#but none of the rest. i think some of them have names from my cousins’ spouses’ home countries? dk about the others though | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lilac-5ky · 10 months

Text

Sex with a Ghost (TojixFem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Date with a ghost

Chapter 2 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

Summary: Being at the bottom of the ladder in your class with a non-combat oriented technique, you are prompted by Gojo to summon a dead sorcerer as a learning experience. However, when none other than Fushiguro Toji appears in your room, you find yourself practicing more than just your cursed technique.

Tags: Student!reader, Ghost!Toji, Age Gap(reader 18, Toji early 30s), Oral Sex (both f. and m. receiving), Manipulation, Corruption Kink, Praise, Degradation, Pet Names (princess, baby, etc), Cowgirl, Toji being a horny asshole that gets redeemed at the end? Sort of.

Word Count: less than 6k.

“But, sensei, is this really necessary?”

You tilted the sphere between your fingers, sizing it up. It weighed no more than a baseball ball did, yet its price must be comparable to that of an entire stadium. A cursed item among cursed items given to a mere grade 3 sorcerer who barely stood out amidst the renowned prodigies of Tokyo Jujutsu High. This was a waste of both time and effort and yet the white-haired man before you begged to differ, eyes glinting a vibrant sky-blue hue from underneath his dark shades.

“Doubting your favorite teacher, Y/N?” he chuckled only to sulk a second later when you asked him what deluded him into thinking he was your favorite.

Undeterred, he continued “I feel like a broken record here, but do yourself a favor and have a bit more confidence. Graduation is two months away, don’t you wanna prove your worth till then? It’s not too late to climb a couple of steps up the ladder. You could easily shoot up to Grade 2. Look at the rest of your class—”

A firm albeit reassuring grip latched itself onto your shoulder, gently twisting you in the direction of your classmates.

The heatwave must have gotten to them for good, blood boiling under the vicious sun rays. Their sleeves and pants were rolled high above their elbows and knees respectively, foreheads glimmering with a thin sheen of sweat that dribbled down their necks.

Just looking at them made your skin crawl with uneasiness.

You didn’t understand why anyone in their right mind would willingly trade the shade of these blessed pine trees for the scorching furnace that the schoolyard was, but when you stopped paying attention to their clothes and took in their blissful expression, you felt a lump swell in your throat.

The two of them were practically beaming, giggling, and prancing around the water fountains without a care in the world— and why should they have anything to worry about when they were Grade 1 at seventeen? A Kamo and a distant cousin to the Zen’ins, both guaranteed to walk a path strewn with rose petals since birth. No trial or tribulation whatsoever.

Your teacher’s voice was muffled into white noise while you were busy shooting daggers at the duo, part of you wishing to join them in their harmless idiocy, and another silently praying that in your next life, you’d be lucky enough to be born into one of their clans. No one questioned the value of a Kamo. No one went against a Zen’in with an inherited technique.

“So, we good? Tell me I didn’t waste 15 minutes of my precious time for nothing.” His fingers squeezed at your shoulder, causing your attention to shift.

You had no idea what he’d been saying, though you’d sat through plenty of pep talks already to guess the gist of it. “You have potential, Y/N. Don’t bring yourself down like this. You can do it!” All empty words without real meaning. Worthless. Not everyone had what it takes to become the next Gojo Satoru. Some people were born to be stepping stones for others, and you were perfectly fine with it. No half-assed aspiration would spur you on.

“If I do this… will you leave me alone?”

A Cheshire cat grin spanned from one corner of his mouth to the other. If one didn’t know any better, they’d mistake Gojo for an overzealous teacher whose earnest goal was to see his students succeed. Not you. You’d spent enough time in his presence to know that his whole “Teacher of the Year” shtick hid an agenda of its own. It was a matter of time to find out what his true motive was.

“What’s the plan?”

“Now we are talking,” he sang in glee. “Very simple, really. You just hold this between your palms and channel as much cursed energy as possible to its center. The ball will absorb it like a magnet and continue drawing from you until you have a clear picture of your target. Then, assuming all goes well and you don’t pass out,” a quiet “What?!” was overwritten by his voice, “you’ll get your very own date with a spirit. Isn’t that exciting?”

Nothing about your expression screamed excitement, eyes squinting in slits and bottom lip quivering into a frown. “And who’s my target, exactly?”

“A Zen’in sorcerer,” he said.

“A Zen’in sorcerer you say,” your eyes wandered again to that soaked blockhead in the distance, the black mop he had for hair flapping left and right. “Ain’t the one over there good enough?”

Shaping a cone around his mouth, Gojo yelled at the top of his lungs for the kids to wait up so they could play together. The duo cheered excitedly, shouting some sort of inside joke you knew nothing about right back at him. Wasn’t the first time you were excluded, and it certainly wasn’t the first time you questioned how this man came to be the world’s most talented sorcerer, either.

“If he was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” his smile softened as he lowered his voice. “The Zen’in I’m talking about has been dead for a little more than a hundred years now. Unfortunately, his name is erased from our logs,” of course it is “but that shouldn’t hinder you too much. He was an immensely powerful sorcerer with a great amount of cursed energy to back his technique up. An anomaly, if you like.”

“What kind of technique?” “The ten shadows technique,” he answered. “Out of all the Shikigami users, he is perhaps the strongest there’s ever been.”

“Stronger than you, sensei?”

The way his nose scrunched made you regret asking, knowing that a haughty declaration was dangling from the tip of his tongue, begging to be unleashed in a never-ending spiel of self-praise.

“And why should I invoke him in particular?” you quickly changed the subject. “I thought our goal was to hone my spirit-channeling technique and increase my cursed energy flow while we’re at it.”

“That we are doin’, but why not kill two birds with one stone? A new ten-shadow user has risen. I’m sure whatever trick that old dog has up his sleeve will be useful to our little Meg—” He feigned a smile of innocence at his slip. “All you gotta do is chit-chat him into giving you some info. Toss in a few compliments, butter him up. Shouldn’t take more than a few words to convince him, spirits are dying to be summoned— Oh well, unfortunate choice of words. What do you say? You’re in?”

Your groan was all the answer he required to beeline straight to the water fountains, his chirpy laugh echoing from afar. This guy, you huffed, examining the crystal ball anew. There was no way out of this. Either you did his bidding or you’d be forced to endure the obnoxious sound of his voice all summer long.

“Couldn’t you have chosen anything more cliche than a crystal ball?” you snarled, convinced he hadn’t heard you.

“Ouija board was already taken,” he warbled unexpectedly, voice meshing with that of your peers as they ran around in circles, dark-colored uniforms turning darker with every splash of water. “Besides, this has a bit of pink in it,” he referred to the rosy shaded base. “Much cuter than a bunch of rusty letters, right?”

You groaned as you shoved the item into your tote bag, making no mistake to talk out loud again as you turned on your heel. A pinch of jealousy punctured your chest, relieved by every step you took away from the scene and away from the fun the three of them were having.

“Looks like we’re having a date with a ghost tonight.”

It was a quarter past twelve when you decided to put that little experiment to work, the coast clear of overbearing parents and annoying little brothers who wanted nothing more than to disrupt your so-called “studying session”. As far as your family was concerned, Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College (Tokyo Jujutsu High for short) was your average educational institution that had somehow recognized the value of your mediocre grades and scouted you when you were still in middle school— no questions asked from either side.

You wouldn’t go as far as to call your own family a bunch of dimwits, but the signs were all there. A teacher merely four years older than you were, his odd sartorial decisions only second to his eccentric personality. A class made up of four students dramatically and suddenly decreasing to a party of three. An unknown man in a suit and tie driving you back and forth between “emergency study dates” in the dead of night. The lack of studying material in your backpack as opposed to the exams you constantly stressed over. Your unreasonable reaction when your mother stored a cursed tool in with the silver cutlery.

Even if you straight up walked to them with a banner that read “I exorcise curses”, you doubted they’d have anything more to say than a plain “Good for you”, not because they were stupid, but because they simply didn’t care at all.

They didn’t care enough to bat an eye when seven-year-old you tugged at daddy’s trousers, whimpering about a squid-like creature sneaking in your closet, and didn’t care enough to try and justify the stream of water flooding down the corridor. They didn’t care that your imaginary friends were more akin to monsters, and they didn’t care about you being away from home 350 days a year. It was convenient not to. That’s how they were able to drink their woes away at the local bar on a Thursday night with a clear conscience, having offloaded that pest of a brother at your grandparents’ for the fifth consecutive night.

Poor kid. If he wasn’t so despicable, your big sister instincts might have kicked in and raised an objection, though as things currently were suited you best. Rituals required focus, and you needed to make sure no one would bust through the door and interrupt your conversation with Mister Whatever-his-name-was.

You’d taken care of all your basic needs —eating a reheated portion of lasagna, cleansing your body of the worldly filth that stained it, catching a rerun of your favorite show’s latest episode, and cursing Gojo for making you miss it in the first place— and were now seated on your room’s floor with the crystal ball nesting between your bare thighs, the cold sensation much welcome on this excruciatingly warm evening where sitting on the fuzzy carpet seemed like the greatest torture imaginable.

It was only March and you were already in your skimpiest outfit of all; a frilly pair of dusty-pink shorts and a matching low-cut tank top dressing your sweat-beaded body. Dark spots saturated the fabric, demanding your fingers fanned it every two seconds. The worst had yet to come. By the time summer arrived, the final thing for you to crawl out of would be your own skin.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you returned to the item at hand. It’d been fairly long since you’d last performed a seance. Your role in the recent assignments was to support your classmates from the sidelines, exorcising whatever lower-grade curse got in their way with the aid of various cursed tools.

The white-haired nuisance could claim your technique was useful all he wanted, but at the end of the day, yours were simply not meant for combat. Best case scenario, after graduation, the higher-ups would put you on a 9 to 5 job, where you could dig whatever intel they wanted from the comfort of your cramped-up desk; away from your haughty classmates, and away from Gojo Satoru.

You rolled your fingers around the globe’s surface, pads tingling with waves of cursed energy as they seeped into the crystal. Slowly, a dark purple aura came to distort its translucence with colors and shapes of various magnitudes. Shadow-like forms gathered at the seams, remnants of pent-up energy colliding and converging with one another at one focal point. All ready to go!

You began mentally chanting the surname of your target, over and over again until the slideshow of foggy faces diminished to that of a select few candidates from the same bloodline. Some, you would imagine had died when they were still in their prime, measly fledglings of sorcerers with eyes retaining that youthful glossiness, while others seemed to have lived enough to see themselves turn into dehydrated raisins with next to zero cursed energy left.

Once you’d gone through your classmate’s entire family tree at least three times, you caught yourself admitting that despite their faults and innate air of pretension, the Zen’ins weren’t particularly hard on the eyes. Especially that one guy whose mug kept reappearing at random intervals, the slanted scar of his lips lingering in your mind well after the next contender’s appearance. There was something about him, be it the lack of aura he emitted or the viridescent hue of his eyes that had you replaying the frame at the expense of your own energy.

You were drawn to him in an inexplicable way that, at the time, you attributed to fate. It had to be him, right? That must have been why the dope you had for a mentor insisted on calling this a date. Even if he didn’t know the sorcerer’s name, he must have known how insanely attractive the guy was, right?

And suddenly, you felt a sliver of gratitude overcome you, eyelids snapping shut with the Zen’in sorcerer’s face as clear as day behind them, while you chanted the incantation Gojo himself had taught you.

“From the murky shroud of oblivion, I invoke thou out the shadows and blight to bask in heavenly light. Through me gain life, and through life gain thine blessed power.”

No more than a few seconds had passed when you heard a thud, your gaze meeting with that of the very man you’d summoned.

The orb barely did him any justice. Not as if crystal balls were ideal measuring instruments, but you’d need about ten more of those to depict his height as he towered over you, the bulky frame of his shoulders casting a large shadow on the wall behind your head. He was dressed in a much more casual manner than one would expect of someone who’d been dead for over a century, with corded veins and taut muscles peaking underneath a black compression shirt, waist accentuated where his hips met with a pair of baggy pants. And once you got to his face— you must have lost track of time staring into the gem-like green orbs of his eyes, considering you didn’t notice the scowl his lips wore until his tone pointed it out.

“The hell is this?” He sounded just like he looked, the bass of his timbre ringing most pleasantly in your ears.

You wouldn’t know what being dead felt like, but if it was anything remotely close to sitting on a dead leg for hours on end, you guessed he’d rather take a moment to adjust over an answer.

His soles circled the tiny space, eyes dancing between the fairy lights on the wall, the moonless sky —and by extension the empty driveway outside your window—, the three Polaroids on your desk that depicted an old family trip to Seoul (your mother silently accusing him from the frame for the crime of wearing his shoes inside the house), and lastly, you. His gaze feasted on your body as if he’d been starved for ages and you were the first oasis in the desert, his expression gradually easing into a lopsided smile as he cocked his head to the side.

“Got a name, sweetheart?” he asked in a syrupy sweet tone, the nickname he’d come up with making you doubt he’d use your actual name even if you shared it.

You set the ball aside and hopped on your feet, standing on somewhat more equal ground, though not equal enough to completely diminish the difference in height. He was massive, and you were still processing the kind of person that possessed the power to end this man’s life.

“Name’s Y/N,” you extended your hand. “You must be master Zen’in, nice to meet you!”

He merely glanced at your gesture, leaving you to embarrass yourself without a single qualm. “No one’s called me that in some time,” he expressed wryly. “You know about me?”

You nodded, wiping your palm against your shorts. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen a spirit act all high and mighty, a Zen’in at that. “Who hasn’t heard of the greatest sorcerer there’s ever been?” you chuckled, Gojo’s bootlicking advice coming in for the clutch. “You are somewhat of a legend in the Jujutsu world. The one who mastered the ten shadows technique like no other.”

“Is that who I am now,” he pondered out loud, his index briefly scratching his jaw. “I guess I am,” he grinned with confidence. “That why you summoned me? Wanted to meet with great ol’ me in person?”

“Something like it,” you admitted, finding it hard not to smile back. “I just so happen to be acquainted with this idiot who’s a big fan of yours. Had me use my technique for a passing grade.”

A low hum prompted you to continue. “He’s a real pain in the ass,” you groaned. “Calls himself ‘the strongest’ and acts as if he’s ‘teacher of the year’ when he forces me to fish out intel like some lackey— Actually, you might have heard of his family name before, they’ve been around for ages. Gojo,” quickly adding “Satoru.”

At the sound of your teacher’s name, the man’s eyes widened, his darkened pupils blown with an emotion akin to rage. You weren’t sure what great calamity the Gojos had brought upon him in his previous life, but being familiar with their descendant you doubted they put much effort into it.

“The six eyes is your teacher?” he asked, not giving you enough time to question how on earth he knew that title before he pitched in another question. “So, ya just a kid, huh?”

“I’m not!” you objected. “Turned 18 a while ago.”

“A while, you say?” he arched a brow.

“I’m closer to 19 if anything,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“19,” he mocked, his droopy eyelids incapable of hiding the way he sized your figure up.

You didn’t even think to put on a bra before the ritual started. Just like you could vividly picture what his pecs looked like under his clothes, your flimsy outfit left little to the imagination, the sweat that’d shimmered across your collarbones and cleavage working in your favor.

“Nah, you are right. No kid could ever have a body like that. Plump and ripe in all the right places,” his tongue lapped over his bottom lip, salacious stare prodding at what your arms kept hidden. “That’s a woman’s body, no doubt.”

Heat spread from your chest all the way to your cheeks, and for once, it wasn’t because of the room’s overbearing heat. Your toes sunk inside the carpet, thighs awkwardly rubbing together. You’d found yourself in such a position before, yet never with a boy like him— never with a man like him.

“Th-thank you,” you mumbled, your fingers hesitantly sliding down your elbows.

He took a step closer, lacking hesitation as he lifted your chin with two fingers, his thumb gently caressing it.

