#maybe i cried when i created the first version | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

s4lv4tions · 8 months

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numerology; nsfw

pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

You don't notice at first; he's quiet — abnormally so —, and his face remains pristine, unchanged. The only hint you get is a small, barely audible sniffle that stops as quickly as it starts — and you think he wants it that way. You don't think he's ever cried in front of anyone.

That's why you don't say anything. Just continue washing the suds from his hair, and pretend that the tears rolling down his cheeks are beads of water dripping from his hair — but you take extra care to massage the conditioner in, and peck his cheek as you finger-comb through silky, cloud-white strands.

It occurs to you afterwards — as he lounges on your bed, scrolling through channels with a wayward hand planted on his stomach — that perhaps, it's the first time somebody has taken care of him. The first time ever, or just the first time since… since…

Geto Suguru's face smiles up at you from your vanity — a tiny polaroid, his face no bigger than the nail of your thumb. Beside him, Satoru grins, cheeky and bright-eyed — you don't think he's ever been any different —, and in the corner, the smudge of your thumb covers the lens. You don’t have to lift the photo and check the back to know what’s written there, in your scratchy, looping scrawl; the strongest, 2006.

"Lord of the Rings?" Satoru calls, carefree as ever. A yawn catches in his throat, and his fingers slip underneath his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his chest. "Ooh, haven't seen this one yet…"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

It was a better time. Less pain. Less responsibility. Less death — or maybe the same amount, just shielded by the blinding cover of childhood inexperience. Suguru was still alive and burning bright, Satoru was happy (happier. He didn't cry in the bath, at least). Shoko didn’t self-medicate as intensively as she does now. The days were spent in childish ignorance and stupid indulgence, and even when things seemed their darkest, you never lost hope.

(It probably says a lot about you that, if given the chance, you wouldn't return. Whether that's because of what you know is bound to happen, and the pain is too much to experience again, or because you're so utterly pathetic that you'll take sadness and grief and a tiny shred of affection over… whatever it is you were back then, you don't know. A smudge in the corner of a picture of the jujutsu world's greatest.)

Suguru's eyes seem to burn into you. You turn the picture over, and rejoin Satoru on your bed.

"It's been two years."

Satoru doesn't like to talk after sex. Not in any way that's really meaningful, you mean, nothing that lets you in. He loves jokes, empty small talk, work politics. Chatter that's deep enough to show he cares a little without bearing any part of himself — your injury healed up? When was the last time you had a break? There's a new teppanyaki place in Shinjuku, I'll treat you. Don't work yourself too hard, you'll put me out of business!

If you're being honest, you didn't go into this expecting anything more than a person to scratch an itch with.

You're already friends — though, you're not sure friends totally encapsulates what Satoru is to you, romantic or platonic. You've been friends since you were 12. Satoru, Suguru, you — and then Shoko, when you all met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. That's how it's always been.

You swear sometimes you know him better than yourself. You swear sometimes it's his voice you think with. Is that what "friends" encompasses? Somehow, it doesn't seem enough.

Whatever. The point is that your relationship with Satoru is already strong; foundations tall and proud and unshakeable. You didn't start fucking Satoru in the hopes of forming a relationship — one was already there.

It's just... Satoru is young, yes, and he enjoys flirting, but (contrary to common belief) he's not all that keen to sleep with the first person who's willing. You don’t say this with the belief that you’re special. It’s just that with work, and especially with — y'know, his… romantic history, Satoru hasn’t found the time or will to just sleep around. At least, according to him.

Sheer willpower isn't enough to make those urges go away, though, and… well, you had them too, and you were willing, and he trusts you. And you'll take anything he'll give you, really, even if it's just scraps. Even if sometimes it makes you feel worse.

Today's one of those days.

You feel sick, after. Not because of him — because of yourself. Your polaroid of Getou and any other photo he's in has been turned over, anything that could remind you of him tucked away, but — but he's everywhere today, everywhere, and you'd fucked Satoru despite it. And Satoru is covered in memories of Getou, of course. Every freckle, every shifting of muscle, every jut of bone — did Getou touch him here? Caress every bit of him he could get his hands on? Tangle his hands in his snow-white hair, breathe against his collarbone?

When you came, you cried. Pretended it was just because it was so intense, but behind your eyelids, dark, cat-like eyes stared back.

"Hm?" Satoru hums as if he didn't hear you, eyes fixed on the TV. Dumb doesn't suit him — it's honestly a bit of an insult for him to even try it. Like you didn't sense the stiffness of his limbs the second he'd stepped inside, or the crumbling edge of his smile, or the way he'd forced you to love him harder — pull his hair harder, scratch his back deeper, his Infinity turned off and his skin yours for the marking.

Satoru's mannerisms are scribed into your brain. You catch yourself emulating them, sometimes; hands waving, head tilting, grin wide and posture open. You wear it like an oversized coat, an ill-fitting costume, and sometimes you wish you could stop taking on pieces of him. The more you take, the more you must throw away — and it's Suguru that your memory discards. You find yourself forgetting how he hummed when he woke up from a nap, or filled his cheeks with food like a hamster; how he scrunched his face up when he laughed, pretty all the while…

The point is that even with his incredible knowledge, his awesome strength, the sheer holiness of his existence — you know Satoru. And the fact that he came to you today isn't mere coincidence.

You decide to come out with it. You've tiptoed around it for 24 months, give or take, had a shockingly brief mourning period before the jujutsu world forced you along, and… even with what he did, Suguru deserves better. "Suguru died today."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

You'd spent the day staring out at the grey sky, the miserable sight of soaked pavement. Grey, grey, grey. Concrete jungle. Heavy rain clouds and an ocean of multicoloured umbrellas, bobbing and rolling to destinations unknown. You hadn't said it aloud; hadn't even thought of it, specifically. The knowledge of it had just sat over your head like a thick, sweltering fog — and if you know Satoru at all, you know that he'd done the same. Maybe he hid it better.

You don't have to look now to know that his lips are pressed thin. You find the sudden thought of looking him in the eyes daunting, anyways, so you turn onto your side, back facing him, and pick mindlessly at the sheets. You don't want to see what his reaction will be when you say—

"Did you know that I loved him — back then?"

You don't want to see the shock, or the confusion — and you'd rather not see a lack of them, either. What's worse, you wonder — him knowing and loving Suguru too, or not knowing and loving him?

"...Yes."

You screw your eyes shut and try to will away the sudden surge of cold, like a sharpened dagger to your chest.

(It turns out that knowing is much more painful.)

Suguru Geto had been the apple of your eye ever since you'd met. 11 and gangly and stupid in a way that all children were always stupid, Suguru had been a bit kinder than his white-haired counterpart. Satoru, being Satoru Gojo, had grown up with no fear of authority, no mindfulness for his less-powerful peers as anything more than people who existed around him. You and Suguru were allowed the title of friends, but very few were. Anyway — he grew out of that mindset, of course, but your fondness for Suguru stayed.

(Though they'd always seemed to be on another level than you — not even just in terms of power, but… just caught up in each other, always. Suguru had only ever wanted Satoru. And vice versa.)

And then Suguru changed. Right under your nose, he changed, and his sudden quietness made sense. His fatigue. The way his hands would always shake when swallowing an exorcised curse, always had since you were kids, and then suddenly they were ingested with a scary calm. Nobody understands the taste of curses. Not even you, not even when he’d explained it in sickening detail.

You sigh, then. Tired and lethargic and not from physically straining yourself for an hour. This is bone-deep, soul-weary. It's been held in for 730 days, or maybe more. Maybe you've carried it with you since birth. "I never apologised."

"For what?" Satoru asks — and he laughs, jolly, and the sound fits awkwardly in his throat. A clear attempt at feigning indifference, but he's a bad liar. He always has been, because he's never needed to lie. Perks of being the strongest, you guess. You can just come out and say shit — and if you can't, not saying anything technically isn’t lying.

"I hated you, after," you confess. You dig your thumbnail hard intoyour pinky finger, taking momentary refuge in the sharp shock of pain. "I couldn't stand to look at you. When I did, I saw… I saw what you did. What you had, and what you had thrown away. I blamed you for Suguru. I blamed everyone except Suguru."

Another snicker, a bit too humourless. "You can't stand to look at me now."

"I…" You don't know what to say to that.

Truth is, you don't want to see his face. Contorted in pity, or disgust, or sadness for you. You've gotten used to living in his shadow — most everyone has — but that doesn’t ease the ever-present blanket of insecurity that you carry around your shoulders. It doesn’t dull the ache of inferiority you’ve been housing in your chest from the moment you were saddled with your technique. As you aged, you got better at hiding it, and you generally prefer your self-pity to go unnoticed, but Satoru—

He could always read you like a book. And you hated it. You hated being pitied by someone who was as powerful as him — someone as close to God as one could get. It was demeaning. Patronising. It makes you feel like a child again, bowing your head as your mother makes excuses for you.

You shift over — onto your back, and then onto your other side — and you look at him. You force yourself. Blankets pooled around his waist, his skin so pale it could be translucent, eyes icy blue and framed with fluffy white.

"You were forced to do it," you murmur. Your eyes remain trained on his chin — his are much too bright, much too all-seeing for comfort. "If you hadn't, he would've gotten worse. He never would have stopped. You knew that, you always did. It… took me a while to come to terms with it."

Satoru sighs. Then, he slumps down so that — like you — his head rests flat on the pillow, and his body arcs towards yours. He's forced himself into your sights again, in a way that’s gentle, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to figure out what he's doing: forcing you to face him.

"Would it have made you feel better," Satoru begins, reaching forward to brush his fingers against your chin, "if you were there when I did it?"

Would it have?

Would it have given you closure? Would you no longer spend your nights wondering what he'd looked like, what his last words were, his last thoughts? If he had spittled and roared in anger, if he had wept in fear, if he had attempted a smile, a joke? If he thought of you, or if you were just another insignificant blip in his radar?

In your mind, Suguru exists as his 17 year old self — smiling and mischievous, polite yet humorous. He puts extra broccoli on your plate and gently berates you to eat more. He tells you that you're a precious part of the team, that none of them would be who they are without you. He calls you crybaby because you always wear your heart on your sleeve, and tells you not to worry about things you cannot change.

Change what you can. Forget the rest and leave it to me, crybaby.

The bubbling hatred that had festered inside him has no place in your head. You want him to stay as he is, your Suguru that was never yours, shining like gold in your mind.

"No. He hated me at the end, I think," you say quietly. For a second, you dare to meet his eyes — bright and pointed in how they stare at you. You know he can see the tears that have begun to burn in your waterline, the way you ball your fists so hard you dig half-moon into your skin. He doesn’t need to be blessed with the Six Eyes to see.

"I wasn't interested in changing the world like he was, even with my Technique. That made him despise me, I think."

Satoru stares for a few more seconds. You wonder what he's thinking about. A second in your time is a lifetime in Satoru's; he must be thinking hard.

But he blinks, at last; sighs so deeply that his chest caves in with it, before he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, only atomic space between you.

There's nothing sexual about it. You're nothing but bones and skin and blood, here. He moulds your head to his shoulder with one large hand and cocoons you in his embrace, warm. Protected. You're not sure who the action is meant to comfort.

And just when you think the conversation is over — just when minutes have passed with nothing but the sound of the TV between you both — he speaks.

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

You don't want to know what that means. You're only beginning to get over it, two years later.

Satoru is holding three onigiri in one hand, and two Starbucks' cups in the other — extra sugar, extra cream, extra ice, extra unicorn-marketing, just the way you both like it.

"There she is!" Is the first thing he says as he meets you just outside the metro, grinning.

It's sweltering hot today — the sun had risen early and would surely set late, and Satoru seems to be taking advantage of it. Gone is his Jujutsu Tech uniform and thick blindfold, but he's stuck with the all-black theme like he usually does — black jeans, black linen shirt, black socks and shoes. Even the frames of his sunglasses are black.

(Handsome. He's handsome. He's always been handsome — years later, you'd think you'd stop feeling the effects of it.)

Lucky for him. You're not, y'know, the strongest sorcerer in the last century, so there's no leeway for you — and even in your summer uniform, the skirt and short-sleeved blouse, you're sweating. Your only respite is that the combined force of you and Satoru will mean this mission is going to be a breeze.

Satoru tsks. "Took your time. I almost ate your onigiri."

A man nearby jogs past, clearly in a rush, and Satoru has to step closer to you to avoid him. He could've stayed still. He wouldn't have touched him, anyway, with his Limitless.

"And you would've had to buy another, genius."

A pout. "You only love me for my bank account, don't you?"

(He's joking. It's a joke.

But your hand shakes — a miniscule tremor — as you reach out to take one of the cups, and you know he sees it because he's Satoru and he sees everything. You turn away as quickly as you can, setting off in the direction of whatever place it is you're here for, and pretend that the fact that he can say it so casually doesn't kinda fucking hurt.

(He could never say it like that with Suguru — so bluntly, so crassly. Not without softened eyes and softened smiles and a gentle tilt of his head — those are mannerisms reserved only for him, never to be seen again. Instead, you get snickers and digs in the arm and teasing pulls of your hair. Of course it’s a joke. That’s all you are.

Perhaps you should just be grateful for what you get. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a man you once loved. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a dead man. Perhaps, in the end, you just love the pain of it all.))

"Yeah," you reply, taking a large, sugary sip. "And don't you forget it, either."

Satoru catches up to you quickly, effortlessly; his arm flops around your shoulder as he tugs you in the opposite direction, chastising you for going the wrong way — but it stays there long after it needs to.

Itadori Yuuji — Sukuna's dead-but-not-really vessel — thinks your cursed technique is powerful. He thinks it’s amazing that you can use reverse cursed technique — you must be really powerful, right? Gojo-sensei says you’re special grade. He also thinks you're very pretty. He tells you this over his fourth grilled pork belly wrap — this one bursting at the seams with kimchi, garlic, and roasted sesame seeds.

He doesn't say it in a flirtatious way — it's just an observation to him, simple and blunt, and you figure he has about as much of a filter as Satoru does.

"O-oh," you say, metal tongs frozen over the sizzling meat. "Thank you, Yuuji."

You had briefly met him for the first time before his death — Nobara, too. Megumi, the third piece of the golden trio, has been something of a little brother ever since Satoru had taken him in, and you know him well enough to know that Yuuji's death (or lack thereof) is weighing on him terribly.

(There are too many parallels you could make. Suguru and Satoru. Haibara and Nanami.)

Hiding it does make you feel guilty. To experience that grief, that loss — even if it will soon go away when Yuuji rejoins jujutsu society — isn’t something to take lightly. But Yuuji needs a guide that isn’t completely off the rails. Satoru and you balance each other out, and balance seems to be something Yuuji needs.

He reminds you terribly of Satoru when he was younger. Maybe that's why you have such a fond spot for him — he's too goofy and well-meaning and genuine to dislike.

"Why are you acting surprised?" Gripes Satoru, chewing with his mouth open. "I tell you that all the time."

Your eyes narrow. You place a perfectly cooked slice of marinated beef on his plate. "You're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whines. "We're best friends, crybaby!"

"You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference. And don’t call me that."

"Is there?" Satoru asks, turning to Yuuji for guidance. The teen boy shrugs, preoccupied by assembling his newest monstrosity. "I call you pretty, too."

"Yeah, when—"

When you're eight inches deep in me, face buried in my neck, trying to get yourself off. Your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought, and you shut your mouth. Yuuji doesn't notice your slip up, busy as he is; Satoru does completely, and fixes you with a grin so sharp that you vow to not give him any more meat until Yuuji is completely full.

"It's not the same," you say, voice final. It's a lighthearted lunch. You don't want to ruin it by getting touchy over semantics, and that's exactly what'll happen if you keep going. "You say it to reward me. Like tossing a dog a bone."

You reach for the scissors to snip the meat into little pieces — and in doing so, you miss the brief frown that presses against Satoru's brow.

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

Satoru has known you for five years when he realises that he resents you. Not completely, and not for one particular or solid reason, either. He prefers not to think about it, in any case, because you're one of his closest friends — and even at 17, he knows that that's hard to come by. Especially as the Strongest.

Satoru stares up at his ceiling; stares at the miniature striations only he can see, the starburst-shaped gyrations of clay used to finish it off.

Tonight, he's thinking about it. And many other things.

He hates that you're so hesitant about everything — he hates that you believe yourself so weak that you have to tiptoe. You, with your reverse cursed technique — which is a feat in and of itself — that could transcend time and space, just like he could. A technique passed down for hundreds and hundreds of years, accumulating power all the while…

(Your technique has lots of rules and regulations, of course. A handicap, and he understands it frustrates you, but his own frustration eclipses his understanding. Why should someone so strong feel anything but their own strength?)

He hates that you curl in on yourself when you're sad, or lonely, or angry. He hates that you wear your heart on your sleeve — he's never allowed himself to, not fully. He can't, never fully, because there are people who are watching him, people who hate him, people who want him dead. He can joke. He can make his political desires clear — but he can’t love like he wants to, and God forbid he cries.

He hates that you close your eyes and bask when it's sunny, like a cat in a sunspot; hates that you remember that he doesn't like chicken wings and prefers thighs; he especially hates that you watch over Suguru like it's your job, when Suguru doesn't need it.

And some part of Satoru hates Suguru, too. It was strange for him to come to terms with it, fond of him as he is, but as he grows Satoru realises that there's no love of his that isn't closely affiliated with hate. It makes the love all the more strong.

Satoru, for one, dislikes how polite Suguru is, even when he doesn't need to be. He hates that Suguru becomes a straight-faced, unfeeling thing when he's upset, and tries to hide it — the emptiness in his eyes unsettles him like nothing else.

Most of all, above all, Satoru hates that Suguru loves you, crybaby, and is too pussy to do shit about it. Satoru doesn't understand why, anyways, because he'd made it clear that if he wanted, Suguru could have you both and Satoru wouldn't care. Usually, the thought would offend him. How can you love someone when you already love me? When you've already sworn yourself to me? You already have the strongest, who else do you need?

But… he doesn't know. He kinda understands. You're precious to him, too, after all, sunflower soaking up the sun.

Like he said: there's no love of his that isn’t closely affiliated with hate.

Six and a half hours after the hours-long meeting that followed the ruined School Goodwill Event, you find yourselves in a diner somewhere in Harajuku. It’s one of those weird fusion places, loaning ornamentation and tokens from classic American diners, serving omurice with fries, sushi with mashed potatoes, with a cute little mascot that looks like Elvis. It’s loud enough and bright enough to make you feel timeless. It's a sensation you can appreciate.

Something’s been telling you that time’s ticking, and you’re not quite sure what it is. Trauma, probably. Anxiety. The fact that curses have been banding together, learning spoken language, amassing power — planning an attack on Jujutsu Tech, gaining intelligence, gaining anger.

Satoru doesn’t say it — doesn’t want to say it — but you think it’s unnerved him, too. The last time outsiders entered school grounds was… two years ago, wasn’t it? It’s crazy. Everything always seems to lead back to Suguru.

The attack has fueled something in both of you, anyways; something that makes you both stay up instead of knocking out like you usually do; something that makes you both hungry and restless and liable to travel across Tokyo past midnight. By public transport, no less. No warping or high-speed flying for you, tonight.

But you appreciate it. And you think that Satoru is taking things slow for the same reasons you want to — to take things in, to appreciate what you never think to appreciate. To admire the mundane, even for a little while. Satoru’s less emotionally attached to the jujutsu-less aspects of life than you are — bullet trains and waiting in line and standing on the train platform, escalators and traffic — but he enjoys them all the same when he has time to. And it’s not often The Strongest gets to experience pure, genuine normality, too, so maybe sitting in this gaudy diner and watching the world pass you by is a luxury he rarely affords himself.

He orders the most complicated drink they have — a sakura-caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and an entire slice of cheesecake. He’s down to the last dregs of melting cream within 10 minutes, swiping fries from your plate between sips, ignoring your chides of rotten teeth and high blood sugar.

Blindfold swapped for glasses. Strands of hair drifting down against his forehead.

You’re always reminded at the worst times of how handsome he is. It’s not like it’s a secret, or he’s unaware of it — and he takes pride in his looks, if his extensive skincare shelf and general attitude is anything to go by — but he puts much more stock in his strength, in his usefulness to others, his intelligence. The things he can provide for others. Not many people realise that.

Maybe you shouldn’t act so high and mighty. It’s not like you don’t appreciate his appearance as much as the next person — hell, half the time you’re trying to stop it from distracting you — but maybe you get a pass. Y’know, as a person who actually has reason to marvel over the stretch of his neck and the flush of his cheeks and how his lips go the prettiest pink when you kiss him. Or the cords of muscle along his arms; the slender-yet-thick bands of muscle of his chest and legs. The large, veiny expanse of hand — slim, delicate fingers wrapped around a paper straw…

"Are you gonna eat those?" Says Satoru, slurping obnoxiously. “Haven't eaten since dinner."

