#HIS FOOT BEING THE LIGHT DIRECTOR
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— the bts is so funny😭
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MAKEUP OR MAKEOUT? - j. champion
You're a new makeup artist, making your debut on Scream VI. Everything seemed to be going well until you were assigned Jack Champion, who always ran late and seemed to give you nothing but problems. You were stuck with the 6 foot something, curly-haired boy for the entirety of filming, spending all too much time together. Separately, you'd claimed each other as enemies, but as time goes on soft touches and fleeting glances become too much for the two of you.
•
June 2022, Scream VI, the start of your career as a makeup artist.
Honestly, you were shocked when you were offered the position. You were 17. It was crazy to think that a big name franchise would offer you, a minor, a position in makeup for their film.
The only downside was that you despised the actor you were put in charge of.
Jack Champion, the only other minor on the set.
The first day he showed up late, spouting out apologies. But every day since then he's been late and every day since then the apologies and excuses have gotten worse. And he couldn't sit still.
It's been a month and a half of this, now mid July. You all only about a month left. Couldn't Jack get his act together?
The door to the trailer swung open, "Late again, Champion." You mumbled, glancing down at your watch.
He scoffed, "I'm aware, thanks, Y/L/N."
You two solely referred to each other by your last names. It was fitting, your first names felt too personal for people who hated each other.
You'd heard Jack complaining to the others about how he wished he had a different makeup artist because his didn't talk to him. Which was a lie. You did talk to him, just clearly not as much as he wanted.
He was already wearing his costume for the day — jeans, a light blue polo, and a jacket with a plaid lining. You didn't want to admit he looked good in it. Especially when he slid the jacket off and it revealed how the polo perfectly defined his biceps.
Especially not that.
"How is your hair always curly but not curly at the same time?" You asked when he sat down, pulling out a spray bottle, mousse, and your diffuser.
His hair frustrated you. Jack had naturally curly hair, but you always had to work so long on it every day.
He shrugged, glancing up at you. "Dunno." You shielded his eyes when you sprayed the water.
But also so you didn't have to endure his chocolate brown eyes gazing into yours. They were dangerous.
"Well, figure it out." You mumbled again, brushing your fingers through his hair to disperse the water.
Then you sprayed the mousse in your hand, rubbing your hands together and then through his hair. You stood behind him, running the product through his hair and ignoring his gazes at your through the mirror. His hair was soft in your fingers and you had to bite back the thought of your hands being in his hair on different occasions.
That would never happen.
He was famous, you weren't. And you hated each other.
Sort of.
At first, the hatred was very real. Now, he more so just annoyed you. But he also intrigued you.
Damn, Jack Champion. Him and his perfect smile and captivating eyes.
"Stop staring at me." your thoughts left your mouth.
You immediately wished you could've taken it back, but turned on the diffuser to hopefully block out any response he gave.
But your wish for him to stop staring only made him stare more. You'd noticed him staring, so now he didn't have to hide it.
Finishing his hair only took a few more minutes. You dreaded the moment you turned off the diffuser, now he could talk and you'd hear him. But he stayed quiet.
He didn't need much makeup. The directors had asked for all actors to at least have on foundation, concealer, and powder. It would eliminate any blemishes or redness, making it to where they would film the same scene over many days and have their faces looks the same.
So, that's what you started.
Occasionally, as you were brushing on the products, your fingers would graze his skin. Or you'd lose your balance and your steady yourself with a hand on his shoulder chest. The touches were doing something to you, and, unbeknownst to you, they were also doing something to Jack.
You'd two had been stuck with each other for a month and a half. Everyday, you'd spend time together. You started every morning with Jack and would see him periodically throughout the day when you were needed for touch ups.
Occasionally, you'd have to run your fingers through his hair to fix the curls or brush more powder onto his face when he'd get sweaty or reapply the foundation whenever he'd inevitably wipe it off. The touches sometimes would end up being more intimate than either of you meant for them to be.
You were nearly done with his makeup when it came time for lip balm. Typically, you'd give it to Jack to apply since it was one applied with one's fingers, but today you did it yourself to speed up the process. You needed him to leave. Your mind was swirling.
His lips were separated as you ran your finger over them. You swore you heard him breathe in quickly when you started.
There was definitely no way you'd look at him now.
"You wanna know something, Y/N?" his voice quiet when you turned to wipe your fingers off from the lip balm.
"Mhmm."
"I stopped hating you a couple weeks ago."
You swallowed harshly. That's definitely not what you needed to hear.
"Me too." you whispered, scared to admit the truth.
You went to walk away, but were stopped when his hand caught your arm. Your eyes connected and a whimper slipped past your lips, betraying you, his chocolate brown eyes held an entirely different emotion than you'd ever seen before.
"Jack." his name came out more as a warning.
You two were so different.
Your lives would forever be one's that shouldn't intersect. You practically worked for him.
Jack decided to disregard your warning, his hand moving from your arm to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. With a sharp intake of breath, your lips connected.
And even though everything inside of you was warning you not to do this, to separate now and request a change of actors for the rest of filming to stay professional, you didn't want to. This, kissing Jack, felt so right.
Your knees went weak at the passion he put into the kiss. Jack noticed, his other hand guiding your hips so you'd sit on his lap. You were still in disbelief when you sat down, just barely on him, one hand on his chest and the other in his hair.
You didn't care that you'd have to touch up his makeup and fix his hair. You were practically making out with the actor you swore you hated.
A call came over the walkie talkie you had clipped to the waistband of your pants, letting all makeup and wardrobe know that the actors were needed on set. You were sure that that announcement was the only thing that caused your kiss to break. Both of you were breathless.
Your eyes locked with Jack's once more, both of you searching each other's for any hints of regret. But there was none.
You swallowed your nerves, "I, uh, need to touch up your hair and makeup." Jack fought back the smile on his lips at your nervousness.
Jack's hands on your hips stopped you from standing up. Your eyes finding his once more, this time widened in question.
"Sit here and do it, I want you close for as long as I can have you."
You obliged to his request. Leaning over to grab the makeup products you needed, his hands sliding you further on his lap so you wouldn't fall off. You could get used to this. Being with Jack, touching Jack, felt normal.
Your fingers fluffed up the back of his hair, the curls you'd played with while you kissed. And you touched up the makeup you'd smudged, reapplying the lip balm once more, the product you'd been applying when he'd decided to kiss you.
Then you stood up, sliding off of his legs. The boy stood up too, sliding his jacket back on and walking toward the door.
Only instead of leaving, he paused, swiftly walking back over to you and taking your face in his hands — pressing his lips against yours once more.
You silently cursed him as he left the trailer, but didn't fight your smile this time.
#jack champion#ghostface#scream#jack champion x reader#ethan landry x reader#ethan landry x y/n#ethan landry#jack champion x y/n
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NOCTURNAL WALTZ | RYŌMEN SUKUNA
✮ summary. . when life tries to ruin your dreams you keep trying. you get up, wipe the sweat off and try again, even when you fall… it's either that, or ally yourself with your rival and hope he doesn't drag you down to the bottom of hell with him.
✮ cw. . workplace harassment (not from sukuna), slight possessiveness, slight violence (blood), alcohol consumption, smoking, eventual smut, exhibitionism, choking kink, dirty talk, breeding kink, 18+
✮ tags. . modern + ballet au, enemies to friends to lovers, briefly fake dating, all characters are adults, descriptions used for the reader: fem + afab!, backstory, has hair long enough to tie, wears dress in one scene. divider creds: cafekitsune.
✮ wc. . 18K
Ever since you were a little girl all you've known to do is dance.
You did it at school performances, you did it at Christmas when your whole family gathered in the living room and the snow fell cold on the tall treetops and red flowers in your garden.
You always remember the scene wistfully and in slow motion, longing for the days that will never return. Your father played the piano and your mother looked on proudly, her hands were always clasped together at chest level watching you with the eyes of an owl making circles with your legs in the air. She always had that expression on her face as if she was afraid you were going to fall, she was always on the edge of her seat, her lips curved into a smile— after all, she was in charge of organizing all your choreography and choosing the songs you were going to dance to, along with your shoes and your outfit. All this was until you were fifteen when you begged her to finally enroll you in a real dance school.
You remember how nervous you were on the first day. You wore your hair pulled back so tight it looked like you were smiling the whole time, your eyebrows stretched and your stomach felt like that Halloween night where you ate so much candy your guts hurt, though all of this was pushed aside the moment you saw the great ballroom.
The walls rose far higher than your little eyes could see. White lights glowed against the beige walls —which your teenager self mentally corrected them later, it wasn't beige, it was salmon, with curtains the color of the peach your mother cut on Sunday mornings— and in the background you could appreciate a melody you knew well since it was your mother's favorite, the one she always chose for you to dance: "dance of the sugar plum fairy."
Training professionally was much more demanding than your mom had told you. You studied in the morning and practiced in the afternoon, your feet hurt all the time in the beginning although with time this became more bearable, however they never stopped hurting because you never stopped practicing.
The lights blinded you for a moment leading you to run away from the incandescent glowing light, causing you to stumble and Sukuna purposely let you fall from his arms so that you kissed the ground.
Your body hits the wooden floor with a dull thud, the live music doesn't stop because of your accident and the director of the ballet claps twice again. It's the signal that the show must go on, it's what the music means that instead of slowing down it rushes to climax, you force yourself to stand up, with a sukuna growling tiredly behind you. No one helps you so you do it alone, you bury your toes in the wood and your injured feet push off the ground and support your weight once more as you rise phoenix-like on your tips.
This is what it takes to be a pro, is what your mother would say if she were alive. You hear her voice loud and strong in your eardrum along with the noise of the music.
One, two and... up!
You hear her ask you for more. Lift your foot more, lift your knees more, straighten your back more. You're trying but—
"You're being too rough," you spit through gritted teeth. Maintaining the fake smile your character must wear.
You know he hears you, yet he remains silent, twisting and turning, holding you above his head and taking one last turn.... Everything seems blurry from your point of view, your stomach churning like a roller coaster even though you don't remember the last thing you ate because this was exactly what you wanted to avoid.
Don't throw up, don't throw up.
You catch the two claps from the director indicating that sukuna should drop you and that's exactly what he does... with a little more force than he should, his hands are loose on your waist, barely gripping you. Your arms stretch, they tremble in the air as does your smile, a cold sweat that shouldn't be there runs down your temples, you feel the salty drops slide over your lower lip and your breathing becomes almost nonexistent, your chest rises and falls and then sukuna lets you go, you are alone, the lights focus completely on you and you hear laughter in the background.
This is the moment where you must do your solo. Spin alone one more time and then let yourself fall. Your feet don't respond at first, you had forgotten your smile, very focused on moving your legs but when you manage to do it you falter again and collapse on the floor with a harder impact than the previous time. Now the music comes to a sudden stop.
You hear him sigh heavily, followed by the fluttering of the sheets of paper in his hand. Kurogawa, the director, puts his glasses on his head like a makeshift headband and slaps his hands once.
Immediately the whole room fills with noise, people start moving. Even your dance partner who although you don't see him, you feel him walking and moving away from you. You have a hard time getting up, this time you really have a hard time. Your body has been beaten to a pulp by the dozens of practices you have carried out these days, your dress and tights hide the bruises that have permeated the floor on them, you carry on your hips sukuna fingers by the force in which he has grabbed you, even so, you do not manage to perform the spin that should come out naturally.
You are a star, this is what you were born to do and this is what you have always done, why can't a dumb spin come out perfectly?
Kurogawa calls your name before you can move further away. You freeze in the middle of the stage, grateful to be away from the spotlight and more in the comfort of the gloom.
You sense his footsteps approaching, with each footstep his heels announce how close he is and your body trembles, your teeth chatter and you force yourself to be still.
"What's the matter?" His voice is neither far nor near.
"I don't..." you force your lip between your teeth before articulating your next words. You can't say you can't.
"I asked you a question." His body is behind you, stopping the draft that touched your back, serving as a wall that exudes warmth and insecurity.
His hand curls around your forearm with some force and makes you turn to see him, his violet eyes are naked, without the glasses he looks much younger, yet a couple of gray hairs escape from the improvised headband reminding you of the age difference.
Kurogawa examines you up and down, his eyes linger on your mouth for a moment and you think maybe he notices how dry they are, this prompts you to lick them suddenly.
"Do you want me to switch someone for you? There are dozens of girls who wish they were in your shoes."
"I know, sir." You bite your lip to control your emotions, and swallow the bitter bile rising up your esophagus.
His hand descends from your forearm to the width of your shoulder blades. "I don't think you appreciate it enough." This time he addresses you in a lower tone, he's hunched down to be at your height and the tone he uses would seem like he's telling a secret. His fingers run down the length of your back, you feel his fingers drag the fabric and linger on your lower back. "Is it Ryōmen? Is he the problem?" Then he pulls you closer to his body, this time there is no space between you, his leg is touching yours and his bittersweet breath, the taste of liquor mixed with wilted petals brushes your nose.
"I feel that we are not compatible, sir."
"Ah..." exclaims Kurogawa, still glued to you. "Are you implying that my best student isn't good enough for you?"
"I think..." he was too close for you to even think of anything. You try to see past his shoulders that steal all the light yet there is nothing but darkness, and the chill in your temples moves to your lower abdomen.
“Child... you're lucky your daddy paid a lot of money for you to be here, I don't think there's much talent in you.” Your mascara-filled lashes flutter like the wings of a swan. Your lips part to ask for space, but you're interrupted, he says your name and it's bitter, it sounds disgusting in his throat. “But the untalented ones, they can always do something else, can't they?”
Suddenly, someone calls your name again from the vast darkness behind you.
“Don't keep me waiting. You made me promise to take you home, brat.”
Kurogawa takes a moment to detach himself from you and you inhale in despair, you were drowning in his cheap cologne and alcohol stench. Sukuna is behind him, like a silhouette, you can barely make out his body.
You don't stop to look at the director when you step out of his reach, you don't even do it with Sukuna and run far away from there. The silence that settles in the corridor is terrifying, you feel like running to get away as fast as you can from there, however you try to keep your composure, you tighten the fabric of the tutu looking for some security and comfort in it breathing out of sync and when you manage to reach the street you have to lean back against one of the walls to regain your composure.
You force yourself to breathe through your nose and let it out through your mouth forming a cold mist. The icy breath of the night is a slap of reality that makes your cheeks tingle and your legs and arms are the first to complain about the change in temperature.
Sukuna appears at your side a few seconds later, he says nothing, so you force yourself to lift your head and check his expression. There are wrinkles in his brow and he has his hands tucked in his front pockets, you realize this is the first time you've seen him in casual clothes. He had had time to change out of his uniform to replace it with worn blue jeans and a black sweater that has blood red lettering embroidered on the chest.
His presence floods you with the same excitement as the first time you stepped off the plane and the change of weather made your body bristle, making you feel uncomfortable in your own skin. You were scared like a mouse forced out of its burrow. As at that moment, all you needed was a hug. A ghostly force grabs you by the hips and lifts you off the brick wall, throwing you into the arms of your dance partner in search of the comfort you can't seem to find anywhere else these past few days.
Sukuna tenses up at your boldness. You are sobbing into his chest as if someone has passed away. He stands still for a while, allowing your hands to barely touch his hip, while the few passersby watch the peculiar scene, wondering what has happened; after all you are still outside the prestigious ballet academy.
Against all odds, he puts his hand on your back in an unprofessional way, in a way he has never done even dancing with you. His arm floats in the air in a strange and awkward motion until he decides to rest it on your lower back, completely pulling you closer to him. His left arm goes to your shoulder blades squeezing you to his chest completely, giving you a strange comfort that doesn't quite reach friendly.
Excessive tears prevent you from breathing, so you fight the grip and prison that is his ribcage to look up and search his eyes.
“Are you okay?” Your knees give out on you, though with his help you stabilize again. “What was it he said to you?”
You sniffle through your nose. Those red eyes seem to watch every move you make and suddenly, the heat of realization of how close you are begins to climb up your ribs until it sits on your chest.
“Nothing.”
“I saw how close you were. Whatever he said or did to you...” Sukuna pauses, weighing what he will say next. You see him close his mouth and his jaw tenses. “You can trust me, I know there are rumors that he...”
“This is just an allergy,” you interrupt him by clearing your throat.
Sukuna laughs. Not only does he laugh, but he brushes you aside as he bursts out laughing holding his stomach. You cross your arms and pucker your lips, feeling the indignation immediately.
Without saying anything to him and with the wind freezing the salty tears on your cheeks, you turn to walk away from him infuriated with yourself that you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with someone like him.
“Brat!” he was still laughing. “Wait...” you hear him trot behind you, until his fingers pull your forearm back to force you to stop. “Your bag.”
When you notice what he's holding in his hands and had probably been carrying on his back, you realize that it was indeed your bag. You would have left it in the room along with your belongings in the locker had it not been for him.
“Thank you,” is all you say, still suspicious of his thoughtfulness.
“Are you hungry?”
“No.”
As if it were part of a comedy scene, your stomach growls and Sukuna has to cover his mouth to contain his laughter. You look at him accusingly again. When he removes his hand from his face and raises it in submission, he reveals a smile that shows his teeth and fangs, returning to the predatory aura that always surrounds him.
“I'm gonna order sushi to go, you can join me if you want.” The wind makes you hug yourself again, avoiding his eyes at all costs. “It's across the street.”
Ryōmen Sukuna has been a pain in the ass ever since you met him at dance school. Ever since you arrived, all he's done is annoy you: bad-mouth you to your classmates, be rude in your presence, and belittle your work when you were chosen as the principal dancer. Having him here, pretending to care about you and inviting you to dinner, throws you off.
Realizing that you cried into his chest and, worse, were comforted by his touch, makes you feel guilty.
“I don't need your fake kindness.”
Sukuna lets out a snort and mimics you, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down at you from above, like a superior being marking his position.
“It's just sushi. Don't act like I'm offering you an engagement ring. Just say no.”
“And that's what I said,” you reply with a bark, struggling to maintain your stance and what little courage you'd mustered to stand up to him.
You notice how Sukuna drops his arms and falls silent. Something inside you wants to continue arguing or just talk to someone. When you get “home”, you're just sitting on the bed staring at the ceiling, counting the times your room is illuminated by the lights of the cars passing by on the avenue or swiping on tiktok until you fall asleep.
You try to find an excuse to talk to him again, but you run out of ideas as you see him turn his back to you, checking the road up and down to make sure no vehicles are coming.
“Okay. I'll see you next week,” he says before crossing to the other side.
“Wait...” you call out to him, but Sukuna is about to reach the other sidewalk. He doesn't stop when you call out his name, even though you know he's listening. You step forward and shout again, a little louder this time. “Can you take me home?!”
Sukuna stops and turns slowly. You wish someone could wipe the ridiculous smile off his face and the incredulous expression he has right now. You instantly regret asking for his help.
You both wait patiently for the approaching cars to drive away in opposite directions, leaving you again in silence.
“What was that? I don't think I heard you,” Sukuna mutters, squinting his eyes and bending his body forward a bit.
You check both ends of the road before walking across and finding yourself face to face with him.
“I think I missed the bus,” you mumble hastily, a little embarrassed. “Please,” you add, doubting whether politeness will make any difference on this occasion. After all, you're dealing with Sukuna; you don't think being nice and kind will work with someone like him, so you opt to offer a bribe. “I'm going to pay you.”
“I don't need your money, brat,” he spits as soon as the words are out of your mouth, looking outraged when you look him in the face again.
“Can you stop calling me that?” Sukuna chuckles, clearly amused with a situation that you don't find funny at all. Your life is falling apart to pieces with every passing second, but to him it's a circus. “What's so funny?”
"Are you always so serious? It's a little annoying that you don't know how to take a joke; I wouldn't be surprised if you had no friends."
You want to slap him, even though you know it wouldn't make any difference. You've felt him behind you, leaning against your back, his firm hands holding your hips and helping your movements flow, so a slap on his shoulder would be in vain, it would only make him laugh.
Now you want to slap yourself regretting that you decided to talk to him in the first place, that you showed yourself vulnerable.
“Are you going to take me or not?” you insist.
“Give me your address.” Sukuna pulls his phone out of one of his front pockets and types as you give him the direction. Exactly three seconds later he exclaims, “Are you staying in a motel? I thought you had money.”
You don't know how much more you can take before you explode; you clench your fists some more, trying to contain your anger.
“I don't think that's really any of your business.”
You stand in silence for another while. He checks his phone while you watch him. The sign behind him above your heads is decorated with pink neon lines that flashes forming the name of the restaurant.
Sukuna sighs wearily, catching your attention. “Okay, join me in ordering something to go first.”
Sukuna doesn't wait for you to complain or agree with his proposal before he starts walking ahead of you, his steps slow and unhurried. You decide to follow him at a distance that gives the impression that you are not together.
With an open hand, Sukuna pushes open the transparent door and a bell announces the entrance of new customers. The place is immersed in an elegant and serene atmosphere; the aroma of rice floats freely in the air, filling your hungry stomach that growls for a mouthful of whatever they are cooking. Aside from three girls at the counter taking their orders, there are no customers other than the two of you.
You let Sukuna move on as you stop to admire the details of the place. The walls are painted in warm tones that emulate natural wood, and the ceiling has hanging paper lamps that create soft lighting.
The low murmur of water in a small koi pond in the center of the room catches your attention. You approach and watch the fish swimming freely in the water currents; you bend down to observe one in particular that appears to have a scar on one of its fins. You squint your eyes and move closer to the pond to check if the fish is okay, but at that moment the light of the restaurant is interrupted by the body weight of someone overshadowing it.
When you look up, you find Sukuna scowling at you. You don't understand what that look means and decide not to insist on deciphering it. You straighten up to try to match his height.
“Let's go.”
“So soon?” it seemed like they were waiting for him.
You watch his hands, holding a white paper bag with the restaurant's logo on the top. Then you notice the girls who seem to share a secret as they murmur, barely disguising that they are looking at you.
Sukuna continues to stare at you, so you decide not to say anything else and simply nod at his silent command. You make your way to the door and the bell rings again as you leave the place.
“Where's your car?”
You catch him grinning. Maybe you've said something he finds curious, or maybe he just wants to tease you because he can; being rude seems to come naturally to him after all. You let him lead the way and trace the way as he rummages for some keys in the back of his jeans, all the while heading towards the back of the restaurant.
Suspicious, you look around to make sure there is someone nearby who can help you if necessary. Amazement assaults you as you discover that in the back there is a parking lot, and there, in the middle of the empty spot, you see a bike. It's a shiny, black sportbike with red accents, sleek and modern looking.
The realization dries your throat.
“Is that yours?”
“Yup,” he looks amused and almost proud to actually own such a beautiful and imposing bike. You could taste the teasing tone in his voice and in the way he hurried his footsteps away from you, and you struggled to keep up with him.
Sukuna got on the bike and inserted the keys immediately, while you stood motionless, watching him hold it up with his feet so it wouldn't fall off.
“What are you waiting for?” He didn't have a helmet for himself, much less for you. He wasn't wearing gloves either, and that was perhaps the reason why his hands always felt rough when you had skin-to-skin contact when dancing.
You looked around you, meeting the vast nothingness again, as if you were asking the universe for help.
“I've never been on a bike,” you confessed to him without a filter.
You didn't know what to expect when you blurted that out, but it definitely wasn't Sukuna staring silently at you, stabbing you with those dagger-red eyes.
“So what, are you scared? C'mon, come on up.”
You sighed deeply in surrender and climbed up the bike trying to touch him as little as possible, but always failing on the spot. Sukuna jerked a little along with the bike as you tried to improve your posture behind him, trying to lower what you could of your tutu so it wouldn't fly off when he started driving.
Eagerly waiting for him to pull you away, you slide your hands down his hips and cling to his body in search of a safety that immediately greets you. The engine growls like a beast making your whole body vibrate, you cling tighter to him closing your eyes tight for a moment before letting out a sigh.
“Hold on tight,” he says, at the same time rolling his hand across the throttle.
You crinkle the fabric of his sweater under your fingers clinging to him as if your life depended on it. As he moves forward and picks up speed on the road, you hide your face in his back finding the same security as a few moments ago when you allowed yourself to sob into his chest.
The last thing you expected on a monotonous Thursday night was to end up like this, hugging Sukuna who is the last person you would ask for help, right after having the second worst day of your life. You allow yourself to relax in his presence now that you are not looking at him and now that your thoughts are overpowered by the sound of the wind against your ears.
You don't have time to elaborate any more nostalgic thoughts as Sukuna slows down and you are forced to return to the present, raising your head over his shoulder to check where you are. It was already completely dark when you arrive at the motel, and as you step into the gloom, you make out the dim lights flickering in the distance, indicating the other rooms that must be inhabited by people like you, with no settled place to go or belong.
