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jungkookstatts · 1 year

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University Superstar

[Summary]: Jeon Jungkook is your University’s biggest rock-star-athlete-hot guy. It literally prides itself on his attendance at the school — walking around with his “big name” (captain of the lacrosse team), tattoos, and rude, jock-like personality. You hate him. You hate that he can’t apologize for being a complete asshole. But what you don’t hate is how he visits your office every day. You also don’t hate that your feelings for him are crawling back into your system…

[Theme]: Jock!Jk, LacrossePlayer!JK x TeacherIntern!Y/N, Friends(?)ToLovers!AU, EnimeisToLovers!AU

[Rating]: 18+, explicit content, lots of hickies, mentions of blowjob, consistent flirting, JK is an extreme asshole (he actually got on my nerves for some of it lol), insensitive JK, lots of passion, squirting, kissing, pining after one another (mainly JK)

[Word Count]: 10,291

[Author’s Note]: I didn’t plan on making Y/n an education major…? But then I was thinking of JK in a bomber jacket and jock x teacher!AU and…yeah no, it had to happen.

[Masterlist] [Sequel] [Drabble (1), (2), (3)]

Jeon Jungkook.

The name makes you hurl a little in your mouth. Yesterday’s lunch makes its way to the back of your throat. But you swallow it down, telling yourself to be strong and that he will go away soon.

“So,” he banters a smile at you. That stupid yellow and blue lacrosse bomber jacket puffs out around his shoulders, the number “07” poking out in the ugliest school-sprit font you’ve ever seen on his sleeves. His elbows rest on your desk, arms delicately pushing some of your papers and trinkets out of his way. The action only fuels your anger.

“7 o’clock. You and me. Chipotle.”

“In your dreams, fuckboy,” you scoff. The audacity he has to ask you out. The audacity he has to find the school you intern at (literally on your universities campus, but still), interrupt your work, and ask you on a date for the nth time since a few weeks ago.

You think this might be the 5th time this week he’s asked you out on a date. And it’s only Wednesday.

The amount of explaining you still have to do to your coworkers, and even your kindergartner students, is exhausting. Everyone knows who he is. He’s the captain of your Universities lacrosse team, probably the most popular guy on campus…one of “the hottest” guys in the school (according to your coworker and best friend, Aecha)

You remember asking her a while back why he was always “the talk of the town”, and all she could say was: “Well, look at him. How could he not be?”

You get it. He is hot. But that doesn’t stop you from absolutely hating his guts. Not after he spilled his hot, black coffee all over your white shirt and pants a few weeks ago. Not after he stained all of your precious student’s artwork with his scorching hot Americano.

You were on your way to the school to hang them up in your classroom. Stopping at your University library’s coffee shop, you decided to start your day with a little bit of matcha before you decorated your space.

Your students had just completed a “What I Love About Me” project, and their responses literally made you cry…maybe made you ugly cry. So innocent and honest in their responses, this project was probably the most precious to your heart. You had wished you did something like this back when you were so young. Maybe then you would have a reminder on your bad days what younger you always admired before nasty comments and puberty hit your system.

So, when Jeon Jungkook completely drenched them in his black coffee, your stained (and very expensive) white work shirt and pants didn’t even matter. The sopping-wet look of your student’s artwork made you fight to gulp back tears. But you couldn’t help the water that begged to break free from behind your eyelids.

“Oohh!” he laughs, the stupid jock in him making a scene. “Jeez! I’m sorry.” you can feel the antagonizing smirk on his lips as he looks at what he’s done to you. “Here, let me get a napkin,”

Jungkook exits your line of vision and you try to make your way out of the library before he comes back. But, ever the athlete he is, Jungkook is back before you can blink with a giant wad of the coffee shop’s crappy brown napkins.

You don’t even know who is talking to you until you take the napkins from his hands, recognizing those ugly, stupid, hot hand tattoos. Who couldn’t recognize them when the whole university makes Jungkook’s tattoos each and every one of its personality traits?

The realization of your perpetrator being Jeon Jungkook only makes you more upset. Had it been anyone else, the hurt in your heart from your damaged projects might have been less painful.

You immediately start wiping off your student’s projects, placing them on the nearest table and patting them dry, trying your best not to smear the Crayola marker on some of them.

“Woah, hey,” he chuckles to himself again. “Nice line work. Didchya draw those?”

“Please, stop talking.” you spit at him. Finally, you look up at his face, hoping he gets the point.

You think he does, because the minute he catches your gaze, his face freezes. The look adorning your features was angry, but that tear in your eye from what he did to your papers made you really upset. Which, for some reason, made Jungkook's heart clench. Hoping he can’t see the tears trying to break free from your eyelids, you look back down and continue your previous actions.

“I-I, um,” he stutters, his voice much meeker than what it antagonized you with just moments ago. “Look, is there anything I can do? A free drink? New clothes? A personal invitation to Min Yoongi’s New Year’s Party? An escort around the men’s lacrosse team's locker room? …During uniform change?”

“Thanks, but the best thing you can do is leave,” you reply. Just about done drying your projects up the best you can, you gather them in your arms and face the man once again. This time, you stare at his face for more than just a few seconds. You hate that he’s handsome; it only makes it harder to stop looking at the playful smirk forming on his lips from mentioning the men’s locker rooms.

“You sure? Heard this year’s party is supposed to be a banger.” he bribes, the mole under his bottom lip showing as he smiles.

“Min Yoongi is a close friend. I am invited to his parties every year. Now, I have to go—”

“No way?!” he exclaims, the permed dark curls over his eyes bouncing as he places a large hand on your shoulder. You shrug it off, but he acts like he did nothing wrong at all. “How come I haven’t seen you before? I’d totally recognize you. You’re smokin', by the way.”

Your lips and nose cringe at his statement.

“I don’t usually go,” you explain. “Now, please move before I push you out of my way myself.”

“Hah!” he laughs. “Like you could. Hey, are you an elementary teacher or just a shitty artist?”

“I’m not answering that,” you say.

His comment hurts you. This is precious art to you. The fact that he has no regard—didn’t even say sorry meaningfully—for your papers that you are obviously upset about makes your heart sink. All you can see are the faces of your students.

“Okay, well, that offer for a free drink, or clothes, or uh—oh yeah. The men’s locker room deal,” he winks. “Is still on the table.”

“I’ll pass,” you flash a tight-lipped smile his way before brushing a shoulder past him and exiting the library.

The first tear makes its way down your cheek, and you quickly wipe it off before anyone has the chance to see it. You think Jungkook might have through the window of the shop, but you assume he is looking at his order number he placed for a new coffee on the screen above it. It would appear more fitting. He clearly has no care in the world that he did something that made someone else upset. From his own actions. But are you really surprised that he wouldn’t care?

The rest of your walk to the elementary school is filled with blasting music in your headphones and a scowl on your face. What was once sadness is now anger. You’re angry. So fucking angry. Your blood is boiling.

“How could he?” you exclaim as you barge into the teacher’s lounge.

“Woah—” Aecha observes. “Is this a new print or something?” she asks, referring to your white-brown shirt and pants. “Please don’t tell me this is a new ‘thing’? No offense, but it’s kind of ug—”

“No, it’s that stupid Jungkook-jock-fuckboy-asshole-bitch—”

You silently thank an existing god that the kids have off today.

“Jeon Jungkook?” Aecha’s jaw drops.

“Don’t even start. I hate that man. Look what he did,” you seethe, slapping your student’s projects on the table.

“Awww,” Aecha’s eyes go beady, her fingers delicately shifting through the precious artwork. “Did he ruin them?”

“Yes,” you fight the urge to swipe all the shit on the coffee bar onto the floor. “Yes, he did. And now I have to give these back to the kids, hoping that when they’re 15 years older they can actually make out what it's saying.”

“I’m sorry,” she pouts. “That’s really shitty. Did he apologize?” she asks, sorting through the damp papers. “They don’t look too distraught. I can still read them,” she assures you.

“He apologized as the third phrase he said to me. The first was an ‘Oohh!’ accompanied by a mocking laugh and then a ‘jeez!’ Didn’t even realize I didn’t care about my damn shirt until he pointed out how ‘shitty my artwork was’.”

“Wow,” she gapes. “That’s totally Jungkook, that’s for sure,” she nods in agreement, thinking upwards. “You know, now that I’m imagining the scenario, it’s kinda hot.”

“Aecha!”

“Okay listen,”

“No, I won’t.”

“Okay, fine,” she gives up. You dig underneath the coffee cabinet, pulling out a spare hairdryer and plugging it into the wall. Your school is filled with mostly women teachers, so finding something like this in a coffee room is not that unordinary here. The room is soon loud with the sound of the machine as your try to dry them completely. “You going to Yoongi’s party, by the way?” she asks you.

You remember Jungkook’s offer to invite you to said party. You scoff at the memory. What was once a plan to tell Yoongi that you were, in fact, going to attend...is now a “no” from you. Not when you know Jungkook will be there. He is always there, just too drunk to remember you, probably. He even danced with you a few times, grinding on your ass with a beer in his hand and his other on your waist.

You remember it all too well. That was back when you had positive thoughts about the man. But then he became the captain of the lacrosse team. And then he became obsessed with the amount of “get out of jail free” cards he suddenly obtained from his popularity, hotness, and good standing on the school board. When you heard about what he was like from Aecha, your friends, the school news, YouTube, etc., you stopped finding him fancy. You couldn’t see the same man you saw that night. Especially not with how he treated you just an hour ago. Sad, but you washed away any hint of a crush you might've had on him after then.

“No, not anymore,” you reply, loudly speaking over the blow dryer. It is loud enough to where you don’t need to yell, but you wouldn’t be able to hear her response if you both talked normally.

“What?!” she drops her shoulders in disappointment. “But Hoseok is going to be there…you told me you’d go with me if he was!”

You know Aecha has been chasing after Hoseok since she first talked with him at last year's party. She doesn’t know anyone else who is going besides Yoongi and Hoseok. Being they’re both men, she doesn’t know if she feels 100% comfortable going alone, even though you and her both know they would never dare to hurt her or make her feel unsafe. It is more of a girl code—arriving and leaving together—than it is anything else. So you understand.

You had forgotten about said agreement, and you groan in frustration. Now, you have no other choice.

“Y/n, I need to bag this man. I need to,” her voice is laced with determination. “I am like—I am tired of waiting and this is my one last chance and—”

“Okay!” you hush her. “Fine, I’ll go.

She claps her hands and does a happy dance. You wish you could find her reaction endearing, but now you’re dreading the upcoming events of this party.

----

The week is going by fine until you get unexpected amounts of bouquets and Edible Arrangements all addressed to you from…Jungkook. You send them all back, just to get an angered Jungkook storming into your office a few days later.

“You know how expensive those were?!” he half-shouts at you. He quiets his voice, noticing the quiet setting he is in. However, he doesn’t seem to care that he has intruded on your space during your work time. He closes the door to your office anyways, trapping you in it with him.

“How did you get this address…and how do you know I work here?” you interrogate, going back to typing on your computer. The things you type are a mix of keyboard slam and words you’re thinking, faking work at its finest because some abnormally hot jock-asshole needs to make it known that his gifts are not to be returned.

“Min Yoongi is a man of many talents,” he responds. Taking a seat in one of the chairs across from your desk, you watch him as he plays with your nameplate on your desk. “Ms. Y/n L/n. Cute.”

You snatch the gold engraved tag out of his hands and place it back on the desk where it was before. “Please don’t touch my thi—”

“So, you are a teacher, then, I suppose?” he interrupts you. You don’t know it, but Jungkook is really trying here. It took a lot and nothing at all for him to walk in here. Truthfully, he has no idea how to apologize to you. A simple, sincere, “sorry” would probably do it. But he even practiced it in the mirror. Literally impossible. It’s like his mouth was forbidden to say the word without gagging at himself.

Apologizing was never his strong suit. Before coming to college, he was a good boy. Sweet and kind, never once a popular kid until he hit puberty and was suddenly his high school’s prom king. That’s when he started doing things he is not that proud of. It became a habit, but the good boy in him has a hard time practicing apologizing. Mainly because... he never really had to do it before becoming a total high school popular kid and a university super-star player.

But he really fucked up this time. And, he was hoping you would just let it go like people always seem to do when he can’t admit things correctly. But after seeing that tear fall down your face after you left the shop, that clench in his heart followed as you walked away. He couldn't stop thinking about how bad he felt all week. Those really meant something to you and he knew it. He just didn’t know how to admit he was being an asshole.

“I am,” you reply. “You here for some lessons?”

“Stop,” he grins. “Teacher—student sex has always been a fantasy of mine.”

“Please,” you scoff at him. The audacity. “As if I’d fulfill that for you.”

“A man can only dream,” he shrugs.

“Yeah, well keep doing that. What do you want, Jungkook?”

“I want to know why you sent back my flowers. And my Edible Arrangement! I was fighting the urge not to just eat it when I picked it out for you.”

Truthfully, you were too. You love Edible Arrangements.

“Because I don’t want your sympathy because you realized you were an asshole,”

“Why not?”

“Because none of that matters to me. I’m not an ex-girlfriend who caught you cheating on me. I’m just a stranger you met last week. I want an apology. An honest apology from you. And that’s it.” you explain.

Jungkook puffs his cheeks out.

“You’re difficult,” he raises his eyebrows. “I like that,” he smirks at you.

“I don’t have time for your flirting, Jungkook,” you roll your eyes at him, focusing back on your screen. “Please go home.”

The next time he comes in is around 3pm the following day. The kids are out of school by then, but all your coworkers are still here. So is Jungkook, apparently. Aecha tells you he’s been talking it up with the principal since he got here.

You groan, hoping he is just here to speak with the principal and not you. It is a farfetched hope, though. You don’t know what business he has with the principal, or anyone else here besides you, for that matter.

It is around 5 when he barges into your office again. You’re packing up your things, dreams crushed when you thought you could exit work without running into the alleged lacrosse star.

“Hey, sexy,” he flirts, eyeing your flowy, loose, figure-hiding, ugly, dark-brown art dress. You roll your eyes again, knowing he’s making fun of you. It was art day, and you had to wear your paint-stained art-apron dress. It’s the only one you don’t care about other than the shirt he ruined just a week ago.

You ignore his comment, zipping your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“Reconsidering tutoring?” you mock. Jungkook laughs at you, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks. You’re really cute when you mock him. It kinda gets him going.

“How’s about 9:00pm next Saturday at Min Yoongi’s?” he asks, trying to get you to go to the party again. Little does he know that you’re going. But you don’t want to amuse him too much.

