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#and shared their stories and how much this story beat has touched you
luveline · 7 months
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JADE!!! WE WOULD LOVE TO SEE ANOTHER SPENCER X BADASS GIRL!!! maybe its a quiet day and reader & spencer just chilling and joking around in their little world and the others just watching ahahah
thank you for your request babe, I would love to write more for this pairing if u have requests!! ♡ fem!reader
"What are they doing?" Emily asks, a fierce whisper that carries across the jet. 
"I think they're flirting," JJ whispers back. 
Hotch closes the case file in front of him. There's nothing left to do until they get home but sit here in each other's company. You and Spencer seem to have realised this before anybody else, shoulder to shoulder, a book in his hands. He's slouched with his leg crossed over his knee, taking up the majority of the couch. You seem content to take the brunt of his weight while giggling softly by his ear. 
Hotch can't lie, he's genuinely startled by your behaviour. It's the total opposite of your usual affect.
"That's not flirting," Rossi says without looking up. 
Hotch has to agree. You brush a stray hair from Spencer's shoulder and he doesn't so much as blush, turning the page to show you something particular. You lean in closer still, hand resting now on his shoulder. 
That's not flirting, that's way beyond it. Spencer is practically in your lap, and you —wouldn't hug anyone on your birthday, didn't tell them where you were for four days when you had appendicitis until you were forced, cold, lone wolf you— look like you're about to cuddle him close and whisper sweet nothings in his ear. 
You're in your own little world. 
"I stopped expecting her to push him off twenty minutes ago," Derek says, as seemingly unbothered as Rossi. 
"Don't tell me you knew about this," Emily says incredulously. 
"They've been going on dates." 
"They what?" 
You laugh happily at Spencer's side, pointing at a specific line with the tip of your fingernail. "When asked, Moroscova said that the length of his stay was an act of perjury," you read. 
Spencer laughs at your quotation, sharing a secret smile with you. "That haircut is an act of perjury." 
Your eyes glow with a look Hotch knows well. Haley looked at him like that for years. "Thanks for reading this with me. I know I'm slow." 
"You're not slow. I'm really fast. There's a difference."
It's the definition of young love, Hotch thinks, all those heartfelt reassurances disguised as brags, stolen touches, Spencer's knuckles stroking up and down your outer thigh. 
He turns back to his book and you stare at the side of his face. It's a little heartbreaking. Hotch knows if things don't work out between you, you'll take it hard. Your affection for Spencer has always been in the silent things, undulating, until lately: you listen to him talk when nobody else has the patience, what must amass to hours and hours of stories and statistics; you defend him at every turn, in every precinct in every city; when Spencer has a hard time, you refuse to rest until he feels better. The case before this one, the unsub beat you across the face with the handle of his gun, and you leaned out of the ambulance with your eye glued shut to make sure Spencer got anaesthetic before his stitches. You look at him like he's hanging the moon in real time. 
"Okay, that's too much," Derek says. Hotch detects a hint of brotherly affection in it, but mostly disgust. 
You raise your gaze from Spencer's chest, the breezy smile playing on your lips flattening into a hard line. You send Derek your fiercest glare, him being the first in your line of sight, and Emily gets the shock of her life when you turn and narrow your eyes at her, too. 
Emily smiles widely. "Hey, how's it going over there?" she asks. 
"Why are you guys looking at me?" you ask. 
"You can't guess?" Derek says.
"If I could guess, I wouldn't have asked." 
Hotch gives you a disapproving look. Tone it down, Agent. 
"I just wanna know what's so interesting," you say, leaning into indifference.  
Spencer looks up from his book. "What?" 
"Nothing," you say, your tone gentler in a capacity only profilers might notice. "Don't worry about it."
Spencer sits up and your eyebrows pinch down. Hotch wants to save it and he also doesn't get paid enough. Everything works out in the end, he thinks, not believing himself even slightly as he gets up to make a cup of coffee at the back of the jet. Your sullen tones hardly reach him through the curtain and over the sound of the hot water kettle, Spencer's puzzled reassuring even quieter. 
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spitdrunken · 2 months
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i am absolutely insane about your headcanons with the vee's, my mind is so full now... this is exactly what i was hoping to find when searching through the hazbin x reader tag after watching the episodes 👁️🙏🏻 please i'm so!! the being a writer for the vee's imagine is such a good idea, val and his.. comment especially got to me..
also, for your consideration:
Val — or all of the Vee's, really —, but, in the beginning, he's really not convinced about the quality of your dialogues, despite all the lines he's read (or, well, has had Vox read to him), so naturally you have to read your previous stories out loud to him, cheeks flushing and squirming when it gets to particularly graphic scenes and his gaze on you is so very heavy, smoke caressing your jaw while you stumble over your words.. It's worse if you've written about them and a character who resembles you, and Val's smile widens when you skip from story to story, mentioning the character — definitely not you — sucking Vox off, bending over willingly for Val and begging for Velvette to touch her, or even take all three of them at once, greedy...
Also the. love potions Velvette makes have me feeling things.. Her or Vox but they might end up putting a drop or four into your glass — purely accidentally, of course! —, and...
this is terrible.. my mind is too full now... i might have to post writing for hazbin now and it is your fault alone.. (affectionate; truly, I've enjoyed your thoughts so very much!! thank you for sharing!)
I'm glad you enjoyed it so much :D!! I had an absolute blast writing it myself, and I've been thinking about it lots!! Your ask made it even Worse (/pos) and I simply had to write more!! Please please please let me know if you write something for Hazbin, I can tell from your ask already that it'll be wonderful! And if you ever wanna chat about these guys, feel free to message me again, haha.
Notes: power imbalance, sexual harassment, heavily dubious/noncon due to love potion usage.
The fact Vox even bothers at all to take the time to sit Valentino down and read to him is already a show of your quality— He really wouldn’t go through wrangling him like that for just anyone, especially not with Val getting a bit pissy when being reminded your works were being compared to his. He needs to be told that, obviously, Val, some mere written words are never going to compare, especially not in earnings, to his creations. This placates Valentino. But all Vox gets for his efforts are a lazy flick of one of Valentino’s four wrists, his eyes not even looking at him. “Look, I still think it fucking sucks. But if you wanna hire them so badly, whatever. I’ve got better shit to do than listen to daddy’s horny story-time.” Suffice it to say, he becomes a lot more… Amiable (poor you) once you’re actually working there, and he has a face to attach to the stories. He can tell upon first glance that you’re one of those pathetic little hermits, too scared to leave your own shitty apartment, barely scraping by— He’s recruited plenty of those types as whores, after all. So easily pushed around that it shouldn’t give him nearly as much satisfaction as it does.
When Valentino practically demands you join him in his room and read your previous work to him, you sputter out protests, heart skipping a beat. Every employee in the company has something bad to say about this man, and so he’s about the last person you want to be caught alone in a room with. Especially not his bedroom.
“Ah, sir, I’m not really sure—“ But he’s already wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his side as he drags you through the halls. The first thing that strikes you is how different the texture of coat is than you were expecting. It doesn’t even feel like anything at all. “Oh, sweetheart, call me Valentino. No need to be so unfamiliar with each other.” He practically purrs, a single finger tracing up the contours of your chest. “I feel like we’re going to get quite familiar.” If all the alarms weren’t ringing in your head before, they most definitely are now. But there’s nothing you can do. His grip on you is tight and, underneath his red coat, you can feel the hard metal of a pistol pressing against you.
He takes you to his room, walls covered with posters featuring himself, and you hardly have the time to look around before he sits you down on one of his red couches, still caught underneath one of his arms. It’s hard to think, much less speak, as Valentino starts to prod you to pull out your phone and start reading. “No need to be shy. You’re such an artista, aren’t you? Don’t keep me waiting.” It’s easy, at first. When the scene hasn’t grown explicit yet, and you can pretend you’re only reading the text out loud to yourself like you always do, making sure the sentences sound right. But Valentino makes it hard for you to distract yourself entirely. He rubs circles on the skin of your thigh, and the smoke from his pipe has long since been the only thing you can smell. The red smoke makes your head a little hazier, tongue a little looser— Though that all just might be because you’re not getting enough oxygen. Your every muscle is tense and, you think, this is what being a prey animal must feel like. The first time you stutter out the word ‘cock’, Valentino barks out a laugh, loud and sudden, entirely contrasting with the sultry demeanour he’s been putting on the whole time. You jump, gaze flickering from the screen to his face, before continuing. It gets worse when you realise exactly what story you’re reading out loud to him, one of the ones you’d never even posted anywhere, so utterly self-indulgent and poorly thought out that you regret it with every ounce of your being. (Unbeknownst to you, Vox has already read every draft you’ve ever typed up, but that’s neither here nor there.)
“Sorry, can I maybe, um, read a different one?” You practically squeak out. “I realised I have some better drafts, and…” “No,” Valentino shuts you down, tone temporarily harsh. “Don’t get too fucking cocky now, you’re already taking up enough time as it is. Shit’s about to get interesting, finally.” He’s saying all of this as if he wasn’t the one to drag you there in the first place.
So you trudge onward, reading as fast as you possible can, just trying to tough it out. As you read about a scared, unaccomplished demonic main character catching the eye of a trio of some of the most famous demons in town—through entirely unrealistic circumstances—you can see his grin grow wider from the corner of your eye. His nails dig into the flesh of your thigh, the smoke surrounding your face turning to caress your cheeks.
“So, let me gets this straight… You wrote about a trio of powerful demons with matching names, taking turns fucking an absolute nobody silly. One of them’s a pimp, the other a fashion designer, and the other a business man.” Valentino doesn’t give you the chance to respond. “Greedy little slut. You even chose this one specifically to read out to me, huh? Seems I got you all wrong,” he hisses out. “This must be a dream come true for you, isn’t it?”
Let’s just say that you got enough ‘material’ to write another four or so stories, just from that line alone.
----- A drop of love potion, and models always behave the absolute best, or so Velvette thinks! (As long as you don’t put in too much. It’s very hard to take good pictures when the girls keep trying to kiss you.) No bitching, no whining, only an easy to pose, cute demon to work with. And if she dresses you up in clothes that reveal more than they obscure, purely for her own enjoyment and usage, who’s going to blame her?
Certainly not you. You won’t remember a single damn thing. Not even the parts where you babble on about how pretty and gorgeous and cool she is, and how you’ve admired her for so long— All things she’s heard a million times before. Normally, she wouldn’t care less about it, but such words coming from someone with only a drop of her potion in her system means they’re all the absolute truth. She thinks it’s almost cute when it’s coming from you, really. ------------ Vox, on the other hand, would be more likely to use his hypnosis on you than a love potion. Just to have a few minutes in the middle of a meeting where you’re practically putty in his hands, all of your usual anxiety and shame having slid right off of your shoulders. He doesn’t feel any guilt about it whatsoever. Having read all of your works, he finds it safe to say that this is the exact kind of scenario you would enjoy…
And even if you didn’t, he still would. He gets a bit of a thrill out of the loopy, relaxed smile on your face as you nuzzles your cheeks against his arm, professing all of the thoughts you had about him before working at VoxTech, and the ones you still have today. It’s during one of these exact moments, that he’d likely find out that Valentino had fucked you already, something he hadn’t found necessary to mention. They’ll have a bit of a discussion about that later!
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Little Paintings
Mihawk x gn!reader
Summary: surely the extremely observant and powerful warlord of the sea won’t notice your little paintings all over his castle…
Content: pure fluff, with just a hint of romance. reader is written as autistic.
A/N: I recently watched a TikTok where somebody was painting cute little designs all around their house until their spouse noticed. It made me think of this idea. Like all my stories, Mihawk is based on a mix of his live action personality and the little bit I know from watching some of the anime and reading the manga quite literally years ago. Enjoy!
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You like painting. Always have, always will.
However, you’re not sure if the fearsome Dracule Mihawk will appreciate it so much as you, not when you’re painting inside his crystal ware cabinet. Especially not when you didn’t bother to get his permission. 
Not that you’ll stop.
If anything, it makes you determined to work quicker, nudging more of the delicate wine glasses aside to you can lean in and finish the adding paint strokes to the fine wood, creating a minuscule image of a little bottle in the back corner of the cabinet.
Is it silly for a fully grown adult to be doing this? Perhaps. Yet you can’t help but smile as you add the final touch to the tiny little label on the bottle, a small swirl of purple paint to match the label of the wine he shared with you yesterday.  
Perfect.
When you extract yourself and carefully push the wine glasses back in place, the painting is completely hidden. You have just enough time to hustle back through the chilly castle halls and tuck your paints in your room before he returns inside from his sword practice.
He gives you quite the long look when you settle in the kitchen later that day, those piercing yellow eyes seeming to cut through your surface and see so deep. And though you feel your breath catch—as it often does around this formidable man—you force yourself to smile innocently.
“Yes?” you ask.
“I will be sailing out for supplies this afternoon,” he says after a long moment.
You nod and draw your knees to your chin. “Do you need me along?”
“No need for that.”
You sigh with relief, watching as he turns back to his cooking. You don’t dislike people, but you do prefer your solitude. You always have, ever since you were a child. It’s why you feel content to stay here now.
That, and how utterly delightful it is to watch him cook.
He’s terribly handsome when cooking, though you’re fairly sure the man would look handsome doing anything. His knife seem to blur as he cuts up the vegetables, then begins to prep the meat. When he reaches for the pans, his cross necklace shifting against his finely cut chest, your heart skips a beat.
Yet he simply grabs a pan and gets to work, seeming to not notice the tiny cross shaped sword painted just behind where the pots hang.
Really, it’s foolish of you to do this. Yes, art has always been a passion for you, but you are a guest here. A guest he has allowed to stay for some months, and a guest who has shared just enough casual, accidental touches that you hope it might become something more, but still a guest.
Still, you’re curious. Just how much can you paint before the great swordsman notices?
You’ve been at it for a week now, ever since you found the dusty little bottles of paint tucked away in a forgotten storeroom. You use every moment he’s out to sneak little paintings around the castle, none bigger than your thumb.
There’s the little map against the doorframe of your room, like the treasure map you were following before you stumbled on this island.
Then there’s the small ape painted onto one table leg in the dining hall, a far less fearsome version of the beasts that chased away your captain and crew when you all landed here. You recall how frustrated you were that they left you behind, a frustration that has long since faded now that you can count on the safety of Dracule Mihawk’s castle.
He walks past you now, a hand brushing briefly against your arm before he continues on to grab the spices across the kitchen.
Not an accident, surely. Nothing this man does is accidental.
That makes you think of the minuscule wanted poster you painted in the corner of your doorframe yesterday, in honor of the fear you first felt when you realized just who inhabited this place. Funny how frightened you were that first day. And the second day.
…and the third.
By the forth, however, you had figured out he likely wasn’t going to kill you.
By the fifth you’d determined that so long as you didn’t irritate him, he didn’t seem inclined to make you leave either. In fact, as days went on, you became fairly certain he didn’t mind your company.
Which is why you now play this foolish game of sneakily painting designs all around his castle.
You always considered yourself clever. Yet apparently all it takes are a few “accidental” touches and heavy looks for you to throw all your caution to the wind. Teasing a warlord, vandalizing his castle… such a perfect plan for long term survival.
Still, you do truly enjoy painting.
Your favorite are the flowers you painted along a small crack in the stones of the great hall, colored with a yellow that makes you think of his stunning eyes, the eyes that have over the last few months shifted from disinterest and disdain to… something else.
Something that makes you hope perhaps you won’t always be just a guest.
You’re not brave enough to make any moves yourself—never really have been when it comes to matters of the heart—but that won’t stop you from seeing just where these lingering glances and soft touches might eventually go.
Those same eyes stare at you again now as you make your way to the dining hall and pick at your food, separating the small bits of tomato from the rest of your meal. You bite back a smile as his gaze cuts down to your plate and he takes note of the rejected vegetable. Knowing him, he won’t use it in your meals again.
You honestly don’t know how a man so observant has not noticed your paintings yet.
“Do you need anything from the village?” Mihawk asks, startling you from your thoughts.
“I’m alright, I think,” you say. Given the nearest village is several islands away, you take a moment to think about it truly, but everything you need has been provided for you already. If anything, you’re far more comfortable here than you ever were with the crew you sailed alongside, a crew that only cared about you for your rough mapmaking skills—your least favorite thing to paint if you’re being honest—and were quick to abandon you when the first hint of danger appeared. 
He nods and turns to his own plate. You try not to stare at the wall behind him, where you‘ve recently painted a tiny little figure sitting in a tiny little chair wearing a tiny black wide brimmed hat, hidden just at the base of the dining hall floorboards.
Trying not to giggle about it keeps you distracted through most of lunch.
“I’ll be off then,” Mihawk says as you both finish your meals, rising from the table.
“Be safe.”
Ah yes, because you need to tell the strongest swordsman in the world to be safe. You mentally kick yourself, but feel better when he offers you one of his rare almost smiles, even as he pauses by your chair.
“Don’t worry yourself,” he says, that confidence that you’ve come to admire woven through every inch of his words. “I highly doubt there will be anyone to challenge me. Truly a shame. Oh, as a note…”
“Yes?”
Your breathe hitches as he reaches out, gently taking your hand and lifting it towards him. You’re hyper aware of how strong his grip is. So powerful, yet intentionally gentle. Of how piercing his gaze is, those eyes that are so hard to meet, even as they set your heart racing. He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a slow, deliberate kiss against it.
Oh.
When he lowers your hand, he’s… smiling. Not just that almost smirk, but a real smile. Your heart lurches again at the sight. When he speaks, it takes you a long moment to process his words around the pounding of your heart.
“The entry hall could use a few more flowers, perhaps, if you must paint all over the walls.”
Then he’s off, leaving you stunned where you sit. Your draw your hand close to yourself, staring at the skin he kissed.
You hadn’t noticed it until now, but on the back of your hand is just the slightest smudge of dried purple paint from earlier.
As you run a finger along the paint, you find yourself hesitating. Then before you know it, you’ve risen from your chair and are hurrying to follow, to catch Mihawk before he leaves the castle.
Perhaps you need some supplies after all.
More paints. New brushes. A proper tray for mixing your colors… and maybe even a true kiss from the warlord you’ve fallen for.
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ancientgoddessofegypt · 4 months
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Astrology Observations Pt.4
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Long time no see everyone :) i have a few astro observations i wanna share so lets get to it
Lilith/Mars individuals carry an unspoken confidence that ignites a fire in the eyes of other people and can make others fall in love with them. Their self expression comes in through the form of bravery and letting the world see their raw truth unfiltered, not giving a damn about what others think. This makes for strong attraction and they have a hard time getting people off of them, and i mean this in two ways: one way being that others have 'feelings' for them 'down there' *wink wink* causing them to show a deep sexual attraction to them whether they are uncomfortable with it or not. their unconscious thoughts will be shown to the lilith mars person with seemingly lil to no effort. they wont know why they just know it feels good (or embarasing/harboring a lot of guilt) however these lilith babes are about exploring parts of ourselves that we mask and no judgement zones are a necessity when in their spaces. the other way is others will be triggered by them due to the octrasized lililith/mars person embracing their freedom and living their truth no matter what. all in all, both fall under secret (or not so secret) admiration.
Lilith/Pluto are the powerhouses of being who they are and when they want to be it. Literally octrasize by people all their lives and wen through lots of trauma. the way they express their power is through their traumas and taking back what was stolen. People have a hard time looking to them as real people because of their auras they possess. their sexuality/sensual energy is unmatched and is hard to tame. at some point they know when to let go and let this energy in them grow. if it makes people go crazy then so be it. naturally hypnotizing i cannot tell you how bad this cause you could definitely give away something to them and all they did was look you in the eye with a smile. Their natural aroma scares others but also perplexes them. its like damn are you a witch? maybe, maybe not. its just so much deeper than that. a personal message for them is being aware of yourself and the world around you is gift. People that dont know themselves will look up to you in the long run, you are the underdogs of your generations and you're healing a lot of wounds that most people will never face because they do not like what they see in the dark. You like your freedom and do not care what others think, you make your own rules because thats what we're meant to do. Be humans who create our own paths for ourselves and move to the beat of our own drum. Dont take what people say too close to the heart, youre mirroring back the shadows they hate in themselves.
Venus/Mercury has a gift of gab. Highly inspirational and their words connect you to the divine. The heart space opens up when they express their truth through the power of words, the use of their hands and the beauty of their minds. A rare placement since its only in conjunction and sextile. Not too many people have this one. Venus/Mercury babes channel from a source that connects them to the power of love, and when you speak you touch people and we fall in love with you all over again. If you have a voice please sing, speak, share with us your gift of light. Thats what you're called to do. If you are a writer share your stories with the world, your creative mind takes us back to the inner child. Enjoy it while its here!
Mars in Saggitarius. Go. GETTERS!!! When they want something they will not stop to get it. Their fire burns to achieve something bigger than themselves and with the right amount of optimism they will make it if they put the work in. One of the signs that mars works wonders in, because they can achieve their dreams quickly because of the excessive amount of fire in this house. Saggitarius only grows, never limits itself. The more they work hard the more good fortune comes their way. Others can get nervous around their because of their boastful confidence. Its too big.. its too wide. its too strong.. it wont fit or whatever beyonce said LMAOO thats yall. Very big egos and for a good reason. Yall get what you want when you want it. Nothing can stop them from getting what they need and mars sag babes wanting more in life is whats going to keep them moving.
Pisces Ascendant babes are the muses, the stars, the messengers, the oracle, the originators. These dreamers are capable of seeing the beyond even when the world doesnt see it yet. The world could doubt them but if they believe in themselves more they will prove to the world that all dreams are possible. Their reality is formed through subconscious thinking, so they must pay attention to what goes on in the inside of their minds because thats what controls their day to day reality the most. Shapeshifters who naturally move with the beat of the universe, their new look can be formed not just from an idea but because something new is changing in the world, and they are normally the first to get this information first. This is why some of them are trendsetters in fashion. Everything happens in spirit before it is physical, however for them the spirit and the psychical will always meet. And with their transformations it can sometimes be a message from the divine. Before anyone says its not that deep, i wanna tell you that anything with pisces is going to be that deep LMAO no other way to spin that. Their connected to the cosmos and their pineal glands connects them to other worlds we just havent tapped into yet. Its a gift. So a lot of times when they change, something in the environment changed too. All in all, pisces asc are good at picking up on other peoples energy. they can absorb others vibrations and anything around them and this can be a problem for them. Pisces asc will consistently have to connect to nature and cleanse more often than most because they can feel that sense of foggy-ness around them due to picking up on energy that is not their own. They will have to strengthen their discernment skills, level up with shields for the body and wearing certain garments/jewelery for protection because their auric fields naturally take in more than what they can handle.
5th House Plutonians are strong powerhouses in the form of creation. Their dark power is spilled out into the world of arts, giving them the nutrients they need in healing traumas or any dark thoughts thats been held in themselves for so long. Outlets that form a stage for these individuals makes for incredible perfomances that nobody will ever forget due to the way they make others feel. In this life time, they will learn to accept this power with grace because even if the way they feel performing for others makes them feel uncomfortable, someone is being triggered to feel those raw emotions that we hide in us. If they cant find an outlet for their creative expression, they will start to 'go crazy' and be more into psychotic behaviors that will make them lose touch of reality. This raw power that they have must be fed to others as we need to feel the deepness of our own bodies so that we can grow into the beings we are meant to be. Pluto in the 5th house can create an influencer who is just being themselves and the world around them is either inspired by or deeply maddens them. The gift of being yourself is their strongest attribute to society, and can be one of the ways for them to have power and establish some sort of wealth. If they never use this gift to soar into any artistic expression, the world would be missing a fine piece to the puzzle: Raw Truth. I hope this helps!
i hope yall enjoy!
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darkened-writer · 6 months
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imagine | Star
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This is based on a TikTok by @ / hamrikaa , their art piece is so stunning and I hope I can capture the sadness and beauty of it. This imagine was also made with Mitski's 'Star' in mind, so please enjoy.
PAIRING || Astarion x Tav (reader)
WORD COUNT || 881
PART TWO
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Old and withered bones, the smell of old wood, and the quiet of night as red eyes were trained on the sleeping body of Tav.
Who knew that seventy-two years could pass so quickly?
As each day passed, their body aged and aged, while he stayed still so young and bright.
Like a star.
But, the years spent together were never, ever in vain, as marriage happened, nights wrapped up in eachothers arms, gentle caresses and whispered nothings. Reassurances and soft kisses on every exposed part of skin.
He never knew how much he need to be touched in a soft manner.
He never knew how much he needed to be held.
If anyone were to tell him back before their journey that he’d find someone to live for, he would’ve laughed in their face.
Their chest rose, up and down, up and down, hoarse and shallow. Tav knew it, He knew it too, it wasn’t long before they’d pass on. It was creeping up on the two of them like a deadly darkness.
