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bobgasm · 7 months

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good 4 u | b.f

pairing: robert “bob” floyd x f!reader word count: 15,660 [sorry lmao] warnings: angst, heartbroken bob, flirting, slow burn, friends to lovers

prompt: good 4 u | #sourguts writing challenge by @mothdruid

summary: in which bob’s been invited to his ex’s wedding and you volunteer to go as his date

author’s note: this was supposed to be a fake dating au but i scrapped that plan halfway through 😅 hope u enjoy it regardless

oneshot | masterlist

It was like Bob was walking on eggshells around everyone. He knew why they were careful about what they say, and why even Hangman seemed to be taking pity on the heartbroken fool.

They all got the same pristine invitation that he did.

The invitation for Jamie, his ex, and her fiancé’s wedding. It was like a slap in the face, and for a week Phoenix had hidden it from him. She’d intercepted his mail before he could find the crisp white invitation with gold and floral decoration. Perfect penmanship addressing the upcoming wedding, and inviting Bob to celebrate the day.

Because he’d been too kind to say that they couldn’t stay friends when they’d broken up. Because he’d tortured himself with their friendship after their breakup, and suffered in silence when she’d started dating. Plastering on a fake smile and faux enthusiasm when it started getting more serious.

And now they were engaged. And like the good friend Phoenix was, she’d hidden the news as long as she could until Jamie and Hayden had shown up to games’ night flaunting the huge rock on her third finger. Rooster had dragged Bob outside, but Bob had pushed through. He had swallowed his hurt and put on a convincing performance.

One that was deserving of an Oscar, if you asked Rooster. One that had Phoenix casting worried looks at Bob throughout the evening. One that had Fanboy wondering if Bob had ever loved Jamie as much as he’d claimed to.

The wedding invitation hadn’t been intercepted, though several tried. Even Hangman tried to play the diversion, but they’d all been too late. Bob had found the invitation and had gone about his day the best as he could. It wasn’t until the third attempt to distract him that he simply asked outright if they were trying to find the invitation. When no one replied, he nodded and continued with his tasks.

It had been a week of deliberation. A week of people trying to convince him to just throw the invitation away and be done with Jamie for good. A week of hearing his friends whisper about not going in solidarity with him.

But he’d told them they didn’t have to choose. She was their friend too, and he wasn’t going to hold it against them if they wanted to go, even if he didn’t. Though Phoenix knew. She knew he’d decide to go, whether he told everyone otherwise or not.

It was why she planned a spontaneous games night for her birthday. Bob knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to buy time. Make him realise he didn’t need to cling to the memories he had with Jamie, and that he could make new ones. And what better time than her birthday, which her friend Y/N was in town for?

Bob was punctual, like always. He brought a bottle of Phoenix’s favourite liquor and helped finish setting things up. He made polite small talk and appreciated the distraction, but he didn’t want tonight to be a downer. No, it was Phoenix’s birthday! They were supposed to be celebrating! Hell, he even treated himself to a glass of wine when she offered him one before everyone else arrived. He wanted to loosen up and actually enjoy himself for a change, and what better way to do that than alcohol?

Coyote, Fanboy and Rooster were the next to arrive. They all brought games or snacks and drinks. Fanboy was quick to play some music before Hangman arrived and took control, and Bob helped himself to another glass. The only one missing was Payback, who’d said he’d be late, but by the time he finally arrived, Bob had a good buzz on. He was enjoying the banter that came from each game, and even commented some of his own.

“Fanboy, close your eyes.”

They’re playing wavelength, a game Rooster had seen on TikTok. The aim was simple: person A had to guess the number using 5 questions. The questions varied every round, but the person answering the question had to gage their answer off the number.

Say that the number was 7, for example. 10 is the best, and 1 is the worst. If the question was along the lines of “give me a fast food chain,” then the person answering had to give their third favourite place to go. The question could be a colour, or a hiking trail, but the idea was to get person A to guess the number that everyone else knew, based off where person B had ranked their answer to person A’s question. Hence, the name of the game being wavelength, because you’d all be on the same wavelength.

They’d played a practise round so everyone kind of understood how the game should be played, with a lot of clarification needed throughout, but they were there.

Maybe.

And Fanboy was the unlucky first person to try and guess the number.

Bob held up 3 fingers. Everyone nodded in agreement, then Fanboy opened his eyes and tried to think of who to pick on first.

“Coyote, give me an alcoholic drink,” Fanboy requested.

Oh, another thing Bob learnt, if the question had been asked in the previous round, you couldn’t use it for the next two rounds. The hard part was trying to come up with new questions each time.

“Merlot,” Coyote replied, offering no clarification.

The game works best if you have a group of people who know enough about each other to kind of guess where they’d rank their answers. The fun part came from trying not to blurt out the number, as Hangman had learnt in the trial run. A bout of laughter had ensued, and Phoenix was convinced her plan had worked. She just wondered where the hell Y/N had got to.

“Interesting, okay,” Fanboy said. “Bob, give me something you plug in?”

“You’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel with your questions, huh?” Bob teased.

“I panicked and zoned out staring at the cord for the tv,” Fanboy confessed with a laugh of his own.

“Let me think for a second,” Bob told him, sipping his beer.

He couldn’t tell you when he’d moved on to beer, but he didn’t mind it. The wine had been too tart for his liking, but the beer was going down a treat. He felt warm and relaxed, but it was taking a lot of effort not to blurt out the number like Hangman did earlier.

“Hair dryer,” Bob eventually said. There were a few murmurs of agreement at his choice, and while Phoenix tsk’d under her breath, she didn’t put up much of a fight. It’s where person B, in this case Bob, would rank the answer to the question since he was called on.

Fanboy directed his next question at Phoenix. “Give me a flavour of milkshake?”

“You asking me out, Mickey?”

“Keeping my options open.” He winked.

Phoenix laughed. “Banana.”

The next question was for Rooster, who’d just returned from the bathroom. He sat down beside Bob and reached for his beer from the table in front of him.

“Roo, give me a type of candy,” Fanboy requested.

Bob didn’t hear Rooster’s answer because the apartment door flew open and he was faced with you – hair slightly messy and cheeks flushed. Arms carrying more wine and balancing a cake, and he felt floored. Like the breath had been sucked from his lungs and he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“They wrote ‘Happy Birthday Phoebe’!’” You exclaimed, kicking the door shut and placing the cake on the kitchen counter, not that there was much free space for it. Regardless, you didn’t care, you just opened the bottle of wine you still held and took a large swig. “What are we playing?”

“Two steps back, Y/N,” Phoenix said with a laugh.

She used Bob’s knee to push herself to her feet, and her grip helped bring him back to earth. He remembered how to breathe, sucking in a deep breath which Rooster mistook for a wince and cast him a concerned look.

“Your knee acting up?”

“Sharp nails,” he lied.

“Everyone, this is Y/N, she’s come to town for my birthday this weekend,” Phoenix said, taking a moment to introduce everyone by their name. “And I’m sure I can live with a cake that says ‘Phoebe.’”

“We’re playing ‘wavelength,’ have you heard of it?” Rooster asked.

“Only from TikTok,” you said.

“That’s where I learnt it,” he replied, making room beside him so you could sit between himself and Bob.

Bob, who tried to not look like a complete fool as you smiled his way and sat down. Phoenix took her spot on the ground beside Bob’s left leg, but he didn’t miss the slight twitch of her lips before she spoke, “Type of candy, Roo?”

“I said warheads,” Rooster repeated.

You leaned over to Bob and whispered in his ear as Fanboy asked the next question. “What’s the number?” You asked him. At a loss for words, and not wanting to say them or hold three fingers up, he tapped the neck of his beer bottle thrice. An action you followed with your gaze before returning to his eyes once again and smiling. “Thanks, Bob.”

“‘Course,” he mumbled.

He needed another drink, and signaled to Hangman for another beer while he was up. He snagged a few and handed them off before passing one to Bob.

“Who’s driving you home?” He asked.

“Probably sleep on Nix’s couch,” he replied, casting a glance at Phoenix. “That okay?”

“You’re making breakfast in the morning,” she replied easily, clinking her bottle with Y/N’s like some sort of victory.

“Works for me,” Bob replied, thanking Hangman and opening the bottle before taking a sip.

He wished he could focus on the rest of the game, but he was acutely aware of the warmth radiating from your leg that was pressed up against the side of his own that he couldn’t think about anything else. Even through the layers of your jeans and his own pants, he could feel the warmth of your skin. His fingers gripping his beer a little tighter so he didn’t make a fool of himself and rest his hand on your thigh, desperate to feel more.

When Fanboy guessed the number 3 correctly, Coyote called for a round of shots to celebrate. Bob didn’t drink much, but he was down for a round. He needed to feel the warmth of the liquor rather than your leg.

Hangman volunteered to go next. Wavelength was a hit, and so was the round of Tequila shots. Bob felt lightheaded, but he felt relaxed for the first time in a long time. Everyone seemed to notice, too. Keeping an eye on how much he was drinking, making sure he was eating, but still letting him finally let loose a little. It was long overdue, and since he wasn’t driving home…no one was too bothered when he got up to get everyone another round of shots when Hangman guessed the right answer for the latest round of wavelength.

No one knew what to expect from a drunk Bob. They’d hardly ever seen him drink, so to see him actually drunk? He’d lost his shy exterior; shed it like a layer of himself and finally come out of his shell. He was boisterous and chatty, and sang along to whatever song was playing. Whether the song was one from the 80’s, or a newly released one, he was singing.

Then came the dancing.

You watched with curious fascination as he led the majority of the guys in a somewhat choreographed routine. You’d heard that a few of the guys had one specific song they liked to dance to, but according to Phoenix, she and Bob usually sat out and laughed at them. As it turned out, he knew the entire routine, and was now showing them up.

You and Phoenix howled with laughter as Bob and Fanboy slut-dropped, while Rooster fell over his own feet at the unexpected behaviour from Bob. Coyote and Hangman didn’t seem fazed, and continued on like nothing happened.

But it did happen, and you were enjoying every minute of it. Even throwing a few loose ones at the group of guys as their shirts came off. The song changing to fit the whole stripper vibe that the evening had somehow come to.

Bob collapsed on the couch, in the spot between you and Phoenix. Slumping down and closing his eyes while he breathed heavily, a drunk smile on his face.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” he confessed. “Happy Birthday, Nix.”

“Thanks, Bob,” she replied with a smile of her own.

“You didn’t want to strip for us, too?” You asked teasingly, looking over at the four men grinding against the air or flossing their shirts between their legs.

“Nah, you couldn’t afford me,” Bob replied, watching you turn your attention back to him. Amusement sparkled in your eyes, while his were hooded, heavy from the alcohol but still watching you as intently as he could.

You registered Phoenix getting up, but Bob had your undivided attention.

“We could find out just how much I’m willing to pay for a private show,” you told him, keeping your tone light. Easy, while still serious. You didn’t want to scare him away.

“Or?”

“Or not,” you said with a shrug, sipping your wine.

You relaxed back into the couch a little, the entire left side of your body pressed up against the right side of his. You swore you could hear his breath catch in his throat as you rested your hand on his thigh, maybe a little higher than you had intended, but it served its purpose.

You’d seen the shy, reserved guy Phoenix had described. He was just as cute as you’d imagined, but once the alcohol had loosened his inhibitions? You wanted to see more. So much more.

That was how you stayed until the song ended and Rooster offered you both another drink. Another round of tequila shots and you were up and singing loudly to the next song. Grabbing Bob’s hand and hauling him to his feet so he could join in with everyone, but it was like he wasn’t present. Not like he had been previously. He seemed to be stuck in his head, and was quick to sit back down once the song was over. Nursing a bottle of beer and picking aimlessly at the label.

“I think he’s hit a wall,” Fanboy commented to Phoenix, and you couldn’t help but overhear as you poured yourself another wine.

“I think you’re right,” she replied. “You guys should head out without us. I’ll stay and make sure he’s okay.”

“It’s your birthday though,” he replied. “You should be coming out with us.”

“Another time, I promise,” she assured him. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” he said, swiftly kissing her cheek. “Save us some cake?”

Fanboy herded the guys out of the apartment with a loud goodbye, and Phoenix shut the door behind them. When she joined you in the kitchen, she offered you a fork and you stood together picking away at the cake you got her. There was a good chunk missing already, but it was too good not to keep eating.

“Is Bob okay?”

Phoenix sighed, “If you ask him, he’ll say ‘yes’ and pretend he’s not falling apart, but he won’t talk about it.”

“Girl problems?” She nodded and you reached for your wine. “Do you think my flirting was the catalyst for his sudden withdrawal tonight?”

Her silence spoke volumes, and you wished it didn’t. Downing the last of your glass while she grabbed the bottle of tequila and sat down beside Bob.

You watched the two of them interact. Nothing was said, but there was mutual understanding. Respect. A comforting hand on his shoulder, a watery smile while he downed the last of his beer and gratefully accepted the bottle of tequila. He’d likely regret it in the morning, but if it helped him tonight? That was all he could think of.

“Room for one more?” You asked tentatively.

“Yeah.” Bob’s voice was thick, like he was trying not to cry.

The more he drank, the higher the likelihood that he’d be unable to help it. Tequila was notorious for making you feel your feelings. You’d know, you had a tendency to drown your sorrows at the bottoms of a bottle on the odd occasion.

“You want to talk about it yet?” Phoenix tried to pry.

Bob drank straight from the bottle of tequila. You shared a look with Phoenix – it was going to be a long night. Deciding to give them some privacy in case Bob didn’t want to talk about what was going on in front of you, you headed for the bathroom. Taking the time to brush your teeth and wash your face before changing into a pair of loose cotton pyjama bottoms and an old tee.

By the time you joined Bob and Phoenix again, they were lying on the floor of the living room, staring up at the ceiling. Phoenix looked over at you and held up the bottle.

“The room was spinning so we laid down. Lie with us,” she said. You took the bottle and downed a large swig before joining them.

“Do you remember the last time we drank tequila like this?” You asked her. “You’d just broken up with Sam, and I was having problems with Evan. We drank a bottle of tequila and you broke up with him for me so we could be single together.”

Phoenix laughed at the memory. “They were assholes.”

“Is Bob’s ex an asshole?” You dared to ask.

“No,” he answered after a moment of silence. “That’s the worst part.”

“She did an asshole thing though,” Phoenix pointed out.

“No, I did. By agreeing to stay friends,” he replied. “You can’t stay friends with an ex or it means you never loved them. I don’t think I loved her, I think I loved the idea of her.”

“How long were you two together?” You asked.

“Almost five years,” he said, reaching for the bottle from your hand and sitting up to take a swig. “Five years and she moves on like it was nothing, then invites me to her fucking wedding.”

He spat the last word like it pained him to say, and it probably did.

“You totally have to go,” you told him. “Show up with a hot date and pretend like those five years meant nothing to you, too. That you’ve moved on and you’re fine, and then never speak to her again.”

“I don’t think that–,”

Bob cut Phoenix off. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Except hot women don’t tend to fall at my feet.”

“Do you want me to trip or something just to prove to you that they do?” You challenged. “You’re hot, Bob.”

Phoenix rolled her eyes but she understood what you were trying to do. “If you want to go to the wedding, you know we’ll all go to support you. No one has sent their RSVP yet because we’re waiting to see what you want to do. And I think Y/N has just proven she’ll more than happily be your date. Think you can pretend to be in love with her for one night?”

“Do I have to answer right now?” Bob asked.

“No.”

“Good, ‘cause I think I’m g’na puke,” he said, shooting to his feet and darting towards the bathroom like a bat out of hell.

Phoenix looked at you as you both heard retching from the bathroom. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

“Bob’s a big boy. He can make that decision for himself,” you answered. “Should probably check on him, though. Make sure he’s not drowning in his own vomit.”

The pair of you headed to the bathroom and found him hunched over, sobbing into the toilet. Phoenix crouched down and rubbed his back soothingly while you leaned against the doorframe.

“She’s not worth your tears, Bob,” Phoenix said softly.

“How does she get to be fine while I’m falling apart?”

Your heart broke as he sobbed again, immediately followed by more retching as he hugged the bowl of the toilet.

“Sometimes we fall in love with people who don’t love us as much as we love them,” you told him after the toilet stopped flushing. “They love us 20% and we shoulder the other 80% because we don’t think that someone can love us more than that. We accept what we think we deserve, then they move on and we’re still hung up on what might’ve been. You deserve more than 20%, Bob.”

Phoenix gave you one of her all-knowing smiles, paired with sad eyes as she knew exactly who you were referencing. You’d been in Bob’s place before, a couple times actually. Moving on to the next person while still harbouring feelings for your ex and pretending that the new person was them. Loving them more than they loved you.

It sucked. Phoenix had picked up the pieces of your broken heart more times than you’d have liked. Now you’d been single the longest you’d ever been, but now you felt like you didn’t need anyone. Sure, company was great for a night or two, but your feelings were always more than the other person’s. You were tired of giving someone your all and not receiving even half of the love you gave them in return.

“It gets better,” you continued, watching him wipe his mouth with a bit of paper before he turned to look at you. “It’s not always this hard. It only seems like the end of the world because she’s engaged and having the life you’d always talked about, right? You’d been talking about getting engaged and having a big wedding, and now she’s experiencing all of that with someone else.”

“I–yeah,” he confessed. “Do you really want to go to this wedding as my date?”

“I wouldn’t have offered to if I didn’t want to go,” you told him. “And if Phoenix and the rest of the guys come along, between us all we can make it fun.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix agreed. “We can be your buffers if you don’t want to talk to her, or if you do then we’ll be there to support you. And carry you home if you get drunk like you are tonight.”

“Okay,” he said, not too sure but then he repeated himself, “okay. I can’t keep torturing myself by seeing her anymore, so it’ll be the last time.”

“Exactly,” both you and Phoenix replied.

Bob woke up to the light streaming through the small gap where the curtains didn’t quite meet. He tried to shield his eyes and go back to sleep, but his mouth was dry and his stomach protested. He downed the water bottle on the coffee table as well as a few aspirin for the headache splitting his skull. Letting it work for a few minutes before he got up and scoured the kitchen to make breakfast.

He knew he drank too much. He knew he ended up crying on the bathroom floor. He knew he’d turned Phoenix’s birthday into a pity party and he felt terrible. Not only that, but he knew he’d likely scared you off. You, Y/N, who’d called him hot and flirted with him early on in the night. You, who’d given him some great advice, but also offered to be his date to his ex’s wedding.

Why would you do that?

Surely you could do better than the heartbroken man he’d become lately.

With a sigh he watched the coffee machine drip coffee into a mug. When it was done, he took a sip before whipping up some pancakes. Personally, Bob thought they were overrated, but he knew Phoenix loved them. It was the least he could do after last night.

He fried some bacon and scrambled some eggs to go along with the pancakes, since that’s what he felt like eating. When he turned around to grab his coffee, you were seated at the breakfast bar already drinking it.

“How’re you feeling this morning?” You asked kindly.

“Would rather not think about it,” he replied, earning a soft laugh from you in response. “Phoenix up yet?”

“She’s awake but not up,” you told him. “I smelt coffee. Sorry for knicking yours.”

“It’s fine,” he assured you, already starting to make another, plus one for Phoenix. “Thanks for last night.”

“We’ve all been there, Bob, don’t sweat it.” You smiled sweetly and he nodded a few times, trying to get his breathing under control. “Smells good out here. I like the view, too.”

Bob suddenly felt underdressed. He’d removed his shirt to sleep and changed into a pair of sweatpants he’d left here a few months ago. He was glad he still had his briefs underneath, otherwise he would’ve felt more exposed than he already did.

“Uhh, you don’t have to flirt with me out of pity, you know that, right?”

“It’s not out of pity, Bob,” you told him. “I said it last night and I’ll say it again, you’re hot. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”

Bob hated that when he blushed it went down his neck and covered the top of his chest. He hated that you could see just how flushed your comments made him. Turning back to the coffee machine, and essentially hiding from you, he dropped some bread in the toaster before making the next coffee.

“If it makes you that uncomfortable, I’ll stop,” you offered kindly.

“No, I just, I don’t get called ‘hot.’ Usually only ‘cute’ or ‘adorable.’”

“You can be ‘hot’ and ‘cute’ at the same time,” you argued lightly, a smile to your tone. “Like right now. You’re all cute and shy about my flirting, but you can cook, so you’re hot.”

“I think I’m following.”

“Good boy,” you praised and Bob felt like he’d been kicked in the chest with the way his breath got caught in his throat. His heart raced and he made a face, like he didn’t hate that, and you grinned as you caught the shock before he tried to keep his expression blank. “When’s the wedding?”

Finally, a safe topic.

Bob cleared his throat before looking at you. “Second weekend in June,” he said. “Are you sure you want to go? With me?”

“I’m sure,” you confirmed. “Do you still want me to go with you?”

“I do,” he said. He held your gaze for a moment before it flickered over your shoulder. “Coffee’s ready, Phoenix!”

“Thank god!” Her reply came a moment later.

You smiled at Bob as he plated the food and set out some more plates and cutlery. Grabbing the syrup for the pancakes and the salt and pepper shakers for the eggs. You started serving yourself while Phoenix slowly joined you, accepting the mug of coffee from Bob as she sat down beside you.

“How’re you feeling this morning, Bob?”

“Better,” he replied. “Sorry about last night.”

“We all fall apart sometimes,” Phoenix responded. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Once breakfast was finished you helped Bob clean up while Phoenix took a shower. You washed while he dried.

“Do you think I could get your number? You know, so we can plan for the wedding?”

“Ask me again without the part about the wedding,” you replied.

“Uhh, can I have your number?”

“Of course,” you said with a smile in his direction. He grabbed his phone from the couch and you rattled off the digits for him. You were glad to see he still hadn’t put a shirt on, but while he was by the couch he quickly changed that.

“I sent you a text so you have my number, too,” he told you, unaware of the small pout on your lips as his chest was no longer visible. But still, you knew what he looked like without a shirt and you were happy about that. “What are your plans for the day?”

“Should probably go see my mom while I’m here, but then I’m driving home this afternoon. You want to meet me for coffee before I go?”

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed, and you saw the blush creep back up on his cheeks.

“Great, around two? You pick the place. I don’t know many good cafés around here.”

“Okay, I’ll text you,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Will you tell Phoenix I said thanks again for last night? I’m gonna head out.”

“Yeah, of course. See you later, Bob.”

“See you later.”

By the time Bob was set to meet with you at a small café just after two, he was nervous. He’d been nervous when he’d asked for your number, but he was more nervous now that he had it. He was nervous he was somehow going to make you hate him. Acutely aware that you’d told him to ask for his number without mentioning the wedding, so wondering what the fuck you’d even talk about in the meantime.

He blew out a breath and pushed open the door to the café. It was a quaint place with artwork on the walls done by a few local artists. If you saw something you liked, you could buy it. Bob had two small pieces in his collection already, and the staff knew him well.

He came in a few times a week and ordered a pot of green tea while he read a book. Today, however, he didn’t have a book with him and definitely seemed antsy.

“Your usual, Bob?” The barista, Marcy, asked him with a friendly smile.

“Uh, yeah, and a couple of menus, please,” he replied, thanking her for the menus before taking a seat at his favourite spot by the window. It gave him a good natural light to read, but also allowed him to people-watch.

You breezed through the door a second later, smiling as your eyes found Bob and he rose to give you a small hug.

“Hey, you look like you got a bit more sleep,” you observed, taking a seat opposite him.

“I did, yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “How was your mom?”

“She’s good, thank you. Told me I have to come back and visit more often, and now that I only live an hour away I guess I will be back more often.”

“That’s good to know,” he mused.

“What, that I’ll be back?” You teased lightly.

“Well, yeah,” he said with a cough and an awkward rub of the back of his neck. “I guess we have to plan our wedding outfits, right?

“You were doing so well until you mentioned the wedding,” you told him.

“You make me nervous,” he confessed. “I don’t know what else to talk to you about.”

“Okay, that’s an easy fix. Ask me what my favourite colour is, or what made me move away from/back to San Diego,” you supplied, attention being pulled towards the barista who placed a pot of tea on the table in front of Bob.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” She asked you.

“Iced Americano, thank you,” you replied, smiling at her before watching Bob pour himself a cup of tea.

“Why did you move from San Diego?” Bob asked you.

“I grew up here. Felt like I needed to get out and explore for a bit. Applied for a job up in Seattle and was living there for about five years, but it felt like something was missing, you know? So I packed up and moved back to San Diego.”

“Are you glad to be back?”

“Yeah, I am,” you admitted. “I think I missed the community here. It’s just me and my mom now, but it’s so familiar. I can still go to some little mom and pop stores and the owners remember me from when I was a little kid.”

“I get that,” he said. “It’s the same when I go back to Montana. Just feels like you never left, right?”

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I didn’t know you were from Montana. You can hardly hair the drawl.”

“Oh, it’s still there,” he admitted with a laugh. “It’s usually more noticeable when I’m stressed, so Phoenix gives me plenty of shit for it when we land after an exercise or a mission.”

“I’ll bet she does.” You laughed along with him. “What made you join the Navy?”

“I knew I had to get out of Montana. They had a booth at a careers expo when I was in high school. Told me all the great things I could do. Signed up the day I turned eighteen and haven’t looked back,” he said, sipping his tea. “I still go home to Montana when I can. It doesn’t feel like I belong, but it’s nostalgic. It’s home.”

Bob recommended the BLT when your stomach growled, saying it was easily the best sandwich he’d ever had at a café. Apparently they toast the bread a little bit, plus the aioli they add is housemade. It made your mouth salivate just thinking about it.

You both ordered one when your coffee came out, and conversation continued to flow easily. Of course, you continued to flirt a little, but sometimes it wasn’t as obvious. Just enough to see the colour appear on Bob’s cheeks before you moved on.

Bob was sweet, which you already knew. Once he was more comfortable with you, you went back to your teasing and flirting. Sometimes you thought he might’ve even been flirting back, but it was so subtle you weren’t sure.

You talked about your favourite colour, your hobbies, and even what you did for work. It was so easy talking to Bob, it felt like you’d been friends for a long time, rather than having only met the day before.

When it was time to leave, because you had a few errands to run, Bob walked you out to your car. There was a battle for the bill, but since you’d asked him to meet with you, he reluctantly let you pay. Stating that meant he got the next one. Your heart fluttered a little at the promise of seeing him again. That you hadn’t scared him off. And graciously gave him a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek before you left.

By the time you reached the grocery store almost 40 minutes later, you smiled when you checked your phone to find a text from Bob.

I had fun this afternoon. You made me feel normal. Thank you

Any time, Bob, I mean that. I had fun this afternoon too x

Your thumb hovered over the ‘send’ icon, debating whether the kiss was too much. Deciding to send it anyway before getting on with your shopping, a pep to your step and feeling good.

Your week was busy. Your new job was still kicking your ass as you tried to learn everything you needed to know, but you felt fulfilled. Especially since Bob and Phoenix were messaging you several times a day, helping you keep sane.

They were busy training for something they couldn’t exactly talk about, but you knew it was a mission, and most of their team had been called forward. Even though you weren’t able to see them that often, you did spend most of your weekends hanging out at The Hard Deck. Phoenix and Bob had both mentioned that’s where they liked to hang out, and so you’d go there hoping that they’d have a free moment to stop by for a drink.

Sometimes they’d already be there when you arrived, while other times you’d enjoy a drink and text them until they showed up.

You’d even become closer with everyone else, but you had a soft spot for Bob. Most nights you’d talk until you were falling asleep, but not wanting to be the first to say goodnight. Bob would walk you to your car just for an extra few moments alone, you’d kiss his cheek and he’d tell you to text him when you got home so he knew you were safe.

The two times you’d hung out without everyone else had been wonderful. You’d gone to a farmers market one morning, and gone bowling the other time. Keeping it casual and light was easier said than done. You enjoyed spending time with him to the point you almost wished you hadn’t suggested being his date to his ex’s wedding. You wanted to suggest blowing the wedding off, but that felt cruel. He was ready to cut that chapter from his life and he deserved that closure. And you’d be there to see it through.

You’d asked Phoenix what she planned on wearing, but she’d been vague. Telling you to “ask Bob to coordinate your outfits,” each time. And yeah, you knew you should ask him about that, but you enjoyed the fact that he didn’t mention the wedding around you anymore. It would be like taking two steps backwards, but you knew it had to be done. After all, that was why you spent a lot of time together. You couldn’t pretend to be fake dating if you didn’t know the first thing about each other.

So you bit the bullet and fired off a text to Bob.

Hey, I’ve been thinking about what to wear for the wedding. What colour is your suit? I think it’ll be cute if we match x

His reply came moments later.

Haven’t got a suit yet, probably should organise that soon. I could use your opinion if you’re free tomorrow?

Of course, we can meet at the café for breakfast and then go from there. 9am suit you? x

Can’t wait x

You smiled at the kiss he’d added to the end of his text. Then came his next message.

Are you coming to the Hard Deck tonight? x

Got a work dinner that I can’t get out of. I’ll text you when it’s over to see if you’re still there. I might be due for some decent company x

I’ll still be here x

His flirting was more obvious through text, and though you couldn’t see his face, you knew it would be flushed. You also knew just how far down that blush actually went, and spent more time thinking about it than you should’ve while still at work.

You watched the clock throughout the entire dinner. You didn’t want to seem like you had better places to be, even if it was true, but you were acutely aware of the time dragging on. Sure, you made small talk and laughed with everyone, but it wasn’t where you wanted to be. You wanted to be playing pool and drinking with your friends, and Bob.

Bob, who you definitely felt was more than a friend. Bob, who you weren’t entirely sure felt the same way as you did. Bob, who was still shy and nervous around you, but had grown more confident with your flirting. Bob, who flirted back so subtly you were convinced you’d imagined it.

Bob, the cute and awkward guy who stammered over his words sometimes. Bob, who flushed a deep scarlet whenever you touched his arm or kissed his cheek, or even openly flirted with him in front of his friends. Bob, who consumed your waking thoughts.

But you were just friends, right? You were going to be his date to the wedding – even if it was his ex’s wedding, – and you were going to have a good time, damn it. You wanted him to see you, not compare you to his ex. Not use you to get over her.

Bob, who was sweet and funny and cared more for other people than he did himself.

You smiled and gave a few hugs to coworkers who’d been friendly to you and farewelled everyone with a wave. Making a beeline to your car while you typed a quick text to Bob.

On my way, handsome x

See you soon, sweetheart x

Sweetheart. That was new. Obviously you didn’t hate it, but you were excited to tease him about it and see that gorgeous scarlet taint his cheeks and disappear beneath his shirt.

At the Hard Deck, Bob’s excitement was obvious to everyone except him. From the flush of his cheeks to his eyes darting towards the door every ten seconds. They knew who he was waiting for.

“Bob’s got a crush,” Fanboy teased, taking up residence on the stool beside Bob’s.

“So do you, Mickey,” Bob pointed out, picking at the skin of his thumbnail. “You think we don’t see you and Phoenix but we do.”

“At least Tasha knows I have a crush on her,” Fanboy replied, winking at Phoenix just as she took her shot at the ball on the table. And missed. “Better luck next time, Tasha!”

“Shut up, Mick,” she replied, though her tone was light. Flirty. A smile on her face betrayed any hint of lingering animosity behind her words. “Y/N’s on her way, huh, lover boy?”

“Maybe,” Bob said vaguely, though his eyes darting to the door had both Fanboy and Phoenix making kissing noises. “Okay, fine, she told me she’s on her way.”

Mickey wrapped his arm around Bob’s shoulders while Phoenix smiled at the exchange. “We know. You can’t keep your eyes off the door long enough to watch Coyote and Payback kick mine and Hangman’s asses.”

“I’d put money on the reason we’re losing isn’t because of their skill, but your inability to stop eyefucking Fanboy,” Hangman pointed out.

Fanboy laughed while Phoenix rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a sore loser because you’re the only one without a girl tonight.”

Payback and Coyote’s attention had been pulled away from the game by two gorgeous brunette’s. Bob laughed along with Fanboy at Phoenix’s jab, watching her lightly pat Hangman’s shoulder before standing beside Mickey.

“Another drink?” She asked, looking from Mickey to Bob.

Both men nodded and she set off to the bar.

“How do you keep it so light and flirty all the time?” Bob asked Fanboy.

He was probably the only guy who wouldn’t laugh at him for this kind of question, aside from Phoenix. Phoenix was both of your friends, and she’d made it clear she wasn’t going to interfere in anything. You’d just have to talk to each other like adults.

“The truth?” He replied. Bob nodded. “It’s not. She makes me nervous and I say things that make me look like an idiot, but she still smiles at me and flirts to her heart’s content, so I know I can’t have messed up too badly. A confident woman isn’t a bad thing, you just have to keep trying.”

“Thanks, Mick,” Bob said with a grateful smile.

“I mean, we’ve all seen Hangman strike out more times than we can count,” Fanboy continued, dragging Hangman into the firing line. He looked pissed, but Fanboy pressed on. “The key is to adapt. What works with some women, doesn’t work with others. Yeah, rejection sucks, but he doesn’t let it get him down. Besides, she told you that she’s on her way, not Phoenix. She’s only coming to see you, Bob.”

“He’s right,” Hangman pointed out. “Whatever you’re doing is working for her.”

Bob’s eyes darted back to the front door to see you walking towards the bar, smiling at Phoenix. He couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face as he watched you two embrace.

“You got it bad, Bob,” Hangman said, walking away with a laugh.

Yeah, Bob thought, don’t I know it.

You smiled at Bob as you and Phoenix joined the guys, offering the beer to Bob as you sipped your drink. He smiled in thanks, getting up to offer you his stool which you gratefully accepted.

“Why can’t you be like that?” Phoenix asked Fanboy who shrugged.

“Perfectly good seat in my lap,” he replied with a grin.

“How was dinner?” Bob asked you, paying no mind to the two beside you who continued to flirt while they bickered.

“It was good. Glad I’m here now, though,” you told him truthfully, watching the colour darken on his cheeks as he sipped his beer. “Teach me how to play?”

“What’s that?”

“Pool. Teach me how to play?”