“Funny,” you banter, making your way to the door. But he blocks your path, his arms resting against the door frame as he stares down at you with those white teeth and bunny eyes. You want to squish his cheek between your forefinger and thumb for reasons you don’t understand. All he has done is make fun of, flirt, and annoy you since you two met. Why do you feel the heat in your cheeks when he slips a finger underneath your chin, dark eyes staring into your soul? Why does your heartbeat in your throat when you look at the glossiness of his lips so close to your own?

You back away, releasing yourself from his flirtatious actions.

“What if I begged on my knees?” he blurts out.

You snort out in laughter at that. The thought of Jungkook: the tall, big guy with tattoos and an award-winning lacrosse scholarship? On his knees in front of you? Begging you to go to some party? That’s rich.

Jungkook blushes harder at your laughs. Fuck, your laugh is so cute. He wants to make you laugh like this a lot. Maybe forever, even. You’re music to his ears.

“What’s so funny?” he chuckles with you. “Think I can’t?”

“Please,” you smile wide, a hand covering your mouth, trying not to muster up any more laughs. “That would be too much. You sure you want to pleasure me?”

Jungkook’s mouth grows dry. Um…yes?? He would, in fact, like to pleasure you. Maybe not in that way, but he’d do it if it meant you were pleased with him. Fuck! If only he could admit things properly.

“Um, no, never mind” he goes against his wish. “I don’t think I could stand the content look on your face.” He totally could??? What the hell is he saying?!?

Jungkook runs a hand through his thick, brown locks, looking at you as you die down your laughter. If only you knew he’s been after you since two New Year’s parties ago. You think he doesn’t remember, but he totally does. The way your hips swayed against his, pressing your ass into his front. He remembers how soft your skin felt underneath his tattooed hand. All he remembered is how he wanted to mark you up, kiss the skin of your lips, neck, and shoulders and claim it as his own. But he had one too many drinks that night, and he found himself passed out on Min Yoongi’s couch the next morning. Jungkook started off the New Year with his clothes on, cheeks flushed, a terrible hangover, and no sight of you anywhere.

He had been trying to find you for a while on campus, but little did he know you were all the way on the opposite side of it in the Education sector. When you didn’t show up to Yoongi’s New Year’s Party the following year, he realized he may never see you again. Until he ruined your clothes. And your valuables. And your heart. And god-knows-what else. If only apologizing didn’t completely break his fragile ego, maybe he would be kissing you right now. Maybe he could have been spending all his time kissing you and holding you every day since the incident.

“Whatever you say, fuckboy,” you smile at him. “Now let me go — and stop coming into my office. It’s annoying.”

“Principle Green is actually so rad, though. I might come back just for him,” he comments, moving out of your way.

“I don’t care who is rad, I don’t want you interrupting my work.”

“Oh, so I’m a distraction?”

“No, you’re a nuisance,”

“Ouch,”

“Goodbye, Jungkook,” you flash him a grin, turning off the lights in your office. You look at Aecha in the teacher's lounge where you exit. She is completely baffled, eyes wide, her mouth dropped, and her bagel falling out of her hands and onto the table. Cream-cheese side down. She heard everything, and you know what she’s thinking.

Luckily, you can leave without either of them making conversation with you.

Entering your car, you let out a huge breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in. You look at yourself in your sun blocker's mirror. Cheeks red and lips cracked from all the laughing, you’re a total mess! As if your crush on Jungkook is coming back. It can’t be. He’s a total asshole now.

But a charming asshole.

Fuck! Stop it, y/n. You can’t do this to yourself.

And so, you don’t. You blast your music and drive away, pretending you don’t see a waving, smiling Jungkook from the school’s entrance in your rearview mirror.

----

Three knocks on your door and an uninvited Jungkook makes his way into your office. Again.

Jeon Jungkook.

The name makes you hurl a little in your mouth. Yesterday’s lunch makes its way to the back of your throat. But you swallow it down, telling yourself to be strong and that he will go away soon.

Last night, after Jungkook’s daily visit to your office (one that ended up with a 3-hour conversation about how Thor is the best Avenger next to Spider-Man), you realized that it’s been almost two weeks since you met him in the coffee shop. Almost two weeks and you have yet to receive a proper apology like you had asked him to give you the first time he visited you at work.

This is the 7th visit since two weeks ago, and still no apology. Despite his charm and how easily you were almost tricked into letting it all go, you remembered you were still supposed to be mad at him. And that you should still be mad at him no matter how many bunny-smiles, flirtatious comments, and talks about the Avengers and Principle Green that shoots straight to your heart. And to other places…

“So,” he banters a smile at you. That stupid yellow and blue lacrosse bomber jacket puffs out around his shoulders, the number “07” poking out in the ugliest school-spirit font you’ve ever seen on his sleeves. His elbows rest on your desk, arms delicately pushing some of your papers and trinkets out of his way. The action only fuels your anger.

“7 o’clock. You and me. Chipotle.”

You think this might be the 5th time since Sunday he’s asked you out on a date. And it’s only Wednesday.

“Woah, why the ‘tude?” he defends, putting his palms up as he slides back into his “designated” chair in your office.

“There is no ‘tude.”

“There totally is ‘tude!”

You glare at him from over your laptop screen. "See!” he points at your scowl.

“Jungkook, get out please,” you sigh. You really don’t want to deal with his antics today.

“What? Why?” he asks you. His voice is defensive like you just told him his dick is short and thin. Which, it totally is not by the way. He’d tell you about it, but it doesn’t appear like you’re up for that conversation.

“Because, Jungkook, I’m done with this.”

“With what?" he scoffs. "We’re not even a ‘this’,” he says the last part with finger air quotes.

“Exactly, so please stop visiting me. I don’t want your distractions to make me forget about the fact that you still haven’t apologized.”

“Oh, please, y/n,” he drags out a laugh, slouching on your chair. “I don’t even need to apologize. They were just some shitty drawings. I can assure you that if you go back into that classroom and call an ‘art sesh’ they’d make up a bunch of equally as shitty pieces for you.”

You can feel your fingers nearly breaking the screen of your laptop before shutting it close. You stand up in your seat, motioning your finger toward the door. “Get out.”

Jungkook knows he stepped over the line with that one. He really doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying. He knows those meant something to you! Why is he acting like he doesn’t? Why does he choose to say words that hurt you? It only hurts him, knowing that even though he wants so badly to be the person that comforts you and who tells you you’re okay; saying the opposite is only going to make it worse.

Duh!

Right now, he wants to beat himself up so badly that he’s lost the ability to speak another word.

That clenching feeling he has in his chest is back. He can see the anger in your heart, reaching out to protect the innocence of your students. It’s endearing, really. But he’s in the crossfire. And he’s on the side of your wrath he doesn’t want to be on. He’s the reason you’re protecting your students in their absence. He is the reason why you might never forgive him for this one.

“Y/n, I,” he stutters, standing up. He really thinks he’s about to apologize until something within himself blocks him from doing so again. His heart wants to say it, but his egotistical brain isn’t allowing him. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean it as?” you ask him. Hands running through your hair, you laugh at yourself in disbelief. “You know, I don’t even know why I’m asking you that. I don’t even know why I expect anything from you at all. All you’ve been doing since you got your damn scholarship and your damn popularity has been treating others like how you are treating me right now. Like their feelings don’t matter, like no one else exists in this world besides Jeon Jungkook. Maybe if you had a project like the one I assigned to my students, then maybe you’d have a reason to look back on what it means to be kind to others. Maybe you’d realize that people get hurt because of people like you. Me included. So please, leave my office and don’t show your face in this school ever again.”

Jungkook is at a loss for words. What can he say? You called his bluff. He taught himself how to block out others as a defense mechanism a long time ago. Its consequence: confidence as a new defense mechanism. Confidence is always good, right? So why it felt wrong when he started showing that side of him 100% more than it was before was beyond him. And, well, this is why it felt so wrong. He's lost the ability to humble himself down. And he hurt you because of it. He’s hurt a lot of people because of it. If only he knew how to balance himself properly.

Jungkook leaves your office, not batting an eye at you, feeling like a student who just got expelled. The jock in him would say it was hot, but that part of him is not there. Nothing but shame fills his body. He feels ashamed of himself. Especially as he catches light of one of the coffee-stained projects on the lounge-room walls.

[I love my _______ because it makes me feel ________] is the prompt. This one had the most outrageous spelling he thinks he’s ever seen. Backward “e”’s and random capitalization and sizing and all. But he makes out “heart’ and “wanted”.

Something in him pulls on his heartstrings again. He can see why those projects meant so much to you. Just that one simple response was enough to feel regret all the way from the follicles of his scalp to his big toe, as if he didn’t regret it already. How is he going to make it up to you? He has no idea. But he can’t lose sight of you, even when he knows he's pissed you off and hurt you. He has to find a way to make it right.

He has to apologize. Sincerely. Like he’s been practicing in the mirror and with his roommates, Taehyung and Jin, for the past two weeks. It’s easier with them. They don’t make his heart beat abnormally fast. They don’t send smiles (other than teasing, antagonizing ones that make him feel embarrassed and give up) that make him want to kiss you until you’re breathless beneath him.

But he needs to. And it needs to happen soon.

----

“So,” you smile at Aecha across your kitchen counter. She’s wearing the skimpiest hot pink dress you have ever seen. No doubt trying to be a tease for Hoseok. No one would guess she’s a preschool teacher with the way she’s dressed. “What’s the plan?”

She turns around, pinning the last bobby pin in her stiff, hair-sprayed-bobby pinned high bun.

“Okay,” she smiles. “We go in, right? Then I see Hoseok. Then we dance. Then we kiss. Then we f—”

“Okay!” you stop her, laughing. “I get it. Go in, dance, fuck. What do I do?”

“Hmmm,” she thinks. “Drink?? Get high? Maybe mock my actions on a certain captain of the lacrosse team…?”

You give her a knowing look.

“I know!” she puts her hands up. “Was just a thought.”

A great thought, at that. You’ve been wanting to jump his bones since three New Year's parties ago. But you’ve long accepted that’s no longer on your agenda. Jungkook has proven to you that he is a lost cause. You can’t expect anything from him, no matter how charming his smile is, no matter how well he dances, or how his touch makes butterflies flow through every vein in your body.

You have to put him in the back of your mind and move on. Maybe tonight you can find someone to do that with.

“You know that guy from Bread Club?” you ask her, fingers pinching the skin between your eyebrows in thought.

“Which one? That club was full of male nerd—oh! The hot one? Park Jimin?” she recalls.

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Him! Do you know if he is coming?”

“Oooooo,” she coos at you. “Does y/n see a potential crush on bread-boy Jimin?”

“Not a crush. Although, he is really handsome.” you blush. “I just never gave him a proper chance.”

“You’re right. I did suspect an underlying mutual attraction. My guess would be that he is going. I’m pretty sure he’s with that whole group. If I’m not mistaken, I want to say he’s Taehyung’s brother. Tae rooms with Jungkook and Jin.”

“Ah,” you nod, understanding the explanation. Although, all you hear is Jungkook. You hate that even his name in a conversation not even about him puts a sad feeling in your heart. You really do pity him. You also really want to forgive him. But after what he said back in your office, you don’t think you have the means to. His words hurt. They always do. But, he doesn’t know how to apologize. At least not to you. You remember how Aecha was surprised when you explained the situation and told her that he still hasn’t apologized since the incident. It made you wonder if you were the only person he refuses to apologize to.

“Okay, I’m ready. We both look hot. Let’s go,” Aecha says, matter-of-fact. She slaps her pocket mirror closed and shoves it into her purse.

----

You arrive at the sickest party Min Yoongi has ever hosted. Jungkook was right, this year’s party is a banger. Endless drinks, endless space for dancing, endless games, and endless men…boy you have many options tonight.

Aecha claps your shoulder in excitement, telling you that she sees her prey. You understand, letting her make her progress towards bagging Hoseok.

You continue smiling until your eyes land on Jungkook’s. He’s at the beer pong table, a beer in one hand and a pong in the other, ready to throw his next shot. Although, his progress towards throwing it stops when he sees you.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to keep looking at him. Dressed in all black with silver accents accompanying his wrists, ears, eyebrows, and lips. One could say he completely complemented your own outfit.

The fact only makes your heart hurt more. Why? You don’t know. You dropped him. He’s done. Wasn’t even a crush for longer than a day three years ago. Why you’re so hung up on him, you don’t know. The realization has you tearing your eyes away from his man-bun that looks too perfect framing his face, and onto the drinks in the room next to you.

You grab a shot or two. Or three. Or four. But who’s counting? It’s New Year’s Eve, you’re single, have nothing to lose, and have strange feelings toward a man you want to forget. Tonight is the night to get so wasted that you end up achieving that goal.

You think you will be successful when a familiar voice calls your name. Turning around, your eyes meet with Park Jimin’s. The bread-boy. Just the man you wanted to see tonight.

“Jimin!” you hug him. “No way! How long has it been since we baked banana nut bread together?!”

Jimin laughs out loud, hugging you back. “About a year, I’d say,” he smiles. His smile is really cute, reaching from cheek to cheek with that insanely addicting voice of liquid he uses to coat his words. “You’re looking really good tonight, Y/n.” Maybe he will be your saving grace tonight, after all.

“Thanks,” you smile. “You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

“Glad to know you’re pleased.”

“I am,” you smirk. “Somewhat.”

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Come,” you change the subject. For some reason, flirting with Jimin feels wrong. Even though you want parts of him, even though you want to be able to flirt with him, something about it just doesn’t feel right. Maybe it’s the intense eyes you feel at the back of your head when you dance on Jimin in the middle of the dance floor. Maybe it’s when you kiss Jimin that you feel as if you’re imagining it’s Jungkook who you’re pressing your lips to.

It’s all wrong. Everything is wrong.

But Jimin touches you like it is right, and you feel somewhat assured until an extra hand is pulling you away from him. Suddenly, you’re drunken vision sees Jimin standing on the dance floor moving farther and farther away from you as this mystery person takes you away from him. Stumbling to keep up with this person’s pace, you turn around and attempt to pry off the strong arm that wraps around your wrist.

“Wha-What do you—who are you?” you ask this person. It isn’t until you realize that the person’s arm is tattooed. It isn’t until you realize that these tattoos are familiar and that they belong to Jeon Jungkook. “Jungkook, let go!”

To which he does, but only when he’s pulled you out of the house and into the alleyway between another house and Yoongi’s. Jungkook pins you against the wall, his forearms pressing against the brick next to your ears.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, voice low and eyes foreboding. Those eyes you’ve never seen before. They’re dark and angry; far, far away from his playful innocent-looking ones. They scare you a little. But you’ve always been good at facing your fears.

“I’m having fun,” you respond, not a smidge of the jitters you're feeling consuming your voice. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t make any mistakes,” he responds.

