#thanks again for everyone who's given it a read!!
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The Only Truth... | Part Four
The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist
John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader
The day Stalag VIIA is liberated ought to be one of pure celebration. Unfortunately, fate has other plans in store.
Warnings: Language, Angst, Death, Blood, Brief Battle, Serious Reader Injury [gunshot wound], POW Camp Setting, SS Officers, Mental Health Struggles, References to Christianity, Reader Scars, Hospital Setting, Kissing, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - 18+ ONLY.
Author’s Note: Thank you all ever so much for your patience! At last we come to the end of our tale. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.
Word Count: 6267
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The morning of Sunday, April 29, 1945, dawned cloudy but bright. The chill of early spring still hung in the air, your breath hanging from your lips as you ducked out into the tent to collect the clean yet still-unfolded laundry that had been awaiting your attention throughout the drama of the rainstorm. You had just managed to tuck it away into your room when Fitzgibbons arrived with a new book for you to read, a more recently published fantasy novel called The Hobbit, though you had other priorities before diving into it.
You had almost gotten away with your clandestine chores, rags folded, and three-quarters of the bandages rolled, when your former surgical technician appeared at your door, knocking on the frame with an admonishing look on his face.
“I see you’re taking it easy on your day off, Ma’am.”
Huffing in irritation at being caught, you shook your head. “I’m off my feet, Fitz, can’t we just call a truce?”
He made a non-committal noise before cracking a grin. “Actually came to ask a favor, so I’m thinking we can come to an agreement. Menzies,” his deliberate mispronunciation of the British Captain’s name made you roll your eyes affectionately, “ordered me to flush a wound using your make-shift tools and honestly, I cannot make heads or tails of what you’ve jerry-rigged.”
Biting back a laugh, you nodded quickly, well aware that your cobbled-together system was more than a little unorthodox and not at all surprised Menzies had not taken the time to ensure Fitzgibbons knew how it worked. “Certainly, let me walk you through it.”
Grabbing the laundry you had thus far folded, you made your way down the hall to collect the items from the supply desk and followed him to the bedside of a new patient. Introducing yourself warmly, you learned the man’s name was Michaels and he hailed from the frigid wilds of Canada.
“Fitz and I are going to use this here to flush that wound, alright?” You nodded to the nasty laceration on his calf, your makeshift instruments cradled in your arms.
“Sounds fine, Ma’am.” He nodded patiently, vowels clipped remarkably short in that efficient Canuck way of speaking.
“Alright so if you take this, Fitz.” You held out a funnel with a piece of tubing secured to it, watching the tech take it carefully.
The mundane calm of the morning was shattered by the sudden hum of an airplane engine, your eyes shooting to meet Fitzgibbons’ sharply moments before the eruption of gunfire.
“Everyone get down!” He shouted and you both lurched into motion to begin helping your patients from their cots onto the wooden planks of the tent platform, abandoning your instruments on Michaels’ cot.
Panic rising as you once again found yourself in a wildly unsafe place while under fire, you urged the men from their beds to get low, presenting smaller targets for the errant bullets that were punching holes through the canvas of the tent every so often. The cacophony outside only increased with the rumble of approaching vehicles – tanks quite possible given the depth of sound that carried across the camp – and you nearly tripped over your own feet in an effort to reach the last two patients who simply could not move on their own.
Heaving one, Sidhu from India, out of his cot and depositing him onto the floor, you were just sliding your arms beneath the shoulders of the last, Hernandez from Texas, when searing heat and pain punched into your side. Your arms and legs gave out beneath you instantly, your body collapsing atop the poor boy still on his cot, both of you gasping for breath. With a grunt of annoyance, you flung a hand back to your hip, eyes widening as your fingertips were quickly covered in a warm, slick fluid.
“M…Ma’am?!” Hernandez warbled from beneath you, watching as you lifted your fingers to inspect just what was going on, his face blanching at the unmistakable scarlet of blood. “Doc?! Medic!! Help!!!” He began to shriek all the words he knew to summon assistance, making you wince at the racket as you forced yourself to roll off him, crashing to the floor in a pile of uncooperative limbs.
Taking a moment to try and catch your breath, pulse rocketing at an alarming rate, you began to realize that no matter how long you lay there, things were not improving. In fact the situation was growing a lot more serious as a deep ache was settling into your right side and you could feel your clothes growing damper with blood by the second. Rolling onto your stomach, you had just begun to feebly pull yourself across the floor of the tent when the racket outside subsided momentarily, Hernandez’s cries summoning several sets of boots to run in your direction.
A great, external cheer erupted in the same moment you were lifted by many hands onto one of the recently vacated cots, Chalmers, Menzies and Fitzgibbons all hovering above you as they yanked at your shirt and pants to get at your wound. The striking similarity between your plight and that of Simms set your teeth on edge, tears brimming in your eyes at the sudden thought that this could really be it. You might very well die here in these filthy, mud-covered clothes while the rest of the camp cheered on outside.
“Keep breathing for me, Nurse. You’ve got an entry and an exit wound, you just stay with us now.” Chalmers barked firmly and you managed a brief nod despite the shakes that seemed to want to rattle your bones. “Fitz go find out if they’ve got a Medic with them – we need sulfa and plasma, and she needs an aid station and surgery.”
“Sir!” He replied before you heard his frantic footfalls leave the tent.
Menzies applied a ruthless amount of pressure to the front and back of your hip and it was all you could do not to wail pathetically at the lances of pain that shot through you. “I know, Nurse, I know. For your own good, now. Why’d you have to go and get yourself shot in the middle of our liberation, hm?”
“Libe.r.ation?” It was difficult to form the word, your mouth clumsy and filled with cotton, head buzzing with adrenaline and pain.
Your heart was beginning to lose its rhythm, stuttering and skipping beats every so often. Your medical training offered a whispered explanation of ‘blood loss’ which did nothing for the suffocating feeling of panic in your chest.
“Looks like your American Army showed up to bring you home, so let’s make sure you can get there alright?” Chalmers added firmly and you nodded again, trying to take deep breaths.
You were so close. They were right there.
What had started as a frigid day seemed to be growing colder, your fingers tips positively icy by the time you heard Fitzgibbons return, giving someone a rundown. The familiarity of it made your heart ache for a simpler time when the two of you were the ones saving people, taking them from danger to safety. Now you were the one in peril, finding it remarkably difficult to keep your eyes open. The unfamiliar face of a young man in an Army helmet came into view before you felt the sting of sulfa on your wounds.
Your left sleeve was rolled up, your nonsensical protests going unheeded as the man began to search for a vein, inserting an IV for the bottle of cheery yellow plasma – the bright color anachronistic to the monochromatic color palette that pervaded the Stalag. Bandages were wrapped tightly around your middle once more and they were just about to lift you, cot and all, when another set of heavy footfalls sounded on the floorboards.
“Jesus christ…angelfish…” Bucky’s voice was unmistakable, though anguished, and you rolled your head to the side to look at him with a weak smile.
“Bucky.” You managed to form his nickname at a volume no more than a whisper, vision narrowing in on his pinched, tight features, the normally rosy hue completely drained from his cheeks.
Suddenly everything tilted and whirled as your cot was hoisted onto the shoulders of Chalmers, Menzies, Fitzgibbons, and the Medic.
“Take the plasma, Egan. Hold it up, keep pace.” Chalmers ordered sharply and the ceiling of the tent began to blur as they rushed out into the daylight, your vision going completely white before all was darkness.
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The morning had seemed like any other, crowded around a small campfire trying to keep warm, trading suppositions about the end of the war with Jefferson, when the unmistakable sound of an aircraft engine had broken through the din of the camp.
“Hey Macon, that’s a P-51!” Jefferson had shouted and instantly the entire population was on their feet, cheering on the pilot as he took out on of the guard towers.
Their elation was short lived, the abrupt sound of incoming artillery sending all the prisoners into the dirt as every single German soldier seemed to open fire as one, the camp instantly an active battlefield. Bucky’s eyes strayed to the hospital tent, its canvas walls helplessly pinned between the encroaching American tanks and the defending German guards. They needed to put a stop to this from the inside before any more lives were needlessly lost. Even as this thought crossed his mind, men were falling all around him.
“Fellas! Take out the tower!” Bucky shouted as he ran for the tent where the majority of the Americans were sheltering, seeking out the homemade stars and stripes they had carefully crafted and transported from camp to camp, kept hidden from goons, just for such an occasion.
It took a few tries before Jefferson successfully came up with the flag, passing it to him quickly. Dashing through the chaos of prisoners running hither and thither through the camp, some fleeing, some fighting guards, Bucky was boosted onto the roof of the administration building. The flagpole was less than sturdy as he climbed it but as he removed the Nazi war flag and tossed it to the cheering crowd below, the guns fell quiet. Securing the ragtag American flag, watching the breeze immediately catch and fly it high, an immense feeling of relief wash through him and after taking a moment to celebrate, he pressed his forehead to the hand-hewn timber of the pole to soak in his gratitude for making it this far. Though the ragged appearance of his country’s flag undoubtedly mirrored his own.
As he carefully climbed down the rickety pole, his eyes caught on a somewhat familiar figure running frantically through the crowd toward the gate, moving against the flow of those milling around the yard, celebrating. The man’s shouts carried intermittently on the wind across the crowd and Bucky managed to pick out “Medic,” his heartrate picking up at the word “Nurse.” His stomach dropped when the word “shot” reached his ears.
“Angelfish.” He whispered and quickly scrambled his way off the roof, wincing a little at his rough landing, before he began to shove his own way through the oblivious celebrants towards the hospital.
Skidding to a stop on the threshold of the tent, he was startled to find all the patients cowering beneath their cots while you lay on one of their abandoned beds, a bloody mess surrounded by men frantically trying to save you.
“Jesus christ…angelfish…” He choked out, throat clenching painfully as your head lolled to the side, slightly unfocused eyes meeting his.
“Bucky.” Your faint whisper of his name propelled him forward, a frown settling over his features at the state of your clothes, wanting nothing more than to cover up the expanse of your abdomen and the scar on your arm – you surely hated to have that so prominently on display.
Chalmers’ sudden directive for him to manage the plasma grabbed his attention and he quickly grasped the glass bottle, holding it high as they lifted the entire bed to begin carrying you out of there.
“Just hold on, angelfish.” He rasped, heart lurching painfully as your eyes rolled back in your head, your body going slack.
Running alongside you to the gate despite the way his lungs ached, the crowd mercifully parted before their odd little group. A jeep was waiting with a stretcher strapped to the back, and Bucky watched helplessly as your unsettlingly limp form was transferred from the cot, the bottle of plasma wrenched from his fingers by the Medic before he perched atop your legs. As the vehicle took off, the Lieutenant Colonel of the armored division strode over sternly.
“How the devil did a nurse end up as a POW?” He demanded as Lieutenant Colonel Clark came to stand on Bucky’s right.
Chalmer’s sighed deeply before sharing what he knew of your story, of your arrival back in January including the fact that the Red Cross was informed through the usual process, and how you were housed separately in the hospital. As Fitzgibbons, the very same surgical technician you had earned your burns pulling out of your plane, filled in the rest of your service history, Bucky could only reflect on how little he really knew you. How short his time with you had actually amounted to be. Hell, he would not have even known your squadron number if it was not for that conversation right then.
“What a SNAFU.” The man muttered and Bucky could certainly see the resemblance of the man’s commanding officer, Patton, in him. “Well, let’s get this formal surrender over with so we can get these boys home.”
Clark nodded in return and Bucky shuffled back to sit heavily amongst the men of the 100th, waving off Brady’s look of concern. Watching the salutes and handshakes, he was completely numb, his thoughts miles away with wherever they had taken you, only able to hope against hope that their aid station was of the highest calibre.
Bucky had not resorted to prayer often throughout the war. Sure he had worn a crucifix and crossed himself reflexively when flying into a hail of flak, but conversations with higher beings had never been something he had put much stock in. Faced, now, with this gnawing feeling of helplessness, your very survival in the balance, it seemed like the only tool left at his disposal.
Crammed into the tent that night, shoulder-to-shoulder with his neighbors, he felt rusty and self-conscious as he addressed the god of his childhood Sunday school and fairly begged for you to make it. He stopped short of bargaining his own life away, but barely, before sleep overtook his aching body, the exertions of the day overtaking him.
As he found himself jostling in the back of a transport truck on his way to Paris the next day, handpicked by Lieutenant Colonel Clark to be among the first sent back to England, he could not help but feel as though he was being driven further and further away from you. It was near night by the time they pulled into the base and Bucky took his first warm shower in over a year, changing into a fresh uniform and feeling almost human. They were served white bread that might as well have been cake, with steak and eggs that were too rich for him to endure more than a few bites before he crawled into a remarkably clean bed and slept deeply, exhaustion winning out over his continuous concern for your well being.
Climbing into the belly of a B-17 for the first time in over eighteen months felt awkward and painful, the crew from the 100th consisting of unfamiliar replacements, the space feeling more cramped than it ever had as he wedged himself into the cockpit behind the pilot. The deep-seated terror he had desperately been trying to supress, his fear that Buck had not made it to safety despite their planning and the beating he had taken to distract the guards, surged to the fore of his mind. It competed ruthlessly with his anxiety over whether you were still drawing breath, the fact that he may have to face the truth of losing both of you leaving him silent and withdrawn as the plane took flight.
There was no immediate answer awaiting him at Thorpe Abbotts either, no familiar faces lining the tarmac – not even Lemmons was around, which struck him as unsettlingly odd. Making his way to the CO’s hut, his eyes at last landed on a familiar face as Herrmann emerged from one the equipment sheds.
“Hey Winks! Where is everybody? Guy comes back after a year-and-a-half and no one’s around?” He plastered on a playful smirk as the boy’s face broke out into a grin of astonishment, shaking his hand vigorously as he rushed over.
“Buck took Rosie, Douglass, Croz, and Kenny up on one of those mercy missions they’ve been practicing for, they should be back any time now, sir. Gosh it’s great to see you back here.”
Bucky’s attention immediately snagged on the first name Herrmann mentioned, finding it immensely difficult to continue listening as he exhaled half of the tension that had strangled him all the way across the English Chanel. “Good to be back, Winks. Think you can give me a lift?” He raised an eyebrow, desperate for a moment of levity.
With a quick nod, Herrmann was promptly driving him towards the control tower. The most difficult part of getting up there was making it past all the congratulatory pats and handshakes, but Bucky was able to pull off his surprise, the sound of Cleven’s voice over the radio going a long way to mending some of the deep wounds he was still sporting.
More handshakes and pats-on-the-back awaited him at the hardstand and it finally felt like he was back amongst the familiar faces of these men. He did not miss the way Cleven’s eyes were quietly scrutinizing him, however. The gratingly familiar feeling that his friend was looking right through him was undeniable as he joked and smiled with the boys who had never been imprisoned. Who had not endured the things they had. As the crowd around them thinned out, Bucky turned to watch Cleven pull out one of his toothpicks, sliding it between his molars in a familiar yet long-lost motion.
“So what you been up to since I left?” His friend asked.
Bucky swallowed and shrugged a little walking over to the jeep, Cleven immediately sliding into the passenger’s seat out of habit.
“That terrible, huh?” Cleven muttered and Bucky sighed as the vehicle roared to life.
“Ended up in Moosburg.” He started out slow, with simple facts. “Got a little hurt on the way, so Brady and Hambone took me to the hospital. Turns out there was a Nurse there, POW since January.”
The look of shock on his friend’s face registered in the corner of his eye and Bucky did not have the heart to fully face him.
“The German’s held a woman prisoner?” Cleven shook his head with a sigh of dismay.
“She got shot during the liberation, stray bullet. Medics from the armored division took her and I have no idea if she made it.” Now that he had started telling the story it all just came pouring out of him.
“You care about her more than just on moral grounds.” Cleven stated matter-of-factly and Bucky sighed as he pulled up in front of what used to be their hut.
Who knew if it still was.
“Yes.” He begrudgingly admitted, though his admission was addressed to the steering wheel.
There was a long, drawn-out silence, the incessant chirping of sparrows filling in the gap in conversation and Bucky realized he had not really heard a bird his entire time in captivity. His head snapped sharply to look at Cleven as he suddenly spoke again.
“If anyone can find someone in the chain of evacuation it’ll be Smokey.”
Bucky furrowed his brows a moment before it clicked. “Doc Stover? You think?”
Cleven shrugged. “He’s our best shot I guess.”
“Our…”
“Are you going to drive us to the hospital, or should I?”
A grin pulled at Bucky’s lips as he started the jeep back up and took a sharp U-turn, heading for the base hospital. He pretended not to notice the way his friend’s eyes lingered on the stiff movement of his body as he climbed out of the jeep – he was definitely sore but was most certainly not going to admit to it. The wards were just as populated as they had been in 1943, something he found rather infuriating. It was another feeling he tucked into a neat little package and shoved down to be ignored until a more convenient time. Or perhaps never to be acknowledged again.
Stover was easy to find, dressed in his white coat, just finishing his rounds.
“Majors, what can I do for you?” He gestured for them to follow him into his office and Bucky sank down into a chair heavily, once again ignoring another man’s assessing gaze on him.
“Well it’s an odd request really but…” He trailed off, hesitating as he smoothed his too-long hair, reflecting once again that he needed a proper haircut.
“We’re wondering if you might be able to track someone down for us. Someone who was injured at a camp in Moosburg and evacuated to an aid station.
Stover raised an eyebrow curiously. “One of your fellow POWs?”
“Something like…. well yeah, she is.” Bucky corrected himself midway through, watching the doctor’s eyebrows shoot up dramatically. “Flight Nurse from the 802nd MAES, POW at Moosburg since January of ’45, shot during liberation and taken to the aid station of Patton’s 3rd Army – armored division. Which division I don’t know.”
They watched as Stover quickly grabbed a pen and started jotting down the important details, including your name.
“How bad was she hurt?” Stover asked and Bucky swallowed tightly.
“I didn’t see it happen but there was a gunshot to her stomach somewhere. They got her on plasma quickly.” He added hopefully but Stover’s face remained grim.
“I can’t promise you anything Major Egan, it doesn’t sound particularly hopeful either, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, Doc.” He nodded, leveraging himself out of the chair with a barely concealed wince.
“And what do you have going on?” Stover stayed seated, eyeing him expectantly.
Bucky noticed Cleven had not budged either, the bastard. Emptying his lungs with a heavy exhale, Bucky put his hands on his hips and shrugged.
“Couple of broken ribs, I’ll be alright.” He replied nonchalantly.
“And how old are these broken ribs?” Stover prodded and Bucky ignored Cleven’s pointed look up at him.
“Couple weeks, I’m halfway mended, just overdid it getting in the fort to come back.”
Stover rose from behind his desk and opened a cabinet, fetching a bottle and holding it out to him. “Aspirin, to keep you comfortable. Take two every four hours as long as you need. Come back if you run out.”
Bucky accepted the bottle with a nod of thanks, the memory of you scrounging up two rare pills for him in the Stalag flooding back, furrowing his brows. The things you could have done in a place like this with limitless supply.
“Thanks again, Doc.” Cleven’s expression of gratitude pierced through his reminiscing and Bucky nodded quickly, tucking the pills into his pocket before heading out quietly.
Accommodations were procured and there was not much for him to do around base aside from rest and learn how to eat properly once more. It took several days for any news of your condition to reach him, via Stover’s connections, but when the man pulled him into his office on the morning of the May 5, he was stunned to learn that not only were you alive, but that you had been air evacuated to Redgrave Hospital just thirty minutes away from Thorpe Abbotts.
You were safe. You were close.
“Seems they weren’t quite certain what to do with her, but as she serves under the Army Air Force, they sent her to our main hospital.” Bucky realized Stover was still talking and he shot him a warm grin before grasping his hand to shake firmly.
“Well I really appreciate your help, Doc. I’ve gotta…” Bucky glanced over his shoulder at the door, desperate to make his way to you.
“Yeah, go…” He chuckled and shooed him out of his office.
No longer a squadron commander, Bucky technically did not have a jeep of his own to disappear with off base and so he was in the process of grabbing one of the stray bikes outside the control tower when Crosby emerged into the daylight, eyes squinting in fatigue at the brightness.
“Where are you off to Major?”
“Redgrave Hospital!” He replied brightly, watching the younger man blink.
“Sir that’s a good eleven miles, that’s a terrible idea with your ribs.”
Word seemed to have spread fast…
“Take my jeep, I’m not gonna need it today.”
“Croz, you are a lifesaver.” Bucky dropped the bike he had been wrangling to slap him on the back before diving into the jeep allotted for use by the Group Navigator. “I’ll be back!” He shouted, taking off in a spray of dust and gravel.
