#but it’s weird being older than most of the students in my year??

[wttcsms]

angels like you can't fly down here with me (i'm everything they say i would be), megumi fushiguro ;

pairing megumi fushiguro x f!reader word count 11k  synopsis people like him don't get happy endings but megumi fushiguro (foolishly) considers himself to be the exception — after all, he has you. content contains yakuza au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, breeding kink, slight daddy kink, attempted sa, minor violence & depictions of blood author's note if ur on my ao3, you know this is from 2021!!! my writing has changed up since then, but i'm going to be releasing a revised version of this which will be rewritten and feature more scenes, more worldbuilding, more plot, relationship and character development, etc!! i figured releasing this on tumblr would help me gauge how worthwhile revision of this fic will be, so lmk if u like this au & want to see it become even better <3

Don’t do it.

He repeats the command inside his head again, and then one more time for good measure. (And then another time, just to drive the point across.)

He won’t — can’t; isn’t really allowed to — get into (another!) fight.

(Well, there’s a part of Megumi that knows that despite Gojo’s sing-songy warning of “now, now, Megumi, I don’t need a frequent visitor’s card for the principal’s office”, he doesn’t actually care. All he’s really concerned about — if the mild interest the reckless teenager turned legal guardian shows can even be called that — is whether or not Megumi wins.

And he does.

Every. Single. Time.)

For the most part, Megumi Fushiguro is fairly stoic in general, but to a concerning degree when one accounts for the fact that he’s only ten years old. For the odd three or so years he’s been under Gojo’s wing, Megumi’s mask of disinterest stopped becoming a mask and started becoming a part of him.

(Try as he might, Gojo’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is. Maybe the connection between them might have been stronger if Gojo was a bit more responsible and if he was actually present, but he’s got his own shit to deal with. Besides, Gojo’s under the impression that what he’s doing isn’t cruel, but rather a means to an end. Megumi’s never going to be able to get stronger if he doesn’t learn how to survive on his own.

After all, being alone and having to fight to survive is the life people like them live.)

The older preteens in the area have a bad habit of picking on the younger students. Because the elementary and middle schools are so close together, the younger students who have the misfortune of walking alone tend to be targets for bullies in need of pocket change or a good laugh. Most of the time, they get both.

As of late, everyone’s favorite target happens to be Megumi Fushiguro, the boy with the messy black hair and indifferent attitude, even when confronted by boys two years his senior and almost a whole entire head taller than him.

Last week, Megumi gave the three older boys dumb enough to harass him for money bloody noses, bruised egos, and a thirst for revenge. That was the first (and supposed to be the last) time he got into a fight (for this school year, at least — something Gojo had told him, while winking). So, even when the trio is back together again, taunting him and trying to get him to take the first swing, Megumi keeps walking forward with his perpetual look of disinterest, those cold blue eyes of his staring straight at the path ahead of him, never paying any mind to the gangly bodies of the middle school boys who keep trying to block him from moving.

Don’t do it.

He tells himself this once more. You don’t want to have to inconvenience Gojo. Then, you’ll be stuck listening to him pretend to lecture you. You don’t like spending too much time with Gojo. He’ll make weird jokes. 

The thought of having to deal with Gojo’s presence is enough to get Megumi to unclench his fists.

“Move.”

It’s the first thing he says to the group since they started following him after school. He tells the boy with the brown hair this. The brunet seems to be their ringleader of sorts, and even as nothing more than a ten year old child, Megumi knows that being twelve/thirteen and harassing little kids for sport is a sign of patheticness that will only grow and fester into something darker unless someone beats some sense into them. Obviously, they didn’t learn their lesson from last week.

“Huh? What the hell did ya just say, ya little brat?” The brown haired boy sneers, looking down at Megumi.

School has just let out, so there are dozens of kids of all ages walking down the sidewalk. They’re all aware of the situation happening, but everyone chooses to turn a blind eye to it. Partly because this is such a common occurrence that it just starts to become something that blends into the scenery, but also because there are some rumors surrounding the Fushiguro kid that’s enough to make anyone with a heart of gold reluctant to come to his rescue.

The main rumor circulating around the school is that Megumi Fushiguro has ties to the yakuza. Granted, most kids his age have no idea what the yakuza is, and even those who somewhat know only know through exaggerated definitions from their older siblings. Generally, everyone just accepts the fact that the yakuza is bad, and by default, Megumi Fushiguro must be bad too. Older siblings tell their younger siblings to avoid “that boy” at all costs, unless they want to end up with a finger cut off. Megumi’s classmates huddle together and conveniently choose to look everywhere else but at him when on the playground.

For anyone else, this might have been enough to cause some hurt feelings. Everyone thinks the boy must be some type of stupid to be so oblivious to the rumors centered around him, but the truth is this: Megumi is well aware of what people whisper about behind his back; he just doesn’t care enough to prove them wrong.

And they’re not wrong, anyway.

(For some parts of the rumors, at least.)

Because it’s true — Megumi does have ties to the yakuza. His father, who he can’t seem to attach neither a name nor a face to, must have done something bad. Something bad enough to have him cross paths with Satoru Gojo, the young head of the Gojo Clan, one of Tokyo’s most prominent crime families. It’s the same Gojo who decided to adopt both Megumi and his stepsister, Tsumiki, despite having nothing (so far) to gain from it. After all, why would a teenager willingly assign himself the responsibilities of caring for small children — one who resembles the man that tried to kill him and the other being an ill little girl confined to a hospital bed for who knows how long. All Gojo gets from this deal is a headache, bills, and more problems than necessary.

Megumi’s not really sure how the rumors started in the first place. He thinks it’s because kids his age are easily influenced and have a tendency to run wild with their imaginations. With the rising popularity of gangs from the high school students, this interest seems to have trickled all the way down to the elementary levels. Megumi certainly fits the description of their idea of someone from the yakuza: silent, secretive, scary.

(If they were a little bit older, maybe they would have just seen him as an introvert.)

No matter how ridiculous the rumors get, though, it doesn’t change the fact that the root of them is true: he is connected to the yakuza. After all, he’s being primed and prepped to be someone of value in the clan. Once you’re tied with the likes of them, you might as well just resign to the knot fate’s trapped you with. He’s learned quickly that the only thing harder than getting into the yakuza is getting out.

And because his sister’s and his life both depend on him doing as he’s told, getting out is a funny pipe dream at best and the Fushiguro siblings’ cause of death at worst.

“I told you to move. You’re blocking my way.” Megumi’s tone of voice betrays nothing. Annoyance, maybe, but he speaks flatly regardless of how he’s truly feeling. Gojo says it’s kinda creepy. Gojo also says that being a little creepy isn’t bad.

(Gojo should know; he’s a certified creep in Megumi’s eyes.)

“Oh — so the little boy can speak up.” The boy with blond hair laughs. It’s a nasally sound that grates Megumi’s ears.

He’s not an idiot. Megumi is well aware of the fact that no matter how much he feels like it isn’t true, he’s still just a little ten year old boy. He should be playing with the toy cars Gojo bought him, not worrying about the gritty future that lies ahead. But still, the phrase rubs him the wrong way.

Little boy.

He wasn’t so little when he kicked them down to his height before properly bashing their faces, now was he? Even now, he can feel the anger coming up. He clenches his fists, wondering if he’ll get suspended for fighting right next to school property.

“Leave him alone.”

Another voice appears, but not from any of the boys. No — this time, it’s coming from a little girl on the sidewalk across from theirs. Everyone involved turns to stare at the source of such a command and are greeted with the sight of you with a Hello Kitty backpack. You’ve got a frown on your face that doesn’t match the brightness of your pink outfit.

Megumi recognizes you instantly. You’re in the same class as him. You were in the same class as him last year, too. He tilts his head, trying to figure out what exactly it is you’re trying to accomplish here — and why.

He knows his social standing in the school. If he’s at the bottom, you’re right at the top. A beaming pillar of light, everyone flocks to you like moths after a flame. But you’re alone today, not surrounded by the usual crowd of boys and girls who are often vying for your attention. Seeing you alone enables him to see you more clearly, without all the distractions getting in his way.

You’re small. Shorter than him, and way shorter than the middle school boys. You’ve got a bow in your hair and brand new shoes on your feet. If anybody should be socially aware, it has to be you. Those at the top, Megumi knows, like to remind everyone of their placement. You shouldn’t be here. You should be ignoring him like he’s got the plague, just like everyone else.

All three of the boys start to laugh after sizing you up. The laughter only serves to make you even more irritated, but you can’t speak because one of them is already talking through his laughs.

“Don’t tell me. Is this your girlfriend?”

The group erupts into more laughter, and while Megumi’s expression remains the same as it’s been for the past few minutes, yours only shows your growing contempt.

“She’s no one.” Megumi throws you an odd look, one of neither annoyance nor gratitude for trying to help him out. He uses your presence as a distraction, and he manages to take a few more steps before one of the boys is yanking him back by his bookbag.

“Grab her.” One of the boys says, and the third boy, the one with the messy red hair, starts to cross the street.

Megumi watches as you stay right where you are. Are you stupid? Why won’t you run? The boy still has a solid grip on his bookbag, keeping him in place. He wonders if it’ll be a waste of his breath if he tells you to start running — you probably wouldn’t listen to him anyway.

But then Megumi figures out why you don’t look too frightened, because not even a second before the older boy manages to cross the street to your side of the sidewalk, a man in a suit is running towards you, a scowl on his face.

“You said you were going to the restroom, young lady!” The man scolds you while panting for breath. He surveys the scene, looking at you, and then the middle school boy by your side before turning his head and seeing Megumi in between the other two boys. “What’s going on? Is everything alright? Did they do anything to you?”

“No, Mr. Higashi. B-but—“ Your bottom lip starts to tremble, and even though Higashi is certain that the tears about to fall are fake, the situation itself looks serious enough to the point where he doesn’t call you out on it. “Th-these boys are being really mean.” You let out a high pitched wail that makes the boy let go of Megumi’s bookbag. “They just threatened to attack me and my friend out of nowhere.”

“Your father will be informed.” Higashi frowns, eyeing the guilty boys who look confused and a little shocked at this turn of events. “Mr. [Surname] certainly won’t be pleased to hear about this.”

The middle school boys pale when they hear the man name drop your family’s surname.

After all, it’s the same last name that’s engraved on plaques all over the school, thanking your family for the many donations they’ve received.

You enter into Megumi’s life that way: unexpectedly. He never thanked you for intervening, but it’s not like you did it for the thanks anyway. You did it, you tell him, because you figured he needed some help.

“I had it handled.” He tells you flatly. “Why are you even sitting here? Your friends keep staring at us.”

It’s true. Stories of what happened are already circulating around both schools, and while all your friends spent the whole entire day pestering you for the full story, you chose to keep quiet about the situation. And now, here you are, choosing to sit and eat lunch with Megumi, someone who also knows the true story of what went down but the only one people aren't brave enough to ask.

Your whole entire table of friends keep their heads huddled together as they go back and forth with each other, every one of them sparing glances at Megumi’s table. It makes the rice in his mouth taste stale. He should have just stayed in the classroom to eat, especially if he knew you would be bothering him.

“Gee, is that any way to treat a friend?” You huff, not at all actually annoyed with him.

“We’re not friends.”

“Too late. I told my dad we were.”

There has been one question on his mind ever since that incident. Just who exactly is your father? He’s not stupid; he knows that you must come from a wealthy family. If the buildings and auditorium named after your family isn’t enough proof, the fact that you always have the latest toys, the nicest shoes, the cutest stationery sets — that’s material proof of a spoiled princess.

You continue speaking, and as if you can read his mind, you’re already answering his question. “My daddy’s called a CEO. But the man you saw is Mr. Higashi. He takes care of me when dad’s away at work, and everything I do gets typed up in a report that dad sees every day. He wasn’t happy about what happened, so he says the boys will get in trouble. He told us not to worry, though.” You have a pleased smile on your face, waiting for Megumi to say something in reply.

“Okay.” He says, after a while. He only spoke because it seemed like you were waiting for him to. “It doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“What’s so wrong about being friends with me?” You tilt your head. Everyone wants to be friends with you. And that’s before they even figure out that you live in a real life mansion with actual servants, and that sometimes you’re allowed to eat dessert for dinner. Even without the wealth, you still draw people in, whether it be with your bright smile or cheery attitude.

“Don’t you already have enough friends?” He can’t figure out what you could possibly want with him. Even though Gojo’s got the backing of the clan and enough funds to run the Tokyo underground with cash to spare, it’s not like Megumi is in a position to take advantage of it. Gojo hands him a thick wad of cash every week with a tip to “spend wisely, hehehehe”, and Megumi takes the tip to heart. A majority of the money sits saved in his bedroom, underneath a floorboard he spent a week trying to figure out how to loosen without anyone catching on. (Which was actually easy whenever he realized that nobody seems to really watch him to begin with.) So, he doesn’t look like he has money, and isn’t that what all rich kids want? To surround themselves with equally rich kids?

“I guess.” Your bubbly mood seems to dampen a bit at the mention of the other kids. They like you, sure. But they like each other a lot more. The gap between you and the other kids isn’t noticeable at first, but the novelty of having an endless supply of company has lost its luster. Meanwhile, the glamor of your life only keeps the hoards of “friends” to grow as the days go by. It’s always “let’s have a sleepover at [Names]’s!” or “[Name], we have to go to your house because you have the best toys!”. You wonder if they like you, or the shiny things that they get when they’re with you. “But, it’s not like youhave any friends.”

“I don’t need any.” The response is quick — instinctual. Gojo, even if not the greatest guardian by any parental standards, still presses Megumi to have a proper (or, as proper as it can be) childhood.

(“You know, I don’t care if you bring any friends over. Just make sure no one ends up accidentally getting shot, okay, Megumi?”

Yeah, because that’s definitely gonna push him towards throwing as many parties as he wants.)

People in his position don’t have many friends. It’s hard to, he assumes, because of all the killings and betrayals and power plays.

(And, he’ll soon learn that it hurts a lot less to lose an enemy than it does a friend.)

“Hmm. Okay.”

But you don’t get up from your seat, and he doesn’t tell you to move.

The next day, you’re carrying two bento boxes. The lunches are prepared for you by world class chefs and everything is done in a rather cutesy manner to entice you into not wasting your food. The fruit is cut into pretty shapes, the food has picks with animals on them, and everything is colorful and to your own personal tastes.

You take a seat next to him once again. He looks up for a second, sees that it’s you, and returns back to his meal that looks pitiful in comparison. Leftover rice and some cold meat. You think it’s the same thing he had last time.

“For you.” You slide the second bento you had requested towards him before opening up your own.

“What’s this for?”

“For you to eat, silly.”

“...How much?”

“Huh? All of it, I guess? If you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll request something different tomorrow.” You don’t quite understand what he’s asking you.

“No. How much does it cost? I'll bring you the money tomorrow.”

“Why would it cost you?” Now you’re really confused.

Didn’t anyone ever teach you that everything comes attached with a price? If it’s not money you want, it must be something else. At least, if Megumi’s judgments are right. (And they usually are.)

“Fushiguro, I brought you this because I want you to eat well and grow strong.”

He wonders what rice shaped like Hello Kitty has to do with his strength.

“Also, so the next time people give you or me trouble, you can fight them, okay?”

Oh. So it’s protection you want. He contemplates what he thinks your request is before popping a piece of food into his mouth. A meal made with care — he can taste the thought that’s been put into it. Shoving his old lunch to the side, he quickly starts eating at the one you brought him.

Okay. So maybe he does accept your offer.

“Meguuuumi.” You whine out his name, messing up the navy sheets of his bed while he sits at his desk, trying to finish his application for university. “I’m bored.”

“Good. Go to your own house then, and leave me alone.”

“You’re so mean to me.” You sigh, turning your head so that half of your face is pressed against his pillow. The scent of his shampoo still sticks to the fabric, and you subconsciously inhale the scent some more. It’s familiar and reminds you of him, your favorite person in the world.

No one believes you when you tell them that Megumi is your best friend. No one wants to believe that it’s true. After all, the two of you look more like a shoujo manga trope than an actual pair of best friends. The cold, inexpressive dark haired male lead with a secretive past he doesn’t want anyone to know about and the bright, bubbly, ball of energy that is constantly clinging to his side. It’s like looking at night and day with you two.

“And yet, you’re still always here.”

You’re still by his side, even when the two of you reached middle school and high school together, and he spent a majority of his time starting (and finishing) fights.

(“Get off of him!” You screamed, yanking on the collar of one of the boys who happened to be trying to grab Megumi from behind. You don’t have the same amount of strength as them, but everyone at this point knows who you are and who exactly your father is. No matter what the origin of the fight is won’t matter; all that matters is that the precious daughter of one of Tokyo’s richest CEOs got caught in it, and that’s enough to get everyone involved into some deep shit.

Immediately, the boy scampers off, and the other boy Megumi was punching into the squeaky clean floors of the hallway begins to thrash around wildly, eyes wide at the sudden sight of you. Seeing you coming from behind Megumi is like watching the sun peek through a dozen storm clouds.

Megumi gives him one last punch, not nearly as satisfied as he thought he would be. Honestly, getting into fights with low level delinquents is beneath him. It’s not just his knuckles and clothes that are getting dirty; by feeding into the school’s image that he’s this young, violent yakuza heir, he’s dirtying the prestige Gojo claims is oh so important.

“Megumi.” He straightens up at the sound of your voice, which usually sounds so sweet, especially when it’s directed towards him. Instead, you have an uncharacteristic frown on your face and you sound… mad. “Let’s go.”

You’ve got a hand wrapped around his wrist, and people part when they spot the two of you making a hasty exit. The teachers aren’t bold enough to cause a scene with you, and the students know both you and Megumi are practically untouchable — one being the spoiled brat daughter of a rich and powerful businessman, the other, a ticking time bomb with ties to the yakuza.

You don’t stop walking until the two of you are in a secluded courtyard at the school. No one goes here, mainly because it’s in such an inconvenient location and there’s nothing but trees and weeds over growing it. The two of you found it within your first week of being here, and ever since then, it’s become your designated spot to avoid prying eyes.

“I thought you were over stupid fights. You told me yourself that they weren’t the type of people worth beating up.” You scold him, forcing him to take a seat on the bench that creaks under his weight. You make a noise as you inspect the drying blood on his knuckles.

If an outsider were to look at the scene before them, they would gape at the unbecoming sight of you on your knees, in between his legs, too close for a duo who claims to be “just good friends”. But there’s nothing inherently dirty in your thoughts. Instead, you’re staring thoughtfully at his hands, inspecting the minor damage done to them.

Megumi swallows hard as he looks down on you. He shouldn’t be feeling like this — you’re his best friend, his only friend. The only person who’s by his side. If you could read in his mind, there’s no doubt that you would be recoiling away from him in disgust…)

You’re still by his side, even when he told you the truth about himself after waiting years to see if you were truly his friend or not.

(“The rumors—” He starts to say, but you shush him, rolling over on your side to face him. The two of you are lying on the grass in your massive backyard, trying to spot a shooting star that’s supposed to be passing by at any second now.

“I don’t care about that.” You tell him. Middle school was a bitch to deal with, mainly because as everyone was in the process of growing up and “maturing”, so did the rumors they spread. Now, the two of you are halfway through your first week of high school. A new school, a couple of new classmates, and new rumors surrounding the odd pair.

“If I told you the rumors about me being someone you should avoid were true, would you be mad?” He’s lying on his back, still staring up at the night sky. He’s not turning to face you, almost as if he’s scared to look at you.

“Yes.” You answer without any hesitation. “At the person who’s spreading that around.” You clarify, poking him on his side to lighten the somber mood he’s setting. “You’re the only real friend I’ve had in forever, Megumi. I don’t think what anyone says about you would change that.”

“What if I did something bad?” Like kill a person. What then? What would you think of him if he told you the full truth: that Gojo told him that he can’t shield Megumi from the dirtier aspects of this type of life. That he’s spent hours after school, hours after hanging out with you and pretending to be a normal teenager, learning how to assemble, disassemble, and then reassemble a gun. That his target practice isn’t glass bottles lined up in a row or sheets printed out with human bodies. What happens if he told you that his target practice was low level scum from rival yakuza clans that Gojo couldn’t be bothered to kill himself?

“Mmm. How bad are we talking? Like, lied to me when you said my Christmas outfit looked good but half my ass was practically exposed bad or committing a felony bad?”

“What if I told you… that I really was a yakuza heir.”

The silence is palpable and especially soul crushing to Megumi as he waits for your reply.

“It wouldn’t matter to me, Megumi.” You say. You know that this isn’t just some type of hypothetical question he’s asking for fun. From his odd living situation to the intense nature of him in general to the fact that he knows practically everything about you, but you barely know the full extent of his childhood traumas despite growing up alongside him, you know deep in your heart that there has to be something going on with him. Something dark enough to harbor stories about him.

“Are you sure about that?”

You reach for his hand in the dark, finding it without really needing to look. He’s not one that’s prone to initiating physical contact, but you found out that he doesn’t really mind when you reach for him first.

“You can’t get rid of me, no matter how crazy or fucked up you think your life is.” You squeeze his hand, still staring at him.

You don’t notice the shooting star flying past the night sky, but Megumi is looking right at it. He knows what he’s wishing for.

For your words to be true.)

You’re still by his side, even when he brought you to his sister’s bedside. She’s sick, afflicted with something no one knows, not even the private doctors that Gojo’s spent millions on. She was still conscious, albeit confined to her bed when the two of you first met, but she’s been in a coma ever since the last year of middle school. You were by his side as he broke down about the news. It was the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

So, no matter how much it may seem like he’s pushing you away, you don’t budge. For someone smaller than him and definitely weaker, you’re awfully resilient. And while people make the occasional joke, telling you to “blink twice if you need help”, you don’t pay any attention to them. If only they knew the truth: that you’ve got Megumi Fushiguro, heir to a massive yakuza clan, wrapped around your dainty finger.

He’s so whipped that he found himself asking Gojo for a rare favor.

(“College?” Gojo rubs the back of his neck, staring at Megumi. “I mean, I guess it’ll be good for you. Meet a wild party girl, take her to your dorm room, tame her—”

“An education is the whole point of attending, you know.” Megumi interrupts him before Gojo can jump into a story highlighting all of his sexual endeavors with college girls back in the day.

“Eh. I guess.” But then a grin lights up the feature of the man who [kind of/by definition] raised him. “But y’know what I know for a fact.” He wiggles his eyebrows, his glasses slipping down his nose as he tilts his head downwards. “You wanna follow [Name].”)

It doesn’t really matter if he’s not good enough to get into the university you’ve already received an early acceptance for. Because Gojo tries to make up for being an absent father figure, he fills in those empty spaces with cold, hard cash. All it takes is one nice donation, and Megumi’s wherever he wants to be.

Where he wants to be, he realizes, is to be by your side. Wherever you go, he’ll gladly follow. Funnily enough, despite the two vastly different backgrounds the both of you come from, you both have similar means of getting what you want.

Your father had already looked over the list of universities you had in mind, and all you could do was excitedly squeal and start rambling the moment the acceptance letters came in the mail. Despite the fact that your father’s physically absent from your life most of the time, he still tries to show he cares in the things he does for you. If paying off over half a dozen major universities in order to make you happy is something he has to do, he’ll do it without batting an eye.

It’s the same thing on Megumi’s end. Granted, Gojo’s means are more along the lines of using money as a lubricant and then death as an inevitable. Money talks, a gunshot to the head silences. Nobody can accuse anyone of taking bribes if said accused person is in a grave six feet under.

Sometimes, Megumi wonders how you’re just so oblivious to the fortunate circumstances in your life. You chalk up a lot of your father’s wishes as just “good luck”. In school, you’re placed on a pedestal, revered as some goddess-like, otherworldly being. People are practically tripping over themselves, running towards you for a crumb of your attention. Anyone sane would gladly wield this power and use it for all its worth. Not you, though. Not you, who’s kind and considerate and completely clean from the corruptness that plagues everyone else.

Megumi knows good and well that he’s not a hero — couldn’t be farther from it, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t feel a moral obligation to go out and rid the world of all evil. (It’d be hypocritical, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s most likely belonging under the evil category himself.) From a young age, he’s already known and come to terms with his fate. He’s going to train and learn from the best, and eventually, he will succeed as head of the clan. That is his purpose. That right there is the reason why he’s still alive today. That is why he can find himself sitting at his desk, submitting an application that’s already guaranteed to be followed up with an acceptance letter, ready to pretend for four more years that he’s normal.

“D’you think college will be fun?” You ask him, making yourself comfortable in his bed.

“No.”

You laugh at that. You like Megumi for a lot of reasons, and his honesty is one of them. Despite the fact that he likes to keep most of the darker details of his life to himself, you know that he would never lie to you. In a world full of people who are constantly lying, it gets tiring trying to figure out who’s real and who’s fake. It doesn’t help that you want to believe in everyone either. If you didn’t have Megumi loyally staying by your side all this time, you doubt you would have made it this far in your life without anyone taking advantage of you and your kindness.

“My dad said I can finally get a boyfriend when I go to college.” You say this fact so casually that Megumi almost — almost — gets fooled into believing that this is not a cause for concern. Almost.