“Hah!” you laugh, the alcohol causing you to tilt your head back harshly. You forget there’s brick there, and you’re thankful Jungkook’s reflexes are fast enough to slide his hand beneath your head before it smacked against the brick. “You’re so funny, Kook. You know, that’s actually a good idea. Because the last time I danced on someone like that was with you. And I really regret that.”

Jungkook’s heart pangs in his chest, showing how your words affected him so by closing in on you. His face towers over yours, even though he’s been trying to keep his height as level with you as he can by bending his body at his hips to match your own height. But the closer he gets, the taller he becomes, and the more you have to look up in order to look into his eyes.

You can smell the cologne on his body along with the faint smell of booze on his breath. You hate how his scent makes you fawn over him. All you want to do is kiss him silly. But you’re still mad at him. You're still arguing with him right now.

“You don’t,” he scowls, more so at himself for letting it get this far. The sight of Jimin holding you like that when it was supposed to be him made his blood boil. Fury grew in his veins as he realized he needed to make this right. Right now. Before it’s too late and you’re truly moving on.

“And what if I do, Jungkook?” you lower your voice, words feeling heavy on your mouth. “What if I regret letting my feelings continuously be hurt by you?”

“And what if I told you that I regret it,” he holds your chin in his fingers. “Saying those things to you. I do, y/n. I regret it, and I don’t know why I kept saying those things. And I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

You pause at his apology. Are you hearing this right? Did Jeon Jungkook just apologize to you? Twice??

“W-Well,” you stutter. Tears start to brim your eyes again for reasons you don’t understand. Maybe because you’re a crybaby. Maybe because this was your reason for not chasing after the man you liked so much. Maybe because his apology gives you the ‘go’ for smashing your lips onto his, feeling his honey lips collide with yours.

They’re just as soft as you imagined they would be. And god, is he a good kisser. His lips alone make a pool in your panties. Your hands slide around his neck, fingertips intertwining in his tied-up locks.

Jungkook’s body nearly stutters when you kiss him. Out of all things, this was the last he expected. Maybe a well-deserved slap or a kick on the shin, but never the feeling of your embrace.

Nevertheless, he doesn’t complain one bit. He’s been dying to feel you. Your lips on his was an imagery he thought he would never have the chance to live out. But, here you are, holding his body close and kissing him like he is the last person you will ever have the chance to kiss in your life.

Desperation crawls into his veins, lifting you up around his waist, and pressing you against the wall.

He’s been craving this for far too long. Craving you for too long. Jungkook can’t stop touching you, your body is just as soft as he remembered. His curiosity begs him to explore more and more of you. But he’s done enough without your permission. So he waits, continuing to kiss you until you take control.

“I’ve been dying to have you like this,” you say between trailing kisses down to his neck. Jungkook moans as you find his sweet spot, and you think it was the prettiest thing you have ever heard in your lifetime. Sucking on the spot, he raises his chest, trying to control his pleasure but nonetheless fails when you bite down on him.

“Y-Y/n,” he calls out your name, just loud enough for you to hear. His breath tickles your name on the shell of your ear, and you think you might have gushed arousal out of your cunt. “Not here,” he pants, trapping your chin between his fingers again. He motions your jaw up to his, tempting himself with light scrapes of his lips touching yours. “I don’t want anyone else to see you.”

“Then where?” you whisper back at him. It is so hard not to smash your lips onto his again, but you want this to continue. And if Jungkook wants you where no one but himself can see you, then you’re bound to be wherever that is.

“My place,” he brushes his nose against your cheek before returning your trail of kisses on his neck back to yours. “No one’s home. I brought a car.” He sucks your neck, leaving bruises all over. He's determined to find not just one sweet spot of yours, but to find them all.

“Wh-Why not the car?” you ask between moans. Jungkook is so good at this. He’s suede and smooth with his touches, hot and passionate with his kisses. He knows how to make you puddy in his hands.

Jungkook chuckles in your ear. “Not with the things I want to do to you,” he bites down on your neck, eliciting a sweet panted moan from your throat. “That won’t work.”

“Then let’s go,” you hold his neck firmly in your palms, stopping him from his parade of kisses. “I don’t want to waste more time.”

“Someone’s eager,” Jungkook smirks, kissing you once before setting you down and taking his keys out of his pocket.

“You have no idea.”

----

The ride over to Jungkook’s is spent palming him in the driver’s seat and Jungkook struggling to focus on the road. He’s not as consumed with alcohol as you might be, even though the effects of it on you stopped midway through making out with Jungkook back at Yoongi’s.

You know you’re doomed when the car abruptly stops. His fist pushes the stick into park, and he rips open the car door, walking around the front of it to come over to you.

You’re still tipsy, however. So, when you’re met with Jungkook’s erection right in your face you can’t help but laugh a little.

“What’s so funny?” he asks you, a little pissed off at your laughter. It’s hot.

Trailing a finger on the zipper to his black jeans, you outline the length of his cock slowly, admiring its size right in front of you. You dream of it fucking you, as if the man in front of you wasn’t on a mission to check that off your list right now.

“You’re so big,” you sigh like a teenage girl. “I want you inside of me, Jungkook,” you smirk, looking up at him from the passenger seat. Jungkook swears his heart leaps out of his chest. He thinks his voice might crack if he says another word, so he clears his throat, dick twitching simultaneously, before he responds.

“Then, c’mon,” he takes your hand, pulling you up and out of the car. “We’re here.” Jungkook smiles at you sweetly. He almost thinks that he should just wait until the morning to fuck you because of your tipsy-drunk moment until you’re kissing and palming him again. Jungkook moans into your mouth, stumbling with you toward his townhome’s entrance. Key fob in hand, Jungkook presses it underneath the door nob, hearing a sound of approval from the security system not long after.

“Teasing me in the car,” he growls against your ear, pushing you against the nearest wall once the door to his home shuts. “You think you weren’t going to get punished for that?”

All you can do is moan. Jungkook’s hands waste no time ripping off every piece of clothing you have on, dying to see you in all your glory.

“Holy fuck,” he pants. It’s almost as if he’s cumming his pants right now at the sight of you. “You’re gorgeous, Y/n,”

You can’t help but blush a little, his glare on you makes you think that he’s not actually saying these things about your body. Not this man. Not the ripped, 6-packed athlete with incredible strength and muscles that could pop you with one headlock around the neck. Maybe it's the booze.

“Take your clothes off, fuckboy,” you demand.

Jungkook shimmies off his black blazer, eyes still on your tits. He wants to suck them and leave marks all over the softness of them. He wants you to be completely covered in him tomorrow morning.

“Don’t call me that,” he walks closer to you, trapping your naked body between his half-clothed one. “I’m not a fuckboy.” he replies, taking off his mock-turtle neck tanktop. You thought it was tight enough on him before, but the sight of his muscles underneath the shirt makes you realize that the shirt did not do him enough justice. Never in a million years did you think Jungkook was this ripped. He basically has boobs. He could probably fit into your bra…

“Then what are you?” you ghost against his lips.

He would like to say “yours”, but he remembers that you’re still tipsy. Would you agree to that? Do you still hate him? He'd like to think 'no' considering how you two are both eager to have each other right now, but he's got a lot of things to ask and make up to you before any titles are made. So he holds off.

“We can decide that in the morning,” he settles on, flashing you a small smile before delving into your lips. His chest is firm against yours, his back so wide, you struggle to wrap your arms around it as he leads you to what you assume is his bedroom.

His room is just as you expected it would be. Covered in trophies and pictures, as neat and organized as you expected. But what really catches you off guard is how comfortable his bed is. The smell of him engulfs you as he gently places you on his bed. You think about how this night would be if you decided to fuck in the car. How you wouldn't be able to see this view on top of you so clearly if you did. You’re thankful Jungkook insisted on his bedroom. Now, you can see his handsome face clearly in the lighting of his room as he pulls his pants down to his ankles, leaving himself in a pair of white Calvins. They do nothing to hide the length and girth of his cock, and you shutter knowing that he’s going to completely rip you open.

“Don’t worry, I’ll prep you,” he whispers in your ear, sensing your worry. Jungkook’s lips find your neck again, gently kissing his previously left bruises before leaving more of them on the areas of your clavicle and chest.

“What if I don’t want to be prepped?” you whimper, back arching into his chest when his mouth engulfs your nipple, sucking on it hard. “W-What if I want you ri-right now?”

Jungkook laughs deeply as he twirls your nipple around with his tongue. He releases you with a quick “pop”, which makes your head fall back in pleasure. You can feel Jungkook’s body moving up to come face-to-face with yours. “Patience,” he gives you a quick kiss. “I refuse to hurt you any more than I have already.”

“Jungkook,” you coo, holding his jaw in your palm. He looks ashamed of himself. You’ve never seen this side of him, and it feels good knowing that he does harbor those kinds of feelings. Especially since he is comfortable with you seeing him display them. “I forgive you, Kook.”

“You shouldn’t,” he buries his face in your neck again, kissing you lightly as his hand trails down to your wet cunt. His fingers find your clit. You moan when he starts circling slow infinities on the sensitive bud.

“But I do, Jungkook,” you pant, hand coming up to drag your fingers through his hair. You pull out his bun, watching as his hair falls over the crown of his head and onto your skin. It smells like coconut, and you can’t help but bury your nose in it as he continues to gather your juices on his fingertips.

“I was bad to you,” he grumbles against your neck. This time, his fingers circle your entrance. Legs wrapping around his hips, you invite his fingers inside, to which he obliges. Just his index finger feels you first. Jungkook ruts against the mattress at the feeling, imagining the walls that squeeze his finger tight around his cock. Yeah, you definitely need prepping.

“But, you apologized,” you whisper to him, massaging his scalp. Your hips twitch when he adds another finger. You can’t imagine the size of him in you like this. Two of his massive fingers are enough to make you feel close to cumming around them. He’s going to be the death of you.

Pumping in and out of you, Jungkook moves his head to face yours, his nose kissing your own.

“I’m sorry,” he says once again. “I’m sorry for spilling coffee on you, and being an asshole, and making fun of your student’s art, and showing up at your work, and pissing you off, and making you hate me so much you—”

“J-Jungkook,” you stop him. It’s hard to concentrate on a response when his pace quickens with every mention of something he did wrong, as if he was getting angrier the more he realized how much he did to hurt you.

“All I wanted to do was the opposite of what I did,” he kisses your cheek. “B-But it’s hard for me to face negativity without being cocky and stupid about it. I thought that by making it worse, I could make it better.”

“What a strange tactic,” you chuckle against his cheek. Your heart thumps when he flashes you a smile, telling you with his eyes that he’d never do something like that to you ever again. “I’m proud of you.” You smile.

“S-Stop,” Jungkook adds his thumb to your clit as his fingers continue to fuck you slowly. The addition causes you to arch your back into him. Jungkook takes the opportunity to wrap his arm underneath your spine, holding you secure against his body. “You’re going to make me want to claim you if you say that kind of shit to me.”

“What if I want you to claim me?” you challenge.

Jungkook nearly growls into your neck, fighting the urge to just flip you over and ravage you. “Stop doing that to me, y/n,”

He feels your fingers start to tug at the rim of his boxers, and Jungkook can’t be any more excited to feel you around him. He presses one more finger into you before allowing you to shove his boxers halfway down his thighs.

Jungkook moans at the feeling of your soft fingers around his cock, head falling into the crevice of your neck again. His dick is red and angry and begging to fuck you hard and deep. You swirl the precum that leaks from him and circle it around his cockhead, eliciting a strained moan into the skin by your ear from the man above you. His hips jerk at the sudden movement, preparing themselves to fuck you hard and fast.

“I think I’m ready, Kook,” you whisper into his hair.

Jungkook detaches himself from your neck, standing up to quickly knock off his boxers onto the floor. He takes your calves in his hands, spreading you before his fingertips spread your pussy open slowly. Jungkook takes a long look at you. You're basically drooling from your cunt, the slick creating shiny lines off his fingers as he moves them up and off your pussy. Glistening and pulsing for him to fill you up, he knows you’re going to be a tight fit. The fact only excites him further.

He pulls himself onto the bed, pushing your thighs up with his body. Pumping his cock a few times, he lines you up with his dick, pressing his cockhead against your slick.

“You sure you want this?” he leans down to your face. Your thighs are trapped against your torso, Jungkook folding you up for him nice and good. You appreciate that he doesn’t do a thing without your consent, that he doesn’t dare to do anything unless you’re comfortable. A complete 180 from the emotionally constipated Jungkook you’ve been experiencing for the past two weeks.

You nod to him, looking into his eyes. But this doesn’t satisfy him.

“I need a verbal answer, y/n,” he kisses your cheek, dick rubbing up and down your warm entrance.

“Yes, Jungkook. I want you,” you lean into his cheek.

The feeling of his girth stretching you open is enough for you to dig your nails into the smooth skin of his back. Never in a million years did you think you’d be stretched this good.

He doesn’t go in all the way, letting you adjust to his girth before slipping his length all the way into you.

You swear his tip kisses your cervix. When he pulls out and slams back into you, you can confirm that he did, in fact, kiss it. Jungkook moans against you, gripping your hands in his own and pinning them above your head. His hips are strong, slamming into you with everything he has left in him. You’re a goddess below him, legs around his shoulders, fingers digging into the upper side of his palm, tears streaming down your cheeks as you feel all he is giving you.

“F-Faster,” you beg. Jungkook is happy to obey.

He takes your hips and flips you over, his hands pressing against the upper of your back, pushing your chest down into his sheets. Once satisfied, Jungkook firmly grabs your hips and pistons into you faster, just like you wanted. You’re a moaning mess beneath him, fingers gripping the sheets, legs twitching in resistance as he fucks into you like a madman. His nose is crunched, lip bleeding between his teeth as he tries to hold back his orgasm. Usually, he never feels ready to release this early. But, you’re the girl he’s always wanted. And now you’re in his bed, begging him to fuck you without prepping you and go faster and claim you, and—god, it's all too perfect. You’re too perfect.

Your moans are like honey in his ears, the sweetest music he’s ever heard. He slaps your ass hard��once, twice, so many times. You scream to it all, each one pushing you over the edge.

“This is mine, you hear?” he growls from behind you, gripping your ass in his hand before slapping it again. “You hear me?” he asks again, gripping your hips tighter and forcibly slapping them against his own hips. The impact makes you gush around him, your high following his forcefulness in squirts of your release. You don’t see it, but Jungkook’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the sight. No way did you just squirt all over his cock. Can this night get any better?

Maybe it can, because he feels his own release closely following. But he edges himself, pulling out of you to look at the mess you made instead of chasing his high.

