My outlet, my toy. I can do whatever I want with you, however I want. You won’t disappoint me right?” he asks. The question hangs in the air, a threat as much as a statement. You know he expects obedience, that you’re here to serve him, to fulfill his needs, no matter how rough or rough or intense they may be. “No, Checo,” you reply, your voice shaky with anticipation. “I won’t disappoint you.”

He chuckles, the sound dark and sinister. “Good,” he says. “Because if you do, I’ll make you pay for it.” He pauses for a moment, his grip on your neck tightening slightly as he continues. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He knows the answer, and you know he wants to hear you say it. The feeling of his power over you, the knowledge that he can make you submit to him utterly is a thrill that you both share. “Yes, I would,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckles again, a deep, pleased sound. “I knew you would,” he says. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” He releases his grip on your neck, his hand moving down to your hip again, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“Yes,” you reply, your voice a mix of submission and arousal. “I’m your good girl, Checo. I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything?” he repeats, a hint of challenge in his voice. “Anything at all?” You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Anything,” you reaffirm, the word coming out in a trembling whisper. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it for you.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice rough and gravelly. “Because I have plans for you, mi niña. Things I’ve been thinking about all day, ways to use you, to break you but first I want you to come.” “Good,” he murmurs, his voice rough and gravelly. “Because I have plans for you, mi niña. Things I’ve been thinking about all day, ways to use you, to break you but first I want you to finish for me,” he says his hips still thrusting into yours.

“I want to watch you come apart, want to see your pretty face twisted in pleasure as you coat my cock with your release.” his hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he continues to fuck you hard and fast. “Come for me, mi niña,” your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your core squeezed Checo's cock.

"Good girl," he hissed, his control unraveling as he felt your warmth pulsating around him. He grunted with each thrust, his voice growing hoarse as he chased his release. "Keep squeezing, just like that, mi vida." checo groans and you could feel his cock twitch inside of you letting you know that he was so close to cumming. "Yes, just like that, my sweet girl," he hisses, his hips stuttering as he neared release. His fingers dug into your hips painfully, his body tensing as he tried to hold back.

A few more thrusts later the two of you cummed at the same time. You felt Checo's cock throb inside you as he unloaded his seed deep within your pussy, his hot cum coating your walls. At the same moment, your orgasm overtook you, your cervix clenching and unclenching as your clit throbbed with pleasure. You both let out a chorus of moans and groans.

"Oh... mi amor... That was... amazing," Checo panted, burying his face in your neck. He stayed inside you, his weight heavy on top of you as he caught his breath. "You're so perfect for me, mi vida." He peppered your skin with gentle kisses.

“That was..that was just wow just wow,” you said laughing breathlessly. Checo chuckled, his arms wrapping around you as he gently rolled onto his back, taking you with him so you were sprawled on top of him. "I'm glad you liked it, mi vida," he murmured, his hands slowly caressing your back. "But we're not done yet."

“no?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," he said, his voice firm with intention. His hands gripped your ass, lifting you slightly before guiding you back down onto his still-hard cock. "I told you, I have plans for you tonight. And I always keep my promises oh and one more thing when we’re done I want you to call your brother and tell him that he needs to learn how to drive.”

[tiredsmashbros]

Memories : part one

2k words ; tsb fanfic

the battle was intense. that's all smg4 could think about. chest tightens while engulfed in fear as he dodges the attacks of a giant mallet aiming at him. barely escaping the impact by an inch. the mallet belonging to non other than the person who has been impacting smg4's life into a spiral of endless stress. the suspicious behavior pattern, lack of consideration of others, unrealistic cartoon language and logic, and even his mysterious background are what made smg4 legs shake. yet the fellow still showed acts of kindness, thoughtfulness, a sense of genuine... nothing made sense! what's worse, smg4 never expected anything weird coming from this guy from their first introduction, he genuinely was quite excited for a new friend who seemed so silly, and intrigued by the memes he shared. yet... here he was now. fighting what felt like for his life. he didn't know what to do but be on the defensive side as he grew tired and weak. doing his best to sustain stamina as the yellow, blue maniac wasn't even breaking a sweat.

"stop this man! this isn't like you!" smg3 shouted, in the hope of verbally knocking some sense into the propeller-wearing individual, despite already countless efforts beforehand. striking a punch on tsb's face, losing his grip on his mallet.