The darkness was something that he was used to, but gods, did he want to stay in the sun for as long as possible with Tav.
“My Sweet, wake up…”
Their eyes opened slowly, the muscles frail and feeble, their gaze shaky.
“Would you come with me? Just on the balcony, My Dear.”
“Isn’t it almost sunrise…?”
There was a knowing look shared, Tav’s head shaking, the most movement he’d seen from them as of late.
“No… No…”
They’re lifted up into his arms and carried promptly despite the barely strong pushing against his chest, but they give up, just leaning their head into the crook on his neck until the cool night air hits their skin, eliciting chills. The sky was subtly lighting up, so slow, and yet the pit in Tav’s stomach was heavy.
Astarion couldn’t live without them.
So, he’d go with them.
He sets them down next to him, wrapping an arm around their shoulders, pulling them in as his eyes stay focused on the colors that have started to paint the skies.
Red, Purple, Orange.
“Ideally, even when I was just a spawn, sometimes I thought about walking into the sun to end my suffering. Dissipating into the air, alone, hopeless, missing my old life.”
A beat of silence.
“But…” He looks down at Tav’s resting head, a adoring look in his apple red eyes.
“I was taught, by someone, who was my favorite little travelling companion that… life was worth living for. And, I found myself living for them. Without them, I could never… would never.. Make it another day.”
His voice wavers into the crisp morning air, the dew upon the grass and leaves of trees sending an earthy smell into the atmosphere.
“So, I cherished every single hour, minute, second, and fleeting moment with them because I knew that the day that they were set to die, I’d have no choice but to go with them.”
“Astari–”
“Shh… let me finish, Darling.”
They let him continue.
“I’d move mountains for you to live for another century, to live for ions with me, hand in hand, watching others pass, get old, live their own lives while we continue our together but… our story– our story has come to a close, My Dear.”
His hand shifts to hold Tav’s.
“As I see it, we are a star that has burnt out. We’re tired, aren’t we?”
Tav erupts into a coughing fit, in which Astarion holds them close until they calm down.
The sun begins to rise, slowly, the beams hitting the grass as it slowly moves to cover the entirety of everything, all at once.
“I think we lived well, all things considered.”
He looks down at them, listening to them speak.
“That knife to my neck was quite the impression. And the seduction. But, I knew that all you needed was compassion.”
“You were always a wicked little thing, but your kindness knew no bounds.”
His skin began to flake, a gasp rising from his throat as he held on for dear life, cold hands grasping his lover.
“I never knew love until I met you, and I hope if there is another life after this, we may reunite and continue where we left off, My Treasure.”
A tear fell down his pale cheek, heat radiating from him as he begins to fade into the ether. His head leans down to connect with Tav’s, eyes open, looking into theirs as the last thing he wanted to see before he truly disappears, is the first thing he noticed about Tav. Their eyes.
“See you soon?”
“See you soon.”
The red is gone and now replaced by the view of an empty chair, Tav now sat alone as the sunrise graced their wrinkled skin, but nothing could ever replace the warmth of Astarion. Nothing.
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A week later, Tav’s body was discovered curled up on Astarion’s side of their shared bed, a small smile gracing their face, as if satisfied with their life, all the ups and downs, battles won and lost, blood shed and wounds patched up. All of it cultivated to a love that would transcend past their last breath.
Even a dead star can be made anew.
In another life.
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randxmthxughts · 1 year
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Second Chances - Neteyam x Omatikaya!Reader
summary: y/n and lo'ak were destined to be together, or so she thought... after moving to awa'atlu with the sully's, lo'ak starts to fall for a certain metkayina girl, leaving y/n completely heartbroken. it is unexpected when neteyam, who has been secretly harboring feelings for her, decides to tend to her wounds. can y/n reciprocate his love?
wc: 9,6k
contains: angst, sort of love-triangle (lo'ak - y/n - neteyam), childhood friends to lovers, fluff
a/n: based on this idea i had a while ago, so i'm finally getting to sharing it with you! if you are a lo'ak girlie, this is probably not for you haha. please don't forget to show some love in form of replies or reblogs (it is really devastating when you work on a 10k fic and only get 8 comments)
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︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Bonds could be formed before Eywa, but they could also be broken. That was the law. Hearts that once beat as one could grow apart, it didn't always last. It was rare, but it happened. You understood this, as did Lo'ak, who knew it firsthand, growing up with the love story of his parents. But the two of you had never expected that it could happen to you someday.
You often thought back to your life in the forest, where even amidst the ongoing war, things seemed to be much calmer and peaceful than they were now, within the reef clan. The instability and uncertainty, the risk of clan members never returning, the frequency of grieving ceremonies, everything seemed unimportant, when you had one sure thing in your life - Lo’ak. He had been your unwavering rock, the only one who could see through you, see you. Until he didn’t.
Since the day you burst into Sully's home at the age of seven, with your mother trailing behind to prevent you from disturbing Toruk Makto's family, it was clear that you and Lo'ak were two pieces of the same soul. It was always trouble when it came down to the two of you, sneaking out, and stealing everything that could be turned into a game, coming home covered in dirt and debris. Your parents often joked that you were like a mirror held up to Lo’ak: he was the instigator, and you were the tail. It was mostly Lo’ak initiating the trouble, but you were always right there with him, egging him on. You couldn’t help it, you loved the way his eyes sparkled with mischief, and the way he held you in his embrace, chest vibrating with the sounds of deep laughter, when you got yourselves into sticky situations.
Soon enough, the whole clan could see that a strong bond was starting to form between two souls so alike, it was almost uncanny. The two of you felt it too. Every angry scolding from his father was yours to take as well, every injury and scar on his body was mimicked on yours, every loving gaze and touch of his mother was shared with you. The Sully’s became like a second family to you, and it was only a matter of time before you would officially be one of them. So, when they made the difficult decision to leave the clan and seek refuge in a foreign land, your parents reluctantly had to let you go with them, knowing that you were meant to be with Toruk Makto's son.
But now, whenever he looked at you, Lo’ak felt guilty. His heart filled with sorrow for the days when all that mattered to him was you - the smile that was plastered on your face when you greeted him, the warm gaze you casted upon him when he needed reassurance, the gentle touch of your fingers intertwined with his when words failed to express how he felt. It was no longer the same, his mind distracted by a thought more exciting. Unintentionally, really, if anything he tried his best to fight the pull towards the Metkayina tsakarem. He couldn’t explain it to soothe the pain, he just felt it. Like he had been guided to her by Eywa herself.
The doubts were suffocating you from the inside out at first, but you tried to ignore it. Lo’ak would never hurt you, he was only friendly to learn from Tsireya, so that he wouldn’t be a disappointment in his father’s eyes. When the clan had started to point out their friendship, and you heard gossip about the tsakarem finding her mate, you swallowed your pride and carried on, pretending that it didn’t bother you. 
But when you watched them, you could see it clearly. They fit like two pieces of the same puzzle. Lo’ak brought in the thrill, in return, she grounded him. Bonds can be broken sometimes, you knew it. Tsireya seemed to know that too.
You had noticed the signs, but when he finally confirmed your worst fears, it felt like the wind was knocked out of you. It hurt your throat when you accused him, simultaneously feeling cruel for pointing out things you were hoping he could explain. But he didn’t deny it, the day he sat you down in a clearing, too similar to the one back home, and told you it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was the law of Eywa.
"I still care about you, I always will," he tried cupping your cheek with the same caress he used to preserve for you only, eyes glistening with tears.
"You promised," you hissed angrily, pushing him away, “You promised, and I believed you."
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Lo’ak dragged himself through the sand, his feet stumbling over stones, as he replayed the bits of your argument in his head. He couldn’t shake off the image of your face, the way you looked at him with so much anger and pain, it was almost like you were a different person. He never thought that there would be a day in his life when you would look at him with such disdain. If he could only change the way he felt but he was torn between his promise to you and his feelings for Tsireya, and he didn’t know what to do. 
He had been walking aimlessly around the island for hours after you had demanded that he left you alone, and with the night growing darker, he dreaded going back home to avoid running into you. He took a deep sigh, approaching the family marui, the hopes of having his family already asleep immediately crashing, when a faint light glowed from within. Lo’ak really wasn’t in the mood for getting scolded.
“Where were you, boy?” Jake asked harshly, but there was a hint of concern evident in his face, as he began to quickly examine his son for signs of injury. 
“Just…out, I got carried away,” Lo’ak mumbled, fumbling out of Jake’s grasp. 
“Lo’ak, where is Y/N?” Neytiri’s voice followed, her worry barely concealed.
Lo’ak’s eyes darted around the pod - his siblings were there, but you weren’t. He swallowed nervously, under the weight of his family's scrutinizing stares.
“She didn’t come home?” he asked.
“She was with you, what do you mean?” Neteyam spoke up, confused.
Lo’ak’s stomach churned with anxiety; you were still out there, on an unfamiliar island, all alone. Alone because he had left you there. 
“She was but we… we had a fight, and she didn’t want to see me,” Lo’ak admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, “I thought she’d be home by now, that’s why I stayed out so late.”
“What am I supposed to do with you?” Jake hissed, “You do not leave your mate alone in an unknown setting when it’s dark out. It’s not too hard to figure out.”
Lo’ak hung his head in shame, deciding against defending himself, as there was no point in doing so. He stood there, weighed down by his own guilt, when Neytiri's gentle touch on his shoulder brought him back to reality. He looked up at her, seeing the concern etched on her face. You were like a daughter to Neytiri, and she couldn't wait for the day you were going to be one of hers, so the growing distance between you and Lo’ak worried her. 
Jake leapt into action, grabbing his flying gear, with Neteyam following closely behind. The older brother couldn’t help but feel bad for not bringing up your absence earlier. He should have trusted his gut that something was wrong and had gone after you hours ago. Should have known that Lo’ak would find a way to mess it up. 
“I’ll come with you, dad,” Lo’ak stated but Jake’s face hardened at the mere suggestion. 
“You have done enough.”
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Now every time when Neteyam went to sleep, he often thought back to the night he found you. His eyes would linger on the corner of the marui, half-expecting to find you there, deep in your sleep, only to be met with the image of your empty mat.
He was flying over the island on his ikran then, when he spotted a small figure, hidden in the thick greenery of Awa'atlu. He mumbled something to his father through the wired necklace, before diving down. 
You were lost in a sea of tears, so consumed by your own grief that you didn't even notice when Neteyam landed next to you with a gust of wind. It was only when he pulled you into an embrace that you felt yourself melting into him, a deeper pain forming in your chest and suffocating you from within. Your whole body shook with the force of your sobs, and you clung to Neteyam desperately, imagining that it was Lo’ak, who had returned to tell you it was just a stupid joke. 
“Let’s go home, okay?” he asked gently, but you shook your head desperately at that, forgetting to breathe in between your whimpers, “Y/N, you need to breathe.”
Neteyam pursed his lips together, raising his fingers to his necklace, when he heard his father’s voice on the other end.
“No, sir, she is not injured. But she doesn’t want to come home,” he fell silent for a moment before continuing, “I will make sure she is okay, you can trust me.”
As you started to feel more and more exhausted and began dozing off, Neteyam lifted you gently into his arms and flew you back home. He was grateful that you were asleep and spared from having to face the worried looks on his family's faces. He was especially relieved that you didn't have to see Lo'ak.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Lo'ak did not miss the way his chest tightened with ache, when you passed by him and lowered yourself on the other side of the circle, your eyes fixed on the ground, barely holding yourself composed during the shared lessons. His lingering gazes were miserable taunts because they meant nothing when you saw him struggle to breathe with Tsireya's palms resting on his chest. His questions to you hung unanswered in the air, as purposefully ignored him.
"Hey, would you like to practice with me? I think I'm losing my focus easily," Neteyam nudged your shoulder.
"Sure," you mumbled with a mixture of irritation and gratitude.
Neteyam was older than you, exuding maturity and confidence in everything he did and everywhere he went. It was no different in Awa’atlu, even when the weight of his responsibilities shifted drastically, he was still prioritizing others. Unlike Lo’ak, who usually cared for you only, Neteyam's range of care extended far beyond that. So you saw right through him trying to take you under his wing, when you no longer had someone to pair up with. He wanted to be the helping shoulder for you. 
It was complicated. You had left your whole life behind with only one certainty, and now that you had lost it, you were entirely alone among people who saw you as a weakling and pitied you for your broken heart. You would be lying if you said you didn’t contemplate sneaking out on your ikran one night and returning home, pretending as though you didn't like your new life and that you were no longer in love with Lo'ak. But the idea of your clan looking down at you too made your chest swell even more. You were stuck. Lo'ak left you stuck all by yourself, and he was no longer there to reach out his hand to you and pull you out of the trap. Because this time he himself had set the trap for you.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
"I just feel silly sometimes... I knew it was possible but I didn't think it could happen to us," you confessed with a deep sigh, avoiding the amber eyes fixed on you, "I always relied on him for everything, but now I feel alone. Completely alone."
Neteyam watched you with curiosity, discovering a side of you that was previously closed off to him. Perceiving him as an older brother sometimes put a boundary between you and him, blurring Neteyam into the background. He was like an extension to Lo’ak, never granted the same privilege of knowing you until now. Neteyam’s eyes lingered on your quivering lips, recognizing the same brave face his brother often put on to avoid showing vulnerability. He felt cruel and selfish for savoring this moment of you opening up to him. Not to Lo’ak, to him.
"He is a skxawng," he growled, trying to offer some support in the form of anger.
"Yeah, he is," you agreed with a small chuckle, despite both of you knowing that it wasn't really Lo'ak's fault.
You fell quiet again, your back leaning against the tree, fingers wandering in the fresh grass underneath you. Neteyam watched you intently, wondering about what was going on in your mind. He grew tense, struggling to guess, but you were difficult to read, your countenance rarely altering. His patience ran out, and his reserve crumbled as he blurted out with a pleading voice.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing," you replied, looking up at him hesitantly before revealing your secret, "Just… when it gets too difficult, I like to imagine flying far away from here.”
"W-what?" he stuttered, "You want to leave?"
"I like to imagine that I can," you clarified, “I’m not really considering it, ‘s just a comforting thought, you know? Makes me feel free… like I have all the power over myself."
You could have sworn at that moment that Neteyam let out a relieved breath. It was strange to open up to him, someone whom you had never trusted with your thoughts before. But his usually annoying calmness was suddenly all you needed. He didn't judge you, didn't pity you, like the others. 
His family was suffocating you with love to overcompensate for Lo'ak’s inability to give it to you anymore, and for some reason, it made you resentful. So you asked for a separate marui where you could stay by yourself for the time being. You often avoided them in public and stayed close to Rotxo during your lessons, ignoring the conversations Kiri tried to pursue with you. Eventually, the Sully’s started to give you space, everyone except for Neteyam. He was persistent, asking you to pair up with him during the lessons under the excuse that he was failing, and you were ‘so quick to learn.’ Challenged you to accompany him on walks because he needed a trained warrior to look out for him. You saw right through his acts of kindness but your heart longed for company, and he was always there, basically pleading you to join him. So you did.
Short and harsh replies eventually grew into longer chats into deep conversations, with him mostly doing all the listening and agreeing, as you complained. You tried to avoid talking about Lo'ak, but sometimes you would let slip a small detail or two, throwing a piece of your soul at Neteyam and quickly closing off. He didn't mind it though, because every time you pushed him away, you opened up a little more the next time.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
“Stop staring. I get it, you’re mad at me,” Lo'ak rolled his eyes at his brother before hanging his head again.
“I am not mad at you,” Neteyam replied, watching with a keen eye as Lo'ak proceeded to clean the fish.
“Sure, just like everybody else isn’t,” Lo’ak huffed under his breath with slight annoyance.
Lo'ak found it increasingly difficult to face the reality when spending time with his family. Your absence had disrupted the usual balance, leaving him to endure their gnawing, judgmental stares by himself. They refrained from commenting, knowing that it wasn't a matter of discipline, it was a matter of the heart. But the silence was worse - Lo’ak would have preferred hours of lectures from his parents and bickering with his siblings instead. He especially dreaded spending time with his brother, who always stood next to him like a figure of justice, so proper and goody-two-shoes. It drove Lo'ak insane.
“I think you should talk to Y/N.”
“Talk to Y/N?” Lo’ak’s eyes snapped back at Neteyam in bewilderment. 
Lo’ak wasn’t naive. Of course he had noticed the way his older brother tried to fix the situation, coax you out of your shell and bring you back into the world. He felt agonized that once again Neteyam had to stand in for him, clean up his mess. But he couldn’t be angry this time because he knew he was helpless.
“No way, she hates me right now,” Lo’ak shook his head, “She will probably despise me for the rest of my life. Not that I don’t deserve it…” 
“You underestimate her,” Neteyam spoke calmly, “But she can’t move on until she gets her closure.”
“Closure?”
“You owe her that much,” Neteyam patted his brother’s shoulder, standing up.
Lo’ak sighed heavily as his brother’s words sank in. He knew that Neteyam was right; he did owe you that much. And he couldn’t just pretend like you never existed and move on with another girl without at least trying to make amends with you first. You deserved to know that he didn’t lie to you, it just happened. Lo’ak continued to clean the fish in silence, already trying to come up with a way to approach you.
“I’m going to check on her,” Neteyam said, grabbing his spear, “When you’re ready, you know where to find us.”
Lo’ak nodded absentmindedly, still lost in his own turmoil.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
“See? I’m telling you, it is like the water here is way slippier than back home,” Neteyam joked, as his spear poked through nothing, the fish he had been preying on swimming away.
You laughed at his attempt, knowing well that he was only pretending to struggle. Back home, Neteyam was known for being great with weapons, especially spears, even though your clan rarely used them, having preferred bows and arrows. You gripped your spear, fixing your stance and focusing on catching a fish; the anger you felt towards Lo’ak in the past weeks had driven you towards excelling in your lessons and improving your skills. With a quick thrust of your weapon, you successfully pierced through a fish and brought it close to examine. Fighting for its life, the fish flopped around on the tip of your spear, splashing water onto Neteyam. You laughed as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to avoid the burning of the salty water, and shoved the spear towards you instead. 
“Stop, Neteyam!” you yelled out, trying to push it away from you, “I’m going to smell of fish!”
“You already smell like one,” he laughed.
Your fingers reached for the fish, pulling it off the tip gently and tossing it into the bucket next to you. Neteyam stood leaning on his spear, watching you with a small smile.
“What?” you grumbled.
“Nothing,” he shrugged.
“Stop staring, you look like a freak.”
"Tell me something I don't know," he rolled his eyes, and you felt a twinge of guilt.
Freak. It slipped out of you without much thought, but it was one of the silly nicknames that Neteyam and his siblings were called since their arrival to Awa’atlu. You felt bad, as you had it easier than them in those moments, seeming to be the most ‘normal’ to the Metkayina. But Neteyam didn’t even bat an eye at your words, like he was already used to it.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you that,” you reached out to touch his arm.
“It’s okay,” his eyes lingered on your hand before meeting your gaze with a softened expression, “You’ll have to try harder to offend me next time.” “Oh, you’re such a skxawng,” you playfully shoved him. 
You laughed, as Neteyam stumbled back, losing his grip on his spear and falling onto his bottom with a splash. He started splashing you in retaliation, squeals and laughter filling out the air, as you let yourself get distracted from the usual gloominess that hung above you. That is until you heard him call out your name. Lo’ak.
You could feel the hairs on your back stand up, your spine straightening instinctively at the sound of his voice. Neteyam threw you a sympathetic look, as you turned around to catch the sight of Lo’ak, standing not too far from you. 
“Can we please talk?” he asked.
For the first time in weeks, you let yourself meet Lo’ak head-on, feeling as if something stirred within you. His face twisted under your stare, the apple in his throat wobbling, waiting for you to respond. Instead of granting him a verbal response, you shook your head and reached for the bucket handle to get away from there as fast as you could. 
“He means well,” Neteyam covered your hand with his.
“It was your idea, wasn’t it?” you gritted through your teeth.
“I’m sorry, I just think you should talk,” Neteyam pleaded with you, “Please.”
You exhaled sharply through your nose, letting him take the bucket out of your grip.
“Just trust me on this.” 
You felt the anger vanish when you looked at him, his sincerity seeping through your defenses. It wasn’t hard to trust Neteyam, after all, he never made promises he couldn’t keep. You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before slowly turning to face Lo'ak. Neteyam let his palm linger on the small of your back before brushing past you to leave you two alone.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
“Well, are you going to thank me or kill me?” Neteyam asked playfully but there was obvious tension in his stance.
“Neither,” you rolled your eyes at him, ignoring that small fleeting feeling of gratitude you felt.
He didn’t see you for almost a day after your conversation with Lo’ak, and frankly, he had been going a little insane over it. It seemed like Lo’ak and you were gone for ages, since he only caught a glimpse of his brother right before he went to bed. After leaving you to talk, Neteyam struggled to distract himself with a swimming practice, but quickly grew tired of it and trailed back to the place where he left you. He kicked the sand around in annoyance when he didn’t find you there, assuming that you moved to a more private place instead. He wondered if he had unwittingly pushed you back into Lo’ak's arms, and the thought made him feel sick to his stomach. It was probably wrong to secretly root for his brother and Tsireya to make it, but he couldn't help himself. 
A small crush on you had started to grow in Neteyam's chest a long time ago, though he wasn't exactly sure when. Then suddenly, it had bloomed into a feeling so intense that it filled his lungs and made it hard to breathe. Whenever he saw the warmth in your eyes that was reserved only for Lo’ak, he would quickly look away, shaking his head to force himself to focus on something else. He often wondered if he had misunderstood his own feelings and was just happy that his brother had someone like you to rely on. It was too embarrassing to admit to his crush anyway, since he had been suppressing it for far too long now. Neteyam decided it was best to simply ignore it.
“I still kind of hate him but I don’t want to kill him anymore,” you tried to joke but it came out rather lame. 
Neteyam winced at your words, but his expression softened into a grin soon after. You weren't one to joke around him often, but when you did, he found you amusing. It was nice to know that you could make the-always-serious Neteyam laugh.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Neteyam was the connecting link between you and his family, frankly, he considered you a part of his family for some time now. So when he begged you to join them for the evening, you couldn't bring yourself to refuse. It had been over a month since you distanced yourself from the Sully’s and moved out, and they were still having a hard time getting used to it. Neytiri and Jake, who tried talking to you during this time, felt particularly guilty for uprooting you and failing to keep you happy after promising to your parents that they would take care of you. You still saw the siblings more often, during your lessons, but it wasn't the same as it used to be. You weren't as close as you once were.
"Lo'ak won't even be home to make it awkward," Neteyam repeated, almost dragging you back home with him. "I'll take care of you."
It will be like the old times, he promised, except no one would mention your relationship with Lo'ak. But even without his warnings, his family knew better than to bring it up, as they didn't want to scare you away. Besides, he was getting irritated with his sisters' constant chatter about you. Or at least, that’s what he told you. You rolled your eyes, and you whined, and you almost broke your fingers trying to pull away from his grip, when you neared the family pod. Then it all came rushing back.
Neteyam's family couldn't help but feel a surge of love for him when they saw him bring you into their home. It had been a while since you had been there, and Neytiri was thrilled to see you opening up again. As they greeted you, Jake made a mental note to question his son later and find out how he managed to convince you to come. His sisters also couldn't hide their excitement as they beamed at you, though it felt just a little uncomfortable. His parents were visibly relieved to finally see you around, as, during all this time, they had been relying on Neteyam to check on you and make sure you were taking care of yourself.
You fidgeted in your seat, the tension in the room suffocating you. The breakup had taken a toll on you, and everyone knew it. But just as your anxiety was about to consume you, you felt Neteyam's hand sneak behind your back and touch your hand. Your fingers intertwined with his instantly, bringing you a piece of mind. It felt like everything was falling back into its place with him next to you.
Neytiri and Jake exchanged knowing glances, watching you chat with their kids animatedly, as the evening went on. Neteyam couldn’t peel his eyes off you, and it was so clear to them that their older son was more than smitten with you. Over the years, they had seen Neteyam grow into a mature and responsible young man, and they knew that he would make a wonderful partner for someone someday. So, while they felt a little strange about the change from Lo'ak and you to Neteyam and you, for some reason, it worked. Neteyam and you just seemed to fit better together, balance each other out, and they couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you and Lo’ak weren’t meant to be from the start.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
“You’re good for her,” Jake concluded, once the dinner was over, reaching forward to pat his son’s shoulder.
“Yeah, well, she doesn’t need that right now. She needs a friend,” Neteyam mumbled under his breath, hesitant to agree.
“You’ll have to tell her some day, you know?”
“No,” he shook his head, “She will think it is wrong.”
“What is so wrong about falling for someone?” Jake questioned, and Neteyam lowered his ears in defeat.