You’re so embarrassed, digging your face into your hands as you hear him press his hand into his sopping wet duvet cover.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you whimper. You refuse to meet his eyes, even when he flips you over and sits next to your face.

“C’mere,” he pats his lap.

“Jungkook,” you whine, absolutely mortified. Is he mad? You can’t tell. He hasn’t mentioned anything about your release.

“Baby, come here,” he speaks to you with honey laced in his voice. Your heart thumps at the fact that he called you “baby”. Were your dreams coming true?

You gather yourself and weakly climb onto his lap, immediately digging your face into his shoulder.

“Was that bad? You didn’t cum,” you ask him, voice trembling into his neck. God, this is so mortifying. “I won’t do it again, I pro—”

“Like fucking hell you won’t,” he holds your waist firmly again. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen y/n,” he bites your ear. “It’s taking everything in me not to be gentle with you right now.”

Your eyes meet his hungered ones. You were wrong, and you know it not only from him saying so but also from his pulsating cock below. It is twitching and leaking with so much precum, you almost think that it is his cum itself if it weren’t for the clearness of it. And then you realize that he’s edging himself.

“I-I want this to last longer, but I don’t want to hurt you cause I—” his head falls back in a strained moan when you press a finger to his tip, playing with the precum leaking down himself. “Cause I know I will if you don’t take control of me right now…so, ride me,” he demands.

You kiss his neck, feeling lighter that you made him feel strong enough to nearly lose his control just from your orgasm. With power in your hands, you lift your hips just enough to hover your pussy over his twitching cock, sliding down slowly.

Jungkook’s hands come to your hips again, completely out of breath. “H-Holy shit, y/n,” he gasps when he stares down at his dick disappearing and reappearing as you bounce on his cock. “God, you’re going to murder me, aren’t you?”

You laugh at his comment. Although, he’s far from laughing, focusing all his energy on controlling his orgasm. Face falling into your neck, he’s mumbling things you don’t understand as you massage his sweaty scalp again. He moans at your touch, feeling overly sensitive and extremely, beyond-belief, horny. He wants to cum so bad, but he also wants this to last.

“You can cum, Kook,” you whisper into his scalp. You don’t know if you have it in you to cum again. Squirting is so powerful, and it usually takes everything out of you. But you might, considering you have the strength to ride him to no tomorrow. “It’s okay.”

“N-No,” he breathes against your neck, panting. “Can’t. Want it to last.”

“Don’t worry,” you laugh against his cheek. “I don’t plan on making you a one-night, Jungkook.”

“A-Ah,” his hips twitch into you. “I-um, ffuccck, y/n!” he sways your hips back and forth on his cock rapidly. “Y-You sure? It’s going to be a lot.”

“Mhm,” you smile down at him.

“Fuck, o-okay,” he breathes out shakily. Jungkook then bucks his hips fast into yours from underneath you, unrelenting and ruthless. You feel his hot ropes fill you up just seconds later. For what feels like a full minute of him pumping his cum into you, his face resting against your breasts in fucked-out glory.

You two rest there, letting his cum pool at the connection of your bodies while you rest against each other. What finally breaks you out of your own daze is the sound of fireworks just outside Jungkook's bedroom window.

You can see the array of colors lighting up the sky, his digital clock on his nightstand reading 12:00am.

“Hey,” you whisper into his hair, kissing his sweaty scalp. “Happy New Year.”

Jungkook detaches his cheek from your chest, bringing his face up to graze his nose against yours. Smiling into your lips he whispers,

“I’m gonna make it right, y/n. This will be our year.”

---

[Bonus]

[Aecha]: Hope you got home okay.

[Aecha]: Ended up a little stuck between Hoseok’s thighs.

[Y/n]: Funny story.

[Y/n]: I never made it home last night.

[Aecha]: WHAT?!

[Aecha]: Are you okay??

[Y/n]: More than okay.

y/n sent an image

[Aecha]: No

[Aecha]: Fucking

[Aecha]: Way

[Aecha]: I—AKJDAKSJHFJKASFKLDJSAFKLJSFA!!! Y/N!!!!

[Y/n]: So like.

[Y/n]: I’m no longer a single lady?

[Aecha]: AHHHHHHHHH Y/N!!!!!

[Aecha]: JESUS DID HE LEAVE ANY INCH OF YOUR SKIN Y/S/C?!?

[Y/n]: We had a lot of…catching up to do lol.

[Aecha]: I’d say.

[Aecha]: I’m the maid of honor. Understand me?

[Y/n]: Lol. You got it.

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2023]

4K notes · View notes

irisintheafterglow · 5 months

Note

OKAY A FELLOW SWIFTY I SEE

Okay here me out I need to express this with another SWIFTY

ALL THE GIRLS YOU LOVED BEFORE IS SO GOJO X READER CODED!!

Gege confirmed gojo was canon a player right??

He’s all about fuckboy life but THEN then he meets you and is so inlove he becomes so domestic and just <333

I NEEDED TO SHARE THIS WITH ANOTHER SWOFTY FOR YEARS OKAY THANKS BYE

every dead end street led you straight to me

wc: 2.1k

cw/tags: established relationship, first meeting, creepy guy at a club but he doesn't get very far because of unofficial bodyguard™ satoru, mostly just fluff and taylor references, little fun surprise at the very end in case it wasn't tooth-rotting enough

note: hi anon!!! first off, i'm so sorry this took so long to complete; i literally love aotgylb and so i was a little stumped for how to write this because it's just,,,,so him. i love him. i love taylor. i hope you love this lol. enjoy!!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated!

“I really wish I found you sooner.”

“How so?”

“I wouldn’t have needed all that dumb shit with other girls if I knew you were waiting for me. All the lame fights, feeling alone even when I wake up next to someone. That dumb shit.”

“Who said I wasn’t doing dumb shit too?” You look at him with a sleepy smile, warm despite the biting chill of the early morning air. "You couldn't fathom how many boys I was crying in the bathroom about."

"Do you remember their names?"

"Of course not." While you press against the personal heater that is your boyfriend, the long-awaited sunlight starts to touch the very tips of the mountains before you. “You remember my first boyfriend, don’t you?”

“Mmm, yeah. The one from Kyoto that dropped out ‘cause he couldn’t stand being weaker than his partner,” he recalls. “He’s also the ugliest of your exes; it’s hard to forget him when I almost exorcized him before I met you.” You burst out laughing at the memory and a puff of your breath appears in front of your face. Satoru follows suit, exhaling a long breath and making boyish dragon noises. “See, aren’t I so much better?”

“Yes love, no one can compete with your dragon impressions,” you tease. With a shiver, you wrap your coat tighter around your body. “I won’t lie, though. My ass is freezing.”

“I was just about to say that,” he agrees, shifting uncomfortably on the stone bench. Even with the several layers of thermal long sleeves, jackets, and gloves, the winter weather seemed adamant on giving you frostbite. “Remind me to never suggest a sunrise hike ever again.”

“But isn’t it romantic? Freezing our asses off and shit-talking our exes?”

“I would not enjoy this if I was with anyone else,” he concludes. “That’s all I’ll say about that.”

“Fine, then go back to that other thing, the one about finding me sooner.”

“Oh, that?” He pauses for a moment, jutting his lips to the side in deep thought. Spots of gold start to catch on his bright white hair, strikingly similar to the snow crunching under your boots. “I was just thinking how much time I wouldn’t have wasted if I simply found you sooner.”

“What do you mean, ‘found me?’”

“I was searching for someone, you know, and I didn’t know what I wanted until I met you.” The corner of his mouth quirks as a memory pops into his mind. “Even though you hated me.”

“I did not hate you,” you argue in vain since you did, in fact, hate him when you first met him. In need of a new partner after your boyfriend (the ugly one, Satoru notes) fell ill the night before a mission, you considered feigning sickness yourself when you saw who the higher ups assigned. It was easier, logistically, to slap on the most powerful asset they had on a mission where a sorcerer dropped out, but it didn’t make him any less annoying when he picked you up at the airport. It was before the days of his current blindfold, when he wrapped strips of white linen over his eyes during the times he opted for no sunglasses. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t unnerve you, the way he navigated through the airport crowds as if his vision wasn’t impeded in the slightest. The aura that he emanated was intimidating and one of sheer power, but the goofy smile and melodic voice contradicted any assumptions you made about the strongest being alive.

“Gojo Satoru?”

“That’s me. I like it when you say my name,” he drawls and you make a quiet gagging noise in your throat.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” you say, walking in a random direction where you hope the driver is parked. To your embarrassment, you turn around to see him standing in the same spot, a smug grin on his face and a thumb pointing in the opposite direction. “I thought I read the lot was this way,” you mutter in irritation while he falls into step next to you.

“Oh, it was,” he affirms and you stop mid-stride. The shit-eating expression on his face only grows wider when he senses your increasing annoyance. “But there’s a dango stand over here and you look like you could use a snack.” He was right, of course, but you didn’t admit it until much later in your relationship. The first twelve hours with him were painfully awkward, to say the least. You shoved dango in your mouth to avoid answering any questions about yourself and stared out the dark window of the car while he snuck glances at you in the backseat. After dropping your stuff at the hotel and slipping into nicer clothes, you walk out onto the crowded street to find Satoru waiting in a sleek-looking suit that would have the girls back home fainting on the spot. He opens the door with a flirty remark that you immediately tune out and you recheck the Cursed Tools in your clutch while he slides into the seat beside you.

“You know your role?”

“I’m a wealthy businessman gunning for the weapon with the blue handle,” he states confidently.

“Green handle, not blue.”

“What’s the difference?”

“One of them has an eons-old Curse stuffed into its hilt…and the other is blue.” He makes a small noise of amusement in his throat and you feel yourself relax a little bit more. “I’ll camp out at the bar and wait for the owner to make a move. Apparently, he’s the type to bite pretty easily if he sees something good-looking and alone. When he’s distracted, you grab the weapon. Got it?”

“Clear as crystal,” he says, swiping his tongue over his top lip absentmindedly. A serious look washes over his face, something in his head making his eyebrows draw together. “What if the guy starts getting handsy with you?”

“I’ll…handle it,” you reply slowly, slightly confused as to why he cares. “Just get the weapon, Gojo. You can stall or kill time however you want before that, but we don’t have the luxury of being able to make a mess.”

“Easier said than done,” he says quietly, “So, no promises.”

It turned out that making messes was simply a part of Satoru’s daily routine. Perched on a bar stool and barely nursing a weak drink, you clearly saw what his idea of killing time was. Lean arms stretched over the back of an overstuffed corner booth in a corner of the club, pulling several nice-looking women into his side while they giggled in his lap. He’d swapped the strips of linen for an expensive pair of sunglasses and he peered over the rim at regular intervals to keep an eye on you. It made your heart pang just a little bit, seeing him easily attract girls to him like a magnet in a paper clip factory. There was no doubt that Gojo Satoru was attractive, yet every doubt existed in your mind as to whether you would ever have a chance with him. You didn’t mean to look so mopey and sad at the counter, but it seems to play to your advantage when the owner of the weapon creeps over with a sinister smile on his face.

“Hello, dear,” he purrs and it takes all of your willpower not to slap him for looking at you like a pretty thing. “Nothing is sadder than a beauty at the bar, all alone.”

“And what were you going to do about it?” You drop the volume of your voice to an enticing volume, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“Inject a bit more excitement into your evening,” he replies daringly and the insinuation makes you nauseous. “That man, with the glasses? He broke your heart?” He leans on your shoulder and looks in the direction of your partner, the one who was supposed to be grabbing the weapon while you were busy being ogled by this narcissist. “You need to watch out for men like him, throwing around money and women like they’re of no value. Both have value. You have value.” Great, you groan in your head, he’s gross and a hypocrite, too.

“I wouldn’t say broke it,” you murmur mysteriously. “More like, doesn’t deserve it.”

“You’re feisty,” he observes. “I’m incredibly attracted to it.” Shit. On pure instinct, you feel your Cursed Energy flare up as his hand roams dangerously close to your thigh, sliding down your arm with a clammy palm. Despite not being a sorcerer, you know he feels the energy shift when his eyes dart up to yours not with lust, but suspicion. By some stupid twist of Fate, you’d blown your own cover. The weapon owner’s hand suddenly tightens around your wrist, chaining you to the bar counter.

“Let go of me,” you order, completely rid of the stupidly airy voice and naive smiles.

“What did you just–”

“My love, we’re leaving.” Elegant fingers effortlessly pry the man’s hand from your skin and toss them aside like garbage. You find your coat gently draped around your shoulders, and only then does he guide you up and away from the bar, with the weapon owner still gawking in his stool. Somewhere between your Cursed Energy flaring and the man grabbing your wrist, Satoru must have left his posse of gorgeous women to pull you out of your present situation. “Good?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, slightly embarrassed that he had to come in and save you. “Thanks for doing that, even though you had to leave your girlfriends.”

“Of course. They never mean anything to me, nor do I mean anything to them,” he replies and it sounds genuine, without any sort of mockery or indication that he was holding it above your head. With one arm still wrapped around your shoulders, he calls the valet to retrieve the car and you find that you don’t mind him holding you close. “Nice play with the energy flare-up, by the way. That was really smart.”

“What do you mean?”

“Smoking out the weapon’s energy signature by making it butt against your own?” He shakes his head in disbelief, city lights catching in the lenses of his glasses. “Absolute genius.”

“I…didn’t mean to do that,” you admit and he peers at you out of the corner of his vision. You didn’t know it yet, but to him, you looked prettier than any of the women he was surrounded by inside the club. “It was an accidental reflex when the guy went for my leg.”

“Want me to kill him?” You chuckle, but it dies away when you see the cold expression on his face, nothing like the playful and warm persona you’d just been speaking to. “Say the word and I’ll blow the place to pieces.”

“We’re not supposed to make a mess, remember?”

“And I said no promises, remember?” He helps you into the passenger’s seat with a gentlemanly hand, shutting it after you before settling into the driver’s seat. “Either way, I got the weapon. It was in the guy’s pocket, not in the safe like we thought it would be. But, more importantly, you got out of that creep’s vicinity.”

“I appreciate you looking out for me.”

“Anytime, pretty.”

“Don’t call me that,” you say firmly and he looks at you curiously. “What?”

“Why not?”

“I’m not interested in being your arm candy; I’m not that type of person.” He pauses for several long moments, stuck in deep thought.

“I didn’t realize I was the type of person to have arm candy,” he states quietly, like it was an epiphany as he pulled away from the club’s valet curb.

“Something must be wrong with one of your Six Eyes, then, if you truly believe that,” you chuckle, trying to make the mood a little lighter. Yet, he’s still staring straight ahead with a frown on his face and a draw between his eyebrows. It was unsettling, to say the least. “Hey, I really didn’t mean any offense–”

“Let me try.”