"you don't know him." the body of tsb responded, his voice giving an unusual echo, eyes narrowed exposing his brown iris, accompanied by an uncanny smile that spread across his face. letting out a childish chuckle, tsb pulls his head back and strikes onto smg3 with a head-butt move. receiving a pained groan in response to the quick attack. smg4 rushed over to aid smg3 from falling over, standing beside his guardian partner, yearning to protect him but fueled with caution of the maniac man in front of them.

"let's try our meme powers again!" smg4 suggested to smg3, catching his breath in between.

"that method is futile." tsb spoke, almost monotone, his head dripping from the side of his shoulder, "you are too tired. you don't have enough energy to input something effective." he added.

smg3 clicked his tongue, eyes filled with anger yet with a touch of sorrow. seeing tsb talk and act this way made smg3 feel uneasy. something felt off by the way he spoke and the usage of vocabulary. his mind clouded with memories, being reminded of the silly obnoxious man that would bounce out of nowhere, someone he'd spent having long talks of comfort, a bro to always be there to help... to now him aiming to beat him down till he couldn't stand on either foot. "he's right," smg3 softly spoke, "nothing we do will work. we can't beat him..." smg3 added in a defeated tone.

"finally that's progress into your head!" tsb exclaimed, adding in a child-like giggling, giving the two guardians chills down their spines. till suddenly a lightbulb sparked inside smg4.

"wait that's it!" smg4 said. "into your head!"

"what in the hell are you-" smg3 spoke, but he was interrupted by his hand being pulled away by his blue counterpart.

puzzled yet intrigued, tsb grins and starts the chase after the smg's. staying somewhat close behind, but far enough to make the chase more of a game instead. dragging his body unnaturally on purpose.

smg3 got a hold of his stance, running behind smg4 but flustered by the sudden hand grab turned into holding. "b-baka! w-where are we-"

"while i was locked up by tsb and by that weird pink sand time guy," smg4 interjected, "right before you guys found me i was starting my escape when i accidentally stumbled upon watching him put a weird helmet device onto tsb's head." the two running out of the dark void they were formally at, to a slim hallway of the same black stardust material on the walls, floor, and ceiling. "and that is relevant how?" smg3 queried, puzzled, taking a mental note of tsb following them behind. yet tsb wasn't close enough to listen to the smg's conversation.

"that helmet device is the key! i overheard that sand guy its used to go into memories of mortals!"

"so why did he put one on tsb? to manipulate and control him or some shit?"

"m-maybe? i don't know yet! but it's our ticket to hopefully stopping this rampage of his before that cartoon legit kills us! you're close with him, maybe you can try punching his chaotic shit out of his mind?" smg4 quizzed.

"pfftha! that i can do!" smg3 cheered, a smirk blooming across his face. becoming aware of the possibility of potentially saving his friend who may be mind-controlled, it just made sense! the tsb he knew would never act this strange or dangerous. an observation thought the purple guardian kept to himself, fully aware of what his partner may have opinionated if spoken aloud. smg3 may love his guardian partner, but he knows for a fact from the small crescent of his emo heart who tsb truly is as an individual. even if smg3 lacks personal background and proof to support his belief, he would curse smg4's name for believing it. he only hopes that one day smg4 could realize for himself, how wrong he is about the silly looney toon. only time could tell as smg4 continued to lead them to what seemed like an endless dream space. seeing the same black void tingled confusion in his mind, it felt like an illusion even seeing the same thing repeatedly. his eyes giving a sense of lost in reality.

finally, smg4 jerked into an open room of an iron door, a space surrounded by chalkboards, paper, technology equipment, and science shenanigans smg3 took note of. smg4 immediately began searching for one of the helmet devices he mentioned, successfully within seconds smg4 found it and held it high in accomplishment. it was shaped and looked like a thick, solid helmet made for riding bicycles, painted all white accompanied by a red, yellow, and blue stripe down the center of the headwear. immediately, smg4 began searching for a second one to complete the mind transaction process. just as he does, tsb creepily walks in announcing his entrance, "back by popular demand...ME!" the 'me' delivered in an almost demonic-like vocal expression.