“Oh.” He’s at a loss for words. He knows that it’s inevitable; that one day, you’ll find a guy you like and want to get closer to him. He knows that you’re not always going to be by his side, and he knows that it’s going to happen because he’ll have to push you away eventually. The older he gets, the deeper he’s burying himself into his grave. He doesn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.

It’s not like boys have never tried approaching you before. People have spent years thinking that you and Megumi were a couple, and then after finding out from you that the two of you are nothing more than “best friends”, boys were still hesitant to talk to you. The glare Megumi would give them from behind your shoulder acted as a strong enough deterrent.

“I know. Now the only problem is finding a guy who’ll actually wanna date me.”

“They all will.” The words leave his mouth faster than he can even think about them. He’s not wrong, though. Every time the two of you are out in public together, he sees people shooting quick glances at you, at your ass, at your bright smile. The looks they give are predatory, dangerous, even. If it’s not your looks, it’s your shining personality that draws them all in. And if that’s not good enough, there’s always the enormous wealth attached to your last name. That’s the key to getting them to stay.

“You can be so sweet sometimes, you know that?” You giggle, glad that he’s still typing away on his laptop. If he were to look at you right now, he would see that you’re reacting way too positively to such a lackluster compliment. It’s not like he listed reasons on why anyone would ever want to date you, so he probably could just be complimenting you to make you happy.

(That’s just the excuse you’re going with. You know your best friend — that means you know that he would never say something he doesn’t truly think or believe.)

There’s a secret you’ve been keeping from him. A secret so big that you think you might’ve been keeping it from yourself, too. Something so big that your body simply can’t contain it any longer.

You like Megumi. 

Of course you do. You keep telling the whole world what great friends the two of you are. You talk to him about your dad all the time (which must mean he’s important, because you rarely get to speak to your dad, so you have to choose your topics of conversation wiseley). You trust him more than you trust yourself. Ever since middle school, you’ve been telling yourself that you liking Megumi isn’t anything to be ashamed or confused about. You like him because he’s your friend, and you’re supposed to like your friends.

And then you came to terms with the fact that you like Megumi beyond the borders of friendship.

It starts with you seeing him the way other girls must see him. You’re not blind, you know. It’s obvious that Megumi is far from ugly. If he wasn’t so intimidating, you’re sure he would have had his fair share of confessions, too. Megumi’s pretty, although calling him a pretty boy wouldn’t do his character justice. He’s got lashes people pay extensions for theirs to look like, and the prettiest dark blue eyes you’ve ever seen, and his hair, which he doesn’t put forth any type of effort in, always looks good whereas the same hairstyle would look messy on anyone else.

It’s not just his looks, though. Even if you look like the type of person who would judge others based on such shallow standards, you didn’t approach Megumi simply because he’s attractive. He’s… interesting. He’s got this reputation for being a delinquent, and maybe all the fights on his school record prove it, but he’s surprisingly respectful. He’s the type of guy who gets up from his seat to let an eldery woman have it. He loves animals. He’s honest and sweet despite his seemingly stoic nature, and he’s so oblivious to just how good he is.

Maybe it’s because he’s so blinded by the light that is you. You, with your cutesy bento boxes that used to be made by your team of personal chefs but are now made with your own manicured hands. You, with that bright smile of yours that he wants to always see because god — he thinks he would be willing to destroy the whole world if something were to ever make you so upset. You’re kind and beautiful and everything people write love songs about. You’re so good, and he’s nothing like you.

He’s nothing like you, because he highly doubts that you spend your time fantasizing about him like he does with you. It’s wrong, he thinks. And dirty, and disgusting, and vile. You’d hate him, he’s sure of it, if you knew what he thinks about late at night. That he sits on his bed with his cock pulled out from his shorts, leaking with precum as he strokes himself to the thought of you. Do you not see him as any other guy? Despite your lack of experience, surely you know just how dirty boys’ minds can be? You’ve got to be conscious of the fact that he’s any other guy, right? So, why — why — do you always roll around in his sheets, letting your sweet perfume stick to his sheets. Your tiny tops and skirts are always clinging tight to your body, and you never feel the need to readjust your clothing when it rides up. Do you not see him trying his hardest to look you in the eyes when the two of you are talking, despite the tantalizing sight of your skirt bunching up, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs?

Little does Megumi know (and if you have your way, he’ll never find out), you spend nights in your room, whining and trying to stuff your cunt with the same fingers that painstakingly made him his lunch. He’s your best friend since childhood. He looks at you like you’re an angel, and you don’t want to destroy that image by revealing just how dirty you really are. How every time he gets so close to you, you subconsciously bring your thighs together, trying to rub them together in a poor attempt to relieve some tension. He’d be disgusted with you, you’re sure of it. Maybe even betrayed.

Besides, it would never work out. Megumi doesn’t see you the way you see him. He might look at you with a soft look you’ve never seen him give anyone else, but that’s because you’re his only friend. It’s not like he’s harboring any hidden feelings for you, and just because you’re so convinced that there’s no one better than Megumi around, it doesn’t exactly mean that you won’t feel this way about anyone else.

Megumi’s got a rather monotone cadence with his voice, so you’re not too surprised by his seemingly unethusiatic response to you saying you’re now allowed to date. Still — there’s a slight pang of disappointment when you realize that he doesn’t sound jealous at the prospect of you dating someone else.

You decide right then and there that the healthiest thing to do now is to just bury your feelings for him deep inside your heart, to tightly pack in all those pesky feelings and store them away so you can make room to allow others to fill in his space.

gumi <3: where are you? gumi <3: i’m feeling tired and i have an assignment due tomorrow. i’m going home. gumi <3: you know i wouldn’t leave without you. cmon [name]. let’s leave now

Megumi frowns at his phone. He can clearly see that all his messages are being delivered, not to mention that he’s already called you twice and has been sent to voicemail twice. He can be patient when he wants to be, but right now, he’s getting a little pissed.

You know that he doesn’t like parties, and you know that he doesn’t hang out with the same people you do. He also knows that you don’t even really like most of the people you surround yourself with, so whyyou suddenly decided to do a 180 and reestablish your throne as the head of the social pyramid, he doesn’t know.

Lately, things between the two of you have been a little… weird. Sometimes he catches you staring at him with a sad smile on your face; one that you immediately replace with your usual one when you realize he’s looking right at you. Despite him asking you if everything’s okay, you vehemently deny that there’s anything wrong, and you’re quick to change the subject.

He thinks he’s losing his best friend, his only friend. And maybe it only hurts because he’s grown used to your presence in his life. Maybe it hurts because you’re his friend. But he knows the truth. It hurts because he’s losing you.

Did he do something wrong? Did he accidentally somehow reveal the extent of his feelings for you? Did you suddenly decide that maybe associating with someone like him isn’t something you’re meant for? Do you…

Do you hate him now?

It doesn’t matter. Maybe it does, but not right now. Right now, he’s more focused on getting the hell out of this stuffy ass living room, filled to the brim with drunken young adults and people he couldn’t care less about. The only person that matters right now is you, and he’s on a mission to find your location.

He’s got this ominous feeling in his gut, like something bad is about to happen. He’s Megumi Fushiguro, for fuck’s sake, so bad things have a habit of following him wherever he goes. But still, he’s made a personal promise to himself that no matter how bad things get, you’ll never get caught in the crossfire. He’s willing to die to keep that vow.

If you don’t reply to him, you most likely have a good reason. He doesn’t want to be clingy, is pretty damn certain he doesn’t even have a right to be, but he’s still worried about you. He’s pushing past the wall of sweaty bodies, trying to catch a glimpse of your hair color, the waft of your perfume, the familiarity of your laugh, but he can’t catch a single crumb of you anywhere.

You’re nowhere in sight, and he’s immediately filled with dread.

He yanks a guy who’s coming from upstairs.

“Ow, man, what the fuc—”

“Is anyone else up there?” Most of the time, the parties are restricted to just the first floor, with the unspoken rule being that only the upstairs should be used for people trying to fuck or to use the bathroom (or, people trying to use the bathroom to fuck). You’re not anywhere downstairs, and if you were simply using the restroom, you would have been back down here by now.

“Shit, I don’t fucking know.” The guy squints at Megumi, as if trying to see if he knows him or not. With the way his expression pales, Megumi comes to the conclusion that the guy might not really know him, but he knows ofhim. Gojo says that with the right reputation, the two concepts are practically synonymous. “But I heard a guy ‘n a girl, I think, walk past the bathroom. I don’t know who, though!”

Megumi lets go of the boy’s shirt, and he’s quick to run off before Megumi can give him any more wrinkles in his shirt — or do something much worse.

He’s thinking. Odds are, it’s probably not even you. With so many people roaming around this house, it’s likely that he just missed your presence. Your phone could have died, so that explains why he can’t reach you.

He finds himself heading up the stairs anyway.

It’s fine. He tells himself. You’re fine. You’re okay. Nobody would dare to touch a single hair on your head unless they want to suffer directly at the hands of Megumi. People around campus call him your guard dog, and it’s not necessarily a nickname he hates.

The atmosphere upstairs is vastly different from the one downstairs. There are no lights turned on, and all the doors to the rooms are closed. He hears a flush coming from one end, and out walks a tipsy girl who’s staggering a bit. There are only so many doors to choose from, and he doesn’t really want to accidentally walk in on two people trying to have sex, but the need to confirm your safety outweighs any possible embarrassment he may suffer from, so he continues on his mission.

The first two rooms are revealed to be empty, leaving just one more. Megumi takes a deep breath before trying to turn the handle.

It’s locked. 

His gut is telling him something isn’t right, but he’s forcing himself to chalk it all up to paranoia. He curses under his breath, wondering why he even let you out of his sights for a single second.

Because he didn’t want to seem clingy. Because he didn’t want you to have any more reasons to keep on pushing him away. 

He decides to call you one more time, and as he’s listening to the dial tone, he hears a faint sound coming from the other side of the locked door.

It’s a phone ringing.

He presses his ear against the door, trying to make out any more sounds he possibly can. Is it still a coincidence when the phone stops ringing right as Megumi is greeted with your voicemail message of “sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now, but you probably should’ve just texted me!”

Without the annoying dial tone distracting him, Megumi can listen a little more clearly to what’s going on. There’s… there’s someone crying.

The voices are muffled, but he can make out bits and pieces of what’s being said.

“—fuck up… crying like a damn bitch… want this.”

He’s heard enough before he’s banging his shoulder against the door.

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” He’s screaming, hitting it again. There’s a chance, the voice of reason inside of him is saying, that it’s not you that’s crying behind that door. Even if it wasn’t, Megumi still wouldn’t have stood by idly. But instinct is telling him that it is you, and that’s enough cause for him to bang his shoulder against the door once again. He hears a scream, and a male voice cursing.

The force of his body banding against it is enough to have the door really test the strength of its lock. Megumi’s never been the bulkiest person in the world, but he’s still got some defined muscle to him. The door is creaking, almost bending to his will, but he fumbles in the dark for the gun safely tucked away by his side.

It’s a gift from Gojo. To speed up the process when something needs to be done quick is what Gojo said it was for. He’s never used it in such close proximity to you, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

No silencer. He forgot the fucking silencer. With the deep bass rumbling from the speakers, he doubts anyone would be able to hear the gun go off anyway. He aims for the handle, pulling back the safety, and fires once, then twice. With a foot aimed at the door, he kicks at it, pleased to see the way the abused door finally bends to his will.

The open door reveals a scene that makes Megumi see red: you, with tear stained cheeks and your clothes bunched up and strewn across the floor with a guy Megumi vaguely recognizes as someone sharing the same Econ class as the two of you — Mahito.

“You fucking bastard.” Megumi practically lunges forward, tossing his gun to the side. He doesn’t see reason, is numb to common sense at this moment. All he feels is the need to hurt this fucker. To make him bleed, to have him on the brink of death, to see the light of life leave his dark eyes.

Mahito is fast, but even he couldn’t imagine the speed that Megumi would possess when pushed to the edge. This is different from the fights you’ve witnessed during school. This is something entirelydifferent.

The first punch has Mahito wincing in pain. The second, third, and fourth ones are thrown back to back, and there’s no time given to recover, no chance to gain the upper hand. He’s falling down, and Megumi’s on top of him, drawing back his fist only to slam it against him again and againand again.

Megumi knows he’s got something fucked up inside of his head — what other explanation is there to reason with why he finds this bloody violence so satisfying? His knuckles are bloody, and he can’t tell where Mahito’s blood starts and where his own ends. There’s a wild grin on his face, one that you’ve never seen before. You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the shadows, but the feral expression on Megumi’s face transforms him from your loyal best friend to something monstrous.

“‘Gumi, st-stop.” The words stumble out of your mouth as hiccups, but you don’t miss the way Megumi’s raised arm freezes in its higher position before he slowly brings it back down to his side. He’s breathing deeply, and all is silent in the room.

As if the sound of your cries is enough to snap him out of his daze, it’s almost scary how fast his mood shifts. Just a second ago, he was hellbent on beating Mahito to a bloody pulp, and now the darkness drowning those blue eyes of his is practically gone. He makes his way to the bed, each step hurried but still hesitant. Do you even want to be near him right now? 

You answer his question with some more small sobs. “‘Gumi, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay, [Name].” He’s picking up your clothes from the floor, ready to help you get dressed. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Megumi.” His name seems to be the only thing you’re capable of saying right now. After he helps you get dressed, he’s thrown off guard when you cling to him, with your arms wrapped around his neck and your wet cheeks pressed against his shoulder.

The moment the two of you are exiting the room, both of you far too wrapped up with the other to pay him any mind, Mahito lets out a laugh before groaning at the pain Megumi inflicted.

The two of you don’t know what you just started, but no worries — Mahito has the means of ending it.

It’s only a matter of time.

You’re too good to be true.

You won’t listen to him when he tells you this (you never do), but he swears you’re a fucking angel or something otherwordly. There’s no other possible explanation for just how breathtakingly beautiful you are, or how you’re the only thing consuming his every thought. Despite the fact that all the blood on his hands has reached an amount that he’s sure he’ll never truly be able to wash it all off, you don’t shy away from his touch. As a matter of fact, it seems like you’re keening for it.

“‘Gumi.” You mewl out, sticking out your tongue to lap at the precum on Megumi’s thumb.

You’re well aware of just how dangerous your boyfriend (the title makes you giddy every time you refer to him as that) is, but you know him. You know that the hands of a killer are the hands of your lover, and most of the time, you have a hard time believing the awful things he’s had to do with them. Because right now, those hands that are meant to be weapons are handling you with care, touching you so gently, you would have thought you were made of glass and ready to shatter.

“Look at you, all spread out for me. What happened to my precious, shy little girl, huh?” He removes the hand that was cradling your face back to his cock, stroking his length, the saliva from your tongue acting as a minor lubricant. The first time he fucked you was the first time you’ve ever had sex with anyone ever, and it had been the start of an addiction. You love Megumi. You love everything about him, from his character to his tenacity, all the way down to his cock, with its red tip that’s sticky with pre and leaking out more as he stares down at the obscene position you’re in.

Your face feels warm as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of love and lust that you don’t think you’ll ever get used to being on the receiving end of.

“Need you, need you so bad, please, ‘Gumi—” You’re staring up at him, giving him your best doe eyes.

“Fuck.” Just the sight of you beneath him, completely bending to his will, whining out for him to pretty please fuck you has him ready to cum right on the fucking spot. He’s pressing the tip in, his breathing faltering just the slightest as the warmth you provide envelopes the most sensitive part of him, nearly causing him to lose all self control right then and there.

You let out a cry as he pushes himself deeper in you, making himself at home in your gummy walls, one hand gripping your hip and the other holding onto the headboard.

“You feel so good for me, baby, shit.” He hisses, waiting for you to adjust, impatient but willing to bear it if it means it’ll feel better for you in the long run. After all, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t endure, just to ensure your happiness.

“Mm — ah — please.” There are still tears welling up in your eyes — precious girl, he hasn’t even began to properly fuck you, and you’re already tearing up? The sight of you completely and willingly at his mercy is enough to get him to start rutting his hips against yours, the satisfying sound of skin slapping against skin resounding and bouncing against the walls of his bedroom that is starting to feel more like the both of yours.

“Y’feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He groans, his pace quickening, the thrusts getting sharper and rougher with every roll of his hips. You’re powerless against his strength, and this type of easy submission feels so natural, feels so good, when it’s him that’s taking advantage of it. “You’ve got the sweetest pussy, y’know that?  I could fuck you forever.”

His praise goes through one ear and out the other with you, but your heart swells up to twice its size. Even if you can’t focus on the words all too clearly, you’re still aware that Megumi’s probably praising you. You can come to this conclusion because he’s always praising you. He’s always so sweet, so gentle, so loving — when it comes to you, that is.

“Hng — daddy!” You can’t help but let out a high pitched moan as he hits that sweet spot inside of you that makes you buck your hips up.

There’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing. Clenching around his cock like that, making those cute little noises that he can’t help but want to hear all the time, and then calling him that.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy.” 

Forget igniting something within him; you whining for him, calling him something that’s the root cause of all his childhood traumas… That’s like dousing him with gasoline and tossing a lighter at him. He’s going to burn through all his energy, channel all this dark, feral energy, and use you as the one unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.

He fucks into you so deeply that if your eyes weren’t shut tight, there’s no doubt that you wouldn’t see the unmistakable shape of his cock outlined against your tummy. The headboard is banging against the wall, and the squelching sounds of him roughly thrusting in and out of your sopping cunt is so lewd and so dirty that if you had any room to harbor a single ounce of shame, you would be downright embarrassed.

“How about you make me a daddy, huh? How about I fuck a baby in you?” He won’t lie and say it’s not something that’s never crossed his mind. The thought of your stomach round with a life the two of you created is enough to get him to continue with this near-brutal pace he’s set forth. “Doesn’t it sound nice, baby? My baby giving me a baby, what—” He grits his teeth as you tighten up. “—a fucking dream.”

“Baby. Wanna have your babies.” You cry out, tears spilling out and wetting your cheeks as your arms find their way to his neck and broad shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. The heat building up from within you feels like you’re about to fucking explode. “‘Gumi, I love you, Iloveyoupleasegimmeababy—'' Your words are practically unintelligible as you slur them out, the words sticking together as you cum all over his cock, all that pleasure that has been building up now physically tangible, if the white ring encasing his cock every time he pulls out is evidence.

“Fuck! You feel so fucking good. Always so fuckin’ tight.” He’s reaching his own end, and you’re just lying there, trying to recover from such an intense orgasm but unable to as your too sensitive walls clench around the constant intrusion of his cock. Spurred by your little love confession and his mind imagining his daydreams coming true — you, as his cute little housewife, taking care of the kids the two of you made together — he finally shoves himself as deep as he physically can, making sure that as he cums, nothing will spill out.

“‘Gumi.” You whisper, your head resting against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to start a family?”

He’s silent for a minute.

“I wouldn’t mind starting a family with you.” And he means it. He knows this life isn’t one meant for children — look at how he turned out, for god’s sake — but he thinks that for you, he can do anything. Even make a family work out. As long as it’s what you want, he doesn’t mind how hard it may be.

You snuggle closer to him, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. “Good.” You mumble. “I wanna start a family with you, too.”

Megumi feels… at peace. Like he’s got the whole entire world in the palm of his hands. He wraps his arms around you, and realizes that no — right now, he’s got his world right in his arms.

Mahito likes to play with his food before he devours them whole.

Humans are just so… vulnerable. Even the coldest people have a heart; it’s only a matter of whether or not they find someone warm enough to defrost it. Megumi Fushiguro, for example, likes to walk around this world, acting indifferent and claiming to follow his own moral conduct, only to give himself the biggest weakness he could possibly harbor: you.

He still remembers that party. He still remembers the way you were dressed like a little slut, completely oblivious (or maybe you were just acting coy) to the wolfish stares all the guys were giving you. He had the same class as you. Seen the way you clung to Gojo’s charity case, as if the ground would swallow Megumi whole if you let go of him. You’re cute, and you scream naive virgin, and that’s precisely why Mahito wanted to take you to that bedroom and have his way with you.

And then, your infamous little guard dog bared his teeth and pummeled him into the hardwood of a stranger’s bedroom floor.

Grudges are cancerous. If you don’t deal with it right away, it develops into something worse. It takes over all your internal organs, ruining you ‘til the only thing you can focus on is getting revenge. And the longer you wait, the more vengeful you get. It doesn’t become a matter of ruined pride or reestablishing honor — it becomes about inflicting the most pain one possibly can. It becomes about suffering — about transferring your pain, your anguish, onto someone else.

Mahito isn’t the type to hold grudges, but for Megumi, he’ll make a special exception. He wants to see just how well trained the boy is; after all, he’s been taken under the wing and supervision of Satoru Gojo, the myth himself. Surely, his student must be nearly as skilled, right?

It’s been a long game of watching and waiting on Mahito’s end. A lot of lurking in the shadows and gathering intel. It’s a lot more boring than he anticipated, but today’s the day where all his hard work finally comes to fruition. Megumi Fushiguro is going to regret ever interfering with him that one fateful night. The burning humiliation he’s felt has long since fizzled out, but since he’s already been set on the path of orchestrating Megumi’s destruction, he figures it only makes sense to see it through. You only can let go of a grudge after you get your proper revenge.

He’s been leaving Megumi all sort of taunting, teasing threats any chance he gets. Mahito’s got nothing but disgraced yakuza members on his side; those who have committed acts vile enough to get them kicked out of what is essentially a group of criminals. He knows how to be twisted — hell, twisted might be the only thing he knows how to be.

Killing girls that resemble you and sending him the photos. Taking videos of you when you’re out in public alone. Leaving voicemails for Megumi, ones that leave him pale faced and unable to breathe as he listens to how Mahito wants to tortue you.

Megumi’s been on edge for the past few months, unable to explain to you why. It’s why you don’t understand why Megumi won’t let you go back to your car, even though you left your phone in there.

“I’ll go. Or, we can go together.”

“You have to wait for our coffee! And besides, I don’t even know where I left my phone. It might not even be in the car, but you’ll just waste your time searching for it if it’s not there.”

“So then why do you have to go look for it?”

“Because it’s my phone? Also, I reeeeeallly don’t wanna have to wait for our coffee, so I figured looking for my phone in the car would kill some time.” You give him that sweet smile of yours that he loves so much before waving him goodbye. “I’ll be back by the time our order is ready, pinky promise!”

At the end of the day, it’s all luck. Mahito realizes this as you happily skip out of the crowded cafe, headed towards your car to search for your phone. He doesn’t know why you’re returning back to your car, doesn’t even really care. All he knows and all he cares about is that you’re headed there alone. And while you’ve been alone plenty of times, he’s never had an opportunity quite like this one. A chance to finally detonate the bomb that’s been lying dormant underneath your car, ready to be activated at the press of a button. He could’ve killed you plenty of times already, but it’s not enough to merely murder you. He wants to make it a spectacle, sure, but he also only cares about one audience member watching: Megumi.

From where he’s hiding, blending in with the rest of the customers from the bakery across the street, he’s got a decent enough view of Megumi, who’s sitting by the glass windows, watching you with furrowed brows as you unlock the car door.

Mahito can’t help the cruel smile that spreads across his face as pushes the remote connected to the bomb.

Nobody expects to hear the loud, resounding boom of something exploding. The surrounding cars parked next to yours have their alarms going off like crazy; it’s nothing but high pitched, blaring noises blending together to create a disruptive harmony. People are screaming, someone is on the line with emergency services, and—

—your precious car is set aflame, reduced to a burning pile of scrap metal no salvage yard will take.

In this moment, Megumi Fushiguro’s world crumbles to ashes.

#megumi fushiguro x you #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi x reader #angst #fluff #one shot #drabble #smut #megumi smut #jjk smut #jjk imagines #yakuza au #THIS IS SO OLD IM CRYING #like rereading it... omg what was i ON???

[jacaerysgf]

Worth it

Summary: your little sister has a big crush on cregan stark, you attempt to help her score him but his eyes seem to be stuck somewhere else.

c.w: reader is older than cregan, reader is 24, cregan, jace and readers sister are 21, tension, fingering (fem), sister is referred to as kit, cregan is taller (not specified how much) not proofread

w.c: 2k

a.n: was asked if i could do modern cregan and im like OFC !! once i open up my requests again i will definitely add cregan to my list !!

You just watch as your sister paces around your room with a bored face.

“kit-”

“What am i gonna wear? omg my nails look so bad i knew i should have gotten my nails done yesterday fuck!”

Your sister had gotten an invite to a party tonight but it wasn’t just any party. It was cregan starks party. your sister has had a big crush on cregan since the beginning of this school year. You have seen him around before, living in a college town leads to you seeing most of the college students around. You hated to say it but he was hot.

But you can’t tell that to her, when she showed you his picture you acted like you thought he was ugly to make her happy, knowing she would have lost it if you told her you thought he was hot. He was just your type, a bigger guy that clearly worked out, he was kind from what you had heard about him. But none of that mattered what you did know is your sister was completely delusionally in love with him and wanted to sleep with him tonight.

