#tossing this in the never ending queue

[browneyesandhair]

Ok so looking at my credit card bill this month I’m glad my work keeps offering OT. But on the other hand I need a break. I limit myself to only taking it when I’m not in office but still. It’s also dangerous because I might start to think my paycheck with OT is my income which it isn’t. I need to be more aware of my spending and like I usually am. But this month. Woof. A bit rough. But also wherever I pick up OT it adds to my end of year bonus since that’s calculated on hours worked in the year. So it’s nice to pad that up too.

[nemo-writes]

𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter two

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: your day off opens in a quiet, comforting way. errands and small talk feel almost enough to keep the world steady. but scattered signs—disturbed spaces, cryptic messages—suggest unseen eyes on you.

⤿ warning(s): stalking

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 1.9k

Your first day off in twelve shifts begins the way small miracles do: with sunlight, silence, and the smell of good food.  

You stand in the kitchen, spatula in hand, watching thick‑cut slices of bacon curl and pop in the cast‑iron. A pot of full black beans simmers beside them, spiced with a dash of chipotle, and sourdough toasts slowly in the oven. The kettle whistles; you pour the water over loose‑leaf tea—then carry everything to the coffee table.  

You sink into the couch, remote in one hand, plate balanced carefully on your knees. The History Channel flickers to life on the TV—some World War II documentary already mid-narration. A gravelly voice drones about tank strategies and bitter winters while you dig into your breakfast: bacon, beans, toast, and two sunny-side-up eggs. When the video ends you queue another—street‑food vendors in Oaxaca—then another—an eight‑hour lo‑fi playlist you’ll never finish. Breakfast stretches into morning, warm and unhurried, crumbs gathering on your pajama pants.  

By ten you’re upright, mug refilled, windows cracked to let in crisp river air. You sweep, wipe counters, toss sheets into the washer, and chase a rogue dust bunny across the hallway with the broom. Domestic quiet feels luxurious, almost decadent.  

Suddenly, a sharp voice drifts through the open window. “Again?! Seriously?!”  

You peer through the window and down into the courtyard. Mr. Donnelly—gray beard, Steelers cap—stands by the communal trash corral, hands on hips. Black bags are shredded, cardboard flaps torn open, and yesterday’s takeout containers scatter like confetti. The mess is worst around your bin: coffee grounds, chicken bones, a tea packet glinting foil in the sun.  

You lean on the sill. “Everything okay, Mr. D?”  

He looks up, exasperation softening when he sees you. “Raccoons, maybe cats. Little bandits had themselves a buffet!”  

“Roger. I’ll be right down.”  

You pull on jeans, an old hoodie, and rubber gloves. Downstairs you and Donnelly work side by side, scooping refuse into fresh bags, tying double knots. He mutters about city pest control; you crack jokes about raccoon Michelin ratings.  

Halfway through, he wipes his brow with a sleeve. “Hey—off topic. My daughter mailed me a bottle of turmeric pills, swears they’re good for my joints. That true, or is it Facebook nonsense?”  

“Turmeric can help a little with inflammation,” you say, cinching a bag, “but it’s no substitute for your prescription NSAID—and it can mess with blood thinners, so clear it with your doc first.”  

He nods—ever since you spotted that odd, pearly mole on his temple last year, the one he thought was just an age spot until the biopsy came back melanoma, he treats your word like gospel. “Good to know. She also sent me a link about apple‑cider‑vinegar cures, but I figured that was bunk.”  

“ACV is great on salad,” you dead‑pan, hefting another sack, “and terrible for curing anything else.”  

Donnelly barks a laugh. “Knew it.”  

It’s odd that only your bin is mauled, but he chalks it up to the smell of your bacon‑grease jar and you let the theory stand. When everything’s tidy you hose the concrete, angle the spray under the bins, and he grips your shoulder in a grateful squeeze.  

“You’ve saved my hide twice now—first the cancer, now the critter fiasco.”  

“Just doing the neighborhood rounds,” you reply, stripping off your gloves.  

“Still. I owe you. If you ever need a ride anywhere, you call me.”  

“Deal.”  

You thank him again, head back upstairs for a shower, and let the steam rinse away trash‑day grime—and the faint, nagging thought that raccoons rarely prefer bacon grease to everyone else’s leftovers.  

Upstairs, you kick off your shoes and head straight for the bathroom. Steam is already fogging the mirror by the time your hoodie hits the hamper. You stand under a scalding spray until your shoulders unknot, grit swirling away in ribbons. Shampoo, coconut body wash, a quick exfoliating scrub over the calluses that surgical gloves never let your skin forget—small rituals that reset your head as much as your body.  

Fresh out, you wrap yourself in an oversized towel, pad to the bedroom, and let the day‑off uniform choose itself. You massage lotion into your hands—cuticles forever dry from incessant scrubbing—then slip your phone from the charger to check the time.  

11:58. Perfect.  

In the kitchen you pack a canvas tote: your wallet, a couple of mesh produce bags, the prescription bottle that needs refilling, and that one pair of trousers with a busted hem for the tailor. You make a quick mental note to add swing by the thrift store to the list on your phone; you’ve been meaning to hunt for a new lamp for a good month now.  

Just as you bend to lace your boots, the phone buzzes. The screen lights with a photo: Jack's hand—broad knuckles, faint surgical nicks—cradling a steaming ceramic mug. Beneath, his caption:  

4‑minute steep, no boil. 👍  

A laugh snorts out before you can stop it. Jack, with the earnest proof‑of‑completion energy of a dad texting his first selfie. You thumb a reply:  

Gold star, Doctor. Welcome to the leaf side.  

Before you hit send, another buzz stacks above Jack’s thread. The preview text looks like a cat walked across a keyboard: ahsdklfhasdklfhaskl hi.

No name. No profile pic. A number you don’t recognize.  You swiftly block the number without opening the message.  Probably just spam.

Outside, the hallway smells of floor wax and warm laundry tumbling in the communal dryer—normal, safe scents. You lock the apartment, test the knob twice, then head for the stairwell, reciting the grocery list in your head like a mantra: eggs, oranges, rice and a sweet treat, maybe two or even three.

By the time your boots hit the sidewalk, sunlight on your face and the city’s Saturday hum around you, the odd text and the midnight raccoons have folded into a corner of your mind labeled later. Today is still yours, and you intend to spend every mundane minute of it.  

. . .  

When you swing past the Riverfront Market, the parking lot looks like a disaster drill—SUVs circling like vultures, carts jammed in every corral. You mutter a tactical retreat, swing back onto the boulevard, and promise yourself groceries will be the final stop. And so, you knock out your errands with efficiency: trousers dropped at the tailor (“two centimeters, blind hem, please”), prescription refilled, and lastly, a quick victory lap through the thrift shop where you score a tiffany desk lamp for five bucks.  

An hour later, you roll into the same lot to find it blissfully tamer—maybe half‑full, the Saturday rush already migrating to lunch. Perfect. You snag a space near the cart return, grab your canvas tote, and head inside.  

The produce aisle is crisp with the scent of misted greens when a familiar voice rings out behind you. “There she is—my favorite surgical saint!”  

You turn as Dana—her sharp blonde bob swinging over her shoulders—eases her cart into yours with a playful thunk. Her niece, a round‑cheeked toddler in star‑print leggings, claps at the gentle collision, squealing when you reach out to give her belly a quick tickle, thumb and forefinger pinching her marshmallow cheeks just enough to earn a giggle.  

“Hi there!” you laugh, straightening as you look up at a beaming charge nurse. “I thought your day off was reserved for sweatpants and true‑crime podcasts.”  

“Tiny tyrant wanted blueberries,” she says, ruffling the toddler’s hair. “And my daughter wanted thirty uninterrupted minutes, so Nana came to the rescue.” She drops a pint of berries into her cart, then peers into yours. “Real vegetables? Bakery bread? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a functioning adult.”  

“Shh,” you whisper. “I have a reputation to ruin.”

You angle your cart toward the tomatoes; Dana falls in beside you, matching your lazy pace. Her niece lunges for every bright piece of produce, and Dana buys temporary peace with a steady drip of bunny‑shaped crackers. Between grabs you trade life bulletins: you ask with genuine interest about how Benji’s woodworking side hustle is faring—“He finally sold that live‑edge coffee table,” Dana crows, “and now he thinks he’s Etsy royalty”—and she fires back, wanting to know if you ever sent in that application for the citywide cook‑off. You confess you chickened out at the last minute, then admit you’ve been taking weekend pottery instead, which makes her whoop loud enough to startle the toddler. “Look at us,” she says, snagging a ripe Roma, “two adrenaline junkies pretending we have hobbies like normal people.”

Halfway through the avocado display, Dana’s tone slips to mock‑casual. “So,” she drawls, examining you like a crystal ball, “rumor is our favorite former combat medic traded sludge‑grade coffee for—” she waves at the tea section up ahead “—fancy tea.”  

Heat blooms at your ears. “Abbot can drink whatever he wants.”  

Dana’s blue eyes sparkle. “ Just Abbot, huh? Funny—heard you called him Jack on the radio last week.”  

Your mouth opens, shuts. “Slip of the tongue.”  

“Sure,” she teases, easing a grin. “There’s a betting pool, you know. Odds on why the caffeine king is suddenly brewing leaves.”  

“You people will gamble on anything.”  

Dana parks the cart and crosses her arms. “Current theories: secret detox, midlife crisis, or”—she lifts her brows—“a certain pretty surgical nurse’s influence.”  

You snort. “Please. Nothing’s going on. Just two over‑worked fossils hydrating.”  

“Nothing she says, using his first name like a lullaby.” Dana winks. “Spill it.”  

You bag a head of romaine. “He’s…nice. Listens. That’s all.”  

“Uh‑huh. Well, when Jack starts smuggling in single‑origin Darjeeling, I’m cashing out.”  

Before you can reply, Dana’s niece launches a blueberry skyward; it splats harmlessly on Dana’s sleeve and she plucks it off, unfazed.

“Speaking of chaos—yesterday in The Pitt? One guy comes in with a nail‑gun through his boot and tries to livestream it. Robby has to confiscate the phone while Collins hunts for tetanus history. And—get this—one of the med‑students faints into the sharps bin. We’re calling him Porcupine now.”  

You laugh so hard you nearly drop your lettuce. “Porcupine! That’s savage, even for you.”  

“Pitt rules: if you pass out, you earn a nickname.” She scoops animal crackers into her niece’s hands. “Anyway, enjoy your day off. And remember, the house cut on the Abbot‑tea pool is twenty percent.”  

“Fine,” you sigh, pushing your cart. “But if you win, I’m taking half and buying enough loose‑leaf to convert the whole unit.”  

Dana salutes with a blueberry. “I’ll hold you to it, Jack‑whisperer.”  

You roll your eyes, but the name lingers sweet on your tongue as you both trundle toward the bakery—two nurses off‑duty, carts bumping, hearts lighter than any official chart will ever note.  

. . .  

By late afternoon you’re back in the apartment, juggling your against your ribs while your new lamp shines prettily near the entrance. You drop everything on the kitchen table and reach for your phone to tick “groceries” off the to‑do list—only to find three new notifications from the another strange number.

The previews are nonsense again—random consonants, stray emojis, one line that looks like Morse code smashed by a cat. You thumb through, equal parts annoyed and curious, until you hit the most recent message:  

Green suits you, pretty girl.  

A pulse hammers once, hard, in your throat.  

You set the phone down very carefully, as though it might explode, and listen—really listen—to the apartment. The fridge hums. Upstairs pipes clank. No footsteps, no voices, but suddenly every shadow feels occupied.  

Groceries forgotten, you sweep the place like you would on the trauma bay: bedroom closet first (just winter coats), bathroom cabinet (towels and aspirin), hall linen closet (sheets, vacuum hose), kitchen pantry (cereal boxes, nothing human). You kneel to peer under the bed, heart pounding like you sprinted stairs, then check every window lock twice, tugging to be sure.  

Finally you drag the spare dining chair across the floor and wedge its back under the doorknob—an old trick your grandmother swore by. It won’t stop a battering ram, but it buys time. Time feels like oxygen right now.  

Only then do you remember the milk on the counter, sweating through the carton. You shove perishables into the fridge on autopilot, not taking the care to arrange it like you usually would, hands trembling just enough to clink jars together. The phone stays facedown on the table, screen black, as though eye contact might invite more.  

Night falls, the apartment settles.

You brew the strongest sleep‑blend tea you own—valerian, chamomile, skullcap—and pour it into your largest mug. Scissors from the junk drawer go onto the vanity beside your bed, blades half‑open like a steel moth. Overreacting? Maybe. Under‑reacting because you haven’t called the police? Possibly. What you know is this: control is a ladder, and tonight every rung you can hold matters.  

You sip the smooth brew, crawl beneath the duvet, and stare at the ceiling until the tea’s heaviness drags your eyelids down. The phone is silenced, the chair braces the door, scissors glint in the street‑lamp glow. It isn’t much, but it’s a perimeter—thin, improvised, yours.  

You let the darkness take you, counting breaths, willing morning to hurry.

divider credit

[sonotpattismith]

ruin it all over

pairing: tattoo artist!sukuna x ballerina!reader word count: 12.9k content: angst, insecurity, feelings of worthlessness, reader low-key crashing out, hurt w/comfort, loss of virginity, there's a happy ending here somewhere pls bear w/ me, smut, 18+ a/n: continuation of where I first saw you

Ryomen was a guarded guy. Sure— he was getting a little better at the small talk he once thought was so pointless, but it was only because you always seemed genuinely enthralled to hear about what kind of cereal he ate that morning or what song he was listening to on the car ride to work (even though you had no clue who the artists were that he would name, but you were keeping a running playlist). He tried, but it certainly didn’t come naturally to him. 

No, because it was much more entertaining for him to listen to your sickeningly sweet voice ramble on and on about the exam you almost missed because you were trying to give a stray campus cat your leftover egg salad sandwich, or how you started keeping tins of actual cat food in your bag  just in case even though the critters never seemed to appear when you were actually prepared for them.

The silent man would go about whatever he was doing— closing up the shop with you perched on the counter awaiting him, cleaning his car as you sat in the passenger seat pretending not to stare at the way the sweat clung to his bulging arms as he wiped down the dashboard, shaving his face as your voice fluttered through his phone on the sink— he was taking in every word with as little as an occasional grunt that proved he was still listening. 

His favorite part though, was nearing the end of your drawn out stories, when your words would start to trail, and your face would begin to flush because you realized— god, you really have been talking for a long time. Whenever he’d notice those little queues, he’d always look up just in time to watch as you buried your burning face into your hands, muttering out an apology about talking his ear off, and he would smile, because something about that gentle timidness contrasted so deliciously with his brash and jagged edges. It lit a fire in his chest each time, one that had him reminding himself to reel it back in before he scared you one of these days.

So, he’d bite down the urge to pounce and opt to flick at your forehead, tutting softly as he urged you to not leave me in fuckin’ suspense as soon as you’d peek up at him through your fingers. 

His crass mouth was another aspect of him that didn’t seem to phase you as much as he thought it would. In your eyes, he could curse like a sailor and scowl all he wanted, because none of it ever took away from the way his typically rough hands handled you with the delicacy of fine china, and how he always seemed to remember the little bits of you you’d shared when you were sure he hadn’t been listening. It also didn’t hurt to have someone without any hair on his tongue around when the cafe got your order wrong, and you were too scared to say anything. 

So, maybe you weren’t sure exactly how to label whatever it was that had been going on between you two for the past couple weeks, but you knew you were actually excited for something other than your frequent dance practices for the first time in months. Shrugging on a sweater and a pair of sweatpants over your leotard and tights, you scooped up your bag before tossing a rushed goodbye out to your teammates and bursting through the doors. 

Your feet still ached from the extensive time spent awkwardly constricted in your pointe shoes, but Sukuna had texted you just before practice asking (demanding) to meet him at the shop afterward since his last appointment was ending early. He’d offered to come pick you up, but the last thing you wanted to do was become a burden on him after he’d been working all day. So, you trudged through the dull pain and walked as fast as your throbbing feet would take you through the campus. 

Chewing on your bottom lip, you busied yourself with checking the train schedule as the breeze messied your once neat bun. Glancing up after you narrowly avoided getting knocked into one too many times, you had to do a double take when you saw the familiar mop of pink hair in the distance. Biting down your tickled smile, you shook your head at his stubbornness. You picked up your pace a bit, but slowed down just as you were a few feet away from him. It had become a self-appointed challenge, your constant attempts to scare him as it seemed nothing swayed this man. 

With an unnecessary burst of adrenaline, you made a running start before pouncing on his hoodie-covered arm with an exaggerated shout, an eccastic grin lighting up your face at the sound of his abrupt yelp. 

“Hah! So much for— oh my god!” It was now your turn to yelp, because the startled face looking down at you was free of all the intricate tattoos that you’d grown so fond of, and the bicep in your grasp was most definitely a few inches smaller in circumference than you remember. Perhaps you should have known, because the hoodie you were clinging onto was a baby pink color, and you were positive you’d never seen that man in anything other than black.“I-I’m so sorry, I thought—” Your mortified apology died on your throat, because now that the jolt of fear had somewhat subsided, you noted that this was a damn near spitting image of Ryomen. “Oh my god!”

Stumbling back with a start, your foot twisted awkwardly on the rocky pavement below you, nearly sending your ass tumbling to the ground when the black haired man in front of him, whose eyes had since been shooting daggers into your skull, jolted forward to steady you. Stammered apologies continued spilling from your lips as you crouched against the sudden pain in your foot that had already seen better days before your tumble.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just that you look exactly like—”

“Ohhh,” The doppelganger cut you off, an amused smile of recognition finally lighting up his once startled expression. It wasn’t long after though that his face quickly scrunched up in disbelief once again as he took in the way you starkly contrasted his gruffer counterpart. “Wait, you’re the one seeing my brother?”

You blinked once, then twice, mouth hung open as the puzzle pieces began clicking together. Ryomen had mentioned that he and Choso have another brother, but he left out the arguably major details that for one, you two attended the same university, and two, that they were—

“Twins?”

Sukuna had already wrapped up his last appointment by the time you waltzed through the doors of the parlor, your eyes narrowed at the back of his head as he cleaned his station absentmindedly. Pausing your hunt to offer a warm smile to Choso as he greeted you, you quickly locked back in. It didn’t seem too busy in the shop today, only one other customer in the back getting the finishing touches of their ink. 

Taking advantage of his lack of attention, you quietly made your way over and took a seat in his tattoo chair, holding back a groan of relief at the weight being taken off your twisted ankle. As he turned back around, it didn’t surprise you that he didn’t jump in the slightest at your sudden appearance. Hiding the tiny smile tugging at his lips with a short scoff, he reached up to flick at your forehead before swooping in with an urging hand on your jaw to press a kiss to your temple, your cheeks mushing together under his grip.

“There you are, geez. What took you so damn long— got lost?” 

“No, funny story actually,” You began, watching with a tilted head as he began putting his supplies away. “I ran into this guy that looked just like you. Pink hair and everything!” 

This made his movements falter for a fraction of a second, and you could practically see the realization don on his face that he’d forgotten to tell you something. Playing it off as he always did though, he only hummed in response. Narrowing your eyes again, you finally thought of the one thing that might actually startle him for once. 

“Yeah, it was pretty embarrassing. I accidentally kissed him and—”

“You kissed my brother?” His baffled shout echoed through the shop, the bottle in his hand clattering to the ground abruptly. 

“You kissed one of his brothers and it wasn’t me?” Choso shouted incredulously from the front, face morphed in bitter betrayal. “Yuji doesn’t even like girls!”

Sukuna felt his eye twitch, and he wasn’t sure which one of his siblings’ necks to wring out first. Deciding that Choso was closest and therefore easier game, he quickly pivoted on his heels to make a beeline for his target before you squeaked at the predicament you’d caused, snatching him back by his wrist with poorly disguised laughter. 

“Wait! Wait! I surrender, I was kidding— spare him!” 

The pure mass of him had you tumbling from the chair, clinging onto him desperately to give his half-brother a running start to lock himself in the bathroom. A pained yelp fell from your lips as you stumbled after him. This had him abruptly whipping his head around, staring down at the way you limped back over to the chair. 

“The fuck happened to you?” He was kneeling down before you had the chance to answer, grasping at your calf as his other hand worked the fleece-lined boot from your foot. Leaning back on your hands, your scrunched face stared down at him as he carefully peeled your sock back to reveal the red skin that was paving the way for a gnarly bruise. Along with it though were the scars and blisters that your pointe shoes had graced you with over the years, and he tutted under his breath. 