smg3 let out a small cry in surprise, retreating to smg4's side, praying now that smg4 was right about this plan. "alright 3, you grab ahold of him as best you can in a still position so i can input this on top of his stupid head!" smg4 ordered, moving to the side cautiously eyeing tsb.

smg3 nodded, "got it." he spoke not as enthusiastic as before, as he began to mentally prepare to hold that crazy cartoon maniac down after already a long fighting session as his life seriously depended on it. he prepped his stance, knees bent down at a 90-degree angle, spreading his legs for a wider range. "come on now then, big boy! show daddy how much you love him!" smg3 shouted, fanning his hands as a motion to invite tsb to come at him.

tsb manically laughed, full sprinting and pouncing at smg3 letting out a fnaf 2 foxy jumpscare scream. immediately the two began wrestling hitting and smacking down tables and chairs that flooded the room, papers flying above as cords being detached were heard. smg3 attempts to land punches to only then be received with a bite on his arm instead. smg3 bit his lip in an attempt to hold in his screams of pain and instead used it as the perfect opportunity to flip their positions with smg3 now on top of him. pressing his arm further back into tsb's mouth to stabilize him with his head in an upward locked position, despite the bottom half of his body being twisted the other way due to his unnatural body physics. using his other hand to aggressively stabilize tsb's hands, whereas his foot locked down tsb's legs.

smg4 stood on the sidelines, patiently and anxiously waiting for smg3 to hold the cartoon still, and just as his partner did smg4 rushed in without a second thought placing the device on top of tsb's head. swiftly removing tsb's propeller hat to prevent it from getting in the way. remembering how the pink sand man did it on him by pressing a black button on the side to activate it. after it was finally set on tsb's head, smg4 took a step back watching as the man pinned on the ground attempted to remove the helmet to no avail.

"now what!?" smg3 yelled with a struggled tone, growing anxiously impatient and mentally screaming in agonizing pain, grinding his teeth hard as tsb only dug his teeth deeper into the purple guardian's arm urgently attempt for freedom.

"okay, okay, i just need you to hold your head still and i'll place the second helmet on you so you can mind travel into his crazy brains or whatever!" smg4 hurriedly said, just as panicked as his guardian partner. swiftly grabbing the second helmet he had behind him and rushing towards back to smg3.

however, tsb did not like the plan these partnered guardians were cooking up. this time, putting all his energy into brute force to twist smg3 down to the opposite side of smg4's path to prevent him from putting the helmet on.

the purple meme guardian screamed in agony as his head harshly hit the floor, his body positioned awkwardly to be kept down by tsb. smg4 jolted from the sudden change of control and stood frozen in fear. to tsb's misfortune, smg3 was still holding onto tsb's hands enough to continue to prevent him from manually removing the helmet. yet the catch was there was no safe possible way to input the helmet onto smg3's head without tsb interfering.

"smg3! i-i can't find a safe spot to put the helmet on you!" smg4 said worriedly, fearful of his plan coming to a defeat. it couldn't end like this, he needed to think of something! tsb only laughed to himself, concluding by default victorious without the consideration of smg3 coming to a concluded thought. a thought that not only would help them win on top but a thought that may finally answer his prayers for the person he cared most to finally understand.

"s-smg4," the purple counterpart started, "YOU have to put the helmet on!" this suggestion surprised both his partner and the animated cartoon. "you can't put it on me, but it's not impossible for you to put it on yourself. YOU got to go inside this dumb dr. pepper loving asshole's brains and fix him!"

"i-i can't do that!" smg4 stuttered, shaking anxiously realizing the aim smg3 was getting at.

"yes you can! you can do it for me or for hell's sake do it for tari! she needs out help! we can't waste anymore time smg4!" smg3 exclaimed impatiently.

"i don't know how-"

"NEITHER DO I!" smg3 bursted, "but you trust and believe in me enough to do it anyways from the start! i trust and believe right back at you man." smg4 stood idly shocked, and to his surprise so did tsb. catching himself staring into tsb's eyes, they were still narrowed like before but... this time he could see a white arrow-shape glimmer in them. it almost felt like he was pleading for him to do so, to put on the helmet... but why? as if lost time on a timer, tsb's eyes reeled back to maniac mode, and resumed his attempt to freed himself from smg3's bearable grasp. "DO IT NOW FOUR!" smg3 yelled as he pushed in all his remaining energy to hold tsb down.

in a hesitant instance, smg4 removed his hat and put the helmet on. "NOOO!" screamed tsb in a higher echoed pitch, an unrecognized voice that didn't belong to tsb. with one more glance at his best friend, the two meme guardians gave each other an agreeable nod as smg4 pushed the button. with one final physical motion as smg4 could hear the technology within the helmet activate, smg4 raised his arm up, and gave a thumbs up.

to be continued...

