#told from the pov of their son | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tip-top-cloud-surfer · 10 months

Text

Three Four, That’s the Magic Number - Hangman

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin / Wife!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog is 18+ Only!

Warnings: (Unplanned) Pregnancy; (Failed) Vasectomies; Humor; Suggestive Language; Marital Disagreements; Threats of Kicks to the Balls; Female Reader with No Description, No Y/N, Second Person POV, Use of "You"

Summary: You thought that three kids was it. But apparently your husband, Hangman, didn't have as successful of a vasectomy as you initially thought.

Master List

Holding your head in your hand, you tried to quell your sudden nausea as your husband continued to drive you and your family across town to the Bradshaw family home for a Dagger pool day. Your head was pounding and you swore that your body was naturally swaying on its own and your kids fighting in the back seat was not helping your mood.

“Hey!” Jake barked when your son kicked the back of your seat, causing all three of your kids to jump. “Sit down and apologize to your mama right now, Charlie.”

“Sorry, Mama,” Charlie mumbled out quietly.

“Thank you, baby,” you replied softly, still feeling out of it.

“If you three don’t stop fighting, we’re not going to the pool,” Jake warned your three kids. Coming to a stop at a red light, he turned around to shoot them the classic ‘do not test me today’ look that your kids knew to not test. “So, if you want to go to the pool and play with your friends, you’re going to stop fighting. Got it?”

“Yes, Daddy,” the three of them chorused together.

Turning to shoot you a concerned look, since you hadn’t looked like yourself for what felt like days now, Jake started driving again when the light turned green. Pulling into the Bradshaw driveway, you slowly got out of your seat and moved to pull your kids out of the back. Jake grabbed the food and took Liam and set him on his hip so that you could walk in without any extra weight.

The Bradshaw house was packed with the Daggers and their families. The years since the uranium facility mission had only made the Dagger relationships stronger and even though they didn’t all live near each other anymore, they made efforts to get together when they could. Especially with a lot of their kids being around the same age.

Your three kids quickly joined in the activities with the other Dagger babies, letting you get a brief moment of peace. You and Jake stepped out into the backyard with Jake resting a concerned hand on your lower back, as if he was worried that you’d collapse on him.

“Are you sure that you’re fine?” Jake asked worriedly.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I probably just need to eat and drink some more water. That’s all.”

“Go sit down. I’ll grab you something.”

Jake reluctantly parted from your side and headed inside again while you made your way over to where Phoenix and Payback’s wife Dana were sitting by the pool. The direct sun caused your head to pound once again.

“You look horrible,” Phoenix commented, causing you to sigh and drop onto a chair.

“I feel horrible,” you muttered, shifting the umbrella over to block the sun.

“Are you sick?” Dana asked, sitting up.

“No. I don’t have a fever or anything like that. It’s probably just some stomach thing or just me being exhausted.”

“You’re nauseous?”

“Only sometimes,” you replied with a shrug, lying flat on your back.

“Have you been sleeping well?”

“No,” you sighed, rubbing your eyes and blinking slowly. “Liam’s still sleeping in our bed most nights and he usually kicks one of us awake. Mostly Jake, actually.”

“Eh, Hangman probably deserved it,” Phoenix muttered, shrugging her shoulders.

“Love you too, Phoenix,” Jake muttered, arriving on the scene.

He offered you a plate of food and a cup of water. You took the offering from your husband and shot him a small smile. In return, Jake leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“Thanks, baby,” you told him, smiling softly.

“You’ll let me know if you need to go home, right?” Jake asked you, shooting that look that he always did whenever you over-exerted yourself.

“Yes, Commander Seresin,” you replied sarcastically, shooting him an exasperated expression.

“We don’t need to be here for your foreplay,” Phoenix stated from behind Jake, causing Dana to burst out into snickers.

“Daddy!” Annie called, causing Jake to immediately spin around to see her standing on the steps of the pool with Bob right beside her. “Come play in the pool!”

“I’m coming, Princess!”

Jake peeled off his shirt and handed it over to you. Shooting you one last concerned look, Jake headed over to join Annie in the pool. You folded his shirt up and set it beside you before reaching for your water.

“How long have you been feeling ill?” Dana asked as you sipped at your water. “Jake seems pretty concerned.”

“About a week,” you replied quietly, reaching for the food that he brought you.

“You made an appointment?”

“Not yet. But I’m worried that he’ll make one for me if I drag my feet anymore,” you stated honestly, popping a grape into your mouth.

“Are you telling me that we’re in for another classic Hangman freak out?” Phoenix sighed, taking a long sip of her beer. “I haven’t had enough drinks to deal with that yet.”

“I think that Annie’s keeping him distracted for now,” you responded, smiling as Jake tossed Annie up in the air and caught her. Annie squealed as Jake pressed a kiss to her cheek and tossed her in the air again. “She’s got him wrapped around her finger at all times.”

You moved to eat some crackers and cheese, keeping everything lighter and stomach friendly. But when your caught a whiff of potato salad that all seemed to be for nothing. Plugging your nose, you quickly set down your food and sipped at your water to try and keep your stomach from rolling dangerously.

“Do you need Jake?” Dana asked, sitting up.

“You look like you’re going to throw up,” Phoenix added, sharing a look with Dana.

“I’m fine. And stop looking at me like that or Jake is going to notice.”

“I’d make that appointment soon,” Phoenix told you honestly. “Not much gets by him. But don’t tell him I said that.”

“No, you’re right,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair. Staring up at the umbrella over your head, you sunk a bit more into your seat. “I’ll make the appointment.”

~~~~~

“Any allergies?” the nurse asked you.

“No, none,” you replied, sitting up on the exam table of your doctor’s office.

“Any changes to your medication?”

“Nope.”

“When was your last period?”

“I don’t know, probably three weeks ago or something like that,” you replied, not entirely sure. You hardly kept track of it anymore at this stage in your life.

“And any chance that you could be pregnant?” she asked, causing you to shake your head.

“My husband had a vasectomy.”

“But are you still sexually active?”

“Yes.”

“In the last few months?”

“Yes.”

“Then, we’ll need you to take a urine test,” the nurse assistant replied, pulling out a plastic cup from the cupboard. “It’s standard procedure.”

Reluctantly, you took the cup and headed down the hall to the bathroom. After what felt like twenty years, your doctor finally entered your exam room.

“How are we doing today, Mrs. Seresin?”

“I’ve been better,” you replied, swinging your legs back and forth.

“Yes, I understand that.”

Your doctor asked you a series of questions, did a quick physical exam, before returning to the computer in the corner of the room. Typing in your answers and some notes to herself, your doctor turned back to you.

“Well, I think with all of your symptoms and your test results, there’s one clear cause of your illness—you’re pregnant.”

“That’s funny,” you laughed off, but your doctor remained serious.

“Mrs. Seresin, you’re pregnant. Your urine test came back with clear results. Based on your hormone levels, I’d put you somewhere around six to eight weeks.”

“But my husband got a vasectomy,” you insisted, as if that changed anything. “There’s no way that I’m pregnant.”

“Do you use protection with him?”

“No,” you replied, as if it were obvious.

“Might I suggest making an appointment with your obstetrician?” your doctor spoke softly, causing you to sink into your seat.

~~~~~

Making dinner that night, you swore that you weren’t seeing or thinking straight. Your doctor’s words kept echoing around head and stole any smidge of sanity that you maintained. Your kids were running around causing a ruckus as they always were and Jake still wasn’t home, which only added to your inner turmoil.

You hadn’t told Jake about what the doctor told you. It didn’t feel right breaking that kind of news over the phone or text. And frankly, you were torn between stressing about Jake’s reaction to your news and wanting to have the upper hand so that you could jump out strangle him the second that he got home.

“Daddy’s home!” Charlie called, setting off a chain reaction.

You looked up to see the kids run over to the door to greet Jake. Trying to not get too caught up in how excited the kids were to see their dad, you focused on getting the table set up for dinner. The door swung open and Jake stepped inside, immediately dropping his bag and holding out his arms.

“You’re all here for me?” he teased, pulling your three kids in for a hug and kiss. “Well, aren’t I just the luckiest guy?”

Sniffling, you set down the plates full of food for the kids before turning back for the kitchen to get started on the dishes. Jake usually did them after dinner, but you just needed to do something to steady yourself. Jake released your kids, telling them to go and wash their hands, before turning to you.

“Hey, Mama,” he greeted you, playfully tapping your ass. Wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you away from the dishes, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder and then your neck. “How was your day?”

“Oh, I just found out some news,” you replied, seemingly calm.

“What kind of news?” Jake asked curiously.

“The kind that will have you sleeping on the couch tonight,” you stated, a bit more aggravation seeping into your tone.

“What? What’s wrong?” Jake questioned, confused and looking a bit like a kicked puppy with your harsh tone. But that look wasn’t going to do him any favors today.

“You didn’t keep up your end of the deal.”

“Honey, what deal?”

“The one where you promised to not knock me up with another one of your heavy, always late, big-headed children!”

“Wait, you—you’re pregnant?” Jake breathed out, inspecting you closer. “Really?”

“I could easily knee you in the balls right now,” you warned Jake, eyes narrowing. “Maybe I need to since your ‘vasectomy’ clearly didn’t work!”

“What’s with the air quotes?” Jake asked, grabbing your hands. “Honey, you were there.”

“Not in the operating room.”

“Were you supposed to be?”

“Jacob,” you warned him, shooting him a look to shut up.

“Mommy, Liam was trying to eat the soap again,” Charlie complained, causing you to look away from Jake.

“For the love of—Liam, what did I tell you about eating soap?”

“I got this,” Jake told you, turning to walk over to the bathroom. “Just . . . sit down and breathe.”

Jake walked off to grab Liam while you scrubbed away at the dishes again. Charlie sat down at the table, closely followed by Annie and then Jake carried out Liam and sat him in his chair. Turning to see you still erratically scrubbing at the same pot, Jake sighed and approached you. He called your name, but you didn’t look up.

“Honey,” Jake tried again, “let’s just eat and I’m sure that you’re exhausted and probably just want to shower and go to bed.”

“I made an appointment with my obstetrician and with your urologist,” you replied, changing the subject on your husband.

“My urologist?”

“About your ‘vasectomy’,” you stated, adding passive aggressive air quotes again around vasectomy. “It’s in a month.”

“When? I have a bunch of—”

“—I already called your secretary and picked a time that fits into your schedule.” Turning to shoot your husband a look, you wiped off your hands on a towel. “You’re going.”

You stormed past him, leaving no room for argument. Jake winced and watched you walk over to the dinner table with your three kids. And although you looked just about ready to rip his head off and could very possibly read his thoughts, Jake couldn’t help but think about how much better the dining table set would look with six chairs instead of five.

But he wasn’t going to talk about that right now. He wanted to wake up tomorrow morning.

~~~~~

Jake sat on the exam table while you paced around the room with your arms folded across your chest and your purse in the optimal position to swing it and whack your husband. You were already starting to show and your appointment with your obstetrician was the week before. You and the baby were perfectly healthy despite the fact that you were in ‘advanced maternal age.’

Your husband slept on the couch after that appointment too just because you were feeling spiteful about that.

Jake was still dressed in his uniform, on a short break from work to attend this appointment. He met you at the doctor’s office while Dana Fitch invited your kids over for the afternoon. And although he tried to brighten your mood by promising to grab dinner on his way home and maybe something extra, you face was permanently screwed into a frown since you arrived at the office.

A knock on the door caused you to stop pacing and turn as the urologist slowly stepped into the room with a kind smile.

“Mr. and Mrs. Seresin. How are we?”

“Pregnant,” you stated bluntly.

“Yes, I heard. Congratulations,” the urologist replied somewhat awkwardly before taking his seat. “Though I’m assuming you’re wondering how that’s possible.”

“You read my mind,” you responded calmly and not at all sarcastic.

“Well, I should inform you that you’re not the first couple to have a pregnancy after a vasectomy. While it’s not common, it can still happen.”

“And in this case?”

“I’m not entirely sure without any additional tests,” the urologist replied honestly. “And in this case, I think that starting with a sample is the best course of action. Once we have those results, we can discuss whether or not another vasectomy is necessary.”

“Another one?” Jake asked quietly.

But he instantly tried to bite back his words when he caught the way that your head snapped around to shoot him a glare.

“Oh, that must be so inconvenient and painful for you to have to deal with,” you drawled sarcastically, causing Jake to wince.

“Sorry.”

You left the room to let Jake talk with the urologist privately and to check in on the kids. Glancing at the door to make sure that you were in fact gone, the urologist turned to Jake.

“I’m not trying to overstep and cause any trouble but we often ask men in this position if there is any possibility of them wanting a paternity test,” the urologist offered, causing Jake to chuckle.

“Not necessary,” Jake replied, laughing off the absurdity of the urologist’s suggestion. “Just some strong swimmers. That’s all.”