“Well, it kinda freaked me out when I saw Yuji.” You explained sheepishly, wincing as he ran a thumb over the warm skin. “And my feet were already killing me from practice, so I tripped up a little.”

“Can’t blame you— punk’s got an ugly fucking mug.”

Despite the searing ache in your feet, you couldn’t help the airy laugh that bubbled up your chest at his ridiculous claim. A smirk slid onto his lips at the sound. From your peripheral, you saw Choso poke his head out of the bathroom to check if the coast was clear, and you offered a subtle thumbs up, biting back an amused smile as he carefully slipped out to quietly take his place back at the front. 

Sukuna ditched the plans he had to take you to lunch, opting to take you back to his place so you could get off your feet. You flushed initially at the idea, still never having stepped foot into his apartment since you two started… whatever this was that you two had started. Your unease was palpable as you sat stiffly on his couch, watching as he bustled around the kitchen after having told you to wait here. 

He almost looked too large for the space he was residing in, the appliances in his kitchen appearing ridiculously small next to him. You couldn’t help but wonder what he’d look like in his pajamas, hovering menacingly over that stove as he cooked you breakfast after—

You quickly cleared your throat, cheeks burning as you tore your gaze from him in search of anything that might distract you from your impure thoughts. With a wandering gaze, you landed on the picture frame sitting idly on his side table. Sukuna had his middle finger positioned at the camera, partially blocking his face as his other arm was slung around the neck of the boy that had startled you so badly just hours prior, his brother's finger hooked into his already beaming smile to pull at his lip. You smile softly at the picture, being able to detect the subtle softness in the brooding man’s eyes even with all the layers of stone he always seemed put up before him. 

“Alright, take them dogs out.” The man in question commanded as he trudged back into the living room with a bucket in tow. Your brows furrowed as he set it down on the floor in front of you. As if you had already been taking too long to comply, he kneeled down with a disapproving tsk to snatch your socks off himself and roll up your sweatpants before lowering your aching feet into the water. 

“Ah—” You hissed as the warm water enveloped your inflamed tendons and skin. A few short pants escaped you before morphing into a sigh of relief as you felt your feet throb as if thanking you for showing them mercy. Slumping back against the couch, your eyes shifted apprehensively between him and the bucket. “Um, Ryo, do you happen to have any—”

“Salt? I already put a shit ton in there.” 

“Oh.” You blinked in surprise, watching as he finally stood from his knelt position to trek back to the kitchen and procure a water bottle from the fridge. Finally sinking into the spot beside you, he passed over the bottle. “How’d you know to put it in there?” 

A small, questioning hum left him, and you tilted your head down to the bucket. 

“Punk’s been running track for years.” He explained as he slung an arm around your shoulder to pull you into his side. “If you think your toes are fucked up, you should see what I’ve had to soak off that bastard’s feet— shit’s not natural.”

A laugh attempted to leave you, but it came out closer to a groan than anything else, your head falling back against the cushion in agony over the state of your feet. Shifting your head to the side to look up at him, you found that he was already looking down at you. The intensity in his eyes seemed to suck you in, opening the smallest window to the inner thoughts that he seemed so protective of. 

You found yourself flushing at the way it never wavered, unabashedly trained on you as though he could possess you by will alone if only he tried just hard enough. His fingers caught your jaw as you tried to escape it in hopes of calming your racing heart, ruby eyes dragging down your face until they fell upon the lips that were smushed between his fingers.  

“You didn’t really kiss my brother, did you, doll?” He tested, his hot breath creating a mind-numbing humidity over your gently parted lips. The faintest of whimpers escaped you, and you quickly shook your head in hopes that he’d put you out of your misery already and kiss you as you’d been waiting for all day. Your response made him smirk, his nose brushing against your as he seemed to inhale each shaky breath that left your mouth. “Good, cause I woulda’ hated if I had to scrub him off of ya’.”  

Lord, if you’re up there, please spare me.

Your frantic inner prayer seemed to fall on deaf ears though, because Ryo was swiftly pulling you in for a nearly bruising kiss, barely giving you the time to relish it before releasing you all together. He always loved the look on your face— the tiniest of disappointed furrow in your brows paired with that glossed pout— it drove him to the brink of insanity each time. 

Gluing your eyes to your lap for the sake of having anything else to concentrate on, your fingers dug into your thighs for a moment as you thought of something to say. Hearing the sloshing of the water bucket as you shifted uncertainly, you were reminded of why you were in this position in the first place. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a twin?” You finally broke the tense silence, the one during which his gaze not once left your delicate side profile. A dainty smile pulled at your lips when you glanced back up at him. “Probably would have saved me the embarrassment— his boyfriend looked like he was going to kill me on the spot.”

“Why— think you’d like the other one better?” It was so like him to brush off your questions with a jab and a matching smirk, though you had a feeling there was some truth hiding in the depths of this one. 

“Is that what you thought?” You questioned, not matching his banter as you usually did. Instead, your voice was level, careful in how it broached this topic with him.“That I’d prefer your brother?”

The reaction he tried to disguise revealed itself within his fluttering blink, the way his smirk faltered for even just a millisecond before he scoffed. You caught it though— that rare sliver of vulnerability in his eyes just before he turned his head away from you under the guise of pushing his hair from his forehead. 

“Bullshit,” He quipped, that guarded smirk back on his face faster than it had left. Reaching down to scoop up the towel he’d left beside the bucket, he placed it in his lap before abruptly pulling your feet out of the now luke-warm water to dry them. “Brat might be nicer than me, but he sure ass hell don’t got my hands, huh?” 

Before you could even consider flushing at the implications of his words, said hands were kneading into the searing arch of your feet with more pressure than any of the myriad of foot rollers you’d come to know in all your years could ever manage. All thoughts of Yuji and his brother’s oddly stubborn defenses vanished from you as you fell back horizontally against the couch, a gutteral groan leaving you that Sukuna hadn’t even realized could come out of such a comparably small person. 

“Geez, doll,” He whistled lowly through the pure mirth etched onto his face as he drifted his focus down to your heels, rolling his knuckles over them tantalizingly. “Not what I imagined when I thought of you all spread out and moaning on my couch, but I’ll take it.”

With a burning flush, you dug the back of your head into the cusion below you to shield yourself from his teasing gaze. 

“Sorry,” You mumbled, covering your timid face behind your hands with a blissful sigh. “Just haven’t had much of a break lately.”

“Take it easy the next few days.” He grumbled as though he hated how his own concern sounded in his ears, fingers trailing up to gently massage into your calves. His neck nearly snapped with the abrupt turn it took at the sound of your quiet, incredulous laugh at his suggestion. “Did I say something fuckin’ funny?” 

“No!” You squeaked, though the amusement still lingered in your tone as you peaked at him through your fingers. He only raised his brows at you in challenge. “That’s just… not possible right now. Swan Lake is only like a week away, remember?” 

Of course he remembered— he had been reeling to see you perform again since that first night you took his breath away, though he’d never admit it. The air of nonchalance that waved from him when your ecstatic voice squealed through his phone weeks prior that you had been picked to portray Odette was carefully calculated. In truth though, he felt as though his chest might burst with a sense of pride he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced before. 

Sure, he hadn’t the slightest clue who the fuck this Odette character was, but he wasn’t at all surprised after a quick google search that you would have been the only choice fit for the lead role— though perhaps he was a little biased.  The stoic man wasn’t upfront with his praises though, but you heard it loud and clear in his simple response of yeah, no shit you got picked, a hidden smile lingering in his otherwise gruff tone. 

“Yeah? How you gonna play Odyssey with no fuckin’ toes left?” He quipped, purposefully mistaking the name just to hear that saccharine laughter of yours as he paused his massage to creep between your legs. 

“It’s Odette, Ryo!” You giggled, pushing at his chest to no avail as he hovered over you to pepper wet kisses along your jaw. “And I can’t afford to slack off.” 

“You’re taking a day offa’ practice.” He grumbled against your ear before snagging the soft lobe between his teeth. Your breathless pants tickled his neck, and the hands that had since been haphazardly shoving at his broad shoulders curled into the neckline of his shirt. 

Those pretty, pink lips that took up so much space in his mind circled into the gentlest of oh’s as his hand wandered down your waist and grasped at your hip, pulling it up to press you against him. 

“I-I can’t—”

Slipping that same hand down, he cupped at the warmth between your legs purposefully, sending your back arching up from the plush cushions. 

“Hm?” He hummed tauntingly at your sudden loss for words, easing up the pressure on your center just enough to make you beg him for it. “You gonna stay home and rest those pretty little legs of yours tomorrow?” 

The heat radiating from your cheeks warmed his lips as he traced them up your face and nipped at your pouted lips. You nodded deleriously, tangling your hands into his hair to pull him in to properly kiss you. 

“I’ll take a break.” You barely got out against his curled up lips before he was consuming you once again. 

His once idle hand eagerly snuck up to dive down the front of your sweatpants, and he tsked in aggravation at the barrier that was the leotard and tights you had yet to change out of. Pulling away from you with a wet smack, he instead focused his efforts on snaking down your body, pressing kisses against your clothed chest, across your ribs and down your stomach. 

A faint rumble had him pausing his pursuit to glance up at you, that familiar glitter of amusement hidden in his ruby eyes. You quickly shook your head, mumbling that you were fine, and your eagerness had all but convinced him that you were, diving back down to slip his fingers into the waistband of your sweats. Your fingers danced up to tangle into his already mustled hair, lifting your hips ever so slightly so he could tug down your bottoms. They had only just barely grazed the swell of your ass before he heard it again— this time more vengeful than the last. 

“Okay, put your fuckin’ shoes on, we’re getting you a burger.” 

Much to your dismay, Ryo did convince you (stood over your shoulder until you texted your instructor that you were sick) to take the day off of practice the next day. In his defense, the foot that you had injured the day prior had begun to take on a faint purple hue along the bridge. Still, you couldn’t help but barely relax the entire day as you were meant to be doing— too caught up in the fear that the mere day you were taking would set you back tremendously. 

Truthfully, while you were completely over the moon to have been given such a coveted role, one you’d dreamt of since you were little no less, the years of buildup had paved the way for a blackhole of self doubt. Not only were you given the opportunity to perform your dream role, but you knew for a fact there would be recruiters for at least three professional dance companies in attendance for the show. Additionally and nearly as nerve-wrecking, Ryo would be there, and it would be the first performance he would see following that first night you two had spent together. 

With how matter of factly he always spoke of your dancing abilities, you couldn’t bear the humiliation of messing up under his watch. Aside from him, your identity as a dancer was all you had since moving here. Without it, you weren’t sure there was anything left to you at all. There was a gnawing fear sprouting roots in each of your bones that told you that Ryo wouldn’t find much else either. Perhaps it was unfair, unhealthy to be putting such pressure on yourself, but you’d much rather drown in your contradictions than bear the weight of swimming up to the surface to confront them. 

Maybe it was the fact that you had worried yourself into the early hours of the morning when you should have been sleeping to prepare for the hours of practice that would be awaiting you when you woke. Even more likely was the fact that it was the barely healed, blackening bruise lingering maliciously on your foot that assured that you just wouldn’t for the life of you land any of your grand jetés, your aching tendon simply dipping too far under the leaden weight of your drops. Your partner, who would be fulfilling the role of Prince Siegfried alongside you, really did try to help, his hands tightening in a barely noticeable fashion around your waist each time you came down from your leaps in hopes of easing your landing so that you may execute it with more grace— but not even his mercy seemed to save you. Whatever you could inevitably point the blame at though caused you instructor to finally snap about four hours into practice that day.

It took barely a sharp glare, a hushed critique, but it sliced through you like a knife. Over the years, you had of course learned to take and constructively use the feedback given by your instructors, though the weight of your role’s importance to the success of the show perhaps made her words cutting and her eyes despondent toward your previously blossoming potential. You could even feel your partner’s typically playfully smug expression boring into the side of your head with barely concealed sympathy, but not even Satoru’s usually life saving swoop-ins could pull you out of the hole you were throwing yourself down.

You could hardly think of a thing else when you left that evening, sun already prepared to retreat soon for the night. The score played resoundingly in your headphones speakers that sat snuggly against your ears, aiding in your wide-eyed, mental rundown of each number on your trek back to your dorm, every muscle in your body seemingly screaming with every dragged step.

Nothing would allow you to let up on yourself, it seemed. You stared blankly into your fridge for nearly ten minutes following your scalding shower before deciding your mind was far too preoccupied to conjure up any sort of appetite. And so you didn’t rest when you got home that day. With the increasingly taunting melodies of Tchaikovsky's compositions filling the already tense air of your dorm, you continued your trembling fouettés and pirouettes until each of your steps wavered and it became glaringly difficult to lift yourself from your rocky landings. 

There was barely a glimmer of sunlight left shining from your window, and you weren’t sure how long you’d been furiously torturing yourself for, each falter or misstep being met with blindly frenzied repetitions. A sharp rap on your door seemed to shake your resolve, almost drowned out by the volume of your music that had been steadily ticking up and up and up until the fact that you hadn’t received a noise complaint had to have been chalked up to a heavenly intervention. 

It startled you in the midst of your leap, reducing whatever semblance of grace you had prepared for your landing into a thudding heap on the floor. Your knee’s resounding smack against the wood floor along with your frustrated cry was only followed by a harsher pound at your door, and you were sure you saw the door frame rattle even if just by a hair. 

“I’m coming!” You tried to sound as though you weren't ready to open your window and scream your miseries out to the world, though you weren’t sure how well it translated. A shuddering breath shook your frame as you rose from the floor to make your way to the door one wincing step at a time. You had barely the chance to crack the door before it was being pushed open, and the spine-chilling scowl on the face of the man who invited himself in would have had you calling campus security in any other situation. “Ryo?”

“What the hell happened to you? I haven’t heard from you since this morning. Ain’t been answering any of my—” His exasperated interrogation died in his throat as he took in the state of your dorm— namely the main floor, where your modest couch had been pushed haphazardly against the far corner of the room, with your rug rolled up and slouched against the wall. The body mirror that typically hung on your bathroom door was ripped from its place and leaned against the wall to face the makeshift practice space. 

You watched with a waxing humiliation as his expression morphed into a startled disquietude he did little to mask. With a flickering gaze, the cool air of your space whipped against your burning cheeks as you shook your head, placing your hands desolately onto his shoulders in an attempt to push him back toward the door. 

“You should go, I—”

“Like hell I should go, what the fuck is going on?” Sukuna’s venomous tone contrasted the desperately gentle manner at which he reached out to grasp at your cheeks. In his frenzied inspection of you, he noted how your flushed face and damp skin paired painstakingly with the droop of your exhausted eyes. “Have you stopped at all today?”

“I—” Your weak stammer pitched until you could no longer hear it falling from your lips. The fat of your cheeks squished against his palms as you slumped defeatedly into his grasp, a traitorous tear slipping down your burning eyes. You tried to cast your gaze downward in search of any solace against the way you were breaking down so pathetically before him, but his insistent fingers prevented you from doing anything of the sort. 

His incredulous eyes widened as one tear turned into several, until no dam could possibly stop your abrupt onslaught onto the tightening grasp of his hands. And god, how he felt he was the worst person to have stumbled upon such a scene, because Sukuna had never in his life been sure what to do with tears. In all his years, he’d solved matters with his sharp tongue and barreling fists— though he’d never quite mastered the intricacies of handling anything with fragility or care. 

So, as comforting as he thought he could manage, he stiffly pulled your head against his chest, sighing in modest relief when you buried your nose in further. The motion gave him hope that just maybe whatever foreign moves he was making didn’t come off as horribly stiff and unnatural as they felt to him. 

“I kept messing up my choreography today, a-and I just— I can’t—” The choked sobs were rendering your frenzied explanation nearly incomprehensible as you began heaving out your breaths. Your shoulders were jostling with the sudden expended efforts of your erratic breathing, and he decided that perhaps a hug wasn’t going to cut it, because your skin was clammy and you were choking on your breaths and he was sure you’d pass out any second now. 

“Nah, c’mon, get it together f’me.” Ryo muttered with a crippling effort to not raise his voice and make the situation worse. With a firm hand on your nape, he began urging you toward the hall where he nearly tore your bathroom door off the hinges opening it. Twisting on the faucet of your ivory sink, his hand pushed you down until your frazzled face was a mere inches from the now running water. Cupping his hand under the stream, he ran the starkly cool water down your feverish face. You gasped softly at the way it seemed to shock your already strung-out nervous system. “Breathe, dammit.” 

But the much needed air was already crashing against your withering lungs like waves against an unsuspecting shore as his hand continued splashing at your face. 

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry.” You finally rasped out, feeling as though you were at last breaking through the surface tension that had been trapping you in your haze. The grip on your nape slowly loosened in tandem with your leveling breaths, and you leaned against the counter for support. 

Sukuna switched the faucet off before turning you to face him once again. There were stray droplets of water still rolling down your face and dripping into the divets of your collarbones, and he swiped at your dribbling jaw as he waited for you to collect yourself. It was silent as his intense gaze burned holes into your forehead, and it pushed the few stray tears lingering in your waterline out. 

“She told me that I—” You cut yourself off, face scrunching up in embarrassment, but he gently jostled you to urge your continuing. “That I-I’m not taking this seriously.”

“Fuck that—”

“No, she’s right, Ryo.” Your sudden insistence caught him off guard, his eyes searching yours incredulously because he couldn’t think of one person who could’ve grasped at their goals as tightly as you had between your delicate fingers. “I skipped practice yesterday, and I haven’t been putting in as much time as I can— I’m gonna mess everything up.” 

“Hey, no that’s bullshit, you hear me?” His fingers squished at your cheeks in order to urge your wet gaze onto his grave eyes. “You ain’t a damn machine— how the hell do you expect to put in a hundred percent when you’re grinding yourself stupid? Huh?” 

You didn’t answer him, instead opting to squeeze your eyes shut, chewing on your bottom lip. 

“You need a break. You need to fucking relax, alright?”

“I can’t— I don’t know how.” You admitted meekly as your own trembling hands came up to grip desperately at his wrists. The scent of his cologne helped marginally to ground you as he leaned down to press ardent kisses against your temple and forehead. “I feel like I’m possessed or something. I can’t sit still, I can’t—”

“You gotta try for me, baby.” The way his gruff voice reverberated in his chest had you pulling yourself closer to him, desperate to drown in the intoxicating distraction that had been laid before you. Because Ryomen— he smelled like a forest, his hands were so sure in their pursuit of you, his voice flowing like the most expensive of wines, and he had never called you that before, and you thought there was nowhere you’d rather plummet into insanity than his fortifying embrace. 

“Can you…” Your soft whisper drifted in apprehension, a deep scarlet painting your still drying cheeks. He hummed in question, already terrifyingly resolute in his decision that he’d burn cities down to complete whatever request it was that would fall from your lips if it meant that painstaking little crease of worry between your brows would leave you alone. “Can you help me? You know… r-relax?” 

And oh how his chest filled with pride, because the tears and the speeches were lost on him but this? This he could do, he determined as he sank to his knees before you. He’d felt utterly hopeless at the hands of your tender nature and gentle touches, because he knew that anyone else would be able to reciprocate them to you far better than he could ever hope to, though he knew one thing for certain as he tugged your bottoms down, chin propped on your navel to look up at you in that sweltering manner he was so good at— there was no one alive or dead that would be able to take care of you like he intended to. 

Your hands found purchase on the counter behind you in desperate pursuit of support as he nudged your legs further apart and buried his head between them. His tongue was warm as it lapped mercilessly at your center, urging hands gripping at the back of your thigh to wrangle one of your legs over his shoulder. He moaned against you as you arched into him, his grip around your thigh tightening as if to encourage your movements, and you found yourself crying out along with him. Your chords meshed together and danced harmoniously off the thin walls of your dingy, dorm bathroom. 

The mystery raced through your mind of what planet this man had come from, as he was managing to pull at threads you hadn’t known existed in you with each skilled thrust of his tongue. Your balance wavered on the leg that remained standing, trembling on its tiptoes as it attempted desperately to keep up with him to no avail. Just as you slipped forward, Sukuna’s bicep was hooking under the wavering limb before hoisting himself up along with you. 