“You can leave me here,” you indicate speaking slowly, longing for the moment when you can step onto solid ground again and return to the safe space that was your motel room, that even if it smelled like cheap detergent and the green apple spray you bought at the nearby gas station convenience store, you've managed to call home these past few months.
Sukuna obediently stops the bike near room 147 and allows you to get off, without asking questions or making conversation, which surprises you. Discomfort washes over you from your feet covered by ballerina slippers, up your cold legs until it reaches your chest.
“Thank you,” is all you say out of kindness. Instinctively you hug yourself, shrugging your shoulders toward your ears in search of some warmth.
Sukuna looks you up and down, and in his eyes you notice that spark of accusation or perhaps contempt, similar to the one you saw in your father the last time he visited you.
You wait for him to finally say something, after long seconds that feel endless, but you interrupt him before he gets the chance.
“I'm quitting.” You don't know why you say that, your body expels it as an automatic reaction, similar to vomiting after a hangover.
You immediately regret it and turn away. Little interested in what he might say next, you hasten your steps to run away from him and hide in your shelter as soon as possible.
“I thought it was allergies.” Bastard. You grind your teeth, clenching your fists. You don't have the energy to fight him; what little of the mask you put on to pretend you're the perfect woman will soon unravel like Cinderella's spell, and you don't want that to happen while you're arguing with him.
“I thought you were a tough girl.” You hear him yell again, as you try to pretend he doesn't exist. You turn left, in the direction of your room, the last one in the whole row.
“I can help.” Those words slow your steps to a complete stop. It takes you a moment to find the courage to turn around, but you finally do, taking a breath of air and looking him straight in the eye.
The distance between you is about the size of a bus, not much, but enough to look like a pair of cowboys about to have a duel and so that anyone listening can pick up on your discussion thanks to the silence of the night.
“Help with what?” you ask, defiantly.
Sukuna looks up at the sky for a moment, as if the answer is in the clouds. Without looking at you, he replies, “To be less of a dick, maybe.” Asshole. “To teach you how to relax once you're under the lights.”
You fold your arms. “If...?”
He grins, clearly amused with how much he's enjoying the situation, and you want to shout into the wind how much you hate him. Now you understand why he doesn't like you; your personalities are very different. You like the summer, he probably likes the cold. He's always teasing and getting under your skin, while you have to constantly fight not to break. You are polar opposites of different worlds.
“If you help me with something.”
“With what exactly?” you ask almost instantly.
“It's just a favor,” he replies with a shrug.
“What kind of favor?” you insist.
“It's not that kind of favor,” he says with a gesture of annoyance.
“What's in it for you?”
“Can't I help a partner?”
You're tired of playing this game. It's clearly draining your time and energy. You appreciate that he brought you home and behaved with the slightest decency you would expect from an empathetic human being seeing someone cry, but you've had enough. You turn to leave, feeling it's not worth wasting any more time on this. You plan to sleep thinking about your decision and send a letter to the director tomorrow morning. With what little money you have left, you hope to travel back to your home country.
“I need help with my grandfather.” It's as if Sukuna drops a hook that your innocence fishes for. You're not sure what he's referring to, but your curiosity compels you to turn once more and face him. This time, you close the distance with each new unsure step.
Watching you walk towards him, Sukuna continues. “Monthly he sends fish to Yokohama. The guy who was helping me quit a few months ago, so I've had to do it alone, which is a pain in the ass,” he runs a hand through his tousled hair from the trip, seemingly remembering.
“Why me?”
“Don't think you're special,” he grumbles with a growl, reflecting on what he just said, he adds. “What I mean is, it's a favor for a favor. I'll tutor you on how to improve as a dancer, and you help me with the fish. It's a win-win.”
You hate the idea of training alone with him almost as much as working moving fish, or whatever it is you're going to do, but...that was the only choice you had. It was either this or actually quit and go home empty-handed, face your failure and your father, and break the promise you had made to your mother before she died. Besides, with Sukuna as a sort of watchdog working with you you think maybe Kugawara wouldn't bother you again, though the thought of it happening again makes your skin crawl.
You nod finally, averting your gaze to your feet for a moment. “Okay. When do we start?”
“Tomorrow I'll come by and pick you up around 3:30. We'll do the fish delivery and then we can practice.”
“Okay.”
“Be on time 'cause I hate waiting,” he snorts.
Maybe working with Sukuna wasn't such a bad idea after all. You spend all day cooped up in that old motel room, watching the cars go by and waiting for the time and days when you have to go train again. It's boring to be stuck in there doing nothing but waiting for the days to pass, so the idea of visiting another city, seeing new places and maybe discovering more about who Ryōmen Sukuna was seems appealing to you; you can't deny it.
There's so much mystery surrounding him that you can't help but be drawn in.
Fri. 4/14 • 5:50PM —
You mentally cross out what you thought the night before and wish yesterday's version of you had thought more or at least asked more questions before blindly agreeing. Working with Sukuna was terrible, much worse than you imagined before you fell asleep. You hated the fishy smell permeating your clothes, rather, clothes you borrowed from Sukuna belonging to the boy who quit earlier. The uniform was baggy and threadbare: the faded blue T-shirt had sweat stains and stale smell, while the pants are baggy, a bit long and a dull gray color, with a loose belt to adjust the size.
You wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand after putting the last box of fish in the restaurant's freezer and being thankful to be done with everything for the day. You restrain yourself from complaining to Sukuna for not making it clear to you exactly what work you would be doing because after all it had been your fault for not asking and trusting unquestioningly. As you bite the inside of your cheek to control your tongue, you realize that inside the colors and patterns are the same as the sushi restaurant across the street from the academy, which makes you think they are probably from the same brand.
Outside, the clear Yokohama sky shows a bright sun toasting your cheeks as Sukuna finishes signing papers behind you. The change of season has the weather undecided, on the verge of leaving winter behind; some spring mornings are warm and the nights, cold.
His shoes clack against the pavement as he approaches you. With a light tap on your forearm, you hear him chuckle, following it up with, “Who knew? I didn't know you could carry so much weight.”
He doesn't wait for your response and continues on his way to the white truck. With your eyes narrowed and your feet begging you for a break, you walk to the waiting, lit truck and slam the door shut. Being in the cold air, with your sore feet now stretched out should feel more comforting. You're protected from the sun's rays and its warmth, and the spicy apple air freshener is pleasant enough to make you forget that it's spring. However, the situation is not entirely delightful for you.
Sukuna next to you seems immune to the silence that you find so uncomfortable. You take a quick glance at him and find him staring down the road as he drives back to town. He has one hand curled around the steering wheel and the other resting on his leg. His uniform is different from yours; his consists of an impeccable white shirt and blue pants tailored to fit him navy blue, on the left side at chest height he has the restaurant's name written on it.
Now that his shirt sleeves are rolled up, you can make out the tattoos on his wrist: two thick black rings run along his skin. Being so close to him and noticing the black ink permeating the skin makes you wonder if they hurt him much. The thought that he probably has more tattoos on areas of his body that you can't see thanks to the clothing comes into your head, but you'd rather push that image away and look straight ahead.
Traffic is moving slowly, with seas of vehicles coming and going on a dual carriageway Sukuna has to slow down every so often because the cars stop which makes you understand that you will be stuck here for a while. Bored with the silence and not wanting to be the first to speak, you take the liberty of turning on the radio, jumping from station to station before finding one that plays old romantic music.
Sukuna makes a snorting sound, prompting you to look directly at him. When your gazes meet, you'd rather ignore the feeling in your stomach and the cocked grimace you manage to notice on his lips before he undoes it.
“What?” you ask him, surprised that your tone doesn't sound as dismissive as usual. “I can find another station if...”
“It's my grandfather's favorite,” he confesses to you quietly. “That one's fine.”
Your fingers slowly move away from the radio, processing what he's confessed to you and considering that this might be a window into getting to know him better.
“You said you were helping him — is this his business?”
Sukuna hums as if weighing the words, tapping the steering wheel a couple of times. “Yes.”
You blink slowly. “Do you guys have a lot of time in the market?”
“Yes,” he repeats again and you fill your lungs with the smell of spicy apple and his subtle cologne.
You resign yourself to having a monosyllabic conversation with him so you press your lips together and rest your chin on your hand looking out the window. From where you are, you can admire the horizon and the still blue water being illuminated by the intimate rays of afternoon sun. Seagulls circle the shore and you imagine their deep song filling the bay.
“I can't remember the last time I went to the beach.” You wanted to dip your feet in the water, let the waves massage them from side to side, feel the sand between your toes and the sun warming your skin—
“Honestly, me neither. Since I've been working with fish, the beach seems less exciting to me, I don't know if that makes sense.”
You look at him, did you just say that out loud? Sukuna watches you briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. You contemplate him longer than you need to before looking straight ahead again and watching the traffic move a little faster than before.
“Have you guys always worked with this?” you perk up to ask again, still keeping your gaze straight ahead.
“Seafood?” he seems to think, humming aloud. “The restaurant has been in the family for as long as I can remember. So...yeah.”
“That's strange. I never would have imagined you doing this kind of work.”
“Why?” he chuckles, as if sharing a secret with himself.
“You're so good at dancing,” you admit, giving him a fleeting glance. “I didn't think you do anything more than that.”
“The best,” he instantly corrects you and you physically force yourself not to roll your eyes.
“I thought you were a spoiled rich kid.”
You turn to catch him grimacing in annoyance. Clearly, he was conflicted about what you had just said.
“I like to dance, but I've always worked hard since I was little. Everything I know and everything I do I learned from my grandfather.”
“It's just the two of you?”
You notice him frowning and speed up quickly before the light turns red. His lips open, but before he can respond, he stops the truck abruptly causing the boxes in the back to rampage and crash into each other as Sukuna shouts insults at the bicyclist who sped in front of him.
You admire him for a while longer: pursed lips, furrowed brow and hands tense around the wheel. Then, you turn your gaze ahead to catch the cyclist fleeing in front of you at full speed, now barely a distinguishable silhouette. Wasting no time, Sukuna sets off down the road again as you wonder what it was he was going to answer. Now, curiosity towards him beckons you that much more.
As Sukuna turns at an intersection to return to Tokyo, you mentally review the information you have about him:
He really loves his grandfather, of that you are left in no doubt since he is the person he mentions the most, he is the only person he talks about in fact. Also, does he cook? You make a mental note of that with a question mark next to it because you're not sure if he just drives the truck or if he really knows how to cook. Third and probably most important, he's not as bad a person as you thought he was. Yes, you still feel like fighting with him and contradicting him at the slightest argument, but that's because of resentment built up over the months. If you were meeting him today for the first time or even if you actually worked for him, you would be encouraged to recognize him as introverted at best, which makes you wonder if the person you see in the academy is just part of the show. Could this be his true personality? And what else is hidden underneath the mask?
The rest of the trip passes in silence as you immerse yourself in your thoughts and theories. The radio station gradually changes from romantic music to more danceable current pop songs, causing you to hum all the way and move your body gently to the melody.
“Are you too tired?” asks Sukuna, once you are on the main road into town.
“Yeah. Why?” you grumble with a grunt, stretching your arms above your head and swinging your feet in circles.
He nods, pondering. “I'll take you to the motel then. We can train later.”
“Oh, no. I'm ready to start today.”
Suddenly, you don't feel so tired when it comes to dancing. You don't want to wait any longer to start practicing and improving, and the truth is, the longer you go without improving, the faster the day of the final presentation comes.
Sukuna pulls into the parking lot of a tall building, moving inside the place illuminated by white lights until he comes to a complete stop next to the bike that you instantly recognize as his.
You get off the truck first with your bag slung over your shoulder, shake your feet again and perform brief stretches as you wait for Sukuna who passes by you walking certainty towards the elevator; you follow him like his shadow.
“You live here?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I thought we were going to train,” you say, wondering if his apartment will have enough space.
“We will.”
“But...”
“Have you been told you ask too many questions?”
You fall silent as you stand inside the elevator and he presses a button that immediately turns gold, the elevator jolts smoothly and begins to slowly travel through each floor until it reaches number ten. The doors open along with a soft chime, and Sukuna is the first to step out guiding you to his floor.
The apartment complex is modern and elegant. The walls are adorned with dark wood paneling and a floor made of synthetic fur. Sukuna walks confidently down the hallway and you follow him noting the numbered doors with sleek steel plates. When you reach the door to his apartment, he takes his keys out of his pocket and inserts them into the lock opening the door with a quiet click.
He invites you in first with a nod and as you do so you find a well-decorated and tidy space, perhaps somewhat different from what you had imagined. The polished wood floor is covered by a neutral-toned carpet; the room has contemporary furniture and a wall adorned with framed photographs.
You discreetly observe your surroundings, longing to linger a little longer observing the photographs on the wall and get to know his family, however Sukuna keeps moving in front of you without giving you time to get a chance to do so.
“I knew you were a rich kid...”
He chuckles softly. “Come.” Sukuna guides you into a hallway and stops in front of a wooden door. “Shower,” he instructs you as he sees your confusion, struggling not to flash another one of those smiles you'd grown accustomed to. “You stink of fish. Get changed, I'll be waiting for you on the terrace.”
A bitter resistance dies on your tongue. The lingering smell of raw fish clings to your clothes like an unwanted shadow. You decide not to protest that just this once he is right and instead turn your back on him, clinging to your bag as you walk into the bathroom.
You decide to take a quick shower using the first liquid soap you find on top of the sink, scrubbing your body with your hands and quickly wetting your hair to freshen it up a bit, making a note to wash it properly when you get to the motel.
When you're done, you emerge from the bathroom in one of your practice outfits that fits snugly to your body for flexibility. You tie your hair up in a high bun so it won't bother you and head with determination towards the terrace where Sukuna was waiting for you.
The sunset tints the sky with reddish hues, creating a celestial spectacle among the clouds. The terrace is decorated with potted green plants and comfortable armchairs with cushions piled at the back, leaving enough space to move around without bumping into furniture.
Dim lights hang from the ceiling, subtly illuminating the space. And in the background, soft instrumental music plays, similar to what the academy plays. Sukuna is sitting stretching his legs out on the floor in a V-shape, and with a barely perceptible gesture of his lips, he invites you to join him and imitate his movements. He bends his body gracefully and at will, and you do your best to keep up as good as you can.
Then, he stands gracefully and offers you his hand, drawing you to his chest.
“Your problem is that you don't trust me. You don't trust that I'm going to hold you when you jump...” You're ready to respond, but your lips seal when he continues. “So we need to fix that.”
The way he says it makes you shudder; you don't want to give in, but you know you have no choice now.
To the beat of the music, Sukuna wraps his hand around your waist and you mimic his steps— circles, one... two... until he stops and asks you to jump, but you hesitate, visibly trembling in his arms.
“Trust me,” he asks you with a serene exhale.
“I can't,” you reply, wetting your dry lips. Sukuna follows each stroke of your tongue before returning to your eyes, where the lashes fuss uneasily.
“You have to trust me as much as I trust you.”
Yet inside you, feelings of doubt and fear linger, like foolish specters whispering in your ear. You feel overwhelmed, not only by the pressure and responsibility on your back but by the closeness of your bodies, there is no space between your chests and if he leans in a little closer you could taste his breath.
“I can't,” you stammer, pulling away from him. “I think it was a bad idea to come,” you admit truthfully, letting your worries slip out loud.
Without you moving further away, his hands hold your wrist firmly making you spin around, and your tiptoed feet respond at once. He holds you still close to him, your back pressed against his chest rocking to the rhythm of the instruments.
“Jump.” Your heart races and you decide to close your eyes to concentrate on the drums pounding against your ribs, on the breath tangling in your lungs. His hands move up and down your waist, go to your ribs where he feels your heaving breath expand his palms. “Take a deep breath,” he speaks sweetly, his breath brushing the shell of your ear. “I'm not going to let you fall this time. I swear.”
You take a deep breath processing the words. could you really trust his promise? You feel his hands come back down to your waist and with the help of his hands exerting pressure, you jump up and he gracefully lifts you above his head. For an instant, you contemplate the city stretching out beneath your feet, like a blanket of light and shadow. Your arms spread like wings, and a spontaneous laugh escapes your lips as the wind caresses your skin. Gently, Sukuna lowers you to the ground once again and you watch a proud smile form on his face.
Together, the two of you capture the sunset from the terrace, sharing that ephemeral moment in silent complicity.
When you finish practicing about three more times, you find yourself lying on the ground, breathing shakily as you watch the sky dotted with bright spots. Sukuna has disappeared inside his apartment, turning on the lights and returning with a bottle of water that he kindly offers you.
“Thank you,” you say, immediately popping the bottle into your mouth.
“You're not too bad,” Sukuna comments with his usual calmness, though beads of sweat on his forehead betray his exertion. It's obvious why he's Kurogawa's top student.
“I really mean it. Thank you.”
Sukuna averts his gaze for a moment before turning back to you. “Are you going to stay for dinner?” he asks instead.
“I'm fine...,” you reply, finally getting up from the floor and dusting off your clothes with your hands.
“I hope you're eating something better than soda and canned food at that stinky motel.”
You both share a knowing chuckle, your gazes intertwined for a moment.
“No promises,” you say, raising your hands to chest level. “But I have to go now. Thanks for everything, again,” you add, taking another long drink of water.
“Do you need a ride?” offers Sukuna.
“I'll get an uber.”
Sukuna nods, walking you to the door where he waves you off with a friendly smile.
What the hell was that all about? And why are you about to throw up your heart?
Sat. 4/14 • 6:32 pm —
The second week training with Sukuna has been a revelation. You've gotten used to the smell of fish that you now find less unbearable, to getting up early before the alarm goes off, and you've even gotten used to the horrible oversized uniform you have to wear, but above all, you've gotten used to Sukuna's presence and his training sessions that bring you closer and closer together. Of course, you have improved remarkably. Sukuna is a born teacher and could surpass Kurogawa when he decides to retire. He knows just what to say to make you feel comfortable in your own skin and relax in his arms, which he has succeeded in doing.
As you get to know him better, you realize that he is not the image you had created in your head. He is considerate and has managed to get you to open up to him a little more, tearing down the shell of animosity you had raised. Before, you were fighting a non-existent battle against him, a fight to be the best that now you only keep against yourself.
With the descent of disdain for him came something more.... Appreciation? Admiration, perhaps? You don't want to acknowledge what that emotion is. For now, you cling to the idea that you can be friends, that you could become good friends in time.
With the practices and the unofficial ones you do with your dance partner, your steps become more natural, loose and fluid. Soon, your movements will resemble those of the fantastic swan you are meant to emulate.
Sukuna spins you around with the climax of the violins resounding above you. Thanks to constant practice on his terrace he manages to lift you into the air with ease, getting you for the first time to not hesitate and leap gracefully into his arms which gets you a round of applause from your colleagues, drawing a proud smile on your face. Your chest is pounding, you feel the excitement in the darkness of the theater and, in a far corner, you can glimpse the ghost of your mother clapping proudly. You were really going to make it.
Sukuna helps you touch the floor once more, and because of the intimacy required for the final scene, your faces are inches apart. The sound of muffled applause, the circular spotlight that focuses on you exclusively, and the scent of his cologne (a subtle blend of woody and citrus notes that awakens your senses), make the moment far more intimate than the scene requires.
Unsure if this is still part of the performance, Sukuna brushes the tip of his nose against yours before finally pulling away, leaving you drifting beside him and depriving you of his body heat. Slow clapping comes from the background in the gloom, and you walk away from Sukuna taking long strides as if you've been caught committing a crime, your hands sweaty and your stomach clenched.
“That was much better,” Kurogawa says, praising you both, though he looks directly at you. “A wonderful presentation.”
“Thank you,” Sukuna replies, and you feel him tense beside you as he holds the director's gaze that's still resting on you like a predator.
“Though you still have a lot of room for improvement,” Kurogawa says, looking straight at you. Your lips tighten into a straight line, feeling some disappointment in your chest.
“I think she's doing very well,” Sukuna interjects, looking Kurogawa up and down before exhaling like a raging bull.
Kurogawa watches Sukuna and then clicks his tongue.
“Ryōmen, can you remind me who the director of the ballet is and who is recognized as the best male category ballet dancer in the entire country?” Sukuna falls silent, and you are unable to ignore his clenched jaw. “Sorry, I didn't hear you.”
Sukuna exhales and replies sarcastically. “You are, sir.”
“That's what I thought,” he replies, savoring the victory, still keeping his eyes on you. “So when I say something needs to get better, it's because it's going to get better. You can all go..., my little swan, you stay a few minutes with me, we need to talk.”
Sukuna's eyes are pulled from the director to fall on you. Under the spotlight you notice his red eyes become darker, dark ink spills into them and at the same time his half closed eyelids give him the aura of a feline. You nod, assuring him wordlessly that you will be fine.
The room gradually becomes empty, you are the only ones present. Kurogawa tucks himself back into the darkness while you stand under the burning light of the spotlight that seems to glow now brighter than ever. Suddenly, the sound of the piano climbs the walls again and makes your skin tingle.
“Again,” he orders you.
Immediately you put your back straight facing the theater seats. Your feet automatically tiptoe, your arms move in the air, move up your body and stop above your head. Your movements are much more fluid and you can feel it; you are more flexible than before or maybe you always have been and all you needed was a little push. A vote of confidence.
The thought that you will have your little ritual with Sukuna tomorrow (he cooks for you after you help him deliver the fish and after your practice), puts a smile on your face and helps you relax, ignoring the presence of Kurogawa who follows you with his sharp eyes every time you move.
The clacking of his shoe heels tells you he's getting closer, and a subtle sense of dread comes over you as you wonder what Kurogawa might be thinking or planning.
“Are you two dating?” He asks suddenly, wrapping his hands around you behind your back in imitation of the role Sukuna plays.
"I don't have to justify my personal life, sir." Your reply is quick and sharp, cutting through the awkward tension.
He laughs dryly. “Because that would be a problem. I wouldn't allow my lead dancers to have an affair, that would be problematic.” He steps closer to you undoing the space between you and grabs your waist from behind, you instantly pull away looking at him with your eyebrows together. “Hold still.” He steps closer again, you take another step back, about to be engulfed by the darkness.
“Sir...”
He pauses under the spotlight, his few gray hairs and greasy locks gleaming in the direct brightness. The light highlights the deep lines of his face, accentuating his intense, commanding expression. His piercing gaze seems to cut through you as he calls out your name.
“Come here. Let me show you what you're doing wrong,” Kurogawa says in a tone that combines authority and criticism.
“I think I'm doing a good job,” you insist, trying to maintain your composure.
“Oh, you think Ryōmen is a better teacher than I am? He's been putting ideas into your head?” he asks wryly.
“I mean no disrespect, but...” you start to say, but you're interrupted.
“Girl,” he says with disdain, “Come here.”
“No,” you reply firmly, burying your feet on the stage.
The director smiles mischievously. “The cat is showing her claws, I see,” he mutters. “You know he's no good for you?” he continues. “So if you're sentimentally involved...I'm afraid I'll have to degrade you both from being the lead dancers.”
You sense that his threats make you feel lightheaded. “You wouldn't do that,” you say with a hint of desperation.
“Be a good girl then.”
“We'll present in exactly two weeks, no one can take my place,” you defend yourself, looking for an excuse that will convince you more than him that he can't do this.
“Mei-Ling is ready. We've been... practicing,” he says with a lopsided grin that makes you cringe.
“You're disgusting,” you reproach him, unable to keep pretending that standing here in front of him listening to his innuendos doesn't have your body chilling.
“You have no idea,” Kurogawa replies, widening a mischievous smile. “Now...”
He approaches you with clear intentions of touching you, you look around for something you can defend yourself with or someone who can come to your aid but the room was empty, there was only you there. You keep shuffling your feet until you run into the wall, until the darkness has covered you both and all you can see is his macabre smile.
Kurogawa reaches out to grab you when Sukuna's voice startles you. He says your name for the first time and you look over the director's shoulder to see him on the other end in casual gray joggers and a white t-shirt. “Is everything okay?” he asks looking directly into your eyes and for a moment it's just the two of you.
Your voice breaks and you can't answer him, but your desperate look tells him everything he needs to know.
“This is private training, Ryōmen. You may leave now.”
Still he pays no heed. He advances towards you with the bag where he kept his clothes hanging from his left shoulder, sukuna stops and plants himself next to you; his arms embrace your shoulders and he sticks you to his body. “Do you wanna leave?” He asks, looking up at you directly.
“Yes.” You reply without hesitation or pausing to look at the director.
“Ow look at that? Isn't that romantic?” he laughs dryly, clapping his hands together sarcastically. “Long live lovers, right? From hate to love is only one step, I guess.”
Sukuna ignores Kurogawa's words, removing his hand from your shoulders to take yours and lead you away. Surprise flashes across your face, but his warm grip turns the initial coldness into a comforting sensation, making your heart race in your chest. You don't resist and squeeze his fingers tightly as you pull away.