“What?”

“Let me try,” he repeats with absolute determination. The streetlight casts his face in a dangerous shade of red.

“Try…what?”

“To win you over. Teach you what forever feels like,” he answers and your head feels like it’s been submerged underwater, all noises suddenly becoming muddy and irrelevant. “Show you that I don’t think you’re just eye candy.”

“What the hell are you playing at, Gojo?”

“I’m just tryin’ to show you that I’m not the playboy you have in your head,” he argues and it makes your cheeks heat. “Let me try. If I fail, I’ll go bald or something. Sorcerer's honor.” You burst out laughing, shaking your head in disbelief but feeling comfortable enough to take him up on the offer. Now, a few years and zero bald heads later, you were freezing your ass off with the man of your dreams on a mountain at six in the morning.

Somehow, you both felt like you’d won the bet when he pulled out that box from his pocket and got down on one knee.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#ask iris!#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff

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xhollandlilsx · 1 year

Text

Support - Leah Williamson

Summary- (request) Could you do a short story where Leah talks about how proud she is of the reader in an interview, as the reader is a world famous actress?

Warnings- N/A

Supporting Leah was something that I knew I’d do until the day I die.

Whenever I had the opportunity I was there, right at the front, shouting like my life depended on it. Williamson written across my back, and an Arsenal badge over my heart, regardless of if I supported them or not.

Filming took up most of my time, but whenever I was back home in England, I made sure to attend every game, training sessions, everything, I always felt bad when I had to disappear for months, but we both knew what we were getting ourselves into when Georgia introduced us.

I was currently sat in my apartment in Canada, curled up in on my sofa with a takeaway pizza and the biggest tub of ice cream I could find since today was my cheat day.

I was watching Leah on the Graham Norton show live, and I couldn’t stop smiling, she looked beautiful, sat there in her black dress with white arm ruffles, her blonde hair curled in a beautiful way, and a smile on her face as she laughed at something Graham said.

********

Leah’s POV:

“And I guess it’s that thing because it’s the thing you dream… y-you went into this contest thinking, dreaming of winning it, and you did. Was it what you’d hoped… did it feel the way you’d hoped it would?” Graham asked, stuttering slightly.

“Everything and more, honestly I hope I never ever loose that feeling. Like I wanna relive it, I relive it over and over” I replied with a nod.

“You’re making me emotional”

“But I was bawling on the pitch, so I don’t even wanna get too deep incase I go back to that, my brother says I have the ugliest crying face so…” I replied after letting out a small laugh.

“Do you have an ugly crying face?” Olivia asked with a shake of her head.

“I mean my brother always told me I did, but my girlfriend says opposite, so one of them is lying to me, and it’s probably Y/N to make me feel better” I laughed, thinking of how I knew she’d be sat somewhere watching this like she said she would. Fans in the audience started cheering and clapping at the mention of my girlfriend.

“Speaking of miss Y/N Y/L/N, I think fans were a bit shocked when the two of you announced you were, well you’re together. How did that come about? Because it is if you don’t mind me saying, a very unexpected pairing” Graham asked making me laugh and look down.

“Well, we had a mutual friend, who has been friends with Y/N for a long long time, my friend Georgia, and she turned to me one day and she was like ‘Leah I have someone who’s perfect for you, she’s amazing, she’s in London this weekend, please let me set you two up blind date style’, and I had literally nothing to do that weekend besides football so I agreed, and Y/N showed up.”

“Were you shocked? Did you know who she was before hand?” Olivia asked from next to me genuinely intrigued now.

“Of course I did, she’s Y/N Y/L/N.” I laughed slightly, “No I did know who she was and I was quite shocked, I knew Georgia knew her but I didn’t expect it. And we just clicked, something yeah, something clicked.” I smiled.

“That’s lovely, whats it like, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s it like when you’re here walking down the street and she’s like on posters and billboards, you know, and I know fans have had a massive uproar about how much love they have for her, with her new role.”

“I just, I feel so proud every time I see anything about how well she’s doing, like right now especially since fans are so obsessed with her new character Ellie. It’s sometimes a bit crazy but I’m so so proud of her, she supported me all through the euros and attended all games, training sessions, bought me food, coffee, dragged me out of bed, so now I feel like it’s my turn to do the same.” I smiled as the fans cheered, and clapped. Before adjusting my seating and trying to wipe the ridiculous smile from my face at the mere thought of her.

“Aww-“

“It is crazy though when, like yesterday I was flying back from Canada, as I’d been to visit, and I fly back out on Tuesday, but I was sat on the plane watching whatever rubbish was on the TV’s, and I just remember looking to my left, at some young woman’s TV, and seeing my girlfriend in like an almost sex scene with the character Dina, so that’s still a shock to the system,” I laughed, explaining, “It’s just yeah, it’s new, but I’m still so supportive of her, and when I see fans posting photos of her, she plays Ellie Williams, the older version of her from the game The Last Of Us 2. So the fan base is huge, and I see fans posting these photos, and I’m like wow… she seems mythical”

**********

Your POV:

I shook my head with a smile, trying not to get emotional about how highly the blonde spoke about me infront of thousands of people. I pushed my pizza box away and hugged my knees to my chest, as she spoke more about me from how hot my fight scenes were to the fact she’s never played the game.

My phone was blowing up with notifications, only catching a glimpse of hashtags containing both our names before silencing it, clutching the small red velvet box and keeping my eyes trained on my hopefully soon to be wife.

Part 2?

(Part 2 for Red Card will be out soon)

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #lionesses #wlw imagine #actress reader #ellie williams #football #sapphic #lgbtlove #georgia stanway

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fullofmoments · 15 days

Text

I was a cute girl as a kid, but as a teenager, most people wouldn't think of me as pretty. I was skinny in an unhealthy way, not because I wanted it, but because of my metabolism. I had hormonal problems, so my hair was completely out of control, I didn't know how to dress properly, nor cared to learn how to, even when others started to focus more on finding their own style, experimenting with what was or what wasn't stylish considering each year etc... My friends and classmates, they were all slowly becoming more mature in a way that I didn't seem to fit no matter what. I remember there were those silly, anonymous games played in an app, where the boys had to choose from the most beautiful girls to the "ugliest." As you can already imagine, I was always on the bottom of the list.

What I find pretty amusing, however, is the fact that those things didn't affect me much back then. Well, I would be a liar to say that they didn't affect me at all because I, too, felt the need to be accepted ( and I, too , trusted the wrong people in order to feel that acceptance). BUT, in all honesty, I don't remember myself crying because I was considered "ugly." I don't remember myself saying, "I wish I could be more beautiful. "

Instead of that , I continued doing my thing. I loved art, so I continued to sketch. I loved books, so I continued to read. I continued to do the things that I simply enjoyed. I told myself that everything would happen eventually. When I started to feel like I was ready to change something to me for the better, I did it. But for the right reason. For me. Not to become more appealing to people who judged me for simply the way I looked like, but for me. Acceptance? The only one needed was me.

Turns out, in my case, it was a great thing that I focused on my inside then,and read books , and wrote diaries, and spent time with myself , thinking, and discussing, and learning , and loving myself, because I invested too much in my heart, mind and soul, and then eventually yes, everything else came around as well. My body changed, and my face got more mature, and I connected with genuine people and right now, at the age of 23, I won't compare myself and tell how beautiful or not I am , but I'll tell that I managed to be whole , inside and out after all. Because I didn't change back then just because I wasn't appealing to others. I try to be humble, always, and in my mind, each one of us has their own unique beauty. There's only one combination of me , and there's only one combination of you as well.

What I want to say ? Girls, if you love putting on makeup because YOU enjoy treating yourselves, then good for you ! If YOU love reading books and making art , then good for you ! Do not start putting on makeup just because "everyone else does it," and do not start reading books because "he/she/they told me that people who read books are their ideal type". The glow up will happen eventually. And it will start from the inner. Do things that make you happy. Surround yourself with people who see more in you than just a face and a body. Become the best version of you and protect your heart because our society right now can be very harmful. And always , always remember. No matter how beautiful we all are, beauty will fade. We don't want to be empty inside when that happens.

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viviennevermillion · 2 years

Text

Comforting him after his Overblot

notes: reposting bc I’m deleting my archived sideblogs

contains: vil schoenheit x gn!reader

warnings: none

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry”, Vil Schoenheit had told you. And you wanted to believe his words that night in the Ramshackle kitchen after the VDC team had found Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade paralyzed in the lounge and later witnessed a fight between Vil and Epel. The Pomefiore dorm leader seemed rather irritated lately and you couldn’t help but notice how silent he became every time Neige Leblanche was brought up. But being around Vil long enough you knew how responsible the blonde was. You trusted him to take care of himself and make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. Oh how wrong you were…

Your heart had been beating faster and you were on edge from the moment you saw his reaction to Neige’s performance. Something was up. Considering that Kalim and especially Rook noticed how the atmosphere had changed you were genuinely worried.

Still the anxious and uncertain feelings in your chest couldn’t compare to the dread of actually seeing him overblot. “Don’t look at me like this! I wanted to be the most beautiful in the world, so why am I so ugly?!”, you heard him yell, his voice cracking. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t true, just like Rook and Kalim did. You wanted to shout at him he was the most beautiful person you had ever laid eyes on but your voice was stuck in your throat.

It was like the world had stopped for a moment when you saw how his appearance had changed when he overblotted. Your mind was filled with a mix of terror, sadness and a nauseating panic. Kalim had to shout at you multiple times to snap you out of it; grabbing your arm and dragging you along as you ran outside to meet up with the others.

The fight to take him down was long and painful. Your vision was blurry from the tears you had cried and it was hard to raise your magical pen against the man you loved, but it was for his own good. You’d do whatever you could to bring him back to his senses, even if it’d take all energy you had left. You were sick of seeing this distorted version of him; sick of seeing him so sad and broken. You remembered his beautiful smile that you could never get enough of and you promised to yourself you would see it again. Yet as determined as you were to knock some sense into him, you were shaken to your core about the possibility of losing Vil. He was in mortal danger if he stayed in overblot any longer so you couldn’t remember ever feeling this relieved when it was finally over.

Which brought you to where you were now: Standing in front of the VDC stage in ruins; clinging to Kalim for support, who was also crying, while Rook kneeled next to a still unconscious Vil and performed a healing spell to stabilize the model as best as he could.

You had somewhat calmed down but Vil finally waking up made you break out into tears again. You let go of your friend and made your way over to Vil, kneeling down beside him as well and helping him to sit up with Rook. You were careful not to hurt him with any of your touches and your heart broke a little when he groaned and coughed weakly, trying to get a grip of his surroundings.

“I have shown you guys my ugliest appearance…”, he had said.

“Vil Schoenheit, you call yourself ugly ONE MORE TIME and I’m going to overblot”, you fussed over him, carefully removing several strands of his hair from his face. He gave you a weak but gentle smile that made your heart beat faster. Dammit y/n this really isn’t the time to gush over him and get all weak in the knees. But you were used to it. Vil never failed to leave you breathless solely by being himself and make you question whether he was even real. You couldn’t have imagined ever falling in love as much as you had fallen for Vil.

You had gotten rather close to him during your time at NRC; considering him one of your most treasured friends. But as easily as you had developed feelings for him; you doubted whether he would actually end up returning your feelings. For now you were just glad you could see him smile again.

Between the time when Epel lectured him with his own words about “tantrums being for 3 year olds”, the conversation about Deuce’s unique magic and Malleus Draconia unexpectedly fixing the VDC stage you didn’t have much time to talk to Vil about what happened

That changed when you guided him to his backstage room so he could fix his appearance and rest a bit so he would be ready to perform later.

“Oh no”, you heard him mumble once he actually looked into a mirror. His hair was all messed up and his eye make-up was smeared across his face. “Relax, you’re still beautiful”, you chuckled, gesturing him to sit down in a chair. “Those words bring me no comfort”, he sighed.

You reached for the make-up remover. “I can do that myself”, he insisted, trying to grab it from your hands when he flinched and clutched his side from the damage he had taken during the fight. “Yeah, I see how you can do that yourself”, you rolled your eyes, gently removing the smeared eyeshadow and mascara from his soft skin. Vil relaxed into your touch, closing his eyes and resting in silence for a while.

After his face was clean, you began to reapply his make-up. You knew his routine like the back of your hand by now, having seen it many times whenever he was preparing for an event or when the two of you went to the bathroom in between breaks so he could fix any inconsistencies in his make-up (let’s just assume it’s either the men’s bathroom if you’re male or they have gender neutral bathrooms over there). You would lean against the white walls, watching Vil put mascara onto his lashes while he ranted about the way Crewel would talk to his students.

“I suppose I became everything I never wanted to be”, Vil’s voice, slightly cracking, brought you back from your trip down memory lane. He was softly biting his lip, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Maybe that’s all people will ever see in me. A villain.”

“No….no, Vil”, you insisted, gently placing a hand onto his cheek, wiping a tear away with your thumb and resisting the urge to put a kiss onto his forehead.

“They were wrong about not giving you a protagonist’s role”, you started to ramble while you tended to his hair, “ever since I’ve started going to school here there are few people who have been as kind, helpful and inspiring as you….I’ve witnessed you do so much good in just this school year alone. You’ve carried the whole Halloween committee on your back, you’ve taught all the dorms how to do make-up for their costumes, you’ve given people so much great advice, you’re always doing your best to make people realize their potential and not to mention you trained this team to the point where they’re capable of doing a professional and excellent performance when some of them were amateurs when we started. Really I can’t think of any hero qualities you wouldn’t have. You’re a hero to me, this team and our school. People have faith in you. We’ve lost against Royal Sword Academy so many times, our students are proud that you’re leading this team. They feel like we’re finally going to win something. You’re a good person and lashing out one time because of emotions you’ve held in for years won’t change that, no matter what people have seen you as in the past and whether or not anyone would condemn you if they saw what happened today.”

Vil was speechless about what you had said. He got compliments from people all over the internet every day but few words of affirmation he received were as heartfelt and genuine as these. Being reassured that he was capable of being a hero and that people could see him that way made him happy. You could see a faint blush appear on his cheeks as he looked up to you and smiled.

Once his make-up and hair was as good as new, he inspected his reflection in a full length mirror. “For as long as I’ve known, Neige was always chosen instead of me”, he sighed, “people see what I’m capable of but I suppose I’m not as cute or loveable as Neige.” It wasn’t insecurity speaking, those were the words that producers had always rather associated with Neige than him. To some extent he could understand why, yet it still was unfair that he had the necessary skills to play a great variety of roles and wasn’t given the opportunity to show them.