You knew how to play, you just wanted to be close to him. Lucky for you, Bob took the bait. Taking your hand and leading you to the pool table, giving you a basic run-down of the game. He racked the balls and set them before offering you a cue and showing you how to hold it. His body pressed against yours as he positioned your hands. Lips brushing your ear as he instructed you to use your back hand to pop the cue out and hit the solid white ball, sending it flying into the triangle of coloured ones down the other end.

“You’re a natural,” he praised, smiling as he took the cue from you and lined up his own shot.

“Maybe you’re just a good teacher,” you countered, leaning against the table and squeezing your chest together just a little. Enough that you saw his gaze flit downwards to your cleavage before he hit his lip and took his shot. You watched the ball he was aiming for miss the pocket.

“That’s cheating,” he pointed out, handing you the cue while you smiled sweetly at him.

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” you replied. “Didn’t seem like you had any issue looking.”

“You made it hard not to,” he said, stepping closer to you. “You’re gorgeous, Y/N.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He groaned as you laughed and lined up your shot, looking over your shoulder at him. “You going to help me?”

“Call me ‘handsome’ again and I’ll give you anything you want, sweetheart.”

“You gotta be careful giving women that much power, handsome,” you said, taking the shot as you sent him a wink, hearing the ball sink into one of the pockets. You followed the cue ball around the table before lining up your next shot, peering up at him through your lashes. “A pretty girl might just take advantage of you.”

The back and forth was easy and you chalked that down to the couple of beer’s Bob had before you arrived. You liked when his words seemed to flow without any hesitation or overthinking, but you also liked the nervous babbling. The tripping over his words. Everything that made him him. You weren’t trying to change him, you were trying to help him love himself.

Though that might’ve been easier said than done.

The smile dropped from his face and he lost all expression. He was blank and you couldn’t read him. But you turned around and followed his line of sight, watching a young couple enter the bar. One look at Phoenix told you everything you needed to know – his ex was here with her fiancé.

You walked over to Bob and took his hand. He slowly turned his head to look at you.

“Get me out of here,” he pleaded, voice weak and your heart broke for him. You dragged him out the back entrance into the cool evening air, the sound inside dying out and replaced with the repetitive yet calming sounds of waves crashing against the shore.

You dragged him down to the beach, further from the bar, and sat down in the sand. He continued to hold your hand but said nothing. Deciding not to talk until he was ready to, you enjoyed the warmth of his hand and the calming presence of the ocean.

“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t how you want to be spending your Friday night,” Bob apologised.

“I came here to see you. I don’t care if we’re playing pool or sitting out here in silence,” you told him truthfully, watching a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Getting over heartbreak isn’t a simple thing. If it was, we wouldn’t be able to learn and grow.”

“I just…I don’t want you thinking that I’m using you as a rebound or something,” he confessed. “You deserve better than that.”

“Right now,we’re friends who flirt and enjoy hanging out. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that,” you said. “It’s not always going to feel like this, Bob, I promise you. Sometimes all it takes is time, but other times? Other times, all you need is a friend who’s been there and gets it. Phoenix tries, but she hasn’t experienced this kind of heartbreak before. I’m like you, I love hard. Hard enough to make up for the other person’s piss poor efforts.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I know it’s not enough, but thank you.”

“It’s enough, Bob.”

Bob met you at the café early in the morning like you’d planned. After the evening took a turn last night, you’d driven him home before heading back to your place.

Your words had been true. You loved spending time with him, whether you were playing pool or sitting outside. It was his company that mattered the most, not the conversation or activity.

You also revealed more about yourself to him than you’d intended. You hoped he’d picked up on the double meaning of your words – that you loved the other person more than they could love you. Because it was happening all over again. You were falling for someone who was emotionally unavailable.

Bob.

Breakfast was a short affair, but still sweet. The café had became a regular place you two liked to meet at and the staff were lovely. They’d have your drinks ready, even if there was a store full of people because you were both creatures of habit. Bob liked green tea, you like iced black coffee.

With breakfast out of the way, you linked your arm with Bob’s as you walked down the street. Asking him what kind of vibe he was feeling for his suit, only to be met with a blank look.

“It’s summer, Bob, you’ve got to have a colourful suit,” you chastised. “Black is boring. It’s overdone. I think you’d suit a light blue, like a baby blue, but we’ll shop around a bit.”

That’s how he ended up trying on various suits throughout the day. You’d see his attention start to drift, so you’d pack up and drag him into a store while you tried on dresses. He’d sit in the change area waiting patiently, then he’d take his time watching you twirl and pose.

He’d comment on aspects of the dresses he liked, like the neckline or the frills. It wasn’t until one of the workers tried suggesting a dress that he balked at the suggestion and went to find a better one.

He was attentive and complimentative, more so than any boyfriend you’d ever dragged out shopping with you. You wanted to think it was because there was something else building between you, but your heart told you another story. That he only cared because you were his date to his ex’s wedding.

But when he came back with a pale blue number you knew he had a winner before you even tried it on.

“This is the one,” you told him through the curtain. You admired yourself in the mirror and smiled.

“Show me?”

You threw back the curtain and gave him a shy twirl. The dress was soft and flowed around your legs as you twirled on your tiptoes. The material was snug over your chest and could either be worn with the straps or without. You’d opted to tuck them into your bra for the time being.

“You look gorgeous,” he said, voice having dropped an octave as he truly admired you. “You always look gorgeous. I mean, wow.”

You chuckled softly and reached for his arm. “I know. Thank you, Bob.”

You left him to pick his jaw up off the ground and quickly changed back, carrying the dress over your arm. Opening the curtain and placing the dresses you weren’t going to buy on the rack before taking Bob’s hand in yours.

“Will that be cash or card?”

“Card.” Bob handed his card over before you had a second to dig for your own to pay. “It’s on me. Please?”

“Only because you asked nicely,” you replied teasingly, smiling at the cashier as she rang you up and processed Bob’s card. You accepted the bag when it was ready and walked out of the store together after thanking the cashier.

“Now all that’s left is my suit,” Bob mused.

“Should be easy enough. Then we can have a late lunch.”

You didn’t want the day to be over yet. Call it selfish or whatever, but spending time with Bob was the highlight of your week. The more time you spent with him, the more you saw glimpses of the real Bob hidden away from the rest of the world. He could take charge, like he did when he found you the dress. His shell was slowly cracking open and the more you saw, the more you fell for his sweet nature.

Bob smiled at the promise of lunch and you led him back into the store he’d tried on no less than 20 suits earlier in the day. The sales assistant smiled when he saw you both back again, surprised you’d found a dress already.

“We need a suit in this colour, or as close to it as you can,” you told him, showing him the colour of your dress.

He flew around the store picking up suits in various shades of blue, none of which were close to being right. Still, Bob tried on every single one of them to get your opinion.

“You do alterations, right?” You asked the sales assistant. He nodded. “Good. I’ll be back.”

You headed off on a mission. You’d seen a blue suit earlier, but it had been the wrong size so you’d all skipped past it. When you found it, you knew it was going to be two sizes too big, but if the alterations were done right, it would be perfect.

“That’s going to fall off me,” Bob commented.

“You’re not that skinny,” you replied. “I’ve seen your abs. The colour is right, Bob, please?”

“Only because you asked nicely,” he mumbled, throwing your words back at you which only made you laugh.

“Last night you said you’d do anything I’d ask, so get to it, handsome.”

He paused, trying to hide his smile as he accepted the suit, then stuck his tongue out at you. “Cheater.”

“All’s fair in love and wedding attire, or however the saying goes.”

You heard him laughing even with the door to the changing room closed. When he emerged, you signaled for the sales assistant.

“It definitely needs to be taken in, but the colour is definitely the right shade of blue. You have a good eye,” he told you, making you smile as you looked over Bob. “I’ll just grab some pins and then we’ll size you for the alterations.”

“Thank you,” Bob said politely.

“That colour looks so good on you,” you complimented, smoothing your hand down his arm before walking around him in a circle.

“Yeah?”

You smiled at his nervousness bubbling back to the surface. “Yeah. We’re going to look so good together.”

The apples of his cheeks began to pink up at your words. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

The sales assistant made quick work of pinning the suit where it needed to be tailored. Taking in the legs and the hem of the pants. Taking in the sides of the jacket and a little bit of the length, as well as attempting to make the shoulders look smoother. He made Bob turn a few times so he could adjust a few pins as necessary. Happy with his work, he told Bob to be careful while changing out of the pants, since he’d already taken the jacket off.

“Do you have a white dress shirt at home?” You asked Bob through the closed door.

“Yeah, a couple,” he replied.

“Tie?”

“I’m not wearing a tie,” he said firmly. “Ties are for the groom and groomsmen. Since I’m neither, I’m going as casual Bob. Casual Bob has a hot date and will have a few drinks then carve up the dance floor.”

“Remind me to keep you away from the dance floor,” you teased.

“You didn’t have anything wrong with my dancing at Phoenix’s the other weekend,” he pointed out.

“That was a safe space,” you replied. “You were surrounded by people who care about you. Do you really think dancing like a stripper at your ex’s wedding is going to be a good look?”

“You just want me all to yourself,” he deduced, opening the door to find you flustered by his shirtless self.

“I, uhh, what was the question?”

Seeing the roles reversed, that Bob was the confident one to your suddenly nervous self, fuelled him on. He took a step towards you, you took one towards him. Hand reaching out to touch him.

“Hot, fuck.”

You pulled your hand back the second your fingers brushed over his abdomen like you’d been burnt. You’d expected him to laugh, or blush uncontrollably, but he surprised you by cupping your face with one hand while his other settled on your waist.

“Go on a date with me.” His voice was soft and low. Thumb brushing over your cheek, feeling the warmth. “A real date.”

“Okay,” you said softly.

“Dinner tonight? No wedding talk. No talk about our exes. Just us talking like we do. Having fun like we do,” he said.

“What time?”

“Five, I have something else planned besides dinner,” he revealed, smiling as he stroked your cheek one last time.

“Do I get a hint?”

“Bring a jacket,” he told you, and you missed his touch instantly as he took a step back. “And don’t wear heels.”

You dressed casually for your date, unsure what to expect. You paired your jeans with a comfy tee, as well as a warm jacket that you had draped over your arm for the time being. It was still too warm to wear the jacket, so whatever Bob had planned had piqued your interest tenfold.

He picked you up at five sharp, dressed in jeans that had the cuffs rolled, a pair of boots and a white tee with a bomber jacket over top. His usual Navy issued glasses sat perched atop his nose and he gave you a warm smile.

“Well, don’t you look handsome,” you greeted, smiling widely at the man standing in your doorway.

“You’re not supposed to compliment me first,” he chastised playfully, though his flushed cheeks betrayed the confidence shining brightly in his eyes. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Bob,” you replied, feeling warmth in your own cheeks.

The two of you set off, Bob’s hand firmly in yours as he led you out to his car. No matter how much you asked, he wasn’t going to tell you what the first stop was.

“It’s a surprise,” he’d said with an all knowing smile. “Don’t give me lip about hating surprises either. I guarantee this is one you’ll like.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you,” he’d replied simply, like he was stating a fact.

You thought back to the past conversations you’d had, and what you might’ve revealed about yourself. There was a lot, and there was a good chance he did know you well enough to be able to state that you’d grant an exception to this surprise.

When Bob parked at the marina you cast him a bewildered look. He wasted no time in getting out and rounding the car to open the door for you.

“Ever the gentleman, Bobert,” you teased but there was no malice. There was never any malice. Just adoration for the man whose heart was slowly healing.

“Bobert, huh?”

“You told me you hated Robbie and Bobby,” you pointed out. “Bobert is fun, fresh, and a combination of your name and your nickname. Like it?”

“Don’t hate it,” he replied with a laugh. “C’mon, we’re running late as it is.”

“Are we fishing?” You asked, his hand slipping into yours like it belonged there, and maybe it did.

He held onto your coat as you walked along the boardwalk towards the docks, not giving anything away. There were lots of people milling around, heading towards other boats. Not you two. You weaved your way through the crowds until you arrived at a large tour boat already loaded with tourists.

“So, not fishing?” You asked, taking in the sign above the walkway up to the boat.

The sign read “San Diego Sunset Tours.”

“Not fishing,” Bob confirmed, taking in your excited expression. The way your eyes lit up when you looked at him with the biggest grin on your face that he’d ever seen. “Told you you’d like this surprise.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” you replied.

In the many conversations you’d had, you’d told him how even though you’d lived in San Diego almost your entire life, you hadn’t actually been on a boat before. You liked to come down and watch them all go out or come back in, waving to the passengers on board. But you’d never actually experienced it before.

Bob wanted to change that.

He’d planned it long before he’d found the nerve to actually ask you to join him for a date tonight. It took a while to secure a spot, even if he did know one of the owners as a former Naval Captain. They couldn’t play favourites, so he’d waited and waited. Grown more confident and playful around you, and you’d said ‘yes’ when he finally asked you out. He just hadn’t expected you to become so flustered about seeing him without his shirt on.

He gave his name to the check in clerk, who introduced himself as the first mate. Telling you that you were the last to arrive, so to grab a drink and take a seat while they worked on setting sail.

Bob enjoyed your look of utter bewilderment. The childlike awe and unbridled joy radiating from you in tidal waves. It was contagious, and he was happy he’d invoked this kind of reaction from you. That something he did would be a memory you’d always look back on and smile, and it made his chest grow tighter and his heart race a little quicker.

“When did you have time to plan this?” You asked. Bob was in half a mind to lie so as to not come on too strong, but you were here. Through his shyness, through his moments of boldness. You were still here. That had to mean something.

“Been thinking about it since you told me the story of you coming down here every weekend when you were a kid,” he confessed, watching you place a hand over your heart as you gave him a watery smile. “I wanted to make sure you experience it at least once.”

“Thank you,” you said, though words couldn’t portray just how grateful you were. Bob seemed to understand, pulling you against his chest for a hug. Your arms wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly as you enjoyed his warm embrace.

You chose to sit outside to watch the sunset. It wasn’t that cool yet, but you put your jacket on regardless. Not wanting to bother Bob with holding it, even though he didn’t mind, and kept an arm around your shoulders.

It was easy being with Bob. You didn’t feel compelled to fill the silence with mindless babble, because his company set you at ease. He was like a breath of fresh air, comforting and refreshing.

He was everything you never knew you were missing, and when he smiled at you, you knew there was no going back. You’d fallen, and you just hoped he was there to catch you.

Your date with Bob weighed heavily on your mind in the days leading up to the wedding. No one had ever done something so special for you for a first date before, so how could you not think about it?

The tour was amazing. You’d filled your camera roll with a bunch of images of the sunset, of the two of you smiling. A couple had even asked if you’d like them to take a photo of you, and you’d both gratefully accepted.

There were a bunch of you both wrapped in each other’s arms and smiling at the camera, but there were also a few where one or both of you were smiling at each other.

Then there was your favourite photo of all. The sunset was illuminating the sky behind you in a mix of gorgeous reds, oranges and purples. Bob had a hand resting on your lower back, the other cupping your face. Your hands gripped the collar of his jacket and you two had forgotten that pictures were being taken. The look shared between you spoke volumes. Pure adoration for each other shining brightly.

You’d made it your phone lock screen.

Of course, you’d sent a few of the others to Phoenix once Bob had dropped you home after dinner. You’d needed to gush about how much fun you’d had, and how Bob had surprised you with the best first date ever.

It wasn’t until you all met up at the Hard Deck later in the week that she saw what your lock screen image was. Apparently Bob’s was the same, and he’d been dealing with their merciless teasing all week. It brought a new wave of teasing around because apparently Bob hadn’t blushed over his choice of lock screen until it was revealed that yours matched.

You thought that you couldn’t fall any further for him, but it turned out you were wrong.

The two of you slipped outside as the night wore on and more drinks were consumed. Hangman and Rooster were killing it at karaoke, and their voices were drowned out by the lull of the ocean.

You were nestled into Bob’s side, his jacket draped around your back, your head resting in his shoulder. You liked him. It was obvious he liked you too, but you needed to have a conversation. Talk about things like adults, because while the feelings were obviously there, his words stuck in your mind.

“I don’t want you to think I’m using you.”

He’d said it a couple weeks ago. A lot has changed since then. You woke up to good morning texts from him, or would grab dinner or hang out watching a movie in the evenings after work. Your free time had been consumed by him, and while you loved it, you also needed clarification. You needed to know where his mind was at, because it’d been a while since you’d mentioned his ex. He never brought her up, so it was hard to know without being able to read his mind.

“You warm enough, sweetheart?” Bob asked you softly, pressing a soft kiss the top of your head.

You hummed. “Yeah, thank you. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

You sat in silence for a moment, trying to find the right words. Bob didn’t pressure you, and part of you was glad. “Do you like me the way I like you?”

“What way do you like me?” He asked cautiously.

“More than a friend, handsome,” you said lightly, peering up at him as your heart thundered in your ears.

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, sweetheart. I like you the same way you like me.”

“Okay, good.” You smiled, catching his eye.

He dipped his head, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you any reason to doubt,” he told you.

“I just needed to be sure, that’s all,” you told him. “There’s been times when I’ve thought you were going to kiss me, but you haven’t.”

“I needed to be sure of my feelings for you before I kissed you for the first time,” he said, hand lightly cupping your face. Thumb brushing over your cheek. “You mean so much to me, sweetheart. I’d never be able to forgive myself if I hurt you because we weren’t on the same page.”

“We’re on the same page now, handsome.”

“Yeah, we are,” he said, tilting your chin so he could capture your lips in a kiss you’d been anticipating for a month.

Finally.

You kissed him back softly, slowly. Savouring the feeling of his mouth against yours and the fire that ignited low in your belly. Your arms finding their way around his neck, fitting against him like you were two pieces of a puzzle that had long awaited their missing piece.

His hand slipped behind your head to cup the base of your skull, fingers winding their way into your hair. Your mouth parted slightly, sucking his bottom lip as a low groan rumbled in his chest.

And then there was the cheering. Bob’s squadron of friends whooping and hollering as they watched the spectacle of your first kiss from the rear entrance of the Hard Deck.

You chuckled against Bob’s lips, drawing him in for another kiss as you flipped them all off. His tongue pressed past your open lips as he deepened the kiss, earning a delicious moan in response.

Neither of you cared about the audience, or that it slowly grew quieter again. The blood rushed in your veins, your body reacting to his touch and you felt hot. Shrugging off his jacket as your fingers tugged at his hair and his grip around your waist tightened.

You were breathing heavily when you parted, Bob’s own breath matching yours as you softly laughed from the bliss of it all and started to smooth back his hair.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” you confessed, voice barely above a whisper.

“Quit stealin’ m’ lines,” he said, voice thick and gravelly even as heat rose to his cheeks.

“Hello, Montana,” you teased, fanning your face with your hand at the sudden tone of the Montana drawl he said only appeared when he was stressed. “Been wondering if your accent also came back when you were turned on.”

“Might be playin’ it up a bit f’ you,” he replied, cocking his head as he smiled and brushed some of your hair back from your face.

You hummed, smiling softly as he dipped his head for another kiss. This one was short but sweet, like he couldn’t help himself and he just had to kiss you again. Like he already missed the feeling of your lips against his and knew you weren’t going to protest.

“You wanna go back inside or stay out here a bit longer?” He asked sweetly.

His gaze flitted to your lips so you kissed him. “I’ll go wherever you go, handsome.”

By the time you were ready to go back inside, because the temperature had dropped a bit more and you noticed the goosebumps on Bob’s arms despite his insistence that he wasn’t cold, your lips were puffy and his hair was a mess. He’d given you his jacket again and walked a little taller with his arm around your waist, guiding you back towards his group of friends.

“You finally resurfaced for air, huh?” Phoenix teased you both, earning a laugh from you as you stole her drink and finished the last of it. Bob simply smiled.

“Another drink?” You asked Bob.

“Please and thank you,” he replied, earning a chorus of groans from his friends. His colleagues. His family. All he did in response was flip them off, grinning as you squeezed his hand before heading off to the bar.

“Treat her well, Floyd.”

Bob met Phoenix’s gaze. The woman, his pilot and someone he considered to be a best friend, wore a hard look. Of course, he knew her well enough at this point to know she was saying it out of loyalty to you, but also for his own benefit. If he hurt her, he knew she’d choose you. As much as she loved and respected him, she wouldn’t hesitate to kick his ass if he made you cry.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered honestly. “You g’na give her the same talk? Would hate to accuse you of playing favourites.”

“Oh, there’d be some truth to the accusations,” she replied with a laugh. “I’ve had the same talk with her already, Bob.”

At the bar, you greeted Penny with a warm smile. She finished serving the flock of women down the end before making her way over to you.

“Your usual?” She asked.

“And Bob’s,” you replied. She was already cracking open a beer before you’d even said his name. “All knowing bartender you are.”

She laughed. “Just a heads up. His ex is here for her hen’s night,” she told you, gesturing to the group she’d just served. “They’re drunk and up to no good.”

“Uh huh,” you said. It was clear which one was his ex. She wore the tacky ‘Bride to Be’ sash and the other women wore ones that said ‘Bridesmaid’s to Be’.

“Don’t roll your eyes too hard,” Penny warned you with a teasing smile.

“Thanks, Penny,” you told her, taking a sip of your drink. “How much?”

“I changed them for it,” she told you quietly, earning a boisterous laugh in response. She shot you a wink. “They haven’t seen you guys yet, but they’re flapping their jaws.”

“Appreciate the heads up, Penny,” you said honestly.

You’d had a great time tonight and you didn’t want Bob’s ex or her friends to ruin it. Part of you still believed he was hung up on her and you wished it wasn’t true. He’d told you he liked you. You’d seen his behaviour change from someone suffering through life to someone enjoying it. You were part of the reason his behaviour had lifted over the last few weeks.

Squaring your shoulders, you headed towards the group with a huge smile on your face.

“Oh my God, you’re getting married!” You gushed and it was just what the women needed to squeal and fawn over Bob’s ex. You knew her name, you just didn’t want to say it. “Congratulations, you must be so happy!”

“Thank you,” she replied, her answer quipped. “I’m sorry, we’re kind of on a mission to find someone tonight. Do you come here often? Maybe you could help us?”

“I can try my best,” you replied honestly.

“Do you know Bob Floyd?” One of the Bridesmaids asked you.

“Yeah, I know Bob.” You cocked your head. “Why do you need Bob for this mission?”

The women all shared a look and giggled. A different one spoke. “We want him to strip for Jamie. As one last hurrah before she gets married, you know?”

This time you giggled. “Oh, you couldn’t afford him,” you responded, watching the Bride to Be’s face turn from amused to confused, then fall completely. “I’m sure there’s someone here who would be into it, though. Hangman maybe?”

“Jake’s an asshole,” the bride snapped.

“I think he’s a sweetheart. A little misguided, but his heart’s in the right place. Maybe you’re right though, he seems to be loyal to his friends,” you mused, enjoying the discomfort growing on the Bride to Be’s face. “Oh, what do I know? You ladies have fun tonight!”

You breezed off towards the back of the bar where Fanboy and Phoenix had carefully hidden the group, grateful for the large crowd tonight so the group of women couldn’t track where you’d gone.

Fanboy eyed you curiously. He’d had eyes on the whole situation since Penny had sent him a text about the unwanted bridal party’s arrival while you and Bob had been outside. He’d positioned himself in a way that he could be hidden but also see everything.

You gave him a smile before you handed Bob his beer and sat down beside him.

“Your ex and her bridal party are trying to find you so you can strip for them,” you stated. Bob stared at you with his bottle raised halfway to his lips. “Don’t worry, I said they couldn’t afford you and offered Hangman instead.”

There was silence for a beat while everyone awaited Bob’s response. It came in the form of laughter, his arm going around your shoulders and a kiss pressed to your temple. With Bob’s own laughter in the air, the group followed suit. Until Hangman realised what you’d actually said.

“Why’d you offer my services?” He asked you.

“I’ve seen you strip to Pony by Ginuwine,” you stated.

“If I remember correctly, you were too busy flirting with Baby On Board to even notice,” he argued playfully.

“And she still knows I’m better than you, Hangman,” Bob replied in the same teasing manner.

“What can I say? I have taste.”

The kiss Bob gave you had the group groaning at the show of PDA. He didn’t care.

Neither did you.

The day of the wedding rolled around quickly. You were set to get ready with Phoenix and had arrived at her place a little after 10am. Mickey and Bob would pick you up just after two to make your way out. You’d planned to meet everyone just before half three since the ceremony kicked off at four.

You’d had a grueling week at work and didn’t even have the energy to see everyone at the Hard Deck last night. Instead, Bob had come over with dinner and the two of you spent the evening cuddling and making out on your couch like horny teenagers. You’d wished things had gone further, the noises he made ignited a flame inside you. A hot, passionate fire raging deep in your belly that your showerhead couldn’t quite extinguish.

He hadn’t stayed the night. You’d seen how torn he was between deciding whether he should stay or go, so you’d made the decision for him. Sure, you were straddling his lap at the time and grinding yourself against the bulge of his erection, but you’d told him there was no rush. No pressure to take things further if he wasn’t quite ready.

He was achingly ready. Fingertips digging into your hips, your lips ghosting over the shell of his ear and breath hot against his skin as you spoke lowly.

“Every second I have with you is more than I thought I’d ever have, so until you make the first move, this is as far as we go,” you’d said.

“This is so much more fun than going home and getting off with my hand,” he’d replied with a groan.

“But it’s so fucking hot knowing you’re going to jerk off thinking of me,” you’d told him, your core clenching at the thought.

“You g’na get yourself off thinkin’ o’ me, sweetheart?”

“Seems only fair.”

The sounds he’d made had been replaying in your head all night. Nothing you’d tried had been as good at making you cum than the thought of him stroking his cock while thinking of you.

You’d been distracted all morning since you’d been at Phoenix’s getting ready. When she’s tried to ask, you’d brushed it off as nerves for this wedding. She’d hummed skeptically but had given you enough glasses of wine that had you spilling your guts.

Then she’d wished you hadn’t, but you needed to get it out. Needed to tell someone about your frustration in the hopes they’d set you right and tell you what you needed to hear. So she pushed aside her discomfort and did just that.

“You’ve been patient with Bob for almost two months,” she said. “I know you’re on the same page now, but he doesn’t rush things. He’s in his head a lot because his job is to weigh every possible scenario before he acts. He’s never thinking of himself because my ass is on the line, too. That’s what he’ll be doing. Your patience will be rewarded, and I’ll have to mentally brace myself to hear all the details, but he’s so into you, Y/N. Don’t doubt that for a fucking second.”

“I know, I know. I do, believe me. I know I go all in too fast sometimes, so can you just tell me that going slow for once isn’t a bad thing?”

“Going slow isn’t a bad thing,” she repeated, except you believed her whereas telling yourself the same thing felt like a load of shit. “Now do you want lunch or nibbles?”

“Lunch. I need to absorb some of this alcohol before I get in the car for the next two hours.”

You ordered sandwiches from the shop down the street and continued to get ready while you ate. The music got turned up and the vibe was lively. Laughter flowed as you took dance breaks or strutted the fake catwalk. It wasn’t until there was a knock at the door that you realised the time.

Phoenix opened the door for Mickey and Bob and you chugged the last of your wine.

“Don’t you two look dapper?” She greeted your dates with a teasing compliment. “A bow-tie, Mick? Really?”

“See, this is why I needed your opinion,” he countered, greeting her with a hug and a heady kiss. Phoenix was quick to take the tie off and undo the first two buttons of his shirt.

“Hi,” Bob greeted you shyly.

He looked amazing in his suit, like you knew he would. His hair curled at the nape of his neck, evidence that it’d been a while since he’d last cut it, but you didn’t complain. No, you liked the length. You loved to tug it, and that’s what had convinced him to avoid the barber’s for the foreseeable future.

“Hi yourself, handsome,” you replied, sliding your hands up his torso to grab the lapels of his jacket. His hands found your waist as the two of you shared a sweet kiss. You hummed as you parted and wiped away at a speck of lipstick lingering on his lips. “How do I look?”

“Good enough to eat,” he replied lowly.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you teased playfully. He kissed you again, unable to help himself. “Where are you glasses, Bobert?”

“He put contacts in,” Mickey supplied. “Ended up crying because he stabbed himself in the eye while we were driving over here.”

“You hit a pothole,” Bob stated.

“I miss the glasses,” you said with a pout. Bob shared a look with Phoenix and Fanboy who wore identical smiles. “What was that look for?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Bob assured you. You believed him.

The ride to the venue was a blast. You had the windows down, music pumping and shared a bottle of wine with Phoenix and Bob. They’d laughed when you’d grabbed the bottle before leaving, but Bob had a good buzz on and you and Phoenix were on a mission to appear more sober than you actually were.

That proved easier said than done, but at least you had a pair of sunglasses.

You kept half an eye on Bob. He seemed to be in good spirits, but you weren’t sure if it was for show or not. Of course, he did keep you glued to his side, which you didn’t mind. His arm around your waist, helping keep you steady since it was obvious that you and Phoenix had started drinking hours before everyone else.

Shit.

You weren’t complaining about his close proximity. Standing beneath the shade of a nearby tree while you sipped a bottle of water from one hand or a glass of prosecco from your other. Bob and Rooster were chatting to some other people they knew. Friends of Bob’s ex, apparently. You paid some attention to the conversation, but Phoenix was waving you over to where her and Fanboy were.

“I’ll be back, just going to see what Nix wants,” you told Bob, kissing his cheek. He smiled in response, following you towards where the duo sat in front of a few snacks. “What’s up?”

“Mickey thinks we need to eat more,” Phoenix told you, stacking a slice of cheese on a cracker before dipping it in a bowl.

“You almost tripped twice walking over here,” he commented, arm around the back of Nix’s chair.

“You try walking on grass in heels,” you replied, taking a seat and setting your drinks in front of you before picking at a slice of salami.

“She’s right,” Nix agreed. “Lover boy is on his way over.”

“You have separation anxiety or something?” Mickey teased, earning a laugh from Bob.

He took a seat beside you, arm resting on the back of your chair. Copying the duo sitting on the opposite side of the table. “They’re talking about baseball and I couldn’t give a single fuck about it. Better company here, anyway.”

“Charmer,” you teased, slicing some brie to put on a cracker with half of a cherry tomato. He grinned your way as you put the whole thing in your mouth, shaking his head as you struggled to chew it.

“Hungry?”

“They’ve been drinking since ten,” Mickey told him, smiling fondly at Phoenix as she scooped guac onto a chip and shoved it in her mouth.

“Ahh,” Bob replied, swiping your prosecco and finishing it before you could protest. “Finish your water.”

Chat was aimless as you all picked at the snacks on the table. Talking about your job or their training. Making plans for a double date sometime soon. It was easy.

Eventually Hangman and Coyote found you, handing out more prosecco or beer. They talked shit about some of the guests who looked annoyed to even be in attendance, which then started the game of trying to guess who everyone was. Making up stories about them, or names, until you were all in hysterics at Mickey’s description of an older woman.

He’d said her name was Myrtle and she had a turtle, but she was undercover for the CIA because some ex-Russian military – who were the groom’s family, – were here to cause trouble. His exact words were “eliminate everyone in attendance,” but assured you all that Myrtle had it under control.

Payback and Rooster joined you all after hearing your group’s laughter over everything else and immediately got in on the game too.

Your table was the loudest by far. Guests casting disgusted looks your way whenever someone finished their description, starting another round based on who looked the most annoyed. How else were you supposed to pass the time waiting for the ceremony to kick off? Mingling with people you didn’t know and gushing about how happy you were for the soon-to-be-wed couple? Get fucked.

“More drinks?” Hangman asked.

The guys had all hung their jackets over the backs of their chairs. It was hot, and while there was an umbrella covering the table, a few of the guys were still in the sun. Sleeves rolled to their elbows, empty waters on the table in front of them, and occasionally swapping just so no one burned.

There was a chorus of yes’ as he headed inside. The snacks in front of you had been finished for a while, but Rooster had swiped a tray of finger sandwiches which didn’t last long.

Bob had moved his chair closer to you to get out of the sun as it moved in the sky. You didn’t mind at all, especially not when you’d gone to the bathroom and come back to find him in your seat. Taking residence in his lap so you didn’t have to sit in the sun.

He’d pressed the occasional kiss to your shoulder, hand resting low on your hip, the other holding a bottle of water.

“They’re about to start,” Hangman said, arms full of water and a few bottles of beer.

Just as he said that, someone came out to ask everyone to move to the seats set up, or to stand at the back. It was obvious there wasn’t enough seating, so the group opted to stand under one of the trees not too far away. There was no need to be seated, and this way you all could still drink without looking obnoxious.

Mickey poured a bottle of water over Bob’s head, while Rooster and Hangman did the same thing on their own.

Bob wrung some of the water out before standing up and combing his fingers through his hair. You watched his forearms flex with the movement, enraptured by the show and the few droplets that trickled down his face and neck.

He pressed a cold, wet hand to the back of your neck and you almost melted, earning a laugh in response.

“God damn, that’s nice,” you said, closing your eyes for a moment. When they opened again, Bob was smiling before he leaned down and stole a kiss. “That was nicer.”

He chuckled, snaking his arm around your waist. “You’re welcome.”

He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, much to the dismay of the group. To hell with them, though. You were happy, Bob was happy, and that’s all that mattered.

The music started and you sipped your beer as the bridesmaids slowly made their way down the aisle.

Bob had anticipated this day for years. Except the reality was a stark contrast to what he’d envisioned. When he saw Jamie walking out with her father, he thought he’d feel bitter. He thought he still harboured some resentment towards her for moving on so quickly. For finding happiness with another man. For planning her wedding with someone other than him.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t feel bitter, or even happy. He felt like though the plans he’d had ended up being far different, that he wouldn’t change it for the world. Yeah, he’d struggled with the separation and all of her life changes initially, but now? Now, he felt whole. He felt like he’d found what he’d always been missing. And to think you’d only breezed into his life almost two months ago, and now had become his rock. The person he confided in. The person he wanted to do better for completely took his breath away.

Everything he’d ever wanted was standing in his arms at his ex’s wedding. What the fuck? Bob felt like a fucking idiot. He wished he’d realised it sooner. He wished he’d blown off the whole wedding and taken you on another spectacular date.