“It is wrong by the laws of Eywa. Her and I are not meant to be…”
“Neteyam,” his father’s tone softened, “You know that sometimes Eywa can change one's path, don’t you? What may have seemed like the wrong choice yesterday could end up being the only solution tomorrow. Just look at your mom and I. Do you think we're wrong together?”
“No, of course not. You’re perfect, actually…” he frowned under the weight of Jake’s words, “But Y/N, she’s… she doesn’t see me like that.”
“She might if you give it a chance. You need to follow your heart, Neteyam. It’s pure.”
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
You laid on your stomach, chin resting on your hands as you watched Neteyam ponder his next move. The worn-out chess set, with its faded wooden pieces, had been a prized family possession since you and Lo'ak had stolen it from the science lab as children. It was one of the only things that you brought with you from back home to the island - a reminder of your childhood. Recently, Neteyam and you were especially fond of playing chess together.
Jake was proud to teach all of his kids to play the human game, and he enjoyed how much you seemed to like it. It was a small nod to where he came from, and while Neytiri never showed interest in learning it, as it was too foreign to her, she did appreciate the quiet it brought to her home. Sometimes, when the kids would get too tiresome, she would pull out the game and sit them down to play to keep them occupied and silent.
But Neteyam was too silent, almost distracted. He was making moves without his usual careful consideration, his focus absent, like there was something bothering him. It was unlike him to be losing, he rarely lost to anyone. 
“Neteyam?” you propped yourself up, feeling the gentle sea breeze blowing through your hair as you addressed him.
“Hm?” he looked up at you, a little startled, as if he had forgotten you were there. "Oh, is it my turn to play?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, “But are you okay? You seem distracted.”
"I am okay," he shook his head, shifting to sit up in a crossed-leg position. "I was just thinking."
You mimicked his movements, sensing that he was abandoning the game, ready to talk.
“What is it?” you reached to take his hand in yours.
Neteyam's gaze shifted to your fingers intertwined with his, feeling a warm sensation spreading through his chest. He had started holding your hand whenever he sensed you struggling to open up to him. But now, as you reciprocated the gesture, it warmed his heart, easing him into confessing about the dilemma he was having.
“I… there is something I feel like I need to do but I’m too scared,” he confessed, carefully avoiding any details that might reveal his intentions regarding you, “My dad thinks I should just do it and trust my instincts.”
“Well, what is it? Like hunting underwater or something?” you frowned, slightly confused at his words.
“No, not like that. It’s more about courage…I guess,” he mumbled, already regretting saying that, “‘s hard to decide if I should do it or not.”
“I don’t understand.”
Neteyam's eyes flicked up to meet yours, then quickly looked away again.
"It's nothing, forget I said anything.”
“No, please explain,” you squeezed his hand in yours, pleading, “I want to help.”
Neteyam hesitantly reached out and took his king, twirling it between his fingers as he looked back at the board. You observed alongside him, noticing that both of you only had a few pieces left, indicating that the game was coming to a close.
“It’s kind of like chess. I like to think long before making decisions, I plan it out. But this is not a matter of logic, quite honestly… It’s like, I don’t know if I should take the risk and move my king out in the open field, or if I should hold him back and keep him protected. What if I can’t back out and I’m cornered and I lose?” 
You watched curiously, as Neteyam put his king back to its usual spot. He glanced up at you again, with uncertainty written all over his face. 
"It's a tough decision, you know?” he continued tentatively, “Sometimes I feel like I'm stuck in the middle of the board, unable to move forward because I don't want to make a mistake. Do you ever feel that way?”
“Yeah, I think I do,” you nodded slowly, meeting his searching gaze, “But sometimes you just have to take the risk. Things don’t always work out in your favor, no matter how much you plan it.”
“But what if you lose?”
“You can’t avoid it. Sometimes you just do,” you said, your voice faltering as you recalled your recent loss of Lo'ak, “But hey, if the worst does happen, at least you will know that it's over and you won't have to go through it again. In a weird way, it's like a relief."
Neteyam nodded with a small smile, his fingers trembling slightly as he lifted his king from its spot.
"I think I'm going to take that risk," he said softly, moving his king.
“Good,” you smiled encouragingly.
"I’m... I'm in love with you," Neteyam admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
“What?” you felt your breath catch in your throat. Was he joking?
"I have been in love with you for a long time,” he continued, words spilling out of his mouth uncontrollably, “I always thought it was wrong because you were with Lo’ak, and I obviously never stood a chance. So I tried to push those feelings away and pretend they didn't exist. But they only grow stronger with each passing day, and I can't hold it in any longer."
You froze, your mind unable to process his words. You never even considered the possibility of Neteyam seeing you that way, he was always like a brother to you.
“I don’t understand,” you murmured, shaking your head slightly, as if trying to shake off a bad dream. “So...all this time...?”
Neteyam nodded silently, his gaze fixed on you. He could sense that the answer he dreaded for so long was beginning to form on your lips, as your consciousness slowly began to return. 
“Neteyam, I-I… I don’t know what to say.”
His heart sank at your words, and he looked away, struggling to keep his composure. He had expected this outcome, but it still hurt like a knife in his chest. You didn’t want to hurt him but nothing worthy came to your mind to comfort him, except for an apology. You weren’t even sure why you were apologizing to him, but it felt like a primal urge.
“I’m so sorry…”
“No, it’s okay,” he spoke softly, as if you were the one who needed comfort, “I understand, you don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“I just… I had no idea…” you stammered, “I value our friendship so much. Neteyam, you have been my rock, you know that.”
He nodded with a forced smile, his heart sinking deeper and deeper in his chest. It was slowly and painfully killing him that you weren’t harsh with him, almost like the pity you took on him stung worse than the actual rejection.
"I hope I didn't lead you on.”
“’s not your fault,” he shook his head, “If you want, things don’t have to change between us. I’ll always be there for you regardless, I just needed to get it off my chest.”
You nodded, both relieved and confused by his suggestion. But the words lingered in the air between you two, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. Deep down, something started to shift within you. All this time. Neteyam was no longer just a friend or Lo’ak’s brother. He was someone who had feelings for you, and that changed everything.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
And despite the promise you made to each other to maintain your friendship, it was difficult to keep it intact. Days passed, and the aftertaste of his confession wouldn't go away, hanging in the silence that had often replaced your usual easy banter. Every interaction felt weighed down by an unspoken tension, every walk you took together, every lesson where you paired up was now filled with underlying discomfort. Neteyam tried his best to ignore the pain consuming all of his being, though he was taunted by your mere presence. But he made a promise to be there for you, and he was determined to keep it.
You were flustered too. Small touches and looks seemed to hold a different meaning now, making you question the way you behaved around each other. Was it an accident how his hand lingered on the small of your back or the nervous swish of his tail when you approached him. Were you leading him on? Forcing to spend time with you only because you needed him for emotional support.
The thoughts in your head started to outgrow you at times, when you lost sleep recalling Neteyam’s words. He was always like that, his strong and persistent nature showing through everything he did and said. But he was also humble, never getting too cocky and not afraid to ask for help when he needed it. You grew up seeing how Neteyam always put others above him, even though it could hurt him at times. And you felt selfish for taking advantage of that and holding onto his friendship when he desired something more. What if the roles were reversed, and it was you who had confessed your feelings only to be rejected? Would you be able to handle it with the same level of composure that Neteyam had shown? Probably not. You couldn’t do that for Lo’ak. 
Your room was filled with the gentle clinking of beads, a soft glow of the last rays of sunset casting a golden hue over the man next to you. Your own hands were holding a string with beads, pretending to work, but it was only a show. Neteyam, who sat in front of you, had been lost in his work, brow furrowed in frustration as the thin thread kept slipping from his fingers. The beads glimmered under the sun, as he added another one, determined to finish the bracelet he promised to give to Tuk before the eclipse. Your eyes darted between his fingers that were deftly working the thread under his skilled touch, and his face, illuminated under the light. His jaw tightened, as he struggled to work with a smaller bead, and you couldn’t help but trace the sharp line with your eyes. 
Of course you had known that Neteyam was a beautiful person, it wasn’t like you had a sudden revelation at how attractive he was. Back home, he was winning hearts left and right due to not only his looks, which he took after his mother, but also for possessing the inborn strength of a leader and generally having a great personality. You just never paid attention to him like this before, always considering him to be your friend, a family. But as you stole another glance at him and he caught it with a shy smile, your stomach twisted in a swirl of emotions.
“I think I need to get my eyes checked by Tsahik,” he said with a nervous chuckle, pointing at the bead that had been irritating him for the past minute or so, “I can’t thread this to save my life.”
“Maybe it’s just a tricky one,” you forced a chuckle too to cover up the awkward aftermath of being caught staring at him, “Here, let me help.”
He gratefully accepted your offer, trying not to read too much into the way your hands touched when he passed you the bead. Not that you weren’t nervous under his observing gaze, but you were at least less flustered than he was. So, with a bit of effort, you pushed away all of the thoughts and steadied your hand, managing to lace the thread through the small. 
“There you go,” you mumbled, passing the bracelet back to him.
“Thank you,” he nodded with that same shy smile, then pointed at the one you made, laying in your lap, “Do you need help with yours?”
“No, it is done,” you held up your handiwork to him with a grin.
Despite your distraction, you somehow managed to finish your necklace earlier than Neteyam. But considering the size of his fingers and the beads, it wasn’t really a surprise that he was slower than you when it came to crafts. The necklace swayed around in your hand, as Neteyam observed it with attention, trying to understand to whom it was meant to belong. Did you make it for yourself? He hoped you did, as he wouldn’t be able to bear it if you gave it to another man. The colors you used were so familiar though, and Neteyam shook his head to force the thoughts out of his mind; there was no way that you would match the necklace to the beads in his braids. No way, he convinced himself. You watched his face in anticipation, stiffening slightly at the lack of response.
“Well, do you like it?” you scrunched up your nose, feeling a little embarrassed to ask him that. If he liked it enough he would have said so.
“I do, it’s beautiful,” he cleared his throat, eyes snapping back at you, “Is it for anyone in particular or just yourself?”
“Um… I don’t really know, I guess I just made it?" you shrugged, "But if you like it, I can give it to you.”
A contented hum escaped from Neteyam's lips as he admired the necklace, a small glimmer of hope flickering in his heart. The longer he gazed at the brownish and green beads, the more he realized how perfectly it would complement his hair.
As you caught sight of his thoughts, your heart skipped a beat. Had you been so preoccupied with Neteyam that you unconsciously incorporated a piece of him into your creation? The idea of giving it to him warmed your heart, but the thought of others seeing him wear something you made crossed your mind right after. What if they thought it was strange or inappropriate, a necklace crafted by you to match Neteyam's hair?
Just the idea of others assuming anything past friendship between you and Neteyam was scary. You would look pathetic, maybe even revengeful, if you went for the brother of the man who broke your heart. And what would Lo’ak think? Probably that you were only unable to move on from him and hang onto things you could have, like his family. You shook your head in irritation at that. Why should you even care about Lo’ak’s feelings, when he broke off things with you? Frankly, it was silly to even think about it because the possibility of you and Neteyam being together was nonexistent. Or at least, you thought so.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Neteyam laid on his mat, staring up at the thatched ceiling of his pod. It was already late, close to the afternoon, and he knew that his family had gone out to begin their chores, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. His mind was consumed with thoughts of you instead, the change in your demeanor when he was around. You were nicer to him, more than you usually showed, and he couldn’t figure out if it was because you pitied him or because you were starting to see something else in him. Maybe he was reading into it too much and it was stupid. Really. After all, you had already rejected him once before. He would know if you changed your mind, right?
It took Lo’ak to clear his throat twice to get his brother’s attention. Startled, Neteyam finally looked up to meet his concerned gaze. It was strange to see Neteyam in the bed still, and Lo’ak made a guess that he was feeling ill.
“Are you okay, bro?”
“Yeah…” Neteyam sighed.
Lo’ak hesitated for a moment before walking closer and sitting down on the verge of his mat. 
“Do you want to talk or something?” 
Neteyam sighed again and sat up, running a hand through his hair. He knew that he would have to tell Lo’ak eventually, and there was no point in beating around the bush. Still, the fear of putting a crack in their relationship made him reluctant to share. 
“I just want to be honest with you,” he started, noticing a slight curiosity in Lo’ak’s gaze, “Um… it’s about Y/N.”
“What about her?” Lo’ak physically felt his heart skip a beat, his mind already flooded with endless concerns: were you hurt? Did something happen to you?
“I am… in love with her. Have been for some time now… long before we even moved here,” Neteyam admitted with a shaky voice. 
He was embarrassed, so much that his ears were burning up like he was on fire. How could he have fallen for his brother's destined mate, his best friend? Out of all people in the world, it had to be you. Eywa worked in mysterious ways sometimes.
Lo’ak’s face fell as the words sank in. The room was silent, as both brothers struggled to find a way to recover from this revelation. The thought of you being with Neteyam made Lo'ak sick to his stomach. His brother. The one who always stood by your side, even when you were with Lo’ak. 
“I don’t even know how to react,” Lo’ak admitted, “D-does she know?”
Neteyam nodded silently, watching Lo’ak’s expression change. There was a mixture of emotions rushing to Lo’ak’s head, from guilt to jealousy to confusion. How could Neteyam have fallen for his former mate, take away the only thing that was reserved for Lo’ak only? The lump in his throat grew bigger, suffocating him from within.
“Lo’ak,” Neteyam's voice was stern, forcing him back into the conversation, “I didn’t mean to, you out of all people should know that. I would never intentionally do something to upset you.”
It was unfair to be mad at Neteyam. To be mad at you for moving on. Lo’ak took a moment to recompose himself, knowing well he had no right to be upset with either of you. You deserved someone who could give you everything, and Neteyam was just that - perfect. He could give you his whole life, whole heart served on a platter. But then, why did it sting so badly to picture you together?
“Okay, I understand,” Lo’ak finally spoke, the apple in his throat bobbing, “I have no claim over Y/N. She is a free woman now, so she can do whatever she wishes to do… I mean, as long as you make her happy -”
“No, Lo’ak, she rejected me,” Neteyam interrupted, feeling the sudden urge to stop assumptions from escalating, “She said she only saw me as a friend. I just wanted to let you know about how I felt.”
“Oh,” Lo’ak let out. He failed to deliver a humorous joke to ease the tension, “For once in my life, you want something that I have… rather, used to have.”
Neteyam’s expression softened, and he forced a breath out in an attempt to chuckle at that.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
The joy of the Tulkun returning sent the whole village into a long night of celebration; the clan members dressed up in their traditional garb, air was filled with rhythmic tunes, and the smell of mouth-watering food. You had never felt more uneasy to be at a celebration, suddenly regretting that you had made no other friends since your arrival to Awa’atlu. And you stood there awkwardly, looking around, when Neteyam had insisted on sitting with him and his family.
But Lo’ak was there, forced by his father to stay close. When he saw you being led by Neteyam’s hand, he felt something bubble in his chest. His family perked at the sight of you, greeting you with their usual smiles, and you shoot Lo’ak a shy look.
“Hey,” he mumbled awkwardly, so low, that his voice was barely registered by his family.
You mouthed it back with a softened gaze, and Lo’ak couldn’t help but smile. It was awkward but it didn’t hang heavily as it usually did when you and he were in a close proximity. Lo’ak felt a slight relief at the fact that you even acknowledged him, though he was convinced a part of it was because of his family being right there. Still, he decided to take it as a win.
Neteyam's tail swished with contentment as he sat close to you, occasionally grazing your back for comfort. You couldn't tell if it was intentional, but with Neteyam, it was hard to gauge how much thought he put into things. Regardless, you felt giddy by his touch.
The conversation between his family slowly started to flow, and you found yourself chuckling at their jokes, feeling as if you belonged again. And when Lo’ak attempted to add to a story about his father's first ride on tsurak, you couldn't help but snort in amusement. He shot you a grateful look for that. Of course, you’d laugh at Lo’ak’s jokes, you had been laughing at them your whole life. You guess, some things never change.
As the night wore on, you were pulled out of the conversation at a distinct melody that filled the space. You took notice of how couples began to shift in their seats, rising to their feet to join the dance. Lo'ak stood up too, clearing his throat awkwardly before he made a way to where the Olo'eyktan and his family sat. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut when you saw Tonowari nod approvingly, and Tsireya rushing to take Lo’ak’s hand and pull him into the dance. You did not miss the way the air left your lungs, as people suddenly started watching you, as if waiting for a reaction. You scooched closer to Neteyam, hanging your head, to hide yourself with your hair.
“You okay?” he asked, staring back angrily at those who looked at you. He stiffened at the thought of you having to go through something like that.
“No, actually,” you chuckled nervously, looking up at him, “It’s like everyone expects me to throw a fit or something.”
Neteyam scrunched up his face at the comment. He looked around one more time before opening up his palm to you. 
“Would you like to dance with me? Maybe that will shut them up," he said.
You felt his mother’s eyes on you, as you pondered on the offer. You really weren’t in the mood to dance now, and besides, everyone out there was coupled up. 
“I’m not sure it is a good idea,” you mumbled.
Neytiri stood to her feet, pulling Jake with her. She shot you an encouraging smile.
“Come, Y/N, let’s go dance,” she gestured for you to stand up too.
“Yeah, come on girls, you too. Tuk, Kiri,” Jake pitched with a grin, “Sully’s stick together.”
You watched with a smile as the whole family decided to join in on the dancing despite the melody being intended to be just romantic. Neteyam stood too, pulling you by the hand, and really, you had no other option but to give in. His gaze softened, sending your heart into a race, and you followed shyly after him to join the other dancing Na'vi.
As you watched Tsireya and Lo’ak together, memories of your own time with him invaded your mind, but strangely you weren't upset by that, just nostalgic. Neteyam didn't let you dwell on these thoughts for long, as he gently pressed his hands against your waist and led you through the dance. When you looked into his kind eyes, it felt like all of the pain from before had dissipated into thin air. You danced for what felt like hours, surrounded by his family's laughter, and lost in the rhythm. Finally, it felt like things were back to normal, and you could relax, until the night was ruined.
You were taking a break from the dancing, watching the Sully kids goofing around with a fond smile. You had missed seeing them this happy. While back home it was a usual sight, in Awa’atlu, they were rarely this carefree. Ao’nung, in his eagerness to entertain himself, slipped in to stand next to you with a wicked smirk on his lips. It didn’t take him long to reveal his intention of approaching you, as he made a comment vile enough to send shivers down your spine. You wanted to punch him, crawl his eyes out, but all you managed was to scurry away.
Ao’nung’s sweet moment of satisfaction was interrupted abruptly by an aggressive shove. He stumbled backward, eyes widening at the sight of Neteyam.
“What the hell?”
“What did you say to Y/N?” Neteyam exposed his canines, ignoring the looks they were now getting.
“Woah,” Ao’nung smirked knowingly, “Nothing but the truth -”
“Tell me what you told her,” Neteyam shoved him again, this time harder, “Now.”
“Fine, you wanna know?” Ao’nung sneered, “I pointed out how pathetic she is, truly unworthy to live amongst my clan. It’s honestly embarrassing that she couldn’t keep one brother, so she’s now feeding into the pity of the other, in hopes to lock him up.”
“From now on,keep your mouth shut and stay away from Y/N,” Neteyam warned, taking a step closer, his voice dripping with venom, “Or you’ll have me to deal with.”
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Neteyam's heart felt heavy as he caught sight of you. You were in the exact same spot where he found you on that fateful night when Lo'ak shattered your heart into a million pieces. It was all too familiar - the darkness, the quiet sobs that filled the air. His mind flashed back to that night, the memory still fresh in his mind. 
As he approached you, Neteyam couldn't help but notice the gentle glow of dozens of atokirinas that surrounded you, like tiny stars grazing your skin in comfort. With a long, heavy sigh, he sat down next to you, forcing you to meet his eyes with your red, puffy ones. The deep sadness started to cloud him, and Neteyam wanted nothing more than to take away your pain, to shield you from the cruel words that had been spoken by Ao'nung.
"Ugh, this is pathetic," you chuckled weakly, gesturing at yourself, "How are you going to rescue me every time?"
“I’ll be there as many times as you need me to,” Neteyam replied softly,
Neteyam's heart ached as he watched you avert your gaze and fight back tears. His mind raced, struggling to think of something to say that could ease your pain, so he pulled you into an embrace instead. His hands gently rubbed your back and head, trying to offer comfort as you buried your face into his chest. And the tears came harder than before, louder.
"He told me that no one else would look at me after Lo'ak, because I was pathetic," you sniffled, your voice breaking. "And he is right. Maybe I should just listen to him and leave.”
“Ao’nung is the biggest skxawng on this whole island, don’t you ever believe a single word that comes out of his mouth,” Neteyam said firmly, pulling away slightly to look into your eyes, “I see you, Y/N. You have a big heart, you’re brave and strong-willed, and there is absolutely nothing shameful about being loyal. You hear me?”
Your chest tightened with a flutter at the proximity of Neteyam, and your heart began to race as you found yourself lost in his deep amber eyes. It was getting harder to deny the pull you have felt towards him and have been feeling for the past many weeks, since the confession.
“I just want you to be happy,” he added.
“Being with you makes me happy,” you whispered.
He gulped down nervously, scared that it was yet another thing he’d misinterpret. That you were probably referring to his friendship with you, nothing more. But his cheeks flushed regardless, feeling a soft touch of the atokirinas settling on his shoulders. And as they surrounded the two of you, like a sign from Eywa, you brushed your hand against his chest.
“Neteyam,” you said, your voice dripping like honey to his ears, “There was one thing Ao’nung was right about… I like you,” you admitted. 
Your eyes darted between his widened pupils and parted lips, mind clouded with his scent and the warmth of his touch, with the spell of the atokirinas swirling around you, as if they were blessing you. You could feel the way his breath hitched, when you leaned forward, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Without hesitation, he pulled you closer, his heart pounding so hard in his chest, he was afraid it would jump out. You were much more intoxicating than he had imagined, making him want to scream at the top of his lungs. His thumb rubbed gentle circles to the back of your neck, as you relaxed into him more, and fit perfectly into the curve of his body. Like you were made for him.
“I was too blind before,” you pulled away slightly, your lips curling up into a gentle smile.
Neteyam chuckled bitterly, the sound filled with disbelief and self-doubt. His hands found their way to your waist, bringing your body to his lap. He wanted to be sure that you really wanted this, that he didn’t just catch you in the heat of the moment. But his hesitance melted away, when you kissed him again.
“I see you too, Neteyam…”
He had never felt so alive, so happy, so loved.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
taglist (also tagging everyone who interacted with the teaser post): @bigdikzaddy @awriana @scarletrosesposts @abbersreads @mechformers @my-love-of-books @avatarbyamara @robin-the-enby @minjix @nilrilie @grierpilots @suntizme @jakesully-sbabygirl @netemoon @live-laugh-neteyam  @misscaller06 @darkacademictrash @arminsgfloll @kireysiaugustine @crustskullz @dollyplayhouse @jellybeanstacey0519 @itscheybaby @loaksky @n7ytiri @theycallmesia @love-chx @gloryavila @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream
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foreverdolly · 2 years
Text
wanna play house | protective austin!elvis x reader
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this is a continuation of 'my bestest girl', but you do not have to read it first in order to read this one. . . however i implore you to do so.
summary: elvis's mother has been worried sick about your safety during your time on the road with her son. you and elvis brush it off as her just being paranoid, but danger always manages to rear it's ugly head at the worst of times. elvis, seeing you scared and slightly injured, absolutely loses it.
pairings: protective austin!elvis x reader
word count: 7,471
warnings/notes: SMUT! ,violence, elvis beats the shit out of someone for you and it's hot, oral (f receiving), elvis literally worships you as though you are a goddess and i love that for you, you both cry while he eats you out because emotions are high and he's obsessed with you.
masterlist | requests are currently closed !
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It had been a pain in the ass to talk the Colonel into letting you come along with him and the band as they performed with Hank Snow for the fair, but Elvis had made it happen. The two of you had only been going out officially for the last couple of weeks, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that the two of you were disgustingly in love with one another. If you were within eyesight then Elvis was looking at you. If you were in the other room, he was bound to follow after you like a lost dog. If you weren’t around at all, then he was surely thinking about you. It was a never ending cycle, really. You were just as bad off as Elvis was. You always had to be touching him, whether it be your hand in his, your shoulder pressed against him, or even your legs thrown up into his lap. The bandmates were positive that eventual drama would arise, but the two of you always seemed to be in high spirits. 