“Kit it’ll be fine, you’re cute, if he doesn’t like you then he can go fuck him.”

“ugh but i want him to fuck me!” she flops face first onto your bed with a groan and you just roll your eyes. “You’re acting like this over a guy….” “I know i know but you must get it, wanting a guy so badly.” You stop and think to yourself. You’ve been with a couple guys in the past but when you try to think about anyone the only guy that pops up in your head is cregan. No. It must be because your sister was just talking about him.

“I guess? but i promise you will never catch me rolling around like a baby and whining over one.” She lifts her head and pouts at you, “I am not.” “I didn’t even say it was you but if the shoe fits.” She stands mumbling to herself about how much she hates you but you just laugh and fall back.

“Well what are you gonna wear tonight?” “What are you talking about?” “They said i can only come if you come with me.” You sit up and look at her confused, “What?” “That's what Jace said, oh and he asked if we can pick up some booze.” That must be it, but you have no clue why you have to come. and how close was she to these people they know who you are?

“im not a college student kit it would be fucking weird if i showed up.” “Y/n please i really wanna go,” she pouts and you and laces her hands together to beg you. You can’t say no to your sister. Your face must admit defeat because all attempts of arguing with you sister go down the drain as she throws and dress at you and demands you get changed so she can go see if she can try to chat with cregan. Fuck it, you’ll stay for like twenty minutes or atleast until you see cregan and your sister chatting then you’ll leave.

You feel awkward as soon as you walk in, especially since your sister runs away from you basically as soon as you step through the door because she spotted some of her friends. You grip the boxes of beer you have tightly in your hand as you try to glance around to find a kitchen. You walk around a bit and manage to find it, letting out a sigh of relief as you place down the boxes.

“Thanks gorgeous.” You jump and turn around being faced with the man himself. “Cregan.” He had a wide grin on his face, “My reputation proceeds me.” You open and close your mouth trying to come up with something to say. God he was hot. fuck you can think like that. Your eyes drift down and you can see a little bit of his chest due to his unbuttoned shirt and hear him laugh and look back up and you see him just watching you. You take a major step back as you flush.

”I'm sorry-” “Don’t apologize i like you looking at me.” He moves closer to you and you move back until you hit the table and he’s standing right in front of you. “You’re beautiful.” “Thank you..” You look away from him and from where you are you can see you sister chatting with her friends. Your eyes widen and you push his chest making him stumble back from you out of view.

“I can’t talk to you.” He raises one of his eyebrows, the look on his face never dropping. “And why can’t i?” you shake your head trying to move around him so you can leave, “I'm not a student.” “I know.” He keeps on standing in front of you, “ Your kits sister, wanted you here.” You tilt your head, What?

“Huh?” He steps closer and you can feel his breath on your face, “I like you. Wanted you here tonight so i can finally get the chance to talk to you.”

what?

“I can’t.” You can’t do this to your sister could you? She seemingly really likes this guy. No matter how hot you think he is. “Why not?” “My sister likes you.” You blurt out. He doesn’t seem shocked by your reply. as if he already knew this info already. he just looks up to the living room with a shrug, “Doesn’t seem like she likes me much.” You turn your head and see her sitting on some guys lap making out with him. You’re gonna fucking kill her. She was so determined early what happened to that?

“oh..” “come with me.” he offers you his hand, no pressure for you to take it. You shake your head, “im older than you..” “And? that's even better.” you raise your eyebrows at him, finally feeling relaxed for the first time since you stepped through the door. “You into older women?” He shrugs with a smirk on his face, “could be, never been with one. never been with anyone like you.” you flush but try to keep up your attitude. “You couldn’t handle me.”

He leans down and whispers in your ear, “I would love to try,” He presses a kiss on your ear before pulling back and once again offering you his hand. “You don’t have to say yes.” With one more glance at your sister who seems to be eagerly shoving her tongue down that poor guys throat you grab his hand. “fine, but you better make this worth it.” “Believe me, i will.”

You don’t make another sound as he’s leading you up the stairs. you try to keep your face hidden in case you sister just so happened to look in your direction. you don’t look up until you enter a bedroom, standing in the middle of it. You hear a click behind you and you turn around. He grips your face and pulls you into a kiss.

You can feel his facial hair scratching against your skin in a delicious burn. He’s a good kisser, a really good kisser, but you won’t tell him that, it seems like his ego is already high enough. you two walk back until your falling back onto the bed. You watch as he rips the buttons off his shirt and throws it aimlessly on the floor. “You couldn't just unbutton it?” he laughs, “You should take it as a complement i want you so bad.”

That certainly has you pressing your thighs together and he grins before getting on top of you and kissing you once more. One of his hands slide up to your titties and play with them over the fabric of your dress while the other slides down to your core, rubbing you over your underwear. “Fuck you're so wet, all this for me?” “yes, just for you.” He laughs, “your tune as changed from the kitchen.”

He rubs over your clit and you throw your head back, “Shut up and touch me please.” he lets out another chuckle before taking his hand off your titties and bring it to move your underwear aside, “Anything for you.” He suddenly shoves two fingers into you and your hands grip his shoulders. “Fuck you’re so tight.” You can feel him wiggle and press his fingers against your walls. “cregan…” “I know i got you.” His pace is fast enough you are not whining but slow enough to where you are left aching all over. Your dress is far too tight. you are so hot you feel like you can’t breath. you arch your back and try to pull down the zipper on your back to take it off. You hear some mumbled curses from cregan before he reaches his free hand to your back and pulling it down. You let out a sigh of relief that is quickly followed by a loud moan as he plays with your clit with his thumb.

He pulls your dress down far enough with his free hand to free your breasts and lets out some more mumbled curses, admiring you with a shine in his eyes. “You are so gorgeous.” You don't respond. not that you could in your state. He leans down and takes one of your nipples in his mouth and rubs the other one with his hand.

The stimulation is too much for you to bear, your legs begin to shake which causes cregan to lift his mouth off you and look at you, “You gonna cum?” You nod your head, your eyes closed tight. “cum, fuck i wanna feel it cum.” He does not still even as his hand becomes drenched in your juices. He stops after awhile, letting you ride out your orgasm before he slowly pulls out his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking on them.

He goes down to unbutton his jeans before there's a knock on his door. “cregan!”

an annoyed look dawns his face as he glares at the door, “What the fuck do you want jace?”

“Kit’s looking for her sister. want’s to tell her shes leaving. you know where she is.” You look at him alarmed and try to sit up but he just pushes you back down. “If i see her ill let her know.” there's some talking outside the door you can’t hear, its your sister and Jace. you hear footsteps fading before a key gets inserted in the lock and his head pops in. cregan lays the blanket over you to cover you.

“Jace i though i told you to fucking cover for me.” Jace just rolls his eyes, “I've been fucking doing it you dipshit, she got worried about her sister when i tried to take her back to mine.” you finally get a good look at him and you realize he's the guy that your sister was making out with on the couch. Cregan just shakes his head and rolls his eyes, “fine fine you leaving?” Jace nods and sends you a smile before you turn your head away embarrassed. “have fun.”

The door clicks with a lock and cregan tosses the blanket off you, “sorry about that.” “did you ask jace to hook up with my sister?” “don’t say it like that he actually likes her.”

he goes back to unbuttoning his jeans, “you still wanna continue?” You nod, reaching your hands over to pull him out of his pants. “You still need to make this worth it you know.”

#cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark smut #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #cregan fanfiction #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan stark #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd cregan #hotd cregan stark

[yutahoes]

CEO's Favorite Intern

main characters: CEO! boyfriend! ex-sugar daddy! Yuta Nakamoto, intern! university student! girlfriend! ex-sugar baby! Y/N  (feat Accounting Department manager! supervisor! Mark Lee) word count: 4.4k words  genre: fluff, suggestive summary: Working in the same company as your boyfriend is hard enough. Being an intern in your CEO boyfriend's company is difficult. warnings: sugar baby-sugar daddy themes, suggestive, age difference, jealousy, a whiny baby Y/N, lots of kissing, failed ending (I tried) based on an ask and a part two of this fic. Writing has been really rusty lately but I hope you'll like this simple fic. And please leave feedback if you can.

You desperately searched for your name in the list of the students and their assigned company, praying that you would be put in a known company. You weren’t the best student in class. You were even convinced your teachers don't even know who you are so being in decent company would be a blessing enough. You saw your name followed by four other names but the company's name made you wide-eyed. 

Nakamoto Corporation. 

Your boyfriend’s company. 

Of all the companies there are, why there? Maybe your boyfriend has something to do about it. 

You raised an eyebrow at him while eating your steak. He kept on saying that he doesn’t know that they’ll put your name on the trainees assigned in their company but you’re not buying it. You know how sneaky Yuta is. He just chuckled at you, “Don’t worry, baby. I won’t give you any special treatment even if you are my most favorite intern.” 

But that is not what you were scared about. You were scared to fail. And it will all be embarrassing because you might fail in front of your highly esteemed boyfriend. 

Even if you go to the same company, you make sure to wake up earlier than your boyfriend and prepare for the internship. You cannot be late and you have to look at least presentable for your first day. “Are you going to wear that at work?” You glanced at the black pencil skirt and dark blue button blouse that you were wearing, nodding. “I’m so glad you’re going to my company.” He started getting his bath towel, “Wait for me. I’ll drive you to the company.”

“You can’t.” You immediately retorted while putting on the cross earrings he gave you as a gift. He stopped in his tracks, staring at you in confusion. “It will be weird to see the CEO and the intern coming to work together.” You explained and he blew on his bangs as if frustrated. “I’ll go first.” He was about to say something when you made your exit to the door. 

The commute was hard. Why is his apartment so far from his office when he goes there every day? The bus was crowded and you hated how your feet were hurting because of standing up. You even had to push outside the bus to get out of your stop. And even if you luckily survived the bus ride, you still have to walk so far to enter the company building. 

Even if you have been dating Yuta for a while now, it is your first time coming to his company building. You knew he had a decent business, that the corporation he had started years ago is booming in the industry but this is just too much. Now, you just felt an unbearable amount of pressure to do well in this internship. 

“Hi,” a guy greeted, smiling widely at you. “I’m Mark Lee, are you Ms. Y/N?” he asked and you nodded, confused as to why he was asking that. “I’m from the Accounting Department,” he started before offering you his calling card. So he works here? “I’m tasked to show you around.” You nodded. Maybe you’ll be working under his supervision. But he looks so young, probably the same age as you or older but not too much. He told you that your other schoolmates were assigned to different departments while you were assigned to Accounting. 

He showed you around, making sure that you would have an idea where certain offices are since they’ll probably ask you to move around. When you reached the department, you understood why. Seated opposite your desk is a woman in - probably - her late forties, then another woman looking stern with a drawn fine line of an eyebrow. Another man who was wearing thick glasses and had white hair can be seen inside the room. And there’s Mark Lee who looked like an outcast in the group of four people in the department. 

Not only do you feel that you’re an intern with how they order you around but you also feel the generation gap whenever they ask you how to print or edit the files or even input a certain figure using the computer. It hasn’t even been the whole day yet you’re already so frustrated and tired. How can Mark keep up with this every day? 

If there is one department that needs interns, that would be Accounting. Mark needed someone he could ask for help with. 

And you made sure that you’ll be of great help to Mark. 

You were so busy helping around that you forgot one tiny detail, the CEO of the company. The four people were standing up, greeting him politely when Yuta entered the Accounting Department. There’s an obvious tension in the air like they’re terrified of him. Is your boyfriend bullying his employees? And they’re even older than him. Is that even an appropriate work environment? “I’m just here to check on the financial report.” You watched as the youngest of the group handed him a folder with shaking hands, “Is this double-checked? I don’t want to see the same mistakes as the other reports.” You purse your lips at that. You did see a lot of mistakes when you rechecked the file but it was almost all small typographical errors or plain mistakes in the input of the formula.

Mark nodded. “Miss Y/N helped a lot in double-checking the file.” Yuta glanced at you before nodding. What was that? When he left the room, the four had a collective sigh that amused you. Are they that scared of Yuta? 

You’re not that good in Math, it’s still a mystery why you were put in the accounting department. But seeing how the employees of the department interact with the CEO, you realize you might have been in the right department. 

“Are you hiring new employees?” You asked Yuta while eating dinner. Since you both just returned from work, you settled on Chinese take-out. “I think the accounting department needs more people,” You licked the sauce of the noodles from your finger before continuing, “Younger people.” 

Yuta handed you tissues but before you could wipe the remaining sauce on your fingers, he took your hand and licked the sauce for you. “You’re actually in the wrong department. My instruction is that they should put a guy in accounting.” You glared. So he’s aware that accounting has one of the toughest jobs in his company? “Do you want to transfer to my floor? My secretary can train you.” 

You shook your head, “I thought you wouldn’t give me special treatment.” The guy only gave a hearty laugh. “I’m fine in the accounting department, Mark needs more help than he can get.” 

You thought the CEO was getting back at you with your decision. He kept on returning the files your department sent to his office and kept on checking even small mistakes. You even thought that it was his way to see you in his office but once you handed the folder to his secretary, you would just wait for the returned file in his office lobby. 

It was Mark who assured you that he's usually like this. Accounting is one of the most important departments in the company. They are in charge of finances coming in and out of the company. Indeed a small mistake can change everything. But if Yuta is aware of that fact, why put only four people in the department? It can use a lot of people, younger people. 

If there is something that you’re getting from this experience, that is an immense respect and admiration for Mark Lee. He’s always smiling, and always patient with his older co-workers. He never gets mad and is always speaking cheerfully. Maybe he’s an angel sent to Earth. And he deserves a raise for all his hard work. 

“You know ever since you started your internship, all you ever talk about is Mark Lee” Yuta noted one Saturday morning. You were having breakfast in a posh and private waffle shop near your place. 

Your fork stopped midair and you purse your lips at his words, making sense of it. You were always with Mark. You work together. Of course, you’ll talk about him. “He’s such a hard worker. I think your company will crumble without him.”  

“Then, should I promote him?” He definitely deserved that. And Mark will surely be super happy if that happens. But if he gets promoted, he’ll leave the accounting department. “Or should I just wait for you?” Yuta took a bite of his waffle chicly. 

“Wait for me?” 

“When you start your position in the company.” 

You blinked twice before cocking your head to the side in confusion, “What position?” 

“I’m still thinking about it but maybe a COO.” Your eyes widened in surprise. That is a huge position. You know how employers tend to employ interns especially if they did a good job. But a COO? That’s a high-ranking position, next to his. “Why do you look surprised?” Because that is a huge title for an intern. “Half the company will be yours if we get married, Y/N.”

You stood up in surprise. You didn't know if that was because of the huge fortune coming your way or the fact that Yuta had planned on marrying you. This relationship just started as a sugar daddy-sugar baby one. He needed a companion, you needed money. True, it drastically evolved after some time. But talking about the future, getting married to him is something that you felt farfetched. Yet, here is this topic.

Yuta smirked against his coffee cup. “Sit down, baby.” He ordered in a commanding tone as you shakily obeyed him. “You shouldn't be surprised. When I asked you to be my girlfriend, I already had marriage in mind.” He put down his coffee cup before cutting your waffles into tiny pieces, urging you to eat. “That’s why you need to do your best in this internship, graduate, and wear your graduation gown.” He stared at you, dark orbs pulling you in which made you gulp the lump in your throat. “Then prepare your wedding gown.”   

It must be the talk with Yuta that you dreaded going to work. How can you work as an intern for a company you’ll soon be managing? Is this Yuta’s plan all along? Did he purposely ask for you to be assigned as an intern at his company? 

Your schoolmates, who were interns of the same company, were all spouting compliments on their experience as interns of the Nakamoto Corporation. If the CEO decides to absorb them into the company, you will be managing them in the future. 

This may not be for you. 

Can you resign as an intern? Is that even possible? 

If you cannot do that, maybe you can just quit as Yuta’s girlfriend. 

That would be easier. 

You didn't have any motivation to go to work but Mark already looked worried the moment you stepped foot inside the office room. "Y/N, you have to help me," he said, a strain in his voice evident. 

Wait, what happened? Is he about to cry? 

You have never rushed work before, maybe running to get to class on time is the only time you decided to move faster. You were almost surprised when you finished the report Mark had asked you to do. You didn't know you could type so fast. The senior colleague’s file of the monthly report was corrupted from her flash drive and they could not open it. Luckily, Mark saved the copy from last month and retyping is easy. The department also had to present to the CEO in half an hour which added to Mark’s panic. 

Mark was fidgeting outside the conference room. “I’m not a great presenter,” he said more to himself, “But I have to do this for the sake of my co-workers in the department.” You nodded. It hasn’t been a month but you already saw how frustrating it is for Mark. How did he endure this workload for this long? Mark is such an angel.

You tapped his shoulder, smiling warmly at him. “You’re doing great, Mark.” 

He returned the smile, “Thank you, Y/N.”

A cough can be heard followed by the secretary of the CEO excusing himself to enter the board room. A side glance was all the CEO could give you both. The side of his lips frowning. “The CEO is in a bad mood,” Mark noticed, which made you nod. “Let’s hurry inside.” 

It was your first time watching your boyfriend at his work. True, you have watched him in video meetings looking all serious. But seeing him in this board room, managing his employees who are significantly older than him stirred something inside you. How come everything Yuta does is such a turn-on? Your gaze would fall on the leather watch on his wrist to the evident veins on the back of his hand, wanting him to touch you in that part that’s getting wetter by the second. Your eyes trailed north to his dark necktie, wanting that material wrapped around your wrist as he gave you immense pleasure. Watching the tip of his pen tapping his lower lip, made your mind drift off to what those lips can do. Fuck, you badly want him and you’re still clocked in for two hours here in the office. When your eyes met his, he raised an eyebrow before looking away.  

He probably knows the effect he has on you. 

When your department was called, your attention focused on your colleague. You smiled at Mark, tapping his shoulder to encourage him as you sat down in front of the laptop, volunteering to help him with the technical stuff. Your teamwork is rather dynamic and the presentation of the monthly investment goes on smoothly. You would give small smiles his way, proud that he did amazing despite his low confidence in his speaking skills. He’s just amazing in this job. 

“Since the investment remains stagnant, what do you think should we do Mr. Lee?” The CEO asked, startling you. His tone was different from the other presenters. Mark looked like a deer caught in headlights, his eyes wandering around as if asking for help. 

You raised your hand and muttered, “Sir,” You called which made the CEO look at you. “Isn't that question supposed to be directed to the marketing department?” 

“I’m not asking your opinion, intern.” Even the room got silent at his cold tone. Why is he suddenly like this? “Mr. Lee?” 

You didn’t even hear what Mark said in the shock of what happened. Is Yuta usually like this to interns? Maybe your boyfriend is such a huge bully. 

When the other department was called and the interns did share their opinion, he gave a warm reaction to them. Even if the employees were doing a terrible job in presenting or the interns kept on making mistakes, he never made the same reaction as when he shouted at you. Is he mad at you? Does he hate you? 

Instead of going home early, you found yourself drinking with your colleagues from the accounting department because of your bad mood. The senior workers kept on telling you that it was normal, Yuta is always like that. But no, you cannot. Not when you feel that it’s unfair. How can he treat his employees like that? How can he shout at you, an intern, in front of the other employees? And why only you? 

“The CEO is probably extra grumpy because he didn’t get laid.” One of your co-workers claimed that you dropped the glass you were holding. Mark was already at your aid, wiping the table and handing you tissues to wipe yourself. “Rumors are saying that he has a younger girlfriend.” 

You felt your heart stammer in your chest. There are rumors about that? Do they know that the girlfriend is you? Or is there another girlfriend that you aren’t aware of? Is he cheating on you? 

Maybe that’s why he’s cold to you in the office. Maybe, he wanted to push you away. 

Well, who would ever want an intern as a girlfriend anyway? 

All these thoughts running in your mind, and the fact that you had some drinks, made you unaware of the bicycle on the sidewalk. If not for Mark pulling you back, you wouldn’t even realize that you almost got hit by a vehicle. “Are you still thinking about what the CEO said?” You shook your head. Surprisingly, it isn’t about that anymore. It’s worse than that. “Don’t take it to heart, Y/N. I think the CEO likes you.” 

You gave him a timid smile, stopping to walk in front of your apartment building. Now, you just wanted to lie down and rest. “That’s nonsense.” You tried to shrug, “Have you heard how he shouted at me?” 

“He’s strict with you because he saw your potential,” Mark claimed but you shook your head. “And you have become his favorite intern.” 

You chuckled lightly. That’s impossible. You must be so drunk that you have been hearing things from Mark. “Thank you, Mark. This is my stop.” He glanced at the tall building before nodding, “Take care on your way home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You didn’t hear any word coming from him and just went inside the building. 

The lights were off when you came inside the apartment so you clicked on the light switch to illuminate the light on your way to your room. You almost jumped in surprise seeing Yuta seated on the couch, turned to where you are. “It’s late,” he said in a low voice. “Did you drink?” He stood up, walking to where you are. “On a work night?” 

“I’m not drunk,” you tried to counter but your words are slurring, “I spilled beer on myself.” You stopped when he held your forearm to help you balance but you slapped his shoulders which made him groan. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.” 

Yuta chuckled, pulling you closer to him. “Are you mad because of what happened earlier?” You rolled your eyes and he held your waist. “You told me not to give you any special treatment.” 

“But that was too much!” You shouted. “Are you like that to everyone or just to me? Do you hate me?” 

If not for Yuta wiping the tears from your face, you wouldn’t know that you’re crying. “Baby, I’m sorry.” He said in a soft voice and if possible, pulled you closer. “I don’t hate you, I would never hate you.” Then why was he mad at you earlier? “And to be honest, I hate myself more.” You stared at him in surprise. Why would he? “I let my jealousy take over my emotions.”

“Jealousy?” 

He gave you a small smile before kissing your forehead. “You and Mark, smiling and touching each other.” Your eyes widened at that. What? Mark Lee? But you work with each other and it’s just shoulder pats. Yuta kissed your nose, “I hate that you’re so pretty and those guys at work kept looking at you.” Then he kissed you on the lips, a quick smack but still surprised you nonetheless. “I hate that those pretty words coming out of your lips turn me on so much.” Wait, what? 

“You have no idea that when you said sir earlier, I wanted to bend you in the conference room and make you shout that same word repeatedly.” 

You sobbed, bawling your eyes out. It was now his turn to get startled. “I thought you were pushing me away.” You cried, “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.” 

But he just pulled you closer, hugging you tight. “I’m sorry, baby" he kept on whispering. “That's the contrary actually.” He tried to calm you down by pressing butterfly kisses along your neck, fingers trailing on the skin under your shirt. "I want you so much, it's crazy." He kept on kissing your exposed skin, opening the buttons of your blouse. “You reek of beer, let’s get you cleaned up hmm?” 

Maybe it was the intoxicated state you’re in but you let Yuta pamper you that night. He was so careful while giving you a bath, rubbing your skin while whispering how your idea earlier was right and that your department did a great job. He listened intently to how you tell him how stressed you are with your job. 

In contrast to his gentleness while taking care of you was his roughness in bed. You kept on moaning the word ‘sir’ and he would thrust in you in the roughest way possible. “I love you,” he whispered against your ear, lying beside you. “I’m sorry.” 

A chuckle escaped your lips, eyes closing as the tiredness loomed on you. “Since you got laid tonight, maybe you won't be that grumpy tomorrow.” You only heard Yuta laugh in response. 

—--

You were so sore the next morning that you begged Yuta if you could take the day off. But since you’re an intern, without any special treatment, he didn’t let you. He helped you, though, by volunteering to drive you to the company. You were anxious the whole time you were inside the car. What if someone sees you with him? A CEO and an intern together is a bad image for a company. But you found out that Yuta has a special parking area, hidden from other employees. 

Yuta only gave you a couple of minutes to walk ahead of him so no one could see the two of you together but he caught on to you while walking to the elevator. The employees greeted him and he gave a wide smile, greeting them as well. When you reached the office of the accounting department, the senior workers were all whispering about how the CEO was in a very good mood today. “He probably got laid last night,” the senior colleague claimed and you lightly smiled. That was so absurd but it wasn’t wrong. 

The day isn’t that busy but you noticed how Mark kept on moving from one place to another. He kept you inside the office, retyping documents, while he ran the errands to the other departments. When you took a break on the office terrace, you found out why. “Rough night?” He asked while handing you a cup of coffee. “You were limping on the way in. You’re lucky they didn’t notice you.” 

It was embarrassing. Is Mark really that observant? He turned around, back leaning on the ledge, as you sipped on the coffee he gave. “So how rough did your boyfriend take you last night?”  

Isn’t that too much to ask? “You don’t know if I have a boyfriend.” He raised an eyebrow, looking as if you got caught. 

Mark laughed before raising his head to point at someone by the window and you were surprised to see the CEO looking at you, arms crossed. “He looks like he’ll kill me. You might not have done so well last night.” he joked with a light chuckle. 

You glared at him, “How did you know?” 