Turning onto the two-hundred-acre country estate, Redgrave Hospital, consisting of nearly forty Nissen huts, stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the trees and landscaped green. As he pulled up to the headquarters of the hospital, Bucky quickly realized that the staff there were not nearly as excited to see him. In fact, they were downright reluctant to allow him in to visit you, but assured him that while you were ‘heavily medicated and resting’ you were still ‘on the mend.’
While relief still permeated his system, it was a new agony to have you so very close and yet still out of his reach. If they were not going to permit him as a regular visitor, Bucky realized he was going to have to get a lot more creative in order to lay his eyes on you, and until he did, there would be not real peace.
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Moments of clarity punctured through the blackness – a blur of trees, the flurry of activity of an aid station, the masked face of a surgeon speaking to you reassuringly, the heartbreakingly familiar interior of a C-47 – but it was not until you were settled in a bed inside a hospital with four walls, windows, and nurses that true cognizance really returned to you. Casting your eyes around the sterile, white space, you noted you were situated at the end of a row and walled off from other patients with a set of privacy screens. The most striking feature of this hospital was the very stern-faced Bucky parked in a chair to the left of your bed.
As you began to stir, his eyes lifted quickly to meet yours, some of the tension easing from his frame. “Have a good rest, angelfish?” he whispered, and you furrowed your brows up at him, so full of questions. “They got you on the good stuff don’t they.” He chuckled fondly, reaching out to brush his fingertips across your cheek tenderly.
“Kick a girl when she’s down, why don’t you.” You sighed, speech slightly slurred from pain medication and the dryness in your mouth, but still capable of using his own lines against him.
His resulting grin contained all the brilliance of the sun and made you look down with a self-satisfied smirk. Your eyes immediately fell on your exposed arms laying atop the blanket, the scarring along your left forearm lain bare for all to see. Jerking your hands back roughly, you clumsily tried to shove them beneath the covers despite the warmth on the ward. Bucky’s gentle tut before his hand came to rest atop yours halted your attempt.
“Shhh, you’re just fine you brave, beautiful woman. Stay right there.” He murmured as he laced his fingers with yours, pinning your arm to rest above the blanket. “You have nothing to hide or be ashamed of.”
Swallowing thickly, you slowly lifted your gaze to meet his. “I think I’ve acquired a few more…” You sighed, the feeling of thick bandages padding your hip acutely registering as you spoke.
“Probably.” He nodded softly. “You also probably saved that boy Hernandez by taking the bullet, so I’d say they were well earned. Besides, they’ll make an excellent target for my mouth one day.”
Your soft smile transformed into a look of disbelief, your free hand rising to whack his shoulder gently. “John Clarence Egan.” You chided half-heartedly and he pressed his face to the side of your head where it lay propped up against several pillows, his heavy exhale ruffling through your hair. “We are in a hospital, and you are making inappropriate jokes.”
“Mmmm.” He hummed in agreement, stroking his thumb against yours affectionately.
“Which hospital is this, anyway?” You asked curiously, finding its curved roof and white walls lacked distinguishing features.
“Redgrave Hospital, you serve in the Army Air Force after all.” He pulled back slightly to answer.
“Redgrave…” you repeated thoughtfully. “Sounds awfully English.”
“Hit the nail on the head, angelfish. We made it.” Bucky’s lips brushed against your temple, and you smiled softly. “Despite our best efforts.” His teasing made you laugh softly, and you shook your head.
“If we’re in England, where’s the King?” You raised an eyebrow expectantly and he smirked, shaking his head.
“No King, unfortunately, but I did bring you this?” He reached behind him, pulling out a newspaper to lay across your lap.
“Victory in Europe.” You read the headline aloud, pausing a moment as the words sunk in before gasping and looking to him wide-eyed. “Truly?”
A look of solemn earnestness overtook his features and he nodded softly. “Truly. German army surrendered yesterday.”
You gulped roughly and looked back to ready to date of May 8, 1945, on the top of the paper – you had lost nearly nine days. You really had been so close, everyone had. And the fact that you were here, and others were not seemed so very arbitrary. Sighing heavily, you squeezed his hand gently.
“By the skin of our teeth.” You murmured thickly, looking up as a nurse shuffled past with a faint nod of acknowledgement before making a sharp about-face to come and check your vitals.
“How’re you feeling?” She asked you and you nodded slowly.
“I’m alright, thank you. Bit foggy but things are the clearest they’ve been in days.”
“I’m going to fetch the Doctor.” The nurse turned to eye Bucky sharply. “You’d best make yourself scarce.” She commented before continuing on her way.
“How on earth did you get in here?” You raised an eyebrow as you came to realize how unusual his presence was.
“Bought my way in with a few bottles of champagne – your flightless comrades are quite friendly if one knows the price.”
You coughed out a laugh as the comment made Nurses sound like some species of bird and his lips twitched into a smile, your eyes unable to look away from the soft, rosy skin of his mouth.
“Hey before you go…”
“Hmmm?” He turned to you, half risen from his chair.
“I don’t have the mental capacity to think of something self-deprecating right now, so can I just get a kiss?” You murmured before pursing your lips shyly.
His face transformed into a warm smile, eyes crinkling adorably at the corners as the tips of his ears flushed pink. “I always said you just had to ask, angelfish.”
Echoing his smile, you turned your lips up expectantly as he braced his hand on the pillow beside your head, leaning in to gently brush his lips against yours, drawing a contented sigh from deep beneath your breastbone. Bucky’s lips pressed closer, a tender hum rumbling from his throat just as a sharp cough sounded from the end of the bed and he slowly pulled back with a rueful huff.
“Just checking her breathing, Doc.” Bucky grinned wolfishly as the man raised an eyebrow sharply. “She’s doing great.”
“Hn.” The doctor intoned, clearly unimpressed. “And how are your ribs doing, Major Egan?”
Inhaling sharply, you looked him over quickly, the litany of his injuries flooding back to you from your sub-conscious.
“Much better, thank you Doc. Who knew Smokey was such a gossip. Well, angelfish,” he brushed his knuckles down your cheek, “guess that’s my cue.”
Nodding slowly, wondering who on earth Smokey might be, you watched him leave before your Doctor took over, running through numerous checks with you before discussing the extent of your injury and the surgeries that had been performed to save your life. It was nothing short of remarkable, what they had thrown at you to prevent your death, the conversation a very sobering one. It would be a long road to recovery, and one, it turned out, you would mostly be taking back home in the United States.
After a week or so in Redgrave Hospital, you were deemed fit enough for transport back to the Zone of Interior for convalescence and recovery in a domestic hospital. Though the sympathetic nurses had not seen fit to permit Bucky onto the ward again, they had taken a shakily written note, the loss of strength you had suffered in just over a week was startling, and promised to deliver it to him. The trip via Prestwick to Greenland, then Newfoundland, and ultimately Grenier Field in New Hampshire felt luxurious on the much more spacious C-54. You were admitted to the Station Hospital there to continue your recovery and rehabilitation, enjoying phone calls with your family instead of delayed correspondence for a change.
It took two months for you to be fully back on your feet, back to yourself. The same amount of time, it seemed, for the 100th bomb group to be repatriated stateside. Freshly discharged and clad in a brand-new olive drab dress uniform, proudly bearing your silver 1st Lieutenant’s insignia following your promotion and the ribbons from your two purple hearts, you had sweet-talked your way back onto the base. One of the more sympathetic MPs who had heard your story – admittedly there were few in New Hampshire who had not heard your story at this point – had not even protested your request. It seemed that fate saw fit to land Major John Egan in your life a second time, with Grenier Field the destination for his bomb group on their return flight.
Standing in the warm summer breeze, watching the sky for the silhouettes of their planes, it honestly felt odd to be wearing a skirt. The complexity of affixing your stockings to the straps of your garter belt had briefly made you long for the convenience of slacks, but with your properly cut and styled hair and feminine clothing you felt like an entirely new woman as you stood outside on the grass with the ground crew. Would Bucky even recognize you?
At last the distant droning of aircraft engines reached your, and everyone around you’s, ears, the shapes of B-17s multiplying on the horizon before they began to circle in for a landing. Honestly, there were so many of them you briefly doubted you would be able to find him with any manner of efficiency. Clamping a hand over your officer’s cap to hold it in place as a plane taxied onto a nearby hardstand, your eyes began to scan the crowd of men as they filtered past, surely headed for the mess hall or officer’s club. Catch a glimpse of those unmistakable ears, you stepped forward and called out to him.
“John Clarence Egan!”
His head whipped around so fast he nearly took out the man walking beside him.
“Do I really look so different in a skirt that you would walk right by me?” You teased fondly.
“Angelfish!”
His flight bag hit the asphalt with a sickening ‘crunch’ that had you worried for its contents, but the impact of his body against yours drove that thought quickly from your mind. Wrenching his cap from his head he tilted his face to nestle beneath the brim of yours and kiss you soundly. Distantly, you were aware of all manner of cheers and wolf-whistles from his comrades, but you were too busy clutching at his shoulders to truly mind.
“How did you-? What are you-? God, it’s good to see you.” He rambled before pressing his mouth against yours firmly, not even giving you the opportunity to reply.
Laughing brightly into the kiss, you became vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps approaching much nearer and pulled back slowly, smiling fondly as Bucky’s lips made as if to chase yours, but his friend’s question interrupted him.
“You gonna introduce us, John?” A tall blond man with striking blue eyes and a pair of unsettlingly symmetrical facial scars asked sardonically.
Bucky cleared his throat and stepped back, though you noted his arm slid around your waist in a rather proprietary move. You found you did not mind in the least, particularly as your fully healed wound gave no protest of pain whatsoever.
“Angelfish, this Gale Cleven – call him Buck, Robert Rosenthal – Rosie, and Harry Crosby – Croz.” He followed up by introducing you by your full name.
“He give you that nickname, too?” The one he told you to call ‘Buck’ raised an eyebrow and you laughed.
“It’s a long story….”
-------------------------
The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist
Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747, @storysimp, @slowsweetlove, @httpsmoon, @buckysegan, @justheretoreadthxxs, @precious-little-scoundrel, @jointherebellion215, @timetowastetime8, @mads-weasley
#john egan x reader#bucky egan x reader#major john egan x reader#john egan x you#john egan fic#john egan imagine#john egan#mota fanfic#masters of the air fanfiction
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Happy Selkie Search Release Day!!! I drew a new cover to celebrate! :D
enjoy silly seal shenanigains!
Bonus:
#sun: look at you go selkie!! I'll catch you!!#moon: *threw you up there in the first place*#also will i ever finalize a design for those two?? not today that's for sure!!!#the selkie search#my art#thanks again for everyone who's given it a read!!#moon is kinda smarmy lmao soorrryyyyyyy#fnaf sb#dca#daycare attendant#fnaf fanart#sundrop#moondrop#selkie!au#selkie!y/n#security breach#sundrop x reader#moondrop x reader
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🌹
Thank you!!! I hope you like angst:
"He looks good!" Jamie chuckled, high-strung and cracking. "He does! He's all cleaned up and shit, like, he's properly sober. He actually fucking did it this time." A sob hiccuped out of him, and he tried to erase it with his sleeve. "So we meet, and he's all fucking smiles and telling me how fucking proud he is of me. Said he saw me play for England, and - you know, for once he didn't even mention my minutes? For real. First time in ever. Don't think he's ever done that before. And! - not a word about my ankle! Barely mentioned the Man City game at all. Told me it didn't matter and - fuck, Roy, he showed me - he's got like, these pictures of me? From when I was real little, at the hospital with mummy. I guess I've got like, aunts and uncles and shit? Showed me photos of so many people I've never even met."
#this is from about midway through the post season fic#now that i've gotten past the enormous task that was chapter one the rest of the draft is looking...good?#lots of fun bits coming up#now that everything is broken I can start fixing it#only for it to break again midway oops#fic: oh god you're gonna get it (you have not been given love)#rose for a snippet#wippets#ask game#ask box is always open#thank you to everyone who's read chapter one!#jamie tartt#roy kent#fuck jamie's dad
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IT. IS. DONE!
6 chapters. 12,552 words. My 5+1 fic of Kim and Harry being silly little guys, inspired by the concept of "mundane" dates.
This past month has been quite a tumultuous one, which seems to have been the case for many people that I know. There were layoffs at my former company which put several people I cared about out of work (I resigned by choice a literal day before they were announced), I got covid for the first time, and I have spent many days and nights planning and stressing over an upcoming international move.
Uploading this fic chapter by chapter over the course of the month provided a lovely reprieve from all of my real life worries. Writing has become an incredible way for me to stay mindfully and thoroughly engaged in an activity that allows me to exercise my creativity in a very different way than in my day job as a designer. It's been so delightful reading comments from readers who came back to give their thoughts after every chapter release, as well as from new readers discovering it for the first time. Knowing that I've brought a little joy into other people's lives has been very rewarding.
Immensely grateful for how welcoming the DE fandom has been toward this new fic writer. 🥺 This is my second fic in the fandom, my third ever in my life—and I hope it isn't my last!
#disco elysium#disco elysium fic#disco elysium fanfic#disco elysium fanfiction#ao3#kimharry#harrykim#kim kitsuragi#harry du bois#i should get back to packing ugh SO TIRED OF PACKING LOL#once again THANK YOU to everyone who has read and commented and given kudos y'all have been so great#and if you're seeing this for the first time and thinking of giving this a shot i hope you enjoy!!!#this fic took me so much longer than i expected and it's not even that long i can't believe people are out here writing 100k+ fics FOR FREE#mad respect to these writers ;-; i'm so baby
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friends, as i said and tried to be clear, there are topics i don't feel comfortable publicly addressing, and i really don't like doing condemnations/whataboutisms with people's mistakes, as if one can win a "more moral" challenge, but if it's old hollywood related, just assume i already know. then assume almost anything you've read in passing is way more complicated than whatever clickbait is on the internet.
anyway, far less complicated, natalie wood's mother was a monster
#which is the story behind the story there#it was already too late so while the situation is murky at least he took her under his wing and didn't violently abuse her#considering other things she went through#you either find a way to reconcile the facts of people and their lives being complicated and full of difficult perhaps even wrong things#(and he was particularly far from perfect we know that but he also wasn't an evil man by any means)#or you never engage with anyone's art ever again because it might be problematic and that's simply untenable#we can't do anything about it because everyone involved is dead and not here to speak for themselves#all we can do is make up our own minds. and f's given me far more good and listening to him isn't doing anyone harm#anyway by contrast if you ever wonder why her relationship with e went the way it did and why she didn't understand him#especially in regards to him wanting to read to and just be with her rather than other things#yet again thank her abusive monster of a mother who taught her there was no other way to get validation#i'm more concerned with doing what we can here in the present than litigating the past
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every day I cry and for what?
#whimsy whispers#I am trying to Stop not because it’s pathetic but because my eyes still hurt#I’m gonna get back to reading webcomics instead of crying#this time I’m just crying because y’all are nice to me#thanks everyone who has given me reassurance and again im sorry that you even have to#ahdjjfkt
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𝐒𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲, 𝐈 𝐇𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 | satoru gojō
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Going on a date with the guy who broke your heart is something you’d never thought would happen – especially on Valentine’s Day! But it’s just for him to be in your good graces again, nothing more…Yeah, go ahead and tell yourself that.
𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern + college AU - frenemies to lovers + mutual pining + confessions - Gojo and reader are at least age 20 - going on a date - sex in a public space; hotel room - breast fondling + sucking + nipple play - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - clitoral play (sucking and swiping) - missionary position - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up + Gojo doesn't shoot inside) - pet names (baby, cutie pretty, princess, sweetie) - angst + fluff - cameos: Shoko, Mei Mei, Utahime, Geto, Nanami - mentions of tears and spit - humor bc I'm [not] funny.
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.3k (going out with a bang, jfc)
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: final part to this short yet fun story !! tysm for the love you've given this series, it was a random idea that came to me last year and I'm so glad I was able to put more thought into it. all y'all's comments and rbs have been entertaining to read thru, love the support and engagement this story sparked with you, and I thank you sm for sticking around ccc: also!!! ty for 5.9k loveliessss mwah mwah~
and lol, yes, the title is based on the laufey song, hehe~
prev story » ❤︎
“Sorry, Satoru, Y/n doesn’t wanna see you right now — like, at all.”
“Oh, Gojo. Sorry, Y/n’s in no mood to talk to you right now. Said you better not make so much as a step past this door. Because if you do, I’ll have to charge your savings.”
“Hmph, you got some nerve, Gojo! Didn’t you hear from Mei Mei earlier? Y/n doesn't wanna talk to you…What the hell did you do this time?”
You could hear your roommates telling off the person showing up at the front door from your door. Before, they’d come to you and ask if you wish to give this person an audience for your presence. Yet you say the same thing: you’re not ready to converse with them. You’ll probably never want to talk with them again.
It’s been like this for the past week. Ever since the little fiasco between you and Gojo — not to mention you slapping him across the face for his upsetting words — things between the two of you have been quiet as promised. The very last words you ever told him were to never speak to you again after publicly humiliating yourself by crying in front of him.
Outside of being the talk in everyone’s mouth (I mean, who wouldn’t gossip about one person slapping another after walking into them saying some mean shit about the other), you’ve been worried about by your friends ever since the incident. Your direct senior roommate, Utahime, was the first one to see you crying to yourself after coming home from classes and immediately called up Gojo to rip him a new one for making her junior roomie cry. Shoko was the passive one who listened to both sides yet still put your emotional state above anything else, telling Gojo white lies that you weren’t in your dorm room whenever he’d try to visit. And Mei Mei walked with you to your classes throughout the week in case the tall figure tried looking for you.
But it didn’t stop there. After that day, your Contemporary Issues course with Professor Naga was sheer awkwardness. The silent tension between you and Gojo was so thick that it effortlessly suffocated your peers and made it hard to concentrate — especially for the professor and your friends, Ijichi and Haibara. Outside of the class, you did your part in avoiding Gojo, and the same applies to the lectures you shared with him. No words, no greeting – not even a mere glance – were shared in his direction. It was as if your life mission was to avoid him at all costs.
However, this is Satoru Gojo we’re talking about. Although he respected your no-talking rule in the premise of lectures, he’d still try to get your attention once class was over. And even then, you’d bolt to the door to not give him the chance. He’d follow right behind you and have to maintain a respectable distance when Mei Mei was the light lavender eyes behind your back.
But what the hell did he expect? What he said hurt you to your core, so there was no way you’d want to speak with him again. He deserved that slap! The sting you inflicted on his face for a few minutes was nothing compared to the torment of your heart that’s been aching for a long while now. You can’t even look at Gojo after what had transpired. The pain he caused has been with you for a while, yet it still felt new and fresh to reflect on.
And yet…your mind still can’t help but agonize you even more. Do you think it was easy to not engage with Gojo this entire time? Oh, it was the worst, both for your soul and mind. The memories of his smile and dimples would come up every often, pooling you deeper into your dread. The routine of him speaking to you with whispers when it was just the two of you — like he didn’t want others to find you in the comfort of each other’s presence — like it was sacred. And the way he said your name. It toyed with your heart whenever you’d reminisce it.
“Y/n!”
Especially after how much has changed in your relationship with him, you really thought things between you and him were going for the better. Or, to be honest, becoming something a lot closer and personal. Something you grew to want with him as the days’ encounters and nightly calls went by.
“Y/n...”
But you were wrong, lecturing yourself for being so dumb and naive for wanting such a thing. Amid the fun, you had forgotten what you two were and believed that you could change from that. Change with him. And yet here you are, broken-hearted, barely concentrating on your Word document on your laptop.
“Hey, Y/n,” your brow twitched with the snap of reality, Utahime opening the door after knocking. “It’s the front door again; it’s—“
“GRRRAAAHHHHHHHHH!!”
You were never one to shout within your apartment — Utahime’s eyes widened at the sudden shout of vexation. You stood up from your desk and walked past her, marching through the hallway. Mei Mei peeks from her shared room, and Shoko pours coffee in the kitchen. All three of your roommates observe you stomping to the door.
You swung the apartment door open with vigor, “I SWEAR TO CHRIST, GOJO, WHAT PART OF ‘DON’T EVER TALK TO ME’ DO YOU NOT UNDERST—…Geto?”
“Oh, hey there, Y/n. I was worried about you.” You were surprised to open the door and not find the unusual silver hair you expected. Instead, it was Suguru Geto, Gojo’s dark-haired direct roommate, rubbing his cold hands together that weren’t covered with his black windbreaker. Next to him was Kento Nanami, standing silently in his sand-colored trench coat.
“Hey, guys,” knowing they aren’t who you thought it would be, your shoulders relaxed with your tone. “What’s up?”
“Well,” Geto sighs heavily before telling anything. “We wouldn’t be here for a reason. And, after hearing what happened between you and you-know-who, I think you can guess why we're here, too.”
