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andypantsx3 · 7 months

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DEAD RECKONING : TODOROKI TOUYA x READER

SUMMARY: A makeup artist at a haunted maze, all you want to do is make it to the end of the season with a little extra cash in your pocket and no murder convictions on your record. Scare actor Todoroki Touya makes that last part a challenge. (7.8k) CONTENT & WARNINGS: no quirks au, halloween, enemies to lovers, fem + afab reader, slight scumbag touya, haunted maze workers, smut, semi-public sex, smoking, heavy swearing, touya likes having his hair pulled + girls who are a little mean to him, sort of good girl vs bad boy vibes, 18+ minors please dni NOTES: Happy Halloween from me!! This fic is part of the Willow's Haunted House collab. Dedicated to cat-slippered and ofmermaidstories, for workshopping what eventually became this fic with me about a thousand years ago. I’m sorry I turned Bakugou into Dabi. And I’m sorry for dedicating the now Dabi fic to you. But not sorry enough to not have done it. Love you. :)

If there was one thing you hated about Halloween, it was Todoroki Touya.

Shockingly, this was not a commonly-held sentiment, which was the only reason there even was a recurrence of Todoroki Touya darkening your Halloween seasons in the first place.

For the last three years, you’d spent your fall semester working as a makeup artist at the Musutafu haunted maze alongside a slew of other college and local kids looking to make a little extra cash. The hours were fairly flexible, and the wage covered your textbooks, with a little left over to keep you in the occasional coffee between lectures.

But your wages did not nearly cover the amount of psychic damage you had been dealt, managing Todoroki Touya’s obnoxious, sarcastic, chain-smoking ass day after day for seasons on end.

On lucky days, someone else was on Touya duty. But on unlucky ones, you found him sprawling in the plastic makeup chair opposite you, those intense blue eyes tracking you with no small amount of pleasure, like he was this afternoon.

You stopped in the doorway, a curse slipping out of you. You’d been hoping that you’d get lucky today, as the day was otherwise an excellent one. You’d invited a group of friends to do the maze with you after you got off shift, and you had been looking forward to it all week.

But it figured Touya could never let you have too good of a time.

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” he drawled over the noise of displeasure that escaped you. He was at least already dressed in costume, so he wouldn’t go smearing his makeup as he pulled it on, a tumble of stitches and frayed edges that had once been a dark-blue duster, but now just mostly gaped open to show the hard planes of his chest.

“I’m so sure,” you told him, averting your eyes from his pecs. You sighed, resigning yourself to his presence, and made your way in, dumping your bag on the staff room couch.

“This is a very hostile work environment you’re creating,” Touya rasped, his grin sharp. Years of chain-smoking outside the maze had left his voice even lower and raspier than when you’d first met him three years ago.

“Don’t worry, it can always get more hostile,” you told him, affecting your own sweet grin as you moved over to the vanity, digging through all the makeup and prosthetics for the ones he’d need.

Touya himself was severely scarred, which was likely why he’d applied to work at the haunted maze in the first place. You’d never asked him about his scars, but you’d heard enough gossip from the other maze workers to know that they were the product of a childhood accident, involving the burning down of his father’s—the then-and-current mayor’s—house.

He’d accentuated them with a shit load of facial piercings, and was sort of off-putting to look at the first time you caught a glimpse of him. The issue was that, once your eyes made sense of what they were seeing, he was infuriatingly handsome.

You’d heard he’d initially been unleashed on the maze with no makeup or prosthetics, and within the first evening was causing line backups, with all the parties of teen girls who were taking a little too much time lingering around his section of the maze.

So now he was subjected to prosthetics to make him uglier, a fact that he seemed to absolutely relish.

You dug out the monster prosthetic pack that gave him jutting forehead ridges. “Let’s make the outside reflect the inside, shall we,” you told him as you flapped the rubbery pieces at him, smirking your own little smirk.

Touya’s answering grin was wicked, and he relaxed back in his seat, sprawling his legs out wide in that infuriating way men had. “Think my outside is too pretty then, huh?” he asked, sapphire eyes flickering over you.

Your face went hot in a weird combination of anger and embarrassment. “I try not to think of your outside,” you told him pertly, making sure to slap the forehead piece onto him hard enough to make a splat noise.

His mouth twitched again but he let you go to work, gluing the pieces down against his face, careful not to press them to the seams of any of his scars. He was tall enough even lounging in his seat that you only had to lean over a little to focus clearly on his face, all long legs and rangy muscle.

This close, he always smelled like cigarette smoke, with an undercurrent of something rich and dark, like cinnamon or chocolate. You could never put your finger on it, but you were not about to go sniffing him at any length to figure it out, even if it was annoyingly appealing.

He’d probably love that, and would absolutely never let you live it down.

Touya’s eyes tracked you closely as you worked, but otherwise his expression was still, and you thought not for the first time that it really was too bad he was so obnoxious. He was actually quite handsome, with a soft, sensuous mouth, a blade-straight nose, and vivid blue eyes that all but glowed like the embers of a crackling fire when he was provoking you.

It was a shame he wasted all his beauty being the most annoying man on earth.

You’d heard from the other maze workers that he was relatively well-known around the area, having spent his teen years doing petty criminal shit to destabilize his father’s reelection campaigns, netting himself several jail stays and a record a mile long. He’d settled somewhat since he’d gotten a job at a piercing parlor downtown and several side gigs like the maze, but people weren’t fully convinced he’d abandoned his old ways, and he still clearly relished any opportunity to discomfort and destabilize anyone who got on his bad side.

Apparently including you.

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard, sweetheart,” Touya said, those cerulean eyes blinking up at you.

You realized you’d paused over him, midway through blending his prosthetic forehead in, and another annoying little smirk rode his mouth.

You took care to roll your eyes at him, gesturing at him with your brush. “I know several places I can stick this if you’re not careful.”

Touya’s smirk melted into an unholy grin. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he rasped, eyes glittering up at you.

You went back to work on him with a little more force than necessary, blending hard enough that you saw his broad shoulders shift in an effort to keep his neck braced. “I doubt any time with you could be classed as good,” you said pertly, giving a final few brushes before stepping back, satisfied with your work.

The forehead made him look unhinged as he offered another smirk, leaning forward. “True—the feedback I usually get is ‘incredible’, ‘mind-blowing’, ‘earth-shattering’, ‘toe-curling’, ‘scream-inducing’—”

“Oh I’ll scream if you keep talking,” you said hotly, even as your cheeks warmed. Even with the stupid fucking forehead he was annoyingly handsome. You needed him a thousand million miles away from you before you herniated something, jumping back and forth between annoyance and attraction.

Maybe it was time to stop signing up to work here.

“Now get out of my room, I have other people waiting,” you commanded, thankful when you heard the scuff of a boot at the door confirming another maze worker waiting.

Touya didn’t look at all chastened, but he unfolded himself from the chair in an unfurling of broad shoulders and long legs. He leaned in close as he passed, voice dipping low. “See you later, sweetheart,” he said, a smile curling his mouth.

Annoyingly, his proximity crossed a bunch of the wires in your brain, and you fumbled before managing, “Not if we’re both lucky.”

“Stop, I’ll blush,” he drawled, another unholy grin splitting his cheeks before he saluted two fingers at you and ducked out of the room. The scent of smoke and cinnamon followed him, and you let out a sigh of relief, the air and your brain clearer now that he was gone.

No sooner were you free of him, however, than another problem was immediately introduced.

“So…he actually talks to you?” The other maze worker’s head poked through the door, her eyes resting on you intently. You recognized her as a local highschooler who’d just joined this season, who usually ended up getting in early enough to get her makeup done by the other artist.

You blinked. “I…unfortunately?” you answered, confused.

She stepped into the room, and you reflexively gestured her over to the chair that Touya had just abandoned.

She hummed as she took her seat, eyeing you curiously. “Wow. How’d you get him to do that? He doesn’t really talk to any of us,” she informed you.

You could feel your eyebrows lift towards your hairline. “He…doesn’t…?”

She shook her head, her pretty golden ringlets swaying with the motion. “He’ll chainsmoke with Tomura and he sometimes talks to Himiko. But the other girls—they say he just laughs and walks away if they try to chat with him.”

Well. That sounded rude enough to be true to form, you thought. But when Touya was in your makeup chair you couldn’t get him to shut the hell up. You shifted, uncomfortable with the idea that Touya had any special soft spot for you. Maybe, like a cat, he could sense who didn’t much like him and decided to latch on out of spite.

“You might be a little young for him,” you decided, going over to the vanity and digging out the prosthetics she’d need—a witch chin and a raised gorey slash that would open along one cheekbone.

“No—it’s all the other girls too. And most of the guys,” she told you. “He must like you.”

A laugh escaped you, and you turned back to her with the prosthetics in hand, a few new brushes and a white, cakey paint palette shoved beneath your elbow.

“I don’t think he likes anyone,” you told her, setting everything down and applying the tacky glue to the underside of her chin prosthetic. “I think he just likes to inflict himself on people he knows it will annoy. You could act disinterested in talking to him and he’d probably come flitting right over.” The image of Touya suffering at the hands of a league of flirty high school girls pleased you—better they suck up his time and energy than you.

“I don’t know,” the girl said uncertainly. “Maybe he likes you.” But she was forced to leave it at that once you started applying her chin, making it difficult for her to speak.

You certainly didn’t think that was the case.

But the seeds of doubt had already been sown, a question that you thought would probably haunt your evening now that it had been formed. Just why did Touya talk to you if he was so standoffish with other people? And what did it mean that he made such a point of it?

You knew for sure it wasn’t because he liked you, his obnoxious manner said that well enough. But why did you get treatment that was significant enough that even the other maze workers would comment on it?

And, perhaps even more concerningly, why did the thought agitate you so much?

You decided to try your best not to think about it, and have a good time with your friends once they got there, putting Touya out of your mind. You returned to doing the girl’s makeup with vigor, suddenly as eager to get her out of your chair as you had been Touya.

She was finished in record time and she thanked you, carefully not to smile too widely lest she dislodge the prosthetics. You took in the next person waiting as she left, slowly working your way through the line of people as the hour drew ever closer to the maze’s evening opening time.

Eventually you finished up and collected your things, making your way out front to find your friends already waiting for you. They’d clearly dressed with the intent to go out after—something you hadn’t considered—their dresses short and slinky and their makeup smoky. You’d have liked to have joined, but you were still in the sweater and leggings you’d come straight from lectures in.

Maybe you would have time to go home and change after the maze.

You were scooped up into several hugs, breathing in the sweet scents of various perfumes, and informed that you absolutely did have to go home and get changed after so you could come out and get “Hallowasted!” too.

“Okay if I’m not busy peeing my pants, which monsters are the ones you did?” your roommate asked, dancing around to warm herself in the cool fall air. “I wanna see ‘em.”

You named several of your creations, conveniently leaving off Touya. You knew that if your friends took too close a look at him and figured out what he looked like under the cakey makeup and forehead prosthetic, they’d never leave the maze. You knew he sat somewhere around the end of the set up, in an alcove that had been decorated to look like an abandoned village with burned out cabins, a mess of bones dotting the ground at the side of the walkway.

You were also hoping you could pass unnoticed in the group of your friends, as there was no doubt in your mind that Touya would take special care to annoy you in particular. So you did not want your group to linger long enough for your friends to scope him out.

You would know it was him under the makeup you’d done yourself, but being cornered somewhere in the dark with the soundtrack of screams echoing in your ears would not exactly have you feeling your boldest.

Your group had dinner at the food trucks parked out front, chatting and laughing and waiting for the crowds to die down, each indulging in one drink for bravery before joining the line. Eventually you ended up at the front of the queue, late in the evening, your friends crowding in behind you, whispering nervously.

“You first,” your roommate hissed when you looked back at them questioningly. “You work here, you have to do the honors.”

You sighed, accepting your fate, making a mental note to subtly shift to the back of the pack as you made it further into the maze.

Then you were being greeted by Shigaraki Tomura, whose makeup you’d done last. He’d been given layers of prosthetic peeling skin and a scar at his mouth, and he was decorated with a layer of disembodied hands gripping him all over. He shredded your tickets, looking unenthused.

“Remember that inside the maze, none of the monsters can touch you,” he recited dully. “You are not permitted to touch them in return; do not hit, kick, push, bite, slap, lick, scratch, or otherwise assault the actors. Don’t tamper with the props, do not leave items behind. Be respectful of other guests and do not linger too long in the rooms. If you need to leave for any reason, every room or alcove has clearly-lit exits marked in red.”

His eyes briefly met yours as he waved you through, and you thought you saw a pale brow go up.

But then you were being shoved forward by your friends, several hands clinging to your arms and the back of your shirt, and you stepped forward into the dark of the hall.

The maze truly was a labyrinth—it started indoors in a pitch black room, with fake body bags hanging from the ceiling. Toga Himiko, a highschooler whose makeup you usually did, stalked you around the edges of the room, dressed in a torn school uniform with fangs peeking out of her widely grinning mouth, and a dripping knife clutched eagerly in her fingers.

Once you made it past her, the maze spilled outdoors, into a tangle of hedges and artificially-constructed set, steering you in twisting loops around the property.

You were pleased with how terrifying all the actors looked, even having done most of their prosthetics yourself, and found your heart racing as you took every new corner, found yourself freezing up and stumbling back whenever someone jumped out at you, suppressing a shriek.

Your friends participated with gusto, shrieking and ducking away from the monsters, holding you like a human shield between them and the maze workers. You would have been insulted if it hadn’t been so funny.

You made it through most of the maze with little trouble, passing through a haunted swamp, a graveyard with mummies twisting and screaming in their bindings, grasping for you. You stumbled past a man wielding a chainsaw and a set of clowns waving axes, making it through in record time thanks to the push of your frantic friends behind you.

It was only on the last leg of the maze that you finally ran into Touya.

You peered around the corner, recognizing the set up instantly. The burned out houses flickered with blue flame, lighting up the set in an eerie, unsettling sapphire light. The fake bones on the ground sat in piles of ash, glowing stark white in the light. You couldn’t spot Touya anywhere, and you slowly crept forward, trying to shepherd your friends in front of you.

You even almost thought you had been successful, until a rasping voice drawled behind you, “Hello sweetheart.”

And then your roommate screamed, bolting forward, knocking into you and sending you stumbling over a pile of the fake bones. You landed hard on your ass in the patchy grass, the wind punching out of you.

“Oh fuck—” you heard one of your friends say as she too was steamrolled, and you watched the group of them trip over one another in their desperation to get through the alcove, dissolving into chaos in a matter of seconds.

You quickly tried to get to your feet to follow, but a hiss forced its way through your teeth when you tried your ankle, a wave of sharp pain washing over you.

Oh fuck. Not good.

The tread of a boot in the grass next to you made you jump, and your head whipped up to catch sight of Touya crouching over you.

“You good down there?” he asked. His eyes glinted in the dark of the maze, and the blue light cast shadows over his features, twisting them in the dim. Your heartbeat picked up, even as your brain recognized him for who he was.

You cringed, embarrassed that you’d had to hurt yourself in his part of the maze specifically. It figured.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, trying to climb to your feet again. Your ankle twinged in protest, and Touya must have caught the flash of pain on your face because then his hand was under your elbow, supporting you as you rose in an unexpected show of courtesy.

Although he broke the illusion immediately when he opened his mouth again.

“Yeah you look real fine,” he said, quirking an eyebrow. With the prosthetic forehead it made him look sort of demented.

“Well I’ll be fine,” you insisted, even as those blue eyes flickered over you assessingly. His fingers tightened a little on your arm before he bent down, tapping his other hand on your leg.

“Which leg, sweetheart?” he asked. “And where?”

It took you a minute to catch up to what he was asking, confused at seeing him on his haunches before you. A scream went up in the background, some terrified maze goer, and a little shiver went down your spine.

“Uh, the left ankle,” you supplied, startling when Touya’s fingers slid underneath the cuff of your legging over the aforementioned ankle, rolling it up gently. You blinked, surprised at the careful touch.

“Can’t see too well in the dark,” he announced. “But it looks like you ripped it open on something.” He peered back up at you. “Think it’s sprained?”

You shook your head. “Probably just rolled. It hurts but not like go-to-the-hospital level,” you said. “Just give me a minute, I’ll be good.”

Touya considered you for a moment, then got to his feet, moving closer. That scent of smoke and cinnamon drifted over to you, and he bent his head to look into your face.

“Much as you’re the most terrifying thing in this maze, I don’t think people are gonna wanna see you here,” he told you, a smirk cutting into his mouth. “Would ruin the experience. So we’re gonna have to get you out of here.”

You scowled up at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Well no thanks for the concern, then. “I’m going, I’m going, keep your shirt on,” you told him, preemptively gritting your teeth before readying yourself to take another step.

But before you could, one of Touya’s hands was suddenly sliding under your knees, his other slipping behind your shoulder. In the next second the burning buildings were swinging wildly in front of your eyes, and then you were being hefted up into Touya’s arms. You let out a startled yelp, your own hands shooting out to grab his jacket, giving him a wild-eyed look.

“Touya—!” you garbled out, as a smile pulled at his expression.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he told you, looking a little too smug about the situation he’d just put you in. He strode towards the exit, kicking the door open with a heavy boot, carrying you down the hall and back into the building. He was hard with wiry muscle underneath you, and so deliciously warm against you. Your ears went hot with every sure, easy step he took, like carrying you was little effort for him.

Thankfully it was barely a minute before you reached the staff room, where Touya laid you out gently on the couch, much more carefully than you might have expected from him.

Your cheeks and your nose burned, flaming even hotter when he squatted down in front of you and took your ankle in his hand again.

His dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he took note of your injury. In the light you could definitely see that you’d caught your ankle bone on one of the fake bones you’d tripped over, as there was a long gash up the side of it, but nothing else looked bruised or otherwise concerning. You thought you’d probably be fine in a couple hours, just a roll.

It was definitely nothing Touya had needed to princess carry you through the staff halls for!

“Don’t move,” Touya told you, and you watched, bewildered, as he stepped away, stalking over to the other side of the room where the staff lockers were. He dug out a shabby backpack, pulling something out of it, and then returned to your side, spreading out his haul on the couch next to you.

You noted a little tube of rubbing alcohol, an antiseptic cream and a bandage, as well as an ice pack. One of your eyebrows went up.

“You rob a hospital or something?” you asked reflexively, heart fluttering a little bit weirdly when Touya’s eyes flickered back up to yours. His eyelashes were long and thick, startlingly pretty.

“Nah,” he said, his gaze cutting suddenly away from yours. “Usually keep shit on hand for my burns.”

Your stomach flipped, and you realized how rude your question had been. Embarrassment welled up in a hard lump in your throat. Well shit. “Oh—fuck. Of course. I’m sorry, Touya.”

A pinch to your leg had you yelping, and his handsome face was serious when he stared back up at you, his eyes practically glowing with intensity. “I don’t need your sympathy.”

You rolled your eyes, rubbing the skin he’d pinched absentmindedly. “It wasn’t sympathy, asshole,” you said. “It was an apology for being thoughtless. Although if that’s how you’re gonna be then I take it back, geez. As if you need sympathy when every girl in this maze—” you froze, clamping your mouth shut when you realized what you’d been about to say. “Uhhhh.”

Touya’s eyes slowly slid down your face, flickering over you as another fucking obnoxious smirk started to twitch at the side of his mouth. “When every girl in this maze what?” he asked, pleasure turning his tone a little silky.

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to grab the rubbing alcohol off of the couch so you didn’t have to look at him. “When every girl in this maze would like for you to shut up and stop asking questions,” you said, unscrewing the top with a deliberate focus.

Calloused fingers came up to yank the tube out of your grip, however, and Touya leaned in, his grin sharp and white.