~~~~~

Jake headed out to the parking lot to see you sitting on a bench in the shade of the building, furiously typing away at your phone. Approaching carefully, like he was approaching a wild animal, he slowly sat down beside you.

“They’ll call me back with the results in a few days,” Jake stated, causing you to nod and put away your phone. “Are you okay?”

“I still want to kick you in the balls,” you stated, shooting your husband a look.

“Have I mentioned that I greatly appreciate your restraint?” Jake offered, causing you to scoff. “Honey, I can’t read your mind. Please just tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I just . . . I can’t believe we’re those people,” you sighed, holding a hand to your head.

“What do you mean by those people?”

“You know, those people. Those couples who were dumb enough after having three kids to not know what birth control is. Those couples that can’t keep their hands off of each other and just fuck around like a bunch of animals and there’s evidence for all of it! I mean, who sets out planning to have four kids?”

“Baby, who gives a shit about what other people think about us?” Jake replied seriously, grabbing your hand. “It’s none of their business about how many kids we do or don’t have. And I’m not going to apologize to anyone for maintaining a healthy sex life with my wife after three kids. Are you?”

“No,” you huffed, folding your arms across your chest. “Of course not.” Pausing for a moment, you turned back to Jake. “I kind of rubbed it in stupid Gina Denison’s face that we’re still banging a few days ago.”

Gina Denison was one of the moms of Charlie’s friend group. Her husband was a tool and looked like he hated his life every time he showed up. And Gina was always so flirty with Jake, grabbing his arm and complimenting him on everything, that you contemplated kicking your son’s soccer ball straight into her face.

“She did look pretty glum actually,” Jake mused, rubbing your knee.

“Good.”

“Then what’s there to worry about?” Jake asked, causing you to sigh.

“There’s the whole bedroom situation first of all. Unless we want to turn the guest room into the nursery, the kids are going to have to share.”

“We’ll just convert the playroom upstairs. Easy fix. A new coat of paint and moving some things around and we’re fine.”

“And we can only fit three car seats into the back of your truck.”

“Then we’ll take the other car for family outings,” Jake pointed out softly, rubbing your knee again.

“And Liam’s still coming into our bed most nights. What happens when I’m eight months pregnant and there’s no room?”

“I’ll have a talk with him about it,” Jake offered, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

“You’ve talked to him about it a hundred times already. What’s changed?”

“I have my ways.”

And by ‘his ways,’ Jake was quietly referring to the fact that when you were heavily pregnant, you snored. Loudly. And now Jake had never told you that when you were heavily pregnant you snored because he wasn’t an idiot. It was like complaining about how uncomfortable the chairs were in the delivery room. Only a fucking selfish pathetic loser complained about that stuff to his pregnant wife.

And he already had a slip up with the whole second vasectomy thing in there and he was trying to quickly recover from that.

Turning to you and gently cupping your cheek so that you turned to him, Jake leaned in and rested her forehead against your own.

“Honey, you know that I’m here, right? You don’t have to go through this alone and you don’t have to hold all of the stress about it. We’re fine. We have the money. We have the space. We have the extra hands if we need babysitters. And for anything else, just tell me about it. I’m here for you and our four babies. Anything you want, you let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. Smiling up at your husband through your eyelashes, you suddenly grew serious. “I want you to get another vasectomy.”

