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celestie0 · 25 days

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choso x reader | punk rock au [18+]

in another life ch.1 cupid's arrow

ᰔ pairing. punk rock au - bass player! choso x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. you and choso were lovers in college when him and his rock band were just nobodies with nothing but a dream, but when his band strikes a deal with an up-and-coming record label in tokyo, you make the tough decision to break up with him since you couldn’t go with him to the city. flash forward seven years, his band is the biggest rock band in the world, n you move from the countryside to tokyo with your fiancé nanami to start your new life together. but in the heart of the city, home to many, there’s one person there that still has the power to turn your whole life upside down. and when you run into him again after all those years, feelings you didn’t know were still haunting you come crashing back all at once, and you’re not sure what it is you want from your life anymore.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, punk rock au, partying, drinking/alcohol, weed usage, cigarette usage, romance, slow burn, friends to lovers, second chance romance, time skips, love triangle, bad boy choso, slight age gap (five yrs), longterm pining, jealousy, messy decisions, you know the drill

ᰔ chapter. 1/x (probably 6)

ᰔ words. 10.2k

a/n. hellooooo aaa welcome to my new choso fic :'') i'm so excited for this one! i'm just laughing at how i cannot just stick to a oneshot idea and somehow end up planning out a fullblown series instead hahah. but anyways, i hope you enjoy! thank you to everyone that wanted to be on the taglist, i'm really looking forward to diving into this story. see you at the bottom!!

alsooo my m00tie @sykosugu and i decided to post for our fics at the same time hehe she has a really spicy suguru x reader fic called 'on the run' that i highly recommend so go check that out as well if you're interestedd <33

nav. ch1 :: ch2 (pending)

“and there was something about you that now, i can’t remember. it’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender.”

present day. summer.

“We’re gonna miss you so, so, so much, love,” Mai groans, pulling you in towards her for a hug and you reciprocate with fondness.

Another pair of arms wraps around you, grip much tighter and you protest through a difficult breath. “Do you really have to go?” Nobara asks.

You tap on the skin of her arm, urging her to ease her hold in this group hug, and she finally relents and the three of you pull apart from one another. There’s a slight gasp from your lips as you breathe in fresh summer air. “I do, Nobie, I’m sorry. Nanami said it’s the final decision.”

You’re standing on hot concrete in front of a little countryside cottage that you’ve called home for years, but will soon just be a memory. You know which light switches illuminate corners of the rooms, and which creaking wood panels on the floor to avoid when looking for a midnight snack. It’s where you spent years studying for finals, arguing with your mom, learning how to care for Ms. Roxie, and it’s where you fell in love. More than once.

Your parents gave the house to you and Nanami once the two of you became engaged, but that blessing was soon to be given away, as Nanami received news six months ago that he was being promoted and relocated to Tokyo. Now, you have two bags in your hands, your purse slung around your shoulder, and a suitcase filled to the brim with the life you’ve tried to stuff in it. Your taxi driver has the other suitcase, because there were some things you couldn’t leave behind after all, and he’s putting it in the trunk right now.

“Nanami is so rude to take you from us,” Mai sighs, “but at least you’ll be one of those cool city girls now. So scary. I heard trends change faster there than the leaves on Rowan tree during spring.”

Nobara lets out a gasp that’s only half exaggerated. “No way! It can’t be!”

The taxi driver calls after you with a quick question, to which you answer back with a shout from where you stood. A quick glance at your watch tells you it’s time to get moving, as you’ll be taking a connecting train once you reach Tokyo that you need to be on time for. And then he’ll be there. Nanami will be waiting for you there, to lead you into the life that he’s started to make for the two of you.

“I’ll call so very often,” you promise the two of them, “and I will miss you two so very often as well.” Tears prickle in your eyes, and it seems to be contagious as they shimmer in Nobara and Mai’s eyes as well. Another group hug takes place between the three of you, harsh sun beating down with birds chirping in the distance as you try to take in the last few moments you’ve been granted of this place. “Take care of Roxie for us,” you say through a sniffle, “to you, it may seem like you’re only the bearer of food for her, but I promise that little kitty will love you two like no other.”

They both nod at you as you pull away, and you swipe at a tear that rolls down your cheek as you roll your suitcase down the pebbled walkway of your now past home.

The taxi driver helps hoist your suitcase into the trunk and places your other two bags into the back seat. You take a seat at the front with him, clicking the passenger seatbelt, and you roll down the window to wave bye with blown kisses as the taxi driver pulls away from the rocky mud road with crunching under the wheels. You watch Mai and Nobara and your home in the side view mirror until they’re no longer visible, but their voices of farewell linger in the air for a moment more.

“Alright, ma’am, bound for Tokyo!” your taxi driver chirps, his rough-looking hands opening and closing a few times to stretch out the joints of his fingers before tightly gripping onto the steering wheel again.

“Yes, Tokyo,” you murmur softly, gaze set out the window of the familiar street shops and stretches of patchy trees you know you’ll miss once you’re in the city.

“What’s your name?” the man asks, a thick country accent rolling off his tongue, with a sweetness like honey.

You turn your head to look at him more closely. The hair of his eyebrows is bushy, somewhat unkempt, and he has thick lines across his cheeks and forehead that can only mean that he’s lived a lot of life.

You tell him your name and he nods slowly as the two of you stop at a through road, a few school children hurrying past before he turns right onto the main road. “That’s a nice name. Which one of your parents gave it to ya?”

“Um. Both of them?”

He lets out a noise of acknowledgement, and doesn’t ask a further question. You smooth out the fabric of your long skirt with a hand, then toy with the band of your simple watch. Just when you think a comfortable silence has fallen between the two of you, and you think you have the luxury of losing yourself in your thoughts with sights beyond the polished glass window, the man speaks up again.

“Alright then, miss, tell me a story.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Pardon?”

“We’re gonna be spendin’ three hours in this car together, darlin’. It’s either I talk your ear off or you talk mine off,” he says, broad shoulders rolling backwards once as he gets comfortable in his driving position.

“Uh…do we need to talk at all?”

He glances over at you for a moment. The car wheels grind over rocks on gravel road near an agricultural field, and his fingers flex once again on the wheel. “You younger generations are so stuck in your own worlds. Entertain some conversation with the poor old taxi driver, will ya?”

You sigh, folding your hands in your nap neatly. “Alright. I don’t really have many stories to tell, though.”

“A young lady like you, packin’ up her whole life to move to a big city? I beg to differ,” he counters.

His words have you tucking your bottom lip under your teeth, a few blinks of your eyelids to process his observation of you. Your mind searches for stories to tell. Maybe that moment last week when you watched a momma duck waddle across a bridge with all seven of her baby ducklings. Or maybe you could tell him about that time you drove your car into a ditch the night of the comet festival and you swear you saw a UFO in the sky. The story you’ve been telling a lot lately, though, was the one of how Nanami proposed.

But then there’s a different story that comes to mind. With hazy images of blinding stage lights in dim venues, cigarette smoke wafting through the air, sounds of bass and drums and cheers. Smell of dry grass, the feeling of your back against a blanket, heart beating fast underneath the stars in front of a twinkling lake. And forever in your memory, the patterns of his inked skin.

“You got a boyfriend?” the man asks, suddenly.

“Are…are you hitting on me?” you ask awkwardly.

“Oh, no, ma’am,” he shakes his head, lifting his left hand up from the steering wheel and turning the back of it to face you. A silver ring adorning his fourth finger shimmers from the reflected sunlight through the window. “Happily married. Been with my missus for 22 years.”

A small smile makes its way onto your face as you relax into your seat a little, feeling calmer. “Oh, I see. I’m sorry for assuming. And I have a fiancé, actually.”

“Oh?” he chirps, stealing a quick glance at your left hand that was still folded neatly underneath your right one in your lap. “How come I’m not seein’ a ring?”

You tug at the small chain around your neck, a chill felt as diamond stone and cold metal drags against the skin of your sternum before you pull out your own promise of marriage, dangling it in front of your chest for him to steal another glance at. “I wear it around my neck. I’m a pottery teacher, so I usually take it off when showing my students any demos. I figured if I kept taking it off like that, I might lose it, so I just wear it around my neck now.”

“That’s interesting,” he comments, “It’s a real nice ring, that’s for sure! Tell me about this man you’re marryin.”

Your heart aches at the thought of Nanami. It’s been six months since you’ve seen him, since he relocated to Tokyo first, and you’ve missed him every day since. You were in the middle of the academic year at the elementary school you taught at, so they asked you to stay back, but Nanami had already accepted the promotion, thus the two of you made the decision that he would move to Tokyo first to get situated and you’d soon follow in the summer. It was a lot of stress to handle as just one person; searching for apartments on top of managing the heightened expectations from his boss from his new role, but he did it all without a complaint. Because he loves you, and that’s who Nanami was. Someone who would move mountains for you. He’s worked hard to make a place for you in Tokyo, one to call home.

“He really loves me,” you say to the man, softly.

“And you love him?”

“So much.”

“Was he your first love?”

Your breath catches in your throat from his question, a small chill running down your spine. The silence that settles could’ve lasted two seconds or two centuries, and you never would’ve known.

You lick your lips before answering. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Hmm…” the man hums. Bumpy roads are now smooth as he turns onto properly laid roads, the exit from your town onto intercity roads. “I can tell.”

“You can tell?” you ask, skeptic in your tone as you tilt your head at him.

“I can tell from your voice that there was someone else before. Someone who meant a whole lot to you, but he went away for some reason,” he says.

You’re not sure why there’s a lump in your throat from his words, a heavy thing with so much substance that it threatens to weigh your heart as well. Your eyes study the side of his face. “You’re getting all of that from my voice?”

The man’s expression is blank as if it were tabula rasa, something so different from the way you’ve felt for so long now, like your heart has been torn in two. There was something so tempting about it; the luxury of a clean slate. Of a new beginning. A fresh start. And it’s hard not to imagine how you would’ve painted things differently.

“Tell me about him,” the man says, the story he was looking for having been found. “Your first love.”

“He…” you start, shocked that you’re actually answering, but it’s like an invitation you can’t resist, “he was my first boyfriend…my first serious boyfriend. I met him the summer after high school. During a summer like this one.”

seven years ago. summer.

chapter 1. cupid’s arrow.

“C’mon, faster!” Mai exclaims, her hand wrapped around your wrist to tug you across the dim streets of downtown.

“Just— wait— Mai, please, slow down,” you’re stumbling after her, feet failing to keep up, and you almost crash right into her when she comes to a sudden halt on the sidewalk.

“This is it,” she says, staring up at the sporadically blinking neon lights of what appears to be a small venue, black marquee letters that spell out Backseat Serenade Tonight @ 10pm stand out to you in a way that feels haunting. “We’re so late, let’s head inside.”

Mai drags you inside, and the security guy is less than thrilled by the commotion as he stands in front of closed double doors. You can feel the bass of music vibrating the walls, accompanied by loud shrill screams and chants coming from inside, and the red velvet flooring underneath your feet fuel you with static as you two approach the man dressed in full black.

Mai fumbles with her purse to pull out her phone, and the man scans the barcoded tickets on her screen before giving the two of you wristbands to wear and then he opens the door for the two of you.

The inside of the venue is small but packed, minimal lighting save for moving lights that illuminate the band on stage, but it’s even harder to see anything over the heads of people with their hands up in the air. Mai’s grip on your forearm is tight as she roughly weaves the two of you through the crowd, determined in her gait but you feel the need to apologize to the people she’s shoving in the process. You’re surprised at how fast the two of you make it to the front barricades, thanks to Mai’s nimbleness alone, and your eyes raise to the scene onstage through wafting smoke through the air.

“Alright, alright, alright,” one of the band members chimes right as the final instrumentals of the song begin to fade. His hair is a pale silver under dusty lighting, pushed up from out of his face by a black headband snapped to his forehead, and his eyes are distinctly blue. He has an electric guitar hanging from his neck by a thick black strap. He raises both of his hands up into the air, waving them down a few times to calm down the crowd, and there are scattered hushes surrounding you and Mai. “This is our last song, and we just want to thank you all so much for coming out tonight! This crowd’s the best we’ve ever had!”

The people cheer in response as a light and relaxed melody begins to tune together from the instrumentals on stage. You hear Mai groan beside you. “What the fuck?! We missed the entire set?!”

Your hands curl around the cold metal of the barricade dividers and your eyes sweep across the stage. There’s a man in the far back with short black hair, bouncing his leg up and down as he’s seated behind a drum set, fidgeting with wooden sticks in his hands, and you’re puzzled by the fact that he’s wearing a very poorly fitted suit onstage. Off to the right, a man with pink hair is messing with the headphones snapped to his ears in front of an electric keyboard, spread fingers pressing down on chords, and you can vaguely see the black nail polish at the tips of his fingers. A woman with mid length blonde hair and pink highlights stands at the front, her hand wrapped around the mic resting on top of the stand. She’s laughing, tipping her head back at something else the electric guitar player says over the mic, but you’ve drowned out the words because your eyes finally land on what’s directly in front of you.

With an almost bored expression on his face, a man stands with a matte black bass guitar hung from his neck as he has one foot up on the top of a subwoofer located flush to the edge of the stage. His hair is raven black, longer at the nape of his neck with shorter layers scattered, and tendrils fall over his face. There’s a glint to his polished black shoes off of where you’re standing, and he’s wearing tight black jeans that cling to the thick and lean muscles of his calves and thighs, with a leather belt fastened around the circumference of his hips. The shirt that’s tucked into his jeans is just as tight to his skin, and a small gasp leaves your lips when you take in the sight of his arms covered in intricate patterns of ink. His right arm is practically covered from the wrist all the way up to the cut of his short sleeve, likely beyond, and his left arm has ink traveling up to his forearm only, like he’s still working on mapping it all out. You watch the way his biceps flex as he bends his arms, bringing his hands up to his face to push his hair back, and your heart is keeping fast rhythm with the music.

“Cho!” the woman at the front speaks into the mic, turning her head to look at this man who you’re sure is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “You’ve hardly said a single word tonight, baby. Not that that’s unusual though. Why don’t you say a few words before we kick off the last song?”

A bunch of whoos!! and ahhhs!!! and yesss!!! scatter throughout the crowd in the form of cheers and you watch the man furrow his brows together, a scowl forming on his face. There’s a band of black underneath his eyes that runs across the bridge of his nose, with perpendicular lines resembling arrows running down his cheeks. Dark purple eyes that match the dark shadows around them glint under flickering stage lighting as he takes his foot off the speaker and walks a few steps backwards to position himself at his stationed mic.

“Fine,” he says, and you’re watching the way his lips barely brush against the mic as he speaks, “This is our last song. It’s called Lost Cause. Enjoy. Or don’t. It’s up to you. Who the fuck am I to tell you what to do.”

There’s only a slight beat of silence from the crowd before they’re cheering again, while his band members just stare at him stunned. The white-haired electric guitarist yells into his mic something like “THAT’S IT?!” before the drum player cuts him off with three taps of his sticks in the air, and then the song commences from them on practiced reflex.

The energy from the crowd is loud in the last few minutes of the show, smoke rising in the air from the machines spread across the raised stage, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the bass player. You rest your forearms on the cold metal in front of you, the sight of Mai jumping up and down in your periphery as she headbangs and shakes her hair.

The bass player’s eyes start to scan the venue within what seems to be the final chorus of the song, chin tipping up and fingers continuing to strum as he assesses the back of the crowd first, then gaze darting throughout the center, before he begins to study the front barricade. You watch his every movement, mapping the trail of his sight, and your heart skips a beat when those dark eyes finally fall on yours.

His eyes briefly flicker to your left, to continue his study of the crowd, but it’s as if his brain just registered something with a delay, and he quickly moves his gaze back to you in a double take. His eyes widen, bored expression quickly turned into one of surprise with a glint to his pupils, and you swear you’ve been struck by an arrow to your heart.

“Yaaaay! Thank you everyone!” the woman at the front exclaims, pulling her mic from the stand to walk around to make work of the crowd. The white-haired man approaches the edge of the stage with a pleased grin on his face, high-fiving all of the outstretched arms, and the man at the keyboard simply waves a few times before incessantly tuning buttons on his headphones. Drum boy hasn’t stopped playing some sort of loud rhythm as an encore. Your sight is set back onto the bass player, and he’s looking off somewhere else now. Somewhere backstage.

“Hey!” the white-haired man exclaims once he’s made it in front of the two of you. “Mai! You made it!”

She reaches out to grab his forearm, tugging down harshly so he’s stumbling and dropping one knee to the stage floor, kneeling. “Of course I was gonna make it! Thanks for the tickets,” she’s yelling over loud ambient cheers and music, “this is my friend y/n, by the way. Oh, and this is Gojo, he’s the guy I was telling you about.”

You nod at him, and try to accept his outstretched hand when someone bumps you from behind and your hand is in favor of stabilizing yourself over the divider instead.

You can barely hear the laugh from Gojo’s position on the raised stage. “Just meet us backstage! We can chat for a bit with proper introductions and all.”

As the crowd begins to dissipate with people moving through the sets of double doors out back, Gojo hops off stage to take you and Mai through a side door that leads into a hallway that lines the back of the stage. You look up into the high ceilings with metal structural poles banding between the walls, and the dim yellow lighting in small bulbs bolted to the walls like a runway remind you of movie theater exit routes.

“So, what’d you guys think of the show?” Gojo asks, his arms raised up and hands interlocked behind his neck in a casual-not-so-casual way as he sends the two of you a lazy look over his shoulder.

“Well, we only made it for one song since miss barista over here was running late from her shift,” she sighs, whacking your arm once with the back of her hand. You glance down and realize you didn’t even have the time to take your frilled and wrinkled apron off. “But, from what we did get to hear, AMAZING! AWESOME! SPECTACULAR!”

Gojo is grinning wide as he turns around to face the two of you, continuing to walk but backwards as he slaps the raised hand that Mai had in the air for him. “I’m so glad, I felt the pressure to please was high since I’ve been hyping up our shows to you for so long.”

“We’ve only known each other for like two weeks.”