The man laughs louder again, turning to look at you just as you reach the small stairs that would lead you off the stage. “Don't even bother coming back, you're fired,” he shouts arrogantly.
You search Sukuna's eyes to make sure he's feeling the same fear you are. For a moment, doubt crosses your eyes and you consider turning around and apologizing as the only option in this situation. But Sukuna avoids your gaze, releasing your hand to address the director.
“If you have something to say, say it now,” Kurogawa spits with a triumphant smile on his face.
Sukuna climbs the stairs again, leaving you paralyzed in the middle of the steps. His movements seem more imposing under the contrasting lights, and as he approaches the principal, you can see Kurogawa's smile widen in pleasure.
Sukuna takes a deep breath, running a hand through his pink hair to pull it back before turning and connecting a closed fist against the director's jaw. Kurogawa falls to the ground, coughing and wiping blood from a split lip. There is hatred and resentment in his eyes as the two men stare at each other for a moment, right before Kurogawa spits out blood mixed with saliva that was pooled in his mouth.
In that moment of tense silence, you stand watching in horror, both hands covering your mouth. Sukuna spits towards the ground and then turns away, wiping his hand and knuckles. He walks past you and with a hand on your lower back, guides you out of there.
“Let's get the hell out of here,” Sukuna mutters.
“Are we just...?” you try to say, but Sukuna interrupts you.
“Are you okay?” he asks with concern. You nod, unable to say much more. “That's all I care about,” Sukuna concludes as you walk away from the place.
You didn't want to go back to the motel. With your dreams crushed so easily in front of you, the last thing you want is to be alone with your self-destructive thoughts and a judgmental memory. The director always seemed a little strange to you and now you tag the way he approaches you as unprofessional but you never thought he could go to the extreme of cornering you like that; however, seeing him lying on the floor, bleeding, brings accusatory thoughts into your head that you want to erase. Your memories betray you showing you more blood than there really was. In his eyes was written pure revenge, you knew that with his influence only one mail was enough to destroy both your career and your life. You don't want to think about the consequences of your actions; at least not tonight, not now. So when Sukuna asks where you want to go and you reply that you don't know, he decides to take matters into his own hands and take you on a bike ride around the city. Neither says anything else and you ask no questions, letting the vibrations of the engine and his body under your fingers make you feel safe.
Your cheek is crushed against his broad back, clinging to his waist as much as you can as you watch the lights of the city and its tall buildings go by like flashes. People come and go and your heart sinks a little in your chest each time Sukuna's fingers roll easily across the throttle. Water pools in your heavy eyelashes and you can't decide if it's from the wind or if it's just sadness and the pile of bitter disappointment you force yourself to swallow.
Sukuna stops at a gas station, you wait leaning against the bike while he pays and buys some sweets that he silently passes to you as an offering. You open the colorful wrapper and pop the chocolate into your mouth, chewing silently as you are distracted by the dust clinging to his boots.
“Do you wanna go to my place?” The question surprises you and his voice invites you to look at him, back to the present. You notice his face and are distracted by the soft pout that forms his lips unconsciously. In the short time you've known each other, you've noticed it's something he does often. A habit.
You assume that you are friends now. You find the situation and the question ironic. If an oracle had told you about eight months ago that you'd be taking bike rides with Sukuna, clinging to his back like a baby koala bear, driving with him every day out of town while jamming karaoke in his fish-smelling truck and hanging out at his apartment, you'd never have believed it.
Finally, you shake your head in affirmation, taking another bite of the bar.
“I hate that motel,” you confess, covering your mouth.
“I know. It smells like a shoe, I don't know how you can live there.”
You regret letting him into your humble room. Everything was tidy and perfectly sprayed with that green apple spray you depend on so much now, but you still saw him pinching his nose with two fingers and commenting on the stench. You'd complained before, of course, and the owner told you he'd move you to another room as soon as it became available, but now that was the only one you could be in; the room is at the back, next to the laundry room and the damp lurks through the walls, ending up sitting in the middle of your floor.
“Hey!” It really did smell awful, but it wasn't funny when others made fun of it. “It's all I can afford for now. Sorry I'm not rich like you.”
“I thought you were rich,” he says, playing with his bruised knuckles as the numbers on the screen behind him keep going up.
“Not anymore,” you confess, distant memories of your life coming back to you in a flash. “My father refuses to help me with academy expenses, he sees it as a waste of money and time, and I guess he's right. I only have enough to live for two more months there, I was looking forward to the ballet performance but now…” Your voice trails off, unable to finish the sentence.
You notice how he leans over to gently tap you on the shoulder with the same hand that punched Kurogawa earlier.
“We're going to fix it, brat. No long faces while I'm around.”
You contemplate him a while longer in silence as you finish eating the chocolate bar and clench the wrapper in your fist to throw it in the trash when you're at his apartment. Once the tank is full, you roll back down the road and seven minutes later you are in the warmth of his apartment.
You take off your shoes as you enter and head straight to the living room after Sukuna asks you to sit down and he goes straight to the kitchen. You take the opportunity to look at the various photographs on the bluish wall that you have always wanted to see up close but he has never let you: a small Sukuna clutching a baseball bat smiles at the camera, his hair tousled as if it's been a windy day, and his hands tightly wrapped around the bat. There's another where he's with who you assume is his grandfather in front of the restaurant near the academy, clutching a fish that's bigger than both of them which makes you chuckle under your breath. In the last one, there's him and another boy who looks very like him, both wearing thick coats with faux fur edges and looking at the camera with surprised expressions.
“Your brother?” you ask as you hear his bare feet moving across the floor and, turning to face him, you find him with two plates full of sushi rolls in his hands. “Thank you,” you smile at him, sliding onto the couch.
“Be careful not to drip the sauce on my couch, brat,” he jokes. You want to complain about the not-so-pleasant name he calls you by, but you keep silent, hiding the sense of longing that overwhelms you as you want to hear him say your name again. “And my nephew,” he quickly points to the picture before disappearing back into the kitchen. “It was the first time we went to New York.”
You take another quick glance at the picture and grab the wooden chopsticks next to your plate.
“Nephew... So you have siblings?” You ponder, pinching a sushi roll between your chopsticks and bringing it to your mouth, careful at all times not to drop anything on the couch. For how neat the place looks, you know he's not kidding when he warns you that he doesn't want any stains on his couch.
Sukuna returns with a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hands, as he carefully sets them on the coffee table.
“I'm not going to drink,” you quickly excuse yourself.
“Come on, let's celebrate that we don't have practice tomorrow.”
His humor helps you cope a little. You press your lips together in a straight line that gradually turns into a sad smile and finally nod, giving your permission for him to pour the white wine for both of you. You grab the glass without further thought and take a long drink, closing your eyes for a moment.
“And... um,” he clears his throat, taking a seat next to you to get ready to eat as well. “I had a brother. I lost him and my parents in an accident when they were on their way from Kyoto to see me dance last year.”
The news makes you frown and you set the cup aside immediately, showing your concern. Sukuna seems immune; anyone who didn't know him would say he's over it, that he doesn't care, but you've learned to see past the mask he usually shows himself to others with. Hesitantly, you put your hand on his leg in comfort and something inside you waits for him to push it away, only it never happens. He looks down at your touch for a moment before returning to your eyes.
“I'm so sorry.”
His shoulders shrug and he finally relaxes. “At least I have my grandfather for now.”
You nod, understanding how bitter the situation is as it's easy to put yourself in his shoes.
“I'm really sorry. I lost my mother too; she had a medical condition that had no cure. Her dream was always to see me dance at a professional academy.”
“Is that why you traveled to Japan?” asks Sukuna before popping a sushi roll into his mouth.
“Yeah. But I guess it doesn't matter now.”
“I told you we're going to fix it,” Sukuna says and now it is him placing his hand on your thigh intimately. You watch as his fingers spread over your skin, noticing the veins running down the back of his hand and the thick tattoos surrounding his skin.
“You punched him in the face,” you look away from his fingers to force yourself to look him in the eyes, both of you sharing a brief chuckle. “How can we fix this?”
Sukuna is no longer touching you and his absence is immediately felt.
“We can report him,” he suggests.
“They won't listen to us,” you reply.
“Not with that attitude.”
You look away from him for a moment, toward your plate and the half-empty cup. You grab it and raise it to your mouth to wet your throat.
“Thank you... for everything,” you say sincerely, swirling the glass so that the liquid spirals against the glass.
“I should never have left you alone,” Sukuna admits.
“But you came back for me. That's the important thing,” you reply, restraining yourself from touching him again. Instead, you take a last sip of wine that serves to drown out thoughts of what would have happened if no one had arrived in time.
With banal conversations filling the space from time to time and laughter over jokes that aren't even that funny; you both finish eating.
With two glasses of wine drunk and now Sukuna pouring a third everything seems funnier than usual. The sting of the pain of having lost everything you've built is buried there waiting to make you ache and although you know Sukuna feels it too, he manages to disguise it very well, spending all his energies on making your night.
“Stop it,” you tell him with a laugh, squinting to fix your eyes closely on his face. “You've got something there.” You point to a part of your own cheek with a finger, smoothing the skin and wiggling your fingers for him to do the same.
“Where?” he asks, pulling his eyebrows together, touching the wrong part of his face.
“Look, here!” you point to your cheek again with more emphasis, but he still misses.
“Wipe it off for me. What is it?”
“It's just soy sauce, you messed it up more.”
You lean a little closer to wipe the sauce stain next to his nose, carefully rubbing the skin by moving your thumb over it until it's clean. You smile at him, you just need to wash your face now, as you turn your attention back to him you realize he is blatantly looking at your lips.
“Later,” he says softly, licking his lips slowly and alarms go off in your brain.
“It'll get sticky if you don't go,” you reply mimicking his tone, struggling not to notice his mouth and how close you are.
Sukuna slowly makes himself move his gaze from your mouth to your eyes. Still close, you can notice the alcohol on his breath, his scent of cologne tickling your stomach.
“I never understood why you disliked me so much,” he blurts out suddenly, almost in a whisper.
“Are you serious?” you pull away before you do something you shouldn't, the tingling sensation of alcohol probably making you see things that aren't there. “Everything you talked about me?” He arches an eyebrow, showing confusion. “You were saying I should go back to my country...”
“Yeah, because you were saying I had no talent. And who did you think you were?” he defends himself, getting defensive. With that expression that he instantly erases almost makes you remember the Sukuna from the past.
“I never said that.” You defend yourself.
Silently, you both let the weight of realization sink in, sharing a silent stare.
“Kurogawa.” You respond in unison.
“Fuck him,” Sukuna says through gritted teeth. You want to reproach him, but honestly?
“Yeah, fuck him.” Then you both laugh.
Silence reigns between you again, squeezing like an intruder between the little space that separates your bodies on the couch.
“Are you staying the night?” Sukuna suddenly blurts out, giving you a sideways glance.
“Um, no?” That makes him look at you completely, analyzing you as if you've just said something barbaric.
“I can't ride like this,” he comments with obviousness.
“That's fine, I'll get an uber.”
“I don't trust an uber to send you like that.”
You don't trust yourself around him, you don't trust what your numb senses can do or say, so the farther away you are from him, the better it is for both of you.
“Like what? I'm almost sober,” you say, squeezing a space with your index finger and thumb leaving a small gap in between. “Besides... I know how to defend myself.” To reaffirm your sentence and validate your sobriety, you stand up to take a brief turn but fate is ironic and trips you over your own feet; in an instant your mouth is about to kiss the ground. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, preparing to receive a stinging pain that never comes, instead, you are welcomed into an embrace that fills you with security.
“Fuck. You're so drunk,” Sukuna says with a laugh, helping you to your feet.
You open one eye. “Sorry, I don't usually drink.” You close it again, massaging with your fingers the sudden dizziness that squeezes your temples. “Maybe I am a little dizzy.”
“I can tell that,” he says. “You should have told me.”
“Um, I did.” You open your eyes now realizing how intimate you are. Your open palms on his chest rise and fall with his agitated exhale and the tension weighs heavy. His hands are on your lower back in a sort of embrace that holds you close to him and keeps you from running away, and you wouldn't even if you could. You hear your own breathing quicken in your ears, and without thinking, you lean in to kiss him but Sukuna lifts his chin avoiding you and kissing your forehead instead.
“Come on, I'll take you to bed.”
Sat. 4/15 • -:- am—
You wake up with a slight headache pulsing in your temples and the sharp spicy smell of a perfume you don't recognize as your own. Still with your eyes closed, you turn your body to reach for the phone on the bedside table, you stretch your fingers in search of it, but your hands can't seem to find the nightstand, so you struggle to blink slowly and finally open your eyes completely. The unusual darkness confuses you a bit and makes you wonder what time it is; the sun should be penetrating the motel windows intensely at this hour, so you curiously sit up in bed. You look for your phone under the pillow, between the sheets and in every nook and cranny your hands can reach on the mattress.
It is at that moment when you notice the different color of the sheets and the four pillows around you, making you realize that this is not your bed, nor is this your room. Looking at your legs you realize that you are still dressed in last night's clothes, then you remember Sukuna. Your eyes scan the room in the absence of light — were you in his room or maybe he had another guest room? You pull the sheet off your legs and head to the window to open the black curtains and let the sun finish waking you up.
The lively view of the city greets you from below, cars come and go on the fast moving highway. With the help of the light now illuminating every corner, you take another look at the room and find out that this was probably his: the space is spacious and modern, following the same style as the living room with a minimalist decoration. The walls are a light gray and in front of the bed there is an elegant glass desk with an office chair. On top of the desk, there is a closed laptop and some tidy papers.
The bed is bigger than the one in the motel and is covered with black sheets, next to it a closet with the doors made of a mirror in which you see yourself perfectly reflected, you try to fix your hair as much as you can in case you find him when you go out looking for your phone, but by the prevailing silence makes you aware that Sukuna was probably not at home.
You find your phone on the floor near the couch. At the memory that it must have slipped out of your pocket when you almost fell last night just to then try to kiss Sukuna, your body burns with embarrassment. Unlocking the screen and looking at the time you find a message from Sukuna and missed calls from your father and group of friends. Shit, you totally forgot them.
R. SUKUNA: If you wake up and I'm not here, take a shower, there are headache pills in the desk drawer and eat something. If you decide to take a bath, use something from my closet. I'm visiting my grandpa, I'll be back in about an hour. :)
Checking the time, you realize that the message was sent half an hour ago so you still had time to be alone and clear your thoughts before he returned. After how absurd you acted last night, you don't want to see him today, not in a few weeks maybe. You don't have the courage to look him in the face, especially after he walked away, making it clear to you where he stood with you.
You return to the room with the phone in your hand and a glass of water you quickly grabbed from the kitchen. You open the first drawer and search for the pills you need stumbling upon some personal items, including two small square wrappers of different texture and metallic blue color. Before an unwanted idea can germinate in your mind, you push the condoms aside and take the pill, drinking every last drop from the glass.
You are determined to leave and escape from him, but the sweat from the previous day clings to your body and you refuse to go out like this. You quickly duck into the familiar bathroom and take a quick shower without getting your hair wet this time, opting only to pull it up in a simple bun and wear the same clothes from the day before. You exit the bathroom determined to take refuge in the motel, walking straight to the front door.
“Good morning.” His voice makes you yelp. You put one hand on your chest and one on your mouth, looking him up and down as if you've seen a ghost, and he has the audacity to laugh.
Sukuna looks fresh, as if he's had a good night's sleep and just got out of the shower. He's wearing a light blue short-sleeved sweater and black sweatpants; the baseball cap covering part of his face makes him look much younger.
“Did you sleep well?” Sukuna speaks again and you hope he didn't notice you looking him up and down.
“Yes, thank you. I had a bit of a headache, but I'm better now. we...?” We sleep together. It's the sentence you don't get to finish.
“The couch is more comfortable than it looks.” He gives you another brief grin and your heart flips.
“I'm so sorry about yesterday.”
You both know what you mean, so neither of you decides to delve into it. He downplays it with a wave of his hand, and you appreciate his friendship now more than ever, so you let that memory die.
“You were drunk...” he excuses you before you have a chance to.
“Of course, I never...” you stop, unable to finish the sentence.
“I know.”
“How's your grandfather?” you ask him, quickly changing the subject, struggling not to notice the tattoo peeking through the opening near his neck.
“He's much better, actually.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” you say sincerely, forcing yourself to swallow the guilt that's weighing you down inside. He's showing his most vulnerable side with you, and all you can think about is how much you want to kiss his neck.
“There's just one little problem.”
Your eyes narrow and you take a step forward, paying more attention this time. “What's wrong?” you inquire with genuine concern.
“He wants to meet my girlfriend.”
"Oh." You blink slowly, your lips opening and closing as you choose your next words carefully. “You have a girlfriend.” It's a statement. Of course he has a girlfriend.
“That's where you come in.”
“Excuse me?”
“He always insists that he doesn't like me being alone, that I should focus on other things than taking care of him and the restaurant. To put his mind at ease, I told him I have a girlfriend, I just didn't count on him asking me to meet her. I can only rely on you for that.”
You're flattered, but it's still not enough to hide the fact: “So you lied to him.” You ponder, processing all the information he's blurted out to you.
“Um, no. I'm going to get one, just not now. I'm not sure how long I'll be able to keep him with me and I didn't want to disappoint him.”
You nod slowly. “So, you want us to go visit him?”
“Yes, just once or twice.”
“And for me to act like I'm your girlfriend?”
“Yup.”
You sigh deeply, you massage your eyes with the palm of your hand trying to run away at least for a second from his presence and the effect he has on you; you don't want to keep looking at him and keep thinking about what he is making you feel inside because, what was all that? Sukuna was. your. friend. Why couldn't your hormones understand that and why did you suddenly feel like you would burst if he ever touched you? You finally open your eyes, nod.
“Yeah, okay. I'll help you.”
You don't think about the implications of this, you don't think about the fact that pretending to be his girlfriend makes your heart gallop fast against your ribs when it shouldn't. This is nothing more than an act of good faith, you're just helping a friend. You refuse to consider that you might have to hold his hand, and even the idea of having to kiss him is possible in some scenario.
It's the first time in years that you realize you don't remember the last time you kissed someone. You've been so focused on working, improving and becoming a better dancer every day that you don't remember the last time you had romantic or sexual contact with someone, and you're definitely not ready for Sukuna to be your first.
“I have to go now.”
You have a lot to process.
“Stay for breakfast,” he suggests with that lopsided grimace of his, the one where he doesn't show his teeth but could make you sign a deal with the devil if he wanted to. You have to grip your bag tighter so you don't reach out and touch the inky flash that winks at you again.
“See you later!” you say instead, running for the door.
You don't stop to wait for an answer because you know he would change your mind because that's what he always does (get his way), make you stay and confuse you even more. You pull out your phone and call for an Uber back to the discomfort of your bed, where you can be away from the effect he has on you.
Thurs. 5/10 •
Meeting Hiroshi in person after hearing so much about him makes you feel like you've already known him for a long time. The smile spreads on his face like ink on water when he sees you, and it's already second nature for him to call you “daughter” as he grabs your hand and cheeks affectionately; he really likes you and you like him back.
Accompanied by Sukuna holding your hand, you always bring him flowers or fruits and listen attentively as Sukuna reads to him and tells him how business is going at the restaurant, while he nods. In a way, he reminds you of your own grandfather; a man just as sweet and hardworking. Seeing this new side of Sukuna is certainly different and addictive. The patient way he talks to his grandfather makes you look at him with admiring eyes; he seems like a totally different man. You have been accompanying him for the last three visits and seeing him spending so much time with his grandfather is becoming a regular habit.
On one of these visits you bump into someone you had seen before in one of the photographs he has hanging in his apartment. Yuuji, much older, much more adult, smiles at you and has the same cheerful expression as his grandfather; he is a boy full of energy who squeezes your hand and shakes it energetically the first time you meet him. He looks a lot like Sukuna and it is impossible for you not to make the internal comparison of how different they are despite being so physically similar.
On Monday after visiting Hiroshi, exchanging the flowers for new ones and making sure he was enjoying his favorite meal, Yuuji, who was already at the hospital when you got there, invites you over for dinner as a sweet gesture to get to know you better.
The restaurant a few blocks away from the hospital is crowded with people, brimming with a cozy, family atmosphere with polished wooden tables and delicate white tablecloths. The soft murmur of family conversations intermingles with the tantalizing aroma of dishes wafting from the kitchen and traditional music in the background.
“I never thought I'd see Uncle Sukuna with a girlfriend,” Yuuji confesses as he rolls noodles on his chopsticks and brings them to his mouth.
“Hey,” Sukuna growls, finishing the sake in one gulp. “Don't disrespect your uncle.”
“It's not that,” Yuuji laughs.“It's just that you're always so secretive, and after what happened with Dad... but I'm happy for both of you.”He looks at you briefly now as he shakes his head slowly.
Your body twitches softly at the surprise of feeling Sukuna curling his fingers with yours on top of the table. His thumb caresses the back of your hand, and butterflies flutter inside you at the sight of this affectionate gesture, though you quickly remember that it's all part of the act. Getting caught up in the moment and excusing yourself to your inner judge, you gently squeeze his hand, reminding yourself to maintain the role of girlfriend.
As you enjoy dinner, you and Sukuna chat animatedly, sharing anecdotes about Hiroshi, the origin of the restaurant's peculiar name, and Yuuji's antics as a child. The vibe in the restaurant is permeated with warmth and energy, with the bustle of the other tables and the comforting aroma of ramen wafting through the air.
At the end of the meal, Yuuji bids the two of you goodbye with a hug, explaining that he must go elsewhere but that he hopes you will have a second date together.
As soon as he makes sure Yuuji has left the restaurant, Sukuna looks at you with a soft smile. “Thank you for joining me tonight. I know this isn't part of your commitment as a 'fake girlfriend'.”
You smile back, still feeling the warmth of his finger on your skin. “Thank you for letting me meet your grandpa, he's an amazing person, and your nephew is really adorable.”
Sukuna nods, his eyes shining with something you can't decipher. “I know Yuuji really likes you too. I think he likes you more than me.”
You giggle softly, recognizing that this encounter has brought you closer to Sukuna. Meeting one of the most important pillars of his life, along with his nephew, who is practically the only close family he has left, makes you feel lucky to be able to witness this more intimate side of him. You just hope that, when all is said and done and they both realize that you're just his friend they'll still continue to accept you and treat you with the affection that has characterized them so far.
“Maybe I should go back to the motel. It's getting late,” you say, bursting the bubble that had enveloped you out of reality. Being away from him was the last thing you wanted right now, but you needed to remind yourself from time to time that this was not part of your current life.
At that moment, he gently withdraws his fingers from yours and nods with a tense line on his lips.
“Sure. Join me for a smoke first.”
After paying the bill and leaving the restaurant, you both walk to the back with Sukuna gently tugging on your hand, still engaged in an act that should only happen when Yuuji or his grandfather are around. Surrounding you, a few people congregate to talk and share a cigarette.
Sukuna brings the cigarette to his mouth and you help him shield it with your hands as he tilts his head slightly to avoid the wind. The cigarette lights up as he inhales and exhales slowly through his nose, keeping his gaze fixed on you the whole time. He is leaning against the wall and you are close by, standing between his spread legs.
“I'll probably have to go home soon..., my real home, I mean,” you tell him suddenly, preferring to watch the people walking in and out of the parking lot instead of paying attention to him.
“Is it the money?”
You nod still without glancing at him. “I can't wait for it to be over, I already talked to my dad and he also thinks it's for the best.”
Sukuna is silent as he takes another puff and exhales just in time for when you turn back to look at him.
“I've been requesting a recommendation letter for you for another academy. I filed an official report against Kurogawa and we have witnesses, people who had made accusations before but had never filed an official report.”
His name brings back bitter memories that dissolve in the smoke and stale smell of the cigarette.
“I'm going to testify too.” Your voice surprises you as much as it seems to surprise Sukuna, who looks you up and down with curious eyes.
“Fine. I'll be with you.”
“Why didn't you tell me before?”
“I wanted to be sure, I didn't want to get your hopes up.” His eyes turn soft and you can see in them the same shadow that was in them that time in his apartment. He was looking at your lips just like now and he didn't seem to mind hiding it. “You look beautiful, by the way. Yuuji kept looking at you.”
You smile, glancing down at the teal dress you decided to wear that night.
“You don't look bad yourself,” you tell him, touching your fingertips to the oversized wool coat he was wearing. Sukuna follows your fingers as they stumble over the black buttons and away from his body. His eyes follow your hands that stay still on either side of your body and then they return to your face, momentarily checking your mouth.
“Wanna try?” he asks, raising the cigarette to your eye level.
“I've never smoked,” you confess.
“That wasn't my question.” He bites his lip, followed by the tip of his pink tongue moistening his lower lip gently. “You want me to guide you?”
“...Yes.”