“Lemme do it, sweetheart. Return the favor for my prosthetic,” he said. You winced, remembering how forcefully you’d applied his forehead earlier. As you braced yourself, however, his fingers brushed gently over your skin.

You suppressed a shiver at the feeling of him wiping off the blood with the rubbing alcohol, then going over it with the antibiotic cream, smearing it delicately, your nose going hot again. He took his time, careful to cover every inch, kneeling on the ground in front of you with your ankle clutched in one large hand. His duster fanned out behind him, dragging on the ground as he bent over you, but he didn’t seem to care, too absorbed in his task.

When he was done he carefully applied the bandage too, and you looked on, mystified, as he cracked the ice pack with long, strangely elegant fingers, and pressed it over your ankle bone as well.

His eyes flicked back to yours when you let out a short hiss, feeling the zing of the ice all the way in your teeth. Some of his expression looked squashed, given the obstruction of his prosthetic, but you thought he looked maybe just a little bit concerned, before he realized you were just being a baby. You were suddenly overcome with the urge to rip off his prosthetic so you could see his expression in full, and had to pin your arm to your side to stop yourself.

“This was—unexpected,” you admitted, watching him closely. “You’re…a surprisingly good nurse, Touya. Thank you.”

His answering smile was nothing short of wicked. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

You fumbled with the antiseptic and sniffed pointedly, just to have something to complain about. “Well. Your bedside manner could use some work.”

Touya leaned in, his smile suddenly going dark. “Oh, angel, now that’s not what I’ve been told—”

Your palm shot out to cover his mouth, horror overriding your normal brain function. Touya just laughed into the skin of your hand, however, shockingly boyish and sweet-sounding.

You pressed harder, hissing at him to shut the hell up, until you registered the feeling of dry, raised skin under your fingers. You jumped, realizing you were pressing down on his scars.

“Shit, did I hurt you—?” you asked, yanking your hand back, only for Touya to catch your wrist. He blinked, looking surprised that he had.

“No it’s—you didn’t—” he said. His fingers shifted over yours and his eyes darted over your hand in something like shock. “They get dry and pull but they don’t—it wasn’t that.” He sounded annoyed, but not that you’d touched him. That you’d pulled away from touching him.

Somehow, that settled you. Before you understood what exactly was possessing you, you reached back in, satisfied when Touya let you. The pads of your fingers met the edge of a scar again, feeling along the seam. You carefully traced over it the way Touya’s had just traced the cut on your ankle.

Touya’s eyelashes fluttered, and he let out a slow breath. “You don’t need to touch ‘em, sweetheart,” he said finally.

He said it as lightly as he’d said all his earlier nonsense, but he’d been giving you shit for long enough that you recognized there was something deliberate about the ease of his tone this time. This wasn’t his usual, natural timbre.

“Does it bother you?” you asked.

It seemed to take him a minute to decide.

“...No,” he answered, those cerulean eyes catching on yours again. You felt like you could feel your heartbeat in your own fingers, and your skin prickled with something—annoyingly not annoyance.

“Well then shut up,” you told him. “Or I’ll pinch you right on the seam.”

Touya laughed, a slow rolling sound. “Promises promises,” he said, but he seemed more relaxed.

You felt along the contours of his face, mystified by what the hell you thought you were even doing, until you reached the edge of the prosthetic you’d applied. It only took a second for you to give in to the impulse you’d had earlier and start peeling it from his skin, slow and deliberate.

You reached down and helped yourself to the rubbing alcohol, applying it around the prosthetic, letting it dissolve the adhesive before pulling gently. Shockingly, Touya let you do it. He just sat there, watching you with an intensity you’d never experienced before, hardly blinking.

You kept careful track of the prosthetic, unable to look him in the eye, focusing on rubbing off the makeup you’d used to blend it in for good measure. You tried not to examine the weirdly satisfied feeling that settled in your stomach when his natural face was visible to you again.

It was probably just his looks. He really was so handsome for such a grating personality.

You set the prosthetic aside, lost on where to go from here. Touya probably thought you were so fucking weird for just like, rubbing his face like he was some kind of cat. He certainly looked like he had no idea what to do now, which was such a departure from his usually snotty self-assurance that it threw you for an even bigger loop.

“Always thought you’d be a little rougher with me, sweetheart,” Touya finally managed, flashing you a smirk. It looked a little smaller than usual though, like he was drawing it up like a shield, but your hackles raised instantly, like always.

You always, always responded to him.

“Trust me, that can be arranged,” you promised darkly, trying to crack your knuckles. Only one of them crackled obligingly, however, and Touya blinked, before laughing again.

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning in closer. Cigarette smoke and cinnamon clouded your senses, fogging up your brain. “Gonna fuck me up nice and good, sweetheart?”

You dredged around for something snarky to say, but words were suddenly failing you as those infuriatingly pretty features drew closer. Seriously could a makeup artist not catch a break around here?

“Uhhh,” was all you managed, your brain bluescreening, as Touya huffed a laugh, exhaling over your mouth.

“Shut up,” you finally spat out, catching a fistful of that black hair. Touya groaned, however, looking like he liked that of all things, and a red hot flash of something jolted through you.

There was a pause, then, a tiny sliver of a moment where it seemed like one of you might pull back—move away and snipe at one another from a safer distance.

Things somehow seemed to be spiraling out of control, in a way you hadn’t expected, after just one kind gesture from him. You didn’t really understand how you’d suddenly found yourself with him leaning over you, your hand pulling at his hair, but if you had any good sense you’d have pulled away immediately and told him something extra mean, just for good measure.

Except then Touya opened his mouth and escalated things, as usual.

“Make me,” he said, the most absolutely heinous line of all time. You yanked his hair harder, deeply disgusted that he’d try that on you.

And then, like a thread had snapped, you leaned forward and crushed your mouth to his.

Touya reacted like a lightning strike. He surged up over you, weighing you down into the staff room couch. He tasted like spearmint muddled under bitter smoke, and he was broader than he looked under that duster, heavy with lean muscle. You could feel every kilo of it press you down into the cushions as Touya licked hot and filthy into your mouth.

His tongue curled around yours, wet and teasing, and he exhaled on a groan like he’d never tasted anything better. It sent little sparks of electricity jittering up your spine, especially as he shifted between your thighs, that trim waist slotting between them perfectly.

“Fuck, angel,” he said, his tone somewhere between sweet and nasty. “Wanted me this whole time, huh?”

You yanked harder on his hair, telling him to shut up, but the swelling of something hard against your thigh told you he only liked that more. “You are so nasty,” you told him, and you could feel his mouth curl into a wicked grin against the side of your face, before he leaned in and bit the shell of your ear, grinding the evidence of his interest even harder into your thigh.

“I can show you nasty, sweetheart,” he promised, his tone going silky-soft again. A calloused hand slid up into your shirt brazenly, long fingers teasing the underside of your bra. When you didn’t immediately try to yank him out of there he wiggled in further, until his fingers met your nipples, and he got even harder against your leg.

He pinched carefully, moving back to kiss you again so that the sound that escaped you was muffled into his mouth. He kissed you harder as your nipples tightened, pebbling in his fingers, something far too satisfied filling the air around you. His hips canted up, grinding himself into you again, this time a little closer to your core.

Your own hips shifted, moving to increase the friction, trying to shift him closer to your center. His fingers and tongue teased you, each flick of his tongue mirroring the caress of a finger, the soft pinch of his index and thumb.

You couldn’t have controlled yourself if you wanted, too focused on the sensations he was drawing from you, the desperate need to get closer to him though you were already pressed together from mouth to shin. You realized you’d been pulling at his coat when he finally withdrew from your shirt and let you yank it down his arms, exposing a patchwork of scars over dense, mouth-wateringly well-defined muscle.

You inhaled sharply, and Touya paused for a minute—until he seemed to realize that you were fixated on the shape of his arm, rather than the purple bruise of scar tissue. The quickening of his grin in the corner of your vision told you that you’d pleased him.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice obnoxiously sweet. “Want to see the rest of me, angel?”

You ripped your eyes off of his arm to glare at him, which only made his grin wider. The fluorescent lights behind him limned his hair in a pale light, blinding you when he moved his head—and all of a sudden you recalled where you were and what you were doing.

“Here? No! Touya, anyone could walk in!” you said, trying to scramble out from beneath him.

Touya caught you around the thigh, hauling you back underneath him. You noticed he was careful to angle your leg up so you didn’t catch your ankle against the arm of the couch.

“This is far from the worst thing I’ve done in a public place,” he said, laying himself back out over you.

You pushed at his shoulder though, casting a worried glance back at the door. “I am not trying to get fired,” you hissed, even as you shivered with the delicious heat of him over you.

Touya sighed through his nose, and then heaved himself off the couch. You watched him seize the plastic makeup chair and haul it over to the door, stuffing it under the knob at an angle so that it held the lock in place. Then he turned around and prowled right back to you with predatory intent. Your stomach fluttered.

“Better, angel?” he asked, tone soft.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of nodding, but he seemed to know what you wanted anyway, leaning back in to kiss you fiercely.

You melted into the feeling of his mouth over yours, kissing him back just as passionately. You hated how good he was at that, hated how pretty he was under all those scars and piercings, hated how his obnoxious personality wasn’t even a factor in what you wanted to do with him right now.

Touya groaned again when you pulled at a fistful of his dark hair, and then you were dragging him down to the couch and climbing into his lap. Touya seized your left leg as you did, pointedly guiding your ankle away from the edge of the seat, and it only inflamed your desire for him.

“Like you a whole lot better like this,” he said into your mouth, as calloused fingers slid into your leggings.

Your reply was cut off by a moan as he traced his index finger lightly over the center of your panties, before pressing down firmly over your clit. A thousand little points of electricity lit up under your skin, and you shifted into his hand unthinkingly.

A smile formed against your lips, and it was only Touya’s hand making its way into your panties that suppressed the annoyed buzz that started in the back of your brain.

“You kick up such a fuss, sweetheart, but look at what you really think of me,” Touya purred as his fingers slid up into your incriminatingly wet folds. “All this for me, angel?”

You wanted to bite him for his cheek but you feared breaking the skin of his scars, so you settled for giving him a pointed look. He just laughed, his smile smug.

“I’ll show you what I’ve really thought of you too, sweetheart,” he promised, taking hold of your leg again to slide your leggings and panties down. He settled you back over the hard line in his pants, grabbing your hips and pulling you firmly down over it, grinning.

“Love when you’re a spitfire little fucking brat. I’ve imagined taking you right over the vanity every single day for the last three years, sweetheart. Taking you against the lockers and then right here over the couch. Fucking you so hard that you scream and everyone comes running in to see you squirming and crying and begging on my cock, and you want it so much that you don’t even care—”

He laughed when he felt you clench up in his lap, working to unbuckle his belt and free himself, immediately angling you over him. “You want that too, sweetheart? Want to see if I can make you scream so loud that people come to see what’s wrong?”

“My god you never shut up,” you told him, pointedly avoiding the question. In lieu of an answer, you shifted, guiding him to your center and sinking down onto him instead. You watched with satisfaction as he threw his head back and hissed at the feeling of you slipping down around him.

“Fffffffffffuck,” he said to the ceiling, a hand tightening in your sweater. You had to agree, gritting your teeth with the delicious slide of him inside of you, hot and thick and full and perfect. You leaned in, putting your mouth over the scar tissue on his neck, smirking when he exhaled shakily again.

“I think,” Touya huffed. “I should have put you over my lap three fucking years ago.”

You thought back to your first glimpse of him, flicking ash at you as he chainsmoked outside the maze entrance, and thought you would have probably gouged his eyes out if he had tried. Honestly he’d barely scraped together enough good will with his little ankle treatment as it was.

But maybe this is what that girl had been talking about, when she said Touya didn’t talk to anyone besides you. Had he really been more into you than he’d let on, these three years? Is that why he’d been at your throat this entire time?

The thought was lost when Touya’s hips lifted into yours, grinding himself into you just right, and your head fell back with a shivery moan. Touya’s mouth found the skin of your throat and sucked as he bucked up into you, picking up into a faster pace. You rocked back and forth over his lap, guided by Touya’s grip on your hips, relishing in the feel of him inside of you.

His fingers slid back down, brushing over your clit, and you bit down a yelp as he dragged his thumb over it firmly.

“That’s it,” he said, biting down softly on your neck. “Let me hear you, sweetheart.”

You pressed a hand over your mouth instead as he slid in and out of you, those clever fingers working you deftly. He pinched softly, then swirled the pad of his thumb firmly over your clit again, groaning and pounding up into you. “I wanna hear you, sweetheart. Always want to hear your mean little mouth.”

“Touya—shut up—” you panted as he moved you how he wanted, played you like an instrument. Between his fingers and the hard press of him inside you, you felt like you couldn’t escape the pleasure, the feeling mounting within you. No matter how you moved your hips, his fingers were there to meet you, rubbing maddening circles, teasing you mercilessly, and he filled you so good that it felt like he was pressing against that spot from the inside too.

You writhed with the feel of him, as he steadily covered your neck and shoulders with marks of his attention. You couldn’t help but moan, much much louder than you would have liked, and Touya leaned back to look at you again, looking pleased.

“That’s it, yeah,” he said, another grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Louder for me, sweetheart. Want you to come for me.”

You huffed, unable to do anything but squirm in his lap, chasing the feeling closer, ever closer to the edge. You weren’t going to let his infuriating attitude ruin this for you, not when you were so close—

Without input from your brain, your hand reached out to grab a fistful of Touya’s hair again and his hips stuttered, slamming up into you with more force than he had previously. He looked a little shocked, and then a little dazed, and the grip he had on the side of your hip tightened almost to the point of bruising as he forced you down onto him harder, gasping.

“Fuck, yeah, sweetheart—fuck yes,” he rasped.

His fingers rubbed you harder, and his hips slapped up into you frantically. The uptick in intensity had your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head, and you bit your palm to keep the sounds in.

Touya ground into you with a renewed fervor, and it was only another matter of seconds before something inside of you was being wrenched loose. You lost the grip on your control, every nerve ending in your body lighting up and coming alive, singing with pleasure. You seized up, crying, “Oh my god, Touya!” and then you were cumming hard, harder than you ever had, Touya’s talented fingers still working you, his cock still fucking you mercilessly.

Touya swore, spitting out your name like a curse, and then again in almost reverent tones, before he too was following you right off the edge. He slammed you down on him once, twice, and then he was cumming too—shivering against you as he held you tight against him.

The silence of the room around you was ringing, once you managed to return to yourself. Touya was a long, hot, hard wall of muscle between your thighs, his hair mussed and a patch of makeup you’d missed smearing into the hair at his temple. His cheeks were flush with effort over the seam of his scars, and he looked, irritatingly, even more beautiful than he usually did.

Like he could sense what you were thinking, the corner of his mouth rose as those cerulean eyes searched over you, blinking like a pleased cat.

“Fuck, sweetheart. I knew I liked you mean,” he said, his raspy tone rougher than normal.

“And I don’t like you at all,” you sniffed, though you knew the protest was pointless when he was quite literally softening inside of you. You let go of his hair, remembering yourself.

“Aww angel don’t be like that,” he drawled, his grin widening. He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss over your mouth. “I can make it up to you—all three years, if you’ll let me.”

You knew he felt your involuntary shiver, pressed up against you like he was. And that was definitely answer enough for him, as his smile went more handsome and boyish than you’d ever seen it. You hated that you liked it.

“I’ll clean up and clock out,” Touya told you, gingerly helping you off of him and back into your leggings, his eyes fixating a little too closely on your legs as you did so. “You tell your friends you’re gonna go home and rest that ankle. And I’ll pick you up out front, angel.”

You flushed, embarrassed that you’d completely forgotten that you were at work, and you’d intended to go out bar hopping after. But you figured you could be forgiven just this one time.

“Fine,” you said, though your insides were feeling a little fluttery at the thought of leaving with Touya. “But I expect penitence or there’s going to be a reckoning.” You supposed you were owed, for all these years of suffering.

Touya looked down at you from under his lashes, dark and beautiful and still as infuriating as ever. “I’ll give you my best, sweetheart. Over and over until you can’t even walk,” he promised, “Gotta keep you off that ankle, after all.”

You flushed again, yanking your sweater down over your leggings, and fled out the door. Touya’s laughter floated after you, sounding pleased.

You sped up your pace, your ears burning.

And if you were actually rushing not to get away from him, but to return to him sooner? Well, then, nobody needed to know that but you.

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #touya x reader #dabi x you #touya todoroki x reader #character: todoroki touya #andie's writing

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oakparchment · 6 months

Text

No Nut November with Itzy

Male Reader x Yuna, MR x Lia, MR x Chaeryeong, MR x Ryujin, MR x Yeji

Length: 1,479 words

Tags: cumplay, edging, blue balls, creampie, facials, NNN, cum slut

Summary: How each member of Itzy handles you going through NNN (No Nut November).

AO3

A/N: For a NNN post this story has a lot of cum.

---------------------------------------

Yuna is a cum slut. Neither of you have any chance of surviving NNN.

After just the first day or so she’s already begging for it: “I’ve been a good girl, don’t you think I deserve to be fucked by your cock? Don’t you think I deserve to be painted with your cum?”All whilst looking at you with the wildest fuck me eyes and pushing her clothed tits into you.

Your will was simply not strong enough to resist Yuna when she gets like this, and so you give her what you both want. You nut on her, in her, sometimes both in the same day. Yuna turns No Nut November into something more like Never stop Nutting November. Her day isn't finished unless she gets at least one load, and you're more than happy to give it to her.

Oh well, maybe she'll be less cum hungry this time next year?

Fail.

Lia is very subservient to you during November and goes along with your whims. If you persevere throughout the weeks then she’ll support you along the whole way, doing her best to distract you whenever you get horny. When she feels you getting hard against her ass at night, she’ll turn over and make conversation instead. Or if she can sense you’re about to boil over, she’ll make plans for you both to keep yourselves busy.

But if you instead completely give in, then in a moments notice she’s either on her knees with her tongue out, or bent over with her lips spread apart, ready to use her own body purely to give you pleasure and to extract your cum.

Even when you’re tracking well throughout the month, it’s not like you can completely keep your hands off each other. She likes to suckle on your sensitive balls, massaging them in her mouth whilst you run your fingers through her hair and scalp.

Schrodinger's Cat. Whether you succeed or fail is completely up to you.

When you present the idea to her, Chaeryeong goes along with it initially but quickly gets impatient and horny. When you’re home she’ll try to hide the fact that she's fucking wet to help you push through, but when you’re out she’ll send you nudes. Scandalous pictures of herself bent over in front of the mirror, her ass wide on display. Or an upwards angle that shows both her dripping wet pussy and her best ‘fuck me’ face. The messages under it read "Can't wait until this month is over so you can be inside me again" or “I've been a good girl and haven’t touched myself yet, can you tell?”

It’s obvious. She wants to break your will down so that you can pound her creamy little pussy and fill her up with cum. Chaeryeong tortures herself along with you, choosing to participate in NNN together, refusing to cum unless you both do. You reply back with videos of your

You last a week, maybe even two if you're lucky, but you can only tease each other for so long before you find yourself racing through the door, bending her over before you even reach the bedroom. Fucking her on the floor like wild animals in heat. Her body quivers, milking your cock as you dump a massive load inside her. Chaeryeong's pussy is a creamy mess, yours and her cum oozing out of her hole.

Fail.

Ryujin's favourite month of the year is November. Apart from little teases here and there, she doesn’t touch you at all. The most you get is ‘accidental’ grazes of her hand on your hard-on as she walks past. Or when she stretches in bed at night and for one fleeting moment she grinds her ass into your bulge. If you try to initiate anything, or touch yourself, dommy Ryujin comes out. She’ll clutch your balls a bit too hard, or slap you just to let you know who’s in control.