“I know. But PSYCH 210 lecture at the ass crack of dawn really brings two people together, y’know.”

Mai and Gojo continue to laugh and talk about random things college-related, and there’s a stirring feeling in your chest that you’re surrounded by people older and much more well-lived than you. You’ve just graduated high school, barely a few months ago, but Mai was a few years older than you, so any time she tries to introduce you to her college friends, you feel the need to perform or be someone that you’re not so they’ll like you, despite the fact that you’re aware of the fallacy in that. And tonight, that responsibility feels much more daunting for some reason.

There are voices heard further down the hall, and as you approach, you notice the drum guy, keyboard guy, and devilishly handsome bass guy are all loitering around in that area, along with a few other people they seemed to have invited backstage.

Gojo walks up to them, grabbing onto the bass man’s hand firmly before patting him on the back, then slings his arms around the other two. “This is Higurama,” he says, rubbing the top of the black-haired guy’s head with the knuckles of his fist, “he does drums for us. And this is Sukuna,” he says, about to repeat the same gesture to the top of his head but his wrist is grabbed and twisted, “ow, fuck, fuck, fuck– sorry.” Sukuna lets go of his wrist, scowl dissipating into sadistic amusement, and Gojo’s holding his wrist, now slightly red from the burn, with a pout on his face. “He does the keyboard. And all the techno sounds. And some other stuff I’ve frankly no fucking clue about.”

The two of them acknowledge you and Mai, along with the few other people who Gojo seems to know as well, and then Gojo’s approaching the bass player again before resting his elbow up on his shoulder, leaning his weight onto him and the man just crosses his arms across his chest, sending Gojo a side-eye. “Mai, I think you two have met before, but this is Choso. Choso Kamo, our bass player. Best bass player I’ve ever known to be honest. Be careful though, he might bite you.”

Choso scowls, rolling his shoulder back once to get rid of Gojo’s resting elbow. His eyes are on yours, boring into you deep, and when he darts his tongue out briefly to wet his bottom lip, you finally notice the silver lip ring near the corner of his mouth. “Hi. Nice to meet you,” he says, hand outstretched and you shake it with a mention of your name to him. The skin on his fingers feel rough from play, a small sacrifice to pay for the talent he’s harnessed over the years from plucking at strings. His eyes sweep down you once. “Why are you dressed like Strawberry Shortcake?”

“I–” you start, glancing down at your attire and feeling the heat pool in your cheeks, “I just got off a work shift. I work at a cafe.”

“Oh,” he responds, and you notice his hand is still holding onto yours, Your eyes trail the patterns on his skin, visible in more detail up close, and you find yourself lost in every line and swirl and scale and skull and cross, the only thing breaking you out of your trance being Mai’s jab of her elbow to your ribcage.

You gasp, snatching your hand away from Choso, and when you look up at his face, there’s a hint of amusement on it.

“Babes, he was asking you a question,” Mai says, looking between you and the man in front of you.

“Huh?” you ask, suddenly flustered and you swipe your palm down your work apron to wipe the sweat that begins to perspire at your palm from the lingering heat of his hand.

“I was asking if you liked the show,” Choso says, tilting his head to the side and now he’s allowing his eyes to travel all across you in any way he wants.

“I loved it,” you respond, almost breathlessly, “it was great. I mean– we only saw, like, one song. But still, really amazing.”

“Only one song?” Choso asks, his eyebrow raising, “that’s a shame. You’ve gotta come to more shows then.”

Before you can respond, there’s a feminine voice heard down the hallway, sounding an awful lot like the one echoing off the speakers inside the concert venue, and then the blond woman who was the lead singer of the band skips right up to the group formulating in this hallway before wrapping her arms around Choso’s neck and pulling him down towards her in a kiss.

You’re standing there stunned, eyes immediately averting from the scene of the two of them in front of you, but in the corner of your eye you can see his arm wrap around her waist briefly before he pulls her away from him, and the release of her lips from his makes a sound that for some reason creates a pit in your stomach.

“Cho, baby, I just had an insane conversation,” she says, still practically hanging from his neck as she stands on tiptoes, “with this record label guy. He’s apparently hot shit in Tokyo, and he wants to offer us this city gig ‘cause he thinks we’re a potential sign-on, and–”

Choso’s hand reaches to the back of his neck, gripping around her wrist to pull it apart from her other one, and then her arms fall to her sides and her heels flatten to the ground as she blinks up at him. “That’s cool, Sana, but can we talk about that later?”

Gojo’s arms cross his chest as he leans forward, glaring at the woman. “Yeah. And as a band, not just with your lover.”

Sana rolls her eyes and scoffs, placing curled hands low on her hips. “He’s not my lover, bitch. Unless he’s my lover like you’re lovers with a blunt on a sunday– sucked off in a car ‘cause you’ve got nothing better to do.”

“That’s offensive to both of us,” Gojo grumbles but Choso just sighs, unbothered, as he rubs at the back of his neck. He makes eye contact with you again, and his expression sobers as though he forgot for a second that you were still standing there.

Sana turns to you and Mai. “Hi, I’m Sana, nice to meet you guys. Sorry, I thought you two were some of our other friends, otherwise I wouldn’t have kissed Cho in front of you. I hate PDA, trust me.”

Mai lets out an awkward laugh as she shakes her hand, and you almost don’t want to shake her hand, but you do just to be polite.

“You didn’t hate PDA that one time I was about to bag the girl I’d been talking to for weeks and you decided to grind your sorry excuse of an ass right up against me in front of her,” Gojo grumbles.

She waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Whatever, she thought you were gay anyways. Would’ve done yourself a favor if you actually grabbed my ass.”

She ignores the insulted gesture Gojo makes, cutting off whatever words he was about to spew with words of her own. “What are you girls doing after this? We’re having a post-show party, you two should come.” She glances at you. “Uh, love, I’d ditch the apron though. Unless it’s, like, some sort of fetish for you.”

You’re defeated as your arms cross your torso to grip the hem of your apron and pull it up over your head, shaking your head a bit to allow your hair to fall back into place, and then you fold the frilly article of clothing neatly before hanging it over your arm. “It’s not,” you sigh, too exhausted to be subject to the title of your occupation anymore. A small flicker of your eyes to Choso tells you he’s staring at you.

Sana shrugs. “So you pretty ladies wanna come?”

Mai shakes her head. “No, sorry, my baby here,” she says, wrapping her arm around yours tightly, “just graduated high school recently, so she’s too young for a party. I’ve got a responsibility to look after her. And throwing her into a room full of sleazy drunk punk college dudes is the opposite of looking after her.”

Sukuna comes around, leaning his arm against the wall, smirk on his face, as he eyes you like you’re something to steal. “Just graduated high school? So you just turned eighteen, sweetheart?”

Mai glares daggers at him. “Get the fuck away from her, Super Senior. You’re icky. Also, case in point proven.”

Sana whacks the back of Sukuna’s head, and he all but growls at her. “Stop being creepy,” she reprimands him before turning to Mai again. “No, I swear, it’s not like that. It’s chill, minimal alcohol. No drugs. Just a small get-together with a few of our fellow friends, and friends of fellow friends, from the music scene.” She leans against Choso’s arm, wide eyes looking up at him, but he doesn’t lean into her. “Right, Cho? No scary guys for her to worry about?”

His eyes narrow at you, raking down your figure again, and his chest moves a little faster with his breath. “I’m against it. It’s no place for an eighteen-year-old. You’re a fucking idiot for trying to invite a girl who just recently graduated from highschool to a house party. She’s practically a kid.”

Your heart sinks from his words, and you feel juvenile standing in front of him, in a way that makes you angry and embarrassed at the same time, and you can’t bite back the words in time, “Whatever, at least I haven’t been on crack since the day I was born like you probably were.”

Almost all heads in this small hallway snap to you, if they weren’t already there before, wide eyes blinking before Gojo bursts out into a laugh, which dominoes into Mai’s laughter, and you barely register the way Sana looks you up and down once before forcing a smile. Choso’s surprised expression turns into a disgruntled one as he crosses his arms across his chest, and you can’t help but watch the stretch of his inked skin over his muscles as they flex.

“I’ve never done crack, shortcake, and your lame insult only proves my point on your immaturity,” he scowls, leaning his upper body forward towards you, and his gaze briefly drops to your lips.

Sana comes in between the two of you, pressing herself up against him to get him away, and he takes an involuntary step back and now he’s scowling at her too. She turns around to face you, and there’s that forced smile again. “Uh, y’know what, sweets? Cho is sooo totally right, no place at all for a—I’m sorry, how old did you say you were?”

“Eighteen,” you say with a slight grit to your teeth.

“Oh! Yeah, no place for you, sorry,” she says, with a small jut of her bottom lip to signal a pout.

You roll your eyes at her, then glance past her at Choso who’s looking at you like he’s still got a few retaliating words for you on his tongue, but then he’s dropping his gaze to the neckline of your shirt, eyeing the shape of your breasts, even dipping further down your legs and you let out a scoff.

“You sure enjoy checking me out for someone you think is practically a kid,” you spit back.

He’s not angry this time, the corner of his mouth simply tipping up slightly into a smirk. “I meant you’re too young to drink, but you’re old enough to fuck, so spare me the attitude.”

Your cheeks flush at his comment, nonetheless made in front of a group of people who were practically strangers to you, and you’re about to give him a piece of your mind when Mai grabs your forearm and Gojo places himself between you and jerkface.

“Woah! Look at the time,” Gojo chirps, glancing at his wrist that was absent of any time-telling device but he rolls with it anyway, “should probably head out now, since the venue’s closing soon. Y’know, grab our stuff.”

Mai nods her head at you in response to his words, sending a single glare Choso’s way before exchanging some pleasantries with Gojo and then dragging you down the hallway with her towards the exit.

“Hey–” you begin to complain, her grip on you starting to hurt, and you eventually yank your arm away from her before she opens the backdoor exit. “Let’s go to that party.”

Mai sighs, leaning her back against the door and crosses her arms. “No way. Your mom wanted me to get you home before midnight,” she says as she glances at the time on her phone, “and it’s close to midnight.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m an adult now, I don’t have to adhere to a midnight curfew, like I’m fucking Cindarella.”

Mai raises an eyebrow at you from the profanity, recognizing the fact that it’s something you just forced into your vocabulary in a way that doesn’t suit you. “I already said no.”

“Take me or else I’m going to tell your mom about the nipple piercings you got last week.”

Mai hisses a sharp breath through her teeth. “You’re a bitch.”

“Take me,” you deadpan.

She tilts her head back so that it hits the metal of the door, and then she’s pushing her back against it to open it, the rush of cold wind from outside brushing past the two of you as she steps into the night and you follow her. “Oh my god, fine. But only for a little bit, and let’s get the lie straight right now–you had explosive diarrhea at the concert so I couldn’t take you home right away since you were incapacitated in the restrooms.”

“What? Why do I have to be the one with explosive diarrhea?” you ask, frown on your face but there’s a skip to your step as you follow her down the street to where she very poorly parallel parked and you open the passenger side door. She doesn’t bother answering you as she settles into the driver’s seat and her car roars to life with a few struggling turns of the key in ignition.

“No drinking,” Mai says, voice strict with eyes locked on yours, and it’s the last thing she says before she starts driving.

The house is just a few miles from the venue location, and Mai seems to have been there before since she turns the navigation off once she turns onto a street that has her driving switch to from perusal to more casual.

Gojo is the one to greet you two at the door with wide eyes and a drink in his hand. You notice he’s changed out of his stage attire into something more casual, and likely in a rush too since his hair is disheveled, and you figured that you and Mai barely got here after they did. The surprised look on his face is quick to turn into a pleased one at the sight of the two of you. “Oh sweet you two actually came,” he comments, waving a hand for you two to come inside, “figured Kamo would’ve scared you off.”

You roll your eyes, “where is that jerk? I still have a few choice words for him.”

“Babes, let it go,” Mai sighs, “Not worth your time.”

“I concur,” Gojo says, “but, if you really want, he’s upstairs putting some of my stuff he borrowed for tonight’s show back into my room. You can…” he glances down at you once, “uh. Cuss him to death? Or whatever you can manage, I guess. But just don’t fuck on my bed, please. That’s my only rule.”

“Why do you sound like that’s a rule you’ve had to make often?” Mai scoffs, amused, while your cheeks feel hot.

Gojo slumps his shoulders in some type of comical defeat. “I don’t wanna talk about it…” he mumbles, voice trailing off and turning on his heel to walk away while Mai follows him off with more follow-up questions he doesn’t seem receptive to answering.

Your eyes glance over to the staircase, studying for a moment as loud party music fills your ears before making your way over and up the steps. As you head down the hallway leading into bedrooms, the floorboards creak until your sneakers even over soft carpet, and you hear soft sounds of clattering off to the left. There’s a door that’s half ajar leading into a warmly lit room, and you deftly peek your head through the opening.

Choso stands near the foot of the bed inside a messy room, black boxes and cases and wires surrounding him as he fumbles with unplugging some sort of audio station pad from another piece of hardware. His hand grips tightly around the thick black rubber coating of the wire, and you watch the flex of his knuckles that tense the veins running up his arm, sleeve of the shirt he’s worn all night stretching to accommodate the roll of muscle at his upper arm. With a solid yank, the chord releases itself before the wire whacks him straight in the face and he grumbles a fuck under his breath and he rubs the skin of his cheek, to which you can’t help but let out a small laugh at the sight of.

His furrowed and frustrated expression turns into surprise as his eyes flicker to the entrance of the room. He stands up straight, and then there’s that bored expression again. “Oh. Shortcake. I thought I said you’ve got no business being here.”

“Yeah, about that, I’m waiting for you to apologize to me,” you say, leaning sideways against the doorframe as you cross your arms over your chest.

He sighs, eyes moving away from yours to busy himself with the jungle of equipment he’s practically drowning in, as if he couldn’t be bothered by your presence right now. “Apologize for what?”

You make your way inside the room, foot pushing aside anything sprawled on the floor that’s in your way so you can continue to approach him, and you stop just when you’re just a step away. His gaze is still set to the ground as he’s crouched over slightly, but it shifts from the speaker he was toying with to the shape of your shoes instead.

“Apologize to me for being so crass,” you say, “after we had just met.”

He slowly straightens his spine, and you’re a little shocked to find the height that he has on you. His expression is curious, eyes narrowing slightly like he has you all figured out already, and it pisses you off. “Crass is such a prissy word to use, princess. Try ‘apologize to me for being a massive dick’ or something, and I’ll start to take you more seriously.”

“Why are you so rude?” you ask, anger building up inside of you all of a sudden. “I’ve barely met you, I don’t see how I could’ve upset you in any way. Yet you’ve already insulted me in multiple ways tonight, and it’s not a cool look for you. Trust me.”

“You’re the one that basically called me a crackhead,” he counters, but there’s no real offense behind it.

“Yeah, because you called me a kid,” you say, face tightening even further with anger, “even though I’m an adult.”

He sighs, closing his eyes in irritation, and tilts his head up to look at the ceiling briefly as his mouth hangs slightly open, all as if he’s running thin of the capacity to deal with this conversation, and then he looks back down at you again. “Shortcake, I didn’t call you a kid ‘cause of your age. I called you a kid ‘cause you’re just so–” he starts, eyes traveling down your body paired with a vague gesture of his hand towards all of you, and you find yourself shifting on your feet to stand a little more poised, “you just seem so innocent and clueless and, uh, forgive me, naive.”

“You’re the clueless one here if you still think negging a girl will get you anywhere with her,” you say, hands clenched in fists at your side now.

There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he tilts his head at you, some of his dark hair falling over his forehead from the motion and a few strands weave with his eyelashes. “I’m not trying to get anywhere with you here, sweetheart, unless you’re wanting that,” he says, voice almost purred at the end as he steps over a guitar case on the floor to get closer to you.

You’re unable to make eye contact with him when he’s close and you can smell the earthy notes of his cologne, mixed with another scent that seems more distinctly him that makes your head spin. Your gaze takes in the sight of his forearm, the one with scattered tattoos trailing up his arm but not yet fully inked in. You wonder what he’s saving the space for, and what he’s willing to let in.

When your gaze flickers up to his face again, you’re a little surprised to see his expression is softer. He suddenly holds his forearm up in front of you. Your eyes signal confusion to him, but he just keeps his arm up the same.

“You’ve been ogling my tattoos since we met,” he says, voice low, “if you’re curious, then just have a closer look.”

Your breath picks up in speed, and you hesitate for a moment but it’s true. You were curious. Your hands shakily hold onto his forearm to keep it still as you study the ink on his skin. You twist his arm as much as his joint allows, and he lets you handle him in any way you want, and you swear the snake tattooed on his skin moves as if it were alive. A dark blossoming rose with highlights of burgundy red catches your eye near his elbow, and you brush the back of your hand against it. Your fingers accidentally find his pulse at his wrist, and you find his heart is beating fast.

You run a flat palm up his arm, the skin to skin contact feeling intimate, and your fingers stop when they tuck under the fabric of his sleeve. You feel the warmth and curve of his bicep, lightly wrapping your hand around it, and you blush at the sight of how small your hand looks on him.

“What does this one mean?” you ask, not meaning for it to come out as a whisper, but you feel like his answer is meant to be kept a secret. Your thumb swipes over small roman numerals permanently etched into him over muscle.

“It’s my dad’s military tag,” he responds, voice quiet like yours.

You tear your gaze away from his skin to look up at him, and you realize he’s closed enough distance between the two of you to where his face is just inches away. From the moment you looked up, his eyes have been on your lips, and his brow furrows as if he’s fighting some voice in his head that’s testing this harmony between the two of you in this moment.

You swear he’s about to kiss you, since there could be no other explanation for the way he was looking at you, but instead he clears his throat and his face is first to distance from you before he pulls his arm back as well, and then a small step backwards. “Sorry,” he says, and he almost sounds awkward. It startles you, because it’s the first time he doesn’t sound cool or calm or collected.

“That-” you start, “...wait, what are you sorry for?”

His eyes widen, and you see the heaviness under them for a moment, “uhh…I’m actually not too sure.”