“Yeah, I thought you were going to say that,” Jake sighed, wincing a bit again.

~~~~~

Jake was turning forty this year. The big 4-0. And it only seemed fitting to him that he got to have his four kids by his side for this birthday. But since it happened to fall on a random Tuesday that Jake had to work, you and the kids just put together a small party for him. You cooked him his favorite dinner and the kids gave him the card that they made for him. And then it was time for the cake.

“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday Daddy, Happy Birthday to you!” you and three of your kids sang along.

But little baby Hazel, who was about a year and a half now, was more focused on trying to touch the cake with her finger than singing. Jake smiled and grabbed her hand, shaking it to distract her long enough for you to take a photo.

“Alright, time to blow out the candles!” you called, holding up your phone to take the photo.

“On three,” Jake instructed your kids. “Ready? One . . . two . . . three.”

Your four kids, who were all seated or standing next to Jake, blew out the candles with him. You snapped a few quick photos before putting your phone away. Jake started clapping, causing Hazel to giggle and clap along too. You quickly grabbed the cake and cut it up. Passing around the slices of cake, you smiled and pressed a loving kiss to your husband’s lips.

“Happy Birthday, Jake.”

“Thank you, baby,” he returned, shooting you a wink.

Your kids talked excitedly with Jake about the upcoming weekend. Jake’s parents were flying in for his birthday and you were going to take a short vacation as a family. Jake listened and talked intently with your children before it was time to start the bedtime routines. You and Jake worked together to get Hazel and then Liam and then Annie and Charlie all ready for bed.

And once the kids were all asleep and tucked away for the night, you grabbed Jake by the hand and pulled him into your shared bedroom. In about three seconds flat, you had Jake on his back and straddled him.

“Happy Birthday,” you grinned, pressing a set of needy kisses to his lips.

“Are you my present?” Jake asked coyly, kneading your hips with his hands.

“Sure am, Cowboy,” you replied, pulling off your shirt and tossing it onto the floor. But before you kissed him again, you quickly cursed and got up to lock the door to your bedroom. Smiling apologetically at Jake, you quickly hopped up onto the bed again. “Don’t want to risk the kids walking in on us.”

“It’s my birthday. Tonight, you’re mine. All mine,” Jake agreed, pulling you in for another kiss.

And with assurance that his second vasectomy was successful, you happily started on your birthday gift for him.

2K notes · View notes

celestie0 · 3 months

Text

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time.

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago.

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile.

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

But why was he remembering all of that now?

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision.

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines.

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door.

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles.

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once.

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on.

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings.

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you.

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter.

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time.

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him.

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either.

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid.

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.”

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he’s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside.

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass.

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away.

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment.

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high.

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him.

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime.

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game.

3-2. UTokyo’s win.

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink.

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again.

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe.

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle @purplehallow11 @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @erencvlt @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @hojoslutoru @drthymby @ninitoru @btszn @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @fvsm4x @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @cierocanteat (thank you to everyone <3)

819 notes · View notes

ma1dita · 2 months

Text

trouble's coming for you

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 3.7k

summary: (established relationship) suggestive banter lol The one where Percy meets his two favorite counselors at Camp Half-Blood. Also known as the three times Percy is completely oblivious about you two, plus the time he learns what L-O-V-E looks like for two teen demigods. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: PERCY POV!!! maybe the real enemy was the blue balls Luke got from a clueless 12-year-old. you’re gonna tell me you wouldn’t overthrow the gods too? scream at me in the comments and feel free to reblog :)

(posted 2/29/24, edited!!! i think!!! four hours of sleep later and a big kiss to @hotchfiles miss lari as always for inspo mwah)

—

What’s in a name?

One of the last defining memories Percy Jackson had with his mother before arriving at Camp Half-Blood was her reminder that names have power. He’s held fast to that belief, treading carefully with his words in this unfamiliar place that he’s supposed to call home so soon after losing his own.

Being the new kid for the hundredth time in his life means that he’s accustomed to change, much less introducing himself as Percy Jackson, whatever that means at this point—but then becoming known simply as the kid who causes trouble. What then, is he supposed to do, when his first friend at camp introduces him to a girl who embodies the name trouble?

To Luke, through Percy’s actions, it seems as if he’s trying to reclaim a crown that currently belongs to the beloved head counselor of Camp Half-Blood.

—

The dining pavilion is filled with mouth-watering scents and the sound of chattering campers to the point that it’s a bit overstimulating if he thinks too hard about it. Mr. Brunn—er, Chiron told him to take it easy after the events from yesterday, but he feels a bit tough on luck after making Luke run circles around camp trying to find what he’s good at.

“Is there a Greek god of disappointment? Maybe someone should ask if he’s missing a kid,” Percy says glumly, pushing the mac and cheese around on his plate. Luke sighs, letting the boy to his right speak.

“Oizys,” Chris mumbles through full cheeks before he cocks his head at the 12-year-old, “but she’s a goddess, and her whole thing isn’t really disappointment, it’s more like failure.”

Luke looks to Chris with a half smile before looking back at the kid and saying, “We’re gonna find the thing you’re good at. I know it.” He looks like he’s going to say something else before something, or someone catches his attention and it’s almost like the older boy is transfixed, eyes shining with mischief or something deeper that Percy’s young brain couldn’t comprehend just yet.

“And here comes trouble…” Luke says with a smirk, eyes following your figure until your feet take you to their table. The sandy-haired boy twists around, expecting to see a goddess of some sort until he sees you, violet eyes and a lilt of something sinister—giving off the energy of someone who holds power but also likes to fuck with it. You cross your arms over your chest, gaze floating over the three boys and at the tip of your chin, Luke takes his plate off the table, prompting you to hop up and slide onto the smooth surface in front of him.

“You look like someone kicked your puppy, so you must be the new kid. Peter, right?”

A snort of laughter comes from behind your slouched form, Luke partially concealed but body obviously shaking with amusement as he looks at you.

“He might just turn out to be a puppy kicker one day,” the son of Hermes jokes, “Meet Percy Jackson.”

“That’s not…”

You sigh at Luke’s idea of a joke, face incredulous as you lean over and conjure strawberries onto Percy’s plate. He’d never seen anything like that before, someone so casual about their abilities, but he didn’t have much of a reference past yesterday. This camp keeps surprising him in ways he’s never imagined possible.

“Heard D gave you a hard time earlier, sorry about him—I’d blame it on withdrawals but he’s just an asshole,” you offer with a smile and a handshake as you introduce yourself, watching the boy’s eyes widen with wonder.

“It’s not your fault…I’m used to being the new kid.”

Eyebrows furrowing at his tone, you lean in closer, voice turning serious. You’re a lot like Mr. D in the sense that it’s easy for you to poke at the kids who come through here for a reaction to make sure they’re okay mentally. When they don’t react is usually the call for help.

“Well, new kid, if anyone gives you a problem here at camp, you let me know. Even if it’s these two hooligans, or if it’s my dad.”

“You’re talking to our lovely head counselor, Percy. She calls the shots around here,” Chris chimes in jest. But only one part of your sentence sticks in his mind as he whips his head up from munching on a berry.

“He’s your dad?”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” you giggle, “and though you’re sweet and I would love to have you as a sibling, he kind of has a rule on having too many kids at once, unlike other gods.”

“A rule he’s already broken,” Luke drones, hand fidgeting with the black bandana tied around your thigh, “but who knows? If Percy ends up to be one of you, well…may the gods have mercy on us all.”

A deadpan stare is directed at the scarred boy, and you swipe at his curls like a feral cat, making him wince and laugh all the same as he bats you away.

“Tough shit, 11. Do you know how many hellions inhibit your cabin? Your dad inflicts agony on me personally every time another one of your siblings walks past the boundaries.”

The petty squabble is interrupted by the chime of the bell over your heads, but you two are still in a world of your own. It reminds Percy of the time he watched two subway rats fight over a pizza slice on the 6—he didn’t really know who to root for then either. Chris sighs and gets up, nudging Luke to follow, which he does begrudgingly as he claps his large hand on your leg. You hiss.

“Our turn!” Luke says with a hint of sarcasm.

“Our turn for what?”

“Burnt offerings,” you explain as you chomp on a strawberry, “the gods like the smell, so it gets their attention before you say a prayer.” You notice Percy stay in his seat, which makes a smile pull at your lips, “Think you’re off the hook for today though, bud. Or you can be just like me.”

“Don’t give him any ideas, trouble. I’ll throw in a few for Hestia.” Luke chews at his lip as he leans over you to grab a few berries off of Percy’s plate to toss into the fire for you.

“You don’t pray?”

“I’m not really the religious type. I’ve got what I need,” you concede, leaning back on your palms as you watch the son of Hermes stand for a few extra seconds at the hearth. “Besides, my godrent is right over there, and Luke worries enough for me. It’s more his thing,” you say with a lazy smile. The campers filing out of the dining hall wave at you and you enthusiastically greet everyone with dancing fingers. He doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone that…happy to be on the job, but things work differently around here, so he doesn’t think much of your upbeat attitude.

“Eat up. Some of that strength has to go to you. Gonna need it.” You say ruffling Percy’s hair, and when Luke comes back, he tugs at the shoelaces of your boots until you kick his hands away. You both share a smile like people do a secret, even here in the open air.

“Do they like the smell of burnt mac and cheese?” Percy says curiously, eating another spoonful of the meal. His head hurts at another thing to consider in this brand-new world he’s walked into.

“They like the smell of begging,” Luke grins, and you laugh like a firework going off, making Percy’s lips pull up into a smile.

“I’m not much of a beggar though, if you ask me.”

The son of Hermes hums at you like he wants to say otherwise, and you slap his chest as you suck air through your teeth. Beneath the wood top of the table and with Percy being none the wiser, your fingers intertwine with Luke’s like it’s second nature.

“You burn what you’ll miss the most. Then they know you really mean what you’re about to say, so they listen.”

Luke takes a breath after explaining how things work for the nth time to the kid, knowing Percy’s quite persistent about making his dad notice him. He remembers being jaded too—striving to be the best for a lick of his dad’s attention and all of his efforts were done in vain. Even though the kid’s arrival at camp was a bit unexpected, Luke doesn’t mind showing him around.

Hopefully, less work on your end means that he can spend more time with you once this is over with— but by the looks of how the day is going so far, he’s not so sure. He hopes his offerings reach the gods and they grant him extra patience for his good deeds. Watching you laugh at something Percy says as you all walk out of the dining pavilion, Luke wonders if you know that every offering he burns for the goddess of the hearth and home is so that she’ll protect you.

—-

“Lights out in 10 minutes, cabin 11! Everyone ready for bed?”

The sound of your voice jolts Percy awake from his post-dinner nap and he blinks slowly until he sees you walking towards him with extra blankets and pillows in your grasp. The other campers were kind of stand-offish, and after praying to his mom he was overwhelmed with the feeling of missing her, so much so that it drained the rest of his energy.

“Long day, huh bud?”

Drowsy with sleep, for a moment, Percy forgets where he is—the unfamiliar walls of the cabin making him shift with unease as he rubs at his eyes. The blurry version of you makes his chest go warm and for a second, it’s like—

“Mom?”

He blinks again, his pale face turning red when he realizes his slip-up. Percy’s shoulders drop when he hears giggles from somewhere in the big cabin and you reach out to smooth his hair away from his face with a gentle smile.

“Don’t worry about it. Everyone who first comes to 11 gets nightmares. For some of them, they don’t leave,” you mutter. Percy notices your eyes flicker over to Luke’s bed, where he’s zipping up his hoodie and chatting with one of his half-siblings. Cabin 11 is finally quieting down for the night—children scrambling into their bunks, doing nighttime routines, and having quiet conversations. It’s all so weird, this being everyone’s normal.