It was too late to leave now, but he didn’t want to stay. He wanted to whisk you away and tell you how much of an idiot he was for not acknowledging what was right in front of his face all along.

You.

Yet you smiled and leaned into him as the ceremony wore on. Your smile never once seemed fake, and he knew it was because you were a good person. A better person than he was, anyway. You’d supported him every step of the way. Encouraged him to find comfort in himself. Love himself first. And with that, you’d earned his heart. Words couldn’t even begin to explain it, but whenever you looked at him it was like you knew. You understood him without the need for words.

“If there is anyone who believes this couple should not wed, speak now or forever hold your piece.”

Jamie’s eyes were on Bob. He could see hopefulness, longing, and the evil green-eyed monster; jealousy. His arms were around you and you rested back into his chest. His chin sat atop of your head, and your group all stood with him in solidarity.

He knew you saw the look. She was looking right at the two of you. But still, you were relaxed and content in his embrace, and he didn’t bat an eye.

The rest of the ceremony was concluded and Phoenix audibly exhaled beside him.

“She looked like she was hoping you’d interrupt,” she commented.

“My best guess is that’s why I was invited in the first place,” he admitted. “Especially since Y/N said they were trying to find me to strip for her at her bachelorette party.”

Phoenix hummed. You twisted in Bob’s arms, giving him a proper hug. He tightened his grip without question.

“Hangman, you wanna steal some more beers for the road? I feel like pizza,” Bob said, earning a laugh from Hangman as he slapped Bob’s shoulder.

“Coyote, Payback, let’s roll.”

You all grabbed your things before meeting out the front. Handing over jackets and sunglasses while accepting beer in return. Rooster and Fanboy planned where to meet, and then you were heading off. It was a short trip. Everyone was hungry and needed to eat before the drive back home. Sure, it was only a couple hours, but the heat played a factor in their exhaustion.

Bob took your hand and pulled you aside once you arrived at the pizza joint. Everyone else headed inside, but he needed a minute.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He asked softly.

“I’m so good, handsome,” you told him honestly, smiling proudly. Adoringly. “You okay?”

“The best I’ve been in a long time,” he admitted. “Because I have you. I have someone in my corner who only wants the best for me.”

“Bobert?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “This is the part where you ask me to officially be your girlfriend.”

“Hurry up and ask her so we can eat!” Hollered Rooster from the doorway. You both turned to look at him, only to be met with the faces of everyone closest to you. They all waited expectantly.

“Will you be my girlfriend, sweetheart?”

“I’ll do anything you want me to do, handsome.”

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd angst #bob floyd fanfiction #SOURGUTS #sourguts writing challenge #*good 4 u #bob floyd fanfic

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ursuburbanmother · 1 month

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I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter One

Pairing: Angus Tully x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Angus have been best friends since you were little children. Now in high school the only thing that separates you is a lake between both your schools. Due to what was describe by your headmaster as "Unfortunate circumstances due to chance, and poor planning on our part," you are forced to stay at the Barton Academy for the holidays with the company of your best friend or maybe more.

a/n: hi guys! I’m new so try to be kind to me lol. Anyways this is probably not very good. It’s slow paced cause I wanted to establish their friendship. Not sure where this is going so if you have any suggestions let me know! Also not grammar or beta read so…

Word Count: 3k

Find: Part 2

Enjoy!

December 17th, 1970

You hadn’t spoken to your parents in months. You figured they would call or write a letter or something. In October they wished you a speedy little, “Happy Halloween,” before hanging up. You could hear the loud party in the background. Always the socialites, they were probably eager to get back to enjoying themselves by downing flutes of champagne and appetizers. Now it was December, and you had not received a peep from either. When the holiday plans form was passed out to the girls of your boarding school at the end of November, you ignored it. Then the deadline came, and you hastily checked off the box that said, ‘Plan to stay on campus.’

Your parents hadn’t called to dispute it and now you’re stuck at mass, sitting in a pew, watching other happy families and their daughters anxiously waiting to leave. You wondered if there was still a way for you to get away. Your friend, really only friend, Angus Tully was headed to St. Kitts and with him gone, your only true escape was gone. If he knew you were stuck holding over, he would beg his parents to take you, but you knew it would be too much of an imposition, so you kept that fact secret.

Life had always seemed to throw you two together. Even at the age where cooties were still a very legitimate fear. Born in the same snobby Boston neighborhood you two were often the only kids at your parent's parties. You remember that humid night on the Fourth of July when you had met the lanky boy with a mess of brown curls. The fireworks had begun to go off and everyone wore white dresses and suits. You had become restless and started to wander the halls of your home aimlessly. Streamers of blue, red and white hung from the ceiling and servers walked around passing out sparklers.

You found him on the patio. He tugged, annoyed, at his tie. Your own dress was stifling in the heat and for a pair of seven-year-olds, you found the best solution to your ailment was to jump into the shallow end of the pool.

“I’ll do it, if you do it,” you had promised under the hum of cicadas and floating fireflies.

“Deal,” you shook hands.

The water was cold and clear. You swam around for a while, splashing each other and playing Marco Polo. It was at the same time your mother had decided to move the party outside so people could watch the lights in the sky a bit better. You two were pulled out of the pool and shook like wet dogs.

Livid, your parents fed you the line all parents wait to say to their troublesome child, “If your friend jumped off a bridge, would you?” You decided at that moment that yes, you would.

After that you two were inseparable. Because when you're a kid all you need is one single act of solidarity to devote your life to someone. Throughout elementary school you were practically fused to one another. You’d exclude people from your game of hopscotch and eat lunch in secret nooks. When you two were headed to high school your parents enrolled you in a posh all-girl boarding school and Angus to some prep school in another rural part of Massachusetts. Phone calls rang long. You remember the groans you would get from other girls who would give up trying to use the payphone. At some point you had run out of quarters and so to save money you had begun writing letters. Angus being Angus, he’d write as if he was off at war and the letters were the last things keeping him sane.

You knew he never enjoyed school but after he was kicked out from his first preparatory, then his second and third, you had turned into a scolding mother.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Die if I’m lucky, shave my head at Fork Union if not.”

“I want to go to college with you Angus. If not college then I at least want to be able to be an adult with you. One with a diploma so we can get easy jobs as regional salespeople or something,” you mumbled, twirling the phone cord around with your finger.

“You really thought this out,” he laughed.

“I’m serious, Augie.” You heard him sigh across the line.

“Okay. I’ll do better. No screw ups next time.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

When he was sent to Barton, your sister school, you couldn’t have been more excited. It was a short walk away; you could see it from across the lake that separated you. Your mom had been the one to call you about the change. She said his mother thought having him near you would make him less fussy. Something about you being the good influence he needs. You doubted that yet bit your tongue, knowing it would create more trouble than anything. Now it had been over a year and Angus had kept his word. When the opportunity arose for you to meet up, you would take it. Football games or talent shows, you were there. To anyone outside, it would have appeared as though you two just held a lot of school spirit. Like that beach boy's song.

“Be true to your school now,” you’d sing into Angus' ear.

He’d roll his eyes but always join in, “just like you would to your girl or guy.”

“Rah-rah-rah-rah sis boom bah! I love that part!” You’d giggle.

He’d try to hide his smile, but you could always tell. He’d put his arm around your shoulder and say, “Yeah okay.”

…

Once you were dismissed from mass you sighed and trudged all the way back through the snow to your dorm building. Having it so empty was eerie, you could hear your own footsteps echoing down the halls. You made your way into the common room to wait for Ms. Orchard.

She was meant to be your babysitter for the next few weeks. She was your Renaissance literature teacher. Ms. Orchard was nice but on the older side, which meant she was traditional. You often thought she would be better suited to be a Home Economics teacher if she was so invested in being ladylike.

You sat in the corner of the couch and opened a book. Minutes passed and it seemed obvious no one was coming to join you. Not even Mrs. Orchard. She probably broke a hip trying to make her way back in the snow.

“Ms. Orchard has broken a hip while walking in the snow,” the door suddenly bursts open hitting the side of the wall so hard it shakes the room.

“What?” Your mouth drops at the news. Shit, had you jinxed it?

Your Dean, Mr. Jameson says as he walks in, covered in snowflakes. “Yup. She slipped on ice on the way here. By the parking lot. Didn’t you hear the ambulance?”

“Uh… no?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, looking around the room, “where are the other girls?”

“I think it’s just me sir.”

“Ah, right. Well that makes this easier. You’ll be spending your Christmas break at Barton. Now, it’s awfully last minute so we hope they take you. Why don’t you go get your bag ready and-,”

“Hold on. Barton the boys' school?” You could almost gag at the idea. No offense to Angus, but you could remember the endless horror stories he would tell you of life in a boys' school. The air always smelled weird, and cleanliness was the least of their worries. “Isn’t there somebody to replace Ms. Orchard?”

“This place cleared out thirty minutes ago, Ms. L/n,” he said, “And I have a family to get back to.”

“But-, I just-, isn't there a rule against this or something?”

“I have no doubt that the teacher supervisor there will ensure you have a safe, jolly time Ms. L/n.”

“But I-,”

“That’s enough. I understand this is an unprecedented situation, but the only alternative would be to leave you here alone and that just is not going to happen. Please Ms. L/n, make this easy for everyone.” With his hand he motioned towards the door.

“Fine,” you gritted out. You got off the couch and went to your room. You half-heartedly crammed anything you could into your suitcase. Some shirts, sweaters and pants. You ran out of space and resorted to carrying your books in your hands along with your potted plant. You felt bad leaving your lavender to just sit and wilt, so you took her with you.

“I made a few calls. Everything should work out. You all settled then?” Mr. Jameson said once you had made your way back to the common room. Nodding with a tight-lipped smile you headed out. You two could have walked but apparently, he was in a hurry to catch a six o’clock flight and you ended up taking his car.

It was a short drive and with reluctance you made your way inside the school. “Come on. Put a pep in your step,” Mr. Jameson clapped.

He navigated you around. You had only been in the main building, never the dorms. Blindly you let him guide you until you found yourself in a room with four other boys and Angus. Angus who was supposed to be half-way to the airport by now. His sulky face shifted into one of shock. You took a step towards him only to be stopped by your dean's arm in front of you. The other guys were looking at you with mouths wide open. It was like their eyes were about to fall out of their sockets. You grumbled, not knowing what else to do.

Mr. Jameson took the lead, “Mr. Hunham? Correct?” He outstretched his hand for him to shake. Hesitantly the older man took it.

“What’s the meaning of this,” he pointed between Mr. Jameson and you.

“Unfortunate circumstances due to chance, and poor planning on our part. This is Ms. Y/n L/n. Come introduce yourself.”

“I’m Y/n L/n,” you shrugged, looking at Angus for guidance. In unison they all say hello.

“Can we speak in private,” Mr. Jameson asked.

“Alright,” Mr. Hunham says, “no funny business,” he gives a pointed look to the boys.

The two teachers leave, and you quickly move to Angus to encapsulate him in a quick hug.

“What the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Funny, I was going to ask the same thing.”

“What the hell Angus. You have a girlfriend?” A blonde boy with a red tie says as his eyes scan your figure. You shift uncomfortably at the action. “A smoking one too…”

“Shut it Kountze, you’re catching flies,” Angus scoffs.

The door creaks open as both gentlemen return from their brief chat. You and Angus move away from each other like you were caught doing something wrong.

“It seems we will be extending you an invitation to Ms. L/n,” Mr. Hunham says, “you okayed this with Woodrup?” He verifies again with Dean Jameson.

“Yes, it’s all settled. We at Janie Patrick’s School thank you. We owe you one,” he turns to you, “goodbye L/n, you’re in good hands.”

He was halfway through the door when Mr. Hunham cleared his throat obnoxiously loudly. “As I was saying, we will be following a standard school schedule.”

“Uh, sir? We’re on vacation.” Kountze points out.

“Which means we’ll be taking our meals together. And you will observe regular hours of study.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“The Peloponnesian War awaits, Mr. Kountze, you and Mr. Tully. The rest of you can get a jump on next semester. It’ll pay off. You’ll see.”

“We’re already holding over, and now we’re being punished for it?” Angus says bitterly and on fast reflex you rub his arm comfortingly. Mr. Hunham is just as fast to notice.

“Oh no, no, no. Do not tell me this is your girlfriend Mr. Tully.”

“Wh-what. No! We’re just friends.”

“Yeah, we were born on the same street!”

“I do not intend to break apart your romantic escapades all break long.”

“We. Are. Just. Friends,” Angus reaffirms, venom on his tongue. You could see the blush rising on his pale cheeks. You could feel your own as well.

“Mhm,” Hunham hums skeptically, his gaze lingers on you two for a second before glancing back at his clipboard, “Alright… You will be afforded limited windows for recreation and supervised physical activity.”

“The gyms are not even open yet.”

“Yeah, they only lacquered half the floor,” another boy points out, this one has long blonde hair that reaches his shoulders.

“Fresh air will do you good,” says Hunham.

“It’s like 15 degrees outside.”

“And the Romans bathed naked in the freezing Tiber. Adversity builds character Mr. Tully. Uh, speaking of which, the school will be cutting heat to dormitories and faculty housing and so we’ll all be bunking in the infirmary. With separate accommodations for Ms. L/n of course.”

They all groan. You're just upset. You had thought you would spend the next two weeks avoiding Ms. Orchard and lying to Angus about your whereabouts while he admiringly described the beaches of St. Kitts to you over postcards. Although you supposed it wasn’t all bad. You could spend more time with him, under the watchful glare of Angus' teacher of course.

Together you all get ready to haul your things to the infirmary before being stopped by Mr. Hunhams tsking in disapproval.

“You philistines are just going to let the lady carry her own things? I’m sorry to see Barton has failed in ingraining a sense of chivalry into you.”

“Oh no, it’s alright really, I can do it,” you protest but they all scramble to help you anyway. “Can I carry your suitcase Y/n?” Kountze says, in an odd way, that was meant to be suggestive.

“Okay Kountze, piss off,” Tully pushes him away, leaning down slightly to get your things, “let’s go.” He walks quickly out the door, leaving the rest of you to follow him.

As you are slapped in the face by the harsh winds you curse the idiots at your school who refused to let you wear pants. You were forced to put on double the tights and your warmest coat. It did not do anything to aid you and your shivering made that clear. It was like they wanted to torture you when the boys stopped halfway down the quad and in front of a truck. You're still holding your books so it's not like you can rub your arms to help you out a little. They were complaining about Hunham, who they so endearingly nicknamed “Walleye.”

“Hey, guys, hold up for a second,” Angus tells the young kids in front of you. He sets his, and your things, down on the grimy paved road. He searched through his pockets and lit a cigarette. “Want one?” he asks you and Kountze.

“No. I got something else. Give me that,” he grabs the lighter from him and sparks a joint.

“Hey, don’t smoke that out here. I don't want to get busted by Walleye.”

“Don’t be such a pussy,”

“I’m not a pussy, I just don't want to end up at Fork Union paying for your mistake.”

He ignores Angus and instead turns his attention to you instead, “You're not like a total priss right?”

You shake your head. At least you didn’t think you were.

“Alright,” he smirks and stretches his hand out for you to shake, “Teddy Kountze.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say. The other unnamed boy is the next to greet you.

“Jason Smith.”

“We know who you are. You want to hit this,” Teddy offers the jock the joint.

Jason scans his surroundings before agreeing, “Uh, yeah.”

“You got a great arm man,” he compliments,

“Yeah, well, it’s just football.”

“How’d you get stuck holding over?”

“I’m supposed to be skiing with my folks up at Haystack, but my dad put his foot down. Said I can’t come home unless I cut my hair.”

“So why don’t you cut your hair?

“Civil disobedience, man.”

“I dig that,” you comment. “You know that when they tried to cut that tree between our schools, I organized the tree-sitting.”

“Holy shit that was you? Figured it was some hippies from Boston,” Teddy snickers.

“Nope. I sat in that tree for hours, drinking from water bottles that Angus tossed up to us.”

“Did it work?” Jason wonders.

“For now, yeah.”

“Awesome…. But no, he’s cool. It’s just a battle of wills. Still, I was hoping he’d cave first, because the powder up at Haystack is so sweet right now.”

“What about you, Mr. Moto? Why are you here?” Teddy asks one of the first-year boys.

He appears embarrassed to be singled out, “No, my name is Ye-Joon. My family is in Korea, and they think it’s too far for me to travel alone.”

“I figured it was because your rickshaw was broken,” Teddy laughs to himself. Angus didn’t exaggerate when she said this guy was a jerk.

“What a rickshaw?”

Angus intervenes, “You’re an asshole, Kountze. Your mind’s a cesspool and a shallow one at that.”

“Who’s the asshole Tully? You’re the one who blew up history.” Jason notices the tension and brings the group's conversation back to the freshman.

“What’s your story man?”

“Alex Ollerman. I’m here because my parents are on a mission in Paraguay. We’re LDS. “Mormons, right?” Alex nods yes.

“Don’t you guys wear some kind of magic underwear?” It's like Teddy loves to hear himself talk, you think.

“Common misconception. Actually, it’s called a temple garment, and we’re only supposed to wear it when-.”

“Hey, what's with the townies?” Kountze spots two men emerging from the chapel with a large, heavy green tree in their grasp.

“Hey, what are you doing with our Christmas tree?” Angus shouts, tapping you on the shoulder in a way that says can you believe this?

“The school sold it back to us. Scotch pine, still fresh.” The stranger shouts back.

“Yeah, we’re going to put it back on the lot. We do it every year.”

“This is the most bullshit ever.”

The boys put out their separate smokes much to the relief of Alex and Ye-Joon. You fall behind the rest of them and Angus naturally finds his place next to yours. You stroll in silence until he decides to break the ice.

“You going to tell me what happened?”

“You tell me first. You were so excited to go on vacation.”

“One word. Stanley.”

You grimace, knowing what that means. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever. They want to spend their honeymoon forgetting my existence then they can do just that. I’m almost an adult anyway. Then I can go anywhere I want anytime.”

“Is that what Judy said?”

“That was the bullshit excuse, yes.”

“Hey, you got me though. We’ll make this fun.”

“We have no tree, Hunham will be breathing down our back, and Kountze hasn’t stopped ogling at you since you arrived. Does that sound like the perfect Christmas to you?”

You laugh softly, “Ignore Hunham and Kountze. As for the tree, we could always Charlie Brown it. What do you think the lavender is here for?” You shake your plant a little. The purple bush sways in the wind.

He smiles, “Yeah… It’s not a bad little tree,” he begins to quote.

“Maybe it just needs a little love,” you say together and break into a fit of giggles.

#angus tully #the holdovers #angus tully x reader #i love this movie #reader insert

193 notes · View notes

seravphs · 9 months

Text

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — IDOL! GOJO x ROCKSTAR! FEM READER

Gojo loves the untouchable. You’re an off limits rockstar who thinks he’s an idiot. The only thing he can do is take that as a challenge, right?

wc — 6.8k

tags — non detailed mention of idol industry EDs, pride and prejudice type energy tbh, reader is a little superior about being in a rock band and not “selling out”, Gojo has an annoying habit of pointing out their hypocrisy, sneaking around because you’re public figures, nsfw jokes, minor nongraphic blood

Gojo’s not your usual type. He’s too pretty for that, with those long lashes like a doll’s. They’re stark against his pale skin when he flirts with you, peering alluringly at you through half closed eyes like the cheap tricks that get his fangirls to scream will work on you.

He’s too easy to break for your taste, but from what you hear on Twitter, that’s why people like him. There’s something charming about the gap in his image that draws people in. People are dying for a taste of vulnerability because he's so cocky, but it's easy to make him beg.

There’s a million clips all over the internet of the moments he’s caught off guard, carefully hoarded instances in his career where a genuine embarrassed flush comes over his cheekbones, made into gifs and Tik Toks and YouTube videos.

That’s not your thing.

You like people with tough hearts and tougher reputations. People who could take the beating of public opinion without a flinch, not some soft spoken idol who needs his management to hold his hand through an apology. You like your fans, but they know their limit with you.

It’s not love, not like with an idol. It would never be, you made sure of it. You’d quit before you ever issued an apology for dating someone.

You hate to be a stereotype almost as much as you hate the idea of becoming a pushover, but you’ve dated a string of bad boy exes who were all exactly what you would expect for the lead singer of a rock band. A little rough around the edges, dark and smoldering. Men who would wear your red lipstick marks like a badge of honor. People who had never even heard of something like an idol image.

Maybe that’s why no one saw it coming. You were safe, established. Gojo was out of your usual pitch.

It’s too bad for the fans that you’ve always been a bit of a daredevil. Trying new things has never scared you. You’ve always been willing to test your limits to find the gold in the muck. That’s how you grow.

That’s how you ended up here, sitting thigh to thigh with the boy wonder of the idol industry.

“Aren’t you playing a dangerous game here?” You ask as he nudges even closer to you, far beyond what you’re sure his fans will permit. You’ve heard horror stories about the lengths people will go to if they see their idols even look at someone of the opposite gender.

“Why, you scared?”

“You wish. You’re the idol here. It’s your reputation on the line.”

He smiles at you, saccharine sweet. “I don’t like letting other people control me.”

That earns your begrudging respect, even if his bony knee is knocking into yours. He’s so lanky it makes you a touch concerned. Shoko’s girlfriend is an idol, and she’s constantly sneaking her food under her manager’s notice.

That’s another reason why you could never be an idol. Letting someone else dictate your life like that sounds like hell. It was hard enough to convince you to be here in the first place.

Your band doesn’t do promotion, least of all you. It’s all homegrown talent and homegrown fans, but you’re in stasis. Your growth has plateaued. Like all artists, you’re beholden to bills to pay to keep the music going. You’re big enough to know when you have to make sacrifices.

It’s nothing personal. That’s just the industry, from pop stars to idols to bands like you. If nothing else, you all share the solidarity of giving anything for the music. You just think you have a harder limit for anything than idols do.

The host kicks off the segment before you have time to do further analysis.

“Welcome back to Hot or Not, the variety show where we pit your favorite internet heartthrobs against each other! Please welcome today’s guests - they may not be the duo you expect!”

The camera pans to you and Gojo. His smile is instant, soft and natural, as real as if he were genuinely overjoyed to be here. You have to give him props for that, at least. He’s good at his job.

As soon as the camera pans to you, his expression flickers and returns to bored disinterest. He yawns, his teeth pearly white. Veneers, maybe. His tongue flicks around the sharp tip of one canine, his smirk nearly fanged. There’s the feature he’s so famous for, the one that has him edited into cat reaction memes all across the internet. Kitty Gojo and his kitten fangs.

He’s a grown man. You think you’d jump off a building before you let your teenage girl fans put cat ears on you and coo at you.

To each their own, you guess. Gojo didn’t seem that perturbed by it. To be fair, he didn’t seem perturbed by anything.

“Let’s start with Gojo! Remember, if you don’t feel like answering a question, we’ll put you in a surprise challenge with your partner.”

“Sure,” he says easily. “I’m an open book.”

“Let’s start easy. What’s your favorite song off your new album, Blue Spring?”

Gojo makes a face. “Pass.”

“Sorry, maybe you didn’t understand the question-“

“No, I got it. That’s boring,” he says. “Give me the challenge.”

You’re amused despite yourself, and fighting not to let it show. There’s the troublesome personality you’ve heard so much about. He wouldn’t be half so popular if he wasn’t so pretty, but that attitude and that face made for a dangerous combination.

The host is trying to salvage the situation with an easygoing laugh. Backstage, you hear someone mutter, “Gojo is gojo-ing again.”

It’s all so funny until you realize he’s dragging you into his mess as they set up the challenge.

Your host explains the rules too quickly for you to catch in their entirety, but it’s something along the lines of a staring contest. You’re supposed to do everything in your power to make the other lose a straight face, with words or actions.

“Are you allowed to do this?” You joke as they start strapping the electrodes on you to measure your heart rate.

“What do you mean?” Gojo’s mussing his hair up so he looks more artistically roguish.

“You know, just being an idol and all. I figured you wouldn’t be able to do things like this without your fangirls jumping on you.”

“Ah,” he says, scooting his chair closer to you. You’re knee to knee as they finish the last details of fiddling with machine. “You’re one of those types?”

“And that means?”

“You think I’m an idiot because I’m an idol.”

“I didn’t say that,” you protest, watching the monitor to make sure your heart rate isn’t jumping with your words. It’s just a game, but you’re competitive.

“No, but you’re thinking it. What else? Maybe you think idols are also soulless grifters?”

You wince. It’s not that you think so terribly of idols, per se, you just understand and recognize their need to please their company. They’re products before they’re people.

“I got it right, huh?” He’s pleased with himself.

“Am I wrong?” You retort. “You’re really going to tell me you love singing your overproduced pop music for the tween girls who will buy anything you put out as long as you’re pretty enough?”

“Aren’t you here too? Lot of talk for someone who’s sitting right next to the sellout. You know what they say about birds of a feather…”

It’s all in a whisper, so no one else hears - or sees your startled reaction to find out the pampered show dog has a little bite in him. You could retaliate, but if you’re being honest?

This makes you respect him more.

He’s right, anyway. You did sell out by being on this show.

The machine beeps. He smiles, slow and sweet - or at least it would be if you didn’t already know there was an edge to it. “I win.”

“Wow!” You’ve never found the host more annoying. “That got heated at the end, didn’t it, folks? Do you mind sharing what Gojo said?”

You smile at the camera in a way that feels more like you’re beating your teeth. “It’s a secret.”

You’re not mad at him. If anything, you’re impressed. The person you’re really disappointed with is yourself.

So he’s not what he thought you were. So he challenged your biased preconceptions on idols. So what?

It doesn’t mean anything, but you can’t get him out of your head.

The rest of the show is an easy and welcome distraction from your inner turmoil over the possibility of maybe potentially tolerating an idol. Throwing out witty answers and being neck to neck with Gojo in winning mini games is much preferable to having to experience emotions. It’s only when it’s over that the problems start.

You watch as he gets up, biting your lip and debating to yourself. It’s only when he’s halfway out the door that you make your decision. You’ve always been a do or die kind of girl.

“Hey. Want to get dinner?”

You just want to make sure he’s eating. No other reason.

His manager frowns behind him.

“We’re in a weird spot,” he says. “The only thing around are convenience stores.”

“That’s fine,” you say. “We can get instant ramen.”

“I’ve never had instant noodles,” Gojo says.

“Seriously?”

“No, not seriously,” he scoffs. “Just what kind of lives do you think we lead?”

“Deprived ones,” you toss over your shoulder as you lead him towards your monster of a customized car.

“Oh, no,” his manager is beginning, but Gojo is already sliding comfortably into the passenger seat. His poor manager looks nervously at you as you turn the keys. “Are you sure that thing is safe?”

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “If this thing crashes, I’m in here too.”

You don’t think that reassures him, but your own manager will handle it. You pull out of the parking space and head for the road.

Gojo’s impatient. He tries the handle almost before you’re done parking. You’re like that too - always ready to move. This time, you’re one step ahead. You lock the door before he can leave. He gives you a startled look and glances outside again, clearly weighing his options.

“Relax,” you say. “I’m not a crazed fan. Put these on before we attract an actual stalker of yours.”

You toss him a hat, sunglasses, and a mask. You’ve started keeping them in your car ever since you’ve been hanging out with Shoko and her girlfriend, who was famous enough to get recognized in the street for her autograph. He wrinkles his nose but obediently puts them on.

It doesn’t do much to hide his overall air of Gojo-ness. He steps into the store like he owns it, which he very well could.

The steam rises from your bowls and coats Gojo’s sunglasses. You’re surprised he can see inside, but he has no trouble navigating. He tells you he has 20/20 vision.

One thing leads to another and suddenly he’s bragging about his perfect grades when he attended school. He’s a natural genius, which isn’t really a surprise.

“I thought you were supposed to be a bad boy,” you tease. His glasses are slipping down his nose. You reach out to push them back up before anyone notices. His eyes are rather remarkable, after all. Anyone would be able to tell who he was at a glance.

“Me?” He gives a choked laugh. It sounds nice. You’ve haven’t heard it before, not during the show. He was more polished then. The ways in which he rebels against being an idol show up unexpectedly. “Nah. That’s all Getou. He’s the one with a hidden face. You wouldn’t believe what he’s like when the cameras are off.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” you joke.

“I’m serious,” he whines. “I’m pretty sheltered. Grew up rich, you know?”

Who doesn’t know? The Gojo name is pretty famous. One of the biggest conglomerates in the entire world, it broke major news outlets when the heir chose to be an idol instead of the next president.

He’s always been in the public eye, but kept separate like art at a museum. You have a nasty tendency of wanting to ruin things that you’ve been purposefully warned away from. It’s sort of a thing of yours, a bad habit you haven’t put too much effort into breaking. The more impermissible something is, the more likely you are to try, like a cat knocking a glass of water off a table.

Corruptible isn’t the exact right word, but it’s what comes to mind. You want to mess him up a little. Put your grubby rockstar hands on him and leave smears behind so his fangirls see his tainted reputation. You don’t, of course. It’s just a passing thought that you wouldn’t risk actually jeopardizing his career for.

It would just be nice to see him live a little more freely.

The temptation clears with the last of your noodles disappearing into your mouth. There are things that are off limits for both of you. Those are just the sacrifices you’ve made for your dreams. That’s all there is to it.

It’s so good you sigh at the loss of it, mourning your empty bowl. Gojo’s almost done himself. The minute he finished his noodles, he lets out a breath to mirror yours, then laughs once he catches himself.

“Come on,” you say. “Let’s get you home.”

You think that’s the end of it. There’s no reason to go any further. You met an idol and he obliterated your previously held prejudices. You’ll never meet again.

That’s not quite how it works out.

When your manager offers you another chance to see Gojo, it’s nonchalant. “Remember that idol you were partnered with on that variety show? I know you don’t like those types, but you seemed to tolerate him well enough. There’s another-“

A yes flies out of your mouth so quickly it’s embarrassing.

Your manager pauses. His eyes narrow. “Didn’t expect you to be so eager, but okay.”

Your face burns with embarrassment. This isn’t like you at all. Even with your exes, you had been cool and level headed. Always the prize, never the one to give chase.

He’s interesting, you try to rationalize it to yourself. You like interesting. Life was mind numbing without a kick, and he was the latest thrill. It didn’t mean anything more.

It’s another variety show. Apparently the two of you had been so popular as a pair that they wanted more.

Gojo’s in the makeup chair when you arrive. The artist is scolding him for blinking while she applies his mascara. He’s whining about his dry eyes.

“Don’t be a baby,” you say, dropping into the chair next to him.

“But that’s what I’m best at!”

“You’re so weird,” you laugh.

The makeup artist groans. “Please don’t encourage him.”

Only Gojo would take that as encouragement. He rolls his eyes and receives a light swat across the shoulder for his troubles. You play around on your phone while you wait for her to be free, but soon grow bored. Instead, you watch her swipe powder across Gojo’s face and dab cream onto the apples of his cheeks.

“Stop staring,” he says.

“How do you know I’m staring? Your eyes are closed.”

“I can feel it.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” he says, and you know he’s just messing around at this point because you’re an incredible liar. It’s your best quality.

Falling into banter with Gojo is as easy as breathing. It’s no trouble at all to replicate it on the show. From the shadow, your manager gives you a double thumbs up. Dork.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that you’re doing this to drum up popularity for your tour. You’re not the only one having trouble. Gojo pulls you aside after filming wraps up to give you his personal number on the phone he’s not supposed to have.

At night, you get an alert that you’ve received something from Gojo. It’s not a message. It’s a notification that you can save three tickets to your digital wallet.

A speech bubble pops up.

Come to my concert, he says. I got you VIP seats.

Gojo’s impressed you, but you still don’t know about the rest of his band. You’re not sure you want to watch pretty men lip sync and grind on the stage for two hours, but when you tell Shoko, she offers to bring Utahime. That’s conveniently three, so you might as well.

VIP seats don’t include backstage, so you’re surprised when security comes to retrieve you. There’s no backstage pass for this concert, actually, confusing you all the more.

Shoko flaps her hand dismissively at you, encouraging you on. By her side, Utahime is trying to feed her snacks. Satisfied that they’re comfortable, you follow the guard to Gojo’s dressing room. He leaves you there without a word.

After five minutes of waiting for something to happen, you knock. Instantly, Gojo’s voice invites you in.

He’s sitting in front of the dresser, fiddling with his earrings. You’ve noticed seven piercings in total - three on his right lobe, two on his left, and one conch on either side. Before you knew him, you would’ve been surprised an idol would be allowed to get so many. Now you know he bends the rules whenever he’s able.

“Pass me that?” You hand him the disinfectant. “Thanks. I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Then why’d you send me tickets?”

“Thought my roguish good looks and natural charm would win you over,” he says with a smile that says he’s only half joking.

“You’re insufferable,” you say as you bat his hands away from his ear. “Let me do that.”

His hair is soft as cygnet down as you brush it behind his ear. There’s something innocent about his expression like this, watching him from above. His eyes are closed, breaths soft and even as he waits for you.

The silver pools in your hand as you thread it through his ear, a waterfall released when it hooks on. He wears a lot of silver, you’ve noticed. His stylists favor colors that should wash him out but only make him look more angelic. Pale blue silk trims his form, encrusted with embellishments to make him look prince-like. There are sparkles in the inner corner of his eye, soft blush on his cheekbones to make him look sweet.

He’s anything but when his eyelids flutter open and he notices you watching. A smile almost cruel tugs at his lips. His hand reaches for you as if-

There’s a knock on his door for the last curtain call.

“That’s me.” He stands up, brushing his lap off without a trace of anything other than professionalism. He’ll leave you wondering what he was going to do. It’s terrible how good he is at this, though you suppose it’s his job to leave people wanting more. “Keep an eye out for me on stage, will you?”

It’s hard not to. Your eyes are polarized to him. Even when something else catches your attention, like fireworks or confetti, he pulls it back. Greedy, that one.

You’re not the only one. The crowd lives for him. There’s something electric about him on stage. He naturally draws attention with that height and attitude and face, but what happens when he’s performing is inexplicable. You’d call it a religious experience if you believed in a god.

Fate has never factored into your life, but now you’re starting to consider worship. Gojo performs like he was born to be an idol.