Your head feels clear now that he’s not close enough to breathe in, and you blink a few times as your annoyance from earlier resurfaces amidst the lingering energy he just broke between you two. “Start with ‘I’m sorry for calling you a kid, and then also just now calling you naive and clueless,’” you say, foot tapping impatiently, “and then, in front of all your bandmates, mocking the fact I’m not old enough to drink, and shamelessly traveling your eyes over me, and then–” your breath catches slightly as the words fail to leave your tongue, cheeks feeling hot, “and then saying–” you try again, but the thought only falls flat, and he’s taking a step closer to you again.

“And then saying that you’re old enough to fuck?” he asks, finishing your sentence for you, but there’s no remorse in his tone at all.

His hand suddenly finds the small of your back and he pushes gently so you take a stumbled step towards him, like he needed to have you close to him again. His lips brush against the top of your head, and the sensation sends a hot feeling through your chest. “Choso,” you reprimand him.

“Fuck,” he exhales, like in cynical disbelief, “my name sounds so sweet coming from you.”

It makes no sense, but you grip his shirt at his chest just to make contact with him, and you brave yourself to look up at him, wondering if he can see the hint of worry in your eyes, because he already feels like something you can’t resist.

His eyes are dark now, different from the tenderness in them before, and he’s freely studying the features of your face. “I don’t want to fuck you, Shortcake, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re a little too good for me to do something like that.”

His words say one thing while his eyes say another, his arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close, and you’re astonished at how little he cares about the clear contradiction in his words from the way he holds you. His gaze slowly travels down from your eyes to your lips.

“What about–” you start, heart beating fast in your chest as you see the glimmer of the silver ring pierced through his lip. You bite back the words.

But he reads your mind, because his head dips down towards yours and he captures your lips in his, slow and sweet at first before pressing more firmly, more decisively with both hands flying to hold your waist. A moan muffles in your throat at the sensation of his bare fingers coyly traveling under the hem of your shirt, and you can’t help but slide your arms up over his shoulders, locking them behind his neck to pull him down closer to you, and he sighs in response as he presses your hips flush against him. The chill metal of his lip ring has the plush of your bottom lip tingling cold, and when his tongue swipes across to warm it for you, your mouth opens with ease. You taste spearmint on his tongue, and his lips curve against yours in what feels like an amused smile, large hands now slid so far up your shirt that his fingers reach the band of your bra.

“Hey, Cho, do you know where–”

The trill of a feminine voice in the air cuts through harshly, and he pulls his lips from yours but not without a moment of reluctance. You two turn your head to the door, and you see Sana standing there, eyes wide and blinking as she takes in the sight of the two of you standing in what feels like a guilty proximity from how her eyes silently curse you.

You can only manage an awkward laugh, fist shoving against Choso’s shoulder but his hands are still placed firmly on the curve over your lower back, dangerously close to the plush of your ass, and your hips are practically pinned to him while you do all you can to lean your upper body away. “Oh–sorry, this…is not what it looks like–”

“I…” Sana starts, and you can see the hurt in her expression, but she quickly corrects it, “Oh! Ah, was just lookin’ for Cho here,” she says, making her way into the room, and a harsh shove of your fist against Choso’s chest finally has him relenting to let you go. Your posture immediately stiffens when she approaches Choso’s side, and she playfully pushes his arm but the effort is weak. “Kissing girls in Satoru’s room is seriously not a good idea, Cho. That freak probably has cameras in here to make sure people don’t bump uglies in his room again after that New Year’s party.”

Choso gives her a pointed look, like he wasn’t caught up on that drama, but you’re just standing there with your eyes flicking between the familiarity of the two people standing in front of you. Why wasn’t Sana jealous? She was looking at you ten seconds ago like she was a whole lot of jealous.

“What are you looking for?” Choso asks her, and she holds her red plastic solo cup with her drink in it out for him to hold as she crouches down to the floor to sift through the equipment now surrounding the three of you.

“My lucky mic,” she says, “Gojo said it’d be here.” There’s a hint of something in her voice, something that mirrors betrayal if you’re perceptive enough.

You watch Choso lick his lips once, eyes darting to you, before he’s crouching down too to help her look. “For something that allegedly means a lot to you, you sure do a shit job at looking out for it,” he comments with a sigh before pulling out a black case from under three other ones and handing it to her. “It’s here.”

“I’m–” you say, taking a step back and almost tripping over a guitar case, “I’m, um, going to head downstairs. Mai is probably looking for me.”

Choso raises an eyebrow at you from where he’s still crouched down next to Sana, and he’s about to speak when Sana cuts him off.

“Okay. Bye,” she says, still rummaging through things mindlessly even though she had already been given what she was looking for.

Choso makes a move to stand up, like he wants to see you out the door, but Sana’s hand grabs him by his forearm, eyes still not meeting his, and there’s a beat of confusion in his eyes as he studies the side of her face. But you know what sort of look she probably has in her eyes right now, and you know only because you’re also a girl, and all girls know what it’s like when a guy you love doesn’t want you in the way that you want him. All you can do at this moment is feel sorry for her.

The atmosphere in the room begins to suffocate, and you head out of the door in a rush.

present day. summer.

“He kissed ya the day he met ya? Hmph! That wouldn’t fly with me,” the man seated beside you says, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he shifts slightly in his seat to puff his chest out.

“Hmm,” you hum as you look out the window wistfully, memories that you had locked up for so many years opened like a pandora box that fills your chest with warmth but has your fingers trembling with anxiety because you know how it all ends. “You wouldn’t…let a man kiss you on the first day he met you?”

The driver humors you with a hearty laugh from his chest, at least. “Not talkin’ about it that way, darlin’. I’m talkin’ about my daughters. I’ve got two girls of my own. A man should keep his hands to himself the first time he meets a lady. At least that’s what I’ve taught ‘em.”

There’s a small smile that tugs at your lips at his words, the love he has for his daughters heard clearly through his strict tone. You left out a lot of the details that probably would’ve angered him on your behalf even more, so the fact he still ended up getting worked up about it has you a little amused and reflective at the same time. “How old are your daughters?” you ask, tucking strands of your hair behind your ear, watching the wind-rustled plains of grass that you two have been driving by for a while now.

“They’re a little younger than you,” he comments, his expression now a bit more serious, “one just graduated from college, she’s startin’ more school in the city soon, and the other’s still in highschool. She’s turning sixteen next week.”

“Ah, sixteen,” you muse, “that’s a confusing age.”

“You got that right,” he gruffs, “the other day, she called me on my way home from work to bring some drink called a boba. Fifty-two years of life and I never even knew there was a damn thing called a boba! Why would anyone want swirlin’ stuff in their drink?! Anyways, the shop got her order wrong, and when I brought it home, she refused to drink it, called me the worst dad ever, then stormed upstairs to slam the door on her room. I turn to my wife, and she’s shakin’ her head at me like I’m the one that did something wrong!”

You laugh, then press your lips into a smile. “I’d have to agree with her on that,” you joke, and he lets out another disgruntled noise that has you laughing again.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve lived with my wife and those two girls for over two decades,” he sighs. “I’m used to it by now. All three are equally pains in my ass, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Your smile drops a little as you look at him more contemplatively. There’s a glimmer in his eyes as he speaks, and you realize it’s familiar, but the answer of where you’ve seen it before fails to arrive.

“My youngest,” he starts again, “she’s been listenin’ to really loud music lately.” He presses one of the buttons underneath the AC vents, static noises coming to life before he changes the output to bluetooth. “My wife says it’s some sort of phase, but I’m not likin’ the music. Always sounding tempered and inappropriate.” He plays a song from his phone paired to the car, speakers flowing with music, and a chill runs down your spine the moment the first few notes fill your ears. A song so painfully familiar, so connected to your soul it’s as if your heart still keeps time with it to this day.

“See what I’m talkin’ about?” the man says, “Lots of words about skin and cigarettes.” With a shake of his head, he lowers the volume. “She’s obsessed with this band, it’s probably a band similar to your old lover’s from the sound of it. She’s got posters of ‘em up on the wall, and she took the picture of us on our first fishing trip together out of the picture frame on her desk and replaced it with this man. This silly-lookin’ white-haired man that always looks like he’s just pretending he knows how to play a guitar. Hmph! She keeps saying ‘dad, I wanna go to their concert!’ There’s no way in hell I’m allowing that.”

You stare down at your lap, brow furrowed from the realization flashing through your head, and your thumb nervously passes over the skin of your other hand. In your periphery, you see him glance over at you once, and he sighs before stopping the music and speaking up again.

“It’s fine,” he says, “my youngest got her sister into the same band, and she likes one of the other ones. Plays bass. He’s too rough-lookin’ for my daughter. Arms covered in tattoos, he’s even got some on his face! She keeps dreamin’ about havin’ him for a boyfriend, but if she brought that home, there’s no way I’d approve. I’d scare him off with my rifle.”

Your heart is beating fast in your chest, and you realize what a small world it is. Or, you realize just how big Choso’s world must be now. So much bigger than he or any of the other members of his band could’ve ever imagined. For once in a lifetime, so rare and pure, are dreams that are fully realized.

“Gosh,” you respond when you realize you’ve been lost in your own revelations for too long, “that’s an…extreme response. You sound like my father, though.”

“Hm,” he responds, “I’m sure. Did your father approve of this lover of yours? The one that’s makin’ moves on you so fast and too soon?”

You lean back in your seat with your head hitting the headrest. It’s been years since you’ve felt like you’re being lectured or reprimanded for anything, but the feeling comes back to you at this moment as if no time had passed at all. No matter how old you get, you’ll never forget how humbling the feeling was when you thought you knew everything at eighteen, just to look back and realize you didn’t have a single clue.

You sigh. “No. He didn’t approve. Far from it.”

seven years ago. autumn.

chapter 2. the juvenile & the delinquent.

[to be continued]

a/n. eeeeeppp thank you very much for reading n supporting my new fic!! i hope you enjoyed :') still a lot more to uncover n unpack hahah i'm so nervous to start a new fic but i'm also very excited!!! i love choso sm but i also love nanami so this is gonna be interesting to write. also TYSM to everyone that wanted to be on taglist for this omg your support means the world to meeee. love you all sm.

taglist: @joemama-2 @sweetpo1son @lilluna12 @polarbvnny @4y3sh4 @sedona-the-l0bster @horisdope @ilovenana88 @thexmistress @atsushirolll @flvrrg0d @strawnanamilk @nighttwingg @indieotterxoxo @pirana10 @bakuhoethotski @tvdumarvelhpsimp @lavender-hvze @whereflowerswenttodie @alwaysfreakingout @kaitoluver @3xv5s @wrenabbadon @erwinslut @winsga18 @ynishalee @yungbloode

love u all so much!!

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hariboz · 7 days

Text

“forget? you?” — shb x gen!reader

a little something i wrote to get back into my writing flow!

ex!hanbin has been plaguing my mind for a while now. the type to make the heart wrenching decision to break up with you to follow his dreams in hopes of finding what he wanted in the spotlight, ready to sacrifice the comfort of your embrace to chase what he has been dreaming of for years.

“thank you for always being by my side, but i don’t know if i can be happy if i don’t try one last time. i don’t want to break your heart, angel, but will you let me go?”

and you did. of course you did, how could you not? you could always see the sparkle in his eyes when he showed you a new choreography he made, the longing in his gaze when watching others dance on the same stages he could only dream of being on. you knew he was happy with you, you knew he loved you. he was happy, loved and comfortable, yet unfulfilled. because while you would give him every single star in the night sky if you could, no amount of your love would sustain his desire to become the shiniest star of them all himself.

so you let him go, gave him your blessing and told him to better make it to the top so your love was not given up in vain.

you had never seen hanbin cry so much before.

“i promise, angel. i’ll carry you with me in my heart.”

and truth be told, ex!hanbin held his promise. he made it. a leader, a highly sought after visual, a mc, a vocalist.

he’s not your binnie anymore. he’s not the one waking up an hour before your alarm to make you breakfast anymore. he’s not picking you up from work with that sweet smile and a smoothie in his hand. he doesn’t try to teach you his choreos anymore. he doesn’t giggle at you while fixing your hair anymore.

on days where it’s especially hard you catch yourself wishing you had refused, had kept him close to you. had begged him to stay back, to not sacrifice all the serene happiness you shared; but then you snap back to reality, the realisation that these selfish thoughts keep crawling their way up making you feel guilty.

it’s a sick twist of fate, you think, when you happen to walk past a wall of support ads for him plastered along your way. you don’t know whether to laugh or cry; whether you should be elated he is receiving an amount of love you could never have given him or whether you should be hurt and bitter that all this meant more to him than you seemingly ever did.

it’s not fair to compare like that, you know that, but it’s not like he’s there to defend himself. he’s never there anymore.

in your inner frenzy, the internal fight between wanting to support the man you still love oh so deeply and the selfish wish to have kept him for yourself, you bump into someone, misty eyes barely focused enough to notice the person in front of you.

you look up briefly to apologise, wanting nothing more than to get away from this overstimulating throwback to your better times, only to realise that the devil — angel — himself is standing right there.

right there, in front of you. sung hanbin. your binnie.

you know it’s him immediately despite the mask he’s wearing. the all too familiar sparkle in his eyes and his pretty lashes that you know all too well blinking back at you in shock, his eyes desperately darting over your face in an attempt to drink in every little change and detail.

you’re just about to speak when he turns at the sound of his name, which is when you finally realise the crowd standing not too far away, observing him like hawks and pointing their phones at him.

right. he’s idol binnie now.

so you bow politely and leave, trying your best to manoeuvre through the crowd. your heart is beating in your ears, your thoughts all jumbled and confused. you haven’t seen him in so long. not in person, anyways, and now you’re running away? what else could you have done?

it’s like you’re on autopilot, not even noticing you’ve made your way back home until you’re stood in front of your apartment. it’s then when you’re about to unlock your door, planning to crawl into bed and never come back out, that your phone vibrates.

first once, then twice.

“i don’t know if you want to talk to me anymore, but i was happy to see you today. even if it was really short.”

“i miss you.”

“you didn’t forget?”

“forget? you?”

“i could never. i love you.”

”did you ever think about dating an idol?”

ex!hanbin who, i think, would give it all up to follow his dream only to realise every single version of his future had you in it. and now he’s here, trying to win you back, hoping it’s not too late. because ex!hanbin is not only a romantic, but also in love. deeply, unabashedly in love.

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till-you-scream-and-cry · 1 year

Text

I'll show the lovin' that you'll never get from a man

Paring: Vic x Fem!Reader

summary: your friends finally meet your boyfriend, and even though nothing goes according to the plan, your night ends up being better than you could hope for, thanks to Vic

word count: 2.1k

contents: angst, fluff, SMUT

author’s note: fist thing i wrote after a month long break, it might not be the best but i hope you’ll like it ❤

| Måsterlist |

You have been dating him for a while now. At least it felt like forever, even though only four months have passed since you went on the first date. He had superficial charm, a cute face, hot body. He knew how to make you feel special, what to say to win your heart. But despite all of this, you knew damn well that He had his flaws. Always too busy whenever you needed him the most, he was possessive, jealous, and didn’t like your friends even though He never personally met any of them. But you were his princess, you saw the lustful glances of other women, looking him up and down with a smirk. Knowing that He picked you out of all of them, was enough to boost your fragile self-confidence. You agreed to ignore his imperfections, only to receive some love. And gods knew you craved some love more than anything.

Your friend couldn’t be fooled any longer. She kept inviting you and him for a night out or at least a dinner. She desperately wanted to meet him, and at least try to be friendly. Every time you called and cried on the phone because He stood you up once again, she patiently listened, but the annoyance in her voice was hard to miss. After long weeks you finally agreed.

“Why are you so nervous, hmm?” He kissed your neck and fluffed up your hair which you just finished brushing. You sighed and combed them with your fingers.

“I just want you two to get along.” You swallowed hard and grabbed your bag.

As soon as you got to your favourite bar, you saw your friend sitting at the big round table. She invited more people, and you couldn’t be more grateful. Less attention on your boyfriend was a blessing. You recognised them all, some you knew better, but there were also some new faces. One pair of blue eyes was looking at you with more intensity than the others. You met Victoria about a year ago, and since then you sometimes attended the same parties. She was also a witness to one of your breakdowns when you came over to your friend in the middle of the night in tears because He made you cry. She was staying there overnight and helped you to calm down while your friend was making you drinks to soothe the pain.

Not much time has passed before your friend started questioning your boyfriend. You were tense, nervously playing with your rings, twirling them on your fingers. You kept sipping your drink, faster than you should, dreaming of something that might finally stop your shaking hands. You looked up and noticed Vic looking at you. She gave you a soft smile, and her whole face lit up. You smiled back. Your hands started calming down.

“So…are you saying that looking at someone attractive on the street is cheating?” Your friend asked with a frown.

“Well…looking is a first step to cheating.” Your boyfriend tensed up.

“No but like…don’t you ever just see someone and look to appreciate their beauty? Not because you want to fuck them?” She kept going, twirling the stem of her wine glass in her hands.

“The only woman I look at is her.” He looked at you and smiled nervously. “And I hope she does the same.”

“Ok but what about men? Don’t you ever see a guy and think that he’s attractive?” Your friend asked Him and looked at you, biting your lip.

“What am I gay?”

His words were followed by silence. You closed your eyes and sighed.

“Fucking dickhead…” Vic mumbled with wide eyes.

“You know that your girlfriend isn’t straight? And none of us here is? What the fuck, dude?” Your friend spat out.

“Well, no wonder you’re all friends, freaks.” He snickered and finished his drink

You stood up, you chair made a loud noise.

“Fuck you, fuck you!” You hissed and ran outside.

You walked fast till you got to the bridge. You looked down at the Tiber through your teary eyes. He never accepted this part of you, but avoiding the topic worked so far. But not this time. You couldn’t believe he embarrassed you so much in front of your friends.

“Hey!”

You turned around and saw Vic walking fast towards you. You wiped your eyes and sniffled.

“Are you alright? Here…” She handed you your coat. All that anger made you numb to the cold.

“Thank you.” You looked at her and felt the tears burning your eyes again.

