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saleeba · 6 months

Text

fool ; jude bellingham

summary ♡ betting on the phenomenon of unrequited feelings, you and jude have never dared to make the first move with the other until a reunion forces new questions to be answered.

pairing ♡ jude bellingham x fem!reader

content ♡ 18+, smut, friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, cursing, kissing, both jude & reader are pining idiots, fingering, p in v sex, marking, missionary, unprotected sex (jude pulls out but still pls practise safe sex!!)

a/n ♡ she's baaaack :D but first☝🏽alexa play fool by nct 127 !!!! the lyric "you’re a goddess but i’m a fool, what should i do?" was written for this fic in particular i just know it was :] anyway hehe this fic is based off this request so tysmm to anon for sending such an exciting prompt !! i hope yous enjoy 🫶🏽💗 WAIT P.S this isn’t proofread bc i lowkey am not rocking with it so i didn’t wanna put myself thru having to read it again & again … im sorry for any mistakes :’)

you had just gotten off work to a stream of relentless texts from your best friends’ groupchat — phone pinging off the rails whilst you were on shift, muffled buzzes from your bag making you wonder what on earth was worth blowing up in that whatsapp group on a random friday afternoon.

on the train back home, you tap open the green app, anticipating yourself easily spending the entire journey catching up on the three hundred-plus texts from your closest mates. you decide to start right from the beginning of the influx, thumb scrolling nonstop and eyes blurring from the rapid movement until they focus back on the screen where you stop, finally having reached the destination of the first text that set it all off.

it was from none other than jude bellingham, and you were nearly embarrassed by the way your face instantly lit up upon reading his message. the groupchat’s golden boy had popped up after weeks of minimal contact, asking if he could take everyone for a night out tomorrow to make up for it, stating that he finally has some small gaps of free time between hectic pre-season schedules to allow him to do so.

it honestly warmed your heart that the first thing he wants away from football is to see you all. you’d been a band of good friends since the first year of secondary school, contact not necessarily strained as you all had a lot of love for each other but rather unspokenly reduced after leaving school two years ago and falling into busy university or career ventures.

instead of scrolling through to read and react to the plethora of follow-up texts after his, you ignore them and jump straight to typing your reply to his invitation, casting aside that nagging voice asking you: doesn’t that seem too desperate?

no, right? i’m just accepting his invitation, getting straight to the point, the convo ended half an hour ago anyway. you’re arguing with yourself now, feeling the need to give unnecessary excuses to nonexistent accusations. if you were to be honest with yourself, you were always self-conscious of the way you behaved around jude, even now debating on whether to add your signature heart emoji or if it’d come across as you trying too hard given your feelings for him; albeit them being feelings that no one knows about, not even him. you made sure for it to be that way.

with a mental note to get over yourself, you send an affirmative ‘i’m up for it!’, signature heart included, and quickly shut off your phone. heart beating so rapidly, you scolded yourself for getting so worked up over a mere reply and for definitely not getting over yourself. god knows how you’re going to handle seeing him in person.

a sudden double buzz from your device does nothing to calm you down, instead dampening your hands with sweat when you grab it and see a pair of messages from him.

jude 🌟: heyy i’m so glad you can make it tomorrow :)

jude 🌟: can’t wait to see you!! ❤❤

he had messaged you separately for some reason and he had included two hearts… the overthinking starts for you again, without even beginning to think about what to reply this time, and you question why he couldn’t have just replied to you in the groupchat or why he couldn’t have just left the end of the messages with a ‘x’ like he usually does or why he would even say what he said in the last message. mind frantic and unable to clear itself, you thank yourself for having your read receipts turned off so you can have your mini meltdown without worrying about jude knowing you’d seen his messages multiple minutes ago. god, you were down so bad.

you force yourself to open the messages app and send the most casual reply you can type.

you: can’t wait to see you too! ❤

you try to keep it short, sweet and nonchalant even if your fingers are itching to type more – more about how much you had missed him, more about what he was planning to wear tomorrow night so that maybe you could match your own outfit with him, more about your true, unfiltered feelings for him. it’s pathetic really; you hadn’t seen him in two years and the first thing you wanted to do was throw yourself at him, spilling all the secrets you’d been holding close for so many years. you leave it at that, put your phone on do not disturb mode and head on home, waiting for the long hours of friday evening to pass and saturday night to arrive.

***

and so saturday night rolls around and you just about finish touching up your makeup and smoothing out your dark blue dress before the doorbell rings, and you’re whisked away to the club by a couple of your girlfriends.

as soon as you step your high heels into the building, you’re met with the sight of flowing booze and the noise of noughties r&b beats bouncing around the brightly lit walls. dragged by the hands of your friends, you find yourself standing next to a booth at the back of the club, the rest of the group now welcoming you latecomers with a loud cheer.

“finally, girls. you took your time!” one of your male friends remarks, ushering you all to sit down.

“oh god, what have we missed?” you beam, trying to scan the group amongst the strobing lights to catch a glimpse of the person you were really there for.

“nah, you’re just in time because… first round’s on mister madrid!”

the callout breaks your friend group into a raucous holler as your gaze fixes onto the six foot-one footballer who stands up with an amused grin and a sigh of feigned defeat. your heart quickens and your smile turns into a state of near disbelief over how good jude looks right now – graphic white t-shirt hugging his biceps in all the right places and hanging over a pair of smart-casual black trousers.

“yeah, yeah, anything for my groupies,” he winks at no one in particular but your brain almost convinces you that he was looking at you while doing it. you send a shy smile his way just in case but what he says next has your mouth running dry. “help us out, will ya, y/n?”

you hesitate for a second too long for your liking, stumbling over your words while your friends peer at you. “uh… uh-huh, yeah, of course.” you answer as quick as you can, standing up on your feet slowly as to not trip over your now-shaking legs and send yourself flying into jude, and to avoid embarrassing yourself more than you think you already have.

he responds with a grateful smile and you follow him to the bar where he places an order for a round of drinks and some shots to be delivered to the group by the two of you. there’s an odd unfamiliarity to the silence between you both and you realise that you aren’t normally this quiet around jude, and neither is he around you; you would always joke that he’d be eligible to talk for england if he wasn’t already playing football for them. he’d retort with a comment about how his ears could almost fall off with the amount of chatting you do, and you’d dryly reply with a ‘well, they’re too big for your head anyway. look at the size of them!’ the pair of you were always as thick as thieves in the eyes of everyone else. which is why you didn’t expect it to be like this, especially after two years of not seeing each other – there was so much you wanted to catch up on from his world and so much you wanted to share from yours. you decidedly gain some courage and take the initiative to spark some conversation, get something going at least.

“soo, how have you been, then?” you’re both facing the bar, your head barely tilting in jude’s direction to indicate that yes, it is him that you’re talking to and not some random like he assumes you are with the way you’re positioned away from him, eyes just about turning to steal a glance of his figure but not to hold eye contact. “how’s la vida española?”

jude finds amusement in your sudden flaunt of the spanish language, a smile breaking out on his face, unseen to you since he’s still facing the same direction that you are, preoccupying his eyes with the myriad of bottles on the shelves while his mind searches for an apt reply.

“yeah, it’s been great, i think i wanna stay there forever,” jude laughs, his fingers tapping on the black surface of the bar. you can’t help the selfish feeling of your heart dropping at his confession. “i miss you, though, y’know… a lot.”

this one confession forces your whole body to turn itself towards him, eyes now chasing after his to seek some form of sincerity, to see if he was just messing about or if he really meant what he just said. he shifts his head to face you now, a bashful look painted onto his features. the expectant silence says it all really; of course i mean it.

you gulp and decide to break the quietness with a sarcastic, jesting “ugh…”, jude’s face dropping at what he thinks is genuine disgust from you. you realise your attempt to denounce the awkwardness has backfired.

“oh my god, you dickhead, i’m joking,” how is it that mere moments ago you were shaking at the sheer real-life presence of him but now you’d transformed into having this confident playfulness? and all of it without a drop of alcohol in your system as well – you’re quietly proud of yourself. “i missed you too, jude… a lot.” you coyly repeat his words.

upon your turn of the confession, the bartender sets down your drink orders and the two of you wordlessly carry the trays over to where your friends are situated, the silence way more comfortable now that you’re both basking in assurance, unbeknown to the other that your hearts were racing at a hundred miles per hour.

***

not even two hours and an innumerable amount of shots later, you’re all a drunken mess; definitely not a surprise to a single one of you. what is a surprise is the way you’re strewn across jude, right leg wrapped around his left, head on his chest, swirling and sipping from what’s clearly an empty glass to any sober, sane person. you grumble and mutter a complaint about the lack of liquor in the booth, taking it upon yourself to head to the bar and order another round for everyone.

“i’ll come with you,” jude announces over the pounding of the music, standing up so quickly that his next five steps are staggered and he has to cling onto your arm to steady himself. “i’m fine, i’m okay.” he assures nobody that asked.

the two of you stumble your way into the path of the bar, determined to drink until the sun comes up and forget every strand of stress until the hangovers come knocking. jude’s soft grip on your arm has you being led in the opposite direction all of a sudden, though.

“uhm, where are we going?” you question, head still turned to where the bar is located, about to ask him if he was so hammered he couldn’t walk in a simple straight line to get to where you’d planned to go. “jude?”

he’s silent, save for humming his way to his desired destination, and you question if he even knows where he’s leading you. before you make the choice of going along with him or leaving his clearly confused self to go cop your next cocktail, you find yourself in the disabled toilets, pushed up against the sink with the door not even shut properly, gasping at how rough jude is handling your body compared to his soft touches from before, and how close his face is to yours, warm breath fanning the skin of your lips. you weren’t strictly against it all but how the hell have you ended up like this? The alcohol and the questions come at you fast, dizzying your brain but you can’t help but feel so keenly anticipative.

“i’m sorry, i just…” he pulls away from you, eyes fluttering closed so he can re-evaluate his actions, exhaling through his nose as if he was letting go of all doubts before continuing. “am i okay to do this?” he places his hands on your waist, pushing himself back into your space, his full lips more or less about to take yours. you have to refrain from letting the effects of alcohol take over your tongue and uttering back with a breathy ‘you can do whatever you want to me’.

instead, you answer with an earnest, eager nod, inviting his lips to finally do that one thing you had been dreaming of for so long, to kiss yours so silly that they’re left with the imprint of him. and jude does just that.

his mouth takes in yours so determinedly, shyness and hesitation now long-dissolved feelings for you both as your hands find home around the back of his neck, pushing his head further onto you, feeling the need to taste him more and more until you’re both consumed by each other.

it’s a messy makeout, noses bumping and teeth clashing, but it’s oh so hot, the way he gasps into your mouth from breathlessness and pleasure, running and gripping his large hands over the material adorning your waist and hips as the need to rip it off you nearly overtakes him. to you, he’s so utterly intoxicating that a gallon of alcohol would pale in comparison to how dizzy his skin on yours makes you feel.

you release a moan at the meagre thought of jude all over your body, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue over yours, filthy noises of wetness and carnality from the both of you reaching high pitch as jude somehow simultaneously pushes you against the sink and pulls you against his chest, his manhandling of you getting you even more hot and bothered before you’re both interrupted by the hub of people passing by and huddling right outside the bathroom, their self-occupied shouts and cheers dragging you out of the bubble that the two of you had wrapped yourselves in, almost sobering you up on the spot.

you push jude out of your way, gentle but abrupt, and give him a look of apologetic regret. “i-i’m sorry,” you say, jitterily walking past him and exiting the room without a second glance or word, heading straight to the booth where your friends are hollering and hurraying, occupied with shot-drinking contests.

your girlfriends offer to go home with you when you lie and tell them you’re not feeling very well, but you decline them, instead telling them to have fun on your behalf and letting them know that you’ll try to text them once you get home safely. you can tell they’re confused by your shaken state and the absence of jude but you grab your bag and make your exit before the interrogation can even begin to brew.

you manage to grab a taxi back home, surprised by how competent you are despite the alcohol in your bloodstream and confusion in your brain. on the way there, you can’t stop the bouncing of your knee nor the racing of your psyche, asking yourself how and why whatever went down with jude went down like that. you curse at yourself for being so impulsive in starting and finishing the whole ordeal with him in the way that you did – you don’t know if it’s the empty, depressive drunk thoughts or just clarity from the whole jude thing that makes you feel like there’s no coming back from this at all. you feel like crawling into your bed and never coming out from it ever again.

the taxi driver has to call for your attention multiple times until you reach earth again and pay him the journey’s fee. you go skulking all the way up to your front door, only letting out a breath that you feel like you’ve been holding since the beginning of the night once the door shuts behind you.

the rest of the night is quiet and orderly for you, telling yourself to not invite any more chaos into your brain and to simply drink some water and to go to sleep. waking up tomorrow morning is going to be painful in more ways than one.

***

you spend the rest of the weekend nursing a ferocious hangover and a frazzled heart, only contacting your friends to tell them that you got home fine and to joke that you probably need a century or two for this hangover to be gone. you thank the high heavens that they don't bring up the topic of you and jude

you try not to think too much about jude, you really do, but sunday night has a couple of taps landing you on the instagram app and you learn that he’s already back in spain, pictures of him in training sliding across your phone screen on his story along with selfies with his teammates. usually, you tap that small red heart at the bottom and hope that he sees it amongst his millions and millions of notifications, a tiny ritual of yours that now has you feeling so pathetic that you don’t dare to do it anymore.

running a hand over your weary face, you set your phone down and opt to nap the night away, finding comfort in the non-intrusion from your friends and the no contact from jude, hoping to keep yourself busy and distracted with whatever the work week brings.

a ring from the doorbell rips through your flat just as you’re organising your pillows, forcing you to stop what you’re doing and ponder who could be at the door on a sunday while the clock ticks some minutes past one o’clock. you don’t recollect ordering any food nor are you expecting a delivery, especially not this late.

trudging your way to the front door, you open it to find jude bellingham standing there and you feel an instant pang of regret, wishing you had peeked through the window to see who it could be, wishing you had pretended to not be in, wishing the ground would open up right now and swallow you whole – anything to escape the confrontation that you’re now having to face. your face heats up with embarrassment and nerves but you manage to rupture the silence before your mouth can turn dry.