You push the basket across the table, uncharacteristically void of argument. "Go crazy."

Satoru sets his empty glass aside, but the straw remains in one hand. The other he uses to pluck up fries, 4 or 5 at a time, his gaze suddenly fixed on you as he chews nonchalantly.

"Y'know," he says, licking salt from his fingertips, jabbing the straw in your direction, "I can always tell when you're horny."

"Excuse me?"

"You squirm," Satoru continues — matter-of-fact, casual, as if he's talking about the weather. "And you get quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person,” you snap, nails pressing against your palms under the table. “Sorry I know when to shut the fuck up—”

“And then you get flustered. And when you’re flustered, or embarrassed, you get angry.” He raises his hand — signals the cute waitress for another basket of fries, and leans back with his arms splayed along the back of the booth. “Don’t look so surprised! How long have we known each other?”

If you were a better person, you’d probably admit that yes, he’s right. You do get quiet when you’re horny, and you do get angry when you’re flustered — if you were a worse person, though, you’d remark on how you're the first person he crawls to when he’s sad, or overwhelmed. How getting you into bed and losing yourselves in each other is a sort of therapy for him. How he always tries to distract you with cheeky grins and sly, flirty comments, but then afterwards he cries in the bath as you clean him up.

You don't say that, obviously. Seems like a pretty shitty thing to bring up today of all days. He'd probably deny it anyways, but you don't think it's a coincidence that the attack has left him restless and he obviously wants to take you home.

The new fries are delivered to the table, but he looks right past them. He bows his head slightly, glasses slipping a little further down his nose so that his white-framed eyes peek over the top of them.

"Let's warp home," Satoru says — and oh. There's that voice. That drop in tone, that lack of boisterous humour he always employs. It's soft enough to have goosebumps rising on the back of your arms, smooth enough to have you squirming — yes, squirming, you admit it — in your seat. "Alright?"

"Yes." And it's embarrassingly breathless, and embarrassingly quick, but Satoru doesn't tease you. Just smiles, raises a hand for the bill, and watches you all the while.

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

Count, because it's all you can do. Everything else is lost to you.

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

Because Geto Suguru is dead. Dead, in the ground, no longer breathing, no longer living. Satoru had killed him. Satoru had demolished him.

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick.

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living.

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice.

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all.

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later.

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it.

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased.

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness.

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths?

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns.

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay.

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will.

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body.

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised.

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him.

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw.

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries—

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of.

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish.

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die.

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact?

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves.

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin.

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata.

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight.

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry.

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities.

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless.

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce.

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier.

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release.

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes.

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever.

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness.

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more.

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful.

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far.

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again.

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you.

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others.

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips—

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk.

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

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weirdmarioenemies · 2 months

Text

Name: Skud

Debut: Kirby 64: The Crystal Shards

SKUD!!!! Who does not like Skud!! This charming little rocket has been terrorizing the hearts of many a Kirby 64 player since 2000, and is not stopping soon. Just look at that smile!

Kirby 64, as you may know, is a game centered around mixing and matching abilities. It's kind of a whole thing! But there's only so many enemies that were introduced to represent the seven abilities that Kirby 64 actually uses, so to keep things fresh and never stale, they made sure there were four enemies per ability; usually, most of these enemies would be brand new! Bomb is the exception, with FIVE enemies to represent it, and four of them being new ones! Skud is one of these!!

If you hadn't looked at what Skud looks like, you might be wondering what it does to earn the title of a Bomb enemy. And to that I say, look at it again! In fact, look at it again even if you did pay attention to its design, because Skud is simply that wonderful. It's a cute little rocket that aimlessly walks to and fro on ground or blocks, but once it sees Kirby, it makes its attack!

As you can guess, rather than throwing bombs like its predecessors Poppy Bros. Jr. and Jungle Bomb (the latter of which doesn't appear in Kirby 64, rest in peace), it turns into a typical missile and launches full force at Kirby, exploding once it hits something! It's kind of like Foley, in that sense, but more homing missile-y.

It is no secret that I love Skud. You love Skud! Everyone loves: Skud. But what are Skud's origins? Are they man, or machine? You first find one in front of Dedede's Castle—did Dedede create them? After all, he made his own mechanical hammer as Masked Dedede. But Skud seems so lively, and is never launched from anywhere–he just minds his own business until he Doesn't.

So, does that mean he's not mechanical? Consider, though, other enemies that protect (another one of) Dedede's castle(s) include Moto Shotzo and Plugg, indisputably living machines! And I haven't mentioned this, but Skud loses his face and feet in favor of fins when he launches!

Personally, I think that Skuds are like ants–they're alive, they're organic, but they just love to self-destruct for fun! And what about how they lose their faces when launching, you might ask? Maybe they feel bad whenever Kirby cries out in pain and don't want to show it! After all, for them this is just playing around!

I feel it worth noting that Bomb is one of the few abilities in Kirby 64 that, when combined with itself, does NOT make an 'enhanced' version of the original ability! Instead, Kirby starts shooting homing missiles out of his mouth...which look VERY MUCH like Skud! While these are faceless, slim and long, there's no mistaking those striking white-with-red-details-colored rockets for anything else. It's a really cute detail, and makes Skud all the more special!

Please look at Skud

#skud #kirby 64 #kirby 64 the crystal shards #kirby #kirby enemies #not mario #funky friday #mod tweeter #:>

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thoseboysinblue · 7 months

Text

I Kissed Someone New Last Night

Christian Pulisic x reader

You visit your best friend, Christian, in Milan after a break up.

Word count: 4150+

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, mentions of weight loss, mentions of death of parents

Song Inspo: Kelsea Ballerini's Penthouse (Healed Version)

Requested: No

"Come to Milan" he pleads with you through the phone, "I'm worried about you, y/n."

"Christian, you know I can't do that," you frown at him.

"Please," he says quietly, "you've lost too much weight, you're not taking care of yourself, and no offense but you kind of look like shit," he tries to lighten the mood just a bit.

The truth is, there is nothing stopping you from hopping on the next flight to see your best friend and both of you know it. You broke off your engagement a few months ago, after finding out your fiancé was cheating on you. You also recently quit your job because no matter how hard you tried you always were bumping into him and you desperately needed a fresh start.

You had considered moving to Florida to be closer to Christian's family, the only real support system you had left. And even though he was far away, Christian never failed to be there for you through every heartbreak you had endured in your short life.

The night your mom died when the two of you were in high school, he dropped everything to be by your side, staying with you through all of it, holding you when you cried, staying strong for you when you completely fell apart.

He flew home as soon as he heard the news of your father's passing a few years later, and again, he was your rock. As everything in your life seemed to crash down, he was the constant, steady presence.

His family had welcomed you with open arms, including you in their holidays, family vacations, and trips to visit Christian and watch him play. They always made sure you felt like you had a place to call home. In recent years, you had opted to go to Christian for holidays so that he wouldn't have to spend them alone, the two of you setting about creating your own traditions. That was until your ex came along and you felt like you should spend holidays with him, but it broke your heart knowing Christian was spending them alone again.

Christian never really liked your ex, he couldn't put his finger on exactly why, but something about him made his guard go up. And it broke his heart when he found out he was right all along, maybe if he had said something he could have spared you the heartbreak, but you seemed happy and he wasn't going to interfere if that was truly the case.

"Come see me, I'll take care of you, I'll feed you pasta and let you get drunk on Italian wine. We can see the city together, I haven't gotten to do much exploring yet. It will be good for you to get away, take a break, get some fresh air, come on y/n, please?" he continues to plead with you.

"Ok" you whisper and you see his face light up, immediately grabbing his laptop and searching for flights before you have a chance to change your mind.

"How soon can you leave, looks like I can get you on a flight tonight, or tomorrow," he grins into the phone.

"Christian, you don't have to do that, I'll book something," you roll your eyes at him. He never failed to be generous and take care of you, whatever you needed, you didn't even have to ask most of the time.

"Nope. Not happening. Tonight or tomorrow, y/n? You better give me an answer or I'm closing h my eyes and clicking on whatever I land on," he chuckles.

"Fuck it, tonight," you grin at him, the first genuine smile he's seen from you in as long as he can remember.

You have to admit that the thought of landing in Italy tomorrow morning to spend however long you wanted with Christian makes you a little dizzy.

"Ok, pack your bags sweetheart, I'm sending you your boarding pass now," he smiles at you, "fuck I'm so excited to see you, it's been ages since we've gotten to spend time together."

"Christian, I just saw you this summer in Florida," you chuckle at him.

"Yeah, but that was less than 24 hours and you had the dickhead with you so it doesn't really count," he huffs at you.

"Christian this boarding pass says seat 4C, you did not just book me a first class ticket did you, you jackass."

"I sure did, because I can, and because I wanted to, and because there wasn't much left on the flight anyways. Now, get off the phone and start packing. Call me when you leave for the airport. Love you, y/n."

"Love you too, Chris." you shake your head at him before you hang up.

A few hours later, you have taken care of anything that might need your attention in the next few weeks since you were unsure of exactly when you would be back. You had packed and showered, and were set to leave for the airport. Making one final check that you had everything you needed, you call Christian, who answers sleepily, "I'm headed to the airport," you smile, even though he can't see you. "Ok, I'll see you in the morning," he says through a yawn, "safe travels."

"Thank you for this" you whisper but you can hear him snoring through the phone so you quietly end the call, after whispering another "love you."

You phone dings when you turn it off of airplane mode and you look down to see a message from Christian.

Christian: ciao bella 🤌🏻 there will be a car waiting for you to take you to my apartment. I'll be in training when you land, but should be home when you get there. Can't wait to see you 🫶🏻 Love you.

Y/N: oh god, am I going to be subjected to your attempts at learning Italian?

Y/N: thank you for the flight and arranging the car. I'll meet you at home. I can't wait to see you either. Love you, Chris 🫶🏻

Christian: do not insult my Italian, y/n. On my way home now, see you there 😍

When you arrive, he is waiting outside for you, pulling you into a warm embrace. It feels like he might crush you, but being in his arms heals your soul just a tiny bit.

"You've bulked up," you chuckle, your head resting against his chest. "You're skin and bones" he whispers leaning down to kiss the top of your head.

"Come on" he says retrieving your bags from the car and thanking the driver, waving off your attempts to help carry your things.

He leads you inside his new apartment, sitting your bags just inside the door before intertwining his fingers with yours, "let me show you around," he smiles at you adoringly.

He leads you from room to room, letting you know his plans for each of the ones that aren't quiet fully furnished yet. He grabs your bags as you follow him up the stairs opening the door to what you presume is his bedroom.

"Christian, this is gorgeous," you say taking in the room, the view out of his window to die for.

"It is," he smiles, never taking his eyes off of you.

You and Christian always share a bed when you are together so you aren't sure why it makes you slightly nervous to think about staying with him now, but it does. Your stomach flips as he moves your bag into the walk in closet, sitting your toiletry bag on the bathroom counter.

"Are you tired?" he whispers tucking a loose strand of hair around your ear and settling his hand on you jaw, smiling a the way you lean into him and shake your head, your eyes already a little brighter.

"Hungry?" he grins when you nod.

"You feel up to going somewhere, or do you want me to cook here, or we can order in?"

"We can go out, but can I have a few minutes to freshen up? You know I always feel gross after a long flight."

"Of course," he smiles, leading you into the bathroom, grabbing a towel for you and turning on the shower.

"Thank you," you whisper, wrapping your arms around his waist, "for everything," a couple of tears slip from your eyes which you try to hide from him but he definitely notices.

"Always, y/n" he breathes out, kissing you on the forehead.

After your shower, you wrap yourself in a towel, walking into Christian's room so that you can grab some clothes out of your suitcase. Christian is sitting on the bed when you walk out of the bathroom and his heart sinks when he realizes just how thin you've gotten. He knows it's just from the stress, and that you tend to lose weight when you are dealing with heavy emotions, and that you always return to your normal with a little TLC, usually from him.

He doesn't say anything, he knows he doesn't have to, you can read perfectly well the look of concern on his face.

"I'll be fine, Christian," you whisper as he nods.

"I know you will be now," he offers you a weak smile, but the look of concern is still evident.

You quickly get dressed, noticing that Christian has already unpacked your things and placed them on the empty shelves in his closet, your heart fluttering at the kind gesture.

"Come here" he gestures, patting the empty space on the bed beside him.

You waste no time in climbing over him and tucking yourself into his side, your head resting on his chest as he scratches your back.

"You know I'm here for anything you need, right? Forever." he speaks quietly.

You nod, allowing the familiar sound of his heart and his scent to wash over you. You never feel more cared for than you do when you are wrapped in Christian's arms, his warm embrace always soothing you, no matter what is going on in your life.

"You sure you don't want a nap," he asks quietly, a small yawn escaping his lips.

"We can nap if you are tired, Chris," you whisper.

"That's not what I asked," he chuckles.

Your stomach rumbles loudly and he kisses you on the top of the head, "food first, then naps."

He takes you to a small restaurant close to his apartment, filling you with as much pasta as you can hold before you make the short walk back to his place.

Once you arrive back at Christian's, he closes the room darkening shades in his living room and the two of you settle down on the couch to watch a movie.

Before long, you fall asleep wrapped up in Christian's arms and he does the same. You aren't sure how long you've slept when you stir slightly, waking Christian up.

"You ok?" he whispers into the dark, a sigh escaping his lips when you nod and nuzzle your face into his chest. You let out a giggle when his stomach rumbles, "you can't be hungry again, Chris."

"I'm starving, actually" he chuckles when you move slightly allowing him to stand up and pull you to your feet. He makes the two of you a sandwich, both of you eating before heading up to get changed for bed.

You wander out of the en-suite bathroom in Christian's room after finishing your skincare to find Christian sitting in the bed, already under the covers.

You give him a hesitant look, chewing on your bottom lip, "you sure you want me to stay in here, I could stay in the guest room or..." you trail off as he stands up and makes his way over to you wrapping you in a hug.

"Why wouldn't you stay in here, we've been sharing a bed since we were kids, y/n," he says quietly his hand stroking your back.

"I don't know," you whisper, "I just wasn't sure you wanted me in here."

"Of course I do," he says taking your hand and guiding you towards the bed, "but only if you want to be in here. I can definitely get you set up in the guest room if you would feel more comfortable."

"No, this is fine," you offer him a smile, your moment of anxiety passing.

"You know, I think my parents always thought we were up to something when we kept sharing a bed when we got older," he chuckles, "led to me getting the talk from my dad on more than one occasion."

"No, really?" you groan, your cheeks painted with embarrassment as you try to hide your face with your hands.

"Mmmhmmm" he laughs pulling your hands from your face, "I think they were worried that we might figure out that one of us is a boy and the other is a girl when we were younger, but as we got older, I think there were secretly rooting for it."

"I figured they would eventually put a stop to it, but I guess they trusted you far more than the trusted me," he grins.

"Guess we've disappointed them then," you chuckle tucking yourself into his side as he kisses the top of your head.

"Sleep well, y/n, wake me if you need anything," he whispers as he turns off the lights leaving the two of you wrapped up in nothing but the darkness and each other's arms.

The next several days in Milan Christian works to improve your mood as much as he can, enjoying when he catches flickers of you returning to your normal self.

You wake up early with him, enjoying quiet mornings before he has to leave for training. He even asks if he can bring you along for a few sessions giving you a chance to catch up with his old Chelsea teammates. You spend afternoons wandering the city and learning Italian with him. Evenings, which he knows you typically dread, are spent, snuggled up together watching movies or binge watching some of your favorite series.

Being constantly surrounded by Christian's presence is working wonders for you, you can feel yourself healing from everything you've been through the past few months. During a face time with Christian's mom she mentions that she can tell both of you are in a better place mentally and physically and that she's glad you are getting to spend some time together.

You cannot deny how much you enjoy being with him, here in a safe bubble, seemingly protected from the outside world. And Christian, he's enjoying your company more and more each day. Things are seamless and comfortable between the two of you, conversations are easy, and the silences are never awkward.

He has been thrilled to have you with him as he embarks on a new season with Milan. You've been able to travel to away games with him and we're blown away on your first trip to the San Siro.

One particularly warm evening after a match, you walk out of the bathroom in a pair of pajamas that show far more skin than any others you've worn around him. You pretend not to notice the way his breath hitches in his throat when he sees you and the way his eyes follow you as you slip into bed next to him.

"You ok?" you whisper, resting your head on his chest noticing the way his heart is hammering away.

"Couldn't be better," he sighs, trailing his hands over the exposed skin on your back and shoulders noticing when your skin erupts in goosebumps, a reaction he's not used to from you.

"I've got the next couple of days off, I thought we might take a little trip to Lake Como tomorrow, have some lunch, see the area," he says quietly, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

"That sounds nice," you whisper, turning to place a kiss to his chest.

"And I have a surprise for you tomorrow night," he smiles as you turn to look him in the eyes, resting your chin on his chest.

"You know I hate surprises," you grin, a glint of playfulness in your eyes.

"I know, but this is a good one, and you're not getting it out of me," he grins back at you, tickling your sides and making you squeal.

"Now, let's get some sleep, we have an early morning tomorrow," he says, reaching to turn off the light and gesturing for you to turn on your side so that he can be the big spoon.

"Good night y/n," he whispers, "love you," as he places a feather light kiss on your shoulder, so light you almost don't notice it.

"Good night, Chris, love you too." You whisper back to him, intertwining your fingers with his.

The next morning, you both wake up early and have a quick breakfast before leaving for the day's adventure. Lake Como is more beautiful than you could imagine and you share a lunch that borderlines on romantic at a small cafe that overlooks the lake.

"I can't believe we are here," you nudge him with your shoulder as you walk down a small path towards the waters edge.

"I'm sure you could sweep some lucky girl off of her feet here," you chuckle at him noticing the way his cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

"Probably, but that's not what today is about is it," he rolls his eyes at you, "today is about me and you spending time together, not me scoping out potential date spots."

"I know, but what better place to fall in love than Italy, Christian," you say, twirling yourself around in front of him, missing the absolutely smitten look on his face.

"Maybe," he shrugs his shoulders, his eyes never leaving you.

"Are you going to tell me what this surprise is?" you ask him, looping your arm through his and resting your head on his shoulder. Noticing the way his skin reacts to your fingers tracing over his skin.

You like Kelsea Ballerini right?" he asks, as he rests his head on the top of yours as you both of you stare out over the water at the colorful houses dotting the horizon.

"I do, her new album is practically an anthem for my life right now, why?" you breathe out, shuddering as his arm wraps around your waist and pulls you closer to him.

"She's playing at the stadium tonight, and I might have gotten tickets for us," he says lowly, tilting his head up so that he can look you in the eyes and see your reaction.

"Playing at the stadium, as in your stadium? In Milan?" you nearly squeal, turning to fully face him as he nods.

"Thank you," your voice comes out low, barely above a whisper as tears well in your eyes, "for this, and for everything, you've always been the one person I could count on no matter what, and I honestly don't know what I would do without you."

You press a gentle kiss to his cheek, lingering a bit longer than normal as you notice him swallow dryly.

Leaning back slightly, you take in his features, suddenly mesmerized by his beauty. You've always known Christian was attractive, that much was obvious to you, but Italy has done him a world of good. His summer tan has lingered a bit longer, freckles dancing over his skin, and his eyes seem a bit brighter and more full of hope than you've seen them in a while. You catch your gaze lingering over his lips, noticing how soft and plump they are and wondering what they might feel like pressed against your own.

Christian has been your best friend for as long as you can remember, there isn't a single core memory of yours that doesn't involve him, being here with him the past couple of weeks, his patience, support and attentiveness have healed parts of you you didn't know needed healing.

Part of you never thought it was possible to develop feelings for him beyond friendship, and yet, when he's looking at you the way he is at this very moment, it makes you wonder if there couldn't be something more there.

"You're staring," he whispers, enjoying the flood of color that rushes to your cheeks.

"Am I not allowed to stare at my best friend? You're kind of beautiful you know?" you say, your eyes never leaving his.

"You're the beautiful one," he whispers, leaning down and glancing at your lips, almost as if he's thinking of kissing them before kissing the tip of your nose.

You turn, facing the horizon again as his arms squeeze your waist. "I love it here," you breathe out, feeling him nod as he rests his chin on your shoulder, but you aren't quite sure if by "here" you mean your actual location, or if you mean in Christian's arms.

"We should go," he gives you a gentle squeeze and slides his hand into yours.

The car ride home is quiet, he can tell you're lost in your own thoughts and he'd give anything to know what you are thinking about as you stare out of the window. Truthfully, he's a bit lost in his on thoughts as well, trying to come to terms with everything he's been feeling over the last few days.