“Open your mouth,” his voice comes out quick, eager and sharp almost like yours. His words guide you as you part your lips just enough for him to place the cigarette between them. But instead, Sukuna pulls you closer into him gently squeezing your waist as he exhales smoke into your half-open lips. “Swallow a little bit and then exhale,” he gently commands you. “Don't let it go down your throat.”
You follow his instructions without complaint, holding the smoke for a moment in your mouth before releasing it. The taste of ash floods your palate for a moment, a smell you find unbearable and yet.... “More,” you find yourself asking, rising on tiptoe to reach for the cigarette yourself.
You're sure you're not asking for more of the cigarette, you're asking for more of him. Of the brief touch you get from his unfriendly hands on your body, more of his perfume lulling your senses, more of his closeness.
His fingers leave your lower back to climb up to your jaw keeping you steady, still and trapped as he exhales a second puff between your parted lips. Your heart flips but you manage to repeat the action of inhaling and exhaling without coughing, and as he prepares to do it a third time without you asking, your noses collide in the darkness of your closed eyes; his lips brush yours for an electric instant, and you feel his fingers clinging tighter to your jaw: breathing out.
“My God...you,” you stand still, feeling yourself burn inside as his warm breath seeps into you once more. “If you don't stop me, I will do something I will regret.” His words are a threat brushing your tongue.
Your foreheads meet and rest against each other, fingers guided by desire slipping under his coat where you cling to his shirt ruffling the fabric. You close your eyes waiting to feel him, that first real contact, charged with sparkle and fireworks. You tilt your neck back, giving him the access he needs to take you.
“I'm not going to stop you,” you gasp, pushing closer.
Sukuna growls like an animal, immediately replacing his grip with his lips on your jaw; barely perceptibly grazing the flesh and bringing tickles to your insides. Then he moves slowly up to your ear, outlining the jaw bone with his mouth and staying still behind the shell of your ear, simply breathing warm air.
“We're in public,” he reminds you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. Charged with a bravery that is uncharacteristic of you, you reach your hand toward his crotch, feeling the bulge that is evident through his pants.
“Then let's go somewhere more private.”
Sukuna grunts once more, hunching towards you in such a way that it appears as if he is hugging you. His hands slide down your back until they reach your ass and squeeze it, the people around you startle you but the feeling lasts a moment before you turn your attention back to him and the plea that seems to spill from his throat.
“What have you done to me?” he utters your name as if you were a divine being and he is a mere servant. Your hand, gaining confidence, presses harder on his erection. “I want to slowly peel off your clothes, worship every inch of your body. Kiss every spot, every mole.”
He abandons the comfort of your ear to move to your neck, where you sense his breath as he subtly pushes his hips against your open palm. It's embarrassing to be doing this in public. His coat and the shadows of the night help hide the scene, but if someone were to discover you, you could get in trouble.
“Tell me you need it too,” he whispers against your throat on the verge of losing his temper and pressing his nose, his eager mouth clinging to your skin; sucking. “Tell me you feel the fire in your chest too,” he gasps, his teeth grazing a little harder.
“Fuck. I feel it. I've wanted to say it for a long time, but I was afraid you wouldn't feel the same,” you lick your lips. “That night when I tried to kiss you...”
“You were drunk,” he interrupts you. “I didn't want you to regret it the next day.” Sukuna reluctantly pulls away to admire you with dilated pupils and parted lips. “But you have no idea how much I've had to restrain myself to act just like a friend.” He examines you up and down. “Let's go to my apartment.”
Holding hands and with feelings running high, you move quickly into the parking lot to find the bike parked a few feet from where you were. Sukuna just lets you go to put the helmet around your head and then proceeds to put his on and without another thought you set off on the road. The cool night air immediately envelops you, the edge of your dress flaps against your thighs thanks to the speed at how fast he was going, almost as quickly as your heart beats in your chest. For you, there's a mixture of excitement and nervousness, a sense of disbelief mixed with anticipation. You can't stop thinking about what just happened, what you've wanted to occur for months and what might happen now.
The drive back to his apartment is fraught with sexual tension. The speed, the wind in your faces and the physical proximity keeps you on edge, your fingers run up and down his chest under his coat, impatient up and down patterns reminding him how close you are.
As you reach the apartment the palpable excitement between you and Sukuna intensifies. You both quickly slide off the bike, and holding hands take the elevator to his floor. Neither of you say anything until you reach the quiet of his place, interrupted by the hitching of breaths.
Sukuna steps forward and sits on the couch that is now so familiar to you, his eager but controlled expression blurring in the gloom that dances in the living room. From there, he calls your name softly, his voice laden with restrained emotion. The atmosphere in the apartment seems charged with electricity as you approach him, your heart pounding in your chest.
As you get closer, Sukuna watches you carefully, his eyes roaming over every part of you with admiration and desire.
“Take off your dress,” he says hoarse with lust.
Without thinking you grab the edge of the dress, slip it over your head and pull it aside to be left with only the underwear you have chosen for the night. As you move forward and are finally in the middle of his spread knees Sukuna grabs your hips and helps you to sit on his lap. The grip on your hips firms and hardens, he takes it upon himself to rub your covered core against the wideness of his thigh and short moans of pleasure take over your mouth.
“Keep riding my thigh. Slowly. Feel that pussy get wet for me, feel it ache,” he indicates, releasing your hips to then worship your thighs up and down.
Oh. It was aching, you want to tell him. Everything inside you was doing it, burning with need every muscle, every vein. Your legs from the posture, your pussy from need and your tight belly begging for a release but instead you stand quietly contemplating with your mouth open the way, after removing his coat, he undresses the buttons of the sweater one by one finally satiating your curiosity by revealing the tattoo underneath.
More black marks. They draw you in and invite you to touch them, thick ink-filled lines that you trace under your fingers start at his chest, cross between the line that joins his shoulder and neck and disappear behind along his back. Puzzled you stare at him some more, losing yourself in his eyes as you rise to look at him; he looks still, pleased that you are touching him as if he were art.
“Did they hurt?” you wonder with a bit of naiveté.
Sukuna cradles your breasts gently above the fabric of your bra, he seizes the moment to tug on your nipples hard, getting you to moan.
“They hurt a lot,” he confesses quietly, in a low tone of voice that plays it down.
You continue tracing the canvas that is his skin, moving down his abdomen until you stumble upon the belt that holds his pants in place. Briefly you check his eyes, hoping they tell you something more than the lust that seems to flood them.
“Why did you decide to get tattooed then?”
Sukuna catches your gaze silently, his fingers snaking around your belly, walking up to stop in the middle of your thighs and through your panties he strokes your clit with three fingers.
“We all have to endure a little pain sometimes, don't we?”
It feels so intimate the way he talks to you, the way he looks at you. When he roams your body with his gaze you can't help but feel small. You rub against his fingers, push and circle them helping him get to know your body better, listening to your broken gasps, showing him exactly where it makes you feel good.
“I want to suck your cock,” you confess as you reach down to undo his belt. There was no shame binding you now, only a raw desire that longs to be unleashed.
He smiles pleased with the change in attitude, and silently pushes your hips up to help you remove his pants leaving him alone in a pair of boxers which you soon pull down leaving them tangled midway down his thighs. Sukuna then pulls you off his lap and places you on the side of the couch where he instructs you to spread your legs for him thus getting easy access between your thighs.
As Sukuna continues to give attention to your pussy, you contemplate how hard he is: more than big it was thick, with the tip of an angry pink throbbing just below your mouth. It had been years since you had last given oral sex to someone, your last few encounters were nothing more than a monotonous thrusting and pulling out where you ended up with the guy cumming on your lower back or stomach; you never felt like sucking their cock but with sukuna it's different. With him everything is.
“It's been a long time since I've... you know,” you confess, holding back a nervous giggle.
From below you raise your gaze to lace it to his eyes that receive you slightly closed, sharing a guilty smirk that he wipes away as he bites his lip.
“You're doing a very good job,” he praises you. And his fingers tossing the edge of your panties aside leaves you breathless for a second, your lip quivering receiving his fingers inside you. “You don't have to do anything you don't want to, though.”
His words cause you to twitch around two fingers pushing and massaging your pussy. So deep, so slow, he synchronizes his thrusts with the way your lips close around the head of his cock; his movements are precise as if he's searching for something inside you, in, out and then he pulls them all the way out to make you cum as he rubs your clit hard and talks dirty to you.
Sukuna praises you sweetly as you sob his choked name against his thigh, his caresses surround your now sensitive clit and every time he touches it you find it impossible not to shudder. Then he grabs you by the face and kisses you on the forehead and holding your hand helps you up to guide you to his room that you already knew.
The lamps are off and the only light coming in is through the open window, the curtain ruffles softly in the cool spring breeze sending sudden chills down your bare skin. Sukuna instructs you to lie face down on the bed and you do so as he goes to another side of the room. The mirror you saw earlier shows you your half naked body under the swirling shadows and the masculine scent permeating his sheets makes you sigh deeply.
The bed sinks with his weight, the mattress groans as he digs his knees into it and positions himself behind you, your ass rising almost without your permission, eager with anticipation.
“You want to fuck me like this?” you throw your head back to catch him putting on the condom, one of the blue wrappers you saw before is now off to the side near your feet.
“Fuck yeah. Just lay back, you work so hard...” He snaps, spitting on his wrapped cock and giving it a couple of strokes before spreading your ass cheeks apart. “You want it like this, want me to work to make you feel good?”
“Yes,” you sigh, watching every glimpse that the dim light allows you of his body in the big mirror.
Slowly he sinks into you and you take it in with a deep moan. “That's it,” Sukuna murmurs, resting his hands on your lower back, initiating gentle thrusts that have your body rocking against the sheets.
Sometimes you feel him so deep you call his name, drunk with pleasure, you hope he understands you're begging him to keep going because you can't speak. Your mind is filled with him, his natural scent on the sheets, the smell of his sweaty perfume, his chest heavy against your back sinking you a little deeper into the mattress.
“Do you want to fuck yourself a little on my cock?” He says, gently circling your neck with his fingers without actually exerting any real pressure, with his free hand he stimulates your clit and your back arches right away. “Push your ass back, that's it...”
“I'm gonna cum...” you warn him, gasping with your mouth open, blinking rapidly so as not to lose sight of your bodies reflected in the mirror, fitting together perfectly as they do when dancing.
Your orgasm was still making you shiver the moment he turns you around so that you are facing each other. Sukuna is grinning showing you his sharp fangs, bringing your hands above your head and clasping his fingers between yours he starts fucking you again, your legs on his broad shoulders, his mouth just inches from you.
“Hi,” he says giggling breathlessly and it catches you immediately. “You look so beautiful now, you look gorgeous when you cum for me...”
His thrusts become deeper, your skins echoing each time they meet.
“Ryōmen...”
“I know, baby. I feel it too... Do you want me to cum inside?” You nod drunkenly with pleasure, unable to stop staring into those deep red eyes, his lashes fluttering and you notice his jaw tightening. “Yeah? You want to feel my thick load creaming that pussy?” he says, through clenched teeth.
“Yes, oh my god, please.”
Your fingers run down your stomach and down between your thighs, your fingers graze your clit once giving you the final push you need to cum a third time.
“Next time we'll do it raw, baby. I promise, but take it like this now, hm; cum for me.”
Your body tenses, your belly tightens in anticipation as Sukuna finally joins his lips with yours. The sensation is electric, as if a current of desire runs through every fiber of your being. Your lips meet in an eager, fiery kiss, where Sukuna sucks your tongue greedily and bites your lower lip with unbridled passion.
The intensity is almost obscene, each movement making you moan softly. Your legs tremble, but his weight on you only fuels the growing fire in your belly. Though your body aches in this position, you can't stop; the kiss is addictive, a whirlwind of sensations that far exceeds your deepest desires. It is far more than any subtle fantasy you have allowed yourself to imagine.
Sukuna leans closer, his hands caressing your face tenderly as his lips explore yours with passionate urgency. The room fills with the sound of your ragged breathing, swallowing each of the growls he lets die in your mouth.
. . . Slowly he pulls out of you, then rushes to throw the condom away in a basket by the desk. Your aching body turns to admire his broad back and gaze at the ink stains on it in the poor light.
With a simple “I'll be right back,” he leaves you waiting naked between the sheets your fingers stretch to gather and tuck you in. Before you can allow feelings of guilt or doubt to arise, Sukuna returns to the bed with a bottle of water that he offers you to drink. You immediately bring it to your mouth as he lies down next to you, one hand behind his head and the other resting on his tummy.
You snuggle close to him and Sukuna immediately wraps his arms around you, drawing you into his warm body.
“That was amazing,” you admit, as your fingers trace figures on his chest. However, Sukuna senses how you suddenly tense up.
“What's wrong?” he asks you with a frown.
“I was thinking about what's going to happen to us now,” you mutter, averting your gaze.
“I like you,” he says, as if it hasn't been clear until now. “I want you to be my girlfriend, for real this time,” you both chuckle lightly, and you raise your face to stare at him for a moment, a smile spreading across your lips.
“I like you too,” you admit with a hot face, surprised to admit it out loud; you never thought this moment would come, the odds of ending up in love with Sukuna were low, almost nil. And yet, here you are.
“Good. Then we have no more questions,” he leans in for a fleeting kiss on your lips, awakening a dormant volcano in your belly. “I have to go visit my grandfather tomorrow, do you wanna grab lunch when I'm done?”
“Is it okay if I come with you?”
“Of course. You know we love having you around,” he says, struggling to hold back another smile.
"Does that mean that if I'm your girlfriend now I won't have to help you lift the fish boxes anymore?" you joke, and he drops his head back laughing softly. You look at him in awe, you never thought you could like him any more than you already did, but having him like this, so close, so vulnerable, makes your heart race.
You want to kiss him again, to sit on his lap and take control this time, but you bite your lip instead, letting out a smile.
“You're definitely going to have to help me more at the restaurant now that you're my girl.”
My girl. You feel like you might burst.
“And what about my dad? I already told him I'd go back to my country.”
“Nah. I'm not going to let you get away so easily, you're mine now. You're exactly where you belong.”
And Sukuna was right. Here you feel good, safe, despite the struggles you will face you know you can get through it together. So you lean in and kiss him again, and again and again; you would have all night and many more because now you were his and he was yours.
Thank you for reading! reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated ♡
I don't do parts two! ⟡ I do not allow repost (do not translate or copy elsewhere), please do not recommend my work on tiktok.
#wr#ryomen sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen x reader#sukuna ryomen x you#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#jjk x reader
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gax + corporate/law vibes + ‘The powerpoint was steadily taking over their relationship, something that Max was not willing to stand for.’
gax?? gax!!
power (you make some points): a gax ficlet
rated m, ~1.2k words
now also readable on ao3
author babble:
bear in mind i wrote this before i knew more about the Gax Lore i.e. karting together, actually being nice to each other blablabla. you could also just retrofit the vibes and hopefully they still work. anyways!
will throw this up on ao3 when i’m not sitting bleary eyed in an airport
————
If there was one thing that Max Verstappen wouldn’t tolerate, it was George Russell having the monopoly on good PowerPoint presentations. Max had won all four years of debate in College, as well as the dubious title of “most radical deployment of Google Slides templates” at his MBA, and he was not about to be usurped by the other guy in his department who actually knew how to use an animate transition.
“You missed an indent there.” Max says, pointing at the monitor. Yellow and red lights wink at them from the outside, as if to say: you’re both in your mid-twenties, quit wasting it on a computer screen at 11pm on a Wednesday, maybe?
Max is not staring, very determined not to look at his teammate’s facial expression. But George is almost certainly rolling his eyes right now.
“Was coming back to that, alright?” George huffs back. Max is very professional most of the time. But something about how wound up George is, how insanely pedantic he is about everything from semicolons to coffee cup placement for the Directors to taking insanely detailed minutes that nobody except Max reads after the meetings – well. What is it that Nietschze once said? We hate in others what we most identify with about ourselves. Or was that from Twitter? Max does not really use Twitter except to look at Bloomberg News updates and cat videos, so he does not know. And anyway Nietzsche never made a six figure salary.
“It would just be easier if you would let me do it.” Max says.
“Fuck right off, mate.”
“Oh, wouldn’t you like me to.”
“Not now.”
“Just share the link to this. I’ll do it.”
“We agreed to take turns on this.”
“Yes, Russell. But sometimes, the rules are meant to be bent.”
George swivels his chair to Max, then. Fully attempts to pin him with his gaze, commencing an awkward stare-off that lasts way too many seconds and makes Max once again realise that George’s eyes remind him of the expensive fish tank he saw at the Partners’ sushi dinner once. Max doesn’t think those same fish were the ones they ended up eating. But he does remember that dinner because it was the one where the Partners had dangled the promise of a huge promotion if they could help carry the company merger across the line successfully. The problem is, there was only one spot.
George’s distracting aquatic orbitals aside, fortunately, Max (i) never backs down, and (ii) has been told that he has the dead-eyed emotional stare of a robot missing an empathy software upgrade sometimes.
And clearly, the powerpoint was steadily taking over their relationship, something that Max was not willing to stand for.
Max leans back in his chair, stance all mock-relaxed. “Do you want to be out of here before midnight, or not?”
“We’re expensing the Ubers either way, so it doesn’t make a difference to me, mate.”
Fine. If George is so hyperfocused on The Tasks that he’s forgotten the fun part of being Questionably Close Coworkers, so be it.
Max deploys the nuclear option.
He sticks his leg out, nudging the toe of his Pradas onto George’s slacks. And strokes his foot halfway up to a sensitive point on George’s thigh. Max may even flutter his lashes a little.
To his credit, George does not react. Merely swings his eyes like a lamp to Max’s face again. His hand does, however, goes still on the mouse.
“What exactly are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” Max feigns. He knows that George hates, more than anything, anyone getting dirt on his precious Ralph Laurens. But at least he has his attention now. “Was hoping we could move onto the more fun part of the typical evening activities. Maybe.”
“We shouldn’t be doing that again anyway.”
“George.”
“What?”
“That is not what you said the last, hm, fourteen times that we have done this, eh?”
“Who’s counting?”
“I thought you were the most careful of rule followers and data analysis, knapperd.”
George is a human being, but Max is almost certain the other man shakes himself like he’s preening right now.
“Well. It’s what the team likes me for, and it’s what I’ll keep doing.”
“Oh yes. Surely we must keep in mind the team. And the shareholders. They are very important.”
“Quite.”
“But should we tell them that you like it so much, George. When I do this.” Max says. Rising up, fully crowding George in, hands gripping the cool handles of the computer chair. Leaning in to nibble the side of George’s neck.
George swallows. Max watches his throat move.
Next, Max mouths the words onto the side of George’s jaw, stubble prickling his mouth. “And this.”
The click of the mouse continues steadily as Max moves his mouth to the shell of George’s ear. “And let’s not forget. This.”
Max tilts George’s face up fully, then. George’s face is flushed, eyes sparkling, all surprise at the sudden change of pace, but eager, too.
When Max seals his lips over George’s, George groans, and his hands shoot up to Max’s waist immediately. It doesn’t feel quite like winning a deal or a pitch does for Max, but the completion comes pretty damn close.
Max sweeps his tongue into George’s mouth. George opens willingly, like he always does. In the back of Max’s logical brain, a warning sign blares that the computer chair may not be able to support the weight of them both – because they spend a lot of time pretending they don’t work out together at the gym but Max knows exactly what George’s deadlift PB is and it’s pretty damn high for a scrawny looking dude.
And despite the keening protest of said chair, the two of them are both lost to it now. Max jams one knee between George’s legs, George nibbles hungrily at Max’s lower lip, Max thrusts his hips all needy, and maybe if Max is nice about it George might suck him off under the table, and–
Outlook chimes again.
“Blasted piece of shit.” George says, breaking away. His hands go still at Max’s waist. “Why we’re using G-Suite and Microsoft Office at the same time I will never know.”
George squeezes his eyes shut, as if making himself stop this is causing him physical pain. Maybe it’s that or the workflow incompatibility when George tries to move his custom Excel-Trello gantts into a third party API.
And Max won’t lie. He kind of likes it when George gets so irritated about these things. When he cares a bit too much. Because what is Max but exactly like that, too.
“Hazards of a merger, I guess. But without that, I would never have met you, no?”
George makes a noise like he knows what Max means. The other man straightens his shirt collar, and Max runs a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, because George had made a passing comment at the bathroom sink once about it looking good.
Sleeping with the person competing for the same Chief of Staff position is possibly the worst decision he could’ve made, and Max once dyed his hair platinum blonde. But, they’re stuck here together. Hell is a slightly more tolerable place when Satan’s right hand man looks this good. And knows his coffee order without asking.
Besides. Max is not bothered. He knows that the promotion is his. This is just a minor plot inconvenience.
Later, they will expense the uber back to George’s place, where Max will put his mouth on George’s arse, and give him a practical demonstration of the three different ways he’s learned to elicit pleasure from the male prostate.
George will whimper and whine the whole way through it, and after they’re both sated, they’ll both roll over to check their emails, barely concealing their smiles. They will pretend that what’s happening between them could be as clean as their zero-email inboxes. As if their connection is not violently seeping through containment.
All in the name of team bonding. For the firm. Yes.
(Or this is what they tell themselves, to maintain the illusion, anyway.)
#gax#max verstappen#george russell#f1 rpf#3363#6333#max verstappen x george Russell#wisteriawritesstuff#if this feels out of character I am sorry simply LOOK AWAY#but I enjoyed it#snipey type A assholes#but they’re MY made up snipey type A assholes#prompt fill#THESE WERE MEANT TO BE DRABBLES 😭#anyway
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☆ strange twist of fate . . . (o.p)
— a simple video shoot for mclaren leads to a lot of previously unexplored feelings about your teammate (2.3k)
+ fully inspired by mclaren’s summer games video, it is my fav thing ever at the moment. nothing stirs up some tension like a game of twister, right?
+ contains very subtle suggestive references. like. one or two sexual jokes. likely not very accurate oscar but, oh well. banner and divider from cafekitsune
the blinking red light of the camera in front of you indicates you’ve started rolling, and second nature (also known as years of media training) causes you to perk up a little as oscar begins to speak. even from his mannerisms, you can tell that he’s gotten far more confident being in front of the camera with you, the two of you building up a comfortable dynamic that you could stick to pretty well.
“alright.” oscar claps his hands together, shifting his weight back onto his right foot. the movement positions him just a little closer to you, his arm brushing against yours briefly. the hairs on your arms stand up in its wake, and oscar runs through the introduction of the video the media team has asked him to deliver.
“so, we’ve got some garden games,” he explains, voice dripping with faux enthusiasm as he turns to you with a coy smile.
the look generates a similar grin from you, something that usually happens when you’re in close proximity to oscar. not wanting to overthink it, you chalk it down to simple nerves. after all, you’ve only been teammates with oscar for six months. despite growing closer to him, it’s no surprise that your body continues to opt for bashful smiles over formulating a proper response.
surely everyone forgets how to speak to their coworker sometimes?
seemingly unaware of your internal monologue, oscar proceeds with his own conversation to the camera, eyes scanning the room and surveying the three games that have been set up for the two of you to play.
“we’ve got twister,” he notes, his accent thick as it wraps around the letters of the word. you ignore the way your brain plays the sound over again, an echo only you can hear. “and some limbo later, then jenga to finish it all off.”
if you weren’t too busy staring at the large, inflatable limbo bar in the corner, you would notice oscar’s eyebrows briefly jump at the sight of the twister mat. the dial sitting next to it on the floor reminds him of just what the game entails, and he swallows thickly.
deciding you should probably make an effort to speak at some point, you fake frustration and cross your arms over your chest.
“i’m pretty sure oscar’s beaten me in every other video we’ve done this year,” you begin, but you’re cut off.
“no, you won the uh- the lie detector thingy,” oscar points out.
it’s true. though you had somehow managed to get through the lie detector challenge receiving only one shock, oscar had absolutely crushed you at the ‘yes/no’ challenge, and managed to beat you in ‘hide and seek’ by somehow procuring the most effective hiding spot in the entire paddock. you don’t even want to remember just how badly you had done answering questions from the british driving theory test.
keeping up the act, you roll your eyes and dismiss him with a wave of your arm. “okay, like, 7-1 then.”
at the sound of oscar’s high pitched chuckle, your face immediately cracks into a grin. it’s as though oscar’s laugh is programmed to make you smile no matter the circumstances, carrying some secret code that rearranges the chemicals in your brain — totally platonically, of course. you tell yourself that he’s just one of those people with infectious laughs, destined to make others join in their delight.
“brilliant!” the director objects, a grin plastered onto her face as the camera cuts, signalling the end of filming for this segment. “that was perfect guys, thanks. if you wanna get ready for the first game for us.”
taking a deep breath, you nod and stride over to your first activity: twister.
similar to the motions you see oscar go through before every race, you make a show of stretching out your arms and neck with exaggerated groans, even shaking out your legs and performing a few deep lunges for good measure.