And then it hits — the realization of how these two’s abrupt appearance came to be. “…He asked you two to come and talk to me for him.”
The two roommates look at each other for a second, and then Geto points behind him with his thumb to the stairwell door. You follow his finger, seeing the person you’re talking about watching you from the door window. You try not to contort your face into an ugly, exasperated expression in front of the other boys. So, you settle for a sigh to alleviate the stress growing inside you.
“Ugh. What is it.” You ask Geto with an attitude that wasn’t easily sheathed.
“Honestly, all I know is that he really – like, really – wants to talk to you.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk to him. So there,” you shake your head and backtrack past the threshold of your door. “Sorry you two came here for no reason, but I can’t—“
“—Wait!” Geto cuts you off and brings a hand on the door to stop you from closing it. You caught the intervention, widening the door again. Geto explains himself. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you—well, no, sorry. I get that Satoru said some things that hurt you last week. Believe me: I already lectured him hell and back for it when Shoko told me you came home crying, and you have every right to be mad at him right now…But—“
“Did he tell you what he said to me?”
“H—No, he didn’t,” your brow quirked at that response. He didn’t? “All he told me when I confronted him was that he messed up real bad and crossed a line.”
“A line?” You enunciated after him. “That’s cute...Geto, he won’t tell you what he said because I caught him saying those things. That scumbag,” you averted your gaze to the door window, seeing Gojo gulp at your fierce eyes. “—knows what he said. And he knows that I told him I want nothing to do with him for that.”
Nanami was quiet throughout the entire thing, so it took you aback when he spoke. “And I’m on your side in that regard. You’re right, he is a scumbag; tactless, crude, borderline annoying—“
“Just borderline?” Geto points the word out to lighten the mood.
“And the type of person to get on someone’s nerves purposely. And with that, I don’t blame you for cutting him off. If anything, it’s what he deserves, if not more.”
You knew there was more to say beyond that. “And yet…"
“And yet,” Nanami picks it up. “…I’d be lying if I said that guy doesn’t know when he’s at fault. He can be prideful and childishly playful — albeit disrespectful to anyone he thinks doesn’t deserve it. However, he’s not emotionless, and if he is disrespectful to his friends, he knows when he’s in the wrong.“
“And take it from me, Y/n.” Geto comes in with the assist now that things are a bit calm. “Fucking asshat will take days to apologize to me for something stupid, and that’s if he feels like giving me one. But even if he doesn’t, I know he cares about me like any best friend…Like he cares about you.”
You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes, so you close them and shake your head. “He doesn’t care—“
“Yes, he does.” Nanami doesn’t let you finish that sentence. “Like I said: Gojo is many things, but he’s not an emotionless moron. Because I can tell that whatever he said distraught you to your core and made him feel bad about it — pathetically so.”
“…How do you know?” You don’t know why you asked that question; why the fuck should you care? The fucker in question is the one that broke your heart behind your back, so why bother?
“Because when he came home that day, Geto pulled him by the shirt, threw him against the wall, and yelled at him like no tomorrow. And he just stood there, letting Geto give him his rightful lashing. He even told him he didn’t deserve you as a friend, which I agreed with. But then Gojo said something after that…”
Again, this isn’t something you should be caring about. So why are you turning to Geto to ask, “…What did he say?”
“He said I was right, that he definitely didn’t deserve you.” Before the raven-haired boy answered, he exhaled through his nostrils. “And that what he said about you was, by far, the dumbest thing he’s ever done, which is saying a lot.”
“A whole lot.” The blond-haired boy jumped in. “Y/n, don’t take this as me vouching for him. But, if you could have seen the look on his face when he said that,” he nods when you shake your head ‘no’ again. “You would feel the guilt and shame pouring from him. It was pathetic to look at — pathetic for him to express. But it was real.”
And you know it’s the truth — not because it came from Nanami, but because you could picture the scene as if you were there. You could just imagine Gojo’s face, a dangerous move as your heart skipped with a twinge. You imagine the emotions he was expressing, your skin crawling thinking about his blue eyes – usually filled with life and light – appearing so broken and devoid of animation.
“He does care about you — there’s no mistake about it. You two have been friends since freshmen year; he’d be an idiot to let those years go down the drain because of him. And that’s why we went along with coming here in his stead and asking you to talk to him.” You open your mouth, but Geto isn’t finished. “Please, Y/n. You’re the mature one, but you don’t have to act strong on this one. I can only assume, of course, but I’m sure you want this handled, too.”
He wasn’t wrong, yet at the same time, you couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that was weighing you down.
“I…I don’t want to speak with him.” The two guys didn’t change their facial expressions. “Not now, at least...I don’t want to see his face right now.”
“Then how about a phone call later tonight?” Nanami proposed. “You two can talk it out with each other after you guys think about what to say to each other. You can even have the call while we’re sleeping so you can have privacy.”
“Ehhh, but I’m nosy.” Geto teases his sophomore roommate, making the younger blonde huff.
“Not tonight, you are. Plus, you got a project to present tomorrow, so you need sleep.”
“Fair, fair…But seriously, Y/n, you should talk with him. If not for him, then for us, for Shoko, Utahime, Mei Mei, all of us. We don’t want you upset about what this idiot did this time. So, one talk should be okay, right?”
It should be okay. Keyword: should. However, the anxiety that you harbor within your limbs tells you otherwise. The pool in your stomach churning into a state you find uncomfortable to fight against.
But concurrently, you couldn’t lie to yourself; a piece was missing in all of this. The resolution was needed — there had to be a way to see the entire picture in this matter. Otherwise, you’d be walking around campus mad at the person behind a door examining your reactions for the entire semester — no, the whole next year! You knew you didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with that. You can barely go through it right now. So, might as well get this off the table before it worsens…At least, that’s what you say to rationalize.
“…Okay,” you straightened your posture. “The girls have morning classes tomorrow. Tell him to call me at midnight.”
Your answer sealed the deal, the two males dismissing themselves before you closed the apartment door. Your roommates peered around the corner once they heard the door lock, coming to ask if you were all right. You molded a faux smile and said you were fine, and yet you couldn’t tell if that was a lie to them or yourself.
From there, the time felt so long to witness and experience throughout the day, watching one hour pass after the other. The sun had never settled under the horizon so slowly before, taking its time to draw the curtains of darkness over the Earth. And yet the time went fast simultaneously — the minutes spooked you every time you looked at the clock.
Was this the universe’s way of toying with you for agreeing to talk to Satoru Gojo? It had to be. Your stomach doing somersaults didn’t help either; you could barely get through eating dinner because the dreaded talk bound to happen in a few hours was all your mind could think about.
And then, when everyone was fast asleep ten minutes before midnight, your nerves couldn’t settle down. Five minutes before, you decided to take yourself and the phone to the bathroom (because the fan would be loud enough to tune out your conversation), needing the tiny space to yourself to pace back and forth and not to disturb Utahime snoring away. One minute before, you were sitting on top of the toilet, watching the seconds go by on your phone, praying that he wouldn’t call on the dot. He wouldn’t buzz you at the immediate stroke of twelve, right? He had to be doing something — anything else — hoping he’d spare you another minute if he could.
BZZZR!! BZZZR!!
However, that wasn’t the case. He called you right on the dot, and your heart jumped at the vibration from your phone. His display name was titled ‘do not answer this jerk,’ a change you made the day after the incident. Yet here you are, in the bathroom, and your thumb shaking over the green button.
It wasn’t until the sixth vibration that you pressed the button with a sharp inhale, bringing the phone to your ear with haste. The silence was in the air for a couple of seconds, worsening your anxiousness. Until—
“…Hey.” He was the first to say something, thank God.
“Hi…..Where are you?”
“Outside my apartment, sitting on the stairwell...You?”
“In the bathroom.”
“You sitting on the toilet?”
You know what he was doing, making the conversation easier before getting to the hard stuff. Nonetheless, you admit it was working while your nervous state gradually deteriorated. “…And what if I am?”
“Then I’d say….Heh, actually, no. I can’t make that joke right now. Not when we’re like this.”
“Mmm, like this…” You hummed, the awkward tension filling the silence once again. “….Look, Gojo—“
“Before you say anything,” he cut you off, but you allowed it. “I have a lot I wanna say to you, and I want to get them out the way before I forget and never get the chance to say them to you…Can I say them?”
Your brows scrunched together, your free hand drawing reassuring circles on your thigh, and your teeth gnawing on your bottom lip. “…Go ahead.”
“Okay…So, first off,” you held your breath to brace yourself. “What I said about you on that day — I’m not gonna sit here and say I didn’t mean those things when I said them because I did. But NOT in the way you’re thinking.”
“Then what way did you mean them, Gojo?”
“I meant them in the implication that I was trying to protect what you and I had.” Had? “Our relationship was being questioned, some girl was asking about us and…I know you weren’t ready to have our business out in the world yet, so I thought….I just said what was believable with how everyone sees us since we’re always butting heads and shit. So, I said and meant those things to protect us in the heat of the moment. And then…I guess I got carried away.”
“You guess you got carried away?” You repeated, your anxiousness now substituting for subtle anger. “…Just a little person angry at the world around them? So exhausting to deal with someone so boring and uncute as me?”
“Holy fuck, you remember it all—“
“Of course I did!” How could you not!? “And then — hmph, now this one I’ll never forget — ‘I’ve seen prettier, been with better, I feel sorry for the poor bastard who does end up with them’…” Your emotions were a mix of offense and pain, irritation and misery. Despite that, your voice maintained a calm tone, even if you wanted to do nothing but yell at the screen. Yet that wouldn’t solve this. “Gojo, the fact that I know all of that, verbatim, and have refused to talk, think, touch, or even look at you since them…To say you got carried away is just…like, holy fuck. Who the hell were you?”
He didn’t say anything for a minute, but you couldn’t blame him. Being hit with his own words like that, any moral human being would stop and let that shit simmer into their skin.
“…I’m sorry,” you wanted to call bullshit so bad, but not after he followed up with this. “Really. I’m so…so fucking sorry, Y/n. I know that shit wasn’t cool, and, to be honest, I expected more than one slap for that. I only meant it to save you the burden of gossip; believe me when I say that.”
“I—ahem…” Nope, you were not going to do this. Not tonight. “I want to believe you, Gojo. But I just…I can’t; it hurts my head thinking about it.”
“I know…I did that to you, and I’m so fucking sorry. My foot was too far up my mouth when I said all that, just one useless thing after another….And you know what’s crazy? I think my conscience knew me spouting shit wasn’t the right call. I mean, I literally walked with you to the class that day; what kind of friend does that and say shit like that afterward? And when I saw you….the way you looked so…distant? Just like that, everything that we had was just gone. I couldn’t see it — I saw absolutely nothing when I saw you. That scared me, seeing the happiness and the smile you had minutes ago just vanish with the flip of a switch. And I fucking did that. I knew at that moment that I lost you…..Y/n…? Are you crying?”
You immediately moved the phone away from your ear, covering your mouth with the arm of your sweatshirt. The cries you tried to suppress poured out at that moment, and the pain that scratched your insides left your system with every sob and intake of breath. The tears damped the material, soaking them in as they rolled down your cheeks.
As ways to start the eve of your Monday, crying with the person who broke your heart on the phone was not one you expected to be one of them. It all hurt: the rapid emotions, the memories of that day replaying in your head, the genuine sincerity expressed in his voice. It was all too fucking much, your face heating up to a concerning level that you’d think you’d blow up.
You give yourself a few seconds before bringing the phone to your ear, “….What else?”
“Huh?”
“You said—sniff—that you had other things you wanted to say to me.” A change of subject was necessary, not wanting him to notice the broken crack of your voice. “So, what else?”
The request took him aback, but he knew better than to question or fight you. “…Second of all, I wanna say – since I’m not sure I’ll ever get the chance to tell them to you in person – I want you to know that you’re more than what I said. There’s nothing 'kinda' pretty about you — you’re pretty all over. I’m not saying that to butter you up; it’s something I’ve said to myself all this time…Who am I kidding, saying I’ve been with prettier and better when I hurt the most beautiful and kindest one my eyes ever laid on….? Boring and uncute? Heh, you’re anything but. Sure, I say you're uncute when you nag at me to no end, but I don’t think there’s been a single day that I’ve thought you were a sore for my eyes. You’re too gorgeous for that.”
“Gojo—“
“I don’t deserve you as a friend, Y/n.” Your breath hitched. “Honest. I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now. And yet, you gracing me with time to spare shows that I really don’t have the right to have you close to me…I’m sorry.”
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know he was honest about his apology. You felt it in your bones; your gut told you what Gojo told you was true. Your anger was nowhere to be found, but your guard was still up.
You slowly exhale through your mouth before taking your turn in the conversation. “So…Is that all?”
“….”
“…Gojo?”
“….”
“Gojo? Are you still—“
“I like you.”
Okay, you lied; your guard wasn't up for that.
There’s no way he just said that. There’s no way those three exact words left his mouth and entered your eardrums. They kept ringing throughout your head, bouncing off the walls of your cranium with each repeated syllable. Your eyes widened by the second, your body coming to a complete standstill. And yet, the only thing that was moving and showed signs of life was your heartbeat increasing with the silence.
He likes you. The Gojo Satoru — your frenemy, annoying peer, and friend who enjoys your yelling and nagging — likes you.
“You…You what?” You heard him perfectly, but you wanted to confirm this wasn’t some joke.
“I like you.” He didn’t hesitate to replicate. “I do, I really do. I’ve liked you for….quite a long while, way before we started having sex together.”
“How long ago is that?”
“I think since the spring semester of freshman year when we had started to get a little closer before you became friends with Geto...Yeah, for a while now.”
“…Why?”
“Hmm?”
“Why do you like me?
You heard him sigh out a large breath before answering. “…To be honest, I just like how you…are you. Like, you’re not scared to be yourself around me. Many people I’ve known try to kiss my ass for me to call them a friend, and even then, those guys are assholes…But you, I don’t see that — I never saw that. You’d never kiss my ass; you’d always be down to tell me when I’m wrong or right. Being around you was different from other people; I felt comfortable around you like you were one of my friends.”
You didn’t intervene, listening to every word he was to say.
“Not to mention…Heh, you’re so cute. Like, actually. And pretty, and independent, and bright. I can’t count how many times I’ve been lost in my thoughts about you. Especially recently, you’re all that I can think about. I like how it feels to hold your hand, and your fingers look small against mine. I could never get enough of you talking to you; it’s one of the things I look forward to. And, holy fuck, the way you smile. I swear, you could kill me with that face of yours. And your eyes — I’m always told mine are so beautiful to look at, yet I find that impossible whenever I get stuck when you look at me….Y/n? Are you—You’re not crying, are you?”
You said in sniffles. “You’re such a fucking asshole, Gojo…”
“Huh!? Why??”
“You break my heart one day and then say all these things the next…Are you trying to tell me that stunt you pulled is that dumb thing where people say stupid shit about someone else because they like them?”
“Hey, I told you why I said them! Besides, those two bimbos were getting in our personal life, and we didn’t have anything to call our relationship, so…!”
“Sniff—And you! Why didn’t you tell me you liked me for so long instead of annoying me to no end?”
“I could’ve done that, but…I don’t know. I guess our relationship was easier the way we had it. Things were less complicated for you. Plus, you’re cute when you’re angry at me.”You had to scoff at that. Of course, he’d say something like that. He can be such a prick sometimes. “I was okay with how things were, being all naggy and arguing with you while secretly close to you. I didn’t want to change something we were used to into something more.”
“Mmm.” You could only hum to that sentence, letting his words sink in before saying anything. “…Would it have been a bad thing if it was something more?”
He didn’t answer immediately, indicating that he took the question in serious thought. “No…I wouldn’t have minded. But that decision was all yours to make.”
“Gojo,” The words you were about to say were about to be so nerve-wracking that you had to take in a deep breath. Chewing on your lips while exhaling through an open mouth. “….Would it be a bad thing if I said….that I liked you, too? And that…I still like you—”
KA-BANG-BANG!!
You jumped at the sudden sound coming from the other side of the line, as it was not the response you were expecting, and you could hear him saying curses further from the phone. After a few brief seconds, Gojo’s voice comes back.
“Fuck, sorry, sorry! I just dropped my phone on the stairs!” He sounded so worried, as if he lost you. “You.…You like me?”
“Yeah, I do…” Gosh, you didn’t think this would happen, the heat on your cheeks expanding to your ears and neck. “I really do. And I’m also willing to forgive you. BUT, you have to prove your worth by redeeming—“
“I WILL!” Again, it wasn’t the reaction you were expecting! He replied with such momentous excitement that you could imagine the sparkle in his blue eyes. “I will, I promise! In fact, I have an idea; how about I take you out on a date?”
Huh!? “A date??”
“Yeah, on Valentine’s Day, this Wednesday! I know this great place not too far from here, or maybe you wanna go to a small café to wind down from classes? You can pick—”
“Wait, wait! We have classes that day; we have our night class with Professor Yaga—“
“We could skip—“
“Hell. No.” You shut him down with quickness. “We’re going over some serious discussions that day for our papers on Friday; we’re just gonna have to do the date after class.”
“Pfft, God, you can be such a geek sometimes.”
For the first time that night, you rolled your eyes. “Says the Digimon-fanatic talking to me right now.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He snickers at the phone, and your heart swoons at it. It felt like you hadn’t heard that laugh in ages. “So…Is that a yes?”
It had you thinking for a temporary moment; talking with Gojo again just felt so…familiar. It was something you’d been missing for the past week, accepting that you’d never experience it again. And here he is, inviting you on a date? This was, by all means, a weird night. An apology, a confession, and now being asked out?
Regardless, you can’t shake the feeling of wanting to be by his side again. And with a chance like this, why brush it off? “Yes, I accept your date.”
“Then it’s a Valentine’s date. Cool.”
“Cool.” You awkwardly repeated after him, becoming squeamish with the brief silence. “Okay, well, now that we talked. I need to get some sleep.”
“Mmm, okay. Go get your sleep, then. Be sure to think of me in your dreams~”
Your head is shaken again, this time with a smile. “Whatever. I’ll try…Think of me too, Satoru.”
“I always do, Y/n.” Jesus, the way he gently and affectionately said your name. Is this what it’s like to admit you like someone? “Good night.”
“Good night…Oh, wait! You said you had a joke earlier.”
“Hmm…Oh, yeah?”
“Well, now that we’re kinda on good terms…What was the joke?”
“Oh! I was gonna say it’s kinda a shame that you’re sitting on a toilet and not on my face.”
“Goodbye, Gojo.”
“PFFFT, No, wait, I’m so—“
CLICK!
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
As far as dates go about, this is one that Satoru Gojo was the most nervous about.
As promised, after your class with Professor Naga ended, Gojo waited for you with his car on Main Street by your dormitory. He was already dressed for the date, adorned with a black turtleneck and jeans that matched his Chesterfield coat. But you had a few things you wanted to touch up on before going out for the night, so he texted back that he’d wait for you outside.
What he didn’t expect was being instantly shot down by you once you came down and walked to his car. Because holy fucking shit, you looked so fucking beautiful. If this was a “touch-up,” all the people he went on dates on must’ve not been trying.
You were wearing a black halter long-sleeve top; your collarbone and shoulders were out for his eyes to trace and breathe to hitch. Your arms were shielded by a hoodie that looked a bit big for you but did its job of protecting you from the cold winds. And black thigh socks that contrasted with the plaid skirt and the puffy boots. And…did you put on lipgloss on? Holy shit.
“So,” you’d say meekly to catch his attention since he’s examining your every feature. “I’m ready…” They were simple words, yet they had the power to have him stop leaning on the car and grab the door for you. You were chewing on your lip, avoiding his gaze that watched every step you took. “You’re staring, Satoru…”
“Hmm? Oh! Sorry...” He’d close your door and mutter, scratching his neck where the heat from his ears crawled around.
And from there, the date began. The plan? He wanted to take you to some fancy restaurant, but you politely declined and told him you’d settle for dinner and a movie. And you two did just that, going to this burger joint that was popping off when you entered. You two sat at a booth by a window, enjoying your food and conversing about each other’s day.
“You did not have to do that.” You said in giggles, bringing a fry to your mouth.
“I did, too!” Gojo replied after taking a big bite from his burger. “The fucker almost tried to dirty my basketball shoes; do you know how much those shits cost? Expensive as hell.”
“Yeah, but to push your buddy to an ice bath because he almost dirtied your shoes?” You shook your head with a smile. “And all shoes are expensive these days, Satoru.”
“Yeah, well, mine were custom-made. So,” he takes another bite. “Serves him right.”
Gojo didn’t notice it himself, but you saw a bit of ketchup on the corner of his mouth. Tending to your friend’s obliviousness, you grab a napkin and stretch to him. At first, he thought you were giving it to him to wipe it off himself; nope. You did it for him, tenderly dabbing the condiment off his lip.