Keep an eye out for me, he says, as if you’d have any trouble. You’ll dream about him tonight. The way his mouth fits so sensuously over the words of a love song snags your thoughts like a fishhook. Sick desires run through your blood, each more depraved than the last.

You want to watch him shed his beautiful silk skin for you, become nothing more than man again. You must retract your prior confession. There’s no longing for the altar in you, only a love of sacrilege.

Gojo asks for coffee easily, as if you’re two normal people and not celebrities with a lot to lose if you were caught together. You can’t let him outdo you, so you agree. These are the reasons why your manager curses your recklessness. Shoko calls it bravery, when she’s feeling sweet on you.

The second message comes a second later.

Gojo Satoru 11:25 I only said it to see if you’d agree Here’s my address lol can’t believe you said yes Attachment

You think he gives his address out too freely for a man worth 30 million. The feeling only intensifies as you get out of your car and thank your driver. His gates are pearly instead of the standard matte black, a stark declaration of wealth. He’s practically asking for an incident to happen.

Security buzzes you in. Someone in a white dress - an honest to god maid - leads you to a mini kitchen where Gojo’s waiting. His hair is wet and dripping down his back where his powder blue shirt is darkened to a navy. You thought you had gotten used to overblown displays of money after your first three years in the music industry. Clearly, you were mistaken.

He looks up as you enter, reading a trashy tabloid as he stirs whipped cream into a tall glass of something that looks more like a sugary heart attack than coffee.

You’ve never seen his bare face, you realize. Even that moment when you had walked in on him and the makeup artist, he had been nearly done. He looks practically the same without makeup. People with genetic good looks like him only need to enhance their appearance the tiniest amount.

What really strikes you is how earnest he looks, soft and open-hearted, though that might be because you’ve caught him in his home. This is what you wanted - him without his skin on, naked and without pretense. He’s wearing cotton pajamas and white slippers.

“I thought you’d come later,” he says. “Sorry I got started without you. I was feeling something sweet.”

“I’m early, though?”

“I’m always late,” he says with a one shouldered shrug. “Thought you might be too. Guess you’re not my perfect girl after all, huh?”

You shove his arm off the armrest of his chair to perch on it, ignoring the perfectly good chair across from him. This is better, anyway, easier to talk to him. “Don’t be absurd. I’m everyone’s dream girl.”

Gojo chuckles. “I like confident women.”

There’s been a question on your mind for a while. You knew his group was popular, but all this? Maybe you should’ve become an idol after all.

“Where’s the rest of your band? I thought idols shared rooms.”

“Some do,” he says. “Not so much when you make it big. But this is my family home, so none of that applies.”

Gojo Satoru of the Gojo conglomerate. How had you forgotten? It shouldn’t be so easy to ignore something like that.

Gojo shifts the conversation easily, but you notice. So he doesn’t like the connection, then. “How was the concert?”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” you say, stealing a sip of his drink before it reaches his mouth. It’s too sweet for anyone’s standards. You spit it back into the cup. He takes it from you, eyes it consideringly, and takes a sip anyways.

Your mouth drops. “You’re so gross.”

“Only for you, baby,” he moans, humor like a teenage boy. “Call me names again.”

You roll your eyes at him.

“It’s fine, it’s just saliva. Now tell me the truth. You couldn’t take your eyes off me, could you?”

They’d probably sooner pop out of your head and roll away than leave the sight of him, but you can’t tell him that after all you’ve said about idols. Instead, you push off your seat to go rummage through his cabinets. He has a fully stocked coffee cart in this room and the very latest espresso machine, all to choose his diabetic monstrosity instead.

“You don’t need to respond,” he says cheerfully. “Your silence tells me everything I need to know.”

“Do you think you know me that well?” You shoot back. His fridge is so big you think you could fit into it. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’ve registered that he’s moved from his seat as well, and now stands just behind you.

“Of course I know you,” he says. “I understood you the moment we met.”

“You’re very confident,” you note.

You have a weakness for confident men.

“So you liked my concert. Can I come to yours?”

You imagine Gojo in a mosh pit for a second. It sends you into a laughing fit while he stands there, bemused. You can’t shake the incongruous picture of him, with his face like a carefully crafted porcelain doll, getting rowdy and wild with your fans. Ridiculous. Never in a million years.

“We don’t have VIP seats,” you warn him.

“So?”

“So it can get dangerous.”

“Aw, you do care about me.”

“I care about the fat lawsuit your company’s going to send me when their moneymaker breaks his leg at my concert. It’s not happening.”

“You scared?”

“No, but maybe you should be.”

“Come on,” he says. When had he gotten so close? It’s distracting. “I know you’ll take care of me.”

Gojo had invited you to his concert. It’s only right to return the favor. An idea starts forming in your head, though you’re not sure it’s a good one. You tell him anyway.

Usually when soundcheck is over, you have a little bit of downtime to relax backstage. You’re expecting someone tonight, however.

A rough knock on the door announces Satoru Gojo, spoken in your security guard’s rough voice. Well, he really introduces him as pretty boy idol, but you can guess who it is.

He looks discomfited, a rare occurrence, as he closes the door behind him.

“What’s with you?”

“You’ve got groupies,” he says, looking rattled.

You fight a smile.

“Don’t laugh,” he pouts. “They’re insane. One of them tried to chase me here.”

You can’t help yourself. A giggle bursts out of you. When he tries to leave, you pin his hand to the handle and coo reassurances at him so he won’t.

When you head out the door, he surprises you by grabbing your hand. It’s as nonchalant as anything he does, so you rise to the challenge he sets by refusing to react to it. You only separate once you reach the stairs; him to the spot you’ve made for him behind the barricade, you to the stage.

This is one of your favorite venues, moody and atmospheric. The lights are dimmed to your preferred setting, but your eyes adjust quickly. Your crowd is restless tonight, shifting on their feet as whispers follow raucous laughter through the crowd. Noise on noise, the way you like it.

The wood of the floor is a little sticky beneath your boots as you walk. That’s history gumming the soles of your shoes, generations of artists before you. You’re starting to feel it now, the electric thrum of pure joy in your blood.

Shoko is strumming light tunes on her guitar to warm up, her eyes closed. You hope she doesn’t take it too hard that Utahime couldn’t make it tonight, though you know if she’s upset, she’ll channel into her music.

The crowd settles as the hour draws closer. Shoko’s fingers are liquid now, running through chords effortlessly. You wrap the cord of the microphone around your hands, letting the tension build mindlessly. A stage is like home to you. The crowd plays in the palm of your hand, energy ebbing and flowing as you will it.

It starts with a guitar solo from Shoko. By then, the crowd is already burning with excitement. The first burst of sound from the speakers has them roaring, cheering even though there’s no lyrics to it. The smallest smile touches her lips as she plays to the crowd, showing off exactly why she’s lead guitar for the greatest band in the world right now.

You step in on her heels, your voice rising over the music. Back before you knew how this felt, you almost quit singing, annoyed by the sound you were forced into. This is more your tempo. The almost guttural curl to the ends of your words, the rasp of your hoarse voice - this is beautiful to you.

The crowd is yours. Anything that goes on is within your jurisdiction, higher than any judge or god. You notice everything in your realm.

People are starting to move now, their bodies falling victim to the music. Their mouthes form the vowels and consonants of the lyrics as their bodies shudder and jerk, chained to the rhythm. Bodies ricochet off each other, love taps of respect for your aggressive voice, soaring above it all.

In the corner, there’s a violent eye of a storm. You think it’s a particularly enthusiastic dancer - perhaps a circle is about to form - before you realize what’s actually going on.

A fight is breaking out. You catch a glimpse of snow white hair, realize it’s near the barricade, and your stomach drops.

It’s Gojo and another man, ignoring the security guard trying to separate them. You try to stay professional and play through it, but then you see red.

Gojo’s hand flies to his face, his nose dripping with crimson. He doesn’t look any more injured than that, but you’re angry enough to step in now. Shoko stops as soon as you hold your hand out, the music veering into a screeching crash.

“You, in the black tee!” You realize you should’ve been more specific when what looks like the entire crowd looks down at their equally black shirts. “No, the one that just punched Gojo Satoru. Yeah, you, asshole! No fighting at my gigs! Especially not my guests!”

He had the audacity to yell back. “I was just showing him a warm welcome!”

You climb off the stage. Gojo didn’t show any fear while he got hit, but there’s concern in his eyes now as you drop to the ground by him.

“Wait,” he says, “wait, wait. I don’t think you should-“

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, pushing him behind you until his back hits the stage. “Let me handle this.”

You get in the man’s face. His eyes are bloodshot - drunk, probably. “Who do you think you are, starting shit at my shows?”

“You’ve sold out,” he slurs. Definitely drunk. “He doesn’t belong here.”

“You don’t get to tell me who can or can’t come to my goddamn show,” you snarl, vicious and low. “Get out.”

“You can’t-“

“Get out before I make them drag you out.”

When he doesn’t move, you motion security over. “Does anyone else have any complaints?”

The crowd is eerily silent for something that was moving like a beast with one mouth before, singing in unison. You clamber back on stage, turning around to grab Gojo’s hand.

“What?” He says.

“Up. Now.” Your tone brooks no argument. You haul him up with you. He stands awkwardly as you drag him towards your mic stand, your arm slung around his shoulder. There’s still blood on his face.

“Gojo Satoru is a very dear friend of mine,” you announce into the mic. You see the confused looks in the crowd. Even Shoko seems wary. This wasn’t on the schedule. “If you're a real rock fan, you'd know that music is more than genre. I get it! I didn’t think idols were anything more than corporate shills either-“

“Harsh,” he whispers under his breath, unable to control himself even now.

“But he proved me wrong. He’s a real performer, just like I am, and I expect the same respect for him that you give to me.”

This is your crowd. They listen. Someone whistles.

You sit Gojo down, right by your feet. He gives you a bemused smile as the concert starts again, you moving around him like one of your props. He spends most of the concert lounging back, watching you through half lidded eyes.

It might’ve been enough excitement for one night, but you’ve always been the type to push your boundaries. When the idea springs into your head, you act on impulse, not giving yourself too much time to think about it as you pull Gojo to his feet.

You’re really manhandling him tonight, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s only a little startled as you pull the mic away from your face to get into his space.

You misjudged the distance. Your forehead knocks into his, just enough to sting, but not really hurt. “Do you want to try something?” Your voice is a whisper to not get picked up by the mic.

“Give it to me,” he says, and his smile is a bloody thing.

When you angle the mic towards him, you’re careful about not hitting him this time.

His voice works surprisingly well for rock. You weren’t sure he could pull off such a sound change, but he surprises you every time, matching you best for beat.

When he pulls back, your hand snakes into his hair and yanks him towards you and the mic again. He sings wholly at your command, being jerked around by your desires. It’s an inferno on stage, sweat pouring down both your faces. Behind you, the crowd is screaming so loudly it nearly deafens you.

Not a bad encore, you think as you towel off in your dressing room. Shoko left for a cool down with a bottle of ice water right before you, her post concert ritual, but the look she shot you says that you need to talk. You’ll deal with the consequences later.

For now, it’s enough to have Gojo shaking with leftover adrenaline against you as you sit him down in your chair. You press a bottle of ice against his face, watching him shiver. He’s still pretty with all the blood. Prettier, somehow, like some teenage wet dream of a vampire from a young adult novel.

You want to lick the sweat out of the hollow of his collar bones. Instead, you talk to him to rid yourself of your insane thoughts. It’s always a little crazy in your head after a good stage.

“Well?” You demand. “How was it?”

He tilts his head, considering. It makes you nervous. Now that you know how good of a performer he is, it almost feels like a test to receive his judgment.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he says, slowly.

“That good, huh?” You smile, trying to ignore the aching pressure behind your ribcage. You shouldn’t care so much what he thinks. Why does it matter?

“Yeah,” he says. “When are you free? I gotta plan our date.”

“Huh?”

“That was so sexy,” he says. “I was thinking about taking it slow, but I’m not going to last if I wait. I want to date you. I want to marry you.”

He’s starting to worry you. “Did you have a heat stroke or something? That’s really fast. Really, really fast, Gojo.”

“I’ve never been more clearheaded in my life,” he says. You only believe him when the medic clears him of any injuries, even the nose.

“We can talk about marriage later,” you say. “Why don’t you tell me about the date for now?”

Two weeks later, you’re Gojo’s plus one to his first movie premiere. It’s his debut as an actor, and it couldn’t be a better one. He escaped most of the negative pushback that usually comes with transitioning between those two industries, being naturally good at everything. Still, he had worked hard, and you’re proud of him.

It feels like you’re the only one, because the man himself doesn’t even care about his accomplishment. He’s too busy being delighted about hiding in plain sight. The cameras flash at you as you walk across the red carpet, arm in arm with Gojo. Your stylist had coordinated with his. It could almost pass for a couple’s outfits.

“You know,” he says conspiratorially. “When you defended me at the concert, I got hard.”

“I didn’t need to know that.”

“It was really hot.”

“You know there are people who can read lips, right?”

“I wish they would figure out what I’m saying.”

“Alright,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Let’s get inside.”

Dating Gojo is nothing like what you’d expected and everything like you’d expected. He keeps surprising you, doing wild things to get your attention that you never thought an idol would be willing to get their hands dirty with. He might be even more of a daredevil than you are, constantly pushing the boundaries of what you both can get away with before you’re found out.

In a way, it’s almost like you’re asking for it. You’re both straining at the bit to claim each other. It doesn’t come as a surprise when it does happen, then.

“Huh,” Gojo says over ramen. “We got papped.”

Utahime, understandably, freaks. “What? That’s not funny.”

“Oh yeah?” You say. “Are the pictures good at least?”

“You know we always look good. Could’ve gotten a better angle, but whatever.”

Utahime’s working herself into a minor tizzy in the corner. “Guys, I need you to be more serious about this. This is bad! This is so bad!”

Shoko looks up from her phone and chips on the couch, lying flat on her stomach. “Hate to agree, but she’s right. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” you shrug. “What’s the point? There’s nothing we can do about it. They have the evidence.”

It had been a good run. Two blissful months of peace and quiet. Sneaking around had been fun, giving you that thrill you loved every time someone failed to recognize you and Gojo behind your stupid sunglasses. Still, it was bound to fail at some point. You’re honestly surprised it lasted for as long as it had. You can’t be mad. Two months is more than you could’ve asked for.

“Well,” Gojo says. “Wee-llll.”

“Spit it out,” Utahime gripes at him.

You take another bite of ramen, content to let them argue without you.

“There is something we could do,” Gojo hedges.

“You’re so annoying,” Shoko says.

“No one thinks you’re funny,” Utahime chimes in.

“Hey! She thinks I’m funny!” Gojo frowns. “Tell them you think I’m funny.”

“Sorry, babe. I never lie to my girls.”

“Whatever,” Gojo sighs. “Guess you don’t want to hear my genius idea then.”

“Don’t be a brat,” you tease, knuckling his head. He loves it when you roughhouse with him.

“What if…” The hesitation is real this time. You can tell the difference between when he’s faking it or not. He’s a good showman, but you know him. You place an encouraging hand on his knee.

“What if we went public first?” He says it all in one breath.

You take a moment, turning the idea over in your head. It would wrest back control of the narrative to your team. Even if you might get backlash, it wouldn’t be at someone else’s hands, beholden to their mercy. You like it.

“Sure,” you say.

Gojo gapes at you. ‘That easy?’ His thoughts are written all over his face.

“Why not?” You offer him one of your easy smiles. “I’ve always wanted to say you were mine, anyway.”

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk x reader

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potionpeddlerpatchy · 10 months

Text

word count: ~18.2K

paring: God!Shinso x f!Nymph!Reader

warning(s): dubcon, marking, slight impact play, somnophilia, oral (f!recieveing), creampie, gods as always being manipulative and cruel.

authors note: hello there, I know I promised this much sooner than it is being granted but as I am sure you can see by the word count, this kind of got away from me. This is actually a sequel to Plucked Flower! And when I was discussing with the lovely @/melodramaticmura about who would be which god, it seemed rather appropriate to have Shinso be the god of sleep. And well, I wanted to make a stand-alone fic of that, perhaps even make a series on it, but it was too tempting to have him steal away Sero's prized nymph so here we are. So please, let Shinso guide you into a peaceful slumber~ 🔮

A long time ago, Gods ruled the world.

Everything that the mortals could see, touch, and know were all controlled by the Gods who blessed them with their divine skills and talents. But, over time, the mortals became more dependent - more greedy - with their reliability on these seraphic creatures. As the demands of the mortals they created, and thus cared for, grew to be overwhelming and abundant, they knew they could not stay within their mortal plane any longer; for they were meant to be treated as divinities, not as servants.

And for once, in a rare moment of solidarity, the Gods worked alongside each other to create a home for which they could call their own; an empyrean realm that only they could have access to, which contained all the splendors known to man and even more. A dwelling where they can find peace and tranquility, and to be finally removed from the demands of the mortals; to finally have the undivided devotion they so craved. For it much easier for a mortal to obey the wishes of a God, if they came they came down to them in a beacon of light and gold.

Serve away they did, the mortals, tending to their temples and bringing forth gifts upon their alters; all the while they would lavish in their heavenly realm of gold and marble, to feast upon delicacies, to relish in the prosperity that the mortals provided to them, and indulge in one another; especially if that indulgence was at the expense of a mortal, to provide them with the vanity and sense of superiority they wished to continue to grasp onto.

Through all this splendor, however, it was easy to grow bored. Hanta, like most Gods, grew bored.

For a God could never cherish anything for too long. An immortal life always paired itself with dissatisfaction; for how could a God truly value anything if they did not have a finite time to have it? How could they enjoy splendor if they have not known poverty? How could they value life if they could not know death? And how could they appreciate anything, if all they wanted was more?

Living forever took the beauty of life away. All the love and heartbreak seemed so meaningless after a while when one could find no reason to hold onto it, that in time it could be replaced by a new adventure, a new thrill, and a new body to make claim to. Why keep something when you could easily abandon the old, and seek out something new?

And despite the many claims he so sweetly whispered within your ear, the many reassurances and acclimations of love, Hanta finally grew bored of you.

You knew it was bound to happen; there truly was only so much a nymph can do to claim the interest of a God. You knew the thrill he found, the infatuation he grew of you, was within the chase of claiming you for himself; the cat-and-mouse game he so perfectly cast and you so perfectly played into was the thrill he wanted within that moment.

Of course, there was the thrill after he caught you. How he laid you upon his bed day in and out and claimed his prize in any way he could; whether that be with sweet words, soft kisses, warm and gentle caresses, or have you on your knees to worship his aching cock, to then have it drag in and out of your tight hole as you scream his name for the heavens to hear.

It was to fill his ego, to have the most prized and beautiful creature to claim as his own. To have complete and utter control held over you, the utter and undiverted devotion that he pulled from you constantly as you obeyed and worshipped him however he pleased. To relish in, not only your body but the jealousy of the Gods around him as they grew envious of his little pet.

And once he lost interest, once his fellow Gods grew unbothered and uncaring of his treasures, he would find some other way to gain a boost to his ego; regardless of the feelings he may hurt along the way.

You had to give him credit though, it took him much longer for him to lose interest in you than what every other god that filled the heavenly realms, and even yourself, thought. Many said a few weeks, some said a few months, and you thought perhaps a year. Though it was hard to tell given the way time seemed to matter little the more you stayed there, how it moved so quickly and yet not at all at the same time, to say how long before he lost interest but it was certainly longer than a year.

It was gradual too. Slowly, but surely, he left you alone in that small portion of the heavens he carved out for you. What started with him parting from you earlier some mornings, thus leaving the giant bed he shared with you empty, turned into every morning as you would reach for him only to be met with cold silk and loneliness to sink to your heart. And soon, those daily visits he would give to you so diligently, to allow you some much-needed company as you staved away your boredom, soon started to wane. How he used to share his meals, his laughter and companionship, started to bore him and consequently, he began to leave you with small scraps that were left behind the day before as he neglected yet another meal, and as the weeks progressed, leaving you hungry altogether.

Though despite all of this, he would still return to you at night; to lull you to sleep in his arms and whisper those sweet nothings into your ear until you fell into a blissful sleep. And it was when he stopped arriving in your bed at night that you knew he no longer cared for you. That those declarations of love were truly just empty words so he could use you as he saw fit, like many a god to a nymph before him. Now leaving you to try and find a semblance of peace all alone in a place you did not belong.

You had no other forms of company either for the other gods barely acknowledged you. Some were spiteful that you would tarnish their realm and way of life by simply existing there as if it was your fault you were placed there. Others tolerated you, though they preferred your silence, wanting merely to look at you and nothing else. Others… they wished to have you in more carnal ways; falsely putting on kind airs only to lure you into their trap - much like Hanta - though luckily none was able to do anything untoward before Hanta intervened; but now you knew not to trust them, and to avoid them altogether.

After Hanta abandoned you, you were left alone to fend for yourself. Granted the small piece of heaven that was made for you was beautiful, and gave you some semblance of peace knowing you would not be bothered here - to which you were eternally grateful to Hanta for such a gift - it left you more lonely than you had ever been in your life. Moreso than when you were cast out from your forest of birth by your fellow Anthousai and forced to find a home, and sisterhood, by yourself.

Because through those trials of loneliness and rejection, you did find a sister. One that loved you, that built a home with you, that kept you company in the best and most nurturing of ways; a companion you adored with your whole heart. And one you were tricked to abandon to come here.

For as lonely as your life got, at least you had her. Here, you had nothing.

You thought of her often, and the memories you shared together, as you lay upon the clouds of gold and splendor alone and unwanted. Thoughts of her made your lonely days more bearable as you reminded yourself of a time when you were wanted, where you were loved, and where you felt happy and fulfilled as you remembered the bouts of laughter shared between the two of you.

Though Nymphs were ageless, they could die in the mortal realm or transform themselves into the nature they were born to nurture. But here? You had no such release, bound to live amongst the gods until the end of days. And as they progressed, you couldn’t help but worry about your sister; you were safe, but was she? Was she still around in your little home within the mountains? Or was she now gone, lost to the passage of time?

Your worry grew tenfold when, one morning, you tried to remember her face and couldn’t. She was the only thing that tethered you to happiness in this cruel world you found yourself in; the only thing that brought you warmth as you were surrounded by coldness. Your heart could not help but sink with dread as you frantically tried to think of her face. You had to, for she was the reason your sanity was still intact. She was the reason your heart had not broken fully.

You couldn’t help but weep for weeks on end as you slowly realized you were forgetting her.

You knew you could not sit idly by and let this happen to you; to allow these cruel creatures to break your spirit out of amusement. You had to know, had to remember, for it was all you had left; and you were going to cling to it, to fight for it, for all eternity if you had to.

So you waited, with determination blazing your heart and mind, for the God - the man - who caused all of this. Knowing that at some point he will show up and grant you a visit. He would do so every now and then, seemingly almost out of obligation like an owner would for a pet they cared little for. You knew then, you could ask him for a favor.

It was hard to tell how long it had been, how long you had been waiting, but finally, the day had come when you were granted a visit from the winged God; the flapping of his wings signalling you, and thus filling your body with hope, as you heard him approach. Scrambling you got to your feet, unable to hide your excitement as you stood, as you waited with bated breath for him to appear.

Hanta brought with him a tray of food, many delicacies that the Gods would indulge in, ambrosia and wine, you were unsure if this was a way for him to apologize for leaving you for so long without a meal, but the proud smile he garnered on his face when he approached you was clear he felt like he was providing you with a gift.

And though you wished to scowl at him, wanting to allow him to know how unfair it was for him to leave you with little food and company, you knew you had to be your usual sweet self if it meant allowing you to get your way.

You welcomed him with open arms, clinging to him tightly as you knew he loved for you to do, as you babbled sweetly on how much you missed him, nuzzling your face into his chest as a sign of utmost affection.

You could feel him chuckle before the deep and mirthful sound could fill your ears, as he brought a hand to pet your hair “I miss you too, my beautiful flower.”

His gentle petting of your hair turned into gentle tugging, clearly wanting to have your part so he may rest and enjoy the meal he brought; guiding you gently to do the same and he passed you a goblet of wine; deep purple in colour a far cry from the strawberry wine he used to give you.

You sipped it gently as you listened to him regale tales of what had befallen him while he was away, some excuse as to why he could not visit you before now, as he indulged in your quiet devotion. Though after a while, noticing your lack of enthusiasm or want to partake in the glorious meal, he grew a little concerned as he leaned over towards you to pet at your cheek.

“What is wrong, my sweet love?” Hanta asked of you, moving to push a few strands of hair away from your face “You do not seem yourself.”

You found yourself bashful over his sweet gesture, almost surprised that he still held some tenderness for you. With a timid smile, and huff of a laugh you shook your head “No, no, nothing is wrong.”

“I can tell when you are lying, love” Hanta smiled back, ducking his head to look properly at your face; finding your reaction to him filling his sense of pride. “So please, indulge me”

You took the line he was casting, knowing now would be the only time you could possibly have to pluck the courage to ask him; shyly looking back at him as you tried to find the words, forever grateful for his patience as he looks upon you with tender eyes as he waits for you to speak.

“I was just wondering…” You finally began, “Seeing as I have a few myself these past few nights, if… if you gods ever dream?”

Sero scoffed at you, finding your question as silly and innocent as you were, tone almost condescending as he leaned down closer, a hand continuously stroking your cheek. “Oh my dear, of course we don’t. A God has no need for such childish things as dreams, those are silly things we made for mortals to keep them happy.”

You cannot help yourself from turning your eyes downcast at his almost brutal condescension. Taking a moment to compose yourself before you batted your lashes up at him; your wide and sad eyes a weakness you knew to be his when it came to you, as you asked him again, “Hanta, surely there are times when they are needed, even for a God. If what you say is true, if gods have no need for dreams that mortals do, then there is still a need. Therefore there is a God who provides these, and thus can help another God if needed.”

Hanta began to draw away from you, clearly figuring out where you were trying to lead the conversation. His eyes could not help but turn darker as jealousy began to cloud his vision of your wanting to seek out another god, as his grip upon your head grew tighter. “You want this God, is that it? The God that provides you these sweet dreams, you want him in your bed?”

You tried to shake your head as best you could, wincing at the slight pain he was now causing you, whimpering out weakly, “No, not at all! I only wish for you to warm my bed!”

“Then why are you asking me about him?” Hanta could not stop his voice from turning dark, not at all enjoying the fact that you would want to seek another god for any reason; were you truly ungrateful over all that he had done for you that you would find it inadequate?

Though you were not wanting to engage in his wrath, you could not help but become a little elated over the fact that there was a God of Sleep; and Hanta knew of him. But if you ever wished to find him, to be allowed to move freely to do so, you would have to calm, and flatter, the God before you.

“Because I need aid with my dreams,” you whimpered out, eyes turning glassy as they begin to fill with tears - another weakness you knew Hanta to have and for you to exploit. And you almost wanted to smile, to drop the act, at how quickly it worked.

You could see his eyes soften, his grip loosening, as he scanned your face; his other hand coming up to cup your other cheek as he began to fawn over you in concern. “Why? Have you been plagued with nightmarish vision? Have they hurt you?”

You shook your head, though it clearly was not enough to reassure him as his hands continued to stroke your cheeks in a calming manner. You knew you had him in the palm of your hand, as you allowed a few tears to fall from your eyes.

“Then why do you need to seek the Sleep God, my love?” He asked, voice still gentle as he looked down upon you, wanting nothing more than to cease those tears from falling.

“So I can remember my sister!” You blubbered out, and though the tears were falsified before they became honest and true as you reminded yourself of your sister; how the thoughts of forgetting began to cause those tears to fall more freely and stain your delicate face.

“Please, I left her behind for my love for you was stronger. I cannot help but miss her, and if I cannot go to the mortal realm to see her, then I wish to dream of her.” You choked out, as you grabbed hold of his hand, kissing his palm to try and sweeten him and his ego further. “Please Hanta, if you love me as you claim to do, you will allow me this small gift.”

Who was he to refuse you? His good, and obedient nymph. He couldn’t, not when you looked at him so sorrowfully. With a nod of his head, he pulled you into his arms, shushing you as he kisses the crown of your head.

“Do not cry, my love. I’ll take you to him.”

Though the heavenly realm proved to be a gift above all else, it was not shared equally amongst those that built it. Those whose gifts were heavily tied to the mortals, that dealt with the macabre that their lives would bring, were looked down upon by those whose talents were more serene. It was easier, and more harmonious, to live amongst those that gave love and song than those who had to deal with death and sorrow.

So they were banished to a realm seldom visited unless a favour was needed; a realm filled with darkness that lacked the treasures from above; the Underworld.

Hanta kept you close as you made your way down into the depths of the depressive world, carrying you within his arms and tucking your head into his chest to spare you from the horrors that await a long journey such as this. Needing to protect you, his precious flower, from a dangerous place such as this realm proved to be; a venture no nymph should find herself in, but he was willing to do this for you to cease the sorrow that had befallen you. At times, you yourself couldn’t help but whimper as you clung even tighter to his tunic as the wails of lost souls made your heart stutter with fear.

Soon his wings fluttered to a stop, gingerly setting your feet upon the damp ground, before a cavern-like area. The dark obsidian that lay jagged, almost broken, surrounded the open entrance of the cave and made you question if you should enter, for it seemed far from hospitable. Nonetheless, Hanta pushed you forward, forcing you to take the first step towards what you desired; knowing that he would not be wanted within the rooms of these lands

“Go on, my love” Hanta smiled gently, easing your fear and reassuring you of any falsities your mind could conjure up. “He will not harm you, and I will stay right here should you need me.”

With a tentative nod, you resigned yourself to your fate as you turned towards the lair before you. With a deep breath, your trembling feet began their stride toward the God who may be able to help you.

The corridor itself was long, lined with those jagged dark rocks and jewels, as you kept yourself small and away from it all as you continued down the winding passage; unsure if it would even allow you to find your way out of its seemingly endless path. A dim light, one of calming blue, rid you of any sense of hopelessness as you approached a room. The room was darker than what you were used to, but that calming blue hue filled the entirety of the space and allowed you to take in the surroundings.

It was more beautiful than you were expecting. An inverse of the pastel and gold that covered the heavenly realm, as dark marble and a silvery mist surrounded you; intricate furnishings with many a carving of stories long past deep within them. Despite the warnings, despite the claims otherwise, this place was not of ruin and decay, but rather of equal splendor that you have become accustomed to from the heavenly realm above.

In the center of all the strange but wonderful opulence sat a giant glass orb propped so beautifully atop of a pillar, woven so intricately like vines, of tourmaline. You couldn’t help but approach it, the alluring purple aura seemed to call out to you, reaching your delicate hand before you, nothing else crossed your mind that your desire to touch the orb's smooth surface.

“You’re a bold little one, aren’t you?” Hitoshi spoke, chuckling deeply as he took in your startled form.

You jolted your body towards where you heard the God speak, and looked upon his figure that sat on a simple, but elegant, throne of silver; mere feet past the orb. You felt heat rush to your cheeks, flushing them in embarrassment for being so engrossed by a crystalline ball that you failed to notice him. Sheepishly you lowered yourself to your knees - tucking your head close to your chest - as you bowed deeply to him to showcase your respect.

“I apologize for my rude intrusion,” you whimpered, knowing how fickle and quick to anger most Gods were, and hoping your little oversight of his presence would not cause his wrath.

“Rise,” He tells you, clear from his infliction that he finds boredom in your display of decorum, sitting more upright within his throne to regard your form with interested eyes. “And state your business here. For it is not every day a mortal like yourself so brazenly enters my domain.”

You nervously shift your weight from foot to foot, keeping your gaze downcast as you do as you are told; unable to not find his intense gaze unnerving. “I-I was hoping to seek your skills, to help me with a sorrowful plight I find myself enduring for I-!.”

His low chuckle made your shoulders tense even further, as the flush that painted your face grew darker. He raised a hand to cease your babbling from continuing; perhaps he found you childish if the condescending shake of his head as he leaned closer to you, was anything to go by.

“I already know what you are here for, little one. Merely wanted to see you squirm in nervousness for a moment longer.” He began to explain. “I already know who you are and your plight; the sad reality of the God of Sleep is that I know every mortal’s dream, and must endure the burdens that come with it.”

You can tell his words rung true, for as you finally gazed up at his handsome face you could see the dark circles that stained the skin under his eyes, his own sunken deep within his skull, you could tell he suffered the same nightmarish visions, the unease and sorrow, and the sleeplessness you, and the many mortals like you, may find.

“You wish to see your sister, for you are forgetting her,” Hitoshi continued, hand rubbing his forehead as he sighed, watching the elation come forth upon your face as you frantically nodded your head, knowing that now he must aid you in some fashion or else you would not leave him to be alone once more.

He stood from his throne, his height more imposing than you thought it to be, to stalk his way over to you and the crystalline ball you stand beside; shrinking away from him, you allowed him to pass you with little fuss. With a wave of his hand, the orb filled with a cloud of dark purple smoke. He beckoned you closer to him once it did, and you watched as the smoke slowly cleared away the closer you found yourself to the God and his crystalline glass; soon revealing your sister’s slumbering face.

“She dreams of you often,” He stated, standing aside to allow you the chance to look upon the image without distraction.

“She does?” You could not help but become overwhelmed with both joy and sorrow as you gazed upon her; elated to know she was still alive and dreamt of you. You just merely wished you could do the same. Tears formed in your eyes as you reached out a cautious hand to gently touch upon the smooth glass, to caress the image of her cheek. “It warms my heart to know that, thank you.”

Hitoshi allowed you a moment to stare, gaze looking upon you in question; pondering what he should do. Knowing of your current plight, one of abandonment and loneliness, he could not help but relate. He found a semblance of sympathy and empathy for the creature before him; for he too found seldom joy within the realm of the Underworld, being placed here and forgotten by the Gods that claimed to be his brothers. He could not help but wish to end your suffering, as well as his. He tried his hardest to garner a plan out of this small act of kindness he would give forth to you in your time of need.

“You certainly act brave,” he called out to you, tone more gentle than before, “but I know you wish to dream of her yourself though pride is stopping you from asking me such a favour. For the Gods that surround you only grant one if you provide something in return.”