“Cucciola…” Vic mumbled and opened her arms, offering a hug.

She was warm, tiny but her arms wrapped around your body with surprising strength. She smelled so good, a mix of shampoo and vanilla perfume. You sighed, feeling her arm stroking your back. She kissed your head.

“Hey…I need you to listen to me.” She moved away and cupped your face. You sniffled, watching her enchanted by the serious look on her face.

“I know we’re not super close but I think I’ve heard and seen enough. Please, for the love of god, leave this dickhead.” She stroked your cheek with her thumb, smearing the single, hot tear over your skin.

“I…I’m scared that I’ll never find anyone who…” Your voice cracked.

“Who what? Who will mistreat you like this? Baby…” She frowned and tucked the string of your hair behind your ear. “You deserve so much better.” Her eyes were soft, she kept glancing at your lips. “It hurts me to see you suffering like that for the attention of a guy who doesn’t deserve to lay a finger on you.”

Her words and tender touch spread warmth over your body. Her angelic face, her soft hands, her eyes full of love. She kept looking at you as if you were the most precious thing she could find.

“Vic, I know you think I’m stupid but…”

“No, cucciola. Never. You’re just hurt.”

The way she made you feel understood, how she managed to point out something you couldn’t articulate for weeks with such ease, made your heart skip a beat. You put your hand over hers and stroked her cheek with the other. You stepped forward and pressed your lips to hers. Vic pulled you closer and deepened the kiss. Her lips felt so soft and sweet, her nose was cold against your cheek. You let out a quiet hum, feeling how you’re getting lost in that kiss, that there was something about her that made you feel things you’ve never felt before.

“Let’s get out of here,” Vic whispered against your lips.

She grabbed your hand and only a moment later you were sitting on her Vespa. Your hands were wrapped tightly around her waist, your face pressed to the leather jacket on her back. Even though you were scared of scooters, with her you felt safe. She took off your helmet and kissed your forehead before grabbing your hand again, and pulling you towards the building in which she lived.

As soon as she locked the door, you looked at her with lust, gratitude and some new kind of softness. You wanted more of her, in every sense. Vic smirked, threw her jacket aside and stepped closer to you. She slid your coat off your back and threw it on the floor.

“So…what now?” Vic asked with a smile, placing her hands on your hips. In one swift move pushed you against the wall. You smirked as your back hit the hard surface.

“I think I’m ready to get to know you better.” You whispered, twirling a lock of her hair.

Her hands started moving higher, she wrapped one arm around you, and the other hand started moving higher at a painfully slow pace, till she finally cupped your breast. You sighed.

“I’ll show you what you deserve…” She pressed her lips to yours, and kissed you passionately, nibbling on your lip. “I’ll show you things you’ll never get from a man…especially not that dickhead.”

Vic took her hands away and grinned, she started walking backwards to her bedroom, while watching you with dark eyes. Once you got there she stripped you down completely, leaving you in your lacy panties. Vic pushed you onto your bed, smirking at your bouncing tits once your back hit the mattress. She crawled on top of you and trapped you between your hands. Her lips were immediately back on your lips, chin, and neck. She was sucking, nibbling on your skin, leaving wet kisses everywhere. She moved her knee between your thighs, pressing it to your damp panties. You gasped and moved your hips forward to get more friction. She smirked and pinned your wrists above your head, slowly teasing your bare nipples with her other hand. Vic moved down and wrapped her lips around your nipple and started flicking it with her tongue. Her hand started wandering lower until she reached the hem of your panties. She pulled the material up and looked up to watch your face. You gasped.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous…” She whispered and moved away to get comfortable between your thighs.

She kissed her way down, leaving love bites on your sides, hips and thighs. Her soft hands were gently stroking your hot skin. Vic started teasing you through the thin and damp material of your underwear, smiling at your noises. She finally pulled the panties aside and started teasing your fold and clit, kissing your things and stroking your belly.

“Please…” You whined, looking down at her with blushed face and parted lips.

She slipped two fingers in you and leaned down, burying her face between your thighs. Vic gave your clit a long and slow lick, flattening her warm tongue, and pressing it hard. You moaned and moved your hand to her hair, tangling your fingers in her blonde strands. Suddenly you heard buzzing. You looked around. Your phone. With His name on the screen.

“Answer it.” Vic looked at you with a grin, her chin was glistening from your wetness.

‘No, Vic…” You mumbled.

“Be a good girl, or I’ll stop.” She slowly pulled out her fingers and pushed them back into you hard. You moaned loudly.

“Alright, alright…Hello?” You cleared your throat.

“Where the fuck are you? Why did you cause such a scene?!” your boyfriend growled into the phone.

Vic hooked your leg over her shoulder and started speeding up her fingers, while slowly making out with your pussy, making many loud, wet sounds.

“Fuck…umm…” You tried to hide your moan and cover your lips. “I left because I didn’t want to.. stay!” You said the last part way too loudly, but you couldn’t help yourself because Vic just touched your g spot with her index finger.

“What the fuck was that?! Where are you?! Are you with this gay bitch?!” He screamed.

Vic started sucking on your clit and pumping her fingers fast, feeling how your muscles started tensing up, your body getting closer. You moaned loudly a few times, coming with a loud scream, forgetting about the phone in your hand. As you started trembling, Vic licked your pussy a few more times, kissed your thigh and grabbed the phone out of your hand.

“You fucking whore!” He screamed into the phone.

“Easy, cowboy. Her pussy tastes divine, she came so nicely on my fingers and my tongue…” Vic said seductively, watching you with a smile, slowly stroking your belly.

“I’ll ruin you both! Everybody will know what a fucking worthless cunt she is!”

“And I’ll make sure that everyone finds out about your tiny dick and how you treat women. Now, I need to go back to the beautiful goddess over here, I’ll make sure she comes again and again till she can’t anymore. As she should. But how would you know what she needs? Call her again and we’ll talk differently. Ciao!” She said loudly and ended the call.

“You’re insane…” You mumbled with a smile. Vic threw the phone aside and kissed you slowly, letting you taste yourself on her lips.

“I might be insane, but I can be fun, my pussy eating skills are clearly working,” she chuckled, “...and…I kinda want to make you finally feel happy. It’s on the top of my to-do list, and I always take my list very seriously.” She booped your nose and dragged her hand down your chest and belly, sliding it again between your legs.

“Again?” You asked and bit your lip.

“Oh cucciola, it was just a warm-up.” She kissed you and slid her fingers back into you, making you moan loudly.

You lost count of how many times you came that night, but besides mind-blowing sex, Vic has finally shown you how you can and should be treated. Which let’s be honest, He could never do.

********

tåglist: @thewitchinthemountain @8iunie @oro-e-diamanti @tempobrucera @coven-daddy @bethanysnow @writingmaneskin @blackberryblossom @hiraetheral @theimpossiblehologramtree @ilwiwbysmv @weareoddlydrawn @jrj2 @bieberhoodforever @que--sera--sera @iamtashaquinn @butkutee @ohdamiano @stardustingold @woahzz11 @cuzimitaliano @thegeminisgirl @bisexual-babygirl-mj @maneslut @eliseline @dpaccione @xweirdxsceletton @agentreid2 @roisinlove123 @vicdeangelis @ohladymoon @ykaaarus @androgynouscloudenemy

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Text

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞-𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Vergo, a seasoned actor who has won several awards and is always sought out by companies for their films, and you, an aspiring actor looking to get your name out in the world, meet at a party, and Vergo promises you the spotlight-- riches and fame can be yours... at the price of sex.

notes not back off my hiatus yet!! but this was a piece I wrote for the loverly @uminozerol 🥰 with her blessing, it has made it to the big screen (or, your phone screens, and if you've somehow decided to read ff on your tv screen, that's... a choice).

pairing -> actor!vergo x fem!actor!reader

warnings -> nsfw (18+, mdni), actor au, pw/p, piv sex "under contract", size difference (bc he's massive), oral sex (f!receiving), finger fucking, creampie; alcohol use (not involved w sexy times)

wc -> 5.6k

Contrary to mass naïve belief, the acting world isn’t all smiles and good times. Showing up to auditions and landing every role is a dreamer’s dream; personal sacrifice comes into play when desperation is present. The unspoken truth, the one hidden behind red painted doors to rooms with checkered floors…

But there’s a dark side to every industry.

The entertainment world, with its claws dug deep into society, dominates the public’s view of the world; only the most elite truly dictate what appears in the media, and, who. There’s nothing that speaks “power” like money does. A little investment goes a long way, but there are some actors and performers and entertainers who get away without needing that financial backing for their talents, raw and pure and whole; they do well on their own, beloved by the people.

And none of this has ever been a secret. It’s just something not many dare to tread on or over for fear of losing their own place under the LEDs. Fortunately for someone like you, a fresh-faced and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and all-too-eager to have your name known to and adored by the world. To have your skill acknowledged by the masses, to see them enjoy your work and laud about it to those who’ve yet to witness it for themselves-- it’s an honour like no other.

You’ve yet to fall on hard times from a lack of substantial work (small gigs, commercials and commercial voice overs, and a supporting role in a twelve-episode drama that wouldn’t be renewed for a second season in spite of an overwhelming positive response) but the drain on both your savings and your motivations as an aspiring actor had begun to weight heavy on your heart.

You had the skill set and the experience to be sought after as rookie talent— is there something you’ve been doing wrong? Certainly not even your manager is at fault; you’ve seen first hand just how hard they’ve been searching and fighting on your behalf.

If you could guess… it’d been your lack of networking. And, a lack of a network. You really were a rookie in that sense. All those roles were eaten up because of connections— entertainment is the industry of nepotism, after all. People who know people are how people get places.

You… knew this, too. Even in the beginning. It’s why you’re sitting in front of your vanity, face painted and already dressed in your black evening gown, second guessing everything you’d steeled yourself into doing tonight.

According to your manager, who’d heard through their own contacts, a huge networking event masquerading as a cocktail party was to be happening tonight, and she managed to surprise you with a ticket. A ticket. Which means you’d be going in alone.

The “Don’t Worry, I’ll Be With You In Spirit” line she fed you almost immediately after gushing over the expected attendees put you on edge. Especially considering she’d blurted out the name of your favourite actor: Vergo.

With a voice like butter and the smoothest acting you’d seen in your lifetime, you’d been instantly enthralled; you can recall how he’d been mostly chosen for darker, noir, thriller type roles because of this. You’d always wanted to see him in a romance film, but casting directors seemed to be heavily monopolizing his most infamous skill set. And, he seemed content in doing them.

You were about to be in the same room as your idol, your celebrity crush— alone.

Technically.

The drive to the venue is a quiet one. At the expression on your face, your chauffeur, your manager, couldn’t bring herself to comment any further about the situation, even to fill the silence brought about during the evening traffic (though you correctly assumed it hadn’t been for your glare of “retaliation”, but because of the crease lines that would appear along your forehead; something about “ruining your makeup”, she’d mumbled under her breath that made you relent).

She does send you off with a genuine well-wishing of luck, and a reminder to call her whenever you were ready to leave.

To your surprise, the event is not a private one. Or at least, perhaps it had been, but somehow was leaked to the public. A large security detail outlines the numerous gold and red velvet stanchions, arms spread eagle wide so as to bar the few more wily spectators that pressed forward a little too much toward the doors.

Maybe it never was a private event. Stanchions? A red carpet? This much security? Either someone had been brilliant enough to think ahead for a just-in-case scenario quite like this one, or it’d been a publicity stunt of some design.

Adjusting the chain of the clutch hanging off of your shoulder, you swing it forward to dig out your invitation, and present it to the host at the door. A nod, a brief welcome, you finally enter the building, greeted by a gentle breeze and gold adornments and bold crown mouldings-- from top to bottom, the chosen venue was a good choice. You only wish your heels wouldn’t click so loudly across the checkered floor; you get the point is to be noticed, in a sense, but having this many pairs of eyes on you as you drift further inside only rattles your nerves.

Being that it’s a cocktail event, there is no assigned table seating. Wouldn’t be much of a networking event if you were stuck at one table all night, you reason with yourself.

By suggestion of one of the staff, you check your shawl in. You’d expected the room to be much cooler and brought it just in case, but the sheer number of celebrities, interviewers, and recruiters already in the room brought the temperature to a comfortable enough level. You hold onto your purse, finding it not nearly enough of a nuisance to be rid of it.

Moving aside, you take in your surroundings, properly, no longer overwhelmed and overloaded by them as you’d been on entry. There are a lot of guests. In such a large foyer, you suspect well over one hundred to be in attendance. Your heart swells, recalling your manager’s words from earlier-- yes, the event is invitation only, but you could still apply to receive one, and if the hosts deemed you a fit enough guest, you may attend, yourself. For fresh blood like yourself, this meant everything. The chance to interact, the chance to create a connection, to establish that network; you didn’t have all those fancy business cards made up for them to be used as a paperweight, after all.

You’re able to hand out quite a few of them before you find your battery drained, casting directors and curious producers alike finding you an interesting conversation piece after you tell them the series you’d co-starred in. Some of them even recall your role played and your acting, a very small “some”; you’d appreciated their kind words. But it’d been a long two hours of non-stop chatting and casual drinking. As fancy as the event was, wearing three inch heels (or heels of any height, really) hadn’t been an ideal dress code requirement, and you were beyond parched.

Trying not to sigh too loudly, you let yourself collapse into a plush barstool, immediately noting the velvet upholstery to match that of the rest of the venue’s, and hail down the bartender when you spot them having finished with another guest.

I won’t drink tonight, you tell yourself, thanking them with a nod. They set a glass of water before you a moment later, and you begin sipping gratefully from its straw. Mmm.

Finally having a moment to yourself again, you allow your eyes to wander around the room. It’s gotten a lot fuller since the time when it started… Celebrities and their dedication to arriving fashionably late… isn’t fashionable at all.

You spot a lot of familiar faces around you: the small group of men bickering loudly in one of the furthest corners who’d all recently starred together in a “buddy”-cop movie, affectionately nicknamed on one of their sets as the Three Stooges; the tall raven haired woman who’d brought along a novel to read, a smile on her face while she covets it from a singular lounge chair, Nico Robin; just entering the fray after checking in his coat, a former co-star of yours, Donquixote Rosinante; and, to your right, cradling a tall drink of something clear and violet, sitting several feet taller than yourself and who’d be the one person able to send more than just your heart fluttering--

V-Vergo?! As unnoticeably as possible, you straighten in your chair, shimmying your hips to fit against the backing, and take another sip from your own water.

Now, stage fright was something that you managed to siphon out of your repertoire after the first couple years of acting. It managed to control a lot of aspects of your life and even lucked you out of receiving a couple of good, substantial roles. So being here, for an event meant to help entertainers new and seasoned form connections or start networks or begin partnerships-- it means there’s no time for you to tremble on the sidelines.

The time it takes for you to summon up the courage is embarrassing; Vergo’s already ordered a second drink, and you’re quite sure he’s noticed you glance his way (multiple times) in his own peripherals. If he did, he doesn’t mention it, nor would you have been able to tell with those dark shades he always wears.

You also order a drink -- this time, a half-strong cocktail -- and swivel in your stool, the head of it rotating beneath you. Your eyes rise first, before you’re about to speak, only for your words to catch in your throat. Next to his lip sits a smudge of something soft orange in colour; a cream, of some sorts. You determine it’s one of the dips from the appetizer bar, and wonder how long it’s been there that no one’s said a word to him about it.

“Are you content with simply staring, or is there something you’re looking to say?”

This time, your breath catches in your lungs. He hadn’t even turned your way, still hunched over the bartop. You want to apologize, or maybe, laugh. Instead, you swallow your introduction and reach up, collecting the food sauce on the pad of your index finger. His flinch is subtle, only the shoulder closest to you tensing in surprise at your bold gesture.

“The roasted pepper goat cheese dip must’ve been really good for you to miss your mouth,” you muse, your heart pounding so hard it began to make your throat tighten. You’re about to reach for a napkin, when something otherworldly (you suspect) possesses you to tongue away the cream from your finger. “Yep. Roasted pepper goat cheese.”

“... and you are?”

You hold back another, smaller laugh, this one to cover your own mortification. “Sorry! I meant to introduce myself first.” And you do, though you curse the small stutter that carries along with it. “It’s nice to meet you, officially. I’m… a big fan of you-- ah, your work!” You breath trembles. “S-Sorry, I’m trying to be professional here, but…”

“It’s fine,” Vergo says, lowering his cup to the bar. “We’ve all been there.”

“T-Thanks,” you murmur, sipping from yours. “I suppose you came here for the networking bit of the event?”

“That, and the open bar.” You snort. “You’re not familiar to me,” he adds. Although you figured he wouldn’t have seen you in any of your small productions, you can’t help the flush of abashed heat that crawls across your skin. “Have you had any luck?”

“Nothing substantial… Mostly just a lot of “we’ll be in touch with your manager”, but we all know what that means, haha…” His lack of response hints to the contrary. “A-And you? I’m sure you don’t need networking yourself, so… are you building one for your agency?”

“I’m here on their behalf,” he confirms. “Supposedly, my presence brings a lot of attention; we’ve had a lot of applicants over the past few years.”

Wonder where they might’ve gotten that idea from, you think.

Another thought filters into your mind that makes embarrassed heat sweep through you; you chastise yourself for even considering asking something so… vulgar? But you manage to seal your lips to keep it contained.

“It looked like there was something you wanted to say.” Until his decision to ask it out of you was made.

Really, this could’ve been asked to any other person in the room -- but maybe not every person -- and yet, you find yourself blaming the measly half ounce of alcohol for your own perverted curiosities.

“I just… You hear about these kinds of things and wonder if they’re true, right…? And usually, it’s the more established folks who get involved with these kinds of things, or at the very least, know about them…” You clear your throat and lean toward Vergo, who cranes his head down to match your height. “Do people really still try and sleep their way to the top?”

If he’d reacted in any way to your words, you don’t catch it. Rather, he politely clears his own throat, and stares down at you.

“Is this something of interest to you?” he inquires, polishing off his drink a moment later. You flush.