“You are. Otherwise I wouldn’t love you, now, would I?”, you sighed, giving him a soft smile, “after all that happened today you might as well know.”

Vil stared at you in surprise. You…loved him? Even after what he almost did? Even after he had shown you the worst side of him? He was left speechless and his eyes had widened but he quickly regained his composure.

“Ara ara, I didn’t know you were that fond of me~”, he gave you a teasing grin.

His expression then softened and he pulled you into his chest, gently wrapping his arms around you and resting his head on top of yours.

You leaned your cheek against him and were caressing his back with your fingertips and closed your eyes, enjoying the embrace while it lasted.

Vil gently lifted your chin with his hand and moved his face closer to yours. “May I?”, he asked quietly. You nodded and not soon after that Vil’s lips met yours.

It was everything you had ever dreamed it would be. It felt a bit like a weight was taken off you when you finally kissed the person you adored and loved so much.

Vil’s kiss was slow and passionate, his tongue gently caressing yours while his hand was placed on your cheek. You could feel he poured so much emotion and care into the kiss. He hadn’t told you yet whether he returned your feelings but you knew him well and you trusted him. He wouldn’t kiss you if he didn’t at least feel something for you. He was probably just overwhelmed from all that had happened and didn’t have the capacity to evaluate your relationship now with the VDC still ahead of him.

But for a moment he could forget all of that. He could forget his problems and that he just overblotted and that he might lose again to Neige. For now he could just lose himself in your kiss while you were holding him close to you.

You made sure to enjoy every second of it, being glad to feel that he was here with you, well and alive, after being so worried about him earlier. It reminded you just how much he meant to you and how you would make sure to never lose him again. A single tear rolled down your cheek as you deepened the kiss and gently ran your fingers through the violet ends of his hair.

“I thought I’d lose you”, you whispered after you seperated your lips from his. Vil placed a few small kisses onto your lips before he answered. “I apologize for that”, he said with his usual tone of professionalism in his voice, “perhaps I could make it up to you some time by taking you out for dinner.” You smiled as he leaned his forehead against yours. “I would love that.”

“I suppose we’ll have to reapply my lipstick”, he grinned and reached for his small make-up bag but not before giving you a few more pecks on your lips and cheeks. Unbeknownst to you, Vil’s heart was fluttering from the kiss and he was looking forward to holding you in his arms again after VDC would be over.

You went on to fix some of his nails which had gotten damaged in the fight, with Vil occasionally complaining and reminding you not to accidentally paint his skin as well. “I’ll smear it across your face if you keep going like this”, you jokingly said.

Once you were done with his nails you pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

“I could get used to this”, he gave you his teasing smile.

“Thank you again for putting up with my tantrum and for supporting me like this”, he said and gave you an acknowledging nod, looking a lot more calm and balanced than he had before. Vitality had returned to his features and he looked ready to steal the show at the VDC.

“No problem”, you replied, holding his hand in your own, “after all I still want to see the fairest one of all perform.”

Vil gave you a loving smile, feeling happy after knowing you considered him to be the most beautiful.

He gave you one last hug before you set off to meet the others at the stage, giving Vil some time alone to make some last preparations for his performance.

“Y/n?”, you heard him ask. “Hmm?”, you turned around in the doorframe, looking at him curiously. Vil looked back at you with a sweet and thankful expression. “I love you too.”

#twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit x you #vil schoenheit headcanons #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #twst x reader

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aimportantdragoncollector · 7 months

Note

Any combo of trio holders + "Eros + Psyche" for the ask game?

Ah a beloved myth I haven't done before! Let's make this one duoholders. Also, Yoichi is going to be Eros because All for One makes a great vain, controlling parental figure. Even though Second is not going to be happy about the Psyche role.

1. All for One is the god of love, which means he thinks all love should be directed at him and only him. Yoichi is All for One's long-suffering little brother and cupid, trying his best to fulfill the duties of the job and make people happy because his big brother does nothing except stare at the mirror all day. Out of jealousy, All for One lied to Yoichi that looking at his face will turn people into stone and forced his little brother to cover up his beautiful face with a heavy iron mask.

2. Second's older brother is a powerful king who one day caught a glimpse of Yoichi flying above and, solely on based on his hair, declared him to be the most beautiful person in the world. (Silly All for One, forgot to cover the perfect hair TM.) All for One, summoned by any threat to his vanity, appeared in a shower of angry sparks. Second's brother quickly made up a lie that he'd been talking about his own little brother. Now, Second is notoriously considered the ugliest prince in this AU. He has a giant scar across his face, he scowls constantly, he's short, and he has a bird's nest of spiky hair. Overall he does not fit the beauty standard of his society. Second's brother hoped that All for One would laugh at someone so ugly being compared to him and then feel no need to take revenge.

3. Alas, All for One has zero chill. So he orders Yoichi to kill Second. Yoichi is used to finding ways around his brother's worst orders. Instead, Yoichi asks Second to come with him and hide in a house in the clouds for a few months. Usually that's about how long it takes All for One to forget all about his orders. Second is not the first person to hide out in Yoichi's house. However, he's the first one who Yoichi falls in love with.

4. Yoichi and Second blissfully enjoy their love nest together until Second's brother comes to visit. The idiot brother sticks his foot in his mouth once again and tells Second that his lover is All for One. Probably All for One took pity on Second and didn't kill him after seeing how ugly he is, and now is playing around with his heart. At first, Second doesn't believe it. His lover seems far to kind and gentle to be that notoriously arrogant and cruel God of Love All for One. But the thought torments Second, keeping him up late at night. Finally Second has to know, so one night when they are sleeping next to each other, he sneaks a peek at Yoichi's face.

5. Yoichi wakes up and runs away crying, convinced that he accidentally turned his lover into stone. Second realizes his mistake, too late. Grabbing the closest article of clothing, he chases after Yoichi.

6. All for One learns his little brother has a lover when his brother comes home crying and immediately decides to be a douche about it. Thus All for One sets up four obstacles between Second and the residence. Second handles all these subtle and delicate trials by just slashing everything with his sword. Also I need you to understand that Second does all the trials wearing a strawberry dress like this one because it was the first clothing he grabbed when running out the door.

7. All for One is a sore loser so he's about to kill Second. Then Yoichi hears the noise, comes running out, and saves Second. Yoichi is thrilled to see his lover alive and pissed to realize his brother lied about him in order to isolate him. From now on, he'll serve as cupid but he answers to no one except himself. Yoichi and Second elope.

8. All the gods hear stories about how Yoichi married the one mortal more beautiful than All for One. So they're shocked when they meet Second and he's just some dude with resting bitch face. However Yoichi is clearly smitten. All for One refuses to admit he's wrong, and also assumes anyone who seduced his brother must have some irresistible charm, so he keeps talking up Second as an amazing temptress. Therefore all the gods start praising Second's beauty because everyone else is. There's an Emperor's New Clothes effect going on where everyone assumes that everyone else must see something special about Second that they can't see. The impact is so strong it actually changes the beauty standard of society and for the next century, short men with spiky hair are considered the hottest things since Tartarus.

That was a fun one! I got kind of carried away. (Reminder that all of these are free to use in my Three Weeks of Trioholders event.)

#duo holders #ichinii #Yoichi Shigaraki #Second One for All holder #All for One #bnha #ask game #5 headcanons game #Three Weeks of Trioholders #psyche and eros #greek myth retellings

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capypub · 11 months

Text

Without Warning - Mafia!Joel Miller Scene 14

Mafia!Joel Miller x OFC

Rating: M (little smut, little violence, little gore, all happy endings though)

Summary: Joel takes care of his biggest problem and then starts a new chapter in his life.

AN: Epilogue anyone??

Masterlist

(This gif has nothing to do with the chapter, I just really love his expression lmao)

The door to the garage burst open late the following evening. There was enough yelling and noise to bring Indi out of the living space that Joel had converted into a library of sorts. She recognized the voices, most familiar to her now after living with Joel for this long. Going through the kitchen, she found drops of blood leading from the garage to the basement door. It was slightly ajar and she could faintly hear what sounded like chains rattling and struggling.

Joel had tried to keep her out of the “David job” as much as possible besides his show of power at the Bison. He left that afternoon with promises to be back soon, instructing her not to leave the house. Tommy came up the stairs, startling her as she lingered by the open door. He had a few streaks of grime on him, some blood on his shirt, but seemed to have no injuries of his own.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he greeted her, approaching her like one might approach a skittish animal.

“How, um…how’d it go?”

He shoved his hands in his pocket, closing the door and blocking it with his body. “Good. We got ‘m.”

“Oh…good.”

She didn’t know why she was being so awkward. At the same time, Tommy also seemed to be walking on eggshells with her. He shifted his weight from foot to foot anxiously, watching her closely.

“Is Joel…um,” she nodded towards the door.

He seemed to hesitate. “Uh, yeah, he’s-he’s downstairs.”

A sudden gunshot startled them both. It was followed by a loud cry, a man’s cry. They made eye contact. She glanced at the doorknob, Tommy subtly shaking his head, already seeing the cogs turning in her brain.

“I shou-.”

He grabbed the doorknob with one hand, her outreached wrist in the other. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart. You really shouldn’t be down there right now, it’s ‘bout to get real ugly,” he tried to warn her, his eyes pleading that she turn around and go upstairs.

Another cry from downstairs. “Tommy, I have to know,” she tried to insist.

“I don’t think you should see Joel like this,” he said quickly, getting her to pause.

“Like what?” she questioned, but accepted his knowing look with one of her own.

Another scream of anguish.

“I love him, Tommy, whatever’s going on down there is part of him and I can handle it,” she said.

He stared at her for a long minute, slightly flinching at another scream echoing up the stairs. It’s not that she couldn’t handle it, it’s that he didn’t want her to have to handle it. Tommy internally battled with himself. It was the ugliest side to this job, hurting people, and she didn’t need that on her conscience like the rest of them. Ultimately, he let her go and stepped aside with a sigh, knowing he couldn’t control her.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, slowly opening the door and making her way downstairs, leaving Tommy to shut it behind her.

The scene at the bottom of the staircase was darker than she could even imagine. Blood was splattered all over the floor. Joel’s main team of men lingering on the edges of the room, hands behind their back as they all stared at the scene in the middle.

“You fuckin’ think I wouldn’t come for you after what you did you piece of shit,” Joel snarled, crouched over David who looked half-alive.

He was tied to a chair, covered in blood and sweat, missing teeth and fingernails, it seemed. It looked like he also had a gunshot wound through his knee. She had to swallow some of the nausea down from the smell alone, heavy iron, metal and piss. Joel looked much calmer than he sounded, jacket discarded on a chair nearby with the sleeves of his shirt bunched up around his elbow.

“Where should we start, huh, David?” he asked, now eerily calm as he dragged a blade across the other man’s bloody face, “Should I skin you ‘live or castrate you first?” he questioned, the other man starting to jerk and grunt in an attempt to get free.

“Boss,” Eric said from across the room, nodding to Indi when Joel looked up.

He must not have heard her coming down the stairs. His expression changed as he stood straight, dropping the knife on the ground as he approached her. He didn’t touch her, hands covered in blood and gunshot residue.

“Go upstairs, baby, I’ll be done soon,” he said, using his much larger body to block the horrific scene.

“I want to stay,” she insisted softly, looking captivated by the smears of blood and the cuts on his face.

“No. Go upstairs.”

“Please,” she said, grabbing his arm, unbothered by the sweat coating his skin, “I need to see you do it,” she added, her voice quivering.

He stared down at her for a long time, conflicted about her request. She always thought he was joking when he’d say he could never deny her, but it was true. If she wanted to burn the world down, he’d light the flame. If she wanted to watch her kidnapper die, who was he to refuse whatever fucked up sort of closure she would eventually call this.

“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll even give you a front row seat, baby girl,” he added, taking her hand and leading her to the chair where his jacket was lying, allowing her to sit by the table of his tools with the thick coat wrapped around her.

David made a noise from where he was tied, spitting blood onto the ground at Joel’s feet. Joel’s demeanor shifted again when his attention returned to the man who had hurt his love.

“Come to watch the show, gorgeous?” he gurgled around a mouthful of blood, eyes unfocussed as he rolled his head in her direction.

“You don’t fuckin’ look at her,” Joel snapped, yanking the man’s head back by his hair.

And watch the show she did. She sat in silence as Joel did awful things to her captor, breaking bones, pulling more teeth and fingernails, prodding him with various tools, it was terrifying, it was disgusting, it was…thrilling.

She knew she should probably talk to someone about the reaction she was having to her boyfriend absolutely destroying a man in the slowest and most painful ways for her. She shouldn’t be feeling some of the things she was feeling, specifically the pride, the fascination, the lust, but she couldn’t help it.

When it was done and there was barely a dead body left, she took Joel upstairs and ravished him like an animal in the shower, the blood and grime of today’s events dripping down both of them under the hot stream.

“You’re somethin’ else, darlin’,” Joel said with a tired smile and a shake of his head after she’d explained her sudden burst of primal desire to him, both utterly spent and sexually satisifed.

“You love it.”

“Hell yeah I do,” he agreed, pulling her close, all soft touches and gentle kisses after they’d washed away the last of their problem.

“You know you’ve ruined any other future man for me, right?” she asked, swinging her legs over to sit on his lap, lightly scratching down his chest. “You’ve set the bar impossibly high, Joel Miller.”

“Ain’t gonna be ‘nother man, sweetheart,” he said, closing his eyes, relaxing from her touch.

“Yeah?”

“You’re mine forever, baby girl,” he growled, his tone laced with just enough possessiveness to have her squirming.

“Sounds like you’re making a proposal,” she joked, rocking back into his lap, addicted to how right it felt to have his half-hard cock rubbing her covered clit.

“That what you want, baby?” he asked, one large hand gripping her hip and guiding her movements, “Want a ring on that finger? Be my little wife?”

She moaned softly at his words, her movements increasing. “Y-yeah.”

He hummed, the rumble vibrating in his chest under her fingertips. “I’ll get you a ring, baby, biggest fuckin’ diamond I can find if that’s what you want,” he grunted, thrusting up suddenly, feeling her nails sink into his abdomen as she tried to maintain balance.

“Fuck, Joel,” she whined.

He turned them over, pinning her to the bed and grinding into her panties, hearing her breathy pleas in his ear. They moved quickly this time, both desperate for a final release. Joel’s thrusts were hard once they discarded their clothes, his grip on her body even rougher as he grunted against her neck.

She was moaning so sweetly in his ear, panting and telling him how good he felt, how good he fucked her. Those words had his eyes rolling into the back of his head, so perfectly sweet and erotic.

“You wanna come, baby? Gonna make a mess on my cock?” he asked, one hand on her throat, but not squeezing.

“Y-yes, ah, please, Joel, I’m…so close,” she cried, her body practically vibrating with the tension of her oncoming release.

“Come on then, baby, be my good girl and come all over me,” he growled.

Her fluttering walls triggered his own climax almost immediately after, his release shot across her stomach and thighs. He whispered soft praises as he cleaned his spend off her, leaving soft kisses along her cheek and forehead. He made sure they both drank water before settling down to actually go to sleep this time. She was already passed out by the time he switched his bedside light off, pulling her close as they laid on their sides.

When she woke up the next day, there was a box sitting on her bedside table, small and a dark blue velvet shade. Joel came out from the bathroom, wiping excess shaving cream off his neck with a towel.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he greeted her, sitting on her bedside, taking the box and holding it in his giant hands.

“Joel?” she questioned, “What is that?”

He smiled, rolling the box between his hands before finally opening it. “This is me askin’ you to marry me,” he said, slipping down onto one knee.

“Joel,” she gasped softly, a million questions running through her mind in a matter of ten seconds.

“Be my girl forever, darlin’?” he asked, his stomach in knots as he waited, her expression hard to read past the obvious surprise.

“Yeah…yes, yes, of course,” she said finally, smiling brightly as he stood up with only a faint knee pop before crawling over her.

“Yeah?” he asked, kissing up her neck.

“Yes, Joel!,” she nodded, her hands wandering his back and shoulders.

“Fuck,” he groaned, inhaling her scent, “I love you.”

“I love you too…will you let me show you how much?” she murmured against his mouth, grinning slyly.

“You know I can’t say no to you…”

Epilogue

#joel miller x reader #joel miller au #joel miller x ofc #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #mafia!joel miller #last of us au #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut

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maxwell-grant · 7 months

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hi, can you elaborate on that monk-the thing-hank mccoy parallel you mentioned? im curious

(Follow-up to this post)

I certainly don't think anybody past Lee and Kirby took Monk as a factor when writing Ben and Hank, but the fact is that they were both conceived pulling from the same source character in directly opposite ways, and they've been shooting off further apart ever since, with Ben becoming more and more of a kind, inspiring, positive figure among superheroes, and Hank McCoy has been non-stop leapfrogging into greater heights of irredeemable jackassery and evil, both still carrying most of those traits still. You can kinda map them out like this:

He was Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, but he heard the full name so seldom he had about forgotten what it sounded like.

To give a brief a crash course on Monk, I assume most of you are at least passingly familiar that Doc Savage's crew had an ape guy in it. That's him. Artistic depictions vary on this a lot but in-text, Monk Mayfair is described as maybe the ugliest man in the world, a "dwarf King Kong" whose face makes babies cry, so apelike that he even runs faster when on all fours. Like the rest of the Five, he's driven by a desire for adventure and excitement and deep loyalty to Doc Savage. If one of the heroes kills a guy in a Doc Savage novel, it's probably going to be him, and he is kind of a colossal horndog, which didn't carry over to those two (all of the Fabulous Five - sans Long Tom who is an outspoken misogynist - make a heterosexual pony show out of ogling and competing for the women Doc ignores, Monk first and foremost among them). He lives for a good fight and frequently and constantly bickers with the lawyer Ham, they have that sort of fight-fight-snark-snark-brotherly-bond dynamic and they probably codified it in their own right.

And Monk is also one of the top chemists in the country, said to be "the Houdini of test tubes", his head fit to burst with chemical knowledge, and he's responsible for much of Doc's gadgetry. And even though his own teammates get in on insulting his intelligence and looks (and he barbs back as well, and even defies Doc more directly than the others rarely), he isn't remotely stupid. That is kinda the point, in fact, that he constantly invites you to look down on and underestimate the ugly gorilla man and forget the fact that he can memorize intricate formulas and rip your arms off in the same breath he uses to bicker and insult his companions, and particularly his smart-mouthed rival within the group, all in good fun. And within the Fabulous Five-setup that inspires the Fantastic Four and Lee and Kirby's mutual interest for Doc Savage stories showing through, crucial to Ben Grimm's early character is that he hits many of these same notes, but all is very much not always in good fun.

Of the six men present, Monk's skin alone bore scars. The skin of the others held no marks of their adventurous past, thanks to Doc's uncanny skill in causing wounds to heal without leaving scars. But not Monk.

His tough, rusty iron hide was so marked with gray scars that it looked as if a flock of chickens with gray−chalk feet had paraded on him. This was because Monk refused to let Doc treat him. Monk gloried in his tough looks. - The Man of Bronze

Monk was never satisfied unless picking on somebody, or being picked on in turn.

The Thing initially is what happens when being the strong, physically deformed and scarred coarse bruiser who pals around big shot scientists is a set-up played for tension and drama moreso than comedy, as said man is tormented and bitter over his condition, bordering on murderously angry liability and downright jackass. Ben is constantly losing his temper and smashing things, constantly breaking off the team, his initial spats with Johnny are frequent and not very lighthearted, and constantly put a strain on the team and Reed's ability to hold them together. It's deeply important to his character arc that he starts this way and that him lightening up and growing more into his heroic role is as much about him adapting as it's about him rediscovering himself in a new form.

(And while not as pronounced as Beast and Monk's scientific brains, Ben too is supposed to be smarter and more intelectually capable than he appears or credits himself for - he frequently tells himself that he's nothing without strength and that he's just a big dumb bruiser, he gets that whole, too dumb to collapse and too ugly to die and all that, but every now and then Reed reminds us that he isn't so easily fooled by Ben's persona)

Ben spends so much of those early issues deeply angry at Reed Richards for fully justified reasons and entirely consumed by self-loathing, convinced he isn't something anyone would want to be or be with, and it makes all of his baby steps towards becoming Ben Grimm as we know him meaningful. Every step and set back and rising above himself on his journey as Ben Grimm the hero, Ben Grimm the guy who becomes the archetypal lovable curmudgeon bruiser of comics in his own right, the guy who's going to become not just the invaluable heroic core of the Four, but a beloved and respected pillar of the superhero community in his own right, The Idol O'Millions. If I start talking about Ben Grimm I get emotional and it feels cheap to pretend like some jerk who would never cut it on Yancy Street, and probably doesn't even HAVE an Aunt Petunia, belongs in the same conversation, but he is in Ben's DNA, and the DNA he shares with the guy who made the wildest leap possible in the opposite direction.

Monk emitted a great howl. Monk's fights were always noisy, unless there was a reason for them to be quiet. Like a gladiator of old, Monk fought best when the racket was loudest.

"It'll take a good fight to get me feelin' like a human being again!"

Where as Hank McCoy initially almost feels like a kid-friendly do-over of Monk, who pushes the contrast further: his ape traits are explicit biological mutation superpowers, but he isn't just an expert chemist, he's a comically verbose super genius who talks like Littlejohn (the Fabulous Five member who spouts off sesquipedalianisms), but still cartwheels around to smash bad guys with gorilla fighting skills and roughhouses with resident rival-friend Iceman. The pop culture image of Beast is/was that of a friendly, sartorial professor who only looked monstrous, but had none of the darkness or conflict that defined much of the other X-Men, and had a fairly squeaky-clean image.

Which might be the biggest reason why his character took enough dark turns that he wound up becoming a gleefully sadistic spymaster mad scientist who runs genocide programs in Latin America "for the sake of mutantkind". Maybe it just boils down to writers overcorrecting, building off what was already there in prior storylines. Dark Beast, the Legacy Virus, the Inhumans War, etc. Maybe some of it was just bound to come up sooner or later.

The extent of Beast's development and the many, many places where the character took these turns is something this article by David Bowen goes into, and how much of it might even just be where the character was always heading, maybe ever since he decided pulling a Jekyll & Hyde and transforming himself into something new so he could live a new carefree life crossed his mind as a good idea. Maybe you can't play Mr. Hyde and pretend you're only kidding.

I sat in the sun on a bench; the animal within me licking the chops of memory; the spiritual side a little drowsed, promising subsequent penitence, but not yet moved to begin. After all, I reflected, I was like my neighbours.

I began to be aware of a change in the temper of my thoughts, a greater boldness, a contempt of danger, a solution of the bonds of obligation.

I looked down; the hand that lay on my knee was corded and hairy.

I was once more Edward Hyde.

And yes, every major X-Men character has rep sheets that put supervillains to shame and consists of at least one or five completely infedensible things, sure, but Hank's has clearly crossed to a level of villainy that can't really be walked back on, in the name of good intentions. In the name of loyalty, in the name of scientific reasoning.

And while Monk has never gone anywhere near as monstrous and never went so far as to be an outright villain, we can in fact trace a line between Beast's own loyalty-driven monstrousness, and Monk Mayfair doing things like threatening to carve up crooks if Doc lets him, chasing down and machine-gunning fleeing henchmen, and cutting off a guy's parachute and laughing off his death.

All of the Fabulous Five can be bastards to varying degrees sometimes and this mean streak of Monk's has been excised from pretty much all of his comics appearences that have played the character much closer to Ben Grimm, which is the smart thing to do and, really he should get a pass for ripping off Ben since Ben kinda ripped him off first. But maybe that mean streak, that potential Mr Hyde darkness of the genius chained to the ape, never really went away, and it just passed along to the next in line.

"Tell him I'll pull his ears off an' feed 'em to him if he don't come clean!" Monk suggested. Doc, anxious himself to note the effect of torture threats on the Mayan, repeated Monk's remarks - The Man of Bronze

Monk picked up a big, gleaming cutlass. He whetted it suggestively on a soggy shoe sole, then whacked an ear off a papier-mâché likeness of a bearded pirate, just to show Kar's men how it might go.

"Only say the word, Doc!" He slanted a great arm at a wizened fellow who looked the most cowardly of the lot. "I'll start on the little one, there!" - The Land of Terror

Monk did three or four things very violently, and finally ended with the long knife in his possession. "I'm gonna cut your heads off," Monk told his foes. Mathis raced for the cabin door. Monk watched him come but made no effort to stop him. Mathis gained the door, struggled to open it. He was not more than a long arm reach from Monk, who could have stopped him easily. Monk made no effort to stop him. He did reach out and thrust the long knife to the hilt into Mathis's parachute pack. Mathis, knowing nothing of the knife in the 'chute pack, jumped gleefully out into space.

Monk was looking out of the window. He drew back and grinned at Doc. "He made quite a splash," Monk said. "Who?" "Mathis. For some reason or other his parachute didn't open." Blumbeck yelled, "No wonder! You stuck a knife in the parachute!" "I don't remember doing that," Monk said innocently. -The Laugh of Death

#replies tag #pulp heroes #superheroes #doc savage #monk #monk mayfair #x-men #beast #hank mccoy #fantastic four #ben grimm #the thing #marvel #marvel comics

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butchviking · 8 months

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i'm in a radfem lesbian server and i backread and saw that someone called gerard way "the ugliest moid alive"... like... okay fair he is a moid but... the ugliest?? the ugliest moid alive???? i get not finding him attractive but. come on... he's at least mid! i think if you think he's the ugliest you. you really have not seen an ugly man. you want an ugly moid go look at andr*w t*te or something

like for one thing gerard way is a confirmed prettyboy there is a reason he has always been such a hit among young women and its not just his talent & artistry. i think fr most of the ppl who wail on about how ugly he is its just some combination of 1. hes in his mid-40s 2. he gets sweaty on stage 3. they don't like him and they think looks are linked to morality. they can't say oh sure he's pretty but i think he's annoying. also let's not talk about why they find him in particular so so annoying lmao. maybe the fandom is annoying n that turns them against him a bit - tho girl u can just blacklist him u dont even have to experience that fandom. iagine how *I* feel. but mostly sorry tell me there's any explanation in the world other than his gender nonconformity. you think he's ugly because you don't like him wearing his dresses on stage NO RADFEM WAS CRYING ABOUT HOW UGLY GERARD WAY WAS UNTIL CHEERGATE I WAS HERE I SAW IT HAPPEN. and ppl wanna say shit like "oh i hate how he's pandering to his audience" "i hate that he buys into all the gender stuff" "i hate that he's using being gnc as a gimmick to profit off" except they can't tell u the first thing abt his stated views or history... its just a gut repulsion they're trying to justify and i swear to god no-one can talk me out of that no-one has ever justified why HE SPECIFICALLY is so annoying to them and why everyone so SUDDENLY started being annoyed by him RIGHT AROUND august 24th 2022.....

#ask #anonymous

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dottielovegood · 1 year

Note

I love the holiday prompts! Maybe 7 or 11 for Feyre and Cassian causing chaos together like they do when they’re decorating together ACOFAS? (Perhaps they even involve Elain and Azriel in their nonsense this year!)

Thank you so much for this prompt! It was my first time writing something that wasn't purely elriel, which really forced me out of my comfort zone. I'm not sure I got the characterization of Cassian and Feyre completely right, but I hope you like it anyway! :) I had a lot of fun with this one (and I got to re-read all the Solstice scenes in the books for research, which was great!)

I wanted to post this a few days ago but then life (and Christmas) got in the way. I hope you're all still feeling at least a bit festive!

7: "What is it?" (and odd Christmas gift) 11: "I can't believe we did that"

Summary: While drunkenly decorating the house for Solstice, Cassian and Feyre decide to do some last minute Solstice shopping for Elain and Azriel.

───── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─────

Solstice Mischief

A few days before Solstice

“A little more to the right.”

Cassian held up the giant wreath over the fireplace and moved it slightly to his right. “Like this?”

Feyre sipped her wine and gave him a thumbs up, “That’s perfect.”

“So, it’s in the middle now?”

“Not even close,” she laughed and took another sip. This was her third glass of wine and she was already feeling slightly drunk. She hadn’t had much alcohol since having Nyx and apparently, her new body was a bit more sensitive to the effects of wine now.

She watched from her seat on the sofa as Cassian put the wreath up over the mantle. It looked awful. They had made the wreath together earlier and it was definitely the ugliest wreath she had ever seen, which is exactly what made it so perfect.

This had become one of the traditions Feyre most looked forward to on Solstice - getting drunk and decorating the house with Cassian. They hadn’t meant for it to look so awful that first year, but the two bottles of wine had certainly not turned either of them into interior designers. When Azriel had seen what they had done, he had promptly started to fix their mistakes while muttering under his breath that Feyre was an artist and should, at least, be able to decorate the mantle properly.