“You’re not alone though. Saw you earlier, outside. I still pray to my mom sometimes. She's quite the listener,” you say with a sad twinkle in your eye. The kid sniffs as you hand him the pillows and blankets, finally meeting your gaze.

“Did your mom…” Die too? The words feel like lead in his throat, feeling heavy as he swallows it down. He doesn’t want to cry in front of the pretty counselor, much less speak the truth, because if he says it out loud, it means his mom dying must have been real. Also since you’ve seen him sit in the dark of the forest burning blue jelly beans like a freak. What he didn’t know is that you pride yourself on being one. It takes one to know one, after all.

“Yeah. Makes for one hell of an origin story, but I found my place here, and people who care. I know you will too, when you’re rea—” Your words trail off when you see Luke walk past the both of you with a cool expression before he nods towards the door, and you squeeze Percy’s shoulder before getting up.

“Night guys! It’s getting late so we’ll have to do a story next time, okay?” You walk down the aisle patting heads and tucking in smaller campers, and he hears you whack the younger Stoll brother when he teasingly says, “It’s not fair that Luke gets a bedtime story and we don’t…”

“Connor, enough. I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up and called me mom, so save it for tomorrow.” He must have been the one laughing earlier.

“Everyone say goodnight trouble!” Luke calls out with a coy expression, making you roll your eyes as you flick the light off to a symphony of jeers. It’s finally quiet as Percy is propped up against some pillows that smell like raspberries and soft cotton before he realizes he has to pee.

But Chris said harpies hunt kids after curfew… he thinks.

In a moment of sheer panic, Percy looks around in the darkness of the cabin before the sound of your cackling pierces through the dim light from the outside. He hops up from the makeshift cot and tugs his shoes back on, slowly creeping past the long row of bunks to not disturb other campers before he gets to the door. Your head turns quickly to the intrusion as you spring away from Luke, stubbing a cigarette underneath the wood panel out of sight when Percy steps through the doorway.

“Sorry, I need to use the bathroom,” he says sheepishly as Luke nods, scratching his neck and leaning a far distance away from you. Under the low burning lamps, Percy notices Luke’s cheeks redden and he wonders if he is interrupting something, but the urge to go increases as he steps between you two.

“Right. I’ll walk you to yours?” Luke blurts in one breath. With a wordless smile on your lips, you nod before Percy purposely interrupts this time.

“I can walk her, it’s on the way to the bathrooms, right?”

If only this poor kid knew he was being the cockblock of the century.

“Yeah, Percy’s got me. The harpies won’t like you missing curfew, Castellan,” you tease, stepping around him with a shit-eating grin. Your hair almost floats in the gentle breeze, and Luke rolls his eyes.

“Stay out of trouble. I mean it,’ he sighs, before shoving you off the porch, and you laugh at the irony of his words. Looking back at Luke, Percy noticed his eyes were on you like he wanted to live in your skin, which was equal parts disgusting and confusing to the 12-year-old. His steps double in pace as you both walk down the path and a brief side glance at your stifled smile quickly makes the kid wonder if you’d let him. Pushing the sleeves of Luke’s hoodie past your elbows, you wave at Percy’s rushing figure as he almost bolts to the bathroom and you lean against the doorway of your empty cabin. You turn the light on and look across the way to see your boyfriend still leaning against his door, so you flip him off. Of course, he takes that as his cue to saunter over.

But then the loud clanging sound of pipes bursting reaches both of your ears and toilet water floods the dirt near the back end of your cabin.

So close.

“I’m gonna go check on Annie to see if she’s still on duty. Tough luck, babe,” you giggle, pressing a kiss to his cheek before walking in the direction that Percy went, sending the son of Hermes to drag his feet towards your cabin, alone (he didn’t expect to fall asleep propped over your covers waiting up for you, but a lot happened in that damn bathroom).

—

“Hey, today feel like a winning kind of day to you?” Annabeth smirks at the son of Hermes. Next to them, Percy feels a hand clap him on the shoulder and all three of them turn to see you donning red.

“Didn’t you three hear the conch? Wouldn’t want you to fall behind,” you say with a grin as Luke steps up to you and whistles lowly.

“Didn’t know you were playing today. It’s a shame you look that good in red.”

Annabeth fake gags as she crosses her arms to say, “You’re also currently on enemy territory if you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, you wound me. I’m not a threat. Percy, I obviously don’t have the flag, right?”

He nods a bit dumbly, still worried about the mechanics of the game and the part he has to play for the blue team, but no one else seems to share his concerns.

“Anyways, sorry I’m not on your team, Perce. The Ares kids snatched me up as soon as my name was on the roster, so I came to wish you all luck.”

“This better not be a diversion tactic, trouble,” Luke simpers, playfully tugging at your staff, which you use for leverage to step up onto a rock to meet him at eye level.

“Nah. You know I like the competition, angelface,” you whisper, almost daring him to do something.

“Bite me, trouble.”

There’s a fire in his eyes you’d love to stoke, but now’s not the time or place. You can’t help but indulge though—the both of you enjoy the reactions you can pull from each other.

“You’d like it too much.”

“Alright now,” Annabeth groans, calling your name, rolling her eyes as she pulls at Luke’s arm, “Gotta remember he’s your enemy!”

“I’M TRYING!” You laugh, shaking your head and walking back towards your team as you shoot them a fake salute. It all happens too quickly as Percy’s unable to catch the spitfire words between the two of you, thinking further about how he might get maimed during this game (which in the grand scheme of things, he almost does. Thanks Clarisse).

“Those two are hopeless! Walk faster, sunshine—we lost too much time watching whatever that was.” Percy stumbles along the forest path as he follows Annabeth, the both of them leaving Luke smirking to himself as he follows the rest of their team.

Hours later, at Clarisse’s muddy feet and holding her broken spear, Percy hears cheering in the distance as he watches the blue team led by Luke waving the red flag in one hand and your legs supported by his other. You’re in a fireman’s hold across his shoulders and everyone watches as the son of Hermes spins you around like a Tilt-a-Whirl until the sound of your shrieks is audible from the shoreline. He sets you down gently, dominant hand still around your waist as he snickers, “Got my win and my girl. Must be time to celebrate.” You laugh at his absurdity, pulling his helmet off and wiping the sweat off his forehead with your bandana.

“You’re always going to be a loser in my eyes.”

Slapping the plush of your hip, the sound echoes in the air—suddenly quiet as you gasp. But you’re not looking at Luke anymore, but rather the gleaming trident above Percy’s head as it’s revealed he’s a forbidden child. His jaw tightens at the sight, and there are a lot of emotions running through him, remembering Thalia and knowing that his plans will have to be altered once more because of Percy Jackson. You squeeze his hand before walking away from him to follow your dad and Chiron to the Big House, shooting him a nervous glance.

Damn.

—

The boys have been sparring for hours, and just as you think Percy’s getting the hang of it, Luke thrusts forward with an energy no one should have towards a 12-year-old. Although a bit concerning, he does have a lot to catch up on how to fight like a demigod before his quest in a few days.

“Take a break or else you’ll be crawling away from camp by the end of the week,” you joke, handing Percy and Luke bottles of cold water. Your boyfriend takes big gulps before pouring the rest over his head, leaving you gaping and a little hot under his stare as he nudges your chin and winks.

“You’re doing that on purpose!”

Luke shrugs slyly, and the both of you watch Percy catch his breath. He leans over your shoulder, the tone of his voice sultry as it tickles your ear, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other word would smell as sweet.”

You bite your lip, before bursting with laughter—which isn’t exactly the reaction he thought you’d have. Maybe he should’ve finished reading the sonnet before falling asleep, but you always take too long with your nighttime skincare routine.

“That doesn’t mean what you think it means, but you’re cute for trying,” you coo, leaning closer so that your cheek touches his. Luke’s whole face is warm from exertion and now embarrassment, but he smiles nonetheless at the proximity. He can’t believe he still misses you, even when you’re skin-to-skin like this.

“That stanza…Isn’t it about names being meaningless?” Percy says between gasps of air before he pours the rest of the water bottle over his head like Luke did. He’s looking up at the both of you as he leans against a tree, instantly feeling more rejuvenated.

You jerk up from your seated position on the large rocks, excited to talk about Shakespeare, and Luke almost pouts at the loss of your attention.

“Yeah! Good job, bud. I forget you went to a hoity-toity charter school,” you say tongue-in-cheek, before turning back to your boy.

“So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, and, for thy name, which is no part of thee, take all myself. You’re gonna have to interpret that one yourself, angelface.”

“Trust I have no fucking clue but you sound really hot when you talk dirty to me,” Luke says with a shrug. Percy laughs at that, before finally bringing up the question that’s been on his mind since Luke introduced you to him.

“Why do you call her trouble? She seems okay to me.”

“Thanks,” you say dryly, but the older boy leans on his arm with a lovestruck expression as he gazes at you. Oh…Percy thinks, brain feeling freshly washed. How did he miss that?

“She used to get in trouble a lot,” he says, before you elbow him hard, “I mean, we used to get in trouble, she’d always drag me into it.”

“You always offered! Don’t twist the fucking story,” you shriek, and the boys laugh at your exasperation.

“Yeah anyways, she’d always find me. Still does, my partner in crime. Trouble always comes for me,” Luke murmurs, waggling his eyebrows and intertwining your fingers together. Your jaw drops and cheeks flush and Percy thinks he understands better now, but gets confused again with what you do next.

You almost slap the goddamn scar off that boy’s face.

—

It is a terrible thing to be so open: it is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world. -Sylvia Plath

ask to be put on luke/general taglists!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings @silver007 @sunny747 @huang-the-geek

#luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #luke castellan fluff #trouble!verse #made by ma1dita ♥︎#luke castellan x dionysus!reader #percy series #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

921 notes · View notes

livwritesstuff · 19 days

Text

Tommy POV, wc: 2890, full version on ao3

Tommy Hagan is not jealous of Eddie Munson.

He’s not.

There’s nothing to be jealous of, in his opinion, and Tommy probably wouldn’t be thinking about him at all if Eddie wasn’t the most publicly well known member of his graduating class – well, he hadn’t actually been in his graduating class, Tommy supposes.

They had been seniors at the same time, though.

If Tommy happened to be jealous of anything – and that’s a big if – it would probably have something to do with the famous thing. Everyone has a small part of them that wants to be famous at least in some capacity, he’s pretty sure, even if Eddie isn’t really, truly famous – not like the red carpet celebrities. He’s a writer. Even the most well known writers never get all that much attention, but Munson has his own Wikipedia page, and that’s more than anybody else from Hawkins, Indiana can say. Hawkins itself barely even has a Wikipedia page, and it’s only because of all the atrocities that happened in town in the mid-eighties.

Tommy hadn’t been around for the end of it all – the earthquake-slash-serial killer situation that never made any sense to him. He remembers his mom calling him at his college dorm when the deaths first started. He remembers her asking, “You went to school with that Munson boy, right? Do you think he could do something like this?”

And Tommy had been twenty and a total moron, so he’d said some dumb shit like, “Yeah, he’s into freaky stuff like that. Somebody should’ve put him on a list ages ago,” even though four years of experience told him that Eddie was all bark, no bite. Tommy hadn’t been surprised at all by the statements that later came out clearing Eddie's name, and by then his parents had already high-tailed it out of Hawkins so it all sort of became irrelevant to him.

Tommy never even returned to Hawkins one single time after he left for college (barring his high school reunion, obviously), and twenty years after graduation, he doesn’t really think about those years all that much.

He doesn’t love the person he’d been in high school. He was whiny and immature and had his priorities all messed up. Most of the memories he has of his teenage years, he looks back at and cringes, feels a whole lot of shame and embarrassment, but also some pride at how much he’s grown over the last twenty years. He also knows he’d been kind of a dick in high school, but that he’s less ashamed of. It’s normal, he knows, for kids to be mean, that it’s a standard response to being untreated kindly in other ways. Like, his dad had been an asshole to him as a kid, always on him about his grades and his smart mouth and how he’d no longer been a standout on any of his sports teams after starting high school, and Tommy had coped with that by poking kids beneath him at school.

It’s just the pecking order of high school. It’s normal.

Even now, when Tommy’s son had dealt with some pricks in the year above him shoving him around, he had come home from school and tormented his little sister for a while – it’s normal, no matter how much his wife had tried to convince him it was something that needed addressing. It’s just kids being kids. They grow out of it eventually, just like Tommy had.

Occasionally he wonders where the kids he’d spent all those years with in the Hawkins public school system had ended up, but these days the internet makes that pretty damn easy to figure out.