“j-jude, hi,” you try and keep your greeting as polite and cordial as you can, even when all you really want to do is to chase him off your doorstep. “what are you doing here?”

your query has jude visibly gulping, hands fiddling with each other as he attempts to hold eye contact with you, his vision a bit blurry from exhaustion. “y/n… sorry, can i come in?”

you oblige, holding the door open wide before you guide him to the living room and invite him to sit down on the plushness of your sofa, settling yourself on the opposite end of it. you silently prompt him to say what he came here to say with a nod of your head.

“uhm, i’m sorry for turning up unannounced, and so late…” ever the courteous. “i had to sneak away from the lads and catch the last flight to here so it was all a bit down to the wire.” he lets out a small, uneasy laugh.

you cut off his rambling with a curt “what do you want, jude?” you don’t mean for it to sound so rude but you still hold the attitude of wanting to get this over and done with, already feeling annoyance at yourself for even letting him into your home.

“right, yeah, i actually wanted to talk about what happened on saturday,” he goes back to fiddling with this thumbs, eyebrows furrowed but he avoids looking at you this time. not that you can blame him because your own vision shifts to anywhere but his direction. “i’m so sorry for making you uncomfortable a-and please tell me if this is inappropriate, but i haven’t stopped thinking about last night, i haven't stopped thinking about you, i-i’m sorry, i know this is all so silly and you probably don’t even feel the same bu-”

you stop him right there, this time with good reason as you can’t bear holding back your real emotions, not when he’s practically given you the green light to spill the contents of your heart.

“no, jude, i didn’t feel uncomfortable at all,” you assure him, gaze now on the footballer in front of you and you almost can’t believe the words leaving your mouth right now. “i wanted it to happen, i’m glad it happened, you know, i think i’ve had dreams about it happening,” you try and offset any tension with a timid chuckle before turning quite pensive. “i really like you, jude, i have for a long time… god, sorry, this is so embarrassing.” you return to making light of the situation you’ve put yourself in, the timidness sinking back in as quick as the relief lifts you up.

jude moves closer to your now-cowering body, knees touching as your heartbeat surges with worry and self-consciousness all wrapped up into a tight, miserable ball. he puts his sweat-dampened hands into yours and squeezes in silent assurance before raising them up to his lips and laying a chaste kiss on the heated skin.

he can’t help but break out into a sweet smile, eyes threatening to crinkle at the edges. your face is still sketched with tension and now confusion has joined the mix.

“i can’t tell you how long i’ve waited to hear that from you, how much i needed to hear it,” your eyes meet his, widening in surprise a little. “i’m a fool for not telling you sooner… i like you, y/n, i really like you.” he repeats your own words back at you, leaning in with a smattering of amusement dancing in his vision.

“can i kiss you?” the question leaves your lips faster than you can even process it in your brain.

jude wastes no time in replying with a firm pressing of his mouth on yours, deepening it within seconds, the need to cement his feelings for you being told through the way he cradles your head in his hand, leaning you back onto the arm of the sofa to further intensify the kiss. your lips move along with his, the soft weight of his body pressed against yours making you whine into his mouth in ecstasy.

he lifts off of you with a puckering of his swollen lips, the both of you taking the chance to draw in some air and attempt to regulate your breathing pattern.

“please take me to the bedroom,” you beg, breathless from the sheer sight of his dark eyes and pretty pout. there’s no fight nor denial from jude as he picks you up and prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, quickening his pace once you point in the direction of your room.

he lays you down on the bed so gently, lips latching onto yours once again before they travel down your jaw and over the warm skin of your neck. the light touch of his fluttering eyelashes married with the pressure of his soft lips has your head spinning, hands tentatively laid on top of your sheets since you don’t trust yourself to not grab his head and bring it back to your lips. his fingers tinker with the waistband of your pyjama trousers, stretching it off your skin before he asks permission to peel them down your legs.

once they’re cast away in some corner of your bedroom, jude divides your legs by the underside of your knees, tucking himself into the now available space between them, turning onto his side and resting on his left forearm. he leaves a small kiss over your covered cunt and you try your best to not just clamp his head in between your thighs and smother him with your growing wetness here and now.

“need to get you ready, baby,” the sudden mention of the petname has you throbbing, squirming even more when he traces a line from your clit down to where there’s a small damp spot forming on the dark material of your underwear.

“jude, please,” you whine out, lifting your hips in a desperate bid to get the boy to strip your lower half completely.

he shushes you in his own charming way, making sure to comply with your demand by getting up onto his knees and discarding your soaked panties in a matter of seconds, the cold air generated by his large hands whipping them off you hits your exposed pussy, making you hiss through gritted teeth.

jude returns to the gap between your spread legs, sitting back but still on his knees, his higher position causing you to shift onto resting your body weight on the palms of your hands in order to peer at his actions – which start with him re-tracing that same teasing line from your aching clit to your hole with his thumb, the feeling now so intense on your unclothed skin. he hums in what sounds to be satisfaction when you throw your head back in pleasure, taking it in his favour to slip his index finger into the tightness of your pussy.

you release a guttural groan at the feeling of finally having some part of him inside you; you of course don’t want this to be the only part but you’re still so very grateful, so fucking grateful he’s now rubbing at your clit in delicious rounds, thumb tracing circle after circle while his fingers form a pair, pistoning in and out of you so easily due to the way your cunt douses itself with every move of jude’s.

“fuck, baby,” jude moans at the sight of his soaked digits every time they barely pull out of that pretty pussy, his thumb torturing your sensitive bud increasingly so, the cries and whimpers spilling from your lips an incentive for him. “feel so good and tight around my fingers, can’t imagine how you’ll feel around my dick.”

his words have you absolutely reeling, writhing against his hand to try and chase that moment of release.

“please, jude, i’m so close,” you’re warning and demanding at the same time, almost begging him to not stop or even think about moving his fingers out of you. “god, please, i need it,”

jude suddenly retracts both of his hands, leaving you bare and empty. “no way, baby, need to have you cumming on my cock or not cumming at all,” he comments with a shake of his head, denying you the opportunity of leaking your cum over his hand. upon seeing your bewildered face, he makes up for it by putting on a show of licking your juices clean off his fingers, the digits popped inside his mouth and dragged right back out with a low moan, him praising the way you taste.

“move up the bed for me, angel,” he orders, watching you while he stands up and unclothes himself as quick as he can. you scoot backwards, legs still spread open like they’ve been locked in that position, before pulling your oversized t-shirt off of you, chest void of a restricting bra . “good girl,” he praises, crawling up to hover his body over your laying one, cock in hand as your legs come to wrap around him. “are you still okay with this? we can stop at any point, okay?”

the sincerity of his voice has you melting. some would remark that the bar is in hell for you but the truth is that you hadn’t been with anyone like this for more months than you could count on your hands. you've been touch-starved and lacking words of affirmation for so long, and you needed something to be only about you for once.

“i’m more than okay with this,” you smile up at him, nodding to make your approval fully known. “and yes, i know i can stop you if i need to.”

jude reciprocates the same smile before leaning in and smothering your lips with his, pushing his cock into your tight wetness, so tight that your pussy almost pushes him back out, not used to being penetrated by something so thick.

“oh my god!” the feeling of tightness/fullness has you both gasping out the same thing at the same time, erupting into quiet giggles when the two of you realise your matching reactions.

jude’s mouth finds its way back home in the embrace of your lips and you swear this is heaven, the way his cock slides in and out of your sopping cunt, set at such a perfect pace, the slight friction causing you to grow even wetter – the filth of it all contrasts so well with the sweetness of his muffled moans and tender kisses on your neck, moving down onto your collarbones and tits.

a particularly harsh thrust of his cock has your back arching, chest pushed up to his heated face, and he takes this golden opportunity to wrap his lips around your erect nipple, spending a good while sucking and tugging on the skin around it. you’re amazed at how his cock doesn’t relent inside you, the speed still so quick and consistent even when he’s so occupied in painting splotches on your tits with his mouth.

“there,” he pants out, pulling his head back and marvelling at his own creation. “now, there’s no doubt that you’re really mine.” the smile he gives you is a killer.

you whine at his declaration of you belonging to him, scratching at his shoulders and calling out his name to indicate that it’s all too much for you, that you’re so, so close to cumming on his cock and really giving him what he wants rather than pleasing yourself. you figure that’s you gone now; you’re more willing to put the boy above your own needs because you’re down that fucking bad for him.

“fuck, jude, i’m gonna cum!” you sob, your moans becoming more frequent and higher pitched, legs starting to shake from the intoxicating mix of exhaustion and delight. you’re frantically chanting “please, please, please” into his mouth which parts to swallow your whimpering, wet lips kissing your trembling ones.

“go on, baby, cum for me, cum all over this cock,” he groans out, eyes squeezing shut when the feeling of your pussy clamping down tightly on his thickness proves too much to handle, face finding refuge in the crook of your neck. he knows you don’t need his permission, he would’ve let you orgasm as many times as you wanted to, would’ve let you use him like your own personal sex toy, but the words were only there to keep you going when his hips felt like faltering – he needed you cumming on his cock like he promised before, and he wasn’t about to fuck it up himself.

a final scream rips from your throat as you cum hard around jude, pussy clenching and pulsating around his cock so sporadically you thought you were having two orgasms at once. jude can’t handle it anymore, pulling out with a myriad of moans as he pumps his shaft with a hand, decorating the expanse of your lower abdomen with warm, white liquid. you’re still squirming, slowly trying to wheeze out the remaining whimpers from your lungs which you’re finding hard to do with the way jude pants and moans above you, the boy so spent he can’t help but breathe like he hasn’t had access to air for the past hour.

he flops down by your side, arms and legs sprawled like a starfish, chest rising and falling as he attempts to recuperate from the mindblowing sex you two just had. the image is so unserious that you can’t stifle your giggles but you decide to take another step of courage to lay on your side resting your head on his shoulder, fingers stroking his abs and playing with the curly hairs of his happy trail.

the room is quiet now with the scent of sex wafting through your nostrils on occasion but it’s the most comfortable silence you’ve experienced with jude, the feeling of his hot skin on yours so soothing to you.

after a period of panting, jude clears his throat and your ears prick up at the presence of sound. he turns his head towards you and you lift yourself up and off him out of instinct – you want full attention on him.

“i don’t want this to be a one-time kinda thing, y’know,” he proclaims, biting his lip from saying too much in one go.

“what, is this your way of saying you want round two already?” you joke, nose crinkling at the way he rolls his eyes playfully.

“shut up,” he delivers a poke to your side. “i mean, well, i don’t want either one of us to see this as a spur-of-the-moment thing, i just…” you look at him expectantly, silently telling him to continue. “i want you to be my girlfriend, y/n.”

you’re nearly knocked back by his words, wondering if they’re real or if you’re simply just hearing things. you thought dialogue like that, coming from him, was only reserved for your imagination, kept secret and only spoken to you in late-night mental scenarios that would comfort you on your way to slumberland.

you let out a laugh that’s an odd mix of relief and disbelief, quickly replying “yes, yes, of course” to his awaiting face, which releases a look of relief itself before jude captures your lips with such passion you’re both knocked back onto the plush pillows, giggling into each other’s mouths until your hands find themselves running down the defined muscles of his abdomen and over his hardening cock.

#girlies i’ve never had alcohol in my life so i hope the way i wrote reader & jude being drunk was ok !!! 🫶🏽#then again i’ve never had sex in my life and i write extensively about it so u know . 😭😭😭#guys imagine if before every smut fic i wrote a disclaimer like ‘guys i-i’ve never had sex before but i hope i did okay with this 🥺🥺' LMAO #ALSO omg im sorry abt the inconsistencies in tone + tempo i legit wrote this over a 5 month period + came back to it at times when i didnt #feel like writing + i was just tryna get to the good bit iykwim ( ͡ ° ͜ʖ ͡ °)#˗ˏˋ 📝 ˎˊ˗#˗ˏˋ 💬 ˎˊ˗#jude bellingham #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x fem!reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x y/n #football imagine #footballer smut #footballer imagine

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tojivu · 6 months

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# OFFICE HOURS ‣ GOJO SATORU

✰ — author’s note i feel so guilty bc gojo is literally the only character i write for LOL anyway this is an old draft from months ago. idk why this is so long im so horrendously down bad for this fucking snowman.

✰ — cw / tags arrogant ceo!gojo x secretary f!reader, sfw, not rly enemies to lovers bc gojo has fat feelings, gojo satoru being a billionaire playboy

✰ — playing death & taxes by daniel caesar.

✰ — word count ~3k LOL

nothing about gojo satoru really strikes you as the serious type.

even in a professional environment, your boss always has a carefree demeanour. his laugh is so nauseatingly loud that you can hear it from outside the office, and you wonder how someone as busy as him manages through his day; much less with a positive attitude. you take one look at his schedule, and you want to vomit with the way you hardly see any gaps between appointments.

you suppose you could learn that from him. it's his only good quality.

you admit that he's likeable, on surface level. there's a reason why you detest him, though: as his closest colleague, you know him way more than you would prefer. most people would think such a well to do man like satoru would have a wife by his side, but that's unfortunately not the case. you almost feel more miserable than him—because now you're forced to be the listening ear and comforting hand at his beck and call.

you think he'd be just fine if he was just a little more humble. he has a nice face. it's his fault for being so stuck up. you know how many women ask him out—painfully aware, actually.

'they just aren't suited to my taste,' he would say to you. 'i need someone that makes me feel alive.'

one time, gojo even asked you to bail him out of a date—something about the way she held her fork and knife disturbed him, and you were expected to show up at the restaurant and act as if there was an emergency.