The screaming fans didn’t bother you, not when Elvis went out of his way to let you know that you were the only girl that he truly cared about. Everyone had fallen into a comfortable pattern, you included. “Yes ma’am. I’m makin’ sure he’s eatin’ well.” You twirled the wire of the hotel landline around your finger, watching the ebony haired boy getting dressed out of the corner of your eye. He was buttoning up his white slacks and caught your heady gaze in the mirror. With a wide smile he wordlessly made his way over to you, chuckling under his breath as you quickly reached out, running your free hand over his chest and giving his nipple a teasing squeeze. He playfully swatted your hand away, reaching down to grab his lace shirt off of the queen sized bed the two of you were sharing that night. “I’m just worried to death about the two of you, baby. I don’t want any of those girls hurtin’ him. . . and I know how horrible some boys can be.” Gladys’s love knew no bounds, and you appreciated her for it. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes a little though, leaning your hip up against the desk that had been squeezed into the small room. 
“I’m keepin’ a very close eye on him, darlin’. You know I wouldn’t ever let anythin’ happen to our boy, right? Besides, we’re out in the country. I’m sure nothin’ bad will happen all the way out here. The scariest thing we’ve seen these last four days have been a couple of drunks.” Elvis chuckled from the bathroom, the sink turning on as he began slicking back his hair. You could already smell his Brylcreem pomade from where you stood across the suite. “Now is he keepin’ a close eye on you? At the end of the day, I know Elvis can hold his own. You’re a different story.” You couldn’t remember a single time that you had felt unsafe thus far on the trip. Really, you knew that she had the propensity to overreact, but she had been going on for the better part of half an hour at this point. You were trying to be patient with her, but you could only take so much. Gladys was worse than your own mother, and you weren’t sure how that feat was even possible. “Mama, I don’t need any sort of protection. I can hold my own! Cross my heart and hope to die.” You could hear her scoff, but Vernon’s low voice whispered on the other end. “Stop holding our youngins hostage. Elvis has got a show to put on.” You had already started walking in the direction of the bathroom, stretching the phone cord as far as it would let you. “Do you want to talk to Elvis before we have to leave?” “Would you put him on? Thank ya, baby.” Elvis held up his wax coated hands to show you that he needed some help, so you pressed the phone against his ear for him. 
“Hey, Satnin.” He purred to her, shooting you a small smile before letting his eyes fall down to the counter. You couldn’t hear Gladys’s voice from where you stood, but judging by the way he was nodding his head up and down dully, you were sure that he was getting an earful. “Uh-huh. . . No, I’ve been lookin’ out for her. She stands at the front of all of my shows, mama. I’d die if somethin’ were to happen to her.” You smiled down at the floor, biting at the inside of your cheeks in the hopes of getting your heart back under control- it was fluttering at a maddening pace. “She’s with me every second of the day. She never leaves my sight, I promise ya- He what? Daddy wants to talk to me? Put him on.” Elvis placed his comb down on the side of the sink, licking his lips before looking at himself in the mirror. He must not have liked what he saw because he grimaced, shooting your reflection a goofy look as he waited for his father to get to the phone. “Hello?” A couple of seconds passed before he was rolling his eyes, shaking his head back and forth. “I’d kill em’. Simple as that. I promise you both that I won’t ever let anythin’ happen to her. . . Yeah- Yeah, she is our girl, so imma take good care of her.” He was running the comb back through his hair, tucking a few strands into place absentmindedly. After a few more seconds passed he turned his cheek, pressing his lips up against the receiver and mumbling a quick “love ya too” before giving you a look. You walked back into the hotel room, hanging up the phone before turning to face the bathroom. 
“What are they goin’ on about?” You asked, hurriedly getting out your own suitcase so that you could get dressed. You had been on the phone so long with Gladys that you hadn’t had any time to get ready for the concert. Elvis was particular about certain things, and he liked the idea of you guys matching when he performed. If he wore a baby blue shirt, then you wore a baby blue dress. If he was dressed in all black and white- like tonight- then you did as well. You didn’t mind much. It looked wonderful in pictures, and it made you feel even more connected to him. It warmed your heart that he liked not only being a couple, but looking like a couple too. He had always been very particular about the clothes that he wore. Despite the fact that you also came from a working class family, things had never gotten as financially troublesome as it had for the Presleys. Elvis had grown up poor, but he always made a point not to look it. His mother always made sure his clothes were freshly ironed and pressed and that his shoes were always shined. 
Elvis had always been a rather particular fellow, and he hadn’t always been celebrated for it. People calling him a “fairy” or “squirrel” didn’t get to him though. Not anymore, at least. He was above the name calling, coming to the conclusion that it said far more about their own character than it did his. He always handled it relatively well back in high school, though he knew that most of the name calling and trash talk stemmed from the fact that the other boys his age were probably just jealous. 
“Mama said she’s been havin’ a bad feelin’ about somethin’ lately. They’re both worried about ya, is all.” Elvis had always been over cautious with you, even throughout your friendship. If he didn’t seem worried about it, then you wouldn’t be either. “She’s been a nervous wreck ever since you told her about the Louisiana Hayride. She’s probably just feelin’ a bit anxious.” He hummed his agreeance, a comfortable silence befalling the two of you as you began getting changed. Your dress was a rather scandalous little diddy, what with the rather low cut heart-shaped neckline and the way the hem was just above your knees, showing off your legs. It was something you had purchased for yourself months ago but had been unable to wear due to your parents' rather conservative ways. You pushed your way into the bathroom at the same time that Elvis was finishing up with his hair, his eyes instantly locking on your reflection in the mirror. “Good god almighty.” He mumbled, dropping the comb back onto the counter so that he could turn around and face you. His blue eyes trailed over your smaller frame, his lips parted as he took in the sight of you. Elvis had made it a point to explore every inch of you over the last few weeks. He took his time committing every mole and freckle to memory. He was certain that he could draw you with his eyes closed, and the man could barely sketch a stick figure. 
Despite that, every time he made love to you, or even got a glimpse of you, it still felt like the first time. His stomach would fill with butterflies, his palms would start to sweat, and his pants would grow impossibly tight. In all the years that he had known you, never had he seen you in a dress like this. The sweet little babydoll nighties you’d prance around his room in were a completely different story. This was a masterpiece. You were a masterpiece. “You’ve got me sweatin’ worse than a whore in church. God damn it, my girl is so beautiful.” He lifted his hand up to his face, biting down on his knuckle with a small grin. You couldn’t help but blush at the sudden onslaught of compliments, shyly waving him off with a small flick of your wrist. There wasn’t much room in the tiny motel bathroom, so you couldn’t duck away from his arms even if you wanted to. He was quick to pull you towards him, his hands moving over the cinched waistline of the dress, slowly brushing down to run his fingers along the hip. You shivered as you felt his touch against the skin of your thighs. 
“How ‘bout we just stay in, hmm? I could tell the Colonel that I got food poisonin’ or somethin’.” It was nearly possible to deny him of anything he wanted, especially when he looked at you like that. Ever so slowly he began backing you up, smiling smugly as you let out a small yelp whenever your back hit the wall behind you. “Let me make love to you, yeah? I’ll make it quick. I promise-” A knock at the door made the both of you jump, but he soon threw his head back with an exasperated groan, his eyes screwed shut. “What is it?” He called, popping his head out of the bathroom door so that the intruder might hear him better. “We’re startin’ to pack the cars up, EP. You two dressed and ready yet?” You bit your lip as you pressed your back tighter against the wall, hoping that the added space between you and your beau might calm the growing heat between your legs. “Shit.” Elvis cursed, giving you an apologetic look before taking a step back from you. He looked down at the front of his trousers, wincing as he noticed that he was visibly hard. He took a couple of seconds to try and adjust himself in a way that wouldn’t make it so obvious, but gave up after a while. “I’m comin’. Give me one second Scotty.” He brushed past you on his way to the door, giving you one last suggestive look before prying his gaze away. He opened the door just a sliver, hiding his bottom half the best he could.
 “You don’t even have your shoes on yet. What the hell have you been doin’ this whole time?” Scotty asked exasperatedly, his eyebrows furrowing in slight annoyance. Elvis looked behind him at the cars, wincing as he noticed people were already climbing into their seats or pulling out of the parking lot completely. “We’ve been busy.” He said simply. Scotty looked over Elvis’s shoulder, his eyes widening slightly as he noticed your flushed cheeks. “Doin’ what, exactly?” The dark haired boy didn’t take kindly to the fact that someone else was seeing his girl in such a state, so he was quick to grab the edge of the door, closing it enough so that only his face and a small sliver of the room inside could be visible. “We were busy, alright? I’ll come out in a second. Let me just get my things together.” Scotty threw his hands up in surrender after noticing the look on Elvis’s face, taking two steps back from the door. “Be quick about it. We go on after Snow, and I’m tired of hearin’ the square complain.” Elvis was quick to shut the door, jogging over towards his suitcase so that he could find his shoes. “Baby? Do you mind doin’ my eyes like you have em?” He motioned to his eyes with his finger, flashing you a small smile. 
You weren’t about to give your boyfriend a smoky eye, but you hoped he’d be alright with just some eyeliner and mascara. Not that his long lashes needed them anyway. “If we’ve got time, hun.” Your legs still felt a bit weak, what with the heavy petting from earlier, but you managed to walk to your purse so that you could grab your small makeup pouch. Elvis buttoned up his black lace shirt as you gently dragged some dark liner over his upper and bottom lashline, being careful to smear it a little after you were done so that it wouldn’t be too stark against his complexion. “Here, now close your eyes.” You ran the mascara wand through his lashes, cooing softly to him as you realized just how blue it made his eyes look. “And open em.” He obeyed, his hands moving up to grab you softly by your hips as you finished up. “Am I pretty?” He asked with a teasing smile, tilting his chin upwards, which was his way of silently asking for a kiss. You complied, giving him a quick peck before pulling away to nod. “Gorgeous.” 
Elvis was the only boy that you had ever met that preferred to be called pretty rather than handsome. He was putty in your hands any time you referred to him as ‘your pretty boy’. Well, who was he kidding? He was always putty in your hands. He would be a liar if he said that he wasn’t used to female attention. He’d say ‘thank you’ with that signature side smile of his- but the grin- it was reserved only for you. The corners of his eyes would crinkle and his nose would scrunch up. It made him look so childlike. So vulnerable, and it was only something that you were allowed to see. You knew good and well that there were certain aspects of Elvis that you would have to share with his fans, but he made sure to reserve the most sacred parts only for you. 
“Thank ya, baby.” He mumbled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear before he stood up and off of the bed. 
The drive to the fairgrounds was awkward, but Elvis seemed to be the only one that didn’t get the memo. He had one of his hands in your lap, playing subconsciously with the fabric of your dress while he spoke under his breath to you. It was mostly hushed compliments, but the second that the bright lights of the fair became visible he started whispering gentle instructions. “I don’t want ya gettin’ lost in the crowd, alright now? Make your way to the front, just like we practiced. I want to be able to keep my eye on ya the entire time.” The ebony haired man had talked a big game back in the motel room, but you could tell that whatever his mother and father had said to him carried some weight. He seemed a little bit more antsy than he did the previous night. Despite the fact that nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, you still nodded, allowing him to pull you along through crowds. The closer you two got to the stage, the quicker people began to take notice of him. Girl’s turned their heads, some even going as far as to drop their date’s hand as he passed. He didn’t pay any mind, instead he kept his eyes locked on the stage, trying to find a good place for you to go. “Here, push your way right there.” He leaned in close so that you could hear him over Hank’s singing, pointing with his pinky, his newly purchased ring shining in the bright artificial light. You nodded, smiling against his lips as he gave you one last kiss before jogging to catch up with his band. You were quick to follow instruction, easily maneuvering through the crowd, muttering apologies as men and women turned to glare in your direction. 
You weren’t quite sure why, but you were starting to become nervous yourself. It felt like someone was watching you, and had been since you and Elvis passed the admission gates. You anxiously looked over your shoulders, trying to see if there might be anyone you recognized, but alas- nothing. You tried to swallow back the strange sense of dread that was beginning to bubble up in your throat, instead focusing on the stage in front of you. Hank Snow was a talent, but surely wasn’t your cup of tea. His ballads were too slow and shallow for your liking. Too safe. Elvis had been the one to get you hooked on good music way back in high school. You still clapped for Snow whenever he took a bow, flashing him a small smile. You and Elvis had been playing nice with the man. You two had a strong feeling that he didn’t take too kindly to the two of you and the flamboyant way you both decided to live your lives. He was never outwardly rude to you at least. Elvis wasn’t so lucky though. 
The second that the forest green suited country singer had stepped off the stage, it was almost as though the entire crowd took a collective breath to steady themselves. You bit the inside of your cheek as a few girls started pushing against your back, your chest and hips pressing uncomfortably against the wooden stage. In a single millisecond the aura had completely shifted. A few older patrons began to walk away from the stage, but it did nothing to lessen the crowd. People began running across the fairgrounds to make it to the stage in time. 
Scotty and Bill stepped on stage, dragging their instruments along with them. Girls began gasping, whispering amongst themselves as they waited for Elvis to join them. “Have you seen his picture in the paper? He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!” “My friend lives in Shreveport and saw him at the Louisiana Hayride. She said she’s never seen anything like it.” You couldn’t keep the knowing smirk off of your lips. If they thought he was beautiful from a grainy picture alone, just wait until they saw the way that the music moved him. You pressed your hands against the top of the stage, Scotty and Bill flashing you a quick smile just before the crowd erupted with loud screams. It made your ears ring. Elvis jogged up on stage, guitar in hand. His bare arms flexed as he gently strummed the chords, stepping up to the mic. “It’s an honor to be able to play here for you all tonight.” He called over the loud screams and cries. There was something perversly satisfying about seeing the hold that he had over everyone, knowing good and well that you were the only person that has ever and will ever touch him. Not even in the girl’s wildest fantasies would they ever know what he was truly like behind closed doors. The eyeliner that had the girls swooning? You had put that on him yourself. The soft sheen to his lips? That was the lipstick that had transferred onto him from your mouth. 
The girls could hoot and holler all they wanted. You didn’t blame them one bit. You didn’t feel even a little jealous as they began calling his name, begging for even a shred of his attention, because you knew that he was yours. He knew it too. His eyes instantly scanned the crowd, his shoulders visibly relaxing when he finally found your form. After Elvis and the boys had given the crowd a few moments to quiet down, they began playing their first song. The sound of Elvis’s voice and the quick, near violent way he strummed his guitar was unlike anything that you had ever heard before. It had changed something inside of you. You could tell that the crowd was having the exact same reaction as they watched him, swaying to the sound of the music. Some girls looked like they might pass out, their faces going pale and their eyes growing glassy. This was the kind of music that concerned mothers and fathers warned their children about. Rock and roll. 
Elvis was rock and roll. It wasn’t just a type of music or a way of dressing for him. It was the way that he lived his life. It was a state of mind. It was a state of being. His hips and feet moved as though he was possessed by God himself. He may as well have been. You could feel the standup bass in your chest, and Elvis’s guitar in your throat. Your blood fizzled like champagne as you watched him, his eyes bluer than a summer sky, his bubblegum pink lips pulled taught against bright white teeth as he screamed into the mic. His eyes moved over the crowd, and suddenly he was on his knees, leaning back to look up at the night sky as his fingers flew over the neck of the guitar. 
You couldn’t help yourself as you reached out, no better than the screaming fans as you brushed your fingers over his thigh, needing to touch him. You didn’t know how, but he instantly looked at you, as if he could feel that you were the one touching him. His eyes burned as he took in the expression on your face, his lips curling back into a snarl. Girls distantly screamed behind you as they took in his expression. 
Something like this wouldn’t be romantic to some, but you melted against the stage, your torso leaning further against the hardwood. You were sure to have bruises tonight, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You needed to be closer closer closer. Your body ached for him. You could feel his guitar vibrating through you, his heavenly voice bringing back memories of last night. Of how he loved to press his lips against your ear to purr and moan. He wanted you to hear every heavy breath, every gasp, every preen- and as he practically laid himself out on that stage, girls trying to grab at whatever they could, he had never felt more yours. He grabbed your face in his hands for a split second before he was standing back up, moving over to the mic so that he could finish up the song. 
By the second song there were at least three pairs of panties on the stage, which both you and Elvis regarded with wide, humor filled smiles. 
Elvis sang with a violence that he never let shine through in his everyday life. He got up on that stage and sang for his mama, his daddy, you and God. He belted up to the heavens for the angels to hear. You could feel the damn near desperation as he swayed his body, his hair falling into his eyes, dripping with sweat. 
After the third song you felt as though you might faint yourself. You could barely breathe as girls continued to press against you- crushing your ribs against the stage. You were never the type of girl to follow instruction very well, so despite Elvis and even Gladys’s worries, you found yourself slipping through the crowd, breathing hard as you tore your way through the writhing bodies. Your eyes swept over the grounds, and you were quick to make your way over towards a refreshment tent. “Can I just get a cup of water?” The carnie recognized you as Elvis’s girl instantly, smiling as he saw your pink cheeks and shaky hands. You sat down on a nearby picnic table as you greedily gulped down the water. You could hear his voice from across the grounds, tapping your foot along to the beat as you tried to enjoy the last of his performance. 
“Whatcha doin’ over here alone?” You jumped as you heard a deep voice sound from right beside you. You had been so wrapped up in the music that you hadn’t even noticed someone approaching you. You blinked, turning around just to make sure that there wasn’t someone else behind you that the man must have been talking to. Alas, you were the only person in the vicinity. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend to get done performing.” You pointed to the stage, slowly placing the cup down on the table just in case you needed to quickly excuse yourself. He sat down beside you anyway, nodding his head slowly. The refreshment tent was a hundred feet away, and you were in an area with barely any lighting. You were beginning to become more aware of the precarious situation that you had somehow put yourself in. “Ah, right. I saw you walkin’ hand in hand with that scrawny musician.” Your eyes quickly narrowed as you stood up and off of the table. “I don’t take kindly to people bad mouthin’ my loved ones, ya understand? If a conversation was what you were lookin’ for, then find it elsewhere.” You spat, pointing over to another populated area. He blinked, seemingly taken aback by your bold nature. 
“Woah. . . you sure are loud for a tiny lil thing,” You took a step back as he stood up and off of the table himself, shoving his hands into his pockets as he gave you a once over. “Maybe you shouldn’t go ‘round dressin’ like that if ya don’t want strangers approachin’.” You could have socked the man right in the face. You began shaking with anger, clenching your fists at your sides. “What does my outfit have anythin’ to do with you unnecessarily runnin’ your mouth? Did ya think you insultin’ my boyfriend would make me interested in you? Hah!” You let out a loud, humorless laugh. “Like I said earlier; move along.” You shooed him off, reaching out for your water cup. You let out a scream as he grabbed you roughly by the wrist, your shoulder cracking as he roughly yanked you forward. “Watch yer mouth, girlie.” He spoke to you through clenched teeth, his eyes wide and wild. You swallowed thickly, fear hitting you like a freight train. You could distantly hear your boyfriend working the crowd, your stomach flipping anxiously as you realized he was about to get off stage and realize you weren’t there to greet him. 
“Let go of me. Rough housin’ with a lady out in public like this isn’t very gentlemanly.” You tried to yank your sore arm back to your side, but he didn’t let go. He added even more pressure, and you cried out in pain as you realized that he was damn near close to breaking it. “I don’t let women boss me ‘round.” His free hand moved up to your hair, his fingers gripping roughly as he jerked your head back. Was he about to kiss you? Touch you? 
You were unable to run now, and so you knew that the only option you had was to get someone’s attention. Anyone’s. “Help!” You screamed, your eyes prickling with tears as you tried to move your head in the man’s hold, hoping to avoid whatever he was planning to do with you. A beat passed before you finally sucked in another breath, screaming again. “Elvis!” Your boyfriend had been speaking into the microphone, but the second that you had called his name he went silent. You could distantly hear a loud clatter and a few females calling out his name, but you were too focused on the older man’s face to pay attention to much else. He was dragging you further into the darkness by your hair, and you stumbled blindly forward, reaching your arms out to push as hard as you could against his chest, even going as far as to bang your fist against his shoulders in the hopes of somehow fighting him off. 
It all happened so fast, you didn’t even have time to blink. You stumbled backwards, the breath being knocked from your lungs as you hit the grass. Hard. You could hear a tussle behind you, and you blinked back tears as you slowly sat up. It was like everything was happening in slow motion. The red faced stranger had been pushed back against the picnic table, pinned there, and your boyfriend stood above him, muscles bulging as he gripped him by the front of his shirt, wailing on him with his right arm. Again and again he connected his fist with the man’s face, his teeth clenched, the veins in his arms bulging as he let out a deep, guttural scream. Elvis had somehow, by the grace of god, heard your voice over a hundred screaming girls and came running to your rescue. A loud sob escaped your throat as both relief and pain overcame you. The pitiful sound only spurred him on. 
“I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Ya hear me? You’re dead!” Elvis’s deep voice called, a small crowd already beginning to form. You tried to stand up on shaky legs, embarrassment flooding your veins as you realized what kind of a state you were in. “E-Elvis. . . He’s had enough, baby!” 
Elvis had been pushed around and beat on his entire life for looking and being the way that he was. Over the years he had learned how to fight. How to win. He might have been smaller than the brute, but it wasn’t the size that mattered in this case. No- it was the skill and ferocity that your boyfriend possessed. That and the white hot rage. Elvis’s eyes were wild as he stared down at him, not letting up even for a second. The man had tried to push back against the ebony haired musician, but the blows to the head had kept him in a dazed state. Elvis’s gaudy golden ring made contact with the man’s temple again and again. The crowd began to part as a few men broke through, moving to try and pull your man off of the assailant. “You’re killin’ him, Elvis! Stop! Please, for the love of God!” At the sound of your distress he was quick to let go, shrugging the men’s hands off of him as he quickly made his way over to you. “Hey, hey. Talk to me darlin’. What happened.” His eyes flickered over your face wildly as he panicked. He stopped himself from reaching out for you when he realized his knuckles were caked in blood, wiping them off on his white pants. He brushed your hair off of your sweaty forehead, pressing his own forehead against your cheek, desperate to have you against him. To hear your breath and feel your heart beating against his chest. You could hear people trying to disperse the crowd, but you paid no mind to them. You kept your eyes locked on Elvis's shoulder as you fought off the urge to cry. “Talk to me, baby. You’re shakin’ like a leaf.” You gulped down deep breaths, finally moving your hands to grip onto his shirt. You rubbed your fingers against the lace, feeling his warm skin beneath. It soothed you. Helped you to stop your panicking. 
“EP. You take the car back to the motel. We’ll just ride with Jimmie and Hank back.” You heard Scotty’s voice beside you. Elvis slowly untangled one of his arms from your form, shoving the keys in his now ruined pants. “Let’s get to the car. Can you do that? Can you walk, sweet heart?” He purred, pulling away to look at your face. He cupped your cheeks in his hands, sucking in a hard breath as he noticed your tear caked face and wide teary eyes. His chest began to rise and fall quickly as he took deep breath after deep breath. “I should have gutted him.” You were quick to shake your head, stumbling back as you pulled him with you by his shirt. “L-Let’s just go okay? I wanna go.” You needed to get the hell out of there as fast as you could. Even if someone else had already come by and picked the stranger up. Even if you knew you were now well protected- it didn’t matter. You needed to go back to the motel room so that you could break down without having everybody’s eyes on you. You were sure that this fight would only add to Elvis’s sordid reputation as well. You were. . . you were just mortified. Elvis kept his arm tightly around you as he walked you through the fairgrounds, allowing you to tuck your head into his throat. He continued to mumble sweet words into your ear as the two of you made your way out into the car lot. Elvis helped you into the bright yellow car, going as far as to make sure you were well situated before moving on over to the drivers side. 
The car ride was silent. He didn’t even turn on the radio, which was rare for him. You rolled down the window, letting the wind whip your hair back and cool your hot face. By the time the two of you had made it back to the room you had already started to calm down. With the panic and adrenaline now out of your system, you could feel how badly your arm hurt. You kept your mouth shut about it, knowing that Elvis would probably tear the room apart in his haste to find the man responsible. He was being so sweet and tentative towards you, but you could tell that he was barely hanging on to his sanity. He’d always gone out of his way to watch over you. This wasn’t the first guy he’d gotten in a fight with over you. . . but never had it been this bad. Never. 
After you had told Elvis the entire story, save for the part where you were sure that you’d torn a muscle in your shoulder, he just sat there on the bed in silence. For a second you were sure that he was going to react with more anger, but you would have been wrong. Your lips parted as you watched his blue eyes fill with tears. After a few seconds he let out a loud sob, his body shaking as he practically caved in on himself. Never in your entire life had you ever seen him so upset. He began rubbing his own arms with his hands, as if to comfort himself, to get himself to stop crying. Not even your own loving hands and soothing words could stop him. His body was wracked with sobs as he pulled his knees up to his chest, pressing his forehead against the tops of his thighs. “Baby? Baby what’s wrong?” You gripped him by the chin, gently leaning his head back so that you could look at him. The mascara had begun running down his cheeks, his eyelashes clumping together. His lip quivered as he tried to get the words out because another loud hiccup shook his shoulders. “I don’t deserve you. I-I can’t live with myself after a-all of that happened.” He wiped at his eyes, only smearing the makeup even more. 