He’s learned Tina got married and had kids real young. She still lives in Indiana. Carol, who he’d split up with before heading off to college, lives in Alabama now and she’s got kids and a husband too. Jonathan Byers is a photographer in California – Tommy isn’t into all that art-y crap, so he has no clue if he’s any good, but he definitely recognizes some of the organizations he’s worked for and if that’s any indication, Tommy would wager he’s not too shabby. No wife, though, he noted, so he’d either been right about Byer’s being a queer, or women just found him repulsive (admittedly, Tommy leans more towards the former – he’s a photographer). Tammy Thompson still lives in Tennessee, though it doesn’t seem like she does music anymore (husband, kids, blah blah blah).

If he’s honest, the only person Tommy is actually interested in tracking down is Steve Harrington, and he’s the one person Tommy can’t find a single trace of online. No MySpace, no Facebook, no weird blog thing, nothing.

Vaguely, he wonders if Steve might be dead. A truly massive proportion of Hawkins had died over just a few short years in the mid-eighties. Maybe Harrington was one of them.

Tommy doubts it.

He would have known.

Steve’s parents would have made sure everyone knew if their son had died. Funnily enough, Steve’s mom is actually on Facebook, and pretty actively too, but there’s no sign of Steve anywhere on her page.

He hadn’t even shown up for their high school reunion in the winter of ‘04, which is odd because Tommy had been certain he would.

He doesn’t obsess over it – he really doesn’t. It’s just a thought that pops into his mind every now and then – where the hell is Steve Harrington?

In the late spring of 2007, he gets his answer.

“Tom,” his wife says, “That guy from your high school is on the cover of this magazine.”

He knows without asking for clarity that it’s Munson – no other person makes sense – and when he eventually gets his hands on the magazine, he finds that he’s correct.

Eddie Munson is on the cover of a magazine because, apparently, he published another book.

Truthfully, Tommy already knew that.

It’s his fourth book (which, for the record, Tommy hadn’t known until he knew it because it’s not like he’s keeping tabs on this guy or whatever), and it’s been getting a whole bunch of mainstream attention after a controversial landing on the top of all those book charts Tommy doesn’t follow despite featuring a gay love store amidst all his normal fantasy crap. It sparked a whole debate about banning books and everything (dumb, Tommy knows, because if he learned anything in business school it’s that if you really don’t want something to exist, the best thing you can do is not funnel money and attention into it).

Tommy does, in fact, watch the news so he’d already caught wind of all this – it’s part of the reason he can’t shake the guy – and it’s why Eddie Munson is on the cover of this magazine (because, seriously, nobody gives a shit about writers until it hits the news).

He allows himself a moment to look at the cover, to look at Eddie, who apparently goes by Ed now. Tommy is loath to admit it, but he looks good. His hair is normal and he’s grown into his frame, not all long and lanky and gangly limbs like Tommy remembers from school. He looks well-fed, confident, happy.

He looks good.

Tommy thumbs through the first few pages of the magazine until he reaches Eddie’s interview, and, again, he allows himself to look over the photo of him that takes up nearly three-quarters of the first page even if he has no intention of actually reading the article itself because, again, Eddie looks good (and maybe there’s something about the scruff of facial hair along his jaw that Tommy's eye gets stuck on). Tommy’s allowed to say that men look good when it’s true – it’s 2007, as his wife likes to remind him whenever it’s convenient for her, and if she’s allowed to say that Angelina Jolie looked good in that CIA movie, then Tommy is allowed to say that Eddie Munson looks good here.

When Tommy flips to the next page, he’s met with a photo that stops him in his tracks, has his feet frozen to the floor because –

Jesus Christ, that’s Steve Harrington.

Fuck, okay, so he’s reading this fucking article.

It takes Tommy a long time to get through it, honestly. Eddie comes out in the article, which might be a big deal, might not (and he doesn't care to be enlightened, thanks). He keeps getting distracted by the pictures scattered throughout it.

The pictures of Steve, mostly.

Because, well, if Eddie Munson looks good, Steve…

Steve looks alive.

Tommy didn’t realize it until this exact moment, but Steve had existed in his head for the last two decades as the eighteen-year-old he’d been the last time they were in the same room together. It hadn’t exactly occurred to him that Steve’s been aging this whole time too, just like Tommy has.

It’s undeniable that Steve is older.

His hair is starting to go gray at his temples (it’s the only thing that’s changed about his hair since he’s still styling it the same as he did in high school – because why mess with a good thing, Tommy supposes) and he’s got just the hint of crow's feet around his eyes when he smiles. He’s smiling in all the photos – every damn one – and it has Tommy struck by how unbelievably happy Steve seems. It’s an effect that somehow both takes years off the age Tommy knows he is and shines a light on just how good those years must have been for him.

There’s no solo shots of him like there are for Munson – though according to the article, it's actually Harrington now – and only half the photos are in color. The rest of them – the more candid ones – are smaller and left in black-and-white.

The one that caught Tommy’s eye first – because it was meant to, he’s pretty sure; it takes up half the page – is right in that sweet spot between staged and candid where Steve and Eddie both know that they’re being photographed even though neither of them are actually posing. Eddie is grinning at Steve in a wicked way that still feels familiar to Tommy even two decades since he’d last seen it on him (probably swaggering around the cafeteria like a total jackass – not that Tommy would know anything about that). Steve is grinning right back at him with a smile Tommy doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

Or maybe he has, but not on this version of his face, not since Steve was as young as his oldest daughter.

Just as the author of the article said, the photos don’t show the faces of Steve’s children, either leaving them artfully out-of-focus or choosing shots where they’re turned away from the camera, but they’re still present, and it makes the whole spread almost feel like a photo album in a way, like it should be private but instead was published for the whole world to see.

Steve has three of them – kids, Tommy means. He didn’t know that Steve was a family kind of guy. It makes sense though, when he thinks about it. Steve’s parents were kind of a nightmare — present in the worst ways, and absent in the worst ways too (though it hadn’t seemed that way when Tommy was a teenager looking for a failsafe party house). He'd always felt kind of bad for the guy. Like, Tommy's dad had been a total piece of work, but they'd at least been around, and he'd stuck around long enough for them to sort out their issues at least most of the way, and these days he's a pretty kickass grandpa to Tommy's children.

Tommy wonders about Steve's parents now, wonders if they maybe came around like his own parents had, but then he remembers Mrs. Harrington's Facebook page and how there's not a damn trace of her son on there, never mind three grandchildren.

Tommy isn't sure he wants to touch that.

Steve is probably a really good dad, Tommy decides. He’d been kind of that way when they were friends — Steve used to say he wasn’t all that bright, but he always had a freaky sixth sense for reading people, for caring about them in exactly the way they needed.

There's one photo where Steve is managing to holding his youngest daughter — a tiny little baby still — and her bottle in one arm (that's a level-three dad hold, Tommy knows). The bottle is angled in a way that obscures her face, and Steve's other hand is being tugged on by another daughter, this one with a mop of curly brown hair remarkably similar to Eddie's when it was still long.

That's another thing Tommy won't let himself think about, (because he knows if did he'd start wondering if any of those kids were half-Steve).

Anyways, Tommy doesn't need glance to see that Steve wears fatherhood like a favorite sweater.

There’s something about this, about seeing these pictures, about the way Tommy is getting an answer to that question he’s had for years about where his childhood best friend has been all these years, that is making him feel like his ribcage is being split open, bones splintering and shattering as everything vulnerable inside his chest in suddenly out for display.

He probably should feel uncomfortable, right? Like, a guy he’d been seriously close to growing up — sleepovers and gym locker rooms and all that shit — had turned out to be gay. If his own son came home from school saying that his best friend came out or whatever as gay…well, again, it’s 2007, and Tommy doesn’t think his wife would allow him to denounce the friendship entirely, but there certainly wouldn’t be any sleepovers anymore. He thinks that’s pretty reasonable.

What was the likelihood that Steve had been, like, into Tommy?

And that should be an uncomfortable notion too, and in a sense, it kind of is, but not necessarily in the way he would expect.

He just doesn’t understand why all this feels so much like a loss because he knows that he hasn’t really lost anything – not since he got his hands on the magazine, anyways. Steve Harrington hasn’t played any sort of role in Tommy’s life since their final falling out in 1984, and as far as he’s aware, having a falling out with a close friend is pretty much a guaranteed part of growing up. His wife even experienced something similar when her own grade school best friend suddenly stopped answering calls and stopped reaching out after they’d started college – and his wife is basically the nicest person Tommy has ever known, so…it happens to even the best.

It’s just…Steve had always continued to exist in Tommy’s life in a way, even if he wasn't physically present, and maybe Tommy had figured it could be the same for Steve too, that maybe he sometimes wonders where Tommy is, wonders what he’s up to.

This article and these photos makes it pretty fucking clear that Tommy doesn’t even exist in the same galaxy as the life Steve is living.

And that’s not to mention the Eddie fucking Munson of it all.

Tommy had been kind of ignoring the Eddie of it all until he couldn’t ignore it anymore, because he doesn't care about Eddie Munson.

He'd never cared, but he'd spent years seeing the guy's face and his name everywhere, and now it feels like a sick joke, like he's the piece of Steve left in Tommy's life.

If the article is accurate (and he has no reason to believe it isn’t), Steve and Eddie have been together for longer than Tommy has even known his wife. Steve has been with Eddie for longer than Steve was ever friends with Tommy – not by a lot, but still more. That’s a long fucking time, and it’s clear as day on both of their faces that they’re just as in love with each other fourteen years in as they were on day one.

It’s not just Steve, and it’s not just Eddie, and it’s not one more than the other. It’s both of them.

There’s one photo in particular – a small black-and-white one that keeps pulling Tommy’s attention.

It’s another candid shot, taken from a bit of a distance. In it, Steve has Eddie boxed in against the counter in what has to be their kitchen. Eddie is leaning back against the edge of the granite countertop and looking at Steve with something sappy and fond on his face, and Steve’s hands are this close to grabbing Eddie’s waist as he looks at him the exact same way.

It’s shit out of a fairy tale or something, and sure, maybe someone could argue that they’re laying it on thick just for the sake of the magazine or whatever, but Tommy knows Steve Harrington and that look on his face is more real than Tommy had ever seen in all the years he'd known him.

So maybe Tommy has a reason or two (or three or four) to be jealous of Eddie Munson.

#unreliable narrator!tommy hagan my beloved #the ao3 version has the interview btw #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson #tommy hagan

325 notes · View notes

sweetiecutie · 6 months

Text

Pairing: slasher! König x fem! Reader

Warnings: mdni, dark themes, mention of drug use and cheating, stalking, obsession, König’s pov

A/n: it’s a prequel to my Fuck or Die fic, so go check it out<3 Will this be the beginning of psychotic yan! König series?? Maybe🤭

Crouched in uncomfortable position, fabric on his knees was damp from wet soil on which König was kneeling, mosquitos buzzing all over his head, all eager to drink of his warm blood - but he didn’t budge, staying still like a panther observing its next prey. Soft rustling filled König’s ears, warm breeze ruffling up the leaves of dense shrubbery among which man sat, completely concealing his bulky form.

König’s mouth filled with saliva, dilated pupils concealed the icy blue of his eyes, making them look pitch black. He swallowed hard, exhaling as slowly as he could through his nose, a spark of excitement settling somewhere deep within his stomach, watching unblinkingly through thick lenses of his binoculars two bodies swirling together.

In a building about three hundred meters afar all widows were free from curtains, revealing the insides of the house. With thumping heart König watched guy’s hands slip down Y/n’s sides, caressing sweet indent of her waist, down to soft hips and lower, finally resting on two hemispheres of girl’s plump ass. He noted how her back arched ever so slightly, pushing further into her boyfriend’s chest, hot mouthes connecting in a sloppy kiss, bright blush dusting Y/n’s soft cheeks and pointy tips of her ears.

Breaking apart shortly after, König’s sharp eyes watched guy’s lips move. “I love you” he said and König couldn’t help but snort in amusement, memories from only few hours earlier were still fresh in his head - how that motherfucker offered to give that cute cheerleader girl from his class a ride home, pulling up in an empty parking lot, not even ten minutes later his car was shaking from side to side. Still, Y/n smiled softly at his words, making König’s jaw clench. He could do so much better.

König didn’t expect much from you at first. Truth be told - it wasn’t you who caught his attention, but your boyfriend, especially where he lived. A huge house on the outskirts - closest neighbouring cottages were at best one kilometre away, making this place a perfect target for König’s next outing. So he came to studying its inhabitants more closely - a family of three - couple in their fifties and their only son. How better can it possibly get?

So König entered his usual routine - first and most important step was to learn more about his future victims, their routines and people they were close with. It was very easy with parents - an average boring life consisting of work, household and a dinner at local restaurant every Saturday. But slasher couldn’t say the same about their child.