...

...

...

fri: “watchman” was an outworldly entity, one could even label a god, but they were much more than that. an entity by physical appearance built up by particles of pink fluidity sand. as if a piece had its own consciousness. watchman was a playful being, understood empathy, sympathized with others, and yearned to nurture those suffering in pain. romantical pain even. always watching love play… always… watching… tick tock. 

[inkdrinkerworld]

Hello again I’m the one addicted to your dealer!remus writing, you have such a good way of writing his character and I love it! Anyways I hope you’re feeling better I’m currently poorly as well and it sucks. If you’re feeling up to it I would love more of your writing. Maybe a dealer!remus who meets fem reader at a ren faire and she’s like a siren or fairy or something? Idk I trust you

Also if you don’t have a 🐡 or 🫧 anon I would love to be one or both of those since I have a feeling you might be seeing more of me 🥰

I hope this is okay! I’ve never been to a ren faire but I’d love to go one day though! Of course you can be both!

“You’re a nymph.” A man in pirate costume says as he helps you climb up the stairs to the stalls.

You’re in a sheer purple skirt that has vines hanging down to your thighs, there’s a slit somewhere that shows off your skin and your green blouse has sleeves that flow down your arms and behind you.

The chains in your waist clink as the crystals hanging on them knock against each other with each step.

“And you’re a pirate,” you take a glance at his eyes and flash him a smile when you notice how red his eyes are. “A very high pirate.”

The pirate man smiles, a silver scar splitting his lip making him look handsome. His sandy brown hair also works with his outfit, making it look like he’s spent years at sea with the sun and salt water to bleach his hair.

“They do like their influences.” He says making you laugh. “What about nymphs?”

You give a demure shrug, “We do live amongst them.” The pirate man’s hand shifts to your shoulder, adjusting some of the leaves and foliage there.

You know in your bones this man is a flirt, especially when he flashes you an easy smile when you look up at him.

“Is this your first ren faire?” You ask you walk ahead of him, smiling when you hear his boots clicking as he follows behind you.

“Second, but my friends seem to have abandoned me.”

You glance over your shoulder, finding the pirate man tucking a roll on behind his ear. You never would have imagined a simple action like that would be so attractive. “I can keep you company for the time being then. Will you drink tap beer?”

When he nods you smile and order two glasses.

“Where are your friends? Or are you a veteran of the ren faire?” You ask as you wait for the beer, leaning on the counter as you look at the man before you.

He has this soft beauty to him and his pirate get up makes it rogue-ish but also there’s flashes of the softness of it all underneath it all.

You smile as the pirate man rushes to pay, and hands you your glass first. “It’s my fifth year, but my friends are about somewhere.” You take a sip of your beer. “To be honest, I snuck away to save myself from being tie breaker to a game of darts.”

Your new friend raises an eyebrow and you spy another scar slicing through the skin there. “What’s so bad about darts?”

Your tone turns bashful and you look up at him through your eyelashes, “I have terrible aim. What’s missing from this outfit is a pair of glasses that irritate my eyes much less than the contacts I’m currently wearing.”

The pirate man falters for a moment your gaze soft yet intense as you look up at him. “I see. What would you rather be doing then?”

You smile, “My favourite parts are the jousting tournaments and the petting zoo. Also spending loads on trinkets.”

The man nods, about to say something in reply when a pair of pirates, one lanky with black hair and one burly rush up to him.

“Remus you can’t just wander off! We’ve been looking for you for ages.”

You laugh at the way the pirate man, Remus, flushes. Pink looks good on him.

He looks back and smiles at you and it’s even more handsome the second time; especially when it seems intimate and shared just between the two of you.

“I was here getting something to drink with the pretty nymph.” He gestures to you and you give his friends a wave and introduce yourself.

Remus tucks away the sound of your name in every nook in his mind. It suits you entirely.