Ryujin will make you watch as she rides on her thick dildo, saying things like “I know you wish I was bouncing up and down on your cock instead. You want to feel my pussy walls suffocating that pathetic throbbing cock, hmm?” From start to end, you have to watch Ryujin fuck herself whilst she humiliates you, and you’re not allowed to do anything about it. “This dildo probably feels better than you anyway, I’m glad I don’t have to feel you inside of me.” You are both well aware this is a blatant lie, but for the course of the month you grit your teeth and go along with it.

On the last day of November you’re so sensitive that even just playing with your balls sends shocks throughout your body, which Ryujin is acutely aware of. Without ever giving attention to your cock, she sucks and plays with your balls for what feels like an hour straight. You’re so touch deprived and tender that this alone eventually makes you cum. That’s right. Ryujin went through all of that just to make you lose NNN on the last day without even touching your cock. She’s a fucking cunt and she knows it.

Fail.

Yeji edges you, using you like a sex toy to get herself off without ever letting you finish. She'll suck you off or fuck you as usual, but anytime you get even remotely close to cumming she’ll stop. If you’re in Yeji’s mouth then she’ll release you from her warmth with a loud pop and then sit on your face. If you’re pounding away at her pussy then she’ll pull you out and finish herself off with a vibrator. You can’t do anything but watch as she squirts all over you.

Your balls ache. Badly. And the further into the month you go, the shorter your edging sessions last before you’re about to nut and she switches to getting herself off. Numerous times you get so damn close to spilling over, but she knows just how to ride the edge. The last week is torturous, and it makes going about the rest of your life difficult.

At midnight of December 1st, the month rolls over (a moment that you have been waiting for since the first night she edged you). Yeji is fast asleep but not even the world ending could stop you now. With your pulsing cock in hand, you pull her silk pajama shorts to the side and thrust balls deep. Yeji’s gentle breathing turns into high pitched moans, announcing that she's awake. You fuck her pussy hard and fast. This was never going to last more than a minute or two, you’re only after one thing here; to ravage her until you came. Now it was her turn to be nothing but a slutty little sex toy.

As much as you appreciate her, this past month of torture has also built up a small amount of resentment towards her that could not be ignored. It was something that you know will wash away as soon as you finally release this load. Wanting to punish her a little, you pull out and switch holes, fucking into her tight ass instead. Yeji groans deeply, but you slap her face and spit in her mouth in response. Given that she wore no panties and her ass was prepped, she clearly knew something like this would happen. How can she be such a good yet bad girl at the same time? After another handful of thrusts, your inevitable peak arrives. A blinding orgasm follows. The only reason you don’t black out is through sheer will of not wanting to let this nut go to waste after waiting 30 days. You pump a couple loads into her ass, then pull out and thrust back into her pussy. After sufficiently painting her guts white, you find your cock still spurting, so you jerk yourself off onto her abs, her tits, her face, and finally depositing the last few drops onto her stretched out tongue. You step back and admire your masterpiece. An entire month of your built up edging load lays inside and on Yeji, who looks up at the ceiling, panting with a wide smile and fucked out exprssion on her face. Her double creampie starts to drip out of both her holes. A trail of your cum spans from her stomach to her perky tits, and of course she also has what appears to be a full load of a facial despite all the cum throughout the rest of her body. She is a cum dumpster, through and through.

Would you go through all that again next November? Almost certainly not. But in this moment would you say it was worth it? Yeji licks up the cum around her lips whilst fingering your cum deeper into her, chasing her own nut.

Absolutely it was.

NNN with Yeji. Success.

A/N: If you're one of the people who chooses to participate in NNN, I hope this smut didn't make you cum. But then again if you're doing the challenge then should you really be browsing porn?

#itzy smut #kpop smut #girl group smut #gg smut #yeji smut #lia smut #ryujin smut #chaeryeong smut #yuna smut #male reader #m reader #NNN #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop headcanons

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a-hazbin-reader · 3 months

Note

Oooo Vox! How about Vox with a unnaturally unlucky SO? And it's always been like that and how they died as well!

(Also calling Vox their lucky charm and how he's the most luck they ever had and needed)

Man Y/N really is unlucky landing Vox as a S/O-

I'M JOKING I LOVE THIS

Vox X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Second hand embarrassment for Y/N, Valentino being harmed

Description: ☝️⬆️

Not Y/N accidentally getting placed in Hell because of some unlucky mix up-

When you first told Vox you were unlucky, he didn't really believe you and just thought you were being dramatic

And sure you've had a few bad luck incidents that he's seen but nothing that really stands out to him

It's not until he's in a relationship with you that he realizes you weren't fucking joking around when you said it

You really are unlucky

In just a day you've somehow managed to trip and ruin one of Velvette's outfits and completely disfigure her model

You caught Valentino's wings on fire while trying to make a sandwich and when you went to put it out you made it worse by throwing oil on him

Good

You broke four of Vox's cameras, five of his stage lights and broke his chair all while he was live

And all that doesn't even begin to cover the mayhem you caused just last week

Somehow you keep running into Alastor and that's a whole headache in itself

You stress him out so much that if he had hair it would be white and falling out of his head

But Vox will be damned if you aren't just the most precious thing in his life, you're too adorable to get rid of

No matter how much trouble you are to keep

You're so fucking adorable Vox isn't letting you go

Whenever he starts to feel himself getting irritated with you, he just looks at your apologetic face and melts

"Sorry Vox...I guess I just need to stick closer to my lucky charm next time, huh?"

Fuck he loves you

"Just-get over here and hold still!"

Keeps you in his lap because it's the only way to keep you from causing trouble with your horrible bad luck

Not at all because he loves having you close and because his heart skips a few beats when you lean into him or because you smell so perfect-

"Vox? Your screen is all hot and glitchy...are you alright?"

He's fine, babe

Honestly can't get enough of you and genuinely believes he can keep your unlucky nature at bay if he keeps you with him at all times

You managed to trip and toss a dozen fragile, expensive things into the air???

Don't worry, Vox is scrambling to catch them all in a hilariously cartoonish manner

You got lost and now Alastor is contacting him and telling Vox to come get his curse out of Alastor's hotel??

Vox will be there and won't even start a fight, the hotel has been beaten up enough by you and your bad luck as it is

He's kinda proud of you for that one tho

He can't even be mad, it's so obvious that some supernatural force is out to get you

There's no way you're just naturally this unlucky

And he can't just dump you, no matter what Valentino says, fuck him

If he dumps you then you'll be at the mercy of your unluck and nobody will be around to save you

And Vox wants to be the one who saves you, he wants you to depend on him more than anything else

Whenever he sees the grateful look on your face after he bails you out of trouble he's reminded of how much he loves you all over again

Can't resist the urge to take you into his arms and rub his face screen on you, no he won't put you down

With him around to clean up your messes, maybe he really is your good luck charm

Vox really starts to believe it

But then your bad luck strikes again and his migraine is back

Good luck charm his ass

I REALLY REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE THIS ONE 💗

#vox x reader #vox hazbin x reader #vox hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x reader

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zialltops · 5 months

Text

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

Ranch hand Joel doesn’t know how to handle the return of his bosses prodigy daughter, her snarky attitude or her sinfully tight jeans.

a/n: hi guys!! I’m fresh off finishing east side of sorrow and couldn’t wait to hop into this work. I can not thank everyone enough for the fun we had with esos, but i am beyond stoked to meet this joel because i am ferallllll for him all dirty on a ranch with a cowboy hat on a horse ughhhh, give it to me already. anyways, let me know if you like it 🤍 thank you to @sawymredfox for letting me idea dump on you and give me all kinda of ideas! i love you to pieces! this ones for you my dear!

A03 Link | Spotify Link | Masterlink

Pt. 1: Oklahoma Smokeshow

Half a mile from the turnpike, two miles from home, along the winding and twisting asphalt of Cold Creek road, Joel Miller rasps his gloved hand against the steering wheel of the Rising Sun Ranch’s newly bought—second (maybe fifth?) hand old pickup truck. A beat up nineties chevy with rust on the floorboard and a new-car tree hanging from the rearview mirror. Beside him, his brother Tommy bounces his knee while he takes a long drag off his second cigarette since this drive started. The smoke plumes through the window, then back inside when the chill outside pushes the hot smoke back into the cab, whirling around Joel's senses like it belongs there. The smell is insufferable and makes Joel’s skin crawl, takes him to a time before ropers scars and belt buckles.

“Know that shit’s gon’ kill you, right?” He doesn’t need to look over at his brother's form beside him to know the younger man is anxious, like he usually is on long car rides. “You used to do it too, big brother.” Joel scuffs at him, keeps his one gloved hand on the wheel as he keeps on driving. He’s not wrong, if he wants to talk about the Joel of ten years ago, a distant, ragged and angry version of himself. “Don’t remind me.” He keeps his eyes fixed on the snow coated road ahead of him. He’s cautious at this time of the year, the winter storms usually leave them stranded on the ranch for a few weeks, but he’s lucky enough to have caught the dark clouds before they started to let down too much. The salt on the roads seem to do the trick for the time being, so long as he stays away from the embankment and keeps his eyes on the dimming road ahead.

It was mid day, but the sun sets early in the winter, so it hangs low in the sky amongst the cold abyss, like it’s desperately reaching out for the horizon—like it wants to run from this place too. He looks ahead and silently wishes to himself that he could follow those last rays of sunshine into tomorrow, like maybe he would find something there.

He shakes the thought and sets his mind back on track, why they were out here. “When we get back to the ranch, you need to find a way to apologize to Miss Lou. She really was just tryin’ to be helpful, Tommy. She ain’t wrong for that.” Louise had always been more than welcoming and kind to them, she’s saved their asses more than once and she feeds them more than she needs to, but his brother can never seem to let a good thing be, always biting the hand that attempted to feed him.

“Don’t like it when people go through my shit, man, you know that.” He’s nearly done with his cigarette, thank fuck because Joel wants to grab it from his hand himself and chuck it out the window. “She wasn’t goin’ through your stuff, dipshit, she was doin’ your laundry! Doesn’t give you any right to snap at someone like that. Especially a nice lady who’s husband give’s us a dollar in our pocket and a roof over our heads. Do you have any Idea where we’d be without that?”

It cuts deep because Tommy flicks his butt out the window and sinks down in his seat, he knows Joel is right because they are incredibly lucky to be where they are now. They would probably never find somewhere as appealing as their little shared hunting cabin a half mile from the main house. “Hank ain’t happy,” he adds, like Tommy doesn’t already know that after the argument that led to them leaving. “We wouldn’t be out in a goddamned snow storm for fuckin’ flowers if Hank was happy.”

Joel finally glances over, but when he does, it’s at the bouquet of flowers sitting beside him on the bench seat. “Doesn’t matter, you still need to apologize—to both of them. We wouldn’t have shit if it weren’t for them—“ they wouldn’t, they were on their last leg, hitchhiking across half the country when they found an ad outside of the feed store in Jackson looking for a ranch hand in exchange for room and board. Joel gave them two for the price of one and the rest was history. Tommy makes an annoyed sound and interrupts. “Joel, what's that?” Directly in front of them, on the side of the road caught in an embankment is a little blue car sunk all the way down to the lug nuts. It doesn’t look like the person lost control, but they just drove into the embankment.

This road isn’t frequented and the cell service is spotty, but the taillights on the car tell him there's someone inside. “I’m stoppin’ to help,'' Joel informs him, but Tommy shifts and rolls his eyes—he’s never been the humanitarian type. “Why? I’m sure they can pay for a tow truck. Besides, if they are stupid enough to get stuck in an embankment, they can suffer.” Usually, Joel would agree, but the closer they get to Christmas, the more that iced over heart of his starts to thaw out.

Joel stops the truck on the road and leaves it running while he looks over at his brother. “Ain’t leavin’ nobody stuck out here in this storm, even if they’re stupid. They won't make it through the night.” He shuts the door behind him and stuffs his hands into his pockets. An agitated gust of air leaves his lungs in the form of cloudy condensation amongst the snowfall. He walks up to the car, leaning down so he can glance inside without getting too close. Through the fogged window, he can make out the figure of a woman leaned against the steering wheel, her face casted by her hair hanging all around while she slumps her head against the wheel. Stupid—stupid girl. What the hell is she doing way out here?

He rasps against the window and she jolts just as Tommy comes up behind him, finally having left the comfort of the truck cab. “S’a girl, should have guessed.” Tommy interjects with a crude tone, thankfully before she rolls the window down. She looks a little scared and a lot embarrassed, her eyes are red like she’s been crying her heart out. It doesn’t make Joel sad, it makes him uncomfortable. Emotions make his skin crawl, make him uneasy. He doesn’t handle people crying well, he doesn’t know how to react to it, what he should say or do.

“You need someone to pull you out?” He asks, trying his best to sound mellow tempered and helpful. He’s not, but he won't be able to sleep tonight if he has to drive by the coroner unsticking her frozen body from the seats in the morning. “I’m so sorry—I was checking my phone because my mom texted me and I didn’t see the corner—“ stuck in the snow because she was on her fucking phone? “You hit a snow embankment because you were textin’? You dim or somethin’, girl?” She gives him a hard glance, eyebrows pulled together tightly. “I’m not dim, but I can tell you’re dense.”

Tommy scuffs from beside him and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll grab the chain,” he tells his brother as he heads towards the truck. “I’m gonna pull you out, but after that you’re on your own, kid. This storm is just starin’, might be smart if you headed back to whatever city you blew in from.”

She’s the furthest thing from appreciative when Joel hooks a chain to the frame of her car and the hitch on the front of the old red chevy. When she gets out of the little blue car, Joel gets the full extent of how unprepared she is for a full on impending whiteout snowstorm. Her pants have rips and holes, like they are meant to be there, no way they are offering any kind of protection from the chill. Her boots have a three inch heel like she’s walking along some new york sidewalk with a tiny dog in her arms. She has a jacket, fur lining the hood and yet she’s still shaking like it all does nothing to protect her from the snow.

“Thank you for doing this, but I really could have called a tow truck or something. They probably would have been a lot nicer about it.” Her voice is dripping with disdain when he stands upright again. “You want nice, or you want to be dead? Because there ain’t no company sending a driver out here when were forecasted to get two feet overnight.”

She puts her hands on her hips in an attempted threatening manner, like that might scare Joel into an apology when she looks like an angry child who didn’t get their way. Joel hated people like this, too good for the world with their nose up in the air. He turns around to head back to the truck when he spots the piles of boxes in her back seat. Great—another fuckin’ know it all who think’s living out here is romantic and rustic. “You movin’ out here somewhere? You know there ain’t a mall for like, a hundred and fifty miles, right?”

She’s irritated now, with all the rude comments Joel is throwing her way—but he doesn’t care because the last thing this place needs is more city people thinking they can tame this untouched land. It shouldn’t bother him, because how long could she really last out here anyways? With those three inch heels and clothes fit for a concrete jungle, not muddy plains and cattle. She won't make it a month out here in the dead of winter.

“Just pull my car out, or leave me be, because the last thing I need right now is to get harassed by some old dumb fuck cowboy.” Dumb cowboy? Old? Like he’s the fucking moron out here in the middle of a blizzard in a car with bald ass tires and pants with holes in them. Maybe he should fucking leave, let her strand around trying to find a signal to call a tow company that wont come. “You know what?” Teach her a lesson, maybe then she’ll learn this place isn’t for people like her. With her done up hair and makeup—she’s pretty, unnaturally so—like she’s trying to damn hard to look that good—god damnit—“walk around in those stupid fucking shoes and see if you can find your own way out,” he leans down and undoes the hook under her car roughly. “Come on Tommy, were out of here.” She stomps her foot in the snow and starts to pace back to her car.

Joel makes his way back to the truck and unhooks the chain from the front. He’s had a long fucking day of taking care of his idiot bothers problems and he doesn’t have the patience to help some girl who doesn’t know what’s good for her.

“Hey, big brother.” It’s Tommy’s voice in his ears when he finally closes the door behind himself, huffing in discontent as he puts it in gear. “What.” He snaps, backing away from the stuck car and those sinfully tight jeans on that tight little—mother fucking son of a bitch, stop it!—he cant stand people like her, fucking with his head and getting under his skin. The type of girls who have looked him up and down and laughed in his face at the thought of someone like him being up to standard for someone like them. That snot nosed brat can sit in the snow, for all he cares.

“No need to get all hostile at me, man—I’m just checkin’ on ya. You’re all red and pissy, and nothin’ gets you all worked up like that.” He shrugs beside him with a cocky sort of snort. “I mean, unless—“ Joel jerks on the wheel and sneers over at his brother. “Drop it. Not another fucking word or I’ll leave you here too.”

Tommy’s jaw snaps shut and he looks out the passenger window, the radio playing quietly while the storm picks up, and the road carries on. Joel doesn’t think about what he’s done, only how his knee bounces and his hands flex the whole way back to the ranch. How his heart pounds and his blood rushes and it makes his head throb.

When they pull into the muddy drive, he shuts off the truck and turns towards his brother and the bouquet of flowers. “You really need to mean it when you talk to them, I’m serious. They are nice people who’ve looked out for us for two years. We owe them that, at least.” His little brother seems serious when he nods, so Joel passes him the flowers and heads inside. They have sacrificed so much to help Joel and Tommy. They’d been through dark winters with them, when they lost half the herd to the cold and Joel spent the night in the barn with what was left to make sure they all stayed upright and dry. They’ve all had empty bellies at night, didn’t have two nickels to rub together between the four of them and they’ve stood by each others sides through it. They’ve seen Tommy lose his shit a few times, too—so they know he’s capable of coming back from it. He just hopes this time wasn’t too far—Tommy had yelled at her for simply washing his clothes for him.

When the door to the big white farm house creaks open, Joel steps inside to the warm scent of roast in the oven and potatoes on the stove, Hank in his recliner with the newspaper in his hand and his reading glasses on while the game plays in the background. Hank was a large man, kind of chubby in the joyous kind of way, kind eyes and balding on the top. He laughs a lot, but he takes no shit while he’s at it.

“Kitchen,” Joel directs Tommy, who makes his way to the conjoining room where Louise was probably busy cooking dinner. Joel makes his way over to the couch across from Hank, who drops his paper and gives Joel a long look. “You talk to him?” He nods his head and glances down at his snowy boots. “He’s been real anxious all day. Storm comin’ in is messin’ with him and he knows it's no excuse to snap at anyone. He’s in there apologizin’.”

The older man nods at him and glances over his shoulder where Joel can barely see Tommy handing her the bouquet. “She was really shaken up over it, I hate seeing her so upset. She’s been excited all day and trying to make the house looks nice. I think it was just a misunderstanding, but don’t give him any excuse to yell at her like that.”

Joel twists his hands around and looks up at Hank who wears a solemn expression. “I know, I’m real sorry, Hank.”

The man across from him sigh, then offers a faint smile as he stands from his chair. “It’s alright. You boys are like family, families fight—it happens. Lets get some dinner, forget about all this mess, alright?” Joel is thankful for the reason to drop the conversation and stands with the older man as they head towards the kitchen. Louise and Tommy are talking quietly, smiling at each other until she reaches out and embraces him in a soft looking hug. It's an ease on Joel’s wound tight mind, thinking Tommy had finally thrown a wrench in the only good thing they’ve had in ten years.

Dinner is delicious, savory roast that he can dip soft bread in, let is soak up all the juice that he tries and fails to not get all over his beard. When his bowl is empty and his stomach feels distended, he leans back in his chair and sighs contently. “That was amazing, Miss Lou—I don’t know how you do it.” The smile she gives him isn’t like one of her usuals, it’s slightly saddened and disheartened when she looks across the table at him. For a moment, he worries that Tommy’s words are getting to her again. “Everythin’ okay?” He sits up a little in his chair.