“I wasn’t that sure at the start but after the CEO had been too strict on the department, I kind of put two and two together.” He claimed then smiled, “And you live with him, don’t you? You cannot afford that luxury apartment, Y/N.” Is Mark that smart? How did he find out about that? “Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul that we have an office romance. But I have to tell you something…” 

Your phone rang, and Yuta’s name was seen on the screen. Mark gave you a nod to answer the call, “Tell Mark Lee that Lee Haechan from marketing is looking for him.” Yuta said that confused you. Why didn’t he just call Mark? When you relayed the message to the guy beside you, he was smiling from ear to ear while telling you that he’ll see you later. You asked who Lee Haechan was and Yuta quickly answered, “His boyfriend.” 

Your eyes widened in surprise while looking at Mark. Boyfriend? You didn’t know Mark had a boyfriend. And a co-worker? Is that what he was supposed to tell you? “Wait, how did you find out?” 

“Company rumors.” Your boyfriend listens to rumors in the company? “And I know how ecstatic Mark is whenever he gets assigned to the Marketing Department.” Now that he mentions it, he does look more excited about working with that department. An office couple. How exciting. 

“But wait,” You claimed, turning your back to the ledge that you’re face to face with the CEO. “Are you that jealous of Mark that you always watch him? How do you know that he gets ecstatic working with marketing?” 

You can see the smile forming on your boyfriend’s lips, “I know Mark before you do, baby.” A light chuckle can be heard. “Besides, before you came, he was my favorite intern.” So Yuta does have a favorite intern. And maybe that’s why Mark confidently said those words to you last night. Does this mean you’ll have the same route as Mark? 

“I thought I wouldn’t get any special treatment?” 

“You won’t. You still have to work hard and complain about how shitty your boss is.” You rolled your eyes but you knew there was a grin on his face. “But you automatically qualify as the COO so whatever you want to do with the company in the future is all in your hands.” That was such a position from being just an intern. Why does he keep on pushing you in that position? “Or the wife of the CEO. I won’t complain.” 

You chuckled. There’s no doubt he’s a man with authority. “The wife of the CEO sounds much better. A total jump from being an intern.” 

You saw him smile from the window. “Ask for the monthly report and bring it to my office,” he ordered, then winked your way. “Let me hear the complaints of my favorite intern.” 

You smiled then put down the phone before walking your way back to the accounting office. 

Being the CEO’s favorite intern isn’t so bad at all. 

#yuta #yuta nakamoto #nakamoto yuta #nct 127 yuta #yuta fluff #yuta nakamoto fluff #ceo yuta #sugar daddy yuta #boyfriend yuta #nakamoto yuta fluff #yuta suggestive #yuta nakamoto suggestive #nakamoto yuta suggestive

[fatswaps]

PLUMBER BODY SWAP

Minh was what many woukd refer to as, the perfect guy. He was smart, as shown by his exceptionally high grades. He had the looks of a supermodel, always the subject of awe for every girl and even some of the guys on campus. And, perhaps most important to the unfortunate events that would unfold, He was just a few months into his 18th age. The young man had everything he could ever ask for, and with such great traits, came perhaps the only aspect of Minh most couldn't stand- his disrespectful attitude. Minh really didn't shy away from treating those he seemed as unattractive in comparison to himself with the same resoect he'd show to an insect. But his pretty looks and large circle of acquaintances were enough to keep him surrounded by friends.

Though Minh would have his comeuppance one faithful night at a dorm party. The boys Minh was friends with were doing their usual activities such as drinking, making an overall mess and damaging dorm property. Markably, that night- it was the dormroom toilet which had been broken by the rowdy college boys. One of the pipes had been broken apart by one of the boys hitting it with a golf club in a not-so hilarious prank.

After the boys setttled down a bit, they soon realized they'd be forced to call the college plumber, an older guy called Steve. It was common for students to make fun of Steve for his big gut and in their eyes, "lowly" job of fixing their shitters. Once called over, the boys snickered and pushed one another to talk to the exhausted old guy at which point, Minh heroicly stepped forward and said "Hey... so, our pipes got broken. Guess you didn't do a very good job last time" he smirked, which Steve could only reply with an irritated sigh "You'll have to wait for tomorrow for me to fix it" he made his stance and was about to leave when the irritated younger man scoffed "What? Going home to eat some slob piggy?" He insulted the poor man, which was when he stopped in his tracks. "You know what, show me the way."

Smirking victoriously, Minh lead Steve to the bathroom but the moment he stepped inside- he blacked out and time itself seemed to become hard to decipher from space.

When he came to, Minh saw a familiar sight sitting on the stairway he'd led the fat plumber up to reach the bathroom where he heard his own voice say "Yeah, thanks for the job bro. Now piss off, this party is for young people". He didn't understand what was happening until he was pushed out the door- by himself!

Minh was confused as he fell to the floor outside his door room in the corridor. Taking a moment to recall what had happened- he soon realized everything got weird after he went into the bathroom with the plumber guy... speaking of, where was he?

It was at that moment Sing caught a reflection of himself in the mirror at the end of the hallway... that was not his body, that was NOT his pretty young face. That was the face of the 87 year old plumber he made fun of on a daily basis!

Having freaked out would be an understatement as the freshman-turned-old man screamed in pure fear and shock at the changes to his body. It was at this moment when he recieved a text... pulling his phone out of his now much tighter jeans' pockets- Minh read the texts in pur horror

"You probably noticed by now that I took your body kid. Well, tough shit. I was tired of being the fat plumber everyone shits on, now its your turn. Enjoy my 87 year old body, cause I'm gonna enjoy yours"

He saw a text being uploaded right after

"Oh and, don't even try to tell anyone what happened. I took some pictures of 'you' doing some pretty messed up shit to my poor college boy body and they could make you lose your job in less than a day, if not go to jail. Heh, good luck dickhead".

It had been around 6 months after the swap, and Minh had to adjust to his new life whether he liked it or not. The new Minh had already blocked his number and would give him the most humiliating smirk whenever the two saw eachother.

What took the most to get used to however was the disadvantages of obesity and old age. The old man suffered a great deal trying to get from anywhere to anywhere else. Even the most mundane tasks had him gasping for air due to years of smoking.

Showering was still so humiliating, seeing the fat rolls, his fatpad, the hairy body and ridiculously large moobs and belly. His balding head and old man beard- they all felt so wrong. Minh cried for quite a long time until his shower sessions turned into silent moments of pure shame

Another aspect of his body Minh could never come to terms with was his ridiculously small, constantly soft penis. With the horniness of an 18 year old freshman snuffed out, replaced by the body of a 87 year old man- Minh longed for his old vitality.... something he would never have again.

It was about 5 years into the swap when Minh's suffering came to an end due to a sudden heart attack due to his morbid obesity. The news spread around campus, and Steve- now fully in Minh's shoes, seemed quite unsympathetic, his statement about the old guy being "The fat fuck deserved it."

#bad ending #identity theft #male body swap #male weight gain #young to old #bodyswap

[allicat0]

hi there! i absolutely loved ur other fan fic even tho i didn’t know the character. made my pussy throb. anywho 😊 just seeing if u are able to write a gojo x reader, perhaps him being older ( older brothers bsf, teacher, etc. ) i also would love to see some discreet public sexy time. ( classroom, movie theatre, pool… i love fucking hot tubs and pools…) thank you so much!😜✌️🎀

Our little secret

Ans: thank you so much for the support, and of course! I’m so excited to write my take on Gojo! Hope you like it!!

Summary: University au! You're working along side your thesis advisor Gojo in hopes to working closer to your ambitions for the future. But being a university student, costs are high and money is low. So to be able to keep up with your school you have a little gig on the side.

Content: MDNI, 18+, abaf reader, smut, forced proximity, dubcon, oral, penetrative sex, domination, degradation, praise, making out, rough sex, oral sex, penetrative sex, teacher/student relations, dominant Gojo, submissive reader

A/N: I apologize if not all of my historical information its 100% correct, I did do a little research for it to make as much sense as I could. I also apologize for any word vomited, grammar, or punctuation errors. I was up till 2am writing. but hope you enjoy!

You had been given the opportunity to have Satoru Gojo, head professor of the History department as your Thesis advisor. It was all still a little unreal to you, but you couldn't be more grateful. You have spent countless hours with one another, early mornings and late nights, doing your best to progress with your latest research proposal.  “The Villa of the Papyri” you said, placing your stack of papers down onto Gojos desk. “Now that surely is a pretty big project your-” He began to reply before you quickly cut him off “I understand it’s a lot, and that most of the contents inside got destroyed but there are over two thousand lost scrolls that reside inside that structure. There could be so many answers about the lost city of Herculaneum that those scrolls could contain!” Your look was genuine. . and so full of hope that he just couldn't say no. 

As weeks passed, you still had no leads. Weeks turned into, months, and months turned into a year, endlessly working alongside Gojo. Despite your research not flourishing as much as you had hoped, your relationship with your professor grew more than you expected. It didn’t feel like work, it was tolerable to be around eachother, it didn’t feel like he had some weird authority complex over you, you were comfortable, you couldn’t help but admit to yourself some feeling for your professor began to form and you wished nothing would come in between that. .until something did.

Being a university student, especially in the department you're in, funds are high and since you were usually busy researching all day, you had a hard time getting a stable job that worked around your harsh schedule. The school did pay you money to go through with this research but it was barely enough to buy you a loaf of bread and toilet paper. You needed money to survive and things were getting a little tight, so you thought working at your local club didn’t sound like a horrible idea. . as a dancer. 

Zafrio, is one of the more popular clubs in the area, but they worked well around your schedule, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays every week. The pay was beautiful, every penny you made on that stage was yours to keep, on top of that you also got your bi-weekly pay which 10% of it went through tip - out to the servers, but you weren’t complaining. On average you made at least four hundred dollars a night, but on good days you would rack up closer to a thousand. 

Tonight was your Saturday shift, the busier one out of the three. As you were getting ready backstage a familiar face walked into the club, the club was packed full of people, he made his way through the crowd, brushing past people shoulder to shoulder, getting closer to the main stage. Now he didn’t come here often but when he did, it was every Saturday at eleven, to see you and only you perform. He used having a large crowd to his advantage as he was often hidden, so you seeing him was never a concern of his. How he found out about your little side job was not intentional, he just happened to stumble into the club with some of his friends one night, and there you were working. Gojo was beyond intrigued, so ever since that day he’d been coming to watch you perform, he didn’t know why he came back, but all he knew was that he started thinking of you in ways he’d never dare think of before. 

Your stage name gets called and there you are, walking out onto the stage over to the pole, beginning your number for the whole club. Cheers filled your ears, watching the money fall onto the stage, the serotonin that pumped through your body was unbelievable and he watched, every. Last. second. His eyes never leaving you or your body. The way your hips sway to the music, it was like he was in a trance. 

As you finish your number your eyes fall out to the crowd, adjusting from the bright stage lights shining up at you. You start to strut off and out the corner of your eye, you see. . no it couldn’t be. What was he doing here?? Your heart rate began to pick up. What was your professor doing here?! You quickly rushed the rest of the off stage. Did he just see you perform? Your mind was rushing at a million miles a second. 

You arrived backstage and looked in the mirror, your mind began to spiral and your heart picked up its pace, that was totally him, there was no denying it. “Is everything alright?” one of your fellow dancers came over to see if you were okay as they noticed you were panicking. “Yah.  .yah i'm fine” you said to put your clothes on and packed all your belongings. “Something came up and I really need to go, please let the boss know I’m sorry.” You knew all of the money you got from that dance would be taken care of by your boss, and were quick to leave, walking out to your car and heading home. 

Monday finally rolled around and you were on your way to Gojos' office to start work. If it were any other day you would be eager to get back to work after a weekend break, but today wasn’t any other day. The events of Saturday night still loomed in the back of your mind, you didn’t want to admit it but you were scared to face Gojo, how were you supposed to just act normal after that night?!

You opened the door to the office and plastered a smile onto your face and there he was sitting at his desk. “Good morning professor.” you said, making your way into the room, closing the door behind you. “Good morning, how was your weekend?” he asked, his eyebrow slightly arching with the question. You felt a lump form in your throat forcing it down before speaking. “Ah, it was quite relaxing,” you said trying to cut the conversation. “I'm surprised, you spend your weekends working do you not?” his head tilted ever so slightly, a smirk forming in the corner of his lips. He knew what he was doing and he knew you saw him that night. 

You froze in place for just a moment, “i'm not sure I know what you mean” Gojo looked at you right in your eyes, leaning forward so his elbows were resting on his knees. “I think you and I both know what I mean” your breath hitched, there was no going back, there was no avoiding this. You watched as Gojo sat up from his chair and made his way around his desk. Leaning against this chair and resting his ass against it he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Well. . am I wrong?” This was it, your career was over, there was no way you would be able to recover from something like this, you knew the risks and yet you still took the chance, now look where it got you. 

You could feel yourself trying to choke but in the coming years, you were trying your best to keep yourself together. “Now you know there's no reason to lie to me. .” Gojo pushed himself off the desk and made his way towards you, your eyes never leaving him. He walked behind you, leaving your sight, but you could feel him looming over you. “Professor look, moneys been low and.” his hot breath suddenly hit against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” His words were soft. 

Your shoulders tensed as he placed his hands on them “Is this okay? Can I touch you here?” Gojo let out softly once more, you simply nodded your head being speechless. His hands began travelling down stopping right at your hips. “You know. .I have a confession of my own. Ever since I found out about your secret endeavours. . I haven’t been able to stop going back. . I can’t stop thinking about you in ways I shouldn’t.” He choked out, Gojo was doing his absolute best to keep himself at bay. 

“Really?” you said, sounding surprised, his words were making your stomach flutter. As much as you wanted to deny this as wrong and unprofessional there was a recurring curious thought that wanted to find out more, what exactly was he thinking. “The thought drives me crazy” the hold he had on your hips gets tighter, but you move away from his grip, turning around to face him. His eyes were drawing you in like never before, you couldn’t describe it, but his gaze was full of pure lust. 

You bit down on your lips, you were unsure what to do, act professional or. . no what were you thinking! “Darling,” Gojo said, snapping you out of your thoughts. His hands coming up and cupping your face, his thumb trailing softly against your cheek. “Gojo I. .” You stood there speechless. “This is unprofessional.” You try to centre your thoughts “I think we’re long past that.” he said his hand never leaving your cheek. His face leaned down his lips inches from yours “if you want me to stop then tell me, I want you to be okay with this” you looked up at him through your lashes nodding your head ever so slightly. “Please. .don’t stop” you let out quietly just enough for him to hear you. 

Next thing you know you felt Gojo’s lips press against yours, lips moulding with one another. His kiss was delicate, but carried so much passion and lust behind every movement. Your mind continued to spiral at every given minute, but you didn’t want to stop, you wanted more. Gojo’s hands travelled down before taking your ass in his hands giving it a squeeze as he continued to kiss you. 

His tongue slipped past your lips and moved with yours, but it didn’t last long as he was quick to pull away to catch a breath. His head moved to your neck planting firm kisses against your neck as his hands made their way up your shirt, cupping your breast in the process massaging them as he continued to place his markings down your neck. “You’re fucking gorgeous” his voice was breathy, against your skin.

Gojo guided you over to his desk, turning you around to your back facing him. His hands lingered at the hem of your pants, thinking for a moment before he pulled both your pants and underwear down revealing your slick pussy. Gojo went down onto his knees to get a better view, his hand trailing up and down pushing in between your folds, slowly sticking his middle and ring finger deep into your pussy, causing a moan to escape your lips. “What if someone hears us?” you asked nervously. He continued to pump his fingers in and out of you slowly watching how your pussy swallowed his fingers “let them” he said. 

The speed of his fingers began to pick up the pace causing soft moans to escape through the seam of your lips. Gojo pulled his fingers out of you, spreading your legs open enough to lodge his head in between your thighs, dragging his tongue against your pussy. As you lay there leaning over his desk, gasping for breath, Gojo tasted every inch of you, savouring the sweetness of your flesh, he knew exactly where to touch, how to caress, driving you further into the realm of ecstasy. Your hips would involuntarily push back into him as he lapped his tongue over your clit, exploring every curve and crevice, bringing you to the edge of climax. It was almost painful, the anticipation and desire building within you, but you wouldn't trade this exquisite torture for anything else. 

As you were nearing release Gojo pulled away standing up, quickly unbuckling his pants to unveil his already hard twitching cock eager to pound into you. He held the base of his cock, dragging the tip in between your wet folds, before slowly pushing himself into you, causing a groan to escape from the back of his throat. His hands grabbing onto your hips, he began to slowly move his hips watching your pussy swallow his cock. “You feel so fucking good” he said as he began to pick up the pace. Your hand moved up to your mouth blocking out the moans leaving your lips, doing your very best to stay quiet enough so others wouldn’t hear your lewd sounds. Gojo’s thrusts became rough, his hand releasing your hip entangling his fingers through your hair tugging on it as he pounded into you. “You’re such a good girl, taking me so well”. 

As Gojo continued to thrust deep into you, you felt yourself coming closer to the edge once again, the knot building up in your stomach from him constantly hitting your G-spot. Your free hand moved down in between your legs and moved rapidly against your clit. “ you gonna cum on my cock baby?” He asked you, smirking down at you, how he enjoyed the sight. You let out a moan as your legs do their best to hold themselves up through your orgasm, Gojo was close, you could feel his cock pulsating inside of you. His thrust was becoming sloppy and out of rhythm. With a few more thrusts he quickly pulled out of you, his hot cum hitting against your back “fuck” he said out of breath looking down at the mess he made, but god it was fucking hot.

His body pressed up against your own, planting a soft kiss against your shoulder. Moving the hair away from your neck and planting them slowly against your neck as well, he let out a light groan, the vibration of his hot breath against your skin made you shiver. “Let's get you cleaned up baby” Gojo said, going back to his cocky smug voice once again. “Oh and. .lets keep this our little secret alright?”

@allicat0 signing off. .

#fanfiction #smut #gojo satoru #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk fanfic #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #Satoru gojo fic #gojo x reader smut #mdni #18+ mdni #jjk satoru

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Lauren Hemp x Reader

Crazy for You

AN: this is the first time I’ve written in first person, not sure if I like it but 🤷🏻‍♀️

Part of the Beth McCarthy mini song series

Crazy for You

I look for you in the crowd, you are

The only thing that I want to see

I think I’ve figured it out, I know

What it is that you do to me

Tying up my shoelaces in the changing room I couldn’t help but overhear Georgia say to the others that her sister was coming to our game tomorrow, my ears immediately perked up, listening intently to the conversation. “Which sister?” I asked hoping she meant her older sibling that I’ve been crushing hard on since Year 7. (Y/n) was two years above us and I remember always trying to make excuses to go around Georgia’s house after school, she’d often ask why we couldn’t go to mine which meant quickly making up excuses – mum’s friends are coming round, the goldfish is sick, I’ve lost my keys ect. I doubt she bought my reasons and knew exactly why I wanted to go to hers in the slight chance that (y/n) was home. Being nearly two years older than us she’d often be out with her friends and going to parties at the weekends. She taught us how to apply make up when we were younger and told us all about the boys she was seeing, Georgia would often talk about the boys she liked too and I had to pretend to understand. I didn’t find boys attractive, I never have and couldn’t understand why anyone in their right mind would like them – they were smelly and gross and swore all the time. At least the one’s in our class anyway! As we got older, my crush on (y/n) became much more noticeable, I’d become even more ditzy than anyone thought possible which only meant one thing – I was in love!

“The one you fancy” Georgia replied teasingly but I was so far off in my daydream that I barely registered that she’d responded to my question. “It’s been 13 years now Hempo, when are you gonna get over her? You know she’s straight!” she said throwing a bib at me, we were getting ready for our last training session before the Finalissima at Wembley tomorrow. “And you know I have a girlfriend so don’t be speaking about this in front of her.. that goes for all of ya!” making sure I reiterated that for the louder members of the team, the ones that don’t think before they talk (they know who they are!) Everyone groaned in acknowledgment of my request, my England and Man City teammates knew all about my secret crush, they tease me about it but it didn’t go any further than that. In my eyes, there’s no harm in fancying someone who’s unattainable – Georgia’s is David Beckham, Millie’s is Kevin Hart, mine is my best friend’s sister! There’s no harm in having a crush that will never amount to anything, is there?

“I don’t know what you see in her, I’m much fitter!” Georgia continued handing out bibs to the squad as she made her way towards me, poking my cheeks until she got a reaction. “Soz babes, I’m just not that into you!” standing up and patting her head before jogging out to the pitch. Since Stanners moved to Bayern, (y/n) had stopped coming to watch Man City which was weird at first because she would always come to our games. I’ve never been on a team that didn’t include George, even in school (y/n) would come and watch us play after classes finished. She’d even bring her older friends too and if the most popular girl in school watched football, most of the other students did too. We regularly had a large crowd watching us but when (y/n) left for university, that all changed. That was until we both signed for England U15s at the same time. No matter where in the world we played you could guarantee Georgia’s entire family would be there. They cheered for me like they did her as mine struggled to get to them all, my mum hates flying so would never come to the out of country games which meant Georgia’s family celebrated me as much as they did her, they made sure I never felt alone.

Georgia had known since age 16 that I had a massive crush on her sibling. It happened during a game of truth or dare on one of our weekly sleepovers, I stupidly chose ‘truth’ and had to admit who I secretly liked.. that was also the day I came out for the first time. I made her pinky promise she wouldn’t tell her sister or anyone else and to this day, she’s kept it. With adulthood I came to accept that we would never happen and opened myself up to love with another person, I now have a beautiful girlfriend of 3 years but the news of (y/n) coming to our game tomorrow still made my heart sing. I know there’s no way in hell that she’d ever feel the same way I do but that doesn’t stop me daydreaming every now and then about her.

———————————————————

Walking out for warm ups I pretended to look for my family in the crowd but I was actually looking for Georgia’s. Glancing around the stadium from the north stand to the south I finally spotted them, just as George launched herself at me making my arms fly backwards to grab her into a piggy back. “Your parents and girlfriend are in the west stand Hempo” she teased making me stutter in embarrassment at getting caught and innocently turning to where Stanners was pointing, waving up at my family she jumped down from my back and waved too. She then waved to hers which I joined in with, noticing (y/n) jump and wave to be spotted be us.. or just her sister, I’m not sure. “Try be a bit more subtle next time or you’re gonna get found out” she laughed, pushing me in the direction of our first warm up.

The game was tough and after a late equaliser it came down to penalties. I was subbed in the 88th minute and watched from the sidelines as Georgia opened up the shots. My eyes couldn’t drag themselves from her family in the stand opposite to me celebrating my best friend. Tooney missed her penalty but Rachel, Alex and Chloe didn’t which gave us the win. We poured onto the pitch to celebrate with the team, launching myself onto Georgia’s back like she did to me earlier. She carried me around the pitch for the lap of honour and after we went to see our families. George came to see my parents and girlfriend with me, she’s like a daughter to my mum and the feeling felt a lot like the Euros final the year earlier. As they got the stage ready and engraved the trophy with the winning team we had just enough time to see Georgia’s family too, “I’m assuming you’re coming to see mine?” she said with a knowing smirk on her face, linking her arm through mine as we skipped down the steps. My expression said ‘well DUH’ to her question as we ran over to the other stand, confetti was still flying around in the air as we ran hand in hand across the pitch. Squeals came from the fans we ran past to get to her family who were screaming just as loud for us, enveloping us both into a warm hug in congratulations. “You done so well!” (Y/n) screamed in Georgia’s face, lifting her up with her tight squeeze of a hug before turning to me, “and you!” shaking my shoulders then wrapping her arms around my neck, planting a huge kiss on my cheek.

It felt like my eyes bulged out of my head. I was speechless! Georgia was staring right at me with a smirk on her face knowing exactly how this interaction was making me feel. If anyone took a photo of me right now it would be obvious about what I was feeling with the dumbfounded expression on my face. I was undeniably in shock! “We gotta go!” George blurted out suddenly, grabbing my arm and dragging me away from the situation before I said something stupid. And lets be honest, I would have said or done something incredibly stupid.. it’s me!

“Snap out of it El, act cool!” George encouraged, “we just won!” shaking my shoulders trying to change my emotion to anything other than smitten before collecting the trophy. It’s like the real prize didn’t even matter, I’d got what I had wanted for years.. something that felt even better than winning a trophy.

#Spotify #lauren hemp #lauren hemp x reader #lionesses #woso #woso x reader #woso masterlist #woso fic #woso community #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #lionesses x reader #man city women #georgia stanway #Lauren hemp imagine #wlw fanfic

[anjuyn]

Have you ever thought about how hard it is to perceive Rei not as an adult? I mean, ES Rei is only 20 years old, this is the student age, he is not only young, he is literally a child (the average life expectancy of a man in Japan is 81.5 years, Rei has lived a little less than a quarter of his life). And he's only a year or two older than most of the other characters (he's younger than Rinne, okay?).

What my point is.