If you thought his eyes had looked blue before, now they looked like sapphires. 
Burning bright. Burning sad. 
“It’s not your fault, hun. None of that was your fault. I-I. . . I moved away from the crowd. I’m the one to blame.” He shook his head, his jaw going slack. 
“Are you insane, y/n? You’re my girl. My baby,” He dropped his legs so that he could bang his hand against his chest to emphasize the words. “It’s my job to keep you safe. Keep you takin’ care of. I was up there singin’ like a fool while you were havin’ your hair ripped out of your little head. I promised your daddy. . . your mama that I was goin’ to look after you until the day that i died, and look what happened under my watch.” You could have started crying yourself. He was shakin’, his eyes wide, cheeks stained and streaked with mascara and eyeliner.
If you had thought that he looked like a God up on that stage, now he looked like a fallen angel. 
“You couldn’t have known any of that was gonna happen. You did the best that you cou-” “Well my best isn’t damn good enough!” You jerked back as he screamed, watching as his hands moved up to his head, gripping- yanking- at his hair. In front of you sat a man who had spent his whole life doing for others. He financially provided for his parents, even during high school. He worked three jobs just to put food on the table and gas in his daddy’s car, all while counting pennies to buy himself a coke from the corner store. He felt like he had to watch over everyone he loved. That their happiness and safety relied on him. 
“You’re perfect and you’re mine.” You reached out, holding him against yourself so tightly that you were sure one of your rib cages were sure to break. ‘Fuck it’, you thought. ‘Let it shatter’. “There isn’t anything you could have done to prevent it, baby. All I can say is that imma be careful from now on. I won’t leave your side. Not ever again.” He was pulling on your clothes, pulling on your hair, clutching you to him like he was scared that you might dissipate into thin air. You let him claw at you- dig his calloused fingers into your soft skin. “Please. Please never leave me. I-I can’t take it.” 
If you had ever questioned whether or not Elvis truly loved you, you sure as hell never would again. The man was practically destroying himself over a situation that he had no control over, all because you had gotten hurt. “Never. I’m not goin’ anywhere, darlin’.” That was all he needed to hear. In the blink of an eye he had you pinned down to the bed, his hands clumsily fumbling with the bottom of your dirt stained dress. “E-Elvis! What are you doin’?” You tried grabbing his hands to stop him, but he was a man on a mission. “Let me make it up to you.” Your eyes widened, lips parting slightly as his fingers found your panties. He was tearing them off of you in a second. “T-There’s nothing to make up for! Let me love on you, for Christ’s sake. You need to calm down.” His eyes flickered back up to meet yours, and he sniffled softly, his jaw clenching and unclenching. His eyes were hard, but no longer teary. “I am calm. I just. . . I feel like I can’t breathe if I’m not touchin’ you right now. So let me. . . let me touch you.” Your eyes fluttered as you looked up at him, his gaze hard, bordering on animalistic. It was as if you had been transported back to his show. His hand gripping your face, eyes boring into your own as he moved just for you. You worshiped him just as he worshiped you. Elvis Presley was one of a kind. No one had ever been born like him before, and nobody ever would be even after he was gone. You were sure of it. 
He pushed your skirt up and over your hips, kissing down your body as though he could absorb the fear that you had felt earlier. He usually liked to tease you in order to get you worked up, but he didn’t tonight. No- His lips and tongue lapped you up like you were made of honey, and when his eyes flickered up to meet yours from between your legs, he beheld you as if you were some glittery, golden thing. His fingers brushed up your body, cupping your breast through your dress, working your already hardening nipples with his fingers. You cried out, back arching as the pleasure steadily began to build. 
He pulled at the neckline of your stained dress, his tongue running all the way up from your entrance to your clit- slow slow slow. His eyebrows furrowed, humming as he tasted you. He cupped your now freed breasts, pinching the nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. 
You were panting so hard you were sure that you might pass out. Your hand gripped hard at the sheets as he continued to work your clit over with his tongue, his eyes falling shut as he savored you. His thick, long lashes casted shadows on his cheeks. Every once and a while they would flutter, like the beating of a butterfly's wings. In the dull lamp light of the dingy motel room, covered in dirt and grass stains, you felt your heart swell to the point of bursting. Your eyes filled with tears as you stared up at the ceiling, your plush lips parting as a sob ripped from your throat. 
You were wracked with both pleasure and a crippling sense of hope. You loved this man more than anything else. You’d love him in this life, in the next life, and into whatever came next. 
He was everything. 
And on cue the man’s free hand found yours, which had been tangled up in the sheets. He intertwined his fingers, gripping you tight. You weren’t sure why- but that was what pushed you over the edge. You dug the back of your head into the mattress as you climaxed, eyes squeezing shut. His hand moved from your breasts to your thigh, holding it to the side so that he could continue his attack, riding you through your orgasm. He didn’t stop there. Your free hand tangled into his hair, chanting his name as though it was some ancient spell. Your body quivered against him, thighs naturally trying hard to squeeze together, to stop him from continuing to push you over the edge. He didn’t stop, his tongue focusing on your bundle of nerves. Before you knew it you were building up all over again, your cunt dripping with slick and spit, and quite possibly tears. You didn’t know. You didn’t care. 
You weren’t even sure if you were speaking coherently when you climaxed for the second time. You thought that you were praising him, telling him how pretty he was and how good, but you couldn’t be sure. His tongue slowly slid down to your entrance, lazily lapping up your cum before he sat up on shaky knees, pupils blown out, cheeks pink. 
His lips were shining in the low light, and he was quick to lick them, as if he needed to swallow every last drop of you, like it was some precious nectar. The kind that someone only got to taste once in a lifetime. After he had finally caught his breath he laid down next to you, hanging one of his arms over the side of the bed as he stared at your face. His eyes were impossibly soft, his face still wet with tears. “I love seein’ you like this.” His voice was gruff, thick with lust and something else. Something even more beautiful. “What? All sweaty and quiverin’?” You attempted to tease, but you were still breathing too hard for the joke to really land. “No. . . no-” he raised a hand up, pushing your hair off of your forehead. 
“I love seeing you in love with me.” 
check out the third chapter of this story !
@bookklover23 @medleyj @idkwhattthisisss @dharnwjs @slutforsomegoodlettuce @crackerbarrelslut @macey234 @nightfiress @keepdrivingrr @melodydior @luvvrrrrr @mymamalife @wwebby657 @shynovelist @ssstrangersblog
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little-diable · 4 months
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Always have, always will – Dean Winchester (smut)
This is my @spnfanficpond Secret Santa fic for @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior <3 I hope you love this little story as much as I do! Enjoy my loves. xxx
Summary: It's been years since Dean and (y/n) have parted ways, but perhaps this year's Christmas season is finally the right time to find their way back together.
Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, very fluffy, only a tiny tiny bit of angst, but full of love and nostalgia
Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.2k words)
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“Sam?” Dean’s gritty voice echoed through the bunker, eyes focused on the neatly wrapped box that had been placed on his bed. He waited for his brother to answer the call of his name, waited for the sound of Sam’s boots meeting the cold ground, but nothing could be heard, leaving Dean engulfed by a thick blanket of silence. 
He approached the box with caution, as if it were a dormant trap waiting to pull him in. Gingerly Dean picked it up, turning it in his hands. The wrapping paper crinkled beneath his touch, curiosity mingled with suspicion in his piercing eyes. Slowly he unpacked the box, freezing as his eyes fell upon an all too familiar leather bound book. 
Dean sank down on his bed, holding the photo album in his hands, eyes taking in the old leather, letting his thumb stroke the fabric with a smile tugging on his lips. Memories, frozen in time, spilled out before him like an ancient tome of secrets. His heart skipped a beat as he leafed through the pages, images of laughter and shared glances filling the spaces between the faded photographs. It had been years since he had last seen this book, back at Bobby’s where he had reached for it whenever he could, with her pressed to his side. 
It took Dean a few moments to notice the neatly folded paper that had been attached to the leather, reaching for the letter with trembling hands. He’d always recognise her handwriting, the slightly cursive words pressed into thin paper like ink tattooed into his skin. Dean couldn’t stop the tears from welling up in his eyes, having to blink a few times before he could focus on the letter she had written to him. 
“My dearest Dean, 
It has been years since I’ve last allowed myself to even speak your name. A name I’ve hated for longer than I’d like to admit, well perhaps not the name, but the memories tied to it. But the truth is, Dean, as much as I told myself to hate you for breaking my heart, for pushing me away, I can’t help but long for you. But now I think I finally understand why you did it, at least I like to think I do. 
I’ve been holding onto this photo album for a while now, but it’s only fair you also get to have it for some time. Sam told me you’ll be around for the Christmas days, I’d like to see you, catch up on the past years. I’ll be at Suzie’s this afternoon. 
I'll be the one trying to figure out how the hell I got so sentimental all of a sudden.
I love you, Dean
Always have, always will.” 
……
The scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled his nostrils, hanging in the air like a thick cloud of smoke, a pleasant scent Dean would long for whenever he was away with Sam, dreaming of this very café. It took him a few moments to find her, hiding away in a booth in the back, the same one he and Sam always sat in. (Y/n) had her eyes focused on her phone, cuddled into the big knitted sweater she wore. 
Dean ran a hand through his snow covered hair, shuffling out of his jacket as he slowly approached her. Like a thunderstorm about to strike it seemed she could feel him before she saw him, slowly lifting her gaze, unable to bite down the smile tugging on her lips. She had always been beautiful, a rare kind of beauty Dean had been in love with ever since he had been a young boy, but now she was even more beautiful, at least to Dean she was.
“You came.” Her whispers were drowned out by the laugh leaving Dean, hand stretched out to pull (y/n) to her feet and straight into his arms. He felt her deeply inhale his familiar scent, clinging to Dean as if he was an old memory about to fade, unable to hold on for long. The two parted only slowly, eyes wandering over one another’s features before they sat down, vis-à-vis from one another.
Their hands stayed connected, resting on the table with their fingers interlaced, falling back into their old pattern all too easily. Neither of them dared to look away, needing to take in every inch of the face they hadn’t seen in years, needing to etch this very moment into their minds. 
“I missed you, thank you for the album.” Dean’s voice carried something calm, something awfully comforting (y/n) had been longing for ever since they had parted ways. The mere memory of that very day had haunted the two, replaying in their minds every single night, wondering where they had gone wrong, wondering why Dean had pushed her away for reasons she now only slowly began to understand.
“I missed you too, even though it took me a while to accept that. And like I wrote in the letter, it’s only fair you get to have it too. Sammy told me how much you talk about it.” For a second Dean froze, wondering if Sam and (y/n) had been in touch all these years. Not once had his brother mentioned (y/n) – perhaps he had simply tried to protect Dean and his broken heart, but yet Dean couldn’t help but doubt his brother’s motives. 
“I didn’t know you and Sam kept in touch.” Suzie, the owner of the café approached the two with her coffee pot, filling their cups. 
“(Y/n)’s a regular here, she and your brother meet almost every week, don’t you?” The woman was all too oblivious to the tension now sticking to Dean, slowly pulling his hands from (y/n)’s warm ones. She tried to chase his touch, just for a millisecond, before she began to realise that they had just entered a rather uncomfortable territory, no longer sticking to the nostalgia this place offered to Dean. 
“He was there for me after, well, you know. Sam tried to make me understand why you pushed me away, I needed somebody to talk to after you were no longer in my life.” Dean reached for the coffee, momentarily watching the steam rise like souls rising from their graves, leaving their decomposing bodies behind. Pain thumped through his system, clinging to his every muscle and bone. 
“I,” he placed the cup back down, letting his calloused thumb stroke along the rim. “I needed to protect you, I couldn’t concentrate with you around, could only worry about you, not on our hunts. And just the thought of something happening to you because I was too distracted was a risk I didn’t want to take. I knew you’d be safer without me around, in some fucked up way.”
He watched tears well up in her eyes as his throat began to tighten up, struggling to keep on speaking. (Y/n) averted her gaze, watching the snow fall from the sky in never ending streams like tears dripping from her eyes. For years Dean had imagined this very moment, with her sitting close to him, allowing him to share the dark thoughts he had struggled with, the thoughts that were his own, personal hell. 
“It took me a while to understand it, but I think I get it, you hurt me, you broke my heart. But I guess that’s the price we pay in our profession, isn’t it?” A teary laugh left (y/n), hands rubbing her eyes to get rid of her tears. Dean reached for her hands once again, thumbs stroking the back of them. 
“I never stopped loving you, if that still means something to you.” He watched her pupils dilate, growing wider as if he had just shared his darkest secret with her. And yet it had never been a secret, the one thing he had always been honest with, the love he fostered for her. Dean was too slow to realise what she was doing, shifting her weight to lean over the table, lips finding his slightly parted ones. 
Dean instantly gave in, lips moving in sync with hers like they had done all these years ago. One of his hands found her cheek, cupping the soft skin to keep her close to him. The soft hum leaving (y/n) broke the two apart, allowing them to catch their breaths, looking at one another with irrevocably love swimming in their pupils. 
“Do you want to come home with me, sweetheart?”
……
“Are you sure Sammy’s not home?” She panted her words, pressed against the mattress of Dean’s bed with her naked chest exposed to his wandering eyes. Dean could only hum, lips kissing their way down to her stomach, hands already fumbling with her jeans. It hadn’t taken the two long to end up like this, searching their closeness like magnets made to fit, desperate to feel what they had been aching for since they had parted ways.
“Fuck, I missed this, missed this so much, Dean.” An almost boyish grin began to widen on Dean’s lips as he lifted his head, rising from the bed to tug his shirt over his head. He felt her eyes on him as he stepped out of his jeans, only left in his dark boxers as he helped (y/n) out of her remaining clothes. 
“Let me take care of you. You’re mine, and only mine, I hope you remember this, (y/n).” No matter how many people the two have searched comfort in, none had ever managed to make them feel like one another managed to, made for one another like puzzle pieces fitting together. His touch burned itself into her body, kisses forever lingering on her skin as Dean settled between her naked thighs, tongue swiping over her arousal covered folds.
Her moans guided him on, a sound he hadn’t heard in years, and yet he had never forgotten about it once. Late at night, when he had been aching for her, hand taking care of his desperation, he had thought back to all these nights they had shared, long faded memories Dean clung to. (Y/n) kept moaning his name, eyes fluttering close, hands tugging on his roots, hoping that he’d add more speed to his movements.
His thumb rubbed her pulsing bundle, tongue dipping into her tightness with excitement laced in his gaze, set on teasing her till she’d cry his name. He ate her out without holding back, without paying much attention to the incoherent words leaving her parted lips, high on her taste. Only as Dean felt her spasm around his tongue did he slow down his pace, letting go of her seconds before she could tumble over the edge. 
“How dare you-” her sentence was cut short by the kiss Dean pressed against her lips as he reached for a condom, only parting from (y/n) to roll it down his length. The two kept holding eye contact as he aligned himself, pushing into her after a small nod was thrown his way.
It took the both a few moments to adjust, no longer used to feeling one another like this, needing to fully relax before they could tumble over the edge together. Dean moved slowly at first, wanting to take his time with her, wanting to relish in the now unfamiliar closeness he had been dreaming of like a starving man in need of food. 
Curses left the two, echoing through his dark bedroom, alighted just enough for them to look at one another. Their moments together had always been intense, urged on by their longing, by their lust thumping through their veins like drugs, but tonight their time together had something to it neither of them could pinpoint.
“Dean,” his name rolled off her tongue all too effortlessly, a sound that would push him into his grave, Dean was sure of it. She wanted to keep on talking, wanted to express her love for the man she had unsuccessfully tried to forget these past years, forever tied to him. He dipped his dead down to kiss her, using her distraction to add even more roughness to his thrusts.
Dean fucked her into the mattress, eyes set on her naked frame, on the body he had thought of whenever he had grown lonely. She had been the one thing on his mind, the one thing Dean had been able to cling to. Both their moans guided them on, pushing them over the edge in unison. 
He clung to her, not daring to let go as they rode out their highs, desperate to prolong the moment for as long as possible. Dean dipped his head down to press a soft kiss against her swollen lips before he pulled away. She watched him disappear and reappear moments later with a towel, carefully cleaning both. 
“Will you stay?” Dean’s whispers echoed through the room, making a smile tug on (y/n)’s lips as she let go of a soft though loving “Of course I will”.
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seravphs · 8 months
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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — IDOL! GOJO x ROCKSTAR! FEM READER
Gojo loves the untouchable. You’re an off limits rockstar who thinks he’s an idiot. The only thing he can do is take that as a challenge, right?
wc — 6.8k
tags — non detailed mention of idol industry EDs, pride and prejudice type energy tbh, reader is a little superior about being in a rock band and not “selling out”, Gojo has an annoying habit of pointing out their hypocrisy, sneaking around because you’re public figures, nsfw jokes, minor nongraphic blood
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Gojo’s not your usual type. He’s too pretty for that, with those long lashes like a doll’s. They’re stark against his pale skin when he flirts with you, peering alluringly at you through half closed eyes like the cheap tricks that get his fangirls to scream will work on you. 
He’s too easy to break for your taste, but from what you hear on Twitter, that’s why people like him. There’s something charming about the gap in his image that draws people in. People are dying for a taste of vulnerability because he's so cocky, but it's easy to make him beg.
There’s a million clips all over the internet of the moments he’s caught off guard, carefully hoarded instances in his career where a genuine embarrassed flush comes over his cheekbones, made into gifs and Tik Toks and YouTube videos. 
That’s not your thing. 
You like people with tough hearts and tougher reputations. People who could take the beating of public opinion without a flinch, not some soft spoken idol who needs his management to hold his hand through an apology. You like your fans, but they know their limit with you.  
It’s not love, not like with an idol. It would never be, you made sure of it. You’d quit before you ever issued an apology for dating someone. 
You hate to be a stereotype almost as much as you hate the idea of becoming a pushover, but you’ve dated a string of bad boy exes who were all exactly what you would expect for the lead singer of a rock band. A little rough around the edges, dark and smoldering. Men who would wear your red lipstick marks like a badge of honor. People who had never even heard of something like an idol image. 
Maybe that’s why no one saw it coming. You were safe, established. Gojo was out of your usual pitch. 
It’s too bad for the fans that you’ve always been a bit of a daredevil. Trying new things has never scared you. You’ve always been willing to test your limits to find the gold in the muck. That’s how you grow. 
That’s how you ended up here, sitting thigh to thigh with the boy wonder of the idol industry. 
“Aren’t you playing a dangerous game here?” You ask as he nudges even closer to you, far beyond what you’re sure his fans will permit. You’ve heard horror stories about the lengths people will go to if they see their idols even look at someone of the opposite gender. 
“Why, you scared?”
“You wish. You’re the idol here. It’s your reputation on the line.”
He smiles at you, saccharine sweet. “I don’t like letting other people control me.” 
That earns your begrudging respect, even if his bony knee is knocking into yours. He’s so lanky it makes you a touch concerned. Shoko’s girlfriend is an idol, and she’s constantly sneaking her food under her manager’s notice. 
That’s another reason why you could never be an idol. Letting someone else dictate your life like that sounds like hell. It was hard enough to convince you to be here in the first place. 
Your band doesn’t do promotion, least of all you. It’s all homegrown talent and homegrown fans, but you’re in stasis. Your growth has plateaued. Like all artists, you’re beholden to bills to pay to keep the music going. You’re big enough to know when you have to make sacrifices. 
It’s nothing personal. That’s just the industry, from pop stars to idols to bands like you. If nothing else, you all share the solidarity of giving anything for the music. You just think you have a harder limit for anything than idols do. 
The host kicks off the segment before you have time to do further analysis. 
“Welcome back to Hot or Not, the variety show where we pit your favorite internet heartthrobs against each other! Please welcome today’s guests - they may not be the duo you expect!” 
The camera pans to you and Gojo. His smile is instant, soft and natural, as real as if he were genuinely overjoyed to be here. You have to give him props for that, at least. He’s good at his job. 
As soon as the camera pans to you, his expression flickers and returns to bored disinterest. He yawns, his teeth pearly white. Veneers, maybe. His tongue flicks around the sharp tip of one canine, his smirk nearly fanged. There’s the feature he’s so famous for, the one that has him edited into cat reaction memes all across the internet. Kitty Gojo and his kitten fangs. 
He’s a grown man. You think you’d jump off a building before you let your teenage girl fans put cat ears on you and coo at you. 
To each their own, you guess. Gojo didn’t seem that perturbed by it. To be fair, he didn’t seem perturbed by anything. 
“Let’s start with Gojo! Remember, if you don’t feel like answering a question, we’ll put you in a surprise challenge with your partner.” 
“Sure,” he says easily. “I’m an open book.” 
“Let’s start easy. What’s your favorite song off your new album, Blue Spring?” 
Gojo makes a face. “Pass.” 
“Sorry, maybe you didn’t understand the question-“
“No, I got it. That’s boring,” he says. “Give me the challenge.” 
You’re amused despite yourself, and fighting not to let it show. There’s the troublesome personality you’ve heard so much about. He wouldn’t be half so popular if he wasn’t so pretty, but that attitude and that face made for a dangerous combination. 
The host is trying to salvage the situation with an easygoing laugh. Backstage, you hear someone mutter, “Gojo is gojo-ing again.” 
It’s all so funny until you realize he’s dragging you into his mess as they set up the challenge. 
Your host explains the rules too quickly for you to catch in their entirety, but it’s something along the lines of a staring contest. You’re supposed to do everything in your power to make the other lose a straight face, with words or actions. 
“Are you allowed to do this?” You joke as they start strapping the electrodes on you to measure your heart rate. 
“What do you mean?” Gojo’s mussing his hair up so he looks more artistically roguish. 
“You know, just being an idol and all. I figured you wouldn’t be able to do things like this without your fangirls jumping on you.” 
“Ah,” he says, scooting his chair closer to you. You’re knee to knee as they finish the last details of fiddling with machine. “You’re one of those types?” 
“And that means?” 
“You think I’m an idiot because I’m an idol.” 
“I didn’t say that,” you protest, watching the monitor to make sure your heart rate isn’t jumping with your words. It’s just a game, but you’re competitive. 
“No, but you’re thinking it. What else? Maybe you think idols are also soulless grifters?”
You wince. It’s not that you think so terribly of idols, per se, you just understand and recognize their need to please their company. They’re products before they’re people. 
“I got it right, huh?” He’s pleased with himself. 
“Am I wrong?” You retort. “You’re really going to tell me you love singing your overproduced pop music for the tween girls who will buy anything you put out as long as you’re pretty enough?” 
“Aren’t you here too? Lot of talk for someone who’s sitting right next to the sellout. You know what they say about birds of a feather…”
It’s all in a whisper, so no one else hears - or sees your startled reaction to find out the pampered show dog has a little bite in him. You could retaliate, but if you’re being honest? 
This makes you respect him more. 
He’s right, anyway. You did sell out by being on this show. 
The machine beeps. He smiles, slow and sweet - or at least it would be if you didn’t already know there was an edge to it. “I win.” 
“Wow!” You’ve never found the host more annoying. “That got heated at the end, didn’t it, folks? Do you mind sharing what Gojo said?”
You smile at the camera in a way that feels more like you’re beating your teeth. “It’s a secret.” 
You’re not mad at him. If anything, you’re impressed. The person you’re really disappointed with is yourself.
So he’s not what he thought you were. So he challenged your biased preconceptions on idols. So what? 
It doesn’t mean anything, but you can’t get him out of your head. 
The rest of the show is an easy and welcome distraction from your inner turmoil over the possibility of maybe potentially tolerating an idol. Throwing out witty answers and being neck to neck with Gojo in winning mini games is much preferable to having to experience emotions. It’s only when it’s over that the problems start. 
You watch as he gets up, biting your lip and debating to yourself. It’s only when he’s halfway out the door that you make your decision. You’ve always been a do or die kind of girl. 
“Hey. Want to get dinner?”
You just want to make sure he’s eating. No other reason. 
His manager frowns behind him. 
“We’re in a weird spot,” he says. “The only thing around are convenience stores.” 
“That’s fine,” you say. “We can get instant ramen.” 
“I’ve never had instant noodles,” Gojo says. 
“Seriously?”
“No, not seriously,” he scoffs. “Just what kind of lives do you think we lead?”
“Deprived ones,” you toss over your shoulder as you lead him towards your monster of a customized car. 
“Oh, no,” his manager is beginning, but Gojo is already sliding comfortably into the passenger seat. His poor manager looks nervously at you as you turn the keys. “Are you sure that thing is safe?” 
“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “If this thing crashes, I’m in here too.” 
You don’t think that reassures him, but your own manager will handle it. You pull out of the parking space and head for the road. 