And you didn’t even notice what you were doing until your eyes met his, instantly pulling your hand back. “Sorry! You just…had something on there…”
“Mmm, thank you…” he said it low, but you heard him. What you couldn’t hear, thank God, was the beat of his heart going at an unsteady rate. It took a minute for you two to shuffle uncomfortably for the conversation to flow back.
After the dinner was the movie, a random action movie that you two felt interested to see. And it wasn’t that bad of a film; the plot was pretty subpar, the acting mediocre, but overall, a good movie.
However, Gojo couldn’t focus on the movie for lengthy periods because his eyes would usually drift to the right of him where you sat, surveying how engrossed you were watching the film that you didn’t notice him. God, even in the dark, you looked so gorgeous and cute.
Sometimes, he’d glance at your armchair and look at your hand, the inner dialogue between himself on whether he should go for it and place his hand on top of yours. But he doesn’t do it. He wants to, but he can’t, not like this. It was killing him so much; the feeling of wanting to touch you and have you against him again was haunting him — they’ve been haunting him for the past few days now.
“Fuck…” he’d mutter under his breath, but you wouldn’t hear because of the sound of explosions coming from the theater speakers. He wanted you but didn’t want to mess this date up. He couldn’t afford to screw this chance with you, he just couldn’t.
Once the movie was over, he’d walk with you to the parking lot where the car was parked. The chill winds of February crawl up on your bodies, and you bundle up into your warm hoodie. “Did you enjoy the movie?”
He hummed with a tilted head. “Meh, I’ve seen better. It wasn’t too bad. What about you; you liked it?”
You looked up to ponder and shrugged, swaying side-to-side as Gojo leaned on his car. “Yeah, it was okay. There’s better stuff out there.”
“You just saying that to agree with me?”
“No, maybe you’re reading my mind and copying my answers.” You give a tiny smug look, only for him to smile along.
He then asks, “So…did I do good with this?” He can’t lie; how you lifted your brow instead of giving an immediate answer made him a little nervous. And with the tilt of your head and turning your body fully towards him, you knew you had him in the palm of your hand. You hand him your verdict:
“I think so. You treated me to good food, didn’t try to poison me, and got a free movie ticket out of it.” You jokingly punch his chest. “Yeah, I liked this date, Gojo. Consider yourself redeemed.”
He snickers lightly, “Good, I don’t think I can take another day of you being mad at me.” That made you giggle; good. Things go quiet for a while, and he averts his stare downward. His eyes land on your hand, the thoughts from the movie theater teetering back to his head. Goddamn it, he really wants to touch you—
“I can see you staring through those glasses, Gojo.” And just like that, you propelled your hand to link with his, making the tall boy flinch. “Your subtlety is wearing thin.”
Your teasing tone evokes a chuckle disguised in a sigh from Gojo, his fingers slithering to intertwine with yours. “What makes you think so?”
You peer up to him. Fuck, your eyes were so beautiful. “You were practically staring daggers at me while watching the movie. Am I on your mind that much?”
“Yes.” You expected a different answer – something more playful – and it’s why you couldn’t breathe after he brought his face closer to yours. “Infintely.”
Suddenly, the cold air didn’t bother you anymore. The heat on your face blossoms across your cheeks and ears while maintaining eye contact. “Am I on your mind right now?” He nods, your noses barely brushing each other. You whisper to him, “What are you thinking about?”
“I wanna kiss you.” He closes his eyes; you can see from his shades. “I want to hold you like I did before.” The hand clutching yours gets firmer. “I want you…Just you.”
The way he has with words effortlessly pulls you in, his voice comforting to the point you allow him to put his other hand around your waist. You faintly reply before connecting your lips with his. “I want you too…Satoru.”
When he pecks your lips, a feeling you two feared was wiped off the Earth returns to warm your bodies. Your hands instantly go around his neck like usual, sighing through your nostrils as you permit to sink into his hold and kiss.
Gojo uses this to bring his hand behind your neck to keep you on him, the kiss becoming more passionate by the second. He licks on your bottom lip, a sign of wanting entry. So, you open and lick him back before he takes the initiative to put his tongue inside your mouth. And you moan into his lips — fuck, how he missed the sounds you’d make for him. It felt like forever since the last time he heard them.
This moment brings the spark between you two back, the sounds of the world around you drawing out from your space. All that mattered was you being in his embrace and him having you with him like this again. It all felt right — being with each other — with nothing bothering this peace meant for you two.
So much so that Gojo took it upon himself to convince you to stay with him tonight at a nice hotel close by, where you two couldn’t get off each other the moment you closed the door to your room. Hot kisses are exchanged as you two remove each other’s clothing, Gojo undoing your bra and lifting you to place on top of the bed.
His lips never leave yours, even when his hands play with your chest. Your legs wrap around his waist to pull him closer as he rocks into you. Your core down south experiences throbs that entail you want him, your horniness dialing up with every grind of his groin.
He breaks the kiss to playfully bite your lip so he can hear you yelp for him, placing his lips from your chin down to your neck. You say in shaky breaths, “Hahhh, Satoru, please touch me more…”
He lifts his lips from your clavicle, “Of course, princess; you know I always got you.” He then licks from your collarbone down to one of your nipples in a tantalizingly slow fashion, your body squirming from anticipating what he’s about to do. His tongue finds its way to swirl around the bud, having your hum to the wet touch. And when he decides to suck it into his mouth when it’s hardened, you gasp.
But it doesn’t stop there, one hand tweezing the other nipple as he licks around the one in his mouth. The free one snakes down your abdomen to your skirt, lifting the material for his digits to meet the damp spot of your panties.
You jerk at the feeling of him moving the material to the side, rubbing his bare fingers on your precious, wet cunt and clit. “Ahhnn! Satoru, Satoru—Mmmm…” He rubs around on your folds in circles before adding his forefinger smoothly inside, his slender digit efficiently rubbing your vaginal walls have you holding back whimpers.
When he thinks you’re ready enough, he adds his middle finger inside. Both his digits scrape and graze around your inner walls, provoking silent screams to leave your lips. Your fingers find his hair to tug, which only has him suck on your breast more.
“Hooohhh, mmmmh…Right there, right thereee…please—Ohooo…!” You moan to him, your thighs jerking with every scratch of his fingers in your chasm.
“Mmm…you close, pretty?” Gojo releases your nipple for a quick second, returning it inside his warm mouth after he sees you nod hurriedly. “Hold tight, okay? Lemme get you ready, sweetie…”
You cry at the increase in speed, the nails of his fingers scraping the velvety tender spots inside you. Your body jerks to him as your hands find his shoulders to pinch on. Gojo lets go of your bud once again to move his lips down south, spreading your legs to take a look at your mess.
“Holy shit,” he says with a bitten lip before he crouches down to kiss your clit after slipping your panties off. “I fucking missed this pretty thing so fucking much.” He licks your soapy folds up to your clit, drowning the delicate button with feverish laps of the tongue. It has you screaming his name, and he loved that so fucking much.
Gojo stuffs his face to your slit, drinking your essence while teasing the clit with fast swipes. Your wails get louder and louder, and he doesn’t make it any easier when he keeps your legs spread for him to continue his work. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m gonna cum, I’m—“Ahhahnn!!”
That’s when you come onto his face, your cunt spasming with electric pulses and your legs shaking with every hit of your orgasm. And he keeps on sucking and licking your fluids; you’d think he’s sucking the life out of you. But you can’t blame him; the boy is starved for you.
He soon withdraws his face from between your legs when you’re done with wailing and crying, licking his lips and leaving off the bed to take out a condom, throwing his jeans and drawls to the floor. But then something is wrong, and you can see it when Gojo presses his lips into a thin line before climbing back to the bed and maneuvers on top of you. He aligns the glans of his cock to the entrance of your vagina, and it’s there that you notice he doesn’t have the rubber on.
“I…I forgot to bring a condom, sweetie.” He says to you in a tune that harbors slight worry, and you can tell from his azure eyes that he’s a little nervous about this step. You held back a giggle; for once, he looked adorable when worried about something.
“…How good is your pull-out game?” You ask, half-jokingly.
His white brows trench together. “Are you sure?”
You nod and kiss him on the cheek. “I trust you, Satoru, so just be careful, okay?”
He blinks at you, taken aback by your lack of resistance. Yet, at the same time, he knew you needed this just as much as he did. So, with that in mind, he pushes the glans into you, observing your breathing to gauge how much to propel inside. The tip of his length then bullies itself inside you, a sharp gasp coming from your sweet lips while Gojo moans at the raw feeling of you around him.
“—Hnnn! H–Hooooly fuck,” with every inch he pushes inside of you, the sensation of your pussy chills him up his spine. The rubber had been shielding this away from him, every dent and smooth tissue of you wrapping around him. Oh, fuck, this was a dangerous game to play. “Oh, shiiit, you feel so fucking good..”
You could agree with that notion, experiencing his naked girth inside you for the very first time. You could feel his veins graze against your walls, the curve scraping your spots tenderly. “Ohhhh, fuck, you too, ‘toru…Oh my God…”
Even starting with slow thrusts was a hard card to pull, the subtraction of the condom making this feel so new and fresh — a scary dance to do with two young lovers. He pulls his cock slowly til halfway up the tip and then rushes it back inside to your wetness. Your pretty purrs fly out with every movement.
Gojo takes this time to look at you with your disheveled figure sprawled out for him to see and pick at like eye candy. Watery eyes batting up at him with pleasure behind half-lidded orbs, your chest that he loves so much out for him to give a nipple another tweak, and your legs curling around him as his tempo increases. You’re so fucking beautiful, and he’s so lucky to be able to have you under him again. He wouldn’t want it any other way — he wants to belong to you and you with him. It’s a dream he’d kill to have with you.
“Y/n…” he says your name in a shaky breath, groaning at your slit clamping onto him so suddenly. “Can I…Be your boyfriend?”
You didn’t have enough time to react appropriately because Gojo hammers his cock into you with no warning. You scream out for him to stop, to wait a minute so you can give an adequate response! But no, he ruts into you like his hips have a mind of their own, forcing you to cling onto him for dear life as the curve of his length jabs you in places that have you rolling your eyes to the stars.
“—Ahahhnn!! Ahhh! W-Wait, Satoruuuu!!” Your words slur out with a hot breath, drool coming down your mouth with no control. “You want me….Mmnph! To be your—“
“Yes! Oh, fuck…yes!” He says with no hesitation, slamming his pelvis down to your pussy so fast that his balls smack on your taint. Oh, fuck, this felt way too damn good! “I wanna be yours, and I want you to be mine—Hooooh….No one else’s…!”
“Nnahh…!! Ohhh, my God, fuuuuck…!” Your heart beats eighty miles per hour, your whole body endures heat shared with Gojo, and your thoughts travel too fast to keep up. He wants to be my boyfriend? He wants to be my boyfriend! “…R–Really?”
“Yeah, really, really.” He smiles breathlessly at you, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Let’s be a couple, yeah? I want you so bad; you drive me so fucking crazy—Hannhh!! Shit, shit… I don’t want to hide this anymore — to hurt my cutie anymore. Let’s make this official so I can be with you without worries.” He snaps his hips harshly, grinding his pelvis with the flex of his abs, provoking more horny howls to seep from your puffy lips. He lowers to whisper to your ear while a hand clings to yours on the side. “Whatcha say, princess, hmm? Let’s be together….Hmmm…!”
Holy fuck, this is not a confession you were expecting while having your insides churned out, with your crush between your legs, in the middle of a hotel room, on Valentine’s Day. Your mind was getting foggy enough from the hot commotion in your inner thighs — now your head was filling up with fantasies of being with Gojo as a couple! This was beyond bizarre, something out of a fucking movie!
And yet, you couldn’t find any reason to say no! There’s no denying it — those feelings Gojo had for you were the same as you had for him. You feel so happy being around him, in his hold, whispering and expressing his vulnerable side to you, and you’d want to throw all that away? Hell no!
“—Mmm, yessss,” you can’t help but shed a little tear at him, to which he readily dries away with a thumb. “Yesss, Satoru, I wanna be yoursss — please…take care of me!”
Gojo slams his lips onto yours, your mewls taken by hungry lips while his strokes go at a rapid tempo. You almost choke on his spit from the way your clit catches abrupt hits from his pelvis, and the tip of his dick pokes your fragile spots with precision.
Oh, Jesus fucking Christ! You felt it; it’s coming. You felt it in your bones, the shivers crawling up your spine as you inhaled to prepare. “Maahhh! ‘Toruuu, I’m gonna cumm…! Quick, pull out—Oooooo!!”
Thank God you gave him a warning. The tall other was too lost in the feeling that he was just about to come inside you! He removes his body off of yours to swiftly pull his member out, using his hand to finish the job for him, although he already misses the warmth of your cunt.
He comes at the same time as you, his load shooting out from his urethra and spilling onto his hand. White fluids slide between his fingers as he continues to stroke himself off while your legs twitch and your slit contracts and flutters on nothing, letting the wave of your climax pass on through with every howl.
The air of the hotel room cools your bodies after disconnecting your sexes off each other, and huffs and pants from heaving figures are evidence of you two trying to find your balance in the world. Sky-blue eyes lock in with yours, and he laughs in faint puffs.
He crawls his way back between your legs after wiping his hand, placing kisses up your neck and chin. “Hahhh, fuck, that felt way too good.”
“Mhmm,” you hum with him, letting him place his head in the crook of your neck.
“Hey,” he traces a finger along your collarbone. “Wanna skip classes tomorrow?”
Your eyebrows draw upward. “One day of Valentine’s isn’t enough?”
“Nope~. Plus, I wanna make up a week’s worth of not being around you.”
“Pfft, sure,” you stifled a laugh. “But you need a single day to do all that?”
He lifts his head with a grin. “Well, we don’t have enough clothes to stay here until Saturday.” He maneuvers himself to lie on his side. “Why? You doubt I can do it?”
“You’re free to prove me wrong,” you give him a sneer. “I suggest you start getting to work.” You didn’t expect your words to flip a switch, causing the snow-haired other to grab you by the legs to him. He restrains your hands above your head, and you can’t fight the giggles from his playful manner.
“With pleasure,” he claims your lips again, your sweet murmurs entering his ears.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“Psst, oh my God, do you see that?”
“Holy shit, this can’t be real!”
“Woah…Am I in the right universe?”
“Satoru, I told you people would stare…hurry and let go of my hand—“
“Nope! I like where your hand is right now~.”
It was like this the entire day. Ever since your Valentine’s Day date with Gojo, things instantly returned to where they were supposed to be and more! It was amazing how one day could make the bitterness of the weeks prior dissipate with the February wind. There was nothing to be scorned about —nothing to be scared of — everything felt clear to you and the person you were holding hands with.
After that date successfully went well — and won your heart in more ways than one, you’ll admit — you and Gojo decided it was time to unveil the status of your relationship. No more secrets, no more hiding feelings for each other; you two were officially a couple, both in private and outward!
Spending two days alone together felt like a dream, being so close to each other without worrying about being seen and critiqued in the eyes of others. But now, back on campus grounds, you can’t go back on your promise and have to walk with your cheeks and ears burning as Gojo’s fingers tighten the grasp around yours.
Of course, the change of pace was a complete shock to the students and staff on this Friday. The number of perplexed gazes and starstruck figures who stopped to look at the two of you was too many to count — hell, you even saw Professor Gakunaji’s eyes widen for the first time! It was all so embarrassing, being the talk on everyone’s mind after keeping a low profile for so long. And here you are, holding hands with the star basketball player, the guy everyone knew assumed you couldn’t stand being within arm’s length with, and now, the boy you want to spend the rest of your college life with, Satoru Gojo.
Who, by the way, is loving every single second of this — of course he is, the fucking cheeky bastard! You don’t think you’ve seen his smile and dimples never leave his face for the entire day. He was stuck to you like glue, walking you to your classes and immediately returning to your side after his lectures ended like a happy puppy. He knew you were a little overwhelmed with it all, but that wasn’t a problem because he’d happily make sure you didn’t think you were the only one going through with this. Plus, you just looked so fucking cute looking all bashful around him now that he expresses his love for you publicly. I mean, the way you were in shock after he kissed you on the cheek after walking you to your second class of the day with Utahime? Oh, he wished he had a picture! Especially with your roommate’s jaw dropped to the floor (which never closed throughout the remainder of class as she just stared at you) after seeing the startling, romantic interaction.
And now, here you two go, walking out from your last class of the day with Professor Yaga — who was caught off guard when you two walked in together with a lovey-dovey (mostly on Gojo’s part) atmosphere but gave you a small smile as you walked to your seats (which were changed because Gojo pleaded you sat next to him from now on) as Haibara and Ijichi exchanged cheeky glances at the observation.
You two were walking down to the dining hall, where you planned to have dinner with Shoko and Geto and tell the two best friends of Satoru Gojo of your intimate relationship. But gosh, everything was going too fast! “Hey, Satoru—“
“Yeeeess~?” He says in a sing-song tune, too pleased with himself as he swings your hand to and fro with his.
“Do we really have to do this today? Why not eat with Shoko and Geto tomorrow—“
“Huuuh!!? But I’m taking you out tomorrow!” You want to hide your face when passersby hear your boyfriend’s reaction, immediately swapping gossip when they’re out of your vision. “Besides, they’ll be hella busy studying tomorrow at the library, so today was the best option.”
You nod aimlessly. Ughhh, this is just too much. I feel like my head is gonna implode. Then, you felt Gojo grip your palm tighter and put your walk to a stop, prompting you to look up at him again.
“Hey,” he says with his signature smile, his dimples becoming more prominent now that you’re gazing up at him. “It’s gonna be okay, alright? I got you, and you got me, right?” And he brings you in for a tight hug that has you squeaking and your lips quivering from hearing people gasp at the display of affection. “And now that I finally have you to myself — officially! — don’t think for a second that you can ever get rid of me!”
On the one side, you really want this fool to let go of you so everyone can stop staring and you can get this dinner over with! And yet, on the other side, your heart was beating in such a tune that had you melt into his embrace, and the smell of his cologne made you hum to his chest. You can’t seem to fight the smile growing on your face and your hands coming around to hug the white-haired, lovestruck fool back. “You’re too silly, Satoru…”
“Uhh, are we interrupting something?”
With haste, you and Gojo break the hug to see the owner of that familiar voice. To your surprise, it was Shoko greeting you two with a smile. Next to her was Geto, also harboring a sly smile on his face before you.
You cough to clear your throat away from Gojo, who sneaks his hand on your shoulder to keep you close. “H–Hi Shoko, Geto! I see you guys beat us to the dining hall.“
“Yeah, we were wondering if you two would make it. But now,” Shoko’s brown eyes venture from the figures of Gojo and you being close together, “I can see that you two wanted a bit of time to yourselves.”
“Uhhh, oh, you know; we just wanted to walk together since we had our last class for today!” You try to move your shoulder away from Gojo, but his grasp gets firmer and firmer.
Geto laughs, “Oh, no need to act so shy on us, Y/n! It’s good to know that you two are back to being close and cool now. Especially now that you two are a couple.”
“Ohhh, c’mon now, we’re not—“ you stopped, your body going rigid, and everything suddenly fell silent. “Wait….You knew?”
Geto hums as confirmation. “Yeah? Gojo told me.”
Your face forms into confusion. Gojo?
“Me?” Silver brows hang up at the statement. “I never said anything.”
Shoko makes a slightly bewildered expression. “What are you talking about? Remember that photo that you sent to Geto on Wednesday, and—“
“Woah, woah, woah.” Gojo’s fingers tense on your shoulder. Oh, he knows he’s in trouble. You can tell as he silently removes his hand while you question his best friends. “What picture?”
“Uhhh, the one he sent when you two were out for Valentine’s?” When we WHAT!? “Hold on, lemme pull it up from our messages…Yeah, this one.”
The moment Geto brings out his phone and gives it to you, Gojo felt his heart dropped to his ass. Not that you could tell, but the aura of fear was enough to be picked up. What showed on the screen not only had your jaw drop to your feet, but the cutesy feelings you had a minute ago with Gojo faded. Instead, it was replaced with the growing irritation that had your fingers tremble.
Geto’s phone screen displays a message and an attachment from Gojo on the night of your date. Judging by the time, it happened when you assumed you two were sleeping. The attachment proves your point, showing your sleeping face peacefully on Gojo’s bare chest. And the man in question is shown groggily awake, holding his phone to take the picture while his lips are planted on your forehead. The message below the photo answers Geto’s question, “Yo, you two made up already?” To which the taller figure says, “Yeah, kissed and made up. :3”
“Gojoooo….”
Before you do or say anything, your shaky hands return the phone to its owner, which Geto takes silently while backing three steps away with Shoko.
“SATORUUUU!!!”
You yell out his name without a care for the people around you who immediately look at you. You turn to where he’s supposed to be — supposedly by your side. But you’re not surprised to see that he’s gone, turning your heel to find that the snowy-headed figure was backing up with his hands up.
“H–Hey now, Y/n,” He says nervously. He better be nervous because your eyes showcased a wrath he wasn’t ready for. “Calm down for me, okay, princess?”
“You…Are so…FucKING DEAD!!!”
And it was there that you chased him down, running around the halls. Geto and Shoko watch with baffled expressions before they scoff with laughter. The same goes with the other students who witness the commotion, enjoying the familiar banter between you two.
It’s weird to say that you and Gojo are officially a couple now, at least to the public eye. However, no one seems to be in denial of it or push it aside. If anything, they seem happy for you two, finally coming around to express each other’s love for one another in a better way than insults and shouts.
And your friends can say the same, enjoying the change of ambiance whenever you two are in the same space. No more trying to ignore the rambles and arguments between you two, no more tired eyes rolling around their sockets when you call each other names. Because they know those will happen anyway; nonetheless, it’s now in a better light that the banner of young love is finally open and hanged.
It’s a love that you and Gojo can finally express, be free, and be happy with.
“COME BACK HERE, SATORU GOJO!!”
“NO, YOU’RE JUST GONNA HIT ME!!”
And you two wouldn’t want it any other way.
© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 ❤︎ reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ dividers by @/cafekitsune & @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.
#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑭𝒊𝒄𝒔#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo smut#satoru gojo x you#gojou satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fic#jjk fics#anime smut
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𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲
Yan! Lawyer Husband x GN Spouse Reader
—𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 - 𝑳𝑰𝒇𝑬 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕
CW: mafia related stuffs (ALL FOR READER...), disturbing ideations. NSFW
You were the subject of envy for everyone, the spouse of the infamous lawyer, Yulian de Alpheus, who possessed wealth, reputation, intelligence, and undying loyalty to you. To people, you were the beautiful dove living in the gilded cage he had given you, luxuries that fulfilled anyone's needs and wishes.
𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒆?
To him, the one who was truly locked in the cage was him. He was and would forever be locked in the gilded cage, forever drowned in his adoration toward you. If he had to live in a world where you did not exist, he would not hesitate to shoot himself to death and find you again.
--
"Dear, how about we go on a vacation this month?"
His words had you choked on your food. He immediately stood up and pat your back, a handkerchief that you embroidered for him handed to you as he handed you a glass of water, "Apology, did my question catch you off guard dear?"
You shook your head while you regained your composure, "It's just that I was surprised, you had been busy these days so how could you spare me your time for a silly vacation?"
Yulian chuckled as he patted your head, "True, and I plan to work even harder to finish all the mess they had shoved me to work on, I'm sure I could finish it right in time before our estimated vacation."
You frowned to yourself, your husband had always been a hard-working man. It was no surprise judging by the amount of assets he could own at such a fairly young age. While some of it was thanked to his father, you knew those would not remain had he not worked hard to keep and grow.
"Dear, I don't want you to over-exert yourself with this case just for a vacation. If you were worried about me then please pay no mind, I am content with everything but you stressing yourself."
Yulian sat back and started slicing the meat on his plate, "Dear, I did not marry you just to have you live in this house as a prisoner," the way he sliced things was of good etiquette but you knew. You knew how he always looks at the things he sliced as a subject of... low-life. "I want my beloved to live in happiness, a life where you get to have and own anything you want without a single worry," It's almost as though he wished he could use more force with the knife, "A life where you do not wish to end," Yulian used his fork to pick the sliced meat up to your lip, "A life where you wish you could live in for eternity."
You thought to yourself for a moment, drowning in thought before smiling at him, "Yes, a vacation this month sounds nice." You opened your mouth and ate the piece.
--
"What were you even thinking about to the point you tangle yourself into this mess?" Yulian furrowed his eyebrow, in his office was the leader of a renowned mafia group in the underground world and Yulian sat on the leathered chair with his hand wiping his white gun.
The ringleader's subordinates were clearly displeased with the way Yulian easily belittled the case and him but they knew better than to cause a mess.
"So? What do you need this time?"
Yulian stored the gun back in its respective place, locking the shelf with the key before handing the ringleader's subordinate a folder of files.
"I'll need you to fabricate everything I handed you. I've given you options of people for you to use as a scapegoat as well."
The ringleader took the folder and started reading the files in it, scanning the words that were typed on it.
"And I expect you to finish it all by this week. I'll be taking a vacation for myself by the end of the month so I'll finish the case in a few trials. I'd like you to find a way around the judge and jury as well. The more the better, understood?"
Yulian was an infamous lawyer. A lawyer who would validate any way to make his client proclaimed 'Not Guilty'. As much as he hated having to drag his name around the underground world, he had no choice but to work together with them. Why?
"Fine, I'll inform you everything this weekend." The ringleader left the room with his subordinates following behind him meekly. The moment they had walked out of his building and entered the car, one of them posed a question.
"Why did you let that shrimp belittle you, boss? It's not like he is the only lawyer we could have our hand with."
The ringleader did not look at his subordinate as he was still analyzing the content of the files. Even so, he was still attentive enough to answer them back, "Well, if you know exactly how strong my influence is, why do you think I allow him to boss over my men?"
The man gulped as his hand held the steering wheel tightly. Why would a measly bug be able to hold power over his boss?
"... He somehow got his hands into our mud. In simpler terms, he blackmailed me."
His right-hand man sighed, "Yulian is nothing but a coward, Kaspar. A coward."
What difference did it make to him? The fact that the two of them blackmailed people to survive while the ideations were biased to each side was nothing but hypocrisy.
"And yet he is the coward that dared to step into the underground world just to protect his spouse..." Kaspar winced at the word 'spouse', "he did all of that just for the love of his life. Is that supposed to be considered foolish or not...?"
The men fell silent until one of them proposed a question, "Then why not use his spouse against him?"
--
The basement that you did not know even existed. You knew there was a bunker down your house but you were never aware of the existence of the basement.
You were asleep so technically you couldn't have heard anything. No, the room was made to be soundproof, no one could hear what was going on in the room.
But you heard it anyway. You heard it faintly, the sounds of people screaming. It wasn't clear, almost below a whisper but it kept you awake. You looked to your side and found your husband absent from the bed again.
"Is he working again?"
You stood up and slipped your feet into the slippers before walking out of your shared bedroom. The hall was lit up by the warm white lights, the light that always comforts you no matter what. You walked toward his office which was located on the first floor, giving the grand door a knock before entering it.
"Dear?"
No one was inside the room. The room was laced with the smell of coffee, the only thing that he probably could love aside from you. You walked to his desk and read some of the files on it. The words on the paper were beyond your comprehension so you stopped reading it, glancing at the cup of coffee, you feel the cup with your hand. It's cold and full. Weird.
You took a look around his office, bookshelves on the side while a framed portrait of you and him hung on the other side.
He must have really loved this portrait, refusing to change it with a new one.
"Dear?"
You jumped at his voice, where did he come out from?
"Dear, where did you come from?"
"Ah, I was in the washroom. What brings you here? Did something wake you up?" Yulian asked you as he approached you while drying his hand with his handkerchief.
You took a closer look at it, it's not the same handkerchief you gave him. Weird. He had always been insistent on only using the handkerchief you embroidered for him.
"Dear?"
"Ah," you snapped out of your thought, "it's just that... I felt lonely. How long are you going to stay up again tonight dear?"
Yulian thought to himself as his eye shot toward the corner of the room, "Please, don't wait for me. I won't be finishing my work in any time so I hope you would use those time to retreat yourself to bed." Yulian pat your cheek before giving your cheek a peck, his emerald eyes had always drowned you in a ripple of the lovesick sea.
His hand snaked its way to your waist as he led you back to your shared bedroom, opening the door for you and urging you to lay on the comfortable white bed. He placed the blanket on top of you before sitting next to you, humming a lullaby while easing you down.
"My little Lily of the Valley is a curious soul hm? Your husband told you to sleep and you naughtily sneaked out of your room..." He playfully reprimanded you while you tried to drift yourself back to sleep. Hearing him teasing you like this was weird, but at least in a good way. What boosted his confidence?
"Someone like you should not wander around in the mercy of nighttime, even if it was in our own house," his hand caressed your hair while his eyes stared into your half-lidded ones, "my lily-of-the-valley should not wander around in the darkness anymore..."
Did you hear him right? Come to think of it, what woke you up earlier?
"Good night, my love."
--
"Good night, bastard."
A thud and the man who was tied to the chair plopped down, lifeless. The other men could only tremble in horror as they waited for their turn. Perhaps death would be the only slightest bit of virtue that he could offer, a mercy at his hands that was covered in bloodstains.
Just as he approached the other men, the alarm rang. Someone had entered his office. Yulian turned on the screen to the camera and saw you walking toward his desk, observing everything that was scattered on it.
He was glad that he didn't put anything 'suspicious' on it even if you wouldn't understand it. He didn't want to risk it.
Yulian went to the sink and washed his hands before motioning for someone to come out from the darkness. The members of the mafia walked out and waited for his order.
"Ah right, relay this message to your boss. Not only do these bastards will have to face the consequences of trying to touch my beloved, you guys too, will have to face it."
The men shuddered in fear as they thought of what he could do to them. The greatest mercy they could have would be that their boss would be the one who punished them and not the lawyer himself.
"Remember," Yulian walked toward them, hand taking out the handkerchief you embroidered for him, "I work for Kaspar so that this kind of thing won't happen. If this happens again, I'd personally make you guys crawl through the tunnels of prison for eternity."
His emerald orbs almost lit up into a burning fire as his jaw tightened in anger. He made his way toward the door before taking a look at the handkerchief.
He shouldn't use it for something so filthy.
He slid it back into his pocket and used another plain handkerchief instead.
--
"In short, he is the man who would not hesitate to kill his own children, his own blood and flesh, or his family just to save and love his beloved Lily of the Valley."
Kaspar sighed as he read the report. The scapegoats that he offered were his men who were on duty to protect his spouse.
"He is the man who had lived for eternity just to find and love his beloved again and again."
-- log end
Afternotes:
I didn't expect the fic to be this short (says the one who got lazy mid-way and cut half of the story...) anyway, I thought to myself, rather than let this rot in the draft, wouldn't it be better to post it even if it was only half completed without any proofread yet?
I'm really happy my first LIfE Project event features my favorite son, Yulian first! The next one might be Eleanor!
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#oc#yandere oc#yandere x reader#yandere imagines#yandere#yandere scenarios#yandere x you#reader insert#x reader#yandere headcanons#LIfE Project#Yulian the Corruption
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Hi Neil,
Regardless of if you ever see this I’ll be happy the sentiment was put there.
As I got into adulthood I lost touch with many of my interests and hobbies. Things like study and work seemed to take over my life and I forgot about many of the things I enjoyed that kept me sane as a child.
But after watching and reading Good Omens I’ve done 4 things:
1. Picked up the piano again after 10 years not playing just so I could learn the theme song. I’ve been at it for months and I’m usually terrible at sticking to things but I’ve promised a friend we are going to do a duet with them playing the kazoo so I have to now obviously
2. I started to draw again on a regular basis
3. I started to write again for the first time since I was a kid and found I actually have quite a passion for it. I’d like to publish at least one book some day with my own illustrations
4. I retuned to tumblr and was pleasantly surprised to find such a wonderful fandom who all love this story as much as I do. And I think it’s wonderful you are also here to watch us all adore it. And so that we can send our appreciation back to you and everyone else involved in making it come to life.
The love and care you and Terry have put into it is so clear. This story and seeing how you interact with the fandom reminded me of how important story telling and creation is to the world. And its lead me back to many things I’d thought I had lost. So thanks to you and every other creative out there, it’s easy to get stuck in our bubble and think what we’re putting out there doesn’t matter. But if you or Terry had given in to that kind of thinking we wouldn’t have Good omens! And that’s something I like to think about when I doubt what I make.
That makes me very happy.
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hey so. i’ve seen many people reblogging some variation of “israel spent millions on a superbowl ad to distract everyone from the airstrikes on rafah” and decided to do some fact-checking. the ad was produced by the kraft foundation to stop jewish hate, founded by robert kraft, who owns the patriots. kraft also partnered with dr. clarence b. jones—who advised dr. martin king luther jr and helped him write the i have a dream speech—to create this ad. according to tara levine, the fcas president, this ad was made in response to rising antisemitism on social media platforms, which her team tracks.
here’s a link to the foundation’s about page on their website. their mission statement solely focuses on combatting antisemitism and does not mention i/p or the ongoing war. the ad itself does not mention i/p or the ongoing war. it’s pretty ironic, and yet not surprising, that an ad created to stop antisemitism is currently the eye of the antisemitic storm on social media. if you sincerely believe netanyahu secretly funded this ad campaign to “distract everyone” from the idf���s airstrike attack in rafa, then you have bought into two different antisemitic conspiracy theories: that jews control the media and that diasporic jews have dual loyalty to israel. while political zionists have used accusations of antisemitism to invalidate pro-palestinian efforts, that’s not what’s happening here. all this information is obtainable via google. please learn to fact check yourselves before posting. thanks!
(bonus: here’s a 20-minute video where kraft and dr. jones discuss the civil rights movement, anti-black racism, antisemitism, and the history of solidarity between black and jewish activists during the civil rights movement.)
EDIT 2/23/24:
after publishing this post, i researched robert kraft and fcas' funding source and pro-israel efforts more deeply, then analyzed my findings in a reblog, which you can read here. tl;dr version - in 2019, kraft was given the genesis prize, a $1 million dollar award. the awarding foundation has direct ties to the israeli government. kraft used part of these funds to finance fcas. this additional information does not negate my original post, however; i can't find any conclusive evidence that the israeli government directly funded kraft's superbowl ad. there is also no evidence that kraft is targeting anti-israel sentiment in the ad rather than antisemitism overall. assuming this connection is still evidence of antisemitic conspiratorial thought, as i detail above.
i'm including this information because i believe it's important to acknolwedge wider context. i don't share kraft's politics re: israel and believe his stance compromises his foundation's overall messaging. i also condemn any efforts to silence pro-palestinian efforts with accusations of antisemitism, but that is still not what's happening here. i also want to clarify that i'm only discussing responses i've seen to kraft's ad, not the ads produced by the israeli government. thanks again!
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—seven days. [ i ]
pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.
summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.
author's note: not beta-read. not edited. enjoy reading.
masterlist.
You are not surprised when Max Verstappen won the 2023 Formula One season. Given how he dominated each Grand Prix in the season, except Singapore but we don't talk about Singapore, you kind of expected the results already. This is Max's third time winning the WDC title and that makes you the manager of a three-time WDC title holder now. As someone who worked with the guy the last five years, you are immensely proud of Max. You’ve been working as his manager ever since 2019—you, twenty-three, a fresh graduate of Mechanical Engineering and he, twenty-one, an aspiring world champion but you've known each other since 2018—so you knew better than anyone else, better than Christian Horner even, just how much it took from Max just to reach the place where he is standing right now. Furthermore, Red Bull Racing also won the Constructor’s Championship so everyone in the team cannot be any happier. Celebrations are in order, of course, but you have excused yourself to retire early in the evening instead. Max has asked you why. You replied that you're tired and that's the only truth you can offer him.
You draft your resignation letter whilst everyone at Red Bull is partying in some place else in Abu Dhabi. Good for them honestly. What better way is there to celebrate a victory than with alcohol? Fortunately, there's canned beer on the mini fridge so that's your share of the victory alcohol tonight while you're hunched over your laptop on the couch. Rihanna is playing from your laptop speakers in a Youtube playlist in another Google tab while you work on the letter on a separate Google Docs tab.
Dear ________,
Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as the manager of Red Bull Racing first driver, Max Verstappen, effective seven days from today’s date, November 26, 2023.
I appreciate the opportunities for growth and development you have provided me during the five years I worked for this amazing team. Leaving is not an easy decision for me but in order to further my career, I have to spread my wings and explore. Please let me know if I can help with anything to make my resignation easier for the company staff.
Thank you, Red Bull, for giving me wings and the courage to fly. Now, I believe it is time for me to soar new skies. I will cherish the time I have spent here in Red Bull Racing.
Sincerely,
[First Name] [Last Name].
You read it over and over again, checking for errors in the spelling or the grammatical structure.
“Thank you Red Bull for giving me wings and the courage to fly….” you mutter. What Red Bull gave you was five decades worth of stress. One decade's worth of stress for each year since you were accepted in the team. “Cringy as fuck.”
Your phone abruptly rings and you jump in surprise, dropping your phone and your beer and oh shoot, you almost dropped your laptop, too. You scramble to pick up the canned beer, hissing slightly when you see the liquid form a pool on the tiled floor. Your initial response is to avoid it so you sidestepped and kicked your YSL heels away from the puddle. The heels are previously placed next to your feet neatly but now they're thrown haphazardly on the floor a few meters away. Your eyes quickly search for a towel, or anything you can use to wipe that shit off before it reaches the expensive hotel carpet, but there is no towel in your vicinity and the liquid is moving fast so you take off your Red Bull shirt—haha, you’re resigning anyways—leaving you in only your sleeveless undershirt. You throw it on the floor. Then, you crouch down and hurriedly wipe the beer.
Crisis averted! Beer - 0. You - 1. You pick up the call after, already knowing it's from Max even without reading the caller ID because you have set a separate ringtone for him, using that catchy Super Max sound, “Hello, [Name] here. Anythin’ I could help?”
Daniel’s voice is not something you have expected to hear, not from Max’s phone anyway, but then again, they should be together right now at the afterparty, “Hi [Name], we kind of got ourselves stuck in a situation here.”
Your brows furrow, forehead creasing, “Danny? Somethin’ wrong?”
“It's Max.”
You stiffen before slowly rising to a stand. Your head begins running at a speed of 300 kilometers per hour, the pace of a Formula One car, coming up with different scenarios where Max is in danger and a list of things you can do to get him out of those situations, “What's wrong with Max?”
That's how you found yourself in the middle of the Red Bull afterparty, navigating through the sweaty and drunk Red Bull employees with your eyes actively searching for a tall, broad-shouldered, blond-brown-haired, blue-eyed Dutchman. You find him nearly ten minutes after entering the party, in a corner, on the floor, next to a yellow puddle of disgusting liquid with his head hanging low and the two Alpha Tauri drivers, Daniel and Yuki, standing right beside him. Thank God they did not leave Max.
The fact that they are in a party full of Red Bull employees and none even tried to help Max bothers you greatly. Jesus, what is wrong with these people? You lower yourself in front of him, hand coming up to his nape while the other is on his forearm before gently guiding him away from the vomit pool just in case he accidentally touches on it. If he did, you know you're the one who’s going to clean him up and frankly, you aren't in the mood for dealing with that. Max follow your hands like it's second nature for him to follow your guidance, leaning into the warmth of your palm.
“What happened?” you finally voice the question you've been dying to ask once Max is a good distance away from the pool of vomit. Daniel is the one who answers you, “He asked for you.”
That doesn't answer your question. Thankfully, Yuki decides to be more helpful, “He broke up with Kelly this morning.”
Oh.
He raced while shouldering a broken heart and still won? Poor Max. But also, you are not surprised. Not even a bit. It's very much like him to prioritize the race over his feelings because Max Verstappen only wants one thing in the world and that is to emerge victorious at the sport he loved. To prove to the world that he is top one, to prove to Jos Verstappen that he is top one and that he will go down in history as top one and the world shall remember it even after he leaves the F1 racing scene for the young ones.
“Thanks, Yuki,” you turn to Daniel and nod. “Danny, I’ll take it from here.”
“Are you sure you don't need help?”
You shake your head and offer a tight-lipped smile. Dealing with a drunk Max is no biggie. You have worked with the guy for five years already, four as his manager. That's over a hundred podiums and defeats and in each defeat and each podium, alcohol and Max become the best of friends. You’re used to this; cleaning him up, picking him up, tucking him into bed, calling his girlfriend to deal with his drunk ass, and helping him nurse the hangover in the morning with an Advil and a good breakfast.
You roll the sleeves of your champagne-colored button-up to your elbows and in one swift motion, you lift Max in a fireman’s carry. That volunteer work you did at LAFD back when you're still in university paid off in these moments.
It was a comedic sight. A 5’5” woman in heels carrying an almost six foot drunk racer who is at least two times broader than her on her shoulders. The media has already caught a picture of a similar-looking moment one time in 2019 and another in 2021—such times are the beginning of those annoying dating rumors that involves you and Max—and you can say that Twitter is mostly impressed that the Red Bull manager was strong enough to lift a high-performance athlete. Some made memes of it. You'll never admit that you saved some of them, especially the ones that made fun of Max so you could put it above his head. Some even claimed that your YSL heels must be some sort of superhero power up because you do a lot of athletic things in those heels like running through the paddock as if you were just wearing a pair of Nikes, kicking a door down, driving a motorcycle around in Monza to buy Max's morning coffee, and getting in a physical fight with Max’s anti-fan back in 2022. In theory, you can and will absolutely kill a god in those heels and honestly, it's about time YSL sponsors you because you're giving their Opyum heels so much promotion.
What the public doesn't know is that Max is lighter than he looks and paired with your capability of lifting heavy equipment and people due to your history as a volunteer firefighter, it is incredibly easy to lift him without breaking a sweat and yes, even while wearing heels. People are too easily impressed nowadays.
You ignore the confused stares that are sent your way as you hurriedly walk to the comfort rooms. In a matter of seconds, you are power-walking yourself inside the male comfort room, sending an unimpressed look at the two Red Bull rookie employees making out inside. They are horrified when they see you. You can tell with the way their eyes widened and how they scrambled away from each other and hurriedly fixed themselves while muttering a thousand apologies. You don't even need to say anything. They are out before you could even tell them to.
You lock the door behind you before heading towards the bathroom sink and placing Max there. You put your hands on the back of his head and shoulders to support him until he's leaning against the mirror and sitting fully upright. You wish he won't topple over and accidentally hit his head on the tiles.
“Hey, hey,” you tap his cheek. “You good, Max?”
You sincerely hope he won't pass out. Unconscious people are heavier than conscious people when you lift them.
Procuring a water bottle inside your tote bag, you hand it to him. He accepts it wordlessly and down it in one go. You pull out an extra shirt from your bag, “Off with the shirt, big boy.”
Obediently, Max does what he is told and he peeled his shirt off him. You have to help him midway because he got it stuck around his neck. You toss the stinky shirt somewhere on the sink and hand him the shirt you brought. Again, you help him put it on because drunk Max has seemingly forgotten where the holes of the t-shirt are and which limb should enter a specific hole. Oh wait, that sounds wrong.
“You're taking good care of me.”
His voice sounds so small when he utters those words that it almost got swallowed up by the silence of the room and the muffled sound of the party outside.
“Aren't I always?”
You are paid to take good care of him after all.
“Always.”
You wet a towel in the sink and squeeze out the excess water in the wool. Your fingers gently cradle Max’s jaw as you wipe his face. He has a little vomit on his cheek.
You're used to looking at Max’s face up close but you still cannot help but be amazed by the beauty of it, you know? Some people will not consider Max as a conventionally beautiful man. Different people have different preferences. Honestly, you used to be one of those people. You met Max when he was twenty-one and that time, he looked like a fetus and greatly resembled Sid the sloth from the Ice Age movies. You used to tease him all the time about it, calling him a kid and pulling the age card when he needed to be reigned in or to annoy him until he submits into obedience, when you are only a year older than him. The stress of racing caused Max to age quickly but thankfully, he does not age badly. No, instead Max transitioned into an absolute daddy. Thank God he is more like his mother than his father, too. His mother’s genes saved him. Thank you Sophie!
You would have fallen for him, too, like the gazillion women all around the world who'll fall at his feet, but it’s hard to do so when you know he doesn't even know how to peel his own oranges. Drives a car going 300 kilometers per hour and can’t even peel a damn orange.
Twitter is always having a field day when they manage to snap a picture of you peeling oranges for him. Orange Peel Theory or whatever that is. Ludicrous bullshit, to be honest. The only theories you know are the ones taught in Physics class.
“I wonder if you know how much I need you,” he mutter. “I wonder if you can tell.”
“Very poetic,” you say flatly because Max has the tendency to say the most out of pocket yet soul breaking things when he's drunk and you are too tired to rationalize all his musings right now. We love a trauma-dumping king.
“You talkin’ ‘bout Kelly?” you ask, brow raising slightly. You continue to clean his face before proceeding to wipe his arms and his hands.
“I don't know.”
“Okay.”
He probably is talking about Kelly anyway.
Now that Kelly is gone, you’re beginning to get worried for Max. Earlier, as you wrote that resignation letter in your hotel room, the worry of leaving Max was not present. He has Kelly after all. Kelly can easily do the things you did for Max, not that she should do the work of a Red Bull manager because honestly, if she plans on taking up your job now, you’ll tell her to run and save herself. You mean the support you gave Max. You mean going all-out in protecting Max whether from haters or even his own father and especially his own darkness. You mean standing with him, inside that open cage that he can walk out of anytime but chose not to because Jos Verstappen still had his claws on him. You mean not leaving Max, no matter where he stood, may it be at the top of that glorious podium or at the end of the line. You mean taking care of Max the same way you did, even if he insists that helping him is nothing but rotten work.
But then, she left. Now what?
“I want to tell you something.”
You lift your eyes and met Max’s glazed blue ones.
“It is in my will that if I die—”
“You're not dyin’," you cut him off, not even the least bit amused about the idea of Max dying.
“Shush,” he playfully glares at you and you roll your eyes, itching to pull that I’m older than you so don't shush me card just to annoy him. “Let me finish. It is in my will that if I die, my cats will be taken care of by you. Oh come on, stop making that face. You look like you're having an aneurysm.”
“Shut up,” you swat his forearm with the damp towel, causing him to laugh at you. “Why’d you even do that? Give them to your Mom or somethin’.”
“But nobody is better at taking care of someone than you,” he says and his voice bled with rawness and honesty and so much sincerity that you're taken aback. “I want someone to take care of them like how you take care of me.”
You blink, mouth slightly agape. What can you even say to that? Thank you? I’m honored? Dude, what the fuck? Are you confessin’ to me or somethin’? You doin’ big shit over there by putting me in your will.
Now, you’re even more worried. Who will take care of Max after you're gone? The same way you took care of him?
Nonetheless, on December 13, you submit the resignation letter to Christian Horner. He reads the letter with a deep frown marring his face. It's funny how he had the same expression on his face, too, on the first day you met him when you were applying from Red Bull.
“Have you told Max?”
The guy is sleeping in his hotel bed as you speak and will probably be awake in a few hours with the world’s shittiest hangover. So no, you have not told him. Not yet, at least.
“No.”
“He wouldn't be happy with this.”
You know Max does not bode well with goodbyes, especially from the people he closely worked with leaving Red Bull. Look at what happened with Danny in 2018. Now, it is your turn. Two of his biggest friends in the Red Bull team, leaving in search of careers outside his shadow. Being in Max's shadow..... They are right after all. It is a curse.
While you love Max, platonically of course, being his manager is not what you wanted. You did not suffer through four years in engineering school just to become an errand girl for a racer. This is not what you applied for when you sent that application letter in Red Bull and Renault back when you were twenty-two. Renault didn't have an opening in their engineering team so your future with that team was quickly erased. Red Bull had no opening in their engineering team either but they had an open spot on the team as Daniel Ricciardo's manager for a whole season. You accepted their offer, naturally, hoping that their engineering team will have a place for you soon. When Danny left, you contemplated following him to Renault.
Then, Max told you to not go to Renault because they're a shitty team and perhaps he was right because in that sucky car they had, Daniel barely won podiums, but if Renault would give you the position you wanted and worth your student loans, then you'd take it.
"No, stay."
Demanding little prickly ass, he was, "I will win next year. When I become a world champion, I'll ask Horner to move you to the engineering team."
You did not know why you believed him.
2021—Max became world champion. You hoped he would ask Horner like he told you back in 2018.
2022—Max became world champion again but you're still stuck as his manager. You reminded him of his declaration in 2018. He told you he was already on it. Two rookie engineers entered the team that year, taking the spot that should have been yours years ago and you were stuck wondering if Max was really putting truth on his words.
2023—Max became a third-time world champion and you wouldn't even ask anymore.
“I know," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll deal with it."
"I'll trust that you'll be the one who'll tell him?"
It amuses you how no one wants to deal with Max or drop him the big news. Everyone knew how crazy he could get when Max does not like something. He's a menace. He'll terrorize everyone. You're the only one who could hold the menace down.
"Of course, Sir. Leave it to me."
“Are you transferring teams? Are you still going to stay in Monaco near Max?”
Monaco is not home. Home is desert and heat. Home is Texas.
“Nah, goin’ back to Austin.”
Everybody knows Texas was your home, your accent and your manners spoke of it. Some Europeans look down on it, calling you a country bum and a cowgirl mascarading as a sophisticated sidehoe of a champion. Fuck 'em all.
“Everyone in the team is given two weeks off now that we’ve won so your resignation is immediately effective of today,” Horner says. “If the US GP is held at Austin next year, make sure to come by. Max would appreciate it.”
Christian Horner is an asshole but he is at least good to Max and that's what's important.
You get a text from Max an hour later.
him: i feel like shit
him: thanks for the advil and the soup
him: also im flying back to monaco tonight, fly with me
Tonight, you're flying to Monaco with Max Verstappen. Seven days from now, you're flying home alone.
#max verstappen#formula one#formula 1#manager!reader#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#f1 imagines#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#mv1 x reader#mv33 x reader#mv1#mv33
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his attempts at courting you
expl: he finds himself thinking about you more often, wanting to seek you out consistently, and giving you numerous gifts every day to see you smile
a/n: it has come to my attention that the last ff i wrote, (snow day) was not very well depicted for all readers to enjoy, i want to apologize for that and promise that i will get better at trying to make sure everyone is able to read it and enjoy it, my writings are targeted for all | unfortunately, i can not edit it right now seeing as there's a poll going on, but once that poll is finished i will change my wording in the ff
ask me anything masterlist
second person writing no pronouns used
Zhongli often felt himself thinking about you more often while he was working around the parlor. Even seeking out your name in conversations and listening more attentively when someone was speaking about you. It didn't confuse him though, he was aware of his interest in you.
You opened up the warmth in his heart and welcomed him kindly every time you two saw each other. It made him happy to see you happy, and this was evident when flowers were delivered directly to your door one sunny afternoon.
"These are for you," The mail lady said before turning around and walking away to do more deliveries. You didn't even get to ask who they were from before she was gone. Staring down at the bouquet of tiger lilies in front of you, you could only assume that the bright orange and black colors could depict a certain someone's hair color.
It was a nice piece on your kitchen counter and went well with the other decorations spiraling around your house. That was, until the next morning, you were greeted again with another gift. A bright orange vase to compliment the tiger lilies you received the other day. It was funny, why was he going out of his way to send you such nice gifts?
You finally managed to confront him when you saw Childe and Zhongli sitting together on the seats of an outside cafe. Walking over and waving to the both of them. They greeted you back, and small talk was given for only a couple minutes.
"I actually came over here to thank Zhongli," This caught his attention, and he turned to look up at you, "I really loved the flowers you sent and the vase goes really well with them too!" You said while smiling.
He nodded back at you, seemingly collecting himself extremely quickly at the fact you figured out so quick who it was. "I'm glad you liked them," He said.
"I came to give you this in return," You said," "I know it's probably not as extravagant as the ones you gave me, but I like it." Handing over the small gift box, he opened it and smiled softly at the item. It was a small keychain, nothing special, and it was decorated with a lovely orange seem.
That same keychain would be hung up right next to his bedframe, along with variant letters you sent him on the table accompanying it.
Diluc was someone who took courting another person seriously. He found it tradition since his father had spoken so much of it when Diluc was younger. He always wanted to treat the one he loved with respect and be as much of a gentleman as possible.
This was why you were taking a stroll with him through his grapevines on a sunny afternoon. He offered for you to come down to the Winery a couple days ago and you had just gotten around to accepting his offer. His hand rested on your back as he took you through multiple different paths and explained everything. As you strolled, he talked about things concerning the vine, his profits, the seasons they needed to be planted, etc.
You smiled at him, knowing it was something he took dear to his heart, and listened very attentively to what he was saying. In reality, Diluc was really hoping that all he was talking about didn't bore you in any way.
Then, the next couple of hours were spent sitting in his large dining room, eating food made by the cooks in his home. It was nice, and you were very happy that he wanted to spend this much time with you. Diluc even found himself watching you eat here and there, asking you if the food was good or if you needed anything else in the time being.
After everything was over, and the night sky shined over the two of you as you stood outside his doors, he leaned down and pressed a small kiss to your hand. Telling you how much of a pleasure it was to have you here, and how he wished you could stay longer.
Diluc even offered to walk you home, tediously not taking no for an answer, he reached down to take your hand and hold it the whole walk home.
Alhaitham was very closed off when he first met you, he was closed off with anyone in general. He found it strange that you always seemed to be there when he was thinking about you, and when his eyes would try and search a room in the akademiya for you.
He realized that something had to be done about this, so, he did what any other raging nerd would do, and researched about it.
You also found it odd when you'd see him looking at you from across the library, or holding the door open for you whenever you'd walking behind him. Alhaitham always seemed like the guy who only cared about his own, yet he was so evident in helping you out here and there.
Helping you when you'd be confused about a book, rewording your essays to make them better. Alhaitham seemed to want to assist you with almost everything. This was no different than today.
You found yourself back at the library looking down at a long-written parchment on the forest rangers' activities. Trying to figure out how you could make this work in the essay you were conducting on Sumeru's forest.
This was when you heard the chair scrap right next to you, and looked up from where you had originally been focused. Alhaitham took his seat next to you, slightly taking up more space than necessary with his manspreading.
"Do you need help with that? It looks like a longer report than usual for you."
"Longer than usual?" You shot back, "Are you saying that I'm not capable of reading this?" His eyes widened a bit and he instantly tried to retort his original statement. "No, no, I thought- Well- You know you usually read shorter reports in order to get more details. I didn't think you'd take something this large to account."
His confession made you smile, and you leaned in closer, "How'd you know how I like my reports?" At the response with your cheeky grin, a blush formed on his cheeks before he looked away.
"Scholars are supposed to be attentive, it's natural to know a few things you prefer in order to work best with you."
The response he sent back your way caused you to roll your eyes and turn back to what you were originally doing. "To answer your question, no, I do not need help, but thank you for offering."
That didn't seem to make him budge, because he kept sitting there watching you copy down and write words from the book.
"You misspelled climate."
The sound of a book colliding with his head echoed throughout the library.
Ayato enjoyed your company, a lot, so much that he seeks you out anytime he and his sister go down to festivals or strolls through the city. He always wanted to start up a conversation with you, and if anyone else walked by anytime he'd be down there, Ayato would be right next to you listening with a smile at whatever you said.
Ayaka loved you too and found it amusing that her brother was so interested in you. She often found herself trying to spark up conversations with you, asking if her older brother proposed yet in a joking manner.
You laughed it off, Ayato was nice but you were sure he had other rich and important people to concern his love life with. He was just a very nice man to talk with here and there, and you didn't seem to notice that you were one of the few he'd actually seek out.
That was, until, every time he saw you, he came with some form of jewelry or expensive item to give you. Asking you how your day was, what you were doing, and if you wanted to come to spend some time up at the estate with him.
"What about Ayaka?" You said with a tilt of your head in confusion. He smiled back and said, "I'm sure she'd rather stay down here and explore more of the shops.
Ayaka would have loved to come along, but before she could even turn around, the two of you were already heading back up to the estate.
He catered to you, made sure you were comfortable, and even asked if you'd like anything from his personal chefs. It was a bit much to handle, seeing as you weren't used to living so luxurious, but he was very nice about it all and understood.
The catering didn't stop after that day either, more and more people began to wonder why the Kamisato siblings were spending so much more time outside their palace. Ayaka once mentioned that you loved a certain color, and the next day Ayato was handing you a box with that color, and a necklace with the pearl containing that color too.
He even found himself marching over to you when he saw someone speaking to you in a more flirtatious matter. Moving next to you and asking if everything was alright while his hand wrapped around your own.
#ayato imagines#diluc imagines#alhaitham imagines#zhongli imagines#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact imagines#zhongli x reader#ayato x reader#alhaitham x reader#diluc x reader
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dreaming of a nose job lmao
#rambling in the tags as usual so. read more w caution girls#but like once again i saw my side profile and i look just like my dad who.. well hes a shitty person who did shitty things#my hair colour is identical too so that just adds to it#but reality is i hate myself because of my nose. ive hated it ever since i was 7 and i always hid behind my long hair#but i *want* to cut it short because its a constant source of dysphoria. i want to look neutral but everyone assumes im a woman#but i can't. i just fucking cannot. i have so many things i hate about my face id go up in flames the second i saw my reflection#and like my nose doesnt have bumps. its just too fucking long and high and well. just like my dads#some days i just want to smash my fucking nose in to maybe change the shape#ive already accepted my fate with the horrible acne scarring covering like 25% of my body but i cannot get over looking like my dad#its just too much and i fucking trigger myself constantly by looking in the mirror and seeing his face staring back#thank gosh i did not inherit his blue eyes. id go insane#but in conclusion i hate my face and i hate my dad. and i hate how i look like him#legit i could afford a nose job if i didnt loan money to everyone in my family (no intention of paying it back)#i think ive given them about ~5000€ in the last years and idk that might cover a nose job but. surprise bitch youre broke#PLUS my nose is so fucking long that it distracts me constantly because i can *see* it 24/7. i dont have to pay attention to it#its just there hindering my vision lmao#to delete#tw#hi if you read this
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Oh no now I'm thinking about the Fourth and the Fifth again and how Jod's awful colonial space feudalism poisons everything.
You are four or five years old. Maybe you're Isaac and you never knew your dad, only that he died at enemy hands in some far flung campaign and six years later you were made to ensure an heir for the baronetcy. Or you're Jeannemary and your mother defied orders, went beyond the rim, and jumped on a grenade. If either of you have surviving parents, they're not considered sufficiently important in this great process of ensuring a suitable heir with a suitable cavalier to keep you. There is no Baron until Isaac comes of age, and the leader of a House needs to be properly trained. You are four or five years old, and you are sent away.
You're five year old Jeannemary. You're not yet sworn to your necromancer, but you've been promised to him since birth and you've been sent away from your planet and your siblings to serve him. You are your generation's Chatur and this is your purpose. And when the cavalier primary of the House you have been sent to sees a little child struggling to see over the table at a reception and props you up with a cushion, you challenge him to a duel. You don't understand why all the adults are laughing. Your honour and your necromancer are all you have left of home. Far away, at the edge of the system, Harrowhark Nonagesimus decides that puppeting her parents' corpses as her House collapses around her is a better fate than yours. At night you are tucked into bed in a room that you don't have to share with any siblings and the man who is looking after you now reads to you from a book of adventure stories and strokes your hair until you fall asleep.
You're nine year old Isaac, swearing to be one flesh, one end with your cavalier in a foreign chapel on a foreign planet. You go to school. The woman who is not quite but almost your mother is helping you to discover spirit magic far beyond the thanergy fission you would have learned at home. She is teaching you to cook and to dance. She tells you that the parts of you which back home would have been considered flaws are your greatest strengths. You have friends and playmates who will never be on the front lines, whose parents write books or engrave stele or organise the bounty of empire from ledgers and transmitter boxes. You are loved and you love, but you are beginning to understand that love comes with a cost.
You are 13 year old Jeannemary. You are back on the Fourth and after last year's bombing you are now cavalier primary. As far as you are concerned, you are grown and ready to serve god and his empire. And you have been denied twice. You don't understand why the people who love you are going to such lengths to stop you from doing what you were born to do or why they have always looked so upset when glorious news comes from home about how someone you would have grown up with, had you not been sent away, has given the ultimate service to the empire. You are cavalier primary of the Fourth House and you fear you are still being propped up on cushions.
You are Isaac Tettares and you are Baron of a planet you spent most of your childhood away from. Everyone else your age long ago shipped out with the Junior Territorials. You are the Baron of a planet but you are not in charge and you have come to understand that your father wasn't in charge either. You love the closest thing you have to parents and they love you. You miss them terribly. You resent the fact that thanks to them you will never truly lead the Fourth. There is talk of a marriage alliance when you are older. You want to be family with them. You don't entirely believe you'll live long enough to marry him when you come of age. And if you do, your half Fifth children will be another crack in what's left of the Fourth House. You miss you dad's stupid jokes and your mum's earnest discussions. You're free of their meddling. You will never be free of their meddling.
You are Jeannemary and Isaac, properly off planet and on display as scion and cavalier for the first time, offered an unimaginable chance to serve god and his empire. You crave the security of your parents. You chafe at the idea that you might be perceived as children. But for a little while you are all together again. You are planning a party. You are making friends. You will all serve the empire together. Perhaps, when you are the fingers and gestures of god, none of these differences will matter any more.
They die horribly. And later so do you. God doesn't care.
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Who's the goose... (2)
...that's on the loose? GOOSETARION! The adventures of Astarion being turned into a goose continue. Will he behave or annoy someone so much that his delicate goose neck will be in danger?
PART 1 | MASTERLIST | AO3
Author's Note: So, here we are... with the second part to this unhinged little idea - I had a lot of fun writing this, although if I gotta write someone honking one more time... Well, I'd do it... This beautiful BEAUTIFUL artwork is once provided by the wonderful, beautiful and incredibly talented @azaani-art (you bless us, love! Thank you for allowing me to use this!). And also @the-littlest-raindrop - if you wanna read you'll know why I tagged you! Please all enjoy! I'm excited to hear what you all think!
Pairing: Goosetarion(Astarion)/GN!Tav (You)
Rating: Still stupid
Warnings: ankles in danger (you guys didn't think I'd be serious about this, right?)
Wordcount: 5k
~~~
The next morning the whole group sat around the giant wooden table in the main room of the inn. You were pretty sure you looked like you had slept in the gutter last night.
Beside you sat the goose, craning its neck at everyone at the table but for once pleasantly un-hoking. Even Goosetarion must have realised that honking the house down at this time of day would have probably gotten him his neck wrung faster than he could have jumped off the bench and waddled away. Or maybe it was lingering humiliation from when he had tried several times to jump up on the bench, fluttering his wings as if desperately trying to take flight. It had taken several more tries – and serious hissing from his side to bar you from just lifting him up onto the bench. And even when the goose had managed to get a high enough jump, it had face-planted onto the table nearly knocking itself out because it hadn’t anticipated the physics of the unfamiliarly long neck.
The others had to make a serious effort to not burst out laughing, but the violent threat in Goosetarion’s red eyes had shut them up quickly. Nobody really wanted to feel the goose’s wrath – or teeth for that matter.
Now you softly and absent-mindedly petted the animal with strokes from its head down to its back. Trying to make up for his hurting ego. The rump was very busy wiggling again.
You hadn’t slept awfully much last night as could have been expected. Of course, you had taken Goosetarion to your shared room. The staff at the inn had at first protested. But the fact that the others had quickly jumped in to declare the animal your “emotional support goose” and the fact that you really almost had started crying right then and there had been convincing enough to allow the goose in your room. Although you were of course given some serious side-eyes. But you couldn’t care less about people’s opinions at the moment.
You had sat down Astarion in your room, removed your armour and had sat down on the bed, sinking down against the headboard, face buried in your hands. Your feelings had still been very much on the verge of overflowing leaving you in a state of emptiness and tension all at the same time.
Only when you had heard some rumbling and strained croaks did you realise that you kind of had forgotten Goosetarion. But when you had opened your eyes, you already saw how the goose was hopping up on the bedframe and dragging itself up on the mattress with its wings, making what would have possibly been laborious groans normally. It wasn’t exactly graceful, but you were impressed, nonetheless.
Astarion wandered over to where you sat with drawn up legs and then jumped onto your lap without hesitation. Some struggle followed in which the two of you tried to get comfortable on the bed. Which resulted in you getting whacked in the face by Goosetarion’s splayed wings several times and him face-planting onto your chest about an equal amount of times while trying to move around, losing balance.
Finally, when you had all settled down, Goosetarion had been all cosied up on your lap and made a small honk while looking at you.
You had started stroking him again.
“I’m so sorry this happened, Astarion, but to be honest, you really had it coming.”
“Honk!?”
“Because you don’t just go around trying to steal from anyone who looks at you funny!”
“Honk!”
“Let’s just… hope this will all be over soon. I promise I’ll protect you and take care of you – no matter what.” You had embraced the goose, burying your face in its feathers for a moment and deeply wished that soon it would be your vampire again.
Goosetarion had carefully placed his small head on your shoulder and given a very soft little honk. The weight on your shoulder had been so light it had barely been noticeable at all.
And that is how you had slipped into your dreams sometime: Sitting up against the headboard, goose on your lap. Your head had fallen back in an awkward angle that probably hadn’t been healthy for your neck. And the goose had been mirroring you with its long neck and head fallen back on your shoulder. Surely a sleeping position no real goose had ever occupied.
But now you sat at the inn table having breakfast and talked with the others about what your plans for the day were. It was to be more walking and talking to people.
You were rather relieved because that meant that you wouldn’t have to think too much about how to take care of the goose. You’d just have him tag along and try your best to stop him from biting anyone’s ankles or getting his neck twisted.
The group set off once everyone had finished eating. You swung your legs over and got up. Astarion eagerly jumped down from the bench and honked at you demandingly, immediately earning a hush from Gale and a tchk from Lae’zel. The goose wasn’t bothered by it, just kept looking at you, now spreading its wings a little. He honked again. It was obvious he wanted to be carried and was very demanding about it.
“Is that your definition of asking nicely to be lifted up? Because if yes, you need to work on your attitude”, you scolded him while deep down you were surprised how the vampire so blatantly dared to hold on to his desire to be petty and sassy.
Another honk – challenging now. The goose glowered at you, for lack of a better description, and you glowered back.
Then you just walked off, following the others which had already left the inn. And you were swift. Leaving no choice to the goose but having to waddle behind you as fast as his rubbery feet would go or risk being left behind.
You gave in pretty quickly afterwards. And if only because Lae’zel was almost already losing her mind about how slow you were going to be with the goose walking beside you.
Goosetarion willingly and humbly let himself be lifted and carried around then without another complaint. Actually, you got the feeling he was getting a bit too used to that already.
“Enjoying the luxury of being carried around by your loved one, Astarion?”, Halsin asked the goose a while after you had left the inn and walked around the city. Goosetarion had stretched out his head and looked at his surroundings curiously and cautiously from his privileged position.
At the question the goose’s head – which was comically staying in place despite the walking movements – had swung around and the question had been answered with a short honk that you could only describe as sassy. Then Goosetarion had angled his head in a way that was way too much Astarion in nature than should have been possible. The druid laughed while you saw that Gale shook his head disapprovingly.
You squeezed the goose just a little: “Well, don’t get used to it, Astarion, this is a once in a lifetime occurrence.”
In reply you got a honk that sounded like a pout.
The first half of the day then was spent just like yesterday: tiresomely walking around, trying to strike up conversations with strangers to get some information without being too suspicious. Which was kind of a challenge when you were carrying around a goose that had to comment on almost everything despite no one fully knowing what it wanted to say.
Around noon you decided to take a break. You picked out what seemed to be a market place in full swing and settled down around the fountain in the middle. Each and every one of you had grabbed something from the market stalls to eat – pies, fruit, Karlach had even gone for a portion of spit roast.
At one of the stalls a huge-bellied man in a very grimy apron had way to keenly asked for how much you would sell the goose. Goosetarion’s head had yanked straight upwards, and he had immediately started to scream bloody murder (in goose) while you had turned him away in your arms – away from this shady looking merchant. Panic immediately had shot through you and your eyes had widened as you yanked the goose away and as far out of reach as possible.
“The goose is not for sale”, you had screamed hysterically in response.
“Unfortunate, how much good does it do if you’re only carrying it around? You all a bunch of leaf-eaters or what? This could be a nice dinner for my whole family!”, the man had yapped, obviously angry by your unwillingness to negotiate. You’d had your doubts about the family claim. Especially since you had seen the very suspicious looking dishes he seemingly had had to offer at his stall. They had all looked rank and the longer you’d stood there you’d also smelled their foulness. You hadn’t even dared to think about how old these must be.
“Istik, the bird is not for sale!”, Lae’zel had entered the conversation and drawn a dagger, taking a threatening step towards the huge man.
The other companions each all had taken up readied stances too – hands not too casually wandering to their weapons and stepping in front of you and Goosetarion in protection.
And thankfully, it had been left at that. The man lifting up his hands in defence as he had mumbled something incoherent and turned around again. Astarion had honked once more in victory (as if he had contributed to anything) and waved his head that would have normally swept his white curls back. As a goose it had just looked a bit delusional.
Now you sat on the cobblestone ground with Goosetarion on your lap. You had already gotten into a routine it seemed, it was awkwardly comforting. But somewhen when you were still nibbling on some apples and cheese, the goose wiggled off your lap. It seemed he was bored by just sitting around. Or maybe it was also that all of the group happily munching away had made him think of his own hunger that he was currently unable to satisfy.
He eyed the rim of the fountain suspiciously while everyone was busy chatting and eating. Only out of the corner of your eye did you see how he spread out his wings, his neck stretched out and started swinging – almost like a cat preparing to make a big leap somewhere.
Was he… was he trying to fly?
The goose made a leap, desperately flapped its wings and just for a tiny moment actually seemed to gain some air. But the moment passed as soon as it began and Goosetarion full on crashed into Lae’zel who had just gotten back from also buying a portion of spitroast. The githyanki had only just sat down when the goose fell onto her, almost causing her to drop her food.
Lae’zel immediately had her dagger out that - not so long ago- had been used to protect the same goose it was threatening now. The githyanki cussed out the animal that darted back to the safety of your lap much faster than you could have imagined. With desperate honking the goose jumped on your lap and tried to even climb up onto your shoulders. Lae’zel was still cursing and stepping closer, dagger in hand.
“Astarion! Lae’zel!”, you both called them out.
Goosetarion gave self-righteous honk while the fighter reluctantly sheathed her dagger again and went back to her lunch.
“And you are getting off my godsdamned shoulders, you silly goose, you’re too heavy!”, you added with some anger as Goosetarion was just about to figure out an even more privileged position. You shoved him off, causing him to croak in disappointment. And you made a point to ignore the annoying goose for some time after that, joining the conversation of the others – parenting measures.
So, Goosetarion got bored again with simply sitting around, waiting for you lot to get going again. He started to waddle around you and the other companions – as if he was deep in thought and tried to sort them out by wandering back and forth.
At one point a small child came by and interrupted him by pointing at him, loudly screaming “DUCKY” and then toddled away again. Goosetarion looked taken aback, honked in confusion and annoyance and then went back to his wandering.
Jaheira and you were discussing an action plan as to where to go next since you had the most knowledge of the city. Actually, Astarion would probably have had valuable input. But getting that input across was a bit difficult at the moment. He tried nonetheless.
The goose loudly honked when Jaheira proposed something and shook his head in a comical way then started to flail around his wings. The flailing and honking really did nothing though to get his point across. When Goosetarion noticed that you were all just staring at him in confusion he even looked like he was attempting to perform a face-palm. Then he gave up with another defeated honk.
The small child from before chose this particular moment when everyone was still staring at the goose to return. It was carrying quite a large piece of bread and from a few feet away hurled it at Goosetarion whose back was towards the child. “FOR DUCKY!”, it screamed while putting all its power into the throw.
Apparently at this young age the child was not yet very proficient with improvised throwing weapons because the throw went absolutely awry. Or rather, the child was in fact a prodigy because the piece of bread hit the goose squarely in the back of its head, making it squeak and lose balance.
The kid just laughed giddily and clapped its hands, hopping up and down. Obviously, it was expecting the “duck” to happily devour the generous offering of food now.
Goosetarion regained his balance quickly and turned around. He was dangerously silent.
You immediately felt the tension radiating from the small body, so you carefully got up. To be ready for whatever.
The goose stared down the child who was still jumping around cheerfully. But the longer “DUCKY” just stared at it, not moving, just with a lot of fury in its tiny red eyes, it realised that something was wrong. The kid calmed down until it looked downright frightened. You saw the child’s bottom lip starting to wobble, ready to start crying at any moment.
And then Goosetarion stormed towards the child, big wings spread wide, neck stretched out as far as possible and screaming as loud as his lungs allowed.
The kid started screaming as well and desperately tried to run away, almost stumbling over its own feet in the attempt to not get assaulted by the vicious goose.
You rushed after the murderous animal, trying to get to it before it could brutalise the child’s ankles. And thankfully Astarion was still not very adept to running around as a goose and you could easily catch up to him and grab him.
He desperately flapped his wings trying to free himself from your arms while still honking like mad. Your ears almost immediately started ringing. Incredible how much anger could fit into such a tiny body.
The child was already long gone and probably traumatised for life by this oversized duck trying to hunt it down. But Goosetarion was still livid even when you picked him up while holding him as far away from you as possible to avoid getting whacked by him again.
“Astarion, will you calm the fuck down?”, you yelled in between angry honking. You yourself were getting more than just annoyed by his behaviour – first he got himself into this pickle and now he caused even more chaos instead of sitting it out. There definitely was something to be said about the chaotic nature of geese and the vampire rogue fitting very well together.
The rest of the group had been watching the scene. Gale had his face buried in his hands. Most of the rest was at least silently snickering while Karlach was just very openly losing it again.
You sat the angry goose down on the stone rim of the fountain in an attempt to force him to calm down. “Time out, Astarion, godsdammit! Either you behave or I might be thinking about selling your poultry ass off, yet!”, you gave him the ultimatum and pointed a finger at him angrily.
He tried to snap at it. You could barely believe the audacity.
“For someone with so much neck to wrangle at the moment you should really be careful about who you piss off, Astarion”, Wyll said who was casually leaning against the fountain.
The goose stared at him. But Wyll just shrugged.
“Are we going to be nice now?”, you asked Goosetarion. The gaze of the red button eyes wandered back to you. The goose gave one more, curt honk, then settled down in a manner that made you think it would have crossed its wings over its chest in annoyed defeat had it been able to do so.
You stared at him angrily for a moment longer then went back to eating your scrawny lunch and talking with the others. You kept talking about different possible ideas on how to go forward. The goose meanwhile was brooding while sitting on the rim of the round fountain.
After a while, it seemed Goosetarion had enough of being well behaved and only listening while not being able to throw in his snide comments. He hopped off the fountain wall, specifically choosing Gale’s lap as a landing pad and making the wizard wince while the goose jumped off him and sauntered away.
He wandered around a little and honked dismissively when you told him to not to go too far. But for the moment you were already so fed up with him you really couldn’t care less.
The group finished up their lunch and decided on their plan. Then you all packed up your things and were ready to leave. And only then did you notice that the goose was nowhere to be found.
“Astarion?”, you asked and looked around. Some of the others had already started walking again.
“Was he not just wandering off towards some of the market stalls?”, Halsin asked. You simply nodded as you started looking around with rising panic.
“Yes, but I… I mean he wouldn’t have just left, right?”, you said as you ran from side to side and hoped to spot a feisty goose somewhere. You screamed his name again in hopes to get a honk in response. But nothing.
“You don’t think he would have wandered off just to spite us, right?”, you asked Halsin again. The druid in the meantime had shouted to the others to stop and come back.
“As much as I think that he likes to get on people’s nerves deliberately… I don’t think he would walk off and jeopardize his own safety – so no”, Shadowheart replied as she came back and caught on to what was happening.
“Well, then where could the little rascal have gone?”, Karlach asked in response.
A thought raced through your mind when she said that, and it hit you as you looked at Karlach.
“The suspicious merchant!”, you exclaimed and panic reached new heights within you.
“Let me just”, Gale started when he connected the dots and immediately started murmuring an incantation. Meanwhile the group had reassembled at the fountain and quickly was informed about what was happening. You stared at the wizard as he had gone silent and impatiently awaited the result of whatever it was he was doing.
The wizard’s eyes had lit up and he was focusing. Then his eyes flashed back to normal, his eyes found yours, worry flashing in them: “I feel him, he’s moving – quickly. And I’m pretty sure that is not goose speed.”
Your eyes widened when Gale confirmed your suspicion. You looked around at the others who mirrored your expression and without out a word you all readied to take on the pursuit.
“This way”, the wizard exclaimed with an outstretched arm, and you all started running.
You ran through the market and then through the streets of Baldur’s Gate, following whatever direction Gale gave you who was quickly out of breath but did his best to carry on.
You were already almost back at Wyrm’s Crossing – the houses a lot smaller and simpler here than the townhouses in the core city. And surely after a few minutes you could make out desperate honking somewhere in front of you. You closed in on the goose-napper!
When it seemed, you were only a corner away you already reached for your dagger – ready to do whatever it might take - but Wyll grabbed your hand. “Let’s be clever about this, let’s not risk that delicate goose neck being broken”, he said to you with a sympathetic glance. Reluctantly, you put back your dagger, at least for the time being.
You peeked around the corner and sure as all Nine Hells you saw the full-bellied man from earlier with a wiggling, struggling and screaming goose under his arms turn another corner. From there on out you followed the villain with some distance to avoid him noticing your little rescue party.
You followed him up to a little free-standing wooden house. It was old and shabby and made you further suspicious of him. What kind of shady business could someone possibly be up to in there?
You saw how he was putting some stuff down in front of the porch of the house, then went inside with the screaming animal still under his arm.
Again, you were ready to just go and immediately tear this house down. You were almost blind with your fear and worry for Astarion and with white-hot rage. But again, Wyll grabbed your arm and made a motion that conveyed that you should walk around the house.
Very impatiently you nodded, and you all snuck around the house which was barely a step up from a shack. From the inside you could actually hear the excessive honking of the goose now. Your heart almost broke and your body was tense with rash panic.
On the rear side of the house was a scruff garden fenced in by a rundown fence and a small wooden stump. It was almost an insult to even call it a garden; it was more of an abandoned plot.
It looked like the stump there was used for chopping wood. An axe was planted in the ground beside it. But there were also dark stains on it that could only make you horridly guess what else might be chopped there.
Wyll – taking over the role as tactician right then and there – made you wait while you were almost ready to scale a wall. At least by the excessive continued honking you still knew that Goosetarion was alive.
Wyll’s patience and insistence paid off because after mere minutes, the man came out of the house again, carrying the goose, some stuff in a basket hanging from his arm and of course – a ginormous cleaver.
Your heart dropped and the goose too now looked just very scared and helpless with how it hung from the goose-napper’s arm. Head hanging low, seemingly having given up all hope of being saved. You drew an arrow and readied at on your bow as Wyll waved the others to get in position.
The man slammed the cleaver into the wooden block and then with both hands placed down the goose on its back. The animal was barely even struggling anymore, just fearfully squeaking and noticing that almost broke your heart completely in these frightful moments.
The villain then ripped out the cleaver from the wooden stump and lifted it up high. You could see the sunlight glint on the shabby silver.
Wyll was still motioning everyone to hold but your strings snapped.
“GET AWAY FROM THE GOOSE!”, you screamed at full lung capacity while loosening the arrow from your bow string simultaneously.
The man hesitated and had only started to turn to you as the arrow struck him squarely in the shoulder holding the cleaver.
He immediately dropped the lifted knife with a guttural scream, letting it fall. It land on the wooden stump again – missing the goose’s head by mere inches. You only saw how the goose’s head dropped back with a small relieved honk, almost as if it had fainted shortly because of the shock.
Then absolute chaos broke out.
You all rushed towards the man who was screaming in pain and was already pulling at the arrow in his shoulder. Your eyes were solely on the goose but then Halsin, Karlach and most of the others overtook you and you lost sight of the animal as your friends stormed onto the man.
Coincidentally, some other shady looking folk came out of the back of the house, alarmed by the commotion. Your suspicions and gut feeling were confirmed then. You didn’t need to know anymore at this point, you had no mercy in your bones for them in this moment.
The thugs engaged your group in combat. In the meantime, you were desperately trying to spot the goose while your friends easily managed to keep the enemies in check.
Finally, you spotted Goosetarion! He had jumped off the wooden stump and seemingly had gotten into the basket the man had been carrying. And obviously the basket had contained some more knives because the goose was now firmly holding one in his beak. Astarion certainly had gotten out of his stupor and was now flailing his wings and threatened everyone with the blade he was carrying – everyone’s ankles were definitely in grave danger. Almost no difference from the usual rogue.
Your group easily fought off the thugs as you sneaked through the chaos of the battle towards the goose to grab and secure it. When the goose saw you, it hopped happily and dropped the knife to honk joyfully at you. You rushed over, kneeled down and wrapped him in your arms as he kept honking and jumping – obviously very relieved that you came to his rescue.
The fight was very quickly turning to your favour. But then as you kept holding onto the poor little animal you heard something else. You couldn’t quite discern it at first, but you heard loud screaming. And as you tried to peek through the legs of everyone around you, you saw some people in armour coming closer.
“City watch”, you whispered to yourself. Goosetarion’s head swung around as well and he gave another honk as he saw what you saw.
“CITY WATCH”, you yelled louder so everyone would hear.
That made almost everyone stall. You quickly got up and wildly gestured at your friends to just get going. So they did – and the fight turned into running from city guards way quicker than you thought it possible.
You didn’t even take one look back at the assailants and the goose-napper. You were just completely happy with running away with your goose soulmate safely in your arms. The adrenaline of the fight and the panic before almost awarding you wings. The only reason you took a look back was to make sure that all of your group were safely with you.
When you had brought what you thought was a safe distance between you and your pursuers, you just sank to the ground with Goosetarion wrapped securely in your arms. You nuzzled your face into his feathers and started crying.