“Gonna let me look at the rest, baby?” his other hand encompassed your hip, the size of his palm alone making you feel oh-so small and fragile before him. “I’ll make ya a deal if you lemme. Tell ya anything you wanna know and more— heh, I’ll make sure ya pass with flying colors.”

“I don’t… I’m not-”

Depriving you of the chance to deny his advances, the man slotted his lips between yours and pulled back almost instantaneously, overjoyed to catch you leaning into his touch for more.

You weren’t sure why this was happening— why you were letting this happen. He was a stranger who barely qualified as being alive, and at the time of his death, he was closer to your father’s age than yours. But he was there, and he was paying you attention, and the way he spoke to you as if he already knew your answer ahead of your mouth had warmth spiraling to the lower parts of your body.

Rather than giving in to your pouty lips, the man whose name you didn’t even know cupped your breasts in both his hands, calloused thumbs making quick work of your nipples as they peaked below the drenched fabric, rolling the sensitive buds into full hardness.

“Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he praised, kneading at your supple skin almost adoringly.

The straps of your top slid down your shoulders, and you felt the ghost of a smile press onto your neck, his warm mouth smearing wet kisses right to where your neck and shoulders connected. You bit back a sigh, your breath audibly strained.

“Bet you wanna be touched, hmm?” he continued, finding the sweet spot you didn’t know you had, and pressed on, his sharp teeth digging into your flesh coaxing a purr from deep within your throat. He chuckled, the vibrations making you shudder. “That why you’re dressed like a slut? Wanna be treated like one, mm?” his lips parted again, tongue lapping over the delicate bruise his teeth left as he pinched your nipples harshly. A moan was ripped from your slack jaw, the insult he carelessly threw adding to the slick between your thighs.

“Sounds about right,” he smirked. “Well, I’m not complaining. You’re a sight for sore eyes, kitten.”

He didn’t ask for permission before he tugged at your shirt, your breasts spilling out with a single bounce. You saw him wet his lips once more, fingers seizing your now-exposed nipples and lustful eyes admiring them up close. You hadn’t noticed how close he was standing until his hips bucked against yours, alerting you to how painfully hard he’d gotten underneath his pants. The six-year-long refractory period his body was subjected to was far too cruel— though you wouldn’t know about that until much later.

“Tell me,” he requested, pausing just so he could look you dead in the eye. “Have you ever done this before?”

His lips traversed the valley of your breasts, rough palms sliding languidly across your ribs and waist. You could see him hold you like that while being inches deep in you. Slamming your frail little set of bones against your desk’s wooden surface. Pounding your hole for your parents to return to their precious daughter bent in half by some stranger. Bruising Gojo’s star student until the smug smile was wiped from his obnoxious mouth for good.

All those reasons made you nod at his question, not caring that he’d be ten times rougher because of your white lie. If anything, you looked forward to that.

“Sure you’re not lying to me?” he read your mind like an open book, the elastic of your shorts being torn away from your body. “Won’t be mad if y’are. I love myself a sweet little virgin. Love how whiny their voices get. How,” he lowered himself onto his knees, palm pushing you to sit on your bed “cute their little tight cunts look all stretched around me.”

His hot breath fanned over your soaked panties, index lazily rubbing back and forth between your clothed slit, the added friction sending a pleasurable tingle up your spine.

“You really aren’t one, are ya?”

You shook your head repeatedly like a bobblehead doll, propping your weight onto your elbows as he lifted your legs on his shoulders, the reality of his choppy raven hair nuzzling to your thighs finally hitting you.

“You said all you wanted to do was look, right?” the finger that was hooked around your underwear stopped. “That was the deal…”

For a brief yet conscious second, his eyes bore into yours with such spite that you thought you’d completely messed up. Only a virgin would dare say something this stupid. If he wasn’t bound to you by the ritual, he’d be out the door the moment you spat those words, you knew it, but then his knuckles brushed over your abdomen to find the hand that clenched onto the sheets, and you realized that wasn’t the case.

“Deals get altered and terms renewed all the time,” he mumbled distractedly, deeply inhaling your scent on his nose, while your fingers unfolded between his lips. You gasped, the sight of him fucking them in and out his mouth —tongue slithering right in the middle and saliva dribbling down his chin as he popped them out— enough to hypnotize whatever sense out of your brain.

“I’ll make ya a new deal,” he hummed, gently directing them to your mouth as if he beckoned you to do the same. A smirk tugged at his scar as he watched your pink lips obediently part and round around your own fingers. He didn’t let go until he heard you choke, secretly plotting to replace them with something else—sooner, than later.

“My technique is what interests you, right? How about instead of telling you, I show you?”

You tried to remove your hand, but he shoved it back in, his true colors pouring into a devilish smile. “I’ve had enough of your voice. All you gotta do is sit back like the good little girl I know you are and keep your legs nice and spread for me. How’s that?”

The only thing your head could manage was pathetically bob up and down in agreement, your fingers stuck in your mouth like a damn pacifier, while your cunt pulsed at every single word he uttered; derogatory or not. Were it any other guy talking down to you like that, your knuckles would be leaving an impermanent imprint on his cheek. Were it any other guy treating you as if you had no volition of your own as if you were just a toy for him to break, and you—

There wouldn’t be any other guy for you ever again. He’d make sure of it.

He ripped the fabric into a single shred and tossed it over his shoulder without caring where it landed- your bedside lamp. He looked down at your pussy, debating to himself whether to start with his tongue or fingers first, calculating the time it’d take for him to prep you for his cock down to the last second. He might’ve been a lot less nice than he pretended to be, but he wasn’t about to go out of his way to hurt you. Not intentionally, at least.

“Let’s see,” he tipped forward, the way his forefinger slipped between your folds without any resistance whatsoever bringing you shame. It didn’t go unnoticed by him, his digit triumphantly pulling out and smearing your slick all over your puffy lips. “Is that all for me, sweetheart? So fucking wet just for me?”

Your hips bucked forward as an answer to his question and he thought he wouldn’t mind taking things slow for once— see how much you could take before you came completely undone.

“Girls like you make the best fuck,” he cooed, voice echoing right through your core. “Surrendering to the first sweet word they hear.” His thumb circled your clit, flicking at the little bundle of nerves. “Leaking at the slightest of touch.” His middle and ring fingers joined in the action, burying themselves as far inside walls as your tight hole let him push. “Breaking so easily.” He drooled, coating your entire pussy in his thick saliva before allowing himself a taste, tongue lapping at the mix of juices straight from the source.

Your thighs clenched around him, muffling the lewdness of a whimper as he looked up at you, his smirk loosening with every kitten lick across your flesh. You wanted to say something, to call out his name and moan for him, but it all felt so unpracticed— similarly to how unpracticed your cunt was when it came to the girth of his fingers; much bigger than yours, more experienced too. He reached depths you didn’t know existed, bringing your body such pleasure that had you writhing for more, hips slamming against his face.

He groaned, his own arousal throbbing against his lower abdomen, begging him to get this over with. “Wanna fuck my face, baby?”

You felt your cheeks ignite anew, the eyes you’d fallen for at first sight overflowing with lust, convincing you it felt as good for him as it felt for you.

“Can’t let ya do that,” he parted your folds, fingers spreading your thighs apart while his tongue darted between your lips, his nose intentionally nudging the pink nub with each deep stroke against your spongy spot. “Gotta earn it first.”

You stared at him like an idiot, wondering to yourself if somewhere between his refusal to shake your hand and his eagerness to quench his thirst with your body you’d passed away because that was what heaven ought to feel like. That was what angels ought to look like.

“Got something to say, princess?” his eyes shot up and he gestured for you to unlatch your mouth.

“S-so pretty,” you whispered.

“What was that?” his ears perked up, not because he hadn’t heard you the first time, but because he could do with some affirmation himself.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this… f-fuck—” a yelp punched its way out of your lungs as he folded you in half, pinning your thighs onto your stomach, and crawling onto the bed right after them.

He’d had enough of this little game.

“Good girls shouldn’t cuss like that. Six eyes didn’t teach ya that?”

Holding you down with one hand, he dived back into your pussy, his fingers pumping in and out of you at a furious pace that had your upper body tossing and turning, the first unregulated moans ushering him to keep going. His tongue toyed with your swollen bud, the squelching of your cunt growing significantly louder from this angle, reverberating throughout the four walls of your bedroom. You were close, and so was he to getting his dick wet with all the mess he’d helped create.

His mouth watered just at the thought of his seed being the one to dribble down your thighs instead of his spit. He could picture you in one of those cute blue-navy skirts hanging from your closet and hoped you weren’t a tights person. He wanted to see you off to school every morning with your thighs sticking together so deliciously that anyone smart enough would understand how meticulously he’d fucked the brat out of you—

If only there was a mirror for you to see how stunning you looked. All fucked out and writhing, disheveled hair stuck on your tits and forehead while you nuzzled to the pillows, your shaky voice calling out to the surname he’d left behind. Would you still do that if you knew he played you like a fiddle? If you knew he was no esteemed Zen’in or sorcerer, for that matter, but a man hell-bent on ruining you for his own sick satisfaction?

Your body reciprocated his vile thoughts, your pussy fluttering around his digits. “Gonna cum for me?” he panted, forcing your legs to the side lest he missed a reaction.

Neither of you realized how his one hand had sneaked into his pants, stroking his veiny cock closer to the ecstasy he craved. Precum leaked hot out of the reddened tip, his thumb frantically swiping it over his length in sync with his thrusts. He’d stopped listening to your pleas and instructions. He fucked his fingers in you as he pleased, slowing down only when his balls began to dangerously tighten. Only then did he tear his fingers away ‘cause God forbid he busts his load in his palm like some fucking untouched teenager— regardless of how obscenely pretty you appeared for him or not.

Once he regained his composure, words made sense again. Harder. Faster. More. He hated being told what to do but absolutely loved how pliant you were. A people-pleaser, he bet. Going above and beyond what was asked of you, bending and breaking into whatever molds others force you to fit. He could work with that. Shape you into a mold only he could fit in.

“Cum for me, baby. Show me how much prettier y’ can get.”

His cock twitched as he felt your walls clamp down around his fingers, your sweet face contorting with pleasure, lips swollen with how hard they’d tried to contain the last bits of debouched decency.

How cute.

He set your legs down and moved up to meet your face with his, a wave of genuine softness rushing over him as he thought to kiss your lips tenderly, hushing whatever emotion had you spasming. You were so sensitive. Even if you’d been with another guy before him, he doubted they knew what they were doing— not like he did, anyway. He’d make you scream out his name for the neighbors to hear what a dirty slut lived just next door from them.

After a short while of his stroking your hair and whispering filth into your ears, he decided he’d been good enough to get his trick. He took your hand in his and guided it to his cock, grinning like a little kid as your smaller palm traced the outline over his pants, knowing full well both hands would do nothing to cover his girth.

He’d really missed this— so much that he didn’t mind letting a grunt out in appreciation, certain that more would follow.

Your eyes met, the spark in them telling him you understood what he expected you to do, and even if you didn’t, he’d teach you. He’d teach you everything, snatch you from that piece of shit and make you into his star student, so long as you kept touching him and let him do all the things he’d spent the last thirty minutes fantasizing about.

Everything and anything, all for you to take—

The thoughts that failed to reach your ears along with all traces of the man whose weight alone -up until a moment ago- threatened to crush your body into a fine powder evaporated, the smooth sound of his voice replaced by the crude breaks of your father’s car as he pulled into the driveway— your mother’s kitten heels soon clicking atop every step they climbed.

Shit.

A/N: I actually intended for this to be a one-shot, but I guess it sort of ended on a cliffhanger so, oops. Lemme know if I should write a second and final part, or if you have any Toji ideas/requests ♡

3K notes · View notes

kenananamin · 6 months

Text

Family, meet family

Summary: After leaving the jujutsu world behind and moving away to start his family, Nanami Kento wonders if his kids will ever meet the people he considers his family back in Tokyo. fluff, time skip, everyone is happy and everything is ideal (just let me pretend and be delusional w me pls), nanami x fem!reader, the very end implies a big spoiler (a/n: for easier reading I will be giving the kids names but feel free to imagine another name if you'd like. and going along with the fact that nanami is a girl dad, he's got his girls in this story. the eldest is june and the youngest is kai. this will be what happened after the ending of my other story "All I ask, all I want". thank you anon for this idea, i hope you enjoy 🖤)

It was a busy day at the bakery and Nanami had taken the girls upstairs to get them ready for bed. It has been four years since Nanami left the jujutsu world and although he wanted to go as far as as he could to escape everything and everyone that could harm his family, your family settled in Iwakuni, Japan. It was a small city and not the secluded town Nanami thought he'd end up in once he had a family, but it was comfortable enough for Nanami to live in and a perfect sized community for his kids to grow up in.

Nanami had bought a newer built house for the family and surprised you when he said he wanted to add space to the house... for a bakery. You were a few months pregnant at the time he brought up this idea and as scary as it was to start a business during such a changing time, the sparkle in his eyes when he brought up the idea convinced you. He had the addition finished when your eldest was 3 months old and Ami Bakery was opened for business by the time she was 7 months old. Your house always smelled like bread from Nanami's trial and error baking and neighbors quickly flocked to the new bakery. You were both more than thankful for the business, but it did leave the whole family tired at the end of the day.

You finish wiping down the counter, turn off the lights, and lock the door from the bakery leading into the rest of the house. You hear very soft giggling from the girls upstairs and you smile while ascending the stairs and heading into their room, "It's time to sleep, close your eyes and stop giggling." Your three and two year old giggle a bit more before snuggling into their blankets and giving a soft ok. You lean down to kiss them goodnight before leaving their room to find your husband.

Nanami was sitting at his desk in your joint office with only a small desk light on and a small opened box in front of him. You close the gap and hug him from behind to look at what he's so focused on. Your head is next to his and you wait for him to speak after seeing the picture he's holding.

Nanami turns his head to kiss your cheek and begins, "June is learning about family trees at daycare. Mom, dad, aunts, uncles, grandparents... she asked if they had any aunts and uncles from me." Nanami tilts the photo in your direction, a beach outing that Gojo had insisted on. The first and second years were present and everyone was smiling or at least looking at the camera. Nanami is in the corner, but you could tell he stepped closer for the photo. "This is all I could think of. I have my family here, you and them... but they were my family too. This is their family, their aunts, uncles, cousins even if they'd like that instead."

He puts the photo down and grabs the Jujutsu pin from the box with a few more photos. You rub his shoulders and rub your face in his neck while you say, "Yuji hasn't called in a while, why don't you call and ask if he'd like to visit for a few days? He can tell the others and we'll set up the rooms for them. And we'll even put them to work in the bakery, they might bring in some more customers wanting to see their pretty faces."

Nanami laughs at the suggestion but shakes his head, "They're too busy. None of them can leave Tokyo for a few days right now." He sighs and puts the pin and photo back in the box.

You snuggle your face into the crook of his neck and ask, "What if we went to Tokyo instead? Besides Yuji coming down to visit and a couple calls with Megumi and Gojo, nobody else has had the chance to meet the girls."

Nanami looks at you, somewhat surprised by the suggestion of visiting Tokyo with the girls. He looks at the opened box and after a moment of contemplating, Nanami smiles and kisses your cheek again.

———

Nanami stops just outside the steps of the school and kneels down to eye level with the girls, "You need to tell me if you see something weird or if something scares you. Please, tell me if you feel uncomfortable and want to go, we'll leave immediately." The girls nod and impatiently jump to start ascending the steps.

Nanami had always wondered if the girls inherited anything. He didn't want them to see any curses and would exorcise any he would see before the girls even noticed. He never wanted the girls to know fear at such a young age and he'd protect them from it as much as he could.

He stands back up and faces you, "You need to tell me if you feel anything too. Even if you don't see it, I don't want you to be uncomfortable." He knew you were a non-sorcerer but he'd always check in with you for any bad feelings. You nod and smile to try to ease his worry and nerves from being back in Tokyo.