“I, uh, n-not exactly…” You sigh, defeated. “But at this rate, I’d have more luck sleeping with some… executive producer or some superstar actor than landing a role through normal means. It’s just so frustrating. Why did everyone want to enter show business at the same time?”

Eyes stuck, you watch the bartender clear your glasses with a nod of approval from the two of you.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Vergo says. “This stands true, even outside of the script of a movie. Are you asking because you’re considering it?”

Your laugh is light, but self-pitying. “Wish I could lie and say I’m not. It’s… not cheap living in this city and getting few to no call backs. It’s either I get a part-time job as some minimum wage barista or, I don’t know… Whore out my talents, I guess.”

“And you’d do that with some… skeevy executive?”

You grimace. “Well, when you put it that way, it’s kind of gross. Something like that would be the last thing I’d ever want. God, I just wish I could get real, honest work…”

Vergo goes silent. After such a strange turn in conversation -- even though he’d been the one to ask!! you remind yourself -- you don’t blame him for not knowing how to deviate from it; you don’t even know what to say from here.

There’s a bit of shuffling from your right where he sits, and you find him sifting through the inner pockets of his blazer. He pulls out a card clip of his own, filled thick with laminated black and light blue business cards, and a white permanent marker, and begins writing on the bare backside of it.

“Take this,” he says, and slides it across the bar to you. “This is where I’ll be staying for the weekend. My room number.”

“Wh-- why--””A business proposition. One that I won’t speak about in public. Come or don’t come, that’s up to you. I’m not some “gross executive”, but I’ve at least been in this business long enough to tell you that it would be one worth your while.”

You pick up the card with trembling fingers, eyes still wide and glued on him, even as he stands up to adjust his suit.

“I’ll be saying my goodbyes to everyone now. Come at eleven tonight, if you do.”

Eleven… That’s only an hour away now.

You’d called your manager to pick you up shortly after Vergo left. She’d inquired about your lack of conversational skills when you’d gotten into her vehicle, but your mind had been so occupied with thoughts of Vergo, the man you’d only idolized and, if you were being completely honest, simped after for a majority of your teenage and adult life.

You’d reasoned you could only speculate about the business proposal he had for you, but you know exactly what he intends to suggest should you decide to make your way to his hotel. It’s definitely not something he should suggest in public -- it’s not something he should’ve suggested at all considering his very public position in the media limelight. You could’ve taken this information and sold it to one of the paparazzi waiting outside.

Maybe you looked more desperate than you’d meant to come across as. Because prior to your conversation with him, no; you’d never seriously considered “selling yourself” for a role or for fame, let alone to some equally-as-desperate executive. You’re pretty sure a song had been made about that.

It would’ve taken you an hour from your own apartment to reach Vergo’s hotel through downtown traffic anyhow… which is why you found yourself here earlier than you would’ve intended. However he plans to phrase this proposition of his, it’s not like you’ve said “yes” to anything yet. At the very least, you could hear him out.

You’d changed into an outfit more casual, more professional, than the glittering evening gown you showed up in for the networking party-- a pair of loose slacks and a sweater vest-button up combo. Underneath, however, you made sure to wear something a little more… for the occasion.

It’s just in case!! you swear to yourself as you clamber into the elevator, heart pounding. Like I’d be caught dead on any occasion wearing granny panties and a sports bra.

Vergo’s room is on the highest floor, the hotel’s penthouse suite they often reserved for VIP guests such as notable politicians and top names in the media. You hadn’t been sure how things normally work, but you learn that his room isn’t guarded by his security detail (not that you thought he needed it with him having self-defense training and him being built like a fridge) like you expected. It makes it easy for you to walk up and press the video doorbell, despite it being physically difficult. A moment later, the camera clicks on, and without a single word from the suite’s inhabitant, the door clicks, too, and you enter.

You expected nothing short of excellence and minimalist beauty for the room and you aren’t disappointed. The penthouse suite is decked with expensive paintings and high-end leather furnishings and beautiful, shining black lacquer tables and stainless steel appliances-- you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“You came after all,” Vergo's voice echoes through the room as he descends from the second level. If you could afford to own and wear pearls, you’d be clutching them; it looks like he’d freshly showered just before you arrived, and, lucky you, he’d yet to put his glasses back on.

“Hello again,” you greet. Anxious, you shift your weight onto one foot. “I figured I should at least hear out your “business proposal” before I turn it down.”

“I see. That’s very professional of you.” Standing only feet away from you now, you feel yourself shrinking and shriveling before him. “Drink?”

“Uh-- j-just water, please.” Vergo collects two glasses and fills them from the fridge’s cold water depository, handing one of them to you, and gesturing for you to follow him into the common area; a set of four cream-coloured leather couches, all facing each other with those black lacquer tables sitting at the end of each and in between them. You sit, and rather than sitting across from you, or at least adjacent to you, Vergo sits but a couple of feet away on the same couch. You take a drink before setting the cup on the table, swallowing harshly.

Vergo does the same. “I’ve been in this business a long time. I’ve seen filth and I’ve seen good faith. The question you asked back at the party, if it’s all true? Yes. Of course, it is. Only a fool would dare to challenge this fact. Some are lucky, however; sometimes their attempt into “sleeping their way to the top”, as you’d put it, is achieved without a hitch.

“Others, not so much. Years to date, they’re still stuck in a cycle of use and abuse.” Vergo sighs at you. “I can only assume that you might have been joking earlier, about whoring out your talents to some no-good executive. You seem like an earnest young woman. The last thing I wish to see, and to remember being responsible for, is not ridding the idea from your head; is seeing you lost in that same cycle. So, I offer this to you:

“Roles. Riches. Fame. I can ensure you’ll receive it all, in exchange for that one thing.” It remains nameless, but the implication is clear. “As you put it, you’ll whore out your talents to me, and I’ll put them to good, proper use. You’re not without skill; simply, you’re without guidance.”

You decide to name it. “In exchange for sex.”

Vergo nods. “Yes.”

“That was all very straightforward of you.”

“Do you dislike it?”

With almost zero hesitation, you shake your head. “No.” You pause. “Besides the sex, what else are you getting out of this? Because it seems like I’m reaping double the rewards in this deal.”

“Self-satisfaction, perhaps,” he says. “Hm… I was once told I wouldn’t be a good mentor.”

“I’m hoping you’ve never propositioned another rookie like this before to earn that comment,” you muse, and to your surprise, you earn a chuckle from the man.

“You would be the first to ever ask the question you did, so no. I would have had no other reason to.” Another pause occurs between you before Vergo gestures past the kitchen. “If you’d like to freshen up, the restroom is there.”

Even though I also showered again before coming here… “S-Sure. Thank you.”

“When you’re ready, I’ll… be waiting.”

You excuse yourself, stumbling a little on your way past the door frame. You slide the door shut and look at yourself in the long, wall-encompassing mirror.

You’re shaking. Unsure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, you decide to cool yourself down with a cold cloth to your forehead. Freshen up? What more could you do to prepare yourself for what you agreed to do? A verbal contract to achieve fame and even more, receive a good fuck. How is this going to work? Are you supposed to become signed to his agency? You’d been a freelancer for so many years. How often are you supposed to have sex with Vergo? The image of you as a purse puppy suddenly appears behind your eyes and you have to stop yourself from laughing at it; this is serious. And you seriously wonder if Vergo really has no other agenda or intentions behind this agreement.

You drop the cloth onto the counter and sigh heavily, at the same time the bathroom door slides open again. Spinning on your bare heel, you flinch at Vergo and his long, quick strides over to you.

“I-I thought--!””I apologize,” he interrupts, stopping just before you. He crouches at his knees, his eager hands disappearing under you to scoop you into the air a moment later. You flail, a noise of surprise slipping past gritted teeth when he sets you down on the counter’s edge. “I’m afraid that this is where our agreement begins.”

His movements are hurried, his touch; heavy, but not harmful. You brace yourself while he helps to strip you down; a hand pressed against his chest with the other propping you up from the counter, he works around your lack of balance and lifts both your sweater vest and the blouse over your head, not bothering to unbutton it. Mouthing at your bare neck, he unclasps your white lace bra and tosses it behind him. His lips are quick to travel, to your jaw, to the sweet corners of your lips, parted enough for him, quite alike your thighs, to slot himself between; his lips, his thighs-- he pulls you to the edge of the counter to press one of them into your clothed cunt.

You gasp, the material of your trousers coarse enough and his movements exact enough that it makes you keen forward for more. Vergo's hands, big like the rest of him, smooths along your thighs and up to your hips, his thick fingers dipping with urgency beneath the waistband.

“Lift,” he commands, and you raise your ass from the countertop. Lowering yourself back down has you hissing from the cool chill of the marble, but the look on Vergo’s face has you quickly warming up again. Once more, he drags you to the counter’s edge before dropping onto his knees between yours.

“V-Vergo?” you ask, already breathless. He doesn’t speak again, busying himself with tugging your slacks and panties down past your hips and nipping down along your exposed flesh.

His shoulders are too broad for you to even consider trying to shut your legs; his grip, too firm to be able to free your hands from being pinned down against the counter. If a single swipe of his tongue has you reeling (with nowhere to go but backward, your bare back pressed against the cold mirror to contrast the rest of your body and its burgeon), then the fervent suckling at your throbbing clit would have you utterly convulsing beneath him. Your cries, desperate and passing through clenched teeth, go ignored, save for the occasional glance your way; proving himself an attentive partner hadn’t been something you necessarily expected out of him, but it provided you with just another reason to remain infatuated with him.

Your feet kick out, looking for a surface to catch on and press against, but they, too, had been trapped under him--

“-- Vergo, I-I’m--!”

-- until they weren’t. His release of you is abrupt, as is his ascent to stand as tall as the bathroom itself. You wheeze, not realizing you’d been holding your breath until now.

“Why…”

“Don’t start thinking the night will be cut short,” he says, unzipping his jacket and untying the knot of his sweats. “I’m not a one-round sort of man.” They fall into a heap on the floor beneath him, joining you in the nude. Glancing down where you feel his erection pressing against you is a challenge, especially when you eventually learn that it’s only touching you halfway.

“Oh my god…”

“Come.” He extends a hand to you that you hesitantly take. “You’ll be much more comfortable elsewhere.”

Expecting to slide off the counter and onto your wobbling, fawn-like legs, had been incorrect. The large hand wrapped around yours had only been for your own leverage when he lifts you into his other arm, five feet off the ground, with little effort. You squirm in his hold, made anxious by the extra height, until you feel his fingers prodding at your cunt. You can feel, you can hear, just how wet he’d made it by the merit of his tongue alone as he stirs them along your opening.

“Relax,” he tells you. “You’ll want this done properly before we really begin.”

You make to speak, what likely would’ve been a choked noise coming from you, but instead you squeak, suddenly impaled on two of his fingers.

“Put your arms around my neck.” To the best of your ability, you do, trembling flesh and bones curling carefully around corded muscle. “And put your legs around me.” This, you find, is much harder, and so with his help, your legs curl around his waist.

“Lift,” he says again, and you lean back to glance at him. “I said, lift.”

… you do, a gasp immediately escaping you when you end up falling back onto his fingers. You scramble, weak limbs attempting to free you from their range, only to slide right back down.

“Vergo,” you whine

“Hold on tight.” You do. With every ounce of whatever strength you could muster, you do. The penthouse is a completely private suite, and in a building taller than all the rest around it, you have complete privacy, and yet, being paraded through such an open, exposed space, on your way up to the room’s second floor, you find yourself trying to hide what you can of yourself; a redundant, unfruitful effort.

Having removed his fingers, he has you unlace your limbs from around him to fall onto his bed.

“Under normal circumstances, I’d certainly be taking my time.” You glance down, and find Vergo stroking himself to an even greater length than you’d first seen him. It’s not natural, you begin to panic. He’s huge, a-and his thing’s even bigger, I-- i-it’ll never fit, there’s no way-- “I’d have you coming on my hands and into my mouth three times each before we even got up the stairs.”

Your cheeks burn; your attempt to hide your expression behind your arm fails when he takes both of your wrists in a single hand and pins them above your head. With his other, he grabs himself at his base, and lines him up with your arousal.

“Remember to breathe.”

Instinctively, you do the exact opposite.

Being impaled on his fingers hadn’t even been comparable. Even prior to him undressing, you knew he wouldn’t be small by any means; your mind might’ve still been in a state of shock, even before he thrust into you. “Remember to breathe”? You can barely string a thought together. And whatever breaths make it out of you are punched from your lungs each time the head of his cock meets the depths of your cunt.

Vergo leans down over you, curling his free arm around your waist from behind, and presses his lips into your ear.

“Breathe,” he repeats on the backing of a grunt, his voice a deep, muted whisper that has you clenching even harder down on him. “You’ll -- ngh -- pass out if you don’t.”

Your nails pierce your palms. I’d like… to see you try and breathe… with this shit inside of you!!

“Damn, you’re so tight.” Vergo rocks his hips forward, his own lips parted and letting his own pants escape right next to your ear. “Thought I prepared you enough f’me.”

He no longer eases himself into you, instead snapping his pelvis into yours with little restraint. Hands still wrapped around your wrists, he pulls you up onto your knees, rising behind you and holding your back to his chest; the reprieve of being weighed down by him is short-lived as he impales you once more upon him-- his fingers couldn’t even compare to the fullness plaguing you. You choke on the small doses of oxygen you’re able to take in, and with your free hands, you scramble to find a stance that relieves the pressure; not even standing with the tips of your toes pressed into the mattress spares you.

Instead, you bring a shaking hand down to smack across the forearm locking you against him. “I-I-- haa -- I’m g… onna break… p… lease…! Ver… go…!”

Vergo groans into the crook of your neck, and presses a hand over your abdomen. Your breath hitches; aside from the spasming of your limbs, you still from shock, forced to accept the orgasm he and his cock had bullied you into.

“Then… become broken by me.”

A large hand sweeps forward to turn your head toward him. You can’t stop him, not that you’d try in such a state, when he presses his tongue against your lips to pry them apart. Whines and moans alike, he swallows them all, leaves you breathless and weakly swatting at him to release you. Instead, he releases into you, and you wince at the heat of his spend filling your womb.

Before you’re even out of his arms and laying in the plush sheets below, you find yourself too dizzied to remain upright, and faint against him.

A woman’s laugh drags you back into consciousness.

Eyelids heavy, you blink the bedroom into focus, squinting when your gaze lands on the warmth of the lamp on the bedside table. Body and skin tender, you gingerly roll onto your other side, wincing at the small ache felt across your pelvis.

You’d expected to wake still covered in sweat and spend; a happy surprise it ended up being for you to learn that you’d been taken care of, as the drops of cum you knew flicked up to hit your cheeks were wiped away.

There, Vergo sits, phone in hand and thumb-scrolling down a white-glowing screen.

“W… Was someone just in here,” you mumble, raising the back of your hand to rub blurred exhaustion from your vision. Vergo shakes his head.

“I’m going through available scripts I think might suit your skill set.” He swipes in the opposite direction, “And ones that might pressure you to work a little more,” to show you that he’d been watching an acting reel your manager had uploaded to the web of you. A flush of embarrassment rolls through you, as if you’d just performed for him, not in bed, but on a set. “After all, I need to keep up my end of our bargain, no?”

#vergo x reader #op vergo x reader #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x reader smut #one piece vergo #vergo one piece

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burningknucklecraftworks · 6 months

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Finished product first, held by my wonderful spouse. Northshield is a kingdom big on the power of light. Our motto includes illumination as a virtue. We have a star named Griffin's Light. On top of the society A&S badge being a candle, our A&S awards are the Black Flame and Brigit's Flame. Since about year two of my tenure in the SCA I've dreamed of making a lantern scroll to honor that aspect and now I've done two. I'm so grateful to be surrounded by people who inspire me to push my boundaries and make cool art.

As such, these are lantern scrolls for Brigit's Flame awards, the GOA level Northshield arts and science award. One is for my wonderful friend Thegn Samson Muskovich (aka Samii), who does so much for the arts and sciences of the SCA. From metalworking with bronze and silver, to leatherwork and armoring, to teaching about existing as a trans person in the SCA and deep diving into the experience of the Gullah Geechee and making sure we know that the experience of Africans trafficked to America is as period as their resilience and resistance. I'm so proud that he's my cousin in the Choctaw tribe. The second is for the magnificent Dame Katerinka Lvovicha (aka Kat), who received her Brigit's Flame in 2015 but never got the scroll for it. She also does so much for Northshield, especially in the realms of heraldry and scribal arts, and she blasts a path for all Northshielders to feel safe by being extremely proactive about pronouns, cultural touchstones, and literally offering housing and travel assistance to people.

The inspirations for the project include these four lanterns and Morgan Donner's lantern build video. In the top row are two illustrations from period showing lanterns. The red lantern is from Book of Hours, MS M.972 fol. 1r, and has a bit of a splayed shape with a wider base and a turned dome at the top. It also has horn panels that aren't quite perfect fits for each side panel, as evidenced by the uneven horizontal lines. The second lantern, held by a crotchety dragonesque beast, is from Breviary, MS M. 8 fol. 158r and has a flat top with straight sides.

The second row shows two lantern awards made by other SCAdians. The first was made by Brig Ingen Erennaigh for a baronial service award called the Coill's Beacon, and the second is an Award of Arms by Northshield's own Tatiana Melville.

My original plan was actually to make a couple of so-called Viking lanterns like the kind you see all over Etsy. These usually consist of a top and bottom disc of wood, with dowels in between, and parchment or rawhide wrapped around the exterior. Extremely simple, and the parchment provides the perfect scroll text surface, but thanks to Morgan Donner's video, I now know those are dated to the 1800s. The idea of illuminated parchment stuck with me though and I decided to make a lantern more along the lines of the Breviary lantern but with simulated parchment in place of horn panes. I felt this was a good compromise between my original plan and a documentably period shape.

I didn't leave myself enough time to make this scroll, between the shield I made for Crown Tournament and Halloween festivities. Thinking fast, I ran out to my local hardware store for some precut 6 inch rounds. The ones I got have an ahistoric Roman ogee routed into the edge, but they'll add some nice visual detail to the scrolls.