Back at his apartment, you start getting ready for the concert, Christian ordering dinner for the two of you to eat as you get ready. You pick out a flowy dress, something that accentuates your best features, wanting to look pretty for yourself, and you catch yourself thinking that you also want to look pretty for him. You want him to be proud to have you with him, not that he's ever made you feel otherwise.

Once you are finally ready to go, you walk out of his bathroom about the same time as he walks out of his closet, also dressed and ready to go. You both silently stare at each other, soaking one another in before his lips curl slightly at the edges as he makes his way over to you.

"You look beautiful as always," he smiles, pressing a kiss to your cheek, dangerously close to the corner of your mouth.

"So do you," you blush slightly at his compliment as he takes your hand and leads you to the car waiting to pick you up.

The concert is amazing, Christian never leaves your side, and most of the night he has one or both arms wrapped around your waist.

As the first notes of "Penthouse" ring out around the stadium he moves so that he is standing behind you, both arms around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder as he gently sways with you to the music.

Tears well in your eyes at the words that seem so very personal to you, a few spill over as Christian grips onto your hips turns you around. He brings his hands up to cup your face as he brushes the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs as the music fades out.

You're staring at each other, both of you knowing exactly what is coming next, as she belts out the healed version of "I kissed someone new last night, and now I don't care where your sleeping baby," Christian presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft and slow, and without a moment's hesitation you grip your fingertips into his t-shirt as you melt into the kiss; his lips slotting perfectly against yours, just as you had imagined they would. Suddenly, it feels like all of the pieces have fallen into place.

He pulls back and rests his forehead against yours, "I love you, y/n" he says quietly, only loud enough for you to hear. A couple of tears fall from your eyes, as you nod and say "I love you too, Christian."

"No, baby, I need you to understand what I'm saying. I'm in love with you, I am desperately in love with you," he says as he bumps his nose against yours.

"I know, and I'm in love with you too," you grin, a squeal escaping your lips as he picks you up and spins you around.

"Stay in Italy with me, I can't bare for you to leave me," he says as he pulls you closer to him, burying his face into your neck, "we can both start over here, and we can start building a life together," he says hesitantly, searching your features for an answer he is hoping will be yes.

You nod and he crashes his lips back to yours in a much heavier yet still reserved kiss considering you are in public.

"So you're staying," he mumbles against your lips.

"I'm staying" you grin, "until you're sick of me."

"That's never going to happen sweetheart," he smiles sweetly, "never."

Tag list:

@chelseagirl98 @neverinadream @masonspulisic @pulisicsgirl @swimmingismywholelife @lovelynikol16 @nyctophilic0vitnir @lunamelona @tall-tanned-tattoo @lizzypotter14

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic fic #christian pulisic fluff

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jessicaslittlelovesickmess · 3 months

Text

And then she was gone

Pairing: Rebbeca Welton x reader

Warning: Angst, mentions of smut

You loved Rebecca aggressively as if your lungs should collapse without her and you thought that maybe she felt the same, how tantalising. It had been blissful the first three years minus the interference of her ex-husband but you worked around him- worked around everything.

Still, it never seemed enough, you simply never felt enough not when Rebecca's attention remained elsewhere you understood her job was demanding. Though blatantly there were times she simply ignored you, and found reasons to be in the office or out of the house.

It was okay at first, nothing big until people began noticing it too how miserable you had become and how quiet you were, things had changed. Today was your anniversary. You were scared shitless would she even attend? you wondered as you shimmied into a beautiful green gown matching Rebecca's eyes.

Getting ready for the night only filled you with more anxiety than excitement while you did your makeup, your hands slowly growing clammy and starting to tremble. You had made up your mind either this relationship was fixed or you had to leave it was only fair, you didn't want anything from the blonde.

The truth was you had been offered a new job and only needed one reason to decline, one reason to stay, one reason and that was the blonde you loved so furiously.

Rebecca loved you there was no doubt about it she just wasn't sure if she was still in love with you, she was always afraid you would leave and break her heart just as Rupert had. She sighed closing her laptop, she was tired and wished to go home hoping to catch a glimpse of you dancing in the kitchen or reading on the sofa.

She found that she loved routine, you had built a routine that took years to create, a solo symphony just for her eyes after a long day where she could hold you in her arms. Maybe she was still in love with you to an extent but what is a relationship if it's only one-sided, sex was scarce so was affection until the day's end.

You drove silently to the restaurant and waited for the woman to arrive, your eyes roamed around the crowds hoping to catch a glimpse of her blonde hair as you sipped your water. However, Rebecca was shocked to see an empty house, it was strange for you to be out unless you had plans. you would've told her right?

The young waitress dropped you off a glass of wine with a sad smile you had been there for an hour and counting it was clear you had been stood up. With a sigh, you chugged back the glass before leaving a generous tip this was it you decided six years for this? you felt stupid no matter how beautiful you looked.

Rebecca rested in bed alone with a book in hand, glasses perched on her nose the lamp on her bedside casting a smooth shadow across the dark room as you entered the home kicking off your heels with a huff. Your makeup had begun to smudge as you ventured upstairs tears staining your face afraid to look her in the eye "You're out late" she spoke turning the page.

You laugh but nothing humorous "What's so funny?' she asked taking off her reading glasses "You really don't know?" a subtle anger simmered in your chest "No Y/n I don't know". Rebecca scoffed "It's our anniversary" you whispered gazing up at her watching how her facials had changed "oh" her eyes flickered with sadness.

"I'm sorry Y/n, I forgot but I will make it up to you" she promised but you shook your head "I can't do this anymore Rebs" you cried, the walls you built had crumbled into nothing. "I'm nothing but nausea, nothing but reverie, nothing but longing" you spoke with disgust as you stared at your hands "I love you but you make me so sad".

Rebecca had believed everything was fine and that nothing had changed no, she loved you, and she was terrified you would leave "I love you too Y/n/n" she smiled tear-eyed. "And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you"

"Do you truly love me or are you scared to be alone?" doe eyes stare at her silencing "Because I feel nothing but alone" You shook your head as you began to change clothes.

"W-we can fix this though surely?" she asked wide-eyed "Rebeca it's been years in the making, we're not growing younger" The blonde quickly got up reaching for your zipper. "Please Y/n/n. let me fix this" she cried pressing kisses to your bare shoulder her arms wrapping around your waist "You said it, we're not getting younger".

The light from the lamp flickered highlighting your shadow "And what if I'm only wasting my time?" you asked turning in her arms "You won't" she pleaded "but I might". Resting your forehead against her own "And I'm that I'm losing time" she sighed "So let me go" You looked into her gentle green eyes.

"One night?"

"One night and I'll be gone by morning"

One night of burning passion as Rebecca stored your body in memory, her words failed so she hoped her actions this night would count silently as you brought you to greater heights. "I love you" whispered along your skin in kisses, in pleas of don't leave, she was everywhere so suddenly it was intoxicating. Rebecca refused to sleep that night afraid she might miss you leaving, she knew there wasn't changing your mind she had already dealt her damage, a speech on her lips.

When you awoke she sat with a hand playing in your hair with a sad smile "Where will you go little dove?' she whispered "Sicily, I accepted a job offer there last night on my drive home" She pressed a kiss to your hairline and letting you get up. "So this is it? this is for real?" Rebecca swallowed harshly "I guess so" you sighed beginning to pack your things "But must you leave so soon?" she rested a hand on your arm. "I held off this offer for three weeks, I need to leave tonight" You bit your lip gazing off, Rebecca nodded "You will find me when you return, even if you're a thousand years late" she promised, she begged, she hoped and wished.

#imagine #wlw #rebecca welton x reader #rebecca welton #ted lasso #hannah waddingham #hannah waddingham x reader #angst #sad lesbians

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mikuni14 · 2 months

Text

Phee and Tan sitting in a tree P-L-O-T-T-I-N-G 🥳

I already rewatched episodes 1-4 once, when it turned out that Phee knew Non, and I even joked that when it turns out that he was working with Tan (there were already theories that Tan was New), I would have to watch these episodes ONCE AGAIN 😄 Not that I'm complaining! I love this series and when I like a series, I love coming back to it. I was going to do it now, especially after episode 10, where the characters were behaving weirdly, but after reading @tbhimnoteasyonmyself fantastic post, I don't have to do it anymore (although I still plan to, maybe after the finale?) because everything is written there 😍

While watching Phee's telling his story to Jin, illustrated with his scenes with Tan and SCENES OF TAN HIMSELF, I kept thinking, wait a minute. What? This is his story, why is he telling shit about Tan, where's his version? Later someone pointed out, that so far, the series has shown events as they are. And yet, suddenly we have a story, and only from one POV. And this story surprisingly whitewashes Phee and makes Tan a monster.

There's a lot that can be said about Phee, but I never got the impression that he was a coward, that he would gossip about someone he was so close to, just like that, even with Non he wasn't a petty bitch. No matter how angry Phee was at Tan, his pretty much nasty behavior as a friend, exposing him to Jin and then the rest of the crew, was completely ooc. And who would he do it for? For them? His "friends"? Are we sure Phee considers them "friends"?

That's why I watched episode 10 again, and the second time it seemed even more strange and raised a lot of questions. Like that scene in the temple:

how easily Phee accuses Tan. He thinks that Tan created a whole complex and based on a series of random coincidences, yet effective plan to kill Por, he thinks that Tan killed Deng by stretching a wire in broad daylight when someone could have noticed him, he thinks that Tan planned another complicated, based on a series of random coincidences, and yet a super effective action with a scooter, luring Top to the temple, poisoning him, hypnotizing him and sending him home to kill people???

Phee talks the most about Tan, portraying him as the biggest threat, and then starts telling a tearful story, "you don't know what I did", "it's all my fault", "I was so terrible towards Non". What's interesting is that Phee doesn't cry in this scene (at least I don't see any tears, although the lighting isn't good), and as we know, Phee cries easily when he's in pain

what effect does Phee achieve? JIN CONFESSES

TA DA! 🥳🎉🏆

what is Phee's reaction to this - a sigh that sounds like a mix of relief and triumph. And disbelief.

another interesting fact: Phee reacts the same way as to Non's "betrayal", at first he seems unable to believe what he hears, then he starts to pace around furiously, trying to control himself. The only difference is that Jin, unlike Non, does not fuel his anger by staying quiet..

During this time, Tan:

tries to calm Tee down, he wants White to take his gun 🤔

interestingly, later he doesn't stop Fluke when he has a gun! 😏

When Phee and Jin show up at home:

Phee informs everyone that Tan is Non's brother and that he WANTS REVENGE

REMEMBER THAT EVERYONE IS HIGH 🚨

Phee creates an atmosphere of threat, revenge that they deserve, and that it's about Non

REMEMBER THAT EVERYONE IS HIGH 🚨🚨

and what's happening? Phee conveniently doesn't have to say more about Tan and Non, because right after that Fluke takes action, steals the gun, has hallucinations, and kills Top

REMEMBER THAT EVERYONE IS HIGH, they just saw a murder, emotions are running high and they feel trapped 🚨🚨🚨

I watched Tan because I love him from that moment on, he is very pleased with the development of events, he is not angry with Phee at all, Phee also suddenly forgets that Tan was supposed to be the biggest monster and a threat

they both actually behave as if they were playing roles, they recite their lines like they're children in a school play, they play the good cop and the bad cop?

what is the effect of all this: TEE FINALLY STARTS TELLING THE TRUTH!!! 🥳🎉🏆

So I have to ask: How were Phee and Tan supposed to get information about Non after getting the boys high on the first night at the party, as Phee said to Jin? They were supposed to be having a great time and then suddenly Phee and Tan would start questioning them about Non and they would just... blurt out everything? 😆 When did Phee and Tan start getting information? NOW.

So, isn't it the case that Phee and Tan rightly guessed that only Tee could know what happened to Non, because the only one capable of making someone disappear is his uncle? There's a lot to be said about the other guys, but they probably don't have the ability, strength, or stomach to "disappear" a person. Probably not even Tee, but he may have something else: INFORMATION.

Did Phee betray Tan in this ep? I'm 99% sure not. They both watch calmly as the rest of the "friends" accuse each other. Phee pays special attention to Tan AND to Tee:

Isn't the most important thing for them (or for Tan especially) is discovering the truth that Tee knows, and the rest is just an accidental casualty of their war? Jin may be important to Phee, who might even want to protect him... but maybe not? Maybe Phee has a moral problem with all of this, but he doesn't feel morally better to stop Tan, seeing what all their "friends" started has led to, and even though he doesn't agree with him, he won't bother him?

(While watching episode 10 again, I also noticed this:

The shadow in the left corner was moving, it looked like there was someone else in the temple with Tan and Top. Non? Perth? Or maybe that woman Keng was working with?)

EDIT: so what I'm trying to say is that Phee and Tan could work together and manipulate others to obtain information about Non, regardless of the costs, and in Tan's case even enjoying the "costs". At least I would like it to be so 😉

Of course, I may see something that isn't there, want to see something more, have too high expectations of DFF. I'm pretty sure that's not the case, but like my dear friend @italianpersonwithashippersheart I've also seen too many good shows that screwed up the ending... But I still have hope 😚 DFF maintained a high standard for me throughout its 10 episodes. Even if they fuck up the ending, even if everything that surprised me in this episode turns out to be me cosplaying Fluke and seeing things that aren't there (and cosplaying Top, because I'm hypnotized by Tan), it's still 10 episodes of excellent content 💖

#dead friend forever #thai bl #bl drama

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stray-dog · 1 year

Text

50 Shades of Dottore (Il Dottore x Male!Reader)

A/N: Woah I actually made a male reader version. I really thought I made the first one male - embarrassing I don't even know what I write, also he lost the gun - not proof read

WC: 1.4K

CW: Dubcon?, blindfolds, light bondage, overstimulation, dom/sub undertones, cum as lube, hair-pulling, blowjobs, dacryphilia, pwp, light choking, minors dni

You stood there, wondering what you did to get to this, you’ve tried so hard to avoid him. Yet there he was, in front of you stood one of the highest ranking Harbingers, Il Dottore. He was staring at you with a smirk and a gun on hand. The aura of the room had already made you want to leave the room, not wanting to get involved with Dottore too much.

“You look tense,” he starts, lazily walking towards you before looking down on you, circling around your personal space. You felt his hands trail around your body and grip your hips before you felt his lips on the back of your neck, you harshly flinch and attempt to step forward to create more space between the two of you, unfortunately, his grip was tight enough to keep you in place.

He presses his body against yours, closer and closer until you feel his crotch rub against your ass, his hand snaking up and tightening around your neck, making you let out a strangled whine. A shiver was sent down your spine when you felt Dottore lean near your ear and kiss it, softly biting on the shell of your ear before he whispered threats, “I’ll make sure you won’t be able to avoid me this time.”

In a blink of an eye you felt a slight pain above your knees before finding yourself on all fours, head resting on the sofa. Dottore’s heel rested against your back to stop you from standing up, he leaned down until you succumbed with you sitting down on the floor; arms laid lazily beside you, your head resting on its side.

You felt a light tickle of a fabric on your thigh, “Put it on” Dottore commands, your hands slowly revealed what the fabric was for, assuming it was for your eyes, you tied it behind your head tightly before your hands returned to your thighs, anxiously gulping when silence enveloped the room.

Your weight felt lighter when Dottore finally decides to retract his heel, his fingers curled under and over the fabric over your eyes before giving it a sharp tug along with his hands tracing your adam’s apple, you hear a soft hum before he kisses you roughly, wrapping his fingers around your neck to choke you, you whine at the sudden cut of air, feeling dizzy and light headed before Dottore releases your neck.

“Turn around”

His thumb grazes over your bottom lip, inserting his thumb before dragging it down to make your lips wet. He pressed his cock on your mouth, tapping lightly on your lips before he forced it the moment you opened your mouth.

You gag, tears start to form and dampen your blindfold, but Dottore won’t show mercy, he holds you in place, gagging and unable to breathe, “Relax,” he instructs, “Breathe in, and out through your nose.”

You did as he said, finding it slightly easier to breathe, once you had adjusted to the size of his cock, he started an unforgiving pace, pulling you by your hair, uncaring about your muffled cries that just added to his pleasure. He lets out low groans, still looking at you, your pathetic cries echoing throughout the room making Dottore chuckle at how ‘weak’ you were.

He finally pulls out his cock from your mouth, still hard. You cough and lean down to hopefully get to breathe more than you did earlier. A few seconds of silence was already enough for you to feel scared, feeling a light reassurance on your crotch. “And I thought you wouldn’t enjoy this, are you just a shameless whore?”

He drags his foot up and down, just enough for you to feel it, but not give enough pleasure. Your hands quickly gripped his leg to stop him from rubbing you more. You heard his tongue click, before he kicked your hands away, “Maybe we should do something about your hands.” You flinch, feeling the tight rope wrap around your wrist before you feel his hands on your waist, hoisting you up to the couch.

“Dottore-”

“Unless you want us to do something about your mouth as well, I suggest you keep quiet.” He threatens, “Turn around.” He demanded, your hands rested on the head of the couch, ass up and your head buried on your hands from embarrassment. You felt his hands on your ass, hands trailing down before he tore through your pants and underwear, exposing your thighs and already hardened dick.

You tried to close your legs from further embarrassment, but Dottore forced them back open, sliding his dick in between your thighs before he thrusts back and forth painfully slow, he even made sure that your dick felt every thrust from behind. His speed increases, holding your thighs together, mixing his precum with yours, feeling your thighs all sticky and messy.

His hands slide from your thighs to your dick, tugging on it while you let out a surprised moan, “Oh? Maybe you do want the other harbingers to hear you. Maybe they’ll fuck you as well, does that get you excited? Hm?”

“T-that’s not it–”

Your words were cut off when you felt your orgasm wash over you, biting down your lip to suppress a loud moan, biting hard enough to draw blood. You felt Dottore’s fingers smudge your cum on your tip, swirling and rubbing on your tip before he let go of your cock, his gloved fingers pressing against your asshole, inserting one finger and plunging in and out.

“Wait– Please! Dottore–”

Your pleas fell to deaf ears as he flipped you over, thrusting his cock in you. With a harsh sting, you cried, tears once again dampening your blind fold, some managed to slip pass through and roll on your cheeks. The burning sensation made you cry even more, his slow thrusts lubing his cock enough for you to feel just a slight sting.

He stops for a moment, leaning down to kiss our tear stained cheek, tearing your shirt to expose your chest. His tongue trails around your collar bone, to your neck, and to your ear, he bites lightly before licking it, making you shudder and pull your body close to his. His lips soon found yours, messy and sloppy kisses while his hands were busy with your nipples, rolling the sensitive bud in between his fingers, giving it a pinch and a tug.

His hips started to move again, pulling out until the tip of his cock was just at your hole before thrusting in, the tip of his cock kissing your prostate. You moan in his mouth, feeling a little overstimulated with his hands on your nipples and your previous orgasm. He pushes your legs to your chest, giving him more access to hit your prostate.

He bites down on your neck, increasing speed while you sat there, taking him in, a moaning mess with nothing to cover your mouth. Tongue stuck out, your nails digging into your palm, covered in a thin layer of sweat while he fucked you continuously, your legs feeling strained. You felt pleasure pool on your pelvis, your hole tightens as you feel your second orgasm come close.

Dottore’s thrusts were sloppy and uneven, chasing his own climax and feeling more turned on with your cries. With one more deep thrust you both came, dicks leaking cum while he buried his in your deepest parts, feeling his warm cum completely fill you. He pulls out, watching as our hole shamelessly dripped with his cum before scooping it and pushing it back in with two of his fingers.

Your chest heaved, heavily breathing while he undid your blindfold, seeing his satisfied grin through hazy eyes. You felt too tired to care that you’d stay but a minute longer, your head rested on the sofa while you felt Dottore undoing your restraints, kissing your wrists and your hand before his thumbs brushed on the bruised part of your wrists.

“You must be cold,” He points out before throwing you one of his spare coats, covering your naked body while you rested. “I don’t mind you staying here for the night.” He whispers, licking the shell of your ear, then down to the bite mark he gave you before kissing your lips again.

“I assume you won’t avoid me from now on? Unless you want to do this again, then I won’t mind.”

The sound of his footsteps slowly faded while you felt yourself fall into a deep slumber, still feeling his cum drip out of you while you tried to reposition yourself. He smiles to himself, looking intently at you that he finally had you for himself, and you couldn’t get out without needing help from him. After all, whose clothes were you going to wear to get to your own room?