“I'm a little worried. Our daughter was on her way home from college today, she’s finally graduated and she called me this morning to tell me she’d be home before supper, so I made her favorite.” She looks towards the window. “The storm is getting worse, I’m worried her little car wont make it,” Joel’s whole stomach lurches into his throat and he nearly throws up in his hands. “I told you we should have gotten her a truck, Hank, you know she’s not the best driver in snow.”

Fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck!—he’s such a fucking idiot. He knew she was coming home today, Lou has been talking about it for weeks, the impending return of the prodigy child, home with a degree to save the ranch—or whatever it is that she was doing. He’d heard them talk about her so many times, she was all brains and no know-how, Hank always talked about how clumsy and awkward she was, but how brilliant her mind was at the same time. He’d always questioned how uncoordinated she really was, based on the photos of her as a young woman roping in the rodeo. Fuck—he should have recognized her... “What’s her name again?” Tommy asks like he has no fucking clue Joel is losing his ever loving shit right now. They left her stranded on the side of the road in the middle of this damn snow storm. He hears Louise say her name but it doesn’t register because he feels like he’s on fire and drownings at the same time. “But everyone’s always called her Honey. Since she was a little little thing. She was always so ornery and stubborn until one day she got into a bee box and got covered in bee stings. Ever since that day she was so sweet, so we started calling her Honey.” Lou has this soft smile and all Joel can think about is how he’d told her to crawl back to whatever city she came from in her stupid fucking shoes. “She’s got a real mouth on her till something puts her straight.” Hank chuckles and Joel abruptly stands from his seat.

“I’m finished, I can go out and have a look incase she got stuck somewhere.” He slings on his jacket, but Tommy is still eating and doesn’t think much of it—dumb ass. “Are you sure? She’s probably fine, she knows better than to get caught out in these storms, she probably got a hotel in town.” Joel shakes his head at them and throws on his thick Carhartt jacket that Hank gave him his first winter here after watching him shiver in the fields. “I’m sure, it’s gettin’ bad, just gonna make sure she ain’t stuck somewhere.” Joel makes his way out the door quickly, grabbing the keys to the truck that they had given to him—“how are you supposed to manage a ranch if you don’t have a way to get around?”

He starts up the old chevy and it fires to life despite the snow coming down in heaps now. He’s worried about the road back to her car, about the probably eight inches lining the long driveway, but he throws it in four wheel drive and tries his damndest to get through it because despite all the things stacking up against him, his biggest worry is the police finding her frozen to death in the morning and her parents faces when they find out it was Joel who abandoned her there to die. God—he’s such a prick.

The road is slippery and tricky, a winding snow covered path along the hillside leading towards Jackson. It takes him twenty minutes in this blizzard to get there, all he can think about the entire time is the half freezing girl hiding in her car and the warm food in his belly that was meant for her. He stops the truck when he gets to the car, the lights are off and it looks abandoned—his gut lurches again, what if he’s already too late? Two hours have passed since he left her stranded and the sun has set now, real cold is creeping in.

He jumps out of the truck and walks up to the window. He can't see inside because the glass is fogged, so she has to be alive in there. He knocks on the window and the door jerks against the cold. “Hey,” he pulls the door open more, she’s sitting in the driver seat, pale and shaking with a small blanket pulled around her to keep in some warmth. The look she gives him could kill a man if he didn’t feel like he was already going to die the second you tell your parents that he left you there.

“Y-Your conscious f-finally get to y-you, asshole?” She’s absolutely shaking, her fingers look purple. “I’m so sorry—C’mon, it’s warm in the truck.” He reaches for her hand, but she snaps it away from him like he might burn her. “I c-can get o-out on my own.” She can and does, wobbles on her too tall heels and starts to head towards the running truck. Joel grabs the door for her and she sneers at him—yeah, yeah—he deserves that. He closes the door behind her and runs over to the other side. When he jumps in, she’s got her hands pressed against the heater while she relishes in the welcomed heat.

He pulls away from her trapped car, he’ll come back for it when the snow has cleared up a little bit, but for now—it’s too dangerous to try and yank it out just for it to get stuck in the road because it has no traction. It's ten agonizing minutes of silence while Joel taps his fingers against the steering wheel, trying his damndest to keep a close eye on the woman beside him. She’s warming herself up and thawing out that burning rage Joel knows is inside of her. When they get closer to the driveway, she starts to fire off. “You takin’ me to some backwoods shack to tie me up and keep me?” He scoffs and looks out the windshield, trying to keep the truck steady in the snow.

“If I was going to tie up and keep some girl, I’d make sure she was less bitchy.” She growls at him, growls lowly and it actually does the job, makes his skin prick in goosebumps while he drives. “Wouldn’t be so bitchy if you didn’t leave me on the side of the road. You know I could have died, right?” He is painfully, agonizingly aware of that fact. “I came back, didn’t I?” The driveway is in view, a long fenced path up to the old farm house. “How’d you know I was comin’ here?” Her voice is a tad quieter now, less abrasive on his ears.

“Cus’ I’m comin’ here too.” He says quietly, halfway hoping it won't reach her ears, but her mom was right—she is quick, smart too. “You’re Joel, aren’t you?” She laughs menacingly, crossing her arms across her body and her left leg over her right with a scoff. “You know, my parents said it was Tommy I wouldn’t like. Said you were this big southern gentlemen.” She laughs a little harder, looking over at Joel. “They were half worried they’d have to chase me out of your bed, that you were right up my alley. My daddy said you were the type to charm any woman’s pants off. Guess they don’t know you like they thought they do, huh? Under all that chivalrous facade is just another self centered, selfish cowboy.”

Joel shuts off the truck and glances over at her. “Look, I’m real sorry. First impressions aren’t my strong suit, got a thing for people who don’t belong out here. Didn’t know you were their kid. Would’ve pulled your car out if I’d known.” She opens the door of the cab and steps out into the snow. “So you’re only a good person when someone’s lookin’, I’ll keep that in mind, dickhead.”

She slams the door and storms off towards the house while Joel slumps against the wheel with his head in his hands. Fuck…if it’s not Tommy risking their welcome, their jobs, then it was him, making an absolute ass of himself in-front of the bosses daughter. The bosses fiery, too good—too good looking—

“Son of a bitch!”

—

He gets into the house ten minutes after she does, his hands stuffed in his pockets and half expecting her parents to kick him out right then and there. He pretty much told her to fuck off and left her to freeze to death. There’s no doubt in his mind that they would have found her dead in the morning, the temperature was below freezing already.

To his surprise, it's quiet when he gets inside. Hank and Louise are in the dining room with their daughter, laughing and smiling and surprised to see her, to see her with Joel. “And he just found you there?” She looks so…so..chipper standing there beside her dad with her arm on his shoulder while he sits at the table. “Yep, got my car stuck because I was texting, I know—not bright.” She sounds so fucking fake and dramatic in her tone, Joel’s hands flex and unflex. “And I couldn’t get out and find a signal because of my stupid fucking shoes. I probably would have died there if not for…good ol’ Joel.” She cocks her head with this shit eating grin on her face that makes Joel's gut clench up and his heart pound.

This fucking bitch—is she blackmailing him right now? In those stupid fucking pants and that top he’s finally getting a glimpse at—and then…shit…

Look at you…just—his brain is going haywire right now. He hates your fucking guts right about now but his brain makes other notes about your guts and its desire to be in them—and that tight ass shirt with your tits just pourin’ out of it—Jesus CHRIST, Joel, get it together here.

He shakes his head, bites the inside of his cheek and meets your eyes, everyone else is looking at you, but you’re looking at him, fully aware of the way his eyes just ate your body up for dessert until he was stuffed. “Real winner you guys have here, mom and dad…real winner.”

If there’s one thing Joel is certain of, it’s that he is in big, big fucking trouble.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #the last of us #archive of our own #joel the last of us #joel tlou #rancher joel #joel miller moodboard #cowboy joel miller

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sempersirens · 8 months

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yes, chef | part three

a follow-up to this request from the lovely @cool-iguana

read part one and part two

summary: domestic bliss doesn't last long with a man who doesn't know how to regulate his emotions at the idea of losing someone he loves

pairing: no-outbreak!au, chef!joel x f!reader

content/warnings: lots of angst, swearing

a/n: omg as a brit writing stories set in the US i always forget how far states are from each other.... wym you can't just hop on the train from houston to new york?

In theory, you'd always wanted to be a morning person.

You envied the ease of Joel's body slipping out from the sheets each morning, never fighting with his eyelids for just five more minutes of rest.

The break of dawn was probably your favourite time of the day; you just preferred to soak it all in warm and semi-lucid from Joel's bed. The ambience of car engines on the street below slowly waking up mixed with Joel's coffee pot singing on the stove felt like a hymn sung only for you. You'd shut your eyes - only momentarily, before hearing the door creak open and the large white mug you'd claimed as your own being set down beside you on the nightstand.

Strategically, it was lucky that Joel always had to get to the restaurant hours before you. But each morning you wished you could pull him back under the duvet and sink yourself into his chest until it was impossible to decipher where you ended and he began.

Showering after spending a night with Joel felt like sacrilege. If it wasn't for the sweat and other fluids clinging to your skin, you would wear the remnants of his touch and scent on your body like an expensive French perfume.

The restaurant was always hectic, but now nearing the festive season everything seemed to intensify rapidly. However, screwing the boss did have its perks; you'd managed to sneak a couple of days off last week to visit a friend from culinary school in New York.

While you were there, she'd taken you to one of her favourite spots in the city, introducing you to the head chef who was a friend of hers. He'd asked about your current role and you told him everything about working for the Joel Miller - strategically omitting the parts where he has you pinned against the stove after hours.

You'd thought nothing of it after that, knowing it would mostly be inconvenient to hire someone halfway across the country when culinary grads were lurking on every corner in the city. You didn't want to leave Joel, either. You didn't plan on staying at his restaurant for the rest of your life - even he didn't, but things were good. You felt secure for the first time in your life.

Finally arriving at the restaurant, you sang a chirpy "Mooorning!" into the kitchen before dumping your things into your locker. As you tied your apron around your figure, Joel emerged from the office, eyes dark and trained on the floor.

"Good morning, chef." You cooed in a low tone, letting your voice rasp every so slightly.

He kept his eyes on the ground, grunting something inaudible vaguely in your direction before stalking into the kitchen.

Weird.

Whenever you and Joel got a moment alone he would always take advantage of your solitude, even if only for a couple of seconds. He'd seemed fine at the house this morning, you'd heard him singing along to The Supremes while making breakfast. Maybe the wrong amount of stock had been delivered; the tiniest of setbacks were often enough to dictate his mood for the entire day.

You pushed the encounter to the back of your mind, redirecting your attention to your prep for the day.

"Has anyone seen my boning knife?" You shouted over your shoulder after all but turning your station inside out.

Before you could turn your head, a heavy hand slammed the knife in front of you.

"Was on the floor when I got here this mornin'. Watch your shit and clean your station." Joel growled, loud enough for the rest of the kitchen to hear.

"Yes, chef." You bowed your head, cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.

You were more than familiar with his sharp tongue and short temper, but there was something about the way he spat his words at you that sent an unease through your body. He'd made you feel small. Why couldn't he have left the knife on your station for you when he found it? It seemed like such a petty thing for him to do.

Not wanting to let his mood rub off on you, you brushed it off and carried on with your tasks before service started.

The morning rushed past in a haze, and soon enough orders were coming through. Joel had remained eerily quiet for the majority of the morning, you almost wished he would shout at you to simply acknowledge your presence.

He hadn't found a single excuse to touch you, an act of affection he often employed while he made his rounds through the stations. You felt like you were a child being given the silent treatment by your mother, all of a sudden you were six again, tugging at the hem of her dress begging for her to look at you.

You were in the midst of prepping a monkfish and kohlrabi main with cauliflower and dates, almost ready for it to go to the pass, when you felt his presence behind you.

"Sauce ain't reduced enough."

"With respect, chef, it has two more minutes on heat."

He left before returning with a spoon, dipping it into your saucepan of monkfish stock.

"Needs lime."

"I'm going to add lime before it goes on the pass. As I said, it's not finished yet."

"Fuckin' useless." He muttered quietly under his breath, but you caught it.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?"

"I said you're fuckin' useless. Slow, no attention to detail, don't know why you're still in my kitchen."

Your heart sank deep into the pit of your stomach, sweat coating your palms. All eyes were on you both, and the sizzle of your burning sauce on the stove was the least of your worries.

"How dare you speak to me like that?" You fought for your voice to not waiver.

Was this part of your act? Had he taken the game you both played too far? There was no softness in his eyes, no remorse or realisation that his words had stung you.

Before he could dismiss you from the kitchen, you untied your apron and threw it to the ground, letting your hard work char and spit on the stove.

You didn't say a word as you snatched your things, bustling through the back door without another glance.

"Where the fuck d'you think you're going? You don't get to walk out of here mid-service just because y'needed more damn lime." Joel called from behind you.

"This isn't about the fucking lime, Joel. How could you speak to me like that? I thought, I thought-"

"You need to get some thicker skin. They ain't gonna coddle you like I do in New York."

The words must've slipped out of his mouth judging by the way his eyes widened at the mention of New York.

"What are you talking about?"

"They called me this mornin' - for a reference. Told me how impressed they were meetin' you."

You wanted to reach out and touch him, to console him and tell him how this was all just a horrible misunderstanding. Then his words replayed in your head. Every time you looked into his big, angry eyes all you could hear was useless, fuckin' useless.

"Grow up, Joel. Maybe if you'd have talked to me about it like a fucking adult I could've told you it wasn't like that."

"Oh yeah, what was it like? You plan on fuckin' your way to the top there too, or that just with me?"

He was being unjustly cruel and he knew it. This wasn't a power play for you, and he knew that. Although you'd never said it, you loved him, and you were almost certain that he loved you too.

But this was too much - he had pushed you too far this time. There was no coming back from this.

"Fuck you, Joel."

taglist: @cool-iguana @skysmiller @lhymer1995 @brittmb115 @moonlightdivine @reallyidontcare @nana90azevedo @spookyanamurdock @lovely-ateez @spookyanamurdock @bbyanarchist @joeldjarin @nostalxgic @axshadows @jenispunk @noisynightmarepoetry @thoughtfulmoonchild911

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #my fic #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dee writes #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel x reader

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lliminall · 1 year

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Passione Boys After You Dump Them | Headcanons

How they react and how they try to win you back. Because we love to see a man grovel.

tags: gn reader, slightly toxic in some of them, nsfw implications in abbacchio’s

Giorno Giovanna

Your announcement that you wanted to break up with him wasn’t exactly a surprise to the Don. He’s perceptive of your feelings, and he knows that he doesn’t have as much free time as most. He certainly isn’t able to be there for you as often as other suitors would. That doesn’t mean he’s happy to hear it, though.

This may be one of the few moments where you see his carefully crafted shell begin to crack. You mean more to Giorno than you know. He’s had so few people he loves in his life. The thought of losing you breaks his heart in a way he hasn’t experienced before.

Giorno isn’t willing to let this conversation end until you see things his way, and he is incredibly persuasive when he wants to be. Maybe you should wait and cool off a bit, amore. He can take care of all of this if you’ll just give him some time.

But…you don’t give in. He realizes, too late, that in all the time he’s spent away from you, these problems have become too much for you to bear any longer. You made up your mind and nothing he says is going to change it. Any further attempts to convince you are equally rebuffed, until he accepts that you’re just not willing to speak to him right now.

So he gives you space. No big deal. He’s patient. He can keep himself from pursuing you…for a while. The last thing Giorno wants to do is act impulsively on his emotions, and he’s certainly feeling more emotional than usual right now. He lets you have some distance, but ultimately he’s confident in his ability to win you back. No one else can take care of you like he can.

There may never be a moment in his mind where he truly feels as if he’s lost you. You’re not really broken up, you’re just taking a break. Yes, maybe you were right in saying that he hasn’t been setting aside enough time for you. And yes, he can understand why you might feel as if you only come second place to other priorities in his life. He’s a busy guy! But you have to understand that he’s doing his best, and he’ll find a way to do better. For your sake.

So he leaves you alone. Maybe you need a few weeks, or even a month or two. When he feels you’ve calmed down enough, he’ll start reappearing in your life again. As a friend, of course! He wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable, ha ha, but you two have always gotten along, even before you were together, so surely you won’t object to him just checking in? :)

And it’s like you’d forgotten how easy he is to talk to. How helpful his advice is. How nice it feels to bask in the glow of one his soft, genuine smiles, which so few others are lucky enough to see. And so, maybe you end up spending more time with him than you wanted to, in the wake of your breakup. He acts so nonchalant about all of it, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to be spending time with you, no awkwardness, no lingering bitterness, that you can’t help but lean into it.

He knows exactly the right time to strike up a conversation about getting back together. When you’re alone together and the mood is high (and maybe you’re starting to realize that you really do miss him. Just a little bit), he’ll lay a hand on your arm and finally allow himself to be honest with you again.

“I’ve thought about what you said, and I want to apologize for the ways I’ve fallen short. But you must understand, amore, there’s no one for me but you. If you can find it in yourself to give me another chance, I promise I’ll prove that to you.”

Guido Mista

Totally blindsided. He doesn’t even know how to react at first. I mean, sure, you two had been having some issues, but it wasn’t anything that serious, right?? He’s already planned your whole lives together. He even picked out the name of your future cat. You can’t just leave him now!

Be prepared to have a very long, very emotional argument. Mista cannot accept you leaving him, and he can’t understand why you’re not willing to stay and work these problems out. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so distraught as he is now. He loves you so much, and he knows you love him too. Shouldn’t that be enough?

It isn’t, and you tell him that, and it absolutely crushes him. You’re both in tears by the time you leave, and even then he’s following you out the door trying to convince you to stay. He’ll be blowing up your phone afterwards, and then your email if you block him. There’s almost nothing too embarrassing for him at this point, he’d cashapp you money just to get you to read the note attached. This poor man lmao. He just really, really loves you, and he can’t not have you in his life.

He’s so mad at you. He can’t even remember the last time someone cut him this deep. The rest of the team is immediately made aware of how crushed he is, and Mista doesn’t even have to tell them. The cloud hanging over him is dark enough that passerby’s on the street can tell there’s something wrong with this man.

I can see him getting a bit nasty with you during this period. Whether it’s through text or if he manages to get you face to face, he’s not the type of person to hide how he feels, and right now he is feeling a lot.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to show up here if you would fucking unblock me and listen! Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell, ok? I just…you have to hear me out. Please?”

The time apart from you, no matter how long, leaves him absolutely miserable. The distance does give him time to think, though. About everything you said to him that night, the issues you couldn’t bear anymore. If you can’t bear the problems, and he can’t bear to be away from you, some compromises will just have to be made.

I give it a month, max, before he comes back to you, now much more level-headed and solemn. He’s trying his hardest to make things right again. He just needs you to meet him halfway.

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo knew you two had been on the rocks lately. He isn’t an idiot. Every argument, every miscommunication, every day you became a bit more withdrawn, it was all noticed and filed away carefully in his mind. But when you finally find the courage to sit him down and tell him it’s over, he still can’t control himself. He’s panicked, at first, until he hides that vulnerability behind a much harder and safer emotion: his anger.

The resulting outburst, of course, only serves to strengthen your resolve. This is exactly why you had to leave to begin with, and as much as you’d hoped he would have found it in himself to be civil, you knew it would go like this. He’s so upset he can hardly breathe, and when the yelling finally becomes too much, you leave him to fall apart alone.

With time, the rage subsides to simmering anger that lingers and persists for weeks. It’s easier to pretend he hates you for it. You left him, like everyone always does. He trusted you and loved you more than anyone else, and processing those feelings is just too painful, so he turns them into anger instead. At least that’s an emotion he knows what to do with.

It isn’t sustainable, though. Maybe it takes a push from Bucciarati or another friend, someone he respects enough to take correction from, but sooner or later he realizes he has to process these awful feelings. He misses you. Every day. And maybe you weren’t entirely wrong about your reasons for leaving. But if those reasons were things that could be changed…maybe this can still be fixed.