“just warming myself up,” you joke. “good thing i’m pretty flexible.”
“yeah? i’ll put that to the test, then,” oscar quips, clearly not realising that what he said could be taken in an entirely different way, a way that certainly doesn’t come to your mind the moment the words leave his mouth.
distracting yourself from his accidental innuendo, you move to one corner of the mat and watch oscar spin the dial for you, the pointer whirring around before landing on left hand red. you crouch down immediately and plant your hand onto one of the red dots, tilting your head to look up at oscar. it seems he was already looking, though, a small smile across his face as he rests his hands on his hips.
“your turn, oscar. you’re starting from the other side though,” you laugh, pointing over to the opposite side of the mat to you. “get over there.”
with a mock salute, oscar strides over to the opposing side of the twister mat, eyes locked onto you as he waits for you to spin the dial and administer his fate.
the game progresses as well as you could have imagined, the constant laughter between you two causing your bodies to shake and thus making holding yourself up a lot harder than it should have been. due to the increasingly awkward positions you find yourselves in, a mclaren team member has to step in at one point to spin the dial for you both since you’ve been rendered useless.
at one point, oscar groans softly at his latest instruction which leaves his body uncomfortably contorted. lip between his teeth, he stretches over to place his hand onto the green spot just across from you, granting you with the - undeniably enjoyable - sight of oscar’s toned arm inches away from your face. your eyes trace over the veins that protrude from his arms, splintering like lightning underneath his lightly tanned skin, practically begging your gaze to follow their path.
having your insanely attractive coworker almost hovering over you as he pants and curses was definitely doing nothing to help you keep your focus on the content you were filming, and you prayed to any and every higher being that no one would be able to notice just how flustered you were becoming. you could see the twitter threads and youtube compilations now – y/n y/l/n being flustered for two minutes straight, y/n swooning over oscar, and whatever else the eagle eyed fans could create.
whoever at mclaren had suggested the two of you play twister was going to fucking pay.
you’re thankful when oscar speaks, dragging you away from whatever train of thought you had found yourself following.
“ah, what a stitch up that is!” oscar complains, letting out a few short breaths as he attempts to shuffle his body into a position that is easier to maintain.
in return, you scoff, craning your neck to look at him with indignation.
“are you joking? i’m practically doing the fucking splits, oscar!” you object, nodding down towards your legs which are, to your credit - spread across the length of the twister mat in a way that isn’t entirely pleasant.
“guess the flexibility isn’t working out for you then?” oscar quips dryly. over the past few months you’d become accustomed to his more sarcastic, low-key humour, so it’s no surprise when a short laugh escapes your lips despite your current predicament.
a few more rounds pass without a hitch, but you should have known that fate would not be on your side for too long
“left foot yellow,” someone calls, and oscar looks down towards the mat you’re both occupying.
realisation dawns on you both at exactly the same time: the only free yellow spot lands directly between your legs.
“we can’t be on the- on the same sticker, can we?” oscar asks, voice fragmented through his breathy laughter as he tries to manoeuvre his body into a more comfortable position.
despite the way your heart pounds, you’re laughing too, shaking your head in what could be a gesture of amusement or admonishment depending on who you asked. though you should feel a little bad, you can’t help but laugh at the sight of oscar searching for every possible movement he can make, short groans and puffs of breath escaping his lips at the exertion. in an effort to prevent your mind from wandering further at the sound, you focus instead on the budding ache growing in your arms thanks to minutes of holding your body up in an unnatural position.
it’s no use, though. there’s only one spot he can logically move to.
“oscar, you are not putting your leg there,” you protest, looking up at him with your brows furrowed. your voice becomes almost pleading despite the mirth in your tone. “oscar. oscar, call it quits.”
a flash of contemplation dances behind his eyes as he weighs up just how determined he is to win a trivial game of twister. at his hesitation, your palms grow clammy at the thought of oscar being even closer to you than he is now, and you’re scared that you’ll start to slip off of the mat if your mind doesn’t stop.
“does it have to be that one?” he asks, looking to the team behind the camera for confirmation.
amused, they simply nod, stifling their laughs with tight lipped grins. oscar takes another moment to figure out his next move before he lets out a groan, collapsing onto the twister mat with a breathy laugh. “there, i’m done. we’re done.”
victorious, you relieve your limbs of the strain they are currently feeling and flop down onto the mat yourself, raising your arms up in celebration as you grin widely at the camera.
“that’s one for me!” you shout, looking down to oscar so you can rub your victory in his face.
still on his back, you notice his eyes have fluttered shut and his chest rises and falls quickly as he catches his breath, cheeks flushed from the exertion. if the garish colours of the twister mat were not directly beneath him, you could almost allow yourself to imagine another, less innocent activity was the explanation for his fatigue.
taking a few moments to catch your breath, the two of you sit on the mat in a comfortable silence before oscar forces himself up, offering you a hand and helping you to your feet carefully.
the universe must have taken pity on you, as the rest of the video thankfully progresses with little problem at all. limbo is no contact at all, and being shorter than oscar gives you even more of an advantage, to his chagrin. your downfall is suggesting that your final round - jenga - be ‘winner takes all’.
lesson learned: never underestimate oscar piastri’s jenga skills.
overall, the shoot itself lasts maybe half an hour before you’re quickly dismissed by the camera crew, free to do whatever you please for the next few hours before more media duties call your name. it makes sense for you both to walk back through the paddock together, so that’s exactly what you do.
a comfortable silence blankets you both for a minute or so, before oscar speaks.
“so,” he starts. though there’s an easy smile on his face, you can’t help but note a subtle hint of nerves in his voice. it’s a realisation that scares you a little.
oscar had never really been nervous to speak to you. a little awkward, when you first met, sure, but his tone had never been laced with anxiety.
you’ve made him uncomfortable, you worry. he noticed how you were looking at him during the video, noticed you were staring. fuck, fuck, fuck. you’ve ruined it.
“so,” you return, resisting the urge to wring your hands together like a chastised school pupil. “that was uh, an interesting idea, from mclaren. making us play twister.”
oscar nods and wets his lips. he seems to be weighing up his response carefully, and you brace yourself for whatever accusations he’s about to throw your way.
“yeah,” he agrees. “fun, though. think i definitely would have won, if you didn’t make me call it quits,” he teases, knocking his shoulder against yours. the unexpected movement causes you to stumble, and you laugh indignantly before shoving him back.
“what was i supposed to do?” you counter. your fingertips begin to tingle, heart beating a little faster as his words involuntarily bring to mind the memory of his body so close to your own.
a cheeky grin rises to oscar’s lips, and though he shrugs, his next words are anything but casual.
“i don’t think you would have minded having me in between your legs.”
shock renders your mind blank as you scramble to come up with some sort of response. how are you even supposed to respond to that? deny it? make a joke out of it? brush over it and roll your eyes at him? nothing seems to be an appropriate response.
it seems oscar is enjoying your dumbfounded state, and if you weren’t floundering so much you would kill him for how much he was enjoying your misfortune.
“what do you mean?”
stupid.
like the little shit he is, oscar only shrugs again.
“just an observation,” he hums, coming to a stop outside of his driver’s room. though you think running away from the conversation seems a little juvenile, your hand hovers over the doorknob of your own room.
before he slips through the door frame, he speaks once more, crooked grin forming the words that would send you reeling for the rest of the day.
“i wouldn’t have minded it, either.”
#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader#formula one x reader#oscar piastri fluff#oscar piastri blurb#oscar piastri drabble
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Chris and Henry being proud of their introverted boyfriend who is an actor and director who got an award for his first movie he directed and acted in. They take him home to show him how proud they are of him.
JEJRNWJEIE SO MUCH SHIT OH EM GEE
After you’ve won the award, they’re both showing you off the entire night, being all like “this is our bf m/n who just won an award cuz he’s great and amazing”
And the car ride home they’re both just saying how proud of you they are and giving you light soft kisses
It isn’t until you’re getting ready for bed that they do something
You wear the usual Chris’s shirt and Henry’s sweats
But they’re both in bed, absolutely naked, except for just a bowtie
And Henry’s using that voice that gets you hard as steel. Saying, “and the winner of the juiciest ass goes to… m/n l/n”
And Chris also uses his voice that gets you going to say, “m/n, please come up here to claim your award”
And you’re all just so blushy and everything. And as you get closer they stop you, and both say at the same time, “there’s a dress code sir”, and they make you strip in front of them and they hand you possibly the tiniest two piece set ever
It was a bra and thong, and it was all just strings to be honest, they helped you get into it. But focused more help on the thong. The bra was practically two tiny triangle of fabric being held together by some string, same for the thong
And Henry seats you in his lap, his cock already hard and in between your thighs, right up against your own hard cock. Chris, still with that voice asks, “m/n, how would you like thank the voting committee?”
And you notice that your foot is right within perfect distance of Chris’ cock. So being the fucker that you are, you immediately start giving Chris a footjob. And Chris let’s out a broken moan as he loses his balances sitting on his knees, so he decides to sit regularly
Chris speaks through his moans, “what else would you like to say to the committee?”, and you look down between your thighs, Henry’s hard cock is twitching and leaking pre. You look up at Henry, and Henry gives him a warning look, “don’t you even think about it”
And you immediately do it anyway, taking your index finger and rubbing it on Henry’s tip. This method always drives Henry absolutely wild and makes him a complete sub mess in your hands
Henry speaks through his moans, “baby please, please don’t do this to me, your daddies really want to show you how proud we are of you”, your continues his actions as Henry tries to buck his hips
The sounds of Chris’ and Henry’s whines and moans made you hard yourself, you wanted to continue this, but you also wanted to get fucked
So you stopped and let the two men regain their composure, Henry speaks up, “that was certainly a great acceptance act, but we can’t forget the most important part of an award, the reward”
And with that, Henry pushes you up onto your knees and stomach, Chris slides underneath you, cock placed perfectly in front of your lips
Henry on the other hand, admires the sight in front of him. He thinks it’s cute how the thong’s string doesn’t try at all to cover up your hole
He dives into your hole and you let out a moan, giving Chris the chance to slide his cock in your mouth
The three of you stay like this for a minute before Chris is cumming and Henry slides his cock in you. You haven’t swallowed yet and you and Chris share a kiss with his load going between your mouth and his
Henry feels himself cum and then him and Chris switch places. Henry’s cock sliding smoothly in and out of your mouth
It’s the same with Henry, he cums and you two share a kiss, but with a bit left over of Chris’ cum, Henry saying how good he tastes as he gives him a quick kiss
Chris cums and they both lie next to you. Henry asks, “What can make this night better?”, he says. You think for a while, and a little smirk appears on your face, “You and Chris fool around”, and they obviously don’t reject the idea
Chris moves over to where Henry is, they both initiate a heated make out session, both men moaning and their cocks hardening again. “Let’s give our baby a show”, says Chris
Chris kisses his way down Henry’s body and takes Henry’s cock in his mouth and Henry moans. Soon Henry’s flooding Chris’ mouth with his cum. Chris goes up and makes out with Henry once again, sharing his cum
They switch positions and now Henry’s kissing down Chris’ body as he takes Chris’ cock in his mouth. Chris moans and grabs you and kisses you. “Love making your daddies play with each other? Little slut, knew what you were doing when you started bringing him over huh?”
Chris continued kissing you, moaning into kiss as he felt himself cum in Henry’s mouth. Henry sat up, “Don’t forget about me”, Henry grabbed Chris’ chin and kisses the man, he did the same to you, soon the three of you were engaging in a three way kiss, moans filled the room as you also began to stroke each other, once again drawing cum from the two men and having you cum for the first time
Chris and Henry licked it up and shared a kiss. The two men cleaned you up and then each other. All of you were still in your “clothes”, as the two men pulled you into their arms, preparing to go to sleep
You were underneath the covers as both men were talking to you. “You look fucking fantastic in that thong babe”, Henry breathed against you ear, “You’re gonna have to forgive me if you wake up and I’m inside you”, you smile, “Happens most morning anyways”
Chris kissed you, “we’re gonna have to buy you more things like that”, Chris chuckled as grabbed and squeezed your ass. Chris then spoke up, “What’re your thoughts on double penetration babe?”
Lord these two would be the death of you
Tags: @gayaristocrat @bluelove24
#chris evans x male reader#chris evans x chubby male reader#henry cavill x male reader#henry cavill x chubby male reader#male reader#x male reader#chubby male reader#x chubby male reader
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i got you babe - j.h.k
summary: y/n worked the hardest she ever has on this new project, and she thinks jonah can’t make it to her premiere.
jonah hauer king x reader
a/n: I DID IT GUYS TAKE IT AND GO.
this movie had been the best, and also the most exhausting film y/n has ever acted in. she was working with one of the most important directors in a thriller movie. she knew the filming would take a toll, it required her to almost turn into her character, also carrying disturbing plot moments. she also knew this movie was the movie for her. the promotion was booming across the countries for her and it would likely be nominated for several awards due to the script and production.
she had invited everyone to the premiere. her best friends, her family, her boyfriends family, even her boyfriends cast mates. jonah was the most important person in her life. his career was finally starting to skyrocket. he filmed the little mermaid while y/n was also filming, and both of them were at a complete peak in their career. jonah had held her hand at every red carpet, and she held jonah’s on his. everything the other one did was only brought up with praise from the other.
the couple was laying in their bed on their sides, their legs tangled together as they admired the others features. y/n ran her hand through jonah’s soft hair, and his finger was gliding across her cheekbones. “you feeling ok about the premiere tomorrow?”
“i’m just gonna get it over with. i really wish you could be there,” y/n speaks softly in response.
“i know, darling,” he replies, sadly. “i would give anything to be there with you. you put blood, sweat, and tears into this movie and i so badly want to be there holding your hand. i’m so, so sorry love.”
“it’s alright, jonah,” y/n smiles to hopefully release some of his pity. “when it’s over, i’m coming right back home to you.”
she leaves a quick kiss on his lips, and jonah is unsatisfied. so, he leans in, deepening the kiss and rolling her on top of him. “i like the sound of that,” he says, his sweet accent swimming through his words.
y/n stepped onto the red carpet and was confronted with camera flashes and yells for her name. she could barely see a foot in front of her, immediately getting overwhelmed by the bright white lights poisoning her eyes. the release of the movie had already been stressful enough, she didn’t need more people screaming to get her attention.
the only person she wanted was jonah. he knew every single way to calm her down and whatever she needed to feel better. she knew the same for him, and she just wished he was here to help her. she just wants to feel his presence, his touch. however, jonah wasn’t there this time, and she had to help herself. so, she forced herself through to the end of the carpet, showing off her dress and putting on a fake beam for the photos that she’d probably see on twitter later.
she hid behind the large wall that concealed her from the photographers. she ran her hand over her hair, trying not to mess it up but desperately needing some pressure off of her. she figured she could have at least a minute alone with her thoughts, but her assistant had walked over to her again. “y/n! there’s someone here to see you, they’re being sent in now. they’ve requested for you.”
y/n sighs. it’s just more press or another interviewer to ask the same questions. she doesn’t want to sound ungrateful. the life she’s been given is beyond fulfilling, and she would never want to take it for granted. but right now, she just wants the arms of her boyfriend to hold her.
she walks around the carpet with blurry vision, trying to contain her tears to maintain her perfect makeup. she fans her eyes, dropping the fake smile and following her assistant to the person who suggested a meeting with her. the second she sees the tall man in front of her, she just wants to fly into his arms. so, she walks over to jonah faster and he starts walking too. he meets her halfway, letting her lean into him and allowing him to take some of the pressure.
“it’s ok, you’re alright,” he reassures, placing his hand on the back of her head as her face is buried into his chest. “i’m here, love.”
“how did you get here?” y/n asks, confused but relieved.
“i managed to move some things around. the producer told me you weren’t yourself, so i knew i had to be here. you’re forever my priority, y/n.”
“i love you so much,” she speaks, pulling away from him and kissing his cheek. “thank you, truly.”
“i wouldn’t chose to be anywhere but with you.”
“y/n!” the voice of her manager rolled in. “let’s start getting back out there.”
“can you come with me?” y/n asks, hoping jonah can hold her hand on the carpet.
“of course, darling,” he says, and they walk out together as y/n’s worries start to disintegrate with his touch.
#i need him so bad#MY MANNNNNN#jonah hauer king#jonah hauer king x reader#jonah hauer king x y/n#jonah hauer king fluff#prince eric fic#prince eric#halle bailey#the little mermaid#the little mermaid 2023#a dogs way home#the little mermaid live action#ariel x eric#jonah hauer king x you#jonah hauer king marry me please#have my babies
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fame - jjk (four)
pairing ; idol!jk x idol!oc
synopsis ; christmas has come early this year when park dae-jung scores siren a chance to promote their latest single on a music show. the girls are excited to perform, hanna is wholeheartedly convinced this is going to be their breakthrough, and aera runs into two police officers coming out of the bathroom.
previous chapters ; prologue | one | two | drabble1 | three | four | five
warnings ; explicit language
content ; how aera & jk met, dope era bts <3, the start of it all!!
word count ; 4.2k
a/n: so i know (award)shows are not exactlyy like how i describe them in the story but lets ignore that <3 also it's 2015 in this chap but jk & aera are 18 bc u wont catch me writing abt minors !!
a/n 2: so sorry for there being an insane wait on this chapter!!! next one will be coming way sooner as i split it in half bc i wanted to hurry and give an update!! not long until we're in the main timeline and get to the jaera juice!! tysmm for reading 💓
📅 March 2015 — 3 months before their call...
📍 PARK ENTERTAINMENT Building
"Oh my god!" Han-na's scream grabs me by the throat, dragging me out of my deep, dark, peaceful hibernation. My body jolts upwards with a groan, my eyes struggling to adjust to the light as I try to blink myself to life.
On the other side of our cramped dorm room, Ha-Joon is also coming to consciousness, her dirty blonde hair clinging to her pillow when she rises as if it's trying to haul her back down. "What the—" Joonie is cut off before she can finish her sentence, another wail from Hanna ringing in our ears.
I'm quick to shove the blanket off my body, jumping off my bed with a huff and dashing out of the room. I hear a soft whine behind me, our maknae reluctantly following my actions and trailing after me.
I slam open the door of Hanna and Nali's shared room, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion when all I'm met with is an equally groggy Nali. She's pushing herself off her mattress, no doubt on her way to finding the source of the scream as well. I turn on my heels and head for the last unexplored dorm, twisting the handle and stifling a laugh when Asami comes into view. She's sprawled out on her bed, a baby blue sleeping mask covering her eyes, and soft snores passing through her lips. She's fast asleep while our leader is possibly being brutally murdered. Shame.
I leave the room with a shake of my head, the two blondes snailing after me down the hall as I follow the sound of our eldest's voice towards the office. My pace increases when I hear the tone of a male voice too. Please be getting beat to a pulp right now, Hanna, because if I walk in on you getting freaky in our shared office, I swear to god—
The creak of the door pulls me out of my submerged mind, and an enormous breath of relief leaves me when all I'm greeted with is an ecstatic leader and our Producer-Director, Park Dae-Jung. Smiles adorned both faces, our director standing tall in black slacks and a navy blue button-up, looking like he was halfway through his day already, whereas I was currently leaning against the door for support. My sisters and I sported similar outfits, pyjama shorts and simple tees—except for Hanna, of course. The early bird was dressed in a cropped singlet, her belly button poking out just above the waistband of the grey sweatpants that coated her long legs.
Relief washed over our huddle of three when our worry for Hanna's safety disappeared. Joonie wastes no time, spinning promptly on her heels and retracing her steps directly back to bed. Her eyes are basically shut as she walks, muttering something about it finally getting to the good part of her dream.
Hanna's "wait!" causes a giggle to bubble in the base of my throat, watching as our youngest stops in her tracks before letting out a muffled cry. "She's gonna make us start practice early! Look at what she's wearing, aiiiiiishhhhh!" She wails before being as dramatic as ever and stamping her sock-covered right foot against the ground.
The cackle that left me was loud, overpowering Nali's breathy laugh as she grabbed the hand of our maknae, hauling her into the office with us. I pulled Joonie towards me, wrapping my arms around her waist, and she leaned her head on my chest as we returned our attention to the slumber-ruining villains in the centre of the room.
I take a quick glance at the clock on the wall behind Hanna, and I almost start crying along with Ha-Joon. It's 6:15; we shouldn't be starting practice for nearly two hours. If she even begins to head towards that room, I will be leaving the group effective immediately.
"No, practice will start as scheduled," she rolls her eyes, "but Dae Jung-nim just surprised us with amazing news!" We stare patiently at the girl shaking like a chihuahua, our director turning towards us with a similar grin. Joonie untangles herself from me, and our tired trio deliver a quick bow to him in greeting.
"We're promoting on Inkigayo!" My mouth dropped as I stared at our leader that towered over us, turning my head to look at the girls standing next to me to see they were sporting similar shocked expressions.
Our director was leaning against the table in the middle of the office with an easy smile, waiting for our reactions. My eyebrows furrowed, "I thought—"
Dae Jung-nim was quick to cut me off, "Times have changed, and we managed to secure you guys a slot. I know you might not want to promote there after they pulled a few of the debut stages, but..."
My sisters and I shook our heads, easing his worries with wide eyes and wider grins, "are you kidding? We would love to!"
I could physically see the relief wash over him as I spoke, and I think he was downplaying how hard it was to get us on the show. Our director has been in the business for many years and acquired a lot of connections throughout his career. We are 1/2 of Park Dae-Jung's remaining active groups. Well, active-ish.
Our male seniors, Poison, last had a group comeback almost two years ago now, most of them pursuing solo music and acting projects. They've been around since 2009 and were hugely influential for us as growing trainees, often mentoring us on their days off. Dae Jung-nim is like our Dad away from home, and while I still have vivid memories of him causing ex-trainees to break down in tears, I've come to see his sweet side. He's a big softie, really.
"I'm glad to hear it, girls. The more opportunities we have like this, the more the world will get to see your talent." He nods, hands clasped together humbly. Hanna is oozing with excitement as she jiggles on the spot whilst my other two sisters and I thank the lofty man with sleepy but ample smiles.
"All the info is here," he taps the thin file perched on the desktop, "and I've given Han-na a brief run-over."
My sisters and I part like the red sea as he pats Hanna on the shoulder before heading towards the office door. He flashes us one last sparkling grin before leaving the room, and Nali is the first to break the silence. "The things I would do for and to that man..." She sighs dreamily, head slumped against the wall to her left, and I swat at her arm teasingly.
"God, I'm so excited!" Our leader chirps, ignoring her roommate's crude remark, "This will be our breakthrough moment!"
Spoiler alert, it wasn't.
Suddenly, Joon brushes past me and treks further into the office towards the desk our promo file is sitting on, and I assume she's just going to peruse through it for a bit. I watch in interest as our youngest ignores the file entirely, her hand stopping over Hanna's phone that rests next to the folder. She taps the screen with purpose, the device blaring a painful 6:20 AM at her before she bites back a snarl and heads for the door.
"So about that early practice—" Joonie cuts off Hanna's teasing with a screech, already halfway down the hall towards her comfy bed. Nali and I share a knowing look, our eyes slowly, so so slowly, shifting towards our leader.
"Just go already."
That was all we needed for the blonde and me to fast-track out the damn door and back to our dorms to salvage the rest of our sleep.
"I'm waking you up at 8 o'clock sharp!" Our leader's voice booms from the room we just left, Nali and I not even reacting as we part ways to our separate dorms.
The sound of Joonie's heavy breathing hits my ears as soon as I enter my room, and I chuckle in astonishment at how she fell back asleep within seconds. Then, suddenly, it all makes sense as I flop onto my bed. The warm, cozy cover hugs me as my head sinks into my soft, cool pillow. As the darkness engulfs me in seconds, all I can think about is how Joonie is a fucking genius.
Jang Han-na is a, if not the prime example of a perfectionist. She believes in planning, lists, sticking to routines and scheduling every waking moment of her life. She is a born leader, my longest friend, and I love the girl to death. I couldn't name a better fit for our mother bear title, truly. But at times like this, I can't help but imagine my hands wrung around her neck. Not in a sexy way. You know when you're trying to stop the air from entering someone's lungs? That type of way.
It's been four days since our director graced us with the delightful news that we're going to be able to promote our latest lead single on Inkigayo. If you told me that right now, we'd be on our sixth hour of rehearsal for the fourth day in a row; I would've told Dae Jung-nim to shove the offer down his freshly pressed slacks.
I love to practice. I really do. I will never take dancing with my sisters for granted. It's always a guaranteed laugh when somebody messes up, and we watch Hanna lose her shit, though it's even better when she's the one who messes up. But this isn't funny anymore. I'm hot. I'm bothered. And I cannot stand to listen to our song play one more goddamn time in this boiling dance practice room.