'i'm so sorry, sweetheart. i have to go, duty calls.' his disgustingly charming tone made you want to slap him then and there.

she called him again the following week, and he completely forgot who she was. he didn't even save her number.

the sheer number of people asking him out had stroked his ego so hard that gojo firmly believes no woman is deserving enough. he rambles on and on to you about how snobby some of them seem, and it takes everything in you to bite your tongue when he does. 'takes one to know one,' you would say, if not for your job at stake.

you think gojo satoru is full of himself. you are a strong believer of that. a witness, as well—it's not like he didn't try his way with you, too. unlike the women he ranted about, you turned him down every single time.

it's been a long while since any of that has happened, though. the most recent ordeal was months ago, but that didn't inherently mean that people stopped asking him out: it just meant that he was rejecting every single offer.

it's a thursday morning when you find yourself eating a sandwich you purchased on the way to work, at your desk—wondering when the big boss will finally arrive. the clock read 9 a.m., and you're expecting an extravagant "good morning!" to surprise you any moment now.

just then, you notice mr. conceited walk in: except something is different. he has no stride in his step. there was no good morning. there was no playful teasing directed at you as he walked past your desk and into his office, not that you were complaining—it was just strange.

you stand up, a mouthful of your sandwich still being chewed. you take a big sip of water and fix your skirt and blouse, making sure your hair is presentable—before swiftly making your way into his office.

──────

"i cannot believe this." he mumbles. you're standing in front of his desk, but he's not facing your direction.

gojo's chair is turned to the giant window that overlooks the business district, and he's gazing out of it thoughtfully. you think this is the cheesiest thing you've seen him do.

you can see how disheveled his hair was, even from where you were standing. you don't want to irritate him further, in case teasing you was still on his to-do list that day.

"what is it, mr. gojo?"

he swivels his chair around, and he is a mess—just what could have he been up to?

"i woke up late today."

"you're the boss, mr. gojo. you can come in any time you want—"

"not the point." he interrupts you. "i forgot my lunch. i was in the car, with the driver, on the way here already. . . and then i realised i left my donuts at home."

gojo's face is absolutely distraught. he looks like he's gone through a divorce and had his house set on fire with how he stands up dramatically—his hands now on his desk. you open your mouth to speak, but he shuts you up by talking again.

"i didn't want to inconvenience him. i'm too thoughtful, miss y/n."

you want to scoff, but you bite your tongue and hold back.

"so i got out of the car and ran back for it," gojo recounts. "i arrived home after the treacherous journey—only to discover that my donuts are gone."

you feign an expression of shock, just to humour him; he gives you an 'i know right' look, and continues his nonsensical story.

"the maids threw them away, miss y/n."

you can't help yourself: you let a small giggle slip through your lips. you quickly use your hand to cover your mouth, thinking of a quick excuse.

you cough. you pretend to, at least—but gojo satoru is not stupid.

no, maybe a little. though, not enough to be convinced of your terrible acting.

"nothing about this is funny."

you nod, looking down at the floor. "i apologise, mr. gojo, but it's just a few donuts. i'm sure someone in the office could fetch some for you."

"yes, i agree." he says, and you shift your gaze from the marble tiling of his office to his face. his hair is a mess, yes—but he still looks revoltingly handsome. his eyes are piercing through yours, and pieces of hair cover his face in just the right places.

you're staring a little too long and gojo finds his pulse quickening with the eye contact—but the spell he has you under is soon broken when he clears his throat.

you quickly look away, embarrassed that you were caught staring at your boss, by your boss.

"you'll pick some up for me, yeah?" his smooth and silky voice echoes through the empty space of his office.

you look at him again, and there's a gentle smile on his face; one you're all too familiar with.

you're aware of satoru's charismatic nature, his playboy-ish attitude, and all sorts of tricks he uses to make women fall head over heels for him. that didn't mean you were completely resistant to them, though—you find yourself playing with the sleeves of your blouse, your ears beginning to redden. "of course," is all you manage to say.

at least you were self-aware.

your mind was rational. should gojo satoru try to hit on you for the nth time—all it took was some self discipline to say no, and you'd like to think you had plenty.

you think the conversation is done with the way he doesn't speak another word, so you turn on your heels and make your way out of the office.

just as you touch the handle of the door, your boss adds: "i'll come with you."

you turn back to him, confused. you didn't need your boss babysitting you for a donut run, you knew his favourite flavours—it's all he ever insists on buying for lunch. "there's no need for that, mr. gojo."

satoru shakes his head in disapproval. "you don't even know my favourite flavours, miss y/n."

that was a blatant lie. he knew you knew. you were his personal donut grabber for a few months up until august, and it was only october. you suppose that it would've continued on if not for your complaints about the long lines in the morning.

nevertheless, you don't argue with him. gojo satoru was the type to get what he wants, when he wants, if he really wants it.

you smile at his disregard for the months you spent as his errand runner, and how idiotic the excuse he just used was. satoru knows he's lying through his teeth, and your smile makes him more nervous than your eye contact.

so nervous, in fact, that he takes back what he just said. "unless. . . you're fine by yourself."

you're surprised that gojo's confidence is dissipating, or that it could even fade at all. you can tell with the way he's avoiding your eye contact, exactly how you evaded his earlier—the red on the tips of his ears are much too obvious in contrast to his hair.

"i don't mind," you respond a bit too quicker than appropriate. "mr. gojo."

gojo curses himself mentally, thinking about how stupid he must sound. he's usually the one making people nervous, but he doesn't know why it's different when you look at him like that.

──────

the atmosphere is deafening in gojo's favourite bakery. you always knew he had a sweet tooth, so you expected his choice to be a spectacular one—and you weren't disappointed.

you had personally visited this bakeshop before, and the confectionery was truly as good as people made it out to be; it proved evident in the amount of people crammed into this small establishment. though, you can't tell if it was for the food or for your boss, with the way most pairs of eyes are turned in his direction.

you two spend a good five seconds looking at the menu before gojo states his order, which was exactly what you thought it would be—the lady at the cashier smiles a bit too long at satoru, before asking: "eating in?"

you want to open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it. "of course."

it was still very well your work day. he (or maybe you and him, considering you helped him plan seventy percent of his appointments) had a meeting in 3 hours to prepare for. you think this donut adventure is already unnecessary enough—but here he is, suggesting to waste even more time eating the donuts in the bakery itself.

"we have a meeting in a bit, though. you could eat it in your office."

he looks at you with a confused look, as if he forgot that there was a meeting at all—because he did forget. gojo gasps, turning back to the lady and retracting his previous statement.

──────

gojo eats his donuts agonisingly slow and no conversation is initiated.

you're alternating between staring at both your laptops and the swirls on the wooden desk, unable to say anything because you didn't plan for such an occasion: an eating donuts with your admittedly handsome boss that makes you nervous while simultaneously planning for an important meeting occasion.

"miss y/n, you should try some."

you shift your eyes from the table to gojo, and he's holding a small piece of his donut to your lips: the powdered sugar practically calling your name.

"it's fine, i ate earlier," you decline his generous offer. "you should eat."

"i'm not asking you to eat all of them, miss y/n." he smiles at you. "just a bite. it's really good, y'know."

you sigh, reaching for his hand to take it from him—but he swiftly pulls it away and shakes his head. "open your mouth."

you feel the tips of your ears burning, blood rushing to your cheeks and you wonder how the girls he takes out manage themselves when he's like this—you've worked with him for so long, yet you can't recall a time when his gaze wouldn't make you shudder.

you think you'd stutter if you spoke one more word to him, so you save yourself from the embarrassment and bare with his request.

he feeds you the piece of sugar-coated donut, and you're sure you have powder on the corners of your lips with how it's width barely fits into your mouth.

you chew and swallow, feeling the residue of sugar on your skin.

"do you have any tissues?" you ask him, a serious expression plastered onto your face.

gojo tries to suppress the chuckle itching to escape his throat—the sugar on your lips and cheeks catch him off guard, and after a few seconds he can't help but let a small laugh slip. you stand up from your chair, scanning the room for any boxes of tissues you could lay your hands on.

he stands up as well, shaking his head—still giggling.

"it's not funny," you frown, and the smile on his face only grows wider—you're too cute for your own good when you sulk. "stop laughing."

you're not sure if you want to punch him or let him giggle to himself. for some reason, seeing you embarrassed is a great cause of joy to him. you can't bring yourself to tell him to shut up; you always imagine doing just that, it's strange how you couldn't muster the courage just when you needed it most.

"it's quite funny," gojo's laughter eventually calms down.

he leans closer to you and his right hand gently holds the side of your jaw—he uses his thumb to gently wipe the sugar off your cheek, and then your lips. "i got it."

his thumb stays on your bottom lip after dusting the sugar away. his pupils are locked onto the surface of your lips, which were glossy in the harsh light of his office: they looked so soft.

before long, they trail up your face until he's looking directly into your eyes: and this time you're not nervous, you don't look away, and your heart is completely calm.

satoru's fingers are easy on your skin. he handles you like fragile glass, as if he doesn't want to break you: and it's the same for the way he looks at you. gentle.

you're reluctant to speak because the way satoru has his thumb on your bottom lip sends shivers down your spine. you feel breathless.

you don't want this feeling to leave, not just yet.

a few seconds of tension pass. his hand moves back to your jaw, and your nervousness returns when gojo satoru leans his tall figure even closer to you; his head tilting ever so slightly.

it's a random thursday morning when you discover a few more good qualities gojo satoru possesses: his lips and his hands. maybe the way he kisses, too—it's slow and precise, unlike his attitude. he tastes sickeningly sweet and it makes you want to savour this moment even more.

you promised yourself you wouldn't fall victim to gojo satoru. yet, you just can't pull away: instead finding yourself slithering your arms around his neck and your chest pressing against his.

gojo's hands are wandering down to your waist and he's desperate to have you as close to him as possible, showing in the way he tries to close the already small gap between you two.

it takes only a fraction of a second for a small thought to form in your mind: just how many women have been in this position?

you quickly forget about that thought, though—you think it's pointless to regret it now, gojo satoru kisses you too good to be full of remorse.

gojo thinks he could stay like this: kiss you all morning, afternoon and pay you overtime if it meant he could be this close to you for just a bit longer.

there's hints of neediness in gojo's touch—as if he'd been waiting for this forever, wanting to relish it before it ends. his few seconds of bliss don’t last very long though, because you're soon pulling away—gasping for air.

he sighs mockingly, his hands sliding down from your waist to your hips. "can't last longer than 10 seconds, miss y/n?"

of course he would say some cocky shit like that—you'd forgotten for a minute that this was the same, arrogant mr. gojo you always knew, and no kiss (however heavenly) was going to change that.

"i'm sorry that i don't go on dates with every man that breathes."

gojo smirks at you after you say those words. "come on. just because i go on dates with people, doesn't mean i kiss them like this."

"sure you don't." your jealousy shows a bit too much in your reply, and he finds himself smiling even harder.

"is someone jealous?" he teases you again, rubbing circles with his thumb against the flesh of your hips.

you feel flustered, knowing that you're definitely done for now—he saw right through you. "nobody is jealous, mr. gojo."

"stop it with the formality. just call me satoru."

"it's still office hours. it's only polite."

gojo rolls his eyes, sighing in the process. you grin a little at him, knowing that this was the first thing you denied him of today—complying with the donuts and the kissing was already spoiling him enough.

"then i suppose there's only after work," there's his nauseatingly charming voice again—low and smooth. he knows exactly what he's doing to you, and you know it too. "i'm off after 6."

you think long and hard about whether you want to be mean and add this to the list of things you've declined to do for him. the ratio was starting to get really unbalanced—but you remember the way his hands touch you and how his lips greet yours so lovingly: and you think that there's no point turning back now.

"my boss doesn't let me off until after 8, though." you try to poke at his buttons—you put on a fake pout, knowing you’ll accept his invitation anyway—but gojo satoru is eternally patient when it came to things he sincerely desired.

"fuck your boss." he says, "he'll be fine with it."

you laugh at his response. you never thought you would see the day gojo curses at himself, after all, he's so self-obsessed: but you suppose you've seen—and tasted—parts of him that you never knew existed.

"then i'll see you at 6, mr. gojo."

what was the harm in discovering more?

230323 — i kinda hate this but.. wtv… anyway i couldn’t be bothered to proofread have my brainrot of gojo in a suit Mmmm yumyum

#jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x reader fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagine #jjk imagines #gojo imagine #gojo imagines #gojo x y/n #gojo x you

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rreeaahh · 8 months

Text

We are both filthy now | R. A. B.

Third chapter of "One way ticket" | Ch. 1 / Ch. 2

READ THE AUTHOR NOTE, THANK YOU.

taglist> @my-beloved-fandoms

pair> regulus black x lestrange! reader (slytherin)

summary> a birthday party means, for most people, a way to celebrate your existence - for purebloods, however, is a good way to spent time together with their master. regulus and y/n are not fond of the event, but no matter the traumatic experience they both go trough, they are still enemies - and y/n should've know that.

word count> 4.5k (wtf)

warnings> some type of angst; slow burn af; family toxicity; female discrimination; description of getting the dark mark; regulus hitting reader's hand; not proofread!

a/n> hi m'loves<3 do not forget that the tag list is open, feel free to ask to be added! im sorry for the long wait, it was one tricky chapter to write and from now on im gonna stop hunting the perfection, ill just enjoy writing. im more than happy to see all the notification from you on this series, and im beyond grateful - ill love to read your reaction, it makes me incredibly happy and helps me write. any comment is more than welcomed<3 any reblog helps this series to get to more people and it only takes a minute to do so. thank u for reading, ily all<3

Dear Y/N,

I hope my letter finds you well – your cousin’s pathetic owl is one lazy bird, let me tell you, but Rodolphus seems to be quite fond of it, and won’t let me get a new one.