#genshin il dottore #il dottore x male reader #genshin smut #il dottore #genshin impact #dottore smut #genshin x male reader #genshin fanfic

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gorgonwrites · 10 months

Text

bound to you, part 4

diluc x fem!reader

wc: 3, 155

author's note: alexa, play Take Me Back To Eden by Sleep Token

cw: 18+, MDNI!!! fem!reader, reader is an artist, oral (fem receiving), fingering, overstim, dacryphilia, body worship, edging, angst MAYBE if you squint, arranged marriage, tooth rotting sweetness bc diluc is a soft man and just wants to love you right

“And then I use orange here against the blue,” you made a quick swipe with your paintbrush, “See how it creates a highlight? The two colors contrast in such a way that it immediately brings your attention to this focal point.” your husband leans over your shoulder to look at the area of the canvas you were finishing. He had declined to paint with you, but he did insist on remaining in your presence for the rest of the afternoon. At first you weren’t sure you could tolerate his audience, but as time passed you both relaxed as he watched your brush dance across the canvas.

“When did you start painting?” Diluc was directly behind you, bent over so he was speaking directly into your ear. Being so close to him sent a bolt of electricity through you, and you had to steady yourself for a moment before answering him.

“When I was small. I think I was 7 when my father bought me my first set of paints.” Remembering the day you received them made you smile. You had painted the most atrocious version of a cryo slime anyone had ever seen and paraded it around your home for days afterwards, convinced that it was the greatest thing to ever grace your family member’s eyes.

“I was a little overconfident back then, but I was humbled quickly.” you laughed, “My parents sent me to painting classes and my teacher was ruthless. The first time she told me my skills were worthless, I cried for days.”

Diluc frowned at the thought. If anyone but him dared to bring tears to your eyes- his thoughts came to a halt. Anyone but him. You were still talking but he didn’t hear a single word, too focused on imagining tears spilling down your face with your lips wrapped around his cock. Fuck. He could feel the growing bulge in his pants, and he was in no position to readjust himself.

“Y/n, I just remembered I have something that needs taking care of-” he began to retreat, trying to escape to the privacy of his own chambers. Your arm shot out quickly and silenced him before he could finish speaking. You reached up and cupped his cheek with your palm, holding his gaze. Diluc slowly reached up and covered your hand with his own, his bulging cock completely forgotten.

“Are you unwell?” you asked quietly, surprised by the courage suddenly coursing through your veins. You brushed your thumb across your husband’s bottom lip, his eyes widening in response.

“I am very well, I assure you.” he breathed. Your hands were so warm on his skin. “I have one more thing regarding the winery that requires my attention. Once you’re finished here, have Addy help you bring your things inside.” You began to pout. “This is the last thing I have to do for the next few weeks, I promise.”

“Words mean very little to me, Diluc. How do you intend to comfort your lonely wife?” His response was a wicked smile, and he took your hand from his cheek only to hold it gently in both of his own.

“I think you’ll find I can be very comforting if given the chance, angel.” a pang shot through your heart. He continued, “Your hands are warm today.”

“I- I haven’t used my vision to cool myself since you’ve kept me company this afternoon.” You gasped as he brought your hand to his lips, brushing them over each of your fingers. He then looked at you with a stern expression on his face.

“Don’t do that anymore. I mean it.” Diluc wanted to know all of you, and you continuing to hide a core part of yourself every time you were in his presence was beginning to weigh on him.

“But the other day my hands were too cold and you withdrew from me, I was being careless, I-” you were speaking rapidly, barely louder than a whisper. You stopped suddenly when he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

“I didn’t withdraw because your hands were cold. I withdrew because it was the first time you reached out to me and I was surprised.” He looked up at you and smiled again. “You think too much, has anyone ever told you that?” It was true that Diluc didn’t like the cold. He didn’t enjoy when snow covered the rolling hills of Mondstadt, he didn’t like cold drinks on a hot day, and he didn’t like even thinking about joining his staff as they jumped into the cold rivers that flowed down from Dragonspine. But he could deny you nothing, and if that meant overcoming this small hurdle, so be it. Your fingers suddenly felt icy in his hand, and goosebumps broke out across his skin.

“Maybe this will be the first time I decide to do as you ask for a change.” you giggled mischievously, and Diluc rolled his eyes. You were also a brat he was learning, but he’d never say that out loud.

You were finished for the day shortly after your husband left you. You were reeling from your exchange with him, and your arousal was almost tangible as you gathered your things. Adelinde came out to greet you, and helped you carry everything back to the manor. The two of you were in the library adjusting your painting above the mantle before you finally spoke.

“How long has Diluc been calling you Addy?” you were curious. He’d never referred to Adelinde by the nickname in front of you before, and you found it incredibly endearing.

“So he finally let that one slip, did he?” Adelinde laughed, “He’s been saying that since the day I arrived at the manor. He was still very young, and I don’t think he could quite manage my full name at the time. Addy has stuck ever since.” The thought made you snicker. Of course he would adopt his own name for her rather than ever admitting that there was a time when he was incapable of pronouncing her name. You both continued to adjust and readjust the painting, careful not to smear any of the drying paint.

“He worries about you, you know.” Adelinde said absently as she worked with you to finally move the canvas in place. “You’re all he has.” You looked at her, confused.

“I didn’t think I did that much to cause him to fret over me.” Yes, you liked to push what you could and could not do, mostly because you hated the feeling of being caged like a bird. His requests were always simple things- don’t venture off of the winery grounds when he was away, no housework, no fieldwork, and no going out after the sun set each evening.

“The young master has grown up in a difficult world, my Lady. Forgive him for being a cautious man.” you knew nothing of what Adelinde referred to. Your curiosity was eating at you though, and you wanted more information on your ever elusive husband.

“What do you mean?”

Adelinde just sighed in response, shaking her head. If you really want to know, you have to go ask him yourself. You huffed out a breath in response, and instead turned your attention to the painting freshly mounted over the mantle. Courage, you thought to yourself. I just need ten seconds of courage.

You paced back and forth at the foot of your bed, unable to make up your mind. You had bathed and now wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and hide from the thoughts whirling in your mind. After your interaction with Diluc earlier, your arousal had continued to grow throughout the evening and it was now almost unbearable. More than that, your curiosity was starting to spill over about your husband’s life before you married him. You needed to know every detail he was willing to share. You’d been walking around your room for ages, and the moon was high in the sky. He probably wasn’t even awake.

I’ll go to his door, knock, and if he doesn’t answer I’ll come back and pretend it never happened. It took several times of you repeating the thought in your head before you were finally convinced to venture out into the hall. You slowly and carefully made your way through the dark to Diluc’s door, your breathing starting to quicken. You lifted your hand and lightly knocked, half hoping that it was too quiet for him to hear. After a few moments you began to turn away, relieved. Your chest tightened when you heard the lock on Diluc’s door click, and light from his room spilled into the hallway. You froze in place, immediately regretting your decision to come see him.

You could tell from the wild expression on his face that he wasn’t expecting to see you. He was shirtless, and his hair cascaded over his shoulders. There was a hint of a flush on his chest, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he had been doing before he opened the door. Heat began to gather between your thighs at the thought.

“Y/n? Are you well?” He looked worried, pushing his hair out of his face. Grabbing your hand, he gently pulled you into his room and shut the door behind you. Your eyes raked over every inch of your husband, quickly forgetting your bubbling curiosity from earlier.

“Very well,” you rasped. Courage, you reminded yourself. You closed the gap between your bodies, placing your hands on his bare chest. You could feel his body tense under your touch. Craning your neck, you leaned into him to whisper into his ear. “I came to remind my husband that he left his wife lonely and wanting this afternoon.”

His hands were on you instantly. He firmly held the small of your back, pressing you closer to him. He took your chin in his other hand, forcing you to look up to him and hold his gaze. His breathing was shaky, and his eyes searched your face for any signs that you wanted him to let you go. After a few moments he was satisfied, and he spoke.

“And what would my wife have me do to correct such a transgression?” his eyes had a feral look you had never seen before. You snaked your arms around his neck and grabbed a fist full of his hair, pulling his head back to give you access to his neck. He whined as you planted several soft kisses there before you finally answered his question.

“Ruin me.”

Before you knew what was happening, Diluc grabbed your hips and threw you over his shoulder. Without a word he turned and quickly made his way across his chambers, tossing you onto his bed. He lifted your nightdress off of you easily, exposing your naked body to the cool night air. You reached out for him, craving his touch. He stood between your legs where you sat on the edge of his bed, and held your face in his hands. His breathing was increasingly labored, and you could feel yourself start to shake from excitement. Your face was so close to his. After what felt like an eternity, he leaned down and took your lips in a crushing kiss.

He kissed you like he was starving. His hands continued to wander, familiarizing himself with your body inch by inch. You bit his bottom lip, making him groan.

“Do that again and see what it gets you.” You most certainly would have, but he didn’t give you the chance. He quickly moved to your neck, biting and licking his way down to your chest. You leaned back, letting your husband explore your body. He took one of your nipples into his mouth, lightly grazing his teeth over it as he rolled your other nipple between his fingers. You brought a hand up to your mouth, trying to hide the moans spilling from your lips. His hand shot up and grabbed your wrist before intertwining his fingers with yours, bringing your hand away from your face.

“I want to hear you, angel. You can’t hide from me anymore.” He continued teasing your nipples, and slowly made his way down until he was between your thighs. He spread your legs wide, pushing your knees towards your chest. You whined, feeling hopelessly exposed with your husband's mouth inches from your pussy. Kissing your inner thighs, he began to suck and bite lightly, leaving marks that only he would ever see.

“Tell me you want me.” Diluc’s voice was demanding. You hoisted yourself onto your elbows so you could look at him. He had completely halted his actions, waiting for your response. You fell back, covering your eyes with your hands. You were suddenly feeling shy and your voice died in the back of your throat. Your husband moved upwards slightly, reaching for your face. You peeked through your fingers at him and he took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips. He kissed each of your fingers and then your palm before turning it over to plant a final kiss just above your knuckles.

“Tell me you want me, angel. Tell me how to love you- I’ll give you anything. Everything. I’ll give you all of me.” you felt tears pricking at your eyes as his words started to overwhelm you.

“Gods, I want you Diluc, please-” you started to cry, “Take what is yours and make me come!” As soon as the words left your lips, his mouth was on your pussy. You were impossibly wet and your juices coated his tongue. He pushed your knees back to your chest again, giving him greater access to your core. He licked a long stripe from your pussy to your clit, and taking it between his lips he began to suck gently, flicking his tongue as he did.

“Fuck!” you sobbed as he continued his relentless attacks on your now puffy and swollen clit. You could feel yourself close to your release, reaching down and grabbing Diluc’s hair, pushing him further into you. Just as you were about to fall over the edge, he stopped.

“Not yet, angel.” He kissed your thighs and then began to make his way back up to your neck. You whined in frustration, infuriatingly close to coming undone. He peppered your chest and neck with kisses before meeting your lips again. Tasting yourself on his tongue felt wicked. You quickly pulled away, trying to push him back down between your legs. He resisted, and when you huffed in response, he grinned ear to ear.

“You’re a cruel man, Master Diluc.” you crossed your arms, trying desperately to seem angrier than you actually were.

“Not cruel enough, it seems.” he growled in your ear, and suddenly plunged two fingers into your pussy. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, arching your back from the pleasure. You gripped his biceps and did everything you could not to scream. He slowed his fingers for a moment to let you catch your breath.

“Like this?” he asked, moving his fingers in and out of your pussy messily, “Or like this?” he stilled his fingers, curling them up into the spongy spot inside of you. You choked as he began to stroke your clit with his thumb, and you could feel a familiar sensation building inside of you.

“Like that, oh- please, Diluc!” you threw your arms around his neck as he pleasured you, finding his lips as fresh tears started to fall down your cheeks.

“Give it to me, angel. Let go.” you felt a coil snap in your core and your vision went white, screaming your husband's name as you came on his fingers. He didn’t let up, and you began to writhe under him from the overstimulation. He was a greedy man, and he wanted everything from you. You felt the coil quickly tighten again and just as you came down from your first high, you fell apart for a second time, squirting all over Diluc’s hand. His movements slowed finally, and he gently pulled his fingers out of you. He brought them up to his mouth and sucked them clean of your essence, not wasting a single drop. You were completely out of breath, still holding onto your husband tightly. You were both sweaty, and he loosened your grip so he could sit up and pull you into his lap. You realized he was still clothed from the waist down, and wanting to return the favor you reached for his pants trying to remove them. He stopped you, and when you began to pout he couldn’t help but laugh. He got up and walked into the bathroom to begin drawing a hot bath for you.

He walked back to the bed where you were still pouting, mumbling things he couldn’t quite make out. He leaned down, his hands on either side of your hips as he rested his forehead on your shoulder. You reached up and began running your fingers through his long hair, and your mumbling quieted as you began to pepper the top of his head with soft kisses. Steadying himself, he kissed your collarbone and then looked up at you.

“That’s enough for tonight, angel. Let me clean you up.” He helped you to your feet, but your legs were too wobbly to walk after two back to back orgasms. You begrudgingly let him carry you to your bath, and afterwards you carefully put your nightdress back on. You found him sitting by his window, an open book on his chest as he began to doze. You lightly brushed your fingers across his cheek, earning you another smile.

“Would you like to stay with me tonight?” he asked quietly, without opening his eyes. When you didn’t answer immediately, he frowned and peeked at you in hopes of catching your expression. You had your hands on your hips, and let out an exasperated sigh. You sat on his lap and put your elbows on his chest, resting your chin in your hands.

“Master Diluc asking his wife to stay overnight with him in his chamber? Hell must have frozen over!” you tried to sound sarcastic, but your giggling gave you away. Diluc quickly wrapped you in his arms and bombarded you with kisses, making you laugh even more as you tried to escape his grasp.

“If Hell is frozen over,” he continued his relentless attack, “it was most definitely your doing.” He stilled and shuddered when you placed a cold hand on the back of his neck. You smiled, satisfied.

“Yes, I want to stay with you tonight. If you’ll have me.” Diluc suddenly stood up, bringing you with him. Holding you close, he kissed your forehead and laughed in response.

“Good, because I wasn’t going to let you leave.”

#diluc x reader #diluc smut #diluc fluff #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x fem!reader #diluc genshin impact #genshin smut #ok smut is actually kinda hard to write be nice to me pls #this fic is eating me alive rn send HELP #super sleep deprived when i edited this so fingers crossed it makes sense

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slvt4lanadelrey · 11 months

Text

Jenna Ortega, Princess AU,

Fateful love

Forbidden love

Soul mates

First love

None of this is real <obviously> this is just a work of fiction.

This is my first post on here, I used write on wattpad!

Warnings: Domestic Abuse, Swearing, mature language, kissing(?) There may be more, im not sure.

The Moon and The Ocean

There's probably going to be spelling mistakes, grammar errors and maybe it's even a confusing plot.

Word count: 8000+

Your days went by dreadfully slow, every moment that blinked was torturous. Your father, the king of some far away land had promised your hand in marriage; You was to be wed the moment you turned a women, your 18th birthday.

It was the day before, you paced back and forth your bedroom. Biting nervously on your nail, your hair lossley falling below your collar bone. Your feet tapped against the hard wood, your room feeling foreign to you. It was strang, marriage was always something you knew would eventually come. However, you hadn't expected your dear father to had given your hand in marriage at the young age of 6. Sickness swelled in your stomach, knowing full well that the man you was to marry was at least triple your age.

The bile rose, aching at your throat. Suddenly, the corset that was tied far too tight on your stomach began to burn, your eyes swelled with tears and you sobbed. You slide down your door, gasping as the tears consumed you whole.

Screaming wasn't something you wanted to do-but you needed to. It was mortifying, not being able to chose who you love. You stared at the floor, the magnificent marble of the ceiling soon catching your tearful eyes. You huff out, tears still falling down your cheeks.

Why couldn't you just be a happy husband-less princess?

But no, your father had screamed practically howled when you suggested a life without a man. He cried out that his own daughter, the hier to the throne had to marry and birth other heirs. You gritted your teeth, deciding this wasn't a battle to lose your head over. Literally.

Slowly, your spirits was brought back to life. Extremely slowly.

You stumbled to your feet, shuffling as the dress below your feet tripped you up ever so slighly.

The door infront of you swung open, in walking the princess Ortega herself. You holted in your stance, taken back by her sudden appearance. You bowed down, your dress once again catching under your feet and making you slip.

"What's with the formalities, Y/L/N?" The princess smiled up at you, offering you a dimpled filled sight. Your stomach swooned, your cheeks blazing a deep red. You too offered a sweet smile, shining your teeth at the women infront of you.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, princess?" You asked, a brow raised. The Ortega infront of you chose to ignore your question, she strode forward walking further into the room.

"I do love your room, it's the most glamorous sight I have been fortunate to see." The princess stated, sliding your closed blinds open. The sun broke through the dark curtains, seeping into your dim room. She smiled at the sight of the castle infront of her, the true beauty that was held within the country you would soon be ruling.

"Isn't it beautiful?" The brunette asked, swooning at the sight of such a kingdom. Your eyes couldn't tear away from the sight of her, she was flawless. You always thought Jenna Ortega was beautiful, naturally perfect; but her freckles was the thing that drove you to insanity.

"Positively." You mumbled, eyes preoccupied with how her eyes lit up, her dimples creating shallow pools on her cheeks. You sigh softly, running your hands up her back.

Sadness dipped into the atmosphere, the truth of what was to come tomorrow. Your birthday would come, your husband would show, you would be married, forever.

"Do you have to?" The princess' voice broke, her eyes no longer holding the sight of the kingdom but now the sight of someone who was about to lose the love of their life.

"I tried, Princess. I tried." The women infront of you gripped the curtains that were held in her hand. She gritted her teeth, not understanding the sudden formalities you had forced on her.

"Why won't you call me by my name?" She asked, turning around to you with an accusing look. You stumbled back, the harshness taking you by suprise.

"We love each other." She whispered, a single tear falling from her chocolate fountain of eyes. You gulped down your pride, your heart shattering with the look she gave you.

Jenna Marie Ortega had stole your heart, took it for herself. She was flawless, funny and most of all your bestfriend. When she confessed under the moonlit tree you honesly couldn't care about the repercussions that would take place for you, the princess who fell in love with another princess.

It wasn't talked about, nor was it a thing you thought plagued most people. You fell in love with a women, and that was bad. She told you it wasn't, she told you that running away would be fun; facing the raft of the people finding out their future queen was anything but perfrect; they'd kill you, murder you in broad daylight infront of hundreds to name and shame your kind.

She wiped away the single tear that treded down her plush cheek, her digit soon wiping away the tears that fell for you. You couldn't face her, too ashamed that you wasn't brave enough to stand up and speak about the love you felt for Princess Ortega.

"We loved each other." She then corrected, her eyes turning a dark cold. Her eyes no longer sparkled when they met yours, they burnt with anger. Princess Ortega already had a well established reputation, she was named the voice of the people.

She stood up against racism, single handedly helped thousands of people who was ruined due to poverty. She was a true princess, a selfless soon to be queen who stopped at nothing.

You however was scared, terrified of what your father would do. Murder? Conversion? Banishment? All of the thoughts riddled you at night.

Every kiss, every touch, every hushed whisper of I love you rang through your head as you stood defeated. You once again reach out and nibbled on your nail, scared of what Jenna would do.

"I love you-" she released a sigh at your confession, her eyes softening at once. She was hesitant, her finger grazing her dress as she reached forward. The princess you fell hopelessly and loyal for came rushing back into her face, a sigh leaving your parted lips.

"Run away with me, please."

The bubbly laugh that sprung out of your mouth was mocking, a pure sign that her request wasn't going to be taken into consideration. Princess Ortega huffed out her chest, hating nothing more than when someone would laugh in her face when she asked them something.

Princess Ortega ran a hand through her curled hair, her nose flaring ever so slightly. She glared at you like you was nothing but a toddler. Her eyes shot to kill, annoyed that she couldn't have what she wanted.

"Why are you laughing." She seethed, her bottom lip trapping in between her teeth. You shuffle on your feet, assuming she was joking. Your mouth fell open, soon closing when the women infront of you stormed closer to the window; in the utmost dramatics.

"I- I thought you was joking." You mumble out. She placed two hands against the pane window infront of her. She was yet to calm down, her breathing staggered and eyes trained to everything but you.

You stood awkwardly in the center of your room, hands gently brushing into your dress due to the build up of sweat. A sigh left your parted lips, the realisation dawning down on you.

"I'll be Queen tomorrow." You offer the brunette into a conversation starter. The Princess' shoulders tensed, her hands gripping into a fist.

"No. You'll be married tomorrow. You'll be some pawn in a game that was meant to defeat a women to ever rule a fucking kingdom without a stupid man beside her!" The women screamed, spit stuttering out of her hung open mouth as she did. Her eyes were blood shot by now, tears forming as anger swelled her short frame. Her fist clenched, so tightly the once was a nice olive colour turned white.