He pauses, allowing you a moment to take in his words; speaking once more as he could tell your attention was back on him rather than your sister, watching as your brows furrowed in question, knowing he must speak carefully in order for his plan to work

“I can assure you that I wish nothing in return,” he stated plainly, as he moved to sit on his throne once more. “The end of your sorrowful anguish, to cease the added pain and suffering it causes me, will be payment enough. I only ask for you to visit me here, should you wish to take upon my offer, for it shall be easier for me to provide you with the dreams you want from my throne.”

His response took you by surprise, as you gazed upon him in shock, overwhelmed by his apparent kindness that you could not do anything for a moment but stand there frozen in place - much like the few marble statues that decorated his home.

“Does that suit you?” Hitoshi asked, a brow raised in question as he watched you with amusement.

You nodded your head in a rapid fashion as you scurried your way back to him; unable to stop yourself from taking hold of his hands and squeezing them as you knelt in a bow before him once again; “God of Sleep, truly I wish there were more words I could say and express to you my gratitude and thanks to your kindness, but alas I cannot, but please know from the bottom of my heart that I am so overjoyed to hear you speak those words….” You continued profusely babbling to him your thanks and you kept his hand tightly within yours.

“Hitoshi, you may call me Hitoshi.” He simply smiled, finding your devotion towards him at that moment welcomed for it rarely happened, relishing in it for a moment longer before removing your hands from his. “I await our next visit, but for now it is time for you to depart.”

You nodded your head in understanding before you bowed your head to him once more in respect, then gingerly walked down the few steps from his throne and towards the long, jagged corridor of obsidian without another word or complaint.

“I will send my trusted friend Tamaki to fetch you,” Hitoshi called out to you, a smirk playing on his lips. “So there will be no need to bother and bring Hanta back with you.”

Hitoshi was true to his word, another surprising moment for you within a land of selfish and deceiving Gods, for when you woke the next morning - alone once more in your vast bed of silk - you caught sight of a man standing within a dark wooden gondola, seemingly waiting for you. Clearly, there was no one else he could possibly be there for, as this small portion of the heavens was made for you, a portion that seldom had visitors.

Slowly you rose, eyes straining to properly see him, though you knew he was here for you the man situated himself so far away from your slumbering form that you couldn’t help but have a twinge of doubt.

‘Was he perhaps timid?’

A strange notion, and trait, for a God to possess but the closer you approached him, in your barely covered form, the more you began to realize it was true. Another handsome face, as all Gods possess, though his pale skin and dark hair were a striking contrast to the bright flush that stained his face and pointed ears; clearly he was bashful over looking at you in such a state - his eyes never looked upon for more than a brief second before darting away.

“A-are you, Tamaki...?” You asked him, timidness within your own voice as you softly called out to him, trepidation filling your being as you continued to approach him; after all, you had been fooled before by false displays.

“Y-yes I am!” You could see his eyes snap up to you as he stood taller as if bringing forth his name meant bringing forth his station and thus made him want to stand with pride. “I am the Ferryman of the Underworld, I was sent here to get you.”

You watched as he paused, giving you one more look-over before averting his eyes again, letting out a small cough of discomfort over your barely covered body; a reaction you were not used to getting, though perhaps he too was guarded for the fear of unleashing the wrath of a fellow brother was not something he wished upon himself.

“...Though perhaps I should allow you to dress before bringing you before Hitoshi,” he finished, clutching tighter the giant wooden oar he carried and was using for support

Your face flushed in a similar red to the God before you as you nodded your head, perhaps it would have been wiser to dress before approaching the strange presence that entered your little domain, but curiosity always did get the better of you. You nodded your head politely before scurrying off to find suitable garb to wear.

You admired Tamaki’s patience, and his courteous nature for it took you far longer to find a dress that would keep you warm as you stayed in the cooler domain of the Underworld; after all, when Sero brought you here, dressing you in fine clothing was the least of his worries. Every time you looked over at the Ferryman, his eyes were never focused on you, but rather daydreaming as he gazed upon the soft pastel colours of clouds above.

You approached him again once ready, and the kind smile he cast as he gently helped guide you into his gondola put your racing heart at ease; you could not say with certainty that you could trust him, but as he allowed you to sit and get comfortable before slowly descending his vessel down towards the domain he called home you couldn’t help but think that maybe you could.

He was a wonderful guide as well as you made your way back into the treacherous waters and dark world that was the netherworld. His tone, and demeanor, always reassured your every need; from when your shoulders would tense as the gondola grew a little too close to the sides of a cavern, or how your hands would grasp the side of the vessel tightly as the descent moved a little too quickly, or when the screams of the wailing souls became almost unbearable causing you to cover your eyes - he would gently reassure your fears every time.

“Do not fret, fair nymph,” Tamaki’s soft voice rang out above the screeching souls that lay below you, effectively stealing your attention away from their pity. “They will pass in due time, they merely wish to make those suffer alongside them; once they see you will not befallen to their tricks, they will leave you be.”

“They will..?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, unable to properly hear yourself as you continued to try and close your hearing off to the cries of the lost souls, scooting yourself towards the middle of the gondola to avoid their reaching hands.

Yet he still heard you, as if the deafening keenings meant nothing to him, as he nodded his head; using his long oar to steer his vessel down a long stretch of water, away from that of the river Styx. “And do not fear them, as long you are in my care they will not harm you nor snatch you from my boat.”

Slowly the gondola came to a stop, the motion as smooth as the silvery water below, in front of a familiar obsidian cave - the entrance still as daunting and inhospitable as you remembered it being the day before, even if now you knew you were wanted within those walls. He helped guide you, with a courteous hand, up from your seat and out of the dark wooden craft he had grown accustomed to; only pulling his hand from your grasp, and thus support, once your feet were firmly planted on the ground before you.

“Thank you, Tamaki,” You said, eyes gleaming with genuine sincerity as you gazed upon him, your hand taking his once more to give it a small squeeze of gratitude. You almost giggled when you noticed his cheeks began to flush once more, as his bashfulness took hold and caused him to turn away from you yet again and focus his attention elsewhere.

“I shall be here to guide you back once you are done,” he muttered, his voice never before sounding so small since you met him, as he tugged his hand from your grasp. “Now go. Hitoshi can become impatient if you make him wait too long.”

With a nod of your head, you turned to face the mouth of the cave, dread setting in once more as you swallowed thickly the anxiety that began to bubble up within you; praying that you had not caused the God of Sleep ire for taking so long to get to him as you made your first steps back to his throne.

The blue light guided you as before, calming the gnawing apprehension that made a purchase into your heart for you felt as if you were a lamb being led to slaughter despite the generosity and kindness you were shown merely moments before. Tamaki had said that he would not have harm be brought before you, therefore he would not lead you to harm. You were not a lamb being led to slaughter, as you so felt at that moment, by merely approaching and being within Hitoshi’s lair.

Just as you did before, with timid and apprehensive steps, you stepped through the threshold of silver smoke and jagged obsidian into the room he resided and called home; eyes downcast, feeling smaller than ever before, you took gingered steps to where he sat upon his pearly throne, kneeling before him as a mortal should before a God. His imposing figure, one that loomed over you, caused you to lower your bow further until your head laid upon the cool marble your feet once stood upon.

“Not as bold today, are we?” Hitoshi chuckled, releasing you with an unhurried motion of his hand, his eyes staying with your figure as you moved to stand before him.

He watched as you simply shook your head in response, gaze still downcast as if too nervous to meet his eye; a frown formed upon his lips in disappointment over your timid display, wishing for you to be more excited, more jubilant like you were in your last meeting. Though perhaps it was because of your actions yesterday that you felt the need to be more apprehensive of your every move, not wanting to accidentally offend or upset him.

Hitoshi hummed, finding your continued lack of response telling of his assumptions. He stood from his throne and gracefully sauntered down the few imposing steps before it, regarding you and your smaller form for a brief moment before he ushered you to follow him, to which you did so dutifully; to come before the crystalline ball and its swirling clouds of violet haze.

Once more, when the smoke began to tire of its own billowing dance and wished to retire away, images of your sister arose causing you to sigh out in quiet joy and behold her sweet and slumbering form.

“You may stay for as long as you wish,” Hitoshi whispered out, finding that if he were to speak louder he may spook you from the charming trance he had put you under, as he placed his hand upon the small of your back to guide you closer to where you truly wished to be.

He almost chuckled at how you merely nodded in response to his generosity, too engrossed with your sister to think of anything else; even the gracious God providing you such a spectacle. Perhaps if he was in a worse mood, he may have been offended, perhaps even telling you to leave. And yet, he found it rather amusing, endearing even. He could tell why you were plucked from the mortal realm and kept amongst the gods as a pretty rose to gaze upon for eternity - you were certainly an interesting creature, at least as far as he could tell.

“Enjoy it for as long as you may like,” he spoke again, settling down once more onto his throne, chin within his palm as he gazed at you wondering if your response would change. He chuckled to himself when he saw the small rise and nod of your head; clearly too enraptured still to even think of a single word.

Time was frozen still for you, at least that was how you saw it, when you gandered down upon your sister; eyes filled with warmth as your fingers delicately outlined her face with thoughts that raced through your mind. You wondered what she dreamt of, what the days ahead of her looked like, and if she remembered you. A faint smile painted your lips as you thought of all the possibilities that could befall upon her.

Though time at that moment was still for you, it still marched onward.

For Hitoshi, he watched you for hours. His chin never left his palm, as his eyes just softly gazed at your form; curiosity further seeped into his being the longer you stayed. He was almost disappointed when he had to have this little visit come to an end, something he could not help but find odd as no words were spoken between the pair of you. Yet he could feel he missed your presence already.

“The sun is about to rise, little one,” he called out as he sat more upright upon his throne, “which means your sister will wake, and thus we will no longer be able to see her in my crystalline orb.”

“Has it really been that long?” You softly answered, voice barely above a whisper as your hand dropped from the item in question back to hang limply at your side.

“Afraid it has.”

“Then I thank you kindly for allowing me such a prolonged gift as this,” You said, casting forth to him a smile of gratitude; though despite your efforts not, you could tell sadness seeped through. You bowed once more, kneeling upon the ground you had spent hours standing upon. “It was more than I could have hoped for.”

“You are welcome to come back here if you so choose,” He watched as you stood once more, an amused smile gracing his handsome face. “For you have been nothing but a quiet and respectful guest.”

“I-I can…?” You questioned, hands coming forth to clasp together nervously; wondering if his amusement was genuine due to your company or if he had a trick he wished to play and had accidentally shown his hand.

“I have not had a more peaceful rest since the millennia started.” He began, gracefully taking a pause so he may walk over to you. “If having you here to admire your sister means I can have more moments of levity like this, then I would be a fool to cast it aside.”

Hitoshi took your hand in his, bringing it forth to place a tender kiss upon the back of it before turning it over to place a small golden bell within your palm, before letting it go.

“Should you ever wish to return, ring this bell twice. It shall signal to Tamaki that you will be in need of his services, and thus will return you here.”

It was the jubilation on your face, he could only assume, that was what made him wish to provide you this sanctuary in the first place. Your smile beamed forth a ray of light as you gazed up at him, clasping tightly the small gift he had provided to you close to your heart.

“Thank you!” You gushed, feet almost stumbling over themselves as you didn’t know if you wanted to go forth to him and take his hand to showcase your gratitude, or if you wanted to leave to ensure further rest for this God before you (as well as showcase your prize to Tamaki, the man the bell was tied to).

In the end, you chose to scamper away, your gratitude and declarations of thanks echoing within the long and winding hallway. Hitoshi merely shook his head, breathing a sigh of mirth as he returned to his throne; his mind raced with thoughts of you. He wondered if he would get to see more moments of your bubbling personality showcased to him, more so than the small snippet he was blessed with at that moment.

Ultimately all of his thoughts led to one conclusion, that he hoped you would ring the bell very soon.

Despite your desire otherwise, it took you a little more than a fortnight to call upon Tamaki once more; not at all for the reason that you were no longer interested in visiting the Underworld once again and indulging in the gifts brought before you, but rather you would feel horrible if you were to summon a God such as he to take you to and fro on whatever whim you had. Knowing he had far more important tasks to uphold, not simply to take care of you.

Yet, Tamaki greeted you with that same kind smile, one that grew wider when you apologized for being such an inconvenience as you clambered into his boat.

“Nonsense.” He chuckled, using his oar to steer his vessel. “Your company is a highlight to my day, a far better kind than the souls that screech for my attention. So you need not worry about calling me forth.”

“Is that so?” You hummed, leaning forward towards him with a smile, placing your chin in your palm.

“Yes.” His face flushed that familiar shade of red, yet his eyes remained on you - clearly less shy than before as he grew more accustomed to your presence. “So, call upon me whenever you wish, for I know Hitoshi would prefer if you did as well.”

His eyes then looked away from you to instead focus on successfully steering you to where you were to be; back to Hitoshi. You took the time to survey the surroundings, as it was clear the ride was to remain in silence until the end, taking into account all the small jewels and gems that littered the dark walls of the nether realm. A small glimmer of beauty and hope in an otherwise bleak and dreadful world as you continued your descent.

Though this time, after the boat had slowed to a stop, a visitor was there waiting for you.

Hitoshi stood tall, making the daunting entrance of his lair seem small and almost meek. He approached the gondola with purposeful steps. His eyes glimmered with mirth as he nodded his head towards his old friend Tamaki before he bowed before you.

“As always, you have arrived safe and sound.” Hitoshi’s deep voice mumbled out, as he stood to his full height once more. “I am grateful to be able to have Tamki provide such a service.”

“As am I.” You managed to get out, voice meek, as you looked over at the ferryman in question. “He certainly puts me at ease and makes this descent more palatable.”

“Yes, well, I cannot argue with such a statement,” Hitoshi mumbled again before presenting his hand for you to take. “But a ride is not why you are here, now is it? Come along, little one, we cannot keep Tamaki from his duties any longer.”

You nodded your head, giving one last grateful smile towards the God who brought you here, before gingerly placing your hand upon his; finding Hitoshi’s gentle strength almost dizzying as he lifted you from the gondola with ease.

With practiced ease, surely muscle memory for him at this point, he guided you through the caverns towards his home; not at all bothered by the sharp stones that jutted from the walls or the rocky terrain as you were. You leaned into him often, finding his presence and body a needed support, as you tried to keep up with his quick pace.

You wished that the path toward his throne room would be more kind, less abrasive, and less aggressive toward those that wished to seek his help. But much like those gemstones hidden amongst the cavern walls of the Underworld, once you got through all the dread and unpleasantness, you were greeted with something wonderful. And the vast room he called his own always seemed to comfort you in some way whenever you entered it.

This time, when you passed through the haze of silver smoke that always permeated the air around his threshold, like a door to keep his privacy intact, you already found your sister’s slumber face illuminating the giant crystalline ball you had grown so fond of.

Hitoshi allowed you to break free from his hold of you to dart towards your sister, following after you at a much more leisurely pace. He could not blame you for your eagerness to see her, after all her slumbering form was a beauty to behold in and of itself, however he did wish he could hold you and your attention just a moment longer before it was diverted elsewhere.

Nevertheless, he had a plan today. One that he knew you would adore above all else, even more so than any gift the Love God had ever given you previously, or since you entered the realm of the Gods. Unhurried, he followed behind you, taking in the image of your admiring eyes for a moment longer before deciding to break the peaceful silence that had befallen.

“Do you wish to visit her?” He asked, placing his hand to the back of your neck to stroke the hair that laid there.

“More than anything…” You whispered, smiling fondly at the image before you, an action you had grown accustomed to doing. “However, such a wonder cannot happen, nor be granted to me while I am here.”

Hitoshi chuckled, an almost sinister grin forming upon his lips as he gazed down at you, lowering his head to whisper in your ear, “What if I told you that you could?”

He delighted in the way your body shivered at his action, the way your eyes finally were diverted from your sister and thus focused upon him; that he finally was the one to capture your whole attention.

“Can you?” You breathed out, having lost all the air within your lungs and body over his words; unable to breathe at not only the possibility of perhaps being able to hold your sister in your arms again, but the price it might cost for such a miracle.

“Dreams are an amusing thing, little one.” Hitoshi smiled, taking hold of your shoulders so you could face him fully. “A reality that is not fully our own, a realm in and of itself that is not beholden to the same rules as ours.”

He paused, and watched as your little brain tried to understand fully what he was saying. Finding it adorable when your brows furrowed together in concentration as you tried to put the pieces he was alluding to together. He brought his hand up to pat your head, stroking his palm down your hair soothingly as he continued.

“I can control that realm, a gift given to me by my mother.” He muttered those words, his smile growing wider as he saw your eyes light up in hope. “If you allow me your trust, to give forth your sleep to me, I shall be able to connect your dreams together and thus allow you a brief moment to be together again.”

It was almost comical to him how trusting you were, how you would so easily give up something so precious as the ability to command your own sleep to him. How you practically threw yourself into his arms, in both desperation and shock that such a gift could exist, as you quietly begged him for that chance.

“Please Hitoshi!” You said, hands clinging tightly to his tunic as you felt your eyes well with tears as your feelings overwhelmed you. “I beseech you, please, take me to her. I would ask nothing more of you, of your skills, gifts, or time, if you allowed me this. My anguish would cease being your burden if you allowed me to speak with her just this once.”

You turned your face away from him as you felt the warmth of your tears begin to stain your cheeks. Wanting to lessen your humiliation, you focused back on the image of your sister, and you asked him once more to take you to her, even if only for a brief moment.

Your naivety, your utter trust in him after all you had known and learned from the Gods, made Hitoshi’s smile grow even darker as mischievousness tainted it. You were so willing to eat from his palm, that you had no time to properly think if his intentions were pure. So blindsided by the love of your sister and desire to see her, you would do anything - even if it meant being at his mercy.

He almost felt pity for you, such a sweet creature like yourself being taken advantage of by a more powerful being.

Almost.

“Hush, little one,” he cooed, almost in condescension, as he pulled you against him once more to dry the tears that fell so freely from your eyes. “I would have not have offered such a gift if I had no intention of giving it to you.”

He continued to brush your tears away as he listened to you hiccup and sob, trying your best to form a response to him and his kindness but failing; shushing you once more as he pulled your head to rest against his chest, allowing you a moment of reprieve to calm yourself down.

“Now, now.” He began after silence had enveloped the pair of you for a breath. “Whenever you are ready, please lay yourself down in any place you deem comfortable within my home.”

He allowed you to pull away once more, watching as you sniffled and nodded your head, your hand wiping away the last of your tears as you looked about the abode. Deciding that his throne would be the most comfortable spot to choose if you were to lay down. However, you could not bring yourself to gain the courage to sit upon his throne. Instead, you chose to lean your body upright to sit comfortably against it, your head settled upon the arm of his chair to further ensure that you would slump over once sleep overtook you.

Hitoshi wanted patiently as you made your decision, finding your bold action to use his throne in some fashion entertaining, a refreshing outcome from your usual polite and timid nature. He approached you once it was made clear you were comfortable, kneeling down to your eye level as he brushed your hair away from your face.

“Close your eyes for me… there we are, that’s good,” he whispered out, eyes turning a pale silver, like the mist that surrounded his room, before he brought his hand up to your face. “Now, I must warn that you may feel nauseous once being thrust from one realm to the next, do your best to focus on where you are headed, for it will help, alright?”

You nodded your head in acknowledgment over his words, shifting one last time in a more comfortable position. “Alright.”

“Good, and do not fret, I will watch over you”

With that, his hand made contact with your brow as his power surged through your being. Your eyes rolled back into your skull, as you felt your consciousness being violently thrust from this plane, this realm of existence. You fought back the turning of your stomach, the urge to fetch up the bile that sat in your stomach, as you gripped tightly to your robes; to ground yourself into the reality you wished to be in most, a dream with your sister. Abruptly, your world and soul stopped moving, lurching you forward to fall into a soft and grassy field; a meadow that reminded you of when you used to run through and create flower crowns with your sister, a long time ago.

You turned, and turned, and turned, trying to find your bearings as well as anything of importance or familiarity within the giant landscape of flora you had been transported to. Your eyes tried their best to adjust to the bright light that had been thrust upon you from a sun that was nowhere in sight; but after all the disorientation that you had suffered, your mind eventually cleared. Gone was the haze that clouded it, and now you could finally spot, far in the distance, a sight that made your heart warm. Your old home.

You picked up your skirts with a watery smile, doing your best to hold back the tears of happiness that were about to fall, as you began to run towards it. Elated was how you felt for at last you made it back to the one place you felt joy within your long life. Back to the place where you felt love and adoration; back to her.

When the rundown cabin, filled with trinkets and coin from travelers long past, became far more than a small speck on the horizon, your voice came to you. Shouting your sister’s name, screaming out your presence here, as you continued to sprint as quickly as you could to her.

You caught sight of her after a few calls of her name, her head poking out from the bedroom window you used to share. Your pace quickened, far past your own abilities but you found little use to care of the pain when the person you loved most was in view, as you called out even louder; an arm waving to allow her to notice you promptly. You became jubilant as the realization of who you were came across her face. You almost tripped over your own feet as laughter began to pour out of you, as you took in the actions of her throwing open the cabin door with abandon, her not bothering to care of any damage she caused, before she ran to meet you.

The embrace you shared with one another was so forceful and tight that it caused you both to fall to the ground, pain and soreness subsided by the sounds of each other's laughter over finally being together once more; to hold one another and feel whole again. Sobs soon mixed in with the laughter, tears of joy understandably shed, as you both clung onto each other tightly. You were the first to pull away, certain that she would not disappear once doing so, wanting to see her face fully for the first time after all these years.

“There you are,” you breathed out, pressing your forehead against her with a relieved sigh “Oh, how I missed you terribly! My thoughts while we were apart were only of you.”

“As were mine!” She huffed out a laugh, bringing forth her hand to dry the flowing tears from her eyes. “I have been dreaming the same dream for years, hoping that one day you would return back to me.”

“I’m sorry it took so long!” You sobbed, leaning into her to wrap your arms tightly around her, burying your face within her shoulder as you babbled out another apology; finding comfort as she gingerly played with your hair as she used to do whenever you were upset.

“There is no need to apologize, my dear sister.” She uttered, resting her head atop yours. “All that matters right now is that we are finally together. After so long, after so much time apart, we are together again.”

She felt more so than saw your head nod in agreement, taking yet another moment to bask in the warmth that was your glow (as you did the same) before she patted at your back, an action that caused you to pull away slightly. With a warm smile, she caressed your cheek, humming in delight when she felt the heated skin upon her fingertips as her eyes searched yours.

“Come with me,” she finally spoke, standing with an outstretched hand for you to take. “Let me bring you home.”

With an ecstatic nod of your head, you agreed. Tears formed in your eyes at the mere thought of entering the home you once shared with her again as you took hold of her hand, allowing her to pull you to your feet. Together you walked alongside each other, pulling on each other’s arms, as nostalgia washed through you both - like a warm blanket on a winter’s eve - as you remembered a time when this was the existence you lead.

Meanwhile, as you slept, Hitoshi dutifully watched over you; finding your slumbering face rather beautiful as you allowed him to keep guard. He wondered if you were also so trusting, so naive about the world and the nature of Gods. Surely you must be if a few simple words of affirmation by another would allow you to be swallowed up by him; to follow willingly into a world not your own. Even more so, trust a God like him, after staying in this unforgiving place for so long.

Regardless, he stroked your cheek with a fond smile, knowing that this would not be the last time he would see you, to relish in your serene beauty, and enjoy your company; already his mind had raced with the many ways he wished to spend it.

The Gods within the Underworld barely get any company, as the Gods in the realm above them would rather steer clear of their domain; a sense of haughtiness as they turn their noses up at the prospect of spending their precious time with Gods they deem lower than them.

Therefore it cannot be helped that Hitoshi grew rather fond of you so quickly; a meek and sweet little nymph like yourself was more than a welcomed guest in his domain. Truly he would do anything in his power to have you keep visiting him and wanting his company. And, being the naive little thing you were, you so easily gave him the control he needed to ensure you would come crawling back to him; the power to manipulate your dreams and sleep.

He wasn’t going to be cruel, after all, he wanted you to trust him and to do so of your own free will. At first, he only took an hour or two of sleep away, a simple ploy set in action for whenever you arrived back to him, he was able to easily coerce you to stay even longer; to catch up on the rest you had missed. Of course, you did not mind in the slightest, for that merely meant allowing you the chance to spend more time with your sister in the small way you could.

Once you woke, you always repaid him in kind, indulging him further with your awakened company; answering his questions, both of simplicity (like the times you recalled what your favoured the most) and those of a more personal nature (like the many stories of your previous life within the mortal realm). As well, you allowed him to showcase to you more of his domain and home, taking his arm with little fuss as he regaled the histories of the items that surrounded you, explaining to you how everything worked within the Underworld; from the souls, Tamaki would bring through, to the decisions Shigraki would make to keep things in order, to his own duty of keeping mortals well rested so they may continue their devotion to the many Gods they adored.

At the end, before he set you free to leave with Tamaki, he would always find the small pleasure of kissing the back of your hand; heart thrilling as you would cast before him your sweet smile before bidding adieu. He longed for you to gaze at him so lovingly, to hold and keep that precious smile with him forever.

Though, after a while, your stays with him became less frequent. Hitoshi used to be blessed by your company almost every other day. Before he knew of it, those frequent days together dwindled down to merely a couple of visits every few weeks. Now? Now Hitoshi would be lucky if he got to enjoy your presence once a month. And the worst of it was, whenever you finally did show your pretty face, there never was an explanation as to why you were gone from him for so long. With a wave of your hand, you would brush it aside, as if starving him of your companionship was nothing to be of worry, as you approached his throne.

Truly, when all was said and done, this was all your own doing.

Hitoshi simply could not have you vanish like the silver mist that enveloped his throne, he doubted he could survive if you did. So, he just had to make things a little bit worse for you; to slowly deprive you of more and more sleep. And the times he would gift you with slumber, they would be filled with dreams unpleasant and cruel.

He just had to have you crawl back to him, to stay with him. He simply had to.

It wasn’t as if you did not want to visit Hitoshi, you wished with every fiber of your being that you could; you really did. You enjoyed the time spent with him, both he and Tamaki were very kind and always sought to make you comfortable - never to leave you bored or feeling unwanted. Unfortunately, someone else decided for you that visiting was no longer to be.

Hanta had a renewed interest in you just as you were starting to get comfortable within the God of Sleep’s domain; monopolizing your time more and more, almost unbearably so, with his presence and touch. As if he was making up for lost time, doing his best to renew the interest he once captured so easily. Though he claimed otherwise, you knew that his actions were simply made from jealousy; he wanted you to be his pet, whom he called upon at any moment, to give your utter devotion to. Now your devotion seemed to be turned elsewhere, and his pride simply could not have it.

He couldn’t keep hold of you at all times; duties had to be done, and other men and women needed to be blessed by his presence and touch. Only then were you able to slip away from his hold to visit the Underworld. Though every time you entered, you felt more and more ashamed of who you were, about the marks that were left upon your skin, and the reasons you could not see Hitoshi more frequently. Embarrassment always filled your being when you felt the Sleep God’s eyes upon you, taking in your dishevelled and messy form, knowing you were a sore sight to see; and you could never find the strength to confide in him as to the reasons why.

You simply wished to forget all that transpired while away, even if for a moment.

That moment of levity would simply be that; a moment. For once you returned to the clouds above, Hanta would be waiting for you; wings twitching in agitation as the scowl upon his beautiful face would cause you to shrink in fear. Anger, agitation, would fill his being at your deliberate disobeying of his rule to stay where you were until he was to return; dragging you to the bed you shared. Though you tried to plead with him that it wasn’t nearly anything his mind could conjure up, that he need not be so harsh with you, it never sunk into him - merely falling onto deaf ears. Despite protesting thus, he would bend you at the waist, pinning you to the silk sheets so you could not move, or fight him, before he would fill you with his cock; ignoring your squeals of pain as he stretched you completely. To slap his hand upon your skin until your skin was red and raw as he teethed marked you with the last mementos of his lovemaking. Actions never ceased until your voice became hoarse from the pleasured screams, and your body became limp with his marks of strength; making it clear to any gods nearby that you were his.

After which, the vicious cycle would continue.

Moreover, to add insult to the injury you were currently plagued with, you could not find a sense of slumber; a moment of rest and the peace that paired with it. Oh, how you wished you did, you wished for a moment of sanctuary from the torture you were in, and yet it never came. Always just slipping past your fingertips, like mist in a dense fog. Hanta and his insatiability, much like when he first claimed you for his own, took from your body and sense of strength and repose needed to even sit up. It left you ragged and begging to melt into the clouds that surrounded you; chanting silently to the God realms away to grant you what you desired most. A reprieve from this world, no matter how small it was to be. But once you felt it ebb at the corners of your consciousness, Hanta would ultimately rouse you to continue his ravishings.

The fair few times you could allow yourself to sink into the inky abyss of slumber, your being finally being so worn down it had no choice but to relent to it, the dreams within it would be far more cruel than the fate currently abusing you. Dreams so conniving and hurtful, of fears locked so far away, that you not help but wake with tears in your eyes; whimpering and wailing sobs into the vastness of the heavens around you. With your cries growing more intense when you found your only comfort against all this pain and suffering was Hanta and his touch; one that would ultimately lead to salacious things.

You began to resent him. His voice, his touch, his presence even remotely near you. You wished he had never caught sight of you, never gave you all those gifts, and most important of all, never brought you here to the heavens. As the days passed you felt stuck in an endless cycle of hell, one seemingly by his own hand. You were once so exuberant, full of life and wonder, and now you could feel yourself wasting away into nothing. No longer able to skip and frolic into fields of flowers or clouds, your body was too weak; barely even able to lift your arm to grab hold of anything. Your eyes, ones that were bright and filled with wonder as they looked upon the many majesties of the world, could barely be forced to open; a stinging pain would follow as any glimmer of light would cause you pain. And your head. Your poor head that would read and listen to the stories of old, now suffered from severe throbbing pain as your mind pulsed against your skull - trying to free itself from the prison it found itself in.

You could not escape it, nor Hanta - especially after he had taken the golden bell gifted to you as his own. Your life seemed to be regaled to misery as you lived every waking moment in pain. You wished that death could find you and turn you into an everlasting rose, then be subjected to spend more time with him; the cause of all the suffering.

Hanta could sense it all too. The indignation that filled your very being and thus cast forth onto him. He became less patient with you, his temper flaring considerably as he found your irritability insufferable; finding your whining and aversion to his help a scornful cross he felt he had not deserved, not after all he had done for you. The rage within him would burn even brighter whenever you would implore him to allow you to see the God of Sleep, to ask for his aid in the matter that had been plaguing you instead of him. Bitterness filled him over being replaced by a God lesser than him; for being a fool to allow you the freedom to visit that domain and become dependent on someone other than him.

“Hanta, please!” You wept, palms coming to press against your eyes to relieve some of the unbearable pressure behind them. “I cannot keep going like this. Can’t you see that I am in pain? That I am suffering?”

You removed your hands from your eyes, your feeble attempt to try and soothe the pain found in your body futile, having them fall into your lap in defeat. You looked over at him, back turned to you, as he tried to ignore your wails once more in favour of sharpening the many golden arrows he possessed.

“I thought you loved me!” You called out again, trying in vain once more to garner his attention, the declaration working as you saw his shoulders tense.

“I do love you.” Hanta began, turning to give a look of scorn when you tried to argue otherwise “But it is clear that your reliance on another God caused you this misery. If you stayed here, and allowed me to take care of you, you would not have found yourself in such a state.”

“Take care of me?” You huffed out a laugh in scorn, hands balling into fists over his claims “You left me here. Abandoned me once I no longer suited your fancy, with no food, drink, or company. Alone is a place where I did not belong! How could you blame me for wanting to be cared for!”

“You could have asked for more!” Hanta stood, his wings twitched as he did his best to control the fury bubbling within him “Have I not given you everything? Have I not provided you splendor that no other creature, mortal or otherwise, could have dreamed? Have I not carved out of the heavens a home for you? You are acting like a petulant child, one that has been so spoiled that they cannot find it within themselves to have an ounce of gratefulness or gratitude.”

You could not help yourself, could not fight the urge otherwise. How could he claim all those things about you, to compare you to a mollycoddled child, when he was the one that would abandon anything once he got bored. To pin the pain you are under as something of your own fault, and not bother to care about trying to lessen the burden.

“I hate you.”

The words slithered out in a vengeful hiss, marking them as true and honest as you looked away from him in scorn; finding yourself so disgusted by him that you wished not to acknowledge his presence. You had never said those words before, never been pushed to think that way of anyone, even the nymphs that casted you out. Yet, you felt the need to let that be known and you sat and seethed.

You did regret those words after you spoke them, finding a moment of levity as your mind cleared from the anger and pain it had been placed under. Though it was too late. A final straw had been broken, after weeks of being placed under the pressure of a bend, within Hanta.

He marched towards you, to where you sat so pitifully, to take hold of your arm; not bothering to care over the cry of pain he inflicted as he dragged you to your feet to follow him to the edge of the heavenly clouds that you called home. Bringing forth the golden bell from his tunic to hold it menacingly over the border that kept the Gods in the heavens, and the mortals within the earth.

“Apologize at once.” He demanded, tugging you even closer to him to cease your struggling against his hold “Say that you are sorry or I will drop it.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I had not meant to say! Please Hanta, believe me! I could never hate you! Don’t do this!” You begged, falling to your knees as you clung to his waist

But despite obeying, despite always doing what he said like the sweet-natured nymph you were, it did not matter. In a moment of vexation, a moment to showcase his power over you, Hanta still did not relent (as he always did to your cries) as his fingers let slip the golden bell. Allowing it to sink away for all eternity.

You collapsed in a heap, fingers digging deeply into the cloud below you, as you wept and sobbed; despite the pounding in your head telling you to stop, you couldn’t. Your one saving grace, the one thing that brought a semblance of happiness to you in this realm was gone. And with that revelation came the doubt that you would ever see your sister again nor get a decent night’s rest until the end of time - or until your ultimate banishment from here, whenever that mercy may come.

You couldn’t help but kick and scream when you felt Hanta’s arm wrap around you as he picked you up from the ground. Using the last morsels of strength within you to try and fight him off and away, for his touch was the last thing you ever wanted upon your skin.