Splitting my poplar side beams to width was vaguely harrowing on my radial arm saw. It would've been better to use my bandsaw but it's really not set up for use yet, so I made a janky jig and stood off to the side.

I was successful, and began the annoying process of carving 24 dowel tips.

Tools of the trade, and five doweled supports installed in the first base.

The coping saw did a great job of parting off each dowel end.

Dog bless the Shinso rasp. This thing makes my woodworking experience so much easier.

I got one set done and checked my progress. This looks really, really good so far.

I then grabbed some copper and went to town making the candle holders. I wanted these to have some give for different diameters of candles, including electric candles. These were made entirely off of Morgan Donner's video and aren't based on anything I personally researched, so I can't say anything to their historocity beyond knowing that sheet copper definitely wasn't the material of choice back then. I used a spare fat poplar dowel to form both holders.

I then used sidecutters to make the flanges, and bent them out flat. I used some brass brads to nail the holders to the bases, and pressed them through with my drill press just as I did with the tacks to the targe I made last month.

At this stage I needed to do a test fit, and boy was I happy with the way it looked so far. Now, I must say that this is not enough spacing between the candle and the lantern roof. It'll probably be alright, but it could also get pretty dang hot and risk a fire in there. A shorter candle would be better, but I have a hundred of these beeswax candles so I'm gonna give them away as gifts whenever I can.

Since the Book of Hours lantern is red and Samii's livery colors are red and gold, I painted his lantern red. I used a few different paints mixed together to achieve this shade, and then I sprayed the whole thing with matte polyurethane sealant.

I decided to make Kat's a nice golden oak color in contrast to the red lantern, based on so many being light colored in the various illustrations and illuminations I saw. It was down between this and painting it blue to match her arms, but I think I'm glad I did two very different finishes. The poplar is so green that the oak stain couldn't really compensate, but it's not bad. This lantern was sealed with finishing wax.

At this point Kim stepped in to get the scrolls done. This is Pergamenata, a perennial favorite of SCA scribes for having a similar surface feel and translucency to animal parchment. Usually I do illumination and word smithing while they just do the hand writing, but this time they took on all three of those tasks, much to my joy.

Here's Kat's scroll panes before color. You can see Kim used a template made off my test fit of the lantern to get the spacing correct. They used Speedball india ink and matched the hand to the calligraphy in CNM XXIII.C.124 Velislavova Bible, which they also took the design of the torch from.

Both scroll panes inked, painted and drying. We chose these scrolls to try tempera paint for the first time and the translucency of the tempera on the translucency of the perg is just so good.

Here's Kat's scroll panels with the oak-stained side supports.

Here's Samii's scroll panels with the red side supports.

The final assembly process. I had to cut the scroll panels into individual panes, because the spacing wasn't perfect. I used wood glue to affix the perg panes to the backside of each support, holding or clamping alternately to keep everything in place as the glue-wet perg curled away from the supports and then uncurled as the adhesive cured. It was a pain in the ass but it worked out. I then had to form two bronze rings for the tops of each lantern, and install hooks and loops to close the back pane, which has one end loose and wrapped around a thin piece of basswood.

Here is the final assembly completed, showing the door hooks made of bronze and the eyelet screws made of brass. This is not a very historic door shape, but it's what Morgan Donner hacked together for her lanterns and if it worked for her it'll work for me.

Kat's scroll completed as well, and here's the only view I have of the top suspension ring.

And of course it's not a lantern if you don't see it illuminated. I gave both recipients a beeswax candle and an electric candle, and this photo was taken with the electric candle in place. I had to wrap gaffer tape around the base to make it fit. The electric candle is actually pretty bright! Look at that pretty red paint, and not the fact that the support is slightly angled.

#sca #society of creative anachronism #my crafts #reenactment #lantern #medieval #scribal #scrolls

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p5x-theories · 3 months

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What We Know About the Protagonist

(as of the third beta; last updated 1/22/24!)

The protagonist, codename Wonder, is a resident of Zoshigaya in Tokyo, and a second-year student at Kokatsu Academy in class 2C. He lives with his parents, however they are traveling abroad at the start of the game (though he still receives texts from his mother).

The codename "Wonder" is invented by Ruferu, who connects it to how strange and mysterious aspects of him are- a wonder, in other words.

Most of his personality is up to the player, as the series-typical "silent" protagonist, but one thing that seems to be set is that he doesn't know what he wants. The game opens with him being unsure what to put on a form about his plans after high school, eventually turning it in blank.

More generally, he doesn't quite have Joker's typical calm and unfazeable exterior, and updates to the game with each beta have made his expressions more "blank" or neutral. However, he does still show emotion sometimes: he grins during his Persona awakening, and smiles widely at Ruferu after their first change of heart operation is a success. He's apparently also prone to falling asleep in class.

His voice actor is Koki Uchiyama.

The game starts with Wonder having what seems to be a dream, which follows the start of Persona 5's casino intro with Joker escaping, except Joker "glitches" into Wonder at one point. After Joker takes out the Moloch shadow that attacks him, however, Joker's attacked by someone else, who appears to be Wonder in a white mask. They fight, and Wonder wins, the dream ending with him shooting Joker with a smile.

Wonder jolts awake and goes to school, though throughout the day the player is prompted with choices to help someone or speak up about something, which Wonder seems to be prevented from acting on if the player tries to. On his way back home, he's the only person to react when a woman jumps off the roof of a building near the train station.

This inspires Ruferu to attempt to recruit him, during which Wonder is rushed by a person who rode a bike into the subway train car they were both sitting in. Wonder accidentally opens the MetaNav on his phone right before the bike hits him, and finds himself in Mementos with a strange owl. This leads to his Persona awakening (32:18 - 37:08 in this video) as they try to get out, and his recruitment by the owl (who introduces himself as Ruferu) as a phantom thief and "business partner".

Ruferu begins to follow Wonder around and eventually lives with him at his house as they pursue their first target, Takeyuki Kiuchi. Wonder has a strange vision at one point of Kiuchi pushing a woman and her stroller down the stairs, which goes unexplained. After Motoha Arai joins the team, they steal Kiuchi's Treasure and he has a change of heart, but as Kiuchi is arrested, this prompts another vision for Wonder of Kiuchi cackling, even as the real Kiuchi is going quietly. Motoha and the protagonist decide to continue being thieves to help more people.

Wonder's role seems to loosely parallel Joker's in the original P5.

His Persona is Jánošík (based on a Slovak highwayman described as being similar to Robin Hood) and has Bless and Gun skills, and resists Bless while being weak to Wind and Electric.

In addition to this, the protagonist is a wildcard, able to recruit shadows as new Personas, and access the Velvet Room to strengthen and fuse them. His Velvet Room is underwater, and appears to be a tunnel, with a circular table in the middle that he and Igor sit on either side of. His attendant is Merope.

In combat, his melee weapon is a knife, and his ranged weapon is a handgun. His highlight attack is the first 15 seconds of this video.

#wonder #janosik #character info #third beta

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seoheesoo · 8 days

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Modern AU! Kakashi is Naruto's guardian who meets his child's teacher for the first time and immediately falls in love with him

[Part 6]

Kakashi turned onto a narrow street and slowly drove along the low houses. Every now and then he glanced at the GPS so as not to get lost in an unfamiliar area. Naruto's lessons ended earlier than usual today and Guy, as suggested at yesterday's picnic, took him to his home. Kakashi spent the entire day in nervous anticipation. Shiranui knew at one glance that there was something wrong with Kakashi. Considering that he probably knew about yesterday's date, he quickly added up all the facts he had received. Shiranui was not an idiot, and before Guy and Kakashi realized how quickly and seriously their relationship was developing. As Hatake left the office, he received a veiled blessing from Shiranui in the form of a silent nod. Kakashi felt irrationally relieved. Knowing that the person you worked with for many years is the closest person to your lover was like walking on hot coals. But now the problem of Genma ignoring their relationship had disappeared and Kakashi felt much calmer.

Hatake parked next to the two-story house and got out of the car, not forgetting to take Naruto's backpack with household items and the cake he bought on the way from the back seat. Kakashi knocked on the door and stood in awkward anticipation. Not even a few seconds had passed before the door opened and light gray eyes stared at Kakashi. Neji narrowed his eyes slightly and silently moved to the side, letting Kakashi inside. Hatake nodded to the child and, hastily taking off his shoes, headed into the living room, from which the loud voices of other children could be heard. Naruto and Lee sat on the floor and were completely immersed in a card game. TenTen was sitting in a deep chair and, judging by her concentrated face and chaotic movements, she was drawing something in a notebook. Neji silently walked around Kakashi and sat down on the sofa, picked up the book and continued reading it. Hatake put Naruto's backpack on the floor next to the sofa and, deciding to greet Guy first, went to the kitchen from which soft singing could be heard.

Kakashi leaned against the door frame and folded his arms across his chest, silently watching the man. Guy was cutting something, quietly humming some annoying song. He was wearing a ridiculous bright yellow apron and terribly fluffy panda slippers. Kakashi felt his heart clench in his chest with endless tenderness for this man. For a few seconds, Hatake fell into dreams of this perfect moment. He allowed himself to imagine returning home every day after a grueling day at work. How the children greet him with loud laughter and tight hugs. How he walks into the kitchen and just silently watches Guy cook. How he comes up to him and hugs him from behind. And feeling Guy turn around to face him and softly kiss his forehead, he completely relaxes in his arms. How these days repeat over and over again and turn into a routine. Into everyday life.

Kakashi shook his head, throwing off all unnecessary thoughts and quietly walked up to Guy. After hesitating for a couple of seconds, Kakashi carefully placed his hands on Guy's waist and hugged him gently. The man tensed at first, and then, recognizing Kakashi, immediately calmed down. Hatake rested his chin on Guy's shoulder and kissed Guy's neck softly.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” - he heard the calm voice. - “Welcome home.”

Kakashi's breathing hitched. Guy immediately sensed his anxietment. The man froze tensely and began to turn around, but Kakashi stopped him.

“Thank you,” - Hatake whispered barely audibly and heard Guy’s quiet exhale.

“Go to the living room, I’m almost finished preparing dinner.”

Kakashi placed another kiss on the man's neck and headed towards the children. Neji continued to read, and Naruto and Lee were still immersed in the game. However, something has changed. Kakashi felt a heavy gaze on himself and turned around. Golden-brown eyes looked straight at him, in which a lot of different emotions were mixed. TenTen silently nodded towards the door and immediately headed into another room. Kakashi sighed heavily and followed her. They entered the room and Hatake looked around. It turned out to be Guy's office, which was filled with a variety of things from different periods of the man's life. Kakashi managed to notice several medals from competitions, framed photographs with Shiranui, and children's crafts. The door slammed loudly, Kakashi flinched in surprise and turned to look at the girl. TenTen stood in a protective position with her arms folded across her chest and looked straight at him with a slight frown. Kakashi could literally feel the waves of irritation, mistrust and hostility that came from the girl.

“What are your intentions regarding my tou-chan?” - TenTen asked in an even voice.

Hatake sighed mentally. How is he supposed to explain all his feelings to a ten-year-old when he hasn't figured it out yet? Kakashi knew he had to choose his words carefully. He was not surprised by this conversation and this question, nor by the fact that it was TenTen who took the initiative. The girl was the eldest among Guy's children, as well as the most determined and… The most caring. After all, behind all this feigned anger, Kakashi saw fear. TenTen was afraid. Not him, but this whole situation. It didn't take long before the four of them started a family. And Guy always gave them all his attention and love. And then suddenly a stranger appears who also claims the attention and love of Guy, their father. Kakashi could clearly see that TenTen was terribly scared by the fact how quickly everything had changed. Changes are always difficult to accept, especially such global ones. But most of all, TenTen was afraid for Guy. She didn't want anyone to hurt him and was ready to protect and take care of him to the last. Even if she had to be too aggressive, even if she had to show herself not at her best, she was ready to do anything to protect the person most dear to her. Kakashi saw all this and understood her feelings perfectly, and admired her courage.

“Not much time has passed yet,” - Hatake began to say carefully. - “And I still can’t say exactly where all this is going. However, I can assure you with confidence that I want to be with your father. I have sincere feelings for him and I want to be a part of his life. Your father and I have not discussed our future yet, but I want to say that I will never come between you.”

With every word spoken, Kakashi saw TenTen's tense shoulders drop. She was flattered that Hatake took her question seriously and answered it seriously.

“Nothing will change between you because of my appearance,” - Kakashi said softly. - “Three of you are the most precious people in Guy’s life, and you will always be his priority. I just want to give him the love that he deserves and that I feel for him…”

TenTen raised her palm up.

“I understood. Enough,” - the girl stopped him. - “Thanks for the answer.”

Kakashi nodded, and after waiting for the girl to leave the room, he exhaled loudly. He wasn't so worried even during training with Ibiki. TenTen would make an excellent interrogation agent. The door opened and Guy looked inside.

“Dinner is getting cold, let’s go.”

Hatake shook off the tension and followed the man into the kitchen.

“Kashi nii-chan!” - He heard Naruto's loud voice. - “When did you arrive?”

Kakashi smiled at the corner of his lips and stroked the child's hair.

“Hi, Lee,” - he greeted the boy.

Lee smiled charmingly back at him. Guy placed a large bowl of ramen on the table in front of each of them and they started eating dinner. The entire dinner was filled with children talking about their day at school. Naruto would not stop talking about his classmates and their adventures. Guy listened to all this with a wide smile and inserted rare comments. Lee and TenTen then shared their news, with Neji correcting them, giving their story more realism. When dinner was finished, Kakashi helped Guy put away all the dishes and they headed to the living room. Naruto and Lee managed to draw TenTen and Neji into the game, and the children heatedly discussed something and argued with each other.

“It’s already late, will you stay overnight?” - asked Guy.

All thoughts flew out of Kakashi's head, the only thing he could do was nod. When it got dark outside the window and the clock showed nine in the evening, Guy sent the children to bed. Naruto settled down in Lee's room, although Kakashi suggested putting him with Neji, so there was a higher chance that the children would fall asleep on time. But Guy just waved his hand and sent Neji to the other two boys. Naruto was beside himself with joyful anticipation of his first sleepover. Guy gave Kakashi his household things and, after quickly taking a shower, Hatake changed clothes and headed to the man's bedroom. Guy was still in the bathroom and so Kakashi decided to look around a little. Guy's bedroom was spacious, as was the whole house. And bright. Hatake closed the curtains in advance so as not to wake up from the bright rays of the sun in the morning. The man heard the sound of the door opening and turned around. Guy casually entered the room, drying his wet hair with a towel. A thin white T-shirt clung to slightly wet body. Kakashi covered the distance with lightning speed and pinned the man against the door. Guy opened his eyes in surprise. Hatake loomed over the man and placed his palm to the right of his face, trapping him. Kakashi leaned over and took a deep breath. Guy's skin immediately broke out in goosebumps.

“You're killing me,” - Kakashi said hoarsely, beginning to cover the man's neck with kisses.

With his left hand, Hatake reached under the man's T-shirt and traced his abs with his fingertips. Kakashi kissed his way down to Guy's shoulder and lightly bite him, hearing the man's quiet groan.

“K-Kashi… kids…”

“Just be quiet,” - Hatake whispered into Guy's ear, feeling the man tremble in his arms.

Guy pressed his hand to his lips and closed his eyes. Kakashi grinned and quickly moved away from him. The man opened his eyes, in which Hatake could clearly read bewilderment. Kakashi yawned ostentatiously.

“Let's go to sleep?” - he asked in a serene voice, watching how Guy’s face rapidly changed from excited to irritable.

“You…”

“Yes?” - Kakashi raised his eyebrows innocently.

Guy growled softly and pushed him towards the bed, pushing him onto his back and hovering over him. Hatake grinned openly.

“Are you teasing?”

“Who? Me?” - Kakashi pointed at himself. - “Not at all.”

Guy approached him. Hatake did not take his eyes off his concentrated face. Suddenly, Guy smiled softly and gently placed his hand on Kakashi's cheek.

“You are so cute.”

Hatake felt a treacherous blush filling his cheeks, and his heart began to beat wildly in his chest. Guy kissed him softly on the forehead and lay down next to him, hugging his waist.

“Today has been a long day,” - Guy said in a tired voice.

“Sorry for dumping Naruto on your head.”

“Stop it, that kid never caused any problems.”

Kakashi smiled at the corner of his lips. Guy was one of the few people who said this.

“Thank you,” - Kakashi whispered, lifting Guy's hand and kissing his knuckles.

“You said yesterday that you fell in love with me the first time we met,” - Guy said suddenly.

Kakashi nodded silently.

“Actually, the first time I saw you was when you came to apply. I was leaving the office and saw you at the end of the corridor. You were so beautiful that I even pinched myself to check that I was not dreaming. So technically I fell in love with you first.”

Kakashi stirred and turned to face the man.

“You… turned this into a competition?” - he asked in amazement.

Guy shrugged.

“You started this first. I just provided facts and evidence.”

“You’re impossible,” - Kakashi snorted and turned away again.

Not even a second had passed before he felt Guy hug him tightly.

“Do not sulk.”

“I'm not sulking.”

“Next time you will win,” - Guy assured him. - “If you can, of course.”

“Hey!”

Guy laughed loudly. Kakashi poked him painfully in the side.

“Next time I'll kick your ass, Guy. You can choose any challenge,” -Kakashi stubbornly pursed his lips.

“Any kind?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” - Guy nodded. - “I bet you can’t take all the kids to their children clubs tomorrow after school?”

“You just want to dump all the work on me,” - Kakashi rolled his eyes, but smiled.

Guy laughed.

“It wasn’t even in my thoughts.”

“Yeah, sure,” - Hatake muttered, gently playing with the fingers of his hand. - “Okay, so be it. But if I win, you’ll give me a massage for a week.”

“With pleasure,” - Guy ran his fingers over Kakashi’s chest, listening to his ragged breathing.

“Guy…”

“Yes?”

Kakashi shook his head.

“Let's sleep.”