"Jenna-"

"No. Your father promised you to a man when you was 6! Y/N, you was a child and another man came along and picked you. The man you will marry is 50. He was a grown man when he decided you would be his queen." The princess screamed, howling like a banshee. No doubt the guards and maids outside your room heard the argument erupted, their eyes trained to the floor as Princess Ortega released every thought that ran through her mind.

"We can't just change the way the world functions, Princess. That isn't how this stupid game plays out. We had fun, we fell hopelessly in love and you became my world, the moon would speak to me at night- talk about the ocean and I would speak of you, your smile, your laughter, the way you always try to fight. I'm not a fighter, Jenna, I won't lose my kingdom, I won't lose my life because-" the words died, you was left gasping. Your breathing became irregual, struggling to see when the tears began to leak like acid out of your eyes; burning you as they did.

"Because you love a women?" The question lingered in the air, the tears fell from both of your eyes uncontrollably. A seemingly dramatic sight for those who was fortunate to never fall in love with someone who you couldn't have; but to those who knew the pain, felt the burden and the hollowness of how love could drag you into such a dark and unforgiving place. It was tourtous, a wound that never healed, a song that you wished you'd never heard.

"Isn't it."

"My dad-my dad would kill me, he'd have me hung within the hour. I won't die, Jenna. I would rather marry a man, birth kids that I was forced to have than die a pathetic death-I'm not-I'm not dying today, nor another." Your words slipped through your clenched jaw, tears no longer watering down your face; only anger stining into your heart.

"He would never hurt a hair on your head." The Princess infront of you pleaded, her hands drawing small circles on your upper arms. You tensed away from the touch, the mear presence of her burned, it was like a thick fog was casted over you; making you unable to breath.

"I'm scared, I'm scared every day of the week, every waking moment that I breath-the fears consuming, it hurts.-" you turned your back on her, walking towards the desk that was pressed against your wall.

"I refuse to live in fear. If- if I marry him tomorrow I'll have security, I will be queen and I will essentially rule the kingdom therefore the people." You slide into the cushioned chair, sliding down into the hard wooden back of the chair. The cold, and over all hurting sensation brought some sense of peace in your heart that was turning cold quicker than you'd wish.

"You think by ruling what happens to the kingdom you'll be able to make them love you? They love you already, Princess, I love you-" The Princess promised kneeling down infront of you in a disparate attempt of holding out to something that was slipping out of her fingers.

"Tell me you don't love me, tell me you'll marry that man tomorrow with no regret in your heart and ill leave-my father has places I can leave to, I have a safe space were I can be who I truly am without the force of society burning into my soul- I know you don't have that luxury, but just tell me you don't love me." The women's eyes cracked, water still leaking from them. She looked up at you, like a puppy that had just been scolded. Her bottom lip trembled, her teeth not doing much to prevent it. Your hand reach up and wiped away the tears that flowed for your love. Her brown eyes met yours, the chocolate puddle making your whole body set aflame.

It was magical; with one single look you knew, she knew. You two would forever be each others, a secret shared between two souls that feared the unknown. Every whisper, every kiss, every glance, every everything. She was the person you moured for in the darkness of the night, she was the melody that made your heart sing, she was the breath you took everyday in order to see her dimpled smile that sent your body into an up-roar of euphoria.

"Tell me, princess Y/L/N. Say it, say you don't love me, it's okay." The girl lied to herself. She lolled her head, leaning into the warm familiar touch of your hand on her body. You smile at the sight, loving how the princess infront of you always melted due to your touch.

"I cant." You whispered back, your throat burning and aching at the thought of admitting something that wasn't true. "You know that." She shuffled forward, her knees hitting the base of your foot. She leaned up, her nose brushing against yours.

"Because you love me?" She whispered, her breath brushing into your face. You huff, rolling your eyes at her. She giggled into your neck, soon pulling away just to her that confession of yours. "You love me." She no longer questioned it, fully knowing she had you today, tomorrow and forevermore.

"Indeed, Princess. I love you." She hummed, satisfied with the outcome of the heated argument that had just taken place a few moments ago. You lean further down, assuring she didn't strain her neck.

"Do you wish I would say it back?" The women teased, her lips ghosting over your own. Your tongue darted out, damping the skin below the muscle. She looked up into your eyes once again, her eye brow raised ever so slightly. The air blew harsher in a moment, the curtain brushing into your room further.

The wind blew, the scent of Princess Ortega's desired perfume hitting you. Your lungs collapsed, a heavy groan leaving your mouth. The tension brewed in the room, a heat forming on your cheeks as the women infront of you refused to press her lips into your own.

"Princess" you groaned, leaning closer almost to the point of falling. She shuffled further back, falling onto her elbows.

You followed after her, falling onto your own knees as your leaned over her. Your hair fell down your face, falling onto her own. She giggled at the sensation, the feeling of strands of hair against her skin making her laugh.

"May I?" You pressed a kiss to her cheek, assuring she was comfortable with a kiss. The Princess drew her hands to the back of your neck, biting her lip at you.

"You never have to ask, I am yours, my queen." She mumbled, pulling you that little bit closer. Finally, after a restless about of time your lips collided into a swoon worthy kiss.

With one sudden movement the door slammed open..

-----

Dearest Y/N,

It has been far too long since we last spoke, 4 years in fact. I miss our conversation, I miss your laugh, I miss the way we loved. I miss you the most, everything about you. Its nearly your twenty second birthday, I doubt you'll get my letter; since you haven't replied to the last four. I heard you've became a mother, I'm glad your happy, I'm glad you married someone you love. I hope Damien is okay, I hope your mother enjoyed my latest letter. I no longer hate you, but it appears you still hate me. I hope you still talk about me to the moon, as I do to the ocean.

Forever yours,

Your Jenna.

You walk around your kingdom, constantly wearing a smile full of happiness. Your husband Damien- not the man you was supposed to marry, no your father backed out after an argument with your mother. Instead, you was matched with Damien, he was a hopless romantic with a boy-ish grin. He had dazzling green eyes, something you didn't used to love. He had a charming gaze, long hair that you constantly had your fingers tangled in. You fell in love, hopelessly. You once only held love for one person in your life.

Damien held a tight hold on your hand, smiling as your eyes met. He leaned closer- your heart swooned- just like it did whenever you was with Princess Ortegan.

"You look beautiful my queen." The man spoke into your ear, leaving a kiss to your jaw. You giggled, ducking into your shoulders as you blushed. He smiled, your child- Marie- was hung to his hip. You had made it a tradisation ever since you got crowned; to walk through the village, speak to your people before the anniversary of your coronation.

"Mamma." The baby cooed reaching out to hold you, Damien offered you the child, carefully placing her into your hands. The crowd around you awed at the sight of the latest royal family that was caught infront of them. The baby held your hair, loosely brushing the stands in her small hands. She nuzzled her head into your neck, seemingly tired of all of the fuss.

"Are you tired, Marie?" Damien asked, his hand brushing your shoulder. The child nodded, humming as she lolled to sleep in your embrace. You smiled to yourself, carefully walking back to the Palace were you lived; hand in hand with Damien, your daughter tucked into your chest.

-----

"You cannot be serious?" Jenna told you, a smile begging to be played on her lips. You glared at her, chewing at your nails. Jenna immediately slapped away the hand, scolding you. You huff, hiding your blush as she brushed her fingers through your hair.

"My queen." She cooed, her breath brushing over your ear. You giggled, it had just been your coronation, you was officially a queen- without a king.

"I am being serious." You chuckle, feeling Jenna press feather light kisses to your cheek. She hummed, not really paying any attention to what you was saying. You push her away ever so slightly, trying to pry yourself away from her entoxicating lips.

"You'll be a queen without a king?" She once again asked, repeating herself. You nod, exited for what your future holds. She squealed, knowing no one would be able to take you away from her.

"Are you okay my queen?" Your maid- Eliza- asked with worry in her eyes. She was the women who interrupted yours and Princess Ortegas more intimate moments. The younger women looked at you, preparing herself to fetch whatever you desired.

"Why didn't you tell." You whisper to her. You was sat on your couch, which was placed in the drawing room. She looked at you confusing, acting like you was a make-shift medus and had grown snake hair.

"The day before my 18th birthday, you walked in on me kissing Princess Ortega. Why didn't you tell me father?" You finally looked her in the eyes, the women stared at you for a moment. The girl wasn't much younger than you, maybe 21. She watched as your eyes became an ocean, as your voice swelled with tears.

"Because I knew all along, your majesty. I knew you loved Princess Ortega, I- it was just so obvious." The girl explained, her own eyes darting with sadness. You glare at the floor, thinking maybe if you stared hard enough It would create a black whole for you to fall into.

"Was we really that blinded?" You whisper, your words dying as your voice finally gave up-

"Dance with me!" Princess ortega demanded. The rain danced around the two of you, the ocean above you screaming down at the two of you. Jenna began to spin, twirling her drenched dressed around her legs. She stared at you, she reached her finger out and pried it back; urging you to give in. It had only been a few weeks since becoming Queen- you'd already been granted a break. You ran with the princess towards an old cabin on the out skirts of your kingdom, where you could be free.

The rain didn't stop, it began to pour more harshly if anything. Slamming into the dirt below your feet, the trees bent back and forth the wind causing such a fuss.

"In this weather?" You ask, pointing out the obvious problem with the literal sea pouring on you. The Princess infront of you however giggled, running over to you.

Her hands gripped your waist, her baby hairs covering her perfect face. Her lips curved into a smile, her eyes a sweet brown. She giggled once again, tilting her head to meet your lips.

You acted quick, Cupping her chilled cheeks and swayed with her. Your lips never left hers, the smell of her was consuming- fresh maple trees, with a hint of strawberries. Her breath lingered with all different types of fruits, most prominent one being raspberries.

The rain some how began to bleed faster, mocking your act of love as thunder stuck behind you. A near by tree was stricken down due to the bolt.

You and Jenna gasp into each others mouths, but that didn't pry you two apart. You carried on to dance, her fingers brushing through your hair.

"Will you love me forever?" The brunette infront of you shouted over the storm that carried on to block at every bad thought.

"Beyound forever."

Your rage seethed through your veins, your anger swolling you whole as you paced back and forth your garden. Marie was sat down on the blanket, nicely placed by Eliza. Your hands clutched unopened letters, tears burned down your cheek.

"My dear, how has your evening been?" Your husand, the love of your life, the father to your child ask. He walked up to you, wearing smart attir as he gripped your jaw; placing a forced kiss opon your lips.

"What are these?" You thrusted the letters into his open hands. He cupped the paper, shock clearly written on his face. He clenched the one letter, ripping it in half. A sudden side to the man you'd married bled through his transparent persona.

"How dare you." The man screamed, his cheeks flaming red. The letters were tucked into his closet, covered in old clothes he no longer wanted to wear.

"How dare I?" You shouted back, howling as the thought of him betraying you was still hot in your brain. Eliza quickly picked up the little girl that was sat on the green grass, walking off with your daughter.

"I am your king, you had no right to accuse me of such things." The man matched your anger, even daring to strike a swelling smack to your cheek. The smack stung, sizzling with heat as he retracked his hand.

"You're measly the man I married, the person I decided to allow to share the same bed as I. You have no rights to struck me, nor call yourself king." You seeth back. You decided to ignore the throbbing pain that ached your cheek. Damien stumbled back, staring at the floor in guilt.

"She is your past." He expressed, his words coming out unsure, they sounded more like an excuse than anything. You gripped your dress, your knuckles turning white. You knew he wasn't acting normally, he was never an aggressive man.

"She is my world. She is the reason I live, she's the poison in my oxygen, she's the ache in my heart. I loved her the moment i met her, I'll love her until the moment I die. She's with me everywhere I go, she's the shadow I chase when im alone. She's my queen, Princess Ortega is a better person than you'll ever be." You screamed, every thought, ever passing momemts; Princess Ortega was always there. She was your everything, and you couldn't bear the thought of someone keeping you away from her.

"She left you." Damien jolted your memory, remembering the night that still jolted you awake in the crack of dawn.

Damien had swept you off your feet, his stupidly dumb green eyes enchanted you to your very soul. Jenna hated him, absolute despised the man to his core. You didnt love him, he was just a friend.

Your pinky fingers were locked, walking around the ball. The close proximity of the two of you made your locked hands evaporate among the silk of your dress. She flashed you a prize winning smile, offering a hushed "you look amazing."

Your foot trembled, pushing you over ever so slightly. Your whole body lunged forward, Jenna went to reach for you but Damien was already there. He brushed your hair out of the way, flashing his stupidly cheesy grin towards you.

"Are you okay princess?" With one glance Princess Ortega had ripped herself away from you and found herself sat in between her own family.

Throughout the ball you offered her small waves, senting your smile her way. She didn't look at you once, she didn't mutter a single word to you that entire night. When Damien had worked up the courage to ask you to dance you immediately said no.

He nodded, his smile falling. Princess ortega watched, then she watched how you grabbing his hand. You pulled him to the center of the room, dancing along with the violen and cello.

Her face twisted, heat pooling in her chest. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her dress, debating whether to leave.

"Sister, have you decided whether you'll join me?" The older Ortega boy asked, smiling apon his sister. Jenna looked at him confused, unsure of what he was implying.

"My trip to Europe, the invitation has been extending to my favourite sister." The man was met with a swift punch to his shoulder by his youngest sister. Jenna giggled sending one last look your way; You was dancing, freely without any fear. His hands were politely resting on your sides, still offering you his best smile he could muster. You laughed every time he cracked a joke, after Jenna left for Europe without another word, you accidentally fell in love.

-----

Your feet moved faster than your brain, your heart beat raced. Your eyes scattered around the familiar sight, proudly standing infront of you was Ortega manner. Your fist clamped together, knocking formally.

The old man smiled apon seeing you- randy- he offered you into the house. The warmness of a full house washed over your body, you smiled to nothing. The loudness of clattering and someone talking caught your attention, you dart towards the sound assuming it was your princess.

"Princess Y/L/N?" Mrs Ortega stumbled seeing your sudden appearance. You furrow your eyebrows at her sudden attitude, she glared at the floor. Her voice was stuck, her chest tight with the realisation of what her daughter did.

"She didn't tell you?" Your heart stopped, you could have swore you saw the grim reaper himself. Your eyes grew fuzzy as the older women explained everything. Your chest was tight, anxiety filled your heart. Unbeknownst to you, the Ortega family was fully aware of yours and their middle child's affair.

"She left me?" You gasped out, tears leaking from the source of yours eyes. She embraced you, held you as you screamed for your lost love. The news you had begged to share with Jenna died in your mind, becoming a passing thought

She had left, she has left. She was in some third world country saving the poor, of course she was. You gulped down every tear you pleaded to shed. You somehow stumbled to your feet, sending your goodbyes to Mrs Ortaga.

You fumbled with your foot, falling head first. A strong, muscular hand caught you. The man chuckled, the same man you had dance with all night.

"Prince, h-how are you?" He smiled down at you, lifting you up onto your own feet. You stood awkwardly on the pathway, staring up at the man.

"We must stop meeting like this, Miss Y/L/N." He spoke softly, you nod. If Princess Ortega hadn't have left she would have known about Damien, and how he had agreed to marry you so you and Jenna could forever be together. He shrugged a hand through his hair, awaiting your answer.

"She left." Your heart turned cold. Your eyes no longer felt the need to burn for someone who couldn't even handle one simple dance, you burned for her and she left. His face dropped, riddled with confusion.

"Why? I- I thought she loved you.." He stoked the patch of beard he had under his chin, a puzzled look on his face. You hum, not really caring to waste your breath on someone who clearly didn't care for you.

"I guess she didn't."

"Your highness!" Eliza called out, her hands clutching a bag that you had made a few moments ago. You stormed into your daughters room, collecting all the essentials you'd need to get through the days with a toddle. Marie was none the wiser, happily hung around your neck as you darted around her room.

"Help me, Eliza, I can't stay with that man." You seethed, the memory of you smacking him back and you demanding a separation still hot in your mind. She nodded, stumbling forward in hopes to grap your attention.

"When will you meet her?" Your head whipped towards the question, daggers leaving your eyes and piercing the women infront of you. You stood silent, assuming she had betrayed you too.

"You knew?"

"I- I, I assume Princess Ortega is back? That's why he was so mad? Or has he always been violent?" You release a shaken sigh, dropping your head. Your daughter began to fuss, demanding to be put down. You was scared, you couldn't stay with Damien but you also couldn't leave your daughter.

"Here." Eliza offered her help, picking up your daughter and began to play dolls with the little girl that resembled you, shockingly.

You nod, everything seeming too fast for your brain to catch on to. Your hands thrashed through Marie's things, your feet trodded across the hall towards your bedroom. You stomed around; gathering clothes, Letters, Information you'd need.

Damien was no where to be found, probably at the better end of a whiskey bottle. You found it easier that way, thanking his alcoholic demands for having such a hold on him.

"May I ask you something?" Eliza sheepishly asked, packing the final bag into the trunk of your carriage.

"Yes?"

There was a pause, an undeniable awkwardness within the cramped space. She bit her lip, nibbling ever so slightly on the skin.

"Is she worth it?"

Not even skipping a beat, not even batting an eyelash you nodded, "Yes."

Jenna was worth every tear you shed, every ache you felt, every smile you held, every laughter that bubbled out of your throat. She was the root to everything in your life, whether that be bad or good. She was always behind everything.

You hadn't read the letters yet. He had torn one, one that you hadn't had the knowledge of reading. You knew, whatever she wrote she wrote it for a reason.

"Goodbye, Queen."

"Mother has written, do you wish to know what for?" Jacob, Jenna's older brother asked whilst walking into the drawing room. Jenna hummed, her hands flipping through different pages of her book.

"Queen Y/L/N, didn't know you was leaving." The boys tone was scolding and accusing. Jenna shrank in on herself, her lip between her teeth.

"She fell out of love." She mumbled into her palm, knowing that was only half true. However it wasnt at all true.

"That's not what our mother declares." Jacob carried on. Jenna didn't give the boy the satisfaction of knowing she was dying to know what their mother had written, word for word.

"She chose him."

"She danced with him, that wasn't her declaring her undying love for that fool." Jacob retorted, throwing the paper towards his younger sister. "Shes gone mad without you."

The carriage ride was exhausting, you dreaded seeing your father. He was a strong man that turned sour with his age, he was mean and wouldn't have even cared if you told him the truth; that your husband turned abusive.

Your foot nervously bounced up and down, debating whether to read the letters, they were hundreds and you needed to read them eventually.

Tears openly flowed out of Princess Ortega's eyes, clutching the letter her mother wrote a few days prior. It had been 3 months since leaving, it was hard not to demand her brother to return home. But she suffered through the pain, hoping eventually she'd find a sense of belong; a sense she'd only even found in the arms of you.

The words bled together, her hands tearing the piece of paper into shreds.

Queen y/l/n is engaged, to be wed next week in the halls of belle. Damien was the man's name, charming, she does seem happy, Jenna-

Jenna couldn't bear to read more, her heart already broke and stomped on atleast 12 times already.

"Y/N, we've missed you." Your mother cooed, holding Marie in her hands. The baby giggled, nibbling on her pacifier. She had been teething terribly bad, to the point of tears each and every night.

"Mother, could I trouble you, I need a piece of paper and pen." Your mother nodded, asking her own maid to fetch the demanded things. You sat yourself down on your desk, the same desk that Princess ortega would write random love poems to you, the same desk were you'd kiss each night before she'd have to leave-

My dearest Jenna,

Loving you was probably the most easiest things I'd ever do in my short liven life. I loved you, I loved you until it psychically hurt. Every moon lit date, every dance among the ocean, every song you declared was ours, I always found myself loving you. But,

My love was always not taken serious by you, the constant recurrence I had to send your way just for us to have a normal day was exhausting. You was mess, a mess that I wanted. I danced with Damien because he looked so sad, I laughed at his joke because I was being polite, I stayed with him all night because we had a plan. I was going to marry him but love you, instead you decided to leave me. You left me, with nothing but empty space. I don't forgive you, I don't hate you either. Your the light in my tunnel, the air in my lungs and most famously; The Ocean to my Moon.

Damien stole your letters, I left him. He knew, I think he knew, I'd always love you no matter what.

I loved you the most when you was dancing with the rain singing without shame, I loved you when you broke down in my arms the day I told you I was marrying that old man. I never hated you, because hate was too close to love. I just stopped everything, I went numb because I'd rather lose myself than live with a life were there was no jenna.