This man was never perceived by anyone at his age and this was the main reason for all his problems with society. Since childhood, people have forgotten that Sakuma Rei is the same child as all people his age, just because he was calmer and more thoughtful (and more erudite!) than the rest. There were no sharp corners in his personality, typical of young people of his age, there was no maximalism and impetuosity, but this did not stop him from being young. (Emotional burnout is not early aging, my friend, you have not experienced life, you have an overabundance of cortisol, do not confuse it). And even we, with some part of our consciousness, perceived him to be older than the others (as one of the teachers??? that very wise cleaner lol). But these features of his personality did not make him truly mature for a single second of his life. Mentally, he's still the same young man who wants to do something interesting, hang out with someone his own age, have fun and learn and try something new. He just seems older, but is not an adult. And that's why all the weird things he performs seem logical when you remember that this man is only twenty years old.

#ensemble stars #enstars #rei sakuma #Sorry for the weird pictures #it's my cursed sense of humor

[andreafmn]

Kinktober ⛓ Day 2

Word Count: 3.2K Paring:  Severus Snape x Professor!Fem!Reader Prompt @kinktober2023: Roleplay WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ (minors DNI),  vaginal fingering. spanking, student-teacher roleplay

Summary: (Y/N) reminisces about her times as a student in Hogwarts and wants nothing more than to fulfill one of the fantasies she'd had while within those walls.

A/N:  again, sorry not sorry about my Kinktober works 🤭🤭

<- Previous | Next ->

It was weird to walk amongst the walls of Hogwarts as a teacher rather than a student when, only a few years back, that’s precisely what (Y/N) had been. She had been just like the overeager students she now taught, trying her best to get through the day without imploding from the throes of being a teenager. 

But gone were the days that she had to worry about handing in her History of Magic papers on time or failing Divination. Now, the only thing she had to concern herself with was her students’ grades and staying in the good graces of her fellow colleagues who had once taught her—especially the grumpy Potions professor. 

“Oh, good evening, Professor,” a startled Hufflepuff student called out. “I was just…” 

“Don’t worry, Ms. Ainsworth. Just hurry back to your dorm,” (Y/N) smiled at the scared girl. “I won’t fault you for something I used to do.” 

“Wow, really? You won’t take off points?” 

“Of course not,” she smiled. “But run along now, dear. I can’t promise anyone else will be as lenient.” 

After a playful wink from the older woman, the girl ran off, careful not to be caught by anyone else in the dungeons. It brought a chuckle out of (Y/N), thinking of all the times she had been seen in that very situation, and had cost her house many points. If she’d had a teacher like her, maybe she could have spared herself many nights in detention. However, she barely regretted most. 

She walked through the dungeon halls with a purpose, trailing to the place most students dreaded to be in. If she’d had any sense, she would have dreaded it too. Instead, it was the place she wished she got to spend more time in. 

“Knock, knock,” (Y/N) called out as she opened the creaky door to the classroom. 

“You don’t have to knock if you’re already inside,” the man inside grumbled as he looked up from the papers he was grading. “And you definitely do not have to say the words: knock, knock.” 

“Well, Severus, since you can’t punish me by taking house points anymore, I don’t feel any threat from your words,” she teased as she walked toward the front of the classroom, her steps echoing in the emptiness. “I’m not a student anymore, so you don’t terrify me.” 

“It’s good to hear that I don’t terrify my girlfriend,” Severus chuckled, finally standing from his chair and rounding his desk to meet her. “And you know there are other ways I could punish you.” 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, darling,” (Y/N) laughed. “It might remind me of all the daydreaming I did in your class back then.” 

“Oh, how could I ever forget those impure thoughts of yours, love? They got quite distracting at the end of term. It seemed you couldn’t keep your head on straight.” 

A breath got hitched in (Y/N)’s throat, making her swallow a lump. “You knew about that?” she asked in surprise. “And you never said anything?” 

“It seems you forget about my legilimency skill, love,” he grinned, brushing a piece of hair from her face. “And it’s not like you did anything to keep those thoughts to yourself. It was practically the only thing running through your head when you should have been paying attention in class.” 

“You read my mind while I was in class? Out of all the students there, you read my mind?” (Y/N) teased, a mischievous grin on her face. She could only chuckle as her words brought a red hue to Severus’ cheeks, flushing at the admission. “Well, professor, could it be that you were just as interested in me as I was in you? Is that why you agreed to go out with me last year after I bumped into you at the Three Broomsticks?” 

“I need not lie, my darling. But you were still a child back then. I should not have been thinking that way.” 

“I was already eighteen years old, darling. You could have done something about it.”

“I was still your professor, (Y/N).” 

“And thank Merlin, you’re not anymore,” she grinned. “It could get us into a lot of trouble if I had done something like this.” 

The woman stood on her tiptoes, her hands pressed against Severus’ clothed chest for support, to kiss the man firmly on his lips. He placed his hands on either side of her face in response, deepening the kiss to savor her mouth. “You know,” (Y/N) continued, her fingers walking across his chest. “I still have my uniform tucked safely away in my dormitory.” 

“What are you suggesting, love?” 

“Well, it’s a rather quiet night,” she grinned. “And I know a certain wizard that could make sure that door remains shut and no one can listen in.” 

“You’re a cheeky one, aren’t you, (Y/N)?” Severus said with an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Trying to get me in trouble?” 

“There’s nothing wrong with two consenting adults in a relationship to be together.” 

“What if someone did catch us?” 

“Then, you’re not as good a wizard as you claim to be, darling.” 

“Oh, you’ll certainly be punished for that, love,” he laughed darkly. “Now, why don’t you go ahead and get changed while I enchant this place?” 

With a devilish grin, (Y/N) sauntered over to his office, where she accioed the perfectly folded uniform she had left sitting on her bed. It felt rather strange to be dressing in those clothes once more. The skirt fit a bit too snug, the shirt felt a bit too small, and the tie felt just too constricting. But all of that discomfort died when she remembered why she was wearing the pieces in the first place. The thought was enough to send a shiver down her spine and cause warm wetness to pool between her legs in anticipation. Everything she had dreamed of in her last year at Hogwarts was about to come true. 

She walked out of Severus’ office with her house cloak draped across her back, quick to find the seat she had done all her daydreaming in –first row, far left corner, directly in front of his desk. He was already sitting back at his desk, pretending he was still grading papers –or maybe he still was– and acting as though (Y/N) had just walked into his classroom. 

“You’re late for your detention, Ms. (Y/L/N). Ten points from (Y/H).” 

“But, professor!” she whined, her mind reverting to the times that very situation had occurred. “It’s not my fault that I was late.” 

“I do not care for excuses, (Y/L/N). You were supposed to be here right after dinnertime. It is well past curfew hour. I think I’m being rather reasonable by only taking ten points.” 

“That’s not fair!”

“I could take more if you think that would be fair. I’m sure your fellow housemates will be thrilled to hear that you cost them points for complaining.” 

“You can’t do that, professor. I haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“Is that why you’re in detention with me, then? Because you haven’t done anything wrong?” 

“That’s right,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “You gave me a detention for absolutely no reason.” 

The chuckle that left Severus’ throat sent chills across her veins, making her cross her legs tightly in a futile attempt at friction. “I don’t think messing up your potion because you were in your head the entire class is no reason,” Snape grumbled. “You cost your partner their grade and made a mess of my classroom.” 

(Y/N) wanted to laugh as he recounted something that had occurred many years before. The very day that had gifted her with her first detention with Severus Snape. Instead, she said, “I wasn’t in my head. I simply read the instructions wrong.”  

“A brilliant witch like yourself would never be careless enough,” he countered. “And I have ways to prove that you were daydreaming, Ms. (Y/L/N). So, we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. Whichever you decide, the punishment has already been chosen.” 

“Then, it’s not much of a choice, is it?” 

“I’m giving you a chance to admit your wrongdoings rather than taking the truth from you,” he offered. “And, might I suggest the path of least resistance?” 

The woman pretended to think for a moment. It was what she would have done at that moment. She would have weighed her options and convinced herself that telling the truth would at least lessen her punishment. “Alright then,” she said. “I admit that I was daydreaming in your class, which led to my potion exploding.”

“And?” 

“And what? That’s all that happened.” 

“But you haven’t said what it was that you were thinking of, (Y/L/N),” he said as he stood from his desk. “And, in my opinion, that’s what caused this whole fiasco.” 

“I-I can’t say that, sir,” she stammered as a deep-red hue painted her face. “It’s not pertinent to the situation. I admitted to my fault. Just give me my punishment.” 

“That is part of your punishment, (Y/N),” Severus countered, his voice dropping. “So, what was it?” 

“I won’t say it, sir.” 

“It seems you’re under the impression that this is a request,” he chuckled darkly. “Come here, (Y/N).”  

“W-what?”

“I said: Come. Here,” the older man answered sternly. “And I don’t like repeating myself.” 

(Y/N) scrambled to her feet and hurried up the three steps to stand before him on the other side of his desk. He towered over her, and she couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated. Severus looked her over, inspecting the uniform he had seen her wear many times before, only this time he was allowed to take it off her. Much more, she wanted him to take it off her. 

Severus had never deluded himself. Even if it always seemed like he held all the power because of his age and his character, it was (Y/N) who had complete control over him. It had been a startling surprise when he had decided to break into her thoughts and find out what had made one of his star pupils so distracted, and he saw some compromising situations staring him, but it had been a bigger one when years later, she agreed to go out with him when they ran into each other. Truthfully, he couldn’t believe that a woman like herself would ever want to be with someone like himself –a man people ran from, not toward. 

“Tell me, (Y/L/N),” he growled. “What were you thinking of? And don’t lie to me.” 

“I, uh, was thinking about some rather indecent activities,” (Y/N) stammered, her chest heaving in nervousness as Severus took her tie in his hands. “Indecent activities with some I shouldn’t have been thinking of.” 

“And who was that, dear (Y/L/N)? Who was the protagonist of these salacious thoughts?” i

“I can’t say that. Anything but that.” 

Severus pulled her closer by the tie, wrapping his hand around the piece of fabric. “I thought I told you I didn’t like to repeat myself, Ms. (Y/L/N),” he said. “Now. Who was it?” 

“It was you, professor,” she answered sheepishly. “I was thinking of you.” 

“How hard was that? Telling the truth shouldn’t be such a drawn-out ordeal,” he chuckled. “As for your punishment, (Y/N), I think you’ll find it rather… fulfilling.” 

“Isn’t you knowing what I was thinking of you punishment enough?” (Y/N) whined. “Why can’t I just go back to my room?” 

“Because I don’t think it’s enough, dear (Y/N). You made a mess of my classroom this morning, and you disrespected my time by showing up late to your detention. Those things cannot go unpunished.” 

“But, sir…” 

“No buts, (Y/N),” Severus interrupted. “You will receive your punishment, you will do as you’re told, and you will not complain. Am I understood?” 

“But…” 

“I said, am I understood?!” 

“Yes,” she answered. 

“Yes, what?” 

“Yes, professor.” 

“Alright then,” he grinned. “Bend down across the desk.” 

“W-wha…” 

“What did I say?” 

“Sorry, professor,” she quickly apologized. “I just find that to be a rather peculiar request, sir. I don’t know how that could be a punishment.” 

“Do not question me, you insolent witch.” 

“Sorry, professor,” she mumbled as she did as told. The wood felt cold through her clothes, and it helped to calm the warmth that rushed through her veins. 

“Good,” he acclaimed. “Now pull up your skirt, (Y/N).” 

“Sir?” 

“I said no questions, (Y/L/N). Didn’t I?” 

“Yes, professor,” she said. Her hands reached to the hem of her skirt, pulling it up and revealing the black lace underwear she would always wear in her student days. “I just don’t understand how this would help.” 

“I do not need to explain my methods, Ms. (Y/L/N). You’re the student here.” 

From behind her, (Y/N) could hear movement, but she did not know what was happening. Until she heard the familiar sound of a belt buckle. She knew exactly what was coming, and she could not wait. Her knees pressed together as she searched for any kind of touch. Not that it was enough. 

“You see, dear (Y/N), I just think you need a punishment that you will remember. Something that you’ll still feel the next day.” 

“Professor?” 

“I want you to count out loud after every single one.” 

“Every wha…?” 

Her words died in her throat as she felt the sting of leather bite the skin of her ass, the sound of the spank reverberating against the stone walls. “I said you had to count,” Severus reminded her, running his hand over where he just hit. “And this is the last time I repeat myself, (Y/N).” 

“Yes, professor,” she croaked. “That was one.” 

“Good girl,” he cooed.

Severus was relentless once he got started. He switched between his belt and his hand, squeezing her skin after every hit and admiring the way her skin turned red. But what made his erection press on the seam of his pants was the sound of (Y/N)’s strangled voice counting every touch.

He could see how it was affecting her, and he reveled in it. Her knees started buckling after every hit and her panties darkened the longer they went on. At that point, she would cum just from the spanking. 

“Thirty-five,” (Y/N) cried at the sting, swallowing down the moans that threatened to escape. She felt like her skin was on fire, tingling after every single spank. “How much longer, professor?”

“Well, I suppose that thirty-five is enough for you to have learned your lesson,” he tutted. Behind her, the woman felt him bend down, his face close enough to her behind that she could feel his breathing against her sore skin. “And, look at that you’re unbelievably drenched, Ms. (Y/L/N). Could it be that you have enjoyed your punishment?” 

“No… I, uh…” 

“If you’ve enjoyed it this much,” he said, swiping his fingers across her covered slit, making her body shudder. “Then I don’t think you’ve truly learned your lesson. This was meant to discipline you, not turn you on.” 

“I can’t help it, professor.” 

“I should hope you have more control over your body than this, (Y/N),” he scoffed. “But it seems you still require more correction.” 

Before she could answer, she felt Severus stand and press his hand on her aching clit. The lace fabric felt rough against her, but the friction was just what she had been yearning for. He circled the bud, pressing against her at a punishingly slow pace. “You’re not to cum until I give you permission, Ms. (Y/L/N),” he whispered against her ear as he draped over her. “Am I understood?” 

“Y-yes, professor,” she moaned. “I understand.” 

(Y/N)’s hands grasped at the edge of the wooden desk, digging her nails into the table as she tried to prolong the finish she wanted to reach. Severus was unrelenting, changing his speed, bringing her as close to the edge as possible before altering the pace once more. It was a punishment like no other. 

Suddenly, she felt her underwear being moved aside as he moved his hand through the front of her body, allowing two of his fingers to breach her as his thumb continued the attack on her clit. 

“I can’t hold on for much longer, professor,” (Y/N) cried. Her breathing was staggered, and her eyes had fallen shut. “Please.” 

“Please, what, (Y/L/N)? What is it that you want? Beg for it.” 

“Merlin, please! Just let me cum, professor. I need to cum!” she exclaimed as her grip on the desk tightened. “I promise I’ve learned my lesson, professor. I won’t get distracted in class again!” 

“Maybe you should, dear (Y/N). Especially if it leads to having you in such a compromising position,” he chuckled. “But I guess you deserve to cum. So, go ahead, dear. Let go.” 

With a mewling cry, (Y/N) came around Severus’ pumping fingers, meeting their pace with her hips as she rode out her orgasm on his hand. His free hand snaked around her neck, straightening her back against him and twisting her head to kiss her roughly, his fingers still buried inside her. 

“Good girl,” he mumbled against her lips before pulling her lip with his teeth. “You did so well, my love. Truly made me forget that this was all make-believe.” 

“Well, it wasn’t all pretend, darling,” (Y/N) chuckled. “You already know that this very scenario ran through my head during your classes and your detentions, hoping that you weren’t a good man and would act on my wishes. But it seems I had to wait a few years to get you into bed.” 

“You were barely of age, darling,” he chuckled softly, brushing a piece of damp hair behind her ear. “And I was still your professor. If anyone had found out, my career would have been over, and you would have most likely been expelled.” 

“Oh, but what fun it would have been, darling,” (Y/N) grinned as she pushed him onto his chair, straddling his lap. Her smile grew as she felt his erection through his pants, smirking as she knew she would leave a wet spot on the fabric. “Could you imagine?” she continued, moving her hips softly against his length. “If another professor waltzed into your classroom and caught us this way, or even a student. It would have been an absolutely thrilling disaster. But I wouldn’t have stopped. Merlin knows I wouldn’t have. I would have made sure we both came.” 

“What are you doing, love?” Severus said with a strangled voice. “The charms have already fallen. I never meant for them to stay up too long.” 

“I told you, darling. I would have made sure we both came,” she said against his ear, nibbling on the soft skin. “And that’s exactly what I will do now.” 

Next ->

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[qqueenofhades]

Hello! I have a question that may be a tad uncomfortable but I don't know who could answer honestly. How do you get over class with a professor who self identifies as your mentor/father? He spilled his guts to me after class and told me how happy he was he connected to a young girl like me(Im 19 he's 59). He will be my prof for the ENTIRE year. I don't know how to feel, it wasn't flirty at all, and I actually think he sees himself in me. He's odd and off putting and stand offish. I am too, kinda. He said if shouldn't feel lonely because Im different, because I have my family, and now him (also Implied i should find god).

He's a conservative catholic with a wife and kids, I can tell he doesn't mean it in a weird way. He probably means well. But it's odd that he's acting like a mentor when I've only known him for a month.

Now, I thought this chat wouldn't affect me but he psychoanalysed me and it felt like he saw right through me while treating me like his therapist. I also think he's a lonely man who is projecting, seeing my potential and "what could've been" for himself.

How do I cope? I don't want this to affect me, but it pushed me terribly off axis. I felt pigeonholed, more than anything, and also feel bad for him.

WELP. Okay, first of all, I want to reinforce that this is NOT your fault and that it clearly creeped you out to the point where you decided to ask someone for help, all of which means that the situation is not okay and he does NOT have the right to do any of this -- whether forcing emotional intimacy on you after a very short time, suggesting that you Find Jesus and/or convert, hinting that he wants to "mentor" you, or whatever. Just because he's a conservative Catholic is no guarantee that it won't get creepier (indeed, often the total opposite) and even if it wasn't sexual or didn't feel sexual at the moment, that is... wrong. He should not have done it. He does not have the right to decide He Is Now Your Mentor and to push that connection on you. Even if it was not conscious or intentional grooming behavior, it is... squicky to say the least, showed that he was willing to push boundaries with you right away, and is certainly something that should make you cautious of any more uncontrolled or one-on-one interaction with him. So yeah. Gross. "Now you have me so you won't be lonely"??? Sorry, there is no scenario in which I can imagine that being an okay thing for a professor to say to a student. No. It may be that he just doesn't have a good sense of social boundaries or appropriate behavior, but that also doesn't mean you need to excuse it.

Next, if you can switch to another section or class so you don't have to spend the year with him, that might be worth looking into. If you can't, then obviously minimize the time you spend one-on-one (if there are office hours or if you need help with the class, maybe ask your peers or the TA if there is one, rather than him) and remember that you can tell people at your university if it continues to creep you out, not just me. There are procedures in place at most institutions to document this kind of interaction if it continues to cross a line (I don't know where you are in the world, but in the university where I work in the US, there's an office of Title IX, which deals with these kinds of issues). Older male academics smarming up to young female students and telling them they're "special" happens a lot, unfortunately, and while it doesn't always end terribly, it is something that you deservedly flagged as weird and which you should keep an eye on going forward. I'm sorry that you've experienced this and once again offer my support in navigating this year in as un-icky a way as possible. Please remember that you do not have to apologize for or excuse yourself for making choices to get out of a weird situation that clearly threw you for a loop, and you do not have to put up with this behavior if it continues or gets worse. Good luck.

#anonymous #ask #school stuff

[santacoppelia]

Of fandom, age, and David Tennant being our own personal Time Lord

I read the fantastic post that @davidtennantgenderenvy wrote about David Tennant and aging (if you haven’t yet read it, go for it!) and, as a fan who is closer to DT's age range than to what seems to be the rest of the fan base's age (yeah, being well over 40 is A THING), I had an interesting mix of ideas and emotions. I was going to just reblog her post with some of these musings, but when this started getting longer (and I started searching for bibliography, ha), I decided that I was not going to hijack her post, but rather cite it (and reblog it on its own right, really, read it). I should say that this is a long essay, and it comes peppered with references to one of my preferred fields of study (but I make it light and fun, promise).

Becoming an “old geek”

The first time I came into the idea was when I found a thirst TikTok with that very nice audio that goes “I think I need someone older…” and clearly, the thirst was there, but also… David is 8 years older than me, and when you are 45, thirsting over someone who is 53 doesn’t feel as “edgy” (and thinking about “needing someone older” starts verging on thirsting over people well over 65, which is absolutely fine, but a very different category over all for the rest of TikTok). So yeah, it was weird. You see someone who you feel is "in your range" and everyone is calling them "old"… And you start thinking about aging, inevitably.

Of course, I "don't feel old", but most of my friends are younger than me, and I'm the oldest person in many of my "fun activities". Take, for example, my lightsaber combat team, where every sponsorship is pitched to people under 30, and you should be training at least twice a week and following a strict diet to reach the expected “competitive or exhibition” level (enter the “old lady” who is taking this training just for fun, who needs to take care of her joints and who is not going to be invested in becoming Jedi Master General or anything of the sorts in the near future). Or we can talk about the expectation about fandom in general being a “teenage phase”, and thinking about everyone who still is into it actively after certain age as “immature” or “quirky” at best (hi, mom! Hi, work colleagues! Hi, students!).

Society, aging and social constructs

Of course, this has a lot to do with societal expectations. For almost 80 years, popular culture has been built around "youth" and "young people": before rock & roll, most things (music, clothes, movies, art in general) were targeted to “adults”, and you were expected to be “a functional adult” since a younger age. There was a seismic shift in the way popular culture was built when consumer culture decided to see and cater young people: trends became shorter, being “hip” was desirable, staying younger for a longer period was a nice aspiration (a good, light reading to get a deeper view around this is “Hit Makers” by Derek Thompson. It is written for marketers, but that makes it an easy historic overview and I like that). This has a lot to do with the change of our view about old people, too: while being old 100 years ago (yup, 1924 still fits the bill) made you “a respected elder” and you were expected to be wise, to know best, to be the voice of reason and an expert, nowadays not even us older people like being seen as “old” or “older”.

Frequently, culture becomes entrenched in binary oppositions. The binary opposition between “young” and “old” is… well, old! And while the opposition is sustained, the meanings around it change over time (that’s what the past paragraph was about, really). If in the 1940’s being old meant “mature, respectable, wise, responsible” and being young meant “inexperienced, immature, foolish”, after the 1950’s those meanings shifted a lot: being young became “fun, interesting, in the now and in the know, attractive”, while being old was about being “boring, dusty, passé, uninteresting, dull”.

In reality, being young can be a mix of all of these things (inexperienced and fun and foolish and attractive), and being old can be, at the same time, being responsible and wise and a little dusty and dull, because that’s life *shrugs*, and the wonder of lived experience is that, even if we simplify it, it is complex and rich and sometimes contradictory in itself: we can be old and foolish and interesting and boring, or young and dull and inexperienced and attractive. But, as we need to make “social sense” of things, simplifying them is… easier. That’s why we build stereotypes, and why we use them! We need to have a “base” of signifiers to build upon, so we usually take what we have on our environment and run with it. If you find this idea interesting, welcome to the world of cultural semiotics! *takes her Iuri Lotman picture out of her pocket and puts it on the desk*

(Iuri Lotman, people. He is my "patron saint").

Pop culture versus “real culture”

Another cultural opposition that piques my interest in this area is the notion of “pop culture”, of course. It is opposed to “real, serious culture”, the sort of thing that everyone expects "older, mature people" to enjoy. In the sixties and seventies, there were a lot of studies and writing about "high brow" and "low brow" culture, trying to keep this distinction between "things that make you familiar with the now, but have no intrinsic value" and "eternal things that cultivate your mind, soul and spirit".

Evidently, if you ask me, this is a whole load of horse manure: probably useful to fertilize other things, but with little intrinsic value on its own. My main point is not dolphins, but the idea of culture: historically, it has used to mean a lot of things; from the notion of (exactly) fertilizing something and making it grow to make it come to fruition, to the hodgepodge of practices that a social group creates when they are together and are trying to make common sense of things.

I like the latter better (that is the one I’d ascribe to if this was The Academia TM, but this is tumblr!), but another popular definition, which comes from the Illustration and has been quite prevalent, is the notion of culture as the set of cultural practices that make you a better, more intelligent, far more educated person. For example: if you want to have real culture, you have to read Shakespeare and know what a iambic pentameter is, rather than watching “10 Things I Hate About You”. You must read real books, not listen to audiobooks, and “real books” should be written by “serious authors” like (insert old white Western European or American cis men, preferably born before 1960).

Here comes the notion of “cultural canon”, grinning widely. Yup, that set of practices becomes an expectation of what and how you should experience any area of the human experience, and they become a sort of “nucleus” of the whole experience, with people playing “defense” around them and culture shifting all around and sometimes across them. This is not exclusive to “high culture”: Have you ever heard about “gatekeeping”? Yeah, same fenomenomenon (Shadwell, of course). Whenever something gets this “shape”, it becomes a “norm”, the “common” thing, the “rule” if you participate in that set of cultural practices.