The next time you see him, he’s unrecognizable from the man you left screaming in his apartment. He’s nervous, clearly, but composed. He asks you gently if you have time to talk, and the tension visibly drains from his body when you agree.

He starts by apologizing for how things went that night. He shouldn’t ever speak to you that way, and he knows that. He just didn’t know how to control himself then, but he’s learning those skills now! If there’s one thing Fugo can do, it’s study, and he tells you all about the books he’s been reading to better himself. Topics ranging from anger management, to emotional intelligence, to relationship conflict.

He asks, anxiously, if you would be willing to give him another shot. He’ll even agree to see a couples counselor, if it makes you feel more comfortable. He knows that with his effort to improve, and your willingness to find better ways to work with him, you two can work all of this out. He just hopes you still think it’s worth the effort.

“I know I messed up, but I just wanted you to see that I’m trying. And I’m getting better. And I’d like to keep getting better with you, if that’s ok.”

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno can’t say that he didn’t see this coming. The state of your relationship was clearly less than ideal. Bruno is a man who stretches himself thin, who gives so many pieces of his time to so many people and projects, that sometimes it can feel as if you’re only getting the leftover scraps of him.

He’d always assumed that he would be able to commit more of himself to you later. In the future, when Passione was stable, when the Don didn’t need him so much, when his community was safe without him. Of course, there’s no guarantee that any of these things would happen soon or ever, and his assumption that you would be willing to wait on him indefinitely is proven wrong.

Immediately, he tries to deescalate. Explaining that all of these problems are fixable, that he loves you so much, that maybe you should both just go to bed and things will feel better when you’ve slept on it.

“Slow down, amore. Shh, I know. Things have been difficult lately, but we can work through all of this. Just trust me, all right?”

As the conversation goes on and he sees that you aren’t going to be convinced, he begins to lose his composure. Bruno is a passionate man. In his time as a Capo he’s become accustomed to being obeyed, to having his every request carried out, and to having the absolute trust of most of the people he considers important to him. For you, his most important person, to be slipping out of his grasp with no control is not something he’s prepared to deal with. At least not gracefully.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so frantic as he is while you’re leaving. He tries to remain composed, but he can only stay so calm when he’s watching the love of his life prepare to walk out on him. You can’t do this. He can’t let you do this. He can take care of everything, he always takes care of everything, if you’ll just let him, don’t you see?

In the aftermath, he’s devastated. He throws himself back into his work, and to most people he would appear to be functioning just fine in your absence. To his team, however, this facade is easily seen through. He’s sharp. Barbed. A little more ruthless, a lot more unfocused. Giorno all but forces him to take some time off and recollect himself, and Bruno does so begrudgingly.

Time off is just time without a distraction. It hurts (and maybe digs up some trauma from his childhood that he didn’t realize he still harbored), but it also allows him to do some necessary reevaluations. Bruno cannot live without you. In the time he’s loved you, you’ve become his reason for the work he does. You’re the reason he wants to clean up these streets, the reason he needs his city to be safe, the reason he needs to be a strong and dependable figure, always improving, always moving forward.

I don’t think it would take him long to come to this conclusion. A month, max, before he seeks you out again, ready to offer himself back up you—as much of himself as he can. He’s ready to make compromises if you are too.

Narancia Ghirga

Dear god. Brace yourself lmao

Narancia’s abandonment issues run bone-deep. From the earliest stages of his life, the people he loves the most have been leaving him in one way or another. He cannot bear to be left behind again—especially not by you.

Prepare for screaming, crying, punching walls, and desperate begging. There’s no outcome where you and Narancia have a calm, respectful conversation about this. As soon as you mention leaving him, he’s spiraling. He needs you to take it back. He needs you to change your mind. He needs you to apologize and promise to never ever even think of leaving him again. He could never imagine walking out on you. How can you do this to him?

When you leave and the panic begins to wear off, he’s furious. He’ll oscillate between hopeless despair and anger, and you’ll be on the receiving end of both. Narancia is not leaving you alone. You may have to dissolve into tears yourself, pleading with him to just give you the space you need and work on getting himself over this. He may agree—temporarily. Even if he promises to stop showing up and bothering you in person, that doesn’t mean he can stop himself from texting you when he’s drunk in the wee hours of the morning.

“Fuck, how can you do this?! I’m sorry! Whatever I did wrong, I’m sorry and I promise I can fix it! Please, can we just talk?”

With enough time, he’ll have calmed down enough to at least have a more mature conversation about what happened. And that conversation will happen. It has to. He knows you asked him to stay away, but you have to understand that he can’t ever do that. He needs you, and he’ll do anything to prove that to you, no matter how long it takes.

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio’s immediate reaction is to shut down. It’s a self-preserving reflex more than anything, but to you it’s just confirmation that what you’re doing is right. You can’t keep begging for what he’s obviously not willing to give: vulnerability. Inwardly Abbacchio is crumbling, but the only response he allows you to see is irritation and cold indifference. Go ahead, leave him. It’s not like you were ever going to last to begin with, and it’s not like he can’t find another fuck-buddy whenever he wants.

This is, of course, a lie. You’ve never been just a hookup to him, but the fact that he could even say something so cruel to you is just more proof that you need to remove yourself from him. By the end of the argument, you’re crying and he’s waiting for you to shut the door behind you so he can finally break out the alcohol and get plastered.

Very few people would be able to sense that there was anything wrong with him. He falls back on his old method of disguising his misery: burying it under ten masks of indifference. He puts on a convincing performance, but he knows that’s all it is. You were a light in the dark trenches of his life, bright and warm and inviting, and he snuffed you out. One more colossal failure to haunt him at night.

He finds other partners. One night stands and shallow, meaningless hookups. They’re meant to be a distraction, but they’re only half-successful. His connection with you wasn’t just about physical pleasure, it was about an emotional connection that his other partners can’t replicate. He loved you, in a way he hasn’t loved anyone else.

It will take Abbacchio a very long time to work through this. He doesn’t just have to bite back his pride to ask for reconciliation, he has to overcome his self-loathing enough to allow himself to hope. When he does come back to you, he comes as a man who’s finally begun to build himself back up into someone he believes is worthy of you.

“Hey. I know it’s been a long time, but I just wanted to check up on you. And maybe, if it’s all right…could we go somewhere and talk? There are some things I wanted to tell you.”

#so does anyone else still read for golden wind or #giorno giovanna x reader #guido mista x reader #pannacotta fugo x reader #bruno bucciarati x reader #narancia ghirga x reader #leone abbacchio x reader #jjba x reader #my works.ll #giorno.ll #mista.ll #fugo.ll #bruno.ll #narancia.ll #abbacchio.ll #jjba.ll

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jade-parcels · 2 years

Text

_•_•_•_•_•_SEVEN DEADLY SINS_•_•_•_•_•_•_

_PRIDE •WRATH•GLUTTONY•LUST•GREED•ENVY•SLOTH_

(gn!readerXharbingers. title ‘pet’ used,dubious consent(dottore),blood mentions,violence,manipulation,you know the drill)

Pierro feels intense Pride when thinking about his social standing. The first harbinger, the strongest, the most valuable asset to the Tsaritsa. He has everything he could need and more but none of those material goods matter when he has himself. He is typically the voice of reason in harbinger meetings, knocking the other members off of their egotistical thrones. He holds an air of importance, the wise man of the group, but behind closed doors, he admires himself in the mirror, telling you the stories behind each scar littering his toned body. Each battle won, each opponent slaughtered, every fight which led to his current status. ‘You should feel lucky,’ he tells you, gripping your chin- forcing you to meet his gaze ‘Without me, you’d still be rotting in some mud-hole in Mondstadt. I saved you, I made you who you are’. You’ve learned to know that he’s right, he’s taught you to cling to his every word. So you shine his shoes, polish his medals, warm his bed and listen to every heroic tale he tells about himself with wide eyed admiration.

Arlecchino possesses a vengeful spirit. She spits venom at those she dislikes and prays for the demise of those who she disagrees with. Plenty of government officials have peeved her enough that she threatens them behind closed doors, huffing about how they don’t deserve to stand behind those podiums or attend royal balls when they’re such disgusting pigs. She slits the throats of anyone who dares question her authority or collects the eyes of henchmen who dare to look at you without her permission. The eyes in question sit in a jar of water on her desk, floating round and round their glass container. Your stomach flips every time you see them, you feel sick knowing that there are more in there than last time. She interrogates you about any interaction you have with anyone who isn’t her. A chat with the maid, a hushed joke with the butler, a compliment sent to the chef. If she deems an interaction as competition for your affection, those others will feel her Wrath. If you care about the lives of the hired staff or fatui henchmen, you better keep to yourself, don’t look at them, don’t talk to them. Unless you want them to feel the cold metal of your wife’s blade at their neck…

If anyone is the embodiment of Gluttony, it’s Capitano. He doesn’t just fight his enemies, he feasts upon them. He drains their will to live, torments them with the tip of his sword until his prey is begging to be put out of their misery. You see the way he eats his meals, as if he’s been starving for weeks. He viciously cuts into his steak, scarred lips curling up into a wretched smile, those silver teeth glinting in the dark. ‘Why don’t you have some, pet? It’s good~’ he offers you a bite, the gravy spills off of the meat and splats onto the table. He huffs behind the mask, baffled and disappointed when you shake your head. You lean back, refusing to take a bite- you could never stomach it even if you wanted to. With a frustrated growl, he slams his fist down onto the table ‘Whatever, no dinner for you then! Stupid fucking brat- give me that’ he snatches your plate away, dumping its contents onto his own. Blood from the meat splatters up onto his chest and mask, soaking into the white coat he wears. You can’t un-see the way he acted earlier, how hungry he was for battle, how he fought like a bear, covered in blood. The image is burned into your mind… If you think about it much more you’ll be sick…

Dottore’s Lust is insatiable. He lusts for knowledge, for power, for more more more of everything he can get his scarred hands on. He neglects you in favor of spending time in his lab, consulting copies of himself for advice or observing what they do. His little meetings with himself last for hours, sometimes days, and when the fumes become too much or he’s too frustrated with his copies to continue, he seeks you out for stress relief. You hear him before you see him, he’s panting and groaning, kicking the door shut behind him as he approaches the bed where you pretend to sleep. Those gloved hands grope and pinch anywhere they can reach, sharp teeth dig into soft flesh. He doesn’t care that he woke you up to do this, doesn’t care that you’re too tired or too unwell. Right now, he’s lusting for you- nearly drooling at the thought of sinking into you. His mask hides his hungry eyes from view but you know his pupils are blown wide, raking over your exposed body as if it’s the first time he’s seen you this way. When he’s in this state, there isn’t much you can do but submit and hope he’ll be gentle though he never is. Evidence of his lust will always be marked onto you in one way or another

Pantalone has been destined for Greed since childhood. He’s told you his story before, how he grew up in a poor village, watching as his friends gained visions for doing the bare minimum. He succeeded in school, wrote novels worth of economic research, crunched numbers day and night yet no vision came. The glowing orb never appeared in his palm, on his desk or in his pocket. He built himself form the ground up, worked his way through the ranks of the Northland Bank and disposed of his peers who threatened to take a promotion before him. He’s worth billions now, he spends his money on items he doesn’t need to fill that gap in his heart. He possesses so much that his mansion is overly full of trinkets and sparkling decorations. He possesses you too and your neck aches as you’re forced to wear gaudy, heavy jewelry. He keeps his possessions close by, never allowing you to leave his line of sight. You’re all his, everything you own is his. Pantalone has a chokehold on you, your savings, your family’s savings. But it’s never enough. It never will be. He’s greedy, he knows he is, and he accepts it fully, smiling as he fills his pockets with mora and diamonds, holding your hand tightly in his own

Envy flows through Tartaglia’s veins, making his blood thicker and bitter. He paces his room, ranting fiercely ‘Why don’t they see how strong I am? Some girl gets to be Number Four while I’m stuck at Eleven? Put us all in a room together, I’ll come out Number One! You’ll see- they’ll ALL see how terribly the underestimated me!’ He laughs, the awful sound bouncing off the walls of the empty corridor. You awkwardly shift your weight, flinching when he yanks you in by your collar ‘You see how strong I am, right?’ You caress his bloodstained cheek, nodding along, reassuring him that the others don’t know what they’re missing. Ajax is so bitter about his position, he believes he deserves more and he’s jealous of those who rank above him. Now that Signora is dead and Scaramouche is missing, he’s eyeing the Eighth and Sixth spots on the roster, badgering his comrades about dueling regulations. He wants to be the best and won’t let anyone get in his way. You better be his biggest supporter… well… it isn’t like you have a choice

Those who exhibit Sloth are often characterized as sleepy or lazy. An uncommon, but perfect, characterization exists for Scaramouche: apathetic. He shows little emotion, marble eyes stare at you without a hint of concern as you hold your bleeding hand up to him. He rolls his eyes as he wraps your injury and simply discards you once he’s finished the task. You don’t believe he loves you, that he’d care if you died or went away forever to live a life with a better man. He degrades you in his monotone voice, lifeless eyes boring into your very soul as you apologize for speaking out of line. You observe him work, listen to him talk to subordinates. He sounds so bored… Part of you wants to test the waters, to throw a fit so dramatic, so catastrophic that he has to respond. But no matter what you do, no matter your injuries, tears, laughter, proclamations of love… you never get a proper response. A dull ‘love you too’ or ‘get out of my face’ is uttered, emotionless and robotic. Giving up would be the easy way out but maybe, just maybe, you can push things further just out of morbid curiosity. Is there anything you can do to get him to see you? To react to you?

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact writing #genshin impact childe #genshin impact tartaglia #genshin impact dottore #genshin impact pantalone #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin impact pierro #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact capitano #capitano x reader #pantalone x reader #dottore x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #arlecchino x reader #pierro x reader #scaramouche x reader

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tetsunabouquet · 3 months

Note

Loved the interpretation and writing of my last request! If you dont mind, here's a new one. Tw! Anorexia

Gom with a reader suffering from severe restricting eating to the point where they passed out in public or private, your choice. Again, sorry if this is triggering.

A/N: Thank you for the compliment! Trigger warnings for the readers up in the request

Akashi

-Don't expect this guy to be surprised. He has been suspecting it for a while. -When you faint in front of him, his heart sinks in that ultimate, 'Oh no,' moment. -Actually has a minor panic attack. -Flashbacks to his mom. -He'll do everything he can to wake you up. -Once you're awake, he'll have food arranged for you and he's guilt tripping you to eat it. -"Don't make me lose another person that I love."

Aomine

-Has actually told you before about how you should gain a little more weight as he notices the thinness but doesn't has the intellectual brain capacity to suspect something like an ED. -When you faint, it still doesn't registers in his mind but he does immediately recognize that you needed something to eat. -Momoi is the one to tell him she suspects your disordered eating, and Aomine's heart honestly breaks at the news. -He is demanding you to tell him which stupid idiot convinced you that you were fat, so that he can beat them up right now. -You are honestly touched to see him be so angry and upset on your behalf, he is so pure with his praise and love for you. -Demands that you eat with him at the Maji burger at least once a week and that you try to finish the meal he buys for you.

Murasakibara

-Like Aomine, he doesn't has any suspicions regarding the behavior itself but he does notices you don't eat enough. -Murasakibara just cradles you confused in his arms as Himuro tells him what to do next as well as mention his suspicions about your restrictve eating. -Murasakibara honestly stares at you like you're an alien creature as he has to process the idea that people can hate food that much, thank god you're unconscious and you can't see his face. -He makes up his mind to be the person to cure you of that hate. -Dumps pretty much all candy and snacks he has on him on you the moment you wake up all the whilst giving you a look as sweet and pure as the candy itself. -He increases little habbits like feeding you, because clearly you need it.

Midorima

-Has been taking calculated notes of how much you eat, but is afraid of coming off too strong so he refrains from daring to ask the question. -When you faint he has the most perfect response ever, and manages to stay calm even though he is breaking down on the inside with worry. -Confronts you sternly but lovingly once you wake up, he only wants the best for you. -Reads multiple books on how to be a supportive partner. -Honestly he's adorable with how hard he tries to be there for you. -After the event, he prepares you a bento in the theme of your lucky item of the day, always. Even on the days you can't bring yourself to eat it, he doesn't minds and just hoped carrying the lucky item themed lunch brought you courage in different ways.

Kise

-Knows. Immediately. -As a model, he has far too much model contacts not to know about that dark side of the industry so he knows all the signs. -Is the only one to have confronted you about it before it got to the fainting stage. -Honestly he bawls like a baby when you faint in front of him, because this was exactly like he feared. -He manages to get the number of a great treatment program from another model that is combatting her own ED after you woke up again and got him to calm down. -Tries to feed you all the time whilst acting as cutesy as possible, full idol mode. Because he hopes it will do the trick. -He tries to uplift you by talking about his own insecurities, as being under the limelight does also open him up to scrutiny way more then the average person.

#knb #kuroko's basketball #akashi #akashi seijuro #knb x reader #midorima #midorima shintarou #kise #kise ryouta #aomine #aomine daiki #murasakibara atsushi #muraskibara

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jqnehr · 5 months

Text

les améthystes du ciel | neuvillette — part 7

two individuals under pressure to marry. one has the hydro archon on his back, and the other has her matchmaking friend pushing her along. when the two meet at a ball, and both in dire need of peace from two meddlesome females, what better arrangement is there than their own betrothal?

pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader warnings : hurt no comfort mwahahaha this is sfw. word count : 4.4k (definitely a step down LOLL) note : idk either tbh

! not proof read

! do not copy, redistribute, translate, or use my work with or without credit in any way. thank you.

part six ⋮ masterlist ⋮ part eight

ao3 ⋮ playlist

...

“Brother,” you greet, slipping off your shoes as you enter your brother’s home. “I’m here.”

“[Name]!” He rounds the corner and smiles at you, reaching forward to give you a warm, brotherly hug. “It’s been a while. You look tired. Want some tea?”

“That’d be lovely, thanks.” You nod in gratitude, following him down the hall and into his living room. You look around, noticing someone missing. “Where’s Elvira?”

Your brother, Daniel, replies to you from over the top of his clattering in the kitchen. “She’s out for some groceries. Want to stay for lunch?”

You don’t want to impose, but it has been a while since you last saw your brother, the only blood family you’ve left, and you’ve got a lot to tell him. “Sure. How far along is she now?”

“Twenty-one weeks.” Daniel places a cup of steaming tea on the coaster on your side of the coffee table, filling you in about the pregnancy he and his wife, Elvria, have been so excited for. “I told her I’d go out and get the food, but she says she’s sick of sitting around here all day.”

“Fair enough.” You smile, lifting the cup to take a sip, before you grow solemn again. “I’ve actually come to tell you about something.”

“Yeah. I’ve noticed the engagement ring.” Daniel leans back in his chair with his own tea, nodding towards your right hand. “Who’s the lucky guy?” His stare turns cold. “If he’s anything like your ex—”

“No! No, he’s not.” You immediately scramble to assure him that your ex-fiancé is incomparable to Neuvillette. “He’s a good man, but there’s a lot more to it than you think. I’ll tell you both over lunch. Just, uh…try not to freak out too much.”

Daniel frowns in confusion. “What does that mean?”

You shrug, avoiding his eyes. “Let’s just say the guy’s pretty…important.” You quickly change the topic. “Have you guys been told the gender of the baby yet?”

“Oh, yes!” Your brother instantly sits up straighter, looking like an excited kid on his birthday. “We were told two weeks ago. You’re going to have a niece!”

“Really?” You smile. “How wonderful. I can make some baby clothes for her, if you’d like.”

Daniel opens his mouth to reply when the sound of keys jingling at the front door and the door opening interrupts him. Shuffling ensues, and Elvira soon rounds the corner. “Daniel, I grabbed some profiteroles—oh! [Name], how lovely it is to see you!”