My eyes lift from the ground in my heaved-over stance, a pained laugh passing through my lips as I see my four members sprawled out in various exhausted positions. Asami, specifically, catches my eye; her limbs are spread out on the floor like a starfish, her jaw to the ceiling as she heaves out heavy, strained breaths and furrowed brows to tie it all together. I almost lose it when our song dares to fade out and is about to replay automatically when Joonie's voice echoes throughout the hot box. "I will break your phone, unnie. I really will." Her threat is acknowledged by the oldest as she rolls over from her spot on the floor with a grunt and crawls over to her phone. Hanna lifts a hand to tap over the screen blindly, a satisfied sigh leaving her when the opening line cuts off mid-sentence before flopping back onto the ground again.
"I'll go get us some water," I offer, standing straight after unbending my knees and heading for the door.
"Are you kidding?" Joonie's voice causes me to turn back to the girls, my hand resting on the doorknob as I shoot her a confused look. "You are not even tired. You're so annoying!" She cries before rolling over on her side, turning to face the wall dramatically as the older members chuckle.
I shake my head at the melodramatic teen, a smile threatening to break through on my lips, "I am tired. Just not as much as you." My teasing results in our maknae attempting to pull off her shoe and launch it at me before she tiredly moans and gives up, falling back with a huff.
I exit the room with an amused giggle, making sure to leave the door open and let the hallway's cooled air pour into the studio.
SIREN'S SONG: Rumour from Produce48
(no bc siren would eat this up fr)
+
SIREN'S STAGE OUTFITS (Left to Right)
Ha-Joon, Asami, Aera, Han-na, Nali
The warm air of the hand dryer does well to bring some heat to my cold, shaky hands in the bathroom of Inkigayo. Apparently, Joonie has decided that my hands are dry enough and dashes out of the room, the door swinging behind her as she abandons me. Feeling my eyes roll to the back of my head, I take a quick glance at the mirror and tuck in the part of my white blouse that's not sitting right under my belt before following after the hyperactive girl.
"Joonie, hold up," I whine as I push through the bathroom door, seeing her waiting against the wall opposite the toilets.
"I just wanted to get out of there. It smells like thirty different perfumes." She chuckles before pushing off the wall and starts to head in the direction of our members. I only make it a step towards her before a masculine voice joins our conversation.
"Hello. Are you alright?"
I turn my head towards the voice to see two guys in pilot? policeman? uniforms staring at me curiously. "I'm sorry?" I reply, my tone not doing anything to hide my confusion.
The strangled gasp of Joon from behind me reaches my ear before she almost trips over her own feet, jogging to my side. "Oh my annyeonghaseyo!" She splutters once she's next to me. Her head drops into an instant bow, and I catch on quickly, turning back to the two guys before bowing even lower.
They return the gesture with big smiles before the taller one with dirty blonde hair and a dimple I want to poke turns to me, "Did you need something?"
I feel his friend's gaze on me as I tilt slightly to look up at him before responding, "What do you mean?" What a confusing fucking interaction.
"You yelled out my name."
"Oh!" Oh I see. "Sorry, I was calling out to Joonie," I say as I gesture to the blonde on my left.
"His name is Joonie. Namjoon. Namjoon and Jungkook sunbaenim," she informs me in a low, pointed tone.
I blink a few times at my younger sister before turning back to the police officers. "Oh, wow! Bangtan Sonyeondan!" I bow again, "I'm a huge fan!" I add as I rise from the bow, and my eyes meet the brunette's when I lift my head. With an amused smile painted on his lips, he nods in a way that says 'clearly' in the most sarcastic tone you could think of.
"Kim Ha-Joon," she introduces herself politely before gesturing to me, "and this is Hwang Aera. It's great to meet you."
I mean, I am familiar with Bangtan Sonyeondan; I just didn't recognise them instantly. They make great music, and I share a room with Kim Ha-Joon, a boy group fanatic; it's literally impossible to be unfamiliar with most boy groups nowadays because of her. I am, however, more of an Exo fan. I would give up my firstborn for five minutes with Sehun, but that's another conversation.
I remember the two members she obsesses over in this specific group; one being Park Jimin and the other being the tall glass of water in front of her right now. I'm surprised she hasn't fainted or puked yet.
My eyes drag over their outfits quickly and interestedly before they raise to meet Jungkook's. His eyes are naturally wide and curious, and I find myself wanting to keep staring into them. But, seriously, they're so big that it's almost intimidating. I hate that I like that.
I force myself to eventually look away, though he does not do the same as I feel his gaze on me even when I turn to Hajoon while she speaks. "So excited for your performance! We love your music!" She praises, and I nod in agreement even though I couldn't tell you the first letter of the song they're performing if you held a gun to my head.
"Thank you," Namjoon says humbly, "We're excited to see you perform as well." I almost let a snort escape at his words because it's highly unlikely he even knows who we are, let alone our music. Instead, Ha-Joon accepts the polite response with a toothy grin and fiery red cheeks. It's so cute.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes furiously in my hand, and I mutter a soft apology under my breath before looking down at it, trying my hardest to ignore Jungkook's stare that I feel on my every move and trying even harder not to comment on it out loud.
[5:38 pm] HALMEONI: DID YOU GUYS FALL OVER IN THE BATHROOM OR SOMETHING?
[5:38 pm] HALMEONI: IF SO, GET UP RIGHT NOW AND GET BACK HERE.
[5:39 pm] HALMEONI: WE'RE ON SOON.
"Shoot," I mutter before looking up at Joonie, "we have to go before we get killed."
She looks away from Namjoon for what I think is the first time since she laid eyes on him, and I see the faintest hint of a pout on her lips as she nods at me. I turn to the pilots, "I'm really sorry about the confusion. But we have to go before our leader comes to find us, and none of us wants that." I bow again for good measure and watch as Namjoon shakes his head with a chuckle and a dimpled smile.
"Good luck," Jungkook calls as I spin on my heels and head towards a heated Hanna. I grab the arm of my starstruck maknae as I retreat, throwing back a polite 'thank you, you too!' as I drag the girl down the hall with me.
"Thank you SO much!" Joonie yells back, her free arm that isn't in my grasp lifting to give them a big wave. I am too distracted to laugh at her fangirl behaviour, trying to ignore the way the only two goddamn words he spoke during the entire interaction affected me.
Ha-Joon's borderline hyperventilating as we near the backstage area where our members are waiting pulls me out of my head long enough to glance at her and giggle. "You don't even know how shaky I am right now," she gushes, and I look down at my hand on her ghostly, goosebump-covered arm,
"I think I have some sort of idea."
"Jesus, look at their stage," Asami grumbles aloud as the five of us huddle around the monitors that display the performance of the current act. In this case, it's the Bulletproof Boy Scouts—or whatever I just heard the MC announce. Apparently, they have multiple names, and now I'm confused again.
The rest of us nod in unison, astonishment and a little jealousy, as we stare at the beautiful, very expensive-looking stage decoration through the little monitors. I watch as the spotlights flicker green before the camera zooms into the guy in the centre, and it's no other than Mr Oogly from the hallway incident.
"Ayo, ladies and gentlemen," Jungkook's voice is smooth as he moves confidently, eyes never losing the camera once he finds it. Once he finishes the intro, it cuts to another member, Jimin, if I recall correctly. I glance at Joonie in time to see her eyes widen excitedly when he appears on the screen.
When I look back at the monitor, the rest of the group is running into view, quickly getting into formation before they start dancing to the chorus' instrumental. My eyebrows furrow as they move, taking over the stage like seasoned professionals instead of young rookies. Jesus, they're good.
"What's that one's name, Joonie-yah?" Nali asks wide-eyed as a platinum blonde member makes his way to the middle.
"It's Suga, unnie," Ha-Joon replies instantly, her eyes not leaving the monitor for a split second.
Our youngest is rapping along (or at least trying to rap along) to Suga's part under her breath, and I watch as he casually devours his lines with a cheeky smile and breath control to be desired.
"I gotta make it, gotta, gotta make it,"
The next chorus approaches before I know it, and Jungkook slinks his way to the centre before I have time to register how the fuck someone can actually look like the guy who Joonie just informed me was named V.
"Jjeoreo!" They fall back into their choreo during the chorus, and my eyes float from each member before landing right back in the middle. Jungkook's staring into the camera as he sings his lines, and I shake my head in astonishment. He doesn't miss a beat while simultaneously singing his lines live during the intense chorus choreography.
Ha-Joon's singing along to the music is so cute; I pull her over and link my arm with hers. We're bobbing along to the chorus as we watch the group perform through the monitor with vibrant energy and stamina. I hope at least one person in this entire building was as impressed by our performance as Joonie is with theirs; she's basically shaking.
Their song comes to an end, and the loud screams from the crowd drag my sisters and me out of our haze. "Wow," Hanna breathes as we step back from the monitors while the show cuts back to the MCs.
"They're just insane, aren't they?" Joonie sighs dreamily with her head leaning on my shoulder. I nod in agreement and drag the younger girl along as we follow our leader through the backstage area while she says something about photos and a particular staircase.
"I haven't eaten today; I was scared I'd puke it all up. Apparently, all the food here is free. I'll bring back a bunch for all of us," Asami exclaims before breaking off from the herd and heading towards the cafeteria.
Joonie's ears perk up like a puppy at the mention of food, and it doesn't take long for her to detach from my side and jog over to the Japanese girl. They disappear around a corner and throw back an obedient 'yes mum' to Han-na when she tells them to hurry.
I hear a resounding chorus of chatter get louder behind me, coming from the area near where the five of us were just gathered around the monitors. Right where you dismount the stage. I ignored their cheers of glee and tried to speed up a bit to catch up to Hanna and Nali before a voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Hey! Aera, right?"
I watch my two older sisters get further away on their trek to the stupid fucking staircase, and I'm almost offended. I could be getting abducted right now, and they wouldn't even notice. I spin around to face the voice, and his wide starry eyes catch me off guard again.
Nodding in response, I am about to lean down into a bow once again before he puts up a hand to stop me. Jungkook's smile is cheeky with an undertone of cockiness, abruptly halting my action.
"It's rude not to bow to your sunbaenims, you know," I inform through hooded eyes, my palms resting on the skin of my bare thighs. Suddenly, I wish I went for trousers today.
"Sunbaenim?" His tone is so cheeky, "We debuted barely a year before you."
His response catches me off guard, and I blink a few times, waiting for his confident facade to crack. It doesn't. "How'd you know when we debuted?"
"Big fan." He says simply with a shrug, no doubt referencing my comment from earlier this afternoon in the hallway.
"Hm," I nod with a pursed-lip smile, glancing over his shoulder and seeing his bandmates looking in our direction. They notice my gaze on them and suddenly spin around into a huddle, pretending to have never looked at me to begin with.
A laugh catches in my throat at his members' actions before I look back at Jungkook. "Your performance was really good." I praise, watching as his head tilts ever so slightly at the comment, his teeth poking out of his mouth as he smiles. Like a bunny.
"You think so?"
"Don't say things like that if I don't mean it. You were great." I nod, watching his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallows.
"Thank you. You were incredible as well," Jungkook replies politely, and I brush it off as an obliged response.
"Seriously. You were." He assures, almost as if he could tell I didn't believe him.
"Thank you."
I find myself looking at his eyes again. You can learn a lot about someone through their eyes, and his are wide and full. He doesn't even try to hide his emotions displayed in their glossiness, and I don't think he wants to. It protrudes confidence and security, and I admire that.
A few moments pass, and my eyes flicker from him to the members behind him before they return. "I have to go take photos in front of a staircase," I say as his eyebrows raise intriguingly, "I'll let you get back."
He nods wordlessly before patting his back pocket, "Could I—" he finally finishes the phone from his trousers, "grab your number?"
My teeth pull at the inside of my bottom lip as I watch him unlock his phone before looking up at me with wide, hopeful eyes.
"I, uh—" I don't give my number out. To anyone. I lost a lot of friendships in my journey to debut. Work occupied ninety-nine percent of my time and attention. Any relationships I did have prior to Siren basically fizzled out due to our long and odd hours of practice and preparation.
"I won't bother you too much," he smirks, "promise."
My lips purse shut as I take the phone from his grasp before putting my number in his contacts.
"I won't bother you too much." What a fucking liar.
this chapter is dedicated to @ibtiheler for your sweet comments & dms, thank u for supporting the story angel!! i hope ur having an amazing day <3 love you xx
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tag list — lemme kno if u'd like to be added <3
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#jeon jungkook#jungkook#jungkook fic#jungkook fluff#jungkook imagine#jungkook smut#jungkook x oc#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#bts fanfic#bts army#bts fic#jungkook bts#bts#bangtan#fame
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Guardian Angel
Chapter 3: You're Still Worthy
Summary: Emotional conversations and difficult choices were on the table for everyone the moment Wanda stepped back into the Avengers compound for the first time after Westview. But just because Wanda is starting over doesn’t mean she has to do it alone.
Warnings: Trauma, angst, cursing.
Word Count: 3.1k
A/N: This chapter has two distinct parts. The flashback of Wanda’s first moments back in the compound (italicized) and the present day, approximately one year after Westview.
Guardian Angel Masterlist
Trust takes years to build, seconds to break, and forever to repair. Stepping foot back in the Avengers compound for the first time after Westview was freed was but the latest in a series of painful and tragic chapters in Wanda Maximoff’s story.
Fury was seated in his spacious office, a glass of Pappy Van Winkle Bourbon in his hand. He had a stern expression on his face as he intently watched Wanda's movements on the numerous security monitors placed strategically around the compound. Every twist and turn she made was being closely monitored by Fury, who remained vigilant and alert throughout.
As he sat there, lost in thought, a soft knock on his door broke his concentration. He straightened up in his chair, alert and ready to face whatever was coming. The door creaked open slowly, and a faint light spilled into the dimly lit room, revealing the outline of a figure standing in the doorway.
“Director, Ms. Maximoff is here,” Maria announced.
“Maximoff, have a seat. Or do you prefer Scarlet Witch now?” Placing the glass down on his desk.
Maria glanced from Fury to Wanda before taking her place next to the Director's desk. Wanda sat down, trying her best to hide her nerves. The two of them sat in silence for a moment until Fury finally spoke up.
“You know, it’s crap like this that gives me trust issues,” leaning back in his chair reading the file on Westview.
“Really? I thought it was your sparkling personality that gave you trust issues,” the redhead whispered under her breath.
“Come on, don’t give me that shit. What the hell were you thinking? Throwing the file onto his desk. “3,892 people. 3,892 people manipulated, tortured, and held hostage so you could live out some television family fantasy!” he shouted. “Do you know what I went through to keep Westview classified? What I went through with SWORD to make sure you walked out of there alive and not thrown in the Raft?” His anger growing.
"It wasn't a fantasy!" she exclaimed, as her emotions finally surfaced.
“It was selfish!” Fury shouted.
Maria flinched at the sound of Fury's voice before the room fell silent again.
"Director, have you ever lost someone?" Wanda asked, her gaze fixed on his desk.
“I was a Colonel in the United States Army and a CIA Operative. I’ve lost more people than you can count, including my parents. You’re most certainly not the first person to experience grief.”
Wanda had a determined look on her face as she raised her head to speak. "I cannot help but feel sorry for the ordeal those people went through," she said with a heavy accent, her voice filled with emotion. "Their suffering will continue to trouble me for the rest of my life."
Tears glistened in her eyes as she continued, "When I finally realized the agony I was inflicting, I knew I had to put an end to it. It was a difficult decision, but I have no regrets about the life I lived with my husband and children. We had our struggles, but we also had many happy moments together."
As she spoke, it was clear that Wanda had gone through a lot in her life. Despite the pain and hardship, however, she remained resolute in her determination to do what was right and to find peace in her memories.
Fury exhaled heavily and asked, 'Where are your boys?'
The redhead immediately tensed up, her heart pounding against her rib cage.
“I need you to be completely honest with me, starting right now,” Fury said. “If you want to remain a member of this team and continue to be a productive member of society, it's important that I know everything. Please understand that no one will hurt them.”
In a moment of urgency, Wanda found herself making a quick decision. Despite her reservations, she hesitantly slipped into Fury's mind as his thoughts were too loud to ignore. She knew that this was the only way she could be certain of his intentions and confirm that he was telling the truth. When she emerged, she was certain that Fury was to be trusted. She responded with confidence, "Billy and Tommy are with Darcy Lewis."
Fury nodded. “Where is the Darkhold?”
“I destroyed it.”
“That’s not what the wizard thinks. Strange is sure you wouldn’t have survived the destruction of that type of dark magic.”
Wanda leaned forward in her chair and cleared her throat. "Given everything that's happened, Director, it would be unwise to bet against my abilities."
Fury finished his drink; the ice clinked at the bottom of his glass. "You are dismissed for now, but do not leave the premises," he said.
After leaving his office, Wanda rose to her feet without saying another word. Maria locked eyes with Fury before hurrying after the redhead out of the door. When they were out of earshot of the Director, Maria called out to Wanda, "Wanda, wait!" The redhead had a determined look on her face as she raised her head to speak. "I cannot help but feel sorry for the ordeal those people went through," she said with a heavy accent, her voice filled with emotion. "Their suffering will continue to trouble me for the rest of my life."
Wanda stopped moving and stood still with her back turned towards Maria.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” Agent Hill empathized.
"Sorry doesn't undo what I did or what I've lost," she countered. "Every season of my life has led to a goodbye. My parents, Pietro, Vision. No matter what I've done to try and be better, to help others, to heal. It never ends," her voice cracked. "I don't know how the boys survived, but my heart can't take anymore.
Maria gently placed her warm hand on Wanda's shoulder, feeling the tension and pain in her friend's body. In response, Wanda turned around and fell into Maria's embrace, her facade of composure crumbling as she let out a sob. Maria held her tightly, offering a safe and comforting space for her friend to release her emotions. As Wanda continued to weep, Maria could feel her tears dampening her shirt, but she didn't mind. All that mattered was being there for her friend in need, offering support and solace during this difficult time.
*^~^*
Wanda found herself wandering aimlessly around the compound for the rest of the day. The cold and judgmental gazes of numerous SHIELD agents going about their daily routines bore into her like a hot iron, making her feel like she had committed a grave mistake. The compound was the same as she had left it, but everything felt different. The once-familiar surroundings now seemed foreign and unwelcoming.
Wanda was not ready to return to her room, as she was not emotionally prepared to remember her life before Westview. The memories of her past life seemed distant and unfamiliar to her now. She was unsure of what she would say if she ran into any of her former colleagues. The fear of their judgment and condemnation made her hesitant and unwilling to face them. Lost in her thoughts, Wanda continued to wander around the compound, hoping to find some solace or a moment of peace. But the echoes of her past mistakes and the fear of the future kept haunting her, making her feel helpless and alone.
As she walked aimlessly, lost in her thoughts, the striking redhead found herself standing outside the familiar building of the gym. The sight of it brought back a flood of memories, both good and bad, of the time spent within its walls. She hesitated before peeking through the sliding doors, making sure no one was around before stepping inside. The gym had become a sanctuary for her, a place where she could channel her inner strength and work on honing her abilities. Countless hours were spent in this space, sweating, training, and pushing herself to the limits to discipline both her body and mind. However, all that hard work, all that dedication, was shattered. The unspeakable grief and loss that followed had left her shattered, both physically and emotionally. Yet here she was, standing once again in the same space, her heart heavy with memories and emotions that she had thought she had left behind.
“No matter how many times I tried to train you to fight without using your powers, you always resisted.”
Wanda's attention was immediately drawn to the distinct and familiar sound of a deep, slightly raspy voice that reverberated through the spacious gym. She turned her head and was captivated by the sight of Natasha Romanoff, who stood poised and confident on the other side of the room. Natasha's hair was elegantly styled in double braids, and her black workout attire clung to her fit and toned physique in all the right places, accentuating her curves and strength.
Wanda sighed, "Why fight with one hand tied behind my back?" She moved a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Because it makes you stronger," Nat replied, walking slowly towards her.
“I don’t feel very strong right now.”
“I beg to differ, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
Nat quietly observed Wanda's demeanor, noticing the subtle nuances of her body language. The woman standing in front of her seemed to be a mere shadow of her former self, weighed down by the immense burden of grief. It was evident that Wanda was still struggling to come to terms with all that had been lost in Sokovia, Wakanda, and most recently, in Westview. The pain and sorrow etched on her face spoke volumes of the emotional turmoil she was going through, and it was clear that she needed someone to talk to, someone who could understand her pain and help her find a way forward.
Natasha took another tack. “Get in the ring.”
“What?”
Natasha put down her water bottle and stepped between the ropes. "Get in the ring," she repeated.
“I’m in no condition to spar,” Wanda argued.
“Says the Scarlet Witch,” Nat smirked. “Now, come on.”
Wand let out a long, tired sigh and slowly took off her jacket. With a hint of nervousness in her movements, she cautiously stepped closer to the ring, her eyes fixed on the ground beneath her.
“No hand tied behind your back this time,” Nat said, securing her Widow Bites to her wrists.
Natasha took her fighting stance. Wanda mirrored her as wisps of red danced between her fingers. She took the first shot, summoning a wave of telekinetic force toward her opponent. With lightning-fast reflexes, Nat rolled out of harm's way, narrowly avoiding the destructive force. Sensing an opening, Natasha launched herself into an acrobatic assault. Her strikes were precise, knocking Wanda off balance. The split-second window allowed Nat to grip her arm and flip her over her shoulder.
With a flick of her wrist from her backside, Wanda unleashed a barrage of red energy crackling with otherworldly force. The sparring became an explosive dance as Nat deftly dodged and rolled through the chaos, narrowly escaping each attack. Seizing her only opportunity, she countered with a well-timed Widow's Bite. Grunting in pain, Wanda launched her backward into the ropes with one swift motion.
With a fierce determination, Natasha charged forward. Wanda used the last of her depleted stamina to summon a swirling vortex of red. As the intense aura surrounded her, she directed one final blast towards the Black Widow. Nat mustered every ounce of strength and somersaulted forward through the explosion, landing sprawled out on the mat.
Wanda collapsed to the ground, her knees hitting the mat with a thud. She was gasping for air, her body wracked with sobs. Natasha lay nearby, her chest heaving and her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The widow slowly rolled over and crawled towards her, her movements slow and labored. She reached out and wrapped her arms around the redhead’s body, pulling her close. The two women held each other tightly, neither of them speaking. Wanda's sobs echoed through the room, the sound of her pain filling the air.
*^~^*
Secretary Ross glared intensely at the team gathered around the conference table, his virtual presence towering over his desk in a show of authority. With a tone that conveyed both anger and concern, he spoke up, "I'm genuinely curious. In what universe do you think I'm going to look the other way while you jeopardize the safety of everyone in existence?" His words hung heavily in the air, leaving no room for doubt that he meant every word.
“I don’t know, Mr. Secretary. Why don’t you pick one and we’ll find out,” Natasha remarked coldly. No love was lost between herself and Ross.
Maria gently placed her hand on Nat's arm, silently signaling for her to maintain decorum.
"If you had taken my warning about Wanda Maximoff seriously eight years ago, we wouldn't be facing the dangerous threats to all universes that she has unleashed. Her actions have proven time and again that she is a clear and present danger, and it's time we take action before it's too late." Ross urged.
"We don't judge people based on their past mistakes," Natasha declared.
"Perhaps you should," he said, his gaze fixed on the Black Widow.
Yelena stood up slowly from her chair, her voice laced with a hint of malice. "Maybe it's time the world knew about your worst mistakes, Thaddeus," she threatened, her eyes flashing with anger.
“And we’re sitting,” Kate said, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend and pulling her back down.
"Excuse me, Mr. Secretary, with all due respect, we are not seeking your permission in this matter. Our intention is to inform you of our decision as a courtesy. This meeting is solely for the purpose of sharing our plans with you and ensuring that you are kept in the loop about the steps we are taking,” Steve interjected.
“Tell me Captain Rogers, what is your intended course of action when the witch inevitably betrays your moral compass yet again?” Ross asked, rising from his virtual chair.
“We never abandon one of our own, Sir,” Steve said.
“To be honest with you, Mr. Secretary, the only one here who lacks a moral compass is yourself,” Maria hissed, swiping away his hologram in frustration.
A hard silence fell across the room.
“That went well,” Clint said, as he placed his head in his hands.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but he has a point,” Fury concurred, leaning up against the door frame.
"Are you still here? I thought you were off to sail the seven seas," Tony said sarcastically as he got up to pour himself a glass of scotch.
“Fury might be right,” Bruce interjected. Are we all forgetting how we met Wanda? Or would you like a replay of the nightmares she put in our heads?”
“No, I’m not,” Natasha said heatedly, turning toward Bruce. “And I’m sure as hell not forgetting who destroyed the Mind Stone when it meant losing the one she loved. Or who was a split second away from defeating Thanos single-handedly, had he not blitzed the shit out of his entire army.”