Anyway, I write to you in hope that you’ll make me the pleasure to attend my birthday next weekend – I already spoke with Rodolphus and your father and they assured me you’ll come, but I still think it’s better to write to you personally.

We’ll also have a little meeting, besides the party itself, so I’m sure you’ll find it rather educative than a silly simple ball – do not worry, I know you tend to get anxious when surrounded by people you don’t know that well, but my cousin Regulus is coming too! I’m sure you two young purebloods will have all the fun you need.

Don’t worry writing me back, just come along with Regulus back from Hogwarts. Your presence if the only gift I need.

Lots of hugs,

Bellatrix L.

Y/N puts the letter on her desk and grabs the other envelope – this one also has her family’s wax seal, the L and the raven on top of it sending her chills on her spine.

Y/N,

Don’t even think of not attending Bellatrix’ party. You cannot let this family down. Your cousin, Rabastan, will wait for you on the Platform 9 ¾, since me and Rodolphus have a lot of work to do for the meeting. Saturday morning, no later than 10 A.M. The meeting will be at our house.

Don’t disappoint me.

Cyrus Lestrange

She scoffs and lets the paper fall from her fingers. She was only a child when her cousin, Rodolphus, married Bellatrix, Regulus’ cousin. They were the youngest at that party so all the adults expected them to spent time together. Truth is, however, that Regulus was shy and quiet and only stayed by her side, listening to all of her questions and never responding back. After the wedding, when her father seemed to be so pleased with little Regulus, with his manners and his obedient nature, Y/N decided that she hated Regulus Black. He was just a little prick, and she decided that she’ll be better than him – always.

As her roommates are deep asleep, Y/N stays at her desk and watches the two letters. She grabs again the one from her father and watches how the flame of the candle on her desk dances on it, the paper getting warmer and warmer, until it’s lit on fire. She hates to keep her father’s letters – it’s like she’d want to ever see them again.

With the burning paper still between her fingers, she gets out of her dorm and walk on the dark corridor of the Slytherin Girls’ Wing and goes to the Common Room, where the fire seems to be burning with green flames. The Black Lake is silent behind the large windows, only the water’s movement being heard. She throws the letter in the chimney and smiles at the sight of the fire eating up her father’s words. It’s like she’s watching him get eaten up by the flames.

“It’s late, Lestrange.”

Y/N jumps on her feet and gets a grip of her night robes. The light green material covers her body now that she’s tugging her fingers into it. From the dark green sofa, Regulus Black watches her with a bored expression. He was reading a book and in front of him, on the small black table, is a cup filled with tea, she could guess.

“Always staying in the shadows, like a rat,” Y/N mutters and walks to him, staying on the couch in front of him. While she sits down, she lets the robe fall from her shoulder, exposing the skin. She’s dressed in a dark purple pajama set, made out of silk, and the little string of her tank top falls with the robe. Regulus seems to notice the bare skin just exposed and he gets his eyes to look at her face fast, before she could sense his gaze. He feels… disgusted.

“Always speaking like you own the whole place,” he talks back and smirks, “when we both know it’s nothing like that.” His voice is flat – no matter his facial expressions, Regulus Black always had a boring voice when he’d talk to her.

Y/N just watches him for a second. He’s still in his Quidditch equipment, even if the Slytherin team came back from practice a few hours ago. His hair is messy, his eyes are circled by a dark color, in comparison with his light skin, and he looks tired.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” she lets the question escape her lips without even thinking.

“I could ask you the same thing, if I really cared,” he says and grabs his cup, drinking slowly from it.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Black,” Y/N laughs and puts her hands over her chest. Regulus notices that, too. “I’m sure you got an owl from Bellatrix.”

“Yes, Bella wrote me about her birthday. Unfortunately, if you’re telling me about it, it means she wrote to you, too,” he says in a quiet voice, letting out the air in his lungs.

“She’s part of my family, too, Black,” Y/N says and surprises herself – she never gave that much importance to the family relations. She only had herself, at the end of the day, no matter how much her father would scold her for being an absent member of the House of Lestrange.

Her father never really showed her love – he was meant to be her father, but he was just a kind of legal tutor who raised her and was responsible for her well-being, and her cousins looked down on her – she was just a silly girl, meant only to bear children and get more powerful connections for her family. Her uncle and her aunt were distant, and maybe that was better than giving her reasons to hate them, like the rest did.

“Please, do not remind me – I still can’t get over that.” Regulus seems annoyed, bored, tired of her presence. And, yet, he stands there, face to face with her, watching each other – studying each other with such attention like they’re looking for a weak point.

“Why are you such a hypocrite, Regulus?” Y/N suddenly asks. He just smiles in the corner of his mouth, grabs his cup of tea and gets up from the sofa.

She feels him getting closer to her and in a second his breathing is hitting her face. “Don’t act like I’m the only one putting an act on, Miss Little Perfect,” he says amused.

Her brows drop. The skin on her forehead wrinkles and her eyes watch his, wanting to see behind them – they are empty. “I know you look up to me, Regulus, but there’s no need to remind me,” now she’s the one to smirk, and he’s the one to frown.

“Please,” he scoffs, “I wouldn’t look up to a pathetic orphan even if you’d be hanging out from the ceiling,” he mutters and gets back up on his feet, looking down to her. Regulus is not the tallest boy Y/N knows, but that position gives him a more decent posture.

“That orphan is better than you,” she whispers. “That’s why your momma always prays the ground I walk on, right?” she laughs and she can sense his body getting alarmed by her words. “My dad just wanted an heir, someone to get his name far – but Walburga wants more than that, right? Now that Sirius, your disappointment of a brother, left, she only has you, but she doesn’t seem to be fulfilled,” the air leaves her lungs when Regulus drops the cup of tea and gets on top of her. The liquid spills on the stone floor.

His hands grab her bare shoulders, his leg is between her hips and he presses her body into the couch. Her back is arched into the plush material of the sofa and her eyes widen at the proximity. His jaw is tightened and his breathing is deep while Regulus watches her face with a spark into his eyes. “Do not, ever again in your filthy, pathetic, good for nothing life, talk about my family,” he mumbles and his grip only gets tighter – his nails digs into the skin of her shoulders like he wants to rip it off.

Y/N shoves him away and quickly gets up from the couch. Regulus is on the floor, right into the tea puddle he made, and he seems to be caught with his guard off. “Do not, ever again in your pathetic, sad, good for nothing life, call me an orphan – I have a family, Black. The blood in my veins is just as pure as yours, and my name is just as important as yours.”

And she leaves him there, into the Common Room, to take a bath into his own mess. She needs to go back to sleep – tomorrow she has to go back home and get ready for a birthday party.

The whole night she tried to forget Regulus’ hands onto her skin – her shoulders felt like burning, like they got marked by his touch. She tried not to think about the anger in her soul the whole ride back to London, when she was forced to be in the same wagon with Regulus – apparently, they both wanted to travel into the Prefects’ cabin. At least, they both kept their mouths shut and didn’t even looked at each other.

She didn’t have to have a very warm welcoming back home – Rabastan waited for her at the station and kept his eyes on the road the whole time. He only asked about other Slytherin kids in her year and some older ones – he wanted to know if she was behaving well enough towards them. Once she got to enter the big mansion she called ‘home’, there was chaos – all the house elves were running left and right with platters, candles, flowers in their hands and all of them stopped to look at her and welcome her mechanically. She just got up to her room and closed the door behind her. When she dropped on her bed, there was silence – there was no longer Regulus Black, or Cyrus Lestrange or any other dumb man who made her angry.

Once she woke up, she started to get ready for the gathering she was forced to attempt. She got dressed in a dark grey dress, elegant enough not to make her father a fool and yet, simple enough not to make Bellatrix feel left out – it was her birthday, after all.

“There you are,” says her father as she gets out of her bedroom. “I thought you’re still asleep.”

“I was getting ready.”

Cyrus looks her up and down in a judgmental way – he points to her neck. “Make sure the chain is visible, nothing else.”

Y/N forces a smile and a hand travels to the gold flower at her neck. “Yes, father.” He gives her his elbow and the two of them go down, where the elves decorated the whole floor with black and purple roses and white candles. There’s a long table near a wall, right at the fireplace, where are plates with food and glasses of expensive champagne.

“Here,” Cyrus whispers and gives Y/N a red box, and before she could question his action Bellatrix is right in front of her, laughing happily.

“Y/N! I’m so glad to see you, how are you?”

Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black, is a very… bipolar witch. Once, she’s loud, smiley, in a good mood, and then she acts like the Devil himself. Y/N could never figure out why her cousin, Rodolphus, wanted to marry her – there were plenty of purebloods who wished to be married to him, but all his attention was on Bellatrix ever since they were in school together, despite the fact that she didn’t show any kind of interest in him during those years. Now, Rodolphus would do anything Bellatrix asks without blinking twice.

“Happy birthday, Bellatrix,” Y/N smiles and hugs her in a soft manner. While giving her the small box, she can see her cousin behind his wife, watching them carefully.

“I told you there was no need for gifts,” Bellatrix says and gives Rodolphus the box to take care of it. “I assume you just got down here,” she continues and grabs her hand, getting her away from her father – he doesn’t seem concerned about that. Cyrus always said that Bellatrix was a good wife and that Y/N had a lot to learn from her. What he did not know is that Y/N really wanted to learn a lot from Bellatrix – she wanted to know more about the power a witch could hold.

“Yes,” she said and looked around her own house. It was full of wizards, all of them being purebloods and talking to each other with a clear superiority in their voice. “I hope I’m not late to the party.”

Bellatrix scoffs. “The true party begins only when he gets here,” she smirks and Y/N freezes, knowing who she’s talking about. Tom Riddle was certainly not her favorite person, no matter how much he convinced her father that she will be a good daughter for him.

“Wonderful,” she manages to say and walks beside Bellatrix to greet her guests. She smiles and greets Bellatrix’ parents and gets a deep breath when her aunt and uncle come to wish her a happy birthday.

“Y/N, how are you, dear?” Walburga asks and kisses her both cheeks. Bellatrix seems busy talking to her uncle about the upcoming meeting, while Regulus sits behind them and only listen. “How is school?”

“It’s good, wonderful, even,” she smiles and Walburga laughs happily. “I’m working on some essays for Potions and Transfiguration, maybe they’ll be published after I finish school.”

“Did you hear, Regulus? Y/N plans to publish some essays after graduation,” she scolds her son and now his attention is on them. He only smiles to his mother and she goes on with the talking. Neither of them seems to be truly focused on what she’s saying – they look at each other like they’d snap each other’s neck if they could.

“Regulus, why don’t you invite Y/N to dance?” Bellatrix pops between them and her aunt claps her hands satisfied with her proposal. “You know how much joy it brings me to see you two together, Reggie,” she continues and puts her arm around his shoulders. He looks at his cousin with doubt in his gaze – she made them dance together at her wedding, too, like they were some monkeys to entertain the adults.

With a silent scoff, he forced a smile in his cousin’s direction and looked shortly to his mother, who only seemed to tell him the same thing with her eyes. “Shall we dance together, Y/N?” he asks and gives her his pale hand.

No matter how much she’d like to hit it, getting it away from her, she grabs it lightly and smiles. “With pleasure,” she mutters and the adults all clap their hands and smile in their direction as they go to the center of the room, where other people are dancing slowly.

Bellatrix flicks her wand and the room is now filled with a more vibrant music – they smile to each other and Y/N’s skin is burning under her dress where Regulus’ hands touch her. He cups her hand into his and the other one rests on her back, bringing her closer to his body. She has a hand on his shoulder and they both move synchronically to the rhythm.

“You disgust me,” he whispers into her ear, sending shivers all over her spine.

A big smile appears on her rosy lips and she looks behind him, where her father is beside Orion and Cygnus Black – they all had firewhiskey glasses in hand and talked with serious expressions on their faces.

“The feeling is mutual, my dear Regulus,” she mumbles and steps on his foot, careful to put the heel right into his toe.

“Then, you could’ve save us both and deny Bellatrix’ stupid wish.”

“On her birthday?” she scoffs. “Yeah, right, you tell her no, I like to be alive.”

Regulus lets a small chuckle out and before she could look at him, he spins her away for a second. When her body is back into his arms, her vision is blurry. “You better keep your mouth shut during the meeting,” he says in a cold tone.

“Why, Reggie?” she mocks the tone Bellatrix used. “Scared the Dark Lord will see more potential in me than in you?” She’s joking. On Merlin’s beard, she’s only trying to piss him off.

“Tonight is my night and you better not do anything to steal it from me,” he spits the words into her ear. Her skin becomes ice cold and all her blood runs faster into her veins because of the way he presses his fingers into her back. “I warn you, Y/N, stay in your place,” he mumbles and when the music changes, he lets go of her and smiles, before going away.

After some hours, the chaos in her house begins to cool down – the guests start leaving until there are only the usual people. They all sit at the long table, talking about some things that happened in the Muggleworld and how unacceptable they were – for someone who said they despised the muggles, they sure talked a lot about them. The conversation dies when the chair at the end of the table is occupied by the tall, dark haired wizard. They all rise from their sits and greet him with joy.

“It’s good to see you too, my dear friends,” Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort says and he shakes her father’s hand. Her lungs take the air in with great difficult, given the fact that there’s only a sit between the dark wizard and her. “I assume I need to apologize to Bellatrix,” he speaks and looks to his left, where the witch smiles from one ear to another. “I did not bring any gift with me, Bella,” he explains.

“You are my greatest gift, My Lord,” she says and from her left, Rodolphus and Rabastan just nod their heads. “Your presence gives us hope for a better future for us, the right titled wizards,” she continues and everyone agrees.

Bellatrix is one of the most loyal followers the Dark Lord has besides Cyrus Lestrange and the rest of his friends from when they were in Hogwarts. He saw the potential in her, just like he saw it in Y/N.