Guy placed a light kiss on his cheek and turned off the light, plunging the bedroom into pitch darkness. After a few minutes, Kakashi felt Guy's breathing even out and become deeper. Hatake himself lay motionless for a long time, trying to remember to the smallest detail the feeling of Guy's strong embrace, which gave him long-awaited peace and comfort.

***

It was a warm summer day outside. Perfect weather for a BBQ party. Kakashi sat down tiredly on a chair under the shade of a tall oak tree and drank cool lemonade.

“You look exhausted,” - he heard a woman’s voice and silently shrugged his shoulders in response.

Rin sat next to him, lightly nudging him with her shoulder.

“It’s been a busy week,” - the man answered evasively. - “Naruto lost his football uniform, TenTen said she wanted to quit fencing, and Neji ran into some Hyuga on his way home from school and was in a suspended state for several days.”

Rin patted his hand sympathetically.

“What about Lee?” - she asked about the remaining child.

“Lee is a wonder,” - Kakashi sighed. - “Sometimes I even want him to get into some trouble, but he’s too nice.”

Rin smiled softly. TenTen approached their table with a terribly menacing expression on her face.

“What now?” - Kakashi exhaled tiredly, turning his gaze to her.

“This Uchiha…” - the girl began.

“Sasuke?” - Kakashi clarified.

TenTen nodded. Hatake waved his hand lazily.

“Go and teach him a lesson.”

A bloodthirsty grin appeared on the girl's face. She immediately turned around and went straight to the unsuspecting boy. Rin looked from the leaving girl to her friend and shook her head.

“She looks so much like you.”

Kakashi couldn't help but smile proudly.

“Well, she's my daughter.”

Rin snorted and punched him in the shoulder. Kakashi looked around the backyard thoughtfully. He and Guy decided to throw a barbecue party for all their friends. It was something of a tradition to gather at their house once a month for the weekend. Guy always stood near the grill, talking to Asuma and Genma. Not far from them, near a small pond with ducks, stood Obito with Yuki, who was happily running around her father, and Kurenai with her newborn daughter in her arms. The large playground that Kakashi and Guy had built for the children was filled with loud voices and laughter. Kids were allowed to bring their friends. Naruto invited his best friends - Shikamaru and Gaara, who brought a bunch of other children with them, and thus almost twenty children ran around and at the speed of light absorbed all the food supplies of the Might-Hatake family. The children were being watched by Itachi, who was too young to be with adults, but seemed cool in the eyes of the children. A few minutes later, Yamato, Kakashi’s new colleague, and also the father of Sai, Naruto’s classmate, appeared.

The backyard was filled with lively conversations and the delicious smell of food. Kakashi looked at all this with a slight smile on his lips and felt all his fatigue go away.

“It suits you so well.”

“What exactly?” - Hatake raised one eyebrow questioningly.

“Paternity.”

Kakashi shook his head in confusion. In fact, he didn't think so. He was still learning to be a father. But he knew that he had made and was making many mistakes. He will never be as wonderful a father as his father and Minato were, or as Guy is. But Kakashi is trying. He makes every effort for this. And in some very rare moments, it seems to him that he is succeeding.

Kakashi and Guy moved in together two months after they started dating. And after another two months they officially legalized their relationship. That same week they moved to another house, with more rooms and a larger backyard. Slowly but surely, bonds began to form between Kakashi and Guy's children. Kakashi clearly remembers the days when every child called him father for the first time. He treasures these moments as the most important value in his life.

The first child to call him father was Lee. This happened when Kakashi was taking him to kung fu. The child jumped out of the car and said casually: “See you tonight, papa.” Kakashi remained in the car for a long time and could not come to his senses. But in the end he managed to overcome the shock, start the car, and go to work.

The second child was Naruto. This happened when Kakashi came to pick him up after football practice. Naruto told his teammates about his life. And when the topic of family came up, he said casually: “My tou-chan is a secret agent.” Kakashi then thought that Naruto was talking about Minato, but then Naruto continued: “And my second tou-chan is a teacher.” Hatake literally almost had a heart attack then. Naruto had never called him dad before, only brother, but when talking to other people he acknowledged him as his father. That evening Kakashi had a very long and very emotional conversation with the child.

The third child was Neji. It happened late in the evening when Kakashi returned home after work. All the children had already gone to bed, except for Neji, who was sitting in his room, immersed in reading some book. Kakashi looked in on him and gently reminded him that it was time to go to bed. Neji looked at him in confusion and then looked at his watch. Kakashi looked in a few minutes later, the boy was already lying in bed. Hatake approached him, straightened the blanket and turned off the night light, wishing the child good night. Neji muttered in a half-asleep voice: “Night, tou-san.” And Kakashi froze with his hand on the door handle. But he quickly came to his senses and left the room, silently closing the door behind him.

The last one was obviously TenTen. She and Kakashi had a complicated relationship. There was no tension or any other negative emotions between them, but everything was just complicated. She was the complete opposite of her brothers, she was closed, stubborn and independent. She was a copy of Kakashi, as Guy had once pointed out. And that's why it took them so long to get close. But one night Kakashi woke up abruptly and saw TenTen. The girl stood in their bedroom in complete darkness and tightly clutched in her hands a green frog, a gift from Jiraiya. Kakashi noticed her frightened face and immediately tensed. At that same second, a loud sound of thunder was heard. The girl shuddered and closed her eyes, quietly whispering: “Tou-chan.” Kakashi reached out to wake Guy up, but felt the girl's cold hand on his forearm. Kakashi turned his gaze to her, TenTen shook her head and said: “Tou-chan,” gently pulling his hand. Hatake immediately got out of bed and headed with the girl to her room. TenTen lay down on the bed and Kakashi sat on the chair next to her. He stroked her hair softly and smiled reassuringly. Kakashi sat next to her bed all night. At some point, the girl fell asleep, but never let go of his hand.

Kakashi shook his head and returned to the present. Naruto and the rest of the boys played football, asking Itachi to be the referee. The girls were playing volleyball nearby at that time, and by some unimaginable miracle forced Genma to judge them. Although Shiranui was always too weak to the wishes of his beloved niece. Asuma rocked Mirai in his arms, trying to put his daughter to sleep. Kurenai and Rin were talking about something, Yuki was weaving a wreath of dandelions. Obito and Yamato were discussing some work issues. Guy continued to stand near the grill. Kakashi caught his tired gaze. Hatake reached for the thin silver ring on his finger and resolutely stood up from the chair, going to help his tired husband.

“Let me help,” - Kakashi took the tongs from Guy’s hands. - “Get some rest.”

“Thank you, love,” - Guy kissed him softly on the cheek and went into the house to change clothes.

Kakashi glanced around the backyard of their house once again. A few minutes later he felt familiar hands on his waist, and then a warm kiss on his neck.

The dinner was held in a cheerful atmosphere. No one left their house hungry. The parents came to pick up the children, and the adults didn’t stay long either. Kakashi sent the kids into the house and began to clean up, but was stopped by a tight hug.

“Today was a great evening.”

“Agree.”

“I'm glad everyone was able to come.”

Kakashi covered Guy's hands with his own.

“Thank you, Guy.”

“Mm?” - the man asked in a quiet and sleepy voice.

Kakashi smiled.

“Let's go to sleep.”

“What about cleaning?” - Guy immediately perked up.

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean everything up tomorrow morning.”

Guy silently agreed, which indicated the extent of his fatigue. Kakashi put his arm around his waist and led him into the house. As they walked up the stairs, Kakashi looked at the framed photographs that came his way. All their memories, happy moments from which their lives were woven. Kakashi carefully lowered Guy onto the bed and covered him with a thin blanket. Hatake looked around the man's sleeping face. He gently touched the wrinkles around his eyes with fingertips and softly stroked his hair. And then left a kiss on his forehead.

“Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for teaching me how to be a father. Thank you for giving me a family.”

[The End]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

#kakashi hatake #might guy #kakagai #rin nohara #naruto uzumaki #tenten #neji hyuga #rock lee #Thank you all so much for reading! It was a sincere pleasure for me to write this work.

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m4gicisland · 1 year

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૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა damon reznor x f!traveller — sfw / fluff / lazy proofread / 1.2k wc

it’s not as if damon had received a lot of gifts in his life.

growing up, his birthday was never celebrated, if even acknowledged, and he’d learned that expecting so much as a “happy birthday” was a complete waste of time. he would be met with nothing but disappointment, and damon wasn’t a huge fan of disappointment.

it was just another day to live through. another year in which he had somehow avoided a one-way ticket to hell. because, let’s be honest, only in his wildest dreams would he be granted any bittersweet depiction of an afterlife. in reality, damon reznor was undeserving of second chances—even ones that he didn’t believe in.

throughout the years, the assassin had somehow acquainted himself with people that, deep deep deep down, had a heart. one big enough to bless him with gifts on a day that he had gone years without recognising.

but opening the door of his quarters at the ass crack of dawn to a member of the royal peg’asi family clutching a knife in their hands on such a day? the thought of an afterlife paled in comparison. that seemed more within his reach than whatever clusterfuck of a fever dream he was having right now.

“to what do i owe the pleasure, your highness?” resting one hand on the door frame, he took their brief silence as an opportunity to rack his brain for an explanation. the target on his back might as well be tattooed with all the people who dream to one day put him out of his misery, but he cannot recall doing anything that would push this peg’asi to darken his doorstep with a knife so early in the morning.

“i brought you a gift!” the princess exclaimed somewhat excitedly, although the uncertainty in her voice and inability to make eye contact made damon raise a scarred brow. a gift? for me?

“i hate to break it to you princess, but it’s the middle of july. i don’t think santa made plans to come early this year.”

“don’t be a dick, damon. i know it’s not christmas,” the princess’s gaze raised to meet his. “in fact, i’d say today is a bit more special than christmas...”

it took everything he had to not snort at such a comment. while damon reznor was a dick, he most certainly wasn’t dumb. he knew exactly what today was, but he had better things to do than pay any attention to that fact.

“i’ve gotta say, i’m surprised you even realised. i don’t remember telling you the day my mother made the greatest mistake of her life.”

“oh no, i’d say she made it long before that,” the princess grinned. “but that’s not the point! here-“ the royal waved the knife in damon’s line of vision, making it impossible to miss. “-take this.”

he took the knife with ease, weighing it in his hands. it felt familiar, his eyes narrowing with realisation. “this is my knife.”

“shocker.” the princess rolled her eyes, her smile lighting up her face. “the knife isn’t the gift, dumbass.”

“ah, but it would’ve been a very thoughtful one.”

“hey, you know any sane person would question why they’ve answered the door to someone with a knife in their hand?”

“ha, i doubt there’s even an ounce of sanity on this ship, princess.”

rolling her eyes, the princess bent down to retrieve something hidden behind her legs. damon failed to notice the messily wrapped object she’d kept tucked out of his sight.

despite the insanity of this situation, one question tugged at his thoughts. “seriously, how did you know?”

she held it out eagerly, pushing it into him. “i was having a nice little chat with ryona the other day and she let it slip.”

he had no choice but to take the gift into his own hands if he wanted to leave without a hole in his stomach. seriously, the force was unexpected.

“alright, alright, i’ve got it.” he held the gift out between the two of them to examine. it’s shape is reminiscent of the notepads that lived comfortably on his desk, only this one was wrapped up messily in about three different designs of wrapping paper. “but if this is my gift, why the knife? i don’t think threats are part of the tradition.”

“well, it’s been a while since i’ve been able to give a gift like this. i’ve always had so much fun doing the wrapping part and got sort of... carried away? i used too much tape, it’s quite difficult to open without cutting it somehow. i just thought it would come more naturally for you to use a knife.” the princess smiled apologetically.

“well, if the gift is shit at least i can stab it to show my disapproval.” damon laughed. “or maybe i could stab you for insulting my honour?”

the princess’s mouth gaped open in poorly concealed horror. “insulting your honour?”

“i didn’t even want to celebrate my birthday, but you went and got me a gift i hated just to make things worse. i’d be deeply offended.”

“whatever. just open it, will you?”

damon proceeded to cut the wrapping paper open with swift ease, almost confirming his suspicion of its contents. he peeled the paper away to reveal a doodle of an orange tabby cat glued neatly to the cover. it’s a sketchbook. flipping through it uncovers multiple illustrations of all different breeds of cats.

“i originally wanted to get an actual cat, but your birthday gift isn’t worth getting thrown out into space for.”

damon chuckled, although his gaze didn’t leave the sketchbook. “blondielocks definitely wouldn’t approve.”

the princess hummed in agreement. “instead we can torment him with my drawings until he caves and brings us the real deal as a peace offering.”

after examining every page, he closed the book gently and tucked it under his armpit. “thanks, princess. this is not what i expected when you showed up to my room with a knife, but i’m pleasantly surprised.”

the princess winked at the assassin before knitting her brows together. “hey, i think i deserve more credit. do you know how long it took to draw all of those cats? do you know how much debt i’m in with bash now? he’s expecting a lifetime supply of crayons after this project!”

damon clicked his tongue. “it’s impolite to demand things from the birthday boy. did you not learn anything from that expensive education of yours?”

folding her arms across her chest, the princess huffed a defeated sigh. “fine. happy birthday, damon.”

chuckling in amusement, damon leaned down to tuck a stray hair behind the princess’s ear and brushed a soft kiss to her forehead. that precious, adorable angry look quickly being replaced by one of shock. “thank you, princess.”

satisfaction painted his face as he stepped back into his room, leaving the flustered princess with the gorgeous view of his door once again.

as if the gift itself wasn’t a big enough shock, the warmth flooding his heart left him with more to think about than he’d have liked so early in the morning.

the princess was a fool if she thought he’d let the captain lay a finger on her artwork. it was his, and only his. he would treasure this gift for as long as he had to celebrate the tragedy of his existence.

an unexpected gift from the same person he’d threatened and tormented all those months ago. if she could forgive him, maybe he wasn’t all that bad.

maybe damon reznor was deserving of second chances after all...

#a6 x reader #a6 #andromeda six #damon reznor #damon imagine

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pastanest · 1 year

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A/N: shamelessly inspired by the legend that is Amanda Bynes cinematic masterpiece which, if you have not seen it, is too iconic for words and also @januaryembrs imagine Making Of A Man, so please read that one bc it is INCREDIBLE and is on my Jon Snow fic recs list for VERY good reason!!

warning: light reference to SA (reader does what we all wish we could’ve done tho fr and doesnt actually get SA’d, it’s just implied what could’ve happened). also flashing tiddies as god (Amanda Bynes) intended x

Jon Snow x she/her!reader

part one can be found here

She’s The Man - Part Two

It had become commonplace by then, for you to wait at the top of the highest hill in town, as early as you could, for any sign of the Stark banner approaching. If they were going to arrive that day, you knew you would see them at first light, because Lord Eddard Stark often arrived with tired eyes while his two sons would be reliably bouncing with excitement, having woken him in the earliest hours they could to begin their journey.

More often than not, you would stay up there from dawn until your mother called you in for breakfast. You did not expect to see them most days, but you could not withhold your excitement at the possibility of a direwolf waving at you from afar, letting you know that your favourite person in the whole world was on his way.

That morning was one of the rare and beautiful dawns on which you did see your favorite sigil approaching in the distance, and the moment you did, you were sprinting back home as fast as your little legs would carry you, feeling like you were moving at a pace not so far from flying, the wind in your hair only reinforcing that childish dream. Of course, you were shouting at the top of your lungs all the way down the hill.

“DARIUS, DARIUS, DARIUS!” Your yelling did not cease even once you were at his bedside and violently shaking him into a delirious consciousness.

“What is i- Oh, by the GODS (Y/N), let me REST!” He would shout back, burying his face under his pillow.

“NO! JON SNOW AND THE STARKS ARE HERE! COME ON, COME ON, COME ONNN!” You would squeal, running around the room in an excited daze while your brother continued to groan in annoyance.

Before long, your brother would have given in and dragged himself out of bed, stumbling after you as you ran back out into the street and collected yourself. Every single time the Starks rode into town, without fail, you would find a place to situate yourself on their path and appear as though you had casually been there, completely by coincidence and not at all by careful planning. Meanwhile, your poor brother would still be yawning and wiping his eyes, leaning against anything he could find nearby just to keep himself standing upright. That particular occasion, you had hidden around the side of a house that did not belong to your family and you were peering round the corner to keep an eye on the progress of the wolves as they descended. Your brother, on the other hand, was round the same corner but leaning against the wall, making no effort to witness the arrival of his childhood friends because the little energy he had at the time was focussed on being forced awake and trying to stay that way. There was not a power strong enough to wipe the smile from your face when you saw the dark curls of Jon Snow bobbing up and down atop his horse, turning from side to side as he searched for you.

And like a rehearsed scene from a play, you would step out and wave at him, immediately receiving the beaming smile he saved just for you, while his father and brother watched on with pleasant smiles, overjoyed to see the Snow of the family greeted with such obvious excitement.

“Lord Jon! To what do I owe the pleasure this time?”

In the month that has passed beyond the wall, Jon has asked you about your sister less and less, and you cannot decide whether that is a blessing or a curse. On the one hand, not having to talk about yourself in third person or live with the yearning expression in his eyes as he spoke of you without realizing you were right in front of him, was definitely a blessing. On the other hand, the less he mentioned you, logic would suggest that equated to him thinking of you less, and you could not decipher what that meant. You wondered if it alluded to him moving on, trying to forget about the feelings that he was certain he would never be able to act on, for his own good. That, you understood. After all, he has taken an oath; one that you have since taken, too. Perhaps he simply does not wish to entertain such fantasies, you think. But there have been one too many moments with him that have made that difficult for you to believe.

The conversations you have each and every night, whether it be while on watch together or in the quarters you share, are spent smiling and laughing so much that your faces ache, getting to know each other on levels unknown to anybody else. Every time you see each other after being apart for mere minutes is enough to have you grinning at each other, like you did on the day you arrived. The things you have talked about, from feelings to dreams and your deepest, darkest fears, are not things that are often shared between men, from what you know of your time living amongst them as one. But, more than that, there have been specific instances that have made you question particular things about the man you have grown up believing you know better than you know yourself.