"Nanamin!" You both hear fast steps heading towards your family and you turn to see an excited Yuji running at full-speed.

Nanami steps away from the girls sensing that Yuji would jump on him as soon as he got close… and he did. Yuji was not small by any means and Nanami stumbled but he held him tightly as the young man wrapped his legs around his old mentor.

On the way to Tokyo, Nanami told you everything he knew about what the students were doing. Gojo would occasionally send him updates but Yuji was the one who would blow up his phone at least once a month with updates from everyone.

Yuji had graduated from Jujutsu High and was working as a full-time sorcerer with a few of his classmates. Megumi joined Yuji as a full-time sorcerer and both would go on missions while doing special field classes with the current students. Nobara was designing her own clothes and working as a photographer while in fashion design school, but would get called in if she was needed.

The students who were in their second year when Nanami left were in similar situations. Maki was still based in Tokyo but was planning to make her return to the Zen’in Clan soon, Yuta had returned to Tokyo and would often get sent to special overseas missions wherever needed like Gojo, Inumaki and Panda were working alongside Yaga and were very important factors to the current student’s education and training.

Gojo was still as Nanami described, “just Gojo.” Only this time, he would say it with a smile on his face instead of the annoyance previously there. Gojo had tried visiting before but those plans were always interrupted by some other thing. Nanami would smile and say it would happen next time, but you could clearly see his disappointment. He would spend those early mornings before the cancellations getting the girls in their best outfits and would make more of his special bread that was usually just reserved for you and the girls.

But now, even with the young man dangling on his body and putting more strain than usual on his back, Nanami was happy. He held onto his student - no, his friend, and would not let him go until Yuji himself got off.

“Itadori, get off of Nanami-sensei,” Megumi calmly walked to the group and slightly bowed to you and the girls.

Yuji puts his legs down and stands before leaving Nanami’s arms and going straight to you. You open your arms for him and he gladly accepts with a tight hug that’s followed by him picking you up and slightly wiggling you, “I’m so excited you’re all here! I have so many places lined up but you can choose where we go! And I have so much to tell you!”

You laugh and nod, the tight hug not really letting you speak. Yuji lets you go and you finally see his wide smile again. It’s the same smile he had when he first visited you guys in Iwakuni, healthy and happy. Yuji turns to the girls and kneels to open his arms. Megumi follows suit next to Yuji and extends his hand to give them a handshake. Kai turns to Megumi after her hug with Yuji and lifts her arms for him.

———

Yuji is carrying a giggling June on his shoulders while skipping. Megumi is carefully holding a quiet Kai who is just quietly staring at him like her life depended on it. “Like calls to like,” Nanami says while holding your hand and laughing at the scene of his kids all together.

You hear a few quick clicks as soon as everyone is entering one of the buildings on the grounds. You turn and see a young woman holding a camera. She stands straight and starts bickering with Yuji about them taking too long. She ignores Yuji’s last remark and goes to greet you both with a warm smile. She introduces herself as Nobara, and she is even prettier than the photos you last saw of her.

She shows you the photos she took of the girls with the 'idiots' and a photo of you and Nanami smiling at the kids, then hands you her card “for any future photographer needs.” She turns back around towards the girls and starts complimenting June on her beautiful hair and Kai on her beautiful light brown eyes. She tells the guys to let them down and points her camera at the girls. Nobara moves around while getting different angles before asking if they could go out to the yard for the natural lighting.

Down by the trees Nobara wanted to take photos at, a female voice called out for Nanami. You both turn and you immediately recognize the woman who once helped you as Shoko and the man who would always talk very highly of your husband as Ino. Nanami waved to Shoko as she returned a warm smile while Ino dismissed a few current students that were with them both.

"I'm sorry if you were in a class, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything," Nanami stepped towards his old friends and Ino reached for a hug. It wasn't the same clinging hug as Yuji but Ino had his eyes closed and was completely focused on the hug. After a hug that might've been too long for most people, Ino stepped away from the hug but was still laser focused on his old teacher. You could see his eyes drifting all over Nanami's face while he spoke. He was looking at his friend while he spoke, but noted the crows feet and smile lines that were finally being marked after decades of a stoic face, and his overall aging face. You knew that Nanami had noticed Ino's stare as well, his observation skills from being a sorcerer never departed and he noticed everything, but he knew better than to point out certain things. This was one of them, he did not mind Ino looking at every detail of his face... because he was doing the same.

Everyone was older. It was amazing to see the students get older, but seeing the people he grew up with get older even by a bit was a happy but grim reminder of the time that passed without each other. He was truly thankful that he could spend another moment with his family and friends after years of not being in the same space as them. It had only been a few years, but it was far too long for everyone.

Panda, Inumaki and Maki start coming down to the yard from the same direction that Shoko and Ino had come from. Panda starts a light jog towards the group and you hear an audible gasp from the girls after seeing a panda act like a human. Kai went to hide behind Megumi, or Goomi as she started calling him, and June went to Nanami's side while staring at the approaching Panda.

"Nanami-sensei, it's been a while," Maki smiled at you and her old teacher while swinging the staff she was carrying behind her arm.

"Salmon," Inumaki waved to the group followed by quiet giggles from beside Nanami.

"Salmon?" June giggled but still hid behind Nanami and kept an eye out for the panda.

After June's giggles as the trio all got closer, Gojo just... appeared. Despite Nanami telling you what Gojo could do, it was surprising to see anyone appear anywhere in a split second. "Well, looks like I'm the last one to the party." Gojo takes off his blindfold and puts on his glasses.

"Don't worry, we expected that," Maki waves him off and lightly grazes Kai's hand that's tightly holding onto Megumi. She might not be as playful or expressive with the girls as the other kids but she was trying to get close in her own way.

With Gojo's arrival, Nanami leans down to pick June up and motions for Megumi to pick up Kai and bring her to him, "I want you guys to meet someone," Nanami takes Kai from Megumi's arms. Holding both girls in his arms, he tells you to step closer before pointing his head to the adults and his old students that have now gathered as a small group, "Family... meet family."

June and Kai look at the group and start with small smiles. They both had opposite personalities but the girls were very warm with any new people they met. But June broke into a wide smile first, "Family?" Nanami nodded with a big smile and June turns back to the group, "Family!"

June reaches for Shoko's hand and she steps forward to playfully shake your daughter's hand while Kai lays her head on Nanami's shoulder. Gojo got close to Kai and stroked her back to get her to look at him. "I'm Uncle Gojo," he smiled at the little girl, "you can call me if you're in trouble but don't want to tell your parents."

"Gojo, she's two. And please don't tell my daughter that," Nanami sternly told Gojo but the small grin on his face made Gojo double down on the girls calling him for help.

Nanami puts the girls down so they can say hello to everyone and June takes Kai by her hand and goes to introduce herself and her sister to each person... and Panda. She left Panda for last but you could tell she was intrigued by him and would most likely keep going back to him.

Gojo pulls out his wallet, then a card, and gathers June and Kai to his side to explain how to use the card. Nanami stops him with a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. Gojo shrugs, puts his card back but pulls out six 10,000 yen notes and tells the girls, "Uncle Gojo will give you more when he comes to visit. There's more where that comes from."

Nanami face palms and the girls look over the money and thank Gojo but give it to Nanami to hold. Shoko laughs behind Gojo telling him he needs to practice being around kids and Ino agrees saying that he'd have to most likely bribe Nanami's kids with bread instead. Gojo is promising that he'll keep trying to win the girls over and be their favorite uncle when Yuji runs in and tags Kai to play with him. Kai tags Megumi who then tags Yuji again and the three start to run towards the open space in the yard. June returns to Panda and Inumaki's side where Inumaki kneels down to compliment her dress... maybe. Without Nanami translating, it was hard to figure out what he was trying to say.

You step away from the group to start setting up the picnic you prepared underneath a large tree. Nanami had packed a variety of breads he wanted his family to try and some special treats the elderly neighbors had dropped off after they found out you were going to Tokyo to visit family. You're opening the basket and pulling out the bags of bread when you look back up at your husband.

Nanami's smile appeared much easier than before. His shoulders were slouched in relaxation compared to his stiff shoulders from his time as a sorcerer. And the soft and light stubble on his face was the perfect sign of a busy baking father who perhaps didn't have the time to shave, but had the time to do his daughter's hair and painstakingly choose every part of their outfits down to the socks.

Now it’s your turn behind the lens. You grab your phone and point the camera to the older group first. Nanami, Gojo, Shoko, and Ino are watching the kids and talking about something that was probably long overdue. You make a mental note to invite Gojo, Shoko and Ino to your house for a special dinner and adult night out with Nanami. They have been through enough together and individually, they deserved a fun and carefree night at the minimum. After a short video and many photos of the older group, you turn the camera to the younger group. Panda is throwing June up in the air before catching her and doing it again and again. Inumaki is his second pair of hands and has his arms stretched out to catch June at any given moment. Kai is running after Megumi while being chased by Yuji pretending to be a zombie. Nobara and Maki are watching from the side underneath another tree, laughing about whatever Nobara is showing her from her phone.

What a scene. What a beautiful, nonthreatening, completely content scene. Nanami was more than happy in Iwakuni, there was nothing more he would ever wish for, but he was happy to finally see his group again. You knew he regretted the last view everyone had of him as a limping man. He had wanted to walk out with his head held high, proud and an accomplished sorcerer, not the defeated and heavily scarred man who barely escaped death.

Today, Nanami would leave Jujutsu Tech as a happy, healthy, and completely fulfilled man while holding your hand as you both carried your girls back home. All with a promise to see his jujutsu family again in Iwakuni.

623 notes · View notes

pawnshopbleus · 4 months

Note

hi! i was wondering if you could do a corio x plinth reader where he aproches her bc she is a plinth (and she notices and gets mad bc she think that corio takes her for a stupid girl who would just fall for his lies) but he slowly falls for her. i would really like if it ends well, like them together. i hope you understood my idea, i love your work btw.

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

coriolanus snow x fem!plinth!reader

summary - basically what the request says, but there is no happy ending because i'm evil.

contains - angst, the capital being described as beautiful, gold-digging, rude coriolanus, not beta read

author's note - i'm so sorry @simpovereveryone for the unhappy ending, but i feel like once someone finds out you originally wanted to date them for their money there is no coming back. originally, this was going to be a happy ending, but I just couldn't write one that felt natural and real. if you want, I can do a happy Coriolanus later, but there is no happy ending in this one.

IT was no secret that Strabo Plinth’s daughter was in love. It was the only thing people would talk about at the Academy. In between each Hunger Games, Capitol citizens were bored. Gossip would spread like a wildfire. They didn’t know how to keep a secret.

Coriolanus knew that you liked him. It was obvious to anyone that had two working eyes. The way that your eyes would follow him wherever he went, and how your back would straighten every time he walked by was evidence enough that you had a crush on the blonde boy.

Coriolanus was flattered, really, but he just wasn’t one to date. Many girls have tried and failed at dating him. None piqued his interest. He found that most pretty Capiol girls were dumb and had no interest beyond their physical appearance. They also lacked what he needed most, money.

Coriolanus wanted to continue his education at the University after the Academy. He needed to keep a roof over his, Tigris, and Grandma’ams head, or he would have failed as a cousin and a grandson. Those necessities don’t come cheap after a war, no matter how long ago the war was.

And then he heard the news. Some new students were chatting during lunch. His name and yours got thrown around, and after some intense staring at his apple, he heard what they were talking about. Your little schoolgirl crush on Coriolanus, and that was confirmation enough.

Then there you were, sitting in all your glory.

Being the one and only daughter in the Plinth family made you susceptible to fake people. Always after your money and status, but they will talk about you behind your back. Coriolanus has heard it all. He needed to outsmart the many and study the few that made it to your inner circle. Just because you already had a crush on him meant nothing if he didn’t have a good enough reason to chase after you.

Your red school uniform mixed in with the rest of the crowd, but your face was what drew him in. It was so different, unconventional, and beautiful. The unconventionality of your face made him want to paint a picture of you from memory. You were unique, which he liked. This won’t be too bad, Coriolanus said in his head.

Your tired eyes met his and he didn’t look away. The bags under your eyes accentuated the fact that you couldn’t sleep last night. The thunder crashing outside of your window was probable cause to keep you awake.

Coriolanus got up from his chair and stocked towards you. His stride was purposeful, guiding through clumps of students gathered around the room. He sat across from you and said nothing as he studied your tired expression. It was weird that your brother's friend and your crush were sitting across from you all of a sudden. You were in no way ready to talk to him right now.

“Did you want me to tell Sejanus something?” was all you could manage to ask. Your brain was begging you to ask more. Why are you here? How is your family? Do you think I’m crazy for liking you, even though we’ve never had an actual conversation? But your mouth stayed shut, which saved you from a boatload of embarrassment.

Coriolanus smiled. His teeth were imperfectly imperfect. A natural color, not too white, but not too yellow. His right front tooth was slightly crooked, giving his teeth personality.

“No, I came here to talk to you.”

Your brows furrowed for a second. Why in the world would he want to talk to me? Besides being the sister of his friend, you had nothing going on for yourself. There were far prettier girls that he could talk to. You weren’t all that traversed in philosophy and classic books like he was. You were just…you.

Your lips pressed together in a small line and then returned to normal after a second. You couldn’t form coherent words right now. You nodded your head at the boy in front of you and looked across the room, not ready to make eye contact with him at the present moment. Students talked and whispered with each other as they took in the scene. Coriolanus Snow talking to the girl that had a crush on him. Many girls who had tried to date him in the past narrowed their eyes at you.

You had not noticed that the room was almost silent, save for the whispers of the nosey students. Coriolanus kept repeating your name, trying to break you out of your trance. You liked the way your name rolled off his tongue. An unlimited amount of syllables were repeated over and over again in his baritenor voice.

“What?” you ask as you are broken out of your trance.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” he answered your question with another.

This seemed too good to be true. The boy you’ve had a crush on for years had just asked you out for seemingly no reason. Either whatever higher power in the sky was on your side, or this was one huge prank. Either way, you agreed.

˖ ࣪ . 🦢 ࿐ ♡ ˚ .

You stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of your room. The baby pink silk slip dress you were wearing used to belong to your mother. She had given it to you two years ago in hopes that you would wear it. She hoped that you would wear it on a date with a nice boy. That’s exactly what you were doing, but there were two problems. The first problem was that you were nothing like your brother, outgoing and outspoken. You preferred to keep to yourself, and if you had to socialize, you would do it with the handful of friends you had. The second problem was that it was two years later. The dress no longer draped beautifully around you like it did when you were younger. It clung to every curve, crevice, and roll you had on your body. You were lucky that the dress still zipped up. You studied yourself in the mirror, going from the tip top of your head down to your painted toenails. At least it looked like you had enough money to be well-fed and groomed.

Coriolanus was taking you to a new rooftop restaurant. The women in your mother's book club raved on and on about how elegant and regal the vibes in that restaurant felt. They also recounted how hard it is to get a reservation. For a new restaurant, it seemed pretty picky with its patrons.

He picked you up around six. The sun had already set and a chill breeze kissed your skin, causing goosebumps to rise on the bare skin of your arms. Coriolanus kept you close to him, placing a strong hand on the small of your back. His hand was cold, causing you to shiver.

The reviews were right. The restaurant was beautiful. The entire place was lit using nothing but candles. They lined the tables with pristine white cloth. There were other details of the restaurant that were otherworldly, but the view of the Capital made you swoon. With Coriolanus long forgotten, your eyes lit up at all the lights and such that outlined every building and street. You had forgotten how beautiful the Capital was at night. Your heart panged with gratefulness at being able to experience this even though you weren’t born here.

Coriolanus studied you once again. The city lights flashed and shone across your body, accentuating the way your skin looked. It looked soft, almost perfect. Nothing was ever perfect.