The black haired one smirks and the burly one gives you a dimpled smile hello.

“How chivalrous, did he bore you to death with the fact that he’s about to be jousting and the historical reasons behind it?” The lanky one asked, clearly teasing his friend.

“No he did not, but now I’m even more excited to look at the tournament.” There’s a wicked grin on the black haired boy’s face.

Remus turns to you, “Does that mean you’ll toss me a ring of flowers?” He’s a flirt in all the ways, and by god you’d probably pass away if he looks at you any more intensely.

“Maybe I will, Remus.” You leave then, giving him a wave and a smile as you walk off towards the tents that sell all the odds and ends.

The black haired man turns to him, “You better hope you win, Moony. How embarrassing would it be if you let the pretty girl down.”

Remus rolls his shoulders back as he drains his beer, no pressure then, he thinks to himself. Maybe he’ll even get your number if he wins.

[aestheticpearl]

— 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐞

✧·˚what happens when xanthus turns you but you never wanted to be turned in the first place?

“what have you done to me?”

your eyes hurt with the bright lights that didn’t seem so bright moments ago, but then again you could barely feel your body moments ago, then all of a sudden you felt your once numb body feel so intensely that it was painful.

you lock your eyes with xanthus, his lips and fangs smeared with blood that you can tell if it’s yours or his, deep down you know it’s a mixture of both. you don’t want to accept that though, you don’t want to accept the reality of you being turned and now stuck as an immortal being.

“what did you do? what have i become?” you look down at your hands, they have a paler complexion that frightens you.

xanthus moves cautiously as if to not spook you, almost as if you’re a skittish baby deer that’ll bolt at any second.

“love, i had no choice—” his voice is soft as he cautiously reaches out to you, only for you to pull back almost immediately.

“how could you? you should’ve just let me die.”

“no!” he doesn’t mean to shout at you and he certainly doesn’t mean for you to flinch at his tone. “…no love please understand.”

“you’ve doomed me to an eternity of a life i do not want to live.”

“you don’t mean that, you’re confused.”

tears freely flow down your face as you come to terms with your situation. stuck as a vampire for the rest of your time on this earth, forced to drink the blood of the living, the thought of it almost makes you hurl.

you seek xanthus’ comfort but he was the cause of all this distress, but you feel beyond conflicted and these emotions are only intensified with this new you.

“i need you to be away from me.”

“i’m not leaving you love.” xanthus only backs away from you but his eyes never leave your figure.

it’s silent for undisclosed amount of time until you speak up.

“…i’m hungry.” you sniffle. “i don’t want to be hungry.” a hiccup. “i’m scared.”

xanthus moves close to you and gets down to your level.

“i’m right here love, i can find you something to eat okay?”

“i don’t want to drink blood.” you cry out through tears. “i’m not a vampire, i’m a human.”

xanthus’ crimson eyes are filled with empathy for you as he recalls feeling the same way when he was first turned. he does his best to comfort you by pulling you into an embrace.

“i know love, i’m sorry. i’m so so sorry.” he pets your hair as you cry into his arms.

you hate how comforting his embrace is and how it puts you at ease, like your body recognizes him. you want to be mad and scream and shout at him for doing this to you but you just can’t bring yourself to do so.

“you’re not going to go through this alone love, i will stay with you forever i promise.” he holds onto you tightly. “i love you, i don’t need a bond to tell me that.”

the bond. you had almost completely forgotten about the bond and then it suddenly hits you, xanthus had felt your death and had to push through the pain and emotions to turn you. he’s grieving you as much as you’re grieving yourself.

you look up at him and wrap your arms around his neck in a tight embrace that he returns with a passion.

“i’m sorry love, i understand if you don’t forgive me.” xanthus can feel his own tears prick his eyes, but he does his best to stay strong for you.

“if there was any other way i would’ve tried it i swear, i never wanted this for you my love. i just couldn’t let you slip through my fingers like this, i’m sorry.”

you’re scared and your whole body seems to be shaking with sobs or hunger, but you can’t really tell what it’s from and some how that scares you more.

“just please don’t leave me.”

your silence scares xanthus more than he’d care to admit.

“okay.”

i feel like i have too many xanthus posts but i just can��t help myself with vampire tropes man😔

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist