#the answer is more than i probably should have
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Eroverse
Pt.3 - Alpha & Omega
Yeji x Male Reader (ft. Kazuha)
Good news. None.
Bad news. Where do you even start?
The worst would be the fact that you can't feel your body. Your eyes seem to be the only functioning organ. To add insult to injury, your whole body is bare, and your clothes are nowhere to be found. You curse yourself for not grabbing your clothes before you get teleported back from that boxing ring. No use regretting it now. Even if you manage to move your limbs somehow, you are trapped in a bar restroom butt naked. Can this day get even worse?
To be honest, you expect yourself to develop some kind of resistance to all those headaches and pain after passing out four times in a day. Seems like there's no improvement. You can just hope no one comes knocking at the door. That leads you to wonder, how long have you been gone? The first time you encounter Rei or what seems to be Rei, it takes almost an hour. But at least she obeys every command you give so it isn't much of a struggle. The second time, however, you have to wrestle with Eunbi first before you finally tame her, as the quest had said. You are certain more than an hour has flown by.
Your phone chimes with a notification nearby. No doubt from the 'Ero' app. You desperately want to check it but there's not much you can do when your body feels like a lump of clay. So, you continue doing what you initially were, staring at the ceiling. Funny enough, seeing the ceiling has become a kind of relief after losing and gaining consciousness multiple times. At least, it reminds you that you are alive.
Once again, you can't help but think of all the unanswered questions that have piled up even more after your encounter with Eunbi. The voice that consistently keeps praising you after you complete a quest, the idols that you have met who are not actually idols. You are pretty sure about that now. Are they replicas? clones? Then what does that make you? A test subject for some crazy experiment that involve fucking idol clones? As usual, no answer.
If you look at it from the bright side, ignoring all the pain and confusion, you have used two idols for your release already. Getting to fuck one idol should be considered universally lucky. But two? You had to save a nation in your past life for that. Whether they are real or not, they still look exactly the same so it doesn't really make a difference. However, the downside shouldn't be ignored either. If you try to complete one more quest, fuck one more idol, you might not wake up again. With each jump, your body seems to weaken. It starts with headaches and soreness and now you are paralyzed. Not really a price worth paying. You are not perverted enough to trade your life for sex.
Actually, you might have passed that point already. If you inevitably have to die, you want to go out with honor. Not as a naked corpse in a restroom. "Oh, how did he die?" "I don't know, probably from jerking off naked in the toilet" Yep. Not a good idea.
A few minutes pass and you start considering screaming for help. You have to sacrifice every bit of dignity you have but at least you won't die. Thankfully, it doesn't happen. Blood starts to flow again in your fingers and soon, you are well aware of the cold floor on your skin.
You sit up groggily, propping yourself against the toilet for support. Taking a few deep breaths, you picked up the phone. The screen is full of cracks, it covers almost every part of the notification on your lock screen but without a doubt, it's from the 'Ero' app.
"Congrats on completing your second quest. Please wait patiently for the next one"
Typical. Just congratulations. Not to mention you nearly got killed. Thank you very much.
Then your eyes move to the upper corner of the screen displaying the time, 8:48. You can't be sure, but you are certain no more than a few minutes have passed since you passed out. How is it possible? Even without the time you spent laying paralyzed, it takes at least an hour to do everything you have done with Eunbi. No wonder no one comes looking for you.
Maybe time flows differently in whatever places you get teleported to. Another mystery. Your head starts throbbing, a sign of an oncoming headache. God, can that app let you off for once? There's a silver lining though. Your clothes lie in a pile in a corner. You have to shut your mouth before you start screaming with joy.
After changing hastily and washing your face, you exit the room. Russell and the rest of the crew are still at their table, their voices getting louder by the second. The effects of all the drinks they had had are evident on their red puffy faces. They don't even seem to notice your absence except Russell, who raises his hand at the sight of you.
"Man, you have been gone pretty long, you ok?" he asks.
"Yeah, I'm fine.."
"You sure? You look like you just woke up"
He's not wrong but no use making him worried.
"Trust me. I'm ok. Just a bit tired, i guess"
"Have you been working late again?"
Gosh, this guy cares about you more than your mom. You take this as your chance to get out of here.
"Yeah, got some articles to finish. I have been procrastinating on this one I have to send tomorrow. Mind if I leave early? I need to sleep early"
"Of course. Don't work too hard, huh? You still have to write a best-seller remember?"
You simply smile and leave, grabbing your coat. The cold breeze offers you some comfort to the headache that's becoming unbearable. You just want to lay down on the spot and fall asleep. You walk back to your room, trying not to pass out on the way. The night is still young, and the sound of traffic and the chatter of people follows you everywhere. Ordinary people enjoying their lives unlike you, who have become a different person in just a day. You were a writer, not a good one but still an average Joe. Now, you fuck idols with the help of an app. Anyone who hear it will suggest you talk to a therapist, and you won't blame them.
And what is it that makes the app choose you? You have no special abilities other than the fact that you can mimic animal sounds and that's not even a real talent. Perhaps luck has finally found its way to your ever unfortunate life. But can it be called luck with how you become a step closer to death with each quest you take on.
You are so busy debating with yourself you are completely oblivious to your surroundings. If only you have turned your head to an alley across the street, you would have seen a dark figure with sparkling eyes that follow every one of your movements. A predator lurking in the shadows.
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
A week has passed. The 'Ero' app is silent as ever.
You find yourself expecting a message for another quest despite promising yourself you won't let your perversion lead you to your demise. You should really start thinking with your brain rather than your dick.
Three days after your last quest, you even try to enter the 'Ero' app out of curiosity. The app closes automatically. After a few more tries, you give up out of disappointment and shame. Shame for trying to enter the app even after knowing the risks. Shame for being a hopeless pervert.
You should just stick to jerking off to fancams and pictures, at least that way you won't be playing with your life or getting beat up by an idol. That's what you have been doing since you got smitten by those kpop girls but after the quests you have done, it becomes tedious. You will still pump a load or two after seeing Karina's tits or Sohee's ass but it's nothing compared to Rei's blowjob or Eunbi's titjob. You have become addicted.
Ironically, you even find yourself dreaming of the darkness, the mahogany room and the boxing ring. This is what Eve might have felt when she's told not to eat the forbidden fruit, you think. Because forbidden things are the most tempting.
You still write but no longer out of pleasure, just to survive. And that reminds you, you should stop eating take outs and cook something yourself for once. Your room was a mess but now it's a whole trash pile. Plastic boxes and cups from all the take outs you order lie in a mountain at the sink. The trash car comes, you are just too lazy to throw it out. And if you don't do something about that stack of papers on the table, it's gonna touch the ceiling soon.
In short, you have become a mess. Every time your phone chimes, you would check it in a heartbeat, expecting a text from the 'Ero' app. But of course, it isn't. The app has gone ghost quiet. You are desperately seeking to complete just one more quest. One more idol to fuck.
You rarely go outside and ignore all the messages your friends and colleagues sent you. There's only one message you want to receive which never comes.
After a week of living like a vampire, a realization hits you. One so obvious you feel like an idiot not thinking about it sooner. All the problems you are facing are rooted from one single thing, the 'Ero' app. If you delete it, your suffering might end. You can even pretend everything that happened was a dream.
So, you get out of the bed which you have been laying on for hours and grab your phone on the table. The sudden burst of light in the dark room as the screen opens leaves you seeing black spots. It is nighttime but you haven't opened your curtains in a while, so it doesn't really make a difference.
You swipe till you land on the 'Ero' app. That little black heart icon. You press on it and the uninstall option pops off. 'Finally' you think. 'It's gonna be over. No more crazy stuffs' though a small voice somewhere in your mind keep insisting. 'But what of the pleasure that rivals no other? What of the idols you will meet?' 'Fuck this' you answer. It's true you are a pervert, but you are not hopeless. You won't die so that you can fuck some clone of an idol.
Determined, you raise your thumb and nearly press on the uninstall button until-
Your phone chimes. A notification on the top of the screen.
"New quest ready, ready for your next adventure chosen one?"
God damn it. Just when you are determined, this app has to come and ruin it. All the walls you have put up about not being a hopeless pervert crumbles in milliseconds. You want this after all. You don't want the app gone. You are just mas that it won't give you a quest. Now what you have been begging for a week is right in front of your eyes. You have to make a choice. Yes or No?
This quest can be your last. A punishment for letting your dick makes your decisions. You can ignore it. Delete the app and go on with your life as normal. But will your life ever be normal after deleting the app? Who can say you won't be wondering what the third quest would be and which idol you would meet? And worst of all, you will become ordinary again without the app. No more magic portals to creepy rooms.
You don't want to be ordinary. You have tried your best to become something others aren't all your life. Now, the chance has been presented to you. Your own personal paradise. All yours. No one else's.
So, you tap on the message, opening the app to the loading screen with the black heart. Even the sight of it gets excitement creeping up your legs already. Then you close your eyes immediately before they get torched by that blinding flash. After waiting for a minute just to be safe, you open your eyes again. A text box sits in the center of the screen, instructions to your next quest. Except that you can't read them.
The words are fuzzy and blurred. Some even completely redacted by black lines. It is as though someone has made them unreadable on purpose. What the hell is going on?
This can be another challenge, a harder quest. Even more difficult than trying to defeat an idol who nearly crashes you to pulp. A higher risk of death. A tinge of regret starts to overwhelm you but it's too late.
The all-familiar darkness envelopes you once again. Then comes the icy cold spike that tears through your organs. Your vision fades and you crumple like paper.
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
Your old friend accompanies your wake. Of course, it's the headache. Fortunately, it isn't as strong as before or maybe you have just been out of touch you forget the pain. Nevertheless, you are alive.
You don't get to celebrate much though because the sight that greets you when you open your eyes sucks the joy right out of your heart. It isn't the ceiling this time. At least seeing the ceiling would have been a comfort. What you see is anything but comforting.
To start, you are not in a room like you were the last two quests. You are surrounded by marble columns that support the circular dome on top. A temple like those in Greek times. A huge part of the building has crumbled, giving you a clear view of what lies ahead.
Your heart leaps. Before your eyes lies what you can only describe as an apocalyptic city. Actually, an apocalyptic Greek city. Smoke billows from several temples writhed in flames. Most of the bronze and marble statues lining the sandy paths are missing a body part, some have been completely destroyed. A colosseum crumbles to dust right in front of your eyes though you have no idea what a Roman structure is doing in a Greek city. It would have been a beautiful place if it's not for the fact that it looks like a war zone.
The temple you are in is not holding out really well either. From time to time, debris would fall from the ceiling, and you can only hope the roof won't collapse on top of you. You try to move and that's when you realize you have been tied up. Looking down, you find yourself bound to a chair with metal chains, your hands at the back. Your legs are no exception either. They have been tied up as well.
This quest is starting to look hopeless already. It would be so easy for someone to gut you right now and you can do nothing but watch. You could call out for help except that there isn't a living being in sight. Even if someone does come, you can't be certain if they are friends or foes.
You remember the surge of strength that has come to you when you were at the brink of death. It would be really really helpful if you could get that kind of help right now. Though you doubt that kind of chance will be given twice.
"Oh, he can't help you this time" As if reading your thoughts, a voice rings out behind a column.
The owner of the voice emerges. A figure with fiery red hair wearing a top of matching color. The black jeans accentuate her slender legs. Her ruby red eyes fixed on you with a steely gaze. Yeji, the leader of Itzy.
"Ehm....Yeji?" Obviously, the idol before you is not the real Yeji. But you ask anyway.
"In a sense" She replies. "But that won't matter anymore after I kill you"
Just wonderful. Another idol who wants you dead.
"I gotta praise you though. You are pretty strong compared to those before you"
"Others? What are you talking about?"
"Oh, do you think you are the only one chosen by the app, chosen one?" She strains the last part just to sound sarcastic.
"Look, I don't even understand what's happening much less answer your questions. I don't even know why you want to kill me"
"Oh, you very much do" She snaps back. "Rei? Eunbi? The things you did to them. You are lucky I let you live this long"
"I was just doing what the app told me to"
"Oh, yes. That stupid 'Ero' app. You love it so much you walked right into my trap"
The realization hits you like a bucket of cold water. The quest that arrives right when the app is nearly deleted. The distorted letters.
"It's you" You say. "You are the one who set up this quest"
"Correct" Her voice is dripping with glee. "Aren't I clever?"
"Ok, Yeji....or whatever. If you let me go, I promise I won't-"
"Oh, shut up. You will follow where your dick leads you"
She's not wrong. Still, it sort of hurts.
"There's nothing you will get out of killing me" You try the other route.
"Oh, there's a lot I can get out of killing you" Yeji muses, walking closer. "And I will start by destroying the thing that have been distracting my kind"
You don't know what she means but you don't need to wonder for long because with the flick of her wrist, your shorts come off. Look, you know some guys are really into the bondage stuff when the girl ties you up and all, but it isn't much fun when your partner is trying to kill you. But there's a bigger threat than getting killed right now.
"Wait, you don't mean my-"
"Dick? Yes. If it's gone, you can no longer bother us, right?"
"You can't do that! It's illegal"
"Look around you. You are no longer on earth"
You are making empty threats, and you know it too well. But you don't want your bloodline to end with you.
"Look, maybe we can make a deal or something"
"Too late" Yeji unfolds her palm and a gladius, a roman sword, manifests out of thin air. She's definitely not human.
You tilt your head in panic as the point hovers over your throat.
"I should have just killed you but where's the fun in that?"
Your breath hitches. You don't trust yourself to talk without blabbering out more pleas that will make Yeji even madder. And even worse, your dick is rock hard because of the adrenaline.
"Bye bye" She raises the sword and brings it down on your springing mamba. You close your eyes. bracing yourself for the pain. But it never comes because a voice cuts through the tense atmosphere.
"Wait!" Another female voice and running footsteps. You open your eyes.
Behind Yeji is Kazuha, the japanese member of Le Sserafim. Her pink satin dresses look out of place among the ruins of the city, like a runaway bride.
"Kazuha?" Yeji lowers the gladius. "Oh, let me guess. He sent you"
"You need to stop this. Killing him won't stop our problems"
"You don't know that for sure. One less candidate means less chance for the mark to emerge"
"What mark?" instantly, you regret not keeping your mouth shut. They want to cut your dick off for christ's sake.
"The mark of-" Kazuha starts to answer but Yeji cuts her off.
"Shut up" Yeji snaps. "He's going to die anyway"
"Stop this, Yeji. He's going to be so mad if he finds out"
"So what? He has been a dick all those times. You still take orders from him?"
"He can be crazy sometimes but it's our job to serve him"
"Bullshit. You are just too scared to disobey"
"Yeji, please"
Kazuha's words have no effect. Yeji closes in on you again and raises her gladius. This time there's no escape for you.
Then the strangest thing happens. A burst of energy erupts from your core, spreading to every cell in your body. All the fatigue and panic are gone. It's like being dipped in water when you are high. You feel pumped, ready to do anything. More specifically, ready to fuck anyone because the lust inside you has never been so strong.
"It can't be..." Yeji backs away, dropping her gladius. Her face that of pure horror.
You look down and nearly scream yourself. On your pelvis is an upside-down pentagram, like those used in cult rituals and its glowing red hot though you don't feel any pain. Further down is an even stranger sight. Your dick is literally glowing. Upon taking a closer look, you realize it’s surrounded by a golden aura like it's something powerful. All the chains binding you shatter to pieces, and you rise.
"The mark" Kazuha mutters dreamily. "It's real"
"No!" Yeji screams, falling down. "It's a myth. How could it be-" She picks up her gladius and instantly charges. You back away but there isn't a need. Because Yeji got thrown away as though hit by an invisible force.
She crouches on the floor, panting. "This is madness"
Kazuha just stands there frozen. Hey eyes fixed on your glowing cock.
But you only have a single objective in your mind. Ruin Yeji. Use her. Punish her. She is nothing but an easy prey.
"Stay away" Yeji shouts. In the end, the hunter has become the hunted.
You close in, grabbing her wrists and pulling her up. Then you slam her onto a column. You don't intend to hurt her though. She's in for something much worse.
"I will kill you" She mutters but the panic is clear as day in the way her words stutter. Grabbing her waist, you trace your lips across the pulsing veins of her neck all the way to her jaw. Then a bite on her earlobe. Yeji squirms.
"Still want to kill me?" The question is left unanswered as Yeji's lips part to give way to your tongue, which invades into her oral opening. Yeji's pupils widen when her own tongue got tickled by the foreign one. Her screams come out muffled. Yeji tries to pull away but the grip of your lips on hers is stronger than ever.
All the while, your hands make their way down to her waist belt, enjoying the feeling of her firm skin. Sliding down further, you slip into her jeans, squeezing that tone ass of hers.
The writhing of her body is cut short when you slid a finger into her tight asshole, which makes her limp like a rug doll. At first, it's hard to move much with how hard her hole grips you but after a few pumps, it starts to oblige, allowing swifter movements.
As you finger her asshole, you don't stop the mouth action either. You can no longer tell whose mouth is moister as your saliva got mixed from how long you have been tasting her. All that matters is you keep her mouth shut. The strands of red hair fall over, obscuring your vision partly but you press on, taking in her taste each and every second. Your dick is pressed flat against her tummy in this position and it's getting you even more riled up. You can take care of it later.
With your unoccupied hand, you squeeze her soft cheeks, which fold like rubber under your touch. The pace of your finger that keeps fucking her asshole remains unwavering. In fact, its pounding her now the same way your cock would. At the same time, you are tongue fucking her. Both of her holes are stuffed and there's nothing she can do about it except produces more degraded sounds.
Yeji's legs start to shake, inevitably nearing her peak whether she likes it or not. Saliva drips from the corner of her lips and a strand of the remnants connect your lips as your tongue exits her mouth. You are not letting her off. You just want to hear her moan.
"I...will kill you..." Her voice comes out husky, so it sounds more like an empty promise than a threat.
"Just shut up and cum bitch" Your thrusts become forceful. Perhaps you are hurting her but Yeji's moaning too much to care. Unable to resist the sight of her skin, you bite down on her neck, pitching up her voice.
Finally, Yeji breaks. In a frenzy of pain and bliss, she lets out a carnal groan which rings out through the temple. Juice gush out from her pussy when your finger thrust in one last time. Each time her body convulses, she lets out a moan, each one louder than the last. She is still trembling nonstop even after you pull out, her jeans stained with her own bodily fluid.
"Did you just come from getting your asshole fingered?" You ask. Yeji can only pant as she props against a column not to tremble from her legs that are on the verge of giving out.
From the corner of your eyes, you can see Kazuha, her arms folded, watching the whole thing without a single word. She seems to be on your side for now.
"Tired already?" You ask Yeji. "It's just starting"
The mark on your pelvis glows brighter, the red rays casting a translucent glow on Yeji. With an iron grip on her shoulders, you turn her around, allowing you the view of her round ass in tight jeans. The stain on her crotch area makes the scene even more lewd.
"Admit it, Yeji. All this time you have been a slut. My cock is all it takes to wipe that bitchy look off your face" Your cock presses against her clothed ass.
"I swear I will kill-"
You pull down her jeans just enough to expose her round butt, stealing the air right out of her lungs. Your palm connects with her supple flesh in a harsh spank, leaving a handprint in red. You deliver a strike for each word that leaves her mouth. It goes like this.
"I-"
Spank
"will-"
Spank
"kill-"
Spank
"you-"
The white canvas of her skin is now streaked with scarlet stripes. And you intend to keep it that way because the way her ass jiggle with each spank is too hypnotic to get tired of. The cherry on the top is how she keeps protesting even through the stinging pain. But you are gonna change it real soon.
With one last strike, you pull back, admiring your handiwork on her ass, which is now the same fiery shade as her hair and tops. Yeji mutters another curse through shallow breath. This bitch is still as cocky as ever.
Pulling her hair to tilt her head, you whisper into her ear. "Still resisitng, hmm? Should we move on to your next punishment?" Yeji's eyes blaze with fury. "Bastard"
"So, we are doing it the rough way" You hold her throat in a tight grip with your other hand, restricting any more words from coming out of her vocal cords.
You rest your rock hard cock between her cheeks, the glow it radiates merging with her reddened buttocks. "I'm gonna fuck your brains out now. And then I wanna know if you still want me dead"
Yeji can do nothing as you enter her moist slit with one forceful thrust that ripples her cheeks. You don't know if she's a virgin or not but the way her walls hug you tight is giving you ideas. Nevertheless, you push on, breaking through the barriers of her fold with each thrust. It doesn't take much time for you to pound her freely with how wet she already is from earlier.
Soon, you are hammering her cunt without a care in the world, solely focused on using her as your vessel for pleasure. You will take anything her body can offer and that will be her punishment, to become nothing but your cumdump. Resentment and triumph take over your movements and each thrust leaves her even more breathless despite being choked.
You loosen your grip on her neck just enough for her to make audible sounds. "Still hate me?" You ask as you pull back all the way and thrust into her slit with all your force. She tenses, her back arched. She answers your question with animalistic sounds only a whore would make.
"Hmm, you still got a lot to learn" You slip your hands under her top, reaching for her mounds. Yeji's tits aren't qualified to be called huge, but they are still big enough to fill your palm as you knead them. When you twirl her rosy nipples between your index and thumb, she mewls like an animal in heat which is only natural with the way she's getting bred.
You slow down your thrusts, moving in and out slowly to enjoy the full feeling of her slick velvety walls that trace every inch you fill her up with. Somewhere far away, another building collapsed with a sickening crunching sound. A wave of hot air grazes your skin. But they can do nothing to disturb you from claiming Yeji's cunt thoroughly.
Her walls start to contrast around you, the sign of an oncoming climax. You thrust with inhuman speed, empowered by the mark, as Yeji had called it. Jolts of energy course through your veins at every moment and you are surprised to find that you are not even sweating, much less tired. You can breed Yeji all day if she isn't already worn out and used up.
Yeji's eyes roll up, her tongue hanging out in the perfect replication of the ahaego faces you see so often in certain animes. Another flood of her nectar pours out, coating your shaft. You keep fucking through her orgasm, chasing your own high. Yeji's body twists and bends but you keep her in position by wrapping your arms around her waist.
The friction over her slick walls becomes unbearable and soon you are pumping jets after jets of your fertile seeds into her womb, all the way to the hilt. If Yeji sounds animalistic before, now she's no different from an animal. Guttural sounds betray her lips as she gets filled up to the depths she never knows existed before. When your orgasm subsides, she becomes motionless, her hoarse breaths the only sign of life.
You pull out and cum drips out of her hole which is clenching onto air as if it needs something stuffed inside. Her punishment is a success. Yeji's got destroyed by the very thing that she wanted to destroy. As you stand there, grinning with victory, the adrenaline starts to drain out of your body. Your legs become sore, and the fucking headache is starting again. The mark on your pelvis dims and fades along with the glow of your spent rod.
"We need to leave" You are so caught up in the joy of dominating Yeji, you forget Kazuha exists. She's still at her old spot, watching you with interest and a slither of worry. You quickly pull up your shorts though there's no point being shy now. She has seen everything.
"Leave where?" You ask. "My quest is completed right? I will just pass out and go back"
"It's not happening this time. He wants to meet you"
"He?"
"Look, we don't have much time. He will explain everything to you. I promise"
"But-"
The temple rumbles. More debris and dust fall from above.
"Alright. Good idea" You and Kazuha make it outside just in time before the whole temple collapses. The sound of explosions and crumbling buildings ring out all around you. The air burns your lungs with each breath.
"Ok, hold my hand" Kazuha says and you oblige. There's no point arguing when you are in the middle of an apocalypse. As Kazuha closes her eyes, a gleaming orb surrounds both of you and you spiral down into a tunnel of light.
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
(Have been procrastinating on this. Anyway, enjoy~)
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be your date
bodyguard!bucky barnes x actress!fem!reader
summary: you are invited to this year's met gala, and your bodyguard is against the idea of letting you go alone.
word count: 500+
warnings: 18+ mdni. nothing sexual, but still. some banters. hints of fluff. a sprinkle of tension. grumpy but protective bucky (yes, that is a warning!) sort of bratty reader? lack of met gala knowledge probably. usage of petnames such as princess. lowercase writing.
photos used are only for aesthetic and not to describe or visualise the reader!
note: just a little drabble to the story/plot i've been writing! since there was recently a met gala, i thought this would be a great tease for this story. i hope you enjoy this one!
dividers made by @firefly-graphics!
comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡
“you shouldn't go.”
as a celebrity, privacy was a rare luxury, and having your personal life being constantly invaded became your new norm.
it also meant having a personal bodyguard to keep you safe, but no one ever warned you about having a bodyguard who was both relentlessly protective and unbelievably attractive with a permanent frown on his face.
god, would it be so bad to have a crush on your bodyguard?
“you can't tell me what to do, you know that right?” you shot him a defiant look, although you knew he wasn't trying to control you, just keeping you safe.
getting a reaction other than a grunt from him was your favourite hobby, anyway.
a delivery was found on your doorstep this morning, containing an invitation and a bouquet of flowers. bucky was beside you as you opened the envelope, and immediately, he was against the idea.
“what even is the met gala?” he eyed the invitation you were holding, brow furrowed while he looked offended by the piece of paper. “it doesn't sound safe.”
bucky had learned about the letters that you would constantly receive, and how half of them were unusual and even concerning. you could still remember the frown he had kept all day when you received a marriage certificate in need of your signature.
he made sure to burn it by the fireplace.
and grunted at it one more time.
“nothing sounds safe to you, jamie.” you argued, rolling your eyes at his protectiveness. you slipped the card back into its envelope, unaware of the faint flush that spread across his face as he heard you call him by the nickname you've given him.
“it's a ball that a bunch of celebrities go to every year, but i don't really find it that special. my manager thinks otherwise though.” you explained. “and i do have to go alone if i'm attending it since it's really private. they even prohibited phones inside, so it should be safe.”
“i don't buy it.” bucky pursed his lips, remaining unconvinced. “i'm coming with you.”
“they won't let you inside. they treat this ball as a highly exclusive event. even bodyguards are off the list. i find it silly as well, don't worry.” you sighed, recalling how uncomfortable it was every time. you had no choice since your manager called it good publicity and a necessity for your career. “oh, unless i bring a date. i could probably sneak them in as a plus one. they love seeing a new pair to spark conversation. do you have anyone you trust enough to be with me so you can calm down?”
you waited for his response, but instead of answering, bucky took a step towards you, his gaze intense and unwavering. he looked at you with such intensity, making butterflies flutter in your stomach that none of your co-stars could do to you.
“i'll be your date.”
your eyes widened in surprise. was he serious? “what?"
"you asked me who i trust enough to be with you." he repeated, his face now inches away from yours, a faint smile dancing across his face. “well, princess. that person would be me."
i may have changed reader from sunshine to confident/bratty because i genuinely can't write a sunshine character without giving up... i'm not the best with jolly emotions. i think it still worked out tho!
oh, and here's a silly lil instagram post. thank you for reading!
if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌
#bodyguard!bucky barnes#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes x fem!reader#actress!reader#bodyguard!bucky barnes x actress!reader#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky x reader#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes au
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♯ 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐊 ◞ 𝑸𝑯⁴³
✰ pairing ⤫ fem!reader x quinn hughes
✰ synopsis ⤫ in which you and quinn are fighting but he can’t leave without letting you know he loves you
✰ content ⤫ a little angst I guess, the angst isn’t really present in the fic, it’s more about the resolving of the angst. cuteness. quinn putting up with his girl’s stubborn ass. overuse of baby, I’m sorry 😭
✰ 💭 ⤫ I love writing for quinn so much. . . as always I’d love to hear what you think! <3
you make a pointed effort not to look in quinn's direction as he enters the kitchen, keeping your glare firmly planted on your cup that coffee was slowly pouring into.
quinn knew you had seen him enter the kitchen, your shoulders had tensed the moment he walked into the room, but your eyes didn't flicker to his like they normally would, and he was fine with that. he was sure that if you did direct you attention towards him it would only be to start yelling at him. again.
he follows his normal morning routine, taking out the toaster and the bagels but hesitates after putting one in. he's unsure if he should be toasting yours, not because he's being petty over the fact that you weren't making him coffee like you normally would, simply because he's never met a more stubborn person in his life, and he wasn't sure if you'd eat it if he did toast it for you.
quinn allows the silence to drag on for a few minutes before breaking it. "you're coming to the game tonight right?” he asks
“probably,” you answer softly and quinn sighs, dropping another bagel in the toaster
quinn moves to the spot next to you, making his breakfast bagel on the counter and you resist the urge to kiss his cheek and cuddle into him like you normally would. he was even wearing his blue hoodie today, the one he knew was your favourite.
you make your way to the living room table, taking a seat on a chair and pretending to read the paper that was laying on the table. your mind was way too busy to actually focus on the words on the page but it was better than looking like you were contemplating what happened earlier that morning.
it was a stupid fight really, stemming from the fact that quinn left his dishes in the sink when you’ve repeatedly told him to just put it in the dishwasher, like how hard can it be? from there on some petty insults were exchanged as a result of exhaustion and frustration building up from the long week.
there’s a few minutes of silence again, the only sounds coming from the kitchen where Quinn was making your bagel. it’s not unusual for there to be silence in the morning, neither you or quinn were morning people. but that’s usually peaceful silence, this was tension-filled silence.
you see quinn approaching in your peripheral and a few seconds later he placed your bagel in front of you. “eat that,” he says, more like orders. and hesitates for a few seconds. he wasn’t sure if you wanted him to sit with you, or if you’d rather just be left alone.
your heart clenches a little when after a few seconds of hovering he decides to move towards the living room and plops down on the couch, eating his breakfast alone.
you were so in your head you didn’t realize the time had passed so quickly and before you knew it, quinn was getting ready to leave, putting on his shoes and grabbing his keys.
letting out a heavy sigh he makes his way towards you, gently cupping your cheek and pressing a kiss to your head and your cheek.
“Have a good day baby, I’ll see you tonight. I love you,” he says before turning to leave but you grab his hand before he gets the chance to
“I’m sorry-“ you start to apologize but he cuts you off
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, you’re right you’re not my mother and I’m a grown man, I can clean up after myself,” he says a little teasingly, recalling your words from earlier.
“Well yes, but you also apologized for it and I blew it way out of proportion. I’ve had a horrible week and I took my frustrations out on you and I’m sorry,” you say and his gaze softens, pulling your hand to tug you out of the chair and into his chest
“It’s okay baby. I know you’ve had a stressful week, we all have those. God knows I have them and I take it out on you way more than you do to me. I’ll argue with you about dishes in the sink if that’s what you need to let off some steam, as long as we can make up again before one of us has to leave. I don’t like being away from you knowing you’re pissed at me. At least when I’m home I get to see how sexy you look when you glare at me from across the room,” Quinn says, placing a kiss just below your ear and you shiver a little when his beard scratches the skin there.
“Well there’s other ways we can blow off steam rather than arguing,” you suggest and Quinn lets out a soft laugh against your neck
“You wanna show me?” he mumbles, hands falling to your ass and you laugh pushing him away
“Maybe tonight, you’re gonna be late,” you say, walking to the kitchen and grabbing the lunch you packed for Quinn before he even came downstairs
“You sure it’s safe to eat?” Quinn teases, knowing you made it when you were still mad
“Your sandwich may be a little spicier than usual, but you’ll live,” you say, patting his chest and he laughs, giving you a quick peck before he’s out the door.
not even his plate and coffee mug from breakfast sitting in the sink was enough to remove the smile on your face after that.
#── ❛ 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐢’𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐬 ✗ qh43#quinn hughes x y/n#quinn hughes x you#quinn hughes fic#quinn hughes x reader#quinn hughes blurb
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NCT Dream reacts to your manicure!
Mark Lee
Thinks that it's interesting how you change your nails from time to time. It'll be short manicures then the next time you see him, your nails will be long with cute designs. He just thinks its interesting that you change your nails from time to time, probably paid for your nails at some point too!
Huang Renjun
Renjun would be the type of boyfriend who's obsessed with your manicures, especially when they're detailed ones! He'll just stare at it for a long time and would even tap on the charms glued there. He probably suggested one time what theme you should try and when you show it to him, he was astonished because they were able to visualize what he wants. <3
Lee Jeno
I feel like Jeno likes it when you have manicures. I think he leans on more on the simple, colored manicures rather than the long and detailed ones. He does thinks it looks cool but I feel like at some point you accidentally scratched him that's why he's a bit intimidated by it. But nonetheless, he still loves holding your hands. (He just becomes more careful.)
Lee Donghyuck
Haechan doesn't have any preferences when it comes to your nails. Whether you have it manicured or not, he doesn't care as long as he gets to hold your hands. But if he's bored and decided to play with your fingers, he'll stare at your nails and just observed the design. I feel like he'll be the type who'll be surprised that you changed your nails after a month.
Na Jaemin
He loves it! Would accompany you at the nail salon and just sit there and watch the process of your manicure. Would even gossip with your nail technician too! You sometimes let him choose a design for your nails but it always end up him just choosing a basic color like red or pink. Can't be trusted with the nail colors but if he found a cute nail design on pinterest, he would send it to you as your next nail set!
Zhong Chenle
Of course Chenle would pay for your nails! He doesn't care if you do it monthly, he thinks that it's for you to pamper yourself and you deserve it! He sometimes would be the one to bring you to the salon so that you can do your monthly manicure and he'll just way there like a patient boyfriend he is until your done. He got to make sure his money is worth it too!
Park Jisung
He thinks that it's interesting that you change your nails every month, so he would anticipate on what your next design would be. It wouldn't be until two or three weeks, he'll ask you when will you change your nails. You'll only laugh at him but you'll answer that you'll do it when you have a spare time. Sometimes you choose cute designs like sanrio characters and Jisung will be in AWE at how your nails are.
#nct dream#nct imagines#nct dream fic#nct fic#nct x reader#nct#nct dream imagine#nct scenarios#nct fluff#nct drabbles#nct dream imagines#nct dream reactions#nct mark#nct renjun#nct jeno#nct haechan#nct jaemin#nct chenle#nct jisung
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Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]
Title: Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]
Synopsis: Mahito doesn't like that you have an interest in a book character.
Word count: 1787
notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of other people being tortured/killed, supreme self indulgence of the highest order
“Who is the smiling man?”
The silence that had existed between the two of you was broken by a question that made you flinch. Well, why not? Mahito has been quiet all morning--and afternoon, actually, which perhaps should have startled you more than his sudden words.
But you were too happy to enjoy some quiet (you would never say “peace and quiet,” not down here, not with him); all too happy to curl up in your haphazard nest on the floor with some books that took you away from this place. Away from Mahito.
Who was, of course, still here. Lounging in his hammock with a pile of books sagging down the netting.
You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading from down here--you probably needed new glasses, a subject you were certainly not going to bring up with Mahito, who might reiterate his offer to “fix” your eyes. It looked like a bundle of pages stapled together. Maybe he went to the library and printed off obscure articles to read again.
“Hey,” he calls down, and the first hint of worry begins to prickle on your arms at his uncharacteristically serious tone, “Answer me.”
Your mind stutters, tries to put one word in front of the other, and make sense of it all.
The smiling man? The smiling man, the… ah. From Small Spaces. The otherworldly supernatural entity who lives in a world behind mist and has a penchant for making deals with people for their greatest wishes.
It’s not your fault that you haven’t thought about him in ages. It’s not like you had copies of your books with you, and the fun you had with imagining him in an endless number of scenarios had fallen by the wayside considering your circumstances.
It’s hard to daydream about worlds behind mist and cornfield servants when you’re watching people be turned into grotesque experiments that had them, sometimes quite literally and loudly, begging for death.
Mahito is looking down at you now, staring expectantly.
“He’s a character,” you say, fidgeting on the floor. “From a book series.” You look down, flip a page in your book, although you haven’t finished reading the last one, and ask, casually as you can muster: “Why?”
Mahito, up above, flips a page. You can hear the wobble in the paper--not a bound book, that’s for certain. And there’s some low, primal sense that shivers through you which says, plainly, that he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him.
“You write about him a lot.”
Oh.
Low, slimy dread filters into your stomach. Thick and gelatinous, resting at the bottom of your belly like an unwanted slug.
“I… don’t know what you mean,” you say, voice only half-there, because while you are apparently stupid enough to lie to Mahito’s face, you’re not stupid enough to think he’ll believe you.
You are just stupid enough to think that he won’t know exactly how deep your interest in this particular character goes; before Mahito took you, you thought about him all the time. You’d take walks and daydream about him, write story after story; you’d even commissioned fanart of him, because it wasn’t like there was a plethora of fanart for a character from a middle grade horror book.
Mahito huffs out a sigh. Quick and short, it sends a shock right down your stomach.
“Get you a man,” he starts, and confusion buzzes through your brain until he continues. “Who is an otherworldly entity that is so petty when an 11 year old beats him that he traps her in another world, leaving her to a fate worse than death, and laughs until he cries about it.”
You wrote that. There’s a vague memory of when you posted it--after you’d taken a walk, you think, and reread your favorite parts in the books for a few hours. But the way Mahito says it makes it sound--you don’t know how to explain it. Like saying the words out loud almost pains him; they come out clipped and bitter.
Bitter? But why?
He doesn’t stop there. He reads something else, voice getting higher, almost mocking the way you talk. And that bitterness is still there, a thread continuing through every syllable.
“What if we kissed in the corn maze before you turned me into a scarecrow servant whose soul slowly gets dried out and useless and in the end you feed it, crunchy and tasteless, to your hellhound.”
He takes a breath. Then--
“One particular aspect of the Smiling Man’s cruelty that I truly adore is that he can make people feel understood. He can make them feel like he cares, like he’s lending a listening ear, like he’s wanting to help them out and make them feel nice.”
Another breath--and he continues, again and again, reading your posts. Quoting your stories. Listing off the titles, the imagine posts, everything you’ve said about him.
All the while, bitter and mocking, his voice raising now and then in an imitation of your own.
Then he gets to the last page of his clearly self-created tome and stares down at you, waiting, expectant.
And you… you actually glare up at him.
Because you're scared, sure. You’re always scared in some way, when you’re with Mahito. But there’s something else too, something that digs its way out of the rot in your gut and sticks up a petulant middle finger.
How dare he do this. How dare he take something that was yours and make it his; put it in his mouth and sneer over it.
“Have you been--” Your mouth sticks together, refusing to let you accuse him of what you know he’s been doing. Stalking your online profiles. “That’s… that’s private,” is what you finally mutter, cheeks feeling hot and that half-buried petulance pushing you forward. “It’s not any of your business.”
“Private?” He mutters the word softly, cradling the sound.
And then--
Mahito doesn’t often move fast around you. He prefers to be slow, languid. Calculating. You think it’s because that terrifies you more.
But now, in a moment, he goes from being slouched in his hammock to leaping down and crouching right in your face--there’s sudden pain in your head, and you realize he’s grabbed your hair and yanked it back.
That metaphorical middle finger sinks back down into the slimy gut sludge.
“Not from me,” he says, low, a warning. “Not for you.”
This is all it takes for tears to prick inside your eyes.
Mahito’s lips quirk up. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.
“You’re going to cry already? I didn’t even do anything.”
Your eyes dart up and back, towards where he’s currently gripping your hair hard enough for it to sting.
He sighs through his nose. “This isn’t anything. You know that. Don’t be childish now.”
But--he lets go of your hair, and doesn’t grab for you when you scoot backwards on your blanket nest. Instead, he plops himself down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his elbow.
You don’t speak. You don’t want to, and you don’t know what to say. Sometimes it’s better to be quiet around Mahito, so he doesn’t get ideas. Although he comes up with them on his own just fine, even if you try to stay silent.
It’s Mahito who breaks the silence.
“Why do you like him so much?”
How silly, to feel embarrassed right now. With the creature in front of you, and what he can do. But that’s what makes your cheeks burn: embarrassment.
“I don’t know,” you mumble, because while you are stupid in so many ways, you’re still smart enough to know he wants an answer. “I guess I just like antagonist characters sometimes.” Well, most of the time. But it’s better to keep that from Mahito, if you can.
Mahito’s lips quirk here and there while he thinks. Then he looks at you with something like genuine confusion.
“You say that you like how awful he is. The awful things he does. So…” He tilts his head a little. “You should like me. Right?”
Your fingers pick at the loose threads of your clothes. Your eyes don’t meet his entirely--they flick up and down, from your legs to his face.
“It’s not the same thing,” is what you come up with. But how to explain that to a curse?
Mahito frowns.
“I don’t understand.” No bitterness, no pouting. A simple statement of fact.
“He’s not real.” You swallow against the minefield that all of this is making you step through, hoping you’ll avoid them. “But you are. That makes it different.”
Mahito leans forward, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to him with a yanking, childish gesture.
“So you should like me more,” he says, a slight pout in his tone. “Because I can really do those things.” His eyebrows raise, and you swear you can hear a buzzing light bulb go off. “I could turn someone into a scarecrow for you.” He smiles, sudden, excited. “Do you want me to find some school children to torment?”
“No!” Your voice cracks. There are brief images in your mind--the people he’s tortured and killed, experimented with, before you were here and while you’re here and probably after you’re dead and gone--and you shake them away.
Mahito’s eyebrows furrow. He groans and rolls his eyes backwards until they are entirely white, not in mockery or an attempt to scare you, but in irritation. Fingers squeeze your wrists briefly and let go, and you stay quiet, trying to fight your urge to cry, until Mahito slowly rolls his eyes back to stare at you.
His gaze flicks over you, until he catches your eyes with his.
“You won’t write about him anymore.”
You don’t take a moment to answer this time.
“I won’t.”
“You won’t read those books anymore.”
“I won’t,” you stay. “I haven’t. I--don’t even have copies anymore.”
Mahito smiles, a little. Maybe it’s a good thing you never asked him to find you a copy, a thought which had been a brief temptation a while back.
And then he leans in closer again, until his nose touches yours.
“You won’t think about him anymore,” he says, quiet, solemn. Not an order but a matter of fact.
You don’t answer. You swallow against a bitter taste in your throat; you swear, sometimes, that the sludge in your gut is real and tries to make its way out sometimes.
Mahito presses his nose against yours until it starts to hurt.
“You won’t,” he says again, this time more to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”
#yandere mahito#yandere jjk#mahito x reader#smiling man#look two obsessions in one!#afterwitch writes
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Deprived
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader
Word count: ~2.6k
Summary: Top embarrassing moments at work with the Maximoffs
A/N: This seemed like the most humorous way to introduce sexting.
Warnings: fluff, sexting, toys, and sibling embarrassment
You can’t help but laugh at Pietro as you finish the last dregs of your drink with a sigh. You and your family had just finished a weekly dinner at your house, and it’s getting late. You aren’t sure who started the current conversation, but given how embarrassed Pietro is, for once, you don’t think that he is the one causing trouble.
You listen to him deny that he’d done anything compromising in his office at the compound, but the more he protests, the less you believe him. Stealing a glance at Wanda, you see how dubious she appears as well and realize that you’re right to doubt Pietro.
Wanda mutters something under her breath that Pietro hears and unsurprisingly disagrees with. You just decide to wait and see where this goes because you honestly can’t think of something more embarrassing that Wanda may have experienced at work.
“Yeah, right! You’ve definitely done worse than that, Wanda.”
“Actually no, I haven’t.”
There’s a beat of silence as the twins glare at each other, but then you hear someone clear their throat and you turn to the other side of the deck with a frown. You see Steve shooting the Maximoff twins a sheepish look, no just Wanda, before he takes a sip of the whiskey you’d just finished.
“Actually, I can think of something.”
Wanda was beyond frustrated at how the day had gone for her. It was nearly 9pm and she had been out and busy with meetings since she was forced to leave you in bed at 7am. She swore that if she wasn’t so used to micromanaging things, she would give the reins to her brother to take care of the aftermath of today. She didn’t want to think about the fallout right now, nor how she had a nearly 2 hour car ride until she was home. You would likely be asleep by then which just put her in a worse mood.
She hated to leave you, especially after she promised that she’d spend time with you. She hadn’t promised the whole day because that wasn’t something she could do very often, even if it was Saturday. However, she had promised you breakfast in bed, but that had turned into 30 seconds of coffee in bed when Steve had called with the bad news.
So Wanda left you to deal with the most recent work crisis, and you spent most of the day alone and slightly miffed. You didn’t waste the day away; however, and you spent the morning hiking with your dog before baking and watching cooking shows all afternoon. You made a cheesecake, a pie, and brownies before you realized that you should make something for dinner. You probably should eat a vegetable.
This led to you making one of your favorite meals, and you ate your shrimp stir fry on the couch in front of the TV with Boone at your feet. By the time 8pm rolled around you decided to walk Boone one last time before showering and crawling in bed. You hadn’t heard from Wanda all day, but this wasn’t abnormal. You seldom heard from her when she worked, but for some reason, today it annoyed you.
Sitting in bed slightly cold, and alone, you considered what could have happened this morning if your wife had stayed like you both had wanted. You smiled at the thought of how your other lazy mornings have gone, and you sigh in defeat before switching off the light and lying down with a frown. You roll onto your side before looking to your phone on the bedside table. You hesitate before grabbing it and unlocking it to see your text thread with Wanda.
You wonder if she’s still working. How long until she comes home? You never really know the answer to this, but despite how this morning went, it seems that you’re in luck tonight. Your phone buzzes in your hand, and you see that Wanda’s texted.
-I’ll be home in a little over an hour. -
You smile at this before you lie flat on your back stare at the ceiling. You sigh heavily before shifting under the covers mindlessly. You almost fall asleep, but your thoughts have drifted to something that makes you throw the covers off of you. You’re overheating and you slip your hands under your shirt to remove it before rolling back onto your stomach with a sigh.
You’re near sleep again when you remember that you didn’t respond to your wife’s text. You see that it was nearly 40 minutes ago and you curse before you type out a quick response.
You stop short of sending your ‘see you soon’ message, and you stare at it for a few seconds before smiling widely. You decide to take advantage of the line of communication that you’ve been granted. You just hope that Wanda’s not working on the way home because if so, it’s likely your message will go ignored.
Wanda’s staring out the window frowning deeply at nothing in particular. It was too dark to see much more than the silhouette of trees they pass every once in a while. She’d concluded that you must be asleep since you hadn’t answered her text, which was disappointing, but understandable. She’d almost convinced herself to try and get some work out of the way when her phone vibrates in her hand close to an hour after she’d texted you.
-Can’t wait. I might get started without you.-
Wanda frowns in confusion as she reads your message again, then once more before she decides that maybe she woke you up from a nap. She texts back a question that you take barely any time to respond to. She has to take a deep breath before she shifts in her seat and thinks about how to respond to you.
-What are you starting on without me? -
-I’ll give you a hint. No clothes are involved. -
Wanda types out a reply slowly as she looks up to see that Steve is still focusing on the road. He has to be relieved that all of the day’s meetings are over too. She knows that she’s not always the most pleasant person to be around, especially when stressed.
Wanda taps send and waits to see how you respond.
You’re rolling onto your back with a groan as you try to push your shorts off with the least amount of effort possible. You sigh in relief and throw them toward the end of the bed with your shirt before you shake yourself out like a dog. You smile, already feeling better now that you’re not so hot, and reach for your phone.
You figure that Wanda is going to play coy, or maybe even tease you. Instead, her response makes you stiffen and kicks your heart rate up a bit.
-You better not be doing what I think you are. –
You can’t help the giddy noise that leaves you at your wife’s not-so-subtle threat. You consider how you’d like to play this, but it doesn’t take much thought at all. You’ve always loved to push Wanda’s buttons, and knowing how much she loves it too makes you all the more eager to tease. You type out a response before setting your phone beside you on the bed. You close your eyes and imagine what you’d do next if Wanda were by your side.
-You better hurry home if you plan to stop me.-
You ignore the vibrating phone for a few minutes just to make Wanda tick. You run your finger through your hair, pushing it out of your eyes as your other hand slides up your leg. You stop to rest it against your stomach and you sigh heavily as your phone starts to ring. You smile and let your hand drop between your legs before you bother to answer.
Wanda’s typing furiously when she realizes that you’re ignoring her. She imagines you’re lying in bed naked and bored out of your mind. She knows how active of an imagination you have, and if you’ve already taken off your clothes from feeling overheated, well anything could happen.
She’s doing her best to try and stop this when she realizes that her three texts are going unread. She glances at Steve again before she curses herself for not choosing the car that has a privacy divider. Today had been so busy that she hadn’t planned on needing one for the drive. She’s really regretting her choices right now. Still, she barely hesitates to call you.
By the fourth ring, Wanda’s getting annoyed and you’re smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt. Still, you don’t say anything immediately when you slide the green button across your screen. You close your eyes after the call connects, and simply hum when Wanda speaks up.
“Y/n?”
Your lack of response makes Wanda tense and she has to push down the urge to speak above a whisper. She is too aware of Steve’s presence, but she’s also not going to wait until she’s at home to talk to you.
“Y/n, what are you doing?”
You can tell by her tone, that your wife is irked and you have to stop yourself from laughing because you know that will just make it worse.
“Hi Wands.”
Wanda simply frowns at your avoidance of her question before she sits up straighter at the sound of something rustling in the background. She accidentally makes eye contact with Steve, but she quickly looks away before she tries to ask casually.
“What are you up to, detka?”
You think of all the ways that you can answer this question, but none of them feel appropriate. None of them are sufficient to describe how you shove your hand between your legs and touch yourself. For this reason, you decide to just let Wanda listen.
You take a deep breath and set you phone down on your chest, and a shiver shoots through you at the contact. You shift to get more comfortable before you groan as you slide your fingers over your clit.
“Fuck.”
Your breathy curse has Wanda tightening her grip on her phone, and she grits her teeth to hold herself back.
“Y/n…”
You ignore your wife and continue to work yourself up, and you barely hear her speak to Steve as she tries to keep your moans from drifting to the front seat.
“Steve, can you turn on the radio, please?”
Even the sound of a familiar rock song doesn’t completely drown you out, and Wanda wishes that she could see what you were doing. Better yet, she wishes she was with you so she could put a stop to this. Or rather take charge.
“Y/n, if you don’t stop right now, you’re going to regret it.”
You can’t help the breathy laugh that leaves you when Wanda says this. You can imagine the look on her face right now and you shudder at the thought. The only times you’ve dared to laugh in Wanda’s face at a time like this, she kept her word about making you regret it. The distance between you two makes you bold and your fingers pick up speed before you release a groan that’s loud enough for Steve to hear.
“Really because I think I’ll regret it if I stop?”
Wanda considers telling Steve to pull over so she can switch places with him. Well she’d drive them like a bat out of hell, but she’d keep you on the phone somehow. She’s not sure how that would work, and she cringes when she realizes that you’ve caught Steve’s attention. Why hadn’t she brought her headphones?
Wanda makes sure that the volume is turned down as far as possible before she sighs heavily. She’s thinking about how she’s going to make you pay for this when she hears something she immediately recognizes as a drawer opening. Wanda stiffens further before she turns her head to try and muffle her voice as much as possible.
“Don’t you dare, Y/n. I swear--.”
Wanda’s cut off by the unmistakable sound of a vibrator, and she nearly bangs her head against the window in frustration. In her fury, she misses the way that Steve’s eyes widen and he turns up the radio as discreetly as possible. Wanda can hear your moans getting louder as you switch the settings, and she curses in frustration.
“Steve, drive faster.”
Surprisingly, Steve doesn’t argue and Wanda focuses on the revving of the engine instead of the sounds that are coming through the phone. Her face is flushed in arousal and annoyance, but she’s not sure which is stronger as she listens to you get closer to the edge. She knows she won’t make it home in time, but she at least feels comforted by the fact that she won’t have to wait too long to get her hands on you.
“I’ll be home in half an hour.”
Undoubtedly listening, Steve speeds up even further, and if she weren’t so embarrassed by the fact that he’s certainly heard you, she’d thank him. Instead, she scowls when you barely hum in acknowledgement before you come with moan that makes Wanda shudder violently. She curses and slams her phone on her leg before taking a deep breath. Her only comfort is that Steve is going close to 80 mph.
Wanda hears you let out a loud sigh before you shift once again before something drops onto the dresser. Wanda’s biting her lip so hard that she draws blood, but she ignores it as she promptly hangs up on you.
“I’ll be waiting, Wands.”
No one says anything when Steve finishes telling an abbreviated version of what happened several months ago. He looks between you and Wanda, and he’s not sure who looks more embarrassed. You’re staring into your glass with your cheeks burning brighter than anything else in the room. At least that’s what it feels like. Wanda looks mortified and she opens her mouth a couple of times to make an excuse, but she honestly can’t.
Unsurprisingly, Pietro speaks up first and it only makes his sister scowl while you just blush so hard you feel lightheaded.
“Damn, sestra, didn’t think you had it in you.”
Before Wanda can argue or at the very least tell her brother to shut up, you shoot your wife a glare that does nothing to hide your embarrassment.
“You never said that Steve was listening!”
You can’t believe that this never came up, and that Wanda didn’t just hang up on you. Honestly, of all your friends, he’s the best-case scenario because he’s so discreet and loyal. God forbid Yelena had been in the car, she would have teased you mercilessly. That said, you’re sure that your wife would have just hung up on you if she’d been in the car.
Wanda sighs before she shakes her head and tries her best to force down her embarrassment. Everyone in the room has had sex before, it wasn’t a big deal.
“You just weren’t paying attention, Y/n.”
You scowl in response, mostly because you can’t argue with your wife, but you simply shake your head before sitting back against the couch with a huff. You glare at Pietro who opens his mouth to speak, but luckily, he takes the hint, and decides to reach for his drink instead. You sigh in defeat again before you reach out for your dog who’s come to sniff around for food.
“You know, I liked it better when we were talking about you, Piet.”
Masterlist
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x female reader#wanda maximoff fanfiction#wanda x reader#silver springs#silver springs drabble#mob au
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The Hells have never reacted to Delilah well. They have demonised her and told Laudna to ignore her and actively chosen to ignore signs of her influence over Laudna themselves. And that seems the obvious route to take. Especially with everything the group have been facing I cannot blame them for it. But it has never helped.
Especially since Imogen and Fearne physically heard from Delilah herself in Whitestone. They now know that she is a soft presence in Laudna's mind. They know that she is evil and power-hungry, but they have now heard for themselves that she is soft with Laudna, where before they were probably imagining this evil abusive and menacing witch in Laudna's head, because she is evil, and abusive, and until we ourselves heard her being so almost comforting to Laudna, I think we mostly all assumed the same.
And the whole group know that Laudna spent 28 years with only this voice in her head for company (besides a dead rat she spoke with to keep sane). They should know by now that Delilah is there (they all saw how Laudna acted around the shard), and also that she is part of Laudna. Not a part that anyone has to like or want to stay around, but she is there. And has been for 30 years.
They should be helping Laudna try to move away from her influence, and nourishing her own abilities (especially Fearne and Imogen who know Delilah wants power to defeat the gods and therefore is pushing Laudna to gain that power!). But they haven't done that. They aren't taking the right steps to undo 30 years of Delilah's influence. And that won't be easy! But pretending she isn't constantly there and that she isn't a part of Laudna is only giving Delilah more opportunity to sink her claws into Laudna's physche.
I don't quite know what the answer is, but the group just aren't treating this like an ending that Laudna has spent 30 years hurtling towards. Yes she is incredibly strong to still be her own person, and to be as positive as she is! But they don't seem to put enough thought into what 28 years alone with your killer would actually do to a person.
And then to have her second killer in the room where she's expected to sleep? To have Delilah in her head and the blade that carved through her across the room from her? All her biggest traumas in one place? It was bound to be overwhelming. And Delilah knew that and knew that that was a moment to prey on Laudna's fear.
Like I said, I don't know what the answer is. But they can't just keep ignoring the fact that for 28 years Delilah was something of an almost calming presence to Laudna. Soft, and abusive yes, but in that horrible way that seems almost loving. And having real, true friends around her showing her real love and affection and care is not going to be enough to undo those 28 years of slow torment and grooming.
Other people are saying similar things much more coherently than me but I need to get my thoughts out so
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Office Hours - Chapter Twelve
Summary:
You finally work up the nerve to ask Astarion about his past.
Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 7.6k
Tags/Warnings: discussions of traumatic pasts, not just Astarion's, but Tav's as well, specifically partner abuse; depiction of a panic attack; mentions of (canon-typical) violence; spoilers for Heathers the Musical; somewhat feral kissing that honestly at this point shouldn't surprise anyone with these two
This chapter should be fine to read if you're not familiar with the plot of Heathers (movie or musical) but in case you want to read a quick summary, you can get that here.
I have officially retconned chapter 9 that Karlach got the home brewed beer from Lakrissa, not Aradin.
I can't believe I got the chapter out on both AO3 and Tumblr on the same day! It's been a few chapters since this has happened lol. As per usual, the screenshots are from @zipzoomzaria, although with me recently downloading the free cam mod I cannot take ENOUGH screenshots. I'll be uploading those soon.
Read it on AO3 ~ Masterlist
Astarion’s chest feels cool beneath your cheek as you slowly blink yourself awake. You listen to the sound of his breathing for a few moments – not a necessary impulse for him, just one he never unlearned. You eventually turn your head upward to see him looking at his phone. He notices you stir and a smile spreads across his face as he puts his phone down.
“Good morning,” he lilts, rubbing your shoulder gently with his thumb. You strain your neck up towards him, wordlessly asking for a kiss. He leans down and obliges, his chilled lips working against your warm ones, still sticky from sleep. You adjust your arms so you can wrap your hands around his neck and run your fingers through his curls. He presses his palm against your lower back, pulling your chest flush with his. His movements are unrushed, languid and sensual, and you’re just enjoying the soft feeling of his skin against yours.
“Morning,” you hum sleepily, slow blinking like a contented cat. He props himself up on an elbow and as his visage comes into focus, you realize just how put-together he looks. He’s already wearing his glasses and his hair looks as carefully coiffed as usual. You frown. “How long have you been awake?”
“How do you want me to answer that?” He quirks an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly like I sleep.”
Right. Elves trance instead of sleep. You probably could have paid more attention in your humanoid biology class in high school.
“So what do you do all night while I sleep?”
“Read, mostly,” Astarion says with a shrug. “Sometimes I grade. Just killing time, really.”
“Don’t you ever get, like, bored?” You narrow your eyes at him.
“Sometimes. More often than not I simply enjoy being near you.” His candor makes you flush, so you deflect with a teasing laugh.
“Ew, you like being near me? Gross.” You grin as you pull him back down to you, your hands curling around his neck and you kiss him, soft and slow. He slides his hand under your knee and pulls your calf around his waist. Your usual insatiable lust for him is tempered, and you just want to bask in his coolness like you have all the time in the world. He pulls away, brushing your hair behind your ear, and looks at you over his glasses with those blood red eyes of his.
“What would you like, love?” he murmurs, and you yawn reflexively.
“Coffee, before anything else,” you reply, rubbing sleep out of your eyes. You roll out of bed and adjust your bra and shorts that got twisted overnight. You pad into the kitchen with Astarion close behind you, and he perches himself on a barstool while you pull out the instant coffee and set the kettle to boil.
“Darling, no, instant coffee?” he sneers as you scoop it into your mug.
“Don’t be elitist, it doesn’t make sense for me to make a full pot every morning when it’s just for me, and Keurigs create a hellish amount of plastic waste.” You turn up your nose at him, and he stands to take the mug out of your hands.
“This is not elitism, this is self-preservation.” He dumps the granules into the sink, earning a quick “Hey!” from you. “I’d rather like to be able to kiss you without the taste of rotten dirt in your mouth.” He picks up his phone from the counter and pulls up DoorDash.
“My breath doesn’t get that bad,” you mumble and cross your arms obstinately.
“Perhaps not to a mortal, but trust me when I say this will be better for both of us.” You glance over his shoulder and watch as he loads up the cart with expensive artisan coffee beans, a French press, and a stainless steel coffee grinder.
“Astarion, I can’t afford all that,” you press, trying to take his phone out of his hands.
“Then consider it a gift,” he lobs back at you, holding his phone above your head so you can’t reach it. You plant yourself on a barstool and sulk for a moment before actually processing what he said.
“Wait, so you can tell when I’ve eaten or drunk something made with low quality ingredients?” Your brain spins the rolodex of all of the times you kissed him after having some trashy food.
“Unfortunately, yes,” he says with a regretful frown.
“And the night at the bowling alley when I was drinking that terrible beer?”
“Not particularly pleasant. But worth putting up with, because, well,” he clears his throat and flashes a coy smile, “it had been a while.” Your ears flush and he saunters over to you, planting a kiss just below your earlobe. Your hands rest on the waistband of his boxer briefs.
“But… coffee,” you pout, and he takes your hands and pulls you over to the couch.
“If you’re patient, my dear, it’ll be worth the wait,” he coos, sitting you down and pulling your legs onto his lap. “And speaking of waiting.” He brings your hand to his lips, running his nose along the blue-green veins in your inner wrist. “Do you mind terribly if I have my breakfast while you’re waiting for yours?”
Your breath catches in your throat as he gently grazes the point of one fang across the sensitive skin. “You’ve never fed from my wrist before,” you breathe, almost as though speaking too loudly might spook him.
“Does that make you reconsider?” His eyes flick up towards yours but his lips remain on your wrist, ghosting over the flesh. You shake your head, transfixed by his subtle movements. His lips stretch into a smile before he sinks his fangs into you, the sharp pain sending a twin bolt to your heart and your core before melting away into that sublime numbness. You’ve never watched him feed before, and you’re almost taken aback by how beautiful he looks. His lips pressed to your wrist, his hair falling into his eyes, his back expanding and contracting as his breath quickens. He must sense your gaze because he looks up, his red eyes sparkling. Your heart rate spikes, and it only takes a few seconds for him to smile against your wrist, reacting to whatever your sudden arousal changed in your bloodstream.
It feels too soon when he pulls away, despite the oncoming lightheadedness suggesting otherwise. Unlike his usual animalistic expression he wears after drinking your blood, he has a sated, almost goofy look to him. You giggle and swipe the red droplet from his bottom lip and suck it off your thumb.
His sleepy gaze moves to you, but when he sees you licking your blood off your finger, his features sharpen into the more predatory look you’re used to. He shifts your legs so that he’s towering over you, and you have no choice but to sink down into the couch on your back. He presses a knee between your legs and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. He descends onto your lips and you taste the blood that still coats his. You arch your back into him and he slides his hand beneath you, pulling your center closer. He slides his knee upwards, pushing your thigh with it, and rolls his hips into your now spread cunt. You groan into his lips, hands scrambling for purchase on his bare shoulders. His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and you’re about to wriggle out of them when there’s a knock at the door.
You both freeze, then suddenly you remember. “My coffee!” you squeal excitedly, pushing Astarion off of you. “They probably just left it right outside the door, babe, can you grab it while I reheat the water?” You clamber over the back of the couch and over to the kitchen while Astarion shakes his head at your antics.
He pulls the front door to your apartment wide open and a startled half-gnome stands there holding a paper bag full of coffee supplies. Their eyes travel down Astarion’s half-naked form, lingering momentarily on the growing bulge in his boxer briefs. They flush a violent purple before muttering a quick, “Sorry,” and shoving the paper bag in his hands. They practically sprint down the hall as Astarion calls, “Have a lovely day!” with an impish wave.
“Astarion, you scared the poor thing half to death,” you scold as he closes the door, and he responds with a nonchalant shrug.
“Probably more exciting than anything else they’ll see today, I did them a favor.” He brings the coffee supplies over to the counter and hooks his thumbs into your shorts. “Now, where were we?” He presses into your back and kisses the crook of your neck.
“Can I at least have my coffee before an orgasm?” you groan breathlessly, and Astarion chuckles.
“Who said that’s my intention?” he hums into your ear, causing you to shiver.
“Historical evidence,” you throw over your shoulder at him as you shimmy out of his grip. You pull out the various implements and stare at them blankly. You shift your gaze to Astarion and frown. “You bought all this stuff, show me how to use it.”
“Fine. Sit.” Astarion pushes you onto the barstool and begins to open the boxes with the French press and the coffee grinder. You watch him while he stands over the counter, and your eyes trace over the elaborate scarring across his back. You suddenly realize you’ve never been able to get this good of a look at it, he’s usually so carefully guarded. You’ve been afraid to bring it up again since that first night he told you about it.
You chew on your lip while he assembles your coffee, anxiously weighing the pros and cons of asking him about it. You want to ask him more about his past, but you can’t even fathom what it’s like for him to have lived more than three times your entire lifespan and still have an eternity to go.
He hands you the mug and looks at you expectantly. You snap out of your mini reverie and look down at the coffee in your hand, a few shades darker than you’re used to.
“Thank you, although I usually put in a little more milk than that,” you admit sheepishly.
“With that offal you had been drinking, I don’t doubt it. Try it first, I’ll put in more if you want.” He puts his hands on his hips as you eye him suspiciously. You take a tentative sip, bracing yourself for the acrid bitter taste, but are met instead with something smooth and rich. Still bitter, but tempered by a creaminess that has nothing to do with the milk. You look up at him with a pleasantly surprised look on your face.
“Okay, I hate to say it, but you were right,” you groan reluctantly. He smirks and tilts your chin up to give you a tender kiss.
“Still as sweet as ever,” he purrs, and a light flush rises to your cheeks. Then your mind wanders back to your earlier train of thought, and your brow furrows.
“Um, Astarion, can I ask you something?” Your voice is a little dryer than you’d like it to be. His eyebrows shoot up over his glasses, and he nods. You take his hand and lead him over to the couch, curling your knees into your chest and holding your coffee mug in both hands. “Can you tell me more about… about your scars?”
Astarion exhales a breath of relief. Whatever he thought you were going to ask, it wasn’t that.
“Er, yes, well… How much do you know about vampires?” He looks at you carefully and you blink in surprise. Very little, and you’re surprised it didn’t occur to you to look up more.
“Besides the basics, I guess, no sunlight, mirrors, garlic,” you rattle them off in your head. He giggles when you say ‘garlic.’
“The garlic is a myth, but you’ve got the basics, yes. Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m able to bite you without consequences? Well, besides the dizziness, I suppose,” he adds with a sly grin.
“I guess not, no,” you frown, wishing that he would just tell you instead of this weird quiz.
“I am not technically a full vampire – I’m a vampire spawn. I was turned while on the brink of death by a vampire named Cazador Szarr,” he spits the name like it’ll poison him if it lingers too long in his mouth. “I was his slave for two hundred years, compelled to do anything and everything he commanded. Most of the time it meant luring victims back for him to feed.” Astarion’s eyes glaze over, and you slide out your foot to gently touch his knee. You’re at a loss on how you can possibly comfort him for something this traumatic, so you let him continue in his own time.
“And once, it meant lying still while he carved this into my back over the course of a night. He claimed it was a poem. He made a lot of revisions as he went.” He scowls at the memory. “I only found out that it was something written in Infernal after his death.”
“How did you escape?” Your voice is small, hardly able to comprehend what he’s telling you.
“Oh, that’s actually quite a fun story.” He lights up suddenly. “His six other spawn and I rose up to overtake him. It took years of planning, and we were under the constant threat of being caught. But we were successful, and we tore him to pieces.” His eyes sparkle with a bloodlust that you haven’t seen before and your heart pounds in your ears. You had said that you want to see the more predatory side of him, and you’re getting your wish. His face softens and his gaze refocuses on you. “That was about 100 years ago,” he concludes with a wry smile. He puts his hand on your foot next to his leg and pulls it into his lap, and you curl your toes against his hand.
“Well,” you exhale, still processing his entire story. “That certainly puts the trauma from my shitty ex into perspective,” you say with a pained smile, trying to make light of it.
“Suffering is relative, the enormity of mine doesn’t reduce yours.” He tilts his head as he looks at you, a silent question. He’s leaving it open for you to tell your story, but refrains from pressing.
“Well, it almost seems mundane in comparison,” you start with a heavy sigh, and he squeezes your foot lightly to encourage you to continue. “I’ve only had one even remotely serious relationship, and he was a piece of shit. Well,” you reconsider as you think of what those early days with him were like. “At first he just seemed like one of those ‘lovable asshole’ kind of guys, plus he had a Yorkshire accent, so clearly I have a type,” you say with a feeble laugh.
“No, a northerner? Darling, want better for yourself,” Astarion grimaces, and you glare at him.
“Like I said, I have a type,” you sneer. “But after a while, it became clear that he didn’t particularly respect me, I think partially because I was studying theatre and he was in STEM. He constantly talked down to me, he hated it any time I disagreed with him, and he would go out of his way to piss me off because he thought it was funny.”
You see Astarion wince, slowly putting the pieces together. You don’t particularly feel like rehashing the night you saw Taming again, so you continue.
“His friends weren’t terrible, though, and he was never as awful to them as he was to me, so I thought it was my fault. Like, if I were just somehow less annoying, or smarter, or more interesting, then he would suddenly stop being an asshole. There were some nights,” you swallow thickly, surprised by how difficult recounting this is. You thought you had worked through all this with Jaheira. “Some nights he was so persistent that I would just let him have sex with me so he would shut up and go to sleep.”
You feel Astarion tense beneath your leg, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard you’re worried his teeth might shatter. You quickly continue to try to put him at ease. “I sometimes wish I could go back to my 20-year-old self and just give her a huge hug and tell her that she’s worth more than that dick. But I’ve grown a lot since that relationship, and probably because of that relationship if I’m being perfectly honest. Wish I could have learned those lessons without an abusive asshole, but we play the hand we’re dealt.” You shrug and stare blankly at the dregs at the bottom of your mug.
When Astarion speaks, his voice is icy and measured. “And what’s this man’s name?”
“Aradin. Aradin Beno,” you answer, keeping your eyes cast down. Your gaze shoots up to Astarion with a sudden realization. “You’re not allowed to kill him, Astarion,” you warn. You would have been joking had you said that thirty minutes ago. But after learning exactly what he’s capable of, a genuine spike of fear runs through your heart.
“But why?” he says in a whiny voice. “I can make it look like an accident, I promise!”
“No, no murder!” You kick your other foot out at him, and he grabs your ankle in a single swift motion. His sudden movement makes your mouth twitch as you suppress the smile spreading across your lips.
“Does the prospect of me being a killer make you feel something, little love?” he drops his voice and your breath catches in your throat. You don’t want to admit just how much it does, so you choose to remain silent instead. You watch him with unblinking eyes as he prowls over you, taking your empty mug out of your hand and setting it on the coffee table. The way his eyes sparkle and the flash of his fangs tells you that he knows exactly what it makes you feel.
“Are you? I mean– have you? Besides the one, I guess,” you stammer as your heart threatens to pound out of your chest. He looms over you, pressing his thigh down between your legs.
“Would it be better or worse if I said yes?” His lips hover over yours, and the noise that slips out of your throat is a little embarrassing. He closes the distance and kisses you roughly, slipping his hand beneath your lower back and digging his nails into your skin.
You’re certain you would feel differently if you saw it in person… but the mental image of Astarion covered in blood after just having torn Aradin limb from limb sets you off. Something surges through you and you suddenly flip Astarion onto his back. You straddle his hips and crush your lips together, struggling to control your hungry kisses. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling hard. He claws into your thighs, pulling you down onto his rapidly growing erection, and you groan into his lips. You move your mouth down to his neck, biting down, and your whole body seizes when you hear his breathy moan in response.
He pushes up off the couch, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist while you cling to his shoulders, your assault on his neck never relenting. He carries you back to your room and throws you down on the bed hard enough to bounce slightly. He looks borderline monstrous as he crawls back onto you, pinning all four of your limbs down so escape is impossible.
Your breathing grows heavy as he ravages you, your hands messily grabbing at any part they can reach. He tears at your bra with his teeth and you moan loudly, panting uncontrollably. He bites your skin, not to feed but to mark you, to cover you in punctures and bruises that brand you as his. You arch your back into him, asking for more. You want him to tear you apart, to leave you broken and consumed. You whine, your breath wracking through your lungs.
But before long, your vision starts to darken around the edges. You feel your heart pounding in the well of your throat – not the way Astarion makes your heart pound, but the way your anxiety does. You get lightheaded and your muscles grow weak as Astarion, unaware of your change in faculties, bites down on the soft tissue of your breast.
“Wait,” you call weakly, and grabs your hair and pulls your head back, pressing his lips against your ear.
“What was that, love?” he growls as his pointer finger tugs on your shorts.
“Star, stop,” you croak, and his entire demeanor shifts. He pulls back to look at you, his red eyes round and shining with concern. You’re a little surprised when the tears fall from your eyes unbidden, streaking down your temples and into your hair. You start hyperventilating, shaking as you lose control over your breath. You shove your fist into your mouth, hoping fruitlessly that the pain might ground you.
After a moment of staring at you helplessly, Astarion pulls you into his arms and you curl up face down into his lap, choking out sobs as you grip his thighs. Your throat tightens and you feel like you’re being strangled by your own larynx. You gag as your stomach heaves, trying to expel itself from out of your mouth.
Astarion rubs your back, rocking you gently. A soft stream of “shhhh” and “it’s okay, love, you’re okay,” pours out of his mouth. He breathes in and out slowly, and you eventually find your breath enough to steady it, lengthening your inhales and exhales to match his. You lay there trembling for what feels like hours until you manage to push yourself back up into a sitting position.
“Gods, I’m sorry, I don’t know what that was about,” you chuckle feebly, wiping tears and snot from your face. Astarion starts to reach out to touch your cheek, but he pulls his hand back hesitantly.
“Darling, you don’t need to apologize. Are you… are you alright?” he asks, voice unsteady. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes until your vision goes starry, then take his hands in yours.
“I am, yes. I’m sorry. I know you said I don’t need to apologize,” you add quickly as he opens his mouth to protest. “Like, I’m sorry that it happened as much as I’m sorry that I probably freaked you out.”
“Did I do something wrong?” His voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it, and you furiously shake your head.
“No, gods no. The opposite, actually.” You attempt to flash him a smile, but it just comes off as tired. “I think it just became too much too quickly. And I guess I’m not as… worked through… the Aradin stuff as I thought I was.” You frown at your clunky phrasing and he more confidently reaches out to stroke your cheek. You press your face into his palm, holding his hand to your lips as you take a few more long, grounding breaths. You finally drop his hand and look down at your torn bra, raising your eyebrows in surprise.
“Oh, er… sorry about that,” Astarion smiles sheepishly.
“Honestly I’m more impressed than anything else,” you laugh as you start to try to scooch off the bed to get another shirt. Astarion puts his hand on your knee to stop you and walks toward your dresser. It takes him a few tries to figure out the right drawer, but eventually he pulls out a tank top and hands it to you. You inexplicably turn away from him as you put it on, suddenly self-conscious in front of this man who has seen you naked maybe a dozen times.
You pull yourself to the edge of the bed, your dangling feet not quite touching the floor, and reach out to him with grabby hands. He steps closer to you and lets you embrace his waist wordlessly. You press your nose into his ribs and take a steady inhale. His scent is so much more concentrated from this angle, all sweat and pheromones. He runs his hand through your hair and you can feel tears welling up in your eyes again. He feels the wetness on his skin and pulls away suddenly.
“What? What did I do?” He sounds genuinely panicked and it gets an honest laugh out of you.
“No, it’s nothing. I’m just…” in love with you. Fucking hells, you haven’t even let yourself think those words before. You push the thought down, so very far down – you’re not even remotely in a position to confront it right now. “Do you think you can hang out for a bit? You don’t have plans today, do you?” You take a shaky breath. “I just don’t think I want to be alone right now.”
“Yes, my sweet, of course.” He takes your chin and tilts your head up so you’re looking up at him. “But will you please eat something? You’ve had nothing but coffee and I’m sure the blood loss isn’t helping.”
You smile and nod, standing to give him a proper kiss. The sudden movement does, in fact, make you wobble a bit. He grips your arms and glowers at you as your eyes scan down his bare chest and legs.
“Do you want, like, clothes? Maybe I can ask Shadowheart to run to your apartment and get you a fresh set?” You don’t mind staring at him half naked, but you figure you might as well give him the option.
“Well, as a matter of fact, do you think she would mind terribly feeding His Majesty? He gets awfully cranky if he doesn’t have his regular meals.”
“Huh, I wonder where he picked that up?” you ask with a coy smile and he rolls his eyes.
“You’re one to talk. Go eat.” He pushes you through your bedroom door. “And yes, please ask Shadowheart.” You laugh as you stumble through your living room to the kitchen. You pick up your phone from the kitchen island and pull up her number.
-Shade, are you busy? Can you do me a huuuuuuuuuuuuuge favor?
-what
It’s a bit on the early side for her, so frankly you appreciate the answer at all.
-Can you run to Astarion’s apartment to grab some clothes? And also feed his cat?
The typing bubble pops up and disappears a handful of times. Then, she finally replies:
-...what?
-Please Shade, it’s important. pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaassssseeeeeeeeeeee
-Moon Maiden, yes, calm down. I’ll come over to grab his keys.
“Okay, she said yes,” you tell Astarion as you put your phone back down on the counter and grab a sleeve of cinnamon raisin bagels from the drawer. He watches you carefully as you assemble your breakfast, almost like he doesn’t trust that you’ll actually do it if he looks away.
It doesn’t take long for Shadowheart to walk into your apartment without knocking. She’s wearing an oversized Next to Normal t-shirt and shorts. Her eyes first settle on Astarion sitting at the island in just his underwear and she stares blankly. When her gaze shifts to you, and she sees your puffy red eyes, she turns back to Astarion in a fury.
“What the fuck did you do?” she hisses, and you throw out your hands to stop her from committing murder. She stops just short of getting slathered in cream cheese from the knife still in your hand.
“Nothing, no, he’s good, I swear. Perfect, even.” You glance back at him abashedly. “No, it was just… Aradin stuff.” You mumble the last few words, and watch as Shadowheart’s anger deflates and then flares twice as high.
“Oh? Do I need to hunt this piss kid down?” she seethes, pumping herself up for a fight.
“No, she has forbidden murder, I already tried,” Astarion drawls, and Shadowheart’s expression dulls to a scowl.
“Fine,” she grumbles, then turns back to you. “Where am I going and what am I getting?”
“I’ll text you his address, just a change of clothes. Oh, and where do you keep His Majesty’s food?” You start typing out the message and Astarion takes your phone from your hand.
“It’ll be simpler if I give you instructions,” he says as he types out what looks like a novel. “Make sure you go to the fish market on Bleeker, not the one on Mayweather. And if they don’t have the nice fatty tuna, you can get the yellowtail, but only if it’s been caught within the hour. If they don’t have either, then ask for Thodric, he’ll know what to get.”
Shadowheart stares at him with a mixture of confusion and revulsion. “The little rat’s getting Fancy Feast and he’ll like it,” she finally says when Astarion hits send. You shoot her another pleading look and she groans. “Fine. Anything else for Your Majesty?”
“Oh, His Majesty is fine, but could you also grab my maroon cardigan and–”
“Gods, really?” she snaps. You’re chewing on your bagel when you finally process what she’s wearing.
“Wait, isn't that shirt–” you begin and she whirls around, her loose silver hair swinging down her back.
“I’ll text you when I’m on my way back,” she barks as she slams the door shut behind her.
***
You and Astarion spend the day together mostly in comfortable silence. Shadowheart does, in fact, give His Majesty the fresh fish he so desperately requires, but she only brings Astarion a pair of jeans and a black v-neck t-shirt. He grumbles a resentful thank you, even if she didn’t bring him the maroon cardigan.
You’re lying on the couch leaned up against Astarion, who has borrowed your tablet to grade papers while you answer work emails on your phone. You get another reminder from the chair about season selection and you groan.
“I swear, we’re not going to have a season next year if we can’t fucking agree on something,” you bemoan, dropping your phone and rubbing your eyes wearily. “Plus, the rest of them feel like we need to settle on a musical first and then build the season around that,” you gripe, crossing your arms like a petulant child.
“Well that’s nonsense, the musical is always just a garish over-produced spectacle,” Astarion scoffs.
“But it’s the thing that makes the most money, so we are kind of dependent on it, as much as I hate to admit it,” you concede reluctantly. “Alfira really wants to do Heathers, and I read it, I just can’t get behind it as much as the rest of the faculty. I want to make sure the classical play is in conversation with it, and I can’t think of an interesting choice.” You slide your eyes to Astarion with a smirk. “Lucretius suggested Hamlet and I would literally rather fling myself out a window than direct Hamlet.”
“Well now, I don’t believe self-defenestration is necessary,” he laughs. “But you’ve only read it? Aren’t you the one always going on about how theatre is meant to be seen and not read?” He mocks you a little too well and you smack his knee.
“Fine, I guess I’ll see if there’s a recording available,” you mutter, picking your phone back up and googling it. “Oh, there actually is. A proshot is available… on the Roku app? I swear to the gods, there are too many apps these days.” You sit up and turn towards Astarion. “Will you watch it with me? Pleeeeaaaassee,” you add in a whine when he gives you a pained look. “If we don’t like it we can make fun of it together, I promise. That’s a better deal than you’ll get from 95% of theatre people.”
He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s bad enough you’re going to make me see it in the fall, you’re going to make me watch it again now?”
Your heart leaps at how casually he mentions still being together in the fall, but you quickly shake the feeling off. Instead, you divert his attention by offering, “What if Karlach and Shadowheart watched it with us? Karlach should probably watch it too, honestly, and then you and Shade can commiserate together as non-theatre people.”
He glares at you for another moment before putting his glasses back on and huffing a great sigh. “Fine,” he relents, adding with a glare, “you’re very lucky that you’re cute.” You giggle with delight and text Shadowheart.
-Do you wanna come over with Karlach tonight and watch Alfira’s pick for the fall musical? You can bond with Astarion over your love of expensive wine and the annoyances of dating someone in the theatre department.
-🍷👌🏻
You laugh at her response and go back to leaning against Astarion’s side, a small shiver running up your spine as he squeezes you a little closer to him.
***
Shadowheart and Karlach come by later in the evening, Shadowheart with two bottles of wine and Karlach loaded with snacks. They move around your kitchen, taking out bowls and glasses, while you take a sudden new interest in the ingredients for Doritos.
“And is it like, highly processed ingredients?” you frown as your eyes scan over the lines, some of the words familiar to you and some of them not. Astarion shrugs.
“I haven’t kept a detailed list of what’s fine and what isn’t, if that’s what you’re asking,” he drawls, looking over his glasses pompously, and you huff.
“Well then I’m going to eat them just to spite you,” you threaten, attempting to open the bag of Doritos menacingly. The gesture falls flat when you crunch down on a chip and it crumbles down your shirt. He takes the back of your neck in his hand and pulls your lips to his, his tongue swiping up cheese dust. You flush and he pulls away, contemplating the taste.
“Well it’s certainly not the most pleasant,” he finally decides, and you dejectedly put the chips down and pick up the wine Shadowheart has just poured. Astarion looks down his nose at the bottle.
“Decent choice,” he intimates with an approving look, and Shadowheart gives him a sideways glance.
“Ah yes, I heard you were a bit of a wine snob.” She tries to match his haughty energy, and doesn’t do a half bad job. “I saw what you brought,” she says, referring to the bottle still on the counter from last night. “It looks… fine.” The corners of his lips twitch upward and you can tell that he likes her, despite their constant bickering.
You and Astarion settle yourself on the couch while Karlach and Shadowheart sit on the floor. Karlach leans against the base of the couch, one knee propped up and an arm around Shadowheart’s shoulders. You smirk at your best friend, remembering your conversation of her insisting that she likes to sit on the floor, despite the fact that the two of you always sit on the couch together. Astarion, legs crossed and arm around you, pulls up the Roku app on your TV and finds the Heathers proshot.
September first, 1989.
Dear diary:
A spotlight comes up on a young half-elf woman wearing a bulky denim jacket, big scarf, and a long hippie skirt. Veronica, it quickly becomes clear, is one of the more unpopular kids in school, along with her best friend Martha Dunstock.
“Wait, Veronica isn’t already one of the Heathers? And she’s already friends with Martha?” Shadowheart asks. The eponymous “Heathers” are the archetypical mean girls who rule over Westerberg High.
“No, is that how it is in the movie?” you reply. “I’m only vaguely aware of it, I just read the musical.”
“Interesting,” she muses, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah, she’s supposed to already be in the Heathers, and she doesn’t even speak to Martha until the last scene of the movie. I guess this way she gets a classic movie montage makeover.”
“That tells a very different story,” Astarion says, bouncing his foot slightly. “Following a protagonist who starts wealthy and popular rather than one who is an interloper into a position of power.”
“I wonder why they changed it,” Karlach says, and you nod in agreement.
“I can almost guarantee it was because of the success of Mean Girls and not simply a narrative choice they wanted to make,” you add, wrinkling your nose with distaste.
“Maybe,” Shadowheart takes a thoughtful sip of her wine. “Mean Girls was so heavily influenced by Heathers that it does seem like a nice homage.” She pauses for a moment, then giggles, “You know, I used to think that I had a crush on Christian Slater and I wanted to be Winona Rider, but it turns out it was the other way around.”
“Honestly, I think that tells me all I need to know about you,” Karlach teases.
Honey whatcha waiting for? Step inside my candy store.
Time for you to prove you’re not a loser anymore.
The trio of Heathers pose centerstage, their synchronistic dance moves and bright color coordinated outfits creating a striking stage picture.
“Visually, it’s a nice stylistic choice,” Astarion notes, “but I wonder if the aesthetics will detract from the effectiveness of these three as antagonists.”
“Maybe,” Karlach says with a shrug. “But you know that Carm would have a field day with these costumes,” she adds, turning to look at you over her shoulder.
“Oh she absolutely would,” you agree, looking at their sharp blazers, plaid skirts, and thigh high socks. “But I think Astarion’s has a point, they’re almost too appealing to convey any real villainy. Plus, so many of these lines have become such an iconic part of pop culture that they’re almost meaningless. When the main Heather shouts, ‘Shut up, Heather!’ it feels more like she’s quoting a famous line than bullying her friend.”
“I’m sure Alfira will want to address that in the room,” Karlach nods.
Love this dead girl walking
Love this dead girl walking
Love this dead girl–
Yeah– Yeah– Yeah–
Yeah!!!!
After committing the social suicide of not bullying her unpopular best friend, Veronica decides she wants to go out with a bang – literally – and sneaks into the bedroom of resident bad boy JD. You still get an uneasy feeling about him as a character, but you’re trying to parse out your judgment of yourself versus your analysis of the text.
“Sorry,” Karlach shakes her head and holds out her wine glass, pointing at the screen. “Did we just witness that girl have a musical orgasm?”
“Surprisingly more common than you’d think in musical theatre,” you laugh, and Astarion pulls you into him until his lips are on your ear.
“Would you like to be my dead girl walking?” His voice is a husky whisper, sending a shiver reverberating through your body. You press your lips together and dig your nails into his knee to keep both of you in check.
-Oh my gods, I just killed my best friend!
-Oh, and your worst enemy, so–
-Same difference!
Veronica may have been the one to unknowingly hand a mug full of drain cleaner to the most popular and powerful of the mean girls, Heather Chandler, but JD was the one who knowingly handed it to Veronica.
“So they just immediately kill their primary villain?” Astarion scoffs in surprise. “Bold choice, I wouldn’t have expected it from a musical.”
“Oh don’t worry, she’ll be back,” you laugh. “Hey Karlach, who do you think should play Heather C?”
“Oooh, that’s a good question. I feel like it has to be Arabella, right? Who else has got the chops?” Karlach tilts her head to look at you.
“Arabella would also be really good as Veronica though,” you respond, shuffling through all of the theatre majors in your head. “Do you know if Mol is going to audition?”
“Maybe, but I think she wants to stage manage this fall.”
“Oh that makes sense, she’d be great at that,” you nod in agreement.
He’s hungry for a hunk
Of the junk in your trunk
“Oh, weird. I don’t remember this song in the script I read,” you say with a frown. It was a while ago when you read it, but you’re pretty sure that this moment – when the high school jocks Kurt and Ram corner Veronica alone – felt a little more comedic and a little less sinister.
“Yeah, same,” Karlach says. “I feel like it was much sillier. Something about balls?”
“I think the hook was ‘you make my balls so blue.’” You try to force a laugh, but what’s playing out on screen is making you uncomfortable. The visual of the jock, Kurt or Ram, you can’t remember which, lewdly humping the air in front of a terrified Veronica doesn’t sit well with you. “This song being about date rape raises the stakes very differently from it being a blue balling joke.”
“Yeah, that’s so much more intense.” Karlach’s frown deepens as Veronica tries to pull her skirt down lower while the boys grab at her aggressively.
“I mean I get it, it’s a much stronger choice narratively, but we’ll have to be careful, give proper warnings and stuff.” You take a sip of your wine and Astarion gently rubs your shoulder.
“Okay, darling?” he hums in your ear. You nod but pull his arm around you a little tighter.
I worship you. I’d trade my life for yours.
I’ll make them disappear.
There’s something so much more menacing about JD’s sung lines after having killed the jocks, Kurt and Ram, who tried to sexually assault Veronica. It makes your hackles raise, in part because you can see how toxic it is, but also because you can’t deny that it stirs something inside you. Just earlier today, you threw yourself at Astarion at the mere mental image of him murdering your abuser.
It’s okay if it’s just fantasy, Jaheira’s words ring in your head. Sure, someone saying that they worship you and committing homicide over it isn’t healthy in real life. But in a fantasy that isn’t hurting anyone?
But… how do you decide what’s harmful and what isn’t?
Can’t we be seventeen?
Is that so hard to do?
After JD murders Heather Chandler and both Kurt and Ram out of a sense of misplaced righteousness, Veronica begs him to hold on to his youth a little longer and not let the trauma of his mother’s suicide make him grow up so fast.
You feel Astarion’s chest shaking slightly against your back. You glance up at him and his eyes are shining.
“Babe, are you crying?” you whisper and he glares at you.
“What? No. Shut up,” he spits as he wipes away a tear. You strain your neck and kiss his cheek.
VERONICA! Open the– open the door please,
Veronica, open the door.
Can we not fight anymore, please?
The repercussions of JD's streak of murderous revenge finally catching up with Veronica, she hides from him in her bedroom while he attempts to cry, scream, and sing his way back into her heart.
“This is the one,” you call out. “This is the song that’s all over TikTok with teenage girls saying that she should’ve opened the door.” The context is no different from when you read it – his violent outbursts mixed with unhinged sobbing still make for an energy that you don’t quite know how to respond to.
“I’m pretty sure they know it’s satire, it’s really over the top,” Karlach shrugs.
“Most of them probably do,” you say with a frown, remembering a concerning post that you saw somewhere that said ‘musical JD really loved Veronica while movie JD was just a manipulator.’
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Astarion says, pointing with his nearly empty wine glass. “You’re telling me that young girls like this behavior? Why?”
Shadowheart snorts. “Apparently there’s something appealing about a pathetic wet cat of a man,” she laughs, and Astarion pouts.
I wish your dad were good,
I wish grownups understood.
I wish we’d met before
They convinced you life is war.
Veronica is pleading with a gun-wielding JD to not blow up the school during the pep rally when something suddenly clicks for you.
“Oh my gods, that’s the thesis statement, that’s what this whole show is about.” You sit up with the realization. “It’s not about mental health, or bullying. I mean it is,” you falter a bit, the wine sloshing around your brain. “But at the root it’s the parents’ fault. All of the adults in this show have been neglectful at best and selfish and bigoted at worst.”
“You know, if you want a good classical play with that theme,” Astarion shrugs, “then you should propose Romeo & Juliet.” Your jaw drops and you whirl around to face him.
“Holy shit, you’re so brilliant, I love you.”
Hey yo, Westerberg, tell me what’s that sound?
Here comes Westerberg, comin’ to put you in the ground!
Your whole body freezes as the blood drains from your face. Somewhat delayed, you slap a hand over your mouth to keep you from accidentally revealing anything else. Astarion stares at you, his mask completely expressionless. Karlach and Shadowheart seem to remain oblivious to the monumental tension between you and Astarion.
Westerberg will knock you out
And send you straight to–
Fuck.
#bg3#bg3 fanfiction#astarion#astarion ancunin#professor astarion#aatarion fanfiction#astarion x reader#astarion/reader#astarion x you#astarion/you#bg3 modern au#astarion smut#bg3 smut#baldurs gate 3#office hours
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in another life ʚɞ higuruma hiromi
In another life, I would've loved doing laundry and taxes with you
Higuruma wasn’t one to stare, but the moment you looked back at him sitting by the counter and smiled, he realized his gaze must have lingered on you longer than he anticipated. He quickly averted his eyes elsewhere, fumbling around with Keita's case files on the table before taking the cup of coffee and giving it a big gulp. He felt somewhat silly to be gazing at a random woman in a random cafe one day before Keita’s second trial, but oh well, here he was.
You happened to be at Morioka for the past week, still working as an underground healer using your RCT, glad enough that Jujutsu High hadn't caught up with you. This was your last day in Morioka before leaving for Hokkaido, for yet another job, and your mind wandered around until you noticed this man looking at you.
You saw him when he came inside the cafe, carrying a big briefcase, some folders with what seemed to be piles of papers inside, and the most tired, exhausted face you had ever seen on anyone. He had a black suit on, wore a black tie and had a tiny pin on his lapel. The man, however, didn’t seem to notice you eyeing him as he put down his order for a single cup of black coffee before taking himself and his papers to a table in the farthest corner of the place.
Maybe it was the fact that you'd be leaving the city in a few hours, or that you instantly found him to be charming in an understated way, but you grabbed your own latte and walked towards the man, not failing to notice there was an empty seat in front of him.
”Hey,” you called, pulling his eyes towards you, “is this seat taken?”
Higuruma was surprised, confused, and wondered if maybe you wanted to take the chair to use on another table.
”No, it’s not.”
”Great. Can I sit with you?”
Now he felt even more confused.
”Why?”
You chuckled a little, and cocked your head to the side.
”Because I saw you staring at me, and would like to tell you I was staring at you too when you walked in. That should be a nice conversation starter.”
Oh, caught red handed, he thought to himself. That’s what you get from getting distracted instead of working.
”I...” he began, wanting to say he was about to start working, that he was busy and couldn’t possibly entertain any type of company, but out of his mouth simply came “yes, you can.”
Satisfied, you pulled the chair and sat with him, not placing your beverage on the table to avoid the risk of an accident involving your coffee and his seemingly very important papers.
”So, change of scenery? Came to work at a cafe for the day?” you asked, leaning back.
He seemed out of his element - something he probably was. Higuruma couldn’t recall the last time he went on a date sandwiched in between his gruesome working hours. Having an attractive woman sitting with him and asking him questions was definitely not on the list of things that might happen when he stepped foot out of his apartment that morning.
”Yes, I was feeling trapped inside the office,” Higuruma mindlessly replied, putting his papers down for a moment, “I’m concerned about this trial tomorrow and wanted to read these files again.”
Then, it clicked. The suit, the pin - that now, up close, was clearly a sunflower - and the put upon face.
”Oh, you’re a lawyer?”
He nodded. “You?”
”I’m a nurse,” was the trained answer you already had for when people asked you that. “What about this case is making you nervous?”
You had no idea why you were asking this man so many questions, but he seemed unendingly interesting to you. Something about him just drew you in.
He scratched the bridge of his hooked nose for a second, apparently pondering on his next words.
”I’m afraid my client, who was relieved to be acquitted the first time around, might end up getting crushed by the cogs of the criminal justice system.”
”Oh, so you’re a criminal lawyer?”
”Yes.”
”Wow. That’s...”
Crazy in a country with such a high conviction rate. Delusional. Dangerous.
”Admirable.”
He was taken aback, and his eyes widened a little as you both locked gaze.
”I mean, Japan has a very high conviction rate, right? I read it somewhere,” you noted, taking a sip from your latte.
”Yes. 99%, in fact.”
”99%?!” you exclaimed.
He nodded and kept silent, realizing how ludicrous that was. The fact that only 1% of criminally pursued cases ended up in acquittals. After so many years, one can get accustomed to any and every type of absurdity, it seems.
“Why do you do it?” you asked him.
”Because I have a terrible habit of not being able to ignore unfair situations. If I see someone being a victim of injustice, I just have to do something about it.”
“And how has that been working out for you?”
Higuruma thought about it for a moment, yet no words came to him. He could feel himself slipping away, but denied the very notion that working with what made him feel fulfilled was the same thing that was silently chipping away at his soul, one wrongful conviction at a time.
Realizing you might’ve hit a nerve, you thought it’d be better to change the approach, asking, “is your client innocent? The one who’ll be retried tomorrow?”
Higuruma acquiesced. “Yes, yes he is.”
You sighed, and with one big gulp, finished your coffee.
”Life isn’t fair anywhere, but I’m glad there are people like you trying to tip the scales back in place,” you told him, sparing him a warm smile.
He was slightly embarrassed, not knowing how to respond to the compliment.
”And you said you were a nurse, right? Why?”
You sighed and shrugged, “I wish I had the same ‘this is what I’ve always wanted’ drive, but it’s just where life pushed me towards.”
“And why did you wish you had the same drive?”
“Because... I guess, it’s because I only became a nurse after losing everything and everyone I wanted to keep in my life. There was nothing else for me to do.”
This seemed like an oddly intimate conversation to be having with a random stranger, but it felt comforting in a way. His attentive eyes, probably from years of hearing clients crying and pleading, never seemed to look past you. They stated, silently, I’m listening. I see you.
“I don’t think that’s true,” he noted, being someone able to pry out the truth out of people even when they didn’t realize they were lying - to someone else or to themselves.
”What do you mean?”
”You’re what? In your mid twenties? Early thirties?”
You were confused. “Hm... Yes?” Is this some kind of pick up line?
”You probably had some years to acclimate yourself to that profession. You answered me quickly when I asked, which suggests that you’re accustomed to telling people you’re a nurse for a while now. What I mean to say is that you look at peace with that choice, and I’d guess you haven't tried changing careers or anything of the sort.”
The man really read you like an open book, and you were speechless, widening your eyes a little.
”I’ll take that as a confirmation to what I’ve just said,” he stated, noting your silence.
You scoffed and chuckled a little, realizing that you were now the one figuratively getting surprised with a random person butting themselves in your table.
“I... I think I do enjoy healing people, even though it takes a toll on me, sometimes.”
Higuruma didn’t notice how his coffee had gone cold by this point, his papers now forgotten as you both talked for a good while.
”What did you mean when you said you lost everything before becoming a nurse?”
Your mouth fell agape, but no words came out. In a second, trying to look elsewhere to mask your uncomfortable feeling, you took a quick look at your watch, realizing that you had been chatting for a very long time. You had to run or you’d miss your train.
“Oh, that’s a conversation for another day, lawyer man, I have a train to catch.”
”Another day, huh?” he inquired, and you smiled, aware that he understood what that meant.
You definitely wanted to see him again.
You pulled up a paper note, writing your name and number on it. Swiftly, you offered him the paper, and he took it from your hands, reading it.
”Now you have my name and my number. What should I call you?”
”Higuruma Hiromi.”
“It was nice to meet you, Higuruma Hiromi, criminal defense lawyer.”
He was surprised to realize how much he liked hearing his name in your voice. He hadn’t had what felt like genuine conversation for a very long time, and could say he was even pleased you had butt in his work to probe him around with questions.
He felt heard and seen, too.
“I unfortunately really have to go now, I’m leaving for Hokkaido for a few days,” you stated, blushing slightly before proceeding, “but you should give me a call.”
He nodded your way, and for the first time during this entire interaction, actually spared you a smile.
”Okay.”
***
It had been probably hours that Higuruma laid inside this full bathtub reminiscing on the last days of normalcy before his fallout. He suddenly remembered the day prior to Keita’s conviction, and how he met you at that cafe.
It all felt like a faint dream of events that happened years ago, and not something that had taken place only a few weeks prior.
Maybe I should’ve called her. I wonder if she’s safe.
He got the gist of the Culling Games from kogane, especially the fact that the Games didn’t stretch so far as to Hokkaido. Pulling him from apathy, he felt the mildest hint of concern and hope, expecting you’d be actually safe, given you were leaving for Hokkaido that afternoon.
At Hokkaido, you followed the news about the Culling Games, glad you had been out of the ground zero when shit went down. You wondered if the people you met in the past - friends and acquaintances, mostly - were alright, and for a second, the image of that lawyer came into your mind.
You wondered if he was safe too.
Unfortunately, only one of you two would be proven right.
—
End notes: I have The Big Sad today and decided to turn into everybody’s problem.
#Jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fic#jjk fanfic#higuruma#higuruma hiromi#hiromi higuruma#jjk hiromi#hiromi higuruma x reader#hiromi x reader#hiromi jjk#jujutsu kaisen higuruma#jjk higuruma#higuruma x y/n#higuruma x reader#higuruma x you#higuruma hiromi x you#higuruma hiromi x reader#hiromi x you#hiromi x y/n
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Agreement prt1
Art Donaldson x Fem black reader
Warnings: cursing, infidelity, slight smut (fingering) sub ish Art. Slight he loves her more trope, needy Art and probably some other stuff
Word count: 2k
Summary: Despite being engaged to one of the top and richest tennis players in the US, you feel unfulfilled. But everything changes when you transfer schools and meet Art Donaldson, who just can’t quit you.
Author note: GUYS GUYS, PLEASE DON’T KILL ME. MY WRITERS BLOCK HAS BEEN SO BAD YOU DONT UNDERSTANDDD, But I’m finishing all my requests and unfinished fics soon so stay tuned. 😚
Sitting on the bed in your brand new silk pajamas, you found yourself distracted, just like you had been the day before and the day before that. You played with The edge of the book you were attempting to read,mindlessly repeated the last sentence over and over in your head trying to retain anything. The loud television and the whirring of the ceiling fan only added to the chaos. Plus the freezing cold air conditioning of the hotel room made it impossible to concentrate.
In a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of focus, you clumsily reached for the remote, hoping to silence at least one of the distractions. your eyes falling on your fiancé who was sleeping peacefully, his dark hair all messy, in his crisp white t-shirt that matched perfectly to the expensive hotel sheets, he looked so sweet,so innocent. You thought if he slept more, maybe everything could work out
Mike slept while snuggled into your side. Like he often did when you two shared a bed, You had attempted to remove him several times but every time he ended right back at your side so you gave up, In any other scenario his action would seem romantic but they only made you feel worse than you were already feeling. In an effort to relieve some guilt you liked to reminded yourself your engagement was never out of love but business. But then again the line did blur in the beginning of your relationship. Before you left for Stanford, you and Mike got caught up in the act of pretending be in love.
After that you could never really tell real from fake with him, he didn’t like you talking to other men. He’d shower you with really expensives grift but then leave town and not answer your calls or text for days. But when no one was watching he’d try to hug and kiss you. The whole thing was confusing, You had known idea how he persived your relationship but you knew You Felt guilty, without all the technicallys, you knew that you still lied,
The people ate up the role you and Mike played. occasionally you’d have to leave campus and go out in public holding hands or sharing kisses in the rain. But it was all for show, at least on your end. Your Dad made sure to reminded you That, it was the love sick tennis player in love with his coaches daughter that sold tickets. kept the stands full of women hoping to catch the world win romances in action. Also Brought in a large number of his clientele. He promised It wouldn’t be forever unless you wanted to be. And Really how could you complain? 20 years old engaged to One of the wealthiest and most talented tennis players in the world and he wasn't bad looking either. Before all this, you weren't too keen on love anyway, so what were you really missing out on?
~~~
Ten months before
Patrick serves but Art's attention is elsewhere. The ball zooms past Art for the second time, prompting Patrick to turn around and finally see who's behind him. His gaze lands on you, playing tennis alone on a smaller court. The sun shining off your smooth, glistening skin, and your pink tennis dress gracefully flowing with each jump and run.
"Oh, I get it," Patrick chuckles, glancing back at Art. "She's hot. You should talk to her, maybe offer her a lesson. She could use it," Patrick suggests, looking back at you as you let another tennis ball from the machine fly past you . "I think I've seen her somewhere before," Patrick mutters, tapping his racket against his leg.
Still in a daze, Art jogged over to your court. "Oh, you're serious," Patrick murmured watching as he went over to you following closely behind him. "Hi," Art greets, slightly out of breath walking up to the net. "Hi?" you respond, slightly confused, giving him a small wave.
"Are you new here?"
"To the school or the court?" You ask
"Both."
"I'm new to both” you say a little breathless wiping sweat from your forehead.
“I just transferred," you explain.
"Where did you go before?"
"A small community college in Virginia."
"What about tennis?"
"You have a lot of questions," you laugh, tapping your tennis racket against your leg.
"Im just curious “Art jokes.
"I'm just doing this because my fiancé is a tennis player. I thought I'd try to learn," you reveal.
“Finance?” Art questions.
“Yep”
“ how old are you like 20?”
“ actually 19, I turn twenty in a couple months”
“And you're getting married?” Art asked clearly dumbfounded
“Yes” you laugh at his forwardness
", is he a pro or college?", Art asked, assuming the answer would be college.
“Pro," you replied, letting your curls fall freely from your hair tie. Art couldn't help but admire how beautiful you were,too young to be tied down
"Anyone we would know?" Art asks following you as you walk over to the bench with your tennis bag. "Hmm, maybe," you hum, sitting down to tie your shoe. "Mike Fitts."
"Your fiancé is Mike Fitts!" Patrick exclaims a little too loudly. "Mhmm," you confirm, starting to tie your other shoe. "If Mike Fitts is your fiancé, why are you here?"
"Are you referring to the court or the school?" you ask, looking up at both Art and Patrick.
"Both," Art and Patrick respond in unison.
You chuckled as you stuffed your tennis racket into your bag. "Well, whether I'm engaged or not, I always planned to graduate college. And Mike is too busy right now to teach me, so I'm trying to teach myself."
The two of them nod in understanding as you stand up. "It was really nice meeting both of you, but I have class," you announce, throwing your tennis bag over your shoulder. "By the way, it would be great if you guys could keep the whole fiancé thing on the down low. I'm trying to keep it as quiet as possible for now."
"Yeah, no problem," one of them replies.
"Of course," the other adds.
"Thanks, I really appreciate it," you say giving them a small smile before turning around to leave the court.
just as you're about to walk away, Art calls out after you, "Wait! You said you're trying to learn, right? we could coach you if you want” Patrick gives him a look and Art ignores it waiting for your response.
You pause, considering the offer.
”the both of you?” you asked gesturing between them. Art gives you a nod. at that moment The risk didn't seem too big so you said
. "Sure," with small shrug
"How about tomorrow at 12:30?" you suggest, checking the pink Bvlgari watch Mike got you.
"Perfect," Art responds with a shit eating smile
“Ok see you guys ” you laugh walking out the court
~~~~~~
“Yeah see” Patrick says reading a newspaper. “Olympic coach, Dylan yLn, Daughter engaged to Olympics gold medalist Mike fitts” Patrick reads next to a photo of you and Mike smiling as you showed off your huge
engagement ring. “She wasn’t bull shitting”
“Let me see” Art says grabbing the newspaper. “She didn't have on her engagement ring when we saw her...” Art trails off
“You can't be serious” Patrick laughs
“What?”
“She’s engaged Art, not to anyone either,” Patrick leaned in on the table so only he could hear. “she’s engaged Mike Fitts!”
“I didn't say anything,” Art defends
“ you don't have to” Patrick says stealing a fry off Arts plate plopping it in him mouth.
”I know you,”
~~~~~
After that day, everything seemed to blend together. Art and Patrick dedicated themselves to training you throughout the weekdays for three entire months until you got tired of it . Since they were kinda the only people you knew in the entire school, the three of you grew close fast. You started going out to bars and parties together. you had you're most memorable college moments with the two of them. And then, your birthday arrived. Patrick had left for some torment and it was just you and Art.
You two were just having so much fun that night. On thing led to another And before you realized it, the two of you were constantly having “fun together”. It didn't matter where - in the dorm, in the shower, or even on the floor. It was bad, but you two couldn't stop
Trying to clear your mind you Let out a sigh. you carefully remove Mike from your side sitting up to taking a sip of you're water on the nightstand. Trying to ignore the ache of your core. This is how you spent every night away from him, needy, uncomfortable. You heard a knock at the door which almost caused you to spill water on yourself. You Quickly put your drink down and run to answer it before the person could knock again careful to be quiet not to wake up Mike.
You swung the door open to find Art standing there, hair slightly damp, with huge smile on his face. "Are you out of your mind?" you whisper, stepping out of the room and shutting the door quietly behind you. You can't help but notice his thin athletic hoodie and gym shorts. Slightly wet clinging to his skin as if he just stepped out of the shower.
"It's past one ,"Art huffed out , his voice filled with urgency and desire as he leaned in for a kiss. his hand gently cradling the side of your face in the process.
When the realization of what was happening washed over you, you pulled away, but still stayed close enough to feel his breath against your skin. "Art," you breathed out, eyes darting down the hall to check if anyone saw. Your hand instinctively found its place on his strong chest, you savored the feeling and the look of your manicured nails there, not knowing when you be able to do it again.
"I like these," Art hummed, playing with the hem of your pajama shorts. He rolled the fabric between his fingers, his big hand gracing you thighs in the process. The little touch sent shivers down your spine. You somehow composed yourself pushing him away gently with your index finger, creating some distance between you two.
He looked at you with sad eyes like a rejected puppy. "Mike’s sleeping inside," you whisper, worried someone could hear. "What does that mean?"
There was a long pause as you carefully choose your next words. Art stared at you intently, trying to decipher your expression. "You slept with him?” Art asks, as if he already knew the answer.
"No, I didn't sleep with him!” You whisper yelled, “He just showered and fell asleep," you explained,
"What's bothering you then?"
"I feel guilty."
"You didn't feel guilty at Stanford."
"Mike wasn't at Stanford."
“You care about Mike's feelings now ?" Art's asks furrows his brow, his voice filled with a mix of confusion and hurt.
" I don’t know… he’s been nicer lately and were supposed to be married in three days”
“You’re actually thinking about going through with it?” Art asked the hurt now evident in his voice.
“There’s nothing I can do now, I signed contracts, this isn’t just about us anymore I’ve told you this”
“What about the private investors?”
"That's just a 'what if,' a perfect 'what if,' but we don't even know if he's seeing someone."
“ If I win tomorrow?”
“Art If you win are lose tomorrow it doesn’t change anything, my Dad expects me at the alter on Sunday regardless, nothings gonna change that”
“But you don’t love him ”
“ I could” your words come out more a question, maybe a hope. “I loved you?”
“You love me” Art corrects
"There's too much at stake now, Art. This is my father's career. We don't come from money, this is all he has."
“You honestly believe this will ruin his career?”
“It could” you reply with a small shrug your voice cracking slightly.
“It won’t” Art response
“You don’t know that”
“ Don’t do this ” Art whispered closing the small space between you. He sounded so tortured, like he was pleading with you.
you hadn't realize it but tears welled in your eyes Threatening to spill any moment. When You blinked an a tear fell down your cheek. Art tenderly brushed it away with his thumb. The stress of the last two weeks had finally caught up to you. “it wasn’t supposed to be this hard” you murmured, your voice barely audible, tears streaming down your face as Art wiped them away.
“Do you love me?” his questions sounded genuine but you knew, he already knew the answer. ”more than i’d too” you joke, using the back of your hand to dry your eyes.
“Then let me make you feel better,” Art whispered leaning down so he was directly above your ear.
“You’re right about what you said earlier, Mike wasn’t there at Stanford”. He paused for a second moving a piece of your hair out the way, “I was,” he hummed brushing his face against yours “just me and you” he whispered leaving a trail of kisses on the outside of your earlobe down your neck. Causing Your breath catch in your throat .“We had fun right?” Art question, his voice deep and breathy causing you to instinctively press your legs together as you leaned back against the door. “Art” you mumble trying to shake the sexual haze that was swirling inside you.
“I missed you” he whispered his free hand slinking up the side of you short griping your thigh, hiking your leg up slightly. “So bad…All day”
“we can't” you manage to breathe out unconvisingly.
“I’ll beg,”
“Art” you warned
“I’ll do anything baby” he mumbles leaving slowly kisses on your neck. “Anything you want me to” he says kissing under your chin. “ I need you” he hums kissing down your neck, ”don’t you need me?” Art asked kissing below your ear. You don't respond giving small nodd biting the inside of your lip. “Can I hear it?” Art asked, the way his voice sounded so desperate, Damn near whiney had you looking for friction. ”I need you so fucking bad” you basically moan pushing your body against his.
“I love you so much you don't understand” Art said smiling against you cheek. sliding his free hand down the front of your shorts. He rubs his fingers through your folds collecting your wetness on his fingers. You throw your head back with a quiet moan, quickly biting your lip to silence yourself. “Fuck your so wet” Art groans before pulling his hand from your shorts, sucking his fingers clean like it was second nature. You clenched around nothing at the sight.
“I missed your taste” he groans returning his hand to your heat. “Can I make you cum right here” Art huffed out peeping down the hall.
"Yeah,” you breathed out, nodding your head feverishly. He could have asked you to drive to the moon in that moment, and you would have said yes. Art slowly pushed two fingers inside of you creating a medium pace before bringing his thumb to rub your clit, you moan lifting your hips to meet his fingers. “Fuck I could eat you out right here” Art groaned watching you Practically fuck yourself on his fingers. “Promise me you won't ever let him see you like this” Art goans leaving kisses on your collar done. “this is mine”
”You can bearly hear a word he's saying the feeling of his thumb on your clit and finger damn near touching you cervix was too much to bear. “I’m gonna cum” you moaned out grabbing Arts shoulder hard in an effort to ground yourself. “I can feel it,” Art breathed pressing his forehead against yours. He presses down harder on your clit causing you to buck into his fingers, letting out a loud moan You cum. his movement don't falter, he continues to pump them in and out while still rubbing your clit until he feels like you've finally had enough.
he removes his fingers from your pussy returning them to his mouth. “I’ll never get tired of that” Art laughs leaning in for a kiss, you return it, taste yourself on his lips. He gently places you leg back on the floor and you stumbled slightly grading his shoulder for balance. He instantly goes to your waist holding you steady. “You ok?” Art ask slight consern on his face. You don't respond afraid of what your voice would sound like after an orgasm like that.
You nod with a smile and Art led you to the hotel room next to yours, pulling out a key card from his pocket with a grin.
“You didn't,” you exclaimed as he opened the door.
“I did,” he replied, motioning for you to enter.
“How did you even know our room number?” you ask, stepping inside.
“I have my ways,” he answered, closing the door behind you.
“How did you even afford this?” you asked, looking around.
“Are you going to keep ask questioning or are you going to take of your clothes” Art teased, watching you sit on the bed.
“You first,” you countered, settling back on the bed .
“Yes ma’am,” Art chuckled, starting to undress.
~~~~
Morning arrives and you found yourself back in your original room. Mike was in the bathroom getting ready while you fix your dress in the mirror of the bedroom. As you adjust the straps, you notice a hickey you hadn't seen before, one you forgot to cover up after coming back last night. You lay your hair over it and walk towards the bathroom to retrieve your makeup bag, slightly tripping as your sore legs give out on you. "You good?" Mike asks, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, I think I'm just sore from tennis practice," you say, reaching past him to get your makeup bag.
"You know no one expects you to play," Mike laughs while drying his hair with a towel. "I'm not doing it for anyone, I want to learn," your words come out more offended than you intended. "I just mean you could spend your time doing something else."
"Like what?" You respond plainly, walking out of the bathroom back to the mirror. "Like calling your dad and asking him what time he'll be here," Mike says from the now open bathroom. "Is your phone not working?" You ask, pulling out your concealer from your bag. "I don't want to fight today, okay," Mike says sternly, looking at you through the reflection of the mirror. "This is a big match," he mumbles while running his toothbrush under the water.
"I thought you said it was going to be 'nothing,'" you chuckle dryly, applying the concealer as his face was turned. "It is, but from what your Dad's been saying, he's been getting good. So I'd like to be on my A-game and not have you trying to start shit."
"Whatever you want bae" you respond, quietly laughing in disbelief. He had resorted right back to his old ways,How could you ever agree to marry someone like him, someone so vastly different from the man you spent the night with.
~~~~
soon as you and Mike were ready, your dad called you downstairs to join him for breakfast. You both stood in line, slightly overdressed, picking out your favorite breakfast items. Suddenly, you heard a familiar laughter and turned around to see Art chatting with your father near the entrance. Your heart sank as your father motioned for you both to come over. After dropping off your plates, you and Mike walked towards them, feeling Mike's hand slip around your waist.
"I'd like you to meet someone," your father announced with a smile, putting his arm around Art's shoulder. "This is Art Donaldson," he introduced, "the man I'm competing against today." Mike said extending his hand for a handshake, and Art reciprocated. Your stomach churned at the sight. "This is Mike, you know him, he's also my daughter's fiancé."
"Stressful, huh?" Art jokes. "Oh, you have no idea," your father replies, laughing. "You're both at the same college, right? Stanford?" your Dad asked, nodding towards you. “maybe you could try your luck at training her because I just can't get through," your dad jokes. Art's eyes rake over you, as if looking at you for the first time. "It be my please" Art smiles, looking directly at you. You notice Mike's grip on your waist tighten, clearly not pleased. "Actually, I've been training y/n already, she's improving every day," Mike says, planting a quick kiss on your head.
"Really?" Art inquires, trying to keep up the act to the best of his abilities. "Monday to Friday," Mike replies with a smug grin.
“I wanted to introduce all of you, as I will officially be coaching Art starting next fall,"
Your Dad says in an attempt to break the tension. Somehow Mike's grip on you tightened even more. "When did you make this decision?" Mike asked, his face showing no emotion but you could tell he was angry. "two weeks ago, and I've been waiting for the right moment to properly introduce you two. I know the timing is awkward because of the match, but it's better to do it now than later."
Mike doesn’t say anything giving an expressionless nod. There was an awkward pause before you decided to speak up. "It was nice meeting you…Art?" you trail off , purposely sounding unsure. He nodded with a knowing smile. "But our food is getting cold," you joked, trying to escape the suffocating tension. "I wouldn't want to keep the couple from their food," Art said, while a smiling looking directly at you. "You two eat, I have to go handle some things," your father said, gesturing for you to sit at the table before walking off with Art.
Once the two of you sit back at the table you feel caught. "I don't want you near that guy," Mike says, taking a sip of his coffee. You roll your eyes and stab at your scrambled eggs. “He was basically eye fucking you the whole time, and it doesn’t help that your dress is so tight”
“I think you forget sometimes this isn’t real,” you reply, taking a bite of your eggs.
"Lower your voice," Mike warns, glancing around to see if anyone heard.
"You didn't care about it being real when you accepted the gifts," he scoffs, "or in Virginia."
"It was only once, Mike. And every day, you make me regret it."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. You don't get to control me just because you buy me shit. Anyone can buy me shit."
“I told you i’m not doing this with you today” Mike laughs dryly standing up from the table. "I'll see you later, okay babe?" he says a bit louder, forcing a fake smile as he plants a kiss on your head before walking away. You try your best not to flinch when he touches you. Once he's gone, your phone buzzes, and you glance down to see an unsaved number. It's a text from Art.
“meet me at the restaurant next door in 20, alone.”
Author note : GUYS FEEL FREE TO COMMENT I LOVE READING COMMENTS and a lot of the time they motivate me to finish a series😝
#black reader#art donaldson#art donaldson smut#challengers#challengers fanfic#art donaldson x reader#Art Donaldson x black reader#Art Donaldson x black female#art donaldson x female reader
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I loved how you answered for Jake 🥺
If your still doing them, no pressure!!! How about Fools rush in! Steve for..
4. Who initiates affection? Why does the other not initiate affection as much?
14. Do they enjoy PDA, or are they more private with affection?
20. How do they comfort each other when one of them is upset? Is this method of comfort effective?
Questions are from this ask game and for the Fools Rush In series with Steve Rogers x lab tech!Reader.
Lol ok, I love his frustrated face, but I will also attempt to include some new info in this since I don't want to beat the Fool's struggle bus to death. *mild cursing
**Dude, this took an ANGSTY turn and I'm sorry-not-sorry.
4
This, too, is an evolution. Those very early days, you were both so tentative. Steve showed affection by spending time with you—as best he could while so busy—because that’s his love language. Being near was enough for probably a lot longer than it should have been. The exact reasons are hard to parse, but basically, Steve needs permission to show physical affection and then he still had trouble communicating why he was so unsure of himself. Not you. He’s sure he wants to show you affection. He’s unsure how to.
He needs you to take the lead, just at first, just until his confidence builds. He’s so private with his personal life that he became comfortable completely closed off. Each little step is a big deal.
First, he needs verbal assurance, then gentle touch—innocent things like dancing to a song, holding hands, or a sweet hug. After that, Steve could kiss you without explicit permission. He could always read your body language. He knew all the non-verbal cues that meant you wanted more. Finally, though, Steve realized what he was doing wrong.
He kept everything so private for so long, Steve was living out affection toward you in his mind without making any moves.
He’d see you sitting at a table and think how nice it would be to kiss the crown of your head and rest his hand on your shoulder. He’d walk in the woods with you and think about how your fingers would lace with his. He’d enter a room where you were mid-conversation with others and think to wrap his arms around you from behind.
But he didn’t do any of that, only imagined it.
Steve would experience all these little familiarities as if they happened, but it took him a very, very long time to understand you didn’t know he wanted to do them. He took equally as long to realize something very important: he’d been teaching you not to touch him.
Because he held back, you held back.
After all of that is figured out—and god knows, it’s A LOT of stuff to figure out,—you both are quietly affectionate.
Quietly because…
14
…public displays of affection are essentially a no-no. Captain America is a public figure while Steve Rogers is an unbelievably private man. He’s more reserved by sheer fact of Cap being so f**king visible.
Honestly, that's the long and short of it.
If he could be in public and no one would care, yes, Steve would throw his arm around you and kiss your cheek once every few minutes. He'd hold your hand right on top of the table at any restaurant, or he'd pull you to sit in his lap whenever possible.
The problem is that it feels like everyone cares, and even though Steve has no clue why there always seems to be an antagonistic attitude in the media about you, he's not going to encourage their shitty behavior. He would rather give them nothing, and so he keeps things very simple in public.
He can't win, however, since this is one of the biggest things that upsets you. It looks like he's cold, and you tell him it feels as if he doesn't love you when public events drag on too long.
20
Steve used to just push through the discomfort of being 'out,' but he's now aware enough to take breaks. He'll find a hallway or a quiet corner (or a bathroom, if desperate) where you two can check in, some place secluded where you can breathe with him or be sweet with each other. That's only for if it's the public crap that's upsetting you.
Sometimes, it's work that upsets you, and that requires listening to comfort you. Most of those times you neither want nor need advice; he simply has to listen. He can relate to most of it anyway because he works with various teams constantly, and there is always friction between groups of people.
Steve has/had a large slew of deaths in the years after being woken from the ice. Veterans aged and passed away constantly, and he touched the lives of so many during the '40s, Steve was/is invited to speak or attend many funerals. He makes a point of going as often as he can and has a running list of families in different areas that he could visit or write to when time allows. It's important to him and exhausting. The frequency of funerals (including those of agents who were young or not retired) very much upsets Steve. The way he handles it publicly is stoicism and gratitude. In private, you listen to the real stories.
Oftentimes Steve feels guilty for romanticizing or idealizing war, but he also knows that the truth of what soldiers go through isn't appropriate for eulogies. It is healing to him to explain to you how imperfect, how mundane, and, yes, how horrific what those men and women went through really was. He heals by admitting some of them were racists or told truly sick jokes to anyone who would listen. He heals by confessing some of them stole from their friends or off the bodies of the fallen. He heals when he can be honest, when he can say that none of it really feels like winning unless you turn humans just like you into enemies.
Operation Paperclip (where Nazi scientist were recruited in order to help America develop more weapons and technologies) upsets Steve, deeply, wildly, frustratingly, because he understands why it happened. Steve is upset at how often he's wrong about people. He believes in those morals and ideals of humanity, and he's disappointed by how often he finds the bullied becoming bullies.
None of that has ever been cut and dry, but the reality weighs on him. You listen. For the most part, that's all you can do. You also hold him. You say you're proud of him. You're proud of him for choosing to be good over and over and over again even when it seems useless, even when it is hard.
Steve is comforted when you bring him back to a very small part of the world and you focus on his 'small' life with you. He actually takes very well to light jokes about how he doesn't fold some clothes the way you like and so no one's perfect. He's grounded in the knowledge--when you remind him--that, to date, he has never managed to put away an entire load of dishes in the correct spot, and that it's weird that it's a different utensil or plate that he misplaces every time.
When you assure Steve that he is just one man, just one sorta-average man, he is greatly comforted. That's a big one for him.
Thank you for asking!
[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
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@brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81
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#ro answers#ask game#fools rush in series#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers angst#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n#steve rogers fluff#steve rogers fanfic#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers fic
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Not the Only One Part.2
•🌪️🍂🪵🏹•
Summary: Reader comes from an abusive family and is insecure about it showing up everywhere with bruises, but one night she comes across Daryl who is more like you than you know
Pairing: Young Daryl Dixon x f!reader
Content Warning: Abusive parents
Part.1
•Masterlist•
I woke up feeling sore all over, rolling over in the bed I notice Daryl still fast asleep, I try to get up slowly……quietly but as I sit up he groans groggily opening his eyes
“Where ya goin?” His voice still raspy with sleep
“Just gonna get more pain meds, I’m really sore, sorry I woke you”
“Ain’t gotta be sorry, bout time I get up anyways” he got out of bed and grabbed some more aspirin and a bottle of water that was on his dresser
“Thanks, I should probably head home now, don’t wanna over stay my welcome” I laugh pathetically
“Yer staying, like I said last night ya ain’t going back there, ya need a break, hell we both do” he said sitting down next to me on the bed
“Then what are we going to do?”
“Come on I’ll show ya” he took my hand and led me out of the house to the woods that were behind his house surrounding the lake
“Is this your way of telling me you’re going to kill me” I joke with him as he drags me through trees and bushes
“Ya caught me” he smiles as he looks back at me
We stopped at a clearing that over looked the lake with the morning sun shining down on the water, we both sat down just watching the serene moment, I gently laid my head on his shoulder eventually feeling him lay his against my head, in the span of a day he’s been there for me more than anyone ever has in my life, that feeling last night when he consoled me and made me feel like I wasn’t a burden or like all this isn’t my fault and he understood, it made my heart flutter and I want more of that, I want more moments like this with Daryl
“How is it we basically grew up a few houses apart when we could have helped each other this whole time”
“Don’t know sunshine, but ya ain’t alone now” he said as he picked at his fingers nervously
“I don’t wanna go back there, I can’t do it anymore and I don’t want you to hurt anymore either” he was silent for some time
“What do ya wanna do then?” My heart was beating fast with thrill but mixed with anxiety
“What if we just ran away, my aunt lives on a farm like an hour away and she lives alone, she always said she’s lonely and she has a lot of space, what if we just go there, start over together”
“I don’t know, ain’t we gonna be a lot to take in?”
“She calls all the time telling me to move with her, I always said no because well dad would go crazy but I need to go, and you’re so sweet she’d love to have you around, I can call and ask” he seemed to think it over before he nodded
We went back to his house and I dialed my aunts number waiting a few rings before she answered
“Hello?”
“Aunt Carrie it’s me y/n”
“Oh sweetie I didn’t recognize the number”
“Yeah I’m calling from a friends house ummmm I need to ask you something” I asked feeling my voice quiver, Daryl holding my hand in encouragement
“I’ve never told you because I was scared of what might happen but dads been hitting me, he has for a long time and this time was really bad, I can’t live her anymore and I have know where else to go, I know it’s a lot to ask but could me and my friend come live with you, we need to get out of here”
“Oh love you should have come to me sooner, you and your friend are welcome to come live here for as long as you’d like, I love you sweetheart”
“Love you too” we both hung up and I turned to Daryl smiling
“She said yes, we can live there for as long as we want” he pulled me into a hug mindful of my back
“Thank ya, ya can go pack and meet me back here and we can take my truck and go” with that we went our ways, I entered the house and no one was home, I took a suitcase and packed as much as I could as I was leaving the house I saw Daryl throwing some things in the box of his truck, I wheeled over and he helped load my stuff up
“Are ya sure bout this?” He asked brushing my hair back
“I want this Daryl, let’s go before someone comes home” we got in his truck and the engined roared as we pulled out, driving past the house that only brought awful memories, driving past the sign telling us we were now leaving town seemed to lift this weight off my chest and it seemed to have the same effect of Daryl
Throughout the hour drive Daryl played his music and we just enjoyed the comfort of knowing we got out, when we got to a dirt road I gave him directions, pulling up to the farm it was as beautiful as I remembered, huge green fields with roaming horses, a little pen for lambs and sheep that were hopping around, and there in the middle of all the land stood a big older house that just brought everything together, Daryl pulled up the drive way and parked, shutting off the truck
“Didn’t know it would be all this, thought it’d be somethin small, don’t know if I deserve this” my heart hurt at how he saw his worth, I thought he deserves all this and more
“Daryl this is our home now and what we’ve been through we deserve some peace, now come on let’s go inside”
It’s been a month since we moved to the farm and it’s been the most peace I’ve had in years, Daryl and I were sitting out in the field watching the sun set, listening to the frogs crook
“Are you happy here Daryl?”
“Ya know I am, best thing anyone could’ve given me”
“Do you think maybe we could be more than friends eventually” I asked extremely nervous that this might push him away
He looked down at me his face hard to read making matters worse
“Thought we already were” my eyes widen and my heart skips a beat, did I miss a something?
“What really? And when did this happen without me knowing?” I tease
“That night ya came to my room, had that nightmare and needed me, I knew then that ya were the one, thought ya felt the same” he said squeezing my hand
“So we’re dating, thee Daryl Dixon is my boyfriend” I laugh leaning my head back to his shoulder
“I’m all yers sunshine”
This was only a short sweet series I hope you all liked it🩶
Taglist: @l0kilaufeys0n7 @stoner420things69 @pinchofthetwd @thestonedwriter @daryldixmedown @deansapplepie @ghostboneswrites2 @superbowlisgay @daryls-wife @pinkratts @daryl-dixons-left-hand @mrrumplebottom @twistedprincess-92 @addi1978 @wongcena @darylspersonalwhore @starrqi @heidiland05 @livlaughlove03
#twd fanfiction#twd daryl#daryl dixion imagine#twd x reader#daryl dixon#twd fluff#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixion smut#daryl x reader#daryl imagines#daryl dixon twd#daryl fanfiction#daryl dixon smut#the walking dead daryl#daryl x female reader#daryl x you#daryl x y/n#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon fluff
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ONE FOR ME
warnings :: reader gets injured, me tryna replicate eugene language
ron anderson x reader
being from rick’s group gave you many opportunities; to fight the dead for the families who can’t. it was decided that you would go with glenn when he had to attend runs. this had pros and cons for you. pros, you got to keep up your skills and go back to what you’d — ironically — consider more home than any of the mansion-sized houses in alexandria.
cons, you could die. get hurt. any negative possibility from before could still happen, so why did you agree to go on the runs in the first place? when there’s the safety of alexandria waiting for you? there’s one simple, stupid answer. ron anderson.
after being out there for so long, away from anyone your age other than carl, you had no idea how to deal with little teen crushes.
especially ones on boys with a girlfriend.
so you’d take your chances going back to the nostalgic smell of decaying flesh and the sounds of the dead gurgling on, probably, their own blood.
what made things worse was ron’s reciprocated attention and affection. it made you feel awkward. you didn’t know how to portray your feelings properly, how to respond to his advances. and then you remember enid, and your brain really short-circuits.
“hey,” you hear ron’s breathless voice behind you, turning around to see him jogging towards you. “another run?”
you shrug, “we need things.” he squints his eyes to look at you through the sun, shooting you a sad look. he takes your hand and pulls you away from the gate and your team. your hand feels like it’s on fire, you hate how this boy makes you feel.
“can’t you stay for once?” the look in his eyes and sincerity in his voice has your face heating up. you nibble your lip nervously before wiggling your hand out of his grasp. you try to not dwell on the dejected look on his face.
you give him a tight-lipped smile, “i don’t know much about relationships, but i don’t think you should be holding another girl’s hand.” he opens his mouth to protest when you start to walk away. “and i can’t stay, they need me!”
he watches you get in the car with glenn, heath, and nicholas, sighing and waving at you. causing you to look at him blankly before the car is disappearing down the road.
ron laughs at your behavior, turning around as eugene shuts the gate. he hears the metal clash before eugene’s voice calls out to him. “i can feel the thickening tension of teenage romance budding between the two of you.” ron tilts his head at him, brows furrowing at the random interjection. “it’s palpable.”
you didn’t expect that interaction with ron to throw you off so much, but you have to admit, it was nice having someone care for you. the group had always had their own cliques; maggie and glenn, rick with michonne, carl, and judith. sasha with tyrese, carol and daryl. you were stuck on the outside.
the closest to that you were beginning to have was noah, and he’s gone now.
and nearly, you were too. the run was going alright, you all had gone into a pharmacy and you were instructed to look in the back where the prescription medications were. while the others took on the convenience store items and over-the-counter meds. you were blazing through the labels, looking for what glenn instructed you to find.
“cillin, cillin,” you mumble to yourself, looking at the ends of the words on the bottles. you needed to find antibiotics, and your head was so clouded with teenage feelings and confusion that you didn’t hear growling behind you.
a hand reaches out and grabs your shoulder, causing you to whip around and grab your knife. you stab the walker through the eye, mouth agape. you look around to see you had knocked a shelf out of place in your frenzy. one that was holding a door with a broken knob shut. hiding a room full of walkers.
you back away with wide eyes, shoving a bunch of medication from the nearest shelf in your bag. you’re sure you could use it for something, maybe your possible death wouldn’t be a waste.
you trip over the decaying arm of the walker, watching as it slides across the floor. you land with a grunt, an odd sticky pop sound ringing in your ear accompanied by a newfound pain in your shoulder.
you’re unable to hold in a yelp at the pain, using your opposite arm to push you across the room. walkers start to crawl towards you, and you take the opportunity to stab whichever one you can reach. you accept your impending doom and tiredly try to take out the herd, but the more they stack on top you, the harder it is to reach.
gunshots fly through the air and everything becomes a disgusting blur. bodies of the dead falling to the ground before the pile of them on top of you are flung off and you’re being hauled over someone’s shoulder by your bad arm. you make a noise of pain you couldn’t hear before your vision goes black.
you blink your eyes, staring up at the white ceiling above you. you know you’re home, well, in alexandria. you turn your head and recognize the infirmary. that’s when the searing pain in your arm becomes obvious once more.
“i think it’s a severe muscle tear,” you hear denise say, sitting up with a small wince. glenn and ron are in the room, both of their attention’s on denise. “it’s really intense, sudden pain, it must have made her blood pressure levels drop. that’s why she fainted, but she’ll be fine with rest.”
ron laughs humorously, “i don’t think ‘rest’ is in her vocabulary.” your heart tugs at the sight of him, standing there, waiting for you to wake up.
“i guess you know me well.” ron and glenn turn around in surprise at the sound of your voice. you send them weak smiles as the three come to your side.
glenn gives you a soft smile, squeezing your hand, “i didn’t know what happened, i wanted to stay here until you woke up.” you give him a thankful nod, watching as he tells denise something about maggie before retreating to the door.
denise stands awkwardly by your side before patting your shoulder. you grimace at the pain shooting through you, “sorry- i just… i’ll just go look at the books again.” she stammers before going back to her studying corner.
you and ron share a look before laughing, “poor thing.” you mumble, fiddling with your fingers. it hurt to move your bad arm at all.
ron’s hand comes up to yours, intertwining your fingers. you go to repeat what you said earlier when he cuts you off, “for the record,” he smiles, kissing your knuckles. “you’re the only one for me.”
#twd x reader#twd x y/n#twd x you#twd angst#twd oneshot#twd fluff#twd imagine#twd fanfiction#ron anderson fluff#ron anderson x reader#ron anderson#ron anderson angst
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5 reasons why i love you
GENRE! fluff, slight angst (#5)
NOTES! gn!reader, est relationship, mention of reader living in an apartment,
SYNPOSIS! 5 reasons why you love yang jungwon
5 ✭ PINKY PROMISES
after jungwon showed up to your house 1 hour late, you felt relieved that he was okay, but also very confused and even a little hurt. you had made plans to hangout at 6pm, and now it was 7, and jungwon was stood at your apartment door, flowers in hand.
"wonnn? what took so long?" you frowned, still slightly holding onto the door.
"i'm so, so, so, so, so sorry my love. i was getting you flowers, then the flower lady took too long telling me about each kind and i kept telling her i had to go and she wouldn't let me leave and-" you listened to him explain his reason, his voice in a hurry to get it through to you so you'd have to worry no longer.
"you scared me!" you spoke a bit louder, taking his hand and dragging him inside of the apartment, shutting the door behind him and snatching the flowers from his hand. they were your favourite.
"i'll make it up to you, okay? it'll never happen again" he slid his shoes off, keeping his love-filled eyes on you.
"pinky promise?" you stuck out your pinky, just like always. it was a little tradition between you two, absolutely no breaking pinky promises. he smiled, intertwining his pinky with yours.
"pinky promise." he repeated, and after holding for a few seconds, he brought you in by the waist for an apologetic hug. now you were certain he'd never be that late for anything ever again.
4 ✭ MAEUM
jungwon loved inviting you over to his place because every time he did it meant you'd spend a lot of time with maeum. his two loves together was truly a sight for him to see. you never noticed, but he was constantly snapping candid photos of you doing anything with maeum. going on a walk? photo. scratching him in the perfect spot right behind the ears? photo. staring contest with maeum? photo. (you always won, of course).
"i should steal maeum from you" you suggested, holding his leash in your hand as the three of you strolled around a nice, peaceful area.
"whattt? steal me instead, y/n!"
"but i want maeum!"
"wowww so you like him more than me?" jungwon faked being upset, dramatically rolling his eyes, which made you laugh.
"well....." of course you were joking. maeum was like your child, and you loved him dearly, but how could anyone top your jungwon?
"im kidding, i know you love me" he said smugly, kissing your cheek. you were tempted to kiss his back, really, you were tempted to kiss his lips; but you two were in public, so it was best not to, even if there weren't too many people.
the three of you continued your walk, and eventually reached a beautiful cherry blossom tree. it was large and full of life, you walked towards it with maeum with the intention to snatch a petal or two, just for memories.
"wait, stand still, i need a photo!" jungwon took out his phone, opening his camera. you didn't mind him getting a photo of you as long as maeum was in it! after he got the photo, you rushed towards him to see it.
"my favourite love.. and my other love, i guess.." jungwon joked as he pointed to you two in the photo, but immediately felt bad, so kissed your cheek just like before. sometimes when he'd make those types of jokes, you acted mad just so he'd kiss you.
3 ✭ ACTS OF SERVICE
sometimes you wonder what you did to deserve someone so caring, loving, attractive, and amazing as yang jungwon. tonight was one of those nights. after a long day of being out and walking, you were exhausted. you had an off day and just wanted to spend it out of the house, but the shoes you wore probably weren't the best. you were exhausted, it was 10pm, and all you wanted to do was shower then sleep. unlocking the door to your apartment, you entered, and saw a lamp in your living room on and dinner on the table. you inched closer to the food, inspecting it suspiciously.
"yn! you didn't answer my texts i sent 20 minutes ago! are you hungry? and you okay? are you tired? come sit, sit!" he ran up to you, not even giving you a chance to answer any of his questions or even think. he pulled the chair for you, gesturing you to sit down. he sat down right next to you, putting food onto your plate for you. it was everything you loved, still nice and warm.
"how was your day? what did you do?" he asked, more excited to listen to your voice than to listen to what you actually did. you smiled brightly straight at him, he noticed in his peripheral vision and turned to face you.
"what?" he tilted his head. you brought him in by the neck, planting a loving kiss on his lips. as you pulled away, your bright grin seeped onto him too.
"i love you so much, jungwon. thank you." you had absolutely no regrets giving him the spare key. after late nights out, it was amazing to have homecooked food and cuddles from him.
2 ✭ HOLDING HANDS
anywhere. everywhere. any time. no matter what. he's a bit protective, and having your hand intertwined with his not only tells other guys to back off, but also makes him know you're safe. in a crowded place like downtown, where people are walking in every direction all the time, it's easy to lose one another, but not when you're holding his hand. especially when it's cold out, his hand provides warmth.
you especially appreciate when he does it while you're stressed. trying to navigate through the city can be hard, jungwon knows, so when you're frustrated because (according to you) the gps is useless and dumb, he stays silent. just holding your hand in a comforting manner. his thumb brushes over one of your fingers, subconsciously soothing you.
"okay.. i figured it out, we turn left" you finally understood the direction, which meant you two could continue walking to your destination.
"there you go!" he gave a faint, comforting smile to you, definitely helping you to calm down from the sudden wave of stress which didn't seem to leave for a while.
1 ✭ EVERYTHING
the way he reassures you when you're unsure. the way he's always there if you ever need to cry. how he'll always put you first and drop anything to help you. how he refuses to take off his matching bracelet because it shows his commitment to you. how he'll randomly see you out in public and his eyes immediately light up as they meet yours, then you two spend the rest of the day hanging out. or that one time he didn't see you for 5 days straight and when he was finally with you, he didn't leave your side for a split second.
it's such an amazing feeling knowing there will always be someone who you can love, who will never judge you, and who is so loyal, just as you are to him. no matter how far you are from him, for any reason, your love is always strong, always present.
an: u guys have no idea how bad i wanted to write "skibidi toilet" for that last one. im childish as fuck and im proud about it. watch out for next april fools i swear
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AU where Spinner and Shigaraki both knows Japanese Sign Language. Fragmented excerpts.
•
The moment the Stain cosplayer appeared in the room, Tomura knew there was going to be a problem.
Kurogiri knew this too, which was why he leaned towards Tomura and murmured, “Please allow him a chance.”
“Shut up,” Tomura said. “I know.”
He had decided to use all aspects of Stain - his image, his popularity, his philosophy - for his own ends. That still didn’t mean Tomura liked the guy one bit. That he had to tolerate any mention of Stain made his neck burn harder with the itch, and in assigning the blame to Stain, made him hate the man even more.
The second problem came when the cosplayer stepped up to him, and Tomura spoke.
“Real name?”
It took a moment for the cosplayer to answer. And when he did…
“I’m Spinner!” Spinner jabbed a thumb at himself. “I’m here to make Stain’s dreams a reality. I live according to his will.”
Tomura gave himself a second to suppress the desire to literally kick Spinner out. Loudly, he bit out his question again. “I said, real name.”
“Oh.” Spinner froze, his shoulders lowering slightly. The pomposity was replaced with guardedness. “Iguchi Shuuichi.”
Weird guy, Tomura thought. The way his bravado faded all of a sudden. He already knew Iguchi - Spinner - was going to be an ostentatious pain-in-the-butt, but the act disappeared much too quickly.
“Quir–” Tomura barely finished the word before Spinner spoke again.
“My quirk is… Gecko. I can climb on anything. My hands and feet can stick to basically any surface.” Spinner touched the sword at the back of his waist. “But I know how to use a knife. I can handle myself in a fight.”
Tomura considered this. Judging by the lack of details, what Spinner said about his quirk was probably the full extent of what he could do. Fighting with a knife was insufficient against most Heroes, but not entirely useless - quite a few Heroes suck at close-range combat. Tomura knew better than anyone - be fast, get close, one touch, one stab - and you’ve got a dead man.
Out of nowhere, Spinner started talking again. “Stain was right about false Heroes! There needs to be a purge. All the Heroes who only care about money, about fame, about their image—”
“No one asked,” Tomura growled. “Shut up.”
But Spinner continued, completely ignoring Tomura. “—weeded out for a True Hero Society. I—”
Tomura lost all his patience. He pointed at the door, and only then did Spinner falter and stop. “That’s it. Get out.”
Spinner looked at the Tomura’s hand, then turn to glance at the door. As if there was any ambiguity in Tomura’s order.
“Shigaraki Tomura,” Kurogiri said. “Look at his ears.”
He doesn’t have any, was Tomura’s first thought. Fitting, because nothing seemed to—
Tomura paused.
While ears - probably would be green and scaly like the rest of Spinner? - didn’t exist, there were something like earbuds on both sides of Spinner’s head. His eye-mask nearly hid them away, but something peach-colored did barely poked out from underneath the mask.
“Huh." Tomura understood. But even if he did, did he really want such an annoying guy around? Someone who couldn't be upfront… but did had the guts to still show up.
Making a decision, Tomura mentally reached into the depths of his head, and pulled out a rusty, shaky skill that he hadn’t used in a while. But it should be enough.
『O-I,』 Tomura fingerspelled, and privately enjoyed the way Spinner’s eyes grew wide and round and huge. 『Can you sign?』
Spinner nodded, just a single, slow nod. 『Yes.』
“Good,” Tomura said, giving a shake of his fist in front of his face. “So get out.”
“Shigaraki Tomura,” Kurogiri said, even though the terrified look on Spinner’s face was funny.
“If he needed to use sign language,” Tomura said, translating everything into movements of hands. “He should’ve said so from the start.”
Spinner regained his bearings, and began to sign too. 『I didn’t think…』 He paused, and started over, this time talking as well. “How was I supposed to know?”
“Write it on a piece of paper then,” Tomura snapped. “You’ve been wasting everyone’s time.”
Kurogiri cut in. “If all misunderstandings have been cleared up, then why don’t we start over?”
Spinner averted his eyes, flushing. The scales on his cheeks can apparently turn slightly pink. “Fine.” Then, with the tightest and tiniest of movements, he signed, 『Sorry.』
“Shut up about Stain too,” Tomura warned. Curling his thumb and index finger, he made a sign, tapping his hand against his shoulder thrice.
“Name?”
…
“How?” Spinner said, while he signed the rest of his question. 『How do you know how?』
Tomura ignored it. “So? Are you deaf?”
“…Hard-of-hearing,” Spinner said as he signed, with much reluctance. “It's my quirk. I have trouble with low voices. Men’s voices in general. Sounds that are too soft.”
“Even with hearing aids?”
“They help, but…” Spinner shrugged. “Not much.”
Tomura glanced at the peach-colored hearing aids. Couldn’t even afford to get ones that match his color.
“Did you hear anything I said?”
“A word here and there.” Spinner frowned. “And you have that– mask, so I can’t see your mouth! I couldn’t read you at all!” He gave Kurogiri a brief look, and Tomura remembered that, yeah, Kurogiri didn’t have a visible mouth. Or any facial features besides his wispy eyes.
In that regard, Kurogiri wasn’t unique. There were heteromorphs who just didn’t have mouths or any means to speak, so they became sign language users. But overall, most sign language users were deaf, and wore implants. And the majority weren’t heteromorphs. So speech and speechreading reigned over pure signing.
The sign language officially taught in Japan had existed since the pre-Advent days, and then some. It largely followed spoken grammar and structure, so it wasn’t too hard matching signs to words, though Spinner sometimes skipped over his spoken words, and had a tendency to just trail off halfway as his hands finished the sentence.
Spinner signed with accents, too. Hokkaido signs popped up here and there, but his main accent was from his claws. His signs were careful, reserved, unwilling to take up too much space. The fists he made were loose; it was his claw tips that touched, rather than his fingertips.
Watching those claws was interesting.
“How do you know sign language?” Spinner asked again, though this time his demeanor was more demanding.
“Multilingualism,” Tomura said.
“Are you also–”
“No, I’m not deaf or hard-of-hearing.” Tomura huffed. “Don’t be so surprised. Hearing people can learn it, you know.”
Tomura moved on. “Spinner. Why do you want to join the League of Villains? Nothing about Stain. Why do you want to join?”
Spinner took his time answering. He looked at his hands, as if reading the scales on his palm and claws at his fingertips. Reading the history of his life recorded upon them.
When he finally looked back at Tomura, it was with no uncertainty, and no false front. Only true conviction. Each sign he made was clear, each word he spoke enunciated.
“I want to change the world.”
…
…
…
Five fingers, and anything he touched got decayed. He pinched things as if he was a germaphobe. He held his consoles with his pinkies sticking out. For a firm and tight grip, he doesn’t use his index finger.
Only when Tomura signs, can he make use of all his fingers.
...
...
...
(Spinaraki occurs, as in canon. Fine, also add a bit more spinaraki. Then jumping alllllllll the way to Act III, at Mt. Fuji)
He touched his left hand to the ground, flat with all five fingers, that was all that's needed—and then indulged the whim to use his right hand as well. But only his index finger: touching the ground where the fingers of his left hand are resting. He drew a line outwards, across the cracking earth. The word; the promise, the dream, finally made real.
The horizon.
Spinner, Tomura thought. It’s here.
•
Notes:
All signs that are described are accurate Japanese Sign Language.
The sign Shigaraki uses for 'name' is Kansai dialect.
••• I headcanon Shigaraki having grown up in Kansai - that's where Jaku and the hospital and the Doc is; where there was once also a town named Shigaraki (different characters tho), in the former Koka district (using the same character as AFO's Koga Construction company...).
irl, lizards have a hearing range of 100Hz and 10kHz. Humans have a range of 20Hz and 20kHz. So people can hear a wider range of pitches than lizards - like low voices. Spinner's quirk is Gecko, so...
In this AU, for a few years after being picked up by AFO, Tenko/Tomura continued to be mute due to trauma. So he was taught JSL.
The sign for horizon in JSL
#Spinaraki#Spinneraki#Spinner#Iguchi Shuuichi#Shigaraki Tomura#fanfic#AU#AU idea#fanfiction#nalwrites#nalslastworkingbraincell#i have sooooo many WIPs#lots of Spinaraki#might start dumping it all out#my attack on canon
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🄱🄻🄴🅂🅂🄴🄳 // 🇳🇦🇹🇪 🇯🇦🇨🇴🇧🇸.
Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Warnings : Dark. SFW, but discretion advised. 🍃.
Part 1 : Whiplash
Part 2 : 9 Lives
You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.
Tiny glimpse into his mind because why not?
Desc. : "His hand, so calloused from his pistol softly traces hearts on my face."
═════════════════════ ⋆ 🚬 ⋆ ══════════════════
It's not like Nate even knew you.
You just so happened to be the secret to his success, and maybe, perhaps his new obsession.
No biggie.
I mean, whole of the first week of spring break, he didn't text you, you didn't text him, and it was all great and normal.
Pissed him off to no end, because how the hell did you recover so quickly from having a fucking gun in your throat? But, hey, whatever. Maybe you were just that goddamn weird.
The second - and last - week of spring break was when shit got intense.
Because he thought about you.
He realized he hadn't even fucking seen you around town the entirety of it, and that might have freaked him out, just a little.
He worried, you see? Yes, only about his games, and his college apps, but now, all of them had been tied to you, with a pretty little bow around them.
So obviously, now he worried about you.
So, obviously, he needed to find out just where the hell your lucky ass had gone.
He narrowed it down to two options. Both perfectly reasonable, of course.
One, you just had tons of work and stayed indoors.
Two, you had been kidnapped and murdered by the opposing teams because they'd found out about your miracle-working.
See? Perfectly reasonable.
═════════════════════ ⋆ 🚬 ⋆ ══════════════════
It was a happy surprise to learn that you were basically closer to his house than you'd ever been before, after you'd taken up a job at the local supermarket.
Well, happy for him.
For you, it was more of a you-were-seriously-contemplating-suicide surprise.
"You listen to Elvis Presley?", he asked, dropping his purchase down on the counter. Your eyes never moved to it, and stayed on his.
That was one thing he noticed about you.
You were always observing, as if he were a rabid animal that would strike at any moment. As if he would reveal his sinister intentions to you within enough time for you to react.
"What?"
He nodded at the speakers on the wall around the establishment. "Those connected to your Spotify?"
You didn't want to answer unless you knew whether he was about to compliment or mock you.
"Sir, I think you should leave."
God fucking damn it. Why had he never thought about the fact that you wouldn't - (and couldn't)- call him a motherfucker at your workplace? His joy knew no bounds.
"That's so hot. Say it again."
You'd 100% expected that. It was clear on your face.
"There's other people behind you with more items to check out."
He swiveled his head around for a moment.
Old lady. Sometimes he wished he wasn't raised right.
He sighed, nodding. "I'm next up, though.", he warned sternly, pointing at you as he gestured for her to pass him by.
The old lady patted him on the shoulder and smiled, moving ahead with her purchase of an unholy amount of bread and cheese.
And what's worse?
She had coupons.
Way too many for Nate to stand smiling like a good boy behind her as she dug into her purse and fished out probably decades worth of them.
"Yes, dear, so just run all these."
"Uh, ma'am, I wish I could, but most of these are expired."
Thank god.
"Oh, well, you said most. Let's just sort through them and find the ones that aren't expired."
Would it be homicide to kill her? She didn't really have too long to live, anyway. He couldn't say he hadn't thought about it.
"Uh, okay, yeah, sure."
"This'll just take a minute, sweetie.", she whispered to Nate, pinching his cheek as if that would make time go by faster.
"How about I pay for you, ma'am? If that's alright?"
If he'd been allowed access to your mind, you'd never live it down, because you almost thanked him right then and there.
"Oh, there's no need for that, dear, I can-"
"No, please, I insist. It would be my pleasure."
"What a sweet boy."
Both her and Nate decided to ignore the derisive snort that came out of you as you swiped his card.
"Here you go, ma'am.", you smiled, placing the copious amounts of cheese into the bag, then stuffing the bread in, too. "Anything else?"
"Oh, no, that's it for me. God bless you, dear. Both of you."
Watching her walk out, he began to genuinely wonder if this absurd purchase was all part of some scheme some criminal had put up to steal without your knowledge.
"You hear that? We're blessed, you and me."
"Do you actually have anything to buy?"
"Of course I do. I'm not a creepy stalker.", he hissed, slamming his palm down in front of you. Slowly, he lifted it to reveal a stack of eleven condoms.
Oh, yeah, you were blessed with this fuckass' presence.
You sucked your teeth as your gaze traipsed from the condoms up to his eyes. One of them winked.
"Is that all?"
"Oh, come on, you're not even curious why I have them?"
"Probably for the dozens of bitches you're getting.", you scoffed, ringing it up. "$15.99."
"For eleven individual condoms?!"
You shrugged. "Inflation."
"Oh, they better inflate for the amount of money I'm spending."
He rolled his eyes, mumbling to himself as he pulled out the money from his wallet, instead of his card. "Fucking old lady with her bread and cheese."
"You maxed your card?"
"Yeah. Why do people buy so much shit they're barely ever going to use?"
"Like you with your condoms?"
Ah. Nate could've absolutely lost his shit laughing right there- you did care.
"I'm going to use it all. Trust me."
How many times was he going to use the phrase 'trust me' on you until he realized the meaning had eroded away into nothingness between you two? Probably a dozen more.
"Sure. Thanks for shopping with us. Have a great day."
He pouted, stuffing the packets into his pocket as he raised a brow. "You don't sound like you mean it."
"Nate-"
"And why are you even working here, anyway? Oh, shit, is it 'cause I cost you your internship with your perv boss?"
If he felt bad, the grin on his face wasn't really screaming guilt.
"No, fuckass, this is my friend's store, he just wanted someone to help him out for a couple hours."
"Whoa, wait, what happened to Sir? I liked that better."
That was a lie. He fucking loved it.
"Please, Nate. Stop."
"One condition."
There it was. It no longer seemed like he saw you as anything more than a boredom buster. Sudoku, or a crossword, basically. That was you to him.
"Answer one question, truthfully, and I'll leave this... otherwise empty store right after."
"I'm listening."
God, that's all he fucking wanted to hear, and it was oddly exciting. He could literally say anything, and you wouldn't block him out.
"What would you do if I told you that I have a body in my car right now?"
"What?"
"A body. A dead body. It's in my trunk. Right now. What would you say? What's your next move?"
It's like he expected you not to notice the fact that he was tracing shapes on your arm as he spoke.
"Cops."
At this point, even if he wasn't bluffing, you'd still have reacted so nonchalantly. Because it was all in all tiring to continue to play whatever twisted game he was playing.
"They're not an option. It's either silence or help me. Would you help me hide it?"
"Nate, did you kill someone?"
"No."
"Then why even ask?!"
"It's a hypothetical."
"No, probably not."
He tsked, looking away for a moment. "Wrong answer."
"Well, it's my answer."
He brought his fingers up to your face, and your slight flinch meant absolutely nothing to him. Imaginary hearts now plagued your skin. "Change it."
"My answer? No."
"Please."
"Nate, did you kill someone?", you asked once more, praying for an actual answer this time, be it in the negative or the positive.
He smirked.
"Thanks for the condoms.", he whispered, grinning as he gave your cheek a light pat - that was dangerously bordering on a slap.
Would your trunk be big enough to fit his body? You thought about it the rest of the day.
═════════════════════ ⋆ 🚬 ⋆ ══════════════════
His fingers rapped on his dashboard as he watched his phone, set down on speaker on the dashboard, too. Pick up, pick up, pick up.
"Hello?"
Yes. He'd never been this happy to hear someone's voice, and it kinda freaked him out. Okay, whatever. Not important.
"Y/N."
"Who is this?"
"The guy you broke all the rules with before spring break? Made out with on the bleachers?"
"You need to be more specific."
"You better be kidding."
"Of course I am." He had never felt more relieved to hear your stupid ass laugh. "What do you want? I'm not helping you hide a body."
He debated just asking you where you'd been all this time, why you hadn't shown up to a single party or hangout, but he decided he'd just outright ask the real question he needed answered.
"Which one's your window?"
A pause. "What?"
"The one with red or yellow curtains?"
"Nate."
"Red or yellow, babe?"
"Red." Good. You'd gotten so used to him that you didn't waste time pointing out the obvious by asking 'are you outside my house?!'.
"You sure it's not yellow?"
"That's my parents' room."
"Yellow looks more tempting.", he teased, as he shut the car door.
"I'm not messing around."
"Neither am I. Yellow it is."
"Nate!"
This was far too precious to him. You were actually worried. How cute.
The fact that he had to climb up wasn't really making him jump in joy, but he figured you'd enjoy that little touch of vintage chivalry.
Like fucking Rapunzel.
He tapped on your window once.
No answer. Don't fucking play around right now.
He knocked once more.
He was met with your extremely delightful glare as you slid your window up, watching him closely.
"Hey."
"Dude, you-"
"Shh, shh, shh. Let me in.", he mumbled, crouching to cram himself through, his hand still resting on the top of the pane.
"You're insane."
Immediately grabbing your face after he steadied himself, he hissed through gritted teeth, "Where the hell have you been?"
"What?"
"I didn't see you at all before today!"
"Yeah, we got a lot of work to do over spring break."
"This is why you don't take psychology, because you get stupid amounts of homework even during the holidays.", he muttered, as if he'd warned you about this eons ago.
"What do you want?"
"Party. You. Me. Now. Get dressed."
He almost punched you when you started laughing.
"You actually do have a sense of humour, Nate, good for you."
"I'm not kidding. Come on."
"No way in hell."
"You know what? No need to get dressed. You look great. Just come on. Live a little."
"You've already taken me to 'live a little' before, and I ended up shitfaced with a gun in my throat at school at 12:30 am."
Good. So you hadn't gotten over that. He didn't care if he was being sadistic - he was glad.
He sighed, flopping down onto your bed and ignoring the second glare to come from you that night. "This is so typically a teenage girl's bedroom."
He had no clue what he was saying, at this point. But he knew he was itching for a reaction, a reason for you to hit him again, so he could grab you and shut you up. He craved the conflict.
"Surprising, considering that's what I am."
"I mean, the band posters? Really?", he huffed, pointing around at your room as if he was giving you a tour of it.
"Have you even listened to Queen? Presley? Any of the oldies?"
The match was found. Time to light it.
"So the shitty music in the store was connected to your playlist.", he chuckled, shaking his head. "No wonder that old lady was so nice to you. She thought you were one of her Bingo buddies."
It was just a question of how long you could stand him sitting on your bed, disrespecting your music taste.
"If you're only here to invite me to a party, I'm sorry, I'm not coming."
"How would your family like me hanging out here?", he mused, tilting his head. You know, the one you'd probably love to bash into the pavement given a chance? That head.
You were so fucking hot when you were pissed, it was unbelievable to him. He could sense it, the anger.
The smell of your rage made him want to riot.
"You can't keep blackmailing me into doing what you want."
"Alright, fine."
Your uncomfortable frown made him snicker. "What's that look?"
"This is usually the part where you self-harm and tell me I'm being a bitch for not bending to your will."
"Tonight's different."
"Why?"
Because I'm going to unwrap every fucking secret of yours.
He shrugged, the corners of his lips curling downwards. "I don't want to."
"So, you'll leave?"
"I didn't say that.", he trailed off, watching you sit down on the chair across from your bed. "Let's just chill."
"Nate, when have you and I ever chilled?"
He licked his lips, narrowing his eyes at you, before giving you a sly smirk. His fingers emerged from his pocket as he pulled out a packet of pre-rolleds. "Right now."
"You're kidding."
"C'mon. Don't be a pussy."
"They'll smell it."
He lolled his head over to the door. "No, they won't. You're two floors up." He shifted to one side, patting the space next to him. "Come on, Y/N, don't end your badass streak so quickly."
His eyes followed you as you sat down gingerly, rubbing your forehead like he was causing you a genuine migraine. That's funny, she hasn't even seen me high, yet, (and she won't).
"Why do I let you do this?"
"Million dollar question if I ever heard one.", he scoffs, fumbling around his person for a lighter. He found it, placing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it, causing his next catastrophic words to come out a mumble. "But I'm glad you do."
He continued to watch your eyes change from frustration to mild fascination, to hesitation all in one second, as he puffed out through his teeth. "Fuck.", he groaned, handing it to you.
"I don't know about this."
"You think they'd like me?", he mused, looking at the door, and then back at you. "I'm known to make a good impression with parents."
"The no-blackmail thing didn't last long.", you huffed, taking it from him. Nate almost made out with you right then and there, the way your lips wrapped around it as if they were made only for him.
"Didn't want to break tradition.", he snorted as you coughed and sputtered, handing it back to him quickly.
"Gross."
═════════════════════ ⋆ 🚬 ⋆ ══════════════════
The last thing he'd expected from that evening was actually staying. He'd thought he'd get you stoned, you'd pass out, and he'd leave.
But here you were.
Next to him.
Freaking him the hell out.
He looked down at his watch. 2 AM. Fuck.
"I gotta go."
"You've been saying that for the past three hours."
Shut up. "Eh, well, it's not like my parents are worried."
"Why not?"
"They know I can handle myself."
"Right, because I'm such a threat."
"God, no. They'd love you." He shook his head subtly, grinning as you nudged his face playfully with your foot from across the bed. "You should come over, sometime."
"I'm not coming over, Nate."
The weed made sure you didn't push him away when he gently grabbed your leg. "Why not?"
"Because we're not friends. There's no reason for me to meet your parents."
"I just think it's right that you get to judge my room, too.", he muttered, lips on your ankle like it was his life support. "You know, justice or whatever."
"It's probably all monocoloured, plain, boring crap."
"Only one way to find out.", he teased.
He despised the silence that followed. High-you wasn't exactly chatty, it seemed.
"Tell me something about you."
"Like what?"
He shrugged. "Anything."
"This is my first time smoking weed."
"Not exactly a secret, sweetheart."
"You didn't ask for a secret."
"Now I am. Tell me a secret."
"I hate football."
You were more resilient than he thought, seeing as you'd smoked three cigarettes already, and the most you'd given him was your sports preferences.
But he'd take what he got.
"Because of me?"
"No, just generally."
"But you came to games.", he countered.
"Because of Maddy."
"You guys are close?"
You nodded, stirring slightly as you looked out your window. "Mhm."
"So she told you." Shit.
You tilted your head, sitting up as he gripped your calf, moving closer and placing kisses on your knee, too. "About?"
Well, if you didn't already know, no need to tell you.
"To come to the games."
"Oh. Yeah."
Nice save, Jacobs.
"I guess now I owe you a secret, huh?"
"I guess you do."
"You're not gonna like it.", he murmured, lazily tracing even more shapes on your knee, while his other hand had trailed up to your arm. "But I love your lips."
He smiled when the corners of your eyes crinkled up and you burst into a fit of giggles. "What?"
"It's true. They're perfect."
"God, I love weed."
You would, seeing as you smoked more of it than he did. Enough to kind of make him feel slightly guilty.
"It's not just the weed saying this.", he continued, shaking his head. "I'd fight wars for those lips. For you."
He shouldn't have liked the fading of your laugh so much, the slight trepidation brewing on your face, either, but for some reason, he did. "Nate, I'm not... I don't wanna-"
"Be fought for? Why not?"
He took the silence as a cue to brush his finger against your cupid's bow. "You don't think you deserve it?"
He watched your lips move under his finger as you shook your head, side to side. "Well, I do. And, guess what?"
"What?"
"I got another question for you."
Your frown was your response.
"Why didn't you push me away when I kissed you that night on the bleachers?" He knew the answer. Of course he did.
"I was drunk."
"Yeah, see, you weren't that drunk.", he taunted. But no, you were. He'd given you basically one and a half bottles. Just like tonight, taking barely ten puffs while you took thrice as much. You just hadn't noticed.
"I don't know, then."
"I just think that if you didn't push me away, it can't have been the terrible experience you made it out to be, in the car."
"What do you want to hear, Nate?"
"That you want to do it again. 'Cause you do. Don't you?"
"I don't."
"Yes, you do. If you could see your own eyes right now, you'd agree."
"Really?"
"Mhm."
He waited for a reaction, a scoff, an eye roll, anything, but you just looked back at him, and then down at the hand he was holding. Oh, it was the weed.
So he took matters into his own hands. No. He took you into his own hands, tracing the gap between your lips with his tongue before he pushed it in.
Your lips were war-worthy, just like before. But this time, something was different. This time, you kissed back.
There we go.
His hands ran over your back as though he were splaying a huge deck of cards across a table, and he came to the grave realization that maybe, just maybe, he was no longer doing this just for a reaction.
"Come here.", he murmured, making up for his lack of oxygen by trying to steal yours as he pulled you onto him. How Shane Crestin hadn't killed himself over the fact that he'd fumbled this bag, he'd never know. Loser.
His hands slipped under your shirt. Wrong move, seeing as you pulled away. "No."
Wasn't weed supposed to last longer?
"What?"
"I'm not... no."
"You seemed into it, like a moment ago. Face it : you want this. No amount of bullshit self-respect or whatever you wanna call it, is going to change that.", he responded, coolly, as he took a drag from the blunt, his lips immediately feeling the lack of yours.
"You're just trying to get back at Maddy."
God, he wished that were true. Would make much more sense.
He sighed, his forehead on yours. "I'm not, but you're not going to believe me.", he mumbled, watching you get off him and move back to the other side of the bed.
Oceans away. Too fucking far.
"I'm sorry." There was something he hadn't said in a while. "For, like, everything."
"Why am I so fucking important to you? If I just showed up to every game for you, would you leave me the fuck alone? No, you wouldn't, because you sought me out during spring break! Am I just an easy target?"
No. "I don't... I don't fucking know, okay? You just are."
"Is it 'cause you hate me?", you questioned, so quietly that he had to debate whether to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness or actually kill himself in guilt for eliciting it.
"What?"
"Do you hate me?"
"For what?" He had no fucking clue what this could be about. Every single thing he'd done so far indicated the opposite. But he didn't want to let himself go there.
"Being your good luck charm."
Oh. He had to think about that one. "No. It would be weird if it was someone else."
"I just mean... it must be frustrating, when you need someone, and they might not always be there."
"But you will, right? Be there?"
"You scare me, Nate."
He scoffed, slightly, rolling his eyes. "You're unbelievable. Why? Gimme one reason - a real one - why you're scared of me."
"You're violent."
Okay, he was hoping you'd give an invalid one.
"I like beating people up.", he shrugged. "But never for no reason."
"Not exactly a secret, sweetheart. And anyway, it's not only the beating up that you like."
"Hm?"
"You like getting beat up, too."
Remind him never to give you weed again.
"Why would I-"
"On some level, you feel like you deserve it.", you replied, shrugging as you took a long puff of the miracle weed that apparently made you unreasonably perceptive.
Okay, confirmed, not even the word weed would be mentioned around you anymore.
"You think I deserve it?"
"Mostly, yeah. But not... all the time."
"How do you know so much?", he asked, watching your fingers get lost in your hair. He couldn't afford eye contact.
"Psychology."
"See? You shouldn't have taken it. It's creepy."
You sighed, smiling as you looked up at the ceiling. "Sorry."
He did not expect you to back down, that was for sure.
"It's fine. Never giving you weed again, though."
═════════════════════ ⋆ 🚬 ⋆ ══════════════════
It actually took until the very last day of spring break for him to catch up with you again. Not like he was pissed that you pushed him away, or anything. Or that he was confused about the entire interaction in the bedroom of someone who, until three weeks ago, he wouldn't have been caught dead talking to. He was just busy. Sure. Let's go with that.
"Hey."
"Not now, Nate."
"What is your problem?" Wait, no. That kinda talk was why you were pissed at him. "Look, we should start over."
God, he sounded like a cunt. This was definitely something that pathetic Shane Crestin would say. Ew.
"Okay. Can you start by going over there?", you asked, restocking the shelves with whatever bullshit condiment you had to.
"I'm an ass. I'm a jerk, I'm- I'm a dick."
You were silent for a moment, before you added: "A small one, too."
He sighed, beaming with relief. "A small one, too.", he agreed, nodding. "I'm just here to ask you over to dinner. My house. I'll even cook."
Dude, if you didn't agree, he'd actually fucking kill you.
"No way you cook."
"Only one way to find out."
He saw the falling apart. The gradual breaking down. The glacier was melting. "I'll listen to Queen or whatever, with you."
The quiet was taunting him, but you came to his rescue. "No steak."
"No steak."
Yes. Fucking yes.
#if you don't think queen rocks i'm glad i don't know you#the shane crestin beef is real#nate euphoria#euphoria x reader#euphoria#nate jacobs x y/n#nate jacobs x you#nate jacobs#nate jacobs x reader#nate jacobs fic#nate jacobs fanfic#euphoria fic#euphoria imagine#nate jacobs imagine#euphoria x you#nate jacobs fluff#euphoria fluff#euphoria dialogue#nate jacobs blurb#nate jacobs imagines#nate jacobs oneshot#nate jacobs hc#nate jacobs drabble#nate jacobs fanfiction#euphoria smut#nate jacobs smut
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