I can only hope that we will meet again, maybe under a moon lit night were we dance once again. I'd like to kiss you before i die, maybe express how much I loved you even though you left. But I won't let myself dream anymore, it's painful. I have a daughter now, Her names Marie. I guess deep down i knew you was always the love of my life, my soul mate. She's named after you because I wanted her to be beautiful, to be strong and a fighter just like the women who was supposed to be her mother. I'll leave my seemingly long letter with that, I hope you get this my princess.

I'll love you beyond forever.

Sincerely, yours Y/N.

Jenna found it oddly surreal walking back into her childhood home. The colours were still a warm green, the lights still hung on the walls. Her younger siblings running freely among the grass outside the manner, her nieces and nephews making baby noises as her older sister chats with their mother.

She walked further into the home, sadness dwelling on her due to the fact no one noticed her appearance; she'd been gone for 4 years. Her feet softly padded into the floor, accompanying her mother as she stood on the lawn.

"Evening, Mother." She greeted the older women, smiling as the sun blared unforgiving at them. It was like the weather was controlled by Yours and Jenna's love, when the Sun was out the two of you couldn't have been further apart, when the rain poured down on the earth the two of you was probably found kissing somewhere no one would found you.

"Jenna!" The women gasped, embracing her daughter into a bone crushing hug. The two shared a few moments together, before the nagging need to find out why her daughter had suddenly came home.

"I love the welcome intrusion, but why are you here Jenna?"

Jenna wrote madly on the pieces of paper infront of her, scribbling down every ounce of love that she felt for you. Her brother watched, a scowl on his face.

"Jenna, what on earth are you doing?" The man asked, walking towards his sister in hopes to read what she was writing. The girl shooked away from him, hissing at the thought anyone but you would read what she needed to say.

"Writing."

Jenna needed to hear of you, she needed to know you was okay and that you still felt atleast something for her. She wrote every pained thought she felt, every sadned question that aired her brain. She knew you was marrying Damien, she knew you wasn't hers anymore. But still, the thought of you forgetting her was enough to drive her into insanity.

Word after word, page turned into pages until she finally had a book.

Jenna stared at her mother's question, she found herself wearing a smile mixed with blush.

"Queen Y/L/N, replied."

————–

Eliza carefully tied the lace on your corset. The annual ball was today, the anniversary of your coronation. You impatiently bounced your left foot, chewing on your nail like you did many years prior. But things were different. Next to you, as beautiful as ever stood your daughter. And there wasn't no Jenna to push away your bad habits.

"I'm dreadfully tired." You mumbled, hoping you could excuse yourself early to the party. Even though you was still well into your youth, days always seemed to drag. Eliza hummed, her hands dragging once up your whole back before leaving the corset with that.

The dress was soon fitted, sliding down your frame. You smiled at yourself, seeing what stood infront of the mirror. You may not have achieved much in your life, but you was sure as hell proud to be able to call Maria your daughter. She was playing quietly in the corner of your bedroom, fiddling with letters Princess Ortega made you when you two were only girls.

"All done, Queen."

—————

As always, your night was dreadfully long. It was brain numbing to be witness of the true mindless People of your country. The Ortega family arrived late, Jenna a no show like the current balls your family had held.

You sometimes caught yourself wondering if Europe was all it seemed to be. Surely it wasn't that interesting to invest years of your life to travel it.

In your pitiful state, you felt the damness of the atmosphere shift; water began to positively pour down into your kingdom, drouding out all thought that casting into your soured mind. Jenna getting lost during the rain, forgetting every pained image you had of her. Your feet dangled off the edge of the hill, below it was a drop worthy enough to kill. You often spent your evenings casted to witness the wildlife that traveled through the vally like state. Along side the hill stood a tree, the same tree that held many feelings in your heart.

Your bear feet had trickles of water droplets falling off them, along with the edge of your jaw and tip of your nose. It was enough to bring a mad person to sanity, the feeling of rain falling onto your tensed shoulders.

Everything was corrupted with the sound of the rain, the weather suddenly growing harsh and unforgiven with each moment you stayed painfully unaware of the brunette who chased down each and every one of your staff in hopes to find your whereabouts.

"Have you seen the Queen?" Jenna breathed out, her pants clouding her speech ever so slightly. The man that cooked you dinner shrugged, not really caring for the women infront of him. A strained groan left the princesses lips, clutching her hands together with a sob. You hadn't realised the time that drifted, it had been two hours since you left your own party.

Jenna left the kitchen, sprinting to your bedroom. Funny enough, almost like time had stopped all together when Jenna entered your bedroom eveything was the same. Everything in the same place, the only different was the sleeping girl that laid in the mist of your pillows and blankets.

Jenna gasped, her heart exploding. She was identical to you when you was a just a child, her hair scattered across the pillow and cheeky plushed.

"Princess Ortega" Eliza bumped chest with the frantic girl infront of her. Jenna was untameble, her eyes wide like a serial killer. She panted, her lungs seizing at the thought of being too late.

"Where- where is she? Where's my Y/N?" Your name rolled off her tongue, like it was meant to be. She wasn't ashamed to show her face anymore, she wasn't paralysed with crippling jealousy like she used to be. She wanted what's rightfully herself, she came for a reason and every moment of her passing years dragged all due to one reason. You was no where to be seen, you became a stranger and she'd be damned if your love story didn't end with the two of you hopefully in love with no fear in your heart and a house fill of laughter.

"Shes- she never told me. She said she's leaving to her safe space." Eliza stuttered, shifting on her feet at the sudden desperation that stormed Jenna's features.

Jenna didn't reply, she hurried off. Her feet slammed, claiming down onto the carpeted wooden floor, she barged past people ignoring their cries of ignorance. They didn't know why princess Ortega was harshly running through the halls, nor why she was in such a panic.

Jenna finally stumbled towards the tree where you and her first kissed. You two was 16, she had finally admit her deepest secret that led to you sharing yours.

"I..I think I'm in love you." Jenna sheepishly admit, her face a blushing mess. The moon lit night did wonders for her beauty, the moon truly reflection the astonishing view she could be. You was so caught up with her freckled nose that you almost forgot to reply.

Your confession was caught in your lips. Jenna was sat infront of you, waiting for an answer. She was smiling, almost like she knew you was desperately in love with her too. It was obvious, the love you two shared wasn't a secret. It was painfully clear to anyone with a sense of mind, no friends long for one another like you and jenna did.

"I know I love you Jenna. There isn't a doubt in my mine, you're my ocean." Confidence washed over you, your chest growing in size with the amount of oxygen you took in as you breathe.

Jenna giggled, her hand dragging closer to your cheek. She cupped your face ever so slightly, placing the other on the floor to stabilise her. She leaned forward, scared to fully commit the sin she wanted to destroy.

"Kiss me."

The way Jenna ran towards the moon lit tree was supernatural, she didn't stop when a seizing pain took over her lower stomach. She treded through the untamed grass, storming faster when she saw the faint sign of someone sitting down by the hill.

"Y/N!" Jenna howled, her words echoing through the air. She shuffled, huffing out in pain when the shadow didn't turn around. Biting down on her lip she ran faster, her thighs burning and the bottom of her dress tearing.

"Y/N!" The grass sqelched below her, the mud splattered up the better half of her legs. She ignored the uncomfortable feeling off the thick muck intruding her skin, knowing you was only a few minutes away.

Just as God frowned down on the two of you, the weather began to grow worse. God upping his game, the rain began to pound, slamming into Jenna's skin leaving harsh marks in result. The rain turned into thick clumps of ice, then a shed of hailstones. A sharp enough peice of ice slashed the cheek of Jenna, she hissed holding the skin as blood began to trickle down her flesh.

"Queen!"

Thunder crashed down on the tree standing right beside you. Your body jolted awake, the lighting scaring the life out of you. Your hand clamped around the fabric around your chest, breathing becoming labored and strained.

"Holy-" Your whole body was forced side ways, your arms swinging ever so slightly. You gasped, someone coming into contact with your face. The strangers hands cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look at them.

Standing infront of you, as beautiful as ever stood your Jenna. She was wearing a shy smile, her hair stuck to her head. The water droplets dribble down her face, leaving her a mess that sent yout into a coma. She was ethereal, extremely elegant.

The years you'd spent apart felt like nothing anymore, like the gap in history was drawn out of proportion and it hadn't been four years but a mear few days. Jenna looked exactly the same, maybe even gain more worshipable freckles that would add to your on going count.

"Princess Ortega-" Your words were muffled, Jenna's lips crashing into yours. The lack of people around left the both of you reckless, a slave to the desire that drilled into your bodies at the lack of being near each other in far too long.

"You once promised me that you'd love me forever." Jenna gasped, the lack of air still evident with her struggle with breathing. Her hand never left your face, determined to keep you as close as possible.

"I believe I said beyond forever." You reminded her, smiling with the same cocky over confident smirk that made Jenna want to rip your head off. Instead of rolling her eyes, slapping your arm or even straight up leaving like she once did after seeing the sight she pulling you closer to her. Her lips crashed into yourself, your hands finally coming to life to hold her face too.

"Do you intend to keep your promise?" Jenna asked, pulling away from your lips. A stern groan left yours, a plead of objection.

"Only if you intend to extend the same sentiment my way."

She smiled, both of you giggling like it was second nature. The weather was yet to seize, only growing more fearful.

"I'll love you until humanity crumbles and the sun explodes into nothing."

The Ocean will always have its Moon. And you will always have your Jenna

#jenna ortega #jennaortega #lgbt #scream #tara carpenter #Lorraine day #xmovie #wlw #gxg #jenna ortega x fem #jenna ortega x you #lesbian #bi #Spotify

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 1 year

Text

The green-eyed, Green-Eyed Monster

(I was sent this beautiful pic which was found on Pinterest, and we can't find the owner, if anyone knows, please let me know so I can credit them.)

Summary: Y/N decides to get back at Jensen for walking away from her, by reminding him just what he's missing out on.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Lots of smut. Unprotected P in V sex, sex in a mostly public place, sex in a slightly skeevy room, oral (m and f receiving) throat fucking, rough sex, spanking (just a bit) slight overstimulation, possessive!jensen, jealous!jensen, poor decision-making skills that would result in a much different outcome in real life - but hey fics are NOT real life, so bring on the fantasy! 😜 Oh, and some fluff to finish.

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x Y/N

Word Count: 2,813

A/N: So, the other day, I wrote this little tongue-in-cheek post, and got some absolutely fabulous reblogs and comments, which encouraged me to combine some teeth-rotting fluff with my reader being fucked into oblivion. I said I would try it.

Then earlier today, the beautiful @myloversgone sent me the INCREDIBLE pic above and this story pretty much materialized in my brain instantly. It turned out to be a bit more smut based than fluff based, but there's definitely fluff at the end. Hope you all enjoy it! 😊

A/N 2: As always, this is a different version of Jensen from within the Multiverse who is single. Absolute and complete fiction, of course.

The beautiful divider at the bottom was created by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist || Tag Lists

(Dumblr is currently messing with my Masterlist at the moment, and some links aren't working, but I've contacted support, and we'll see if they can fix it? I'm also working to get all my library of fics transfered and posted on Ao3, so when that happens, I'll share a link to read them over there. ❤️)

You watch Jensen across the club floor, and feel a thrill of vindication when you see him throw back his third shot of tequila in barely ten minutes. He’s obviously pissed, but it’s no less than he deserves for walking away from you and breaking your heart.

His eyes find you again on the dance floor, and you grind your ass back against the stranger dancing up against you. You have no idea who the guy is, and you have no interest in learning. All you know is that he’s the guy making Jensen’s eyes shoot jealousy-filled daggers your way, so you turn to face him and throw your arms around his neck.

The guy seems happy to dance close and not ask questions, so you look to where Jensen is standing on the VIP dais, behind the velvet rope and, keeping direct eye contact with him, you nibble gently on the guy’s earlobe. Jensen’s eyes flash and narrow, and you’re reminded of just how much he used to love it when you did that to him.

He downs tequila number four, tossing the shot glass down before storming away from the group around him. He disappears towards the back of the club and without thinking about anything, not the cute guy you're dancing with, or the consequences for your heart if you follow him, you run off the dance floor to find him.

The thumping house music is slightly muted as you move through a black velvet curtain into a long, red, wallpapered hallway. The club is infamous for this back hallway and the rooms that lead off of it; the regular club patrons have dubbed it the path of sin because there are constantly devilish things happening back there. As you pass by the first door, you can hear the distinct cracking sound of leather against skin followed by cries of pain and pleasure mingling together. You watch the woman in the next room through the wide open door as she snorts a line of white powder up her nose.

There’s no shame on the path of sin.

As you near the end of the hallway you’re beginning to think that maybe Jensen just left the club altogether. But then he casually steps out of the last room on your left - looking like walking sex, clothed entirely in black, and wearing an expression that makes your stomach clench in anticipation, desire, and just a hint of fear. Jensen’s anger can be intimidating, even if you know he’d never actually hurt you.

But nevertheless, you’d been working very hard to piss him off, and it looks like you succeeded.

He steps close to you and you back away; he continues to walk you backwards till you hit the wall opposite the room he just exited. You raise your chin defiantly and Jensen wraps his big hand around your throat, holding you in place.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing out there?” He asks in a low growl. “Who is that fucking guy?”

You shrug your shoulders and attempt a dispassionate expression, but you know Jensen can read the pulsating desire in your body and you’re so wet and needy for him that he can probably smell your arousal.

Still, your voice is impressively cool as you raise an eyebrow at his audacity. “I don’t think it’s any of your business who I dance with anymore, jackass. Since, you know, you took your name off my dance card.”

Jensen’s bright green eyes are dark with anger and lust, both of which make you want to start squirming, but you’re trying to hold on to a thread of dignity. Then he steps closer to you, pushing his leg between yours and it’s everything you can do not to grind down against the meaty thigh he’s purposely rubbing against your drenched pussy.

His voice is low and wicked as his delectable mouth is hovering just above yours. “I didn’t like seeing you with him.”

“Then I guess you shouldn’t have thrown me away, huh?” You say accusingly as you try to push his hand away from your throat.

But Jensen just grabs your wrist to pin your hand above your head and tightens his grip on your throat slightly as he rocks his lower body against you, making you finally let out an involuntary groan as you feel the hard ridge of his cock through his custom-tailored, black cotton pants.

A flash of victory sparks in his juniper eyes and he bucks against you again; you bite down on your lip to stifle another heated moan. But Jensen’s voice is full of persuasion and delicious promise and you know you’re lost. “You don’t want that loser you were dancing with, do you, baby girl? You still want me. Don’t you?”

You try to shake your head no, but he’s not buying it. You both know what you wanted when you followed him down the hallway.

Sin. You’re only here for sin.

He pushes your free hand against his cock, closing your fingers around the rock hard bulge there. “I still want you too,Y/N. Fuck, I want you so badly.” He says in your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. “I want to remind you what it feels like to be fucked stupid, to be ridden so hard and so good that every other guy is just a pathetic memory.”

His hand leaves your throat so he can yank down your sequined tank top, groaning at the fact that you’re wearing nothing underneath. His mouth is on you in an instant, pulling your tit into his mouth and sucking hard, making it impossible for you to stifle the cry of pleasure that tumbles from your lips.

He moves to your other breast and flicks his tongue across your nipple, making it pucker into a tight bud that he then sinks his teeth into, giving it a sharp tug.

“Jensen!” You cry out, and against your will, the fingers of your free hand push into his long, soft, honey brown locks, holding him in place as he continues to flick his tongue back and forth against your extremely sensitive skin.

He stands up straight and pulls your other wrist up to be trapped against the wall above your head. He holds them easily in one hand, using his other hand to slowly trace his forefinger over your lips.

“I missed this sweet fucking mouth, and all the filthy things you can do with it.” He clamps his hand around your jaw, forcing your mouth open so he can lick up into it “I wanna fuck down your throat till your gagging, and too full of my cock to ever think of anyone else.”

Your eyes roll back in your head and saliva dribbles out of the corner of your open mouth at the memory of his thick, smooth, delicious cock sliding across your tongue and down your throat, and the memory makes you whimper. Taking that as an invitation, Jensen pushes you down to your knees with one hand while the other keeps your hands tightly bound above your head.

He unbuckles his belt one-handed, before popping open the button on his pants and pulling down his zipper with easy dexterity. There’s a fleeting moment where you remember that for all intents and purposes, you’re on full display, in public, and you think of suggesting that you retreat to one of the rooms. But then he pulls his dick out and taps it against your lips and it’s immediately all you can think about.

“Open up, baby.” Jensen coos at you and you don’t hesitate to obey, sticking your tongue out in anticipation. He eases into your mouth slowly, giving you ample time to prepare for him, but your throat still bulges and you still gag around his giant cock as it pushes down your esophagus. Jensen fucks into your mouth unhurriedly and deliberately, sometimes sliding down your throat, and sometimes just hitting the back of it, causing a satisfying gluck, gluck sound as you choke around him.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks, and you know your mascara must be running black over your skin. He reaches out his thumb to smear the make-up further across your cheekbone.

“So fucking pretty, stuffed full of my cock. This throat is mine, this mouth is mine. Isn’t it, baby?” He asks roughly as he presses himself as far down your throat as he can. You refuse to nod, or give him the satisfaction of giving in easily. You don’t want him to think he’s won yet.

He pulls out completely and leaves you coughing, and gasping, precum and spit dripping out of your mouth. He pulls you up by the vice grip he still has on your wrists and crushes you against the wall, his big hand squeezing your breast hard. You bite down on your lip again, stifling another cry of pleasure.

“Answer me, Y/N. This mouth is mine, these tits are mine, your throat, your cunt, every inch of this body belongs to me, doesn’t it?”

“You left, remember? I thought you weren’t interested in them anymore.” You rasp, the words coming up harshly from your abused throat.

Jensen stares into you, his forest green eyes intense and piercing. “Oh, I’m interested.” His voice is thick with need and possessiveness, but there’s a hint of regret there too. “I want all of you, every atom of you to be mine. I didn’t realize how desperately I fucked up until I saw you out there tonight pressed up against that piece of shit douchebag.”

He pushes his hand up your short skirt and rubs his thick fingers over your soaked panties. “I’m never gonna let you go again. No one else’s hands are gonna touch what’s mine.”

Panting harshly into your mouth, Jensen pushes your panties aside and slips two fingers through your slick. “Now answer me, Y/N. Tell me you’re mine.”

Your body clenches tightly around his invading fingers and you buck your hips forward as he presses easily against your g-spot again and again, tapping out a rhythm of delirious pleasure.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Is all you can manage, but Jensen seems to accept it as confirmation and he pulls his hand out of your body so he can yank you into the room across from you. He closes and locks the door and pushes you forward onto the single bed in the corner of the room.

“Hands and knees.” He orders and you comply immediately.

He steps up behind you and you expect to feel his cock push into you, but instead you feel him sink to his knees on the floor behind you and you’re suddenly speared on his hard, thick tongue. His tongue fucks you into your first orgasm, but it doesn’t end there. His mouth is heaven and hell against your throbbing cunt, his beautiful plump lips suck your clit into his mouth and he nibbles and licks at the overly sensitive nub, until you’re screaming out your second and third orgasm in quick succession.

His fingers push into you, and he scissors you open wide, so his long, velvety tongue can reach deep into your pussy, making you push back against his face and let out inhuman noises of pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. Your fourth orgasm hits you like a tidal wave and you flop forward on the bed. No longer able to hold your torso up, you bury your face into your folded arms as Jensen stands up straight behind you.

He rubs his hands soothingly down your back. “That was for me to say I’m sorry for being a jackass and hurting you.” You nod disjointedly in acceptance of his apology.

Then you jolt upright as a stinging slap connects with your right ass cheek. You let out a screech of pain and indignation as he does the same to the left. He delivers two more sharp spanks to each cheek, reddening your ass, and warming it significantly.

You scowl at him over your shoulder and he points his finger at you. “Uh uh.” He reprimands you, eyebrow raised. “That is for your little jealousy stunt that you pulled tonight. I know you only did it to piss me off. Well, this is what happens when you piss me off and make me jealous.”

His hard palms deliver one more simultaneous smack to each cheek, making you bite your lip from the sting even as your core clenches and slick drips down your thighs. He rubs his calloused palms over your skin, easing the fiery tingle he caused, and sweeps his hands down the backs of your thighs, dragging his blunt fingernails back up them and over your ass, making your whole body quiver.

After a minute, he speaks softly, but in a dark voice raging with heat. “Do you want me to fuck you now, baby girl?”

Your words are lost, but you grunt and push your hips back towards him. He chuckles softly and takes the nonverbal cue. You feel him line up at your entrance, but he just teases your hole, pushing in ever so slightly.

“How do you want me, baby? Hard and fast, or slow and sweet?”

You nod, because you just need him, but he waits for an answer so you bark out your request.

“Hard. Fast. Now!”