For example, three weeks ago, when Ser Alliser had been overseeing a training session and deliberately paired you off with a man far bigger, far stronger and far more experienced in fighting than you were. Jon had tried his best to reassure you in the skill you had gained, but he could see the fear in your eyes, and he knew deep down that you were not skilled enough to take on someone so much bigger than you in close combat. He had also been paired off with someone else in being separated from you, but he knocked that man down in a matter of seconds and held his sword to the poor man’s face, forcing him to yield so that Jon could watch over you. While you dodged as best as you could, and were far more nimble than your opponent due to the drastic size difference, you could not avoid the sly punch to your stomach that sent you hurtling onto the icy ground.

“WHAT IN THE SEVEN HELLS WAS THAT?!” Jon’s voice was like thunder as he marched over to you, lifting you to your feet and moving you to stand behind him as you clutched at your stomach.

The laugh that Ser Alliser responded with told the two of you that he had instructed the larger man to knock you down whatever the cost, regardless of how dishonorable the tactic.

“Try that again and you won't have hands to land another punch, brother.” Jon threatened the larger man, who could only nod in response, unable to hide the intimidation he felt at being threatened by the one man he knew could knock him down without breaking a sweat.

With that, Jon led you back to the quarters you shared and sat you down on his bed - something you definitely did not fail to acknowledge - crouching down in front of you to look up at you with sorrowful, and still furious, eyes.

“I am so sorry, are you alright?” His voice was so much softer than it had been mere moments ago, and the care with which he spoke to you was enough to make your face feel hot all of a sudden as it nodded at him.

In truth, you had long forgotten about the pain in your stomach that was certainly severe enough to leave a very large bruise, but you would be silly to deny yourself the luxury of Jon Snow doting on you, just a little.

“Anyone tries something like that with you again, I’ll kill them where they stand. And if I’m not there to see it, you come and find me, and they’ll wish they’d never so much as given you a funny look. Understood?” He asked, words firm and promise clear, making the butterflies in your stomach frantic against your bruised skin.

“Understood. Thank you, Jon.” You did not have the capacity to say anymore, all other words lost to you in that moment. It took you several days to recover from the protective oath he swore to you while you sat on his bed that day, nevermind the actual guttural punch.

And then, there was an evening two weeks ago, when Lord Commander Mormont insisted you worked with Sam in the library instead of acting as Jon Snow’s shadow on watch for the 8th time in a row - which was a fair comment, if a little harsh. What you thought would be a peaceful evening spent reading books with a friend, quickly turned into a confessional of some description.

“I am sorry that you’ve been lumped with me tonight, I know you’d rather be…elsewhere.” Sam said gently, his words without prejudice, but his tone hinting that he knew more than he was saying as he took his pile of books to the table and sat down.

From your place at the same table, sat opposite him with just one measly book in your hands, you frowned at him. “Oh, Sam, I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel that I don't want to spend time with you, that’s not true at all! I haven’t spent a lot of time in here, it’ll be a nice change of scene and with lovely company.” You smiled at him, and he returned it, but shook his head.

“No, no, sorry, that is not what I meant. I know that you enjoy my company, as you do Ed and Pyp’s, but…you do not enjoy Jon’s company in the same way.” He tried to hint a little more obviously, and when his words sunk in, your eyes widened. At once, Sam reached over the table to hold your shoulders. “Please, do not panic, I have no judgement to pass and will not tell him!” He was quick to reassure you, allowing you to breathe again as he sat back down in his chair. “I only meant to let you know that I think it is very sweet. We all do, in fact.”

Panic began to set in again. “When you say ‘all’...?”

Sam chuckled. “I mean Ed, Pyp and myself; Jon is completely oblivious, or tries very hard to pretend that he is.”

You sighed in defeat. “So, I have made it that obvious, have I?”

Sam shook his head, smiling knowingly. “No, not just you.”

Immediately, you frowned. “What do you mean, Sam?”

At that, he shook his head, giggling mischievously. “I will say no more about it, it is not for me to say!”

And unfortunately, no matter how much you begged him for the rest of the evening, Samwell Tarly refused to budge, not wanting to interfere on the way in which the events would naturally play out between two of his dear friends, because it was quite honestly the best and only entertainment that the wall had provided thus far.

And then, there was a night last week, when you and Jon were not assigned any tasks and were free to sleep for the night, so retired to your shared quarters with Ghost, who immediately jumped on your bed and sat bolt upright, waiting for you to take your sliver of the bed and allowing him to take the rest. By the time you and Jon had settled in your separate beds in the routinely fashion that came natural to you, you were both prepared for a conversation that would have you each falling asleep with smiles on your faces, as per usual. Except, you could never have anticipated the way in which Jon Snow would begin that conversation, or the topic he was seemingly keen to discuss.

“Have you ever…been with anyone?”

Your eyes widened and you were relieved, as you often were, that Jon could not see your flustered expression in the dark. The question sent such a shockwave through you that the hand combing through Ghost’s fur halted suddenly, causing him to huff until you composed yourself and continued.

“Had sex, you mean?”

Jon cleared his throat awkwardly, apparently equally as bashful. “Well, yes, but not just that.”

The depth to his question did not add further explanation to your answer, and you were more than happy to be brutally honest. “No, on both counts. The person I wanted was unattainable, and will continue to be.”

Jon thought about this for a moment before he spoke up again. “Each time we’ve spoken about those we’ve had feelings for, you’ve only ever referred to a person, not a girl.”

You swallowed nervously. “Yes…”

Jon was almost as quick to reassure you as Sam had been. “I swear, I hold no judgement if you have no interest in girls, and I will not speak of it again if you do not wish me to. I was just curious, is all.”

You trusted Jon to keep your ‘secret’, as layered as it was, but his last words caught you out. “What is it you were curious about?”

Apparently, Jon had not expected you to pick up on his choice of words, as he struggled to form a response. “I…you are the only man that I know of who does not like girls, so I wondered how you found that out, I suppose.”

You smiled, his genuine curiosity endearing. “I think I’ve always known, I was never interested in girls, but there was one boy- or, man, I suppose I should say now, that made me realize what those feelings are, and who I felt them for.”

Jon was clinging to your every word, having never heard information on this topic or this type of feeling before. While he wanted to believe it was the same as feelings for girls, only not for them, in such an unaccepting social environment as Westeros, it was difficult for him to process such a concept. That very innocence led to him asking his next question.

“What do those feelings feel like, for you, as a man, about another man?”

While you could not accurately speak on the experience from a man’s perspective, in truth, you knew enough from what your brother had told you to confirm that those feelings are the same regardless of the gender or orientation, it is merely a lack of knowledge and acceptance that leads to those feelings being less understood, and more secretive. In a way, living as a man had given you some insight on the life your brother has actually led, with his own secret.

“I gather it is much the same as you must feel for girls. When around him, I feel a joy that I can’t describe, one that I wouldn’t know without having met him. He makes me smile until my face aches, makes me feel safe and ridiculously bashful, and to be near him is to know of nothing and nobody else in the world. He was, and is, everything to me. I doubt I’ll ever feel that way for anybody except for him; my heart has been his for too long.” You confessed solemnly.

Time seemed to slow down as you awaited Jon’s response. You are certain it took almost a minute for his voice to cut through the dark.

“I’m sorry…that you feel that way, for someone that you can’t be with.” He sounded disheartened, too, and you logically assumed it was due to the feelings he had for you, that he felt he could not act on.

The conversation faded into quiet goodnights after that, both of your minds spinning with thoughts that you could not tell the other, making for restless slumbers for each of you.

Since that night, Jon has been ever so slightly distant with you. Not enough to cause any real concern, he is still nearby at all times, ensuring your safety, but he has been increasingly awkward around you, as though he’s lost the ability to speak to you as he would previously. The change in him has been apparent enough for the rest of the group to notice, with Sam, Ed and Pyp each taking turns to comfort you when they have seen how worried you have been about him, concerned that you have done something to upset him, and all of them assuring you that you couldn’t possibly, but in truth, none of them knew what he was thinking, either. Jon Snow was a man prone to the odd brood, you knew that; he was the king of sulking even when you were children, but he had never been able to resist you, even in the midst of his worst sulking episodes. Except, now, he doesn’t know that you are you, meaning it is not possible for you to get through to him.

Tonight, events have transcended beyond your ability to cope with them. Jon missed supper, and when you questioned Sam - who had a very obviously nervous expression from the moment he sat down - he broke the news, as gently as he could, that Jon had gone on watch without you. Now, there have been occasions where Jon has done this because you had been asked to do something elsewhere, but this is the first time that he has done this by choice, because he knows that neither of you were scheduled to be on watch tonight. Clearly, something is on his mind, and it is something that has led to him outright avoid you, which simply cannot continue, because you will most definitely die of heartbreak in the most dramatic way you can think of.

Naturally, you were not able to eat after Sam told you the news, and instead retired to your quarters for the night, having nothing better to do than pace the room and tell Ghost that you are alright every few minutes and he continues to whine in response because he can sense that you are the polar opposite. On your way back to this room, you stole an oil lamp, too panicked to care about the potential punishment because you need to see Jon’s face when he eventually comes to rest after being on watch; you need an explanation, and you need to read his face when you are receiving it, to understand exactly what has happened between you.

Fortunately for you, you are pacing for no more than an hour - or, at least, that is your best guess - before there is a gentle knock on the door.

“Come in.” Despite only speaking two words, your voice breaks in your overwhelmed state.

The door opens, and Jon steps into the room you share, but avoids your eyes, and his stance is one of a man uncomfortable to be standing where he is.

“Sam said you were on watch.” You state, no question in your words, but an underlying question of what he’s doing here, based on what you know to be true.

Jon nods. “Sam said you didn’t eat anything at supper.”

You blink rapidly. “You have been subtly distancing yourself from me for the past week, until tonight, when you spontaneously volunteer for an extra shift on watch to avoid me completely, but when Sam tells you that I skipped dinner, you suddenly want to see me?”

Jon winces at your words, having never intended to cause you harm in his actions. In fact, it was quite the opposite. “I’m sorry, I-”

You shake your head, interrupting him. “Please, don’t apologize until you’ve explained. I already know I’ll forgive you, but I need to know what exactly I’m forgiving you for.”

Sensing that this is going to be a long conversation, Ghost sighs and curls up on your bed. Jon, on the other hand, is looking at you in that same way again, replaying your words over and over in his mind, because you care for him so much that you already know you’ll forgive him, regardless of his explanation for his actions and how they have hurt you.

“I have dealt with my feelings awfully, and for that, I must apologize. I just needed time to…understand myself, I suppose. And when I understood, I knew I had to force some distance between us in an effort to undo what was already done, because it is fruitless and will only cause more pain for myself, but in doing so I have caused the worst possible thing: I have hurt you.” Jon shakes his head, ashamed of himself. “You have done nothing to deserve this, so please do not blame yourself, or think I am upset with you, because that could not be further from the truth.”

Feeling relief flood through you and a sense of stability returning to the bond between you, you take a few steps closer to Jon, looking up at him with a soft smile.

“You can tell me anything, but if you are not ready to, then you can take as long as you need. Now that I know you’re not upset with me, I can wait, I promise.”

Jon groans in frustration, lifting his gaze to the ceiling and wiping his face with his hands. “See, that’s exactly what it is.”

You frown. “What is?”

Jon walks away from you then, beginning to pace the room as you had been, but for a very different reason. “You! The kindness you’ve shown me, the sincerity with which you say things, the way you treat me and the way I feel around you - I never thought I would feel these things for anyone else, and that makes it even worse, because I don't want you to think it’s you reminding me of her that’s made me feel this way, but it’s the traits I adored in her that I’ve come to adore in you. And I’ve never felt such a way for a man, but I’ve come to realize that I wouldn’t care if you were a man or a woman or anything else, because what matters to me is who you are. And I love who you are.” He stops pacing, staring into your soul from across the room, reading the shock in your eyes and sighing. “But you have already told me, time and time again, that your heart is with another, and there is nothing I can do. I wouldn’t want to, as I’m sure they are better for you and will treat you the way you deserve.”

“Jon-” You try to interject, but the words are falling from his lips now.

“I know you probably won't see him again, whoever it is, but even loving him from afar is better, he’ll never let you down like I will, like I already have.” His gaze has dropped to the floor, forlorn.

“Jon-” You attempt to cut him off a second time, but he still can't stop himself.

“And I am sorry, for all of it, for my feelings, how I’ve handled them, and how they’ve ruined every moment we’ve had since you arrived.”

“Jon, Gods above, please stop talking!” You plead, a little louder this time, and Jon finally closes his mouth. Taking a deep breath, you laugh lightheartedly, shaking your head in disbelief. “I cannot believe this, truly, but it is no longer fair for me to keep this a secret.”

Jon frowns and meets your eyes, having immediately discarded all thoughts of his own feelings and replaced his concerns with ones for you, the secret you’ve been keeping and if it means something is wrong. “What secret?”

You run your hands through your hair, trying your best to flatten it and make yourself more familiar to him. “Jon…I’m not Darius, I’m (Y/N).”

Something flickers in his eyes then, only for half a second, before his frown intensifies and he shakes his head. “Please, do not joke about such things, not now.”

You sigh. “I’m telling you the truth! And I think, honestly, some part of you already knew, because you haven't called me by my brother’s name once since the day I arrived, you know that name doesn't fit me, because it isn't mine.”

His expression falters, but he is too stubborn to believe you. “Are you mocking me?”

You roll your eyes, determining there is no other way. “Right, that does it!”

With that, you lift your shirt and undershirt, flashing Jon for no more than a second and sending the poor man into a state of shock, before you cover yourself back up. The impact of such a sight sends Jon Snow stumbling backwards until he’s against a wall, with an expression reminiscent of seeing a ghost.

“Seven hells!” He whispers, blinking rapidly as the image replays in his mind, cursing him and blessing him simultaneously.

Unable to stop yourself, you giggle at his dramatics. “It was only a pair of breasts, Jon, please.”

He clears his throat, pulling himself back up, but his palms stay pressed against the wall, acting as a safety net. “Yes, but they were your-”

Stopping himself, the realization dawns on him. Jon Snow just saw your naked chest, meaning you are standing in front of him, and it is you that has been here, sharing watch duty, meals, and a room with him everyday for the past month.

“(Y/N)...” He whispers your name so softly, as though afraid that speaking your name will reveal your true identity as a mirage that will disappear before his very eyes.

Taking one hesitant step towards you, Jon’s palms push him away from the wall, moving so slowly that you wonder if he’ll ever reach you, and then his hand takes ahold of yours. Despite having been shoulder to shoulder countless times, this is the most intimate you have been since the hug that he greeted you with when you arrived, and the contact sends goosebumps across your entire body. Jon Snow’s fingers intertwine with yours, and you smile, eyes glazing over with an adoration that you’ve fought and failed to hide for a month. Bringing your hand up to his face, he presses your hand against his stubbled cheek and sighs deeply, closing his eyes, like he can finally believe that you really are right here, and you aren’t going to vanish into thin air.

“I didn’t lie, y’know, not really.” Your voice is barely there, even in the silence.

Opening his eyes, Jon stares into yours with an unspoken question to elaborate.

“While I tried my best to speak from my brother’s perspective, everything I told you about how I felt was true.” You explain, and if possible, Jon’s expression melts just a little more.

“So, the man who has your heart?” He questions, still a note of nervousness in his words, despite the playful smile on his face.

“Is still clueless that he has it, because I’m having to spell it out to him!” You tease, bringing a hearty laugh from Jon. “My reason for being here rings true, too. I only left out the detail that I snuck onto the cart before my brother could when they came for him, leaving a letter to him to explain; because I had committed the ‘crime’, I felt it was only fair I served the sentence.” You clarify the part of your story that you had missed, thinking nothing of it.

But when Jon’s eyes widen and he drops your hand, you realize that he had completely forgotten where the two of you are standing, and more importantly, where you are.

“Gods, (Y/N), you can't be here! Do you know what some of these men would try to do to you if they found out?!” He starts pacing again, but you’re quick to jump in his path and stop him, placing a hand on his clothed chest.

“I know all too well what those men would try to do, defending myself from such acts is what brought me here.” You remind him, and his firm expression falls, abruptly fixing itself into a frown that is not at all directed at you.

Without thinking, he takes ahold of your face. “I am so sorry I wasn’t there before, but I will never let anyone close enough to harm you ever again, I swear it, by the old Gods and the new.”

At that, you can't help smiling up at him, holding onto his wrists to keep his hands against your face. “I know, and I doubt anyone here will try anything that could bring the wrath of my Jon Snow.”

Your words bring a familiar softness back to him, and he chuckles. “Yours, am I?”

“Of course!” You beam up at him.

The two of you laugh then, at the ridiculousness of it all, the coincidences that have led you to this very moment, with faces mere centimeters apart, hot breath on each other’s faces, gazes darting between each other’s eyes and lips, both asking and answering the same unspoken question. And then, Jon Snow’s lips fall onto yours, and it is better than he has been imagining it could have been since he was a boy. A kiss with you is what shows him the true meaning of being a man, in love with what he thought was another man, but was, in truth, the heart he’d always yearned for, in a disguise that he could not see through with his eyes, but his heart could. Running your fingers through his curls, you sigh against his lips, and Jon wraps his arms around the waist he had somehow not noticed for the past month, fully intending to make up for that lost appreciation henceforth. The butterflies in your stomach spiral until they cannot be contained, and they are flying around the two of you in a magical blur of color, of blissful peace and exhilaration all at once; the most intense feelings you’ve ever known, exchanged and reciprocated simultaneously. Only when he misses the sight of your face too much to continue, does he pull away and rest his forehead against yours, dazed and breathing heavily as you both come to terms with the world that has materialized around you again. Falling into a comfortable silence, you grin at each other, so brightly that your faces ache, but neither of you care at all. A thousand sentiments are sent between your hearts, through your eyes, every thought you’ve been waiting to share and knowing that he feels them, too, but neither of you need to say it, not yet.

That is, until Jon Snow breaks the silence with an adoring, disbelieving laugh.

“Soppy git.”

—————

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