As every cultural set of practices tends to generate its own “canon”, they also have a lot of practices surrounding it, which are ever changing, shifting, learning from new and old practices, and redefining what everything means in their common/shared space. For example: Neil Gaiman, my beloved, was part of the “comics” frontier when Sandman first appeared, but as he and Alan Moore (yeah, I know he did it first, but Gaiman is my study focus right now, so let me be) and other very talented and interesting people started creating fascinating stuff that hadn’t been done, and they found people who loved it, they not only redefined the world of comics, but became part of the new canon themselves. And then, Neil’s presence in the world of literature and fantasy became widespread and recognized and then revered… And then he is doing it again by adapting his own work to a streaming platform in a serialized way… I hope this explains why I’m growing an obsession with studying Neil Gaiman as an author who crosses through different media: a transmedial auteur, an anomaly in his own right. But that is not an essay for tumblr, but a thesis, one that I don’t know if I’d ever have the time or mental resources to write (being a runaway ex academic with ADHD who works on their own is hard, people). Besides, this was about aging and David Tennant, so let’s cut this tangent short and start talking about our Time Lord and Savior: David Tennant, the king of frontiers.

David Tennant as a Frontier Lord

David Tennant is another fascinating case in this sense, mostly because he is an actor who has been able to build a whole very impressive career through crossing symbolic frontiers. Through his massive filmography (161 roles just for screens, as registered in IMDb) and his stage career (I love this gifset for this exact reason), he has acted his way through almost everything, from classical Shakespeare to improvisational comedy, from procedural police drama to wacky fantasy sci-fi. This has a lot to do with his personality (he loves acting, he decided to pursue acting as a career thanks to his love for Doctor Who, but he is also smart and inquisitive) but, as it happens with a lot of “frontier figures”, it also has a lot to do with “unpredictable” circumstances: less of a strategy, more of an instinct.

David has talked many times about how his impostor syndrome made him feel, for the longest time, that he had to keep accepting roles, because you never know if there is going to be another one after. He is talented and open and curious (this is quite a good interview about his perspective), but this… anxiety? meant that he had also lower quandaries about saying “yes” to roles and projects that were “less consistent” with a typecast (which has been, for the longest time, one of the main strategies to build an acting career). Yeah, he has some defining characteristics that make a role “tennantish” (I’m not starting that tirade here, but yeah, you know that almost fixed set of quirks and bits), but he has also worked his way through many different genres, budgets, styles and complexities. And he has usually been as committed and as professional in a big budget-high stakes-great script sort of situation, as he has been in a highly chaotic-let’s see what sticks-small scale project.

That can be correlated by the way he talks about “acting advice”. “Be on time, learn your lines, treat everyone the same, never skip the lunch queue”… Acting is a job, and he treats it as such. Yeah, he looks for interesting projects anytime he can, but the “down to earth” attitude about it is, once again, not-usual, not-common: pure frontier. Then, when David talks about his own self (specially at a young age), he is pretty clear about his “outsider” or “uncool” status (this interview is fantastic), and how strangely disruptive it was to become not only recognizable, but cool and sexy and… everything else, thanks to Doctor Who. He went from living in the frontier to being put in the canon, but he is still, at heart, a person who is more comfortable not defining himself by that “expected” set of rules.

Him being a very private person, who insists on having a family life that seems, form this distance, stable, loving and absolutely un-showbiz just makes the deal (and the parasocial love and respect) easier to sustain; as does his openness to talk about social and political issues that interest him (passionately, again; against the norm for “well liked celebrity”, again). His colleagues also talk wonders about him, mostly because he is this sort of down-to-earth but also passionate about his craft and easy to work with. Again: not the “norm”, not the “rule” of being such a celebrity.

Many of his fans (should I say that I’m one? Or is it obvious at this point?) find this not only endearing, but comforting: he is a massive star, who has acted in a lot of terrific roles in huge productions… But he feels, at heart, as “one of us”. But he is, also, a well-respected thespian, a Shakespearian powerhouse, an international talent. He lives in a very authentic, but very unstereotipical frontier. And he seems happy about that and has made a career from it. Extensive kudos and all the parasocial love and the amateur-actress mad respect for that.

I should mention, just in passing, that a “natural” archetype for this characters that traverse frontiers… are tricksters. Think again about the “tennantish” characteristics. Here goes another essay I’m not writing right now.

Aging: The Next Frontier

This takes me to the original post that inspired the essay: living in a culture where the “norm” is “being young and famous is a desirable aspiration”, we have a fantastic actor, at peak of his craft, who is in the heart of middle age (past 50, nearing 55). Not only that, but he is an actor with whom at least a couple of generations have grown older: from the ones who feel him as “our contemporary” to the ones who grew up looking at him (like Ncuti Gatwa!).

David, being the frontier person he is, has been navigating this transition in a very “unconventional” way: he came back to the role that made him iconic (The Doctor, now with more trauma!), is starring in another fantasy series about middle-aged looking ethereal beings that at times is an adventure thriller, at times is a comedy of errors and at times is a romcom (having another beautiful trickster of a man as his co-star… There goes another tangent that is an essay); he is playing one of the quintessential Shakespeare roles for middle-aged men (Macbeth), and is, seemingly, having a lot of fun doing a lot of voice acting for animation roles (if you haven’t watched Duck Tales, you’re missing a whole lot of fun, really).

Traditionally, middle aged actors navigate that period of their career trying to reinforce their “still young, thus a celebrity” status (for example, doing a lot of action-packed movies and keep doing their own stunts while seducing women 20-30 years younger than them), or strengthening their “prestige thespian, so now a real culture person” position (fighting for more serious roles, going from comedy to drama, or working their way into The Classics©). Sometimes, they face the internalized societal expectation by also becoming a shipwreck in their personal life (yeah… the stereotype of “getting divorced, having an affair with someone half their age, getting another red convertible, getting in trouble…”) because we don’t have a good “map for aging responsibly” yet as a society. We have been so focused on youth, that we have forgotten how to age.

Again, switching to the personal experience. I was raised as a female-shaped person (yeah, being queer is fun), so part of the experience of growing (and then growing old) has been closely related with that concept from the female point of view. I decided, pretty early on (but not so much, probably 25 years ago), that I wasn’t going to conform to the norm… And that included aging naturally. When I found my first white hair, it was a shock (I was 21 or 22), but I had already seen my father fighting his own hair being white since forever. I decided it was a loss of time, money and effort… And the judgement from people in my generation and in the one that preceded me (my mother, my aunts) was stern and strict: “it will age you, and it will date us. You shouldn’t do that”. Men could do it, given the right age (being over 50) but women must not. Same with wrinkles and sagging and gaining weight and getting “pudgy”. But when men grew older, they needed to make a “show off” of their ability to seduce, to “still be a man”. Aging, then, was undesirable by any standard.

As me and my peers have grown older, and my hair has gotten increasingly silver, there have been women that come to me saying that “I look great” and “they wish they were as brave as me”. I would like to state in front of this jury of my peers (hi, tumblr!) that the only bravery it took was deciding, somewhere between my twenties and my thirties, that I wanted to be as myself as I possibly could, so no bravery at all, just the same lack of understanding of social rules that took me to become interested in… you guessed it, cultural semiotics. We’ve come full circle with this. Now, let’s finish talking about what it means for an aging fan to have an aging star to look up to, shall we?

David Tennant as a cultural Time Lord

I am pretty sure that he wouldn’t have chosen this role for himself (as he wouldn’t have chosen being a massive star just by playing his favorite character and being so talented and charming), but he is, as Loki would say, burdened by glorious purpose. Being “the actor of his generation”, and him crossing so many frontiers with such ease and grace, without even thinking about it too hard, just because he is a hard worker and likes to try new things and is just so good at what he does put him in the exact cultural crossroad for it.

He is not in a sudden need to “resignify himself” as anything: he has already shown his very flexible acting muscles through his very long career. He is not bounded to “keep his public image relevant”: he likes to have his personal life clearly separated from the spotlight, and being married to the brilliant and funny Georgia, who herself grew up with a famous father, so she is no stranger to staying sane and in control in the eye of media, and who manages their social media presence with a good mix of humor and well-set boundaries.

Therefore, he is in a moment where he can (and probably will) chose to do whatever he likes. And he has the public support to do so: he is prestigious and respected, but likes to make fun of himself and is not self-important; he has a lot of awards, but he is also a very likable person with whom most people in the industry enjoy working. And he is up to do a lot of things: heroes, villains, morally grey characters; romance, drama, thriller, fantasy, sci-fi, procedurals, historical fiction, classic plays, silly parts, voice acting… We are going to see him aging on screen and stage, with no playbook: the playbooks were written for people that certainly are not him. And I have some evidence to prove it.

He is starring in a groundbreaking series (yeah, Good Omens) where the protagonists are two middle-aged looking entities, full of queer relationships, written by another trickster. This series, in an on itself, is a showcase for characters that are rule breaking in many ways: in the narrative, by being hereditary enemies who are inevitably linked to one another by a loving bond that may or may not be romantic, but that has been in the making for 6,000 years; in representation, by having the protagonists being represented by a couple of middle aged actors who are “not serious” and “not action” coded, in a role where they are delivering romance, banter, intrigue, joy and a whole other range of emotions that are “not your stereotypical” middle-aged male-lead coded.

He also delivered the baton on a relay race with Doctor Who: he came back after almost 20 years, to bring back the generation who grew up watching him in the role, and deliver us into the arms of Ncuti Gatwa’s 15th Doctor, with the promise of taking a rest and working on getting better from all the trauma The Doctor has endured in 20 years Earth-time (which, as any Doctor Who fan knows, account for centuries of trauma in Doctor’s time). Not your usual Doctor Who Anniversary cameo, but one built to deliver some zeitgeisty emotional health promises that made the specials feel… healing. At least, for some of us.

Even when it wasn’t the hit series it deserved to be, his Phileas Fogg in “Around the World in 80 Days” is also a great delivery of an unconventional middle-aged protagonist, who goes from meek and scared and too worried about societal norms, to a lovely, tender, slightly awkward and daring person, with friends half his age who look at him but are also his peers (another kind of relationship that is not very frequent in media).

And, with all fearlessness, he has played a lively old duck in Duck Tales! Scrooge McDuck has never been a middle-aged character: he is, quite openly, an old gentleman. An adventurer, quirky, with a lot of spunk… but also quite clearly an elder to Huey, Dewey and Louie, and obviously older than Donald Duck (who is also not a young adult himself!). When you watch that series, and if you have the opportunity to catch any glimpse of him behind the scenes while recording the part, you can feel the joy he got from playing the part (and he has said time and again that he IS Scrooge McDuck, so it will become his “recurring bit” for the future).

Hopefully, David (and some other actors and actresses, for sure) will dare to build that new “aging publicly without making an arse of myself” playbook, and I (and I can imagine, many other fans in our middle age, but also fans that are right now leaving behind the “young adult” stage and becoming “adults” fair and square, and others who will arrive to this place at a future time in their lives, so I hope) will be there to bear witness, support, cheer… and learn from the model. Because that’s what fandom is about, but also because that’s how culture itself gets shaped and changes, continuously. And that is exciting and a little scary, and that’s why it is better if we do this together.

And I'd love to imagine diverse (in the full sense of the word) role models for this process and this playbook, too!!!

If you read all the way through this, I'm very grateful, take a cookie, have a gold star and suggest names for our aging interestingly role models on the "non-white-male" side of things!

Class dismissed!!

#david tennant #aging #aging gracefully (or not) #long essay #long post #cultural studies #cultural semiotics #I need someone to pay me for writing this sort of stuff really #when I said I was writing again I meant it #this was 6 pages long in Word #and it includes references #look at my (written) child #the doctorate in cultural studies would never #neil gaiman

[killersfool]

hiiii i’ve a wee fluff imagine idea for bobby!! : )

bobby and the reader live together in a flat in dublin and the reader goes to trinity uni to study english literature (or smt else that has like a lot of reading and essay writing anol that craic) and she’s falling behind in a lot of her assignments and it’s all piling up and she’s just all overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to cope.

she ends up breaking down into sobs or shutting down at random points in the day due to stress and rob hasn’t got a clue what’s wrong and keeps noticing these random break downs throughout the week.

basically he comforts reader and helps to organise herself and just all fluffy cute comfort fic <333

If I could flip back time, bend the seconds and go back three years ago, I would do it right now.

Pile after pile of flashcards, annotated books with pastel post-it notes shooting out of the sides, folders of Irish poetry I can hardly understand, tattered photocopies of Hozier lyrics, every work of Shakespeare staring at me from my overcrowded booksheld — dusty, messy, probably even dank. Miss Carter has decided to set three more assignments onto my workload for the week. An essay on crime fiction (I haven't even read the first book on the reading list), my creative writing portfolio and then another essay analysing a piece poetry of my choice. Reading and highlighting Hozier's lyrics of 'I, Carrion (Icarian)' is the only thing keeping me going. Phoebe Bridgers blasts through my ears. It's quarter to 11. I need a break. An early night would be nice. Or TV. But do I really want to sit next to Robert whilst he watches his weird YouTube videos?

I kick my table. Not out of anger. Not out of irritation. I just want to see all of my notes topple ontp the floor. They do. Then I'm kicking the table three more times. Or maybe eight. All my flashcards are on the carpeted  floor, next to my discarded, empty packet of pinballs. I'd stolen them from Robert's stash. He'll never find out.

Climbing over my pile of unread books by my doorway, I push open the door. It squeaks. Some oiling would be nice. Trinity college really provides the best for their students! 

I still wish my roommate was also doing English, someone to bond with over shared trauma, to gossip about our nightmarish teachers and fellow students. But no, this guy is doing a degree in bloody mathematics. The complete dichotomy of English. No similarities. No way of comparing the courses to eachother. Him and his terrifying videos that he watches with his shoes up on the armrest, cheek in his open palm, drinking a cup of tea. Like it's that simple. Numbers and sin, cos, tan and circle theorems and whatever tragic nonsense is being spouted in his lectures.

He hardly speaks to me. Three years together and I barely know him. Sometimes I tag along with him when he goes out for breakfast. Once every two weeks. Sunday morning. We talk about school, about friends, about anything that pops in our heads. Yesterday we spoke about music. He originally wanted to pursue a career in music. A band. But they didn't work out. He took a gap year to pursue this group. So he's a year older than all of the other third years. He doesn't let that faze him. When he told me stories about his band, 'Inhaler', I had to lose eye contact, look down at the pink marshmellos floating about in my cup. He looked lost. This wasn't the place for him. He missed the confidence upon stage, the ability of making something out of nothing. Life is unfair. That is when I realised it. Hearing about shattered dreams and names of songs that were never produced.

I also realise life is unfair right now, as I accidentally bang my hip onto the kicthen island, the knife-like corner lodging itself into my skin. It's like the world is against me. 

Sometimes I wonder if Robert thinks I'm an idiot. I feel like I'm an idiot when I walk past his bedroom, hunched over his laptop, headphones on as he works through the most difficult maths questions I've ever encountered in my life. He makes university seem easy. Has his allocated times for study, going out with friends, the gym, practicing bass, going though record shops, meals, watching TV. Everytime he gets home, he drops his things down in the kitchen. I sneak a glance at the big green 'A*' on all of his test papers. I look up to him. His intelligence, his masterful management of time. I'm always too frightened to ask him how he does it. He'll think I'm stalking him. 

Me, on the other hand, I waste time. I don't have balance. I never have time to be with my friends. Always locked up in my room. A prisoner. Essay after essay. Poem after poem. Book after book. A constant cycle I've been in for three whole years. The stress is weighing down on me like a hundred bags of bricks. I need to stop for a second. To breathe in. To calm down.

So I do the last thing I would normally do. I go into the living room and sit beside Robert on the sofa. He's half asleep, jeans cuffed, hair all over his face. He sees me walk in, glances up, eyes big and speculting. He instantly moves his spindly, spider-like legs from the armrest to give me some space. I can hear some sort of maths video playing on the TV. I'm scared. At least it's not English. I'm immune to maths. It doesn't affect me anymore. Whatever logorhythmic scale this American YouTube man is yapping about isn't making my face contort at all — it's like sorcery.

This could be a way of winding down. Maths. I'm calmer now. No changes of focus or narrowing of perspective. No pathetic fallacy or magical realism. Just messes of words that don't really make sense at all.

"'D'you want to watch TV? I can turn this off if you want." Robert has his thumb on the home button.

"Leave it on. I just need a moment."

He dubiously puts the remote back down. He yawns, stretching out his arms and leaning back. I hate it when boys do that. With his parted, manspreaded legs, adams apple bobbing, head rolled back. It's idiotic. Completely idiotic. He doesn't seem too intrigued by Mr American man. The video is a guy next to a whiteboard writing millions of brain-numbing equtions. Robert is nodding along. I think I'm going to cry. I don't know why I want to right now. My hip is actually starting to throb and ache. I look down at my jeans. There's a hole in them. There's blood. It's wet. I hadn't noticed before. It's properly pouring out blood.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I exclaim, hand pressing down onto the cut through my jeans.

Robert swiftly nears me. He's looking at me up and down, hands trying to find a place to move to. It's dark in the room. He reaches for the lamp switch. "What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm bleeding. Jesus christ. That kills. Fuck me."

He passes me his jacket and says, "Apply some pressure." 

Then he runs out of the room. Fast as a plane. A man on a mission. Long curls dancing to the rhythm of his steps. Mr American man won't shut up about algebraic expressions. He's got a really bald head. Glimmering. 

Robert is back. He has bandages. I don't know where he got those from. Antiseptic wipes, plasters, sweets, even a cup of tea. He was only gone for about five seconds. How did he manage to get all of that? He hands me the cup of tea and sweets whilst asking, "What happened?"

"I walked into the island like an eejit. I'm so feckin' stupid."

"Just breathe, okay. You're not an eejit. I do that every day." 

I have to unzip my jeans to let him check the cut. Which is awkward, to say the least. He's looking at me like a doctor — not really caring about seeing my skin — but I'm still so shy around him. He sees me struggle with the button. He undoes it, fingers coming in contact with mine. They're slender. So very perfect for the bass guitar. Then he's unzipping my jeans. Only the tiniest bit. A mere centimetre of my knickers appear out of the top. Any more than that and I'd be flush as a tomato. I've always had a little crush on Robert. Being stuck with a really smart bass guitarist with the dreamiest eyes for three years is enough to make a person fall. The reason I've been avoiding him lately has been due to that fact. I don't want to make it obvious.

He finds the cut. It's bled through my knickers, making a big blot of dark red. He pulls down the waistband of my pants, prepared to wipe the wound. I have to grind my teeth together to prevent a sob from escaping me. I'm crying. Stressed and hurt and just wanting to dissolve into nothing. The cold draft of wind isn't improving the situation. If only there was no such thing as coursework and I couldn't glide my way through university like Robert. 

More and more blood. I think I might pass out. The blue-eyed boy is knelt down on the floor, knees biting into the carpet so that he can properly see where to put the bandage. 

"So how's English going?" He's not looking at me. Only at the wound. I don't think he's noticed that I'm crying. I don't want him to. I cover my face with bloody hands, accidentally smearing the metallic substance onto my nose. 

I don't know what to say. Do I tell him how much I regret picking it? Do I make this already awkward situation about ten times worse? I hate when people pity me. I hate when I feel like eyes are lingering for far too long when I cry. But when Robert looks at me, it's different. The pools of serenity circling his iris aren't looking down at me with a sort of aristocracy. That's how my English peers stare me down. No, instead, he's looking at me like there's a billion questions rushing across his forehead. He just needs to decide which one to ask. Or to simply say nothing. Like I am. We've both learnt how to cohabit in silence. To walk past eachother and ignore the feathers of conversation falling between us. We're busy. Always busy. Except for those perfect Monday mornings that I always look forward to. Especially the one time when he showed me around his favourite record store. He had asked me to choose him a record to buy. I walked through the entire shop, fingers shifting records, reading unfamiliar artist names. Then, I saw it, the — now bane of my existence — Hozier's 'unreal unearth'. He bought it. He'd told me he only really knew 'Take Me To Church'. I'd leant against the till as he paid and said, 'it'll change your life.' Then he'd locked himself in his room. Through the ever so thin walls — paper thin — I could hear each track hum into my room. I never got the chance to talk to him about the album. I think the thought of bringing it up made me feel sick — due to the English essay upstairs still waiting patiently to be finished.

Now there is an excuse. To talk. I'm injured. I don't want to move. He's still attempting to wrap a bandage over my stomach, then across my back until it's around my torso. I feel his fingers graze my skin with every subtle movement, along my spine, the small of my back, my abdomen, my hip bone. He's still looking at me. Searching. Like I'm a new island and he's an explorer trying to name me.

"What's up, sweetheart?" He finally talks again. His words are throaty, emananting from the pits of his throat. He's still wrapping, waiting for an answer.

"Just college. You know. It's killing me."

He shakes his head. "You're so smart."

"Says you."

He shakes his head. "Look, this might be a bit weird but sometimes when you leave random essays lying around or even creative writing. I read them. They're incredible. Your mind just works in such an interesting way."

I'm at a loss for words. He reads those? Those are usually just failed attempts that I toss aside. Scrap paper. Strange drawings. I don't even want to look at them.

"You get top grades in every test," I sigh. "I'm barely passing. I'm the worst in the class. My professors hate me, I've got so much work, I'm falling behind in every assignment—"

Then I'm properly crying. Sobbing. Breathing so heavily I think I might collapse. Heaving. Sniffling. Covering my face so he can't see me. I'm like a child. Pathetic. Stupid. Worthless. I was never good enough for Trinity. Why did they let me in?

Warm arms, press of skin. Just above the wound, over my chest, arms dig into my body, hugging me from behind. Head burrowing onto my shoulders, knees into the sofa. His lips ghost the back of my neck. Tears are falling down. He turns me around to face him. I hate how he's seeing me like this. My cries are usually saved for when he's out with friends or blasting music on his record player. He's never seen me this vulnerable, just utterly ripped into shreds by the hands of life. His scent is making me feel better, the tissue now on my cheek makes me feel better, the quiet words of 'breathe, let it all out, it's okay' make me feel better. He's calming me down. I start to forget what I was even crying about when I look into his eyes. This intense eye contact. Remembering his height. Even sat down, his torso is far longer than mine.

"I've got an idea," he murmurs, peeling his body away. I miss the warmth. I miss the touch. 

"What is it?"

"We should go somewhere. Get out for a bit. Say it's a 'mental health field trip'." He curls his fingers to accentuate the apostrophes."Maybe down to the Cliffs of Moher. When you're all healed up of course."

"Give me a week."

"A week? I'll be the judge of that." He raises an eyebrow, now tying up the bandage.

"Where did you learn all this?"

"I'm actually first aid trained. Did it in my first week of uni." He takes a deep breath, settles back onto the sofa. 

I take a sip of my tea. My eyes are surely blotchy and red. I bet there's mascara all over my face. "Thank you so much."

"No problem at all. Do you want to tell me what's going on? Is there any way I can help?" He's referring to my school work. "I was alright at English in high school. No where near as good as you are. But maybe another opinion might help you."

"I'm really stuck on a Hozier analysis."

"I never told you how much I love that album. It's perfect." His eyes glow like they do when he's talking about something he loves. Usually it's caused by talking about playing bass, but right now it's due to the beauty of Hozier's music. "I learned the bass line of De Selby part two."

"Show me. Now." I don't even ask. It's simply a demand. Anything to take my mind away from that cut still bleeding profusely. A little concert would be nice. Especially if said concert involves watching Robert play bass. I sometimes peek through the crack in the doorway to see him sat down on his bed, pick between his index and thumb, bass guitar on his lap, headphones over his ears. The pure concentration on his face is unparalleled. Notes thrum quietly through the room. He falls into any piece of music.

"Alright." He laughs at my enthusiasm. "Then I'll help with your English."

"Thanks." This is probably the most I've ever spoken to him. I'm mumbling each word, not wanting to look into his eyes.

He disappears once again. This time I hear the thudding footsteps over creaky floorboards. I hear a door squeak open, the faint patter of rain upon the ceiling, the quiet murmur of distant sirens as night blooms. It's tranquil. For a moment, I'm at peace. Until I remember the stack of unread books in my bedroom. I groan into my hands. Everything just keeps getting worse and worse and—

He's back. Not empty handed. Bass in one hand, Hozier lyrics and my pencil case in the other.

"I emailed your professor about the trip. I'm sure she'll be okay with it." He's off again. He comes through the door with his amp and lead. He plugs both in. 

"You're a life saver, Rob," I say.

He starts twisting around the knobs on the bass. Volume up. Then he's tuning. He smiles up at me. I think I'm staring. I think he can tell. His long fingers, tattoos, rings. It's all too much. My fingers are restlessly tapping the armrest. My legs are up on the coffee table. He pulls out his phone and plays the song. Then I'm lost in the music. His eyes are closed as he slides his fingers up and down the neck of the bass, as he stomps his feet down on the carpet to every drum beat. If only I could go back to the days I'd go to concerts every day. If only I could go back and see 'Inhaler' on a world tour, watch Robert from the crowd, completely in his element. Exhilarated, chanting, knowing every lyric like it's my mother tongue. Sometimes I wonder what life could've been like if the band had worked out. If the world did realise just how incredible they are. But, here, appreciating each pluck of every string, the grin as he watches me. I can't take that for granted. 

#robert keating fanfiction #bobby skeetz fanfiction #bobby skeetz #inhaler band #inhaler imagines #inhaler oneshots #robert keating #fanfiction #inhaler dublin #inhaler fanfiction #josh jenkinson #elijah hewson #trinity college #inhalerimagines #inhaler oneshot #inhaler x reader #inhaler fanfic #inhaler imagine #bobbyskeetz #bobby skeetz x reader #inhaler #fanfics #ryan mcmahon

[ellana-ravenwood]

“My baby is scared of the blindfold” - Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Synopsis : Yuji is surprised to see Gojo without his blindfold nor his sunglasses. The answer as to why he doesn’t wear them is...surprising. 

First JJK fic woohoo. Haha. No worries peeps who follow for Batfam stuffs (so, most of y’all), next story will be a Batfam one ;). But today, wanted to write something a little different. Something short, too. Like, just having pure fun out of writing. Hope you’ll like it though : 

Please, do not repost my stories anywhere else, under any other form, do not translate and then repost them either. Thank you. 

My masterlists : @ella-ravenwood-archives

__________________________________________________

This was...Not something Gojo ever planned. 

His ultimate goal has always been to reform the jujutsu sorcerers, that’s why he became a teacher. He thought this was the only thing he wanted to do in life, after everything he’d been through. 

His work, both as a teacher and as a jujutsu sorcerer, were his only prospect, his only future. He never envisioned doing anything else, settling down, or simply being happy. 

And yet...

Yet he met you.

At first you hated him. 

You thought he was arrogant (and he definitely is), sometimes downright mean with those he deemed “weak” (truth), and he was so damn loud and weird ! You even found him cruel in certain moments, he could truly be such a cold hearted bastard. 

It took you a long time, to realize you were wrong about him. To know that he actually was a complex man, and everything wasn’t black or white. 

He did misjudged you too, thought you were someone weak as you always hid your powers so your ennemies could underestimate you. And even worst : he thought you were someone who was on principal Gakuganji’s side. 

And oh you were not. You also became a teacher to train those kids to fight against cursed spirits. Learn how to fight, to save them, in a way. You were most definitely against killing one of those kids, even if he was Sukuna Ryomen’s host. 

Yuji quickly grew on you too, that boy had such a kind heart. 

Yes. Things between you and Gojo started in a really bad way. Yet, here you were, years after your first meeting, in love, and with a three months old baby !

A little son. To whom you’ll one day tell the story of how you and Gojo met, and fell in love. But for now, for now this was no such story. No. 

This is the story of how soft the mighty Gojo Satoru actually is...

Especially with his baby son. 

This side of him is privy only to those who know him. To those he cares about. It wasn’t difficult to find that side though, you just had to look past his weirdness, loudness, and arrogance. 

But it was definitely there. 

Gojo cared. So much. And he would never hesitate to kill or die, for those he loved. 

Risking it all so he doesn’t cry

Of course, Yuji was one of the first person ever who met little (Your son’s name) (A/N : Will be shortened in (Y/S/N) from now on). It made sense, really. Megumi and Nobara were there too. 

Nobara was in awe of your baby, which didn’t surprise anyone. She went on a shopping spree for him, and he had now more clothes than you. 

What was more surprising, however, is how much Megumi smiled around him. You were pretty sure he didn’t realize it himself, but whenever the young Fushiguro would see your little one, he’d beam. 

There were no other words. He would simply turn into a ray of sunshine whenever he saw (Y/S/N). Yuji and  Nobara too, but it wasn’t the same. You were used to see these two smile. But Megumi ? Yes. Your son was definitely special. 

Those three, as your Gojo’s students, were almost like older siblings to your baby. And honestly, if he had Yuji Itadori, Nobara Kugisaki, and Megumi Fushiguro on his side, and given the fact THE Gojo Satoru was his dad, you were pretty sure your son’s life would never truly be in danger. 

************

It was immediately noticeable, that Gojo was wearing no sunglasses nor any blindfolds. It basically never happened outside of a battlefield. It’s the first thing they saw. 

And his answer as to why ? 

“It’s scaring him.” 

Not wearing the eyewear and risking spending too much energy...just because when he does wear his blindfold or sunglasses, it scares his baby.

“He couldn’t stop crying the first time he saw me with them. I took them off, and he was fine again...”

You weren’t sure if it was because he couldn’t recognize his dad, or because he just had an obsession with his eyes, but whenever Gojo would put on any sort of eyewear in front of your son, the little boy would burst into tears and try to squirm away from his dad. 

And it distraught Gojo quite a bit. He hated feeling rejected, and it was even worst when it was by someone he loved so deeply. 

So, what if he spend too much energy at times, if it could avoid any distress to his son ? And to himself ? 

He hated hearing him cry. He hated anything causing any sort of pain to him. He hated-

Ah. Anything. Anything to stop little (Y/S/N) from feeling sad, scared, or anything of the sort. And so when he was holding his son, Gojo never hid his eyes. 

The softness of which would be mocked by so many, yet admired by you. Damn. You loved that man...

Born from love

(Y/S/N) was born from intense love. He was wanted. He was welcomed in this world by two parents who eagerly waited for him. 

Which neither you nor Gojo ever thought would happen. 

He never intended to be happy, willing to sacrifice his own life for his cause, willing to live only to destroy curses. And you ? Never imagined yourself ending up with him. 

Yet it happened. 

You fell in love. 

You fell in deep. 

The both of you. 

There were no Gojo without (Y/N), and vice versa. Not anymore. Neither of you could imagine a life without the other one in it. It was impossible. It was unbearable. 

Unlivable. 

When you got pregnant, everyone was happy for you two (except Yuji, who, for a while, couldn’t get over the fact that it meant Gojo had sex...). 

But the happiest of them all, where you and him. 

“This life is the most precious. I will always protect you...” 

He said, when he first held his son. One of the few time you saw tears in his eyes. 

You both overcame so many hardships, before being there, in love, and with a child. You both went through so much, yet you found each other. 

Through the pain, the loneliness, the weight of being a jujutsu sorcerer on your shoulder...You found each other. 

And sometimes, you felt like your entire relationship culminated with the birth of your son. It was as if he gave new meaning to the World, as if there was so much more to things than you originally thought. 

For Gojo, the birth of his son was Earth shattering. It shook him to his very core. Gave him a new perspective on life. And made his heart feel like it was going to explode, a sentiment he only ever had when around you. 

Ah. Yes. Happiness, could be such an overwhelming feeling, to someone who never thought he could have it. 

Sukuna Ryomen, number one simp of the new Satoru

“AH I FEEL POWER IN THAT LITTLE THING !! I want to eat it.” 

You jumped a little in the air. Ugh. You were never going to get used to Sukuna randomly making his mouth appear on Yuji’s cheeks or hands (or anywhere really), and speaking directly to you. 

You knew Yuji had full control (well...) of him, and was the perfect host for Sukuna, so you didn’t worry about him actually eating your son. But this was definitely not something very reassuring to ear. 

It wasn’t very reassuring either, that he detected any power in your infant son... 

It wasn’t long after he was born, that Sukuna showed up for the first time, mainly out of curiosity.

Gojo immediately entered “protective dad mode”, and almost annihilated Yuji, only stopping himself when he realized that young Itadori was one of his protégé, of course. 

It was as if whenever your son’s safety was on the line in any way, Gojo lost all capacity to think, and just turned into a killing machine only having “protecting baby” on his mind.

“Or maybe I won’t eat him, maybe I will wait. There is promise, in this little thing’s future. He’s almost as interesting and promising as Fushiguro.” 

Words that definitely did not reassure you, but that filled Gojo with pride. Ah, but even him, would dread the days his son would become one of the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer that ever lived. 

Yuji called Sukuna a “simp”, which you weren’t sure what it meant, but it angered the cursed spirit so much that you were sure it was overtly mocking him. Which you quite enjoyed. 

Sukuna was simping for your son. 

...

...

You weren’t sure if it was a good thing or not. 

Uncle Nanamin

One of Gojo’s favorite hobby, was to annoy Kento Nanami. 

Beyond the fact the two were close friends, although they loved to pretend they weren’t, there was almost a brotherly bond between them. 

A bond though, which always remained fragile...After what happened with Geto, Gojo had a hard time considering someone a friend again...But that was another story. 

Long story short, knowing how close they were, and knowing the fact you and Nanami had always been good friends, it made sense that your baby would see a lot of him. 

“Oooh, and who’s that (Y/S/N) ? It’s uncle Na-Na-Miiiin, say helloooo !” 

Your son LOVED Nanami. He would always scream gleefully, and reach his little arms to him so he would pick him up. 

And although Kento wouldn’t admit it that easily...He adored your son. He often said that the little one’s only flaw was that “his dad is Gojo”, which never failed to make you laugh. 

"The Future of the Clan”

From the day he was born, your son was destined to be the next “Gojo Satoru”...Part of you secretly wished he wouldn’t have any power. That he wouldn’t inherit anything. 

But you all received a prophecy, and you knew just as there was a “Gojo Era”, there would be a “(Y/S/N) era”, which you greatly dreaded. 

“Like father, like son”, they say. 

As a result of everyone knowing your little one was fated to accomplish great things, Gojo became even more overprotective than he would’ve been otherwise. 

The first person to notice that (and to suffer the consequence of it), was principal Gakuganji : 

“Don’t even look at him, old man.” 

He said, hiding your baby in his coat. Refusing to show him to the Kyoto school principal. 

Gojo decided that, if his son was destined to be great, he didn’t need to grow up like he did. He would never admit it, of course, but the pressure of being his clan’s greatest pride and hope, and to grow up in such an environment...He hated it. 

Probably was one of the reason he often hid behind a wall of insolence, oversized ego, and confidence. 

As a result of this decision, he made sure his son would meet certain people as late as possible. Including principal Gakuganji, who still wanted to kill Yuji anyway and in whom your Gojo had absolutely no trust. 

Some people thought he was exaggerating, and sheltering his son too much. Some people obviously didn’t know Gojo, and you felt like you had to remind them of an important, and quite recent, fact : 

“Careful, remember that time he wanted to massacre the entire council because they got Yuji “killed”, and he didn’t even know the boy that well at that moment ? Imagine what he’d do to you if you hurt his son in any way.”

“Uh ? He was joking that time right ? He didn’t actually think about killing everyone right ?” Yuji asked, as he always thought Gojo was just being his silly old self when he said that. 

You gave him a meaningful look. How adorable, that he truly thinks your Gojo was joking. 

Because truth was, he would destroy everything and anyone in his way, if it meant protecting someone he cared for. And he could definitely wreak havoc while seeking vengeance...

Dada 

Gojo was good at everything. That’s why he never really did much, because he wanted to give “the future generation a chance”...Right. Regardless of that, whenever he tried something, he was amazing at it. He never failed before. Up until...today. 

Because right now, he was clearly failing at trying to get your son to say “dada”. 

Now, “mama” ? He had been saying that since a little while. But dada...

“Say Dada, come on (Y/S/N), daaadaaa.”

“Mama !” 

“Nooooo, dada, say-”

“Mamaaaaa !” 

It was almost as if your son was taunting him. As if he was purposefully taunting him. You honestly questioned it, because the boy kept looking intently at his dad, and then gleefully screamed “mama” each time he’d say “say dada”. 

You found it hilarious. 

Gojo, on the other hand, had a hard time living with that failure. 

He did not rest up until your son finally said : “dada”. 

Problem was, when he finally said it, he was pointing at...Nanami. 

Overwhelming happiness 

Sometimes, you’d walk in on Gojo singing lullabies to your son. Or telling him bed time stories. Thinking he was all alone. 

He always looked at him right in the eye, and it’s as if those eyes, those powerful eyes, were soothing to your baby. 

Hence hating the sunglasses or blindfolds. Although, with time, he did get use to the sunglasses, but he’d always cry if his dada was wearing the blindfold while holding him...

Gojo wasn’t always sure how to handle this intense feeling of love and happiness. It almost felt like...A new kind of energy. 

As if not wearing anything on his eyes was ok, because being around you, around his son, feeling loved and loving in return, gave him more energy than he lost. 

Yes. Yes. 

Gojo Satoru was a happy man. 

To be continued. 

__________________________________________________

And here we are. Written fast, out of pure enjoyment. Nothing too deep eh. But I sure hope you liked it :). Comments/reblogs of course always welcomed. And..Here we are. See you soon with another story ! (most likely Batfam). 

#Gojo Satoru x reader #Gojo x reader #Gojo Satoru imagine #JJK #Jujutsu Kaisen #Jujutsu Kaisen x reader #Jujutsu Kaisen imagine #Gojo Satoru #Yuji Itadori x reader #Yuji Itadori #Kento Nanami #Kento Nanami x reader #Uncle Nanamin haha #Sukuna Ryomen #is a simmp #Gojo Satoru x you #Gojo Satoru x Y/N #Fem!reader #future #Jujutsu sorcerer #Dad!Gojo #Megumi Fushiguro #Nobara Kugisaki #Megumi Fushiguro x reader #Megumi Fushiguro imagine

[theflagscene]

Let’s talk about Mr. Keng

There’s something I found really odd about the interactions between Non and Keng, besides the whole fucking each other thing. I’m not downplaying the misuse of power and the inherent wrongness of the teacher/student relationship here, but I am used to seeing it over the years in queer media so I wasn’t shocked by it tbh. I don’t know why but there are a lot of queer media over the many years I’ve been watching it that seem to pair an exceptional student with a teacher, or even adults with barely legal teenagers. It’s some weird taboo in queer media and I honestly think it’s because of how common age gap relationships are in the queer community, but we’re not here to dissect that.

So going back to Mr. Keng’s interaction with Non, in episode five, six and seven. It’s clear that he zeros in on Non’s exceptionality, the only student to actually understand his question and Non was barely paying attention. Mr. Keng’s interest was piqued right then and there, and my first thought was that they were going to make him a total creep. Which they seemed to be leaning toward when he put special interest in Non, then in episode six we get Non breaking down and finally admitting to him what was going on and why he needed the money. Mr. Keng offering the money so readily also made it seem again that he was a creep, it was a clear grooming tactic. Making Non feel like he owed him something without Keng even having to say; you owe me.

You could say that Non was a willing participant in their first sexual encounter as he was the one who went in for the more passionate kiss, but again that is what grooming does. And while yes Non is sexually active, he’s 16/17 at the most, sleeping with Phee is completely different. Phee is older by less than a year considering he finished off 12th grade with the other boys after Non ‘disappeared’. Being able to consent to sex with an equal is completely different than ‘consenting’ to having sex with someone who should know that what they’re doing is not right!

Moving onto episode seven, there’s a new level to Keng, he’s working to bring down the illegal gambling ring with an undercover reporter. So he’s just using Non, right? He found out what Non was into and saw it as an opportunity to get names and information, so he’s a groomer and a manipulative liar. Great, send this fucker straight to hell!

What I found interesting though was that by the end of episode seven, we find him comforting Non about the video, Non sobbing in his arms and Keng reassures him that things will be okay. That… doesn’t seem like the reaction of a man who’s just found out that his entire career might be over, that he could very well face jail time. There was no blame, no anger directed at Non, just concern. And then Phee showed up, he attacked Keng, rather violently if the bruises on JJ’s back are anything to go by. Phee kept telling Keng to leave, to fuck off, to just go! He kept shoving him into chairs and walls, but Keng never once left. He stayed there, quietly, not trusting Phee to be alone with Non.

And after Phee broke up with Non, telling him to go die, Non has a full blown breakdown. He’s screaming, sobbing hysterically, hitting himself. What does Keng do? He gets down onto the floor and he grabs Non, stops him from hurting himself, shushes him, holds him, comforts him, rocks the sobbing teen in his arms. None of these things seem to be the action of a person who doesn’t care. Am I saying Mr. Keng is in the right? No! Absolutely not! The dude is a creep, he did terrible things and never should’ve done the things he did. But what I was hit with was that it seemed like Mr. Keng—in his own weird way—actually did genuinely care about Non and his wellbeing.

It was very odd to see, because for the previous two episodes there was a very clear set up of how you’re supposed to see him, how you’re supposed to view his interactions with Non. Then by the end of episode seven, he’s caring and concerned and refuses to leave Non in his moment of need even as Phee demands that he does. I think Keng genuinely liked Non, in his own weird highly illegal way. So it’ll be interesting to see who exactly kills him (my money is on Phee or Jin) and if he repents whatsoever or doubles down on his claim that he actually did like Non, as both a student but a lover.

#dff the series #dead friend forever #dff theory

[kimbappykidding]

You co-owned a coffee shop with your best friend just a few streets away from Seventeen's building, However, you weren't into mainstream media so you weren't really aware of that. Being in the city centre you knew there were idols and actresses and models galore but never really paid them any attention. You preferred the ordinary people, after all it was them who came into your cafe most often...or so you thought.

You had many regulars but your favourite was the boy with glasses who you'd nicknamed cute gamer guy. He was always polite, quiet and friendly. He'd usually stay for a few hours and he'd either read or play games on his laptop hence the nickname. You liked to read too and often discussed your latest and favourite books. When he played games you'd get stuck just watching him because he was really good. You'd stare amazed and forget you had work to be doing. You figured he must be a student of something as he often came in at odd hours and seemed like he had some time to kill. You didn't know much about him but saw him most weeks and got to know one another that way. He'd always ask about your day which you thought was nice and compliment your baking. He was cute too and your friend had long since suggested you should ask him out. You didn't want to just because you felt it might be weird. "I don't even know him! I only know he’s called Wonwoo because I put it on his coffee cup otherwise I wouldn't even know that! I don't know his age or what he does for a living! He's basically a stranger" you argued when your friend Mari brought it up again but she just rolled her eyes. "You see him pretty much every week of the year, that's more than you see your family! He is not a stranger". "True but I don't know him enough to ask him out! He could be a terrible person, or a sexist jerk or a..." you trailed off to see him standing at the counter. He was looking down at his phone and you prayed you hadn't been speaking loud enough for him to hear. You hurried forwards and smiled nervously "sorry to keep you waiting, what can I get for you?". He smiled "it's no problem, can I please get a chai tea and a brownie please Y/n?". "coming right up" you nodded and got to work. He asked you how your week had been and you asked him about his day then he took a seat with his tea and snack. "Did he hear us?" Mari asked and you shook your head "I think we got away with it". You were wrong.

As you were getting ready to close up Wonwoo came up to you "thanks for the snack, it was great as usual". You smiled "I'm glad you enjoyed it! Thank you for telling me". He nodded "I also just wanted to say...I'm 26 years old and I'm from Changwon originally. I'm a performer for a local company and I promise I'm not shady or dangerous...". You blushed "does this mean you heard our conversation?". Wonwoo nodded "I didn't mean to but I just wanted to let you know, I've been wanting to ask you out for a while and if the only thing stopping us was you not knowing my age or what I do...well I wanted to correct that". You smiled "consider it corrected". "In that case would you like to go on a date with me?" Wonwoo asked "I'm free this weekend and you can pick whatever we do". You smiled "sounds good". So the two of you exchanged numbers and agreed to meet up Saturday night. Mari was ecstatic and kept jumping up and down on your way home. "So he's 26" she said and you nodded "only 2 years older than me". "Which is an acceptable age gap" she nodded "and what did he say he does for a living again?". "He said he's a performer at a local company". "wait what does that mean?" she asked and you paused "I have no idea...I assumed he's a local singer or dancer or something. I probably should've asked. "Well that's what the date is for" she grinned. You suggested dinner and a movie and Wonwoo agreed to pick you up at your house. Mari helped you put together the perfect outfit and then you waited for Wonwoo. You were early (as always) and were sitting in your living room when a car arrived. An extremely expensive car so neither of you expected it to be here for you. Your friend sighed "I hate when cars just pull up outside our house like that! It's such a fancy car too". You nodded looking at the expensive car and wondered what it must be like to have a car like that. When the car didn't move you paused "why isn't it going? Wonwoo is going to be here soon and it might block him". Mari frowned "let's give it a second and then tell them to move". You nodded when the car door opened and who stepped out of the car but Wonwoo. "Holy shit!" your friend cried and you stared. "That can't be his car" you said but Mari laughed "well it sure looks like it seeing as he's driving it. Y/n if he has a car like that then he must be rich! I thought you said he was a performer not some sort of prince!". "That is what he said" you replied watching him come closer to the door "maybe he just inherited the car or won it as a prize". Mari smiled "well however he got it, it's glorious and you're going to ride in it!". As she said that the doorbell dinged and your friend squealed. You opened the door to find Wonwoo dressed smart-casual in a shirt and some very nice jeans. "Hi Y/n" he smiled "I've got you something" and held out some flowers. You immediately felt touched because nobody had ever bought you flowers before. "That's so kind of you thank you...let me put them inside" you said and opened the door to find your friend standing there where she'd clearly been spying on the two of you. "Wonwoo you remember my friend and business partner Mari" you said and he nodded "it's nice to see you again". "You too" she smiled "nice car by the way". Wonwoo blushed slightly "thank you...I try and take good care of it". "I bet!" Mari nodded and you elbowed her. You placed the flowers in the hall and told Mari you were leaving. "Have fun!" she called waving and Wonwoo led you to his car. You opened the door and were shocked at how nice the inside of the car was. You wouldn't trade your beaten-up old car for anything but this car was amazing! It was so spacious and comfy. You felt like you were in some sort of massage chair and the dashboard was so big and colourful. "If you're cold I can turn on the seat warmers" Wonwoo said and your eyes widened "seat warmers?". He smiled "yeah, want me to show you?". You nodded and he pressed a button "it might take a few seconds to warm up". You nodded admiring the architecture when you felt the warmth and gasped slightly "I can feel it! That's so nice". Wonwoo smiled "the temperature control is just there" pointing to a dial "so feel free to make it warmer or cooler". You nodded "cool" and tried not to act too awestruck with this space-age car. Wonwoo must've sensed your unease because he started asking you some casual questions and as you chatted you felt less nervous. You arrived at the cinema and Wonwoo parked up. As you were getting out a guy gawked at the car and you thought Wonwoo would say something but instead he put a hat on and pointedly pulled it over his face which you thought was odd considering you were going inside. "This way" he said and he led you inside keeping his head down. You bought tickets and snacks but Wonwoo didn't take his hat off until he was in the dark cinema. You chatted until the film started and then watched the film. It was a good film and was good as any cinema date could be. Wonwoo gave you free rein of the snacks and you had a cute hand-brush moment halfway through. Wonwoo laughed at all the same parts as you and you were sat quite close together without actually touching. So the night was going pretty well as you left your screen and headed to dinner. On your way out there was a big group of girls and you saw Wonwoo pull his hat down tighter. "Hey mind if we go out this way?" he asked pointing to a side door away from the crowd and you nodded, exiting around the back of the building. Wonwoo drove you to the restaurant and opened the door for you. "Table for 2" he said giving the waiter his name and the waiter nodded "of course". You'd picked a restaurant you were familiar with and smiled at the familiar sights and smells. "Have you ever been here before?" you asked Wonwoo. He nodded "yes I like it". "Me too" you smiled as the waiter told you to follow him. "My friend and I must've been here 20 times we never get the fancy table" you said pointing to the table behind their water feature which was very private and highly coveted. Every time you came it was taken and you couldn't even book it. But tonight it was empty. "Well maybe tonight will be different" Wonwoo said and sure enough the waiter took you to the table. "Here are your menus and some complimentary waters. I'll be back soon to take your drinks order" the waiter said and you turned to Wonwoo. "How did you get this table? They wouldn't even let me book it for my friend's 21st!". Wonwoo shrugged "I guess we just got lucky". You thought he wasn't telling you something but didn't say anything. The meal continued and everything was still going well. Wonwoo was very interesting and talking to him was so chill but also fun. He had an effortless quality about him, he seemed to look effortlessly good, was effortlessly funny and effortlessly nice but it wasn't annoying or forced. It was just how he was and you felt like you'd known him for ages. When Wonwoo went to the bathroom you checked your phone and saw 20 messages from Mari. You opened your phone and decided to call her instead of texting. "What happened are you okay?" You asked. "Y/n it's Wonwoo" she said and you froze "what is he a serial killer?". "What? No, he's a kpop idol! That's why he's so rich and always turns up at the cafe at odd hours! He's a successful idol and has been for years. I knew I'd seen him before". You pause "no he can't be". "He is, Google Wonwoo Seventeen and you'll see". You did and your phone was flooded with results. "Oh my god..." you said and your friend laughed "see! Y/n you're dating an idol!". You had no idea what to say but spotted Wonwoo on his way back so quickly hung up. Wonwoo smiled sitting down "would you like another drink?". You tried not to let on you knew who he was and it was surprisingly easy. The second Wonwoo sat back down things just felt normal and it made you question if this was the right Wonwoo. Maybe they were brothers or just really looked alike...until you went to leave and Wonwoo's suspicious hiding behaviour kicked in again. There were some men in black coats outside the restaurant with cameras and Wonwoo spotted them putting his hat back on. "You ready?" he asked and you nodded. "It looks a little busy so grab me if I'm moving too quickly" he said and you nodded. The second you stepped outside Wonwoo shot off, head down trying to avoid the cameramen's attention. You thought you'd made it when one of them shouted Wonwoo and they started following you. Luckily Wonwoo was in the car park and the gate closed behind you stopping them. You shot Wonwoo a look and he shrugged "some people know me from my performing". You almost laughed as that was his explanation of him being a world-famous idol. You just nodded not wanting to force him to tell you before he was ready and got in the car. Wonwoo drove you home and pulled up outside. "So I had a really good time tonight" he said and you nodded "me too I really enjoyed myself". Wonwoo smiled "great, so would you maybe like to do this again sometime?". You nodded "I would" and Wonwoo smiled "great so I'll text you..." and then he trailed off. "What?" you asked and he smiled "nothing you just look really nice in this light". You blushed slightly but smiled "you should see my view" and Wonwoo smiled. "Do I get a goodnight kiss?" you asked and were pleasantly surprised to see the boy blushing. "Of course" he nodded and leaned across to kiss you. Wonwoo was clearly a good kisser and given he was a famous idol that made sense. He probably had lots of experience in this area but you ignored that and just focused on your moment with him. When you separated you took in a breath and Wonwoo smiled "that was a pretty excellent first kiss". You smiled "I'm glad you agree, see you later Wonwoo" and got out of the car. You managed not to look back and only when you safely inside did you squeal. Wonwoo returned home to find a few calls from his publicist saying he'd been spotted downtown but they hadn't managed to get any photos. Wonwoo was relieved and his members smiled when they saw him "so how was the date with the mysterious cafe girl?" Mingyu asked. "Ahh yes the place you have banned us from" Scoups said, "it better not have been for nothing!". Wonwoo smiled "it was good...she's so funny and interesting. Not to mention pretty". "Did you kiss her?" Dk asked bluntly and Jeonghan hit him "come on this is Wonwoo we're talking about" before everyone noticed Wonwoo's reaction. He'd frozen and was purposefully staring at his feet to hide his blush. "You kissed her?" Hoshi asked and Wonwoo nodded "she asked for a goodnight kiss so I gave her one". The guys all roared with excitement and began cheering. Once they'd settled down a little bit Jun asked an important question "how did she react when you told her you were an idol". Wonwoo paused "I'm not sure...". "Why? Could you not tell how she took it?" Joshua asked and Wonwoo shook his head "no I just didn't really tell her". "Wonwoo!" Seungkwan cried and Woozi laughed "even after the cameramen chased you down the street?". "I just said people knew me from my performing". "So you didn't tell her what you did at all?" Scoups asked and Wonwoo shook his head "she asked me about work but I managed to be vague". "Well that's not going to work all the time" The8 said "if you want to see her again you have to tell her". Wonwoo sighed "I know but it was nice to date someone who had no idea what I did! A person who I knew wasn't swayed by it". The guys all knew what that felt like so agreed. When you got back from your date you were buzzing but when you woke up the next morning you felt a little different. Last night you'd gone through all the positives but this morning you began to think of the negatives. The cameras last night were just a taste of the harassment you'd receive for dating a kpop idol. There were also stalkers, hate comments on all your Instagram photos and death threats to look forward to. Not to mention you couldn't have a normal relationship. Wonwoo would work a lot and even when he wasn't you couldn't hurt go out in public. Wonwoo had to be careful where he went and you realised last night he probably loosened the rules for you. You weren't sure if that was the life you wanted. Relationships in the public eye were very challenging and that was if Wonwoo ever wanted a relationship. The internet told you the names of many girls who had uprooted their lives only to be used and thrown away by idols. What if Wonwoo did the same? He seemed nice but he was an idol, he wasn't an innocent kid. You didn't know him and he could do that to you. When you came downstairs Mari smiled "so...how does it feel the morning after? You're like freaking Cinderella or something". You chuckled awkwardly "not that great" and explained your worries. Your friend nodded "see I understand where you're coming from but I think you're worrying for nothing. For one thing, we work together so there's no way you're losing your job even if this did get out. For two, if Wonwoo was the type to throw girls away like tissues wouldn't he have asked you out the second he saw you instead of getting to know you for months?". You paused "maybe...". "Plus I've been watching videos of them and he's definitely not like that" Mari said. You frowned "but that's his stage character he could be completely different". "Based on what we've seen in the cafe I don't think so". You weren't sure but agreed to watch one Seventeen video with Mari which turned into several. You saw what she meant. In the episodes, Wonwoo seemed just like the guy you knew. Thoughtful, smart, considerate and...well hot. But you were still more cautious and all day you hovered near your phone, scared anytime it lit up. Part of you thought it would be easier if Wonwoo just bever texted you about your next date but another part of you really wanted him to text you. Your phone buzzed around dinner time and sure enough, it was from Wonwoo. "Hey Y/n I had a really great time last night and can't wait to see you again. How does next Saturday around 7 sound?". You debated over a reply for way too long but eventually just went with your gut. "Sounds perfect! See you then".