The last day had literally been too much for you. You were in desperate need of a break and some strong alcohol. Someone put their hand on your shoulder as you cried into Astarion’s feathering. You softly slid down against the rough brick wall you were leaning against until you were laying on your back, completely dissolved in your tears. You were still burying your face when even through your closed eyelids you could see a purple flash of light and suddenly the weight laying on top of you was much heavier than before.
You opened your eyes and almost didn’t believe them when you saw Astarion – the real elven Astarion lay on top of you. Reflexively your arms and legs wrapped around the man to hold him as close as possible.
“Oh gods”, was the only thing you managed to mutter as more tears kept coming. The vampire in turn wrapped his arms around you as well. He was panting and coughing – surely a response of straining his voice with all the excessive honking. You rolled around in your forceful hug until you were laying on top of the former goose.
And then you just stayed like this for a long moment while your friends watched out for you and gave you two a moment of just holding each other. Making sure everything was fine and letting the realisation settle in.
You buried your face at Astarion’s shoulder and held him as tightly as your body allowed.
“Hello, my love”, Astarion whispered hoarsely to you as he started to softly caress your shoulders, arms and back.
You sobbed and lifted your head from his shoulder. You saw how he softly smiled at you and that his red eyes were dangerously wet as well as he kept holding onto you.
You didn’t know what to say nor did you trust your mind enough to form coherent sentences yet. You were just unbelievably happy that you had him back with you. So you just stared at the humanoid vampire again and didn’t let go of him.
“Honk?”, Astarion made in an attempt to stop you from crying by cracking a joke. You whacked his arm and pulled him in closer again. Then you whacked his arm again.
“If you’re ever going to honk at me again-“, you started making a threat.
“I’ll happily promise you not to”, Astarion immediately replied, pressed his forehead to yours and cupped your face with one of his hands – graciously reminding you that he was fully back with you again.
And then he pressed his lips to yours, confirming the promise he had just made to you.
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#astarion#astarion x tav#baldurs gate#baldurs gate 3#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate iii#astarion x reader#astarion x mc#baldurs gate astarion#astarion x oc#astarion x you#fanfiction#astarion ancunin#bg3 spoilers#tav#bg3#goosetarion#neil newbon#halsin#bg3 companions#wyll#wyll ravengard#bg3 wyll#lae'zel#shadowheart#jaheira#karlach#gale#gale of waterdeep#goostarion
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Jungkook
𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 | Christmas
Feelings become warmer as the weather outside gets colder.
Tags/Warnings: Aged up!Jungkook, Younger!Reader, Age Gap (9 years, JK is mentioned to be 34/35), Angst, Mature romance, Jungkook's ex wife, fluff, flirty Jungkook, fluff!!, smut, Mutual masturbation, my heart is so full
Length: 4k words (oops)
There is no taglist for this fic.
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If you ask Jungkook what he’d like for Christmas, won’t the surprise be ruined?
Then again, what if he genuinely doesn’t want anything from you for such an intimate occasion? You’re not really the textbook definition of a couple after all, the dreaded ‘L’ word having never been spoken, so maybe that’s moving too quickly too soon.
Maybe just some sweets? But he seems rather conscious about his physique, maybe he won’t eat it because it doesn’t fit his diet or something. Wait, does he even diet? How come you never thought about that?
You whine loudly in your apartment, letting your head fall into your arms on the table as your laptop offers you no advice on what to do these days. Every question that’s similar to you always includes the mention of a sugar daddy situation or whatnot, or their partners are more than twenty years apart in age, and that’s just not your problem. Jungkook isn’t.. really your sugar daddy or anything. Sure he's been paying your rent, but he’s been doing that because he wants to- you’re offering him nothing in return, and neither does he ask for something.
What are you two, really?
Is he getting you something for Christmas? He seems awfully busy these days after having returned to work from his accident, despite doctor's advice to rest a few days longer. You’re not sure why he was so eager, but you guess that that’s just who he is.
You could ask Taehyung, but that guy could never keep a secret even if held at gunpoint. One stern look from his friend and he’d spill your plan, you’re sure of it- so who else could you ask?
You wonder if Evelyn ever got him anything for Christmas. You’d love to know just to have at least some sort of measurement to go for- but then again, maybe that’s not the best idea to get inspiration from his ex wife.
Something’s heard from your bathroom. You frown.
The moment you open it, water greets you- old washing machine having given up for real now this time, as it’s got just about half an hour left of the current program running, water seeping out from the side of the door. You quickly shut it off, ripping the plug out from the socket on the wall to at least not make an even worse mess, socks soaking up the soapy smelling water.
Great.
At least your mind’s been taken off of your earlier predicament by that.
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Jungkook sighs as he leans back in his office chair, reading over the schedules and meetings again and again. He needs to make sure everything’s alright before he announces his plans to the rest of the company, not wanting to cause trouble for the new year just because of his own selfish reasons.
His secretary brings in a few signed documents, smiling kindly. “everyone’s on board with the dates.” She offers, and Jungkook nods, taking the documents to check the signatures.
“Thank you. Could you file them for me?” he asks, and she nods as always, taking them back.
“and, your uhm.. Miss Evelyn is in the lobby again, asking for you.” She cringes out a smile, making Jungkook groan in dramatized pain as he throws his head back, flinching a bit from the sudden move.
“What the hell does she want?” He whines, making his secretary send him a shrug.
“she refused to tell, as always.” She sighs. “demanded to see you.”
“And I’m about to demand a restraining order..” he mumbles to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “send her up. We both know she’s not going to leave on her own accord.” He waves off, and his secretary bows politely before she disappears out of his office.
The second Evelyn enters, he’s feeling odd again. Like he’s just even more agitated to see her than normal.
“Why did you change the pass code on our apartment?” she demands to know, and Jungkook frowns harshly at that.
“Because you no longer live there, nor have any right to enter.” He explains. “what were you doing there in the first place?”
“You said I could have my Christmas party there?” she huffs, crossing her arms.
“I said that last year, because I was not in the country anyways. “ He sighs.
“so?” she wonders, caught off guard.
“so?” He parrots. “this year I’m spending Christmas home. And I no longer need the apartment- its been up for sale since June.”
“But I need it? And you shouldn’t be alone on Christmas anyways, you could’ve attended the party.” She says, walking closer now. “I know we no longer-“
“Who said I’m spending it alone?” He asks, arms crossed to block her off, leaving back in his office chair. “Evelyn, I’ve moved on. You should do the same.”
“You can’t be serious with that kid.” She scoffs. “Jungkook do you know how ridiculous you look? They’re talking about you, you know?” she complains.
“who? Your friends?” He asks. “as if they didn’t talk about me before.”
“That’s different.” She shakes her head. “You’re in your late thirties, Jungkook. She’s what, twenty? Is she even legal?” she laughs, but Jungkook doesn’t bite the bait.
She’s got no business with you.
“I can assure you that our relationship is that of two consenting adults.” He makes sure to pronounce. “and what I do or who I’m doing what with, is none of your business, and it hasn’t been since we divorced. A choice that you happily agreed to, might I add.” He says, hitting a sore spot for her. “I ask you to leave me alone one last time, Evelyn.”
“or what.” She sneers, leaning on his table now.
“the next time you overstep a boundary, no matter which, I will be speaking to you through legal means.” He simply answers. “if I can’t get through you, maybe my lawyer can.” He shrugs off.
“Jungkook I know we ended on not so great terms, but this is stupid.” She begs. “I told you we could try again-“
“Evelyn I’m in a relationship with this woman because I want to, not because I’m in some strange crisis over the loss of you.” He hisses. “not everything is always about you, get it through your head.” He shakes his head, before he gets up to open the door of his office. “and now leave. Or I will have someone help you with that.”
It's quiet, even some of the staff outside looking anxiously as to what’s about to happen, when Evelyn walks into the doorframe.
“I hope you come to your senses soon.” She sighs, disappointed. “before you hurt another woman.” She says, before she leaves, heels loud on the floor as they disappear along with her, leaving him to close his office, and sit back down.
He's not hurting you. He’d never.
He knows he’s been very lenient with Evelyn even long after they divorced, but that was because he truly didn’t care anymore. It didn’t matter, but these days, it does. He doesn’t want her in his life anymore, because that spot she was taking up is now filled with you-
And you fit it so much better than her.
He takes his phone out to call you- a strange urgency inside of him to hear your voice right now as the call is sent out, waiting to be picked up by you. When you do, you sound out of breath. “Hey.” You say, and he chuckles.
“You sound busy.” He greets. “is it a bad time?” He asks, and you don’t answer for a second.
“A little? Not really.” You sigh. “honestly I could use the distraction.” You laugh.
“What’s wrong?” He wonders, signing out of his work laptop.
“my washing machine broke. There’s soap everywhere!” You whine. “my apartment smells like a laundry service.” You complain.
“Is it bad?” He asks, shutting the lid of his laptop. “I can come over in like, half an hour and help you clean up. Did you turn it off?” He worries, getting up to walk over and turn off the AC.
“Yeah I.. pulled the plug in a panic.” You answer. “and no, it’s not… that bad, just my bathroom flooded, it’s already draining.” You sigh. “don’t worry.”
“Hm, too late.” He teases. “I’ll come over as soon as I get out of here, okay?” He asks.
“Alright, but I’m not letting you do much anyways.” You say. “I’m still upset you went to work already.”
“I know.” He agrees, looking out the tall windows for a moment. “thank you for worrying about me.”
It’s quiet for a moment, and he’s wondering if you hung up- when you answer, softly.
“of course.” You say. “that’s what.. you know.. people like us do.” You say.
“people like us?” He wonders.
“Yeah. People who.. like each other.” You tell him.
“I think our feelings extend that of.. liking a little, don’t you think?” He chuckles.
“Maybe?” You ask. “I’m not sure. Like, I feel.. a lot more than just like I like you, but, you know..”
“I’ve not been very clear, haven’t I.” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m.. a bit out of practice you could say.” He apologizes.
“No, no its fine.” You wave him off. “just… we’ll figure it out, I’m sure.” You encourage- both of you, in a way.
“I’m sure of that too.” He agrees. “text me what you’d like to eat later. I’ll pick up some food on the way over to you.” He offers.
“Will you stay over?” You wonder.
“Do you want me to?” He asks.
“…yes.” You answer, for the first time actually requesting something from him. “I want you to stay.” You say, and he can feel his heart beat faster, louder.
“Then I’ll stay.” He answers.
Unaware that after you end the call, you’re squealing into your hands like a teenage girl, while he hides his face behind his own hand, a little overwhelmed by it all.
This truly feels like love.
⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──💜── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅
“The sealing around the door has become loose.” Jungkook mentions as he inspects the old machine for what might’ve caused the soapy disaster, sleeves of his white button up rolled up to his elbows as he finds the issue. “You can just buy a new one, but to be honest, I’d rather you have an entirely new machine.” He shakes his head, leaning back on his heels where he sits on the bathroom floor. “this thing is over ten years old.”
“But they’re expensive..” you huff. “and it’s still working though?” You wonder.
“Sure, but it’s not efficient. It’s too costly to run it.” He shrugs. “what you’re saving in not getting a new one, you basically throw out every time you use it.” He explains. “I’ll buy you a new one, it’s really no big deal.” Jungkook offers as he gets up, moving to dry his hands with a towel. “For now you can wash your stuff at my house. I don’t mind at all.”
You wonder. Does he really not mind?
You’ve only spent a little less than a week at his house, but it felt a little strange. Like he was a guest in his own home the entire time. He didn’t know where certain things were, other stuff like cooking utensils seemed way too new to be used.
“What’re you thinking about?” He wonders, walking up to you to move your hands, lifting them onto his shoulders in a request to have you hug him. His own palms find their resting place on your waist, swaying you a little to the slow beat of the TV playing a Christmas commercial.
“Nothing.” You deny, hands moving to play with the short hairs on his neck.
“liar.” He accuses. “What’s on your mind?”
“Christmas?” You burst out, before you shake your head, Jungkook looking at you a bit confused. “I- I mean, do you want to.. maybe spend, you know, a day of Christmas with me?” You ask, meekly so, averting eye contact. “we could I don’t know.. bake something or..” fuck, you think. Baking?! How childish is that-
“I’d love to.” He answers, an oddly shy grin on his face as he looks at you with eyes sparkling. “I’ve never done that before.” He admits.
“never?” You ask, and he shakes his head. “what do you.. how do you usually spend Christmas?” You ask, and he shrugs.
“I don’t.”
What?
“Evelyn held her Christmas parties, but I’m not a very social guy. So I usually worked during the holidays to escape the whole trouble.” He chuckles.
“Oh.” You simply say, unsure now. You didn’t really think about the possibility of him not wanting to celebrate Christmas at all.
“But, I’d like to have a.. quiet Christmas.” He says suddenly, stepping closer to you. “with you.”
“Oh?” You wonder, finding his gaze again.
“If you’ll have me, that is.” He shrugs. “I’m not upset if you say it’s.. too fast too soon.”
Your lips part-
Before you laugh, tearfully, hiding in his chest as you begin to cry a little. He’s not sure what’s wrong, all he can offer a hand in your back as he lets you calm down.
“I’m sorry- I don’t know why I’m crying.” You laugh, wiping your eyes. “its just- I was.. I was thinking the same. The whole week.” You confess, tired of keeping it all in. “I was stressing- I want to, I want to do so many things now because I feel like I finally have a person to do them with, but I’m worried I might be doing too much now and-“
“Hey.” He says, helping you breathe for a second as he holds your face, cheeks in his palms. “Thank you so much.” He answers.
“..what?” You wonder, sniffling.
“For telling me. For.. trusting me.” He simply answers, wiping your tears. “I thought christmas presents are meant to be given on the 24th?” He chuckles, and you laugh along.
“I was actually wondering what to get you.. if you even want anything..” you shrug, looking down now.
“it really doesn’t matter.” He confesses. “You can simply.. spend that day with me, and I’m happy.”
“But, can I give you a present?” you ask, and he nods.
“if you want to, of course.” He accepts. “I.. actually have a bit of a confession of my own.” He laughs a bit shy now, sitting down on the couch with you. “I’ve worked a bit overtime. To.. do something special, not just for us, but the company as well.” He shrugs. “and you’re the main reason for it.
“Huh?” You wonder, as he opens his phone, showing some of his emails coming in.
All of them are replies to a Company schedule he’s sent out- and all of the preview texts are a variation of gratitude towards it.
“I’ve given most of the company the option to take the holidays off.” He says. “it’s not much- just the last two weeks of December, but.. it felt right.”
“How am I the reason for that?” You wonder.
“You made me realize that there’s.. things more important than work sometimes.” He shrugs, locking his phone to put it on the small coffee table. “I have so many fathers and mothers in my company. Just because I didn’t have children, or a family or just a single person to spend those days with, I never thought about them potentially needing those days off.” He shakes his head. "and if I take those days off to be with.. my own family, why not give them the option as well?” He offers. “it’s only Fair.”
“Do you never visit your parents?” You ask, unsure.
“not really. I didn’t want them to.. ask questions.” He chuckles. “when are the grandkids coming, why is your wife never here, all that.” He laughs. “Eve.. never visited my family much.”
“That sounds like she never really cared much about the holidays.” You mumble.
“She did.” Jungkook denies. “she just didn’t care about me.”
For a moment, you’re quiet- before you jump over your shadow, boldly leaning over to peck his lips, making him almost chase after you a little.
“Well, I care about you.” You confess-
And at that, he truly can’t help but lean over to kiss you properly, eagerly, to make up for the lack of words he’s able to find.
Whatever this is, he no longer cares. He just wants to keep it close, never lose it, bind you to him and have you sheltered in his own home to never have to face any bad things the world seems to throw your way ever again.
“I care about you too.” He breathes against your lips, keeping you close, hands on your waist happily welcoming you onto his lap. It’s the first time he’s seemingly demanding now- taking the upper hand as he encourages the movements of your hips grinding on him with a bit of hesitance.
He'd love to take you, right now, right here- but he also doesn’t have any protection with him.
Maybe he should always have one on hand when meeting you. His hunger is starting to grow with each time he has you, after all. “we don’t.. “ you breathlessly try and argue, as he leans hisnhead into the crook of your neck, kissing the skin. “I have no-“
“Figured.” He chuckles. “Do you want to stop?” He asks, leaning back to look at you.
“I mean.. we have to..” you shrug, and he can see the slight disappointment in your face as you try and adjust yourself.
“Not really.” He shrugs. “There’s more to sex than.. just that, after all.” He suggests, and you look at him, before your eyes can’t help but travel a bit, unsure. Of course he’d be more experienced than you- he’s got a lot more time to have been fooling around after all, and you’re not at all upset at that-
You’re just a bit.. pressured now. What if he thinks you’re boring if he realizes that your past sexual experiences have been.. standard at best?
“don’t feel like you have to.” He makes sure to tell you, and you nod.
“I do want to.” You confess, and even thought you can’t look at him, he still thinks it’s a huge step for you to even reveal this. “I just.. it’s like the Christmas situation, you know?” You shrug. “I want to do so much but, I also worry I might be overwhelming, or that I screw things up and then you got excited for nothing-“
“Hey.” He chuckles, holding your face in his hands again, pecking your lips. “let’s agree that we will probably not get everything right all the time.” He tells you. “we’ll both screw up. I’ll do something that going to make you upset, you’ll do something that’ll make me upset. That’s called living together.” He laughs. “But I’m convinced that we’ll figure it out.”
“Why?” You ask, looking at him- surprised to see his eyes swimming with emotions, not used to seeing him so vulnerable.
“Because I want to believe.” He answers, voice barely anything above a whisper.
And it makes you realize that it’s not just you who got attached. He’s obviously just as invested in you as you are in him, and maybe, just maybe, you’ve never really thought about that. About his worries, what he might fear, what he struggles with. For you, he’s always been that person who has full control over everything.
But can you control who you fall in love with?
“Then..” you adjust your position a little, before you start to play with the buttons of his shirt. “I’ll believe in it, too.”
The kiss you’re offering is gentle, it’s a promise given, and also something more than that. You’re giving yourself to him with this, trusting him to both care for you- but also accepting his trust to handle him with just as much care. You feel sorry for not understanding his situation sooner, but you do now- and it makes a lot of things look a lot less scary.
Living together means making mistakes. And loving each other means working through those mistakes.
You’re moved by his hands to sit on his thigh instead, hips moving over the muscles beneath his pants, while your hands have undone his shirt by now, causing him to shiver a bit, both from the cool touch of your fingers, but also from the gentle manner in which you treat him.
He feels valued. Cherished.
Loved.
The moment your hand undoes his belt to gain access to what’s beneath, his kisses grow more heated, needy almost, his own hands guiding your hips over his leg. But he needs more, moves your legs again to straddle him once more, one of his hands easily slipping into your underwear to find you more than just a little affected.
There’s frustration in him. A need.
He really needs to start carrying a condom around for situations like this.
And it’s obvious this stress is shared by you, if the expression you have and the way you shamelessly run into his fingers are anything to go by. But it’ll have to do, he doesn’t want to risk things, and considering that he’ll spend Christmas with you anyways, it’s not like this is the last time he’ll ever see you.
And he can’t deny that your hands make him feel good enough already.
Mostly because it’s yours that touch him- the emotional connection you both have established at this point making him feel even more sensitive to every form of affection you offer. He feels comfortable and frankly safe enough to let himself fall into your arms freely- trusting you enough that you’ll catch him, just as much as he’d always catch you.
Your hands aren’t even on him- his underwear still between your fingers and his very obvious election, and yet he’s sure he could cum from this alone. You’re clearly chasing your own high as well by now, head leaned on his shoulder, soft whines beneath your heavy breaths causing him to twitch in your hands.
It's when two fingers slip inside you that you become restless, hands on him moving with more urgency as he plays your body like an instrument he’s been professionally trained in. Thumb flicking over your sensitive bud, slick making an almost obscene sound, but it oddly adds to the intimacy of it all.
This is your moment. No one can take this from you.
Your hands stutter a bit in their movements as you reach your peak, but you push though nonetheless to push him over the edge as well- a very particular movement as your fingers trace his outline making him spill, seed staining the fabric of his underwear a darker shade of its grey color.
It's quiet as you catch your breaths, his hand lazily wiping itself on your cotton shorts.
“You want to come to my place for tonight?” He whispers, slowly calming down again.
“Cause you need to change?” You tease, and he chuckles.
“That too.” He admits. “but mostly because I don’t want to sleep without you tonight.” He tells you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “we could.. uhm. You know, the stores are still open.” He mumbles a bit more hesitant now, as you open your eyes to look at him. “if you.. want to help decorate the house with me.” He tells you almost incoherently.
Just for you to grin brightly, giggling happily into the crook of his neck.
“I’d love to.”
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