From the very first hours König felt deep disdain for that guy. Everything about him just felt fake. A perfect son and excellent boyfriend, captain of local football team, goody two shoes who has never done anything wrong in his whole life - everyone’s golden boy, all bright smiles and promising future. The exact same one who snorted cocaine in stale bathrooms of gas stations, hands too shaky and mind too numb from withdrawal to actually process his surroundings; the one who, stoned out of his head, gladly threw himself in embrace of other women, hardly remembering sweet face of his girlfriend.

Oh, his girlfriend. Y/n - a sweet and lovely little thing, all butterflies and unicorns, never once failing to hold König’s full attention without slightest intention of doing so.

Watching Y/n has always been way more fun and exciting for him. König guessed it had something to do with her demeanour - so drastically different from his own, that attracted him so much. How bubbly and vibrant you were, making everything around you play with new colours, just like a little ray of sunshine - something König has never been.

Oftentimes slasher caught himself listening intently to you going over newest gossip with your best friend over the phone (wiretapping is way easier than one may think), your sweet voice filling his ears like honey, soothing his raging thoughts buzzing within his skull, clinging to every smallest word you said. It didn’t take much time for König to find your socials as well, spending way much longer than he should studying your pictures, breathing becoming shallow and his dick twitching at the sight of your puffy lips, often imagining how they’d look like wrapper around his shaft.

What König took special liking of was to watch your nightly routine. It was a stable and never changing chain of events - hot shower, skincare, rubbing moisturiser into your feet, shins and hands, and then finally tucking yourself comfortably in soft bed. It was nothing special, yet König craved to be a part of it. Craved to be the one applying whatever shit that was on your pretty face, to massage good-smelling mixtures onto your cheeks

Back to reality, König watched both Y/n and that little boyfriend of hers settling down in the couch, starting some soap opera on big TV screen.

Maybe now? König’s whole body froze at sudden thought. He swallowed hard once again, his mind racing, adrenaline burning through his veins at the intensity of this idea alone. Guy’s parents were out of town, meaning that him and Y/n were all alone in the house. König glanced at the black sport bag lying right next to him on damp ground, electricity tingling his fingertips - he had all necessary stuff packed with him, just go for it.

Slasher gazed through binoculars once again, blue eyes fixating upon you two cuddled up on the couch, man’s mind now filling with all the possible things he could do to the motherfucker, sight of him holding you so gently making König’s blood boil.

Reaching over to his bag murderer opened it, pulling out his mask and checking if voice changer was working still. All of König’s thoughts dissipating into nothingness the moment soft fabric of under mask touched the skin of his cheeks, leaving place for only one thing:

Soon she will be mine

#slasher!konig #cod könig #könig modern warfare #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x y/n #cod fanfiction #cod mw #cod mwf2 #cod modern warfare #kortac #cod x y/n #cod x you #cod x reader #call of duty writing #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty modern warfare

792 notes · View notes

aphroditelovesu · 7 months

Text

Yan!Apollo w/Reader!Daughter of Yan!Hera Headcanons (Romantic)

❝ ☀️ — lady l: this headcanon is based more on Hera's POV than Apollo's, but I hope you like it anyway. This ask was thought of and I can do a second part if anyone wants! Good reading and forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, jealousy, offenses and hatred, bouts of jealousy, unhealthy relationships, mention of war.

❝🦚pairing: yandere!apollo x reader!daughter of yan!hera.

No one knew how you ended up in Hera's arms, but everyone knew you were hers. Some said that you were found by her when you were a small child, others say that you were taken by her after she cursed your parents after they had offended her in some way and other versions say that you were her and Zeus's daughter. No one knew the exact origin and it didn't really matter, because you were hers and always would be.

Hera is known for being vengeful and possessive, jealous of Zeus's lovers and anyone who crossed her path. And that jealousy passed on to you as you grew into a beautiful young woman. Your mother wouldn't let anyone near you and when you reached marriageable age, Hera became more suffocating than ever.

She would never let her little girl get married or be defiled by any man. Whether mortal or god, no one will lay hands on you. Hera swore to herself that you would never be touched or hurt as long as she existed.

Apollo has always had an interest in you. He always liked you but never had the real chance to get to know you, not with Hera hovering over you all the time. The god didn't know why but he wanted to get to know you better, to get closer. You attracted him, maybe it was because of your immense beauty, he didn't know, but there was something about you that attracted him like a magnet and he needed to know what it was. So he waited for an opportunity to get closer to you.

And this opportunity arrived in the best way possible. You were finally allowed to wander around Olympus for a bit, without having your mother glued to your side. You begged her if you could go out alone for a bit and Hera gave in very reluctantly. As you wandered through some gardens, Apollo was sitting near a statue of Zeus, playing his lyre and singing something in a low voice. You cautiously approached the god and crouched near a hyacinth bush, hiding and watching him in wonder. Apollo knew you were there, but he didn't stop singing and playing, wanting to impress you.

When he stopped singing and playing, Apolo stared blankly at the bush where you were hiding. That was when you knew you had been caught. You stood up awkwardly, smoothing out your rumpled dress and stammering out a weak apology. You knew it was wrong to spy on others, especially a god. To your surprise, Apollo laughed and approached you, telling you that everything was fine and he didn't mind being watched by a beautiful lady like you. You blushed and smiled at his words and that was the beginning of a beautiful romance.

After this meeting in the garden, you and Apollo began to meet more often, all hidden from your mother's jealous eyes. You found yourself more and more attracted to this god and Apollo more and more in love and obsessed with you. You were perfect in his eyes. Benevolent and merciless in just the right amount, a daughter of Hera indeed. You would be a perfect wife and Apollo found himself more and more eager to ask you to marry him, but he was no fool, he knew that Hera would never accept. So he wouldn't ask her permission, but rather his father.

Apollo went to meet Zeus and told him his wishes, that he would like to marry you, leaving his father at an impasse. Zeus would like to allow you to become his son wife, but Hera would never allow it. And she was the goddess of marriage, getting married without her blessing wasn't the right thing to do. But Apollo didn't care and when Zeus reluctantly gave his permission, he knew what he had to do.

One night, Hera was by your side as you tried to fall asleep. Like the caring and patient mother she was to you, she kept you company until you fell asleep. As you fell asleep, Hera left the room and locked the door like she always did. You woke up a few minutes later and opened the window, allowing Apollo to enter. Once in your room, Apollo kissed you and got down on one knee and asked you to marry him. Your heart raced and before you could think, the words ''yes'' left your mouth and you were in Apollo's arms, kissing him passionately. You were so focused on each other that you didn't hear the door open until Hera started screaming.

Hera had known something was wrong for weeks. She suspected but had no proof that you were seeing anyone, until that cursed night. She left your room and waited for a few minutes, wanting to make sure you didn't have a lover, the thought made her sick. When she heard voices coming from inside your room, Hera unlocked the door and quickly walked in and she saw red. All she felt in that moment was hate, pure rage seeing you in the arms of a bastard of a husband. Hera had never been so sorry that she hadn't been able to kill Apollo when he was still in his whore mother's womb. How dare he tarnish you? Her pure princess? She was ready to kill him.

Apollo pushed you behind him just as your mother started screaming. This sight only enraged her further. It wasn't enough that he dishonored you, he still wanted to keep you away from the only person who would always love you. You flinched at your mother's screams and Apollo's eerie calm. When Hera finally stopped screaming, she tried to get closer to you but Apollo wouldn't let her. Just as Hera was about to curse him, Zeus stormed into the room furiously and demanded to know what was happening. Hera couldn't explain how furious she was and Apollo was very calm. Zeus looked at you and when he saw the ring on your finger, he knew what had happened. Curse that Hera had discovered that way.

Zeus tried to calm his wife, but his attempts were frustrated and he had to impose himself so that she and Apollo did not start fighting physically or trigger a war. Apollo just said that you and him would get married and that Hera would have no right to interfere, not when he had the blessing of the King of Olympus. Hera let out a scream of rage and all this fury was diverted towards Zeus, leaving the god in trouble. Hera was screaming at her husband and demanding answers, how did he have the nerve to let his bastard son get his hands on you? Hera doesn't remember feeling as much hatred towards Zeus as she did at that moment. Zeus remained silent, trying to remain calm while being insulted by his wife. When she finally stopped yelling at him, she turned to talk to you and you were no longer there.

Apollo had taken you. Hera fell to her knees and uttered curses. Zeus just watched her with remorse. She got up and sat on your bed and grabbed your pillow, in an act of fury, she tore it and her green eyes were filled with hatred. She would destroy Apollo and anyone who got in her way until you were safe and sound in her arms. She was ready to start a war, use her son, Ares, to destroy the world to bring you back. She swore these words and Zeus, for the first time, was speechless.

#yandere greek gods #yandere greek mythology #yandere apollo #yandere apollo x reader #apollo x reader #yandere hera #platonic yandere hera #yandere headcanons #headcanons #greek gods #yandere platonic hera #greek mythology

1K notes · View notes

sturniolos-blog · 2 months

Note

Can you write a Dad!Chris fic that starts out with smut?

So it begins with Y/N and Chris having sex but Y/N has a daddy kink so the next morning Y/N wakes up and gets ready.

After she wakes up she goes downstairs to make breakfast and when chris comes downstairs with lacey he tells Y/N that Mason's mad at him and when she goes upstairs to check on him he says,"I heard you screaming last night and you kept screaming 'daddy' and 'chris' so I thought dad was hurting you. "

! In the fic Lacey and Mason are 4 years old ¡

Mommy’s okay V2 - Chris Sturniolo x reader

warnings: smut, swearing

smut summary: P in v (unprotected w bc) daddy kink, doggy style, degrading

disclaimer: changed it up slightly! first person POV

—————————

11:04pm

Chris thrusts into me from the back, his hands gripping my waist as he pulls my ass into his waist.

“F-fuck! Chris, g-god!” I moan out, my hands gripping my pillow as i bury my face in it.

“What’s my name?” He growls, grabbing my hair and pulling me up so he can bite my ear.

“D-daddy! G-god! Daddy! I’m gonna cum! Please! Please!” I beg, tears streaming down my cheeks as he moves his hand to put it on my throat, squeezing slightly.

“Good girl, you can cum, baby. Let go..” Chris agrees, kissing the back of my neck.

My body shakes as i feel my orgasm, “Fuck! daddy! I’m cumming!” I yell out.

Chris doesn’t stop, instead he speeds up. I let out a whine as i begin to feel overstimulated, “I can’t, daddy! I-it hurts!” I moan, more tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Y-you can, mama. I’m cumming- g-god, fuck.” Chris stutters before unloading his cum into me.

—————————

8:34am

I had my hair up in a bun as I put the last pancake I had made onto a plate, along side came with bacon and orange juice.

I grabbed the other plate I had set and brought it over to the kids. Kissing both of their heads before grabbing the glasses of orange juice and giving it to them.

“Thanks, mama.” Lacey smiles, grabbing her fork and starting to eat.

Mason notices Lacey said thank you so he does too, “Thank you, mommy.” He says, starting to eat.

“You’re welcome, guys.” I smiles as I start to clean everything up, Chris then comes downstairs.

“Hey, guys!” Chris says, kissing Lacey and Masons head.

“Daddy!” Lacey calls out, hugging Chris around the waist.

“Hey, babygirl.” He says, ruffling her hair.

Chris notices Mason hasn’t said anything, “You good, mase?” Chris says as Lacey goes back to eating.

Mason lets out a groan before running upstairs, more like stomping.

I give Chris a confused look, Chris shrugs.

“Lacey, que pasa a tu hermano?” I sigh, putting the orange juice back in the fridge.

que pasa a tu hermano?: What’s wrong with your brother?

Lacey shrugs as she bites a piece of bacon, “No sé, mommy!”

No sé: I don’t know

Chris comes over to me, kissing my cheek, “I’ll figure it out, ma.” Chris says before starting to walk upstairs.

—————————

8:40am

Chris sighs and comes back downstairs as im washing the dishes.

“He talk to you?” I ask Chris, scrubbing a dish before putting it in the drying rack

“He said he’s mad at me, but he told me to go away when I asked why.” Chris shrugs, putting his hand on my lower back and coming to stand next to me.

I sigh, turning the sink off and drying my hands, “I’ll talk to him.”

I walk upstairs to see through the crack of Masons door, Mason playing with a toy dinosaur, i knock twice before slowly opening the door.

He quickly drops the dinosaur and crosses his arms like he’s mad, letting out a huff.

“Hey, mijo. Que pasa, mi amor?” I ask him, coming and sitting on the floor, criss cross apple sauce in front of him.

Hey, mijo. que pasa, mi amor?: Hey, son. whats wrong, my love?

“Nada, mommy.” Mason looks down.

nada: nothing.

“You can talk to me, baby. I know you’re mad at daddy. Why?” I ask, stroking his hair out of his face.

Mason groans and crosses his arms, “He was being mean to you, mommy!” Mason says.

“What? When?” I let out a laugh.

“I heard you screaming last night and you kept saying daddy and chris and i thought he was hurting you!” Mason lets out a soft sob, hugging my torso and burying his face in my chest.

I hear a muffled laugh come from the door, looking over to see Chris. I scoff and shake my head, “He wasn’t hurting me, baby, we were just talking and i just said his name a little louder. That’s all, my love.” I lie, kissing Masons forehead.

Chris comes in the room, “I would never hurt mommy, Mase..” Chris says, making Mason look up and sniffle.

“Okay.” Mason says.

—————————

so i wanted this out cs i feel guilty but like anyway enjoy this is ass

taglist: @sturniolosmind @novasturniolo03 @hearts4chriss @vinniehackerslefttoe @christhopersturniolo @mattybswife @streamermattsgf @sturnolio-luvs @sturnioloslurps @marlenafortuna @lovergirl4387 @sturniololovesss

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #spotify #sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo x you

392 notes · View notes

usereddie · 9 days

Note

k but rewatching 2x01 and it's gotta be Buck's pov of ugh, this new guy who's all handsome and perfect or whatever

Be curious about Eddie's pov bc I feel like it would be 70% Panic like omg pls don't mess this up and also 30% Gay Panic like why doesn't the pretty guy like me :(

(fair warning, this may have spiraled past 2x01......a lot. bear with me.)

i don't think we've ever gotten eddie's pov the way we've gotten buck's (2x01 and 7x04 for example) HOWEVER i do think we more or less know who buck is from eddie's pov through his actions.

which, considering their characters, tracks so hard.

buck didn't realize he was queer until a man quite literally kissed him on the mouth. seeing eddie from buck's pov is safe because buck has no idea what his feelings are. we watched buck's complicated feelings of jealousy towards eddie unfold TWICE and neither time did he realize what the feelings actually were (physical attraction and y'know. being in love with the guy). buck's pov is one we're allowed to see through as the audience, because it's not actually gonna tell us much, seeing as buck hasn't realized anything.

eddie, though?

reservoir of catholic guilt eddie? the guy who had panic attacks about the idea of being married to his girlfriend? the same man who was diagnosed repressed by a cardiologist?

he knows. he knows and he's been pushing it down since he and buck met, and if we were to ever see buck through eddie's eyes it'd give away everything. the eddie we've seen through buck's pov is just. pure golden sunshine, laughter, love, and buck's best friend in the whole fucking world. buck's best friend that he's in love with, sure, but buck hasn't put those dots together yet, so we, as the audience, won't see that.

buck, to eddie, is home. is family and warmth and comfort. and, obviously, eddie is the same to buck, but eddie knows this. eddie is fully and completely aware of who buck is to him, he's just shoving it all the way down. eddie gave buck a place to land ("it's eddie's house, i'm not really a guest"), eddie trusts buck wish christopher more than he trusts his parents with christopher (ramon and helena saying to eddie 'don't drag him down with you' and him leaving for LA -> eddie saying to buck 'there's nobody in this world i trust with my son more than you' after the tsunami), eddie let buck in when he was at his absolute lowest.

and, you know.

the will.

we've talked about it a half dozen million times in this fandom but we're gonna talk about it again because it's brain melting. we've never seen buck through eddie's eyes but we've seen exactly who he is to eddie through his actions. eddie trusts buck. eddie needs buck to know he has a reason to stay, that eddie and chris are his reasons to stay. eddie told buck flat out that his life means something. that buck thinks he's not worth anything but he's wrong because he means everything to eddie. eddie loves him.

eddie loved him when he held his hand when buck got pinned under a firetruck and eddie loved him when he dropped chris off before the tsunami and he still loved him when the water went back to the sea and eddie loved him when buck sued the city because the worst part of the whole lawsuit was how much he fucking missed him and eddie loved him when he was trapped under a well and all he could think about was his son and how, if he goes too soon, christopher deserves to be with someone who will love him the way eddie does and eddie loved him when he thought buck was the last thing he was ever gonna see, bleeding out on the streets of los angeles and eddie loved him when he told buck in the only way he knew how to (because, evan) and eddie loved him through panic attacks and mental breakdowns and lightning strikes and new girlfriends and a broken ankle and a new boyfriend because there is no version of eddie diaz that isn't in love with evan buckley.

and eddie knows that.

which is why we don't see it.

#sorry this got so long but this makes me crazayyyy #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #bia gets mail #anon #buddie meta

336 notes · View notes

trolliworms · 4 months

Text

I’m finally gonna make my post about the pjo show, spoilers if you haven’t seen it

I loved it so so much, so I’m just going to list some of my favorite things

“I am Sally Jackson’s son!”

Literally just everything about Sally she was such a queen I love her

“You burn what you’ll miss most.” And then he burns his blue jellybeans to talk to his mom instead of his dad, who’s an actual god.

“I finally have some real friends here. I think they really like me.” Percy, are you trying to make me cry?

“Not you sunshine, you’re with me.”

Flossing Percy, his smile when he pet the lizard, that whole scene was just perfect. I love Walker so much he’s so perfect.

“You fell in love with God? Like, Jesus?”

Luke. Just Luke omg. “She’s my little sister.” The way you can tell how much he despises the gods. The way he’s looking out for Percy. The way you know how he’s going to betray him in the end 😭😭😭. Also why did they have to make him so fine?

Annabeth was perfect, no complaints. “I’m sorry.” Then pushes him into water lmao. I feel like I can feel everything she’s thinking, Leah did such a good job.

Grover was perfect, too. I really liked how he told Percy his mom wasn’t actually dead, even though he might have gotten in trouble for it. A+++

Clarisse’s scream when her staff breaks, the absolute despair in her face. You just know that staff meant the world to her because it was a gift from her dad, I honestly felt really bad for her when that happened.

But Percy in that fight scene? He was such a beast like omg. I feel like in his pov in the books you don’t realize how good a fighter he is, but now we can see him kick butt without looking through his goofball lenses. I especially liked during that scene when Clarisse looks at her friend, and you can just see them exchange a really confused look because they expected him to suck lol.

The way they explained quests through Mr. D wanting alcohol and tricking Percy? It was played off as a joke but that is like genius writing. You get quests explained, it characterizes Percy, Grover, and Mr. D a little more, and it’s a goofy little joke.

Uncle Rick’s cameo!!! In the office scene!!! When I saw him I literally screamed at my friend, “THERES UNCLE RICK! IN A CHAIR!” lol

Bonus: the credits are so pretty 😭 I love them

Thank you for reading friends! Go watch the show if you haven’t!!! <333

#pjo #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #percy jackson disney+#percy pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #grover underwood #sally jackson #clarisse la rue

403 notes · View notes

vagabond-umlaut · 1 year

Text

gojo satoru x reader fic recs (I)

‣ now that i've got loads of free time, thought why shouldn't i use it well by showing (few of) my fave authors their much well-deserved love, respect and attention? ^_^

‣ this is merely a list of works i've enjoyed reading. kindly heed the tags and warnings in each of them and consume content responsibly, at your own discretion. that being said, i own neither these fics nor the characters nor the above gif. enjoy reading! 🥰

⌀ all that is solid [series] by GrilledTandooriSmoke on ao3

one of the best series there is. period. the fluff, the angst, the drama, the humor, the romance, the friendship, the plot, the dialogues - everything is top-notch in this series, i'm telling you. bonus points for being narrated in both reader's and gojo's pov.

⌀ The King is But a Man [series] by Petrichorium on ao3 (@petrichorium on tumblr)

royal!gojo who's terribly in love with the reader x reader who's equally (but way more discreetly) in love with gojo. add to that, the trope of childhood sweethearts reunited as adults, excellent communication between the couple and a wonderfully-crafted world and dialogues - what more could you ask from a series?

⌀ Ten to None (Soulmate AU) (oneshot) by Oreosmama on ao3

a fic which i adore with every fibre of my being. i will not say anything more about this, except to request you to go read this. you'll love it. (especially the fantabulous ending. btw, did i already say how much i'm in love with how well-written this fic is?)

⌀ Scarred [oneshot] by cainis on ao3

one of the best angst-with-a-happy-ending fic there is. i wish i could give thousands of kudos for the heart-wrenchingly amazing way the author has portrayed gojo's character here.

⌀ Mother of otherness, Eat me [oneshot] by itsbaby on ao3

one of the most beautiful works i've read so far. told from yuuji's pov, it explores gojo and reader's relationship and its nuances in a way seldom done before. however, what stole the show for me, was the soft and sweet mother-son duo the reader and yuuji grow to be in this fic. i really love this one-of-a-kind masterpiece.

⌀ something sweet [oneshot] by heresan on ao3 (@pretty-toru on tumblr)

i love love love this fic. it's so fluffy, so funny, so cute, so heart-warming... just read this fic, people. you won't ever be disappointed by the dynamics reader and gojo have in this one. one of my all-time faves, tbh.

⌀ teen dad Gojo [series] by pantao on ao3 (@seravphs on tumblr)

a sweet and realistic depiction of reader and gojo being teenaged parents to young megumi, all the while they try to figure out their feelings for each other. a perfect mixture of fluff, angst, drama, slice-of-life and romance, imo. (also, the author's notes are pure gold. whatever you do, please don't miss reading them! :D)

⌀ To see those eyes I prize above mine own (twoshot) by koyama on ao3

if you wish to watch godlike!gojo willing to let go of his powers, out of guilt and immense, immense, protective love for the reader, this is the ideal fic for you. i'm in awe of the way the writer wrote gojo's complex persona and the way the sorcerer realized his feelings for the reader. (the second chapter's the cherry on the cake. it's so good!!!!)

⌀ keeping up with the fushigojos (series) by @augustinewrites on tumblr

fluff? A+; angst? A+; drama? A+; characterization & dialogues? A+; humour? A+++++. a sureshot way to end a long hectic tiring day on a happy note is to read this series. (my go-to comfort series, ngl. :])

⌀ CAT & DOG (oneshot) by @mimiriko on tumblr

an adorable fic of gojo being in love with the reader, who knows, yet doesn't really know, much about it. plus, the feline-like features of gojo are sooo cute... and this fic is sooo sweet... the story left me smiling when i finished reading it.

⌀ surely summer wasn't over yet [3 chapters] by 3rdgymbros on ao3

an amazing fic set against the backdrop of the hidden inventory arc. the portrayal of the characters and their dynamics is simply impeccable. despite my kind-of-dislike towards this particular arc of the manga, i really enjoyed reading this one.

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk fluff #jjk angst #kit's fic recs 📚

2K notes · View notes

raya-hunter01 · 5 months

Note

Can you do a story on jey about his gf tryna go to bed mad at him and he ain’t having it 🤗🤭

We Ain’t Going to Bed Angry

Jey Uso x Black Female OC! (Jasmine)

Rating: 18+

Warning: Smut; sex, fluff, couple arguing, Jealousy

Summary: Jasmine wants to go to bed angry and in separate bedrooms, but Main Even Jey Uso is putting his foot down.

My first ever request....I hope you enjoy it @mya2real

Pensacola, FL

Jasmine’s POV

“Damn I finally get you alone, and all you want to do is cruise the coast and talk about your man. I hope he realizes how lucky his ass is, cause I really was trying to get your number,” Carmelo said as I laughed.

“Thanks for helping me out Melo you are a sweetie. I promise he won’t come at you with any drama,” I said giving him a kiss on the cheek as I began my walk back to Jey’s house.

I had Carmelo drop me off down the road from the subdivision. I ain’t crazy by no means, I ain’t letting just anybody know where I lay my head at night. Folks can be crazy as hell.

I groaned as my phone rang again looking down, I sighed. Another call from Jey. I knew I was wrong, but I was still pissed so I hit ignore and punched the code to be let into the subdivision. You let a bitch dance all up on you like you're single and shit.

But, oh, but when I leave yo’ ass at the club you concerned. Give me a break you weren’t worried about what I thought when she was twirling all up on your dick,” I muttered continuing my walk. I hate these fuckin’ groupies with a passion.

Jey’s POV

“Jasmine, I know you ignoring me. What you doin'? I know you had betta be on your way home. I bet he trying to fuck you ain’t he? I’mma get’em you know dat right? I’mma hurt him bad Jasmine,” I said ending the voicemail before I dug an even deeper hole.

“Well damn, you just threatened to kill Melo for nothing, Jasmine ain’t that type of woman, and you know it,” Jimmy said shaking his head at me.

“She ain’t, but I know Carmelo likes her. I knew when I brought her to a show last year. He was looking wit no damn shame Uce, and tonight she got into a car wit his bitch ass trying to make me jealous,” I said steaming thinking about Carmelo touching Jasmine in any way.

"Hell, ain’t no tryin’ in it, you jealous Uce" Jimmy said as I rolled my eyes at him.

“This woman gon’ be the death of me,” I muttered as Jimmy snickered. “Aye, sis told you not to play in her face, and you did anyway. Serves yo’ ass dead right,” he said laughing.

“I ain’t played in her face, I was just dancing with a fan,” I said oblivious to what he was trying to say.

“Uce, it wasn’t that you were dancing with her, it was how she was dancing all up on yo’ ass and you did nothing to stop it. Ya’ll was all but fuckin on that dance floor,. You lucky Jasmine didn't show her ass,” Jimmy said as I tried to think back to what happened, and when it finally clicked, I felt like an ass.

“Ok, yea, I admit it was outta pocket, but she ain’t have to leave with his ass to prove a point. She knows I’m wit her, that shit didn’t mean nothin',” I said as I heard the front door open.

A wave of relief washed over me as I saw her beautiful face as she took off her heels seemingly ignoring me. Thank God she was home safe.

“Uh, I’ll let myself out, and let ya’ll talk,” Jimmy said trying to hurry to the door but not before hugging Jasmine. “Glad you ok sis, you had me worried,” he whispered as she smiled rubbing his back. “I’m ok bro, tell Trin I’ll call her tomorrow” she whispered as I tried to keep my cool, at least until Jimmy left.

I felt my anger rising by the second. What had she been doing with Carmelo that she couldn’t pick up the fuckin’ phone? As the door closed behind Jimmy I exploded.