Your back fell against the mirror once he dropped you onto the counter, and his fingers were soon replacing his tongue just as all your crippling thoughts of self doubt were soon replaced by him. Him as he lurched forward over the sink to capture your lips, allowing you to taste yourself lingering on his tongue before leaning back to watch the way you began to desperately grind yourself against his fingers. 

“What are you thinking about right now?” He all but growled out as his fingers found a blistering rhythm within you, the continuous, wet smacks of his palm against your heat making it difficult for you to think of anything at all though. So, you only whined out in response, your feet craning up to gain any kind of leverage on the counter’s edge. At once, his free hand was grasping at your nape to angle your gaze to look up at him, his incandescent eyes demanding to be met. “I asked you a question.”

“You!” You gasped out, the searing pleasure making way for the tears that gathered in the corner of your eyes. He smiled wolfishly at your response, and you moaned softly at the sight. “Just you, I’m thinking about you, Ryo.”

“Yeah?” Sukuna muttered smugly, grasping at your leg as it continued to slip against the counter in search of support. 

His heated touch ran down your calf teasingly until it curled around your ankle that was still partially covered by the ties of your pointe shoes. Ever so slowly, as if testing the spellbinding flexibility that had had the perverse wheels turning in his head since he first witnessed it on stage all those weeks ago, he inched your leg up and up and up until the bridge of your foot brushed against the mirror only a mere inches away from your rapturous face. For once, the wind felt as though it had been knocked from his lungs at the sight, but he worked to quickly compose himself lest you bear witness to the slip in his resolve. 

So, he instead leaned in closer to you, the back of your thigh now flush against his chest as his hand kept your leg pinned up. A shuddering moan slipped from you at the feeling of his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. 

“And what am I doing in those thoughts of yours, doll?” The whisper sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but turn your face away from him bashfully. Tutting softly in mocking disapproval, he nudged your face forward once again with a push of his nose against your chin. “Hm? Speak up now, I can’t hear you.”

But your climax was nearing closer and closer, evident in the way your warmth squeezed around his relentless fingers and your breaths grew choppy. Perhaps that was the only reason you had the nerve to actually answer him.

“Y-You’re— ah!” A sharp gasp shook you as he angled his palm to brush against your clit with each stroke, but he quickly ground out for you to keep talking. “You’re making love to me, Ryo.”

Your high came crashing down onto you just as your words seemed to shatter his mind, his mouth falling open in tandem with your pitched cries as you peaked. His brows drew fiercely together, his teeth gritting together as he worked you through the waves of your release, and he no longer cared if you saw the way his thusfar fierce front had fallen, because Ryomen couldn’t possibly want anything more in that moment than for you to allow him to bring your lust-clouded thoughts to fruition as he leaned forward to swallow your moans.

“Can’t talk like that, doll.” He groaned despondently against your lips, foreheads brushing together while your lower half jolted against him.

“Why?” In your delirium, you could have cried at his disapproval. 

“Cause I might just fucking do it, that’s why.” 

It fell silent in the already small bathroom that seemed all the more cramped with Sukuna’s Herculean figure occupying the majority of it. Your soft pants puffed against his mouth, eyes fluttering out a stray tear as you reached up to grasp at his nape. The sensation of your nails dragging down the blunt hairs of his undercut made his fingers curl deeper around your ankle, scrambling for any semblance of restraint. It would never come though, because you had the gall to pout against his parted lips, your grip like a vice on his neck as you whispered to him.

“Please, Ryo.” 

He certainly didn’t feel as though he deserved such a privilege, but it was also far from him to make you beg for a part of him that was already wholeheartedly yours. So, his grip fell from your leg in favor of scooping you up by your thighs, your dripping core soaking against his shirt as he moved through your dorm like a man possessed, kicking at your bedroom door impatiently. 

You barely had the chance to recover from the abrupt manner in which you bounced back against your mattress before he was wrangling your sweater from over your head. Sighing wantonly at the sight of his tattoo marked proudly against your heaving sternum, he leaned down to sink his teeth into it. Any semblance of rationality seemed so far from you as your jaw hung open, and you blindly reached down to tug at the back of his shirt until he disconnected from you to pull it off. 

In a lust-filled haze, you reached out to trace the black ink that ran down his chest, making him hum appreciatively, his own hands capturing yours to hold them against him even if for just a moment longer. Slowly though, those sinful hands were drifting down your bare sides until his fingers dug into the swell of your hips to yank you down until your ass was just barely kissing the edge of the bed. 

“These legs drive me fucking ballistic.” His sultry confession would have made you blush had you not already been spread open so vulnerably before him. Laden fingers dragged down your legs as he gathered them up to rest against his chest, turning his head to press salacious, open mouthed kisses along your calves. With a feather-light touch, he drifted up toward your ankle before tugging at the tie of your pointe shoes hungrily. That fervid, side-long glance he tossed your way as he worked the stiff shoes off you was nearly too intense to take head on, but there was a glint in his eyes that told you that you should know better than to look away. 

The offending shoes fell against the floor with a soft thud. The keen gaze he kept on you should have sent you sprinting, akin to an apex predator scouting its next meal. As you assured yourself just moments prior though, you knew better. So, you stayed perfectly still, save your heaving breaths, as he dug a small, gold foiled packet from his wallet, holding it between his teeth before working his belt off and allowing his pants to pool at his feet. 

There was the slightest hint of a pause as Ryo allowed the scene to settle in— to give you a chance to turn back at the very moment you’d left off on the last time your fates brushed this closely. That resistance never came though, and your ankles dug into his shoulders in anticipation. Your eyes fell on their own volition as he pushed his boxers down to join the rest of his clothes, and you thought you might swallow your own tongue in the midst of your shock. 

His erection sprang from its cotton prison, ever so gently brushing against your core in its escape. You shuddered at the sensation, but for once your tremors rooted not in fear but instead in an aching anticipation. Much like the rest of him, as you had assumed, he was intimidatingly… above average— not that you had much by way of comparison. Gulping down the saliva that seemed to pool dramatically on your tongue, you took note of the black rings that circled his upper thighs, and you couldn’t help but let your lips curl up at the sight. 

“What’re you smilin’ at, huh?” Ryomen teased through clenched teeth, the condom still hanging between his lips. An adoring smirk was splitting across his own face as he took the opportunity to pump leisurely as his leaking cock, using his free hand to smooth up your navel. 

“You just… match everywhere.” Your timid giggle had his length twitching in his grip, his intense gaze softening just a bit. Abandoning his caress against your lower half, he reached up to tear open the foil between his teeth.

“What— don’t like ‘em?” His husky question was followed by the teasing plap of his heavy cockhead on your sensitive bud. The amused smile on your lips quickly fell into a sharp gasp at the sensation. Sukuna hummed as he rolled the condom over his aching length before guiding it through your folds. 

“I love them.” Your sincere, breathless confession caught him off guard. “You look like… a piece of art, Ryo.”

For the first time since knowing him, you watched a genuine flush fall over his face at your words. Wide eyes were staring down at you as though he’d never received a compliment a day in his life, but, truthfully, he wasn’t sure anyone had ever bothered showing him such tenderness, always preferring to veer off his path lest they get caught in his crossfires. There was a barely noticeable tremble in his breath as he sighed out. 

“Art, huh? Nah.” He murmured, pushing forward until his tip dipped into your straining entrance. 

You cried out softly at the abrupt stretch, and he quickly hushed you with a soothing hand up your thigh. It felt so incredibly cathartic, enduring the dull pain at the hands of Ryomen. No matter how much you felt you might split in two as he gradually introduced each inch of himself into your honied heat, you would have done it all over again if it meant you’d be able to see that look on his face as he bottomed out. Eyes rolled back, fingers clutching at your thighs as they rested against his chest with a bruising grip, with a gaping mouth that curled up at the corners in a lingering, intoxicated smirk. 

He fell forward until your knees pushed up against your breasts, moving one hand to fist the sheets beside your head to pace himself as he licked at the tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“This is art.” Sukuna corrected as he dipped down to capture each, pained whimper that fell past your lips until it was your moans would soon compete against his favorite of artists, because if he was art then you must be a masterpiece. 

You slept with a serenity that rivaled a corpse that night, your dreams floating through clouds as your mind was utterly consumed by him. For the first time in weeks, something had rivaled the searing ache in your feet, and it was the dull reminder of Ryomen between your thighs— though you couldn’t possibly bring yourself to deem that particular pain unwelcomed as you stirred from your slumber. 

The frigid air bit at your bare skin, sending a tremor through your shoulders. Cracking your eyes open, you were greeted by the sight of the man so many seemed to fear, his lips gently pouted as half his face molded against your pink pillow sheet. You wondered if it was his perpetually defensive nature that made him sleep on his stomach, the idea putting an amused grin on your tired features as you observed how his arms clutched onto the pillow under his head. 

His legs were tangled into yours under the covers, giving you the vital information that he seemed to be putting out far more body heat than you could hope to at this hour. Shuffling closer to him, you carefully placed a hand under his arm in an attempt to lift it just enough to slip into his warm embrace for solace against the cold. 

“What’re you doin’, brat?” His gravelly voice cut through the morning silence, catching you red handed without ever having opened his eyes. 

Biting back the disappointment upon realizing that you weren’t nearly as stealthy as you thought, you smiled sheepishly despite his closed eyes. 

“I’m cold.” You whispered softly.

“No one told you to get this thin ass blanket.” He grumbled, and you let out a quiet huff of disappointment before turning over and pulling the covers tighter over yourself. It only took a mere few seconds though to hear the rustling of sheets behind you, and you were soon being enveloped in a bear-like embrace nonetheless. His arm dipped under your head to cross over your chest, and you smiled against the warmth of his forearm. “What’re you smiling for? Too fuckin’ early.” 

The fervent kisses he began pressing against your shoulder contradicted his grumpy rambling though, and he was soon nosing at your jaw for you to expose your neck to him. His teeth sank into the new area bared to him, and you arched against him just as his tongue began circling the attacked skin. 

“Hmm,” He hummed in a deep baritone, his hand running up your thigh before dipping down to where you still ached of him. “Better cancel whatever fuckin’ plans you had today.” 

Just as you nearly allowed yourself to succumb to him once more, his words sunk into your still barely functioning mind. 

“Oh my god!” You shrieked, shooting up from his grip and nearly tumbling off the bed as you reached for your phone. 

“Woah, woah, settle down. What the hell are you tweaking about?” Ryo groaned, rubbing at his now ringing ear as he propped himself up to watch you. 

“I’m late! Oh my god, I’m so late.” You rambled through trembling breaths. It was like watching a tornado ripping through your tiny room, clothes flying as you wrangled on whatever was closest to you. He quickly sat up at your frenzied movements. “I’m supposed to be at practice!”

“Hey, take a fucking breather, you’re gonna pass out.” 

“I can’t take a fucking breather, Ryomen!” His eyes widened at your uncharacteristic tone, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard such… unsavory language falling from your lips. Tears of frustration blurred your vision as you began shoving your abandoned pointe shoes haphazardly into your bag. “I keep messing everything up, I’m such a—”

“Nothing’s messed up—”

“Everything’s messed up!” You cried, grunting in frustration as you shoved your aching feet into your boots. “My foot is still messed up, my routine is messed up, my instructor thinks I’m a joke, and I’m about to screw everything up because I keep letting myself get distracted, and I—”

“Distracted?” Sukuna scoffed, pulling on his boxers as he stood up to follow you out of your bedroom. “Is that what I was fucking doing last night? Distracting you?” 

“I don’t have time for this right now, Ryo.” 

“Well you better find some fucking time before you mess this up too.” He regretted them as soon as the words left his mouth, but his entire nervous system had switched onto the defense at your ruthless undermining of what had transpired between you two last night.

 The wounded expression on your delicate face told him he should drop to his knees to beg your forgiveness, but the wounded pride of the rejected child in him refused to submit so easily. So, he simply stared back at you with that callous expression you hadn’t ever seen him dare direct your way. Wiping furiously at your traitorous tears, you slung your bag over your shoulder and left, slamming the front door behind you. 

That door had shut in his face five days ago, and you had yet to hear from him since. In hindsight, you knew that what you said was out of line, and it was clear that you had hurt him in a way that he would refuse to outwardly display. Sukuna would always bare his teeth before showing his belly— you knew that whole heartedly even after knowing him a mere few months. Still, his words stung, and you were too afraid of how the things he’d left unsaid might feel if you should reach out to him first in the midst of his anger. 

You tried to use his absence to your advantage, throwing yourself wholeheartedly into your now daily practices that went hours on end. Your grief, anger, and betrayal fueled each twist and turn, each leap you aimed to perfect until you could convince yourself it was worth what you had damaged in the name of your passion. Even when you finally received that pathetically anticipated approval from your instructor, it no longer felt as sweet. 

There was hardly time for you to wallow over Roy’s radio silence though, because Swan Lake was in a day, and you weren’t even sure that he’d still show up. The thought clutched at your chest, but you were quick to dismiss Satoru when he’d whispered his concerns into your ear during your final dress rehearsal. It felt as though you were back in that desperate solitude that had inadvertently veered you on his path in the first place. 

Sukuna had been pretending that it wasn’t eating him alive that you had yet to crack first, but he sure as hell wouldn’t do it. Everyone around him could tell though. He was quiet— even more so than usual, and the fuse that they were sure couldn’t get any shorter was blowing easier than ever. Choso was met with a biting snap when he dared to ask why he hadn’t seen you around lately, so he figured you must have something to do with it, and he’d be damned if he sat back and simply watched his brother fuck this up. 

“Hey,” Despite his determination, his tone was still careful as he approached the pink-haired man who was still hunched over his client, brows furrowed as he concentrated on the cat he was coloring in on the woman’s thigh. It so obnoxiously reminded him of you and the soft spot you held in your heart for the damned feral animals. Sukuna grunted in question at his half-brother. “You still coming to the show tonight?”

He paused his careful strokes for a fraction of a second before blinking away his frustration. 

“Why the hell wouldn’t I be?” 

His gruff response made Choso’s eyes roll in annoyance. It was so like him to pretend as though no one could tell that something was going on with him. 

“Well she just texted me to ask, so I figured there was a reason.”

It took every bit of restraint in him not to jolt in surprise and completely fuck up this client’s day. Why didn’t she text him? Why the hell did she feel more comfortable going to his damn brother than him? His jaw clicked as it clenched in indignation. An aggravated huff escaped him as he wiped at the woman’s tattoo and prepared to wrap it up. 

“You can tell her that if she wants to know that she can ask me her fucking self.” The dark-haired man’s brows rose at his brother’s tone, pursing his lips as he turned on his heels with a shake of his head, a motion that certainly didn't go over Sukuna’s head. “You got something to say?” 

“Other than you’re going to regret whatever the hell it is you’re sulking over in a few days? Nah, it’s all good. I’ll let her know that Yuji and I are still coming.” 

He didn’t give him a chance for a rebuttal before he made his way back up to the front. A grumbled tut left him as he cleaned the tattoo before him and began wrapping it. 

“That sketch is gorgeous.” The client commented as he busied himself with her wrap. He glanced up at her in question before following her gaze to the sketch that he’d created for you that night and inevitably inked on you. The original was still taped to his station, always having been his favorite reminder of you to get him through his shifts. “You the artist? I have a friend who would probably love to get that inked.” 

Faster than he could even fully process her request, he was adamantly shaking his head with a fierce defensiveness. Even through the haze of his hurt, he knew that that drawing would never grace the skin of anyone else— no one else would be worthy of a piece inspired by you, no one had the right. He couldn’t bear the thought of tainting its sanctity with the likes of some of the scum that came through here. 

“Out of commission.” He gruffed plainly, not bothering to grace the notion with an explanation. Ripping off his gloves, his eager fingers dug his phone from his back pocket, but he was only met with further disappointment at the realization that— no, you still hadn’t reached out. 

As he walked his client to the front, he could see his brother typing away adamantly on his phone, and it pissed him off to think of you on the other end of it with the reassurance that his damn brothers would be coming to support you tonight. 

Sukuna couldn’t drag himself outside fast enough, hiding under the guise of needing some air when, truthfully, he was tempted to rip the stupid fucking buns right off Choso’s head if he heard his phone ping one more time. It was his rage, that’s what he’d blame it on as his thumbs furiously pounded at the poor, unsuspecting screen of his phone before hitting send.

I’ll be there.

You were sure you would throw up if there had been anything in your stomach to begin with that day. With your nerves so overwhelmingly shot, you could barely stomach a few saltine crackers before even they were making you nauseous. 

Staring back at you in the mirror was the woman you had been fighting tooth and nail for for so long. The white, feathered headpieces sat snuggly against your temples and into the sides of your slicked-back bun. You almost didn’t recognize yourself in the dramatically winged, dark shadow that shrouded your eyes. 

You couldn’t be sure if the reassurance that Ryo would be coming despite your near week of radio silence comforted or intimidated you even more. 

From the closed door of your dressing room, you could hear the orchestra performing each intricate number as act one got the ball rolling. There were dancers in and out of the room, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move, stuck idly in your chair as you awaited act two to begin with your entrance. 

No matter how much you had soaked it, iced it, rolled it— goddamn it, prayed over it, your foot still throbbed under the constraints of your pointe shoes. It only needed to get through the next hour and a half— that’s the mantra that played like a broken record in your head in hopes of calming your very real fears of it failing you mid-performance. 

The minor piece of solace you had apart from that was that your sudden change in behavior had urged you and Satoru to get a bit more comfortable with each other as you had to begrudgingly explain to him why you had been a bit off your game. You were shocked when the man, who you were sure hadn’t a sincere bone in his body, reassured you that he’d be more cautious with you with each lift and land the two of you had ahead of you tonight given your injury. 

You watched with bated breath from the side stage as Satoru aimed the prop crossbow before turning to prance toward his stage left to mimic his hunt, the long awaited queue for your entrance. The peripherals of your vision blurred as you allowed your muscle memory to take over, and you were soon landing your grand jeté before dipping into your first bow as Odette. 

Ryomen felt each last puff of air in his lungs abandon him at the sight of you with your breathtakingly intricate, snow-white costume, truly embodying a princess. He had admittedly been growing restless throughout the first half hour of the production without so much as a glimpse of you. Now though, as the glimmering crown tucked into your hair shimmered under the stage lights, he was sure he’d wait it tenfold to relive the magnetic way you commanded the stage upon your first arabesque. 

The grip he had around the base of the bouquet he’d brought you tightened as he watched you and your partner float about the stage, twisting and turning against and around each other with a synchronicity that embodied just how much dedication you two had put into your performative chemistry— at least that’s what he hoped as your noses brushed in an almost kiss. 

Not even in his wildest dreams would he have thought he’d ever find himself sitting through a two-hour ballet, but you had him completely enraptured. He recalled what you had mentioned about the recruiters that would be coming to this performance, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was your night. The recruiters had to be captivated by you— just as every soul that was surrounding him seemed to be. 

As the show progressed, it was clear how you lost yourself inch by inch to Odette, and you soon weren’t sure where you ended and she began. You had just been starting to convince yourself that you’d make it. There was but a half hour left, and though you could feel your injured foot growing angrier and angrier with each pointed formation, you were pushing it to the back of your mind, something to be dealt with later. 

But somewhere after the fourteenth of the iconic thirty-two fouettes in a row you had to execute as your darker counterpart, Odile, was perhaps the beginning of the end for your optimism. As fate would have it, each gruelling fouette was meant to be spun off of that fucking foot, and by the end of them you were sure your face was tinted red from the way you held back your cries of pain. 

Ryomen could see it too, despite how well you disguised it as an expression of passion. His fingers dug deeper and deeper into his thighs with each spin during the sequence, because he could practically feel that bruised foot crumbling under such pressure. Despite it all— you did it, and, not only that, you made it appear damn near effortless. 

It was nearing the final number now, and he had been watching your eyes morph with each second that passed. Perhaps it wasn’t clear to anyone else, but he knew that glassy look wasn’t just your impeccable dedication to the scene. You had been changed back into your white swan costume, taking the stage with both Prince Seigfried and Rothbart as you gracefully dashed yourself between the arms of each man. It wasn’t until the final leap that Satoru would catch you from that you felt it.

Just as your pointed foot hit the stage floor, you could all but hear the tiniest of cracks. Your breath hitched, a nearly muted choke catching in your throat that luckily the audience couldn’t hear over the orchestra. Satoru did though, his hands on your waist tightening as he attempted to subtly lift you ever so slightly to take some of the weight off your foot. A whimper lingered in the back of your throat as the pain radiated up your leg. 