You stand and hug her in greeting, glancing towards the obvious bump on her belly. “Daniel just told me it’s a girl!”

Elvira dumps down the bags of groceries on the kitchen counter. “Yes. Isn’t it exciting? Anyway, what’s brought you here today?”

“I have news.” You flash an awkward smile. “Big news.” You hold up your right hand, showing the engagement ring on your finger. “I’m engaged…again.”

Elvira’s eyes bulge in shock at the sight, before beaming. “Oh, congrats, [Name]! Who is he?” Then she also adopts that same icy, protective stare your brother just had, smile vanishing with such speed, you blink in surprise. “Please tell me he’s better than that sorry excuse for a man you once were betrothed to.”

“Way better,” you can easily say with confidence. “But, well…like I just said to Daniel before you arrived, there’s a lot more to it than just a simple engagement out of love.” In fact, ‘love’ has nothing to do with it.

She tilts her head confusedly at her, passing a jar of peanut butter to Daniel for him to put in the cupboard. “How do you mean? Is it like an engagement of convenience or something?”

“…You’ve hit the nail right on the head,” you murmur, awkwardly scratching your cheek. “I’ll go into detail over lunch, if you’re happy to have me.”

“Of course! Like we’d kick you out.” Elvira grabs a pot down from the cabinet below the sink and places it on the stove. “How’s Navia been? Considering the entire ordeal after Lyney and Lynette’s trial.”

Until the moment you all sit down, you engage in small talk and lighthearted conversation before picking the opportune moment to drop the enormous bomb of who your future husband is. You’re starting to regret choosing to tell them over food, because with Daniel and his tendency to be dramatic when reacting to big news, he would probably choke on his boiled egg.

“Okay, now—who’ve you wooed this time?” Elvira jokes, setting the dish of salade niçoise down upon the middle of the dining table. You three take a seat, Daniel and Elvira beside one another, you across from them. Daniel passes the spoon to you first, and you scoop some of the salad onto your plate. Huffing out an attempt at a laugh, you shake your head. “I haven’t wooed anyone. This engagement isn’t out of…love.” You avoid their perplexed looks. “It’s of convenience, because I met the man at a ball, we danced and—”

“Hold on…” Daniel narrows his eyes at you. “Didn’t we hear something similar in the newspaper? That the Chief Justice danced with some woman at a ball about two or so months back?”

You purse your lips, inhaling a deep, readying breath. “Yes. That woman was me.”

Elvira’s fork clattered to the table from her hold. “What?! You’re kidding! And—and…”

“Let me explain. Neuvill—I mean, His Honour is under a lot of pressure from our Archon to marry.” You avert your gaze to the tablecloth, worrying your bottom lip as you search for the right words. “Navia and the Duke of Meropide managed to dupe him into dancing with me, albeit unwillingly, and that’s what sparked the rumours. I’m still unidentified…until we marry and his marriage is announced to the public.”

“Oh my…” Elvira holds a hand over her mouth in shock, while Daniel gapes at you, a piece of lettuce hanging from his lips. You’d find the sight grossly comical if it weren’t for the current conversation topic. “So…how did he propose to you?”

“It’s…a long story, but put simply, we talked in the garden privately later that night and he explained his circumstances to me. I saw no other way out other than agreeing.” You stab at a half of a cherry tomato, appetite nonexistent, absentminded. “Things have escalated thanks to the Hydro Archon. I even had an argument with her over how ridiculous this whole thing is. She keeps on insisting—but I managed to make her agree to us not having a ceremony. Oh, and it’s only for a year. So it isn’t as big of a deal as it seems.”

“You’re not getting married…for love?” Daniel’s tone is quiet, his expression dismayed. “I’d hoped you’d moved on and had finally found the right person, sister.”

You give him an emotionless, rueful grin. “Well, I haven’t, and I’m only doing this because I’ve no choice. I’d never pursue another relationship again if it weren’t for my betrothal to the Chief Justice. And when the twelve months are up, he and I shall part ways and have no reason to interact again. I will grow old, he will not, so this entire thing is utterly incompatible anyway. He is a good man, and we get along very well, but this is more like a business agreement than anything else.”

Your brother and his wife stare at you in silence, and you feel judged. Uncomfortable, you force yourself to take a sip of water. “You don’t need to look at me like that. I’m managing just fine.”

“…If you say so.” Daniel sounds utterly unconvinced, before giving a decided shrug. “Either way, I must meet with the Iudex and have a chat with him myself. He’s going to become my brother-in-law soon, anyway.”

You want to argue, but he has a reasonable point. “…Alright, I’ll send him a letter and ask him for some time for you both to meet. Don’t pull anything funny, now.”

Daniel gives you a look. “We’ll just be having an amicable, brotherly chat about his future wife—my sister.” Sometimes you get tired of how protective your brother has always been—especially since the incident with your ex-fiancé. You appreciate how much he cares for you, considering he’s the only family you have left, but you doubt he’ll get anywhere trying to intimidate the Chief Justice of Fontaine.

“Well, good luck with that, Daniel.” Elvira seems to think the same as you, as she gives your brother a smack on his upper arm with the back of her hand. “As if you’re gonna exert superiority on the Iudex. He’ll probably think you’re an idiot.”

“No, he won’t.” It’s beginning to annoy you how much people put Neuvillette in a box; acting as if he’s some kind of authoritarian that is void of emotion. Someone who you just cannot approach, someone you’ll never be able to relate to—and while some element of that is true, considering his impartiality and aversion to pursuing relationships with others, he is not the man people have painted him out to be. He is by no means cruel or unfeeling. And he understands more than people think. “He will see where you’re coming from. Neuvillette would never consider you a fool. He’s just not that kind of person.”

The couple stares at you, silenced, before you realise just how your words have come off. “He and I are friends. The man has been exceptionally kind to me. Please don’t judge him too harshly.”

Daniel relents—however, he does not lose that sceptical look in his eye. “Okay. But I’ll leave my personal conclusions for when I personally speak with the Iudex.”

The judge is now getting judged, you think humorlessly, shoving a forkful of the salad in your mouth. I wonder how he’ll react? I’d better warn him in advance in the letter.

Elvira, ever the peacemaker, eventually brings up another topic to diffuse the tense atmosphere, and you spend the rest of the afternoon catching up with your brother and sister-in-law. However, nothing proved successful in repudiating the premonition brewing within you at the inevitable meeting between your brother and Neuvillette—and for what would be to come subsequent to that.

・・・・

To Mademoiselle [Name],

Thank you for your letter regarding your brother’s intention to meet with me. I understand and respect his reasoning and why he would want to discuss this matter with me personally. That is what family is for, is it not? I have time on Monday at 1:30PM, if that is a suitable day for us to gather.

Please have a pleasant rest of your week.

Chief Justice Neuvillette.

“Well, there you go, Daniel.” You shove the letter towards your brother, crossing your arms. “There’s his confirmation. He’s happy to meet with you. What, you gonna criticise his handwriting now?”

You can’t understand how your brother has decided to adamantly dislike the Chief Justice when he’s never even met him. You suppose Daniel never really had much of an opinion of the man in the first place, but now it’s really down below par. For what reason, you really don’t see—as Neuvillette has never done anything personal to neither you nor your brother.

Daniel huffs once he reads the letter. “It’s too brief. Maybe he could’ve complimented you a bit more? Or maybe even me?”

You squeeze your eyes shut in aggravation. “For the last time, Daniel—this is a marriage of convenience! There are no strings attached—no love, no feelings! And Neuvillette is nothing like that man. Save your harsh judgements of him until you’ve actually talked with the guy.”

“I don’t need to have talked with him—I can already gather from just the way he acts in the Opera Epiclese that he’ll neglect you—”

The sharp sound of a smack! resonates around the street, earning stares from passersby. Daniel lets out a yelp of pain and rubs the back of his head, recoiling from you, eyes wide. You have your hand raised threateningly, silently warning him that another one is sure to come if he keeps up this rot. “When we are in his office, you will talk to him respectfully, you will not try to one-up him or demand anything from him, and you will not, under any circumstance, say anything about my ex. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” your brother immediately answers subduedly, looking like a little kid who just got a good scolding—which he, essentially, did.

“Glad to hear it,” you curtly say. You both are currently outside the Palais Mermonia, and it is Monday, the day you’re meeting with the Chief Justice—well, your brother is meeting with him. You’re just going in with him to keep a hawk’s eyes on him, to make sure he doesn’t do anything out of line—something you have a feeling he’s going to do anyway, regardless of your warnings.

To think I have to escort this manchild in there myself, you both ascend the steps to the entrance of the Palais Mermonia, twenty minutes before your scheduled appointment with the Iudex. He’s married and with a pregnant wife and older than me, yet he always acts like he’s still twelve!

You’ve simply resolved yourself to believe this is the ultimate dynamic siblings will always have. There’ll always be one keeping the other in check—regardless when your said sibling acted as your legal guardian until you were eighteen, and then it was like you had to babysit him from then on.

Whenever Elvira isn’t around to whack him over the head with a rolled up newspaper when he acts out, the responsibility falls to you. And it appears there’ll be quite a bit of pinching where he’s most ticklish to keep him from opening his big mouth and humiliating both of you in front of the Iudex in the upcoming meeting.

You have to keep a hand on Daniel’s sleeve as you practically drag him in. You both trudge up to the front desk where the same Melusine, Sedene, sits, going about her duties happily.

“Hello again, Sedene,” you smile, pulling your brother to a stop up beside you. “We’ve come for our appointment with the Iudex at one-thirty.”

“Ah! Of course, give me just a moment, I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.” The Melusine promptly hops down from her chair and begins to toddle over to the Chief Justice’s office door. “Take a seat over there for now.”

You thank her and immediately turn to sit down, leaving your brother no room to make any potential moves. “Remember what I said? About speaking to him respectfully?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, [Name].” Daniel rolls his eyes, but quickly fixes his tone and expression at the murderous look you send him. “Ahem. Yes. I won’t speak out of turn.”

You don’t answer, not exactly satisfied, still anxious about how he’s going to act around the Iudex. You’d probably have to stick around after your brother leaves to personally apologise to Neuvillette.

“Alright, you two, come along now—the Iudex is ready for you.” You both snap to attention when Sedene’s friendly voice calls from before Neuvillette’s door. “Head on in.”

The two of you quickly head into his office, the door shutting behind you. Neuvillette is at his desk, perusing some papers, before looking up and giving you both a closed-lipped, welcoming smile, standing and stepping around his desk to greet you. “Ah, Mademoiselle [Name], Monsieur.” Neuvillette holds out a hand to your brother to shake. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

You’re relieved to see Daniel give an equally amicable smile back and take Neuvillette’s hand to firmly shake it. “No, sir, it’s my honour to make your acquaintance. I was a bit shocked at the news of your betrothal when my sister told me, you see.”

Thank goodness, he’s being mature. You side-eye your brother in the meantime, warily watching him like a hawk. One wrong move and he’s dead meat, I tell you.

“Of course, as anyone would likely be.” Neuvillette turns and gestures to the sofas, welcoming you both to take a seat. “Please, sit. Would you like a drink?”

“Oh! Yes, please.” You can tell just by Daniel’s elated expression that he thinks Neuvillette’s going to pour him a glass of brandy—when, in reality, it’s going to be a glass of personally selected and imported water all the way from Natlan or something. You amusedly watch the Chief Justice do just what you predicted—lift a glass jug foggy with condensation, the water inside pleasantly chilled, and elegantly pour it into a drinking glass. You see Daniel blink in confusion, but politely accepts the drink either way, subtly taking a whiff of the liquid inside just to make sure—ultimately frowning even more in puzzlement. Meanwhile, Neuvillette’s expression is content, the corners of his lips lifted into a small, pleased smile, his aura nothing like his usual intimidating, grave countenance. You also take the glass offered to you with a soft thank-you and smile, trying hard not to cackle at Daniel’s baffled reactions.

Neuvillette also takes a seat upon the armchair having been previously pulled up in front of the sofa so he can casually chat without being on the other side of his office, far away. You, opting to remain silent and leaving it to the two men to initiate the conversation, lean back into your own seat and eye Daniel amusedly, foot purposefully close to his shin if there is a need to kick him.

“Now, I think I already know why you’ve requested to meet with me,” begins Neuvillette, inclining his head towards Daniel in a respectful gesture. “And I completely understand why. I am happy to explain to you the reality of the situation—or, should I say, predicament, your sister and I are currently in.”

“Ahem, yes,” Daniel coughs lightly, awkwardly. He seems to have taken my warnings to heart. You mercifully shift your foot a little further away from his leg, not so on-guard now. “[Name] has told me the brief version. May I inquire as to where your relationship with my sister truly lies?”

Neuvillette doesn’t seem bothered at all by any of his questions, much to your relief. “I can assure you that this is a business transaction of sorts. Our relationship is strictly professional—however, Mademoiselle [Name] and I have mutually agreed to become friends.”

“We both believe it to make things easier for us while we are forced into intimate proximity as part of the act Lady Furina is impelling us to put up,” you inform your brother. Neuvillette nods in agreement, and you continue. “We have a contract. It has all the necessary clauses towards making sure this ‘marriage’ remains chaste and systematic.”

You really don’t know why you both have to explain yourselves to Daniel so much, but here you and Neuvillette are. Daniel looks from you to Neuvillette with clear scepticism. “…Okay. I’ll be honest, then.” You immediately tense at your brother’s tone. He looks the Iudex straight in the eye. “Initially, monsieur, I came to suss you out. To see what kind of man my sister is marrying. I didn’t expect you two to just be heading into a marriage of convenience; like this is some kind of third-rate romance novel from Yae Publishing House.” You could’ve sworn you saw a flicker of surprise and slight amusement in Neuvillette’s mauve eyes at your brother’s unintentionally ironic statement. Daniel doesn’t appear to notice, as the look is gone as quickly as it came. “And, well, I’m sure you can understand why I, as her older brother, would be so protective. You see, five years ago, she was—”

You immediately kick Daniel’s leg—aiming for his shin, accidentally hitting his ankle instead, earning a slight yelp from him. Neuvillette blinks in surprise, sweeping his perplexed amethyst gaze to you. You smile tightly. “We don’t need to go that deep into it. What he’s saying is that he’s wary, which is perfectly fine. However,” you grit out the word, turning to Daniel. “He ought to have had quite enough explained to him by now. So, therefore, I believe this meeting is ov—”

“Wait just a minute, [Name],” Neuvillette interrupts. “I believe I’m owed an explanation. What happened five years ago that has made you all so cautious? I’d like to know.”

“Neuvillette, please don’t pry—”

“Five years ago, my sister was in a relationship and got engaged,” Daniel says over the top of you, having recovered from rubbing his sore ankle. You whip around sharply, drilling him with a warning glare to shut up. Your brother ignores you, and panic rises. “Her ex-fiancé was a very bad man. That…” He reciprocates your look with a stern one of his own. “Is all I’ll say. You’ll tell him in due course, right, [Name]?”

No, I won’t, but you’re not exactly sure about that yourself. Clenching your jaw, you send a guarded look the Iudex’s way, and he silently stares back with a clear-eyed, unreadable gaze. That makes you quickly avert yours back to your brother. “Depends. This is for twelve months only. I don’t see why—with all due respect, of course, Your Honour—” your tone turns a tad sardonic, and Neuvillette notices, giving you a sidelong look. “—He needs to know. It’s not that big of a deal, anyway.”

Neuvillette lifts one silver brow slowly, as if to say, really? while Daniel gazes at you incredulously. They’re both dead silent, staring at you, and you press your lips together awkwardly. “Five years is a…long time. It won’t affect this contractual relationship at all, so I don’t see why it matters.”

You know that Neuvillette has already connected the dots—from your initial reluctance to agree to this entire ordeal, the panic attack at the opera, to the background check he’d have done on you, where all the undetailed but necessary information would’ve already been recorded—he clearly does not believe your words. Save for Daniel’s dubious, open-mouthed stare that really isn’t helping your case, you can’t say you agree with your own words yourself—because, ever since the time alone with Neuvillette after your anxiety attack, he hasn’t really left your thoughts. The way he dealt with the situation so calmly and then stayed with you afterwards really got you thinking—this man seems trustworthy. Is it worth the risk…?

“So, do we have your blessing, brother?” The awkward silence has gotten too much to bear. Your words make Daniel snap his mouth shut and blink, before shaking his head in indecision. “I don’t know…I don’t want you hurt.”

“I’m not going to get hurt, Daniel.” Is it really that hard to understand? “This marriage is not real. So there is no problem posed. We’re going to have to go through with it anyway, as the contract’s already signed.”

You’ve noticed Neuvillette’s silence so far, and you try not to let it bother you too much. He’s just observing the both of you quietly, expression unreadable—which makes it all the worse. You’re just hoping he gets the hint and doesn’t prolong this tedious conversation any longer.

“Well, you’re an adult, [Name].” You almost sigh in relief at how your brother finally decides to relent; shaking his head and sighing wearily. “I just fear you haven’t learned your lesson.” You freeze up at his words, blood now ice-cold in your veins—but neither seem to have noticed, as Daniel has turned to the Chief Justice. “This may be a ‘contractual’ relationship, but please take good care of her. She needs it.”

You hardly hear him—and you don’t catch Neuvillette’s reply. You’re too busy thinking about your brother’s words.

I haven’t learned my lesson? Yes, the wound is still only scabbed over, the inside still bloody and vulnerable. Yes, you’re a fool for thinking that keeping all men at arm’s length and never pursuing another relationship would help you move on. And yes, you know how weak you and your heart is—especially to the actions of a man that appears genuine, as if truly derived from the depths of his heart with sincere feelings and motives; one who looks at you with such soft, feeling amethyst eyes, and would be sure to engulf your small hands within his large, warm ones and hold on tight, never to let go. The words hit real close to home, too close—and now, you’re at a loss for what to do.

It’s like everything you fabricated yourself—that image that you had illustrated with your own hand, that mirage you’d dreamed up while wallowing within the depths of your darkest memories as mere, weak fragments of comfort—finally had that cruel brick of reality thrown at its feeble glass. And when glass shatters, it goes everywhere—splintered into millions of tiny bits and pieces, impossible to ever find and pick up and put back together again and into its original state. The mess subsequent is nonetheless bothersome—you must be careful to not cut yourself with the larger shards, the edges sharp and cruel; and beware the smaller pieces, as they are so easy to get into your skin, into your bloodstream, posing great medical setbacks.

Your heart is guarded by a glass box. One wall of it has now been broken, and the shards have embedded themselves deeply into your heart’s flesh, dealing irreparable damage.

Your heart is struggling to beat. A major, detrimental part of its shield has been demolished, leaving it to leap in fear—to race in dread. It’s a conscious muscle; if the glass box—the one that protects your soul from further harm, when the seams holding your unmended heart together through the middle are so loose—collapsed entirely, leaving only one blow left to vitiate your heart once and for all, what will you do then?

They say the heart knows what it wants. Would they also say the heart knows when it’s about to disintegrate?

You’re snapped from your abysmal thoughts when someone pats your shoulder. You look up at Daniel, who gestures towards the door. “Time to head off, [Name]. Thank you for having us, Monsieur Neuvillette.”

“Of course.” You don’t miss the concerned look he sends your way, before it is masked with politeness again. “Have a wonderful rest of your day, you two.”

With a quick goodbye and smile, you and your brother exit the Palais Mermonia; Daniel letting out a large sigh of relief. “Well, glad that’s over. I think you’re marrying a good guy—hey, [Name], you okay?”

“I’m heading home now, Daniel,” you say quietly, avoiding his eyes. “I’m…tired.”

“Oh, okay.” He blinks, clearly not fully believing you, before conceding. “Well, I’ll tell Elvira you said hi. Make sure to eat dinner, alright?”