Gojo’s impatient. He tries the handle almost before you’re done parking. You’re like that too - always ready to move. This time, you’re one step ahead. You lock the door before he can leave. He gives you a startled look and glances outside again, clearly weighing his options. 
“Relax,” you say. “I’m not a crazed fan. Put these on before we attract an actual stalker of yours.” 
You toss him a hat, sunglasses, and a mask. You’ve started keeping them in your car ever since you’ve been hanging out with Shoko and her girlfriend, who was famous enough to get recognized in the street for her autograph. He wrinkles his nose but obediently puts them on. 
It doesn’t do much to hide his overall air of Gojo-ness. He steps into the store like he owns it, which he very well could.
The steam rises from your bowls and coats Gojo’s sunglasses. You’re surprised he can see inside, but he has no trouble navigating. He tells you he has 20/20 vision. 
One thing leads to another and suddenly he’s bragging about his perfect grades when he attended school. He’s a natural genius, which isn’t really a surprise. 
“I thought you were supposed to be a bad boy,” you tease. His glasses are slipping down his nose. You reach out to push them back up before anyone notices. His eyes are rather remarkable, after all. Anyone would be able to tell who he was at a glance. 
“Me?” He gives a choked laugh. It sounds nice. You’ve haven’t heard it before, not during the show. He was more polished then. The ways in which he rebels against being an idol show up unexpectedly.  “Nah. That’s all Getou. He’s the one with a hidden face. You wouldn’t believe what he’s like when the cameras are off.” 
“Somehow I don’t believe you,” you joke. 
“I’m serious,” he whines. “I’m pretty sheltered. Grew up rich, you know?” 
Who doesn’t know? The Gojo name is pretty famous. One of the biggest conglomerates in the entire world, it broke major news outlets when the heir chose to be an idol instead of the next president. 
He’s always been in the public eye, but kept separate like art at a museum. You have a nasty tendency of wanting to ruin things that you’ve been purposefully warned away from. It’s sort of a thing of yours, a bad habit you haven’t put too much effort into breaking. The more impermissible something is, the more likely you are to try, like a cat knocking a glass of water off a table. 
Corruptible isn’t the exact right word, but it’s what comes to mind. You want to mess him up a little. Put your grubby rockstar hands on him and leave smears behind so his fangirls see his tainted reputation. You don’t, of course. It’s just a passing thought that you wouldn’t risk actually jeopardizing his career for. 
It would just be nice to see him live a little more freely. 
The temptation clears with the last of your noodles disappearing into your mouth. There are things that are off limits for both of you. Those are just the sacrifices you’ve made for your dreams. That’s all there is to it. 
It’s so good you sigh at the loss of it, mourning your empty bowl. Gojo’s almost done himself. The minute he finished his noodles, he lets out a breath to mirror yours, then laughs once he catches himself. 
“Come on,” you say. “Let’s get you home.”
You think that’s the end of it. There’s no reason to go any further. You met an idol and he obliterated your previously held prejudices. You’ll never meet again. 
That’s not quite how it works out. 
When your manager offers you another chance to see Gojo, it’s nonchalant. “Remember that idol you were partnered with on that variety show? I know you don’t like those types, but you seemed to tolerate him well enough. There’s another-“
A yes flies out of your mouth so quickly it’s embarrassing. 
Your manager pauses. His eyes narrow. “Didn’t expect you to be so eager, but okay.” 
Your face burns with embarrassment. This isn’t like you at all. Even with your exes, you had been cool and level headed. Always the prize, never the one to give chase. 
He’s interesting, you try to rationalize it to yourself. You like interesting. Life was mind numbing without a kick, and he was the latest thrill. It didn’t mean anything more. 
It’s another variety show. Apparently the two of you had been so popular as a pair that they wanted more. 
Gojo’s in the makeup chair when you arrive. The artist is scolding him for blinking while she applies his mascara. He’s whining about his dry eyes. 
“Don’t be a baby,” you say, dropping into the chair next to him. 
“But that’s what I’m best at!”
“You’re so weird,” you laugh. 
The makeup artist groans. “Please don’t encourage him.” 
Only Gojo would take that as encouragement. He rolls his eyes and receives a light swat across the shoulder for his troubles. You play around on your phone while you wait for her to be free, but soon grow bored. Instead, you watch her swipe powder across Gojo’s face and dab cream onto the apples of his cheeks. 
“Stop staring,” he says. 
“How do you know I’m staring? Your eyes are closed.”
“I can feel it.”
“Well, you’re wrong.” 
“You’re such a bad liar,” he says, and you know he’s just messing around at this point because you’re an incredible liar. It’s your best quality. 
Falling into banter with Gojo is as easy as breathing. It’s no trouble at all to replicate it on the show. From the shadow, your manager gives you a double thumbs up. Dork. 
Sometimes it’s hard to remember that you’re doing this to drum up popularity for your tour. You’re not the only one having trouble. Gojo pulls you aside after filming wraps up to give you his personal number on the phone he’s not supposed to have. 
At night, you get an alert that you’ve received something from Gojo. It’s not a message. It’s a notification that you can save three tickets to your digital wallet. 
A speech bubble pops up. 
Come to my concert, he says. I got you VIP seats. 
Gojo’s impressed you, but you still don’t know about the rest of his band. You’re not sure you want to watch pretty men lip sync and grind on the stage for two hours, but when you tell Shoko, she offers to bring Utahime. That’s conveniently three, so you might as well. 
VIP seats don’t include backstage, so you’re surprised when security comes to retrieve you. There’s no backstage pass for this concert, actually, confusing you all the more. 
Shoko flaps her hand dismissively at you, encouraging you on. By her side, Utahime is trying to feed her snacks. Satisfied that they’re comfortable, you follow the guard to Gojo’s dressing room. He leaves you there without a word. 
After five minutes of waiting for something to happen, you knock. Instantly, Gojo’s voice invites you in. 
He’s sitting in front of the dresser, fiddling with his earrings. You’ve noticed seven piercings in total - three on his right lobe, two on his left, and one conch on either side. Before you knew him, you would’ve been surprised an idol would be allowed to get so many. Now you know he bends the rules whenever he’s able. 
“Pass me that?” You hand him the disinfectant. “Thanks. I didn’t think you were coming.” 
“Then why’d you send me tickets?”
“Thought my roguish good looks and natural charm would win you over,” he says with a smile that says he’s only half joking. 
“You’re insufferable,” you say as you bat his hands away from his ear. “Let me do that.” 
His hair is soft as cygnet down as you brush it behind his ear. There’s something innocent about his expression like this, watching him from above. His eyes are closed, breaths soft and even as he waits for you. 
The silver pools in your hand as you thread it through his ear, a waterfall released when it hooks on. He wears a lot of silver, you’ve noticed. His stylists favor colors that should wash him out but only make him look more angelic. Pale blue silk trims his form, encrusted with embellishments to make him look prince-like. There are sparkles in the inner corner of his eye, soft blush on his cheekbones to make him look sweet. 
He’s anything but when his eyelids flutter open and he notices you watching. A smile almost cruel tugs at his lips. His hand reaches for you as if- 
There’s a knock on his door for the last curtain call. 
“That’s me.” He stands up, brushing his lap off without a trace of anything other than professionalism. He’ll leave you wondering what he was going to do. It’s terrible how good he is at this, though you suppose it’s his job to leave people wanting more. “Keep an eye out for me on stage, will you?”
It’s hard not to. Your eyes are polarized to him. Even when something else catches your attention, like fireworks or confetti, he pulls it back. Greedy, that one. 
You’re not the only one. The crowd lives for him. There’s something electric about him on stage. He naturally draws attention with that height and attitude and face, but what happens when he’s performing is inexplicable. You’d call it a religious experience if you believed in a god. 
Fate has never factored into your life, but now you’re starting to consider worship. Gojo performs like he was born to be an idol. 
Keep an eye out for me, he says, as if you’d have any trouble. You’ll dream about him tonight. The way his mouth fits so sensuously over the words of a love song snags your thoughts like a fishhook. Sick desires run through your blood, each more depraved than the last. 
You want to watch him shed his beautiful silk skin for you, become nothing more than man again. You must retract your prior confession. There’s no longing for the altar in you, only a love of sacrilege. 
Gojo asks for coffee easily, as if you’re two normal people and not celebrities with a lot to lose if you were caught together. You can’t let him outdo you, so you agree. These are the reasons why your manager curses your recklessness. Shoko calls it bravery, when she’s feeling sweet on you. 
The second message comes a second later. 
Gojo Satoru 11:25 I only said it to see if you’d agree Here’s my address lol can’t believe you said yes  Attachment 
You think he gives his address out too freely for a man worth 30 million. The feeling only intensifies as you get out of your car and thank your driver. His gates are pearly instead of the standard matte black, a stark declaration of wealth. He’s practically asking for an incident to happen. 
Security buzzes you in. Someone in a white dress - an honest to god maid - leads you to a mini kitchen where Gojo’s waiting. His hair is wet and dripping down his back where his powder blue shirt is darkened to a navy. You thought you had gotten used to overblown displays of money after your first three years in the music industry. Clearly, you were mistaken. 
He looks up as you enter, reading a trashy tabloid as he stirs whipped cream into a tall glass of something that looks more like a sugary heart attack than coffee. 
You’ve never seen his bare face, you realize. Even that moment when you had walked in on him and the makeup artist, he had been nearly done. He looks practically the same without makeup. People with genetic good looks like him only need to enhance their appearance the tiniest amount. 
What really strikes you is how earnest he looks, soft and open-hearted, though that might be because you’ve caught him in his home. This is what you wanted - him without his skin on, naked and without pretense. He’s wearing cotton pajamas and white slippers. 
“I thought you’d come later,” he says. “Sorry I got started without you. I was feeling something sweet.” 
“I’m early, though?”
“I’m always late,” he says with a one shouldered shrug. “Thought you might be too. Guess you’re not my perfect girl after all, huh?” 
You shove his arm off the armrest of his chair to perch on it, ignoring the perfectly good chair across from him. This is better, anyway, easier to talk to him. “Don’t be absurd. I’m everyone’s dream girl.” 
Gojo chuckles. “I like confident women.” 
There’s been a question on your mind for a while. You knew his group was popular, but all this? Maybe you should’ve become an idol after all. 
“Where’s the rest of your band? I thought idols shared rooms.” 
“Some do,” he says. “Not so much when you make it big. But this is my family home, so none of that applies.” 
Gojo Satoru of the Gojo conglomerate. How had you forgotten? It shouldn’t be so easy to ignore something like that. 
Gojo shifts the conversation easily, but you notice. So he doesn’t like the connection, then. “How was the concert?”
“Don’t fish for compliments,” you say, stealing a sip of his drink before it reaches his mouth. It’s too sweet for anyone’s standards. You spit it back into the cup. He takes it from you, eyes it consideringly, and takes a sip anyways. 
Your mouth drops. “You’re so gross.” 
“Only for you, baby,” he moans, humor like a teenage boy. “Call me names again.”
You roll your eyes at him. 
“It’s fine, it’s just saliva. Now tell me the truth. You couldn’t take your eyes off me, could you?” 
They’d probably sooner pop out of your head and roll away than leave the sight of him, but you can’t tell him that after all you’ve said about idols. Instead, you push off your seat to go rummage through his cabinets. He has a fully stocked coffee cart in this room and the very latest espresso machine, all to choose his diabetic monstrosity instead. 
“You don’t need to respond,” he says cheerfully. “Your silence tells me everything I need to know.” 
“Do you think you know me that well?” You shoot back. His fridge is so big you think you could fit into it. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’ve registered that he’s moved from his seat as well, and now stands just behind you. 
“Of course I know you,” he says. “I understood you the moment we met.” 
“You’re very confident,” you note. 
You have a weakness for confident men. 
“So you liked my concert. Can I come to yours?” 
You imagine Gojo in a mosh pit for a second. It sends you into a laughing fit while he stands there, bemused. You can’t shake the incongruous picture of him, with his face like a carefully crafted porcelain doll, getting rowdy and wild with your fans. Ridiculous. Never in a million years.
“We don’t have VIP seats,” you warn him. 
“So?” 
“So it can get dangerous.” 
“Aw, you do care about me.” 
“I care about the fat lawsuit your company’s going to send me when their moneymaker breaks his leg at my concert. It’s not happening.” 
“You scared?” 
“No, but maybe you should be.”
“Come on,” he says. When had he gotten so close? It’s distracting. “I know you’ll take care of me.” 
Gojo had invited you to his concert. It’s only right to return the favor. An idea starts forming in your head, though you’re not sure it’s a good one. You tell him anyway.
Usually when soundcheck is over, you have a little bit of downtime to relax backstage. You’re expecting someone tonight, however. 
A rough knock on the door announces Satoru Gojo, spoken in your security guard’s rough voice. Well, he really introduces him as pretty boy idol, but you can guess who it is. 
He looks discomfited, a rare occurrence, as he closes the door behind him. 
“What’s with you?” 
“You’ve got groupies,” he says, looking rattled. 
You fight a smile. 
“Don’t laugh,” he pouts. “They’re insane. One of them tried to chase me here.” 
You can’t help yourself. A giggle bursts out of you. When he tries to leave, you pin his hand to the handle and coo reassurances at him so he won’t. 
When you head out the door, he surprises you by grabbing your hand. It’s as nonchalant as anything he does, so you rise to the challenge he sets by refusing to react to it. You only separate once you reach the stairs; him to the spot you’ve made for him behind the barricade, you to the stage. 
This is one of your favorite venues, moody and atmospheric. The lights are dimmed to your preferred setting, but your eyes adjust quickly. Your crowd is restless tonight, shifting on their feet as whispers follow raucous laughter through the crowd. Noise on noise, the way you like it. 
The wood of the floor is a little sticky beneath your boots as you walk. That’s history gumming the soles of your shoes, generations of artists before you. You’re starting to feel it now, the electric thrum of pure joy in your blood. 
Shoko is strumming light tunes on her guitar to warm up, her eyes closed. You hope she doesn’t take it too hard that Utahime couldn’t make it tonight, though you know if she’s upset, she’ll channel into her music. 
The crowd settles as the hour draws closer. Shoko’s fingers are liquid now, running through chords effortlessly. You wrap the cord of the microphone around your hands, letting the tension build mindlessly. A stage is like home to you. The crowd plays in the palm of your hand, energy ebbing and flowing as you will it. 
It starts with a guitar solo from Shoko. By then, the crowd is already burning with excitement. The first burst of sound from the speakers has them roaring, cheering even though there’s no lyrics to it. The smallest smile touches her lips as she plays to the crowd, showing off exactly why she’s lead guitar for the greatest band in the world right now. 
You step in on her heels, your voice rising over the music. Back before you knew how this felt, you almost quit singing, annoyed by the sound you were forced into. This is more your tempo. The almost guttural curl to the ends of your words, the rasp of your hoarse voice - this is beautiful to you. 
The crowd is yours. Anything that goes on is within your jurisdiction, higher than any judge or god. You notice everything in your realm. 
People are starting to move now, their bodies falling victim to the music. Their mouthes form the vowels and consonants of the lyrics as their bodies shudder and jerk, chained to the rhythm. Bodies ricochet off each other, love taps of respect for your aggressive voice, soaring above it all. 
In the corner, there’s a violent eye of a storm. You think it’s a particularly enthusiastic dancer - perhaps a circle is about to form - before you realize what’s actually going on. 
A fight is breaking out. You catch a glimpse of snow white hair, realize it’s near the barricade, and your stomach drops. 
It’s Gojo and another man, ignoring the security guard trying to separate them. You try to stay professional and play through it, but then you see red. 
Gojo’s hand flies to his face, his nose dripping with crimson. He doesn’t look any more injured than that, but you’re angry enough to step in now. Shoko stops as soon as you hold your hand out, the music veering into a screeching crash. 
“You, in the black tee!” You realize you should’ve been more specific when what looks like the entire crowd looks down at their equally black shirts. “No, the one that just punched Gojo Satoru. Yeah, you, asshole! No fighting at my gigs! Especially not my guests!” 
He had the audacity to yell back. “I was just showing him a warm welcome!” 
You climb off the stage. Gojo didn’t show any fear while he got hit, but there’s concern in his eyes now as you drop to the ground by him. 
“Wait,” he says, “wait, wait. I don’t think you should-“ 
“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, pushing him behind you until his back hits the stage. “Let me handle this.” 
You get in the man’s face. His eyes are bloodshot - drunk, probably. “Who do you think you are, starting shit at my shows?”
“You’ve sold out,” he slurs. Definitely drunk. “He doesn’t belong here.” 
“You don’t get to tell me who can or can’t come to my goddamn show,” you snarl, vicious and low. “Get out.” 
“You can’t-“
“Get out before I make them drag you out.” 
When he doesn’t move, you motion security over. “Does anyone else have any complaints?” 
The crowd is eerily silent for something that was moving like a beast with one mouth before, singing in unison. You clamber back on stage, turning around to grab Gojo’s hand. 
“What?” He says. 
“Up. Now.” Your tone brooks no argument. You haul him up with you. He stands awkwardly as you drag him towards your mic stand, your arm slung around his shoulder. There’s still blood on his face. 
“Gojo Satoru is a very dear friend of mine,” you announce into the mic. You see the confused looks in the crowd. Even Shoko seems wary. This wasn’t on the schedule. “If you're a real rock fan, you'd know that music is more than genre. I get it! I didn’t think idols were anything more than corporate shills either-“ 
“Harsh,” he whispers under his breath, unable to control himself even now. 
“But he proved me wrong. He’s a real performer, just like I am, and I expect the same respect for him that you give to me.”
This is your crowd. They listen. Someone whistles. 
You sit Gojo down, right by your feet. He gives you a bemused smile as the concert starts again, you moving around him like one of your props. He spends most of the concert lounging back, watching you through half lidded eyes. 
It might’ve been enough excitement for one night, but you’ve always been the type to push your boundaries. When the idea springs into your head, you act on impulse, not giving yourself too much time to think about it as you pull Gojo to his feet. 
You’re really manhandling him tonight, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s only a little startled as you pull the mic away from your face to get into his space. 
You misjudged the distance. Your forehead knocks into his, just enough to sting, but not really hurt. “Do you want to try something?” Your voice is a whisper to not get picked up by the mic. 
“Give it to me,” he says, and his smile is a bloody thing. 
When you angle the mic towards him, you’re careful about not hitting him this time. 
His voice works surprisingly well for rock. You weren’t sure he could pull off such a sound change, but he surprises you every time, matching you best for beat. 
When he pulls back, your hand snakes into his hair and yanks him towards you and the mic again. He sings wholly at your command, being jerked around by your desires. It’s an inferno on stage, sweat pouring down both your faces. Behind you, the crowd is screaming so loudly it nearly deafens you. 
Not a bad encore, you think as you towel off in your dressing room. Shoko left for a cool down with a bottle of ice water right before you, her post concert ritual, but the look she shot you says that you need to talk. You’ll deal with the consequences later. 
For now, it’s enough to have Gojo shaking with leftover adrenaline against you as you sit him down in your chair. You press a bottle of ice against his face, watching him shiver. He’s still pretty with all the blood. Prettier, somehow, like some teenage wet dream of a vampire from a young adult novel. 
You want to lick the sweat out of the hollow of his collar bones. Instead, you talk to him to rid yourself of your insane thoughts. It’s always a little crazy in your head after a good stage. 
“Well?” You demand. “How was it?” 
He tilts his head, considering. It makes you nervous. Now that you know how good of a performer he is, it almost feels like a test to receive his judgment. 
“I think I’m in love with you,” he says, slowly. 
“That good, huh?” You smile, trying to ignore the aching pressure behind your ribcage. You shouldn’t care so much what he thinks. Why does it matter? 
“Yeah,” he says. “When are you free? I gotta plan our date.”
“Huh?” 
“That was so sexy,” he says. “I was thinking about taking it slow, but I’m not going to last if I wait. I want to date you. I want to marry you.” 
He’s starting to worry you. “Did you have a heat stroke or something? That’s really fast. Really, really fast, Gojo.” 
“I’ve never been more clearheaded in my life,” he says. You only believe him when the medic clears him of any injuries, even the nose. 
“We can talk about marriage later,” you say. “Why don’t you tell me about the date for now?”
Two weeks later, you’re Gojo’s plus one to his first movie premiere. It’s his debut as an actor, and it couldn’t be a better one. He escaped most of the negative pushback that usually comes with transitioning between those two industries, being naturally good at everything. Still, he had worked hard, and you’re proud of him. 
It feels like you’re the only one, because the man himself doesn’t even care about his accomplishment. He’s too busy being delighted about hiding in plain sight. The cameras flash at you as you walk across the red carpet, arm in arm with Gojo. Your stylist had coordinated with his. It could almost pass for a couple’s outfits.  
“You know,” he says conspiratorially. “When you defended me at the concert, I got hard.” 
“I didn’t need to know that.” 
“It was really hot.” 
“You know there are people who can read lips, right?”
“I wish they would figure out what I’m saying.”
“Alright,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Let’s get inside.” 
Dating Gojo is nothing like what you’d expected and everything like you’d expected. He keeps surprising you, doing wild things to get your attention that you never thought an idol would be willing to get their hands dirty with. He might be even more of a daredevil than you are, constantly pushing the boundaries of what you both can get away with before you’re found out. 
In a way, it’s almost like you’re asking for it. You’re both straining at the bit to claim each other. It doesn’t come as a surprise when it does happen, then. 
“Huh,” Gojo says over ramen. “We got papped.” 
Utahime, understandably, freaks. “What? That’s not funny.”
“Oh yeah?” You say. “Are the pictures good at least?”
“You know we always look good. Could’ve gotten a better angle, but whatever.” 
Utahime’s working herself into a minor tizzy in the corner. “Guys, I need you to be more serious about this. This is bad! This is so bad!”
Shoko looks up from her phone and chips on the couch, lying flat on her stomach. “Hate to agree, but she’s right. What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing,” you shrug. “What’s the point? There’s nothing we can do about it. They have the evidence.” 
It had been a good run. Two blissful months of peace and quiet. Sneaking around had been fun, giving you that thrill you loved every time someone failed to recognize you and Gojo behind your stupid sunglasses. Still, it was bound to fail at some point. You’re honestly surprised it lasted for as long as it had. You can’t be mad. Two months is more than you could’ve asked for. 
“Well,” Gojo says. “Wee-llll.” 
“Spit it out,” Utahime gripes at him. 
You take another bite of ramen, content to let them argue without you. 
“There is something we could do,” Gojo hedges. 
“You’re so annoying,” Shoko says. 
“No one thinks you’re funny,” Utahime chimes in. 
“Hey! She thinks I’m funny!” Gojo frowns. “Tell them you think I’m funny.” 
“Sorry, babe. I never lie to my girls.” 
“Whatever,” Gojo sighs. “Guess you don’t want to hear my genius idea then.” 
“Don’t be a brat,” you tease, knuckling his head. He loves it when you roughhouse with him. 
“What if…” The hesitation is real this time. You can tell the difference between when he’s faking it or not. He’s a good showman, but you know him. You place an encouraging hand on his knee. 
“What if we went public first?” He says it all in one breath. 
You take a moment, turning the idea over in your head. It would wrest back control of the narrative to your team. Even if you might get backlash, it wouldn’t be at someone else’s hands, beholden to their mercy. You like it. 
“Sure,” you say. 
Gojo gapes at you. ‘That easy?’ His thoughts are written all over his face. 
“Why not?” You offer him one of your easy smiles. “I’ve always wanted to say you were mine, anyway.”
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719 notes · View notes
astarion-approves · 8 months
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Astarion x Reader
Some fluff, very slight angst, and an adorable kitten.
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The sun is shining brightly, leaving a warm embrace of its touch upon your skin. You take a moment to stand in the light and enjoy it. After all, it’s not every day Astarion asks you to join him in a private walk.
At least not during the day, that is.
“I do cherish these moments, you know.”
Astarion joins your side, the vampire you’ve come to love pausing to lift his head and in the direction of the sun. You feel your heart beat faster as you gaze at this mysterious vampire.
A man enjoying his freedom, grateful of feeling the sun again.
“It’s not very often that we find ourselves alone… and with this much clothing on-“
Astarion chuckles, his laughter bringing that lovely feeling in your chest, a feeling that you’ve been eager to share. But then his smile falters, and you watch as he worries at his bottom lip. His fangs catching at the edge, the sharpness reminding you of everything he’s capable of.
“Look, there’s… something we need to talk about.”
Astarion tilts his head, motioning you to follow him. It’s unlike the vampire to move so slowly, his feet dragging in front of you as he leads you to a large rock to sit together.
He stares straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with you. You notice how his hands hang in front of him, his thumbs twiliting around themselves.
Very unusual.
Is Astarion going to leave the camp and never return now that he has his freedom?