“It’s okay.” Your white-haired partner whispered subtly so as not to break the illusion of the performance. “You just have to make it to the lake.” 

His near silent reassurance into your ear was fleeting as you spun away from him. Make it to the lake. The words were chanting like a mantra in your head. 

Ryomen thought the armrest of his seat would snap under the pressure of his grip, watching in horror as a single tear slipped down your cheek upon that fateful landing, and he knew something had gone wrong. Judging by the way your partner seemed to subtly lean in to whisper in your ear, he knew he was right.

Still, your remaining bourrees across the stage were flawlessly executed despite you feeling the likely fracture in your foot arguably worsening with each step, and Odette was finally taken up into the arms of Rothbart, lifted high above his head to take her behind the veil of the lake to die— and that’s certainly what it felt like you were doing. 

Sukuna was out of his seat before Prince Seigfried could even properly fall to his knees to mourn the loss of his love, practically hopping over seats to get to the back. It was proven difficult, what with all the attendees rising to their feet to offer a standing ovation as the show concluded. Finally making it out of the row, he shouldered into attendants and workers until he found the backstage entrance sign. 

A worker placed a hand on his shoulder to inform him that he wasn’t authorized to go back there, but he knew the man wasn’t about to be stupid enough to fight him if he pushed his way through those doors anyway. There were troves of ballet dancers moving like ants through the hallways, all looking up at him in bewilderment as he pounded toward the dressing room at the end of the hall. 

“Oi, you all had better be fucking decent cause I’m coming in!” It was the only warning he gave along with the three cautionary pounds against the door before he burst in. There in the far back surrounded by a myriad of frazzled dancers was you, still hauntingly enchanting in your Swan Queen costume as you heaved out cries against the cold floor. The pointe shoe on your injured foot had already been wrangled off, and Satoru was frantically tearing your tights between his fingers from the ankle down to observe the damage. 

You looked up at the sudden commotion. The dramatic, black makeup that had been so intricately painted onto your face was now streaming down your cheeks in ugly, noir waves as your face scrunched up heartbreakingly at the sight of him standing before you. 

“Ryo.” You choked out helplessly between your heaving sobs of pain, and he felt his heart shatter all at once. Parting through the sea of dancers, he shoved at the white-haired man’s shoulder. 

“Move the fuck outta my way.” Sukuna bit out, probably much harsher than necessary for someone who seemed to be trying to help, but he did just watch this dude grabbing at your waist and thighs and caressing your face for damn near two hours straight. And sure, he knew it was all part of the performance, but fuck you didn’t warn him that you’d actually be kissing the dude. In spite of it all, Satoru didn’t need to be told twice before he was standing to let him take over. 

“I-I think it’s broken. I can’t m-move it—” 

“It’s okay, I’m right here.” He urged, his fingers just barely ghosting over your calf as he took in the sight of your mangled foot. It had swollen considerably within the confines of your pointe shoe over the past few hours, and the nearly black skin was hot to the touch. 

“The recruiters, Ryo— I screwed it up, I—” 

“Fuck the recruiters, I’m taking you to the fucking hospital.” You didn’t get much of a word in edgewise as he scooped you up, darting through the parted crowd and out the back exit. 

Though he wasn’t quite sure what he would say if given the chance, your frenzied sobs filled the air around you two the entire drive. He tried to calm you, but it was proven difficult with his split attention on the road. It also wasn’t clear if your cries were mainly attributed to the pain or the mental anguish. Still, with sweat beginning to bead at his temples, he grasped at your hand and placed it over his chest in a desperate attempt to get you to match his breathing. Although it seemed like you were truly trying, you continued choking up with each throb of your foot. 

Sukuna’s perpetual feeling of being absolutely worthless continued as you sat silently in the hospital bed, only your occasional sniffles breaking through the white noise of the room as you awaited the okay from the doctor to be discharged. The xray they performed confirmed your suspicions, and you had been suffering from a stress fracture. He sat in the stiff chair beside your bed, hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs as you stared blankly at the stark white cast now covering your foot and ankle. 

Neither of you were quite sure what to say to one another. Your current state was… delicate, and he wasn’t sure that bringing up the fight would be the best idea for you right now. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he straightened his posture, eyes fluttering over you apprehensively before he cast his line out. 

“I don’t know how you do it.” He confessed sincerely, watching as your eyes cast a sidelong glance at him. 

“What, manage to fracture my foot during one of the most important performances of my life?” 

“How you let yourself feel so much for everyone to see.” His response made you flush, your brows furrowinf as you looked away from him once again. 

“I couldn’t really help it, my bone was kind of split—”

“I’m not talking about your damn foot, doll.” Ryomen sighed in exasperation. It was already difficult enough for him to be so sincere in his appreciation, and your making him spell it out was twisting the knife in his already wounded pride. “The show. I… I ain’t ever seen anything like that before. You’re just not fucking scared of yourself.” 

Twisting your arms around yourself, you gulped down whatever emotions his words seemed to ignite in you. 

“Yeah, well it doesn’t matter now. I screwed it all up.” 

“Bullshit, you had everyone hanging off their fucking seats.” 

“And they all watched me ruin it with that— that stupid landing.”

Sukuna blinked harshly in disbelief at your self-critictism. With an incredulous laugh, he leaned forward to look you in the eyes. 

“You played that shit off like nothing happened. No one noticed.” 

“You noticed.”

“Yeah, cause I fucking love you.” It tumbled out his mouth faster than he could have reeled it back in. For the second time that night, he was struck by the gruelling confusion of how the fuck it came so easily to you to pour your heart out, because it felt like he was chewing on glass right now as he awaited your response. Your glassy eyes finally looked up at him, face stained by makeup and disbelief. It all showed so clearly on your face, so bravely and unabashedly. It made him want to stand resolute for something for once in his pathetic life. “I love you.”

Soon, your lip was trembling once again as a fresh stream of tears stung at your already burning eyes. Burying your face into your hands, you shook your head. 

“I said such awful things to you, Ryo.” You cried into your palms, the guilt that had been festering over the gruelling week finally coming to fruition without the distraction of your performance to keep your mind from dwelling on it. “Y-You were just trying to help me—”

“Hey, I say mean shit all the time,” He reassured, moving from his chair to squeeze beside you in the bed. “You should’ve beat the shit outta me if we’re really trying to get equal.”

Your back shook, and he knew this time it was finally from your laughter instead of those gut-wrenching sobs that had been frequenting his ears. Desperate to catch a glimpse of your smile after so long of being met with your frown, he gently pried your hands away from your face. Ryo sighed wistfully at the sight of your wobbly grin, reaching up to wipe at the smudged makeup under your eyes. 

“You look more like a fucking racoon than a swan right now.” Your teary-eyed gaze didn’t seem to help his lack of brain-to-mouth filter at all, and he smirked at his own pathetically weak restraint. “See? I should’ve gotten my teeth knocked out for that one.”

But, of course, you only smiled at him— that glimmering eyed smile that even after all this time he felt so undeserving of. 

“Well, you’re lucky I love you then, huh?” 

His heart pounded embarrassingly against his chest, blanketed with the safety of your reciprocity. 

“The luckiest bastard I know.” He whispered before pressing a kiss gentler than he was accustomed to against your awaiting lips. 

There was a soft knock at the door that had him sighing in frustration against your face, but he pulled away from you nonetheless. When the door cracked open, it wasn’t the doctor as the both of you had been hoping so you could get the hell out of here. Instead, Choso and Yuji both filed in hesitantly as though they weren’t sure what kind of energy they’d be met with. When you smiled brightly at the sight of the various flowers in their arms, the pair felt more at ease as they stepped fully into the room. 

“That was the most metal shit I’ve ever seen in my life.” Choso was the first to gush excitedly, setting down both his and Sukuna’s abandoned bouquet in your lap. 

“So sick— I can’t believe you just walked that shit off!” Yuji was rushing to the far wall of the room to snatch the marker off the whiteboard containing the nurse’s information on it. He continued to ramble enthusiastically as he sat himself at the foot of your bed to doodle on your cast. Your eyes fluttered between him and his twin, and it was a bit disorienting seeing them side by side for the first time. “You’re a total badass.” 

“Oi, easy with her fucking foot, brat.” Ryomen grumbled as he flicked his brother in the forehead, already annoyed at both his brothers for butting into you two’s moment. 

It was clear that his bright-eyed counterpart was used to his brash nature as he completely brushed it off, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on his drawing of what you could only assume was supposed to be a swan. It was clear his twin got all the artistic ability while Yuji was left with all the sunshine. As if his drawing triggered his memory, he quickly perked up. 

“The casting was crazy too! That girl playing the black swan seriously looked just like you.”

A quiet disbelief fell over the three of you as the boy continued marking up your cast. 

“Yuji—”

“Don’t bother,” Ryo quickly stopped you from correcting him with what could only be described as a fierce look of exhaustion on his face. “He’s a little slow— it’ll come to him.”

All the artistry and the brains— got it.

tattoo artist!sukuna and ballerina!reader Valentine's Day part 3 YIPPEE◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

gojo and itafushi crumbs because your girl is starving

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

[sugardollcurse]

omg

the boys x reader hcs except it's them at a fair/carnival.

like what would they do with their girl at a carbival??? how would that date go???

𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟/𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑙

𐙚 note ; this prompt was so cute i got a cavity 💗💗 thank you for your words, i'm sending you a fistful of fair tokens and a kiss on the cheek.

𓆩🕊️ john 𓆪

❝Win you a prize? I’ll nick the whole bloody stall if you want.❞

He shows up late, of course. Hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, eyes glinting like trouble under the lights.

Doesn’t even say hello before he slips an arm around your waist like it belongs there and mutters something about the way you look in your jacket.

He pretends he doesn’t care about the games. “Rigged, all of ‘em,” he scoffs.

Then you make a single comment about the giant teddy bear at the ring toss and suddenly he’s throwing like his life depends on it.

Misses the first three, swears at the carny under his breath, then hits the last one with a yell so loud people turn. Smirks like it was no big deal.

Buys you cotton candy and eats half of it.

Keeps pressing sticky fingers to your cheek just to hear you squeal. “Sweetest thing I’ve tasted all night,” he says, then kisses the sugar right off your face.

Tries to act cool on the Ferris wheel but goes uncharacteristically quiet at the very top.

You turn to tease him and he’s already looking at you, serious, a little breathless. “Wish we could stop time,” he says.

You’re halfway to making a joke when he kisses you.

𓆩🕊️ paul 𓆪

❝You wanna go on that? I’ll scream louder than you, bet.❞

Shows up with flowers. Says, “These reminded me of you,” with a twinkle in his eye.

When you point out they’re from the stall outside the fairgrounds, he grins. “Exactly. Got ‘em fast, so I wouldn’t be late.”

He lives to impress you. Hits every target at the BB gun booth, does card tricks while you’re waiting in line, sings under his breath like a jukebox set to flirty.

Tries every single food item. Hot chips, fried doughnuts, something questionable-on-a-stick, he buys two of everything and insists on feeding you bites.

“One kiss per crisp,” he bargains. You roll your eyes and kiss him anyway.

The moment the music starts from the carousel organ, he grabs your hand.

You dance barefoot in the grass behind the food trucks, twirling like fools.

He dips you dramatically and almost falls. You laugh so hard your ribs ache.

By the end of the night, your hands are sticky, your hair’s wind-tangled, and he’s leaning against a fence behind the kissing booth with his mouth pressed to your neck, murmuring, “Next year, we’re comin’ twice.”

𓆩🕊️ george 𓆪

❝This queue’s longer than our last tour. Are you sure this ride’s worth it?❞

He’s reluctant about the whole thing at first. “A carnival? What, like, with screaming kids and candyfloss and everyone recognizing us every five seconds?”

He says it like he’s too cool for it... but still shows up wearing a bomber jacket and the smallest smile like maybe, maybe, he’s hoping you’ll prove him wrong.

He wears sunglasses at night, obviously. Says it’s for anonymity, but he mostly does it because you said he looked cool in them once.

Offers you his arm without asking. Buys your tickets when you’re not looking. If you want to go on the big rides, he’s there. Willing to brave the screaming and spinning just to sit beside you, his thigh pressed firm against yours, hand steady on your knee. “If I puke, it’s your fault,” he grumbles, but he’s smiling the whole time.

Unbelievably good at carnival games. Wins you some absurdly ugly plush within ten minutes. Smirks as he hands it over and says, “Don’t say I never give you anything.”

He teases you endlessly if you’re scared of the rides. “You’re jumpin’ like you’re on Ed Sullivan again,” he snickers.

At some point, some bloke flirts with you at the hot chip stand. George stares him down like he invented disdain.

You get to the Ferris wheel last. And he acts like it’s silly.

Says, “I’ve seen better views out the hotel window in Cleveland.”

But when the car tips up and you’re hanging above the world, he wraps his arm around your shoulders and murmurs, “Y’know, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it. But he squeezes your hand like he means it.

𓆩🕊️ ringo 𓆪

❝I’m not much good at rides. But if you scream, I’ll scream with you.❞

Shows up in a too-big coat and carrying a flask of tea.

Offers you a sip before saying hello. “Didn’t want you to get cold,” he explains, voice soft.

You hadn’t even thought about being cold.

Takes you on the carousel immediately. He picks the silliest horse.

Makes funny faces the whole time. Holds your hand across the poles.

When you dismount, he kisses your knuckles like a gentleman, then pretends to trip and fall dramatically at your feet.

Buys every snack... for you that looks weird. Pickled egg on a stick? Sure. Crushed candy in a cone? Absolutely. He makes a game of you ranking them out of ten and gives bonus points if you kiss him with your mouth full.

Takes a picture with you in the photo booth. You both look ridiculous. He buys a frame for it the next day. Keeps it by his bed.

He's not a thrill-seeker... no spinning rides, no high drops.

But he’ll go on the bumper cars just to make you laugh. Wears the seatbelt too tight and screams every time you hit him.

At the end of the night, you sit together on a bench, his head on your shoulder.

He tells you about when he used to sneak into the fair as a kid, climb under the fence and pretend he was rich enough to ride the Ferris wheel.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee, @alanangels

[grapejuice32]

Sharing A Cell

Daryl x loner!reader

more loner!reader here main masterlist here

word count: 1.1k + a/n: this is the first fic for loner!reader, I hope y'all like it!

Your whole life you’d pushed people away from you, you’d always kept a distance between you and other people for self-preservation, not wanting to get yourself hurt. Whether that be from a fear of someone hurting you, or from the fear of losing someone, you weren’t sure. It’s just the way you’d always been, and you liked it like that. So why was it different with him?

You’d hated him when you first met, he was the reason that your makeshift home got overrun by walkers, well sort of. To be honest, it was going to happen anyway, there wasn’t a doubt about that, but you needed someone to blame. So why was it that out of everyone in the group you were drawn to him? 

It’d happened gradually. The two of you had been the ones to scout out areas, which had turned into you hunting together, which had led to you taking watch shifts together which meant the two of you always slept in the same area of wherever you were camping out. When the group had come across the prison, you’d never been more grateful. Despite yourself, you’d come to care for the members of the group and Lori was too pregnant to carry with life on the road. When it’d come to choosing cells as your own, you weren’t entirely surprised when Daryl had dragged a mattress out into the hallway, not really wanting to sleep in a cell. He’d pulled his mattress to lay the closest to your cell, though you didn’t choose to comment on it, nobody did. Besides, it felt strangely natural to you, you suspected it was only due to all the time you spent together. As the days went by, you found yourself becoming restless, struggling to sleep. Your mind was going into overdrive about everything that could go wrong, you’d all finally found some peace, though it being in a prison felt contradictory to you. 

After nearly two weeks of losing sleep over your fears you gave in. Everyone else was asleep but you, or so you thought. You were tossing and turning in your bed, your sheets rustling loudly, the lace curtains you’d somehow managed to find and hang in your doorway not doing much to muffle the sounds of your restless moving from Daryl. These past couple of weeks, he’d also been losing sleep, unable to succumb to it when he knew you were awake, and it irritated him to no end. What was this? 

That night though, you’d caught on to the fact that Daryl wasn’t asleep either. He was tossing and turning just as much as you were and that’s what’d prompted you to call out his name in a hushed tone. “What?” He grumbled, clearly suffering from his lack of sleep.

“I can’t sleep,” you answered, just glad he couldn’t see the way you were facepalming. 

“Y’ think I don’t know that?” He scoffed, “been tossin’ an’ turnin’ f’weeks. Drivin’ me crazy, woman.” You were silent for a while, mulling over the question you so badly wanted to ask. You felt guilty, you didn’t want to disturb him, but he was already up so it couldn’t hurt, right? So, you called out his name again, he grunted in response, so you took that as your queue to continue. 

“Can you um, no, uh, do you wanna um,” you sighed in frustration, you felt ridiculous. “Can you like, come and sleep in here?”

“Huh?” Came his confused response, “y’want me t’come sleep in y’room?”

You cleared your throat, squinting your eyes in embarrassment, “yeah. Just cause, you know, you’re obviously having trouble sleeping and all and cause of my curtain it doesn’t get light as early in here so you can sleep in.” You fumbled over your words, hoping that he bought them. He rolled his eyes, not buying your lie at all but got up anyway, opened your cell door and dragged his mattress into your ‘room’ before settling down again, grunting as he got back into bed. “Better?” you asked, as if you’d done this for his benefit instead of your own. 

“Mhm, yeah.” He mumbled, his back facing you as he waited for you to settle down, when you’d quietened, he glanced at you over his shoulder and only when you were sound asleep did, he allow himself to drift off. 

The next morning when people began to wake up, there was a brief sense of panic and confusion when nobody could find Daryl or his things. It was Carol who’d caught sight of the straps of his bag sticking out the bars of your cell door. She peeked through your lace curtains and smiled as she saw him asleep in your cell, glad to see who she considered her best friend doing what she hoped was him finally coming to terms with the feelings he so blatantly held towards you. She didn’t want to disturb the two of you and so she’d gone to tell the others, making sure they stayed quiet so the two of you could have the time together, even if you were just sleeping. 

For once, you woke up before Daryl did and after working up the courage, quietly left your cell. You bumped into Maggie and acted normally, you didn’t know that anyone knew the where abouts of where Daryl had been sleeping. But the knowing look she gave you made you panic and you tried to slip away, but to no avail, she managed to grab you by the arm and smiled encouragingly at you, wanting you to tell her what happened. You huffed and pulled your arm out of her hand, stepping back slightly before sleeping in a lowered voice, “Was just having trouble sleeping, it’s not a bit deal.”

“What, so nothing’s happening between the two of you?” She asked insistently, everyone but the two of you could see it.

“No!” You raised your voice slightly before looking over your shoulder to check nobody was listening, quietening again as you continued to speak. “No, okay. It’s nothing, I’m not into that.

“Not into what? Into him?” She pried.

“It’s none of your business, okay?” You ran a hand through your tangled hair, “If you must know, I was having trouble sleeping. That’s all.” Your voice was firm enough that she dropped it raising her hands apologetically. You parted ways from her to go and sit outside, wanting to be alone to think and didn’t catch the way a now very awake Daryl was looking down at your disappearing figure from the stairway, a feeling that he couldn’t pinpoint swirling in his chest as he took in the conversation he’d overheard. 

a/n: requests are open

[gretagerwigsmuse]

One thing I absolutely love about Bradley and Smart Aleck is how whenever she rides his thigh, he bounces her a little, and that just makes her lose it 🫠

Like, I can see Smart Aleck sitting on his lap while in front of his friends, and him just randomly bouncing his lap and she has to take a moment before saying or doing anything. She would be a mess by the end of the night.