Jensen growls and ratchets you forward on the bed as he slams into you. “Yes, Ma’am.” He says as he pulls out and slams back immediately.

He does indeed give it to you hard and fast; his pace is unforgiving and relentless, pounding into you so fast and so powerfully that your knees are burned from sliding forward on the cheap polyester blanket covering the bed. His fingers dig into your pelvic bone, bruising you as he slams you back against him.

The guttural sounds that are coming from deep in his chest as he’s fucking you are what push you over the edge for the fifth time, and as you clench tightly around his cock, you feel him spurting hot and thick deep inside you, painting you, marking you, claiming you.

He collapses on you, and you let him crush you into the mattress. Eventually he slides out of your body and sits on the floor, pulling you into his lap and holding you close. He spreads soft kisses across your closed eyes and the bridge of your nose as his fingers trail soothingly over your breasts, teasing them softly.

“Y/N,” he says softly against your cheek, “I am sorry, you know. I never should have walked away from you. But…”

When he doesn’t immediately finish you look up at him and egg him on with your expression. “But?”

He let out a deep sigh. “You scare the shit out of me, woman. I don’t know what to do with someone like you.”

You frown, trying to decide if you’re insulted or not. “Someone like me?”

He nods.”Yes, someone who can absolutely bring me to my knees with a look, someone who drives me crazy with want, feeling like I need my hands on you 24/7, someone who makes me laugh and makes me happier than I’ve ever been.” He throws his hands up. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

You’re still frowning. “Um…sorry?”

He scoffs. “I know it’s stupid, but I got suddenly terrified that it was all too perfect, you were too perfect, we were too perfect together, everything fit, and everything was easy, and easy things scare me. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop and when it wouldn’t, I think I figured I’d help it along.”

He shakes his head and then kisses you slowly, sweetly, before dropping his forehead to yours. “Y/N, I’m a fucking idiot. Can you forgive me? If I promise to trust this, trust you, can we try again?”

You’d known from the first moment that the idiotic idea had come into your head to try and make him jealous, that this was what you were angling for; a way to show him what he was giving up, and maybe a way to try again.

So, you nod readily and throw your arms around his neck. “Yes, Jensen, we can try again. But promise me that the next time you start panicking, you’ll open your mouth and talk to me about it.”

He nods. “I will. And will you promise me something too?”

“Hmm?”

His hand cups your breast and squeezes making you gasp. “Only my hands are allowed to touch this perfection.” He tips your chin up with his forefinger to make you meet his intense green gaze. “Yes?”

“Fuck yes.” You sigh as he takes possession of your mouth once again.

Easiest promise you’ve ever made.

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

@lyarr24

@deans-spinster-witch

@impalaslytherin

@maggiegirl17

@akshi8278

@candy-coated-misery0731

@nt-multi-fandom

@deanswaywardgirl

@slytherinlyn314

@globetrotter28

@jensensgirl

@perpetualabsurdity

@tristanrosspada-ackles

@djs8891

@muhahaha303

@kayyay1219

@emily-winchester

@recoveringpastaaddict

@maximumkillshot

@mimaria420

@sacriceria

@envyaurora95

@lacilou

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.)

@sunshineandwings86

@kazsrm67

@sexyvixen7

@alexxavicry

@nancymcl

@spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well)

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

@awkward-and-indecisive

@maliburenee

@supernatural4life2022

@spn730015

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@kickingitwithkirk

@waywardbaby

@foxyjwls007

@deanwanddamons

@deandreamernp

@deanwithscissors

@myloversgone

@snowlovespie

@leigh70

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@charred-angelwings

@hopefuldreamers-world

@mysherlock221b

@jensensgotyoudean

@stixnstripesworld

@thoughts-and-funnies

@magssteenkamp

@norman1967

@princessmisery666

@eevvvaa

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy

@b-i-t-c-h-i-e

@twirpbunwarrior

@mysweetlittledesire

@waynes-multiverse

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@bernasaurus

@jensenslady79

@courtn92

@avanatural

@ellie-andthemachine

@this-is-me19

@roseblue373

@katbratsupernaturalwhore

@fanfic-n-tabulous

#jensen x reader #jensen ackles smut #jensen x y/n #jensen x you #jensen ackles fluff #jealous!jensen #possessive!jensen #jensen ackles rpf

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playertale-au · 13 days

Text

[NOTICE] Thank you for the 300+ followers. To celebrate, bits of PLAYER!Tale AU concept( regarding Player) is shared

Reposting because Tumblr decided to post instead of saving it in drafts when I'm not even finished. Love you tumblr! (╯ᐛ）╯︵ ┻━┻

◇◇◇◇◇

A/N:

Oh, wow! We actually reach 300+ (as of now 310) followers!

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Thank you very much from the bottom of my heart, I’m glad all of you enjoyed the story despite my art not being that good. I actually wanted to draw for 250 followers but I didn’t realised we passed that milestone.

Anyways! To celebrate, I wanted to share some concepts regarding the Player based on my memories, though sorry if there is like a black blotched in the drawing as that is considered as spoilers.

To start off, I began creating this AU maybe 5/6 years ago, on and off, (re-writing or removing some stuff along the way) I had loads of concept art and drawings back in 2019 but sadly those old arts were, ummm, forcedly deleted after a disagreement with someone I trusted, haha. The pain for a FT user in ibis paint. ｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ

Then 2023, I wanted to move forward. So I decided to give it a shot and start drawing again. I wanted to share my AU (better late than ever),＼＼\(۶•̀ᴗ•́)۶//／／ and also I thought it will help overcome my fear of drawing and start liking to draw again.

Anyway, here we have Player’s design concept (+ explanation):

Version 1:

Player actually does not inhibit Frisk’s body, as they are not trap in the game, instead, they have their own “Avatar” basing on the data and sprites of Frisk and Chara. (The situation is more towards VR? AR? I’m not sure what to call it) The Player has their memories intact.

The story is just Player goofing around in Undertale, until plot happens, but I didn’t really like the idea as I have no clue how to progress the story forward, so the whole story was re-written.

Player mostly hack codes, while Frisk has the Reset/Reload button.

Initially, their eyes didn’t change colour when using abilities. But I wanted to distinguish what and when the abilities are used.

Version 2:

This is where, I decided that the Player actually inhibits Frisk body, though they are not amnesiac. Frisk is like a ghost (narrator?) here. The image above is post-skip version to maybe 1 year trapped in Undertale. This idea was scrap and rewritten due “Chara” ‘s story and I wanted to involved Gaster in the story. (Also, because I didn’t want to draw this version hairstyle anymore, hahaha ( ≧ᗜ≦))

Player has both the hacking and reset/reload abilities.

This version of Player is more uptight and serious.

Version 3:

I think this is like 2nd or 3rd version of the finalise concept.

Our current Player. I made the hairstyle simpler.

This Player inhibits Frisk body and is amnesiac. The personality shifted so it’s easier for the player to act consistent. This version is more carefree than ver 2, they are similar to ver 1.

First design of the Player (ver 3).

Despite being ver 3, I wanted to keep a bit of the ver 1 and 2 hairstyle but decided not to. Again, I wanted a simpler hairstyle.

This personality is just them being stress and filled with anxiety. A nervous wreck and a crybaby. Cries a lot at the first arc until they pull themselves together. But I didn’t wanna make them cry all throughout the story, if I continued to write them like that, I might ended up smacking Player myself hahaha. I ended up toning down the personality.

Gaster would have replace Frisk as the ghost (narrator?). But I decided not doing it, because it conflict with the plot. That, and the story would be over much quicker with him around.

Side note: I had to change the relationship between Sans and the Player(hate, confuse, no interaction, chill, idk? etc), a lot of times, but in the end I decided to make him not trust the Player.

Previously in most iteration, he just hates Player. I planned to have him to kill the Player the first time they exited the ruins, but decided to go against it as it doesn’t really fit his style. Also, the story would go very differently if he did commit to it. Maybe one day I can make him kill them. In an alternate timeline maybe. ꉂ (´∀｀)ʱªʱªʱª

Extras: Player in different outfits (loosely)based on the other fallen humans in this AU. (+ ruin outfit)

There is a reason, why the Player had worn some of these outfits in chapter 3 and 4.

Don’t worry, it’s not originally the clothes worn by the other children, Toriel made them. She has spares. (Sorry, to the one that find it creepy, when it was first shown, hahahaha)

And, that’s all for now I am able to share, I wanted to show more, but I’m afraid, that’s already in the spoiler territory.

Anyways-! Thank you again for the follow, each and every one of you are the best! And I hope you enjoyed the upcoming story!

#PLAYER!Tale AU #Thank you all so much #no seriously #Spoilers? Maybe #PLAYER!Tale AU concept

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thinkingfandoms · 6 months

Text

An accurate list of the best movies I've ever seen

This list also includes reasons that are all too objective and nonsensical. Avoid asking too many questions. And share what you think in the comments!

Hercules

Hercules is probably my favourite Disney movie. And I also think that's where my interest in Greek mythology started. Hades is my favorite villain from this company and he's such a mood.

The Prince of Egypt

Oh dear you don't know how much I love this movie. I know every song by heart and was lucky enough to sing them with my choir. I'm a big fan of animation and despite how old is this movie, I think it remains one of the best ever produced. I cried more times over this movie than over all the others on this list combined.

Friends & Family

I only discovered this film this year but it quickly became one of my favorites. I have never laughed for so many consecutive minutes at a movie. I approached it because it's unusual to see a gay mob-themed movie, but I immediately fell in love with all the characters and the final scene remains one of the most comic I have ever seen.

Treasure Planet

I have a soft spot for animated films about great adventures and self-discovery. Jim has been my only animated crush for years, and his story has always resonated with something inside of me (maybe the desire for adventure and his recklessness, idk). Plus, of course, "'I'm Still Here" is one of the most beautiful soundtracks ever created.

Howl's Moving Castle

One of the first films I saw by Studio Ghibli and my absolute favourite. The love stories created by this Studio are always wonderful, and this one is no different. Plus I always saw myself in Sophie (especially about the crush on Howl) and, well, there's Calcifer, what more do you want?

Les Choristes

Another thing I love: movies about music. It may be that I've been playing an instrument for years and singing in choirs, but I've always cried watching kids rediscover a new side of themselves through music and songs. And these songs are composition's masterpieces. I still remember them all by heart even though French isn't my native language.

A Christmas Carol

I'm slightly obsessed with this story, with Charles Dickens and with Christmas. I was born on Christmas Eve so you can imagine how close this theme is to my heart. I have seen several versions of this story though, and for some reason, this one remains my favourite. It may be that it's different from other more colourful versions and really shows the darkness behind the original story, idk.

How to Train Your Dragon

I literally grew up with this saga: I was 8 years old at the first film, 12 at the second and 17 at the third. I watched Hiccup grow up with me as a friend and Toothless as a fellow adventurer. I'll forever be grateful to Dreamworks for creating the best-animated saga that cinema has ever seen.

The Three Musketeers

This movie is so random that it's perfect. I watched it again recently (after like 8 years) and realized that maybe my daddy issues come from this movie: Luke Evans, Orlando Bloom and the freaking Mads Mikkelsen together, seriously? I'm not surprised it was one of my favourite movies growing up.

A Monster in Paris

The love I have for this film is enormous. I could never get over the beauty of the songs in it. The characters are so well written and Francœur will always be in my top animated characters. It's too amazing to be real.

Rise of the Guardians

I could talk for hours about this film and have not even touched the tip of the iceberg. I have an insane obsession with all the characters, starting with and especially Jack, my top animated crush for years. It's all so perfect that I don't see how people never nominate it when it comes to top animated movies.

The Hobbit

Again, I have serious problems with films about fantasy adventures. I have always preferred The Hobbit saga to its sequel because the story has always fascinated me more. And the main character especially: for me Bilbo >>>> Frodo. And then there's Thorin and Luke Evans. You know, daddy issues.

Mune: Guardian of the Moon

Another French animated movie, another obsession, another adventure, another animated character in my top. This is an example of how to do good animation. There isn't a colour out of place. The settings are authentic, the characters are original, and the adventure they make gets me every time.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

I'm maybe a Muggle, but I prefer Fantastic Beasts to the Harry Potter saga. That's not to say it's better, mind you, but it reflects me more. We all know how we Hufflepuffs (and Ravenclaws) have no real representation in the HP movies, so to be able to have at least one prequel saga starring a Hufflepuff (in which I also find myself far too much) as the protagonist is wonderful. And I have an unhealthy urge to become a magizoologist.

The Greatest Showman

It's the movie I have watched the most of these. I know every song by heart and every line too. It always manages to be a roller coaster of emotions. And it has Hugh Jackman in it.

The Boy Foretold By The Stars

I'm a big supporter of the Philippine's film company. This is one movie is gentle, funny, and not based on the usual drama between Christianity and LGBT+ people (which is what I thought when reading the plot at first). Moreover, another underrated thing, the Philippines' music company here has thrown in masterpiece after masterpiece of songs, perfect for this movie.

Bros

This is my top comfort film in the last year. It's like watching a Hallmark movie but hotter, much more sincere and gay. Very gay. And the relationship between the two main characters is so cute and sweet. And funny.

Top Gun: Maverick

I love this saga but especially love this particular chapter. I love Maverick and his relationship with Rooster, and all the other characters are so well-written. And don't get me started on the story... I LOVE it. There isn't much else to say except that Cruise is a great actor (and a terrible person).

Glass Onion - Knives Out

I love my silly little gay detective. And I have a little passion for movies and mystery series. I found this saga's chapter more compelling than the first one, and the characters gripped me more. Also I fell in love with the setting. Oh and then there are Daniel Craig and Hugh Grant.

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cerealboxlore · 1 year

Note

i just remembered another small idea for de-aged billy thats been playing in my head

so like billy’s been very bitter around the league for the whole time they’ve seen him de-aged and end up taking him out of the watchtower for whatever reason (or he finds a way to leave himself if the league doesn’t let him because they think it’s unsafe for him or whatever) and villainous shenanigans ensue, theres a lot of damage and a very, very, scared child

of course our dear billy goes to help said child (maybe the league try to stop him since they don’t think he can comfort the child in his current bitter state but can’t really stop him?) and that’s the first time they really see captain marvel in him

like they’ve seen his physical similarities (eyes, hair, ect.) but now they see him put on a big cheesy grin for this kid, his posture becomes so much more open and friendly, and he just manages to look like he can handle anything despite the fact that by all means a boy so malnourished should not look that way

i also imagine that the way he talks suddenly holds so much wisdom and kindness (he was very mean to the league lol)

also it’d be so cool if the moment the child’s safe and out of sight he just switches up immediately and looks so weary and tired, the moment he notices the league so much as glance at him funny he switches again to super feral

(seems i had more to say than i thought dear cereal)

I always love answering your asks, sorry that I end up procrastinating so much!

Now time to cook this baby 🔥

De-aged Billy (but not really) is one of my favorite things ever, and it brings forth so many opportunities for this small child to open up and talk about his traumas and problems to the world. (Once more people has seen the newest movie I will be creating my own post about Billy's traumas and how they affect him despite being coined as the immature, childish superhero by every other superhero in his world.) But the beauty and tragedy about Billy having every opportunity and chance to open up and be vulnerable with others, is that he's too scared. Too convinced that what he wants to discuss isn't going to be important to others and that his problems are his problems alone to face and conquer, when he's just a kid. A kid who's grown up too fast for his own good.

I imagine if the league tries to keep little mortal Billy Batson in the watch tower, he'd definitely try and fly the coop. The zeta beams, trying to hitch a ride with another hero back home, or just straight up using a spell he saved to float in a hamster bubble back to Earth in space. (Superman stopped him from that last one).

Ultimately deciding on letting this small and feral child version of Captain Marvel outside in his own city for some fresh air is the smart decision. There may be some of his villains looking for him for any opportunity to strike at him, but I trust that the Justice League wouldn't leave him alone without a partner/chaperone, as they joked. It was supposed to be just Billy and Green Arrow accompanying him while things got sorted out.

Unfortunately Plastic Man hitched a ride on the zeta beam at the last second and completely threw plans WAY off.

They end up getting spotted by a villain, Dr. Sivana possibly, and things get messy, as you said. Green Arrow shoots down his mechanical dummies while Plastic Man deals with dangling the bald man upside down a lamp post. But the catastrophic effect to the clean and nice street was evident. Buildings were crashed into and torn apart by Dr. Sivana, nearly killing off innocent civilians, had it not been for Billy Batson guiding them to safety routes and easing their escapes.

In the chaos of it all, I like to believe that Billy will still find calmness and ease in it, after living a life so full of it for so long. He'd still remain focused, especially when he hears the cries of a familiar voice. A classmate.

They don't know that he's secretly Captain Marvel, and he doesn't know their name. But what does that matter? They're both kids. They're both too young for any of this to be happening to them. Guiding them away from all the falling debris and rubble, Billy keeps his classmate calm enough to bring them away from the dangers of the battle close to them.

Green Arrow and Plastic Man manged to shoot/sneak a concerned and worried look over to their supposed de-aged teammate's way, only to be surprised when they see that Billy is smiling as confidently and with his big cheesey grin as before.

That's when they realize. Even if it wasn't real or a moment in bad vision, it felt like Billy's shoulders were much broader than they seemed. Like the weight of the world was on his shoulders more than they should have been, but that the boy would never complain and only ask for more weight to hold in return. Just like their regular Cap.

It's strange. They never noticed this side of Captain Marvel before. They were meeting so many new sides of him in just one day, despite knowing him for years at this point. Just how much of their friend had they not known?

"Hey, come on, hold my hand! I'll get you out of this, maybe you'll still have time to help give me the math homework answers for tomorrow!"

"B-but! I'm too scared to move!! Everything is falling, a-and I-"

"It's going to be alright. You have to make the first step if you want to keep moving forward. I'll be with you, I promise. Let's get out of here. Together."

At the end of the terrible, no good, very bad day for Billy Batson, and Dr. Sivana is dealt with and his classmate is sent home to their family safe and sound, Billy just collapses, intending to hit the grass and sleep off everything, had it not been for the swift and caring stretched arms of Plastic Man catching him in time.

Billy wants to argue and maybe even tries to scratch at Plastic Man to let him go, but Plastic Man is already swinging and rocking him in the air in his super stretched arms, singing loudly and annoyingly an out of pitch made up lullaby.

Green Arrow gets them zeta beamed back to the watch tower before Plastic Man can start on the next chorus, but at least they were able to give the de aged Captain Marvel some free time for once (even if that was ruined halfway through).

Billy looks so peaceful and soft when sleeping. Malnourished and scruffy, yes, but right now, he was safe, and that was all that mattered. They'd figure out how to age him back to normal soon, and Billy would find a way to get out of this troublesome situation....eventually. But for now? Billy can enjoy this well-earned sleep.

Whew. It feels like I had a lot more to say than I thought, Markus.

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helloheyhihowdyheya · 1 year

Text

The Life You Build

Peter Parker x gn!reader

Masterlist

Summary: You first met Spider-Man, then you met Peter. OR Peter looks back on the photos that built your lives, the good and bad.

Word Count: ~5.1k

Warnings: Fluff. Awkwardness. Angst & Peter's anger (not at reader). Description of injuries.

A/n: I did a version of this for Eddie, so of course I had to do it for Peter :) He's a lovestruck idiot, and I love him. Thank you for reading <3 let me know your thoughts!

The first picture Peter had taken of you was by accident. He’d been trying to capture the opening of a newly renovated wing of the library near his apartment. Since crime had been a bit quieter lately, making Spider-Man’s activities quieter as well, Jameson had sent him on more menial jobs for The Daily Bugle.

He’d only seen you in the photos after the fact when editing them, finding you amongst the crowd with sunglasses resting on your head and a book in your hands, your smile wide with a happiness that permeated throughout the air.

The photos only caught part of your face, but he could see the excitement and wonder in your eyes, embarrassingly finding himself returning to them more than necessary. When documenting events for the paper, they often didn’t have such a happy ending — misused public resources, corrupt members in power, or something much more sinister and violent. Between that and his job of saving this city, he didn’t find as many calm or nice moments anymore, even forgetting about them altogether.

But here you were, unequivocally full of joy at something that should’ve had him smiling as well, if he weren’t so focused on taking pictures Jameson wouldn’t yell at him for. And so, he picked one of the photos in which you were off to the side alongside other joyful people and families looking at the ribbon cutting, and he put it right at the top of the story.

The next day at work, he found himself going to get coffee as usual, but maybe he’d had a lighter step to walk. A more relaxed way of drifting through the world as he entered The Daily Bugle’s office. If you could find happiness in the small things, maybe he could too.

–

The next time Peter got a photo of you wasn’t actually one he took. You did.