…Has he decided to move on from you?
Astarion notices your uncertainty, his composure breaking for just a moment. The look in his eyes… was fear.
“It’s about us. The party, our group.”
You rip your gaze from his, forcing yourself to look out and into the area around you. Focusing on the birds as they sing their love stories, the waterfall near by as it crashes into the water below, a fat little bumble bee as it buzzes by—
And then a single soft meow.
Your head snaps back to where Astarion sits, the vampire stares back at you, his smile wide and eyes glimmering with joy.
In his hands he holds a kitten, its fur a black darker than the night sky, and bright red eyes that glare like daggers into your heart. Two large fangs poke out from under it’s upper lip, teeth that remind you of… Astarion.
And now that you thought about it. Your first meeting with Astarion was in a nearly identical fashion. Only that his dagger was a sharp blade ready to slice across your throat.
“I’ve named her Tiger, isn’t that just adorable?”
‘Tigers are orange.’
Astarion clicks his tongue at you and instead brings his focus to the kitten, who looks up to the vampire with a loving gaze; nothing like the evil glare you received.
“Of course, I know that! She’s still cute nevertheless.”
Tiger purrs as Astarion slides his hand down her back. All the while the cat is still glaring in your direction.
The level of confidence the creature holds only makes your heart melt. You slowly raise your hand towards the animal, watching her for any signs of a battle about to begin.
Although your chances were low, you managed to successfully pet the top of Tiger’s head.
It was love at first pet.
“I assume by that charming little smile of yours that her joining the group won’t be a problem then?”
Your hand halts, Tiger huffing when you stopped petting the top of her head.
‘Wait. Was this what you wanted to talk about?’
Astarion snorts.
“Of course, darling. I mean, whatever else would we have to discuss?”
‘I thought you might want to leave the group.’
Astarion gasps dramatically, earning a roll of the eyes from the kitten in his lap.
“Me? Oh, I would never.”
'But you wanted to talk about the group–"
"Ah. Well. Yes."
Astarion gestures to the kitten in his lap. A kitten who now naps peacefully with no care in the world.
"I figured I would need some sort of permission before brining a cat back to camp. I thought that sleeping with our makeshift leader would certainly have its benefits in convincing you that Tiger needs to join our party."
A weight has been lifted off your shoulders. For now, it seems that Astarion wishes to stay with you and the others.
He simply wanted to bring another member to the party. A member who just happens to be an adorable kitten who makes your lover smile.
'Tiger can join the group. Anything that will make you smile like that is always welcome.'
"R-Really?"
He seemed surprised, but you don't miss the happiness that flows from him.
"Always putting my needs before your own… No one has ever done that for me…"
You smile and lean back, sighing softly to yourself as you look up to the sky once more. Perhaps Astarion was truly unaware of your feelings for him. He has you tied around his finger… and you wouldn't have it any other way.
729 notes · View notes
apocalypse-shuffle · 11 months
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RED HOOD | BATFAMILY (assorted canon)
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“Long Overdue” (Jason Todd & Batmom!Reader) and (background Bruce Wayne x Batmom!Reader)
| Reader was with Bruce in the past but grew distant after Jason’s death. No one tells her when he comes back from the dead until Bruce is forced to bring her in on a raid when they’re overwhelmed. -Jason and Batmom!Reader reunion.
| SFW, canon typical action/violence, cursing?, crying?
| This is like half fanon half UTRH/Batman:Hush. I’m really just fucking around with canon rn. Also the pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic source - Batman: Three Jokers comic)
| 2k+ words
| parts: one, spurt, two, three, four, five, six/six point five, seven.
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Ma. God, no one called you that anymore. The way your eyes begin to prickle is a clear indication.
With you Dick wasn’t the type. Once he’d worked himself up to it he’d called you mom; slightly different from the few ways he referred to his bio mother, but something shared between the two of you all the same.
And Tim? Well he wasn’t your child plain and simple. Tim still had his parents for one, and for two he was intrinsically Bruce’s. By the time he’d figured his way into the Batcave you’d been gone, most of your shit moved out of the manor, and desperately waving divorce papers Bruce refused to acknowledge in the air. You didn’t have anything to do with his indoctrination outside of exactly one instance of him finding you to ask if you’d reconsider the separation. Some Batman needed a Robin and Bruce Wayne needed his wife type shit.
Either way Tim didn’t call you any rendition of mom because you weren’t his. The most you got was him addressing you by your maiden name and then eventually your first and you were content with that.
Then if he didn’t call you mom, the girls sure as hell didn’t either. Outside of Barbara the others never even became regular conversation partners. Cass was a rare sighting in your life and Stephanie and you’s relationship would never progress past the casual advocacy you tried giving her because she was another dead Robin to add to what’s now technically a list.
At the end of the day, out of all the people who considered you a mother, only Jason added that ‘a’ and you wanted to grip that name tight and hold it to you. Break your ribs open and force it into your chest cavity. The need to fulfill that ache cuts deep and you take a step forward.
Jason startles though, undoing all his own forward progress, and you falter. That’s right. Jason didn’t like for people to touch him. Definitely didn’t like hugs either. Not surprise ones at least. Before his death you’d gotten close enough he didn’t mind when you swooped in, but now?
“Can I-? Can I hug you?” You press trembling lips together for another horrible swallow. “Please…?”
Jason jerks, two hastily aborted movements at once, before his obstructed voice meets your ears.
“Fine.”
You practically fall on him before pulling him into you. Unfortunately he’s just as stiff as his voice and you have to take a second to figure out how to slot against him.
Jason fits in your arms differently than he used to - broader and taller by a mile - but after a few beats he relaxes into them just the same. The subtle addition of weight makes a sob bubble up your throat.
You rap your knuckles on the side of the helmet.
“Take this shit off.”
He hesitates and a sharp pang manages to worm its way into the already shitty cocktail of emotions you’re feeling. It hits your spine like lightning, forces you up and has you an arms length away in half an inhale.
Maybe before now you’d been going through too much all at once for the trepidation to hit, but it was hitting now. You’d never seen Hood without- well without the Hood. Only Jumbie raised from the dead the way Jason did, and while you’d take your son anyway you could get him you wouldn’t accept some Thing parading around in his skin.
Reading your burst of movement for what it is, Jason backtracks, rising arms dropping to his sides. “Maybe I shouldn’t…”
“Jason Peter-” you inhale deeply, catching yourself, and hold a hand up to stop him. You both ignore the obvious way it trembles. “-only… if…if you want to. I’m not trying to force anything.”
He’s slow to nod, weight shifting from his left to his right leg and back again before he says something too low for you to hear. You’re about to ask him to repeat when he speaks up, this time aiming his voice somewhere around your shoulder while bowing his head.
“No, I- Alright. Just hold on.”
Haunches suitably raised and heart in your throat you pay close attention as the helmet comes up, Jason having released some catch in the back.
It goes over, the helmet clatters to the ground, and the man who stares back at you is…hard to place.
The low fluorescent lighting of the narrow room combined with the concrete walls casts soft enough shadows over his face that while his features are warped they’re not discernible. Which means you can’t completely rule out the uncanniness wafting off of him as just your brain (along with your entire perception of the universe) splinting in half.
It makes your face heat up. He looks familiar, but you can’t say you wouldn’t have passed him straight if you’d seen him on the street. He’s too big for one, even for how you’d all imagined he’d look grown up, standing more than a foot taller than the last day you saw him. Taller than malnourishment would’ve ever let him be.
The sob you let out makes you both flinch.
One hand snaps to your mouth, the other waving him off.
“I’m sorry I- I don’t-. This is just-”
Even with the way he’s leaning away from you he shakes his head. “I get it, it's fine.”
His voice is faint, cut up and hoarse like he hasn’t used it in a while, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve heard in ages.
“Oh,” you laugh. The wet kind that makes your throat sticky. You can only stare at him, blurry form and all, words lost to you.
Eventually, after watching your fervent effort to wipe away tears that are in no way inclined to give you a break, arms crossed Jason takes a half step forward with a shrug.
“We can…try again?”
The next little laugh you let out you practically choke on but you nod all the same.
When Jason’s the first to move your heart starts speeding away like an overexcited middle school drumline. You roll with it though, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes so they’re dry enough for you to actually see him clearly for a few seconds.
When he’s directly in front of you your hands come up slowly, giving him plenty of opportunity to move away. Or maybe to vanish.
When he does neither, only giving you a guarded look, you allow yourself to touch.
Problem is, the domino mask he’s wearing very quickly gets in your way and on your nerves when you move to frame his face. Quickly feels like if it’s not gone, if you can’t see his eyes, you’ll throw up.
To stop yourself from taking the risk and ripping it off you have to take a deep breath. Have to force down the thick build up of saliva gathering in your mouth so it pushes back the bile climbing up your throat.
“I’d like to see my son, Jason. All of you.”
To emphasize your point you tap the tip of your nail against the mask. There’s no intention on your part to cross his boundary but Jason’s hands snap up to hold onto your wrists all the same.
You look into the white lenses of his domino, fingers buzzing along the corner of the mask closest to them. His mouth twists into a frown.
“Please?”
You beg with the same ferocity a grieving mother once used when begging for her child back.
“You’re asking for a lot.”
He lets go and he takes a couple steps back and you don’t cry.
No, instead you swing your hands behind you. Clasping them together in a poor attempt to stop the buzzing sensation that travels from the tips of your fingers to take over your entire hand.
“Mmm,” you incline your head. “Well. I did help a boy get over first date jitters with a made up song once. Let that same boy talk me through an entire dissertations’ worth of his analysis of Their Eyes Were Watching God - as choppy as it was - because TWMS wouldn’t allow him to present it in class. Let him skip going to that same school and cry to me for hours after the death of Gloria Stanson. Remember a knife hidden in the corner on the highest shelf in his closet, and I remember not revealing any of that when I gave his eulogy because he once asked me to keep the important things between the two of us. So you don’t have to show me, but I think I make a pretty good qualifier when it comes to keeping this safe.”
You point straight to where his heart is tucked safely behind layers of gray armor before shrugging.
From the way his brows furrow over the domino you know he’s at least thinking about it so you step away to pick up your disregarded mask and stuff it in your waistband.
One blink. Six.
“You remember Rena?”
In front of him again, you rock back on your heels. “Mhm. And the ‘how to tie a tie’ lessons me and Bruce walked you through even though you didn’t wear a suit to that date. Remember that too.”
Jason’s smile is crooked on his face but it’s nonetheless present as he makes a noise of agreement.
“I’d just wanted to spend time with you two, I was never planning on wearing a suit to go to the skating rink.”
“We figured.”
You’re rolling onto the balls of your feet when that small smile drops and he shakes his head.
“I’m not that same boy anymore.”
You take in the way he could raise his hand and so easily touch the ceiling without having to jump. You clear the phlegm from your throat.
“I can tell.”
Jason grunts and makes a general gesture indicating something somewhere behind you.
“And I got no interest in trying to live up to whatever fucked up embalment Bruce’s got going on with my burnt suit in that case.”
That suit. Bruce’s memorial. His warning. Your breath hitches as you think of the smell of crisped blood and methanol. If Jason didn’t want to talk about it you sure as shit weren’t going to.
“I will one hundred percent take that into account.” You keep it simple, rocking on your heels again. He wasn’t asking for anything unreasonable so there wasn’t really any debate to be had. “You wanna be treated as you are? I can do that.”
Moments pass once you’ve said your peace where Jason does nothing but stare at you. The only indication he’s at all alive being his shoulders still moving - and you are watching. Eyeing that tell tale up and down like your own life will end at its falter. The pattern is slow enough to come off as pacivity but the time between each rise and fall is too measured to be uncontrolled. Exactly three point eleven seconds one way and three point eleven seconds the other. Every time.
Then he sighs, curses, and the little veil of dissolvent for the adhesive that adheres the mask to his face is in his hand. A different vial and color than when he was Robin; you don’t know why you thought it’d be the same. Or why it makes your heart clench that it’s not.
Between one thrum of the fluorescent lights and the next Jason is peeling away the domino, and you would be lying if you claimed to know where it disappeared to after that. Too caught up on what he’d been hiding to track it.
Blue. Nothing more and nothing less. Just blessedly familiar, vibrant blue. Not the dull gray they’d become by the time you were given the chance to put a gruesome sight of a child six feet under.
The “Oh wow,” tumbles from you without permission and then there’s zero hope for the waterworks you’d been holding back. The levee fails and you’re bawling before you know it. Barely holding back snot and who knows what else since you already feel like screaming.
At that point there’s no carefully thought out sentence for you to spew, no more hesitancy, no more measured breathing, and linear thought. Just the crushing need to have him close to you again.
You’re rushing forward before you know.
Wrapping your arms around Jason the next go around is both the best and the worst thing. You accommodate his new size faster, already writing over the ways he used to fit against you with the ways he does so now, but he’s still so stiff and he’s not reciprocating the hug either.
Maybe you should let go. You crossed the boundary too fast. Were too reckless. You literally have training on this and now you’re crowding him.
Okay, you’re pulling away. It’s a herculean effort but you’re forcing your arms from around his middle. You’ve got to, you don’t want to scare him off. Not when you just got him back.
There’s a soft “Not yet,” mumbled into your shoulder and then arms finally come around yours and you don’t hesitate to snap your own back into place.
He’s hugging you back.
You cry a little harder and bring one of your arms up to drape across his shoulders, pulling him closer. When you start rocking and Jason copies your momentum you press a kiss onto his temple.
“Hi,” you stutter out. Another sob. “Hi baby.”
Since he’s finally letting his arms wrap around you you don’t hesitate to run dark fingers through the truly unruly mass of black curls on his head. His hairs’ damp - most likely from sweat - but cool. Probably being tempered by the cold air blowing into the room.
It’s when you press a kiss to his forehead that you feel something else wet and your breath stutters.
“It’s okay. I got you, everything’s okay,” you whisper.
“God Ma-” his voice cracks and then you can hear the sobs he’s trying to muffle into your suit. “No it’s not.”
“I know,” you sob. “I’m sorry- so so fucking sorry.”
You sniffle and pull away to see him better. Jason’s face is flushed, his eyes wet, and cheeks streaked with tears shed. You hold your hands up to frame his face for a second time and run your thumbs through the tear tracks. His chest heaves as his body tries to regulate his breathing.
Jason clears his throat, gaze boring into yours. “Hi,” he says.
You smile, finally beginning to map out his face. First you move to frame his cheeks, too feel the warmth in them. To see if they still feel familiar. They don’t; you force yourself to accept that fact without letting it show in your expression, letting out a measured exhale before continuing. You find his jaw is more defined now too, cheeks devoid of the baby fat of five years prior.
From then on brushing your thumbs along his brows, over the bridge of his nose, traveling over his ears and skirting around his hairline - it all fills your mind with incoherent cheers.
Your thumbs hover over Jason’s eyes and you hum when he closes them for you.
The skin underneath your shaved off pads is soft. The thin layer of protection allows you to feel how his eyeballs shift, to see the way his veins show stark under light skin, to clock the life thrumming through him.
It makes your heart feel so goddamn light. You can’t stop smiling at the sight of him. Eyes still wet but clear.
“I feel like such a horrible mother,” you hiccup, hands slide down so you can once again cup his face. “I barely recognize you.”
Jason’s breathing shakes nearly in tandem with yours and his eyes squeeze tighter shut, head turning away.
“Don’t.” He takes a second to look up. Look right through you. Lashes wet and glassy eyes open, voice grating over his next words. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame any of you for that, but especially not you.”
What you want to do is argue. You should’ve never let him put on that suit in the first place, one fucked up son should’ve been the end of it. You should’ve dropped the case you were working the second you’d heard he’d run away and you should’ve found him. Instead you keep your thoughts personal, pinning them to your brain as if it’s a cushion so that you’ll never forget, and pull your son closer. An action which he allows, resting his head on your shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re back,” you whisper into his hair. The way he instantly shakes his head makes the cool strands tickle your jawline.
“You can’t mean that.”
“If I didn’t mean it I wouldn’t have said it, Jay.”
Jason tenses before responding, words spewing without warning.
“Yeah except I’ve killed people, and I don’t regret it, and Bruce hates that - and you probably do too - but his way isn’t good enough. The people in this city deserve better so I’m doing what’s necessary-”
And that has you bristling. He must notice too because he stops short and edges away, face steeping. Caught somewhere between wanting to leave and wanting to fully kick start an argument.
…TBC
NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! I had to split this bitch in two cause it was 5,000+ words and I’m not in the business of under-indulging myself.
Listen, I’ve looked into it. Every mother/mother figure Jason’s ever had he’s referred to as “Mom”, but me personally, I didn’t grow up addressing my own mother that way so I wanted to play around with “Ma” (differentiate a little). What's funny though, is that I’ve read Dick referring to his mother as both “Ma” and “Mom” so that’s fun.
• TWMS = Thomas Wayne Middle School
btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it. this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.
Tagged: @aarinisreading, @niphredil-14, @mxtokko, @calsjack, @brunnetteiwik
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angelsdean · 4 months
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I need people to understand how S&P (standards and practices) works in television and how much influence they have over what gets to stay IN an episode of a show and how the big time network execs are the ones holding the purse strings and making final decisions on a show's content, not the writers / showrunners / creatives involved.
So many creators have shared S&P notes over the years of the wild and nonsensical things networks wanted them to omit / change / forbid. Most famously on tumblr, I've seen it so many times, is the notes from Gravity Falls. But here's a post compiling a bunch of particularly bad ones from various networks too. Do you see the things they're asking to be changed / cut ?
Now imagine, anything you want to get into your show and actually air has to get through S&P and the network execs. A lot of creators have had to resort to underhanded methods. A lot of creators have had to relegate things to subtext and innuendo and scenes that are "open to interpretation" instead of explicit in meaning. Things have had to be coded and symbolized. And they're relying on their audience to be good readers, good at media literacy, to notice and get it. This stuff isn't the ramblings of conspiracy theorists, it's the true practices creatives have had to use to be able to tell diverse stories for ages. The Hays Code is pretty well known, it exists because of censorship. It was a way to symbolize certain things and get past censors.
Queercoding, in particular, has been used for ages in both visual media and literature do signal to queer audiences that yes, this character is one of us, but no, we can't be explicit about it because TPTB won't allow it. It's a wink-wink, nudge-nudge to those in the know. It's the deliberate use of certain queer imagery / clothing / mannerisms / phrases / references to other queer media / subtle glances and lingering touches. Things that offer plausible deniability and can be explained away or go unnoticed by straight audiences to get past those network censors. But that queer viewers WILL (hopefully) pick up on.
Because, unfortunately, still to this day, a lot of antiquated network execs don't think queer narratives are profitable. They don't think they'll appeal to general audiences, because that's what matters, whatever appeals to most of the audience demographic so they can keep watching and keep making the network more money. The networks don't care about telling good stories! Most of them are old white cishet business men, not creatives. They don't care about character arcs and what will make fans happy. They don't care about storytelling. What they care about is profit and they're basing their ideas of what's profitable on what they believe is the predominate target demographic, usually white cis heterosexual audiences.
So, imagine a show that started airing in the early 2000s. Imagine a show where the two main characters are based on two characters from a famous Beat Generation novel, where one of the characters is queer! based on a real like bisexual man! The creator is aware of this, most definitely. And sure, it's 2005, there's no way they were thinking of making that explicit about Dean in the text because it just wouldn't fly back then to have a main character be queer. But! it's made subtext. And there are nods to that queerness placed in the text. Things that are open to interpretation. Things that are drenched in metaphor (looking at you 1x06 Skin "I know I'm a freak" "maybe this thing was born human but was different...hated. Until he learned to become someone else.") Things that are blink-and-you-miss-it and left to plausible deniability (things like seemingly spending an hour in the men's bathroom, or always reacting a little vulnerable and awkward when you're clocked instead of laughing it off and making a homophobic joke abt it)
And then, years later there's a ship! It's popular and at first the writers aren't really seriously thinking about it but they'll throw the fans a bone here and there. Then, some writers do get on the destiel train and start actively writing scenes for them that are suggestive. And only a fraction of what they write actually makes it into the text. So many lines left on the cutting room floor: i love past you. i forgive you i love you. i lost cas and it damn near broke me. spread cas's ashes alone. of course i wanted you to stay. if cas were here. -- etc. Everything cut was not cut by the writers! Why would a writer write something to then sabotage their own story and cut it? No, these are things that didn't make it past the network. Somewhere a note was made maybe "too gay" or "don't feed the shippers" or simply "no destiel."
So, "no destiel." That's pretty clearly the message we got from the CW for years. "No destiel. Destiel will alienate our general audience. Two of our main characters being queer? And in a relationship? No way." So what can the pro-destiel creatives involved do, if the network is saying no? What can the writers do if most of their explicit destiel (or queer dean) lines / moments are getting cut? Relegate things to subtext. Make jokes that straight people can wave off but queer people can read into. Make costuming and set design choices that the hardcore fans who are already looking will notice while the general audience and the out-of-touch network execs won't blink and eye at (I'm looking at you Jerry and your lamps and disappearing second nightstands and your gay flamingo bar!)
And then, when the audience asks, "is destiel real? is this proof of destiel?" what can the creatives do but deny? Yes, it hurts, to be told "No no I don't know what you're talking about. There's no destiel in supernatural" a la "there is no war in Ba Sing Se" but! if the network said "no destiel!" and you and your creative team have been working to keep putting destiel in the subtext of the narrative in a way that will get past censors, you can't just go "Yes, actually, all that subtext and symbolism you're picking up, yea it's because destiel is actually in the narrative."
But, there's a BIG difference between actively putting queer themes and subtext into the narrative and then saying it's not there (but it is! and the audience sees it!) versus NOT putting any queer content into the text but SAYING it is there to entice queer fans to continue watching. The latter, is textbook queerbaiting. The former? Is not. The former is the tactics so many creatives have had to use for years, decades, centuries, to get past censorship and signal to those in the know that yea, characters like you are here, they exist in this story.
Were the spn writers perfect? No, absolutely not. And I don't think every instance of queer content was a secret signal. Some stuff, depending on the writer, might've been a period-typical gay joke. These writers are flawed. But it's no secret that there were pro-destiel writers in the writing room throughout the years, and that efforts were made to make it explicitly canon (the market research!)
So no, the writers weren't ever perfect or a homogeneous entity. But they definitely were fighting an uphill battle constantly for 15 yrs against S&P and network execs with antiquated ideas of what's profitable / appealing.
Spn even called out the networks before, on the show, using a silly example of complaints abt the lighting of the show and how dark the early seasons were. Brightening the later seasons wasn't a creative choice, but a network choice. And if the networks can complain abt and change something as trivial as the lighting of a show, they definitely are having a hand in influencing the content of the show, especially queer content.
Even in s15, (seasons fifteen!!!) Misha has said he worried Castiel's confession would not air. In 2020!!! And Jensen recorded that scene on his personal phone! Why? Sure, for the memories. But also, I do not doubt for a second that part of it was for insurance, should the scene mysteriously disappear completely. We've seen the finale script. We've seen the omitted omitted omitted scenes. We all saw how they hacked the confession scene to bits. The weird cuts and close-ups. That's not the writers doing. That's likely not even the editors (willingly). That's orders from on high. All of the fuckery we saw in s15 reeks of network interference. Writers are not trying to sabotage their own stories, believe me.
Anyways, TLDR: Networks have a lot more power than many think and they get final say in what makes it to air. And for years creative teams have had to find ways to get past network censorship if they want "banned" or "unapproved" "unprofitable" "unwanted" content to make it into the show. That means relying on techniques like symbolism, subtext, and queercoding, and then shutting up about it. Denying its there, saying it's all "open to interpretation" all while they continue to put that open to interpretation content into the show. And that's not queerbaiting, as frustrating as it might be for queer audiences to be told that what they're seeing isn't there, it's still not queerbaiting. Queerbaiting is a marketing technique to draw in queer fans by baiting them with the promise of queer content and then having no queer content in said media. But if you are picking up on queer themes / subtext / symbolism / coding that is in front of your face IN the text, that's not queerbaiting. It's there, covertly, for you, because someone higher up didn't want it to be there explicitly or at all.