Also, in your Christmas party fic, Bradley mentioned using the Theragun as a vibrator. Imagine him bringing it out and just surprising Smart Aleck with it (I've never used a Theragun, I have only seen it online so I'm not sure if this is completely correct)

this took me a minute to reply to because i wanted to actually write something for you! i was actually in a meeting at work when i first saw the message preview on my lock screen and i stg i was blushinggg so hard 🤭 because my god what a delicious thought!

yes! he’d bounce her just a little, like just enough to get a reaction out of her and get a little whimper out of her. to your point i could picture them in the hard deck and it’s a big deal that she came out with them? more below!

but also the theragun would actually hurt which is something bradley would realize the second he turned his on to even the lowest setting haha. though i do think that he’d randomly be like ‘gun me’ and have her do his back/shoulders 🤭

—————-

“well, look who decided to grace us with her presence this fine evening.”

jake looked even more smarmy than usual as you and bradley approached the group of pilots and partners holding court at a corner table. at the comment, bradley’s hands tightened where they were on your shoulders. it was a bit of a crush in the bar tonight, but he had guided you over without issue.

you completely ignored jake’s comment and his follow up about slumming it that night and greeted everyone - bob, callie, and natasha, as well as sarah costigan, whom jake had presumably dragged along. sarah even tossed you a kind smile in return. granted, she was still annoying and slightly condescending, but she wasn’t that bad. at least she didn’t head off to the jukebox and queue up hall & oates’ rich girl like jake did.

you let bradley slide into the circular booth before you and then sat on the end. being mr protective, bradley normally wouldn’t like having you sit at the end of the booth, but he knew you liked the space and ease of a quick getaway with a lot of people.

and it wasn’t that you didn’t like going to the hard deck. you just didn’t like how crowded and loud it could get on fridays and saturdays, which was when bradley’s friends tended to go. normally, the group would get together at the beach or go for a hike or even to another bar or someone’s house to hang out - and you always tried to attend - but their old standby was the hard deck and those were the nights you typically skipped.

you had been there about an hour when everything took a different turn. everyone was chatting and the music wasn’t too loud yet, and you were in a good mood, which was probably helped by the fact that you were on your third cosmo and bradley his fourth beer.

but then mickey and his girlfriend, cielo, showed up, which meant there were even more people crammed into the already crowded circular booth. you got up to give both cielo and mickey a hug and then the two of them sat down on the other side of the booth. which in turn meant everyone scooted down further towards your side.

scratch that - your side was gone.

all that was left was a sliver of space for maybe one of your bare thighs to find itself plastered against the warm vinyl upholstery. bradley quickly noticed your distress and pulled you half onto his lap. he barely broke his stride, so focused was he on his conversation with bob and callie. or so you thought.

the way he had manhandled you onto his lap was done with little consideration to your pink dress - the same pink dress from your first date some eighteen months ago - and it bunched up between your ass and bradley’s jeans. you sucked in a breath.

oh.

you were still covered, still safe from any risk of indecent exposure, but oh it felt nice having your bare skin brush against bradley’s jeans. the jeans that were stretched across his big, strong, broad thighs. did he realize? did he know?

it was nice sitting on his lap; you were content, happy, warm. safe. it wasn’t something you’d ever done in front of other people before; normally, neither of you were this bold, but you weren’t yourself, it was too loud, too warm, too overwhelming in the hard deck. and bradley knew that. he knew you were fussy. he always knew when you needed to get out of your head.

a few minutes went by and you tuned into various conversations and groups, but you eventually focused back on your little group at the end of the booth with bradley, bob, and callie. they were talking about one of the college football games on earlier because bob was a big sec fan. at one point, the boys got so animated and bradley got so into gesturing with his hands that you slipped a little in his lap. and then -

and then bradley bounced you.

oh.

he bounced you on his thigh and tightened his arms around you to keep a better hold on you.

“sorry, kid,” he muttered in your ear and then went back to his conversation, completely unaware of the whimper you let out.

oh.

that felt nice. that felt good.

you loved when he bounced you on his thighs.

you loved when he let you ride his thighs.

see bradley liked when you’d have to work hard to get yourself off. sometimes, he made it a punishment. it was torture - he wouldn’t touch you and you’d have to work for your orgasm. you’d get so frustrated.

and once you’d finally reach your peak and your cum would streak across his thigh, he’d sink his fingers - his big, strong fingers - inside your cunt and you’d ride them for another round until you’d get rewarded with his cock.

this time the whimper you let out was a little louder, but still for bradley’s ears only.

“you okay, kid?” he bounced you again.

this time your legs spread a little wider under the table and you shifted in his lap. you were getting flustered, warm. surely the sweat was beading at the back of your neck, between your thighs -

“mmhmm, just slipped.” you took a huge sip of your cosmo, hoping to cool yourself down. god, this was so embarrassing. why were you getting like this? it was just a bounce. he hadn’t even meant to do it.

please don’t let him find out.

“yeah?” bradley bounced you again and your breath caught. “can’t have that - here.”

his thumbs dug into the tender flesh by your hips, anchoring you to him. you tried to shift, tried to squirm, but he wouldn’t budge.

“th-thanks.”

you took another sip of your cosmo. it was almost done, that had to be why you were reacting this way. three drinks normally made you tipsy, but not drunk, so it had to explain your flustered state and your heightened sense of arousal.

he knew. he had to know. he had to know how wet you were. how your pussy was clenching on nothing. how you wanted him to take you out of here and let you ride him in the car. maybe he’d finger you against the bronco like he did that night all those months ago?

bradley turned back to the group. “hey, why don’t you tell bob and callie about that project you’re kicking off at work?”

“oh. it’s not - it’s not really that exciting -”

“she’s lying,” bradley squeezed your hip, “come on, tell them about the project you’re presenting in london.”

callie gasped. “london? again? oh, i’m so jealous! how long are you going to be gone?”

“just a - a couple days. they’re scaling this project i did in the US for the EMEA market. just a - a presentation.”

somehow, when bob asked where you were staying and if you were doing anything fun while you were there, you managed to give a coherent answer. nearly coherent.

but then you turned the tables back on the two of them and asked if they were excited for their trip to see callie’s parents in bryn mawr. you didn’t know much about the area baring the fact that mary once went out there to interview for a teaching position, but that wouldn’t have mattered anyway since you could barely focus on the last minute details for callie’s sister’s wedding because of bradley’s stupid hands.

the first time he did it, you didn’t think much of it. okay so he took a sip of his beer and fiddled with the glass before he put his hand on your thigh. it was cold, no big deal.

but then he did it again when callie mentioned the gorgeous bridesmaids’ dresses. and again when bob praised callie’s speech draft. and again when they mentioned the welcome party on thursday was scheduled around the eagles’ game.

it was cold and you could feel your nipples hardening and your breath coming in faster and god - could everyone tell? did they notice? you didn’t want them to notice, you just wanted bradley to notice.

feeling bold, you tried to trap his cold hands between your thighs, but when bradley yanked his hand away, you almost lost your balance. and what else was he supposed to do but bounce you and get you settled back on his lap. he growled a warning in your ear.

oh god. you wanted it louder, you wanted it just for you. you weren’t wearing a bra, could anyone tell? you hoped bradley could tell.

you hoped bradley knew.

(you hoped daddy knew.)

the promise of what was to come was getting to be too much. you could have blamed it on the cosmos, the noise, the heat, the number of people, but it really was just one thing - bradley.

bob and callie were talking to natasha now, so it was just you and bradley at your end of the table.

“bubs?” you looked over your shoulder to meet bradley’s eyes and knew he was just as wrecked for you as you were him. “please?”

he cocked an eyebrow, looking entirely too smug. “aww sweetheart, why didn’t you just say you wanted to leave?” all the condescension did was make you want him more.

before you could respond, before you could try and say something clever, he cleared his throat and directed his next words to the entire table.

“‘think the kid and i are gonna head out.”

it only took a few moments to say your goodbyes - hugs from those who were easily able, waves to those who were not - and then you and bradley started meandering your way to the bar.

once again, after he paid your tab, bradley guided you out of the bar with his hands on your shoulders and a broad presence at your back. you whimpered at the thought of him inside you, your big, broad, beautiful boyfriend inside you, telling you that you were a good girl for him. such a good slut for him. for daddy.

it had been a couple months since you’d first said it - said daddy - but it still made your pussy clench and your heart beat wildly.

the moment you were out in the cool parking lot, you sighed back against his chest. the pulsating music that once felt too loud was now a calming presence as you got further away from the chaos.

“atta girl, you did such a good job with my teasing.” his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you close so you could feel how much he wanted you. “you ready for your reward?”

“yes, daddy.”

———————

half an hour later, on their way way out, bob, callie, and natasha didn’t even notice that bradley’s car was still in the parking lot even after the two of you had supposedly left.

they also didn’t notice that the windows were fogged up. or that one of your sandals was on the ground by the driver’s seat door. 🤭

[newtthetranswriter]

Hellooooo

I wanted to request a Tokyo Revengers fic for Mikey. Platonic. Reader, although not very flashy, has been in the gang since the beginning. Serving in the first division.

It's reader's birthday, but they never made it a big deal, so no one else realized. That is until Mikey tosses them a messily wrapped box at a gang meeting saying, "Happy Birthday" and giving them a headpat.

I thought it was cute <3<3

The gift can be up to you, as well as the time frame this takes place.

Word count: 615

Pairing: Mikey x Reader Platonic

A/n: Hi, thank you for the request. I’m not super happy with how it turned out, but I did love the idea. I hope you at least enjoy it. Anyways, enjoy, have a great day and as always remember to hydrate or diedrate.

    It was time for the weekly Toman meeting. All of the divisions were gathered waiting for Mikey and Draken to show up, and of course they were running late for whatever reason. Anyways, while waiting I just sat back and watched as the guys got in their usual playful arguments about random shit. Watching as Baji and Kazutora teamed up to pick on a few of the younger members, I was reminded of where it all started.

   I had grown up not only a few houses away from Mikey and so I ended up spending a lot of time around the blonde. We have always been extremely close so it was no surprise to me when he came to me asking me to join his gang when he and his other friends started it. Since that day, I’ve been part of Toman’s first division acting as a kind of babysitter for the more impulsive group. Evidently, I was the only one able to stop Baji from setting a car on fire when he was hungry, so Mikey and Draken thought it would be best for me to keep him in check.

   Other than making sure Baji doesn’t ruin Toman’s reputation, I’m a pretty good fighter when it comes down to it. I may not be the one everyone is watching when a brawl breaks out but I can definitely hold my own. Which is another reason I was put in the first division. I had everyone’s back even if some of them didn’t realize it.

   “Hey Mikey’s finally here.” I heard someone shout from the crowd. As if it were a queue to behave, everyone stopped fighting and stood up straight as we waited for Mikey and Draken to start the meeting.

    I had taken my usual spot next to Baji, not expecting much of anything to happen. “Hey Y/n, catch.” I turned at the sound of Mikey shouting at me. Once I made eye contact he threw what looked like a poorly wrapped box at me. Quickly catching it, I looked at it confused for a second but before I could ask about it, Mikey cut me off. “Happy Birthday.” He flashed a bright close eyed smile, patting the top of my head.

    My eyes went wide. I totally forgot it was my birthday, it was never really a big deal to me and Mikey was the first one to mention it today. “Thanks Mikey, I honestly totally forgot about it.” I said looking back at the present. “But you didn’t have to get me anything.”

   “Nonsense, of course I had to get you something. You’re my friend and it would be rude of me to not get you anything.” He said, taking his hand off the top of my head.

   Before I could respond, Baji spoke up from behind me. “Wait, it's your birthday and you forgot about it?” Baji asked me.

   I just shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. And how sad it looks like my only friend is Mikey, after all he’s the only one who remembered.” I answered with mock sadness.

   Mikey laughed at our interaction as Baji decided the best response to my sarcasm was to shove me. “Ok, Ok, enough fighting we have a meeting to take care of.” Draken said, cutting off the shoving match that started between the two of us. With that he and Mikey went up to the front of the group commencing the meeting.

   It warmed my heart for Mikey to get me a gift even if I never made a big deal about my birthday. He was like a brother to me and he remembered it even when I didn’t, which means a lot.

[rageofthemuffin]

Sneak Peek

Here's what will probably be the first chapter of an actor AU I've been thinking about for literal years now. Codywan are together, but the main focus of the fic itself will be Obi-Wan's (platonic) relationship with Anakin. A little warning that Qui-Gon is a pretty slimy dude here, and there is discussion of manipulation and some predatory behavior.

I have no idea when this will actually be posted, I would want to get a few chapters written before then, and I don't even have an outline yet. I also have school and work and hobbies and all that good stuff, but this kinda wrote itself, so we'll see where it goes. Enjoy!

---

Obi-Wan had just finished pouring two generous glasses of wine when his phone started buzzing incessantly in his back pocket. He sighed deeply, carrying the glasses into the living room and handing one to his boyfriend before fishing out his flip phone, pleasantly surprised that the little caller ID screen was actually a friend and not spam.

“Bail, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, sinking onto the couch and against Cody’s side as his wine sloshed precariously.

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting, Obi-Wan,” Bail said regretfully.

“No, no,” Obi-Wan assured him. “Cody and I are having a quiet night in.”

“Ah, well then I’m exceedingly sorry,” Bail said, good-humored.

Obi-Wan chuckled, taking a sip of his wine and leaning into the kiss Cody pressed to his temple.

“I have some news about our project,” Bail said.

“Good news or bad news?” Obi-Wan asked warily.

“Just news, but I want you to hear it from me.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Did it get delayed?”

“No, everything’s coming along perfectly, we’re still on track to begin shooting next month. But we’ve finished casting.”

“Oh? That sounds like good news,” Obi-Wan said cautiously. It also sounded like news not worthy of a phone call.

“It is, but there’s-“ Bail broke off, sighing. “See, we-“ he cursed softly. “I’m just going to say it. We cast Anakin Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan froze, wine glass half way to his lips. “I see.”

“And believe me, if there had been anyone else who fit the part I would have chosen otherwise, but he’s perfect, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan smiled wryly, ignoring Cody’s concerned gaze. “Yes, I can see why he would be.”

“I know this isn’t ideal, and you two will have to work very closely with each other, but-“

“It’s fine, Bail,” Obi-Wan said softly. He didn’t really need to hear whatever assurances his friend would come up with.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m a professional. I can handle working with another professional. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Bail breathed a sigh of relief through the speaker. “Alright then. Good. And if there’s anything I can do to make things easier-“

“I appreciate that,” Obi-Wan cut him off again. “Was there anything else?”

“Not tonight.”

“Then I’ll talk to you soon,” Obi-Wan promised, and with a return of the sentiment from Bail, he snapped his phone shut and tossed it to the other end of the couch.

“Are you okay?” Cody asked gently.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“I heard a certain name come up, and given that it was Bail on the phone, I think I can guess what’s going on.”

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, nodding grimly. “They’ve cast him.”

Cody sighed. “They couldn’t find any other tormented kid for the part?”

“Bail and Breha have been trying to cast this part for months. And it makes sense, it really does. I’ve no doubt he’ll be fantastic.” Obi-Wan grimaced, washing the words down with a heavy sip.

Cody frowned. “I don’t like the idea of you-know-who coming to set all the time.”

“He’s never been one to do that sort of thing. Usually I was the one tagging along to his sets, and most of the time he just ignored me,” Obi-Wan snorted. “He’s never been good at taking an interest in what others are doing.”

“Bastard,” Cody muttered as he drank from his own glass.

“I quite agree. Now, I believe we had plans for this evening. You queue up the show, and I’ll be right back.”

Cody grabbed the remote, navigating to their latest trashy reality TV binge-and-bitch, as Obi-Wan called them. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to need the rest of that wine.”

—

It wasn’t that Obi-Wan hated Anakin Skywalker. The kid hadn’t really done anything to him.

Except, well, stealing his boyfriend.

But no, his therapist’s voice scolded him mentally, boyfriends couldn’t be stolen. They could decide, though, after ten years of dating that they were over it and start fucking their nineteen year old co-star. And that nineteen year old co-star had been…less than gracious about it.

When a humiliated and heartbroken Obi-Wan had shown up at the house he and Qui-Gon picked out together to move out his things, Anakin had already been quite comfortable, dressed in Qui-Gon’s clothes with messy hair and marks on his neck that painted quite the picture of how the two of them had been spending their time.

While Obi-Wan had shuffled around, miserably gathering his clothes and other personal effects, the boy had been practically hanging off of Qui-Gon, kissing his throat, pressing their bodies together, all with a vicious smirk as he caught Obi-Wan looking out of the corner of his eye. Qui-Gon, the bastard, had pretended to scold the boy, but it was painfully obvious the older man was pleased, giving Anakin sweet kisses and squeezing his ass whenever he noticed Obi-Wan looking. Obi-Wan hadn’t even closed the front door on his way out before he heard Anakin moan wantonly. He’d gone back to Quinlan’s apartment and shut himself in the guest room for a week after that.

Now that Obi-Wan had done some major healing, he could recognize that it was all just manipulation on his ex’s part. After all, he’d been Anakin’s age when he and Qui-Gon met, and there really was no reason for a thirty-five year old man to take interest in a nineteen year old. But Obi-Wan had been terribly vain and thought himself mature, and the older man had been so charming and attractive. He’d lapped up Qui-Gon’s attentions eagerly, preening over the fact that the notorious bachelor had chosen him.

So when the sex was mediocre at best, or when Qui-Gon would get in one of his moods and ignore him for weeks at a time, or when he’d point out Obi-Wan’s shortcomings far more than he’d ever complimented him, none of it mattered because they were in love. Qui-Gon chose Obi-Wan, and that made everything else insignificant. It wasn’t until months after it ended and dozens of therapy appointments that Obi-Wan finally grasped just how toxic and calculated it all was.

He realized that Qui-Gon probably had sex with Anakin right before Obi-Wan came over on purpose, and that his affection toward the boy was played up deliberately for him to see. He actually felt sorry for Anakin, knowing what kind of things were undoubtedly happening behind closed doors. It was bad enough for a thirty-five year old to pursue a nineteen year old; it was even worse for a forty-five year old to do it.

However, Anakin hadn’t been an easy one to pity. The media went crazy when they found out Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had broken up and that the older man already had a young new boyfriend. Speculation ran wild, and a lot of it was pretty much accurate, but the two of them had taken advantage of Obi-Wan’s private disposition to attempt to spin things in their favor.

Qui-Gon, similarly private, hadn’t ever said anything about it. But Anakin, a bold upcoming action star, had said a lot. He spoke about the drama in several interviews, claiming that Qui-Gon had just gotten out of a bad relationship when they met and that he and Anakin had “just clicked.” He never mentioned Obi-Wan by name. He didn’t need to. He just gushed about Qui-Gon to the press until interest died down.

It had worked probably about as well as it could have, though Obi-Wan had seen plenty of people expressing doubt about the age gap and pointing out that Obi-Wan had once been in Anakin’s position, too, though without the potential infidelity.

It was all too much, and the noise had made it very difficult for Obi-Wan to attempt to move on and heal, so he’d replaced his smart phone with a basic flip phone and started using his computer mostly just for work. He’d loaded his TV with ad-free streaming service subscriptions, and he’d finally given himself some peace.

He went to therapy, he spent more time with his friends, he decorated his apartment just exactly how he liked it. He only took projects he was interested in, finding a lot of satisfaction in his work when there wasn’t someone at his side telling him all the ways he wasn’t quite perfect.

And on the three year anniversary of the worst day of his life, he met Cody.

Cody was head of security for the film Obi-Wan was shooting at the time. He noticed him immediately, strong and handsome and a little mysterious. For the first time since his breakup, Obi-Wan felt the stirrings of interest. He’d chatted to Cody throughout the day, and the man was exceptionally polite and professional. Almost too professional, because Obi-Wan had gently flirted with him for the rest of the shoot, and then the man had still seemed shocked that Obi-Wan wanted to exchange numbers on his last day on set.

The two of them gradually started getting to know one another through phone calls, eventually getting to the point where they would talk for hours, both missing out on sleep in favor of one another. Eventually, Obi-Wan invited Cody to his apartment so they could hang out in person, and that was that.

Cody was sweet and attentive and communicative, everything Obi-Wan had never experienced in a relationship before. The sex was great, better than Obi-Wan even knew it could be, but the little, slow moments where the two of them just existed together were Obi-Wan’s favorites.

His friends loved Cody, and the media had no idea Cody existed (not because they were particularly trying to hide, but because he wasn’t a celebrity, and Obi-Wan was great at avoiding the press). They bought a house together six months ago, both of their careers were thriving, Obi-Wan had just signed on to a movie produced and directed by some of his best friends, and he’d never been so happy in his life.

He reminded himself of that fact as he walked into the studio for the table read. It was only two months of filming, he could get through it.

The thing was, he wanted to do more than get through it. He wanted to enjoy himself. Bail and Breha were amazing, the script was brilliant, and the cast was incredibly talented, Anakin Skywalker included.

Obi-Wan was met almost immediately by Breha upon stepping inside, finding himself pulled into a tight hug.

“Obi-Wan, it’s been far too long,” she scolded him warmly. “Bail’s been keeping you all to himself.”