“Maximoff took an entire town hostage! She manipulated the realities of 3,892 people,” Fury argued.
“In a state of shell shock and overwhelming grief,” Maria countered. “You and I both know she would never hurt anyone intentionally or of her own accord.”
“Are you sure about that? Do you know where the Darkhold is today?” Fury yelled. “Because I can tell you right now, Strange sure as hell doesn’t believe it’s gone.”
“I think you’ve made your point,” Bucky interrupted sternly. His Vibranium hand on Fury’s shoulder.
“Buck…,” Sam cautioned.
Thor's booming voice cut through the tense and chaotic chatter, demanding attention from all present. "Wanda is still worthy!" he declared with the power of a god. "We shall leave no stone unturned in our quest to help her regain her belief in herself." The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, a solemn reminder of the importance of lifting up those who have lost their way.
“That’s more like it,” Nat said.
“Let’s go,” Maria ordered.
*^~^*
Upon her return, Wanda made it clear that her priority was to provide a normal and safe environment for Billy and Tommy, free from the influence of her past mistakes or her sterile work environment. She was determined to create a loving and secure home for her boys. As a result of multiple meetings with Stark, Wanda decided to move out of the compound and into a home that was designed by Tony himself. And true to form, the billionaire created a spectacular home for her and her family.
The elegant craftsman-style house painted in a soft, creamy white hue exuded a warm and inviting aura, beckoning visitors to step inside. The stunning embellished concrete path, beautifully winding its way up to the charming wraparound brick porch and the wide entryway, added to the home's alluring charm. The interior was just as captivating, with each room meticulously furnished and decorated to perfection. Tommy and Billy couldn't contain their excitement as they were each given their own room to adorn and personalize to their heart's content. She encouraged the boys to let their imaginations run wild, and they eagerly reveled in the opportunity to showcase their unique interests and personalities.
A series of photographs adorn the walls, each capturing a distinct memory that the family held dear. As Wanda gazed upon them, she was immediately transported back to the bittersweet moments of their life in Westview - a life that was nothing more than a fabrication. Despite this painful truth, she remained steadfast in her desire to preserve a fragment of that existence for her sons, who knew no other place to call home. The memories, though tinged with sorrow, were a testament to the love and bond that the family shared, and Wanda was determined to keep that flame burning, no matter how difficult it was to revisit the past.
The family room is tastefully decorated with a large navy blue sectional couch, two elegant Paisley armchairs, and a beautiful Cherry coffee table that seems to beckon you to come and sit. The focal point of the room is a stunning painting by Wanda, hanging above the fireplace. The painting is a reflection of her creative soul and a way to channel her emotions and thoughts. The built-in bookshelves are a treasure trove of knowledge, holding a vast collection of books for all ages. The shelves are also adorned with a few carefully chosen plants, each in its own decorative pot, adding a touch of nature to the room. The cozy atmosphere of the family room is perfect for relaxing and spending time with loved ones.
As you step into the kitchen, a beautifully arched doorway frames the entrance, inviting you in. This is Wanda's favorite room in the house, and it's easy to see why. The spacious area is furnished with sleek granite countertops and a convenient center island, making it the perfect place for her sons to sit and share stories of their day at school. As you take a deep breath, the delightful scent of Paprikash or homemade pies fills the air, reminding every guest that Wanda's favorite way to show love is through her cooking.
Through the off-white French doors, one could step into a tranquil and inviting backyard that was meticulously cared for by Wanda. Her passion for gardening was evident in the way she had transformed the space into a lush oasis of greenery. The fragrant air was filled with the aroma of the citrus trees that she had lovingly transplanted, and the raised bed, bursting with a variety of colorful seedlings that had sprouted on the kitchen windowsill, was a testament to her dedication towards creating a verdant sanctuary for her family to relax and enjoy together.
*^~^*
"Boys, it's time for cake and presents!" Wanda shouted through the window.
"Coming, Mom!" Tommy shouted in response.
Wanda organized a cozy and warm birthday bash for Billy and Tommy, and had cordially invited the team and their families to join in on the celebration. It was the first time they were having a group gathering outside of work since Wanda's return to the team. While the adults chit-chatted and caught up with each other in the cozy family room, the youngsters were having a blast playing games in the backyard. Cooper, Lila, Morgan, and Nate were among the kids who were enjoying themselves with Billy and Tommy.
Let's go," Clint exclaimed, clapping his hands. "Bring on the cake!
“Relax, it’s not your birthday.” Yelena teased.
Steve and Bucky, with their arms full of colorful gift-wrapped presents, walked over to the elegantly set dining room table, while Wanda gracefully lit the candles on the birthday cake, which was decorated with blue and green icing. As soon as Wanda finished lighting the candles, the group of friends and family sang "Happy Birthday" in unison, and the twins, Billy and Tommy, eagerly blew out the candles.
After the birthday song ended, Billy and Tommy tore open their presents with excitement, while their mom looked on proudly. The team made sure to honor Wanda's request for no Stark-enhanced gifts. Tommy's gifts included a pair of stylish Nike sneakers, a shiny new scooter, a high-quality baseball glove, and a popular video game that he had been asking for for months. Billy, on the other hand, received a high-tech microscope that he could use to explore the world around him, a remote-controlled drone that could fly up to 100 feet in the air, and a brand new sketchbook with Prismacolor Premier colored pencils, so he could continue to develop his artistic skills.
"Okay, here's one more small gift, but let's not devour it all at once," Wanda cautioned as she placed the personalized candy bags from your shop in front of the boys.
“Candy!”
“Sweet!”
"You can each choose a couple of pieces, and we'll save the rest for later," their mom instructed as the boys rummaged through their bags.
Tommy whirled around the table and embraced his mother. "This is the best birthday ever, thanks, Mom!"
“Yeah Mom, this was awesome!” Billy followed.
"Mmmm, this is good," Tony said, returning from the kitchen where he had raided the bag of candy you made for Wanda.
“Excuse me, that’s not yours!” Wanda scolded.
“I don’t see your name on it.”
“Turn it around.”
“Well,” Tony paused. Calligraphy is a lost art,” tossing her the bag.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.”
*^-^*
Maria and Natasha had decided to stay back with Wanda to help her with the post-party cleanup. As they were putting things away, they noticed red wisps of magic floating gently around the room, lifting empty plates and glasses over to the sink. Wanda had always been careful about using her powers outside of missions, but it was hard to resist the temptation to make things a little easier for herself, especially when her house was full of messy superheroes who weren't particularly good at cleaning up after themselves. As she was putting away dishes, one of them unexpectedly slipped from her grasp and hit the floor, shattering into two pieces.
"Are you okay?" Maria asked as Natasha carefully picked up the broken plate.
“I’m fine, just a bit clumsy.”
“Like mother, like sons,” Natasha teased.
“Oh yeah,” Maria said with a grin. “Nat told me all about your little adventure. She said you were smitten.”
“I was not smitten!”
“You had a goofy grin on your face when you came back to the cafe,” Natasha said, scoffing.
“I was simply being a good Samaritan,” Wanda argued.
Natasha's lips curled into a playful smirk as she spoke, "Oh really? And who were you pretending to be when you purchased those bags of candy for the young lads from Y/N's shop?"
Wanda's eyes widened as she asked, "How did you find out? And more importantly, how do you know her name?"
“Wands, I'm a spy. If one of my friends leaves with a stranger and goes up to their apartment alone, you can bet I’m going to check them out.”
“Well, nothing happened. I got her some ice for her ankle and left, and I didn’t even know it was her shop,” Wanda dismissed. Besides,” Wanda whispered, peering over at her boys asleep on the couch. “Billy and Tommy are just starting to feel at home here. I would never do anything to put that in jeopardy… Not again,” fidgeting quietly with the wedding ring still holding tight to her finger. It had been a year, but she still hadn’t found the strength to take it off.
“We know you wouldn’t,” Maria reassured, placing her arm around her shoulder. “But you are still worthy of the chance to be happy again, honey.”
“Just because you’re starting over doesn’t mean you have to do it alone,” Natasha added. “Is that what Vis would have wanted?”
*Chapter 4 coming soon*
#guardian angel#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maxmoff x y/n#black widow#natasha romanoff#maria hill#nick fury#the avengers#thor#steve rogers#captain america#yelena boleva#kate bishop#bruce banner#clint barton#bucky barnes#sam wilson#thaddeus ross#billy maximoff#tommy maximoff#marvel cinematic universe#mcu#fluff#comfort#angst with a happy ending#avengers compound
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⇁high school sweethearts | leon kennedy | pt. 2
resident evil 4 remake leon s. kennedy x fem!band-student!reader high school au
oboes are fuckin' expensive. much to you and your brother's dismay, the school is making you pay for the damages instead of your newfound enemy. oh, and his dad wants you to tutor his daughters!
pt. 1 pt.3
content contains: mild angst, enemies to lovers, mean leon, cliches, story is told in first person, reader is a bit shy and is an oboe and trumpet player!, leon and reader are in their juniour year, fictional town set around 1980!
not proofread i am sleepy
2252 words
song rec: "the mercy of the wind" by million eyes
still on the slower side, but alas.
"Ms. (L/n)? They're asking for you at the guidance office," Mr. Kay coughs during our water break. I look up at him, confused for a moment, but I realize it was most likely to talk about that awful interaction that happened before this period between Damien, Leon, and me.
"Oh... Oka-"
"Let me go with her, Mr. Kay," Sammy demands, setting her flute down in her case beneath her seat. Before the director can say anything, the ravenette drags me by the sleeve of my shirt out of the door. She's got this pout on her lips, and I know that she's still angry.
"I can't believe that fuckin' asshole just thought it was a good idea to drop your oboe like that!" She fumes. I swear I can steam come out of her ears as she grumbles profanities about the ace soccer player. "Y'know, you'd think that he knows how expensive those things can be since he has two sisters in band, but nnooooo, he just had to go on 'n do that to you, huh? I'll show him...!"
"Sammy, it's fi-" The five-foot-nine beauty stopped in her tracks, turning on her heel to face me and slam her palms onto my shoulder.
"Sugar, it's not fine," she sighs, seeing how shocked I looked. "That oboe is your baby. You can beat up your trumpet as much as you want, but that oboe is what's gettin' you into college," she reminds me. I look down at the toes of my converse, a bit embarrassed by how I was so easily putting off my emotions. I feel Sammy give my cheek a soft caress with her thumb.
"Don't lie to yourself and put Kennedy in a shinin' light. He did something awful to you, and that's a fact. Me 'n your brother are gunna make him pay hell," the girl assures me, and I nod at her words.
"Thank you, Sammy... I'm glad you love me enough to tell me I'm being an idiot," I chuckle dryly. She slaps my shoulder softly.
"That's what best friends are for, (Y/n)!" Sammy gives me a comforting smile, and we begin walking again. The journey is a bit long considering the band room is on the opposite end of the high school, but it was fun because of how Sammy described the most grotesque ways of torturing the new boy in town. Eventually, we made it to the guidance office, and inside was my counselor, my older brother, and the devil incarnate.
"Ah, there you are," my conselor, Ms. Penelope smiles. She nods at Samantha, and I figure she's okay with my friend being here. I sit down awkwardly between Leon and Damien, shrinking in my spot to take up as little space possible. My best friend sits next to Damien, furthest away from the ex-Greenvale resident. The silence is deafening, and I feel as if I could cut the tension with a knife.
"So..." Ms. Penelope clears her throat, resting her dainty hands atop her desk. "I think we all know why you three are in here," she motions towards the boys and me. Damien grunts, and Leon is dead silent. I decide to speak up.
"How will my oboe be repaired?" I question. I see Ms. Penelope's expression turn a bit somber. Through gritted teeth, she responds.
"Well, I had asked some other people before I called you in, and they said it would be best not to penalize Mr. Kenne-"
"What.," Damien and Sammy eyes narrowed as they spoke in unison. I hear Leon stifle a giggle, and my brother immediately stands up, about to pounce.
"Don't fucking laugh, you piece of shit!" He roars, fist tight at his sides. "That thing was hard-earned, dipshit!"
"Mr. (L/n), sit down, now!" Ms. Penelope gasps.
"Please," Leon scoffs. "Nothing from your family is hard-earned. As far as I know, you bribed your coach to be team captain. It's too bad that money's all wasted, Dami-poo~ I'm here now," the blonde smiles devilishly, and I see my brother is getting ready to rip his throat out.
"You little-!"
"Boys! Settle down, please! You are not making this situation any better," Ms. Penelope orders. Like a kicked puppy, Damien retreats back into his seat, crossing his arms beneath his chest like a child being scolded by his mother.
"Ugh, Ms. Penelope, this doesn't make any sense. That was an advanced-level instrument. If (Y/n) can't get it repaired or replaced soon, she won't have anything to play for our concert season," Samantha said, trying to reason. "Surely he can pitch in a little money. This is his fault, after all."
"I'm sorry... I have no control over this. If I had it my way, I'd have him pay in full, but it was a request from our principal. The best I could do was have a fundraising event approved for your band," the brunette woman explain, her frown worsening.
"Great. Can I leave now? My study hall is about to end, and I've got an English class to catch," Leon yawned out, the sleeve of his Greenvale High letterman straightening as he stretched. Ms. Penelope pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly irritated dealing with ignorant high schoolers.
"Yes, yes. Go 'head, Mr. Kennedy," she eagerly dismisses him. Immediately, he saunters out the door of her office, seemingly very happy with himself. The door shuts with a click, and it's just us four left. Tears begin to swell in the corner of my eyes.
"Erm... So, w-what's the fundraiser going to b-be?" I stutter out, not wanting to show weakness. The counselor hands me a slip of paper.
"I recommended a bake sale. It's simple, and I know our little town never says no to a sweet treat, especially with how nice the weather's been recently," she smiles gently at me, and I feel my heart squeeze. Samantha takes the pink sheet out of my hands and grins from ear to ear.
"Thanks, Ms. Penelope. I'll be telling our director about this. Is that all you needed from us?" Sammy asks, standing up from her spot. The brunette shakes her head as a no and has us leave her alone. Damien sighs when the door closes behind us, and I can tell he wants to blow up. I take his hand in mine, softly squeezing it.
"You okay, Dami?" I frown. He looks at me, clearly distraught.
"I guess..." he huffs. "I just wish he were dead," his eyes narrow, and I know he's thinking about Leon.
"Tch, you 'n me both," Sammy clicks her tongue.
"You gunna be okay, sis? I can get Ma to pick you up if you need," Damien asks me, worried. I think for a moment, and I nod as a yes. It's a Friday anyways, and there won't be any games until two weeks. Sammy leaves Damien and me on our own, deciding to get back to the band room to retrieve my belongings. My dear big brother takes me to the front off and requested the desk-lady to call our mom. After a bit, he left me with a chaste kiss on my forehead and told me to wait for Mom and Samantha.
I sat alone in the office, patiently waiting for my mom with my broken oboe in my lap.
"Hey, (Y/n)? Can you come down here for a second?" I hear Mom call from the bottom of the stairs. I slug myself out of the bed, not wanting to leave my room. My slippers drag against the floor as I slump down the stairs, wanting to get this over with and just sleep for the rest of the day. We don't have dinner until an hour or two, so I'm curious as to why Mom would call me down so early. When I make it down the stairs, I see Mom sitting in the living room with a familiar man, happily talking to him.
"She's had a bit of a rough day, so give her a moment," I hear her tell him. I walk in, still in my school clothing. My fingers fiddle with the fabric of my shirt as I sit down next to my mother, looking at the man confused.
It's Leon's dad...
"Honey, this is Mr. Kennedy. He wants to ask you a favour," Mom sets a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it softly. I swallow dryly, a tight feeling in my chest as I stare at the blonde man across me. His hair is slicked back, dressed in black dress pants, and a maroon button-up. His eyes are a gentle chocolate brown, a stark difference compared to his son's harsh and icy hues. Mr. Kennedy nods at me, smiling gently.
"Nice to meet you, (Y/n)," he grins at me. "I got a suggestion from my little ones' band directors about private lessons for trumpet. I was wondering if you were perhaps interested? I'm willing to pay you 20$ an hour if so," he asks me, crossing his legs. My eyes widen at his price.
"O-oh, uhm...!?" I bite my bottom lip, unsure of what to say. I shoot a look at my mom to my left, silently begging for guidance. She gives me only a reassuring smile, and I look back at Mr. Kennedy.
"Well?"
"Uhm... sure," I cough. "Is it alright if they're after school every Monday, Tuesday, and some Friday nights? I would like her to have some experience with our marching band as well, if you're both okay with it," I ask him. He thinks for a moment before nodding.
In the end, we agree with the schedule. Every Monday and Tuesday, his daughters will come over to practice with me. For Fridays, they'll only accompany during home football games to get some experience playing more advanced pep-tunes, but only if they want to. I tried to tell him that 20$ an hour was a bit much, but he insisted, claiming that his daughters can be rowdy. Eventually, he leaves, and I'm left alone with my mom in the kitchen to drink some tea. Slumping in my seat, I sigh annoyedly.
"Do you think he knows about my...?"
"Maybe," Mom murmurs as she washes dishes, sometimes looking at the stove to check on the boiling pasta. "But I'm assuming not," she hums, and I frown. I didn't have the heart to tell him his son is a heartless person, and it made me feel a bit worse than it should have. I leave the kitchen without another word, stumbling back into my room to cry a bit more...
It's sunny today.
"Oi, thumper, wake up," Damien raps at my bedroom door, opening it enough to poke his head in. I'm already up, sitting in my window nook while I look through some music I played in middle school to get ready for tutoring. I look up from the sheets, staring blankly at my brother.
"Ready?" I ask him. He looks surprised that I'm awake, but he nods.
"Mom's letting me take Pa's car today," my older brother smirks, dangling the silver keys in the air. I chuckle, knowing how much he loves Dad's little Impala. I get up from my spot in my plush nook, following Damien downstairs and out the door after we bid our parents goodbye. The two of us race to the car childishly, giggling all along as we throw ourselves into the noir Chevrolet. We settle into the cool leather seats, and I immediately pop on our cassette tape that’s stored in the center console. Immediately, Toto’s “Hold the Line” begins, and we begin to pull out of the driveway. As Damien hums along to the song, I look out of the window to my left.
Today, we’re going out to get a hand-me-down oboe from a local shop that is generous enough to give me one since I’m there so often. A little temporary deal until my personal one can be repaired or replaced. As we pull out of the drive way, I catch sight of the devil across the street.
He’s sitting on the porch, and I’m confused as to how I didn’t notice him before. In Leon’s lap is what looks like a guitar, and he’s got this ugly scowl on his face as he glares at us from his home.
“What an ugly bastard,” Damien white-knuckles the wheel, glaring at him through the rearview. I glance over to my brother, seeing his brows furrow as he stares down the blonde boy across the street.
A large part of me wanted to defend Leon’s beauty. I know I should hate him, but he’s just so… charming. From the rearview, I notice how his hair is a little damp, and I assume he had showered this morning. His shirt is simply white, and I can’t see the rest of his outfit from the way he sat behind his porch. My fingers clutch the at fabric of my sleeves, holding myself back from saying something about Leon’s looks. We drive past the Kennedy household, and I can’t help but stare through the window.
Leon’s gaze pierces through the glass, and I feel myself shrink into my seat, my heart drumming against my ribcage as we lock eyes. His lips are formed in a straight line as his icy glare follows the Impala I rode in, and I can’t bring myself to look away.
Is it wrong to want to talk to him, despite what he did to me?
uhh its still slow but yk i think thats what will make it good or not i honestly just type out my scrambled thoughts and hope it works!
pt.3 here!
some lovelies⇁ @vampiramaeve @kurawooooooo @umooooo74 @estre11afugaz
#resident evil#leon kennedy x reader#fanfic#leon kennedy#leon s kennedy#resident evil 4 remake#resident evil/biohazard#biohazard#angst#mild angst#slowburn#leon s kennedy x reader#high school au#>>high school sweethearts: lsk
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Theater is
Theater is a kid, trying to figure out what clubs to do in second grade, knowing that they've seen musicals and plays before and loved watching them and seeing drama club on the list
Theater is
Audition
Casting
Rehearsal
Theater is the kid, old enough to sing in the musical, memorizing their lines and others, loving every second of being onstage
Theater is
Memorization
Blocking
Choreography
Theater is the kid, now in middle school, deciding to do the theater class since there is one at their school now, meeting the theater teacher, meeting new friends, being good at it, finally auditioning for their first actual musical
Theater is
Stage Fright
Friendship
Confidence
Theater is that kid getting the main role, doing theater again the next year, knowing so much about all of it and teaching the newer kids, painting set pieces with their friends, the friends that they now have because of theater
Theater is
Props
Costumes
Lights & Sound
Theater is the kid going into high school, leaving their middle school theater teacher and younger friends, so anxious about it but quickly finding their place in their theater class, volunteering at a drama fundraiser and meeting older theater kids there, learning their names and being able to make an impression
Theater is their first high school audition, for the fall play, multiple smaller plays directed by seniors, and having fun, getting cast in one of the biggest ones with the best directors they could've asked for, still anxious about being a good cast member but getting more confident again
Theater is rehearsals 3 times a week after school, the kid finding their footing in the cast, making friends with the older kids, being able to make suggestions or point things out that need fixing in the show
Theater is the kid being able to impress people, being able to memorize their lines, being able to be confident, being able to fix things, being able to say hi to their cast in the halls, at first just smiling at their director when they passed each other during passing period but then saying hi, even talking for a minute or two, the cast walking to the grocery store together at the start of a rehearsal for almost no reason, the kid being able to talk to their castmates, their friends, and not feel out of place, being excited for the bigger productions later in the year, not being worried about stage makeup because they know the older kids will be there, knowing that the older cast members and their directors will help them if they need it, knowing that they'll still be able to spend more time with them, knowing that they'll be so sad when the seniors graduate, but knowing that they still have almost all of the school year with them
Theater is
Belonging
Safety
Laughter
Freedom
Joking
Focusing
Acting
Acting, but with people that you trust. With people that even though you met them 2 months ago, that you know. You know their mannerisms, how they laugh, their sense of humor. You know that they're kind, you know that they care, you know that all of you love this. You all love this so, so much. You know that if you make a mistake on stage, that they'll improv and cover for you, and that you'd do the same for them. You know that no matter how anxious you are before the show, that they'll be someone with the same nerves and you can comfort each other.
And then the last show will end, and the audience will applaud. You will bow, with these people, these people that you may not have known a few months prior, but that so much trust has formed between. You've played improv games with these people, walked to the store with them, rehearsed over and over and over again with them, learned so much from them, taught and helped and been taught and helped, and it's over.
Until the next show, and the next, and the next year with more new freshmen, some of the kid's younger middle school friends now there too, until the year that the kid will direct their own show, as a senior, and try to be just as good a director as the ones they had their freshmen year.
And they will belong.
They will all belong.
#here's a little bit of my soul please be careful with it-#this got out of hand#but this is what theater means to me#this is mostly about my personal theater experience as I'm feeling sentimental at the moment#not sure if this is poetry or word art or a story or something else entirely#but whatever it is it is mine#I love theater and I always will#I don't think any of my cast is on tumblr but if they are and somehow found this and know its about them#I love you guys and thank you so much for making my high school theater experience a good one. I'm going to miss you all so much#and I hope I can make you proud#alright normal tags now-#theatre#theater#musical theatre#plays#theater kid#theatre kid#high school theater#high school theatre#poetry#poem#(i think)#art#word stuff#belonging#fawn's poetry
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WAYS TO SAY I LOVE YOU #2 ★ masterlist.
pairing: zeke x reader
genre: porn star au | warnings: sexual content, fem!reader | wc: 806
⏤ Imagine the first time they say I love you. Imagine it spoken at night, roughly, in the middle of an intense romantic encounter.
It’s different this time around.
It’s just two lovers on a scratchy, whitewashed blue bed-sheet, with the silence as their soundtrack.
The room is oddly cool, almost as if completely submerged under midnight waters, a draught carrying with a swooping gesture across the bareness of the bedroom. Well, it could be described as a bedroom; instead, perhaps just a room accompanied by a bed and a large lion-footed chester drawers with one or two shirts hanging from over the edges. A messy, rather sloppy sight that was overshone by the heat and the friction of the two bodies atop the double bed, the world theirs to take. A dappled light shone through the half-open curtains by a bay window, the blinds slanted with tasteless effort to close them moments earlier. It doesn’t feel like how it felt before; a blinding light cast down onto a pretty bed with unflattering drapes, the offbeat pop song that choreographed each movement of your partner. No sketchy, planned, rehearsed scene could even dare to live up to the feelings shared this night between two lovers.