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raingoesboomboom · 10 months
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HIGHSCHOOL CRUSHES W/ SUMERU BOYS
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sumeru boys x gn!reader
genre: fluff, angst? idk i might've accidentally made some parts angsty (only a little tho)
summary: how did the sumeru boys end up catching feelings for you!
au: modern au
cw: none
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
Cyno :
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Cyno doesn’t let that many people get close to him, and if you’re one of the few people he let into his life then you’d know how hard it is for him to trust  anyone. So congrats, you managed to crack the shell of the second most introverted man in Sumeru and prove yourself trustworthy
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ He doesn’t realize it himself early enough but he can’t help but let his guard down around you because he truly enjoys how comfortable the two of you are with each other. Fixing his hair for him while he’s playing video games, borrowing your shirts so often you’re pretty sure some of them are rotting somewhere in his closet, changing clothes in front of each other whenever one of you stays over at the other’s place (you’re not aware of it but Cyno always turns his face away before he catches a glimpse of your skin and go completely red in the face)
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚It’s just how close you two are close to each other it makes him forget that “close friends” aren’t usually this close which only fuels his confusion towards his feelings. It doesn’t help that people sometimes mistake you two for a couple which you deny so casually he’s starting to think you are far more emotionless than Alhaitham (consider this an achievement)
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ On one hand, he truly appreciates your friendship and how kind you are, how you listen carefully to his long rants about whatever new card got released or complain about a particularly bland  dish Candace made them that day. And how you always seem to have some new idea to share, a new game to play together in class, a new story to tell and he doesn’t want to lose all of that for some dumb butterflies invading his stomach. But on the other how can he stop his heart from beating violently beating whenever your fingers brush his hair trying to fix it for him?
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ But the reality of his feelings doesn’t hit him very quickly for some reason much to the dismay of his friends who are looking at him disappointed whenever you walk by and he lets out a dreamy sight without knowing it. Tighnari specifically made it his mission to loudly groan in annoyance whenever Cyno accidentally slips into his lovesick boy mode
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ And one day when he’s left home alone with his thoughts, when he finally processes what the fuck is going on with him, when his mind finally registers his feelings towards you he has to lay down on his stomach burying his face under piles of pillows and blankets because “What the hell am I supposed to do now???”
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Anyways, good luck trying to find Cyno now because he can disappear out of Teyvat’s face when he wants to
Tighnari:
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Unlike Cyno, Tighnari is more sociable, still an introvert, just with better social skills. He keeps his social circle relatively small to other but it consists of people he respects, trusts and admires (to varying degrees), and you just happened to be part of it
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ You don’t talk much so it’s mainly him going on rants and you listening intently, maybe even taking some notes because who knew a high school student was this knowledgeable about the local flora in Gandharva Ville!
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ But of course, he has those big fennec ears for a reason, he is quite the good listener and he can always an ear when you need it, whether you need some advice or just get some things off your chest, he’s always there for you!
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ He especially loves how human you make him feel, which might sound weird to some but due to his fennec blood he sometimes finds it hard to fit in with the rest. People always pointing out his looks, asking invasive questions and going as far as to touch his tail and ears without his permission and brushing it off as being curious and saying that he’s overreacting. It made him pretty dehumanized
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ So in summary: Respectful, interested in what he talks about, insightful, generally fun to be around and of course; adorable
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Yeah, he definitely was going to crush on you eventually
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Though, he was the most emotionally intelligent out of all of his friends so he has the ability to actually process his feelings and translate them to you
˚ʚ♡ɞ ˚But is he gonna do that? no. Absolutely not
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ “It’s just a small crush, not worth ruining our friendship over it if they don’t feel the same”
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ So for now he’s content with simply friends and nothing more. He just needs to stop his dumb heart from doing cartwheels every time you smile at him, and stop his stupid mind from zoning out in class and fantasizing about what your hands would feel like caressing his soft tail
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ He really underestimated the difficulty of this seemingly easy task
Kaveh:
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Kaveh wouldn’t be able to tell when did he first fall in love with you even if he tried too because there are simply so many moments that simply made him want to bury his face in a pillow and squeal like a love-struck schoolgirl
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Maybe it was when he first met you in class. When he lightly tapped your shoulder to ask you to move your head a little so he can see the whiteboard only to be faced with the prettiest person he’s ever seen (Alhaitham firmly believes that Kaveh is exaggerating)
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Or maybe it was when you guys got paired up together for a school project and he actually to properly interact an hang out with you instead of staring from afar. He thought you were very pleasant to be around and talk to, and every time you two tried to work seriously work on the project you’d get carried away and turn it from a study session to a friendly hangout (the two of you had to pull an all nighter to finish the neglected work in time but it was totally worth it to him <3)
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ And maybe it was when you two got closer and he found out just how loyal you are to your friends. When he was being bothered by a group of students that just loved to bother him, he was more than capable of arguing with them for as long as it takes for them to leave but the way you just stood up for him without a second thought, how you defended him even though you barely knew what was going on, even walking him back home to make sure they didn’t follow him he was simply moved
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Of course he knows what basic human kindness is! He knows he shouldn’t fall for anyone who shows him the tiniest bit of empathy and he already had his friends to be with him during tough times. But you were different
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ You weren’t as close to him as Tighnari, Cyno or Alhaitham were to him, You were more like friendly acquaintances than anything else, yet you were so ready to defend him from those people like you knew him your whole life even when it meant nothing but extra trouble for you (sometimes he’d spot the same group of kids bothering you when you’re sitting alone and he feels his stomach churn painfully)
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Yet you still helped him, you still hung out with him, still listened to his troubles and always offered your advice and sympathy, still trusted him with your secrets, still smiled at him with the same warm smile you always had. And that made his hear race
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Mainly because he was “down bad” as Cyno would phrase it, and how couldn’t he fall for such a wonderful person? But sometimes, his heart would race too because of the crippling fear of you leaving him one day. Of you one day deciding it wasn’t worth it staying friends with him
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ What if you no longer think he’s fun? What if you think he’s too sensitive or dramatic?. What if you’ve had enough of dealing with his bullies? What if you regret ever defending him? What if you’re staying only because you feel bad for him?
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ He already disappointed people he cared for. He already burdened his mother and caused her nothing but pain. Even if it feels like he’d burst into tears, he wouldn’t stop you if you tried to leave
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Please tell him he’s not a burden and that he’s doing great! He cares a lot about you and it breaks his heart to think he’s being a bother to his best friend
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ So, despite being the hopeless romantic he is, Kaveh tries his absolute best to keep his little crush to himself (he sucks at it btw). He still can’t believe you’re friends with him after everything and he doesn’t want to give you another reason to leave
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ So until he’s in a better place mentally and he starts collecting the shattered bits of his self esteem, his friends simply have to deal with his long rants about you and whatever new thing you did that made him combust in happiness internally
Alhaitham:
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ You two are so odd in trying to show interest it’s mind blowing how you guys actually caught feelings for each other. This can’t be real, probably some social experiment or something
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Alhaitham was never a person of sappy stuff like Kaveh was, or showing affection for people he cherished in general. But so were you so that somehow worked out
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ He appreciated how honest and straightforward you were, it saved him the pain of trying to pick social cues (not that he can’t, he argues). He admired how passionate you were about the things you loved despite how unusual they were or the concerning amount of little details you knew about it, he understood your strong emotions and thought they made you unique yet quite relatable
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ But he also loved how much of a great listener you were, you’d listen to him rambling for hours on end, humming every now and then, fiddling with whatever is closest to you. You’d look so focused and adorable he actually might slower his rants a little to fully admire your face as you try to make sense of whatever he’s saying
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ So, since you two share many things in common and he’s such a smartass, surely he’ll know how to deal with these emotions. Right?
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Wrong, very wrong
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Not only was he awful at picking up social cues and understanding relationships, he also had a hard time understanding his own emotions. Combined with your own shitty social skills and Kaveh’s very annoyed huffs without any explanation whenever Alhaitham mentions you accompanied by Cyno an Tighnari’s pitying looks, it was a challenge to wrap his head around the fact he did indeed have a big fat crush on you
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ “There’s a clear difference between romantic attraction and just pure admiration, Kaveh. Maybe if you understood that you wouldn’t be falling head over heels for anyone who shows you basic human decency”
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ He really thinks it’s not worth confessing his feelings to you, the cons simply outweighs any butterflies you give him when you look his way (he tries to convince himself at least)
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Like mentioned before, you weren’t the best at socializing and you already showed no hints at you having any mutual feelings for him, plus he wasn’t the most emotionally intelligent out of his friend group so he wouldn’t make the best lover out there, or a good one in general, and only 2% of high school stay together anyway, so why ruin a perfectly functioning friendship over passing feelings?
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Staying friends and never confessing is in his opinion easily the logical course of action, he can’t be swayed by anything, he shouldn’t
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ He can’t let Kaveh’s angry rants, Tighnari’s “advice” or Cyno’s jokes (which are progressively getting worse each day) make him think otherwise
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ And he certainly can’t let your warm smile do that either
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Can’t be that hard, right?
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
hey everyone!! its been a while hasn't it? i was fighting for my life during finals but today i was finally done w/ them so i decided to post this as a celebration!!
now that i have way more free time ill be able to post more frequently and hopefully ill manage to atleast get one update a week!
to those to who already finished finals congrats and to those who still haven't, stay strong comrades!! if my sleep deprived procrasinating ass managed to finish them then so will you🫵
have a wonderful day/night
-Rain <3
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princessbellecerise · 9 months
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Touch The Skies
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──── ✧*・゚*✭˚・゚✧ ────
summary | In which Aemond finally takes you flying on Vhagar
warnings | None
this is a work of fiction. i do not own these characters
divider by @princessbellecerise
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You know you shouldn’t be scared, but you were.
The nerves that pooled in your stomach almost made you sick, but you hid them from Aemond as he lead you up the hill, not wanting to making your dear husband upset.
After all, you know how much of an honor this is. For him to even consider showing you Vhagar was one thing, but for him to propose that you ride her?
That was an entirely different story. A true honor, seeing as Aemond had never let anyone ride on Vhagar’s back expect for himself. When you got married, you always assumed that he wouldn’t even let you get close to the dragon he had fought to claim.
But alas, here you were. Ascending the cliff that the gigantic beast rested on, for she was too big for the Dragonpit the ancient Targaryens had designed. A monster in her own right, and utterly terrifying to see in person.
Your stomach churned a little more but you tried your best to keep a brave face. The warnings your dear husband still rang through your head:
Do not ever let a dragon sense your fear. They will deem you weak, and the weak are treated as prey.
Those words nearly paralyzed you; reminding you over and over you could not fault. You had to be as strong as your husband was, fearlessly walking up the dragon as if he was the bigger monster.
Aemond’s back was straight, gaze strong as he first approached the dragon. You lingered back a little bit further way at his command; the Targaryen needing to speak to his dragon before you approached.
Curiously, you watched as words of old Valyria flew from his tongue, prompting the gigantic beast to turn it’s head to your husband.
Yellow eyes stared into lilac ones, and for a moment, all was still. You held your breath as Aemond repeated his commands and Vhagar grumbled. The hefty dragon looked as if she were barely listening to your husband, but you soon found that it was quite the opposite.
Vhagar did heed his commands, and underneath you the ground shook as she moved around. Almost like she was positioning herself, getting herself into the right angle so that Aemond could comfortably mount her.
So that you could mount her.
“Come, my love. She has granted my wish for you to join me.”
You gulped as Aemond held out his hand for you, nerves eating you alive as he awaited for you to join him by the dragon’s side. You hadn’t been this nervous ever since your wedding day—and even then you were sure you didn’t sweat half as much as you were right now.
Clammy hands are what met your husband’s, Aemond giving you a look as you slowly allowed him to pull you towards the beast’s side. You could barely contain your beating heart but the soft tugs and gentle touches from your husband are enough to calm you down a little. At least enough for you finally get close without collapsing all together, Aemond taking your bare hand and lacing it with his before gently setting it on top of Vhagar’s rough hide.
Like you expected, the dragon felt hot and her thick scales had been softened by age. By all means, she was exactly what you pictured a dragon being like. But you had to admit—she was eerily calm as your fingers ghosted over her. Something you weren’t expecting but clearly Aemond was by the way he smiled a bit.
“See?” Aemond’s eye glinted as Vhagar softly growled but still allowed you to touch her. “I told you there was nothing to worry about, sweet wife. She clearly likes you; probably even more than she does me.”
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t be the first time, dear husband,” You laughed shakily, earning a sharp, playfully glare from Aemond. He stood by closely and allowed you to keep stroking Vhagar’s hide before eventually taking your hand again.
Clasping your fingers together, you shared a look and you knew what that meant. Gulping, you let out a breath as Aemond nudged you forward and encouraged you to take the first step towards riding; placing your feet in the ladder and climbing onto the back of the dragon.
Since Vhagar was so large, it was impossible to mount her without doing this. And so, steadily your feet ascended, one after the other as Aemond followed closely behind.
You could feel the encouraging hands of you husband nudging your thighs as you aimed to reach Vhagar’s saddle, ensuring that you would not fall backwards as you climbed. Grateful for this small act of affection, you briefly smiled and then when you finally reached the top, you paused.
You examined the reins which were worn by the various riders of Vhagar and the sheer size of the mount. If that did not help put into perspective how large this dragon was, you didn’t know what would. Of course, you knew that she was huge but staring at the added space of the saddle had your jaw dropped.
Easily, Vhagar could have carried at least twenty people on her own. Maybe even more.
If it was not for the fact that Dragons only bonded with one rider, you had no doubts she could be used as a very useful mode of transportation.
Luckily though, your husband was the only one that held any sort of claims to her. And now you—sort of—as you settled between Aemond and the reigns of the saddle.
Behind you, you felt your husband shifting as he gathered the ropes and all the proper measure before the two of you took flight. He took extra care doing this, making sure that every precaution was met so that no danger would be presented to you.
You found that most of the safety ropes were wrapped around your waist which left Aemond vulnerable a little. If something were to happen or if Vhagar turned upside down, he would not be as protected as you.
Briefly, this caused you to frown but then you chastised yourself for not believing in your husband. Of course—he had done this plenty of times, ever since the age of ten. Now nine and ten, Aemond was sure to know what he was doing and how to control his own dragon.
You did not need to fear for your husband, only seek his warmth as your back pressed to his.
“Are you almost ready, ñuha jorrāelagon?” My love. You smiled briefly as Aemond purred in your ear, turning your body slightly so that you could look him in the eye. Already finding him staring at you with a soft expression, you nodded and then pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, dōna valzȳrys,” You sighed, the organs in your stomach beginning to twist and turn with anxiety.
You hadn’t even taken flight yet but you were already nervous. As one should be when riding a literal dragon for the first time, but deep down you knew that you had nothing to fear.
Not when you had your sweet husband with you.
Aemond would never let anything happen to you, and it was this thought that calmed you enough to stay still as Vhagar shook and groaned.
After a few commands from your Lord Husband, she was ready to take flight. And you gulped as your body began swaying along with her, holding on for dear life as she walked towards the edge of the cliff and then made her descent.
A scream—no perhaps a shout of caution got stuck in your throat as she dived downhill, not even being able to release it due to the backlash of the wind. The very particles seemed to nip at your face and all but rendered you breathless, your body going limp as Aemond laughed behind you.
Out of everything, you weren’t expecting your husband to laugh at your misfortune. But alas, while his beast was busy trying to take flight, he leaned forward and caught a glimpse of your face. Priceless—you were sure it had to be. Yours cheeks all but molded by the wind and your mouth open with a silent scream.
Aemond shook behind you, and you breathed like you had never done so before as Vhagar finally straightened out. Her wings spread, and finally you were granted the pleasure of sanity as she flew through the skies.
“See? That was not so bad, my love,” Aemond teased.
You had some not so nice words your husband but you decided to hold your tongue since he was being nice today. Letting you ride Vhagar, which slowly became a more pleasant experience the further you got into your venture.
Eventually, you had stopped holding your breath and allowed yourself to really and truly enjoy the experience of riding a dragon, opting to keep your eyes open to ogle at the sights below you.
It was like Vhagar was touching the skies and you saw everything from mountains, to lakes, to people in boats that ogled you as you shook the water.
Everything that you could possibly imagine, right there under your fingertips. The beautiful sights and land on display only for you; and your husband as he leaned into you.
Eventually, Aemond had taken to relaxing as well once he was sure Vhagar was at a steady pace. This allowed him start pointing certain things out, filling you in on all the things he had seen while you nodded.
You loved hearing him talk about his ventures, especially during a time where you were both so relaxed. It was rare to see your husband look so peaceful, carefree in a way he was not on land. That’s because up in the skies, there existed no worries, no duties. Just the two of you and the soft lulling of Vhagar’s wings.
It made you hum, and it let you savior this moment like it was going to be your last one earth. Your last memory would be of the heavens opening up to you.
As she flew, that’s exactly what it felt like. And perhaps now you understood why people always claimed that Targaryen’s were closer to Gods than men; for now you knew that no man, not even yourself, could ever replicate this kind of serenity without the likes of dragons.
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i9messi · 10 months
Text
Dating Carlos Sainz Jr
Specific things I think Carlos would do as your boyfriend
carlos’ masterlist
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Carlos did not hesitate to ask you out as soon as he saw you, he didn't take his time to let you know that you called his attention. He thought he needed to ask you out before someone else did
Things moved fast
The next thing you knew was you were in the paddock supporting your boyfriend, so in love of him
Carlos loves that you are by his side, his heart beats frantic when you are present
He can’t take his eyes off you, so much that sometimes you distract him when he has to concentrate on serious things, like for example, on the race that is about to begin
He likes to take you to dinner at fancy restaurants, where both have to dress elegant, so you always use the things he gifts you
Carlos’ love affection is to give you compliments, always lets you know how much he is drunk in love with you and the things you make him feel
"You look— wow, you’re so beautiful."
He likes to gift you things, even if you do not say anything and do not ask him for it, he knows you and knows the type of things you like
For him there is something pleasant in the way in which you usually love the details that he gives you
Galas, parties, wherever he has to be, so are you. You’re a girlfriend who supports him in everything and he needs your company as air to breathe
Although he also likes to stay at home, it's not always necessary to leave home
He likes to make homemade food for you and share a moment alone, his passion is to prepare something with his own hands and feed you
That man loves compliments, he really loves them
more when they come from you
"Do you like it?"
"Of course, Carlos. Everything you do is incredible.”
His brown eyes glow with excitement after you tell him something nice
He also loves when you stroke his hair and tell him that you love him
You can be quietly lying on a bed, him by your side and you passing your hand through his hair. Carlos is like a cat that purrs because he loves you
"I love when you touch me, please keep doing it."
He tells you stories of his childhood to lull you to sleep while he hold you, tells you about his races, the places he had visited and the things he loves most, always ends up talking about the day he met you
You will always remember that day as the most important day of your life
Carlos is a lovely boyfriend and is obsessed with you, so much so that his friends joke about you having him curled on a finger
He does not correct them, because they are right
That man breathes and lives for you, since you came to his life cannot stop thinking about you and in all the ways in which you can make him happy
Confesses love in different languages so you don’t understand completely
If you don’t speak Spanish, he will teach you because he loves to hear you speak his language and be your teacher
If you speak Spanish you can have long conversations, talk in front of a lot of people, knowing that no one will understand your secret conversations
He makes a LOT of suggestive dirty jokes
Carlos texts you pictures of himself with captions like "miss you." and "can’t wait to come home."
He’s needy
Carlos reminds you of a prince
He acts like a prince
He is your prince charming
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jubiilee13 · 5 months
Note
JOSH HUTCHERSON. I do badly wanna make a request for Josh from the forger but I must show restraint
Anyways Mike asking you to officially be his gf?
JOSH HUTCHERSON JOSH HUTCHERSON AOQWEIIOWEIOOIAWEFIOFWAEWGAGEHRGAHREW
my husband
anyways here u go pooksters
warnings: female pronouns, fluff, reader has a nightmare, smooching just a lil
I didn’t check spelling on this so if it’s horrible I’m so sorry 😭
--
mikes job was not an easy one.
neither was managing a younger sister.
but thats where you came in.
you and mike had known one another since high school, though you two hadn’t been the closest pair at the time. gentle smiles in the halls and small hellos were about all that went on in your mind.
but not for sweet old mike.
he adored you, every second he got to be in your presence was like heaven.
looking back on it he wasn't sure how you hadn't noticed his longing stares, the blush coating his cheeks, the way he fumbled over his words.
he was in love with you, that was clear to everyone but you.
so when the end of high school rolled around, the two of you fell out of touch.
he was sad, yes, but he had abby to worry about, and some cute girl couldn't get in his way.
so for the next few years nothing happened between the two of you, and he just assumed you had moved away to some far away place. eventually the amount thoughts of you in his mind began to dwindle down, until you only crossed his mind at most 2 times a year.
that was until a few months ago that is...
long story short mike had posted a few flyers about needing a baby sitter for abby, and low and behold someone sent him a message and sweetly said they'd love to meet up with him over coffee to discuss more details.
so thats exactly what happened, mike put on his most formal clothes (which wasnt really much) and began his journey to the coffee shop. He anxiously wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, silently cursing himself for his nervous habits. before he knew it the coffee shop was just ahead, and as he stepped inside it was like his heart stopped beating.
it was you.
He tried to hide his smile but you could read that man like an open book.
The two of you talked for several hours, about the job, about life, about everything.
you could've kept going even, if it werent for mike having to pick up abby from school.
so you bid your farewells and mike informed you that you could start watching abby the following day.
as mike worked each night, you stayed with abby, doing everything with her, and she loved it.
every day she would gush to mike about you, talking about the adventures and fun times the two of you had shared.
mike listened every time as well, and every time he did so he couldnt help but note how his feelings for you began to return.
after all, you were so sweet, so gentle, so... loving.
how could he help it?
every morning after his shift he would come home to find leftovers on the counter, alongside a small handwritten note from you, each time saying something ever so sweet.
on top of that he would also find you dozing on the couch, and every time he saw you sleeping so peacefully he would just admire you for a few moments, always opting to cover you with his jacket or a blanket before he sent himself off to bed as well.
so that brings us to tonight.
mike walks through the door with a yawn, rubbing his eyes sleepily as he places his vest on the coat rack, dragging himself into the kitchen as he picks up your sweet note.
"abby insisted on pizza and spaghetti tonight so take your pick sugar, i hope work was well, i hope you dont mind but i forgot a change of clothes tonight and abby grabbed a pair of your boxers and an old sweatshirt of yours, i just threw it on for tonight, i promise ill get it back to you clean asap! lots of love, - y/n" the note read.
mike cant help but chuckle at your rambling, and he picks up the plate full of pizza and he reaches out to open the microwave but stops in his tracks when he hears something.
something so faint he wasnt even sure he had really heard it.
then it happened again, louder now and mikes blood ran cold.
it was you, your cries.
mike rushes into the living room, and his body visibly relaxes when he finds you still deep in slumber on the couch.
a small frown falls on his face when he notices you squirming, a distressed look across your sleeping features as a few frantic words escape your mouth in slumber.
"no! mike- mike please- dont- i need you mike please" you murmured, so softly that mike was sure he was hallucinating.
still he approached your sleeping figure, his rough hands gently making their way to your shoulders.
“hey hey hey” he whispered as he gently shook you, concern in his eyes.
yet you didn’t budge, body trembling beneath him as small whines escape you, even some small tears slipping past your closed eyes.
he shook you harder now, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when you shoot upright, but his relief quickly fades as a quiet sob escapes your lips.
your teary e/c eyes scan over him, almost checking to see if it’s really him.
once your brain finally decides to accept the fact that he’s really in front of you, you fling yourself towards him, more sobs escaping your lips “oh mikey” you cry out.
mike immediately wraps his arms around your torso, one hand moving up to comb through your hair.
“woah woah woah I’m right here pretty girl, I’m here, I’m here” he coos into your ear, holding your trembling frame.
the two of you stayed like that until your sobs turned into small sniffles, your head resting on his shoulder as you took in his scent.
“m’sorry…” you mumble into the crook of his neck
“it’s ok don’t apologise silly, do you wanna talk about it?” he quietly asks you, and you nod.
“I- you died mikey… in my dream… you- you were gone! I- I was so scared… I can’t lose you” you say between hiccups, and he hopes you can’t tell how your words make his heart race.
“im not leaving anytime soon pretty girl, can i tell you a secret y/n?” he asks as he brushes a hair behind your ear.
he chuckles when you nod and cuddle further into him, his face flushing ever so slightly, not that you could notice in the dim light of the room anyways.
“ive been in love with you since freshman year” he murmurs, and with those words your body grows stiff and you sight upright.
“y-you have?” your shaky voice asks
he nods, his orbs locking onto your own, and he goes to speak, his nerves getting the best of him, but before he can you cut him off.
with a kiss.
you had kissed mike.
mike just kissed the love of his life.
the kiss was sweet, gentle, and it seemingly lasted forever.
the two of you eventually pulled away for air, chests heaving as you both gasp gently for air.
you both go to speak at the same time
“I love you so much-“
“I’m so in love with you”
you both gasp at the others words, and you can’t help but giggle.
“so does this mean..?” you question, as you absentmindedly cuddle closer into him
“mean what? that you’re my girlfriend?” he asks gently
“if you want me to be” you say with a smile, awaiting his next words
“well how can I say no to a smile like that?”
this is prob really bad I haven’t written in forever but I’m lowkey kinda proud of it for rn, I hope you enjoy!
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