Obi-Wan grinned down at her. “Maybe if you weren’t so wildly successful, you wouldn’t be too busy to join us for lunch once in a while.”

Breha just shook her head fondly. “How’s Cody?”

“He’s great, he told me to invite the two of you for dinner sometime soon.”

“Of course! I’ve got to run and meet some execs, but set up that dinner with Bail before you leave.” Breha kissed his cheek before breezing out of the room, her place swiftly taken by her husband.

“Obi-Wan,” Bail greeted with a firm handshake. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.”

Bail leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry about the seating arrangement, but you two have so many scenes together-“

Obi-Wan held up a hand, glancing around to note that, of course, he and Anakin were seated next to each other, the younger actor already in his seat. “No more apologies Bail. Like you said, we have a lot of scenes together. We’re both adults, it will be fine.”

Bail nodded, not looking particularly reassured, and moved to greet someone else. Obi-Wan moved toward his seat, shaking hands and kissing cheeks along the way.

He greeted Padmé Amidala warmly, glad she was seated on his other side. They weren’t close, but they had mutual friends, and Obi-Wan had always admired the younger actress.

Finally, he had no choice but to address Anakin. The young man was eyeing him already, and when Obi-Wan faced him, he stiffened, jutting his chin out as if challenging Obi-Wan to make a scene. It had been five years since Obi-Wan had seen him in person, and he definitely looked different.

His hair was longer, for one thing, and instead of the boyish energy he’d carried himself with five years ago, now he was tense and moody-looking, his shoulders hunched forward and his arms folded over his chest.

Obi-Wan just did his best to smile politely, sticking out a hand. “Hello, Anakin.”

Anakin watched his hand suspiciously for a moment before shaking it. “Hi.”

Obi-Wan sighed internally, deciding to go grab a coffee before the reading started.

It was going to be a long two months.

[shellbilee]

Hey There Darlin' - Chapter 2

A Glen Powell RPF Series

Glen

Glen walks out of the bathroom and makes his way over to the bar, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair and scanning the dancing crowd as he walks. It takes him all of thirty seconds to find her - the girl he realises he’s been unconsciously keeping tabs on all night, unable to help his smile as he watches her laugh and dance away to the music. She looks free and happy, and unbelievably sexy, and Glen almost groans as she tosses her hair and swings her hips.

God. 

He’d spoken to her for a whole three minutes, he didn’t even know her name. And yet, he couldn’t seem to stop looking at her, thinking about her. Was he really this starved of female attention? It had been more than a year since he’d broken up with his long term girlfriend of three years and sure he’d had some flings since, but Glen knew deep down he was a relationship guy. 

He’d always been a homebody, and he loved having someone at home at the end of the day, someone to wake up to in the morning. He loved spending time with his family in Austin or just being at home with his dog Brisket, and having someone to share that with was everything to him. All of that was virtually impossible to have all the time in his line of work though, but still, it didn’t stop him from trying. For Glen, it was one of the hardest things that unfortunately came hand in hand with his fame, especially as he started to take on new and bigger projects.

That, and the fact that finding someone that was otherwise immune to fame seemed to be a near impossible feat. The way he figured it, he had two options. Either find someone that was already in the spotlight - which made some things easier of course, but then the whole different schedules and never seeing each other thing was basically inevitable. Or, find someone who was not famous but still had their own life and routines and schedules, but was somehow indifferent to the fact that privacy would virtually be no longer. The longer he thought about it, the more he was convinced that option two didn’t actually exist. 

He’s standing in the bar queue when he notices a petite girl in a fitted, mango coloured dress making a bee-line towards him, her long black hair falling like a dark curtain around her high cheek-boned face. He’s suddenly certain she’ll ask him for a selfie - he’s been stopped for a photo only twice tonight which is less than usual, though given the exclusivity of the event is what he expected, but after a moment he instead recognises her as one of the friends of the bar girl. 

She pauses when she reaches him, flashing a confident smile before leaning into him to speak over the heavy bass of the music.

“Hello”

“Hey there” he replies back, immediately noting her proper British accent.

“My name’s Sloane. I believe you've met my friend Billie” she says, gesturing with her head back to the crowd behind them, pushing her black sunglasses up onto her head and revealing a pair of striking, ice blue eyes.

“Billie?” He says, his word more of a question than an answer, his eyebrows raised.

Sloane looks taken aback for a moment, shaking her head a second later.

“She didn't introduce herself? Oh Billie” she replies, clicking her tongue in disappointment, “I figured she'd have at least told you her name”.

Glen laughs and shakes his head no, watching as Slone glances over to the stage and rolls her eyes before turning back to him.

Glen smiles. Hmm. Billie.

“Well, seeing as Billie clearly hasn’t, I'll do this for her” Sloane adds, offering him a charming smile, “My friend Billie, thinks you are very attractive”.

Glen chuckles, raising his eyebrows again, unable to help his smile. “That's funny, I think your friend Billie, is very attractive”.

Sloane laughs, a soft, musical laugh. “She's gorgeous actually. And, she's single”.

Glen tilts his head, regarding Sloane. “Does Billie know you're here talking to me?”.

Sloane grins. “No, and before you ask, yes, she is going to give me the third degree when I get back and tell her I just spoke to you about her”.

Glen laughs out loud this time, dropping his head back.

“So I don't know how people in positions such as yourself pass on details, but I figure you don't give out your number easily for obvious reasons” Sloane goes on in a very no-nonsense tone, Glen realising suddenly that she knows who he is.

He wonders idly if Billie knows who he is, looking over Sloane’s shoulder and spying her in the distance still dancing, seemingly oblivious that her friend is over at the bar talking to a complete stranger about her.

“So” Sloane says, pausing and getting her phone out of her bag, Glen watching as she briefly taps away at the screen before holding up her phone to face him, “This is Billie's Instagram”.

Glen is taken aback for a moment, undoubtedly very impressed by Sloane’s wing-woman efforts, looking back at her confident smile and wondering why on earth he’s hesitating when he’s been watching and thinking about Billie since the moment he met her in line.

He lets out a silent breath and pulls his phone from his pocket, opening the Instagram app and copying the words from Sloane’s screen onto his. He taps on the first name and is taken to her profile, immediately noting the picture of Billie’s smiling face next to a happily panting golden retriever. He smiles when he sees that she already follows him, wetting his lips with his tongue as he taps on the blue follow button.

Glen puts his phone back in his pocket, unable to help his smile as he looks back at Sloane.

“You're one hell of a wingman Sloane”.

She grins then, tilting her head and shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. “That I am”.

Glen is pleasantly surprised. This is a first for him. He hasn’t had a girl try and chat him up for a friend before, though he can’t say he’s met many girls that are as straight-forward as Sloane.

The bar line suddenly moves forward and it’s his turn to order, Glen turning to Sloane.

“Are you getting another drink?”.

Sloane nods, “Another round of mojitos”.

Glen steps forward and orders his round and the three cocktails for her, Sloane saying her thanks as she leans on the bar beside him. He feels himself sway slightly, trying to do mental maths of how many drinks he’s had today, though gives up seconds later when it becomes all too difficult.

“So what brought you to this gig?” he asks as they wait for their drinks, shifting slightly so he’s out of the direct glare of the sun.

The sun is starting to set now, a deep, orange glow illuminating the rooftop in the way that only happens on those warm summer evenings, the gentle breeze in the air slightly cooler and finally offering relief from the earlier relentless LA heat. 

Sloane shrugs, pulling her sunglasses back down onto her face. 

“Honestly, Billie and Bec dragged me here. I don't mind Rufus, but really I was just happy for a night out with the girls. Those two are the real fans”.

“What about you, who are you here with?” she asks, reaching up to brush an errant hair from her cheek.

Glen explains that he’s here with a close friend from back home in Austin, and a couple of his actor friends.

“They invited me and then I invited Drew, and it just ended up being this big group of us” he says, turning back to the bar when the three mojitos are up and pushing them in front of Sloane, “I’m probably gonna pay for it tomorrow but I’ve gotta admit I’ve had a really good day”.

His own drinks are up moments later, Sloane picking up her three as he does the same, the two stepping away from the bar together.

“That sounds like tomorrow’s problem” Sloane says with a laugh, lifting the three drinks to her face and taking a drink from the closest one, “I mean, how often do you really just get to relax and have a good time with friends, especially out in public?”.

Glen only laughs, considering Sloane’s words. He can’t actually remember the last time he’d had a day like this, maybe a year or so ago when he was in Greece with his girlfriend and friends? Maybe last New Year's Eve with his family? Has it really been that long?

Sloane shakes her head. “If you have to think about it like that, it doesn’t happen enough”.

Glen just smiles. “You’re alright, Sloane”.

Sloane grins now, flashing her white teeth in a confident smile. “I’m better than alright actually”.

They both laugh and Sloane says goodbye, wiggling her eyebrows and telling him that she hopes she’ll see him around later, gesturing with her cup filled hands over to the dancefloor.

He only laughs, his alcohol tinged brain already having decided that there was no way tonight was ending without him speaking to Billie again, the thought of seeing her gorgeous smile making the breath catch in his throat.

He nods to Sloane and watches as she turns away to make her way to her friends on the dance floor, Glen balancing his own drinks and walking back to his friends across the way.

---

Billie

“Thank God for that breeze” Billie says to seemingly no one, flustered and breathy from dancing in the busy crowd. 

She takes off her hat and leans her forearms on the bar table, closing her eyes for a moment and taking a second to breathe in the open space. She’s a little tipsy, perhaps one mojito too many, and hot and slightly sweaty from dancing among the sea of bodies near the stage.

The sunset had brought with it a soft breeze, the gentlest whisper of a cooler air. It's a welcome reprieve to her heated skin, Billie letting out a breath as she pushes her sunglasses onto her head.

She looks over at the crowd - the warm orange glow of the setting sun casting long shadows over everyone, to find Bec still dancing away, lost in her own little world among the deep bass and dancing guests. Sloane had retreated to the bathroom as Billie had announced she needed a minute out of the crowd, leaving Bec dancing on her own - not that she apparently cared or noticed.

She looks over her shoulder to where the guy - Glen, had been earlier with his friends. She does a quick scan, unable to find him in the crowd, still not quite believing that the guy she’d been flirting with in the bar queue was the Glen Powell. She wonders why she hadn’t been able to tell at the time - sure he’d been wearing sunglasses, but sunglasses were hardly a disguise, reasoning that she’d been too caught up in his charming smile and golden skin to properly put it together.  

Still, Glen Powell. Of all people. Handsome was not nearly enough of an adjective to properly describe him. He was gorgeous, in that Texan, all-American, almost bad-boy kind of way, Billie again thinking back to the time she’d seen the new Top Gun movie with the girls but this time thinking about a different leading man other than Miles Teller.

God.

She lets out another deep breath, idly wondering if she would see him again tonight, pulling out her phone to check her reflection in the screen and looking up when Sloane suddenly appears beside her.

“Have you checked your phone?”.

Billie smooths down some flyaway hairs from her face before looking back at her friend in question.

“Hmm?”

Sloane shakes her head. “Your phone, have you checked it?”.

“What are you talking about?” Billie asks, looking back at her phone and double tapping on the screen so that it lights up in her hand.

There’s a text from Lisa - one of her work colleagues, asking how Rufus was, and a number of instagram notifications that appeared to be reactions to her story uploads of her and the girls.

“What am I looking for?” Billie asks, still confused, looking up at Sloane briefly as she taps on the text message and replies to Lisa telling her that it’s been incredible.

“Open your Instagram”.

Billie obliges, still wondering what on earth Sloane is going on about, opening the Instagram app and tapping the little heart icon to bring up her notifications. She frowns as she scrolls, all of a sudden letting out an involuntary gasp and feeling her breath catch when she realises what Sloane is talking about.

@glenpowell has started following you

“You did not” Billie nearly stammers, looking back up at her friend with wide eyes.

Sloane only smiles, shrugging her shoulders innocently.

“I did”

“Sloane!”

“What?” she asks, her tone almost one of offence, “It was the least I could do. I can’t believe you didn’t even tell him your name!”.

Billie shakes her head in exasperation, a myriad of emotions suddenly running through her head. 

Morbid embarrassment? She could easily imagine Sloane finding him and confidently explaining that her friend Billie was single and found him attractive. It was such a Sloane thing to do - the woman was the most poised, self assured person Billie knew. Nothing ever phased her, it was the reason she was such a good paramedic. It certainly wasn’t the first time Sloane had done this either - there’d been multiple occasions where she’d flexed her wing woman responsibilities and tried to set Billie up with gorgeous strangers.

For a moment Billie doesn’t know how to feel. It’s shock and excitement and nerves all tangled into one. Glen fucking Powell just followed her on Instagram! But what does that mean? He's attracted to her, just like she is to him? Their flirty interactions had certainly been real, Billie unable to deny that a part of her has been thinking about him and his damn gorgeous smile since she’d left him at the bar earlier. Did this mean that he’d been thinking about her the same?

“Billie, you’re a fucking babe. Own it” Sloane says, the straw she’s drinking from making a slurping sound when she reaches the bottom of her drink, “You should have seen the way he smiled when I told him you are single. He’s into you”.

“I can’t believe you just went up to a celebrity, and told him to follow your friend on Instagram”.

Sloane shrugs, raising one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “He did it without hesitation too. So what does that tell you?”.

Billie lets out a heavy breath through her nose, shaking her head at Sloane in disbelief. “You could have given me a heads up that you were going to do that”.

Sloane snorts. “And you’d have said nothing if I did tell you first?”.

Billie shoots a deadpan look at her friend. “You’d have just done it anyway, regardless of what I would have said”.

Sloane shrugs again, lips parting in a smile. “Yeah. Probably”.

Billie rolls her eyes and laughs.

“So what now?” Billie asks, deciding she needs to tell Bec what’s happened as she looks over at the crowd, before looking back at Sloane across from her.

She frowns when she sees Sloane’s smile has widened into a grin, her head tilted as she looks at something over Billie’s shoulder.

“I think you’re about to find out”.

---

Glen

Glen can’t help the way his eyes travel up Billie’s legs as he walks towards her, balancing four full plastic cups in his hands. She’s tanned and toned, serious muscles telling him that she must go to the gym or at least run regularly, her ass round and perky underneath her white shorts. Suddenly, his alcohol-soaked mind can’t help but think about what she’d look like naked. 

Fuck. 

Sloane catches his eye over Billie’s shoulder, her smile telling him she’d seen him looking at Billie, and suddenly he can’t control the goofy, drunken smile that spreads across his lips.

“I figured you ladies could use a refill” he announces as he reaches the table, Sloane grinning at him and Billie visibly startling when he appears beside her.

“Well aren’t you just the gentleman” Sloane remarks, tilting her head and flashing a charming smile as he puts the drinks down on the bar table and slides one over towards her.

Glen only grins, nodding at Sloane, before turning to look at Billie beside him.

Just for a second, he swears he forgets his own name.

It’s golden hour in the evening - that late, final time of the sunset when the sun is just about to disappear and everything is bathed in that brilliant, vivid warmth, making everything the light touches infinitely more beautiful.

Billie, is no exception to that. 

Glen is instantly enamoured, completely and utterly mesmerised. It’s the first time he’s looked at Billie properly, this time without her sunglasses. For the first time ever, he understands what it means when people write about getting lost in someone’s eyes.

They’re big and beautiful - the colour unlike anything he’s ever seen, a mix of deep, sage green and warm, honey brown swirled together like ripples in a lake. She’s got long, dark, feathery lashes that he reasons have to be fake, making her eyes look even bigger as she blinks and looks back at him incredulously. The orange bathe of the setting sun makes them almost glow, her cheeks golden and smooth, her lips full and soft.

Suddenly, Glen isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol that’s making him feel warm or if it’s from looking at Billie.

“Glen” he says, extending his hand towards Billie, his throat feeling thick when she offers a gorgeous smile and takes his hand in a gentle shake, “I figured I should come over and introduce myself”.

Billie laughs softly. “Even though Sloane here has already apparently introduced me?”

Sloane lets out a laugh, lifting her hands in an innocent gesture when Billie shoots her a look.

“Billie” she replies with a sassy eye roll at her friend before letting go of his hand.

“I’m just going to give this to Bec” Sloane says suddenly, Billie and Glen both turning to look at her, “Thanks for the drinks Glen”.

Sloane grins as she grabs two cups, giving Billie a very obvious wink which makes Glen chuckle, both of them watching as she makes her way off into the still dancing crowd.

Glen turns back to Billie, once again momentarily taken aback by her smile, leaning his elbow on the table.

“So” he says, chewing once again on a toothpick as he looks back at the gorgeous girl in front of him. 

Billie turns to face him, mirroring his position as she too leans on the table, tilting her head as she looks back at Glen. 

She grins. “So”.

---

Next Chapter

Chapter 1

TAG LIST:

@wickedtactics @auntiegigi @friedchips94 @maeleeme @jessicab1991 @bellaireland1981 @queenslandlover-93

[mistypsych]

ANATOMY OF A CRIMINAL - CHAPTER 8

/ yoongi / suga / agust d /

summary: as a doctor you never expected to be dragged into “the criminal life”, nothing and no one seems to be true anymore, your whole world turns upside down after you save him.

pairings: yoongi mob boss x f.reader x non idol bts members.

warnings: smut, guns, knives, stabbings, blood, gore, murders, drugs, criminals, gang life, medical emergency, illness, abuse, swearing, angst, dubcon, gang violence, corruption, manipulation, lies, cheating - 18+ minors dni.

Note: Hi! This is an attempt of writing a fanfic long after not writing anything at all. Please keep in mind English is no longer my first language and it might be a bit rusty at times. Comments and thoughts are well appreciated. Don’t hesitate to ask questions, state your thoughts for me to post up and have me add you to the tag list!

Sorry it took me a while to post this chapter. It isn’t too long but I didn’t want to leave you all hanging without anything. I had a lot of things to handle - family visit threw the holidays as well as I met someone and got into a relationship - first time since a couple years. Work has also been busy so I hope you guys will forgive my absence! I will try and post more frequently now! Please comment. Your words always are motivating!

The dead toned beep of the ended phone call rang in your ears mercilessly. Taking a couple seconds to compose yourself after Yoongis brutal truth, you looked at the mirror and took in a deep, sharp breath. Shaking your head, you grabbed at the bridge of your nose. This was all getting chaotic and you did not like that fact at all.

You’ve always lead a quite composed life. Yes your work was complicated and very intense at times but outside of that you lead a peaceful life up until now. Up until you got dragged into this fucking mess by your best friend. Up until you found out your fiancé was a liar and cheater. Up until you screwed Agust-D, or should you say - it was more like he screwed you.

Walking into the hot shower you tried to get rid of all those invasive thoughts. Your brain kept playing scenes of the black eyed gangsters lips attacking all of your skin, all of those sensitive parts, all the places that mattered. Your hands wiped down your face as if trying to toss off all the images together with the water droplets. This was not going to be an easy task. Sleeping with the long haired brunette just made your already complicated situation even more messed up.

Once you were wiping your body off with the soft towel you let out yet again another frustrated sigh. Knowing you had to get out of the bathroom and face Hoseok angered you. All you wanted to do was punch him in the face and break his perfect little nose. The vision of having to keep this relationship going for the greater good and to put his ass behind bars wasn’t in any way ideal for you. But it had to be done. You knew in the long run this was they only thing that would make up for all the heartache he put you threw.

You let your still wet hair drop on your shoulders. Wrapping yourself up in a comfortable bathrobe you walked out hesitantly. The smell of freshly made breakfast, deliciously tickled your nostrils. Well at least he was good for some things - you muttered soundlessly to yourself.

Stepping in the kitchen you saw the cheater himself hovering over some pans, while humming some tune. You used to love this view, you used to watch him quietly with a big smile on your face. These gestured used to matter. Now all they did was poke a deep hole in your heart. You could not help but feel as if dead inside towards the one you thought you’d end up spending your life with.

As if on queue Hoseok turned to you with a plated meal and a sweet smile on his face.

“Sit love” he said with a hum while placing the dish on the table. You felt you stomach clench while you braved yourself to put on the best fake loving face you could. “Thanks… hun…” you said a bit hesitantly, what he picked up right away.

Sighing loudly he looked at you with sad eyes and said “Hey… I know lately it has been rough… and I work a lot… and I don’t give you the attention you deserve. But that will change soon babe, I promise…” he whispered while leaning down to kiss your temple.