His lips began to smother from the underside of your jaw down the smooth expanse of your neck, kissing tenderly at the highlights. Both lovers already bare, shivers coursing through their veins at every small collision their bodies made; his hands smooth across your thighs, his palms merely spreading them apart to accommodate himself between. Your neck, now but a canvas of bruising eggplant shades and red welts upon your collarbones arches back, and you sigh out in delight at the way Zeke explores your body like it is a treasure map- let him be the pirate.
At the absence of his clothes, Zeke pushed himself deeper inside of you, the safe grip on your legs hoisted up to fit around his waist being nothing but strong gestures of encouragement; a gentle squeeze told him not to worry but to instead, keep going, and so he did.
His teeth move to graze at the juncture of your neck, whispering moans painted across your skin as his body moves like a wave in, out, in, out; a rhythm only you two can keep up with. He tries- you can see- to be gentle, the way a lover should be, but at the sight of seeing your mouth hanging agape, a pornographic groan erupting from the back of your throat, pride swallows him whole and naturally, he grows cockier and cockier by the second. Catching his lips with your teeth when he figures it’s ‘time’ to press kisses to your mouth, he growls– words caught dead on his tongue.
“Yes, baby, like that,” he praises, encourages, “just like that.”
His hands, shakily, move to hold the calf of your leg, adjusting himself so his final movements can be perfect. As the moon shifts at a different angle, and the light changes, you can see his hips falter and slow, shifting to a grinding pace and his hands move in a stuttery movement, callous palms rubbing across your skin.
“M’gonna cum,” he whispers. “Babe-”
“Let go,” is what you reply, lips ghosting over his own. “Let go, baby, let go, fill me–”
Who is he to deny?
The feeling of your stomach sporadically churning and tensing up, a line of sweat builds on your hairline as he keeps up his pace. Soon, he thinks, soon.
“I love you,” Zeke almost whines, “God, I love you so, so much.”
A groan elicits from your lips- “I love you, too- oh, my god, I love you–”
“CUT!”
The lights switch on, blinding you and almost instantly, Zeke falters to turn his head over his shoulder, staring at the crew with raised cameras and artificial lights, clipboards in hands, the small light flickering red.
“…thinking we take it from the third angle, again,” the director suggests. “Cut the love-ending, too, you’ve gotta keep your audience interested. Nobody wants to see a couple actually in love.”
Zeke nods, “sure thing.”
The crew begin to manoeuvre their gear around the set, chattering amongst themselves as you drop to a thud onto the sheets, disappointment evident on your features. At the sound of your breath slipping from your lips, Zeke looks over and gently- almost playfully- shakes your leg.
“Cheer up, babe,” he murmurs. In contrast to the porno, hearing him say babe just makes you feel more disappointed. “You did well.”
He leaves a fleeting kiss on your leg before letting it drop to the sheet where your body lies, and lifting himself up from the mattress. As the bed rises due to his weight moving, your chest sinks with even more disappointment.
But you are the only one to blame- what a silly thing to do, falling for a guy you can never really have?
#zeke yeager#zeke jaeger#zeke x reader#zeke yeager x reader#zeke yeager smut#zeke yeager imagine#zeke smut#zeke imagine#attack on titan#aot#beast titan#war chief zeke#snk#snk imagine#aot smut#magunes#mine#jeanbie
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this is a snippet from the famous dc! au that started with The Greatest Hits [read here] you don't have to read it but a lot of things would make sense if you do
THE GREATEST HITS - the last date
Jason thought the feeling was electrifying. Nothing could beat it. Not pulling off a stunt for a film, nor being nominated for an award. Nothing could beat the feeling of your arms around his waist as you held onto him on the back of his bike. It was like lighting in a bottle, only the bottle was the inside of his chest and you were the lightning. He still can't believe the two of you are together.
The first month you two were dating he thought it was a dream. Every other day he'd wake up in a cold sweat because he thought he had imagined the confession in his head. And he was worried he'd have to be around you knowing that none of it happened. Luckily over the first month you called and texted to remind him that you two were definitely more than friends.
He pulls off to the side of the street and slows the bike down. All he said before you two left was there was a surprise waiting for you downtown. And his bike would be the quickest way there.
When he breaks and drops the kickstand, he can still feel you holding onto him for dear life. He wants to laugh at how cute you're being. But instead he just places his hands over yours.
"We're here sweetheart." he says.
You pick you head up from his back and look around, "Oh."
"If you were scared we could've taken the car." he answers.
You remove your hands and move to get off the bike. One foot on the ground then the next. Your'e standing in front of Jason and he takes off his helmet and adjusts his position so he can face you while leaning on the bike. He places his helmet on the bike handle.
And then you're taking your helmet off. It goes slow motion for him and it feels a little cliche but he doesn't care. Anything could be anything with you.
"No way. I always wanted to ride one of these anyways." you speak.
Jason cocks his brow, "One of what?"
"Oh shut up! J I swear." you laugh and move to hit him over the chest.
But he has cat like reflexes and catches your hand in his and pulls you closer to him. You almost drop you helmet, a shiny chrome red. But you keep a tight hold on it as you recover.
"I can't believe I get to wake up next to you for the rest of my life." Jason says.
You're stunned. You're always stunned when Jason says things like that, and it happens pretty often. Ever since he's moved in it's like he's got a storage box full of lines that knock the wind out of you. Every time, without fail, he makes your knees weak and your chest hot.
"Yeah and that's all because I asked you out first." you say coyly.
"Yes you did. Very proactive on your part hun. Love that for us." he says.
"Why'd you bring me out here anyways?" you ask.
Jason presses a quick kiss to your cheek and lets you go. Then he's getting off the bike completely. He runs over to one of the buildings. It's then you realize how vacant it is, which doesn't feel right. Jason ducks in quickly.
All of a sudden the lights start turning on. Like all the lights. A string of lights in front of you, then the next one, the next and it keeps going as far as your eyes can see. And the decorations are next, which makes you feel giddy.
It was like Christmas in July.
Every building has a window display so intricate and detailed that you can't keep up. You see Jason run back out with a smile on his face.
"What is this?" you ask with a smile.
"One of Dent's big time director buddies was gonna tear down this set but I asked if he wouldn't mind keeping it up for twenty four hours."
"For us?" you ask shocked.
He nods, "All for us baby."
#famous dc!au#jason todd x reader#Jason todd x you#Jason todd fic#Jason todd imagine#dc x you#dc x reader#dc imagine#dc fic#dcblurbs
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This is the reality for many Palestinian children in the Israeli prison system.
[Video transcript:
While we're on the topic of Palestinian prisoners, or as I like to refer to them, hostages. We need to talk about the case of Ahmed Manasra.
Who is serving a 9 and a half year sentence in Israeli prison. And has been in prison since the age of 13.
On October 12th 2015, Ahmed and his cousin Hassan were walking the streets of East Jerusalem when they were attacked by an Israeli mob.
This mob accused them of stabbing 2 of them and immediately shot and killed Hassan. And brutally beat up Ahmed, and running him over with a car.
Fracturing part of his skull.
There is a viral video of this mob yelling at Ahmed, taunting him, telling him to die as he is lying on the ground bleeding, pleading for help.
The Israeli occupational forces then brutally interrogated him without an attorney or parent present.
There is a video out there of his interrogation where these Israeli soilders are screaming at this child.
At the time it was illegal for children to be in prison, so the courts waited until his 14th birthday. He has been in and out of solitary confinement for years.
Which directly goes against international law.
(Excerpt from the United Nations reads: The Mandela Rules, updated in 2015, are a revised minimum standard of UN rules that defines solitary confinement as 'the condiment of prisoners for 22 hours or more a day without any meaningful human contact.'
Solitary confinement may only be imposed in exceptional circumstances, and "prolonged" solitary confinement of more than 15 consecutive days is regarded as a form of torture.)
He has been diagnosed with schizophrenia and severe depression with suicidal thoughts, due to the solitary confinement and the human rights abuses that the Israeli occupation have done to him.
Even though, the Israeli courts found out that he was not involved with the stabbings, he is still serving a 9 and a half year sentence for "attempted murder."
(Excerpt from AP news reads: The teenagers are typically held in 1 by 1.5-meter (3 by 5 foot) cell flooded with endless light, the group said.
Their only human contact is with interrogators. They return to their families deeply scarred, said Ayed Abu Eqtaish, the groups accountability program director.)
I saw a report saying that teenagers are usually held in cells that are 3 and a half by 5 feet.
Ahmed is locked in his cell for 23 hours a day. He is being kept in the Ramla prison. He is continually been denied family visits, medical care and a push for his early release.
He has been tortured endlessly since the age of 13 by the Israeli occupation forces.
There has been an international push for his release (image reads: GENEVA '14th July 2022- UN human rights experts today urged the Government of Israel to immediately release Ahmed Manasra, 20 year old Palestinian detailed in Israeli prisons since he was 13 years old. While suffering serious mental health conditions.)
Yet at the age of 21, Ahmed still remains in Israeli prison.
This push largely follows the fact that he is not being treated for his medical conditions, that the Israeli occupation forces caused him.
Israel took away Ahmed's childhood at age 13, we need to push for his immediate release.
Ahmed not only deserves to be at home with his family, but deserves justice for what happened to him.
End Transcript]
And who knows how many Ahmed's are unjustly abd illegally locked up and tortured in these prisons.
Because the majority of Palestinians in there, are children or were arrested as children.
With no reason to be there, admitted by Israel themselves.
#free palestine#Free Ahmed Manasra#free gaza#anti israel#anti zionisim#palestine#israel is an apartheid state#israel is a war criminal#israel#united nations#human rights#mental illness
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Something cool that I noticed about the new episode: the Daemon and Rhaenyra scene in 1x05 is almost a complete inverse of the 1x04 brothel scene. Like not just in the dialogue and characters but also in the cinematography!
In 104, we see Rhaenyra circling Daemon, taking in everything around her, her face directed outward as she looks around and learns while her body still revolves around him (literally). And when she stops, she is directly in front of him, looking up at him, seeming younger and more vulnerable. She looks more like his pupil, someone inexperienced but eager to learn.
In 105, we see Daemon circling Rhaenyra, but his sole focus is on her. Both his body and his attention are directed at her. And when he stops, he is shown as being across from her, but she looks far more powerful and confident than before, both in her posture and in her clothing and style. She looks like his equal.
In 104, we see Rhaenyra grip Daemon’s neck, and while he does also hold her face, his hold is gentle, while hers is more intentional and strong. Her hold is also the focus of the shot, whereas his is not.
In 105, we see Daemon grip Rhaenyra’s face, grabbing the side of her neck and cheek. He doesn’t gently cradle her, but instead he grips her with enough force to at least slightly pull her towards him.
In 104, Daemon coaches her, telling her that there are ways for her to still control her own life and take her own pleasures even when confined to a marriage she does not want. He uses language that isn’t too jarring or descriptive, because everything he is talking about is currently surrounding them, and she can watch and learn for herself.
In 105, Rhaenyra directs him, is almost coaching him on the exact steps he needs to take to get what he wants: her. Instead of discussing how to be happy within the “cage”, she lays out exactly how he could break her (aka their) cage and take control of their lives together. She also uses very explicit and descriptive language, because they are confined by their surroundings, rather than being instructed by them as she was in the previous episode.
In 104, Rhaenyra is the focus of almost all of the shots, both in the framing and the lighting. Daemon’s face is in shadow, and her hands and emotions are given the focus. She is shown as the focus because she is the one growing and learning through this, while he is already established as being well-versed in this particular world. (I went way deeper into the framing of this scene here).
In 105, they are both the focus. Neither one is highlighted at the expense of the other, other than Daemon’s hold on her face at the very end. But even that is seen while the focus is still on both of their faces. The camera angles alone are telling us that now they stand on equal footing.
In 104, Rhaenyra and Daemon are the subjects, but the scenes of them are combined with scenes of the people and activities that surround them. These other scenes only heighten and add to the focus on them.
In 105, Rhaenyra and Daemon are the subjects, but the scenes of them are interrupted by the people and activities that surround them. Instead of scenes being intercut and flowing together, the camera and the audience’s view is seen to be cut off by figures dancing around them, taking away from the focus on them.
All of this makes sense because they had the same director for both episodes, who is killing it by the way.
#i just think its neat#house of the dragon#hotd ep 5#hotd spoilers#hotd thoughts#rhaenyra targaryen#daemon targaryen#daemyra#rhaenyra x daemon#cinematography#game of thrones#got
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paring: Tamlin x OC | type: angst | words: 2,7k | warnings: violence, abuse, domestic abuse| masterlist
As the years pass and time goes by, the yearning, the longing to see each other, does not fade. Not on either side. There is always a kernel of hope, deeply rooted within their chests, that makes them hold onto the idea of seeing each other again.
Not once has Tamlin let go of that sliver of hope, until one day the Mother truly hears his prayers – a ball will be held in the Spring Court, and amongst the other High Lords and their families who Tamlin could care less about, much to his surprise, the High Lord of Night is also invited along with his wife and both children.
Soft morning sunlight shines through the thick velvet drapes that cover most of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Tamlin lets a few strays fall upon his face, warming his skin and looks at the crystal chandeliers hanging above him, breaking the light within their crystals. He hums contentedly as he continues to stroll, his polished boots carrying him over the glossy marble floor, towards the small orchestra, the members of it already building up their instruments.
“Morning,” he greets the director, bowing his head, a small smile on his lips. He gets no response – out of modesty of the male, or hate toward his father, he doesn’t know.
So he keeps walking, silently admiring all the instruments, also spotting the few fiddles here and there. He really wants to pick it up again, playing the fiddle. Only for himself of course. His father hates it when he plays, his brothers always laughed at him in the past and his mother…she liked it. But only in secret of course.
The whole throne room is a bustling space of people – sentries rushing around, decorating, building things. The chaos around him mirrors the emotional state Tamlin finds within himself.
He is all nerves and tension - he will see Reverie again and over the past days he was already mulling over all the possibilities how their first meeting after two years will go. How will she react to seeing him again? Will she be happy? Or indifferent? Or as excited as he is?
He can’t let his emotions show, so he veils his face in cool nonchalance while strolling through the throne room, hands in the pockets of his breeches, long blond hair tied back into a low ponytail.
Tamlin, although having grown up and grown into a more confident and self-assured young male, still often feels out of place during such court meetings. This isn’t for him. He won’t be the future High Lord of the Spring Court, he will never have an important role in the court, his place will be in the Spring Court war bands and it is good the way it is.
The only thing that is making him look forward to the ball is seeing Rhysand again – he hasn’t seen him in a while and is truly looking forward to chatting with him again and having a good laugh with his old friend. Still, it is impossible to deny that what he truly yearns for is to see the Night Court princess again…
────── ⋆⋅ꕤ⋅⋆ ──────
Tamlin isn’t the only one sitting on needles. Reverie feels equally excited about finally meeting again. She steps from one foot to the other, nibbling on her lower lip while in her mind she already plans how she will greet him – maybe a small curtsey, the bow of her head. She might shake his hand and smile politely. Maybe he will ask her to dance? Or they will have a drink together. Or he will show her the Spring Court? And maybe–
“Hold still for a moment, my dear child!” Reverie sucks in a sharp breath, straightening her posture and stopping her nervous feet from moving.
The last touches are being added to her dress and she can’t wait to see the final product, already highly anticipating it. It has to be perfect.
Her mother makes the dress for her – it is perfect and exactly how Reverie imagined it. “It is beautiful,” the young Night Court princess whispers when she lets her fingers trail over the row of diamonds gracing the neckline of the dress.
“You are beautiful.” Her mother strokes her slender fingers down the length of Reverie’s dress. The girl meets her mother’s gaze, and bows her head in thanks. “You grew up so fast.”
“It is truly stunning, Mama,” she whispers. “I feel like a princess.”
“You are a princess,” her mother reminds her, straightening up and kissing her youngest on the forehead. “The Night Court’s princess. My princess”
“Rhysie hates it when people call him prince or even worse, what Cass calls him, princeling.” She cackles and Mira can only join in; her daughter’s joy is just so infectious.
Talk of the Hel, Rhys enters the room a second later, an apple in his hand, taking a big bite from it. “You look beautiful, little sister, but don’t ever call me Rhysie again.” He glowers, but there is humour in his eyes, glowing brightly.
His younger sister grins at him. “Oh, I know you secretly love it.” She turns on her heels to spin around, once, twice, three times, making the skirt of her onyx dress, adorned with smaller and larger crystals, fly. It almost looks like a shooting star blazing across the dark night sky. It looks stunning.
Her eyes meet her own in the mirror when she comes to a halt, and she is relieved to find them calm. Thankfully, they don’t show the whirlwind of emotions brewing within her. There is nervousness, anticipation, excitement and fear.
She will meet Tamlin again. Finally. After such a long time. Two years have passed since they last saw each other. For years, she has been eagerly anticipating meeting him again, the tug on her chest never fading. She never raised suspicion to anyone, not even to Mor, about her feelings, but she’s a smart woman. She knows deep inside what it means. She knows what this tug stands for – the pull on her chest. You are mine and I am yours.
────── ⋆⋅ꕤ⋅⋆ ──────
Reverie is mesmerised – balls held in the Night Court are stunning, but here in Spring they are different. Different in a good and astonishing way. It is the first day of Spring, meaning everything, every small tree and every bush is in full bloom, plants flourish on every corner and flowers bloom wherever you look – inside and outside the manor.
“Stunning,” she whispers, looking up at her older brother with big eyes, both her hands curled around his elbow. “Don’t you think?”
Rhys only chuckles, and gives his head a little shake. “Too colourful and too many flowers,” he laughs, which makes Reverie roll her eyes. She thinks it is perfect. Absolutely perfect and stunning.
All the intricate carvings on the manor walls, the beautiful floor, the decorations. Anticipation and excitement fill her, making her grin to herself while admiring the beautiful surroundings – Spring Court is an incredible place, she thinks.
Yet her happy feelings are immediately dampened the moment she sees Tamlin storm out of the throne room through some of the back doors – his pace hurried, his face a grimace, a mixture of disgust and panic. Her heartbeat quickens at the sight of his distressed state and she wants nothing more than to follow him.
But she can’t. She hasn’t seen him in over two years, would he even appreciate her following him? And what would her father say? Or Rhysand? They would have questions, and would not allow her to go after him, especially not alone. But she has to follow. She has to find out if he is alright because a feeling of anxiousness settles within her chest almost as if she can feel his unease.
Her palms turn clammy, her heart racing even more the more time passes and she follows after Rhys to what will be their table. Her father greets a few people, maybe other High Lords or whatever.
“Look at the snake, always after him like he is her prey.” Rhys points into the direction of a red-haired female who is walking into the direction Tamlin has left into, but stops abruptly when a man calls her to him.
Without mentioning her name, Reverie knows that this female must be Amarantha. It is this awful snake who has brought Tamlin into such a distressed state, who made him run away and the alarm bells within Reverie’s mind ring so loudly, she rips her hands away from her brother’s arm and says, her tone on the verge of panicked, “I need to go to the restroom. Where can I find it?”
“I’ll take you–”
“No, Rhys. I am a grown-up female, I can really go find a place to pee on my own.” She clenches her jaw and Rhys understands, speaking the direction to the restroom into her mind and she leaves, not thinking about what she is doing for one more second. She has to go after Tamlin, find him, comfort him if necessary.
────── ⋆⋅ꕤ⋅⋆ ──────
“There you are.” Her voice is not at all as steady as she hoped for it to be. Her heart is thrumming in her throat, cold sweat coating the back of her neck – both from running and the panic rising within her about not being able to find him.
Tamlin spins around and stops dead in his tracks, eyes opening wide, just like his mouth. “Reverie,” he breathes after a moment, finally closing his mouth. “What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for you.”
Tamlin’s face lights up the moment the words leave her mouth, his eyes shimmer in the soft moonlight and a smile appears on his lips. “I needed a moment,” he admits honestly, keeping prolonged eye-contact with Reverie, not able to look away.
“She made you feel uneasy.” A flicker of surprise passes over Tamlin’s face, but instead of asking how she knows, he says, “Yes, Amarantha, but let’s not talk about her. How are you? How have you been? Won’t this bring you in trouble – being out here? With me? Alone with me?”
“No one knows I am here. Alone with you.” She grins, a little mischievously, and takes a step closer to Tamlin. Her scent immediately hits Tamlin and he inhales deeply. “And I have been…alright.” Her answer doesn’t really convince him and so he also moves closer to her, away from the lake behind him, reaching out his hand. “Walk with me?”
She takes his hand, her palm sliding against his and once again the sparks erupt in both their hands. “I’ve been in the war camps for the past years. I wanted to come here again, but I couldn’t leave Windhaven.”
“That’s alright.” Tamlin turns to her, his gaze downcast to meet hers. “Rhysand hasn’t been here much either.”
“But it isn’t,” Reverie answers, “I can hear it in your voice that it isn’t. Did you miss me?”
Tamlin is quite surprised about this straightforward question, stopping. His hand squeezes hers slightly, and before he can give her answer, Reverie says, “Because I did. I missed you and that even though we’ve only met once.”
His throat bobs when it works on a swallow and then he smiles. “And I thought I was a fool, a creep, for missing you even though we’ve only met once and didn’t even get a proper chance to talk.”
“Sometimes it just feels right with people, even after only a moment of talking. I felt like this with you.”
She is right, Tamlin thinks. It felt right with her. Like she, more anyone else, even Rhys, could understand him. Like their paths were meant to cross.
“You don’t want to head back and…dance?”
Reverie shrugs. She would love to dance. But only with Tamlin. “Not necessarily,” she tells him, not wanting to force him to go back to the manor. “And we can always dance out here as well.”
The corners of her mouth lift in a beautiful smile that leaves Tamlin momentarily speechless. “I‘m worried about you.”
“Because I want to dance with you?” Playfully, Reverie nudges his ribs with elbow.
“Because you—we could get caught.”
“We are two noble children walking through the garden of your manor. It’s not like we are making out or doing…the naughty right in the middle of this rose garden over there.” The moment the words leave her, her cheeks turn a deep red.
Tamlin’s as well, his lips parting and closing a few times before he catches himself and brings a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “Right…” he whispers. “We are only walking.”
“And looking at the stars.” Reverie turns to him again. “If someone catches us, we’ll just pretend you wanted to learn everything about the stars in the night sky and I was so kind to offer to explain them you.”
A grin appears on Tamlin’s face, spreading from one ear to the other.
“This is Sirius.” Reverie points up into the sky. “The brightest star in the night sky. It is even more vivid and clearer in the Night Court.” She turns to Tamlin who is already looking at her. “You need to stop me when I start to bore you–”
“You will never bore me.” He tugs at her hand and it is a silent invitation to sit down on the cool, dewy grass. She follows, and so they sink to the ground, both beige breeches and her beautiful gown forgotten. She shifts closer to the Spring Court male, leaning her head to the side to rest it against his shoulder. “Here we have Pollux and there is Castor…”
She continues telling Tamlin about all the different stars, and he listens to every word she says, drinking in her scent, her voice, the joy within it when she shares her knowledge with him. He laughs at it, and could listen to her ramble for hours and hours, years, millenia. Spending this time with her, despite being nervous about someone catching them, eases all the former tension Amarantha has caused him. Has caused him by touching him, on his thigh and higher up, by…
He shakes off the thoughts, no longer wanting to think about her. He is with Reverie now, and it truly feels like a dream. A dream he never wants to end.
“I think I’m done now,” Reverie laughs after a moment, and if he could bottle the sound, he would do it, listen to it whenever he finds himself bloody and broken in his room after another outburst of anger from his father. “I hope I didn’t bore you.”
“You would never. I loved listening to you. You know a lot,” he says with a voice full of admiration.
“I love to read and spend my time thinking and learning about the stars. When Rhys and I go flying we will often talk about them and share our knowledge.”
Tamlin smiles. “I am glad you have a brother like Rhys.”
“He is the best. He can be annoying, of course, but overall he is the best brother one could have.” Her grin lights up her whole face.
Tamlin’s smile also brightens, feeling her joy deep in his heart. He loves that she has a brother like Rhys.
Fully on its own accord his hand lifts, gazes still locked, and he tucks a strand of silken, black-blue hair behind her pointed ear. “You know what? All I could say about the stars before this evening was that they remind me of your eyes – stunning, endless and full of life. I–”
Everything stops the moment it hits him. The moment it hits them. It snaps in place right in this very moment.
It feels like lightning striking them, their souls opening, yearning, longing, glowing, a golden ribbon stretching out, connecting their souls and sparks ignite within them.
“You’re my mate,” Reverie breathes into the silence, the night, and takes the words right from Tamlin’s mouth.
He only stares at her, dread colliding with panic within his heart. He wants her to take back the words. He wants her to never have said them in the first place. He wants to run. To escape. He doesn’t want them to be mates. He knows what it means them, for her. Knows the kind of danger it puts her in. He can’t let this happen…
tags: @thesnugglingduck @sirenpearldust @lilah-asteria
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