“So, Sejanus told me you like to paint,” Coriolanus commented, breaking the silence between the two of you.

Your eyes broke away from the shining lights and back to the companion in front of you. “Yes,” you simply said.

The simplicity of your words made Coriolanus fix his hand into a fist under the table. He was doing you a favor! You were the one who had a crush on him, not the other way around. He couldn’t say anything, though. He had to remind himself why he was doing this. Flashes of images passed through his mind. They all had one thing in common; they were dear to him - the only things he loved. That was the reason why he was here. He needed the money that was attached to you.

“What do you like to paint?” The food that he ordered for the two of you was being placed down on the table. He ordered steak and potatoes with a side of steamed vegetables.

You are a vegetarian.

Everyone knew you were vegetarian. You loved animals and couldn’t fathom eating a living animal. You didn’t judge people who ate meat. Everyone was free to live the lifestyle they wanted and you choose to live a meatless lifestyle.

“Why did you ask me out on a date?” you questioned the boy in front of you who was currently eating his food like a starved man. Which he was. He barely had enough money to pay rent, let alone pay for this meal…

That’s why he asked you on a date - for your money. You’ve lived your entire life having to question whether or not someone wanted to be your friend. Your last name followed you everywhere you went. There was nothing shameful about your family, but you hated having fake people around you. It was literal hell.

Of course, Coriolanus didn’t like you. He just needed your money. You scoffed at him and didn’t even let him finish as you sprinted out of the restaurant, leaving him confused and with no way to pay.

It’s safe to say that Coriolanus is never welcomed back.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #angst #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x fem!reader

111 notes · View notes

sydsaint · 6 months

Text

This is a part 2 for my last Damian fic linked here.

Summary: The reader agrees to grab a drink with Damian and learns there's more to the archer of infamy than meets the eye.

Fresh off of an episode of Raw, you reluctantly stop at the hotel bar instead of heading straight to your room like you normally would.

The bar is quiet, which is expected for a Monday night. A few of your co-workers from Raw are there, but it's no one you care to interact with. Your eyes scan the bar and land on the man you begrudgingly came looking for. Damian Priest.

"Hey, sorry I'm late." You walk over to Damian who whose a dark table in the corner of the bar for your meet-up.

"Thinking about ditching me?" Damian asks you with a playful chuckle.

A hint of a smile plays on your lips as you sit down across from him. "Maybe...yeah." You confirm with a nod. "But you've come to my rescue twice now. So I guess the least I could do is grab a drink with you, right?" You laugh to yourself.

"Hey, you don't owe me anything, Y/N." Damian replies. "Yeah, I helped you out with that douche, Giovonni Vinci. But I wasn't trying to guilt you into having a drink with me."

"Damian!" You put a hand up and stop his speech. "It's okay! I know that I didn't have to come if I didn't want to. You didn't force me into anything." You assure him. "I wanted to come."

Damian nods in relief and you see him relax again. You order yourself a drink and get back to your impromptu date.

"So..." You awkwardly play with your glass after it's been delivered.

"So." Damian teasingly repeats you with a smile.

You bite the inside of your cheek and shake your head. "I'm sorry, it's been ages since I've been out with anyone." You explain sheepishly. "Especially not someone who's besties with my conniving cousin and his evil girlfriend." You joke.

Damian chuckles at your attempt at a joke and picks up his drink. "It's alright, mami." He assures you. "Truthfully, It's been a while since I've been out too." He admits.

You quirk a brow at Damian's confession. "Really?" You question him. "I have to say, I'm surprised. I'd have thought you'd be fending off girls left and right."

"Eh." Damian shrugs. "I get plenty of thirsty girls on in my DM's and at shows. But I'm really not the type of guy to be interested in groupies." He explains further. "I'm a one-girl type of guy. You know?"

"Yeah, I get that." You nod. "When I was wrestling in Mexico I had guys trying to get with me left and right. Fans and colleagues. But none of them were looking for a serious relationship, you know?" You share your own dating experiences with Priest.

Damian agrees with a nod and the two of you share a couple more drinks. After a couple of hours of chatting and really getting to know one another outside of your work persona, you decide to call it a night.

"I'll admit, this was nice." You inform Damian as you're both getting ready to leave.

"Yeah, it was." Damian agrees. "We should do it again sometime. Maybe dinner?" He suggests.

You bite the inside of your cheek again, unsure of how to respond. You like Damian. He's charming and funny. Not to mention attractive. But the fact that he's so close with Dominick and the rest of the judgment day still bothers you. You don't want to let your guard down only for Priest to ultimately let his allegiance to judgment day get in the way.

"Damian, I-" You start to speak when suddenly someone with a thick Irish accent calls Damian's name loudly.

Your head snaps to the entrance of the bar and your heart sinks when you see Finn and JD staring at you and Damian.

"Oh no." Your eyes widen and you quickly get to your feet. "Shit! I knew this was going to happen." You run a frustrated hand over your face.

"Hey, it's alright." Damian stands with you but remains calm and collected.

You look at Priest who is now making intense eye contact with Finn and JD. He steps up to your side in a protective manner when Finn and JD start making their way across the bar.

"Damian! Mate! What are you doing here with her?" Finn confronts Damian when he makes it across the bar.

"Y/N and I were just sharing a drink," Damian replies casually. "Why?"

Finn and JD both look at you and then back at Damian. "Did you forget who she is?" JD speaks up and you see Damian's jaw twitch from the corner of your eye.

"I'm aware of who she is, yes." Damian answers JD's question.

"Rhea's not going to like this, mate." Finn shakes his head.

Not wanting to start a fight between friends, you clear your throat and speak up. "I think I'm just going to go now." You nod to the door. "Thank you for the drink, Damian." You smile at Priest before moving to walk off.

"Y/N, hold on a minute." Damian catches you before you walk off. "Let me walk you back to your room." He insists.

"Damian!" Finn protests.

You remain still and watch Damian clench his fist in frustration. "Look, Finn. I don't give a damn who Y/N is when she's at work. We ain't working right now, are we?" He reminds everyone. "Now you can either step off and let me walk the lady back to her hotel room. Or I can make you move."

Finn and JD share another look before both of them step out of the way. Damian offers his arm to you and you take it before both of you walk off.

"Rhea's going to find out about this, mate!" Finn shouts at you both as you walk off.

"Let her!" Damian snaps back, his gaze remaining ahead of him. "But ain't no one going to touch a hair on Y/N's head. Not while I'm around." He insists.

Your heart skips a beat as you walk off with Damian. You're a bit taken aback by his sudden protectiveness of you. But you don't exactly hate it either.

Damian walks you up to your hotel room and stops at the door. You silently fish out your keycard from your purse and unlock the door.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there." Damian rubs the back of his neck. "It's just...I like you Y/N. And I hate that Finn and everyone else is acting so damn childish about all of this!" He adds in frustration. "We're all adults. They shouldn't give a damn about who I'm getting drinks with."

"It's alright." You shake your head. "I like you too, Damian. I'd really like to get dinner sometime if that's alright. To hell with my idiotic cousin, right?" You joke.

Damian cracks a smile and nods. "Right. I'll message you later so we can make dinner plans." He adds. "Until then, have a good night, Y/N."

"You too, Damian." You agree and, after feeling a sudden burst of confidence, you stretch up to your tiptoes and kiss his cheek.

Damian chuckles and leans down a bit so you're not struggling to reach his face. You kiss his cheek properly and flash him a smile before slipping into your hotel room.

#wrestling #wwe fanfiction #wwe wrestling #damian priest #the judgement day #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling fic #wwe fic #wwe fanfic #syd's wrestling fics

65 notes · View notes

antianakin · 2 months

Text

@theneutralmime

First off, don't watch the Ahsoka show and even if you do, it's immensely anti-Jedi so none of it should be considered worthwhile content in figuring out how relationships work between the Jedi normally, especially since Ahsoka herself doesn't consider herself OR Sabine Jedi (she doesn't even WANT Sabine to be a Jedi). The only other Master/Padawan relationship in the Ahsoka show is Baylan and Shin who also don't consider themselves to be Jedi.

Here's the thing with "found family" as a concept. A lot of people like putting people into certain labels and going for a basic nuclear family mom/dad/kids kind of set up. But it does not HAVE to be that way. A "found family" can be a bunch of people who consider each other friends, with no familial feelings at all. It can be literally anything.

Rebels does go for more of a sort-of mom/dad/kids deal, particularly with Kanan, Hera, Sabine, and Ezra. Zeb however lives in a somewhat more nebulous gray area where you COULD see him as a fellow "child" in the dynamic, but he doesn't really care for being considered a child during the episode where he and the other Lasat find Lira San and he's clearly older and more experienced than either Ezra or Sabine, so he could just as easily be considered an "uncle" of sorts if you wanted to, or an older cousin or something maybe.

The other thing to consider with Rebels is that, while the group does include two Jedi, none of these relationships would necessarily be typical representations of how Prequels Jedi relationships would have looked or how they would've thought of each other. Kanan and Ezra's relationships to the rest of Ghost crew is impacted by that difference, especially since Ezra specifically did not grow up in the Temple among other Jedi and spent most of his childhood and early teens in a very different situation. And Kanan, by Rebels, would've spent more time WITHOUT any relationships with other Jedi than he would've had WITH them.

So with all of that in mind, I think that the Jedi's relationships aren't NEARLY as clear cut as people seem to want them to be. They're a family, yes, but they're a family that is 10,000 strong at least. I don't know about you, but I have a hard time keeping like less than 50 members of my family straight, what their names are and who they're related to, much less ten thousand people. I think it's very likely that all Jedi would feel a kinship to fellow Jedi, but that they probably don't personally know every single Jedi. In TCW, Ahsoka seems to need to be introduced to Tera Sinube for the first time when she's 14 years old. So while she might see someone like Plo Koon as a closer parental figure, she's not going to feel the same way about Tera Sinube who she barely knows.

I think any Master/Padawan relationship is going to sort-of vary depending on the individuals involved. Some of them might be quite close, some might be more professional. Some might be pretty close in age and so their dynamic leans closer to friends and siblings than it would parent and child. Others might have a larger age gap and so the dynamic could lead closer to parent/child or even grandparent/grandchild. Some of them might shift over time, too, or have layers of more than one of these dynamics. For example, Anakin calls Obi-Wan "the closest thing he's ever had to a father" in AOTC, but Obi-Wan calls him a brother twice in ROTS. So their relationship may have had shades of both dynamics given the age difference, the relationship dynamic could have shifted over time from a more parent/child relationship to a more sibling relationship, or they each may have seen the relationship slightly differently with Anakin looking more for a parental dynamic while Obi-Wan is perhaps going more for a relationship of equals (at least by ROTS). It could be any of these three things combined, too.

There's a comic where Obi-Wan is asked whether Anakin is his son and Obi-Wan responds that no, Anakin is his Padawan, his student. While this isn't strictly canon, I think it fits quite nicely into my interpretation that the Master/Padawan relationship is its own specific kind of dynamic and while it can be SIMILAR to other kinds of relationships, it is very much its own thing. It's not a static relationship, it's not just the Jedi version of parents and children, it is a distinct relationship that changes and grows with the individuals. There is no 1:1 comparison for all Master/Padawan relationships.

As for Ezra and Jacen, you could apply a similar concept. Kanan, much like Obi-Wan with Anakin, fills a parental role for Ezra, but he's also growing and developing ALONGSIDE Ezra and could be considered a younger brother of sorts, too. Jacen is family to Ezra, but I don't think you HAVE to place a particular label on what that dynamic is, whether they'd consider each other like brothers or whether Ezra would be more of an uncle. And it doesn't even have to specifically be defined by their respective relationships to KANAN, either. Jacen and Ezra might come up with their own dynamic that has nothing to do with how they each feel about Kanan and is specific to their own relationship. I don't think you have to be super specific about saying that because Kanan was Ezra's Master, this automatically makes Ezra basically his son and so Ezra and Jacen should consider themselves like brothers and never have an uncle/nephew dynamic. I think Ezra and Jacen can be whatever you want them to be to each other.

#star wars #star wars rebels #rebels #ezra bridger #jacen syndulla #kanan jarrus #jedi #jedi culture

44 notes · View notes

gwenllian-in-the-abbey · 3 months

Text

While @aifsaath and I are working on getting the next chapter ready, since it's been awhile, have a snippet from chapter 7 of Our Fathers Clad in Red, in which Baela and Rhaena get into an argument that has been brewing since Rhaena arrived:

Baela had known it was coming, ever since Queen Alicent had made a remark at dinner. “There will be other young men,” the dowager queen had said. “When my gooddaughter has birthed an heir, you will be free to marry.”

“I didn’t know,” Baela protested. “Not until I saw you dancing with him at my wedding.”

Rhaena stalked across her room, collecting Morning and cradling the hatchling in her lap. “I’m surprised you noticed anything at all, as busy as you were making moon eyes at the king.”

Baela scowled. “And what do you mean by that?”

“It means you put on a big show of sacrificing yourself for peace, for the good of the realm.” Rhaena rolled her eyes. “For Aeg’s sake, you said. But admit it, you couldn’t wait to whore yourself to the usurper! What is it Baela, if you couldn’t be Jace’s queen, you decided you’d take the first man who offered up a crown?”

If it hadn’t been for the dragon in Rhaena’s lap, Baela might have slapped her sister. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You think I married him for power? To be queen?”

“Well it certainly wasn’t for his looks, was it? Lady Arryn says it’s doubtful he can even perform.”

Baela felt her cheeks heat. “Shut up, Rhaena. Don’t speak of him like that.”

Her sister’s eyes widened, and Baela knew she had given herself away. Rhaena was her twin, the one person who knew her better than anyone. “You don’t mean to tell me you care about him?”

“It’s not like that. He is not— You don’t know him,” Baela stammered. She wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t force herself to say the words and disavow him. “There are things you don’t know—”

"Then tell me.” Morning climbed from her lap to curl about her shoulders. “How can I know if you won’t tell me? You keep saying there’s more, that there are things I don’t know, but you can’t tell me anything, can you?”

“Some things are not mine to tell.” She shook her head. It was true that she was not at liberty to speak of Jaehaera, but there were things she could say, surely. “Did you know that our stepmother put a bounty on the head of Aegon’s youngest child, and a mob tore him limb from limb? Did you know an angry mob of smallfolk chased Aeg and our stepmother out of the city?”

“Aegon,” Rhaena mocked. “How sweet of you call him by name.”

“We are married! Do you expect me to call him 'the usurper' in the bedroom?” Baela flounced into a chair, her feet sore after the long day spent mostly standing. “And did you even listen to what I said, or were you too busy being outraged that I dare to call my wedded husband by his given name?”

Rhaena frowned. “I’d— I’d heard about the mob. A group of religious fanatics, they killed the dragons, and poor Joffrey—”

“Yes, the shepherd,” Baela said impatiently. “But it wasn’t just the shepherd. It was the city. It rose in revolt against her, in under six months. The policies were dreadful— Rhaena, she wasn’t a good queen!”

“And whose fault was that? If she’d taken the throne unmolested, none of the rest would have ever happened. They all brought it upon themselves!”

“Perhaps,” Baela conceded. “But 'ifs' make no difference now. Aegon had his reasons for seizing the throne. I won’t stand before you and defend them, because the truth is, none of us knows what would have happened. But you know how father was. Tell me he would have left our cousins unmolested, that Aegon was wrong to fear him. Look me in my eyes and say it.” She held her sister’s gaze, forcing herself to stand her ground. “He’d killed for much less, Rhaena.”

@evabluepark888 @dr-aegon @emilykaldwen @ @branwendaughterofllyr @prodogg @maryonaccross @aleksandravill @alexandria-millie

#our fathers clad in red #gwenllian writes!#aife writes!#baela targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #baegon #post dance fic #f&b fic

34 notes · View notes

vodika-vibes · 8 months

Text

Rex x Reader

Pairing: Captain Rex x Reader

Word Count: 1736

Warnings: None

Songs: None

A/N: A half idea that I'm toying with, mostly. It is an AU. Plus, I feel like Rex should be written about more.