It took all of your impulse control not to push away from him. Forcing yourself to take the kiss you said quietly “Yea… it has been rough…”. After your words fell, he gave you a worried look. Knowing you well he decided not to continue this topic. Instead he gave you another peck and told you to eat up while he makes coffee.

Your eyes turned to the back of his head as he brewed the caffeinated liquid. You wished you could burn a hole in his skull, purely by your gaze. Giving up on that ridiculous thought, you focused on your food. You had to eat. You had work this afternoon. You didn’t want to feel weak and tired. Work was about the only thing that still made sense in your life. All the rest seemed to be going down in flames.

Once your fiancé put a cup in front of you, you gladly grabbed at it. Keeping yourself occupied and your mouth full was the best option to avoid senseless talk. You were only willing to answer what you had planned for the day. You really didn’t want to force the conversation. Thankfully Hobi seemed to think all the tension was coming from his lack of time and his hectic work schedule. Who were you to correct him? Even if you wanted you couldn’t. You had a deal with Jimin. The vision of the cheating bastard in front of you, being set behind bars was the only thing that kept you sane.

When you finished up your meal, you decided to do the dishes. You didn’t want to seem too upset. It was a usual with the two of you. When one cooked the other took care of the dishes. The brainless action made you zone out. The bubbles on your hand felt oddly relaxing. As you were about to calm down from all the anger your felt a pair of hands wrap around your waist.

You took in a sharp breath and get tense right away. It was something you could not control. It was just a natural reaction of your body to the touch of someone who you saw as a traitor. “Are you that displeased with me?” he asked, his lips almost touching your ear. Anxiety was attacking your nerve system mercilessly. You had to swallow the big ball that formed in your throat before you spoke “It just had been very awkward between us… that’s all…”.

Shaking his head slightly he kept on hugging you “I know baby… and I wanna fix it… you know what they say… good sex can cure many arguments…” hearing those words you felt your stomach flip. The last thing you were feeling up to was going to bed with this asshole. But did you have much choice? This was your thing. You guys used to use the act of desire take over you when in disputes. You didn’t want to raise red flags and have him suspicious of your behavior. There was so much at stake.

An idea popped in your head. You could use the fact he clearly wanted to sway you, please you. This was your way to get threw this. Turning around slowly you gave him a dark smile. Your brain automatically switching to imagine someone else was standing in front of you. “Is that so? You want to fix the situation?” you asked with a deeper voice and he nodded in agreement.

“Then get on your knees and please me. Since you didn’t have time to give me attention lately… today will be all about me…” you voice was sultry and tainted with a darkness you never let out yet. Hoseok was clearly taken aback for a second, completely not expecting such a thing from you. But you were right, he did want to sway your mood. So he smiled gently while dropping down slowly to his knees.

His long fingers grabbed at your shorts and pulled them down. You closed your eyes imagining it was those digits covered in rings doing this to you. At this moment you were great full for having a good imagination. You needed it to survive this, to take pleasure from it.

When you felt the hot breath hit your core, you bit down on your lip, visioning it was the dark haired mobster in front of you. The image of Agust-D on his knees made you soaked in seconds. “God you’re getting wet…” Jung gasped, his voice distracting you a bit, so you shushed him with a “Get to it then…”.

Once you felt his tongue on your clit you almost jumped. The next movements and sucking making you almost moan Yoongis name. He was right. You would be thinking of him… fuck you were already and this was the only thing making you enjoy the moment. It didn’t take you long to jump over the edge. Biting down on your tongue you made sure to not scream the name of another.

Luckily for you, your fiancé was so out of it all and happy with himself, he believed everything between you was ok for now. The fact he had to head out to work soon, was just the cherry on top of the cake. You on the other hand had time to get ready for the afternoon and think about how Yoongi read right threw you. His words from your last phone call echoed in your brain. Shaking your head you mumbled to yourself - Stop. This needs to stop. I am just gonna use what happened to imagine things, to survive around Hoseok as long as I need to.

The little pep talk was supposed to set you straight. You decided you would never give into temptation again. You’d never jump into the arms of a gangster. You couldn’t. He was bad news. Or maybe bad news was him. It was hard to decided which of the two was correct. But the fact was - this man was danger and it was best to stir clear of him. So that is what you planned on doing.

Work was going well for you even tho you didn’t get to have the shift with your friend. But maybe that was better. That way you could focus on the job and not risk falling into discussing the whole gang situation. Your phone was silent as well. No messages from you soon to be ex. No one to bother your. No one to disturb your flow.

You were telling lucky to have a couple of light surgeries scheduled. They were just basic procedures. You did not need to think too much about what you were doing. You were great full that you enjoyed your job. That it was left undisturbed. That it could be your anchor to sanity. You could lose yourself in it. Forget about all the other chaos. Just be present in the moment. Just focus on your hand work, on what needed to be done. Nothing else mattered then and there.

The wrecked mood from the morning switched to a content and relaxed on. The evening was nice. You decided you’d take a walk home. You lived not too far away. Some exercise would do you well. Taking out your phone you thought for a moment and texted Jungkook. You wanted to check if maybe he was out drinking in some of the bars close by. You’d gladly join him then.

While walking and awaiting and answer from your coworker, your turned into one of the allies to take a shortcut. It was still not that late and usually the are was safe. All seemed to be the same this time. That was until a black SUV appeared at the other end. Stopping in your tracks you felt the flight or fight mode sweep over your body.

Clenching your hands on the purse strap you were thinking on what to do. Once the doors of the car opened, you were ready to run. But suddenly the well known gravely voice hit the air.

“Didn’t your parents teach you allies tend to be dangerous?” he chuckled a bit at his own words clearly enjoying he gave you a scare.

Your feet became heavy. It was as if the got cemented to the ground. A shiver ran over your spine. Standing there you stared as the brunet slowly made his way to you. The heels of his elegant shoes clicking over the ground. The sound bounced off the bricked walls. It all seemed just like in the movies. The hunter walking over to his helpless prey.

As he came close he tossed the end of his cigaret to the grown and blew out the last smoke your way. You felt your knees becoming weak. This guys was something else. Everything about him was screaming danger, but somehow you couldn’t move, you couldn’t run, you just stood there, your eyes glued to him.

“I told you we’d meet again Y/N… and you owe me a morning…” clearing your throat you finally spoke “Do I? I don’t recall anything about spending the mornings with you in our agreement…” the words made him leans his head back and laugh. “What a mouth you have…” he spat out and grabbed your face with his hand. Pushing down on your cheeks. His black eyes piercing right threw your soul. “I have better use for it then starting up discussions…” his voice was low and coated with something you could not put your finger on. Was it desire?

The next thing you knew, you were pinned to the cold wall, his face inches from yours. As you were about to speak, he silenced you with his lips.

tags: @wobblewobble822 @nansasa @nochook @kootieful @kooslilhoe @yoongisducky @xjiminsthighsx @danielle143 @llallaaa @idkjustlovingbts @darcyw16 @missusally-blog @honsoolgloss @nochuel @kaitieskidmore1 @starrlo0ver @geek-lara-nerd @jwnghyuns @xyahrinx @acquiescence804 @prettytaesworld @i-have-three-feelings @citypop-princess

[browneyesandhair]

Everyone always talks about the reading slump that follows a good book. But I need people to realize the reading slump after reading a bad book. Like I’m still mad. Especially because the things that made it bad just slid under the radar for me while reading it until I got to the end and it culminated in a way that really pissed me off. Then I go read reviews to see other people with even more valid reasons to be annoyed. I just can’t pick up another book yet since I’m still upset.

[fromthedragonsdesk]

On Visual Novels and Catharsis

I never had a high opinion of Visual Novels. In my mind, they always seemed to boil down to the most basic wish fulfillment tripe that we'd collectively assign to the isekai genre these days, I'd wager. To me it was a waste of time or energy trying to interact with them (as an aside, I'm well aware that the Phoenix Wright series is arguably a visual novel, but I missed that boat by not having DS-era device). Even today, with a glance over most of games tagged 'visual novel' on Steam, you'll see what could be generously described as fetish pornography. So, seeing all this, I reinforced my belief that visual novels were for people who wanted some plot with their porn, and never thought much of it.

To my surprise, Steam insisted on recommending visual novels to me. I usually just tossed them aside from the recommendation queue, until I got two recommended almost back-to-back: Mice Tea and Changeling Tale.

Mice Tea had generally positive reviews, and many of them cited that the game's writing and characterization were generally humorous and appealing. So, given that it was on sale during the Steam Winter Sale, I figured it was worth a shot. Then, after basically binging on the game for 20 hours, I walked away thinking that I might have misjudged the genre on some levels.

I wouldn't say I was entirely surprised by Mice Tea - the reviews did it justice in terms of you, as the reader, wanting to root for the main cast to succeed. Most of the conflict didn't necessarily arise from an outside force, but rather internalized conflicts and the struggle to essentially be honest with yourself and those around you, risking vulnerability, essentially. At its core, I still felt like it was wish fulfillment to a significant degree, but the implausibilities were generally smoothed over enough to allow for suspension of disbelief to ride along with the story. And yeah, there... was a fair amount of catering to various fetishes and such worked in, but all in a fairly world-consistent sort-of perspective? At its core, the story was light, cheerful with moments of self-reflection and introspection, and wrapped up in a generally nice bow all in the end.

But what Mice Tea ended up doing for me, personally, was allowing me to lower my defenses during a particularly stressful point in my life, staying present in my mind when I then read over the reviews and such for Changeling Tale. I brushed off the emotion reviews, thinking that they were likely being dramatic.

I could not have been more wrong.

While set in a backdrop of old Scottish fantasy, I continually found myself impressed at how grounded Changeling Tale managed to make itself felt. I believe this is because the main character / player character of Changeling Tale (hereafter referred to as "Malcolm") is primarily reacting to the supernatural events occurring around him, rather than necessarily driving them by his own volition. Malcolm is thrust into a world that he already feels disconnected from due to his service in the military, and it cracks further open as fae magic begins seeping into the world around him.

That said, no one in the backwater town in which Malcolm has returned to handles the public appearance of fae magic particularly well, much less the three parallel storylines available to the reader between Jessie, Marion, and Grace. If anything, the most unreasonable reactions come from the player themselves, in how flippant or otherwise easygoing they handle changes happening to the people around them. That said, many decisions have a snowballing / weighted effect that can change plot directions far later on than one might expect, leading to fallings-out with friends and family, or worse.

But then something strange happened to me, as a reader, while working my way through these split storylines. Core messages seemed to stick out to me, interwoven among the stories. But they cut me straight to the core as a person; after finishing all 3 major storylines I was left shaking and bleary-eyed, wishing events could have turned out differently, desperately trying to reject the messages that had been suggested despite knowing deep-down that they were right.

"Be the best you that you can be."

"Encourage people to chase their dreams, but make sure you're pursuing your dream too."

"Sometimes peoples' dreams are irreconcilable with one another. That doesn't mean the love is gone, it just means that it isn't fair to either person."

"The size of the dream does not diminish its value; the holder of the dream determines its value."

(I intentionally omitted the storyline associations I would make)

When I held all of these thoughts together, an emotional dam burst in my heart. For years I never considered myself as having dreams or goals. For years I felt kind of confused and wondering if what I was doing mattered, or had worth. But somehow, a visual novel about fae shenanigans that dances alongside a transformation kink broadsides me with the realization that I AM where I want to be, doing what I am doing. I have a family who l love and loves me back. I am not pursuing a dream; rather, I am cultivating and maintaining a dream I have already attained. I am doing what is important to me and my family, and even if I'm not changing the world around me and leaving a name in the history books, I know that I am here and directly affecting the lives of those around me, and I'm not sure what more I could want for at this very moment.

And for the first time in quite a while, I feel content and satisfied.

[presidenthades]

Day 2 of HOTD adventures at New York Comic Con

As I mentioned in my Day 1 post, I did end up attending the HOTD panel today! It was live-streamed, so I won’t bother with a full recap because a lot of people have probably watched the recording. I’ll just list a few things I thought were highlights.

First of all, I just want to brag about my very excellent seat. I had a great view of the stage.

My personal highlights:

Before the panel began, an event host went around the room to get some sound bites from the audience. The most notable was a pair of women who cosplayed Rhaenys and Meleys. That’s right, someone cosplayed MELEYS. I wish I’d gotten photos, but believe me when I say the cosplays were amazing.

When Matt talked about how he’s attended many fan events, it made me think about how during his brief interactions for photos and autographs, he still made every fan feel seen and appreciated. I read online that Matt, who was scheduled to do Saturday autographs only until 7pm, stayed after 10pm to make sure everyone in line got their autographs. He probably is aware that his lines are generally really long, and he did his best to make the experience worth it even though he had limited time.

It was a CROWDED room, I think 4000 people? If Fabien seemed a little startled/awestruck at first, that’s why. He also seemed surprised (at the panel and during other fan interactions later) that people were genuinely happy to see him. I suspect this is due to some people letting their feelings about Criston seep into their real-life interactions with Fabien.

Cock jokes. 😂😂😂

The host asked Tom and Fabien if they became more comfortable going from Season 1 to Season 2. Not sure if the livestream caught it, but Tom let out an awkward giggle after that question. 👀

When the host asked Fabien how he would rate his job as Hand and then the question was tossed to the audience, the reception was indeed lackluster. Lots of people held up hands with just one or two fingers raised. Fabien seemed really sheepish about it, though Tom defended Criston’s character. It reminded me of a conversation I overheard while queuing before the panel. There was a group of friends in the queue, and one of them said she’d never seen HOTD and knew nothing about it. Her friends told her that if the panel asked any questions about Cole, “don’t cheer because we hate him.”

Matt and Fabien discussing Daemon and Criston’s homoerotic trysts/tension. 🔥

Tom’s spiel about how he can’t turn his back on Aegon as a character or else everyone else will turn their backs was interesting. Also about how digging into the reasons Aegon behaves the way he does is “an explanation not an excuse.” I think that’s a nuance which unfortunately some people disregard, and that leads to toxic interactions in the fandom.

Matt’s description of Viserys’s death instilling in Daemon “an odd level of psychosis and grief” was VERY interesting.

I can’t believe Matt forgot Milly’s name. 😂 And when Fabien recounted that he told her to join them at NYCC, Milly said “no fucking way.” 😂😂😂

I happened to get a photo when Tom announced he spilled water on his trousers and, in his own words, it looked like he pissed himself.

The way the actors talked AROUND their feelings about the script/writers was intriguing. 👀 I wonder if Matt will actually make requests of the writers…

When the host asked what other character the actors would like to play, Fabien had trouble thinking of an answer, so the host said, “You love your character so much!” Fabien IMMEDIATELY said, “Don’t put that out into the aether.” It seems like he doesn’t allow himself to publicly declare that he likes anything about his own character, because he knows how much vitriol that would generate. 🥺

Tom has never watched Lord of the Rings??? CANCEL HIM. (JK please don’t.)

When the host asked the actors what was the worst note a director had ever given them, Fabien said it would have to wait a few years after HOTD. So I am pretty sure his “worst note” was something during HOTD. 👀

Matt thinks chipmunks and mice are the same thing. 😭

When the panel ended, Matt and Tom left pretty quickly because their handlers were ushering them to their next event. Fabien lingered onstage to take a picture of the giant audience. People SWARMED to the stage, and Fabien was nice enough to sign one or two things that people were shoving up at him before he also had to leave.

I ended up having time to go to Fabien’s autograph session later that day. On the way, I saw that Matt’s line was ridiculously long again. Tom’s line was also huge, I think because he left early the day before, so people were all trying to get his autograph today.

When I arrived, Fabien was going on a break, so several of us early birds waited for him to come back. Fabien and Tom’s booths were next to each other, and we were able to see what Tom was doing. Tom seemed tired again but was still nice and friendly to all the fans. I’m 99% sure his girlfriend was sitting nearby. He definitely perked up when he paused to chat with her.

When Fabien came back from his break, fans in the lines for both actors started cheering for him. Tom also started cheering and clapping and going “whooooo!” It’s good to see that the HOTD cast really do like and have fun with each other. ❤️

Once it was my turn to get an autograph and selfie, I told Fabien that I enjoyed his performance at Rook’s Rest, and I named a few specific Cole moments (pre-battle speech, stumbling around afterwards looking traumatized). He seemed to really appreciate hearing that; I feel like he might get a lot of “I hate Criston but…” kind of comments.

My HOTD adventures today were more Fabien-centered, and I enjoyed it! From my brief interaction, I would say Fabien is friendly, sweet, and genuinely interested in fan interactions—although maybe a little nervous/scared about what people will say to his face.

TBH I’m tempted to write a Criston POV for my fic series. I got Fabien to autograph a print that his team provided, but it would’ve been nice to be able to have him autograph something more personal. I love it anyway!

Now I’m going to show off my GOT/HOTD merch!

Postcards:

Stained glass window cling print that looks gorgeous when it’s backlit:

Not GOT/HOTD-related, but I found out last minute that Naomi Novik, AKA Astolat, AKA one of the founders of AO3, was attending NYCC on Sunday to sign books. So I hightailed to that event. She signed my copy of her new book (including my AO3 username) and my Fanbinding pouch. 🥰 I told her how much I adore her writing and appreciate her contribution to fandom. She was lovely!!

That little squiggle she draws in the middle is a dragon doodle! For those who don’t know, Naomi’s first published book series was Temeraire, which is about the Napoleonic Wars but with dragons.

Later that day, I was shopping at a booth selling gorgeous headbands. Then I turned around, and there was Naomi again, shopping at the same booth!! She was off-duty doing her own thing, so I tried very hard to pretend I didn’t know who she was, even though I was fangirling inside. She really is a nerdy fan like the rest of us, enjoying her con experience. ❤️❤️❤️

Here’s one of the headbands I got:

All in all, a very successful and fun con! But now I desperately need to catch up on sleep and get back to my normal routine, so maybe I can resume writing. 🥲😴

[ughkat]

focus on me | l.r.h

part seven

part 6 here

college tutor luke au

a/n: { bit of a slow chapter, part 8 in the works!! :-)}

tutor!luke x fem!reader

cw: cursing, tutorxstudent, very brief mention of blood?

not proofread

_

Saturday

6:00 PM

"Why are you acting so weird?" Leah snapped me from my trance, my eyes glued to my sheets ob the bed below me. We had planned our usual hangout in my dorm, bought a disgusting amount junk food and had a queue of movies and shows waiting for us on my laptop.

It had been almost a week since my last session with Luke, since then, he's disappeared.

I didn't receive any texts informing me of a following session, so I had assumed if I just showed up, so would he. The following days after that Monday, I would stay after class expecting Luke's arrival, but he never showed. I asked my professor if he knew what was going on, he nonchalantly brushed it off. "He'll be back." "Probably has other things to do."

I couldn't help but feel as if he had been avoiding me.

"What? I'm fine." I forced a chuckle, furrowing my brows at my friend. I had failed to tell her anything of worth. How would I tell her I fucked my tutor? The one she knows personally?

Leah gave me a cross look, her smile crooked.

"You're a terrible liar, Y/n." She rolled her eyes. "But, if you say so." She scoffed, tossing a handfull of random chips into her mouth. I sighed, contemplating if I should just "man up" and tell her about my stressing events of the previous week.

I continued to stay in my daze as Leah vegged out on my laptop, watching a TV show I had no interest in. I bit my cheek, my mind wandering to all the possible reasons for Luke's absence. Did I do something? Is it me? Am I being dramatic? What if it has nothing to do with me? Where is he? Why do I miss him?

"Dude." Leah spoke abruptly, widening her eyes at my face, "You're bleeding." I once again snapped from my daze, bringing my tongue to my previously chewed on lip. My anxieties had let me absentmindedly chew enough skin off the corner of my lip, making me bleed.

"Oh, shit." I wiped away the little blood with my thumb, taking a deep breath at my undermined nervousness.

"Seriously, what's going on?" Leah spoke softly, pausing the show on my laptop. She sat criss cross, turning herself towards me to listen. She stared at me with genuine compassion. I glanced at her briefly before darting my eyes to my hands, which were fidgeting relentlessly in my lap. I sighed deeply before speaking.

"I don't know..." I began, "It's a lot... And a little crazy." I shook my head. Leah inched closer, tilting her head.

"You can talk to me, babe." She reassured, poking my knee playfully with a finger. I smiled softly, looking up at her warm face.

"Okay..." I sighed, "You have to swear on your life to keep this a secret. Seriously, this is confidential information." I stressed to my friend, half sarcastically, but genuine. Leah raised her eyebrows at the seriousness, but nodded.