“Yeah.” You’re already walking away, leaving with a feeble wave. “See ya, Dan.”

You leave your brother standing there, confused at your swift change of mood, while you cradle what’s left of your heart’s shield.

What will happen if my soul is shattered?

It’s simple: you won’t recover.

hey guys!! sorry if this seems rushed, it's because im going away for the weekend and won't be able to write, so I had to get this out the door asap. it's almost 11pm for me so if I don't hurry up and get this uploaded my parents will barge in here and take my laptop off me 🥰

say hello to your brother!! he'll be showing up a lot, so better get used to him LOLL

yeah, this wasn't even meant to be that angsty. oh well. sometimes things just don't go to plan (wink wonk)

so! hope you enjoyed, however short this may be. again, tyasm for the sweet messages on here and on ao3. it's appreciated!!

taglist!

@shiroonekoo @just-here-reading @avyakaslana @eternal-dokja @confusedparticle @xitrinez @tanspostsblog @vcatson @sek0ya @loving-august @mxyarylla @ultigoblin @constantlyoverthinking @pvbbyb0y @lynettezzp @esthelily @furblrwurblr @sangoqueenkoko

#genshin impact #neuvillette #chief justice neuvillette #genshin #fontaine #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 3 months

Text

wip wednesday sketch dump

tagged by: @ivymarquis @josephseedismyfather @cassietrn @direwombat @finding-comfort-in-rain @cloudofbutterflies92 @kyber-infinitygems @josephslittledeputy (and likely others, I have been very absent as of late...sorry)

okay, so uh clearly the art won for that poll (heh, always knew the cod fic was just for me... anyhoo) here's the sketchy sketches for oc kiss week. They are very, VERY rough still so please forgive

I won't run with the usual tag list but if you see this feel free to consider yourself tagged

(Top: Kit and @dickytwister oc Elliot Fletcher, Kit and @statichvm oc Katherine O'Neill Middle: Rory and @statichvm oc Lily Watt, Rory and @direwombat oc Saoirse Monaghan Bottom: Kit and @theelderhazelnut oc Ombra, Kit and @florbelles oc Lyra Fairbanks)

*I still have a few more sketches to get done, so if you were in my replies asking for some art, its on the way*

going to tag @strangefable @isobel-thorm and @direwombat for the cod stuff since y'all were kind enough to indulge me in a little scene I wrote for chapter 11 (even if I'm still supposed to be working on chapter 9 lol)

“You were jealous, weren't you?”

“Of course I was bloody jealous, Rory. Look at you, can you really blame me? I've been with my fair share of women, but Jesus, none of them can hold a match to you, my girl.”

“Your girl?”

“Listen, I've been trying my damnedest to keep my composure here. You think I went into this expecting to have this happen with my subordinate? It's rule number one and I'm here breaking it for you.” He sighed. “I had to listen to you in my fuckin’ ear, Rory. It was a goddamn nightmare.”

“And so what, you want to have that be the foundation for a relationship? The fact that I nearly died and you had to pull me out of there? That’s the foot you want to start on? It’s like I said last night, this is a dangerous game to be playing and I am not worth the trouble. I’m not worth your career.”

“And why’s that, eh?”

“I’m a fucking mess, that’s why. I’ve got nightmares, anxiety attacks, tremors, flashbacks. I’m in no place to start anything with anyone. And certainly not with someone who’s life could be upended because of me.”

“I don’t care.” He shrugged and gave a slight thrust of his pelvis as he crossed his arms over his chest. Obstinate, pigheaded right to the bitter end, refusing to back down from anything. This was Captain John Price type behavior through and through.

“What do you mean ‘you don’t care’?”

“You think all that’s gonna keep me away from you?”

“Well it should.”

“Why?” He lowered his head, looking up at her through his brow. Constantly challenging her.

“Trust me, after several nights of no sleep from me waking up with nightmares, you’ll understand.”

His eyes narrowed for a brief moment, the crows feet by his eyes creasing. “Someone else left you ‘cause o’that?”

Rory grimaced and bit down on her molars. Her eyes fell to the floor as she turned her head away from him. She didn’t have to say anything, her body language gave it all away.

Price’s face darkened at her reaction. If it was up to him he’d hunt down whoever it was and teach them a lesson, but that isn’t what she would want to hear. “Christ, don’t tell me someone actually did that?”

“Of course someone did that, John. Most people who see that side of me either think of me like I’m holding on by a goddamn thread or I'm just another broken soldier. And if it's not that, it's the whole horde of other shit in my head.” She rubbed at her brow. “People don’t want to fall in love with someone like me. It’s too hard to do.”

“Well, lucky for you I’m a bit of a stubborn bastard. I’m willin’ to put in the hard work. I can be goddamn relentless when need be.”

Rory scoffed, “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

He gave her a little crooked grin and stepped forward, cupping her face in his large hands, his thumbs stroking her cheeks softly. “I’m only gonna tell you this once, darlin’.” He leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. “I don’t care about how much trouble you might be, you hear me? I have to have you, Rory. I need you to be mine, yeah? Simple as.”

It was her turn to ask the question. “Why?”

“Because if there’s anyone who’s going to understand what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, it's me. I wanna protect you. I wanna make sure somethin’ like this never happens again. I can’t even take the thought of you bein’ with someone else besides me.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

He nodded his head slightly. “Well, I’m patient. Persistent. I can wait as long as I have to.”

“Fucking hell. You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not after what I saw last night.”

#wip wednesday #wip art #oc kiss week wips #i'm sorry they all look so rough still #the lyra and kit one is def the closest to being done #just needs finishing touches and blending and stuff #skelly writes #fic: all along the watchtower #oc: kit cross #oc: rory sinclair

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sinditia · 2 years

Text

It's a widely known and often memed statistic that Tony Stark has never dated anyone older than twenty-five-years old. The reliability with which all his relationships degrade within weeks of his partners' 25th birthday is truly comical to the entire internet-using world, except to two people: Tony Stark himself, and his current boyfriend, Peter Parker.

Peter knew of Tony's history upon entering a relationship with the older man, of course. He's Gen Z, born with the power of the internet in the palm of his hand. He was 21 when he first met 46-year-old Tony Stark. He knew he had an expiry date. But he was young and Tony was funny and smart and nice and so unbelievably hot. Peter could have a good time with him for however brief it may be.

Tony, on the other hand, was prepared to quit dating entirely when he was dumped yet again shortly after spending a small fortune on a diamond necklace for his ex's birthday. She was nice enough to try to give it back the night she left him, but he refused. Maybe she can sell it and use it towards the down payment for a house or whatever it is that "serious adults" do.

Because that's the thing the internet doesn't talk about, how people date Tony Stark for a good time and not for a long time. Oh it's fun to get invited to high society galas and travel to beautiful places around the world and be showered with lavish, expensive gifts. But when people decide it's time to settle down, make commitments, have a family, they don't want to do it with a man like Tony Stark.

Peter is too beautiful for Tony to resist, though. And as Tony got to know him - just how sweet, kind-hearted, and absolutely prodigy-level genius the young man is - Tony knows Peter is entirely too good for him to keep. Tony knows his heart will inevitably be broken again down the line, but hey, it's better to have loved and lost and all that.

Right?

It's a wonderful few years. Perfect, even.

Peter never imagined he would find the love of his life in his early twenties but here he is. Tony Stark's incredible body and insane stamina and big, fat bank account are great perks for sure. But it's his quirks, his passion, his work ethic, even his flaws that make Peter fall even deeper in love. It seems like the only flaw of Tony's that Peter can't get over is the fact that the man obviously prefers them young. And it's not something Peter can ever accept or change about himself. The thing about puppies is that they always grow into dogs.

Tony throws Peter the biggest 25th birthday party the city has ever seen. No expense was spared. Everyone was out to celebrate, family and friends inside the venue, even the vultures outside waiting for their breakup, jokes at the ready.

There's just one couple whose happiness was subdued. It's a melancholy that hovers over them like a stormcloud. Each bout of lovemaking feels like the last.

With every kiss Peter is saying, please let me stay.

With every touch Tony is saying, please don't go.

Tony is the one who caves. This has gone enough for too long. Either way, Peter will be the last person he'll ever be with, the last person he'll ever love.

The engagement ring is a vintage piece of gold that once adorned Tony's own late mother. Tony hopes against hope that it doesn't become yet another piece of jewelry to bookmark another heartbreak.

But Peter says yes. Of course, he says yes. Few people are lucky enough to find a love like he had. Even fewer had found it so quickly.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting for so long," Peter says.

"It's worth it to finally find you," Tony says.

In the end, everyone is still right. Tony Stark has never dated anyone older than twenty-five-years old. But he will be married to one.

#starker #marsha writes

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brainlessrot · 2 years

Note

Hello!!! Your stuff is amazing!! You’re really good at characterization. I was wondering if you could do a hurt and comfort type thing with the freshman and ruggie where they accidentally make the reader cry? Thank you!

here you go @patterned-flannel! ty for the request <3

| Part 1, Ace, Deuce, Jack | <

| Part 2, Epel, Sebek, Ruggie |

First Years + Ruggie - They accidentally make you cry - Part1

Ace ;;

It had been a stressful week, almost like every other, but even worse. Thanks to the "oh-so-generous" headmage, your weekly wage had been reduced, and you were having a hard time managing money. That, on top of your already stressful enough studies and extra courses, were crushing you.

Now, you really didn't mind alchemy practical classes, Crewel had taken a liking and an almost parental role to you, and every once in a while helped you or gave you some pointers to make your classes easier.

But, lucky you, today was an assignment in pairs, and he couldn't help you with anything. And, even more, your partner for this work was Ace, look, you truly cherish him as a friend, but he's extremely annoying and a little shit.

He could be a good student, he truly could if he tried, but that's the problem, he doesn't. Therefore, it was all dumped unceremoniously onto your hands, and the assignment was pending on you. You tried to work fast, asking Ace to get the materials needed closer to you, which he surprisingly did without complaining, but not soon enough.

And so, your complicated potion exploded- right in front of your face. At least you made sure to keep your glasses correctly on your face, but it still stung on your skin, but not nearly as much as the fact that you failed.

You pushed through Ace to get to the sink, him following suit- but not to clean his face like you. Oh no, he had other intentions.

"Dude! What was that?! You're gonna make me fail this class!" You tried to ignore him as best as you could, water dripping down your elbows into your lab coat, making it wet. Truly the Seven must hate you. "Oi! Are you even listening?! Or are you that dumb thst you're ignoring me?!"

That's it, no more.

You turned around, your face still wet as droplets dribbled down your skin to the neck of your uniform. Your pointy finger pushed Ace on his shoulder as you unleashed the contained anger you had for the last week and a half, telling him how annoying he was and that you could not believe he was so, so lazy, but even had the balls to accuse you of destroying his "hard work" when all he had been doing was picking his nose!

Your chest heaved, your voice calming down, some other students were staring at you, and that did not make you feel better. Instead, you felt shame and guilt creep up your body, tears ready to be spilled from your eyes, you were so tired and so embarrassed.

You sat down on one of the stools, hiding your face on your hands, elbows propped on top of your knees. Your shoulders shook as you started to quietly sob, Ace in front of you, still scared from your outburst, but now worried for his friend.

He grabbed you by your shoulder, voice soft as he spoke.

"Hey, come on," he pulled you up, putting his arm around your shoulders to shield you from the other's critical gaze. "Let's go out of class for a second to catch our breath, 'kay?" He didn't even have to ask Crewel, since he only nodded when he saw him help you walk out of the door.

"I'm sorry." He left you, back facing the wall, as he pushed you down with him, making you sit between him and the classroom. "I was being a dick, a terrible and annoying little shit, I'm sorry for not being considerate or a good friend to you." He hugged you, letting your head rest at the crook of his neck, patting your back gently as he whispered sweet nothings mixed with many "sorry"s and "I'll hide that damn crow's body"s.

Deuce ;;

Deuce was helping you carry groceries back to Ramshackle dorm. The headmage had cut part of your budget, but Sam came in clutch with a great deal to save your ass, almost everything you bought had a discount! You could manage with the things you had bought with the few madols you had left from the last time Crowley had paid you.

Now, you each were carrying a couple of bags, and… you did not see where you were walking. Your feet getting caught in a stray root that had broken past the pavement and was growing outwards, being a menace. This made it seem as if the school was low in funds, which was partially true, thanks to the headmaster’s… lavish vacations he took rather seriously.

You saw your whole life flash before your eyes as you fell forward, this feeling could not even compare to when you fought against overblots. Yeah, your life was in danger there, but what was in danger now was your hard earned groceries that you blew your back working for!

You watched from the floor as a couple of fruits rolled out, a jar clinking as it collided against the pavement, and the heart retching sound of eggs breaking. Eggs cracking.

“NOOO!” Deuce left the bags he was carrying to rummage through your discarded ones, his hands finding the source of the horrible sound. He turned to look at you, his hand smudged with egg yolk, the slimy egg white clinging to the end of his sleeves. “YOU BROKE THE EGGS DUDE.”

Your face fell, making contact with the floor, you were too tired, too worn out to care. And Deuce’s screams of agony as the chicks-to-be had been forcefully killed off was only making your head hurt.

The pavement was hard against your cheek, but you had no intention of moving, instead quietly letting some stray tears fall down to make a dark wet mark against the grey floor. This made Deuce notice you, panicking for a couple of seconds while his mind raced thinking of what to do, the eggs were already ruined, and you were sobbing in silence laying flat on the floor.

"Hey, hey it's okay, I'll buy you some more eggs!" He tried his best at cheering you up, pulling the broken eggs out of the bag and putting the things that were still good enough to eat back inside. "Wait, I might have to ask Ace to lend me some money… but that's okay! Because the eggs are for you!"

When he saw you sitting upright, but still not smiling, only wiping tears off of your face, he continued with his attempts of making you feel better.

"Hmm, I know what's better! I'll ask Trey to make you a cake, it has eggs! I will help him bake it, it will be great! so please, don't cry any more?" Even if the way he tried to make you feel better wasn't the best one, the fact that he still tried to made a small smile appear on your face.

Jack ;;

Jack had invited you to train with him that morning, and you, unknowingly of what would befall you, accepted, after all, Jack is your friend! He would do you no wrong!

WRONG, terribly far off of the truth. Even if you had the capacity of an Olympic level athlete he would fold you three times. You were breathing heavy, running around the magift training grounds at Savanaclaw, you were now on your 20th lap, whereas he was on his… 78th.

You had started running in a sprint, trying to keep up with him, but not soon after the third lap you were already lagging behind.

Your legs had long been hurting and demanding you stop, but every time you tried to walk, least sit down, Jack was behind you, giving your shoulder a squeeze and pushing you forwards, trying his best to motivate you to keep running.

However, he easily seemed to forget the main problem: you were nothing but a mere human, and he was a beastman. The difference in your physical abilities was outstanding, but in his mind, too small to actually care, in his mind, it made no difference at all.

But he was wrong, oh, so far from the truth, your human knees were crying from doing that much activity and they wouldn't last much longer.

And, as if you jinxed it, your knees gave out from under you, falling forward. Your knees stung as they came in contact with the dry dirt of the training grounds, pretty sure it had less moisture than when Leona used his special magic.

Your hands tried to support your weight as you bent forward, but even them were shaking uncontrollably. He came running at you, one of his hands on your shoulder and the other on your arm, trying to pull you up. But you shook him off, telling him that you were too worn out and that if you tried to walk you would just fall flat on your ass.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic." He crossed his arms as he looked at you from his position, at least he shadowed the sun for you. "You have to be better if you don't want to be so weak." Even if that was meant as an "I care about you and I don't want to see you get hurt", he said it in such a degrading way.

You glared at him, and that made his ears fall, before he could ask what were you staring at, you told him that he was being a dickhead and that he could continue training without your "weak ass" since you didn't want to make him lag him back, your tone dripping in sarcasm.

He Walked behind you as you waddled over to the stands, you wanted to leave, but your legs were too tired.

"Hey," You ignored him, your hand reaching towards your backpack. "Oi," You uncapped your water bottle and took a long sip. "Prefect, I'm sorry."

That's when you looked at him from the corner of your eye.

"I'm… Sorry." his ears were down, flattened against his hair, his tail lacked the usual movement, instead laying inert in between his legs. "I shouldn't have said it like that… I, I care about you." He was fiddling around with his hands, not looking at you directly. "I'm sorry, you're not weak."

A fond smile found itself on your face. Even if they sometimes acted like idiots, they were your idiots, and that included Jack. You patted his head, between his ears, giggling as you saw his tail wagging again.

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scarrabear · 8 months

Text

QUOGAN HEADCANONS PART 2

hi again!!! I'm back with part 2. I honestly expected to finish my thoughts but yeah I talk a lot and just have so many thoughts soooo I'm still not done!

College Years

Logan and Michael helped Quinn and her family set up her dorm room (she has her own room but has communal bathrooms)

Logan buys his first condo to live in for college years with the plan of using it as an investment property in the future. (This could be the apartment we see Quinn at in Zoey 102??)

Logan gifted Quinn a gold necklace of his name and Quinn got him a (vegan) leather bracelet with her name on it before move in day!

Logan was very intimidated at first and didn't think he was smart enough for UCLA but Quinn and his group of friends helped encourage him.

Quinn was nervous about making friends and was one of very few girls in her class at Caltech. Logan and the gang (especially Zoey and Lola) helped boost her confidence and help block out any sexism she would endure as a women in STEM.

Their first semester there was some uncertainty on both ends on if their relationship would last, plus people kept telling them "oh high school relationships fail just dump them". Scheduling time to speak to one another on the phone and in person meet ups was hard at first but the two realized how worth it their love was.

Quinn realized a month into her first semester that no guy compared to Logan in terms of attentiveness. Logan realized how truly lucky he was to have Quinn after only spending a few weeks in school listening to his classmates *try* to sound smart.

After the first year, Quinn got a summer internship at a TekMate (currently in a crisis competing with the iPhone) and this began her working her way up the company. Logan worked as a producer's assistant for one of his father's films aka this being one of the most humbling experiences for him.

^^ that summer, Quinn lived with Logan in his condo that first summer and yeah the two had lots of sex but also learned what being in an adult relationship consists of (budgeting, grocery shopping, chores, etc.) Quinn was also saving up to rent her own place.

During Logan's 3rd year at UCLA in my mind is where he meets Jared (a new character in Zoey 102 and one of his groomsmen), the son of fellow rich/successful movie producers and Malcolm asks him to help adjust to UCLA. The two become close immediately and Logan introduces him to Quinn like a week after knowing each other.

Jared and Quinn are both gleeks. Quinn only started watching because of the character Quinn Fabray and they get Logan on board too. Quinn dresses up as a cheerio one halloween and Jared and Logan are Warblers.

In 102, Jared is confirmed gay and has a longtime partner. Back in 2010-ish, Jared was probably scared shitless to come out to Logan but wanted to because he started seeing someone, presumably his partner. Logan was the one to ask Jared "so are you and (insert name)..." to which jared opens his eyes and Logan interrupts trying to calm him down saying "its totally cool if you are! Quinn is from Seattle you know so she's cool with it too!" this causes Jared to tear up and the two share a bro hug.

Logan and Quinn start becoming more and more comfortable in his own masculinity/femininity respectively and their sexualities.

Every summer up until graduation Quinn worked at TekMate, eventually being offered a position as an invention consultant at age 23. Logan threw her a huge party.

Logan dealt with accusations all through college that he only got in because his father bribed the school...he ended up graduating with a solid B+ average.

Quinn graduated top of her class wow who's shocked not me

Post College Years/Before Engagement

Logan continues to buy up real estate as investment properties but mainly lives in one "starter" home in The Hollywood Hills. Quinn lives in Logan's first condo (rent free) and the two have sleepovers quite literally every night. Their friends and family keep harassing them about why they don't just move in together but the two are adamant about it not feeling "the right time" yet, ie: Quinn establishing herself and wants to be financially steady and Logan respecting her space but also building up his producing credentials.