Divider by Saradika

“You know, I did tell you that this was a bad idea,” You say to your cousin as you sweep your flashlight from one side of the room to the other, making a face at the rotten wood, “I think I just saw a rat.”

“You probably did, Miss Priss.” Your older cousin, Yani, said with a roll of her eyes, “It’s not like anyone’s lived here in, like, years.”

“I think this building is a hazard,” You add as you direct the beam of light from your flashlight to the ceiling, which looks one violent sneeze away from total collapse.

Somehow your cousin manages to project her eye roll into her whole body, it would be impressive if it wasn’t so annoying. “You can always leave, baby cousin.”

“Ugh. I didn’t say that I wanted to leave,” You counter defensively, turning the beam of light towards your cousin, “All I’m saying is that we need to be careful.”

“I definitely should have left you behind,” Yani says loudly, “Come on, the floor looks safe this way.”

“You can’t determine structural integrity by looks alone, Yani. You know that.” You reply, though you still follow after Yani. Exploring condemned houses is not your idea of fun, but you can’t let her go alone either.

The floor creaks loudly under your feet, and you’re careful to make sure to walk close to the walls. Theoretically the floor should be sturdier near the walls, right? Yani, however, bounces down the hall like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Why are you walking so slow? Hurry up!” Yani orders from the end of the hall.

You sigh, and weigh your options. And then you sigh again, Yani will absolutely leave you behind if you don’t keep up with her. So you step away from the wall.

Halfway down the hall, there’s a sickening crack, and your stomach falls as the floor gives way beneath you. You see Yani’s horrified face as you begin to fall and you hear her scream your name…and then the world goes black.

The first thing you note when you wake up is pain. Pain in your head, your arms, your back, and your legs.

You’ve never been in so much pain in your life.

You slowly open your eyes. You expect to be laying on concrete, or something, looking up at the hole that you fell through. But you’re not doing either.

You blink blearily, trying to understand what you’re looking at. It looks…well…it looks like Yani’s canopy bed. Only decorated in dark blue rather than Yani’s neon yellow.

Slowly, very slowly, you sit up and look around.

You’re in a bedroom. A very nice looking bedroom, decorated in dark blues and whites. There aren’t any windows, but the room is comfortably lit with natural lighting from somewhere.

You slide to the edge of the bed, and swing your legs out from under the silky comforter, painfully getting to your feet.

You’ve been changed into a different outfit. And you’re covered in bandages, bacta infused bandages, based on the look of them.

You limp over to the door, each step like a knife into your feet and legs. You’re barely halfway across the room when the door clicks open, and a man steps into the room.

He looks just as surprised to see you as you are to see him.

He’s tall and broad, with blond hair. And he looks very concerned to see you up and about. “You should be resting,” He says. His voice is deep and soothing, somehow.

“Where am I?”

He pauses, and sets a tray of bandages and medical equipment on a table next to the door. “You’re in my home. I found you. You’re very badly hurt.” He gently, but firmly, guides you back to the bed and settles you back on the pillow, “My name is Rex. How are you feeling?”

“Bad,” You reply honestly, wincing in pain.

“You shouldn’t have tried to walk,” Rex chides, walking back over to the door and grabbing the tray of medical equipment. “I have some pain medicine and bandages for you. Let’s see if I can get you comfortable.”

You watch as he treats your injuries, his hands sure as they check and rewrap sutures. “Are you a doctor?”

“Hm? Oh, no. Some of my brothers are though. My brother Kix is the one who patched you up originally. I’m a soldier.” He pauses, “Or, well, I was a soldier. No need for soldiers when the war is long over.”

You tilt your head, “What war?”

He’s quiet for a long time, “Ah. Never mind that.” He presses a water bottle into your hand as well as some medicine, “Take these, it’ll help with the pain. And you’ll go back to sleep.”

“...thank you.”

Rex shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it.” He waits until you take the medicine, and then he takes the water bottle back, and waits until you drift off to sleep again.

It takes time for you to recover.

After a month of him caring for you, Rex admits that when he found you, every bone in your body was broken, and that the first time you woke up was after two weeks in a bacta tank to try and stabilize you.

And slowly, very slowly, you come to view Rex as a friend. He’s calm and patient, and so very gentle with you, as though he’s afraid that he’s going to hurt you.

You question, only once, why you’re not in a hospital and why you’ve not seen your parents. Rex’s answer gives you only more questions than answers, but it’s easy to trust Rex, so when he asks you to not ask questions until you’re completely healed…well, it’s a simple thing, really.

In total, it takes you over four months to recover enough that you’re able to walk without pain. And Rex is there for every day.

“You’re doing much better,” Rex notes as he watches you go through physical therapy with the droid that he acquired for you.

“I feel a lot better,” You agree as you limp over to a chair and settle on it. According to the droid, you would likely have the limp for the rest of your life, “Everything doesn’t hurt, at least.”

He smiles at you. “I’m glad to hear it. There was a time I worried you weren’t going to wake up.”

You shake your head, “You and your brothers have taken excellent care of me. I’m lucky I have you in my corner.”

His smile widens, and you blush slightly, averting your gaze from his, “I’m always happy to help, cyare.” Rex says easily.

He’s started calling you that recently, though whenever you ask when it means, he just grins at you and tells you that it is a nickname and it’s nothing bad.

“I know you are. You’ve done…more than I would expect from a stranger.” You get back to your feet, wincing as your bad leg twinges uncomfortably.

“And you’ve done too much, cyare.” Rex replies as he gets to his feet and walks over to help support your weight.

His hand is warm against you, and you lean into his warmth without really thinking about it. Rex smiles down at you, “Trying to leech my warmth, cyare?” He jokes.

“I wouldn’t have to if it wasn’t so cold in here.” You grumble.

“Maybe I keep it cold to have an excuse to have you pressed against me.” Rex says easily.

You blush dark red, and bump him with your shoulder, “You shouldn’t say stuff like that.” You mumble, “I might actually start believing you.”

Rex shifts and brushes his lips against your ear, “That’s the point, cyare.” And then he pulls away and winks at you, “Come on, I had your favorite lunch made.”

You’re blushing even more, “You spoil me.”

“Yup.” Rex guides you out of the exercise room and down the hall, but he stops before getting to the dining room.

“Rex?”

“I’m in love with you,” He says quietly, and then he laughs as your jaw drops and your face burns, he reaches out and lightly brushes his thumb against your lower lip, “Can I kiss you?”

“...yes please.” You whisper.

You barely manage to get the phrase out, before his lips are on yours. His lips are warm and dry, and so very gentle against yours. He breaks the kiss for only a moment, before his lips are back against yours. The second kiss is deeper and more desperate than the first, and your back bumps against the wall as you hook your arms around his neck and his hand slides around to cup the back of your neck.

He breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against yours. You’re both gasping for air, and Rex leans in to kiss you again. And then he closes his eyes and, with great effort, he moves back to give himself some space.

You look up at him, confused, and he laughs, “Can’t think when I’m that close to you.” Rex admits, “There are…I need to tell you some things. The truth about some things.” He murmurs, “Should have told you ages ago. Don’t want you to leave me though.”

You blink at him, hazily, “You’re married?”

He laughs, “No. No, I’m not.” He pauses, to collect his thoughts, “When you fell,” Rex began, “You fell a little further than you thought, or than I ever thought possible. I, we, had no idea that it was possible for someone to fall from the Mortal Realm into ours.”

“Rex…what?”

He sighs, “Cyare, you fell from the mortal realm into the realm of the fallen.” He grips your hip tightly, “The realm of demons. We…we don’t know how to send you back to your mortal realm.”

You gape at him, “So…you’re a demon?”

“Captain of one of the many Demonic Battalions, in fact.” Rex admits.

You hesitate, and then you nod slowly, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” You confirm. “You’re…Rex, you’re you. I’m not more afraid of you now than I was 10 minutes ago. You’re Rex.” You say, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. Which, really, it is.

Tension drains from his shoulders, “You’re not leaving me.”

“Of course not.”

You squeak when his lips crash back against yours. One of his hands tangles in your hair, while the other one slides around your back, pulling you flush against him. “Thank you,” he breathes against your lips, before pulling you back into another deep kiss.

#star wars #tcw #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #x reader fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

66 notes · View notes

groenendaelfic · 8 months

Text

While planning ALaWHEO I spent a lot of time thinking about how the Swedish royal family is celebrated and what that meant for Wilhelm growing up. Now with Erik Day I was reminded of this once again and thought to share some of my as always very lengthy and convoluted thoughts.

Irl Sweden celebrates the king's, the queen's and the crown princess' birthdays and name days as official flag flying days along with a number of events of varying magnitude. Military parades, awards, concerts, golf tournaments and the like. For special anniversaries those are even bigger and can span multiple days.

Irl the Swedish royal family is quite large. Growing up, the cp's younger siblings had both each other, as well as a slew of first cousins, most but not all of them quite a bit older, but still. There were always a lot of royals around. The current royal house has nine members, with only three being celebrated that way and the rest of the royal family being much larger.

I have little good to say about the monarchy as an institution and nothing which couldn't be just as well if not better done without it, but I am quite sure that the irl cp's second child is well loved and not made to feel like a spare, but being raised in the fold of the royal family in the knowledge that he is a member of the royal house just like his uncle and aunt, and not worth less than his older sister.

Young Royals' royal house is quite different. We don't know much about Wilhelm's grandfather and grandmother, but from what we see Kristina is well established in her role as queen so I dare guess that Wilhelm's grandfather died when Wilhelm was quite young and his grandmother probably as well if not sooner.

So at best the royal house had six members when Wilhelm was young, with no immediate other family members, but for the vast majority of his life, if not all of it, it was only four. The queen, her consort, the crown prince and Wilhelm.

So three people to be celebrated and a spare.

Maybe sometimes young Wilhelm was glad he didn't have to spend part of his birthday or name day watching military parades and doing walkabouts, and maybe he didn't want events and awards and places named after him, but Erik got all of that. And not just twice a year.

He also got all the attention (unless Wilhelm caused trouble), both the good and the bad kind, from the public and their parents, and the expectations of Erik were higher, but Wilhelm was always and forever reminded that he is less, that everyone in the family/house matters more than him, and it was only him, no other siblings or cousins or aunts and uncles. I'm honestly amazed Wilhelm didn't cause a lot more (and worse!) trouble than he did before he was sent to Hillerska.

August is a second cousin, he doesn't count in any of that. He knew it, too, hence his surprise when the royal court tells him he could be (trained as) a (potential) successor.

Kristina and Ludvig aren't the most warmhearted of parents. They probably neither explained or prepared Wilhelm for any of this properly, nor do I see them throwing Wilhelm a heartfelt private birthday party fit for a child or making sure to show him that he is just as loved and cherished as Erik is.

So Wilhelm spent most of his life watching his parents and brother be celebrated by (as far as he could tell) all of Sweden, while he was the spare who was an afterthought at best, only noticed when he broke the rules, with no one else sharing his position on the sidelines.

That would fuck anyone up, no matter how they might otherwise feel about the constant public attention, but especially a child.

Then Erik dies. We don't know when anyone's birthday is, but we do know their name days thanks to the official list from the Swedish Academy. (Kristina July 24, Ludvig Oct 2, Erik May 18) None of them fall in the s1 and 2 timeline (maaaaybe Ludvig at the very beginning?).

Wilhelm's is on April 6, I'm sure we would have heard had Wilhelm (or Simon!) had a birthday, so that will be the first time in Wilhelm's life when there will be official public celebrations of this kind for him. Or rather The Crown Prince who now happens to be Wilhelm. And it will be The Crown Prince and not Crown Prince Wilhelm more often than not. The Crown Prince who used to be Erik, because Erik had to die for Wilhelm to be of any use or worth officially celebrating.

Throughout YR Wilhelm has started coming into his own, but I doubt he doesn't still first think of Erik whenever he hears the words The Crown Prince, especially when he's not directly being addressed.

I'd guess (although that's all it is, a guess) that at least the Erik Award for Sportsperson of the Year will not be renamed. It probably would have been had Erik not died so young and tragically, but I'd like to think they'd keep the name in his honor and create a new one in Wilhelm's name.

Everything else though? Concert, tournaments, races, random smaller events all over the country? Name and date change. There might be memorial concerts etc for Erik, but those will be something different entirely, something new. Wilhelm is replacing Erik, in everything, and Kristina and the royal court are pragmatic if anything.

In Erik Day I made the specific choice for everyone to move on, almost immediately, at least outwardly so. I'm sure Kristina and Ludvig still grieve, but they do so in private. I might be wrong, but I don't see them making grand gestures or having many memorial events.

I'm sure people are sad Erik died and think it's tragic, sympathy for the royal family will have risen in the aftermath of his death, but Erik was no Diana, and I'm quite sure most people spared his death little thought post funeral. So there's a new cp, so what? It changes little for the average Swede, and certainly not years later. They will have forgotten the date of Erik's birthday or name day, and only remember if reminded. (especially in an AU where Wilmon only meet years later)

#this does not take into consideration that Ludvig might not be celebrated like that because of sexism #I'm quite sure he is though #and if not it changes little about my point and I doubt it'd have helped much #btw I intentionally avoid irl names #and never use them with titles #and I don't capitalize royal titles unless it's in fic #words have power and how we use them matters #young royals #young royals meta #random ramblings #erik day

65 notes · View notes

avengerscompound · 1 month

Text

The Interview - Chapter 16

The Interview - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating: E

Warnings: none

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Melody Danes

Word Count: 2126

Summary: Melody Danes gets the break of a lifetime when as a lowly intern, she’s assigned to write a profile piece on Captain America. Steve Rogers is a hard man not to fall for and as she and Melody get closer and Melody’s career takes off, jealousy leads to sabotage, and the potential to bring her whole world crashing down.

Chapter 16

Excitement bubbled in Melody's stomach as she rode the Avengers Tower elevator up with Bobbi. They’d both been to the tower plenty of times. They’d met all the Avengers. This was different though. They weren’t there to sleep over with their prospective boyfriends. They weren’t there for a party that half of the city had been invited to. They weren’t there for work. Tony Stark had invited them to dinner with the team specifically to get to know them. He’d even had an assistant call to find out if either of them had any special dietary requirements to make sure they felt completely correctly catered for. He wanted them to feel comfortable because for the Avengers this was the equivalent of meeting the family.

It felt like a big deal. A relationship marker. This was the part where the people who loved them best decided if Melody and Bobbi were good enough for them. Melody just wished it had been Steve’s idea.

Bobbi reached over and gave Melody a push. “It’s going to be fine. It’s just dinner.”

Melody pushed her back. “I know. I know. It just feels like a big deal. I don’t know if I should ask Steve to come meet my parents after this or what.”

“Well, at least you get to think about that as an option,” Bobbi said.

Melody frowned and put her arm around her cousin. “I’m sorry. I know. But you got me.”

Bobbi rested her cheek on the top of Melody’s head for a moment. “Yeah, I’ve got you,” she said. “And Bucky’s already met you, and he thinks you’re great. So I’ve got nothing to worry about. Still, there are my sisters, and I hold out hope mom and dad will come around.”

The elevator opened, and to Melody’s surprise, instead of opening out onto the party deck where she’d first met the rest of the team, it was straight into an apartment. She could only assume this was the penthouse because it appeared to take up the entire floor, and at least the one above too, as there was a large glass staircase that wound up on the left of the room. Ahead of her were three steps that led to what appeared to be a living room and the top of the Chrysler building dominated the view out of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The Avengers were all sitting on the couches together and they stood when the doors opened. As well as Steve, Bucky, and Tony there, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Sam Wilson, James Rhodes, Bruce Banner, Wanda Maximoff, Thor, Maria Hill, Sharon Carter, and Pepper Potts were all there. She’d met them all at the party, though some only very briefly, and while most she knew just due to their fame, there were others whose job it was not to be known by the general public. Melody had Steve go through everyone’s names before coming just so she wouldn’t embarrass herself.