"Of course. What happens in this room stays in this room. My lips are sealed." She smiled. My thumbs twirled in my lap anxiously as I tried ti gather my words neatly and orderly, which ended up coming out like word vomit instead.

"Luke and I..." I started, my eyes glued to my lap, "I fucked Luke... And I liked it. And it happened twice. And now he hasn't been at school in like, a week and I'm worried it's my fault, and he hasn't texted me, and-" Leah threw her hands up in front of her chest, halting my words.

"Yo." She spoke, blinking slowly, "Let me get this straight... You fucked your tutor? You and Luke fucked? Where?! How?!" She exclaimed, speaking with her hands dramatically. I threw my hands over my face in embarrassment, my cheeks started to get hot.

"I know." I whined into my hands, "I don't even know how this happened, Leah." I groaned, sinking into my posture. Leah's mouth was agape, collecting her thoughts.

"Can't he like, get arrested for that?" She asked genuinely. I widened my eyes.

"Can he?!" I exclaimed, "I'm not a child why would he get arrested?!" I yelled in a whisper.

"Cause he's technically a teacher... Right?" Leah furrowed her brows. I shook my head in frustration.

"I don't know, dude. It's all so much." I whined, dropping my hands back to my lap. "Please, don't tell anyone. Like anyone." I pleaded, looking at Leah with genuine concern.

"I won't." Leah reassured, still very obviously mind boggled at the battalion of information she just received.

We sat in a tense silence for a moment before Leah spoke up.

"What are you gonna' do?" She spoke through her teeth. I glanced at her, her expression full of sympathy yet shared stress.

"I don't know. I wish he'd say something. A text. Anything." I mumbled.

"Have you texted him?" Leah tilted her head. My eyes darted around the room. Am I stupid? Of course I am. Why don't I text him?

"I haven't." I shoke my head, reaching for my cellphone beside me. "I don't even know what to say.".

"Uh, I don't know, maybe "Why are you ghosting me I have the ability to ruin your entire career"? Hello?" She spoke with a petty and sarcastic tone, I couldn't help but let a small giggle escape my lips at her immediate hastiness towards Luke's absence.

"I'm not saying that." I scoffed, "I'm not mad at him or anything." I spoke as my thumbs hovered over the screen, looking at our last message threads. My mind raced, what do I say? "Where are you?" "Are you okay?" "Are you mad at me?" "Did I do something wrong?".

"Hey. Everything okay?"

I typed out my message hesitantly, my thumb scared of the send button. Leah watched me patiently as I finally hit send, I tossed my phone quickly away from me as I did, as If I was thirteen and texted my crush for the first time.

"Ugh, why does he make me feel this way." I groaned, flopping on my back into my bed.

"I told you he wasn't shit." Leah mumbled. I shot her a death stare before sitting back up.

"We don't know why he isn't talking to me yet. Maybe there's a genuine reason." I tried to stay optimistic. Leah scoffed.

"Right. I hope so.". I bit my cheek with unease as I took in Leah's unenthusiastic tone. I didn't want to believe Luke was avoiding me for any reason. I couldn't imagine what I had done. Though our last session had ended fairly awkward, I assumed the events spilled that day inferred that the stance on our contact with one another was acceptable. Sure, we didn't get to talk much, but I doubted that he would be intimate with me while wanting nothing to do with me...Right?

My eyes found themselves darting to my phone every few minutes, the ringer was off yet I hopelessly checked in the chance that Luke's message silently made it's way through. I tried to stay grounded, have a good rest of the evening with my friend.

"Don't dwell on it right now." Leah gave me a playful shove, noticing my tense posture, "See what happens on Monday." She spoke in a no-sweat tone, an obvious attempt to calm my uneasy feelings.

9:00 PM

A yawn escaped my chest as I gathered Leah and I's mess from just a bit ago, making my way to the bin with handfuls of wrappers, bags, and bottles.

I stopped suddenly in my tracks as a single chime rang from my phone across the room, making my heart jump slightly. Not getting my hopes up, I nonchalantly finished my cleaning, ignoring the notification until I concluded my job. I could feel the idea of the notification belonging to Luke try to take control of my thoughts, but remained calm. Why was I letting him affect me this way? He made me feel crazy.

I leisurely made my way to my bed, getting comfortable in the blankets and sheets before hesitantly grabbing my phone. The screen set aglow to my face as the notification showed iteself to me. Luke. 1 Message.

"Yup."

I furrowed my eyebrows, narrowing my eyes as I swiftly unlocked my phone, opening the whole message thread.

"Yup?" I spoke aloud in disbelief, bringing my phone closer to my face. What did that mean? Yup? I felt myself fill with anger and confusion. I felt as if I'd rather him just kept ignoring me. I scolded myself mentally for my immediate assumptions of the tone of his message, as "Yup" could be spoken in any emotion. I couldn't help but feel immediately insecure, as though his message was standoffish.

My leg bounced hastily, I bit my cheek as a million emotions flooded me at once. I didn't know what to say. If I should say anything at all. What if he's not mad? What if I'm being dramatic? I let myself overthink, staring at his text in a daze.

"Are you sure?"

I typed impulsively, sending without thinking. I just wanted a real answer. Quicker than I excepted, Luke started to type. I felt my heartbeat begin to pick up, feeling silly at how easily he controlled my emotions. His message snatched my attention abruptly.

"I'll see you on Monday."

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Quentin Smith - In a relationship Sfw

warning : fluff, comfort, trauma, sleeping pill abuse,

Info : So the second piece for a Kyle Gallner character here (I really need to write more for his charcters) as always have fun reading ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

°Caring, anxious and loving

°Quentin and his girlfriend went to the same class, in fact they were in the same music class and started talking about The Cure together after she saw his t-shirt. ,,Cool cd...I'm Quentin Smith" he had introduced himself to her when he saw the cd in her hands, the latest album and still sealed. He knew she'd probably skipped school for it to queue it up at the store.

°But it was this encounter over a cd that led to a conversation after class and the conversation went so well that they decided to meet. It was a meeting in one of the city's cafes where they both sat eating pancakes, knowing they both had hearts beating too fast to eat. ,,Good food don't you think?," Quentin began, and his counterpart nodded in agreement, catching them both staring at each other, too focused on the other and completely uninterested in the pancake.

°Her smile, the friendly look in her eyes, the warm hands that touched him every now and then as they walked side by side only to look away awkwardly. They were both in love and it was only a few times after that that Quentin confessed his love to her with rosy cheeks and his fingers tucked into his cap.

°She had never seen him so nervous but her own heart was beating just as fast before she fell into his arms and was simply overjoyed. The two of them had become a couple and even though the school didn't pay any attention to it (they were both just two weird music teens to the other students), Nancy was all the happier for her friends and it had to be celebrated with pancakes at dinner.

°But even after that, their love didn't fade because she quickly realized how caring Quentin was, always holding her hand, usually only giving her kisses with permission until she assured him a thousand times that it was okay. He loved to cuddle when they both lay on his bed with their heads snuggled together on his chest.

°They both watched horror movies, old black and white movies, talked about the camera work, the music and the actors. He even started to play a guitar and tried to learn some of her favorite songs for her, she in return would always give him a cap and as a small reward after school they would buy new cds and new music together and go out to dinner every now and then where somehow it all started.

°It was a quiet and sweet but above all peaceful time, but only up to the point when it came to hitting. What was initially just mumbling and she ignored through the mumbling and tossing and turning sleep became a worry as he seemed to really suffer.

°He had tried to sugarcoat it for her, but she could see his eye rings getting worse, he was getting more and more tired and even during music class he would fall asleep and lean on her, only to almost cry out at the end of the lesson. He gave her a tired smile and she had to keep propping him up so that he threatened to fall asleep. And only slept when she promised to stay with him, which of course she did. Just as he did everything he could to help her when she had her days, for example. He was just too overprotective and yet cute at the same time.

°,,Quentin, how can I help you?" she had tried to find out what was happening and why he was suffering so much in his dreams, but she hadn't learned the history of the town, she was from out of town, she didn't know the nightmare demon. She didn't know the dangers that came with knowing and didn't know why Quentin always looked at her so apologetically.

°She noticed how his touch seemed to become more and more desperate as he held on to her longer and stronger. That he was consuming more and more coffee and Redbull almost startled her so much that she had tears in her eyes when she saw the sheer number of pills he was carrying.

°Until the incident when he was bleeding, when she saw the cut on his arm, she ran out of the bathroom and saw him cowering in the corner. ,,Quentin!" she had shouted his name, trying to hold him before shaking him so hard that he seemed to wake up. His fear and confusion hurt her as much as his injury.

°,,My-my star, you're safe," he stated brittlely, still calling her by her nickname despite everything before falling into her arms and embracing her as if he could have lost her at any moment. ,,Everything will be fine...we'll get through this" she replied not knowing what to say and just held him there for him until he too realized that there was no point in explaining to her what haunted this town, haunted him and why sleep meant death.

°It was a realization that also frightened her, that she knew he might haunt her too. But whenever they were together, cuddled up next to each other, it seemed that the demon had no chance. The kiss their shared was like a shield for the fear. That their love kept him from invading her dreams and for the first time Quentin seemed to be able to sleep peacefully with his love by his side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@angelsanarchy

[lorifragolina]

Lean on me

Title: Lean on me

Square & Prompt: C2 "Here, have my coat"

Rating: General

Word Count: 2305

Major Tags: Building relationship, Stubborn Billy, Loving Steve

Summary:Billy is stubborn but needs love, Steve is almost fed up but he loves Billy.

Read it in AO3

Read it below

Steve was a little bothered, again. 

He threw the cig butt away from the window and closed it, shivering from the cold air outside. The room was cold too and he tucked himself under the blankets trying to warm himself up and sleep.

But his cold feet and his confusion prevented him from resting, and he stayed awake, tossing and turning, for hours.

It was supposed he and Billy would sleep together that night. It wasn’t a big deal, Steve was almost always home alone and they spent a lot of nights together, but Billy decided to throw a fit, it wasn’t the first time and Steve started to feel sick and tired. 

They had started dating a couple months before, when both had confessed that their fuck buddies situation felt straitjacketed for both of them. Billy started the topic first, he deserved credit for that, and Steve had been happy and relieved knowing that his love wasn’t one-way. 

When they were only having sex in Steve’s car, he hadn’t noticed all Billy’s peculiar behaviours, or he had ignored them, but now… 

Sometimes Billy was a tough cookie and Steve didn’t know how to get through it. He tried to think it wasn’t personal, but Billy had the special ability to change the topic and avoid the issue, and Steve felt every time less able to close his eyes and don’t think about it. 

Billy had never, and would never accept a helping hand from anyone. 

They decided to meet at the movies that night, and after buying the tickets, Billy noticed that he didn’t have more money in his wallet.

“Oh, shit, it’s true, I loaned twenty bucks to the shitbird, I forgot.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll buy the popcorn, you can buy it next time,” Steve smiled, unaware of walking on thin ice.

“Don’t worry, I can do without for once.”

“It’s not a problem for me,” repeated Steve, joining the queue for the snacks. Billy kept protesting, until they came in front of the bar and Steve ordered two popcorn and soda. 

“I won’t eat it, I warn you,” Billy crossed his arms, and Steve tried to smile again.

“It’s not a big deal, Billy, come on.”

“I say no.”

Steve sighed and canceled the second snack, but he asked for a bigger popcorn bucket. 

Billy walked to their seats in silence, and watched the entire movie with a tough guy face and his arms crossed, without looking a single time at Steve and stubbornly saying no every time Steve tried to offer him his popcorn. 

Before the end of the movie, both were pissed and angry.

“I don’t understand why you must be so whimsical,” snapped Steve when they left the theater.

“And I don’t understand why you always insist, I said no.”

Steve had tried to grab him gently by an arm, to calm him down and resolve the issue.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said.

“You are making it a big deal,” retorted Billy, and looked away. “I’ll go home.”

Steve sighed. “What, Billy? We were supposed to go to my place, come on, let’s grab something to eat and relax, ok?”

Billy blushed and walked to his car to hide his face. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“Come on, Billy, let’s just…”

“I’m not in the mood, ok?”

Billy reached his car and sat inside, while Steve tried to convince him to stop again. Billy freed his arm and closed the door.

“Just leave me alone,” and he skidded away, leaving Steve baffled and irritated.

Billy never accepted help, not to mention asking for it. He never let Steve pay for him, even if Steve didn’t mind; Billy always wanted to split the bill or even pay for everything, not even when he had an emergency like that evening. It was always off-limits and Steve couldn’t convince him to let go. And it wasn’t only about the money: Billy never accepted a cig if he finished his own, or a lift if Steve offered to pick him up or take him places, or help for whatever problem he could have.

I can pay , he always said, I can drive, I can manage. Billy was otherwise sweet, and gentle, and even generous with him, the kids and his friends, but he never showed his needs or his weaknesses; Steve wasn’t able to break down that wall and it was taking its toll in their relationship.

Steve knew that Billy loved him, and Billy knew that Steve loved him; they had started walking hand in hand, lately, Billy didn’t want to hide their displays of affection; he gave gifts to Steve and accepted gladly Steve’s gifts, but only if it wasn’t something that he “needed,” because if he suspected that Steve was trying to help him in any way, he became silent, frowned and he often went away, and Steve was getting tired to walk on eggshells if he distractedly paid the entire meal or if he paid for popcorn if Billy forgot his wallet. 

Steve kept tossing and turning in the bed with all those thoughts swirling in his head, trying to get some sleep and missing Billy, after all.

The next day, Billy was still mad, and greeted him coldly when they met at the arcade. Max and El noticed their strange behaviour, but Max shook her head at El’s look, to avoid her meddling in their business. 

“You can buy me a soda if it makes you feel better,” snapped Steve after a few minutes of silence. 

Billy scoffed and entered the bar, tossing some money on the counter for two cans. 

“Do you think to talk to me or you will stay in silence all day?”

“I don’t know what to say,” Billy replied, aloof.

“I don’t know, maybe that you’re sorry to ruin our date last night?”

“I ruined our date? It was you who insisted…”

“Oh, stop it. I didn’t insist on anything, I just wanted to have a good time with you, watching a movie and grabbing a bite with you.”

“I wasn’t hungry and I wasn’t in the mood,” insisted Billy stubbornly.

“Why, just because you didn’t have money, right? It’s not a problem, I can help when…”

Billy jumped on his feet, hitting the empty can from the bar. “I don’t need any help, do you understand? I don’t want your money or your help, I don’t need it!”

He walked away, but Steve followed him and grabbed his arm outside, in the parking lot. 

“I know you don’t need my help, but I just want…”

“Let me go, I don’t need you!” Billy screamed, and Steve let him go, hurted. He blinked looking at Billy, biting his lips, but after a moment he turned his back and entered the arcade without looking back. 

Billy sat in his car, with his face into his hands, trying not to cry.

“Is there something wrong?” Max approached an upset Steve when he entered alone in the arcade, his face pale and his eyes red.

Steve tried to shake his head, but he could only release a sad sob. 

“What did he do?” Max rolled her eyes, trying to joke a little to lift Steve up, without success. 

Steve shook his head. “Nothing, don’t worry. Nothing serious,” he lied. He didn’t know how serious the thing was, because it wasn’t the first or the second time it happened.

Max came nearer, whispering. “It’s for last night? He wasn't supposed to return home, but… did you fight?”

“Max, don’t worry, really, there is nothing you have to worry about. It’s fine, we’ll be fine, ok?”

Max nodded, still doubtful, and returned to play, even if Steve saw her whispering with El and looking at him.

After a while, Steve went to check on Billy; he didn’t know if he had left and he had to take the girls home, but he found Billy still sitting in his car, his hands on his face, sobbing lightly.

“Billy…” he called softly. 

Billy looked at him and dried his eyes with his hands. 

“Billy, talk to me, ok? I… I don’t want to argue.”

Billy nodded and Steve sat in the passenger seat, but Billy stayed silent for a while, tapping nervously with his foot.

“I… I don’t want to rub my money on your face,” Steve tried to start a conversation, but all he obtained was Billy sobbing louder. “Come on, don’t do this…” he gently patted Billy’s shoulder until he calmed down a little. He tried to talk more carefully to him.

“I just… I just want to help if you are in difficulty… no, let me talk,” Steve continued. “In… in the same way I’m glad when you help me. I mean… there is nothing wrong, Billy, I don’t want to…”

“I can’t!” Cried Billy suddenly, and Steve startled. “I can’t! You don’t have to… If, if I made a mistake… I have to be responsible… I can’t ask you to…” 

Billy kept sobbing for a while, and Steve bit his lips calling himself stupid.

Of course, a word from Billy had been enough to understand all, and Steve felt bad for not understanding it before. Being responsible was what Billy’s father demanded from him, not making mistakes, being prepared or facing the consequences… and that’s why it was so difficult for Billy to let go in that matter. 

Steve felt the rage filling him for Neil’s Hargrove legacy in Billy’s mind and for ruining him so much that he couldn't accept a spare cig in a random moment. 

“Oh, Billy, no… you can… you can count on me, everybody needs some help from time to time… it’s mutual, do you understand? Please let me…”

Max knocked on the car and they jumped for the surprise. It was late and she didn’t know that she had interrupted an important conversation, but Billy seized the moment.

He passed a hand on his face and pulled himself together.

“I have to take them home,” he said sharply, looking at Steve with a hard look. 

Steve snorted and left the car, Billy didn’t say anything else and drove away.

He didn’t try to talk or call Steve the next two days, so Steve had enough and went to ring at his door.

Susan called Billy and he came out from his room with his tank top, looking bothered at Steve.

“What happened?” Billy asked in a plain tone.

“What do you mean? We haven't talked since…”

Max appeared from her room’s door, and Steve bit his lips.

“Let’s go outside,” suggested Billy, and they went out on the patio. 

The air was cold and crispy, and Billy crossed his arms. 

“We were talking the other day and you left, I thought that you would call me.”

“For what? I don’t have anything to say,” Billy lied, and his voice trembled a little. He avoided Steve’s look.

“No? Well I have something to say… I don’t know how to manage it if you don’t want my help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Bullshit!”

“I’m not a sissy lady you have to save, you know, just because you want to be…”

“Stop! Stop it! It’s not what I was talking about, and you know it! We are… we are together, you are important to me…”

Billy turned his face away. “Bullshit,” he hissed.

Steve stopped, feeling hurted and furious equally. Even if he loved Billy, he couldn’t fight alone. He hardened his expression.

“Well if you see it in this way, maybe we have to reconsider our relationship,” he turned his back to Billy and walked away on the lawn.

He heard Billy sobbing softly, and slowed his steps, but he didn’t stop. 

Finally, Billy came down the stairs and stopped behind him.

“What if…” he murmured, and Steve stopped. “What if I… I need you and you… go away?”

“What?” Steve turned again to Billy, and his heart sank seeing the tears running on his face.

“And If I let you… help… and then you… go away…” Billy tried to talk between sobs, shivering for the cold air and the upset.

“I won’t go away…”

“Everyone goes away!” Billy bursted out, as he had bottled that feeling too long and in that moment the lid popped. “Everyone leaves me alone… like her…” Billy sobbed again, louder, and Steve knew. 

He had heard something about Billy’s mother, not much, but enough to know that she had probably been the only person who showed a little care to Billy, and then she abandoned him and left him alone. 

Steve let go of his anger and took Billy inside his arms, brushing his hair sweetly. 

“Billy, no… I… I won’t go away… I will not abandon you, I will not disappear…”

“But what if…” Billy sobbed again.

“I don’t know what will happen in the future, I wish I knew… but I promise, I won’t hurt you, I promise, I’ll try my best, I swear… but you… you have to loosen it up a little… Billy…”

Billy nodded, still sobbing. 

“I love you, Billy, I promise, you’re not weak if you rely on me… or others.”

Billy sniffled and couldn’t hide a big shiver from the cold.

Steve took his jacket off. “Here, have my coat…” he put it on Billy’s shoulders but Billy took it off.

“No, I don’t…” he said, irritated. Steve sighed, and BIlly looked at him, whimpering. “Ok… You’re right, ok. T… Thanks,” he clinged the jacket over his shoulders. 

Steve hugged him again, trying to stop his shaking and  warm him up. He felt Billy’s heart beating fast against his chest, and Billy lost himself inside Steve’s arms. 

“I love you too,” he whispered, almost faintly, but Steve heard it, and he smiled.

For the moment, it was enough.