“Then tell me, which is the reason of this meeting?” Voldemort asks and looks at every face at the table.

It was not Y/N’s greatest pleasure to sit at that table from time to time – her father thought it was good for her future to assist those meetings, but they were incredibly boring. There were many parents of her housemates and from other kids from school, but not even a single person her age – that until Bellatrix brought Regulus to join her. Apparently, he was quite a fan of that man because of his cousin’s stories.

“We think it’s the time to welcome another wizard between us, as an official member, my Lord,” Lucius Malfoy speaks and his voice is just as annoying as ever.

“Oh, really?” Voldemort smiles. “And who might that be, Lucius?”

“My cousin, my Lord,” Bellatrix says and points to Regulus. “Regulus is one of the most dedicated wizards to your plans,” she continues and the air leaves Y/N’s lungs.

Looking over the table to Regulus, she could see Walburga smiling proudly while he just looks to Tom Riddle. “My Lord,” he says, “I swear I’ll serve you with every power I have.”

“Then come closer, young Regulus,” the dark wizard says and plays with his wand between his fingers. The boy gets up on his feet. From his right, Cyrus Lestrange clears his throat. “Yes, Cyrus?”

“My Lord,” he begins, “I was not aware that the Death Eaters were open to new members.”

“We always have free spots for the one who wish to serve our believes,” comes his explanation.

“In that case, I’m sure you’ll agree with me that Y/N is just as worthy of getting the mark as young Regulus is.”

Her heart stops beating. What did he just say?

“Right, Y/N?” his father touches her back, forcing her to look at him. His eyes are desperate. There is no way, in his opinion, that his only child will not be recognized as a worthy follower of Lord Voldemort.

All eyes are on her. She can feel them. However, she does not care about them – the only ones that matter are her father’s, and the one from across the table who looked down at her.

“Yes, My Lord,” she says that quietly that she barely hears her own voice. Her father pats her back and goes back to Voldemort. Y/N can’t gather the courage to look at Regulus.

“You said she was worthy from the first day you saw her, My Lord,” Cyrus says. “You said she will be a powerful witch, with a great future – how is she supposed to be powerful if not under your command?”

Voldemort smiles pleased. “You’re right, my old friend. Come, child, let me get a better look of you.” Her father looks at her and orders her to do as asked just with his eyes. Do not disappoint me, hesays with his burning gaze.

Mechanically, Y/N is on her feet and walks behind her father, in front of the sick looking wizard. His hands are cold, like he’s dead, when he touches her jaw. He looks at her like she’s some kind of animal that needs to be inspected.

“Are you willing to follow my orders, whenever you are needed, child?”

There’s a knot in her stomach. She wants to say no. She wants to leave that house and never come back. She’s scared.

“Yes,” is the only answer she can give in return.

“Very well,” Tom Riddle smirks satisfied and gestures to Regulus to come closer too. They are now next to each other. She can hear his breathing from her left and her knees are about to go numb. “Who wants to go first?”

Before she can say anything, Regulus already has his shirt lifted from his left arm and brings it closer to the man. Y/N can hear the soft scoff of his father.

“You need to swear to always serve me, boy,” Voldemort demands, the tip of his wand pressed into Regulus’ arm.

“I swear, My Lord. Whenever you’ll call for me, I’ll be there, ready to do everything I’m capable of for you,” Regulus speaks.

With a big grin on his face, Voldemort begins to press the wand deeper into the skin, until Regulus grabs his arm with his free hand. From under his skin is visible a dark smoke that lingers there, running like it’s chasing his blood. His nose is twitching from the possible pain, but besides that, his expression is blank. When the wand is lifted, the Dark Mark is on his white skin. There is silence, like the rest would wait for him to scream. His parents have a proud expression on their faces as Regulus watches the crowd with a blank, serious stare.

“Your turn, Y/N” Voldemort says after a few seconds and puts his hand out there to grab her arm. She lifts the sleeve of her dress and looks at her father – Cyrus Lestrange watches her with a demanding manner, like he’s forcing her to go closer to Voldemort. Which she does.

“I always knew you’d be a great witch, child,” he says with a proud tone in his voice. He wanted her to be his weapon. “Say you’ll serve me without question, Y/N. Let the others know that from today, you’ll become one of the most powerful followers of mine.”

“I do, My Lord,” is the only thing she says like she’s hypnotized – her body doesn’t listen to her commands, it acts on its own.

The wand is cold against her skin, but as soon as Voldemort presses it harder into her arm, a burning sensation hits her entire being – she needs to grab her arm in order not to get it away from the unspoken spell. The black smoke feels like venom and she wants to scream from the bottom of her soul. Instead, she just bites the flesh inside her mouth, the taste of blood blooming from her cheek. When the wand is lifted and the mark is done on her arm, too, there’s silence again – and when there’s no screaming, all the Death Eaters gets up and start to applause them, to congratulate them.

“That’s the best birthday ever!” Bellatrix laughs maniacal and jumps from a foot to another.

She still has her left arm in her right hand, looking at the black drawing on her skin. She’s too afraid to touch it, like it could burn her fingers. Two arms wrap around her in the noise and she’s hugged by her father. Cyrus Lestrange hugs his daughter, and a single tear rolls down on her cheek.

“Good job, Y/N,” he says in her ear. “Now you’ll show everyone what you’re made of.”

She gets slightly away from him and she can feel the vomit sensation grow in her stomach. While everyone clink glasses of champagne and laughs with joy, she excuses herself and leave the dining hall.

She could not see Regulus in the crowd. She needs to see him to be sure it was all real. And she finds him on the corridor near the bathroom, at a balcony with a view to her garden. His shoulders are moving up and down and his breathing is accelerated. If she didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t guess he was… crying. She stepped closer to him slowly and put her hand on his back.

“Regulus…” she said softly and tears started to form into her eyes, too. What have they done?

“You couldn’t contain yourself, right?” he screams and turns around to face her. “You got to be the center of the attention tonight, too,” his voice is full of hate, which she ignores when she sees his wet blood-shot eyes. Her hand tries to touch his shoulder, wishing to show him… empathy?

“Regulus…” she mumbles again and her voice is hurt. Maybe they are in this together; she just needs to explain everything.

“Don’t put your filthy hands on me!” he says and slaps her hand away.

Y/N doesn’t know what hurt more – the slap, the burning feeling in her arm or the fact that she thought that maybe, just maybe, Regulus was willing to show her kindness then, when it was clear that neither of them was feeling good with their actions.

She looks at his hand – the one he slapped hers with – and at his arm. His left arm.

“We are both filthy now,” she says with despair and turns around, leaving him alone.

#slytherin #angst #hogwarts #smut #regulus black #regulus x reader #the black family #x reader #one way ticket #slytherin reader #voldemort #dark mark #death eaters #marauders era #regulus fanfiction

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respectthepetty · 7 months

Note

hi!! i can’t stop thinking about your wild-ass theory about saifah and how it feels like you’ve predicted the whole dang plot!

im thinking next episode is gonna be mostly happy and fluffy with a bit of angst about kang and his dad (otherwise you’d think they would’ve had the saifah getting arrested clip in the trailer for the episode). but then I reckon episode 9 is where shit’s gonna go DOWN (although it might also be episode 10, but it feels like there’s several subplots that’re gonna happen and they’re gonna need as many episodes as possible to unpack them while still having a satisfying ending)

anyway this isn’t really saying anything, I just wanted to tell you how much I LOVE your theories and reading your posts, and I also love dangerous romance this series is so good, it very very quickly became my entire personality and I can’t stop rewatching it hehe

BUT YEAH, I LOVE YOU HAVE A GREAT DAY YOURE AWESOME FJEKEIFJEJEJFIEJE

Wild Ass Theory Update

@quodekash, because this is you giving me a compliment and me blushing from it, I'm giving you everything that has been stuck in my head over the past couple of weeks.

TLWR: Episode 8/9 - Kanghan is going to throw a tantrum about his dad paying for him to get on the team, spend all his dad's money on Sailom on a trip, and sleep with him, only to return home and see that his dad has been shot and Saifah had something to do with it causing him to question everything about Sailom.

Thank you very much for saying that you love my theories, and that I'm awesome, but I appreciate even more that you LOVE Dangerous Romance.

Because I, too, love it. An unreasonable amount, in fact. It makes me so happy even though I know some pain is headed our way.

And much like you, I think that pain is coming in episode 9. Now that Saifah is in Kang's house, we might see some warning signs in episode 8 in the shape of this beautiful giant red flag.

I feel more than confident that Papang is capable of stealing, but I don't think he has it in him to rob an employer's home or shoot someone, which is also a part of my theory (let the dad get shot, please!), so Name has to be involved!

But that's partly why I love this show. It has done a good job giving us crumbs along the way about what is to come, which is why I don't feel like it's a wild ass theory because I think Saifah does feel some type of way about Name enough to help him with a dumb plan.

Because even Kang's dad paying for Kang to get on the soccer team was implanted into the story well.

Since we knew from the first episode that he regularly donates money to the school for students, so it wouldn't seem out of the norm for some of that money to benefit his child as well.

Even Pimfah's crush on Sailom seemed written in stone to me from the first episode when the dog discussion came up since she stood firmly on the "show the dog love" side then continued to show Sailom love while Kang is in the "punish the dog" boat.

So, once again, I think the show has done a great job telling us Saifah is going to be involved in robbing that house, even if it's as simple as letting the actual robbers in. But robbing the house doesn't seem enough to split the couple up, which is why I think someone has to get shot.

DON'T LET IT BE THE GRANDMA! It must be the dad.

The grandma has to be the one to convince Kang to trust himself and his love for Sailom, so he can believe Sailom had nothing to do with this plot, and that Saifah didn't intend for anyone to get hurt.

The dad has to be shot because there is still tension between him and Kanghan, AND wouldn't it be interesting if the robbery (and shooting) were less about "eat the rich" and more of the political backstabbing variation?

So with all that being written, I think the robbery will happen either at the end of episode eight or the beginning of episode nine IF Kanghan finds out early in the episode that his dad paid for him to get on the team since Pimfah is going to drop this line in eight.

Would really suck for Kanghan to be focused and on the right path only for his last parent to get shot, and him be lost all over again, no? Would be awful for Kang to find out his dad paid his way onto the team, be pissed off about it, throw a tantrum, and use up all his money on a trip with Sailom where he tells him how much he loves him . . .

Spend the night with Sailom (possibly their first time together) telling him how much he appreciates Sailom for believing in him like the best version of a BL honeymoon

Only to return home and see his dad has been shot and think Sailom had something to do with it since Saifah is being arrested.

Kanghan will push Sailom away from guilt of being upset at his father who is now in the hospital and confusion of his feelings for Sailom, which means Sailom is going to have to start escorting again to make ends meet because Name is NOT in jail and still in charge of debts (10?)

Then Kanghan is going to assault Sailom. (10?)

The grandma is gonna be like "IDIOT!" and Kanghan is going to rescue Sailom (11?)

And Sailom is going to cry about having no one left, and Kanghan is going to be like "you still have me" (11?)

And then we get episode 12 where the real baddies go to jail.

*curtain closes*

The crumbs have been laid, and I'm following them all the way to grandma's house. Name x Saifah, don't just be my ghost ship.

Be the ship to cause some shit!

#dangerous romance #wild theory time #sailom x kanghan #we gotta have a honeymoon first #then the pain #it's coming #name x saifah

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softxsuki · 1 year

Note

Hello, I’m.. new to this. But reading your works have comforted me … I know you have a lot on your plate, and I hope all is going well for you!! If you,,have the chance,, I’ve kind of.. not been doing well. At all. Haha,, I’ve been extremely suicidal.. for at least the past year. Everything has since fell apart. I’m not sure if this counts, but..it feels urgent, to me..?

My grandmother died, I lost my job due to my health declining so rapidly I physically could not manage. I’ve since applied to so many jobs.. absolutely no luck and.. I even lost my home. Im living with someone else’s parents, and I’m a child scared to leave their room all over again. I can’t eat unless food is in front of me, none of my friends are… good, at comforting, to say the least… I have well over 1K due for medical bills, and no one will even take me for an interview, so I can’t even pay off little by little. Lol..I pretty much moved out at 17 and have been surviving by myself for 6 years now.

Im so tired of surviving.

If.. if you don’t mind.. honestly I don’t even know what kind of scenario this would count as…. Baji has been my biggest comfort character as of late, and I.. well, would you mind,, possibly writing a scenario.. of reader who’s spiraled so far into these thoughts, and in the midst of a panic attack, attempts to.. stop surviving, if you catch my drift..

I know this is very personal, and I’m sorry to dump on you.. if you’re unable, all is well! Thank u for taking time to read my pity story haha.. <3

Baji Helps Suicidal Reader

****Please proceed with caution if mentions of suicide will be more harmful to you than beneficial.*****

Pairing: Baji x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of hopelessness, suicide attempt, crying, not being able to find a job, losing your home

Genre: Hurt Comfort

Post-Type: Oneshot

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: In which Baji shows up as soon as you attempt to take your own life.

[A/N: Hi darling, I'm so glad you found my blog and for feeling comfortable enough to bring your urgent request to me! I'm so sorry to hear what you've been through. I can't begin to imagine how you must be feeling. Though I've felt similarly about the the whole job thing. Places these days won't even give people a chance to show what they could do. I graduated from College and couldn't find work immediately. I'm still struggling to find a job in my field even now. I have a job at a bookstore atm, but it took a long time for me to get it. I think when they timing is right though, things will work out for us. We really just need to wait for things to happen and keep working for them! But you're also going through a lot of other situations as well, so my words probably aren't that helpful, so I'll leave that to Baji. I'm here if you ever need anyone to talk to though. I've been through moments of hopelessness and feeling like leaving this world was my only option, but I'm proof that things will change. There will always be times when we fall, but we can always get back up again! Anyway, I'll shut up now and let you read. I hope it provides you with even just a tiny bit of comfort <3 i love you, hopefully we can talk again soon, you sound very sweet!