Logan proposed for the first time not long after they graduated to which Quinn said she wasn't ready yet. This prompted them to have the discussion about living separately for a while. Not only did this make their relationships stronger, but helped them grow as individuals. (Logan kept the engagement ring)

Like in the movie, Logan was openly stating he wanted to marry Quinn but respected her needs. She probably wanted to establish her own name in the tech world before being known as JUST "Logan Reese's wife". Quinn always reassured him though she would eventually say yes and would let him know when she was ready.

They buy their first home together after 10 years of dating (age 27). Around this time as well, the CEO of TekMate announces they are stepping down from the position and they suggest Quinn be one of a select few to begin the training process to take over. Quinn is eventually chosen as the new CEO a year later at age 28, the youngest and first female in the company's history.

Shortly after Quinn becomes CEO, Camille (new character from Zoey 102 and one of her bridesmaids) is hired as head of marketing for TekMate. the two become fast friends and Quinn immediately introduces her to Logan who is just ecstatic. Camille also gets along great with Lola, Michael, Stacey, Mark, and Jared.

Logan entrusts Camille to text or call him whenever Quinn is stressed at work.

The idea of of developing the unbreakable see-through phone comes when at a party, Logan randomly wonders what would happen if he ran over his old iPhone with his new car (one of his new cars I should say).

on their anniversary every year, they take a trip to a different area of the world.

Logan and Quinn go all out for decorating their house for Halloween, Christmas, Hanukkah, and Valentines Day.

Lyric was the one who asked the couple the most on when they would get married.

When the unbreakable see through phone was getting closer and closer to launch, Forbes magazine cover, etc. is when Quinn felt she was truly established as "Quinn Pensky, the inventor" and when she told Logan she was ready to get married, he cried. He also told her he still wanted to propose to her to which she anxiously anticipated it.

Yeah Part 3 coming soon!!! Thanks again for reading you lovelies <3

#quogan #Quinn pensky #logan reese #quinn x logan #logan x quinn #zoey 102 #zoey 101 #nickelodeon #paramount+

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btsmfanfics · 6 months

Text

The Choreographer -- Pt. 15

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader | Jimin X Reader | Yoongi X Reader .

Rating: Explicit (not for this chapter though)

Warnings: angst, smut, protected vaginal intercourse, blowjobs, eating out, emotional outbursts, slut-shaming, burnout, more angst.

Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BTS tasked with taking over for the lead while on tour. You’d sacrificed everything for this job, and you didn’t want to risk it, but the temptation has proved to be too sweet.

Now you have to juggle the social, physical, and emotional consequences of your affairs. Jealousy between the members, social isolation, and potential feelings? No, that last one was not something you’d allow. You already had enough on your plate. You had to squash that down.

But feelings demand to be felt. And you cannot run away forever.

________

How I dumped all my trauma into a single fanfic.

Masterlist

______

When you finally awoke, it was nearing eleven o’clock. You didn’t have to be at the venue until two, though part of you wished you could just get the whole thing over with. Rip the band-aid off before you had a chance to let the anxiety fester. You weren’t going to be that lucky though.

You stretched your arms out in a yawn, hand brushing over Yoongi’s in the process.

“Morning,” he grumbled, turning over onto his side and throwing a pillow over his head. You could just barely see his mouth poking out from under it.

“Morning,” you said. You sat up, quickly realized you were not ready to get out of bed yet, and immediately laid back down.

You knew by now that Yoongi was not a morning person. Trying to strike a conversation with him at this time would be futile. This left you with a lot of time to let your mind wander.

At first, you replayed your actions last night. Did you regret what you and Yoongi had done? Certainly not. In fact, you were grateful for the experience the two of you shared.

That being said, you wished it hadn’t played out the way it had.

Hearing Jungkook at the door had been rough. You hated hurting him, but you were also angry with him for letting his jealousy get out of control again. Of course, you understood why he was upset. He was totally within his right to be angry, but causing a scene in the middle of the night like that was too much.

You knew what you were risking when you went to Yoongi’s room last night. You knew this was a possibility, but you also thought he’d been better at handling his jealousy recently.

Evidently not.

You groaned internally and ran your hand over your face. This whole thing had turned into such a mess. And it was about to get so much messier.

There was only one week left of the tour. You were confident you’d be able to make it through this last week, so long as nothing else major happened.

You knew tensions would be high with Jungkook, and he’d probably give you the cold shoulder all week, but you were prepared to deal with that.

What a mess.

Something about last night had done the trick, though. You felt oddly reinvigorated. Definitely dreading seeing Jungkook again, but you finally had the energy to handle that.

There was no point staying in bed. It’s not like you were going to get any more sleep in this state.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you trudged to the bathroom. You didn’t even bother asking Yoongi whether or not it was okay to take a shower. He’d have just chastised you for waking him up with such a stupid question.

The water was nice. You adjusted it so that it was near scalding, which was perfect for a second but then it was way too intense and you had to fiddle around with the settings for several moments before finally landing on the right temperature.

Standing was just not something you were interested in doing at all, you determined. No thank you. You sat in the tub and let the water tumble down over you, finding only the smallest amount of amusement in the drama, before acknowledging that you were indeed about to face probably your biggest challenge yet on this tour.

Fuuuuuuck.

Why?

You knew why, realistically. You had nobody to blame but yourself. And maybe Jungkook a little bit, but honestly this was your own fault, and you knew that your decisions would have consequences you’d have to face one day. You just thought you’d feel more ready when that time came.

You stayed in the shower for at least thirty minutes, if not longer. In that time, you contemplated running back to Korea no less than twelve times.

By the time you got out, Yoongi was awake, and had ordered room service for you both. You poured yourself a coffee and picked at a bowl of fruit, but you weren’t particularly hungry.

Yoongi noticed.

“Worried about today?” he asked. You nodded, not looking up from your coffee.

“Me too.”

“What do you think could happen?”

“For me? Probably an official reprimand. They’ll probably dock my pay. It’ll be a slap on the wrist, if anything.”

“And for me?” you asked.

He didn’t answer, but the look on his face told him he was thinking the same thing you were.

You could get fired for this.

It wasn’t just a distant possibility this time. Jungkook had alerted the entire hallway about his suspicions. Word was bound to get back to the label somehow, and when that happened, you knew the consequences would be severe.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing your hand, “no matter what happens, I’m going to be there for you. You know that, right? You’re still important to me, whether we work together or not.”

You had a hard time swallowing the lump that had risen in your throat. Coughing to clear it, you squared your shoulders and held your chin high.

“I knew what the risk was,” you said, more to yourself than to Yoongi. “I’m prepared to accept the consequences.”

“You tell ‘em,” he said.

You contemplated going back to your room, but by that point, the hallway was already bustling with activity, and the risk of you being seen and further incriminating yourself was high.

That meant having to borrow yet another pair of nondescript sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt from Yoongi and hoping nobody would notice you were in men’s clothing. Not that it was too big of a deal, since you regularly wore oversized clothes to rehearsal, but it still had you on edge.

“I honestly don’t know how I could ever repay you,” you said, thanking him. “You’ve done so much for me.”

Yoongi said nothing in return, but let his gaze drop to your chest and bounce back up again. He raised his eyebrows for effect.

You looked down to where his eyes had fixated and realized what he meant, flushing.

“You’re an asshole,” you said, but nevertheless, lifted your shirt. The look of glee on his face was most endearing as he bounded forward and cupped your breasts in his hands.

“I will never get tired of these,” he said, leaning down to nuzzle his face against them.

You moved backwards in unison until your knees hit the back of the bed and you both fell onto it, Yoongi still fully enraptured by your breasts.

“So you’re a boob guy, then?”

He nodded. “At your service.”

He wrapped one of his arms around you while the other massaged the soft flesh. Leaning over you, he took a free nipple in his mouth and began to suck.

You were still sensitive enough that it began to perk up immediately under his touch. You arched your back to give him more access, enjoying the warmth of his mouth.

It was almost enough to prevent you from hearing the knock on the door.

Your eyes widened in alarm. Yoongi held a finger in front of his lips, signaling you to be quiet.

“Are you expecting anyone?” you mouthed as the knock sounded again. Yoongi shook his head no.

“Yoongi?”

Namjoon’s voice.

“What are you going to do?” you asked, voice barely audible.

He paused for a moment, contemplating how he wanted to handle the situation before nodding to himself and pulling you close. Yoongi began sucking a bruise into your shoulder.

“This,” he said.

Your neck flushed, head blooming upwards. You tilted your head to the side to give him more access.

“Yoongi, open up. We need to talk about this.”

“Mmmm, I’m busy,” he whispered into your collarbone. You ran your nails softly over his back and arched into him.

“Look,” Namjoon’s voice came through the door. “I know you’re upset. The label’s been screwing you over again and again, and you’ve been putting in more work than you should have to, but this isn’t the answer.”

“I think it is,” he hummed softly to the air around him, now taking the skin of your neck in between his teeth. You chuckled at his antics.

You knew Yoongi well enough by now to understand that the more he was pushed, the more defiant he’d become. Yes, he probably still wanted physical touch, but this was also very much about him asserting his autonomy, and with the way he was worshipping your body right now, you were more than happy to assist.

“Trust me, I’ve been stressed too. This tour in particular has been stressful, but we have to work as a team.”

At that, somewhere inside Yoongi, a line had finally been crossed. He brought his mouth up to yours and sucked your bottom lip in between his teeth, pressing his whole body into yours. He raked his fingers through your hair, releasing a low groan. His hands roamed down your body, clawing at the soft flesh of the back of your thigh.

“Yoongi,” you breathed across his tongue. It had begun roaming across your bottom lip. He released it from between his teeth, leaving a stinging sensation from all the blood that had rushed to the surface. “You’re not worried about Namjoon?”

“Namjoon’s full of shit,” he whispered, nibbling your earlobe and cupping your breast with his hand. “He talks about working as a team, but,” he said pausing his lips near your ear to nuzzle along your jaw, “what he really means is that I need to do what I always do and,” he planted a kiss, “bend over backwards again because it’s easier to get me to,” he nipped at your skin, hand snaking down your waist, “swallow my feelings than to ask Jungkook to deal with his.”

It made sense to you then, why Yoongi was so eager to break the rules with you. He was tired of the injustice of it all. He could handle his feelings better than Jungkook because he had to. And rather than making Jungkook learn how to deal with frustration and anger in a constructive way, they asked Yoongi to take it on. Because it was easier.

It wasn’t fair to either of them. Not only were they failing Yoongi, but they were failing Jungkook. Neglecting healthy emotional development in favor of keeping the peace.

Namjoon must have given up, because he didn’t say anything after that, and it wasn’t long before one thing led to another, and the two of you were undressed once again, Yoongi unrolling a condom onto his hardened shaft.

He entered you slowly, taking his time since the two of you still had a couple hours to kill. There was no point in denying yourselves any longer, and you wanted to get as much as you could out of the time you had left before you had to face the consequences.

The second time was just as good as the first, though less suspenseful and with less crying. This time, you came while straddling his lap, rocking back and forth with his arms around you. Once you’d come down from your high, Yoongi repositioned you so you were face-down, ass up. There, he gripped the back of your neck and pounded into you with as much force as he could muster, until he too came with a whimper.

You collapsed back onto the bed, kissing lazily as you both returned to your bodies. The simple skin-to-skin contact was almost enough to make you feel whole again.

Almost.

You stayed in bed for another twenty minutes, just enjoying each other’s touch. Eventually though, you both knew you had to face the world again.

You left thirty minutes earlier than you needed to so that you could hopefully avoid anyone in the hallways. You and Yoongi opted to take the stairs to the first floor and out a side exit where Yoongi had a driver waiting to take you to the venue.

Upon arriving, you spotted a few crew members, but nobody spared you a second glance—they were all too busy with tasks.

You made a beeline for the makeup room and found it mostly empty, save for a few of the stylists. Jia was there setting up her supplies. You tried to strike up a conversation with her, but she wasn’t very responsive, offering only single-word replies when necessary.

After a few tries, you gave up and went back over to Yoongi, who was sat in a makeup chair in front of an empty counter.

“Jia’s not speaking to me, apparently.”

“Any idea why?” he asked. You shrugged. “You don’t think she knows, do you?”

“You think word has spread that fast?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Jungkook was pretty loud. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the hall heard. If she was with Taehyung last night, it’s more than likely she did.”

You sighed.

“Great.”

“Hey,” he said, touching your hand. “It’ll be okay.”

Yoongi’s touch was warm and comforting. Subtle enough to not be noticed by others, but tender enough to do the trick.

The brief moment you shared together was suddenly cut short however when you heard a commotion out in the hallway.

Raised voices, talking—shouting over each other. They grew closer.

“I am begging you, don’t!”

Taehyung. He was shouting at someone. Deep in your gut, you knew who it was.

Jungkook stormed into the room, his energy consuming it. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up at him. He was headed straight for Yoongi.

“What did you do,” he snarled, halfway across the room and getting closer.

Without thinking, Yoongi held out an arm to block you, half-stepping in front of you.

Namjoon jumped up from where he sat. Hoseok surged forward. Both men tried to hold Jungkook back but could only slow him.

“Don’t do this Jungkook,” Yoongi said quietly.

“What the fuck did you do?!” he shouted, voice in hysterics.

You couldn’t move. Like a deer caught in the headlights, you could only watch.

Jungkook’s fingers curled into fists, right arm halfway in the air, cocked and aimed at Yoongi’s jaw. Yoongi’s eyes widened, knowing what was about to happen.

Before Jungkook’s fist could connect with its target, Taehyung, Namjoon, and Hoseok had jumped into action. It took all three of them to wrestle Jungkook to the ground.

“Jungkook! Stop. This is an order.”

Jungkook continued to struggle under the weight of the older men. Yoongi’s hand went to his face, wiping off the spit that Jungkook had lodged at him.

“Did you fuck her?!” Jungkook shouted up at him from where he had been wrestled to his knees.

“We will discuss this when you’ve calmed down,” said Yoongi.

“No! We’re discussing this now. Did you fuck her?!”

Yoongi clenched his jaw, refusing to speak.

“You did. I know you fucking did. I heard you! Admit it, you coward!”

Jungkook’s words were like a knife through your gut.

Yoongi was silent. That was more than could be said for you. In your rage, you marched up to Jungkook and slapped him hard across the face. It echoed around the room, and for a brief moment, Jungkook stilled.

When he finally looked back up at you, his face was stone cold, until the whisper of a grin ghosted across him.

“You know,” he said, voice low. The entire room hung on his words. “I’d expect nothing less from a slut like you.”

Mere weeks ago, Jungkook’s words would have cut into you like a knife, but after everything you’ve dealt with, they held no weight. This was just him throwing a tantrum.

“Jungkook—,” Namjoon started, voice low and laced with warning.

“Enough. You can’t talk to me like that,” you cut in.

“I’m just stating facts,” he replied. “The whole tour already knows. Want to tell everyone how you got this job?” Jungkook continued.

Your heart leapt to your throat.

“What did you just say?” you asked.

“You heard me,” he said, voice filled with venom. “The only reason you’re here is because you fucked way into this role.”

You looked at Yoongi. He seemed just as surprised as you did. You scanned the room, spotting Jia in the far corner. She stared at Taehyung, who stared at his shoes.

“Jungkook! That is a serious accusation. You need to stop right now,” said Namjoon.

But it was too late. You looked back once again at Yoongi. He held your gaze for a few moments while the single thread that had been holding you together finally snapped.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything. The realization washed over you like a warm, gentle wave. Sad, but freeing. There was nothing tethering you here anymore.

Yoongi took your hand in his, squeezing it, before nodding in understanding and letting go.

The room was silent, except for your footsteps.

You were calm as you caught the shuttle back to your hotel.

Calm as you packed up your bags.

Calm as you hailed a taxi to the airport.

Calm as you purchased a ticket back to Seoul.

Calm as you composed your letter of resignation.

Calm as you hit send.

*****

It was three days before you allowed yourself to feel anything. You’d returned to your apartment, the energy within it stagnant from it having sat empty for the last few months. You’d gone grocery shopping, purchasing as many ready-to-eat meals as possible, along with your favorite snacks.

You’d gone to the liquor store, purchased several bottles of bottom-shelf whiskey, along with some wine and a few cases of beer.

You’d done all your laundry and fitted your bed with fresh sheets. After five minutes of laying in it however, you realized it was far too big, and moved to the couch instead.

You put your phone on “do not disturb” indefinitely.

You changed into sweatpants, climbed onto the couch, and curled yourself up in a blanket.

It came on slowly. The tightness in your chest expanded enough to allow the first trickle of tears.

It took ten minutes for you to reach the point of sobbing. Thankfully, you’d stocked up on tissues.

You’d known rock bottom was coming. You’d felt it approaching for a long time, but you’d been putting it off as long as possible.

It had finally arrived. And it was all-consuming.

*****

It was a week before you changed your clothes. Even then, you only changed into a different pair of sweatpants and a fresh T-shirt.

Most days, you slept until late in the afternoon.

You’d wake up on the couch, find something easily accessible to eat (usually a spoon of peanut butter and some ramen), and then take a nap. When you could no longer sleep, you distracted yourself by marathoning seasons of sappy dramas. Sometimes you’d switch it up with reality television. Every once in a while, when you were least expecting it, the group would be referenced on television. They truly were everywhere.

Whenever it happened, your chest would seize up and you’d have to take several deep breaths to calm yourself.

The mess piled up. You had no energy to clean it. You resorted to disposable plates and cutlery, feeling mildly guilty about the waste, but not having enough willpower to do something different.

Once per week, you would go through your living room and bag up all the trash, but that’s as much housekeeping as you could manage.

You didn’t cry every day, you noticed. It was about every three days. You’d cry, and then you’d spend the next few days in an emotionless haze, recovering until you had the energy to cry again.

It was old pain. Deep pain. Pain you’d repressed as long as you could, but no longer had the energy to fight—the only way out was through.

***

After the tour finished, Yoongi came over about once a week to check on you. He was careful not to mention anything about the rest of the members, save for regaling you about how Hoseok had taken over for you during the last week of the tour and had done a phenomenal job.

For the first few weeks, his visits were usually accompanied with weed and sex. Sometimes whiskey, though you found you weren’t drinking quite as much as you had expected to.

After a month or so, sex just wasn’t doing much for you, and you settled into a comfortable companionship.

It was easier to see him when they were on break from the tour, but eventually, his schedule picked up again, and he couldn’t come over as often, which left you with a lot of time to be alone with your thoughts.

You spent a lot of that time reflecting—trying to figure out what factors were at play that had gotten you to where you were now.

You’d made some poor choices, that was for sure. But why? What motivated you to behave the way you did?

Why couldn’t you get it right?

Whenever the tears came, you leaned into them. Whenever you felt like screaming, you didn’t hold yourself back.

You’d spent your entire life working up to that job, and you had failed spectacularly.

You lost everything.

Not because you didn’t care or didn’t take it seriously. But because you simply could not live up to the expectations that were placed on you. You tried as hard as you possibly could, and yet you still fell short.

You failed the moment you let your guard down around Jungkook.

You failed as soon as you accepted the job.

You failed the day you slept with your professor.

Was it possible that you’d failed the moment you wanted to become a dancer?

Was your mother right? Should you have gone to school for business instead of chasing some pipe dream?

You thought that when you landed such a prestigious position, it had meant that you’d proven everyone wrong. You’d succeeded. Everything you’d been through, all the trauma you’d endured had been worth it because you finally made it to a professional dance career.

Now what?

You took another sip of whiskey.

Where would you go from here?

Did you even want to be a dancer anymore?

#the choreographer #yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #min yoongi #bts fanfic

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