But what was the strength of a nymph when compared to a God?

He laid you in bed, and though he tried to join you, to hold you close and whisper those sweet nothings in your ear as he knew you used to love, you kept pushing him away. Instead choosing to curl up into a tight ball and weep until sleep ultimately took your anguished form. All Hanta could do was watch as guilt gnawed at him - latching onto his soul like roots of a tree that took purchase into the earth - as he reaped what he had sown.

The anguish you felt is what finally caught Hitoshi’s attention towards you and your ever-growing plight, for it had seeped through into your dreams when your body finally tired out from all it had been fighting. He could sense your pain, your sorrow, the distress that filled every ounce of your soul; it caused his breathing to labor as he could not help but panic over what had transpired. He rushed to look into his orb of dreams to search for you and to understand what had transpired for your soul to give up and to become on the verge of death; something impossible for a creature like you to do within the heavens.

You were always surprising him, weren’t you?

He wanted to find a semblance of admiration over you achieving such a feat, but all he could find was fear over the thought of losing you. Your blurry appropriation finally came forth to him within the haze of smoke so familiar to him, blurred lines turned clear as he turned more of his attention towards you; and subsequently, the memory you had gripped so tightly to. That of your precious gift, your golden bell, being taken away from you.

Histoshi wasted not another moment. Summoning forth Tamaki with urgency, as he began to move through his labyrinth hurriedly; meeting the other god at the riverbed to his home. Tamaki could tell from the distressed look within the other God's eyes, that something was amiss.

“Go gather the nymph.” Hitoshi instructed, voice hardened with ice as he tried to keep his composure “And bring her back here to me, as swiftly as you can”

“Has something happened?” The meeker God questioned, worry gathering within his heart as his eyes scanned Hitoshi’s features.

“Go and get her.” Hitoshi reiterated voice hissing at the accidental stalling his friend was causing. “And do so swiftly! Though, be wary of that Love God, for he is watching over her.”

Without another word, or hesitancy otherwise, Tamaki nodded his head before hastily setting his vessel in motion. There was something wrong, for his oldest friend would not have treated him so coldly, would not be so fearful of a wasted moment. Something had happened to you, and Tamaki feared it was something awful.

Bravery was never something that came naturally to the ferryman, he was far too meek and worried of causing ire from his fellow brothers and sisters; especially those few that lived among him. He felt it course through him as he ascended to the heavens to retrieve you, determination settling within his heart as he made up his mind to bring you to the Underworld for good.

Tamaki was quiet when he approached your little piece of heaven; heading the advice to be wary to ensure a safe recovery of you. Though when he appeared, he found you surprisingly alone. You lay curled up like a baby bird in its nest upon your bed, but he knew it wouldn’t be for long. For the Love God was clearly only absent to gather your items of comfort, and with his powerful wings to swiftly guide him through the air, Tamaki knew it was only a matter of moments before he would return; there was no time to dawdle.

Gently he scooped you into his arms, taking note to cradle your weak head gently against his chest, as he carried you to his gondola. Setting you upon the bench you so eagerly used to sit upon, he allowed you to rest as he took you back down to the Underworld; to your new home.

You awoke, mind filled with a disorienting haze as you tried to recall how you ended up blessed enough to find slumber. To garner a restful enough sleep and avoid the terrors your mind could come up whenever you were in that realm. However, that wonderment of how you could have become so blessed after so agonizingly long was drowned out by confusion as your brows furrowed as it tried to comprehend what this odd weight upon your body was.

It was familiar to you, like an old friend, one soothing and reassuring. Yet at the same time, it did not feel like something you knew. The hand that stroked your hair, and scratched gently upon your scalp in a manner so gentle, was not one that you knew. The arm that held you so tightly to a broad, lithe, chest did not feel at all similar to the one you cuddled up against night after night.

It wasn’t familiar to you, thus you could only assume that you were no longer in the arms of Hanta, but rather someone else. Now that you were in this hold, you were afraid you could never go back to what you were used to. How you preferred the more tender hold of the arms that embraced you, how they held you with your comfort in mind, not to keep you trapped; a hold that you could not help sink deeper within. Finding the soft tunic a welcomed reprieve to warm and bare skin as you clung to it.

Though despite your wanting to sink back into the inky abyss that was the realm of slumber, your mind did not allow it; far too concerned with whoever was holding you. Though it felt nice, something about it still did feel right. Your brows furrowed more so together as you began to push against the embrace, your tired eyes burning as they opened to gain clarity of your situation.

A frightful gasp left your lips as you looked upon a familiar pair of violet eyes, those accompanied by the almost charming dark circles of deprivation. Despite your best efforts to pull away from him, knowing just how irate Hanta would be if he were to catch you with him in such a manner, Hitoshi kept you in place; his arm tightly digging into your sides to keep you against him.

“Hush, and be still little one,” Histoshi shushed you, hand moving from your hair to stroke upon your cheek in a manner meant to calm you further. “Your body is still destitute of slumber, it cannot handle your struggles.”

You relented, body falling more limp within his hold, though you fought the urge to fall back into his chest; wanting answers to the racing questions that ran through your mind as they managed to take precedence over your want of sleep.

“How…. how did I get here?” You finally asked, voice cracking and sore from your wails just hours prior, as you kept your gaze downcast. “From what I can recall, I needed the bell you gifted me to summon Tamaki; one of the few that knew how to get to you”

“As you know,” he began with a sigh, tugging at the ends of your hair in an effort to get your pretty eyes to gaze back at him; disappointed that you wouldn’t relent and do so, “I can feel all the anguish that the mortals are beholden to as they sleep, you are no exception. I felt all your pain and suffering, and I could sense that you were unable to escape the grasp of the Love God. So, I figured the only course of action to end your distress that I could provide was to gather you myself so you may get the rest you sorely needed.”

He watched as you buried the palms of your hands into your eyes gently, trying in vain to allow your muddled mind to come to terms and piece together what he had just said. After a moment of silence, he pulled your hands back down to rest in your lap.

“Are you alright now?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper, as he watched you nod your head. Dissatisfied over your lack of response he placed his forefinger under your chin to force your head up to face him. “Are you sure?”

“Y-yes.”

Your meek response was good enough to appease him as he let go of your face to instead pull you closer within his hold; his hand once more moving your head to place it against the crevice between his neck and shoulder. Hand once more absently played with your hair as he continued to soothe and strived to relax your body.

“Sleep, little one,” he mumbled into your brow, “Stay as you need so you may regain all that you lost. I promise to look over you.”

Instead of gratitude, instead of your body falling heed to his request, he felt your body shake as you silently sobbed. You wished you could allow yourself such a sweet reprieve, but you knew better now. Once you garnered enough strength to walk, you would have to be taken back to the heavens once all this was over. If not by the God before you, then by the God you have surely angered and left in a cold bed. You felt Hitoshi move your body to sit upright, his hands resting upon your heated cheeks as he attempted to dry them from your ever-falling tears.

“Why are you upset, my darling one?” He asked, searching your eyes for a response, only to find you closing them and looking away.

“If I do stay, if I do as you ask of me and regain my strength and rest, it will not matter.” You blubbered, shaking your head to rid yourself of his grasp on your face.

“And why do you say that?”

“After I do, I will have to return back to Hanta. And I do not want to suffer the false hope that will befall me if I stay, for once I go back I will suffer as I had before. Sleepless and filled with horrid visions!”

Hitoshi did his best to hide the smile that was yearning to break free. He found he was grateful this one time that your glossy eyes would not look at him. Here you were, like a child, in his lap as you wept over the fear of another bad dream that may fall upon you again. It was clear your state of mind had been broken, that your resolve had been shattered, and now you were at the mercy of him and his plan; thus now he could finally strike.

“Who has declared that you must go back?” He whispered as he kissed the crown of your head to soothe you further. “You could just stay here with me, you will never have to worry about sleep and nightmares again. And your sister, I’m sure she missed you.”

With the mention of your sister, you finally looked up at him, your sobbing quieted down as you hiccuped your response. “Y-you w-would let me stay...?”

“I would.” He nodded his affirmation alongside his words, ensuring you would believe him. “And you may visit your sister as often as your heart desires, to wander the Underworld and beholden to their treasures whenever you please. You would just have to keep me company whenever I request it.”

“And Hanta? W-what of him?”

“You would never have to worry about being taken away from him if you did not want. Wherever silver mist gathers, especially within the archways of this domain, he cannot enter nor breakthrough. He may charge his way here, but he will never be allowed to enter my throne.”

You took a moment to gaze upon the familiar archway you had walked through countless times, watching as the silver smoke twirled languishingly amongst itself as if it had a mind of its own. It brought back the memory of when you first came here, how Hanta pushed you to make the journey to the God of Sleep alone. It was not done to test your bravery, but rather for the reason Hitoshi claimed; he was not welcomed here and therefore could not follow you.

It all made sense why Hanata hated that you would visit Hitoshi, for he could not keep an eye on you. He could not control you and whatever you did while here.

Now you were presented with an offer. A tempting one that promised you everything you had been deprived of while you were up in the heavens; to be taken care of fully. To be able to enjoy the spoils found here, to sleep, and to see your sister. Your exhausted mind could not help but agree that his terms and conditions to be his companion within the Underworld was a far better offer than what you were granted within the Heavens.

“I’ll stay…” You murmured out, as you allowed your body to fall limp into his arms in acceptance. “...I’ll stay.”

“Good, now rest little one, you are safe now.”

Hitoshi was unable to cease holding back the triumphant smile that wished to come forth, relenting to it as it spread across his beautiful face in an almost sinister manner before he pressed a kiss to your forehead. He had won, and now he was hoping to reap the rewards he waited so patiently for; grinning more widely as he heard a whine slip passed your lips, the sound going straight to his cock as he shifted you within his lap.

“What is the matter now?” He muttered into your brow, pressing another kiss there as he watched you squirm.

“I can’t sleep...!” You murmured out, clearly exasperated over your mind telling you of desires that you wanted while your body continued to betray you.

“Never fear of things such as that my darling.” His kiss slowly descended down your face before they paused at your lips; brushing against them in a manner much like a butterfly’s kiss. “I can help you, you need only ask me to do so.”

“Please help me Hitoshi…” You breathed out as you clung to his tunic once more.

He knew you were ready to plead further to him, he could hear the hitch in your voice as you made an attempt to do so. But he could not wait any longer, not after all the work he placed into his efforts, nor after hearing you consent to him; even if he desired to hear you beg for him further. His lips pressed against you in a kiss he has waited far too long to enjoy.

But greed swiftly appeared and possessed him, taking his kisses from sweet and small - tiny pecks to showcase his love and adoration for you - to ones more consuming as he melded your lips into his; not caring about breathing more so the want to feel your lips against his. His hand came to hold your jaw in place, craning your neck upward so that he may deepen the kiss to his desire.

It was not harsh, nor hurried, as one would expect from being consumed by the throws of passion and lust; especially the kind that had been suppressed for so long. Hitoshi could not recall in most recent memory, or memory long passed, ever having a lover by his side. And now that he had you, now that he finally had you here, he wished to engulf you completely and enjoy what the Gods above have denied him.

His motions were languid as he continued to hold your lips against his, he relished in how pillowy they felt as he continued to suck and smack upon them; not bothering to care of your whimpers of discomfort over how lewd the sounds had become, or how the mixture of saliva would drip down your chin. He still refused to relent as he found himself possessed over you and this feeling of domination. He slipped forth his tongue into your pliant and sweet mouth; how he delighted in the way your strength left you and caused you to go limp within his hold.

With the knowledge that you would not fight against him further, rather allowing yourself to succumb to him and his desires instead, his hands began to roam your body; no longer afraid of angering you and your possible attempts to fight otherwise.

You couldn't say that you did not enjoy it.

The unhurried, leisurely manner in which Hitoshi was making love to you was a far cry from the throws of quickened and almost brutal passion that you had grown used to. Such a contrast made your head dizzy and lightheaded as you allowed the God before you to do as he pleased; yet uncertainty filled the distant corners of your mind, how the ebbed and flowed almost as a warning bell, as you wondered if your body was going pliant to his advances due to your own building want or if he somehow placed you in a dream-like trance.

Regardless, you still found yourself in bliss as your hands began to roam themselves; how they gripped and tugged at his tunic as you allowed your voice to be heard. The small noise of pleasure did nothing more than spur Hitoshi on as his lips began to drag from your own and down to your jaw. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you heard his groan of delight when your hands found purchase underneath his tunic. The contrast of your warm hands against his cool and bare chest was a wondrous thing, one that made the both of you flush deeper in heat.

Though, after a while, it was not enough. Your mind still pounded against your skull, a brutal reminder that you needed slumber, and despite Hitoshi’s claims that he could bring that forth to you, he had so far made ill on that promise.

“Hitoshi…” You whimpered out, voice strained as you found it difficult to even speak in your current state.

“Yes, my darling?” Hitoshi mumbled into the skin just below your jaw as he placed a kiss there to try and encourage you to speak more.

It did not work, all he was met with was your continuous stream of discomforted whimpers; the way your brows pinched and furrowed in displeasure was a clear sign to him that he must move faster if he wished to come true with his promise and grant you the sleep you requested.

He tugged at your dress, being mindful of how precious the silk must be for you and thus not wanting to ruin it. Using a tender hand to glide the fabric of your sleeves down your arms to your wrists to allow the material of your bodice to slip under your ribs; effectively it released your breasts and allowed him to gaze in hunger at your chest; his cock stirring as he watched your nipples harden when greeted with the cold air of his home.

He wasted no time, like a man possessed, to trail his lips over your newly exposed, supple flesh. The softness he found caused his cock to twitch harshly as he took the time to kiss up and down the valley between your breasts, as he inhaled the scent of your skin; committing it to memory should he never have the chance to have you like this once more. His dexterous hands began to roll and squeeze at your mounds, biting his lip as he watched the flesh shake in a tantalizing manner before he slipped one of your hardened nipples into his awaiting mouth; his tongue circling around it as he sucked gently upon it.

Hitoshi wanted nothing more than to garner more noises of pleasure from you as he absently rocked his hips against yours, and groaned into your skin. His other hand undertook the task to play with your skirts, to work in a quickened manner while you were too preoccupied from his mouth to question him as he dragged them up and over your hips so he may have access to your most sacred place; your sweet cunt.

His teeth, though blunt, left a stinging pain in their wake as he marred and nipped at your supple flesh. It caused your eyes to shoot open as you looked down upon him, his lavender eyes were filled with a lustful haze as they connected with yours; it made your body shudder in his hold as you whined at his cruel action. You could feel him smile upon your skin as he laved over your newly found mark with his tongue.

“Stay awake for just a little longer, my darling,” he cooed, nipping at your skin once more to hear you call out his name in that adorable whine he was starting to love. “That’s it, look at me, keep your eyes open and on me, alright?”

“I-it hurts…!” You jerked your body away from his pinching teeth, your mewl of displeasure following suit.

“Keep looking at me, and do not fall into the grips of dozing.” Hitoshi muttered, pressing a few kisses over the red marks he had given you. “And I promise you that it shall not hurt anymore.”

His deft fingers found your cunt, spreading your folds open so he may be able to gently pet and coax out further pleasure from your body; to showcase to you that he meant as he said. His middle finger explored, dipping briefly into your leaking entrance, before slowly stroking your little bundle of nerves; groaning at how violently your hips bucked over his slow and deliberate act, how they seemed to follow his hand, greedy for more of his sinful touch.

Despite his desires otherwise, how he wished to rub harshly upon your puffy clit to hear you wail and cry out for him as you became overwhelmed with ecstasy, he knew you were not restive enough for such a thing. As well, he wanted nothing more than to see your pretty eyes, half-lidded with lust for him, to stay focused upon him.

He continued his tortuous petting, whispering his fingertips upon your clit but never pressed down before they swiftly moved to poke at your fluttering hole; all the while he smirked into your chest as heard your panting breath. A guttural groan left his parted lips as he finally relented and sunk a finger into you; relishing in your keen of pleasure as your hand came to tug upon his wild mane of violet locks.

You pulled him closer once he breached your weeping cunt, mewling quietly in delight at his skillful and gently petting; though you found that it wasn’t enough. The burning ache of need deep within your core was calling out for release, it heightened the pining to find slumber, as your hips moved against his hand in urgency for him to grant you something more. Your fingernails dug into the skin of his chest and dragged them down toward his hips; it left an angry trail of red in their wake, as your other hand tugged harshly on his mane once more. Calling out his name in a prolonged whine of frustration, not caring over this hiss of pain that sucked through his teeth.

“Getting impatient, are we?” Hitoshi growled, nipping at your neck to feel your yelp beneath his tongue.

“Y-you promised!” You wailed, hands moved to grip his shoulders as you felt his fingers spread within you.

“To not hurt you, indeed I did.” Hitoshi teased, leaning his head back to enjoy the blissful looks upon your face. “Do you not feel good, darling?”

“N-no!” You shook your head before you cried out his name, unable to finish your thought before being lost to the pleasure he brought forth.

“No?” He teased, slowing his fingers until they barely moved within you, chuckling at your bucking hips as you attempted to gain back the stimulation you craved. “Well, my darling, your body is telling me something different.”

If you were more awake, you would feel the heat of embarrassment taking over the flush of desire upon your skin, though at the moment you could not seem to care about decency; your desire to follow through and ultimately find and form of reprieve to your aching body.

“No, you promised to guide me to sleep.” You stuttered out, finally being able to find your voice now that his actions upon your body subsided. “And you’re prolonging that now.”

Hitoshi hummed, stifling another laugh over your petulant state, as his lips kissed upwards your neck and jaw before meeting their intended destination; kissing you languidly like before to placate your rigid state.

“Apologies,” he murmured, breath mingled with yours as he allowed you a chance to catch it. “I was merely just preparing you appropriately so you take my cock with ease. Though you are right; you have waited long enough.”

You squirmed at his words, finding a sense of awkwardness in how crude yet honest, not something you were yet used to from him, as you gripped tightly to the fabric at his shoulders when you felt his fingers leave your cunt; kissing your teeth in a quiet hiss as you feel yourself tighten around nothing.

“Go on now,” Hitoshi whispered, leaning so his back may sit flush against his silver throne, a smirk tugging at his lips. “If you so wish for relief so badly then you may take my cock out to have it.”

He admired the way you so timidly nodded your head at his request before your hands, one filled with trepidation, shook as they lowered to where they needed to be. He felt how gingerly you worked as you adjusted and shifted his robes to unbound his hardened member; he groaned in relief once he felt you delicately free his leaking cock.

If you were not so in need of him at the moment, he would ask you to stroke him; to pump your hand up and down his length until he guided you toward his own euphoria. He supposed he now had more than enough time for such salaciousness at a later date. Instead, he grabbed your waist as he pulled you to sit higher, hovering you over him as he properly aligned himself against your heated core.

Slowly, agonizingly so, he guided your hips downward to impale yourself on him; pressing his lips to yours to shush the aching whimpers that tumbled forth as you felt yourself being stretched to your limit by him; and though you had experience with Hanta, his cock was far thicker than you were ever used to. Hitoshi muttered your praises, telling you of how well you were doing as he slowly filled you full of him.

“You’re doing so well.” He groaned out, teeth gritted as his jaw clamped tightly shut as he did his best not to spill his load into you before he barely had begun to have his fun. “You’re so close, almost there my darling.”

He could tell why Hanta was so fond of you, so unwilling to let you venture off on your own and out of his sight. Your cunt was truly heavenly as it swallowed his cock greedily, already spasming and milking him for what he was worth. He let out a strangled breath, a mixture of a moan and a sigh, once you were fully seated; taking note of your discomfort once more, he rocked your hips back and forth in a lazy, slow, manner until your brows became unpinched and your huffs turned to sighs of pleasure.

“That’s it, good girl…” He sighed out once you took control and swayed your hips on your own, hands glided to your waist to help lift your hips to bounce upward upon him; showcasing to you the gentle rhythm he wanted you to ride him.

“L-like this?” You asked, as you placed your hands in a more steady position upon his chest as you rolled your hips to glide him in and out of your heat; moaning alongside him when you hit a particularly tender spot within you.

“Fuck yes.” He groaned as he threw his head back for but a moment to relish fully in the euphoric feeling of your tight, dripping, hole.

His hands began to wander again as the slow and unhurried lovemaking progressed. Fingertips took hold and dug into your supple flesh anywhere he could, from the plush of your beautiful thighs, to pinching at your waist, to massaging and groping your breasts. Hitoshi had to distract himself from his more primal urges, to find a use for his body to ensure that his hips didn’t snap up into you. For he was aware of what your exhausted body needed, and that was not being rough.

You cried out sharply when you felt his hand make swift contact with your backside, your supple cheek radiating heat from the pain, as your eyes snapped back onto him; tears formed in your lashes as you blubbered out “what did I do wrong?”

Hitoshi did feel a little guilty, your sad eyes were not something he wished to see, but it was a far better cry than how they drooped just moments prior. His fingers brushed over the sore flesh, as he pressed more soft kisses to your jaw as a way of an apology; taking hold of it, in his other hand, after the peppering of affection

“Look at me, my flower.” He whispered, brows furrowing as he felt you tighten around him. “I need you to look at me, alright?”

You nodded in affirmation to his request with a sniffle, tears still formed upon your lash as you continued to rock your hips against his own; the pleasure overwhelmed you as repeatedly hit the small spongy button within you that made you feel dizzy. Matched that with the fabric of his tunic that caught your clit every time you moved made stars dance across your eyes. It caused you to ascend to your release far quicker than you ever thought possible, as your mewls and babbles of “more” filled the air.

He could tell you were close, given how your walls clamped sporadically around him while you gushed and leaked down onto his thighs. His quiet moans of pleasure melded with your own as he hugged your body tightly against his, as his hips bucked into your own; taking control over you in that primal manner he wished to suppress but could not any longer.

His grip tightened the harsher his hips snapped into you, his heavy cock bullying its way into you to perpetually hit that special spot that made you breathless and squirm within his hold. He was so close to letting go, but he could not do so before you, for he wished for nothing more than to feel your sweet cunt around him as you came.

Your eyes shut tightly as your body seized and gave into the surmounting pleasure and pressure in your core. You wailed out, as those waves crashed into you over and over; your eyes rolled back into your skull as white danced across your vision before you felt yourself go limp against him.

Hitoshi felt your breath against his nape as he held your shaking body against him as he continued to chase his own high. He could tell you were doing your best to stay awake, but how could you? After all, you had climbed a mountain of pleasure before jumping down from it, not even the most powerful of Gods could sway from exhaustion from something such as that.

Yet, despite being stuck between the realm of awake and napping, he could still feel your warm walls clenching in response to his bucking hips. With the knowledge that despite you not being awake you were still reacting to him, your body still obeyed him in some fashion, causing his teeth to clench as he hissed out a final breath before he spilled inside you; filling your pussy completely with his cum.

Hitoshi took a moment to hold your body flush against him as clambered down from his high; placing kisses upon your brow and temple in a prolonged manner to showcase to you his appreciation. He shifted your body to lay more comfortably against his chest once the mood suited him, staying buried deep inside you to ensure that when you woke you would still be filled with his cum, as his hands ran up and down your tired body in a soothing and loving manner.

“There’s a good little flower,” Hitoshi muttered into your hair, pressing a final kiss to your crown, as he pulled you higher in his hold as he admired your sleeping form. “I’ll take much better care of you than he ever will.”

stay tuned for more~

#stay tuned for as there is one more part to this story~#shinso x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #shinso hitoshi #shinsou x reader smut #shinso smut #mha x reader #mha fanfic #my hero academia #bnha x reader #bnha fanfic #boku no hero academia #hitoshi shinsou x reader smut #shinsou x reader #🔮.the peddler brews #🔮.potion for shinso

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ilguna · 5 months

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Could I get a soulmate AU Johanna mason x victor reader enemies to lovers? like they spend the entire time hating each other just to find out when they’re in district 13 that they’re each other’s soulmates? even after they find out reader is still reluctant with not wanting to talk to Johanna but Johanna kinda trying to make an effort cause she’s seeing her differently now thank u & congratulations on 3k follows

☼ falling leaves (Johanna Mason) ☼

warnings; swearing, death mention, johanna's mean and self-centered, mild name calling.

wc; 4.7k

notes; enjoy all angst, no happy ending.

When it comes to being delusional, Johanna Mason takes the cake.

There has not been one conversation you’ve unwillingly had with her where you didn’t think that she’s crazy. The way she holds herself and blatantly disrespects the people around her as if she has some sense of superiority is absolutely mindblowing. It’s like she has yet to realize that all of you are in the same shitty boat, regardless of how you may or may not have won your Games.

If you had to guess, you’d say it has something to do with the popularity and how you handled it. It wasn’t outrageous or anything, at least you don’t think so. It was a normal reaction. You did what any other sane tribute would do in an outlying district that found themselves with every pair of eyes in the Capitol—you wholly and completely embraced the people.

Every move you made was catered to them, that way if you were in need in the arena, you’d be able to get exactly what you wanted. This would come with consequences later on, but you didn’t know that, and you don’t really care now, either. As long as you got the advantage and a sliver of a chance of making it out alive, you didn’t care.

And with you feeding into the fire with your cooperation, you easily ended up being the most popular tribute, surpassing the Careers. That was far from your goal, you flew a little bit too close to the sun, which got you this massive target on your back.

Still, you persevered. You let the Careers hate you, minded your own business, gaining sponsors by the minute. When you received a score of seven, they took a step back. In your interview with Caesar, you drew them back in by talking about how glamorous the Capitol is. If there was one thing you learned, it was that they were a sucker for compliments. Whatever made them feel better.

Well, it worked. All of it. You won the Hunger Games two and a half weeks in. The hardest part was shaking the Careers long enough to split them up and frame a betrayal, which never should have worked. They turned on each other, forgetting about your existence, until there was one left. He was too injured to win, anyway. You picked him off, and your announcement came five minutes later.

You continued to sing praises in the Capitol’s direction up until your Victory Tour, where you were finally able to stop when you got home to District Eleven. You were no longer important enough to focus on, allowing you to settle into victor life. And every time someone asked you if you really thought the Capitol was so great, through a bright smile you’d tell them no.

You met Johanna the following year, and from the very second she laid eyes on you, you knew that the two of you were not going to get along. Her face was twisted, eyes narrowed in your direction. She had her arms crossed over her chest, and she was standing with Finnick Odair.

You remember thinking to yourself, this is not victor solidarity. How could they judge you for a strategy that worked? It wasn’t at all what you were expecting from a pair of people that had suffered the way you had. Especially when they were the talk of the Capitol, themselves.

You came to the realization that you had survived the Hunger Games, but you’d never stop living with the scrutiny of your win for the rest of your life. No matter where you’d go or who you’d talk to, everyone would have an opinion. They’d either think it was smart or a blatant cheap shot.

They would never stop to think that they had come into the Capitol with a different list of things they were willing to do. If they wanted to leave with dignity, if they were fine seeming shallow, if they would settle for nothing less than tough, if they wanted to be a nobody.

For Johanna, you quickly figured out that she wasn’t going to let them help her. She wanted to figure it out on her own, and she did. She downplayed herself to make it seem like she wasn’t a threat. By crying through the reaping and the Tribute Parade, she ensured the idea that she was soft.

When it came to training, she purposely failed at everything she touched to make her seem weak. After scoring a three, all the remaining potential sponsors flew out the window, furthering her agenda. No one would think twice about her, not even the tributes. They wouldn’t have a need to hunt her down in the arena, because she was helpless.

She couldn’t have planned it any better. She hid and waited for a bulk of the tributes to be dead before she decided it was time to show off who she really was. And that was smart and brutal. With there being so little people left, she was able to take out the remaining tributes in less than a week, and was promptly crowned victor.

Her cowardly act was dropped in the interviews that followed. You remember seeing them in passing, noting how she was barely able to hide her distaste for the Capitol. At the time, you thought about how if you were in her shoes, you wouldn’t be as openly hateful.

And as if it were a test, you were reaped the next summer.

It’s just an odd experience to be shunned so heavily by her and Finnick. You expected it more from the Career mentors, but Cashmere, Gloss and Enobaria were so welcoming. They didn’t care where you were from, just the fact that you managed to get their level of popularity coming from nothing.

You suppose that didn’t help your case. Still, that shouldn’t have mattered, anyway. You all won in your own respectable ways. You used the sponsors until they were dry, Johanna pretended to be a damsel, and Finnick won young by trapping tributes in his net and stabbing them with his trident.

She’s been caught on your actions ever since. Despite the fact that you’re merely a year younger than her, or that you’re not the same person you were for the Games, she can’t see past the fact that you threw yourself into the Capitol’s arms. In fact, she called you childish for it.

When you heard that through the grapevine, you knew that any hope of friendship between you two was gone. You wanted to give her time to realize that you’re not a terrible person, but if she was going to start to go down that path, you weren’t going to entertain her. She could be who she wanted to be, you’d just have a pole to keep her at a distance.

It worked for a couple of years, and then it washed down the drain when the Quarter Quell came around. Chaff told you that if you wanted to go back into the arena, you’d have to be willing to help. If not, Seeder would go in instead. As much as you would’ve liked to stay home, you knew that you couldn’t sit back and do nothing. Seeder would be a better leader in District Eleven, and you’d be more helpful in the arena.

When you learned that you’d have to work alongside Johanna and Finnick, you began to regret it. Johanna’s entitled, all she does is run her mouth. She likes to push buttons—yours especially, because she knows that you’re trying to be better than her. It was a tragedy when you accidentally found her in the jungle, because you’d rather deal with Finnick. At least his comments are passive-aggressive.

Besides Johanna’s attempts to piss you off, the arena was surprisingly easy to get through. You ignored her, only speaking to Finnick when it was necessary. You’re sure it was glaringly obvious to Katniss and Peeta that you and Johanna hated each other, but that didn’t get in the way.

And while not everyone made it out of the arena, you did. A nasty period of survivor’s guilt followed, because it wasn’t easy knowing that the ones who got taken by the Capitol were being tortured. It should’ve been you with them, because you’d left Johanna early to make it back to the lightning tree before midnight.

She has not let you live that down. It’s all she talks about—how you abandoned her and Peeta to save your own life. She’s called you every bad name that she can think of to anyone who will listen. Her favorite one being selfish. That one comes out of her mouth so often that it sounds foreign to you now.

It’s funny, because Finnick nearly did the same thing. He initially left the tree to find you, Katniss and Johanna because the wire snapped. And when he realized he wasn’t going to find any of you in time, he started to go back to the tree after he heard Katniss shouting for Peeta. By the time you got there, Katniss had already shot the arrow at the dome, and they were all paralyzed on the floor.

No matter how many times you bring this up to her, on the occasions you feel like arguing, she tells you that it’s different. Finnick was doing his job by going to save the Mockingjay. And that he was to guard the tree with Beetee, anyway. It made sense for him to go back to it.

You know you dig your grave a little further each time you throw Finnick under the bus, but you refuse to be held to a higher standard. It’s hypocrisy, because he’s her best friend, and she’s wearing rose tinted glasses when it comes to him. Sometimes you contemplate how much trouble you’d get in for wringing her neck, and then you wonder if you’ll earn an ounce of respect from her for doing it.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos.” A voice says.

You jump, pulling the top of the jumpsuit to your chest as you turn to see who it is that’s intruding. It’s Finnick, of course. He’s standing in the doorway of your assigned room, which you occupy alone. They had tried to make him your roommate, because from the surface it looked like you got along.

It didn’t work out for multiple reasons. The main one being that he had so many breakdowns from his girlfriend being in the Capitol that he repeatedly got sent back to the hospital to be monitored. They kept his name on the plate next to the door with yours for a few weeks, but ultimately took it down when it was apparent that he wasn’t going to be stable enough to be on his own.

And now that Annie is here in District Thirteen, he lives in a room with her.

“So is knocking not a custom in District Four?” You ask, face twisted. “Or are you a creep?”

Finnick’s eyebrows shoot up, and then he lets out a laugh. “I did knock, I thought you heard me.”

“Clearly not.” You snap, pulling your arms through the top of the jumpsuit. You button the front, looking over him. “And my tattoos are none of your concern.”

He ignores what you’ve said. “Did you get them in the Capitol?”

You press your lips together. “Where else would I have gotten them?”

He makes a face. “I don’t know, District Eleven?”

“We have more Peacekeepers than any of the districts combined, and you think we have tattoo parlors?” You ask. “And one of them is my soulmate mark, so it doesn’t count.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t know how to have fun.”

You glare. “What do you want?”

He takes in a breath. “You’re needed in Command.”

You sigh, motioning for Finnick to lead the way. He happily turns around in the doorway, heading out. You shut the door behind you, following him to the elevator.

“Which tattoo is your soulmate mark?” Finnick asks.

“None of your business.” You tell him, trying to shut him down.

“Mine is this one.” He rolls up the sleeve on his right arm, getting it above his bicep to show you a pair of koi fish. “Annie has the same one.”

“I figured.” You mutter.

“Is it the one on your back left shoulder?”

It is, he probably got a good view of it while you were trying to get dressed. You’re not sure how he came to the conclusion it’s that one in particular, because you have a group of tattoos on your back. It was advised for you to keep your front half clean for pictures. No one would want a picture of your back.

You went with it, even though you would’ve liked to be able to see them. You convinced yourself to wait a few years before you decide to do what you want. You thought by the time the next generation of victors came out, you’d be out of the spotlight and no one would care then.

“Why does it matter?” You counter.

“I’ve never seen a soulmate tattoo that big before.” Finnick shrugs, “Usually they’re smaller.”

“Yours isn’t that small.”

“I said usually.” Finnick looks at you.

When you make it to Command, you step inside to find it as cold and dark as it normally is. There’s a group of people standing on the far side of the room, the closer you get, the better you’re able to see who it is. The most notable faces are President Coin, Plutarch Heavensbee, and Haymitch Abernathy.

Plutarch gives you a wide smile when you stop at the table. “Here she is now.”

“There’s no telling how Peeta would react to her.” Haymitch shakes his head. “If you want him to do this, he would have to do it alone.”

“Nonsense.” Plutarch waves him off. “Tell me, (Y/n), you used to bake, right?”

Your face scrunches. “How do you know that?”