Side note: I wasn’t sure if you wanted something platonic or if you wanted to be Baji’s s/o so I left that kinda ambiguous. You could read it either way!

Baji impatiently taps his foot, sitting on his bike outside your place. Where were you?

You had texted him earlier asking him to pick you up since the people you were living with weren’t home and you just needed to get out for a while. He came rushing over as soon as he had a chance and texted you upon arriving, but you weren’t answering his texts–you weren’t even reading them.

He knew all about your situation in life and had tried his best to be by your side and show you the support that you deserved to have. He wasn’t perfect though, at times it was hard for Baji to truly put himself in your shoes and understand what you were going through.

Now though, he was worried. Why had you texted so desperately that you needed to get out of the house? Why weren’t you answering his texts now?

He turns his engine off and hops off the bike, walking briskly to your front door.

“Y/N! I’m here,” He bangs on the door, hoping you were just distracted and forgot to check your phone to see his texts.

But he’s met with silence.

“Y/N!” He tries again, panic settling in the pit of his stomach and he bangs harder on the door–something wasn’t right.

He brings his ear to the door hoping to hear any sign of life and that’s when he hears it, the running of water and sobs from the other side. Gathering whatever adrenaline had been building up in him, he rams into the door, which luckily flies open from the impact. The sound of your sobs grows louder the closer he gets to you. You were in the bathroom.

The door is only a crack open, but he races toward the noise, slamming the door fully open and takes in your state; puffy eyes as tears run from them not that he could distinguish your tears from the hot water that was pouring on you from the shower-head. You were sitting in the tub, soaking wet with a bottle of pills in your hands.

Your breathing was erratic as you struggled to open the bottle, but Baji is quick to act. He’s in the shower with you in a second, the burning water scalding his body even through his jacket, but he doesn’t care since it’s now not hitting you anymore. He snatches the pills from your hands, throwing them out the bathroom door and into the hallway where you can’t see them. In your state of panic, you start to flail around, seeing that bottle as your only escape from the mental pain you were experiencing. He finally turns the water off and hoists you up, your attempts to push him away and hit him futile. His adrenaline is still high as he lifts you from the tub with ease and onto the bathroom floor where he plops down next to you, out of breath.

You can’t seem to calm your breathing down as you clutch your chest, searching all around you with wild eyes, looking for a way out. Anything to end your suffering–anything. But then you feel strong arms wrap around you in a hug. You beat down on his back, trying your best to shake him off you. Let go of me, you think to yourself. Maybe you meant it in a different way, Let me go. Let me be free from this pain. But deep down, you wanted him to continue to hold you in place.

“Y/N please-” His voice cracks, making you go still in his arms. What were you doing?

“Please, I’m here. You’re not alone, I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere,” he cries, “So don’t leave me.”

The man who had nerves of steel was breaking right in front of you.

He held you tight, as if he was scared you’d just vanish between his fingers.

What feels like hours passes by with you both still soaking wet on the floor, clinging to each other, but you slowly manage to calm your breathing and sobs thanks to Baji’s help.

He had been silent the whole time, focusing on just making sure you wouldn’t try anything else while he was around.

“I’m sorry…” you finally say, resting your head on his shoulder, “I’m sorry you had to see me like this.”

He finally loosens his grip on you, but continues to hold you close, caressing your still damp hair, “Why?”

That was a great question. One you couldn’t answer in only a few minutes. Baji knew the basics of what you’d been through, but he didn’t know the turmoil of what you were going through internally–only externally.

“I’m just…tired. Tired of surviving, tired of suffering. I’m barely scraping by. Is this what life’s supposed to be like? I look around at all the happy faces. Everyone seems to be living the ideal life and I’m just here, so why should I bother to exist if I don’t matter.”

He takes in your words, thinking them over, probably repeating them over and over in his head.

“You matter,” he decides to say, “You matter so much. Even if you only matter to one person, isn’t that enough to keep trying? One person can eventually grow into two, and three, and so on.”

“Baji…you don’t know what it’s like. I’ve already tried for so long. It’s been six long years. I’ve tried to see the good in my situation for six years, and yet I only keep getting pushed farther and farther past my limit. I can’t find a job, and because I can’t find a job, I can’t pay off my debt. I’m living in a house that isn’t mine with people who aren’t my family. I’m alone,” you cry out.

By now you had freed yourself from Baji’s arms, but he reaches over and grabs your hand, squeezing it reassuringly, scared that you’d run away from him.

“But if you leave now how do you know that tomorrow won’t be the day that things change?” He asks you, “Look, I know I can’t ever fully understand what goes on through your mind or what you’ve been through up till this point, but you can’t know what your life will be like a few months from now–hell, not even a few days from now. Everything can change in a second, you just need to be around to experience it.”

He brings your hands to his lips, peppering tiny kisses to your knuckles.

“I love you, a lot Y/N. Too much to just let you leave like this. Let’s try focusing on today. Each day has its own troubles, so why should we think about the future and worry ourselves even more for problems we haven’t reached yet? We’ll cross those valleys when we get to them. Right now, I just want you to focus on yourself, getting back on your feet and in a better state of mind,” he tries to console you.

His words definitely reached you. Truth be told, you knew things could maybe change, but it was hard to move forward with such uncertainty. Why couldn’t you know what would happen with your life five years from now?

“But what if things don’t change. I don’t want to live like this forever. I don’t want to suffer anymore,” you confess, hot tears running down your face.

Baji turns to face you, gently wiping your tears away.

“But what if they do? Don’t you want to stick around to find that out for yourself?” He asks.

You stop and think it over for a moment; a life where things finally turned around–you finally getting called in for an interview and getting a job, receiving an income and finally getting to pay your debts off. Having your own place where you felt comfortable and maybe starting a family of your own…yeah, that did sound nice. As impossible as that future sounded, it was something you craved.

“I guess I do,” you sigh, “Though I wish it could happen now.”

“I know. I wish it could happen now for you as well. I hate to see you suffer so much, but you’re not alone in this. I have your back. So let’s keep fighting okay? Together, let’s see it through till the end when things finally turn around for you.”

“Baji, you know I can’t just feel better overnight. I think I’ll be okay for today, but who’s to tell when I’ll spiral like this again.”

“Then I’ll be here to get you through it again.”

A wave of gratitude flew through you. You don’t know why Baji arrived on time when you were fully ready to leave this world a few minutes ago, but now you were thankful that he had stopped you. You didn’t want to hurt him or leave him alone, but you found a little ball of hope appearing in your heart. Though tiny, it was still present and you hoped it would continue to grow and become reality one day.

“I’ll try.”

“Good. Then shall we go? You said you wanted out of here for the day, right?” He goes right back to treating you like he usually would–something you were grateful for. You didn’t want him to walk on eggshells around you after witnessing you at your lowest moment.

“But we’re still wet,” you point-out, looking at his clothes that were still clinging to his body.

“The wind will dry us,” he heaves himself off the floor and holds a hand out to you, “Let’s go.”

You give him your hand as he helps you off the floor. What did you have to lose? At this point you didn’t care, you just needed to get your mind off everything.

Baji leads you out of the house, grabbing the bottle of pills on his way out and throwing them in his jacket pocket, making a mental note to discard them later. You walk past the open door with a lock that was now busted off the wall. You’d have to explain that to the people you lived with, but you’d face that problem when you got to it–just like Baji said.

You hop on behind him on his motorbike as he passes you his helmet, making sure it’s securely on your head before he drives off.

For just a moment, the wind seems to blow all the worries from your mind. With your arms wrapped tightly around Baji’s torso, you close your eyes and think of those better days he had spoken about.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to see if they could really happen…

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D

Posted: 2/15/2023

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taizi · 1 year

Text

give me something that’ll haunt me when you’re not around

chapter three: me and you and the whole town underwater

rise of the tmnt pairing: leoichi (leonardo / usagi yuichi) word count: 3k title borrowed from dark blue by jack’s mannequin post-movie

(previous) (next)

read on ao3

Usagi: Good morning Leonardo. Unknown: USAGI Unknown: there are so many snacks in here oh my god Unknown: what the hell 😭😭😭😭 Unknown: im heavily medicated its not fair to do nic ethings ill cry Unknown: tell ur aunt i said THANK YOU!!!!!!! and the blueberry buckle was SO GOOD😭😭 Unknown: i shared some w mikey and he wants the recipe like yesterday Unknown: we actually ate like. all of it in one sitting. raph was pissed lol

Yuichi lays in bed smiling at his phone for a while before he gets around to pulling his braincells together to form a reply.

He starts and stops typing so many times that it’s embarrassing. He’ll pretend he didn’t do that.

Usagi: Those snacks were specifically meant to aid in your recovery. Unknown: so idk how familiar u are w baby brothers but typically mike gets whatever he wants

Yuichi thinks of his youngest cousin Jomei. Tiny and soft, with huge gray eyes, and unfortunately already self-aware at four years old. If Mike—Michelangelo, Yuichi thinks he remembers the boy being called—is even half as powerful as Jomei, then Leonardo’s blueberry buckle didn’t stand a chance.

Usagi: Fair enough.

It’s a good thing he woke up early. He doesn’t get anything else done for hours. Leonardo is an enthusiastic conversation partner at all times, and his texts manage to translate that energy effortlessly.

Typically, Yuichi lets his friends save their contact IDs in his phone however they want. Leonardo isn’t there to do it himself, but Yuichi makes the rookie mistake of giving him free reign anyway. So Leonardo insists his number go in under ⚡️⚡️NEON LEON⚡️⚡️ and Yuichi has something to roll his eyes at every time they message each other.

It also makes him feel warm. There’s an affectionate little tug in his chest at this clear proof of Leonardo in his hands.

Now that he has this unfettered access to the very same person he wants to talk to all the time, Yuichi checks his phone a lot more than he used to over the next couple days. He even keeps it in his waist apron pocket at work, which some of the other servers do, which technically isn’t against the rules because none of them have abused the privilege so far.

Yuichi will feel extremely bad and guilty if he’s the one who abuses the privilege and ruins it for everyone. But when it vibrates in his pocket while he’s going outside to dump the trash anyway, he might as well linger for an extra minute and check his messages, right? Right??

Once, Señor Hueso catches Yuichi lingering in the employee lounge after his lunch break is well over, moving at a snail’s pace back toward the dining room with his nose buried in his phone. He almost walks right into his boss’s chest, saved only by the last-minute sense of someone else’s immediate presence that Karasu-Tengu-sensei mercilessly trained into him years ago. So he freezes a few inches away instead and his eyes dart up to the skeleton yokai’s unamused expression.

Oh boy. Señor Hueso is generally a very patient person but he’s no-nonsense about work. Is Yuichi in trouble? Is he going to get fired?

“I’msosorry,” Yuichi whispers.

But instead of scolding him, Señor Hueso only gives a pointed look to the phone in Yuichi’s hands and says sternly, “You tell Pepino to give it a rest. He’s still recovering from a concussion, he doesn’t need to be staring at a screen all day, madre de dios. Please be a good influence.”

“You don’t know I was talking to Leonardo,” Yuichi says defensively. He has other friends he could be texting! Then he takes a second look at the older yokai’s face and backtracks immediately. “I mean. Uh. Yes, sir. I’ll tell him.”

“Good. Now you have tables seated in your section.”

It’s a dismissal if Usagi’s ever heard one, so he scurries into the dining room with five times his original speed, sending one last message before he shoves his phone away.

Usagi: Señor says no more screen time while you’re recovering from a concussion. ⚡️⚡️NEON LEON⚡️⚡️: what?? how even??? ⚡️⚡️NEON LEON⚡️⚡️: he doesn’t KNOW ur taking to me

Thank you, that’s exactly what Yuichi said!

He makes it a point to actually focus for the rest of his shift, but it’s a Wednesday afternoon, and things are slow. Sunita is off for the day, and Qiao is studying at the bar when they’re not actively pouring drinks, and those are the only two coworkers Yuichi is familiar enough to strike up conversation with, so he keeps to his own section and works quietly.

It’s been brought up a couple of times now, in passing—Leonardo’s condition. Apparently, even a month after the invasion, he’s still healing. Yuichi didn’t know the symptoms of a concussion could last whole weeks. He doesn’t really know much about kappa, or whatever manner of creature Leonardo and his brothers are, but for a head injury to be that severe…

Suddenly, the sight of Raphael’s damaged eye jumps to the front of Yuichi’s memory. The clean hole in the big turtle’s rock-solid carapace. What the hell could have done that? What happened to them?

His brain is coming up with nightmare fuel like that’s its job. Something horrible went down behind-the-scenes while Yuichi was completely ignorant—while Yuichi was waiting tables and getting into trouble with Kitsune and Gen and helping with the tomato harvest, Leonardo and his family were in almost certain danger. And Yuichi didn’t know.

He plops down on a stool at the bar at the tail end of his last break for the day, and Qiao wordlessly slides him a cranberry juice on the rocks.

“How do I get my friend to tell me about something that may or may not be a sensitive subject?” he blurts.

“Have you tried asking him about it?” the ram yokai replies in a tone that manages to be both over-exaggerated and monotone.

Yuichi doesn’t even know why he bothers. He taps his phone on the counter a few times, takes a big gulp of cranberry juice that he pretends is something much stronger, then goes for it.

Usagi: I need to talk to you. ⚡️⚡️NEON LEON⚡️⚡️: oooooo ominous Usagi: It’s not ominous, weirdo. I have to go now but I’m off at 7.

Any normal person would have taken that last text at face-value, but Yuichi isn’t dealing with a normal person, is he?

So maybe he should have been expecting it when he leaves the restaurant a few hours later and finds Leonardo waiting for him outside. He's leaning heavily on one of his katana, either in an attempt to look cool or because he’s having trouble staying upright.

Yuichi is not inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he blurts. His flat tone definitely does not convey his shock, but he’s feeling too much right now to articulate any of it properly.