“Here are the guests of honor,” Tony announced, when they approached he stepped forward and kissed each of them on the cheek. “Welcome, welcome. Have you all met? I’m sure you know most of them from their do-goodings. That’s Maria and Sharon. Anyone else you might not know?”

“It’s fine, Tony,” Steve said as he put his arm around Melody. “They both met everyone at the party.”

“Though some of us only briefly,” Hill said. “It’s nice to see you still around. I don’t think any of us have ever seen that before.”

“This is the first person I’ve even seen Bucky actually date,” Clint said.

“There was that blind date Natasha set him up on,” Sam replied.

“Alright, alright. We don’t all need to be going over my love life in front of my girlfriend,” Bucky said.

Bobbi took his hand and kissed his palm. “Your past doesn’t bother me, mi corazón. They can tease.”

“Great, permission granted,” Sam said, rubbing his hands together. “This is going to be great!”

Bucky groaned and ran his prosthetic hand down his face. “Fuckin’ great.”

“Come on, come on,” Tony said. “Dinner won’t wait forever. Let’s go through.”

Melody had never seen a dining table as large as the one in Tony’s dining room in person before, and while she’d seen ones on TV just as big or maybe even larger, they featured on shows with vampires, or large mafia families, or epic sagas with Kings and Queens. Those tables were always dark and heavy hardwood. Often they were ornately carved. This was nothing like those tables. It was rectangular and made of what looked like a single piece of highly polished obsidian and sat on a support of polished chrome in the shape of an x.

Steve pulled out one of the black padded chairs for Melody and she took her seat as everyone else sat down around her. As soon as they were seated two waiters came out and began filling glasses. One poured either red or white wine into the wine glasses, while the other poured water into the highballs beside them. Already set out on the table were platters with olives and warm sourdough bread, as well as meatballs, stuffed zucchini flowers, focaccia, and some kind of arancini.

Melody helped herself to a little of everything as the rest of the group filled their plates. She was used to eating with Steve and Bucky at this point and wasn’t surprised to see how full Bucky’s plate was, nor how Steve had leaned more into the high protein things like the meatballs over the empty calories of the white bread. She was surprised to see just how much Thor had taken. He had dragged an entire platter of meatballs down to himself and added handfuls of everything else to it.

“Speaking of people’s love lives,” Melody said. “How’s things going with Mattie, Sam? He talks about you a lot.”

Sam’s eyes lit up at the mention of his new relationship. “It’s going great,” he said. “I mean - you know what it’s like dating an Avenger. I don’t always have a lot of free time, but we’re having a great time together.”

“Ohh… is there another meet-the-family dinner coming up?” Tony asked, a teasing tone in his voice.

“I’ll happily let all of you degenerates meet him any time,” Sam teased. “But we’re a little way off taking him back to Lousianna.”

Tony put his hand on his chest. “I’m wounded, Tweety. You wound me.”

The appetizers were already starting to run out and the waiters started to bring out bowls of a rich soup filled with clams still in their shells.”

“That’s Zuppa Di Vongole,” Tony explained. “It was one of my grandmother’s favorites. Or if you don’t eat fish, you’re getting minestrone.”

“How many courses are we having tonight, Tony?” Steve asked.

“Just six,” he said. “I didn’t go overboard.”

Sharon, Sam, and Clint started laughing, while Steve, Pepper, and Rhodey shook their heads, the look of resigned disbelief was mirrored in all of them.

“Thank you so much for doing all this, Tony,” Bobbi said. “In a way, it reminds me of dinners with my whole extended family. Only we all cooked together as well. And it was a lot more dysfunctional.”

“Give it time,” Bucky muttered.

“You don’t want to cook with all of us,” Bruce said. “There’s only a couple of people here who can cook. Most of us burn water.”

“Well part of the fun is passing on tradition, isn’t it?” Bobbi said. “Bucky’s a great cook. We’ve been teaching each other different recipes.”

“I didn’t know you liked cooking, Bucky,” Sam said.

Bucky shrugged. “You don’t know lots of things about me.”

Sam looked at him deadpan. “Well I was going to offer to share some of my family recipes with you, but see if I do now.”

Melody was using one of her clam shells to pick out the clams from the others, but there was still a lot of soup left in her bowl compared to the people around her. She was a little worried she’d still be eating by the time the next course came out. She leaned up to Steve’s ear. “I might need your help to eat all this.”

Steve chuckled. “And you’re asking me?”

“Think of it as a public service. Your poor hard done by girlfriend needs to save face,” she whispered.

Steve laughed harder and stole a quick kiss. “Okay, I’ll help you,” he said.

“Thank you, honey,” she said and kissed his cheek.

Steve shook his head, smiling affectionately as he scooped some of the soup from Melody’s bowl into his own. She was just getting to the bottom of the bowl when the waiters came out with the next course. This time it was a salad course. Most everyone got a Caprese salad, though Tony and Pepper seemed to have gone for something without dairy that featured pear and red cabbage.

“Still avoiding dairy, Tones?” Rhodey asked.

“Well, cutting it down. It’s hard when there’s a Ben and Jerry’s flavor named after me,” Tony said.

“That’s not the humble brag you think it is, Tones,” Clint said. “Most of the people here have Ben and Jerry’s flavors named after them.”

“And not one of them is as good as Phish Food,” Maria said.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Tony said. “Hey now, I won’t hear a thing against Stark Raving Hazelnuts.”

Melody was starting to think she might make it through the entire six courses as she ate her salad. It was light and fresh, and it didn’t feel like it was filling her up at all. Then the waiters began bringing out the next course.

“Gnocchi with pesto cream,” Tony said. “But it’s a cashew cream.”

Melody took a sip of her wine before she started eating. Before she even took a bite, the conversation had started up again.

“Stark said you interviewed him, Lady Bobbi,” Thor said.

“Yeah, that’s right,” she said. “We had fun. You should do it.”

Tony snorted and took a quick swallow of his water. “Sorry. I just imagined what it would be like for your team to be making food from 2000 BCE.”

“Just big slabs of meat roasted over coals,” Melody laughed.

“I would not complain,” Thor said. “A feast is a feast.”

“That sounds better than what I had to eat. Everything I had was set in jello,” Tony said.

Clint laughed loudly. “Amazing. I can’t wait to watch it.”

“So what’s the premise?” Sharon asked.

“Just a casual interview while you eat food made from recipes in magazines that came out the year you were born,” Melody said. “We have other ideas too. But so far we like that one.”

“That does sound fun. I hate doing interviews and I’d do that,” Clint said.

“You’d be so welcome,” Melody said. “I was also thinking of doing a series where we compared things from different chains. Like pizza or burgers.”

“Oh, oh, I want to do that one,” Clint said.

“I’ll call you to set it up. Thanks, Clint,” Melody said.

“So what did you have to eat Tony?” Natasha said.

“There was a red cabbage salad in a jello that tasted like acid,” Tony said. “This loaf made of creamed liver, this sandwich that was made to look like a cake.”

“Mmm… sounds so appetizing,” Rhodey said.

“I was a little worried he was going to get revenge with this dinner,” Bobbi joked.

“There’s still two courses to go,” Sam said.

Tony laughed hard. “See, I’m a better person than I thought. That didn’t even occur to me.”

Despite Steve’s help, Melody was very full by the time she finished the pasta course. She noticed that most of the other mortals were struggling too. Pepper’s plate was practically full when they took it away and replaced it with Tuscan-style lamb shanks, while the non-meat eaters were given eggplant parmigiana. Thankfully, the conversation flowed freely around the room. So while Melody was feeling overfull, she didn’t feel uncomfortable at all.

The fact that Steve’s friends were all so open to accepting both Melody and Bobbi was gratifying. Nothing was quite as gratifying as seeing Steve and Bucky enjoying having Melody and Bobbi fit in with their friends. By the end of the night, Steve had never looked so in love, and it made Melody’s heart feel full every time he looked at her.

By the end of the night and after a serving of Tiramisu served with Vin Santo, Melody not only felt very full but very content.

She said goodnight to everyone and headed to the elevator with Steve. “Will you spend the night?” Steve asked.

She looked up at him and smiled. “You couldn’t keep me away.”

// NEXT

#marvel #avengers #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fanfic #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers x ofc #ofc #original character fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #the interview #avengerscompound

23 notes · View notes

sassy-ahsoka-tano · 2 years

Text

DADDY ISSUES - Part One: Motive

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: You're just a waitress, nothing more. But when your cousin, Steve, gets into a jam and needs your help, you have no choice but to indulge him and become the front-row face of Elvis Presley's '68 Comeback Special. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: None! Inaccuracies to the actual special probably lmao. this chapter is tame. the others won't be

Rating: Pg (but this series will be very NSFW, so minors save yourself the trouble + DNI) || Word Count: 4644

A/N: it's finally hereeeee!! happy thirsty thursday hunnies + i hope you enjoy part 1 of the series! i promise smut will be forthcoming, but i have it plotted for almost every part so i wanted to start out with plot stuff instead 😅

Song Rec: motive - ari (feat. doja cat)

This is Part 1 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

“Order up! Table seventeen.”

You let your slippery white shoes glide across the checked floor as you slide up to the counter. You grab the plate from off the rack and trot out from behind the counter to deliver it to table seventeen.

“I got a burger and fries?” you ask, placing the plate down and proceeding with the rest of the order. You load the family’s dirty dishes onto the tray and snatch up the ringing telephone as you pass by it.

“Chadney’s Restaurant, how can I help you?” you say into the speaker.

“Hi, I’m calling for Y/N?”

“Uh…yes, this is she?” you respond, setting the tray down. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

“Oh Y/N, perfect, this is Steve, your cousin,” the voice replies.

“Steve Binder? Why are you calling me at work? Didn’t your mom give you my new home phone number?”

“Yeah, but I knew you wouldn’t pick up. Listen, I’m in a bit of a bind at the moment, and I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

“What kind of favor?”

“Well, seeing as you’re right across the way here, I was just wondering how many people are in the restaurant right now? Do you think any of them would be willing to come down here to be part of a live studio audience?”

You sigh, glancing around the restaurant quickly. It’s later in the afternoon, but because of the restaurant’s vicinity to NBC, it’s usually crowded most of the day. Only a few tables are empty.

“Yeah, it’s busy. I don’t know… there are some younger people. Who’s performing?”

“Elvis Presley.”

You feel your mouth drop open and your blood run cold.

“Y/N! We have orders ready to go out!” You wave a hand dismissively at your boss screaming from the kitchen.

“So, do you think anyone would be interested?” Steve presses.

“Yeah, maybe, I don’t know. Listen, I have to go. If you want them, you’ll have to come down here and get them yourself. I gotta go, Steve, bye.”

You click the phone down before he has a chance to protest and get back to work. You’re only able to run about two orders out before the door swings open and you glance up to see your cousin waltzing in with another man you don’t recognize.

“Hi everyone! If I could just have your attention please!”

Murmurs spread throughout the restaurant as forks and knives clink down onto the old yellowed ceramic plates. Silence settles before Steve continues.

“Hi all, I know this is sort of out of the ordinary, but my name is Steve Binder, and I work for NBC. We’re actually across the street right now gearing up to film a show with Elvis Presley, the King of rock’n’roll, I’m sure you’re all familiar. Unfortunately, we seem to have lost our audience. Again, I know this sounds strange, but would any of you be interested in attending the filming to be part of a live audience?”

You hear a gasp and turn to see your coworker and only true friend, Candy, standing next to you. She glances over at you with a big smile and nudges your arm with her elbow.

“Elvis!!” she whispers.

By the time Steve has finished with his announcement, practically everyone in the cafe has jumped out of their seats and rushed toward your cousin, cheering and jeering to get in line. You walk back behind the counter to put your apron away as Steve gestures the people funneling out of the restaurant toward the NBC Studios building across the street. You start stacking plates when you hear Steve’s voice behind you.

“Thanks for your help,” he says.

“Not a problem,” you respond, turning around to hug him. “Now, what’s this I hear about Elvis Presley?”

“Crazy, isn’t it? Bones Howe and I got a call from his producer, Jerry Schilling, about helping him reconnect with his previous persona, his famous image. We met him, talked for a while, and boom now we’re here.”

“That’s amazing!” Candy adds, walking up to lean against the counter. “You know your cousin here,” she gestures to you, “is like the biggest Elvis fan on the planet.”

“You don’t say. Actually…” his eyes light up and he points at you. “Y/N, you know, you’d be perfect for this. You’re exactly the kind of person we want to showcase on the special. Young, fresh, attractive, a real and authentic person. Do you think you could come with me now?”

“No. No, you know I can’t do that," you reply, shaking your head.

“Why not? There’s not a soul in this place, anymore.”

You look around and shake your head.

“There are still people here, and I’m still on the clock. I can’t just leave. I’ll get fired.”

“Ah, Y/N, lay off it. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, honey,” Candy says. “You should go!”

You shake your head and turn, trying to go back to work, but Steve speaks up again.

“I can get you a prime spot. Right in front of him. And your friend is welcome to come, too. C’mon, Y/N. Please.”

Memories flash through your mind. Fans screaming, police lights flashing, flashes of black fabric. You glance back into Steve’s bright blue eyes and feel anxiety rising in your chest. It gets harder to breathe and your fingers start to feel like they’re vibrating. You can’t do this. You shouldn’t do this. You’re not ready. But Steve’s pleading eyes are too strong for your will. You sigh deeply, running a hand over your face.

“Alright fine,” you respond. “Just give me a second to figure this out.”

Steve nods and you turn toward Candy with a deep breath. She wastes no time, jumping over the counter and grabbing onto your wrist to drag you into the kitchen where your boss, Frank, is cooking up a storm.

“What the hell’s going on out there?” Frank asks, wiping sweat from his forehead. “If you’re slacking, I can replace you quicker than a flash.”

“Well, that’s actually something we wanna talk to you about,” Candy says, and you frantically shake your head at her. “A Mr. Steve Binder from NBC Studios just stopped by and he’s looking for some people to join a live audience for a show they’re recording across the street. It’s an Elvis Presley show.”

“Is it one of those goddamn movies again?” Frank asks. “Cause if I have to hear one more word about those shitty films again, I’ll fire both of your asses.”

You shoot a pleading glance at Candy and mouth the word ‘no’, but she just rolls her eyes and shakes her head at Frank’s rude comment.

“No, it’s a musical performance, Frank. And don’t threaten us like that,” she responds, and you feel panic start to pump through your veins.

“What does any of this have to do with me, anyway?” Frank asks gruffly. “I don’t care what you do in your free time.”

“Y/N and I are leaving work early to go be a part of the audience,” Candy says, angrily. “That’s what it has to do with you.”

A clanging noise sounds as Frank drops his metal spatula onto the grill. You drop your head into your hands, clutching onto the roots of your hair and dreading what words will come next.

“What did you say?” Frank asks, turning around with an irate expression on his ugly, bulbous features. You know he isn’t really asking Candy to repeat herself but giving her a chance to change her answer. She keeps her mouth in a straight, flat line, refusing to budge.

“If you think you two little girls can just leave whenever the hell you want, you’re wrong,” he says, jabbing a fat swollen finger at you both. “You walk outta here right now, you’re fired. I don’t wanna see your damn face in here again, do you understand me?”

You falter, feeling all of the blood drain from your face. No, no, no. You can’t be fired. You need this job. But apparently, Candy doesn’t.

“So be it,” she says resolutely. “Come on, Y/N, let’s go be on live television.”

Before you have a chance to fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness from Frank, Candy’s fingers are latching onto your arm and dragging you away.