“Your Victory Tour.” He says. “You said you made cakes and pies.”

You look from him to the table, because you honestly don’t remember mentioning that during your Victory Tour. “At home, yes.”

“And for weddings and parties.” He insists.

You stare at him in bewilderment. “I guess.”

Plutarch nods, looking at Coin. “I told you that she’d fit the description.”

“What do you need cakes and pies for?” You ask, looking at Haymitch for help.

“Finnick and Annie are getting married.” He tells you. “They would like Peeta to make the cake for the wedding.”

“So why do you need me?”

“To help.” Plutarch says, as if it’s obvious. “Peeta won’t be able to make a cake that large on his own. And the staff in the kitchen aren’t prepared to tackle this task.”

“And I am?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Peeta will be in charge.” Coin clarifies. “You’ll help.”

You turn to look at Finnick, who’s approached the table, standing between you and Plutarch. You stare at him for a long moment, thinking of all the times he was an ass to you. How you swallowed it because you wanted to be the bigger person. Yet, he’s older than you so he should know better. And he never once stepped in to stop Johanna.

You decide to cash in on your good behavior. “No.”

When you look back at Coin, she’s got a hard expression on her face, encouraging you to challenge her further. Plutarch gawks for a second. “Well, we were hoping—”

“No, I’m not doing this for them.” You shake your head. “I have nothing against Annie, but Finnick is a different story.” You motion in a circle with your hand. “He does not deserve my help.”

Finnick makes a noise of disbelief. “Why?”

“Because we’re not friends.” You deadpan. “You made that explicitly clear during my first year of mentoring—you and Johanna. And while she was smearing my name, you didn’t once think to stop her.”

Haymitch sighs, eyes on Plutarch. “I tried to explain this to you.”

“That’s petty victor drama.” Plutarch tries to brush it off. “This is for a greater purpose, we want to film a propo to show the Capitol that we’re still celebrating.”

This bothers you too, but not nearly as much as making a cake for Finnick. “If Finnick wants me to help, he’ll apologize and ask me, himself.” You look at him, “Otherwise, Peeta can make the cake on his own.”

All eyes shift to Finnick expectantly. You watch as his skin begins to turn a gentle shade of red, embarrassed. “(Y/n), I’m sorry that I didn’t help you. Will you please make a cake for Annie and I?”

A part of you wishes you could make him beg a little bit more, but for now, this is good enough. “Sure, Finnick. It would be my honor.”

—

“Peeta, I knew you baked, but I didn’t think that you were this good.” You tell him, chewing on a piece of cake that he let you try.

“Thanks.” He lets out a laugh, using the back of his hand to move a stray hair out of his face.

“You said your parents were bakers?” You ask. “How did you manage that?”

“Yes, we all were. My parents ran it, my brothers and I worked. It wasn’t easy. The only reason why people could afford it was because we had to lower our prices.” He reaches for the blue dye at the end of the counter. “It was easier to run after I won.”

“I can imagine.” You nod. “I could finally buy the ingredients I wanted, instead of working with what I had.”

Peeta drops some of the food coloring into the icing. When he decides it’s enough, he stirs the color in, and you watch as it turns from white to a dark blue. Once it’s not getting any more potent, he backs away, reaching for the towel to dust the flour off his hands before reaching to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

“It’s so hot in here.” He shakes his head. “And stuffy. At the bakery, we’d open the windows to keep it from becoming a sauna.”

“There are no windows here.” You laugh. “It’s just a cement box. It’s a good thing I convinced Plutarch to give us tank tops. Could you imagine trying to work in those jumpsuits?”

He practically rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t be.”

“I don’t think you were given much of a choice.”

“Yeah, and neither were you.” He moves to the sink to wash his hands before returning to icing the cake.

He’s finally gotten to the final tier. It’s taken him almost two hours to do the top half with how intricate the design is. It’s a good thing that he’s talented in that aspect, all you can do is make the cake base taste good on its own.

You yawn, chin resting on your palm while you watch him create more waves. Your eyes flicker to the guards standing in the corner, who are here just in case Peeta has another one of his moments. He’s not himself yet, there are still times where he slips and freaks out. You’re sure you had them on the edge of their seat when you mentioned the family’s bakery.

“You can go, (Y/n).” Peeta tells you, backing off to fix the pipe in his hand. “I’m probably going to be here for a while longer to make the finishing touches.”

“Are you sure? I’m fine staying to keep you company.” You offer.

“No, it’s fine. I like the quiet.” He waves you off. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” You smile. “Will you be there tomorrow night for the wedding?”

“Most likely not, but feel free to visit me in the cell.”

You hold back your laugh, walking away. “I’ll keep that in mind. Goodnight, Peeta.”

“Goodnight.” He murmurs.

You push the door to leave the kitchen, shutting it gently behind you. A small hallway leads you directly into the dining area, where there’s dozens of picnic tables set up to eat at during the day. At this time of night, they should all be empty, but there’s one person here, sitting at the table closest to the walkway.

Johanna.

You plan to ignore her and head straight for your room a few floors up, when she clears her throat. “We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You tell her, not bothering to stop. She gets to her feet.

You can hear her shoes against the floor, and then you feel a hard poke into the back of your left shoulder. “This is a problem.”

Your jaw sets as you turn quickly, grabbing her wrist. “Do not touch me.”

“When Finnick told me you had those leaves on the back of your shoulder, I didn’t believe him.” She says, face twisted. “Now that I’ve seen them, it’s different.”

You throw her arm back at her. “It’s none of your business, like I told him.”

“It is my business.” She tells you. “Considering it’s your soulmate mark.”

“Why? So you can spread rumors about that, too?” You shoot back. “I’m bulletproof, Johanna. Your words ricochet. All you’re doing is making an ass of yourself.”

“I have the same mark, idiot.” She snaps.

The insults you have sizzling on your tongue begin to die. “What?”

“The falling leaves? I have the same mark on my ribs.” She unbuttons her jumpsuit, pulling it wide open to show you the pale skin inside. By the dim light provided in the dining room, you’re able to see that she’s telling the truth.

Your face contorts. “You have to be kidding.”

“I’m obviously not.” She fixes the jumpsuit.

“That’s unfortunate.” You spit. You were hoping that you’d have someone that you could stand to be around.

“I don’t mind.” She admits.

“Well, I do.” You tell her, she locks eyes with you. “I wanted someone I actually liked and could get along with, not some egocentric asshole.”

“Egocentric.” She echoes.

“Yes, because you’re apparently better than I am, don’t you remember that? I’m inferior, you said so yourself.” You tilt your head. “I also remember you calling me pompous, and conceited, and hedonistic, and vain. And of course, your personal favorite, selfish. All words that mean the same thing, not that you’d know that.”

You throw your hands out. “Just because I had a different strategy on how to win the Hunger Games. This is actually so fucking ridiculous that it’s not funny anymore.”

Johanna stares at you, not knowing what to say.

“I mind.” You emphasize, “Now leave me alone.”

–

The next few days are a new level of torture that you’re not quite used to. It seems that word travels fast in this bunker, because you’ve heard everyone’s opinion about the matter on your hands. As if what they think will make a difference or change your mind.

The good thing is that you’re used to this treatment to a certain extent. It’s what happened while you were mentoring. Which would be amusing, if you’re not tired of being treated this way. You’re right back to being scrutinized, this time for a new scenario.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, you were informed earlier this afternoon that you’d have to participate in the wedding ceremony. Plutarch said he wasn’t going to pull you aside for an interview or demand you make a toast. He just wants you to be here, so that when they do catch you on camera, there’s a sense of camaraderie. Even if it’s clear on your face that you’d rather be elsewhere.

After working on that cake with Peeta for several days, you formed a friendship with him. You were hoping that they’d let him out so that you could talk to him throughout the wedding. They can’t risk it, not with Katniss in attendance. One wrong move and it could trigger him into another attack.

You’ve settled for blending in somewhere in the middle of the crowd. You’re keeping close to the front so you seem interested in the traditional dancing, but far away enough to the point you’ll be easily looked over. And you’re keeping your distance from Johanna, who’s still by the chairs on the other side of the room, because she hasn’t let the soulmate thing go.

She wants to fix what she broke, not caring that you’re uninterested. Maybe if she knew how to treat people with dignity, it wouldn’t have gone this far. Instead, she chose to make assumptions about you and ran with it. While telling the people around her that her beliefs are true.

You can’t stand her.

When the crowd comes to a lull, they decide to bring out the cake, the only thing you were still here for. You wanted to see the reactions of the people around you, that way you’d be able to report it back to Peeta later on. While you might not have done much besides building the foundation, he did a fantastic job of making sure that not a single detail was missed on that cake. He deserves every ounce of praise.

There’s gasps, low murmurs. They don’t announce who made and decorated the cake, only that it had taken the two of you days to complete it on time. Once Finnick and Annie have cut out their slice, you quietly slip out of the room, wanting to go back to your bed, tired after the long day.

You don’t even make it a step before the door is opening behind you. You glance over your shoulder to see who it is, and see that it’s one of the many random people that were selected to participate.

“You’re a loyalist, aren’t you?” He asks, tone threatening.

“Excuse me?” You ask, slowing down.

“That’s why you kiss-ass when it comes to the Capitol.” He’s walking in your direction. “Always defendin’ them.”

District Twelve. The people of Thirteen don’t cut corners with words, a lot of the people of Katniss and Peeta’s district do, whether they realize it or not.

“I don’t defend the Capitol.”

“Your interviews said otherwise.”

“Those were done years ago.” Your face twists. “I was a teenager when I was being asked those questions.”

“That doesn’t change anythin’. My skin crawls just knowin’ you’re sleepin’ on the same floor as me.”

“Then sleep on a different floor.” You tell him through gritted teeth. “You have a problem with something that isn’t even real. If I was a loyalist, would I have helped the rebels get Katniss out of the arena?”

“You left them behind.”

You roll your eyes, unable to help it. You were hoping you’d be through with this, but it seems as if Johanna’s words will continue to follow you. And now, they’re going to get you into some questionable situations. They aren’t dangerous for you, though. It is for him, coming up to you like this. You’ll flatten him on the concrete.

You take a step toward him, planning to teach him some manners when the door opens behind him, stopping you. Johanna’s face is screwed tight. “Leave her alone.”

The man scoffs. “I’d be doin’ us a favor, gettin’ rid of her.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” She snaps, striding forward to grab him, yanking him back. “If you so much as lay a finger on her, I’ll break every bone in your body.”

The tone of voice keeps him from pressing her further, raising his hands in defeat. He gives you a look before twisting out of her grasp, going back to join the party.

You eye Johanna for a second, “I don’t need your help.”

“I know.” She heads for the door. “Doesn’t mean I won’t step in.”

You catch the look she sends your way before leaving the hallway. If this is what she plans to do in order to make you forgive her, she’ll be doing it for the rest of her life, because it’s practically meaningless to you.

Still, you suppose that you can give her some credit for trying.

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

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poptart-productions · 1 year

Text

afk !

[streamer! eren x reader headcanons/drabble]

↳ ❝ [pairing] ¡! ❞

modern! eren jaeger x black fem! reader

↳ ❝ [content/warnings] ¡! ❞

manbun eren, german native! eren, foreign/western! y/n, simp/maidenless! eren

↳ ❝ [nova’s notes] ¡! ❞

manbun eren brainrot

got a rumbling eren! x modern! reader coming out soon so look out for that if you’re interested!

↳ you caught eren’s eye while you were studying abroad at his university

↳he’d never seen anyone like you before; you made the bold choice of wearing your hair natural and he thought it was so cute—purely irresistible

↳eren being eren, came to your defense when he saw people petting you like a dog

↳ he had no idea you watched his streams as a method of practicing the german language

↳ he learned a little english to impress you, and even though it was severely broken, you thought the effort to make you comfortable was sweet

↳when you told him you watched his streams he lowkey wanted to crawl into a hole and die—a lot of his streams was just him finding a game he liked and turning on his subpar camera. in other words: he had no filter

↳he acted cool about it— “nice to know i have such a beautiful fan” the translating app would say back to you in it’s robotic voice and you would smile up at him—but he was extremely embarrassed that your heavenly ears have been tainted by all his swearing and screaming

↳after that, you noticed he’d been more subdued; but that made his eventual outbursts all the more hilarious

↳sort of desperate to talk to you, so you two came up with a deal in which he taught you german and you taught him english

↳genuinely put in a lot of work into paying attention to your lessons and practicing in his free time so within a year he was already learning about slang

↳after learning that you watched his stuff religiously, he started putting a lot of effort into his appearance—it was for you; he would wash his face and hair before getting on stream, tying his hair up into what would become his iconic manbun, and he would constantly glance into his viewfinder to adjust his appearance

↳meanwhile: mikasa and armin, who were both visiting their families were immediately suspicious

↳as his best friends they watched every single stream—and they know him well enough to know he’s never been a model—he’s got the looks for it, sure, but it seems like whenever a user by the name of [idk_cantspeakgerman] says a broken hello in the chat, he seems to think he is. re-tying his hair, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt, and straightening his posture

↳ ”it’s about a girl” they both agreed; and a special one too

↳mikasa calls him out on it immediately, and eren gets belligerently dismissive of the idea—him, having a crush? no way.

↳eren, with your encouragement and help, switches from his german streaming service to twitch; “you’re pretty good at english—and you’re super funny, so if you stream on twitch in english you’ll reach a wider audience—i’ll even help out!”

“really? you’ll help?” your feverish nod and cute facial expression made his heart swell, so he agreed

↳due to his good looks, humor, and a video of him flying off the handle completely in german blowing up on twitter, all of his socials have literally been vibrating ever since

↳then mikasa and armin got back; mikasa is a little skeptical at first, but once she sees how good of a person you are + that poc solidarity, she now seems to like you better than she does eren

↳now the three are constantly checking up on you and making sure you feel included. they know you study hard so you have to miss out on hangouts sometimes

↳it was during one of these hangouts that eren’s feelings toward you become undeniable

“let’s take a picture for [n/n]” mikasa shows a tiny smile as your nickname falls from her lips; she adjusts her bangs

“sure,” armin nods, fixing his jacket and ensuring that his cute milkshake was in frame as mikasa lifted her phone above their heads

eren quickly glances up at the screen, his face contorting as he stares at his image—he begins to recoil as mikasa started counting,

“1,2,3–“

“—wait, wait, fuck” the brunette pulls himself out of the frame and takes his hair down

he pulls it back up, and fixes his shirt before sliding back in next to armin as if nothing has happened

mikasa and armin are silent and unmoving for an embarrassing amount of time.

“are you gonna take the picture?” trying his best to hold his ‘smoldering gaze’ into the camera, eren fails to notice the exasperated sighs coming from his two friends

↳like i said, despite his good looks—bro is very much maidenless, which isn’t his fault, (i hc him to be somewhat aro) but it still makes him unsure how to approach you about this—or even act around you now that he realizes his feelings

↳mikasa is lowkey eren’s top op when it comes to keeping those feelings a secret from you—it gets to a point where he literally refuses to let you two be alone, and constantly looks over her shoulders when she’s texting you

↳we’re getting off topic but his feelings for you are put on blast when his DUMBASS forgot that there were german speakers that watched his stream

it started with an innocent call from you—well, perhaps it was a little deceptive “i know you’re streaming but this is urgent—will there be food at your mom’s place, yes or no?”

all of the tension and worry he was holding melted away, and he let go of a breathy laugh; “yeah, my mom always makes food for guests”

his eyes flicker to the chat, who was curious as to who he was talking to, ‘my friend’ he mouths to the camera

“say less, me and mika will be over there in a bit—later, ren-ren!”

“later”

the nickname is new.

from you at least.

armin started calling him that as a mean-spirited joke when he found out his mother used that nickname when he was young.

armin must’ve told you—you couldn’t have known that it annoyed him, you sounded so innocent and sweet—like you just wanted to give a nickname to your friend

and when you said it, eren didn’t even care; it was honey flowing from those lips of yours

something about it was so domestic; like you were his loving girlfriend, calling to check up on him.

he almost wanted to throw his head back and sink into the bliss you had single-handedly caused him to stumble into

but then carla, who had long since finished her cooking and was silently watching her son’s streaming out of frame, breaks her silence to ask, in german, “who is that—is that the girl you like—“ “yes, mom it is” he tenses, but forces a laugh and hopes his camera doesn’t pick up the red on his cheeks

“she’s a good one.”

when i tell you, when the translations came out, eren was being nothing short of harassed by his so-called fans.

obviously after that,

you knew.

↳the two of you awkwardly avoided each other for like a day, before you asked him out to coffee over the phone

↳coffee date with streamer eren. that’s it.

↳he’s super sweet and quiet during the date, just invested in whatever you’re talking about

↳like deadass, if you’re like me and just say random shit because you have adhd or just wanna fill the silence, he might freak you out. you’ll just say something about “this is some sweet coffee” and then you look up and he’s staring you down

↳speaking of adhd. eren def has that, and it shows through in his streams but he tries his best around you

↳speaking of trying his best, he literally treats you as his wife—you’re the only girl he’s ever romantically loved, so he genuinely sees you in his future; because of you, he sees his streaming as less of a hobby and more of a career, and he literally manifests/puts it in his journal that he wants to give you a luxurious life

please give him the world—i love him he’s perfect

↳his mother sees how much this means to him, and that his job is raking in a lot of money, so carla allows him to switch to an online curriculum in order to focus on his career

↳of course, that means you see each other much less. you want to support his dreams so you try to get used to it—but it’s eren’s fault for spoiling you with his love and affection—you couldn’t just go from all of that to just talking on the phone

↳he knew that his absence was hurting you, so every day he made an effort to take you back to the dorms after your classes.

“eren!” you practically tackled eren—you see him every day, and yet you act like long lost lovers every time, “princess!” he welcomes you with open arms, the same puppy-like adoration in his eyes you had, “i missed you”

“i missed you too”

↳will abandon his stream to swoop you out of class if you’re having a shitty day

↳gets super excited when tell him you wanna meet his fans, and keeps telling his chat “it’s a very special day”

↳they knew he was living in germany and was a native, so most were pleasantly surprised to find that he was in an interracial relationship

‘AYO? A FELLOW NEGRO?”

‘I AINT KNOW YOU ROCKED WITH THE CHOCOLATE EREN”

↳super clingy the whole stream.

“hi, i’m [y/n]! i’m from [h/c] and i’m this knucklehead’s girlfriend” you tried to give him a noogie, but it lowkey hurt so you stopped immediately

“sit on my lap?” you weren’t even given a chance to answer before he was pulling you onto the gaming chair with him

↳eren doesn’t get jealous when he sees comments about how beautiful you are—because you are, he’ll just tighten his grip on you and smile—that is, unless the comment is completely out of pocket. in which case, he will call them out

“also [username], you’re fucking disgusting”

“you don’t say that shit about any other person—and you had the fucking nerve to say that about her right where i can see it—right in front of her—shows you have no fucking respect”

“get the fuck off my stream—the fuck is wrong with you”

embarrassed, you attempt to do some damage control “babe—“

“—no, you don’t have to take that shit, alright? not when i’m here, alright?”

ngl men defending a woman’s honor is so goddamn hot oml

↳miss girl—when i tell you his fans LOVE YOU, there are entire channels and accounts dedicated to you two—entire video compilations dedicated to every time you say something funny on stream or are just existing next to your boyfriend

↳simps so hard and you don’t even realize; his face visibly softens when he looks into the viewfinder to find you peeking into the room

↳his nicknames for you are constantly changing as a result of his adhd: my baby/babe, gremlin, woman/girl, sexy, sweetheart, sweet girl, the girlfriend/the (future) wife

↳tries his best to avoid saying cringey shit and fetishizing you like: ‘i love you my little cocoa butter gumdrop nubian goddess’

↳unfortunately, though; your year studying abroad came to an end, and eren deadass cried into your lap the night before your flight home

↳he hugged you so tight you thought you’d break in the airport, he almost didn’t let go.

↳five weeks away from each other and he’s already crumbling. calling you every morning and night, and texting you every five minutes

↳eventually him, mikasa and armin all go silent on you after asking very specific and leading questions about your living arrangements and it you’re super confused,

“hey, [n/n]?” your roommate peeks into your room, as your currently contemplating switching majors—yes, this late

“yeah?” you inquire, not sparing her a second glance in favor of straining on the computer screen sat atop your lap

“your friends are here to see you?”

“hot as fuck, too” she whispers as she walks off

it’s that comment that finally gets you to look up, but she’s already gone

then, an unmistakable pair of emerald eyes peek into the room, scanning it briefly before locking onto you

you sat in stunned silence as the owner of those eyes fully steps into the room.

you fall over yourself trying to get to him, and eren meets you halfway, “eren!”

“hi, sweetheart!”

“fuck—i missed you”

“i missed you too”

armin and mikasa made their way up the stairs, seeming that eren was much more excited to see you than them, and they joined your embrace

as you sat on the floor in a group hug, you realized you stumbled upon some amazing people

↳eren planned to stream while there he really really did, but he got distracted by you so he spent that entire trip afk

#black reader #anime #fanfic #eren x black reader #eren x black y/n #eren x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan eren #bwwm wmbw

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toomuchracket · 7 months

Text

and america likes me (politician!matty x reader smut)

i don't even know what to say about this. it's 3.5k words of matty if he was US president, and it's so filthy i feel like the shame nun from game of thrones is going to start following me around. like... there's butt stuff in here lmfao. that said, there's also fluff. idk. blame lana del rey for this, and enjoy <3

"matty, slow down, for fuck's sake, these heels are too high for me to run in!"

your husband scoffs and comes to an abrupt halt, releasing your hand from his own. before you can say anything, he scoops you into his arms and keeps moving down the marble-floored corridor, albeit more slowly than before, kissing you quickly to muffle the involuntary shriek you let out as you're flung into the air. "honestly, baby, i don't even know why you persist in wearing heels to these events - it's kinda inevitable that we'll run off somewhere we won't be interrupted, yeah?"

he's right. the two of you have been sneaking out of dinners and dances and drinks receptions together for the better part of twenty years, in search of lockable rooms where dresses can be hoisted up and underwear yanked down with nobody else finding out. but this isn't a university ball. it isn't a charity gala. it isn't a congressional dinner. christ, it isn't even your wedding.

you press a gentle kiss to the underside of matty's jaw, savouring his little hum of contentment that follows. "well, i thought my husband being sworn in as president was an event that deserved six inches of stiletto."

"i can think of something else that deserves six in-"

"i swear to god, matthew, if you finish that sentence i'm turning around and going back to the party without you."

matty laughs and kisses your nose. "we both know you're not going to do that, sweetheart."

"oh, do we, now?" you ask, raising a brow. "and what evidence do we have of that, mr. president?"

a smirk, the same one that's weakened any and all resolve of yours since you were eighteen. "because i'm ridiculously hot, that's why."

you roll your eyes as matty laughs, but - once again - he's right. he is ridiculously hot, especially in this moment: the moonlight streaming through the big windows catches the grey hairs threaded through his dark curls, his slightly stubbled jaw and cheekbones sharpened by the shadows it casts. the tie he was wearing earlier got lost somewhere between your first official dance as president and first lady and now, the top few buttons of his dress shirt coming undone in solidarity with it. speaking of the shirt - despite its expensive price, the white fabric is still sheer enough for the black ink on matty's sternum to be visible. although, you wonder, the transparency of the shirt might have less to do with fabric thickness and more to do with the fact it's being slightly stretched over your husband's muscle-wrapped chest, and the strong arms currently tucked under your legs. either way, it's really working for him. and you, as a result.

"mmm, i concur," you smile. "i think the evidence is quite satisfactory."

matty's turn to raise a brow. "quite?"

"well," you say, trailing a manicured nail down his neck and chest, stopping as you reach the first closed button. "i've only had a partial look. i think you need to be a bit more… uncovered."

"oh, believe me, sweetheart, that'll be happening. for both of us, actually," matty grins. "as much as i love this dress on you, i do in fact need to get you out of it as soon as possible."

"i'm cool with that."

"excellent. in that case, hang on tight."

you do as asked, and matty runs down the rest of the corridor, stopping when he reaches an imposing oak door. he gently puts you back on the ground, giggling with you and holding your hand as you readjust to standing on stilettos; he brings it to his lips quickly, before pushing open the door and beckoning you to step inside.

as you enter the warmly-lit entryway, a young man dressed in black leaps up from his seat behind a desk. "evening, ma'am, mr. president, sir."

matty gestures for the man to sit down. "evening, sam. i take it they radioed to tell you we were coming down here for a bit of peace and quiet?"

"yes, sir."

you squint at him. "you look pale, sam. have you had any dinner? or any sort of break, at all?"

"well… no, ma'am," sam replies, hesitantly. "i've been here since noon."

"almost twelve hours? that won't do at all," you gasp. "i really think you should get something to eat. and some coffee. the sooner, the better, because you look dead on your feet. no offence."

"none taken, ma'am. but i can't leave the vicinity of the office here until the shift change at 2."

"you don't have to," matty pipes up. "there's cake and coffee in the chief of staff's kitchen. and chairs that are much more comfortable than the one you have here - i'll sort that out for you tomorrow, actually. go, have a bit of a rest for an hour or so."

sam still looks hesitant. "are you sure, sir?"

matty nods, smiling. "that's a direct order. we'll ring you if we need anything."

"thank you, sir. oh, and speaking of the chief of staff," sam replies, pulling out a bottle of champagne from under his desk. "he left this for the two of you."

"ah, adam. always so kind," you grin, taking the bottle. "thank you, sam. have a good night."

"thank you," sam nods, making his way to a plain side door as you and matty make yours towards another imposing one in the opposite direction. "and you too, ma'am, mr. president. congratulations again."

"much appreciated, sam, thanks. see you tomorrow," matty waves, before gently pulling you through the second door and closing it behind you. "finally. alone at last."

you lay the champagne on a nearby sideboard and pull your husband into a tight hug. his arms find home around your waist, while your head buries itself in the crook of his neck. "alone at last, in the oval office. which i am very excited about decorating, by the way. this room is going to look beautiful once i'm through with it."

matty laughs, pulling back to look at you and caressing your face softly with his thumb. "it already looks more beautiful with you standing in it, darling, in your pretty dress and all your jewels."

as he speaks, he lightly brushes his fingers over said jewels adorning your hair and earlobes and neck and wrists and fingers. you smirk, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "you forgot one."

matty's head drops onto your shoulder, and he trails kisses along into your neck. one of his hands begins to knead your asscheek, while the other slips down the small of your back and past your tailbone and presses - gently, but still enough to send a rush of heat to your core. "i can assure you i did not, dirty girl."

"your dirty girl," you say, pulling matty in for a kiss. he eagerly accepts, tongue immediately slipping into your mouth; matty always kisses like he's trying to completely consume you. as if he hasn't already - your heart, your thoughts, your dreams… they're all devoted to him. and you want to demonstrate that devotion now. "who's about to get on her knees for you in the middle of the oval office."

matty moans into your mouth, but shakes his head. "nah," he says, pulling back, breathless and wild-eyed. "s'not what i want right now."

you pout. your husband laughs. "later, sweetheart, i promise. but for now - will you go and sit behind the desk for me?"

a rush of excitement passes through you. unlike matty, a political career has never been your dream, but the thought of getting to sit at the presidential desk in the oval office and experience the illusion of having that much power is undeniably thrilling. so you oblige, looking up at a smiling matty from your place on the butter-soft leather. "what exactly are you planning on doing, baby?"

another kiss, then matty speaks against your lips. "pledging my allegiance."

before you have time to react, matty's on his knees in front of you, unclasping your heels and carefully lifting your feet from them. then, sliding a hand up the expanse of your leg visible through the slit in your skirt, he gently lifts the top section of fabric away and spreads your legs as much as the dress allows. his pretty eyes light up at the sight of your lacy white panties; you whimper as he runs a finger down them, to which he responds with a "so responsive for me, fuck".

"take them off," you whine. "please, need you."

"and you'll get me, darling, whatever you want," matty coos. he slides the damp lace down your legs and places it on the desk - a disgustingly erotic sight, it has to be said - before placing a thigh on each of his shoulders and leaning in.

with a flat tongue, and with those dark eyes locked on your own, matty slowly licks upwards from your entrance; you moan in relief as he meets the wetness he coaxed out of your body by nothing more than just being. but relief is short-lived - his tongue points and swirls as it meets your clit for the briefest of moments, before matty takes the sensitive bud between his lips and just sucks.

pleasure shoots through your nervous system, releasing a wail from your throat, sending your hand straight into matty's hair, and forcing your hips to jerk upward. matty tries to stop the latter by pressing a hand on your stomach; combined with the way he's practically making out with your cunt and the way he moans into it when your fingers wrap themselves around his curls, though, it has the opposite effect.

but your husband doesn't seem to mind your hips writhing, your stomach clenching under his hand, your cunt grinding against his face. in fact, he seems to fucking love it - the way he's palming himself through his dress trousers with his free hand certainly corroborates that. when the realisation of what his arm movement is breaks through your sex-addled brain, a heady mixture of pride and more pleasure courses through your body. one of the most powerful men in the world is on his knees before you, as you're perched on the literal seat of his power, eating you out like a man starved and enjoying himself so much he can't help but get off to it like a horny teenage boy.

the thought alone would be enough to make you cum. and in conjunction with the actual feeling of matty fervently mouthing at your cunt, you're imminently heading that way. "matty, i'm - oh, fuck, that feels good - m'gonna cum, baby. please, please, make me cum, fuck, oh my god."

matty's eyes roll back in his head at your words. he abandons his self-pleasuring to wrap both arms around your thighs and tug you even closer to his mouth; you don't quite understand how that's possible, given how enthusiastically he's been tongue-fucking you for god knows how long, but, somehow, he manages it, burying the deft muscle up to the hilt inside you and bringing a calloused thumb to your clit. you let out a choked sob, digging your nails into the arms of your/his/the federal government's chair as your hips continue jerking and the elastic band of ecstasy grows ever more taut in the pit of your stomach. with a final suck of your clit, it snaps, spilling whines of your husband's name from your lips and warm liquid from your core onto his waiting face and tongue. he gently laps it up so it doesn't spill onto your pretty dress, cooing praises and reassurances in the moments in between when he comes up to catch his breath.

once he's satisfied with how clean you are, matty releases his vice grip on your thighs and rests his head on the left one. he's just as breathless as you, and probably just as fucked-out-looking, but you've never found him more beautiful, all messy and bright-eyed and covered in you. smiling, you run a shaky hand through his curls and watch him close his eyes in contentment; when he reopens them, he presses a kiss on your inner thigh and looks up at you. "hi."

"hi," you reply, smiling sweetly. "i love you."

"i love you too."

you grin cheekily. "the way you just went down on me suggested that, yes."

matty laughs. "honestly, baby, i think that was the most fun i'm ever going to have in this office."

"nah," you say, sitting up and leaning down to kiss him. the tang of yourself on his tongue sends another burst of heat between your legs. "i'm about to return the favour."

"jesus christ," matty groans, squishing his face into your thigh. he inhales, then looks back up at you apologetically. "as much as i'd love that, sweetheart - and i really, really would - i think if i'm not inside you in the next two minutes i might actually pass out."

you giggle, stroking his cheek. "noted. can i ride you, then? at least for a little bit, and then you can take me however you'd like."

"fuck, yeah. but i need to get you out of that dress first, need to see your tits. that alright with you?"

"mhmm," you nod. "can i get you naked, too, baby?"

"'course," matty smiles, pulling himself up to stand and helping you up onto your shaky legs. "turn around for me, gorgeous."

when you obey, he presses little kisses across the back of your bare shoulders, while simultaneously working on undoing the little buttons lining your spine. your dress falls to the ground once the final button is undone, leaving you bare save the jewels dotted around your body; swearing under his breath, matty brushes the one only he and you know about. "some day, i'm going to fuck you there, in this room."

gleeful, you spin around to face him, shoving his suit jacket off and beginning to undo the buttons on his shirt. "that better be a promise."

"oh, you beautiful, filthy girl," matty coos. he takes your face in his hands and kisses you, as your fingers move to unfastening his trousers. breaking the kiss, matty kicks his shoes off as you rid him of his shirt and attach your lips to the tattoo of your first initial on his ribs. "of course it's a promise. but first, i need to fuck that tight little pussy of yours, alright?"

"i can see that," you tease, as you yank down matty's trousers and boxers in one fell swoop and see his presumably achingly hard dick for the first time that evening. "take a seat, mr. president. let me make you feel good."

matty does as you ask, settling down in the chair and holding his hands out to help you climb on too. it's a big chair, the seat wide enough for you to comfortably kneel on either side of his hips, but matty doesn't look small in it by any means; he's assured, powerful, imposing… and sexy. you tell him as much, and his cheeks go pink as he shakes his head. "enough flattery, more fucking, please, sweetheart."

you smirk. "whatever you want, sir." with that, you slowly sink down onto matty's dick, both of your jaws dropping in tandem as more and more of him slides inside you. as he bottoms out, you blink dazedly, already slightly overwhelmed from how full you feel.

matty notices, and brings a hand to cup your jaw. "you alright, darling?"

"yeah, just full," you reply breathily, smiling sweetly at your husband. "feels good."

a smile in return. "feels amazing, baby. d'you want a hand moving?"

in response, you rise up on your knees and sink slowly back down, eliciting a moan from matty and a grin from yourself. "i've got it."

matty watches as you continue to bounce on him, your pace increasing with every meeting of your bodies. as you speed up, your tits begin their own bouncing; with a groan of your name, your husband takes one in each hand and squeezes gently, making you whine when he rolls your nipples between finger and thumb. "too fucking right you've got it, babe."

the praise shoots straight to your head, egging you on enough that you speed up your bouncing even more, as best you can. matty can't tear his hooded-with-pleasure eyes away from your tits, but even in his fucked-out haze he still manages to bring his thumb to your clit and lightly circle it; you whine and clench around him as soon as he makes contact, which rips a throaty groan from his lips. "shit, baby, just like that. so fucking tight around me, so fucking perfect, christ, feels like you were fucking made for me."