For better or worse you wanted to keep getting to know the cute gamer guy who also happened to be a world famous idol. Only time would tell if it was the best decision of your life...or the worst.

____________

This is a three part series and you can read the other parts here: Part Two and Part Three.

#wonwoo #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fic #wonwoo imagine #wonwoo x female reader #seventeen #svt #seventeen imagine #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen x female reader #svt fic #svt imagine #svt x reader #svt x female reader #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo seventeen #svt wonwoo #wonwoo svt #mingyu #scoups #the8 #joshua #jun #kpop #kpop fic #kpop imagine #kpop wonwoo #kpop seventeen #dk

[slasheru]

Slasher U 1-Year State of the Union / Unholy Census!

Holy fucking shit we're coming along towards the 1-year anniversary of the release of the Slasher U Act 1 alpha!! We've come SO FUCKING FAR. Sawyer wasn't even a romanceable option back in the day! As of April 27th, it'll be Slasher U's first ever anniversary!

Mostly, I am SO FUCKING GRATEFUL that you all came along on the adventure to make my weird horny dating RPG a smash fucking hit!! Taking narrative seriously in dating/adult games was kind of my entire M.O (is?? mods??) and I am SO GRATEFUL Y'ALL UNDERSTAND WHAT I'M TRYING TO DO HERE lmao

THE BIG NUMBERS

As of 11:21 AM EST on 3/23/24, Slasher U: Act 1 has sold 6,100 copies across Steam & itch.io (Not including the copies sold as part of Games for Gaza that weren't redeemed/downloaded, so this only counts people who actually downloaded or bought the game!). This is obviously BEYOND MY WILDEST FUCKING DREAMS AND I CANNOT THANK YOU ENOUGH HOLY SHIT. I didn't even realize it until I added it all together. (On top of this, we sold several fucking tens of thousands of games for Games for Gaza!! Hell yeah!)

For my fellow solo devs out there, this comes to Slasher U making a total of about $6,000 + $2,000 net USD through sales (the former) and crowdfunding (the latter, for Slasher U: Act 2) over the last 11ish months!! The game started off being free for the first 6ish months, then went to $6.69 for the Beta (with dong! whoa!!), and now at its full size, stands at a good ol' $14.99 for 15 hours of primo datin' sim!

This is objectively the most money I've ever made off of anything I've developed in my entire life, and paid my whole ass rent for the entire year, so THANK YOU HOLY SHIT. According to Steam, most indie games barely break $1k in total, so I am AGOG. FUCKING AGOG. THANK YOU FOR LIKING MY GAME AND LETTING ME MAKE MORE VIA NOT DYING FROM CAPITALISM

The average review score, across 89 reviews on itch.io, remains 4.9 out of 5 stars, and we're rocking a 93% Positive on Steam!!

THE UNHOLY CENSUS

The best part of Slasher U is, as I always say, THE STUDENT DISEMBODY!! Slasher U will always be a place where everything is gay and trans as fuck (although I'm also proud of writing my cishet storylines too :V /lh)! I knew y'all were gay (hello fellow gays) but I did not realize the QUEER FUCKING FORCE THE STUDENT DISEMBODY IS

Here's the demographics of Slasher U players as taken from Tumblr polls (that's a skewed sample size of about 280, so grain of salt here for the homo website for queers):

92.6% of you ID as queer (see below for the breakdown!) | 7.4% of you ID as straight

This fictional horror movie campus is: 48.5% bi/pan, 16.2% gay/mlm, 10.3% lesbian/wlw, 10.3% ace (oo tie!), 7.4% queer but not defined as above, and 7.4% straight!

61.9% of you ID as trans/not cis | 23.8% of you ID as cis | 14.3% of you ID as neither trans nor cis

46.8% of you are between 22-26 | 32.3% of you are between 18-21 | 16.1% of you are between 27-32 | 4.8% of you are between 32-45 | 0% of you are older than 45 (sample size I am guessing lol)

For 14.6% of you, Slasher U was the very first dating sim you've ever played (!). For 3.8% of you, Slasher U was the first indie game you've ever played (holy fucking shit!!! this is an actual absolute honor)

76.7% of you instinctively Road Runner away from Melyssa at the fountain in Act 1 | 23.3% let the Melyssa tsunami arrive at you

--

A FINAL WORD (FOR NOW) ON MAKIN' VIDJEE GAEMS

You should totally do it.

No, okay, but for real, I started working in games professionally in 2009 (yeah yeah i'm old. i am 32 and i am dying and they're coming for me in the corpse wagon etc) and I burned out in 2016 and came back two years ago with THIS THING and I can tell you RIGHT FUCKIN' NOW that, if you have ever wanted to make a game and the big guys aren't gonna do it, grab yourself and/or some friends and fuckin' make a video game. I have worked for a bunch of AA and mobile companies and I can tell you right the fuck now that this is the most fulfilling experience I have ever had writing a video game. I taught myself programming logic to make this thing! And sound design! I fucking learned to animate sprite sheets!! YOU CAN ALSO DO IT given the time and energy (pace yourself don't die)! And there won't be any execs around to tell you your weird niche game won't sell!! BECAUSE IT FUCKING WILL

Anyway, my entire career as a game designer, nobody let me write shit for them. You don't need permission to make stuff or write stuff. If you write it, they will fuckin' come, Field of Dreams style (also don't forget to tell everyone you made stuff and share it around. super key here. lmao). Turns out writing is all about sharing yourself with people, and who knows, you might just find that a fuckton of people ACTUALLY relate to you. (And that you're a pretty good writer. Which you knew. Yes, you. I am mixing metaphors and pointing to myself AND you now.)

xoxoxoxooxoxox,

Professor Plutonium

#slasher u #indie games #game dev

[thecooler]

Magnetar

You are a mature student at the University of Ooo. You tell people that you resent the term mature student, because, in your own words, it makes you sound like an “old fart.” People respond by telling you that your whole everything makes you sound like an old fart.

Fandom: Adventure Time

Pairing: Simon/Betty

Additional Tags: POV First Person, POV Second Person, Grief/Mourning, Alternate Universes

Word Count: 3,368

AO3 Mirror

Simon Petrikov

You are a mature student at the University of Ooo. You tell people that you resent the term mature student, because, in your own words, it makes you sound like an “old fart.” People respond by telling you that your whole everything makes you sound like an old fart. Regardless of your linguistic preferences, though, you, Simon Petrikov, are living in a college dorm about thirty years and change after you last expected to be.

It’s just you in the room. Last time you were in dorms, you had this wad of a roommate named David, who left his laundry on your side of the room and ate your ramen packets without asking. You’d often told your fiancée, Betty, about David. She always giggled at the disdainful lilt your voice would take when you said his name— David, like you might say the name of your least favorite grade school teacher, or your weirdest ex. David wasn’t your weirdest ex, though, that was a different guy, though his name was also David, which Betty always had a good laugh over the first time you told her.

Betty is coming over later tonight, after you’re done with classes. You love her very much. You’ve been seeing each other for what feels like forever.

You pull a pair of matched socks out of your drawers and slide them on, then adjust your bow tie. You look in the mirror, and for a moment, you see a flash of blue. You blink, and find it’s just yourself staring back. Your hair’s started to grey. Betty thinks it looks good on you.

Betty Grof

The school library has always been something of a safe haven for me. In elementary school, being weird meant that I didn’t keep friends for long, and the librarians were always terribly fond of me. They’d give me little tasks to do, like wiping down tables with a cloth or putting a book or two back if I was good. I relished in these small favors. I’ve always yearned to be useful.

In high school, I managed to make friends, because high school is when people who are ahead of the game realize that being weird and being cool are basically synonyms. And some people still give you grief, but when you have friends, it’s a hell of a lot easier to ignore those people. I didn’t need to spend time in the library, then, to avoid my own loneliness. But I returned anyway, because I found the scent of books and the old, dusty carpet in my hometown’s old library to be a comfort. When I turned sixteen, the director of the library took pity on me and gave me a job. By the time I made my way to University, I was already well on my way to building myself a decent resume.

I don’t remember how I got this particular gig, and it doesn’t really matter.

All that matters is that in this life, this is the library where I met Simon Petrikov.

He’s inevitable, a cosmic force that I feel myself drawn to in every universe. He was a bit older, when I met him here, in his first semester. He was looking for an old volume from Kant. He’s always stubborn— he paced around for a good hour before he asked me for help. When he did, I looked at him and smiled and said, “Are you saying you kant find it?” and he’d laughed way more than the joke called for. He always laughs like that at my jokes, like he thinks I’m the most brilliant person to ever walk the earth. Like he’s never once looked in a mirror.

Simon Petrikov

Your first class is at eight am and all the way across campus. You often joke about how it’s fine, because you could use the cardio and the regular sleep schedule. But you always end up leaving ten minutes late if no one’s pushing you out the door, and you don’t think you’ve ever once jogged willingly in your life. You walk at a regular pace across campus, and you’ll get there when you get there. You don’t usually miss much in the first five minutes anyway, though you don’t love the glare your professor shoots you when you creak open the old, heavy wood door.

You sit in your usual spot and listen to the lecture, but it all sort of starts to blend together. You’re suddenly quite tired, and you can feel your eyelids drooping when shuffling starts around you. With a start, you realize it’s time to head to your next class. You blink and stand up suddenly, stumbling when vertigo gets the better of you. A young man you don’t recognize rests a steadying hand on your shoulder and says, “Come on, Simon, I’ve got you,” and his blue eyes look rather sad.

He’s young, you think, too young to be here, until he’s not. You blink, and he has a beard and a chest tattoo peeking out from under the collar of his tank top. You swear that wasn’t there before. “Simon?” he says again, his brow furrowing. You don’t remember telling him your name.

You look at this young man, and you find yourself at a loss for words. You recognize in his gaze a familiar sense of prolonged grief. You’ve never met him, but somehow you think you’ve known him your whole life, or at least his.

“Are you okay, man?”

You nod, slowly, and it doesn’t seem to convince him. “Betty’s coming over tonight,” you say, “I must have  gotten distracted thinking about it.”

Betty Grof

Once, when we were a lot younger, and before the crown changed everything, Simon and I went hiking together. Usually, when we went on excursions, they were meticulously planned. He had every step of our journey plotted out on a spreadsheet or a numbered list, the creation of which was usually his favorite part of the whole thing. Which wasn’t to say he disliked the excursion— more so that he really liked making lists and spreadsheets.

But we’d gone without this time. I worried it was because I teased him about it, even though he knew it was good-natured, or at least I’m pretty sure he knew. I didn’t think he was actually upset, because Simon always wore his feelings on his sleeve, and when he was worried, he got this crease between his eyebrows. On such occasions, I’d kiss his cheeks until he relented and forgave me, for which I was declared a menace to society. So I don’t know exactly why he decided to forgo the spreadsheet this time, but he refused to make one, even when I tried to nudge him to in the hours before we left.

So we went off into the bush on the outskirts of Seattle, near a farm that some friend of Simon’s owned. We had two backpacks full of trail mix and a sleeping bag, but no tent, because Simon said that he’d been orienteering since he was old enough to walk, and he’d get us out of the bush before we needed to sleep.

Naturally, then, we did not make it out of the forest in time. Instead, we found a nice, open clearing, and we lay down on the grass together and looked at the stars. Simon was fidgeting with his shirt sleeves.

I said, “It’s really okay, Simon. You know I don’t mind a little roughin’ it,” and I waggled my eyebrows. It wasn’t really an innuendo, but I’d never been one to miss an opportunity for a double-entente, no matter how half-baked. I meant it, too. Laying under the stars next to the Simon Petrikov was basically a dream, even after five years of dating. I think it’d been five years. Time is different here, it’s hard to tell. Hard to remember how time moves for mortals.

He turned on his side and he looked at me. Back then, before Evergreen’s crown took root in his mind, his eyes were a deep, thoughtful brown. He said, “You would really tell me when I’ve got a bad idea?”

I turned over and smiled, “Would it stop you if I did?”

And he’d closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and breathed, “No.”

Above, the cosmos shone down, ambivalent to us. It would be hundreds of years yet until we tried to make it ours, and in doing so, fell apart.

Simon Petrikov

You walk to your next class with the unfamiliar old friend. He says he shares the class with you, though you don’t think he seems like the Anthropology type. He pats you on the shoulder and laughs at pretty much everything you say, even when you aren’t making a joke. This feels to you like condescension, but you can’t detect anything other than earnestness in the boy’s face. He looks to be in his early-to-mid twenties, but his eyes are much older.

Your daughter, Marceline, joins you. She has a guitar strapped to her back and you know from experience she isn’t above busting it out in class if she thinks it’ll make the situation funny. Her girlfriend, Bonnie, walks beside her. These are two more people you’ve known for impossibly long, and yet you struggle to pin down any specific memories associated with them. It’s as though your mind is a blank slate, with information slowly being accumulated atop it. Marceline doesn’t look like you, and you don’t think she looks like any of your exes, either. You wonder how the two of you met, then, but you know this is not something you can ask.

She looks back across the hall at you, and you abruptly realize that you’ve stopped walking. You’re staring at her, with her hand in Bonnie’s back pocket, and you feel light— happy. But you don’t have the context for these emotions. Your mind feels like an unorganized mess, as though a cosmic being has reached in and shuffled things around, removed some with the intent to put it back, only she forgot. And now nothing makes sense to you, even things that should be second nature.

Marceline’s brow furrows and her lips tug down into a frown. She presses her palm against the small of Bonnie’s back and whispers something to her, before walking back towards Simon while the other girl makes her way towards class. Somewhere along the way, the boy vanished, like as soon as he was out of your line of sight, he ceased to exist. You tense with the realization that the world around you feels more empty than it ought to be.

Marceline places a hand on your shoulder and meets your eyes. In the reflection of her deep brown irises, you see yourself with ragged white hair, and then one of you blinks, and it’s you again. “Simon,” she says carefully, biting her bottom lip and tapping a finger against your shoulder. She takes what feels like several minutes to decide what she’s going to say, though it can’t be more than thirty seconds.

“Is this about–?”

Betty Grof

There’s a reality where we got the crown (we get it in most of them, one way or another), but it wasn’t you who put it on. Simon took it out and came up behind me and popped it on my head. I remember hearing him say boop and start to laugh, and then the universe exploded around me. This, in my current state, says very little. It’s difficult for me to conceptualize what it would have felt like for my mortal brain, but I think that it was agony. It was, to my best approximation, something like having your skull split open, and then unceremoniously pouring the steaming hot knowledge of the cosmos inside.

Which is to say it was probably about as overwhelming for Simon as it was for me.

But when Simon put on the crown, in that first reality we endured together (for him. There is no first for me, nor a last, they are all as one, but it was the first reality my mortal flesh experiences, and so it is easier to describe it as the first) he only lost me. He thought, at the time, that the madness drove me away, and it took him a thousand years to learn the reality of the situation.

Perhaps it is a mercy, then, that in the reality where I don the crown first, I know immediately what happened to my Simon. The crown slips off my head, and I find him, body entombed in ice, save his head, which lolls lifeless and heavy to one side.

There’s more that happens after that, but I don’t stay long.

Simon Petrikov

Eventually, you’re able to convince Marceline that you’re quite alright, but maybe you could stand to eat soon. The two of you cut class, which makes you momentarily feel like a bit of a wild child. The University has a hall of student-run food outlets, and they vary from quite bad to decent. You are partial to the Greek-themed shop, because the chicken isn’t dry and you’ve always been a fan of tzatziki. You often keep a big tub of it in your fridge, when you aren’t living on campus.

You eat with Marceline, and she tells you that she and Bonnie are doing well, that she thinks Bonnie will graduate at the end of next semester but she’s probably going to take another year. She doesn’t mention what either of them are studying. You think that you should remember that. Why don’t you remember that? 

She asks you if you have any plans for tonight, and you tell her you have a date. Something tells you that you shouldn’t mention who it’s with, and she doesn’t pry, but she does give you a look that feels very sad, and you don’t like how it makes you feel.

Betty Grof

Simon always planned what we were going to do. While he did that, I managed time. Those sorts of things tended to get away from him. He’d get all wrapped up in research, in exploring every last inch of our ventures, and suddenly, he’d look up and it’d be night already. I always knew exactly what time it was. I learned to read the stars and the trajectory of the sun when I was young, and I’d always found comfort in the notion that no matter where I was in the world, I’d know when I was.

Now, time bends strangely around me, and there is equally no future to plan nor past to recall. Everything is happening, has happened, and will never happen. It is not something that my mortal mind was born to conceive of, though I suppose I’m well past that now.

I know all our realities, Simon. I know each of our beginnings and our ends. There are worlds where we die with our hands clasped together in the face of nuclear destruction. There are worlds where you go on without me, and others where I go on without you. There are realities where we linger together for decades, until the inevitability of death pulls us slowly and together into her arms. I spend more time than I should ruminating on these realities.

Simon Petrikov

Sometime after lunch, you end up back in your dorm room. You think you like it here, more so than you’ve liked a lot of your apartments. For one thing, you have easy access to a good library, though the University’s fiction section, as is often the case, leaves something to be desired. You have room for an armchair and a nice standing lamp. You often fall asleep in that chair, and your back does not thank you for it.

There will be none of that tonight, though, because again, you have a date.

You already look good— you always look good— but you like to dress up. Betty usually dresses comfortably, though she’ll put on her best if the situation calls for it, but a regular Friday evening date does not. She’ll be here in a sweater and slacks, and you’ll think she’s the most beautiful thing in the universe. You know, at this point, very little about the universe. You think you know quite a bit, but you’re mistaken. It’s better that way. Our mortal brains aren’t designed to comprehend such concepts. I would know.

Regardless of how good you currently look (very), you strip out of your blazer and button-down. Your tie is a clip-on, which you wouldn’t be caught dead with on a date. Betty doesn’t understand why it matters if they basically look the same, and doesn’t seem to get it no matter how many times you emphasize that it’s the principle of the matter. But that’s fine; you’re dressing up for you, and a little bit for Betty, but mostly for you.

In the end, you aren’t ready until two minutes before your date’s supposed to start. You’ve put on another nearly identical button-down which you insist is your nice one, as well as some nice black slacks and a matching suit jacket. Your tie is properly tied and not clipped on, like some sort of amateur. You fiddle with it in the mirror until you hear a knock on the door, right on time.

You glance away, and out of the corner of your eye, you once again see a flash of blue, but it’s gone when you whip your head back around. You inhale deeply, and exhale slowly through your nose.

I knock again.

You answer.

???

We’re in your dorm room. You’re looking at me, in that lovelorn way you always wore on date nights. It’s like warmth found a home in your eyes, like I can see the burning of your heart through them. You invite me inside and tell me you’ve put the kettle on for tea. You got the English breakfast tea I like.

We’re holding hands under the stars. The dewy grass seeps through clothing that’s too thin for the midnight chill as we sleep under the cold and unforgiving night sky. We’ll survive, but our aging bodies won’t thank us, and when we develop colds a week from now, we know who to blame.

We’re old together. Wrinkles tug at your face in a way I think is terribly handsome, but which you often fuss over. Day by day, simple things grow harder, and when your eyesight starts to go, you cup my face in your hands and whisper, “I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t see your beautiful face.” I reassure you that you have lived without the sight before and will again, but this doesn’t soothe you. I wish it would.

We’re a thousand years beyond a time we should have ever been allowed to live, and I’m sacrificing my mind to restore yours. I never have a single doubt that you would do the same.

I know now that this is true, I’ve seen it come to fruition, in another life.

The bomb goes off while we lay, hand in hand.

You die cradled in my arms.

We’re in the dorm again, and you’re looking at me with an expression I cannot comprehend. I’ve known you for countless lifetimes, and yet there are still times where you perplex me.

“I don’t know where you end,” I say, and without missing a beat, you return, “I don’t know where I begin.”

Our realities, everything we are, is a web of entanglement from which neither of us can escape, no matter how powerful we become. My end is your beginning, my beginning your end, and everything in between those times, folding in upon each other in an incomprehensible cacophony of misery. I know all, and yet, at times even I struggle to understand it.

You are there, and then you are not.

I can always reach you, in a way, if I so choose. But we will never be as we once were. I know too much now.

Were I capable, I would weep for the loss.

#adventure time #atimers #simon petrikov #betty grof #petrigrof #golbetty #writing tag