“Goddamn it! Fired!” Frank yells as you both dash out of the kitchen. “Do you hear me? FIRED! If I EVER see your faces in this restaurant again, I will-”

The rest of what he says is cut off when Candy slams the front door to Chadney’s, never to be opened again. Steve is waiting for you outside, and he perks up when you both approach him. You don’t hear a word of his greeting or Candy’s introduction. So many anxieties and worries are running through your brain. Your whole body feels cold and shaky, and all you can do is focus on remembering to breathe before you have a mental breakdown. The cold air-conditioned breeze shakes you back into consciousness when you walk into the NBC Studios building.

“Alright, so I’ll take you over to costuming and get you all set up, and then we’ll cart you out to the stage,” Steve explains as you dodge people running up and down the hallway with all kinds of props, costumes, and various objects.

“I thought you wanted ‘authentic people,’” you counter as Candy drags you along. You lean out of the way and nearly miss a man carting a huge stuffed moose down the narrow hallway.

“Oh, we do, but we want to make sure that everyone is styled as contemporarily as possible,” Steve says. “No offense to your uniforms.”

You quirk an eyebrow, not the least bit offended. You despise that faded blue dress with the hideous red Chadney’s logo over the left lapel. The creamy white tennis shoes are even more atrocious. Steve leads you both into the costuming room where there are dozens of people everywhere getting dressed in bright yellows, reds, greens, and blues.

“This is Barbara, and she’s gonna help style you today,” Steve says, gesturing to a middle-aged blonde woman with black squared glasses. “For Y/N, we want to put her in something extra stylish because she’s gonna stationed right in front of the camera.”

“Woah, woah, wait!” you say, holding your hands up. “What? No, Steve, I don’t want to be right in front of the camera. I would actually much prefer to get lost in the crowd as much as possible.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re everything we’re looking for as our front girl,” he says, dismissively waving his hand. “I think this one, Barb.”

You’re too busy having your third massive freak out in the last twenty minutes to pay attention to the fabric Steve pulls for you. Barbara shoves you behind a changing stall, pushing a hanger in your face. You reach for Candy only to see her being pulled away to a different stylist.

“Go ahead and get dressed, honey,” Barbara says hurriedly. “Then we’ll figure out what to do with your hair. Oh, before I forget, what shoe size are you?”

You just have enough time to shout your size at her before she’s running off among the chaos around you. You sheepishly duck behind the stall and yank your work uniform off. As quickly as you can, you pull the soft fabric of a dress over your skin. You glance down at the garment. It’s gorgeous. It has a deep red top with fluffy sleeves and little buttons. And the skirt portion is full of rust, orange, yellow, and white floral patterns. Surprisingly, the dress seems to fit very well, perhaps a bit small and tight in some places. By the time you’ve finished admiring it, Barbara is pulling you out to throw a pair of white gogo boots at you. You stuff your sweaty feet into them as Barbara pulls at your hair. It happens so fast that you can’t even comprehend how, but she somehow gets your hair into a beautifully relaxed beehive with a little orange headband that matches one of the colors on the skirt.

“You look great! Now get out there, we’re almost out of time,” she says, pushing you toward the door.

You really wish you could see yourself and at least know what you look like before you go out to be broadcast, apparently front and center, to the American public. But you get swept up by the other audience members rushing toward the stage. You aren’t really sure where you’re going, so you just mosey along with the big group and hope someone knows the right way. Eventually, you find yourself in a rough line, spanning out into the hallway. You can hear someone’s voice, it's familiar but you can’t place it, as he directs people around the tiny red stage in the middle of the room. You peer around the line to get a look at the man with the familiar voice and smile to yourself when you recognize his glasses and shaggy haircut.

Bones Howe, Steve’s business partner. You’d met here and there but would be surprised if he remembers you. You and Steve are cousins, yes, but not blood-related, so the times you see each other are rare. You step up after the older woman in front of you who reeks of cheap perfume.

“Y/N! Hi, nice to see you again. Wow, Steve was right, you look great. Just what we’re looking for,” he says with a big smile.

“Hi Bones,” you chuckle, feeling flattered at the fact that he remembers you.

“Alright so we’re gonna have you placed right here,” he says, pointing and pushing your back gently to guide you. “Now just a quick reminder to act natural but also remember that the camera will be on you the majority of the time. So just don’t pick your nose or do anything you wouldn’t want your mother to see. Thanks again for doing this!”

Before you can ask a question or say ‘you’re welcome,’ he’s gone. You shrug and take your place, once again directly by the stage. Just as you’re settling in, lazily glancing around to see if you can find Candy, someone slides in next to you.

“Hi! I’m Trixie!” a high-pitched voice says and a small hand reaches out beside you. You turn to see a beautiful woman, tall and curvy, with dark black hair and bright brown eyes. She’s wearing a turtleneck sweater, a plaid skirt, and matching knee thighs with heels. All in a vivid color of bright lavender that compliments her skin perfectly. You smile, reaching to shake her hand.

“Y/N,” you respond with a smile. “I love your outfit.”

“Thanks! I picked it out myself,” she says. “So, did you call in on the radio, too?”

“Uh…no, no I sort of…got picked, I guess,” you respond with furrowed eyebrows. Call in on the radio?

“Oh, very fancy! I called in as soon as I heard on the radio. Are you an Elvis fan? I’ve been to three of his concerts, own all his records, and seen all his films,” she says, leaning against the stage with a big smile.

“Yes, big fan!” you say, nodding. “I’ve also seen all his movies. And I’ve only been to one concert but it was…the best night of my life, honestly.”

Minus the riot that broke out after…

“Wow, that’s awesome! Which concert, I wonder if we could have been at the same one?”

“Russwood Park 1956,” you say with a deep breath.

“Wow, that must have been amazing! I remember reading about it in the papers,” Trixie says. “What was it like?”

Just as you’re about to answer, you hear that familiar voice again and glance up to see Bones kneeling down next to you.

“Ladies, if I could actually bother you both to sit up here on the stage, that would be incredible,” Bones says with a wink. “We want to make sure that it looks casual, like Elvis is just a regular guy hanging out with a bunch of kids. Alright, great!”

You look at Trixie and shrug with a nervous smile. You both hop up onto the stage, sitting sideways next to each other. You glance around you to see that a huge crowd has packed in behind you.

“Hi all and welcome to NBC Studios!”

Applause erupts all around you, and you gently clap your hands together.

“We’re so pleased to have all of you, and we’re super excited for the show. Just a few things before we get started to make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible.”

He points up toward a flashing red light that says APPLAUSE. Very subtle...

“Now when that sign lights up, what do you do?” Bones asks.

The crowd erupts into applause again, and you shake your head at the sheer absurdity of it all. Bones continues to explain how things are going to work.

“And lastly, ladies and gentleman, this is television not radio, so when that goes on and you clap, let's see it on your faces.”

The crowd claps again, and you glance around to admire the variety of expressions on the faces of the audience members. Some are definitely more cut out for this acting natural thing than others.

“Now Elvis is performing tonight just for you so keep that in mind. Let that inspire you,” Bones says. “And without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, here’s Elvis Presley.

And there he is, indeed. Ironically in black, again, just like the last time you saw him. He takes the stage with a smile, and you drink him in. He looks incredible, tan and fit and happy, probably better than he had when you’d seen him last. But he seems nervous, a feeling which you hadn’t noticed the last time you’d seen him. He shakes himself out and glances around for a moment, nodding, before grabbing his guitar. You feel Trixie latch onto your hand and squeeze excitedly. You shoot her a smile as he begins to sing.

Heartbreak Hotel, one of your favorites. You feel a smile spreading across your face as his hips start to move back and forth with the beat of the song. His voice is incredible, even better than it had been when he was young. Back then, it was smoother, higher pitched. Now, it’s deep, rich, and raspy. A man’s voice. You bring a hand up to cover your mouth as he leans back, holding the microphone stand tightly. His eyes travel backward as a smirk crawls onto his face. And for a quick second, your heart stops and smile drops.

Had he seen you? No, it’s impossible. You’re kidding yourself and hoping for something that won’t happen. Something unbelievable.

So you think, until he tilts his head down and stares right at you. There’s no mistaking it this time. His eyes are trained on you for a few seconds until he removes the guitar and hands it off to a bandmate. He drops to his knees right in front of you and pushes his crotch up into your face. A sense of deja vu hits you like a brick. You suck in a sharp breath and throw a hand onto your face in embarrassment as you catch him wink at you. When he gets up to go back to center stage, you feel your chest release a shaky breath.

Despite everything in your body telling you this isn’t real, here you are again. Somehow almost in the exact same spot you had been during the performance in 1956 in Memphis. Right by the stage, right where you can see him. And he can see you. Your lips part, and you grip hard onto the fabric of the orange dress, feeling the blood once again drain from your face. You’d never thought you’d ever see him again. You couldn’t believe how lucky you’d been to see him the first time around at all. It’s 12 years ago now. You were only 16 then, now you were almost 30. Everything had changed that day. Your expectations for life, your standards for men, your understanding of sex. Everything.

You were just a face in the crowd, nothing special. Sure, you’d fought your way up to the front, but you were so small then. It was just easier for you to get there and weave through the crowd. You were just watching him in that black suit as he threw himself around onstage. You’d screamed with the other fans, gripped at the stage, overreacted like the teenage girl you were. There was nothing special about you. You were utterly ordinary. Until he’d knelt down by you, right in front of you, and reached out with his beautiful slender fingers, curled those fingers around your chin…

You absentmindedly reach up to touch the skin on your jaw, remembering the feeling of his strong grasp on the bones underneath the skin.

How it felt to have him touch you. You, out of everyone else in the crowd. He’d leaned so close to you, so close that you could see the beads of sweat on his skin, rolling down his dark black hair. He’d sang right to you. Right in your face as his eyes searched yours and he gripped onto your jaw. You’ll never forget the feeling of emptiness when he’d left your space. When he’d retreated from you. The need, the desire you felt to get him back. To have him next to you again. To have him that close to you. You would never forget that day in Russwood Park. Never.

You smile as you watch him, knowing that you’ll never forget this moment in time either. He moves around similarly to how he used to but with even more confidence now. He doesn’t have the body of a child anymore, but a man’s frame. Tall and thick. Your eyes gravitate toward his ass, and your mouth falls open as you watch it move. The full leather suit he wears hugs him in all the right places, especially there. You bite your lip at the way the fabric moves against him and shines in the light. A few people around you start to sing along, so you join in, clapping to the time. You drop your face into your hands, feeling heat creep into your cheeks as he wiggles around on stage again. You clap with a huge smile on your face as he speaks into the mic.

“It’s been a long time, baby. A long time,” he says.

After he performs, the crew brings a stool up onto the stage and he sits to chat about his career and where he’s at in his life right now.

“But that’s one thing about this tv special that I’m doing,” he’s saying, “They’re gonna let me do what I wanna do. Sing the music that I want. The music that I love. The music that makes me happy.”

You catch him glancing up at something, and your eyes follow his gaze to rest on a beautiful woman sitting in the upper sections. His wife, Priscilla. You recognize her from the magazine covers you’ve seen of them together. You’d been crushed when they’d gotten married. Of course you’re happy for them both and never at all expected that he would fall in love with you or anything like that. You knew it was implausible, but still, you had hope. Hope that was all but crushed when Mrs. Presley became a reality.

You shake off the slight disappointment that you feel trying to settle into your chest and enjoy the rest of the show. Even though Elvis’ back is toward you for the remainder of the taping, you still love hearing him talk about himself and his music. You’re having such a great time that what ends up taking three hours feels like three minutes. And you can forget, for that time, about the fact that you no longer have a stable income. You crane your neck as Elvis walks off the stage, smiling and waving to the crowd. You want to see as much of him as humanly possible. It could be the last time.

You watch as he stops momentarily to talk to a tall man with shaggy blondish hair. You turn to Trixie, who is gushing about the performance but glance back at Elvis out of the corner of your eye to see him gesturing toward your area of the stage. For a moment, your heart skips a beat but you shake yur head. No, he couldn’t possibly have singled you out again. That would make you too lucky. Way too lucky.

After the show, you’re ushered back into the costuming area and stripped of your clothes. You sigh and shrug back on your old uniform with all the ketchup and coffee stains. As soon as the fabric hits your skin, it’s a harsh reminder that you need to find a job. Like yesterday. You emerge from the changing station and gently place the dress on a table with other random pieces of clothing, but not before fishing out a small strip of worn paper. Trixie had written her name, address, and phone number on it. She’d said she’s looking for a roommate and, apparently, really likes you enough to consider you. Maybe it’s time for a move, after all.

“Thanks for your help, Barbara,” you say. She glances up at you with her magnified eyes and smiles warmly. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where I can find Mr. Binder, would you? I have something I wanted to ask him about.”

“Upstairs, to the right in the recording studio,” she responds. “If you get lost just ask someone and tell them Barb sent you.”

You thank her again and place the white gogo boots on the floor next to the table. But as you turn to leave, Barbara’s voice stops you.

“Take them,” she says softly, gesturing to the boots and the dress. “They were made for you.”

You normally wouldn’t indulge such an offer, but now that you’re jobless, you figure some free stuff can’t hurt. You smile and reach down to grab the outfit, tucking it under your arm as you wind your way around the crowds and pockets of people. When you get upstairs, you take a moment to glance around at the posters on the wall. Your eyebrows raise as you see one for Star Trek. Very cool. Your eyes swing to the right and you see what looks like, to your untrained eyes, a recording studio. You debate knocking but aren’t sure if it’ll interfere with any of the recording process, so you just quietly step in and press your back to the wall.

“Cue the gospel number now,” Steve says quickly, and you lean away from the door as a lumbering fat man waddles in.

“No,” the fat man mumbles, “None of this will be in the special.”

He gestures toward two businessmen sitting across the doorway. You hadn’t even noticed them when you’d walked in, but they look displeased in their stiff black suits.

“Can you make a note that that should be in the special,” Steve says, and you chuckle to yourself. “Now let’s segue straight into the whorehouse dancers.”

Your mouth drops open and you throw a hand over your mouth. Steve continues to bring more crazy and wild aspects into the special, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing audibly. The way Elvis’ manager frantically looks from screen to screen wracks your body with silent hisses.

Suddenly, the cast and crew start running frantically and screaming. Your laughing stops abruptly and your attention is pulled to a crew member as they dash into the room.

“Robert Kennedy’s been shot!!”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Reblogs, likes, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

**If you notice any triggers or grammatical errors that I missed, please let me know! :)

taglist: @mrsjna @floralcyanide @austinbutler17 @slutforsomegoodlettuce @cb97slut @datsavageavenger @misspygmypie @yourfriendhenrywinter @queenslandlover-93 @kittenlittle24 @slutforblueeyes @theliterarybeldam @guns-n-queen @x-earthangel @adoreyouusugar @butler-trouble @kaycinema @mamaspresley @dontbesussis @littledanette @yagirlalexx @hangmanswhore @dark-as-love @adoreyouusugar @gemstone9

#elvis #elvis 2022 #austin butler #milasfics #milaselvisfics #milasthings #milaselviscontent #elvis fic #sugar daddy elvis #daddy issues

484 notes · View notes

pagesfromthevoid · 1 year

Note

I personally would love to see the wedding scene. What they say to each other but if you skip it I totally would understand!

Whatever the Poets Say | b.b. | 21

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Fluff and some✨suggestive✨implications

Author’s Note: We’re in the final moments! There will be one more chapter and an epilogue 👀 gif from @catalinabaylors

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

Dearest readers,

While you may not be terribly interested in the Bridgerton family any longer —or maybe you are, who am I to assume? —but with the wedding of Miss Everly and Benedict Bridgerton today…well, this author would be amiss if she did not report on it. After all, it was this author who suggested they were the real match of the season. So it seems I was correct too.