Leonardo laughs out loud. It’s a different sound than it used to be—hoarse and a little restrained, like he’s trying to remember he doesn’t have to be quiet. But it’s still bright, and it still makes Yuichi’s heart do backflips in his chest.

He’s wearing a hooded sweatshirt that looks way too big to belong to him, a deep maroon color, repaired with clumsy pink stitches along the shoulders. One of the sleeves is hiked up to Leonardo’s elbow, due to the unwieldy cast on his left forearm, covered in doodles and stickers. The hoodie is unzipped down the front, so Yuichi can make out the cracks in Leonardo’s plastron, spiderweb lines cutting cruelly through the armored scutes. It’s hard to imagine the kind of pressure it would have taken to crush his shell—the same kind that drilled that hole through Raphael’s? What happened to them?

The skin around Leonardo’s neck and the side of his face is still discolored from what must have been pretty nasty bruises, and there are puffy red marks where scars haven’t settled yet. He looks older than the last time Yuichi saw him.

But he’s here. And he’s smiling, a footprint of that laughter left on his face. And now he’s—oh boy, now he’s starting to list to the side.

Yuichi crosses the distance between them at a run, catching Leonardo by the arm before he can topple all the way over.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Yuichi says waspishly, afraid to let him go.

“You wouldn’t,” Leonardo says cheerfully. He’s leaning heavily against Yuichi’s shoulder, his hand is shaking as he sheathes his katana over his shoulder, seriously, what the fuck is he doing here? “Everyone’s cussed me out at least once since I woke up. Add you to the list.”

Flustered, Yuichi says, “I did not do that.”

“You did! You said the fuck word!”

Yuichi rolls his eyes and begins the process of dragging Leonardo toward the nearest bench, staring down anyone who drifts into their path. The tree yokai already reclining there takes one look at Yuichi’s expression, grabs her bag, and takes off without a word.

Maybe he’ll feel bad about being impolite later. He doesn’t have any room for it in his brain right now. He doesn’t even think he remembers to breathe until Leonardo is safely sitting down, slumping onto the bench seat like someone five times his age.

Yuichi crouches down in front of him, giving him a hard look. If he needs medical attention, Yuichi will kick Run of the Mill’s doors down and drag Señor Hueso out here by his tie. Who needs a part-time job anyway?

But Leonardo seems to be okay now that he’s caught his breath, and he’s still grinning, like Yuichi is the best thing he’s seen in days.

“Do you use your scary face to get what you want all the time, or is this a special occasion?” the turtle asks coyly.

“I am beginning to understand why everyone has cussed you out since you woke up this morning,” Yuichi replies, sitting back on his heels.

Something tight that’s been clenched in his chest like a closed fist has suddenly loosened, a letting go when Yuichi didn’t even know he’d been holding on.

He’s missed Leonardo. Being around him has always been easy, even when looking directly at him is like staring into the sun, even when Yuichi’s words get lost somewhere between his head and his throat and he ends up spending most of their conversations just listening and watching.

“Not since this morning,” Leonardo interjects. “Can you imagine everyone getting on my case like that all in one day? That would just be bullying. I meant since the coma.”

There it is again. Little breadcrumbs, teasing scraps of information.

Yuichi gazes up at him, and has at least a dozen questions he wants to ask. That’s why Leonardo is here, even if he doesn’t realize it. Yuichi’s curiosity inadvertently dragged his friend from the safety of his home and the safe harbor of his family to the chaotic streets of the Hidden City.

The trip itself seems to have been hard on him, when usually it’s little-to-no-effort to step through a portal between one location and the next. His forehead gleams with sweat, and he’s still breathing a little heavily, like he just ran a marathon. He’s a pale shade of the vibrant boy Yuichi first met a year ago. He looks like he regrets bringing up the coma.

But he’s still here.

Abruptly, Yuichi doesn’t want to ask any of his questions. He just wants his friend to be here.

When Leonardo says, “Sooo, what’s so serious you dragged me all the way out here?” Yuichi pushes himself to his feet and takes the seat on the bench beside him with a theatrical sigh.

“Nothing, Leonardo,” he lies. “I just wanted to talk to you. You’re the one who jumped to conclusions.”

Some tense line in Leonardo’s shoulders that Yuichi hadn’t noticed before seems to go lax, even as he rolls his eyes. “I’m a ninja, we jump, it’s a whole thing. Anyway, more importantly, did I see a stall selling dumplings down the street or nah?”

“There’s no way I can convince you to stay on this bench, is there?” Yuichi knows the answer already and he’s getting up before Leonardo has a chance to say anything, offering him his hands. When Leonardo takes them, Yuichi hauls him up onto his feet.

They stand there together for a moment, neither of them letting go. Yuichi doesn’t even feel the usual need to spring away from him before he gets too close because he’s missed this stupid guy. And his stupid face, and his stupid big hands, and the stupid way Yuichi feels around him.

Whatever happened to him, happened. Yuichi can’t change that now. And if Leonardo wants to tell him about it, he will. But Yuichi gets the feeling that what Leonardo really wants right now is to feel normal. To feel like maybe one thing in his life is the same as it’s always been.

“Dumplings,” Yuichi announces, with all the enthusiasm of his little cousins faced with the unjust trial of bedtime. “If you fall on your face, I’m leaving you there.”

“If I don’t, you’re buying,” Leonardo quips back.

Yuichi scowls, remembers he’s still holding Leonardo’s hands, and then sort of forgets how to person for long enough that Leonardo lets go and goes a few steps without him. His brain literally goes offline for a minute. That’s never happened before.

“No it’s okay,” he hears Leonardo saying to someone on the street nearby. “It’s not his fault, he’s never been the same, you know, not since the storm.”

Fur bristling, Yuichi hustles to catch up, hopefully before Leonardo has done any actual lasting damage to his reputation. He has an image to maintain around here! He’s Usagi Miyamoto’s direct descendant, and Miyamoto was never anything but cool!

“Quit making up lore about me!” he hisses.

“Quit being weird!” Leonardo replies, clearly enjoying himself. “Dumplings!”

Yuichi scowls but falls into step beside him anyway. This is the guy he missed so much?

As soon as he has that uncharitable thought, he regrets it.

He thinks about April saying he always seemed pissed off to have Leonardo around, and darts a quick look at the striped turtle ambling along beside him. Leonardo doesn’t seem put off by Yuichi’s prickly attitude, but still—it wouldn’t hurt to make sure.

Yuichi waits until they’ve paid the elderly yokai woman running the food stall for two paper plates of crispy gyoza, so he has something to do with his hands, something to focus on besides his awkward tongue, to say, “I’m glad you’re back.”

Leonardo glances sidelong at him, crunching through a dumpling unselfconsciously. His mouth is full but his expression very clearly says ‘say what now?’

“Here, I mean,” Yuichi tells his plate. “Back here. I didn’t even know you were—I’m just glad you’re better.”

They walk the length of the block before Leonardo replies.

“I wouldn’t worry about us, Usagi. Me and my brothers can take a hit. You could even say we were made for it.” That’s a strange sentiment, and something bitter comes and goes across Leonardo’s face before Yuichi can make sense of it, as swift and darting as the little minnows that flit through the creek that winds past his family’s farm. Then Leonardo adds, sounding much more like himself, “My stupid arm is all that’s slowing me down now.”

“Considering it was broken in eight places, I would take six weeks in a cast as a solid win,” someone says from directly behind them.

Yuichi doesn’t jump in shock, he freezes, rabbit-still. Leonardo doesn’t seem surprised at all—he just groans theatrically.

“Oh nooo, it’s the consequences of my actions.”

Donatello snorts. Because that’s who it is, Yuichi realizes as he turns to get a good look at him.

“You can’t just run off, Nardo,” the purple-masked turtle says. His tone implies that this is not a suggestion. “You get why that’s uncool and unfair, right? Like, I don’t have to explain that very simple, elementary-level concept to you?”

“I left a note,” Leonardo argues in his own defense.

“You sure did,” Donatello replies, so level and calm that it sets Yuichi’s whiskers on edge, because that level calmness is very much a thinly veiled promise of bodily harm. “You left a note on your door that said “Do Not Disturb, Beauty Sleep in Progress.” And then you left one on your empty bed that you just drew a winky face on.”

“I realized I didn’t need any more beauty sleep, Dontron. I decided to save some for the rest of you sad scrubs. You’re welcome.”

“How magnanimous.”

Beyond the color-coded masks and the dramatically different body shapes and skin tones, there’s another easy way to tell the Hamato siblings apart; all of them have brown eyes in varying shades. Michelangelo’s are warm, tempered honey, while Raphael’s are darker and richer, edging into red.

Leonardo and Donatello, the twins, have identical golden eyes, piercing and impossibly bright even in the semi-dark of falling dusk. Under the warm lantern light, with their defining characteristics all but overshadowed, it would probably be easy to mistake them for a perfect mirror of each other.

But Yuichi could never make that mistake. Donatello’s eyes are different, because the way he looks at Yuichi is different.

Especially now. Where Leonardo was delighted to see Yuichi for the first time since before the invasion, Donatello is looking at Yuichi like he’s a clear and present threat.

Yuichi doesn’t know what Donatello has to feel threatened about. He has a good grasp of his own abilities and he’s self-aware enough to admit that Donatello could definitely take him in a fair fight. Any of his siblings probably could, up to and including his sister, out of stubbornness and spite alone. Yuichi is the one who feels hunted, like a tiny fluffy animal that was just sighted by a bored, hungry hawk, all because of the cold, calculating gold in Donatello’s eyes.

Then Leonardo plants his good hand on the side of his twin’s face and shoves it an arm’s length away. Donatello sputters and flails, and Leonardo talks over him with the ease of years of practice.

“Thanks for the dumplings,” Leonardo tells him. “See you when I’m finally un-grounded, someday seven years from now.”

Yuichi nods, offering a little wave. He watches Leonardo unsheathe a katana and form a bright, spinning blue portal with one swift downward slice through the air. Donatello is griping at him in harsh undertones, and Leonardo is giving back as good as he gets, but it doesn’t escape Yuichi that Donatello has gravitated protectively to Leonardo’s bad side, and Leonardo is leaning his weight against his brother like he’s actually much more tired than he was willing to let on.

Leonardo needs a break. He needs fresh air. He needs to—to not disappear again, even if it probably won’t actually be for seven years.

Before he can second-guess himself, Yuichi blurts, “I’m off on Friday! You should come to the farm. One of our tokage’s nestlings just hatched so we have babies to play with and they’re really cute!”

Donatello makes an antagonistic noise under his breath and hauls Leonardo through the portal. Before he disappears, Yuichi watches Leonardo’s whole body light up, a grin splitting his face in half.

“It’s a date!” Leonardo calls cheerfully in the seconds before he’s gone.

The portal closes. Yuichi stares at the empty space where it used to exist while the word “date” bounces around in his head like a free-floating balloon filled with screaming instead of the more traditional helium.

Usagi: Important time-sensitive HYPOTHETICAL question Usagi: When you make plans with your friend and he calls it a date, how do you ask what he means by that without sounding like an insane person?? SUNA: oh my god!!!!!! ꒰☉ｪ☉꒱

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #leosagi #leoichi #usagi yuichi #hamato leonardo #hamato donatello #my writing #tmnt fic #bushido boyfriends #these bright blue city lights

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sorin-in-the-stars · 2 years

Text

Lunch After Class... (pt.3)

Lunch Before Class

Scaramouche x GN! Reader

Contents: Modern AU, Highschool/College AU, Fluff

Summary : Scaramouche practically invited himself over to your house. And you make dinner for him. It seems rather domestic.

Wc : 1.2k

Requested? Yes and no

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Ao3

People asked for a part three...though I had planned for a part three anyways 😭

I have nothing planned for a part four, but if you guys want another one I will deliver!

Also, i wrote this entire thing on my phone as apposed to my computer so. if there are any mistskes, im sorry! i dont proof read much of my work 😭

"So..Have you decided what to make for dinner?" Scaramouche asked, sitting at the kitchen table as you looked throughout the kitchen.

"Not yet. Got any ideas?" You kept opening and closing cabinets and the fridge, not noticing the dark haired male staring at you with a certain…look in his eyes.

"I told you earlier, it doesn't matter. Make what you want." He sighed. Scaramouche lifted his arm up to the table and leaned his head on his hand, keeping his eyes trained on you.

You huffed and gave it some thought. "How about some Yakisoba? Or spicy curry?" You pulled out a pan and a pot, prepping to make either meal.

"Yakisoba sounds nice." His family never had dinners together seeing as his mothers were always busy with work. He had to buy takeout often. It was nice to be able to have a home cooked meal.

"Great! I'll get to cooking then!" You clapped your hands together as you turned to him. Eyes closed and smile wide. He could get used to this.

You set down the two plates of your guys' food. Sitting down you smiled over to your companion. "This smells really good. Let's eat!"

"Thank you.." He spoke softly, starting to dig into his food with a smile. He took several bites of his food. He seemed a bit different in the moment. Soft if anything.

"You like it?" You asked nervously, eating your own food. He has eaten your cooking before- but that did little to nothing to ease your anxieties.

To your relief, he nodded. Not saying a word Scaramouche kept eating his food, thinking to himself about how he wishes it was like this more often. Eating a home cooked meal with someone that is.

You smiled at that, continuing to eat your own in the comfortable silence.

Scaramouche had offered to clean up. So now you were sitting at the table as he did the dishes you two dirtied. He was so adamant at doing this for you- mentioning it was all he could do to repay you for your cooking. It was out of character for him to do something of this sort. The reasoning for this was unknown to you.

Truth be told, Scaramouche wanted to prolong the time he spent with you that day. It seemed to him the only time you spent together was during lunch and the so-called 'date' you two had earlier. Was the date still going on?

"You're like a little house husband, cleaning up after we ate." You sat there in a similar position to what Scaramouche was sitting in earlier.