"love the way you feel inside me," you whine. "want you - fuck - everywhere."

matty closes his eyes for a second as if to compose himself - when they reopen, the beautiful brown is almost completely gone, replaced by the dilated black of lust. the hand not already preoccupied with your clit sneaks across your hip, deft fingers quickly meeting the jewel decorating your peachy ass. "oh, baby, i want that too. can't tonight, though, because we don't have everything we need. but we can still play a little bit…"

keeping his eyes on your face the whole time, matty slowly starts to pull the jewel out of you, just enough that the ring of muscle is stretched ever so slightly by the thickest part of the glass, before working it back in and repeating the motion. your breath catches in your throat at the feeling, the third level of simultaneous stimulation driving you deeper into your already sex-addled state, and your voice shakes as you whimper. "oh my fucking god."

despite being just as sex-addled as you, matty's cheeks lift into the most smug, most shit-eating grin you've ever seen him wear. "you like that, baby?"

you can't answer, your brain too hazy to send the signals for speech to your voicebox. but it's alright - matty's doing one of his telltale rhetorical 'orgasm is imminent' monologues: "yeah, i know you fuckin' do, shit, clenching around me like that. fucking love it when you do that, fucking love you, my girl, my favourite girl. such a good girl for me, fuck, just so perfect. you're getting close again, aren't you, sweetheart?"

still riding, despite your burning thighs, you nod. the elastic in your stomach is tightening again, far quicker than it did before your previous orgasm; your ability to talk hasn't quite returned, so you settle for burying your head into the crook of matty's neck and digging your nails into his back, tethering yourself to him in a wordless attempt to tell him you're about to cum.

luckily, your husband knows you and your body so well that he understands instantly, shuffling underneath you so he can fuck up into you and get you both off. "need you to cum for me, darling," matty murmurs into your hair. "need to feel you cum all over me. please, sweetheart."

it's the plea that does it. on top of the clitoral stimulation, and the attention on both holes, and the dirty talk, and the previous orgasm, and the sheer fact that it's matty underneath and inside you… it's his desperation that knocks you off the precipice. the elastic band doesn't so much snap as it completely shatters, sending a wave of total pleasure throughout your body that's so strong you actually black out for a second, after managing to finally croak out your husband's name.

you're brought back to earth by said husband whining directly into your ear. "oh fuck, babe, m'so close, m'so fucking close - shit, where do you want me to cum?"

"inside me, please," you reply, still panting from the aftershocks of orgasm.

"fuck, you want me to fill you up? i'll fucking do it, sweetheart," matty groans, hips beginning to stutter as he nears his climax. his speech, though, still flows out unencumbered. "might even put a baby in you, if we're lucky. you like that idea, darling, a picture-perfect little presidential family?"

you hum contentedly, too tired to do anything but nod into matty's neck. against your temple, you feel him smile. "then i'll fucking give it to you - shit, m'gonna cum. gonna fuckin' fill you up, give you what you want. give you anything you want, whenever you want it, my wife, my perfect girl - oh, fuck, i'm there. fuuuuuuuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck."

matty wraps his arms around your waist and pushes down slightly with his shoulders, keeping your bodies flush as he pulses heat into you. he keeps his arms there even after orgasm wears off, and yours stay loosely wrapped around his neck; for a few minutes, you stay just like that, the room silent aside from the tandem heavy breathing. you're first to break it, pulling back from matty's neck to look at him. "hi."

"hi," matty giggles, leaning up to give you a peck on your pouty lips. "so… we just absolutely desecrated the oval office."

you giggle too. "indeed we did. worth it, though."

"absolutely," matty brushes a stray strand of hair - still miraculously mostly intact, despite it all - from your forehead. "you feeling alright, baby? you need anything?"

"honestly? a drink would be nice."

matty throws his head back against the leather and laughs, before looking back at you and stroking your cheek. "give me a minute to recover, sweetheart, and then we can crack open that champagne from adam and toast the incredible sex we just had, yeah?"

"absolutely, mr. president."

#mads muses #mads does writing #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty x reader #politician matty

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delicrieux · 2 years

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𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 | autumn features (october edition)

pairing—aemond targaryen x f!reader summary—before flowers can grow they must be nourished, and where is better if not under the gentle care of the red keep? history and prophesy mix into a trigger (29) of horrible things word count—6.7k tagging @thesadvampire since they asked nicely !

written for the october prompt list ♥ masterlist. ☕. autumn features. back to part 1. part 3. extra.

When you found the princess crouched in the gardens, her hands sullied and fingernails black from scuffling dirt, you had schooled your expression into that of politeness. The rumours you have heard prove to be true:

Prince Aegon, your husband-to-be, has idle hands and an appetite for lust.

Prince Aemond, second born son, dragon-less and meek, follows shamefully in his brother’s shadow with nothing to his name.

Princess Helaena, is, by all accounts, an idiot.

The entourage of servants behind you whisper yet one lift of your finger and they all shush, “Wait here, please.” Your voice is sweet as honey-wine, impossibly supple. It’s not an order, only a gentle request. They bow and lift their dresses cordially as you saunter over to the girl playing in the mud. In horror you watch her admiring the vermin she dug out – nasty creatures with many legs and blacker than the night. She does not flinch at the sight of them, or when they try escaping by crawling down her hand. You surpass a shudder as you kneel beside her.

It’s a sunny afternoon, warm, rosy. You tilt your head curiously with a small smile, “…Do you collect them, princess?”

Helaena startles, as if only now noticing you there. She glances at you then promptly looks away, and her tranquil composure is shattered under your watchful eye. Her fingers tremble and cheeks glow red; she releases the critter and it scurries away into the grass, “…I should never wish to harm them,” She says, and her voice is as soft as you had imagined it being, “My apologies, Lady Tyrell. I was unaware that you had already arrived.”

Truly, there had not been an impressive greeting, but only by your family’s request – you are to befriend these children, leave an impression of compassion and sincerity, and impose, onto the King, a show of loyalty.

That was all it was, a show. Having the approval of the King’s offsprings was integral for the safety and prosperity of the Tyrell lineage, of the future Queen.

“Nonsense,” You utter, airy and lovely and Helaena’s eyes bear into the dirt, ears burning behind strands of snow-white hair, “I must admit I am much fonder of meeting you so than in an exchange of curtsy at court.” Your hand finds her dirty one, holds it, “It is my greatest honour to meet you, sister.”

Her expression shifts to a one of almost panic, and both of her hands suddenly grasp yours as she stares into your eyes, “They feast on foals at dawn.”

You hear a giggle from your entourage and shoot them a sharp look. They quiet met with your ire. When you return your attention to Helaena, you offer her a most charming smile, “Come, sister,” You pull her up, glance at the hems of your dress in dismay that such expensive pretty fabric has been ruined. But the varnish does not wear, “I’d like to walk with you. Tell me more of King’s Landing and your brothers – I should love to know more of them before I meet them.”

They are training; passing blows as the courtyard full of men watch them. Aegon, taller, meaner, laughs at the attempts his brother makes to strike him – he evades easily, languidly, as if it were nothing but a game. Only Aemond takes every match as if it was his last, and the cry he lets out when he swings his sword is fearsome, if not desperate.

It’s Ser Criston Cole that notices your appearance by the Princess’ side, arms linked in solidarity. He dips his head in greeting, and hollers for the boys to stop, “Lady Tyrell.” He addresses as the princes spring away from one another. Aegon’s fingers tighten around the hilt; Aemond, in surprise, drops his sword. Distractions do not bode well in battle: his brother’s foot collides with his chest and he’s sent flying to the ground.

“…Idiot.” Aegon snickers, throwing his sword next to his gasping brother. Taking off his gloves, he flashes you a smile, “Lady Tyrell,” He approaches steadfast, though winded. Once close enough, “well met, I hope?”

“The weather is lovely and I’m in high spirits to finally be here.” Your hand steadies onto Helaena’s with a smile; she’s pleased to be included, “I had been especially—“

“--excited to meet me, yes yes, I know.” He sounds bored, seems even more so. Quick eyes wander to your servant girls and stay fixed there for long enough to consider it a slight to your honour, “We shall get to know one another quite well I think in the upcoming days.”

He’s pigly, just as you had been warned, “I look forward to it, my prince.”

He exits with that, and all is left is for Aemond to collect his pride from the ground and dust off his robes. His steps are not as steady and nor is he as composed as Aegon had been, but there’s a certain underlying charm to him, a gentleness that coats his cheeks and nose and ears in deep red. Tilting his chin up he tries to look you in the eye, but never quite manages. He’s more like Helaena, a pliant thing – getting his favour will be easy.

“Prince Aemond,” You bow, “an honour to finally make your acquaintance.”

“…Likewise, Lady Tyrell.” He utters hoarsely, still reeling from Aegon’s blow.

The boys of Princess Rhaenyra, round faced and curly haired, rush to introduce themselves – courteous, though excited. Aemond melts away, unwanted, as the boys, and Heleana, exchange pleasantries and inquire if you had the chance to taste the sweetcake yet.

“It’s good that you did not join them,” It’s your mother’s voice, a song-like, quiet tune that floats through the balmy night air; she sits on the foot of her bed as the moon hangs outside her window like a frozen tear, “for cake.” There’s a lovely smile on her lips, one you mimic often – one that, as time passes, will become your signature, a half-smile, with the corner of your lips turned downward. Faintly amused, somewhat unassuming – it’s a disarming thing, and the greatest armour a lady could wear. A smile, “Be cordial, though its best you make it clear that you came to court not for them. Though I suppose next time they offer, you must agree to avoid suspicion. Take the princess with you. These small sacrifices must be made.”

Its weeks after your ten and third name day and barely half a year into your stay. You stand by the door, with your hands hooked behind your back and a white linen dress covering the curves that are slowly moulding on your body. Hair unmade and eyes droopy, you glance at the waxing candles, the flickering flames emitting syrupy aromas that make your head spin. It’s an early hour, “But I came for Prince Aegon.”

Her face twitches, as if you have wounded her, “Prince Aemond will do.” She fiddles with the silk shawls draped around her neck, her shoulders, lets the silence stretch and sleep seep through you. Then, alerting, like a chime of a bell, “…Perhaps it’s better yet.” She stands suddenly, as if she can’t bear to sit for longer. She’s still wearing her jewellery; long fingers cast in heavy glimmering rings cup your cheeks, “A fine match, indeed.”

You scoff, “He doesn’t have a dragon.”

She tuts, “The Lord Hand had found the most…fitting compromise.”

“Father will not be pleased.”

“Father is not here to council you, child.” She reminds you, gazing into your eyes, “I am.”

“But Prince Jecaerys and Prince Lucerys have dragons,” You tell her, “surely they’d be a better—“

It’s that smile again, and her eyes sweep you like a frozen tundra, “Don’t jest.” Her hands drop from your face and she turns away, leaving a cold spot, “It’s unbecoming of a lady such as you. No, Prince Aemond is a fine match, indeed.”

“But—“

“No more of this, (Name).” She voices, “The hour is late and I am tired. You will read and play chess with Prince Aemond and ask of his interest. You will sit and marvel at Princess Heleana’s collection and you will not complain. And you should never find yourself in a room alone with Prince Aegon. The fate of our house depends on it. Such is your duty.”

Scorned, your eyes glare into the ground, “…I understand, mother.”

The funeral of Lady Laena and the quick betrothal between Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon had silenced the walls of the Keep, as if they had gone to mourning. You did not attend the funeral, and what you have heard only came from rumours whispered between prayers and ceremonies honouring the dead.

The King’s Hand had found you in the gardens picking flowers to bring to the Sept for the memorial of Prince Daemon’s late wife. The evening was golden-orange and King’s Landing was burning in the embers of the setting sun. Your entourage of servant girls were dismissed promptly upon his arrival, and when he, feigning innocence, had confessed that Prince Aemond had returned and had been injured gravely by the savage acts of Princess Rhaenyra’s children, you did not need to ask what was expected of you.

So you smiled, dipped your head in a nod, and as if sensing your retreat the maids flocked and collected white chrysanthemums and black lilies from your hands. Another servant, one of Lord Hightower’s, appeared by his side and passed you a small, heavy box that clattered from within.

“Prince Aemond will be delighted by your company.” The Lord Hand smiled, though it was hard, stroppy, unused.

“Surely no more than I at the news of his safe return.” You said, and the words sounded so hollow, so deeply displeased underneath the sweet coat of a white lie, “Do excuse me now, my lord.”

The empty halls echo with your footsteps, and despite being alone, you feel as if you are watched: by the Lord Hand, by your mother’s all Seeing Eye, by the servants hidden beneath arches and pillars and the righteous glare of the Seven. Your pace is quick and shoulders tense, and when you reach Aemond’s door you halt for only a moment. It’s the last of your hesitation, drained, slowly, as you knocked on his door.

No guards patrolling, as if they had orders to make scarce upon your arrival. You knew that if you were to tend for Prince Aegon, then the spike of anxiety gripping your chest would be well founded. But Prince Aemond is gentle, and it is hardly the first time you visit his room on drawn-out evenings with a book in hand.

But those meant nothing, were simply part of a journey and a built-up to an expectation that was too far into the future to care.

This… is not.

The door creaks open and the face that greets you is gaunt, terrified by your appearance. Pale even in candlelight, Aemond seems to turn to stone, one good eye staring at you, through you, as his hand grips the handle tightly.

Your lips twitch into a lovely smile, like a mask pulling itself into place, “My prince…” There’s a hurtful note in your voice as you regard him, eyebrows pinching, worried, and it’s only partly untrue, “I’m glad to…” You quiet, think, continue, “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Lady Tyrell.” He mutters.

You motion to the box in your hands. His gaze burns there, contemplating, before he curtly nods and steps aside.

His room is clean and well aired, dim and full of dancing shadows. Unlike Aegon’s unmade bed or Helaena’s butterfly collection, there are books and parchment scattered. A broken quill and a spilled bottle of ink lay on the floor, untouched. You take in the sight, and there’s a pang somewhere deep within your chest that you recognise as pity.

You clear your throat, set the box down not minding the ink you step on, or that it slowly soaks into the hems of your dress, “Sit, please.” You offer gently, and he does so after a moment of loitering by the door. His approach is taut and awkward, and when he takes a seat on a plush armchair, he sits rigid, “May I?”

His voice sounds harsh as it says, “You came here all this way for that, didn’t you?”

It takes you slightly aback, but you sparsely show it, “Indeed, my prince.” You murmur, lifting the lid of the box and taking out gauze and some glass bottles with shiny liquids inside, “I wished to confirm for myself that you had returned. And that the maesters treated you well.”

“Surely they’d know better.”

“That they—“

“Or do you doubt the skill of the best maesters the Citadel has to offer compared to your own?”

It’s a brash thing festering within him, one that was not roused by his brother’s taunting, but awoke after the blade—oozed out of the cut. He had not yet learned to pick his words, delighted, even, perhaps, to show his thorns. It’s a frightening thing to grow so cold overnight.

“That I do not, my prince. I know my skills can seldom compare to even a novel scribe at the Citadel.” You admit, but it’s a gracious defeat, a light-hearted statement of simple fact, “But I see no maester here, and if you would prefer him to check your wounds, I would gladly fall back and watch for all I care for is your…” You pause, “…safety.”

He hasn’t learned to master his emotions yet. They play on his features as if in broad daylight – a wave of reluctant emotions that gradually fade to submission, “…My apologies if I offended you, Lady Tyrell.” He doesn’t look at you as he says this, “It was not my intention.”

You merely hum in response, your fingers working on untying the knot on the back of his head. His face slowly flushes red, and once you gently peel away at the gauze he comments, bitterly, “It’s an ugly thing. I would rather you not see it.”

It runs deep, pulses red with barely scabbed skin, pink at the side blooming purple-green. The socket is empty, a mushy crevice that’s tender to air and he flinches once the wet fabric is discarded. Your heart stutters in your chest and the placid smile slowly draws to a thin line, “…It must hurt.” You mutter, “I’m sorry it had come to this.”

“It’s fine.” He mumbles, though clearly it is not, “I gained a dragon. Vhagar.”

“A wonderful beast, I’m certain,” You say, cleaning his wound. His fingers dig into the armchair. He trembles, but does not cry, “The biggest dragon alive, correct?”

“Yes. You should see her, she’s magnificent.”

“I would very much like that, if you were to take me to her.”

Finally, there’s a smile on his lips, one you missed seeing, and he’s gentle again, same as he had been, reluctant, almost, to express his desires, “We can go in the morrow. I’ll tell you all about her.”

“The visit can wait till morning, but I’d like to hear of her now. If you would indulge me.”

“…If you care to listen.”

“I do.”

“Then I will always indulge you, Lady Tyrell.”

You smile, “We are to wed, my prince. Surely you needn’t be so formal.”

You figured it would cheer him up somehow, remind him that your companionship is promised, that you are bound, but it does the opposite. He quiets as you finish cleaning, and remains silent when you wrap a fresh cloth to hide the wound.

Only when you put away your instruments and shut the box does he utter, “I know that I’m not the husband you wished for.” He gulps, “…And I understand that you must feel slighted.”

You don’t answer.

“But know that,” He continues, “I shall treat you with nothing but respect and I shall remain faithful to you only, as a husband should.”

You produce a smile, lovely and heartfelt and almost real—whether he notices, whether he can notice with only one good eye and no true clue to your nature, you can only guess. You snatch his hand, cradle it in your palms, “…I shall be happy to be your wife, my prince.” He stiffens at the affection of your tone. So rehearsed, so refined, yet so affective.

He made well on his promise, made no advances that would defile your honour, and the most he had asked was for your favour.

It was his tenth and seventh name day, a bright, sunny afternoon in which even the ever solemn Queen Alicent seemed joyful. Wine was passed and trays full of food were carried by servants. Lords and ladies mingled, your family among them, chatting idly, though you know they kept their eye on you.

Donned in your best dress and finally free of Helaena’s clutches, you saunter to fill your cup.

“Fancy a joke, my wife-that-never-was?”

It’s hardly a subtle jab, but Aegon had never been much for theatrics – on the contrary, you found him to be quite transparent, vile with his intentions, but he never hid behind his name or the marble carvings of his face. Nursing a cup and chewing on a grape, he leans close to your ear, “Though I suppose your engagement to my brother is humorous enough.”

You smile, “It’s good to see you, Prince Aegon.” You say lightly, “We missed you at the starting ceremony. Seems you have been…occupied.”

He snorts, taking a sip and glancing at his brother, “Not that you’d know. Has he bed you yet?”

“This joke you speak of,” You continue, “I would very much fancy hearing it.”

He grins, “So he hasn’t.”

“How would you know?” You inquire with a raised brow, “Do you spy on your brother and I when we’re alone?”

He laughs, loud, boisterous, drunk—it catches the attention of a few nobles and Aemond alike, “Please, (Name).” He snickers, “I only need my eyes to see it.” You would slap him if you could, and so your hand grips your cup just a tad tighter, “Do you like it, by the way? The one-eyed look. Does it tickle your fancy?”

“I suppose the joke had been you all along.”

He shakes his head, still grinning, “Do you know why my dearest I’m-bored-to-fuck-of-tourneys-brother decided to host one on his name day?” He bites the rim of his glass, like a cat waiting for a treat.

“Do pray tell, brother,” You mutter, noting Aemond’s steady approach, “since you seem beside yourself to speak it.”

He draws closer again, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “Because I asked for your favour on mine.”

“Aegon,” Aemond’s curt voice cuts the air like a knife. The older brother pushes back, smiling to himself, “try not boring (Name) with your nonsense. Surely she’d rather listen to something else. An execution, perhaps.” You hide your laugh beneath a poorly disguised cough.

“Apologies.” You murmur.

“I should like to speak with you, (Name).” Aemond offers his elbow.

Your hand wraps around it easily, like many times before, “Lead and I shall follow, Aemond.”

“How quaint.” Aegon comments. The two of you easily ignore him.

Out of the Red Keep’s mess hall and in the lush garden, Aemond stops, “What had he told you?”

“I would truly rather speak of the weather.” You state dully.

A smile slips onto his lips, “I imagined as much.”

He’s grown – once a boy barely reaching your shoulder now towers over you. His hair is long and soft as Helaena’s. You would know, you had spent many nights braiding it. Aemond insisted that the servants never got it right.

“Did you wish to discuss something or just save me from your brother?” You ask.

“I doubt you’d need saving, though I would not miss the chance to try.” He responds, “But there is something I wished to ask you.”

“Must be important.” You note.

“It is.”

The two of you wait for the servants to pass, dipping their heads in curtsy and lifting their dresses, offering a passing dessert or a refill for wine. All is declined cordially, though affectively. The garden is vacant, besides you, Aemond, and the flowers. So many had bloomed, opened their petals in celebration. Mother had said it is a sign of good things to come.

“I wish to ask you for your favour during the tourney.” He states.

You blink, “And I shall give it without question, you needn’t ask in advance.”

“I wish for one now, as well.”

You grin, “…I suppose princes make their own rules.”

“You shall be a princess, too.”

“Then I hope to write many decrees that work in my favour.” You say, “But very well, my prince. I shall give you my favour, and if no one asks for it during the tourney, I shall give it again.”

He frowns, “Do think that’s not what I requested.”

“And yet,” You draw closer, “that is what you shall get.”

Your hands land on his shoulders and your lips brush a chaste kiss on the taunt skin of his scar.

He does not move once you pull away – stunned, perhaps, or distraught. Reading him had become difficult. He enjoys his secrets and reveals what he’s thinking only when faced with a challenge. Your wittiness had withstood the test of time. Your mother was pleased.

“I will be most disappointed if you lose.” You tell him.

He hums, “Then I will simply not.”

In the break of dawn you’re back in the room of melting scents; the hot air sticks to your skin, makes it difficult to breathe. Once a waxing moon you slip away from your chambers quietly, masked by shadows, carrying a secret that’s weight had become heavy over the years.

“Well?” Your mother’s voice is rasp, and there are lines around her lips and eyes that had shown more over the years. She’s still beautiful, wrapped in her opulence, drowning in her jewellery and riches, “Any news?” She ceases brushing her hair, puts away the comb and smiles at you – you are no longer young enough to be fooled by it, “He asked for your favour during the tourney, surely he has paid you a nightly visit.”

“No, mother. He has not.”

“And what of you?” It feels as if she struck you, “Did you not knock on his door at midnight?”

Your throat closes – there’s shame swirling in the pits of your belly, a great discomfort that makes the hands behind your back grip tighter, “No, mother. I did not.”

A harsh exhale comes through her nose. Her reaction is expected, yet it hurts all the same. Her gaze slices you – you’re stepping on glass, “…This won’t do.”

You’re quick to speak up, “I do think he likes me—“

“It is not the question of like, my daughter.” She scolds, and suddenly you are young, six or seven, and staring into the depths of the floor where a gem had shattered from your clumsy fingers, “He must love you.”

Something’s burrowing deep within you – a doubt, an irritation – and you try to keep your chin up so you would not appear weak in front of her. She has asked you for many things over the years, but now you feel as if you are privy to knowledge that had been kept from you, part of an unravelling scheme that you had not been an active participant to, but rather a passive rook pushed by an omnipotent hand in the direction of victory.

“What does it matter if he loves me or not?” It was supposed to sound hard coming from your lips, a displeased grunt let out from between the teeth. But it’s pliant, confused, childish. You had outgrown your old dresses, but it seems you had not outgrown this.

“Be wise, daughter.” Have you not been anything but? “A man in love is a man that listens. And there may soon come a time when a request will need to be heard.”

“A husband will support his wife.” You state with quick, anxious blinks.

“A husband will not care for her if he loves her not.” She bites back, and you have never seen her so visibly restless.

Your throat feels scratchy. Nails bite crescent moons into your palms, “And what of honour? My honour, as a lady?”

“And what of duty?” She inquires, “Of sacrifice?” She steps closer and you would step back if the door was not already ghosting your fingers, “Or do you plan on sabotaging what we have spent years trying to create?”

There’s a crack somewhere – your jaw from a harsh bite or perhaps your heart – one that shows through a treacherous tear that rolls down your cheek, “…No, mother.” You reply hoarsely, eyes red but head held high. You stare onward somewhere behind her shoulder, unable to look at the face that looks too much like your own and not enough, “I have no such plans.”

“Then we shall speak no more of it.”

It’s a sombre dawn, wintry – pale and unforgiving, as though the sun reflected from a glacier. Once out of your mother’s bedchamber you release a ragged breath, fold into yourself, and grip at the linen underskirt. She sits there, behind the carved wooden slab, unperturbed by your shakiness, and it feels as if one of her silky shawls had wrapped around your throat and kept you leashed.

You move cautiously after you collect your bearings, mind reeling, tears still falling, and you wish you could gather them for her – she would, in her hands, crush them, cool them, make them into pearls for her to wear, or perhaps give them to you as a token of misery. Had you not done enough? Had it not been years of playing servitude to these lords and ladies, prince and princesses? They adore you, all of them, just as it was meticulously planned, laboriously executed.

Perhaps it hurts because you had grown to love them – the Targaryens and Hightowers and the in-between; perhaps this feeling is but a passing spell and will abate once you’re fully rested, and you’ll be able to think clearly once more.

You move in the direction of your chambers quietly, aching and lost in thought, and you had always been keen to note the mistakes of others and even more so of yourself. This playground is dangerous, and distractions end in losing one’s head. Yet you fail to hear the jarring steps of an approaching knight, and only notice him once he calls you over.

Ser Criston Cole seems rested. His armour glints in the rising sun and his eyes promptly shift from your form to the wall beside you, “It’s an awfully early hour, my lady.”

You are aware of your state of undress, the unmade hair, and waxen eyes; aware of the tremble in your body, both from the cold and from the despair clawing from within. And for the first time in many years, you stare at him and your mind draws blank of an excuse, numbed from shock. But silence frames culprits, and when a smile lifts the corners of your lips your back straightens along with it, “Indeed. I could not sleep after such festivities – and what better way to call forth sleep if not to actively dismiss it? Do excuse me now.”

“Allow me to take you back to your bedchamber, Lady Tyrell.” And he moves with conviction, still not gazing in your direction.

“A kind offer, but surely given the hour you need to meet your own matters. I shall have no trouble navigating the Keep on my own.”

“I insist, Lady Tyrell.” He says, “You must be tired. It would be unwise to wander in such a state.”

He may frame his words as care, though he lacks the poise to make it believable. He is set to make sure you wander nowhere else. He’s not an escort, but a guard, and the hilt of his sword glimmers as a warning. Surely he would not draw it, not unless he felt that you were a threat to the sanctities of the royal family.

You have heard much of him and his shield of righteousness – behind it hides a vexed, easily tempered man. A wrong push and there may be your blood coating his hands soon enough.

“…Very well, ser.” You concede, walking beside him, “You are most generous.”

“I am from the Queens guard,” He starts, and the pride in his voice is unmistakable, “and the Queen cares deeply about you. It would be a terrible misfortune if something were to happen.”

A terrible misfortune.

“It brings me great joy that the Queen cares for me, as I for her.”

“You have her trust,” He says, “and certainly a lady such as yourself would never think to break it.”

“Careful, Ser Criston,” You remind tartly, “for if I were not a lady such as myself, I might mistake your tone for suspicion.” But you smile, “Though, surely it is not for a White Cloak to speak with such insinuation.”

“Forgive me, Lady Tyrell,” He utters, “it must be the hour. I did not mean to offend you.”

He did, and once you are safely in your room he will run with his tail between his legs to tell the Queen all about this encounter. The conclusions they will draw will be anything but the truth, and none will be in your favour.

You had never been more glad to see the entrance to your gilded prison.

“This is where I leave you.” He mutters, bowing, “Rest well, Lady Tyrell.”

You say nothing, already half-way shutting the door.

You are neither cornered nor executed. Weeks pass, and you almost convince yourself that the encounter with Ser Criston was nothing but a waking dream, an omen of what was to happen if you did not focus, entirely conjured by a frightened, sleepless mind.

“Do you ever wish you could go home, sister?” It’s Helaena’s voice that draws you way from the game of chess. Carefully, you move your knight to A6. The marble figures clatter as you strike down Aemond’s pawn. She’s stitching by the window, under the warm afternoon sun, “Back to Highgarden, that is.” She bites her lip, sets down her needlework, “I must admit!” There’s such light, carefree enthusiasm in her voice – you envy it, “I would like to visit Highgarden. We never visit it enough.”

“It’s a long journey, my princess,” You tell her. Your eyes shift to Aemond, “though, I suppose it is considerably lessened on dragonback.”

“Would you go? On dragonback, if we were to organise a trip?” Helaena inquires, “I sure would love to visit Highgarden. It’s so beautiful.” She turns back to look out the window, “Much more beautiful than King’s Landing, I think…” She adds to herself, going back to her stitching. This rendition is of a pale rose, “White from fire.” She says.

Aemond is silent on the other side of the board, contemplative. He assesses the pieces, and his brows are crinkled in concentration. The sun turns his hair to liquid in its glare. He’s beautiful, almost impossibly so.

“Perhaps.” You say, “But I’m not ashamed to admit that Vhagar frightens me.”

Aemond glances up from the board. You meet his gaze with a smile.

“Oh come now,” Helaena laughs, “Vhagar wouldn’t hurt you. Aemond would never allow it.”

His gaze then slides to his sister, and by now you know him well enough to realise that something is amiss. He is resigned to silence often, but with Helaena he has words to spare, and often many. He’s quick to entertain her, mostly for the sole reason that no one besides you does. His silence and the tick of his jaw unnerve you slightly.

“…Helaena,” His tone is light, but the way he regards you implies trouble, “would you give me and my betrothed a moment?”

Tension spikes in the air. Helaena’s laughter slowly dies in her throat as she moves, uncomfortable. Still keeping a cordial smile, she stiffly sets down her embroidery and, before leaving, declares, “I should check on Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. There’s never enough time.”

You stare at the rose she left, the game momentarily forgotten. Aemond moves his bishop across the board, “Would you consider yourself a traveller, (Name)?”

“I would not, no.” You say easily, your palms brushing out the creases of your dress, “I get sick on ship and terribly bored in a carriage.”

He picks up his queen, bone-white, almost the colour of his skin, and admires her for a moment, “…See, that’s not what I heard at all.”

Your smile does not waver, but the warmth in your eyes dissipates, “I did not expect you being interested in idle gossip.” You grasp your pawn and when you set it back down the sound echoes bleakly, like a crack of thunder, “I figured it was beneath you.”

“Where else would you like to go, Lady Tyrell?” He leans back in his seat, watching you closely. He seems genial almost, if not for the smiting look in his eye, “No need to exhaust yourself with options, let’s stick to the King’s Landing. Or better yet, the Keep. Especially on the hour of the owl when everything’s so…” He looks around, “…quiet. It must be quite curious, no?”

“It can be calming after the calamities of a day at court.”

He smiles – it’s a sharp, harsh thing, “I would seldom know since I stick to my quarters. Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

“Of what?” You raise a brow, “A walk to clear one’s head? The maesters recommend it, even. But surely you know that already, my prince.” You try to soften him, appeal to the nature that you know hides behind a hard shell that rarely ever opens. But the varnish is coated in layers and hard and long since dried – your pliant hands can’t do away at it, and your words move him even less.

“Humour me.” He says, “Pretend I don’t know that. Tell me, what is there to see at the Keep when the rest are sleeping.”

You sit just a bit straighter in your chair, “The lonely corridors, silent halls, deaf statues and others of the sort. There’s a certain splendour to it all on late nights or early mornings. Like a vacant Sept. It can almost be…eerie, but I suppose even that eeriness has a dangerous charm to it.” Your eyes don’t leave him, “Frightening, in a way… though undoubtedly beautiful.”

“And this beauty you speak of…” He draws in, “is it tied to a particular location?”

“There’s no one part. It’s all of it. All of that cold loveliness. You wouldn’t understand.”

He hums, tilting his head to the side, “…Perhaps you are correct, Lady Tyrell. That I wouldn’t. But I am curious to what sort of secrets you uncover late at night, if you were to indulge your betrothed still.” He slowly comes to a stand.

You crane your neck to look at him, “Unlike some, I prefer my secrets to be mine alone.”

“Surely you don’t mean me, Lady Tyrell.” He says as he moves closer, so casual that a stumbling servant may think that you’re simply discussing the weather.

“Of course not, my prince.” You breathe out, “It is only…an expression. One I hope did not offend you.”

“I believe that all words coming from a liar have a certain offence.” He halts suddenly, and before you can blink, his hand grasps your jaw harshly. Your heart thunders in your chest, eyes wide, “I would speak now, Lady Tyrell. While I still had my tongue.”

“My prince—“

“You must admit that your secrecy is a cause of concern, no?”

“Aemo—“

“Tell me, where were you headed, undressed and untidy like a common—“

“Don’t.” The voice that leaves your lips doesn’t sound like your own. It’s angry and sharp, like a whip. He swallows down what he had almost uttered, and his grip loosens, enough to wrestle free and come to a stand, “As I am well-mannered, and endlessly forgiving, I am willing to forget what you have just done. But know that if you are ever to treat me so again—“

“What will you do?” He questions, “You’re a lady from a noble family, one of many—“

“Then you are free to marry whichever one of them, seeing as there’s a line of them waiting for me to be replaced.” You state, “I have served in your court for years and never slighted you. I have done all that was asked of me and more, and even now, faced with such contempt, I chose to forgive you, for we are to wed. But so be it. Call it off and I shall return home and you can find yourself a lady one as I from the Stormlands, or better yet, if it’s a common whore you fancy, no need to exhaust yourself with options, my betrothed. For you are sure to find even more of those in the Keep and beyond it, as your brother had.”

He smiles, but it seems cold, cruel, defensive, “…Even cornered you don’t lose your composure.” There’s a hint of admiration as there is a hint of mockery. He stands tall and imposing, but he does not move to touch you again, “Though you insist on playing dumb. Very well, then. Act dumb all you please, it is sure to humour my brother. But you must know, Lady Tyrell,” He’s close now, by your ear, “that now I see you as you are.”

It seems as though from that day forth, you and Aemond had engaged in a different kind of chess – one that’s stakes seemed almost endlessly higher.

notes: thank you everyone for the kind comments! <3 and yes, before you ask, when reader was describing the vacant halls of the keep and their almost sacred beauty, she was actually talking about aemond

also im president of i hate ser crispin club

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones #got #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #imagine #imagines #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #angst #autumn features 2022

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