Even with the downfall of the Bridgerton name, it is only poetic that the Everly’s find themselves a bright spot in the Bridgerton dark night. Even after the completely failed attempt at a ball, the families seem to be happier than ever. Perhaps we could all use a lesson from them. Who needs society’s approval when we have the love of each other?

With the wedding a mere few hours away, this author is incredibly interested if Miss Everly will follow through. However, with how blindly Mr. Bridgerton seems to follow her around…well, it would surely be a surprise if the wedding had any issues —outside of having no guests of course.

We shall see,

Lady Whistledown

Tradition stated that the groom may not see the bride before the wedding day. However, tradition seemed to be a bit skewed at the moment, and Benedict desperately needed to check on his future wife. Edwina and Eloise, however, were having none of it.

“You cannot come in!” Eloise yelled at him, hitting him with her fan.

“It is bad luck, Mr. Bridgerton,” Edwina insisted, blocking his view.

“Ladies, truly, I understand but it is important.”

“What could be so important that you’re willing to risk bad luck?” Eloise demanded.

“It's about the wedding!”

Eloise glanced at Edwina, who glanced back at Kate. Kate was working on Miss Everly’s hair, making sure it was pinned correctly.

“Kate, what do you think we should do?” Eloise asked, frowning deeply.

“I really do not think my opinion —,”

“Oh heavens, just shut the door and let me speak to him through it,” Miss Everly finally decided, throwing her hands up.

Eloise shut the door, putting her hands up as Miss Everly rolled her eyes. She shooed the ladies out of the room, thanking them for the bit of privacy before she carefully walked to the door. She knocked once, telling him it was her.

“Benedict, what’s wrong? Please tell me you’re not backing out.”

“What? Absolutely not.”

She rested her forehead against the door, sighing in relief. “Then what could possibly be wrong?”

There was hesitation from the otherside of the door; silence that told her that something else was wrong. A list of problems started forming, and she couldn’t determine what was worse: his silence or her anxiety.

“Benedict, please.”

“Nobody is here.”

For a moment, she wasn’t sure what he meant. Nobody was there? Of course people were there; her father and her cousins had some. And the Bridgerton family was there with their spouses and babies in tow. The Sharma’s and Lady Danbury —who forced her grandson Gareth to join her. People were there. And she knew Penelope had come, because she was helping with her makeup.

“What do you mean, love? There are people here.”

“Our families, perhaps. But…no one else we invited.”

“Oh.”

She had considered that no one would come because of the scandal with Anthony. However, it wasn’t exactly on the top of her list of reasons her wedding would go wrong. She wasn’t terribly concerned about it. After all, she had told her father she did not want a big wedding. It didn’t matter if it was just family and their closest friends.

“Does that bother you, Benedict?”

He hesitated on the other side again, and she could just see his brow furrowing as he really considered her question. Benedict always had a face he made when she asked something unexpected.

“I do not particularly mind; everyone I care about is here. And even then, it is only you who needs to be here as far as I’m concerned.”

She smiled softly to herself before glancing behind her. The door to Eloise’s room was closed; the ladies were probably waiting for her. But she didn’t want to leave him there in the hallway.

“Close your eyes.”

“What?”

Though she didn’t answer as she opened the door just a crack to look up at him. Benedict immediately covered his eyes, and she couldn’t help but laugh at him.

“I do not need a big wedding,” she promised him, reaching out to take his free hand in hers. “I have you, and our families. I don’t need anything else.”

Benedict squeezed her hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss gently. “I will see you at the altar then, my love.”

“I cannot wait.”

*****

Nothing had prepared him for how beautiful she would be. She was always beautiful —first thing in the morning, in the middle of the night, laying in the gardens. But her in white, with her veil and her flowers…it was a sight that would forever be etched into his mind. He was so overwhelmed with joy that he truly thought he’d cry, causing him to bring his fist to his mouth to control himself.

As Benedict had said, the only people at the wedding were their families. However, with the size of the Bridgerton family alone, they took up most of the church it felt like. Lord Everly held her hand in the crook of his arm, smiling down at her as the processional music played and they made their way down the aisle.

She thought she would be nervous. Truly, she thought she would hear her heart beating in her ears and feel her palms shaking as she gripped her flowers. However, she did not experience any of that. With her eyes trained on Benedict, she was completely at ease as her father lifted her veil to kiss her cheek, handing her to Benedict now who held out his hands. Eloise took her flowers, stepping back as Miss Everly smiled up at Benedict.

He grinned —that crooked, pretty grin that won her heart and inspired her very soul —and winked at her.

The officiant cleared his throat, looking between the two skeptically for a moment before he opened his book. Miss Everly pursed her lips to keep from giggling, looking at the bishop now to keep from being distracted.

“We have gathered here today to celebrate the union of the Bridgerton and Everly families, through holy matrimony,” the bishop started, looking down at his book. “Marriage is not to be taken lightly, or wantonly. Marriage is a bond, universal and unyielding. It will bind you together for the remainder of your lives and should be taken seriously.”

The two soon-to-be newlyweds snuck glances at one another, nodding with their own secret smiles.

“Mr. Bridgerton, if you have your vows prepared —,”

“Oh I do,” he quickly interrupted, looking back at her excitedly. The bishop seemed a bit annoyed to be cut off. “I am sure you already know what I am going to say, my love. You always seem to know everything about me without me having to tell you. Perhaps that’s why I fell so hard, so quickly. Maybe it was your wit —sly and quiet but there, clever as can be. You keep me on my toes, waiting for you to surprise me at every turn.

“More importantly though, you inspire everything I do. The poets speak of their muses, and I never truly understood what they meant until I laid eyes on you at the ball. Sitting there in that window, instead of dancing or gossiping but writing. And that was truly when I realized that I needed to know you. And now that I know you…I never want to stop.”

For a moment, she just stared up at him, trying to keep herself from tears. She was certain the bishop was saying something, but she couldn’t hear him. All she could focus on was Benedict, who was holding her hands in his and gazing down at her with nothing but adoration.

“Miss Everly, if you have your vows prepared, please,” the bishop finally said, grabbing her attention.

She nodded, wiping her eyes gently. “Oh, yes. Of course. I…,” she paused, trying to compose herself before taking a breath. Then she finally continued. “When I was young, my mother and father told me stories of falling so in love that nothing else mattered. I dreamed of finding a love like that —longed for it. And while I never thought I wouldn’t find it, I never thought I would truly find a love as strong as theirs.

“I have spent my life telling stories of falling in love and being loved. Written it on page after page. But it was not until I met you, Benedict, that my stories became real. Now that I truly know what is to love and be loved, my world will never be the same. And that is because I met you, and I love you, and I will never love anyone as I love you.”

Benedict was holding his breath, trying to keep himself composed, as the bishop thanked them for their vows. The two were gravitating toward one another, trying to close that foot that stood between them. Unintentional or not, all they wanted was each other in this moment.

“If anyone here has any objection to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

A tense moment spread across the church as they waited for someone to ruin their day. But no one stood, no one raised their hands. All was well.

“Then, by the power vested in me by the Queen of England and parliament, I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Bridgerton. You may kiss your bride.”

Benedict did not hesitate to pull her into his arms, wrapping them around her waist to kiss her. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as she smiled excitedly into it. If anyone had any doubts that they had kissed prior to this day, this moment certainly would change their minds. But none of that mattered.

She was Mrs. Bridgerton.

*****

Following the reception, Anthony had gifted Benedict the keys to a small house in the country. While the two were expected to still live in London while Benedict attended the academy, the house in the country —named aptly My Cottage —would be theirs for their honeymoon and any time away from the city. It was only a few hours' carriage ride away, and following their reception with family, the two were happily riding off to the countryside.

No more sneaking about, no more having her father or Anna cover for them —they could truly enjoy each other's company without interruption now. And quite truthfully, she was excited for their wedding night. She knew what to expect, and how it felt. And now…well, now it was their turn to find out what each other liked most.

She couldn’t wait.

However, until then, they sat together in the carriage. Benedict had tried to be subtle, but failed as he pulled her into his lap to kiss her. She had laughed, back pressed to the siding of the carriage as they pulled away. And now that was where she sat comfortably for the trip, her legs draped across the seat and her head tucked neatly into the curve of his neck.

After an hour of travel, Benedict was beginning to get a bit handsy however. His hands were tracing the freckles that dotted her throat, down to where her dress revealed her cleavage. The touches made her shiver, and she returned his touches with kisses along his jawline.

“We must try to be patient,” she whispered against his skin, pressing another kiss just below his ear. “I cannot imagine having our first marital night in the carriage.”

Benedict practically barked out his laughter, shaking his head. “No, no, we can’t have that, can we?” He hummed some as she brought herself closer, bringing his hand up to twirl a piece of her hair around his finger. “Read to me, Mrs. Bridgerton.”

She laughed herself now, looking up at him. “And what would you like me to read to you, Mr. Bridgerton?”

“Read me the story you have been writing —I am dying to know how it ends.”

And so the remainder of the carriage ride, with Mrs. Bridgerton tucked into her husband’s side, was spent reading the story that Benedict himself had wholly inspired.

———

Taglist: @queensgirl718 @drowninginaseaofbooks @severewobblerlightdragon @wildflowerel @just-an-ace-elf @kamala-khann @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake

#benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #Benedict Bridgerton #Bridgerton

162 notes · View notes

chicken-fifi · 5 months

Text

Home Sweet Home | Jay Park

Pairing: Jay Park X Fem!Reader

Requested by anon: Hi! Can I request for a scenario please? Jay Park (soloist) and the reader (his girlf) gets into a very bad fight, and they ignore each other for a while (maybe it’s already been more than a week? He doesn’t go home, sleeps at his studio, basically cold war) Then he gets drunk at his friend’s, Junwon’s (pH-1, or you can choose another artist if you’re not familiar with him) house and Jay whines to his friend that he wants his girlfriend to pick him up. She does and he’s so clingy on the way home, like apologizing and holding her hands. When they reach home and go to bed, he hugs her tightly and mumbles “home sweet home” just before he falls asleep. Basically a angsty scenario with a very cute and fluffy ending to ruin my life. I’m sorry this ask is so long and specific, and thank you if you choose to write this :)

Genre: angst to fluff

Word Count: 1,298 words

A/n: one of the last requests i will be writing for november....that makes me kinda sad actually. i hope you guys enjoyed!

The crummy, old, studio couch was really starting to mess with Jay’s back. As he sat up, his entire spine popped like there was no tomorrow, seemingly realigning after one more night’s less than peaceful rest. Stretching as best as he could, he rubbed his shoulder trying to get the growing ache to go away without success.

It’d already been a week since your fight. More than a week had passed since the two of you had last spoken, been in the same room, been in the same 5 meter radius as one another. He’d stopped by your shared apartment a number of times during the course of the past two weeks, namely because he needed to change and shower in order to look somewhat presentable and put together during advising meetings and other meetings that he didn’t have the mental capacity to even think about fully at that very moment.

“You slept here again?” a voice echoed through the blacked out room.

Jay turned his head, spotting Kiseok in the doorway looking at him oddly. If it weren’t him currently being preoccupied with how much longer he could handle the unpleasant company of this couch, he would’ve called the man before him a hypocrite. Acting like he wasn’t the type of person to sleep in the studios for longer periods of time than he was actively doing - although Jay was pretty close to breaking that record.

“It was that bad?” he asked, stepping inside, closing the door behind him. In the time he’d known you and Jay as a couple he’d seen and heard about many small squabbles and little banters between the two of you, but none had ever resulted in the thirty-something year old man not going home for nearly two weeks.

“Yeah,” Jay responded, throwing his head back against the couch. “It was pretty bad.”

~~~

“You could at least make an effort to make it to come to these things,” you said as you both entered the apartment after Jay picked you up from a family gathering you had attended - alone…again. “They all think that you see them as unworthy of your presence.”

Jay kept his mouth shut, not wanting to argue about this again. Of course he wanted to spend time with your family. He’d been dating you for a while now, but he could count the number of times he’s met with your family in one hand - a wedding and the dinner he had with your parents. But when he was as busy as he was managing labels and artists, still creating his own music, there was only much time left in a day. And he was behind on work as it was. There was no way he would’ve been able to attend the family gathering your sibling had planned with your cousins without falling even more behind. He just had to pick his battles and prioritize what he had to do.

And the recent meeting regarding the new label he was establishing had won.

“Are you listening to me?” your voice cut through his thoughts like a sharp knife.

Speaking of picking his battles…

“I have a job I need to do!” he raised his voice. “If I can’t make it to some stupid gathering, then I can’t make it to a stupid gathering. They’re not even my family!”

~~~

They’re not even my family.

Those words still rang through his head like a curse day and night. He knew he should have said that. He knew saying that would only make matters worse. But he was tired and simply wanted to go to bed with you by his side and get a good night’s rest. Surprise, surprise, neither of those things happened. Instead he was banished to the couch in the apartment for the night, getting a crick in his neck and then leaving the morning after to not go back when you would be home.

“You’re lucky I’m not your girlfriend,” Kiseok said. “If you had said that to me…I would’ve slapped you across the face and then left you for good.”

Jay groaned, pressing the heel of his hands to his eyes. He knew it was bad, but hearing it from an outsider only made him realize just how bad it actually was.

“Junwon and I are meeting up for drinks tonight,” Kiseok said as he looked at the man clearly going through one of the worst periods of his life. “I don’t if you wanna join us or something but, you can.”

~~~

Jay took Kiseok up on his offer, which admittedly probably wasn’t the best idea given his current mindset. But there he was. Knocking back shot after shot without a second thought or even thinking about the repercussions of the next morning. He was purely going through it at that moment in time.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Junwon said as he reached for the glass in front of his boss. “Do you want me to call a cab?”

Kiseok, who was equally as inebriated as Jay mumbled something incoherent under his breath as Jay shot him a look.

“(y/n) can pick me up,” he slurred, eyes glassy at the thought of you. “She loves me.”

“Like hell she does,” Kiseok slurred back, the comment going unheard.

“Give me my phone. I’ll call ‘er.”

Junwon wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to let the clearly drunken man make the call and managed to distract him with something else as he stepped out of the room. While tipsy, he wasn’t nearly as drunk as Jay and managed to sound somewhat composed as he called you, explaining the situation. The deep sight on the other of the line was enough to make him that you would reject coming to get the man, but he was pleasantly surprised by your response.

“You still live at XXX right?” you asked.

~~~

Junwon answered the door as soon as the bell rang, Jay poked his head from the living room shouting your name as he stumbled in your direction, hugging you tightly as he collided with your smaller frame.

Your arms wrapped around him attempting to steady him so the two of you wouldn’t take a tumble. Your eyes landed on the other set of eyes peering in your direction from the living room.

“Does he need a ride too?” you asked.

Kiseok shook his head, “I’m fine!”

“His cab’s on the way. Sure you can handle him?” Junwon asked.

You looked at the man basically attempting to bury himself into your body. You couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face, “I think we’ll be fine.”

~~~

You huffed as you were finally relieved of Jay’s weight as he fell onto the bed. The man hadn’t let go of your hand the entire drive home repeatedly apologizing nearly bursting into tears as he did so. You were certain the building security guard thought that there was some sort of domestic dispute between the two of you by how he eyes you both suspiciously asking if everything was alright at the sight of Jay’s tears.

“You need to change,” you whispered softly as he struggled before proceeding to help him, not bothering to even remind him to brush his teeth. You were tired and wanted to go to bed.

The second you finished your own nighttime routine and plopped onto the bed, Jay’s body wrapped around you, pulling you as close to him as he could nose pressed to your head. The sigh that left his lips was one of pure relief. And his next words made your heart skip a beat.

“Home sweet home.”

While you knew that there was still a lot to discuss in the morning, you knew that ultimately the two of you would be okay.

#ksoloist #ksoloist imagines #ksoloist scenarios #jay park #jay park masterlist #park jaebeom #jay park imagines #jay park scenarios #park jaebeom imagines #park jaebeom scenarios

30 notes · View notes