“Where the fuck have you been?!” I hissed trying not to wake up our son upstairs.

“I went for a ride with an old friend, is that a problem?” she asked with a bit of an attitude.

“Aye, chill with the attitude, I’m the one that should be mad. My girlfriend left me at a club to go be with another motherfucka she knows I don’t like,” I said as Jasmine rolled her eyes.

“Well, my man was dancing all up on a ho like he’s single so I guess we even, and can both be pissed the fuck off together then. Ugh, I can’t wait to go back to Georgia, this was a mistake coming here to visit, It just was too soon,” she said walking away as I followed her upstairs.

“What the fuck does that mean? You really feel visiting me was a mistake?” I asked as she stopped walking.

“Jey, all I wanted was to spend time with you, and all you’ve done is spend time with everyone else but me and our son! I feel like we don’t belong here Jey, that’s why I left in the first place!” Jasmine exclaimed as I ran my hands over my face in frustration.

I knew she was right; I had been on the go since they got here, and I had promised I wouldn’t be. I truly had no defense for my actions.

I was in keep-busy mode because that’s all I had been doing since Jasmine had left with our son a couple months ago.

This was my fault, I agreed to host that party at the club tonight knowing they were here. I asked today to be added to the meet and greet for tomorrow instead of enjoying my day off with them.

“Baby, I’m sorry ok can we just talk about it in the morning. I promise I’mma make it right please, I don’t want us to go to bed mad at each other,” I said as she sighed in defeat.

“I’m not mad, I’m hurt and I’m not going in there with you pretending everything is ok when it isn’t. I’ll sleep in the spare bedroom. I put my bags in there earlier anyway,” Jasmine said as I frowned at her not believing what she was saying.

Jasmine’s POV

“You ain’t staying in the spare bedroom, that’s for guests and this is yo’ fuckin’ home regardless of how you feel about it. “Jey I’m not,” I started as Jey cut me off firmly. “Jas! You ain’t stayin’ in there and that’s it!” Jey said as I felt myself shiver at his commanding deep voice.

I was speechless looking at him trying to remain unfazed. “You are sleepin’ in our room…. In our bed, and in my fuckin arms 'cause that’s where you belong, nowhere else,” Jey said full of conviction as I shook my head in defiance at him.

“I ain’t doin’ this wit you, I’m going to check on Jayden,” I whispered walking away from him and peaking my head into our son’s room. I couldn’t help but be in awe of him as he slept in his crib.

He’s almost a year old, and I still can’t believe we made his little amazing self; he looks so much like Jey it’s scary.

I felt Jey’s eyes on me as I turned to see him standing now in the doorway of the bedroom, we shared together for the last four years up until four months ago.

His intense gaze makin' me weaker in the knees by the second as I closed my eyes finally breaking eye contact with him, it was too intense.

“Jasmine, we been playin’ this game for four months too long…Don’t make me have to come get you. Tell our son goodnight, and get yo’ fine ass in here so we can go to bed,” I heard him say as I opened my eyes ready to give a smart-ass reply but saw he had already disappeared into the bedroom.

I could hear him shuffling around the room, then the shower started. I blushed to myself at the thought of him getting naked to take a shower. “No, remain strong Jasmine,” I whispered to myself as I went to the spare bedroom.

Jey’s POV

“I know her ass betta be in there when I get outta this shower. Sick of this shit, she knows I love her ass,” I muttered letting the hot water and steam relax me.

Ok, maybe my approach wasn’t the best, but I love my family and if I have it my way they won’t be going back to Ga if I can help it. “Jey, you got to get it together and get yo’ family back,” I muttered to myself stepping out of the shower and drying off.

Walking back into the bedroom I saw Jasmine wasn’t there. “Oh, so yo’ ass think I’m playin’ wit you huh,” I muttered to myself wrapping my towel around my waist, and heading down the hall. I could see the light under the door and as I got closer I heard her on the phone with her mom.

“Hold on mama let me put you on speaker, I'm changing," she said as I heard her mother take a deep breath. "Now like I was sayin' Mama I am trying, we came out here didn’t we,” Jasmine said as her mother laughed.

“Girl, you flew out there with hell in you, 'cause of them thirsty ass Instagram comments on his post he made about being happy ya’ll were flying out to see him. “Mama, I wasn’t mad,” Jasmine said as her mother laughed.

“Baby, he loves ya’ll. I know all the female attention he gets worries you especially since he’s on the road more with them adding more house shows,” she said as I frowned at her words as Jasmine wiped her tears.

“I know he loves us mama, and I love him. I just want him to act like he’s in an actual relationship. I mean stop making these women think they have a shot with you dude, you got a family at home waiting on you. That's why I gave him the engagement ring back and told him we needed space,” Jasmine hissed as I sighed. Damn was I that bad?

“Baby, why do you think that man has been begging, calling nonstop, and flying to Georgia on every off day he has just to come to little ol Warner Robins, GA even if it’s only for a couple hours. He misses ya’ll and wants his family back. You gotta let him in baby, this been goin' on long enough,” her mother said as I felt the need to make my presence known as I opened the door.

Walking inside I saw her standing nervously there in her bra and underwear talking to her mom as she spotted me trying not blush.

Yea, I’m looking at yo’ fine ass. Damn, my baby was fine as fuck, it had been four months too long for my liking. How the hell did I even let her leave in the first place.

Jasmine’s POV

I can’t believe he brought his ass in here, didn’t even fuckin’ knock. He is getting next to my nerves I swear. I see him lick his lips looking at me as if he could devour me whole.

I ain’t gon’ lie, I felt powerful as hell. I could see and feel his need for me, just from his intense stare that seemed to be burning a hole in my soul and it made my thighs quiver at the thought of being in his arms. He knows what he’s doing coming in here in that lil ass towel.

“I love you, sweetie, give my grandbaby my love,” my mother said as I smiled. “I will mama, good night and love you too,” I said rushing to get off the phone.

“Why are you in here?” I asked as Jey began walking closer to me almost like he was stalking his prey. “I told you to take yo’ ass in our room, but you just keep tryin’ me,” he smirked as I shrieked in shock as he picked me up and put me over his shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?”! I hissed as Jey carried me down the hall back to our room. “What does it look like? I’m takin’ your ass back to where you belong, which is in our bed wit me with yo’ stubborn ass,” he said not missing a beat as I hit his back continuously.

“Put me down Jey! This shit ain’t funny!” I exclaimed irritated as he laughed. “Calm yo’ ass down, before you wake up the baby. I want you to myself da night,” he said slapping me hard on the ass before tossing me on the bed as tried to gather myself.

Sitting up on my elbows, my eyes met his smirking face, and it made me madder. “Oh, you want me to yourself?” I asked smartly rolling my eyes.

Yeah, I do. That ain’t gon’ never change Jasmine,” he said as I got up and tried to walk past him as he growled pulling me close.

“Jey let me,” I started as he took me in a possessive kiss, pinning my arms behind my back with one hand as the other grasped my neck, angling my mouth for better access as our tongues battled for control.

“Mmm, we can’t, we said we would wait,” I moaned against his lips as he released my arms, and I tangled my fingers in his hair. “Yes, we can baby, I got you,” Jey said picking me up by my thighs as I wrapped my legs around his waist tightly, as his towel fell to the floor. God, it felt so good to be this close to him again, I needed him bad.

“I want you so bad baby; Daddy missed you, and he needs his pussy,” Jey whispered against my lips as he ripped my underwear. “Fuck! I missed you too,” I moaned moving my kisses to his neck as he groaned moving us to the bed.

“Can I have you, it’s been so long Jazzy” Jey moaned gently sucking on my neck as I shivered at his use of his nickname for me.

“Jey, I’m still mad, we need to talk,” I moaned, unexpectedly gasping along with him as he entered me suddenly, both of us shivering at the feeling of our bodies and souls becoming one with each other again after four long months.

“You can be mad all you want tomorrow. Not da night, you gon’ enjoy Daddy reclaiming his pussy,” Jey moaned never stopping his thrusts as my hands clawed at his back as he hissed.

“Jey, you feel so good,” I gasped as my body felt like I was on fire, I bit his neck before attacking his neck with kisses, sucking greedily, applying pressure trying to leave my mark for the world to see. I wanted them to know he was mine.

“Yea, suck that shit and mark me up, this yo’ dick, let’em know I’m yo’ man fuck,” Jey encouraged as I purred at his words as he rolled us over with me now on top. “Jey! Shit! Mmm,” I whimpered scratching down his chest, feeling him so deep from our new position.

“Uh huh, daddy deep in his pussy ain’t he? Come on and ride Daddy's dick and tell him how much you missed him. Tell me how this pussy was made just for me,” Jey groaned grasping my hips as I began riding him slowly enjoying the jolts of electricity going all over my body.

“Mmhmm, it’s made just for you daddy, you hear her talking to you,” I moaned talking my own shit as Jey growled beneath me as the sounds of my wet pussy sinking up and down on his dick filled the room along with our moans of desperation.

“Fuck Yea, Daddy hear, see, and feel her, damn she wet and tight as fuck. Talk yo’ shit girl, you makin’ daddy dick even harder. Give me dat pussy,” Jey groaned slapping my ass before grabbing my breasts with his hands almost painfully squeezing my nipples while meeting my slow deep thrust.

Shit, he knows what to say and what to do to set my body on fire and I loved it. I’m addicted to him, and I didn’t care who knew it.

Jey’s POV

“Yea, ride that shit slow and deep, you know how much I love dat shit,” I panted biting my lip trying not to lose control. “Mmm, I guess you did miss me, Daddy. Shit, you gettin’ even harder,” Jasmine moaned swirling her hips beginning to bounce harder on my dick with wild abandon.

“Fuck yea, I missed you, only you can get me like this,” I moaned not afraid to let that shit be known slapping her on the ass again as she whimpered, her body shivering with anticipation.

"Oh! Fuck, you promise it’s only me that gets you like this…You promise,” Jasmine groaned leaning down, kissing me with all her might as I groaned complete putty in her hands. I held her closer as our eyes met.

In that moment I knew I had to let her know how I felt. “We gon be ok, you hear me,” I whispered as she nodded as a few unshed tears fell from her beautiful eyes as we both were chasing our orgasm.

“Say you hear me,” I said more demanding, sitting us up as she held on to my neck as I gripped her hips helping her keep pace, thrusting her even harder down on my dick.

The feel and sounds of her wetness was driving me insane. “Tell me you hear me Jasmine,” I moaned, sucking on her neck trying to leave my own mark. “Josh, I hear you!” She cried as I moaned in satisfaction hearing my real name fall from her lips in passion as I rained kisses from her neck back to her beautiful lips.

“I ain’t never letting you go, we workin’ this shit out,” I growled holding her gaze as I reached between us rubbing her clit, while meeting her thrust with equal power.

"Oh my God," Jasmine moaned as I knew she was close. “You gon’ cum hard for daddy? You gon’ gush on daddy’s dick ain’t you?” I said, taking her in a deep kiss as she whimpered in my arms.

“Mmhmm!” she whimpered in pleasure as our tongues danced passionately with each other as I felt her nails scratching my back as she fell apart in my arm. “Josh, I love you!” she moaned as I saw the look of ecstasy that washed over her as her orgasm took over.

“Fuck, you are so fuckin’ beautiful. I love you too,” I said feeling my dick get even harder as I kept thrusting. Yeah, you gon’ give me another one and it’s gon’ be big.

Jasmine’s POV

“Mmhmm, I want you to give me another one Jazzy,” Jey growled reversing our position as he now towered over me, playing with my sensitive clit, thrusting long and hard trying to make me cum again.

“Josh, I can't, it's too much,” I moaned as sweat dripped from his face, falling onto my chest as he kissed me speechless “I…Said. Give…It…To…. Me…Now, “Jey growled against my mouth, each thrust more powerful than the last as my pussy gripped him like a tight vice, and I couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Josh! I’m cummin’!” I cried as my pussy quivered and gripped him even tighter as another orgasm rippled through my body.

“Oh yea, that’s what I wanted, shit! Give it all to me baby, I’m cumin too!” Jey groaned loudly as he came inside me. I could only hear the heavy beat of my heart and our heavy breathing in sync as he collapsed beside me holding me close as we came down from ecstasy.

“You know you I ain’t letting you go right? We a family and gon’ stay one,” he said as I smiled. “I know and I ain’t letting you go either,” I whispered as he kissed me gently.

“When I’m on the road all I think about is you and lil man, you ain’t never gotta worry bout, nothin’ girl, I love ya’ll and I ain’t messin’ dat up for nobody he said as I tried not to get emotional. "I know, baby it's ok," whispered as he held me closer.

"I was outta pocket not stopping her from dancing all up on me like that, I promise it won’t happen again,” Jey said as I sighed tracing his arm tattoo.

“I love you and I’m sorry about leaving the club with Carmelo,” I said honestly as he growled. “You had my ass trippin’ I was ready to kill his ass, Jasmine. I don’t even wanna imagine you wit somebody else,” Jey said as I shook my head.

“Can we just drop it for tonight before one of us gets mad again,” I said as he laughed.

“A'ight new rule, we ain’t never goin’ to bed angry in this house again,” Jey whispered caressing my face as I smiled. “I like that rule, no more going to bed angry,” I whispered settling in his arms as we both fell asleep.

The end

Taglist: @reci24 @southerngirl41 @vebner37 @jeyusos-girl

@melaninsugababy @romanreignkisser @bebesobrielo

@arination99 @2-muchsauce @bakugoumarianawrites

@empressdede @alyyaanna @christinabae @anonandwannakeepitthatway @venusesworld @jeyusosgirl @mya2real

#jey uso fanfiction #jey uso fanfic #jey uso fic #jey uso imagine #jey uso smut #jey uso x fem reader #jey uso x oc #jey uso x reader #roman reigns x reader #main event jey uso #jey uso #wwe fanfiction #jeysuso #jey uso fluff #wwe smut #wwe x reader #wwe fic #Jey Uso

646 notes · View notes