"A house husba- What are you talking about? I'm repaying you!" He stopped washing the plate he held. He turned to look at you with a surprised look. A house husband? Were you insinuating that you two would make a good couple? That was impossible!

"Yeah! You look like you enjoy cleaning!" You laugh out. You wouldn't admit it, but you do often see him and you as…you weren’t going to finish that thought.

"How absurd. Like I said, I am just repaying you." He huffed, and went back to cleaning the dishes. He stood there facing away, ears a soft red, and dishes being cleaned a lot slower. He kept to his own thoughts for a few moments, wondering why it is that he did want to come over for dinner. Why he didn't mind having this type of..nearly domestic relationship with you. Why did he got so flustered at the idea of going to Mcdonalds and skipping class as a date? It wasn't a real date anyways…was it?

"Keep saying that, my little house husband." You teased him. You could not get the idea of him being here more often than not out of your head! It was a silly idea, yes. But…you found yourself entertaining the idea. What exactly was this?

"..." Scaramouche didn't reply. He kept quiet, face becoming red as his ears were.

For the time after, it was quiet. And thus, time had passed. It seemed it was time for Scaramouche to leave.

"Scara, you want to watch a movie?" You asked, plopping yourself down on the couch. You didn't want him to leave yet, nor did he. Who was to speak up about it first though?

Scaramouche nodded, sitting down as well. He got more nervous as time went on, still being incredibly confused about his own feelings. Was he supposed to feel these emotions?

You scrolled through the movie options, debating what to put on. Then he spoke up- to suggest a movie. "How to Train Your Dragon?" He asked, pointing to one of the children's movies. Who were you to deny such a great movie? And so you put it on.

You leaned against the arm of the couch, throwing your legs over Scaramouches lap. You folded your arms under your head, positioned in a way you could still see the tv. "Hm, does this make it a movie date as well? Mcdonalds, the park, dinner, and now a movie. What an ideal date. Don't you think Scara?"

He didn't think about that. "Were you serious about the Mcdonalds date?" He thought too much about it, and had finally worked up the little courage he had to ask the question.

In return, you shrugged. You hadn't given it much thought before, having only stated it was a date to tease him. "If you wanted it to be. That would make this a date too." You looked at him, giving him a smile. You lifted yourself up, and closer to him.

You reached your hand out to him, and cupped his face. "So. Is this a date my little house husband?" You liked that nickname, it seemed to make him flustered.

He sat there, wide eyed and a tad flustered once more. He didn't know if he wanted this to he a date or not. "It doesn’t matter. You pick." He barely was able to say those words, being too embarrassed to speak. Did he want it to he a date?

"It's a date then." You say, twisting your body around so your legs are no longer on him and rather you're nearly sitting on him, though really it was just your thighs. "C'mere, people cuddle on movie dates." You state as if it was a fact.

Scaramouche could feel his heart race, face still as red. He felt stiff as he moved. He didn't know where to put his hands- arms or anything! Why would anyone want to be this close to another?

To this, you laugh. You pull him forward and on top of yourself. "Scara, you're cute when you're flustered." You wrap your arms around his head, forcing him to lean into your neck. Gently you hold him there, pressing a soft kiss onto his head.

"...Shut it." He whispered. He finally melted into your embrace. Scaramouche wrapped his arms around your torso, and smiled to himself. He wouldn't speak this out loud but he enjoyed it. The cuddling that is.

As the movie played in the background, you felt yourself get tired. Your eyes got heavy as you were close to falling asleep. In your sleep deprived state, you spoke. "You should..be my boyfriend Scara.."

He hummed in acknowledgement, and nodded back. His heart was still racing, he hoped you couldn't hear it. He doubted you could. "We can..talk in the morning." He did not want you forgetting that you asked him to officially date in the morning. He will never let you get over this.

He could feel his heart slow as he slowly fell asleep on top of you, in your arms.

Yeah. He could get used to this.

#scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche fluff #scara x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact #modern au #highschool au #college au #sorin whispers #sorin whispers writing

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bananafire11 · 3 months

Text

vent

please dont read if youre not in the right space rn. heavy on anger and feels. just wanna type it out somewhere and this blog is my safe space so

i am so fucking angry right now. like the kind of anger thats pent up and bubbles beneath the skin and is ready to implode out at any fucking second and i hate it so much. i dont feel like i have very good reasons for feeling this way either. or maybe im downplaying those reasons, i dunno

i dont want to bother any of my friends with this shit. i feel guilty because ik they have their OWN struggles. ik feeling this way is silly because i help them through so much, and am so glad to do so. but theres always this doubt.

anyway. on discord, i put my status on DNIUC sometimes because i just need space and ik that most of my close friends will see this and know to be careful that day. or if they text and im slow to respond, ik they understand. but theres these friends who KEEP spamming. and its driving me FUCKING MAD. one, who is very close and gosh i love them so much, sends me so much every day. youd think after the first few times i didnt respond, he'd get the fucking jist and think "ill stop there" but instead he KEEPS ON. ITS OVERWHELMING. and the subject of these texts isnt bad or anything, but its always about him and his bf. i dont have the energy to talk about them 24/7. im beyond happy for him, that hes happy. but FUCK. im asexual and never have been in a relationship, and sometimes it feels like a fuckyou to me?? ik he doesnt mean it that way at all!! but!!! idk, sometimes its like theres a longing for a bf of my own. but i dont want to settle. ill wait for the right boy. right now, hes not here. and im not actively looking for a relationship, i have so much shit going on. so, i usually ignore this guys dms as long as i can. i feel guilty, but at the same time fucking furious that i even have to do it in the first place, if that makes sense. i love him dearly, but it's forced me to just put my status on 'invisible' so it looks like im offline. better to avoid people, ig.

theres another guy, who isnt as close, but ive made great friends with thus far in the time ive met him over a game i enjoy. but again, doesnt know when to stop. why are you texting me when it says dniuc!!! YOU ARENT CLOSE. ive explained 'close' is friends ive known for a year or so, which isnt exactly true actually... but i needed to tell him something that wouldnt hurt his feelings. after i clarified for the second time, he let up. but still. people are fucking annoying and its so FRUSTRATING that i love them because that makes shit so complicated.

then, family. ive been snowed in with my mom and sister for over a fucking week and I NEED OUT. i never thought id say this but I WANT TO BE AT SCHOOL. AWAY FROM HOME. my neighbors, who are more so aunt and uncle to me and my sister, let me go over and stay hours with them when i need it. but i dont feel like trecking thru the fking snow to get there. last night i stayed over and watched a favorite movie of mine with them and it was great, but having the energy to do that feels exhausting tonight.

im trying to distract myself with art, but its not working like it normally does. and its goddamn hard. tried videogames, youtube, but nothing is bringing me true relief. but i dont want to sleep either. ugh.

vent art, anger.

#banana brain blurbs #vent post

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boxwinebaddie · 5 months

Note

your au stans feel like the type to ask questions like "would you love me if i was a worm" or "do you think we're best friends/dating in every universe?" only to get answers like "why would you be a worm" or "the multiverse theory means theres infinite possibilities 🤓☝" from kyle. slash very positive.

no stop!!!! too real like 100%

like the easiest way i can explain the ncu style dynamics are like kyle trying to study for calculus, trying to clean his room, finish his homework, read his book, do his chores, be PRODUCTIVE

and its just stan in his room lying upside down on his bed or like poking him in the cheek sixteen thousand times blowing air at his glasses and fogging them up trying to get his attention like kylekylekylekylekYLE and hes like wHAT STAN WHAT????

and stans like...do u think the stars have feelings shdlksahdsakl

its so unserious hes so annoyinG!!! kyle never gets any work done when stans around bc hes literally so distracting one bc hes beautiful and two because his golden retriever adhd boy brain go brr 25/8

will call kyle at 3am when drunk like i lub you :* also i stepped on sparkys tail do u think he knows im sorry how do u know:( sakhdsa

ok hang on im doing the worm one also the boys are always dating when i do this so here we go pepstyle i guess lmaooo

ok 100% stan is like ok babe!!!! would u love me if i was a worm? :D

kyle is like dude what are u talking abt??

and stans like worms!!! me and u!!! if i was a worm would u love me!!

kyle *smart vc* ....ur a person .....ur not a worm ?

stan but if i wAS a WoRM would u love me???

kyle...i mean wouldnt that be complicated since we arent the same species? like how would we talk?

stan but were Soul Mates!!! we could make a system!!! a little language like we do with the signing!!! a Worm language!!! <33 :')

and kyle is like...stan that would be a highly irregular and irrational relationship to pursue & creating a language that we could both--

stan * lowkey getting mad* ....ok where would u put me.... :/

kyle huh???

stan ....if i were a worm, where would u put me kyle....answer :////

kyle *logical* idk in the dirt???????

stAN GASPING LIKE!!! YOU'D PUT ME OUTSIDE?????!!!! >:OOO

kyle like wORMS LIKE OUTSIDE ID SET YOU BY SOME DIRT AND STUFF NOT ON THE PAVEMENT??? WHY ARE U YELLING??!?!

stan like SO YOUD JUST GIVE ME AWAY LIKE THAT!!!! >:000 JUST BECAUSE IM A WORM!!!! YOUD GIVE UP ON ME!!!! sET ME FREE?!?

kyle stan????? you're literally a WORM!!! i dont know what you expect me to do!!! Keep You??? *sweats in autism*

stan obviousLY!!!! i mean!!!!!! iTS STILL ME!!!! kyle!!!!!! IM the worm!!!! i just got turned inTo a worm

kyle ok but stan why?? are you a WORM in the first place??? how did that even happen....like....

stan *voice cracking* i dont know sCIENCE!!! i made a bad deal w a WITCH!!! she got really mad and is teaching me a lesson ANYWAYS!!!

stan wHAT if you set me free in your yard and a big BIRD gets me and i get eaten so i DIE!!! but--but then!!! Science comes up w a cURE

kyle ...or the witch lady forgives you right ;) *dying laughing*

stan *actually crying* kYLE THIS IS SERIOUS I DIED!!!!! and then they find a way to reverse the worm thing!!!! BUT ITS TOO LATE BECAUSE I dIED BECAUSE YOU SET ME OUTSIDE AND NOW WE CANT BE SOULMATES FOREVER!!!! :(((((( ;-;;;;; AND ID DIE ALONE!!!!!! AND COLD AS A WOR--

kyle ....oh my god babe...babe why are you crying :( oh my god its okay!! you're not a worm!! and thats very good news!! i like u as you <3

stan bUT NOT AS A WORM YOU WOULDNT LOVE ME AS A WORm

kyle asjlsjda for FUCKS!!!! ok stan!!! if I was a worm??? IF. I. WAS. A. WORM. would you still love me?!

stan *no hesitation* ABSOLUTELY!!!!! i would love you FOREVER even if you were a worm!!!! ;-; i would save you from the sidewalk when its raining and make you a nice worm terrarium with lots of dirt! i already eat lots of fruits and vegetables so you'd have lots of compost to eat!!!! i would sing to you every single morning and talk to you even if you couldnt talk back. id tell you to wiggle twice for yes and once for no!!! if worms could wear clothes id learn how to make you a sweater!!! id make you a green hat out of leaf incase you miss your ushanka or you get cold!!! id keep you updated on who kenny is sleeping with and put t&p on for you! id blow you so many kisses! i would hold you and tell you i love you every day! id take you on dates with me even if people think it looks weird I ! DONT! CARE! because youre my super best worm bf and the loml! and even if they never change you back id just be happy to spend my life with you and--"

kyle.......oh...my god that was so cute....youre soooo fucking Cute...dude that was like the sweetest thing ive ever heard, i...ok get over here...put your lips on my lips worm boy....nonnegotiable :*

stan okay YES i mean nO!!!!

*stan frustrated annoyed sad noise*

stan KYLE WOULD YOU REALLY NOT LOVE ME IF I WAS A WORM

;-; </3

*stan abt to cry again oh my god hes so baby*

kyle *sighs and holds both stans baby hands and squeeze smh*

in....this hypothetical vaguely dystopian scifi universe slash high fantasy depending on whether or not a witch or unexplained science phenomenon turns you into a worm...even though i would be very confused and not sure how to communicate with you...i would not....i would NOT put you outside...i'd make you a worm appropriate enclosure, check the climate, make sure your diet is balanced and

stan WOULDYOUSTILLREADTOMEIFIWAS

kyle oH my GOD! i wasnt DONE! yes i would still read to you, annoying boy, Relax!!! speaking of, it would be very peaceful in my home without you distracting me and making a mess and poking me with your mechanical pencil, i would get a lot done but i would miss you annoying me very much because i love you. so i would do a lot of research, try to figure out how to de-wormify you, work with the cdc, i don't know, go to the white house if i have to. or trade my life for yours if that frees you from the witches curse but you better do all that shit you SAID youd do stan!!!! if you dump me outside, istg!!!

kyle but...uhh...if that didnt work and you were a worm forever. i would still love you very very much...please do not ask me anymore weird questions my face is....Warm and i do not like it >.>

*robot kyle* *cue stan going MWAHMWAMHWAMWAHMWAH <3* *and kyle flinching away like a feral cat sdkhsd*

anyways...thats canon to me

-uncle nina, worm uncle

#SORRY THIS WAS SILLY AND GOOFY I JUST WANTED TO LAUGH #i feel like rmstyle is similar #except jersey is twice as jaded as pepkyle #and raven knows too much abt worms and plants #but would also cry #ncu style is the cynical robot kyle crybaby romantic stan agenda what can i say #this was my best writing please clap #the way stan was so upset the whole time #and kyle was just like...ah...fuck ok...so If You Were A Worm...#jsadsajdsajdalsd #he luvs him #kyle deals w too much i swear #thats what happens when u fall in love w the boy next door and u think hes perfect but hes actually super annoying #live laugh love being a worm

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