He’d done something menial, saving a cat from a tree, and came back to the ground, kitty in hand, to a crowd gathering around. He didn’t mind the attention, he’d gotten used to it by now, especially when it wasn’t negative. This wasn’t a mob – rather a group of people pleased to see him, including the cat’s owner thanking him over and over again. A cat owner he definitely recognized.

You’d had a rough morning, spilling coffee on yourself and creating a mess on the floor – only for your cat to walk through and get his fur drenched. Giving him a bath did not go well either, full of his hissing and your groan when knocking came at your door. Half-soaked and tired, when you opened up the door to your neighbor, your cat took the chance to book it. Shoving your head out into the hallway, you caught a glimpse of his tail disappearing out the window at the end of the hall.

Your neighbor handed you a package that’d accidentally been delivered to her apartment, which you threw inside your place before slipping on your nearest shoes. Grumbled “sorry’s” passed your lips as you passed others while racing to the building’s front door to chase after your horrible (and adorable) cat. Cool morning air of the late summer greeted you as your eyes flashed across every inch of the streets, buildings, even trash cans. But the pitiful cries of your cat came from above.

Straining your neck, you saw flashes of orange swishing in a tree near your building. “Oh god,” you muttered while racing to the bottom of it. Bark scratched against your palms as you leaned against the trunk, looking up at him. His claws sunk into the tree far out of reach for you to grab.

Calling the fire department certainly felt like overkill to get your now traumatized (read: overdramatic) cat out of a tree, and a bit cliche. Shaking your head, you told him, “Please just get down here. I will give you a hundred treats and unlimited attention.” A long sigh loosened from your lungs, hoping he somehow understood your pleas.

“Sure wish I got that kind of reward,” a soft voice laughed out behind you.

Any embarrassment heating your face seemed to drain away when you turned to come face to face with Spider-Man sticking to the wall of your building, looking right at you with those big white eyes. Words escaped you for a second as you kept staring. You’d only ever watched him swing on television, barely catching him as a speck in the distant horizon of the city’s skyline if you were lucky. You couldn’t stop staring, even as he tilted his head at you.

“Guess all I need now is the hundred treats,” he said, and you could’ve sworn he smiled under that mask. You would’ve laughed along with his silent ones if he hadn’t pointed out your incessant gazing.

“Well, only if you get him down, that is.” Your nervousness bled through your words, maybe from his presence. Probably your cat. The sweat coating your palms didn’t know anymore.

Breaths floated past your lips a little easier when Spider-Man lept up into the tree and grabbed your cat, much to his dismay. More cries came from above until they sounded from directly in front of you, webbed gloves wrapped around his middle and holding tight as he wiggled.

“Oh thank you,” you said before whispering to your cat, “And hush, you got yourself into this, Samwise.” You took him from the superhero, silently chastising him. Of course your cat would do this to you – send you out into the streets in dirty clothes and disheveled… well, everything, only to stand in front of literal Spider-Man like this. The people that had gathered only for a moment started dispersing after the excitement died down, not that there’d been much to begin with besides you talking to a cat.

“Samwise?” he questioned while brushing a finger along your cat’s forehead. Soon, soft purring began vibrating against your chest.

With a small laugh, you said, “Yeah, he’s just as sweet as Samwise Gamgee, but it seems he’s just as adventurous too. Thank you, again.”

“Of course. Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, right?” He laughed, scratching the back of his neck, but you doubted he could actually itch anything through that suit. Was he as nervous as you?

Though it mostly went against your judgment, you knew your friends wouldn’t believe you if you didn’t have some sort of proof that this all happened. “Okay, I know you’re probably really busy and I look completely wild, but could I take a quick picture with you?”

He looked up from where he’d been staring (and cooing) at Samwise to lock eyes with you, and though you couldn’t see any part of his face, it still brought a heat to your cheeks. “If wild means pretty, then I’d love to.”

Oh. If you hadn’t been flustered before, that sure did it. Fishing your phone out of your pocket with a cat in your arms and shaking fingers proved difficult. But you finally held it up, hoping to finish with all this and let him get on with his life – only for the sun to shine right into your eyes at this angle.

“Ah, maybe I should turn the other way…” you started but were quickly cut off by the sound of Spider-Man shooting webs from his wrist.

“Does that help?”

Looking up, you saw that he created a web in between branches of the tree – right where the sun had been shining into your vision.

“Yeah… yeah, that’s great. Thank you,” you said in a quiet voice, suddenly unsure whether all Spider-Man fan interactions felt this intense. Was it just you?

You brought the phone back and focused it, though selfies were never your talent. So while you balanced Samwise and struggled to get the three of you in frame, Spider-Man brought his hand up and angled it up slightly.

“There…” he mumbled, and the body heat rolling off of him had you frozen, had you in a hold until you saw that hint of his mask moving in the camera as if he were smiling for the picture. So you followed suit, capturing a picture of you, him, and your cat he just saved all bathed in the morning sunlight.

“Hey, be sure to share that with me on Twitter, okay? If you know my page on there… it’s been a while since I’ve done the whole ‘save a cat from a tree’ thing.” He laughed again, and you weren’t sure how to feel about it quickly becoming one of your favorite sounds.

“Yeah, I know it,” you started saying, aware that everyone in New York knew about his social media presence, but… “I’m just not sure it’s the best picture of me, you know?”

That time, there was no denying the way the eyes on his mask shot up. “Well I’d be dying to know the best picture there is of you, because that must sure be something,” he told you. And you were about to respond (you absolutely were, not just stand there and stumble over your words and unable to make eye contact), but sirens began to start up in the distance.

He yelled out, “You better share that with me!” as he shot out a web, leaving you with no argument as he swung away. Holding Samwise close to your body, you let out a breath and watched as Spider-Man floated above the skyline.

And later that night, you did end up sending it to him despite how you thought you looked in it. He had stood so close to you, and your heart melted everytime you saw the way his hand rested against Samwise’s cheek – who all but adored the attention and pressed back into him. Peter had to keep himself from opening your message immediately, especially since he was in the middle of taking down a man trying to break into a store.

“Hey! You can’t just leave me here!” the man clothed in black said as he hung from a fire escape in the alleyway next door. Meanwhile, Peter stood there, hovering his thumb over your message after shooting a web over the man’s mouth.

Peter internally groaned as he began pacing back and forth. Was he overthinking this? He probably was. He ran a hand over his face before deciding to wait until he got home to open it… to play it cool – he was being really cool about all this.

Until he did open it and fell in love with a different part of you each time he glanced at it.

–

The next picture Peter had of you came from someone else, a fan of his that tweeted at him a day after he’d talked with you again.

You’d been sitting out on your fire escape, sweater on and hot drink in hand as fall quickly approached, watching the dipping sunset about to kiss the tops of New York’s buildings. And you nearly spilled it all – almost dropped the mug down on top of pedestrians passing by – when Spider-Man landed on your railing and sat down on it.

The sudden gasp threatening to come out stopped in your throat, your fingers tightening against the mug’s handle as you tried to calm your breathing.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to scare you,” he rushed out, reaching his hands toward you as he apologized. All of his super strength would go into internally smacking himself in the face later.

By the time you could think clearly again, you looked up at him and his legs swinging back and forth. “Not sure how you thought landing on someone’s fire escape from the sky wouldn’t scare them, but it’s okay,” you said with a breathy laugh.

“Fair. You’ve got me there,” he admitted. And before the following silence became too overbearing and overwhelmed by the traffic below, he asked, “How’s Samwise doing?”

You blinked at him, eyes wide as you thought about it. “He’s…” you paused, “He’s well. No more climbing trees for him, unless I get you on speed dial.”

The eyes on his suit narrowed for a moment before he hopped off the railing, coming to stand just a little closer to you. “Is this your way of asking for my number?”

He couldn’t help but laugh – at your own surprised giggle, at the way you hid your burning face behind your cup, and at how the skin of your face crinkled with each laugh. “So Spider-Man– Can I call you that?”

“Mr. Spider-Man, The Spidester. Any of the following adjectives between ‘The’ and ‘Spider-Man’: Amazing, Spectacular, Friendly Neighborhood, Handsome… the list goes on,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Through a smile you desperately tried to hide, you said, “Okay, Spidey, I was going to ask whether you’re this flirty with all of the citizens you help.”

God was he glad you couldn’t see the red painting his cheeks or somehow sense the warmth in his chest from your words. “Maybe it’s just the lucky ones that I help save their cats.”

“Ah, so it’s luck then?” you asked, and there was no missing the teasing look you gave him or the way your body subconsciously leaned toward his.

He felt the suit pull taut as he nodded. “Yeah, luckier than winning the lottery, I’d say.”

Pursing your lips, you considered him for a moment. And Peter had never felt so seen by someone who couldn’t actually see him. It made him want to know what went on in that pretty head of yours. Really pretty.

Your hands rose up to gesture at him, breaking him from his staring as a chilled breeze went by. “Okay, next question. Do you ever get cold in that thing? Snow’s not far off here, and your suit doesn’t look very… winterized.”

For a moment, he thought about teasing you, saying something about how you were checking him out enough to notice that about his suit, but he wouldn’t deny an audience to talk about his technology with. “For a while, it wasn’t. I wore a hat sometimes, a scarf made by my… relative – but that didn’t exactly scream ‘intimidating’ to people, so I had to make adjustments to the suit. It’s now a bit more insulated, but moving around and beating ass usually warm me up too.”

The sudden laugh you let out at brought an unmissable smile to his lips. Oh, how he wanted to make you do that again and again. “I suppose it would,” you said in between breaths. And maybe you thought better of it, but you followed up with, “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee or something? As a thanks for Samwise.”

Peter almost said yes in an instant, anything to keep you talking to him for just a little longer. But angry yelling erupted a block over, some argument he picked up with his hearing. The screaming in his head telling him to ignore it and choose you instead nearly drowned it out, but he couldn’t.

With a weight in his stomach, he said, “Raincheck? Duty calls.” You only nodded, eyebrows all scrunched up before he lept from the fire escape and off to the fight starting to break out. It was that moment right before he left that a fan caught with their phone.

It looked a little fuzzy from how far away it was taken, but it was unmistakably Spider-Man standing across from you. It’d be difficult to make out your face, but he knew it was you. The two of you almost looked domestic there, having a sweet conversation about your lives before the day ended.

The tweet came with speculations as to who you were and what he was doing with you. All of that ate away at the lump in his throat, so he found a way to get it deleted in case anyone tried finding you – but not before saving the photo himself to dream about a simpler life where you knew who he was.

–

Peter shouldn’t have done it. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but he did it anyway. Why? It seemed he never could think straight when looking at you, or being near you. Or even thinking about you for that matter. Sometimes, he wondered whether you had powers too, but just for making his mind all fuzzy and dull when it came to you. So against better judgment, he took the assignment The Daily Bugle had given him to interview workers about a series of recent break-ins – like the flower shop you worked at.

He’d found himself catching glimpses of you here and there while on patrol, not that he was looking for you, of course. But he just so happened to see you walk into the same shop almost every day, so he kept an eye on it to make sure you were safe as you trudged home after too-long shifts in your work clothes and uncomfortable but “work-appropriate” shoes. Not that him doing so meant anything. Right?

And he rationalized to himself that it was all worth it when he saw someone trying to force inside the building after hours while you and a coworker cleaned up and readied it for the next day. The man made his way in, shouting something to you two, a gleaming knife extending past his fingertips.

But Peter had been there, moving faster than he had in months. His vision nearly blacked out as his webs pulled the man back out onto the street, and he had no control over the hands that pressed this worthless man into the tar – wanting to push him into it. The knife had been thrown when he’d been pulled, landing somewhere too far to save this man, not from Peter. He could barely feel the writhing below him, the angry shouts of this person barely reaching his ears.

Then, he heard your voice. Something about calling 911, something about checking whether Spider-Man was okay. They should’ve asked about the other guy. But Peter loosened a breath, dropping his head for a moment before picking the man up and webbing him to the nearest street lamp. You were okay.

Still, when he turned to you, your coworker on the phone in the shop, he had to ask. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

You blinked a few times, your arms wrapped around your middle. “Uh, yeah we’re okay. I’m okay, just a bit shaken up. Thank you… again.” Despite what had happened, you let out a small laugh. “We should really stop meeting like this.”

And in seeing that soft smile of yours, he was Peter again to himself. Not Spider-Man. He wished you could do that for him every day.

“How would you rather meet, then?” he asked, and if he didn’t love the flustered look you got, he would’ve been sadder about you turning away from him from embarrassment.

“Any other time than my or my cat’s life in danger. I think that’d be a good start.” You clasped one hand over the other as you rocked from one foot to the other. Only did his grin drop when you said, “We’ve, um, called the police. So you should probably head out before they get here.”

He took a bit of solace in how sad you sounded about him having to leave, so he swung away with a little hope in his heart. And really, it should’ve ended there. But he accepted the assignment to show up at the flower shop to interview people about it. Who knows? Maybe you wouldn’t work that day.

“Hi! Are you from The Daily Bugle? My boss said you’d be coming in.” You’d opened the door when he knocked on it, that brightness you always brought took his breath away in the best way.

Appropriate answers to your question would have been “Yes, I am” or “Yeah, my name’s Peter. Nice to meet you.” But he stared at you for a few seconds trying to come up with anything – the way your eyes lit up keeping him off balance and constantly teetering on some unknown cliff. He held up his camera as some sort of answer before finally breathing out, “Yes, sorry. It’s just a bit early for me.”

Laughing, you waved him off. “I get that. Come on in.” You told him your name and a bit about the place while showing him the few things inside the shop – most of it just being wall-to-wall flowers.

He followed you in, shaking his head and letting his hair flop against his face. Peter swore he tried his hardest not to stare like some love-sick fool, but he watched you lean against the counter like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. You asked, “What can I answer for you, uh…”

“Peter,” he offered as he scribbled down notes of what you’d said in between glances at you, as he didn’t trust himself to remember anything but your name that repeated over and over again in his head like a mantra. “Could you tell me a bit about what happened last night, if you’re comfortable with that.”

Subtlety, less violent this time, you wrapped an arm around your middle again as you nodded. You gave a smile, but it looked like a performance. He could feel your heartbeat.

“Of course. I and another coworker had locked the doors and began shutting the shop down when the man forced himself inside. He… he threatened us with a knife to unload the cash register,” you said, your eyes flicking between Peter’s face and the floor. “Not that we had much to hand over. But luckily we didn’t have to. Spider-Man showed up and stopped him.”

Peter felt some strange sort of pride at how relieved you looked as you continued describing the events once he had gotten there. The tension in your shoulders relaxed, your breathing evened out. Even your smile looked more real, authentic. He’d done that. Not that you knew it.

You let him take a picture of you for the story he’d write up, not that Jameson would be too pleased about anything in support of Spider-Man. But Peter wasn’t going to pass up on an opportunity to get another picture of you.

Even in black and white, the photo laid out in next week’s newspaper did your kindness justice. It somehow looked imbued within every expression you gave. You were surrounded by flowers and bouquets you had put together yourself. You belonged there, and Peter couldn’t help but feel that he belonged there behind the camera trying to capture you in as many photos as possible – keep you close to him as a picture if he couldn’t have you next to him living, breathing, being you.

And maybe he shouldn’t have, but Peter came back to the shop again and again, quickly becoming your favorite customer. Almost every time, he wanted to buy the flowers just to pass them right back across the counter and give them to you. Instead, Aunt May looked pleasantly surprised every time he came home with them, accompanied by red cheeks and an exasperated look on his face.

–

That photo of you in the flower shop, of your grinning face immortalized as the most beautiful person Peter had met – it was the same photo news outlets and newspapers used for you a few weeks later when you’d been attacked, targeted. He couldn’t bring himself to keep it anymore, not when it sat below headlines that made him sick and hateful.

His inner voice was right, the one that told him to stay away from you. That shouted at him to remember all the other people that’d gotten hurt because they knew him, because someone had found out you were important to Peter. And he didn’t really know you – had no reason to care about you as much as he did. But you’d crashed into his life at a time when he didn’t have many people to care about, especially now that he lived alone.

And he’d gotten to know what book you were reading at the moment, your favorite flower combinations to say just the right thing, the subtle way you quirked your mouth when trying to hide a smile. It’d overridden any self-preservation or reminder of what could happen to you.

Every night on patrol, he watched over your hospital room to make sure no one came near to hurt you. After, he’d spend hours tracking down the crime group that did it. That wanted to rid Spider-Man of the city. He’d almost kept the mug shots of each bloodied scum criminal he took down, who dared put a finger on you.

As Peter, he swallowed down his shame and self-hatred to visit you in the hospital – a bouquet in hand. Opening up your room door, he slipped in, letting out a sharp breath before facing you. The parts inside his chest that had hardened over these past days softened, nearly crumbled, at the way your eyes lit up at seeing him.

“Peter, you came,” you sighed out. You couldn’t move all that well, not with the bruising and the few fractures you sustained, but he could see the energy fighting in your body. Could feel it.

Holding out the flowers toward you, he said, “Yeah, of course I did.” He found himself unable to look at you long, each discolored part of your skin and wince at your body’s pain unbearable to witness.

Your hand brushed his, caressing his fingers as if to tell him it’d be okay, as you took the bouquet. “They’re beautiful, thank you.” Your voice barely broke the humming of the machines hooked up throughout the room, but the smile you hid behind the petals explained your feelings well enough.

He took a seat next to you, his body aching to touch yours in some way. To rest a hand on yours or kiss each bruise you had. But he didn’t, not after what he’d done. “How are you feeling?”

You gave a sad sort of laugh, one that wasn’t funny but at least didn’t bring tears with it. “Let’s just say I’m better now that you’re here.”

He knew you meant it, but it couldn’t be true, not when him being there had led to all of this. Biting back a groan, he said, “I… I wanted to see how you were doing, but I also wanted to say goodbye.” His eyes stayed glued to the tiled floor, speckled in beige and too shiny. “I just–”

“I know it was you.”

Peter Parker always had a smart remark, a witty comeback. Especially when it came to you and the joy he could pull from you. But not now. Your words froze him, sending ice through his skin and shredding down into his nervous system.

You made the first move, reaching out a hand to his knee to stop its shaking. He hadn’t even known he had been shaking his leg. But it made him shut his eyes, force even breaths through his nose.

“There was no way I could forget your voice, or how you tilt your head when you’re confused,” you told him, and his throat felt tight at the slight crack in your voice. “I forgive you, Peter. As long as you don’t say goodbye.”

You made him so careless… carefree, for once in his life. His calloused palms scratched against his face, the pressure of his fingers against his scalp like iron weights – weight as heavy as his mistakes that he paid witness to right in front of him. “I can’t.”

“At least stay with me for a little longer,” you pleaded. Your hand reached up to wrap around his wrist and pull them away, forcing him to look at you. And you smiled, the only smile that he couldn’t resist. So he stayed, holding you until he embedded his fingerprints into your skin.

–

For a long time, Peter had forgotten all about those photos – they were just wishes thrown into the wind for some future he hoped to have with you. So when you took that first picture of you as a couple, a picture of him kissing you on the cheek in Central Park, arms wrapped around one another and no world outside the two of you, how could he think about any other photo?

He’d brought you there after you’d healed, the painful memories faded from your skin. You fell asleep in that hospital bed with your hand entwined in his to find him still there when you awoke. He hadn’t said goodbye.

Peter had asked you out with another bouquet, one that you’d told him meant eternal gratitude and affection. If you hadn’t had gone through everything, maybe you would have been embarrassed at how fast you told him yes. But with the way his honey eyes melted at your answer, you couldn’t regret something like that.

That photo of that first date stayed with him all the time, printed out and everything. Peter did the same for the next one – of you both lounging lazily in his bed and morning sun streaming in through the blinds. Then the same for the one from the photo booth at the mall. His wallet soon stretched against its seams before you made him choose one to keep in there or he’d end up losing all of them somehow. The rest decorated the walls and shelves while others found their way into a shoebox he hid so it’d never be damaged.

But he never stop taking photos of you to remind himself of what he had. In the middle of cooking dinner, sauce and measuring cups everywhere, he took a picture of you, hands of your hips and trying to not look amused. But he saw you in a way his camera could never capture, so you smiled against your will. Peter even took one while swinging through the air with you, your body clung to his as you tucked your face against his neck. You’d smacked him for that one, but there was no helping him when it came to you.

The one photo he chose to keep tucked against his body, to remind him to make it home, was the one from a family dinner. It looked simple, cute with friends and family surrounding you two with wide smiles, but it’d always been more to him. There was his family, his life far away from his hidden one. The life you had given him.

@reidslovely

A/n: Thank you for reading, it means the world.

#peter parker #tasm peter parker #tasm andrew garfield #tasm spiderman #spiderman #spiderman x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x gn!reader

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