The next year, Feyre had asked Cassian to come over just to get his mind off the fact that Nesta was going to dance with Eris in the Court of Nightmares the following evening. Feyre, being pregnant, had obviously not gotten drunk that year but Cassian had drunk enough for both of them. Then Cassian had asked her if she thought that Azriel would come to their rescue again if they tried to decorate the house just like the previous year, and since Feyre was adamant on making Cassian feel better, she just let him lead the way. That year, the ugliness had been intentional.

And sure enough, as soon as Azriel stepped through the door that evening he had just taken one look at the mess they had made and started to sweep the floor.

“You really are the worst decorators in Prythian,” he told them as he straightened the garlands.

This year, they obviously needed to protect their reputation as The Worst Decorators in Prythian, which is why they asked Rhys to take Nyx for the evening. Elain had already made plans to go out for some last minute Solstice shopping with the twins, so they had the house all to themselves.

“So, do you think we can do an even shittier job than last year?” Cassian asked as soon as he arrived at the house, carrying an armful of pine boughs. Feyre had just smiled at him and pointed to the tree in the corner of the room. “I got the saddest looking tree at the market earlier.”

Cassian raised his eyebrows and nodded in silent appreciation. “Wow, we might actually make him cry this year.”

“There is no way he can make this tree look good.”

“No chance in hell,” Cassian chuckled. “Get the wine, Feyre. We have some work to do.”

A few hours later and they were almost done. Feyre looked around the room and had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing. Not only was the floor covered in pine needles, but every single thing was crooked or slightly out of place.

Cassian took a step back to admire his handiwork. “Well, that wreath really is ugly, Feyre. Maybe we should have asked Elain for some help?”

“And where would be the fun in that?” she asked from where she was seated on the couch, sorting through the last box of decorations. “We want to make Azriel’s pedantic side itch, remember? If Elain helped, he would probably love it all. They are both perfectionists.”

Cassian poured himself another glass of wine and sat down next to Feyre. “And he has a soft spot for your sister, so yeah, that would totally ruin our plan.”

Feyre smiled at him, “He does, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Cassian hesitated for just a moment. “Or, he did, at least.”

“What do you mean?”

Cassian let out a breath. “Honestly, I feel like I never see him anymore. A few months ago, I remember thinking that he was starting to get over Mor, and it got me thinking of a possible reason behind that, and I came to the conclusion that Elain might be the reason. I thought they were just friends, but the way he always stood up for her, always protected her,” he shrugged. “I don’t know. I might be completely wrong.”

Feyre sat up straighter and turned to face him, “You know, I once told Rhys that Elain would probably cling to Azriel if she ever came to Prythian, and that’s what she did. She let him take her out in the garden, she spent a good part of that first Solstice with him talking about her plans for the garden…” Feyre trailed off, trying to think of the last time she had seen her sister and Azriel together. She couldn’t remember.

“And she gave him that headache powder,” Cassian added.

Feyre smiled at the memory. At the way her friend had thrown his head back and laughed when he opened the gift from her sister. She had never heard such joy from that male before, or since.

“What did they get each other last year?”

“I… honestly, I don’t remember.” Cassian scratched his jaw, seeming lost in thoughts. “Lucien got her a pair of earrings, right?”

Feyre nodded. “Yes, but I can’t remember what Az gave her. Or if she got him anything.”

Cassian hummed and raised his glass to his lips. “Neither can I.”

Feyre tried, and failed, to remember what everyone got that Solstice. Maybe they had gotten each other gifts and she had just forgotten, but it was definitely more likely that they hadn’t. Feyre would have remembered. Wouldn’t she?

So many things had changed in a year. Feyre was happy that all the people she loved were still alive, yet she still felt an ache in her heart when she thought about Azriel. Something had changed in him since last year and she had no idea what, or why.

“How is he doing?” she asked carefully, hoping that Cassian might know something about his friend, though she doubted it.

Cassian just shrugged. “I don’t know. As I said, I barely see him. He has been on missions for weeks on end all year. He barely has time to touch down at home before he’s off again.”

“Where is he now?” Feyre tried to remember what Rhys had told her about Azriel’s whereabouts, but it was impossible for her to remember in her current wine haze.

“The continent. He was going to meet up with Mor and then they’ll go home together for Solstice.”

“And then?”

Cassian let out a humorless laugh. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Feyre leaned back and emptied her glass of wine. She let out a heavy breath, “I miss him.”

“Me too,” he said and patted her knee. “Me too.”

Silence fell between them and Feyre couldn’t help but wonder if Elain missed Azriel too. Elain had always been hard to read since she always kept her thoughts and feelings for herself in order to not bother anyone. For a while there, she started to open up and stand up for herself and a part of Feyre had always thought that Elain’s friendship with Azriel was part of that. But then something changed…

Cassian squeezed her knee, effectively bringing her back to reality. He reached for the bottle and refilled her glass. “Okay, we’re starting to sound very sad-drunk when we’re supposed to be festive-drunk,” he put the bottle down and raised his glass. “To being the worst decorators in Velaris three years in a row.”

Feyre laughed and clinked her glass to his, “I’ll drink to that.”

They spent the next 30 minutes decorating the tree together and Feyre couldn’t stop laughing at how awful it looked. “It’s like putting makeup on a pig.” This was the first time they had ever had a real tree indoors for Solstice since it was an Illyrian tradition and not something most people in Velaris did. It might also very well be the last, unless they decided to piss Azriel off for the fourth time in a row.

Cassian held up the last item in the box. “Do you want to do the honors?”

Feyre took the golden star from him and looked at the tree. There was no chance in hell that she was reaching the top. Even Cassian might be too short for this monstrosity. “I think you might have to carry me.”

Without so much as a word, Cassian wrapped his arms around her and hoisted her up. She shrieked and grabbed the nearest wall just to keep herself from falling. “High enough for you, high lady?” Cassian chuckled and tightened his grip around her waist.

“Actually, if you could go a bit higher…”

“If I did, that would put your ass right in my face, and there is only one Archeron ass I want in my face and I’m sorry to tell you, but it’s not yours.” Feyre reached behind herself and smacked Cassian with the tree topper, which just earned her a roaring laugh from her friend.

Somehow, she was able to put the tree topper on the tree without injuring anyone and when Cassian let her down they stepped back to behold the wonder of the ugliest tree in Velaris.

“He’s going to hate it.”

Cassian grinned, “I think everyone will hate this. We have absolutely outdone ourselves.” He held up his hand and Feyre smacked it with hers. “But yes, he will have a fit,” Cassian continued. “Hopefully he’ll get some nice gifts to make up for it.”

“Maybe some new towels from Mor?” Feyre suggested.

“I could always give him one of the silk shirts she’s given me over the years.”

Feyre let out a snort. “How is she so bad at gift giving?”

“I have no idea,” Cassian shrugged. “She’s always been shit at it.”

Feyre lifted her glass to her lips and was very disappointed to find it empty.

“Speaking of gifts,” Cassian continued, “Do you think Azriel has bought Elain something this year? I mean, even if they didn’t give each other anything last year, Elain still gave him that powder. Which means that he owes her”

Clearly, Feyre wasn’t the only one who couldn’t stop thinking about the lack of gifts between her sister and the shadowsinger last year.

“I don’t think you can really owe anyone when it comes to gifts. At least I don’t think Elain would see it that way.”

Cassian raised his eyebrows. “Have you met Azriel?” he asked. “Do you really think that he would be fine with getting anything without giving something back?”

Feyre shook her head because no, no he wouldn’t. “That’s why it’s so weird that they didn’t get each other anything last year. I really did expect him to buy her something.” Feyre chewed her bottom lip, hesitating a bit before continuing. “But then again, Lucien was there. It might have been awkward if Azriel gave his mate a gift.”

“You mean more awkward than Elain’s reaction to Lucien’s gift?” Cassian said, a grin spreading across his lips.

Feyre covered her face with her hands from the secondhand embarrassment that particular memory invoked in her. “Gods, don’t remind me.” Feyre was happy that Lucien wasn’t joining them for Solstice this year. Not because she didn’t want him there, but because his presence clearly made Elain uncomfortable.

“Maybe we should just buy her a gift from Azriel and see what happens?” Cassian laughed, clearly joking.

Until he wasn’t.

At the exact same moment, they both turned to each other, a silent understanding in their eyes.

Maybe it was the wine talking, but Feyre said. “I mean, it’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

He shoved her playfully. “What do you mean? I have never had a bad idea in my entire life.”

“Uh-huh, if you say so.”

Cassian smiled at her, his eyes alight with mischief. “No, but seriously. We could, couldn’t we?”

“We could…” Feyre murmured. “But wouldn’t that potentially leave Azriel without a gift? Then we would have to do this all over again.”

“Let’s get him one too. And if they have gotten each other gifts, we’ll just hide the ones we got them.”

Feyre stared at him, unable to hide her slightly drunken smile. “Are you serious? Do you really want to do this?”

The wicked smirk on Cassian’s face was the only answer she needed. “Get your cloak, Feyre. We’re going shopping.”

Velaris was bustling with life. Since she first set foot in Velaris, she had loved this city that she now called home, but there was just something about Velaris during Solstice that made her fall in love with the city all over again. There were colorful lights and garlands in every shop window, children playing in the snow and everyone just seemed to have less worries in life during this time of year.

People greeted them as they walked past and a few children tried to get Cassian to join them in a snowball fight.

“Not tonight,” he said and ruffled one small boy’s hair. “I am on a very important mission.”

“A secret mission?” the child asked, his eyes big and full of wonder.

“Exactly, so you can’t tell anyone that you saw us.”

The children promised to keep the secret, which probably meant that they would tell their families all about it as soon as they came home. Feyre just smiled at them as they ran back to their snow forts. She couldn’t wait to get back home to her own family.

As if on cue, she heard Rhysand’s voice in her mind.

Where are you, Feyre darling?

His voice made heat spread through her entire body.

Just doing some last minute Christmas shopping with Cassian.

I hope that you’re not buying any more decorations because this house looks awful as is.

He sent her an image down the bond of their living room that was still covered in pine needles and crooked decorations. She had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing.

Don’t worry. We’re just getting a few gifts.

She didn’t tell him about their excellent plan. This was a secret mission, after all.

And when are you getting home?

Soon. Why? Do you miss me already?

I miss you all the time.

His voice was smooth like velvet and Feyre almost asked Cassian to do the shopping by himself so she could return home to her mate. She missed him too, and she missed her son. She hated spending time away from them.

Before she could answer him, he continued,

I was hoping to find you here. Nyx is sleeping, and Elain isn’t home yet.

Oh? And what were you planning? Feyre teased.

He sent her multiple images down the bond of exactly what he wanted to do to her if she had been home. Blushing and distracted, she almost crashed into Cassian’s back.

“Could you stop having mind sex in public?” Cassian muttered and motioned for her to turn left.

Prick

The only answer she received was Rhysand’s warm laughter. She wanted to bathe in that sound.

They went into a few shops, considering getting a tea set or kitchen utensils for Elain and daggers for Azriel, but everything just felt wrong and too impersonal. They needed to find something that Elain and Azriel would actually buy each other, which was proving to be more difficult than they had imagined.

“How about this one?” Cassian held up a book about poisonous plants. “Might be useful?”

Feyre grimaced, “I might have already gotten her that.”

“Of course you have,” he muttered and put the book back. “God, this is impossible.”

“If we don’t find anything in ten minutes, we should probably give up.” Feyre turned around and went back to rummaging through the stacks of cook books.

Cassian nodded, but she could tell that he really wasn’t keen on the idea of giving up. When he set his mind to something, it would take a lot for him to back down.

“How about this one?” Cassian handed her a small, black book decorated with roses and swirls of blues threaded through the vines that decorated the edges. She traced her fingers over the intricate pattern. “It’s pretty.” She turned it over to read the blurb, but there was none.

“It’s a notebook,” Cassian explained and opened up the book. “Maybe she could write recipes or garden plans in it?”

Feyre hummed and looked around the store again. This was certainly the best gift they had found so far, and she was starting to doubt that they would find something else. “That’s actually a really good idea. I think she’ll like it.”

“See, all of my ideas are great,” Cassian beamed. “So, should we get it?”

“Yeah, we might as well. It’s definitely better than the spatula you showed me earlier.”

They continued down the streets of Velaris until they reached the Rainbow. Feyre could see that the lights were still on in her studio, which meant that Ressina might still be there.

Feyre took Cassian by the arm and led him to one of her favorite places in the city. She wanted to show him the art that the children had made a few weeks prior. Their work was now being sold and the money would be donated to families in need. It had been the children’s idea and Feyre’s heart had melted when she saw how hard they all worked in order to create their little paintings and clay figurines for such a good cause.

Ressina greeted them with a warm smile and hugs as soon as they stepped in the door.

“I didn’t expect to see you this evening,” she said. “Weren’t you decorating your home tonight?”

“We finished early.”

“I bet it turned out beautiful.”

Feyre didn’t dare look at Cassian because she knew that she would burst out laughing if she did.

“It’s definitely festive.” She could hear the smile in Cassian’s voice and knew that he was trying to hold back his own laughter.

“I just wanted to show him the children’s work.”

Ressina gestured to the shop, “Well, most things have been sold already,” she smiled, pride written all over her face. “But there are a few things left. You can go look while I finish cleaning the work stations.”

They walked over to the table by the window where the children had displayed their work. There were only a few pieces left and Feyre considered buying all of them, even though she wouldn’t be able to tell what most of them were supposed to be. She just didn’t want a single child to come in here and see that nobody had bought their art.

“What is that?” Cassian pointed to a painting made by one of the younger children. He turned his head, “It could be a horse, but it could also be a very colorful spider.”

“Well, whatever it is, it has twelve legs, which is a bit excessive,” she laughed. “Luckily, art doesn’t have to make sense.”

Feyre picked up one of the figurines. “Look, it’s you!”

Cassian furrowed his eyebrows. “How is that me? It’s a black blob.”

“Ah, yes. But it’s a black blob with wings.” She pointed to the oddly shaped wings that stuck out from the black figure. She knew that it was, in fact, supposed to be an Illyrian warrior. The girl that made it told her so, and was very proud when she finished it.

Cassian snorted. “What is that pink thing he’s holding?”

“Honestly, I just think she accidentally dipped her brush in the wrong paint and forgot to fix it.” She held it up next to his face. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

Grinning, he took the figurine from her. “I think it looks more like Azriel. His wings are smaller and a bit wonky.”

Feyre couldn’t help but to think back to the conversation she had with Mor years ago about Illyrians and their wingspans. Laughing, she patted Cassian’s arm. “Sure, whatever makes you sleep better at night.”

“I’m serious,” he held it up to the light. “Add a few blue siphons and nobody could tell the difference.”

“A few minutes ago you called it a blob.”

“Yes, but it’s an Azriel shaped blob. We should get it for him.”

Feyre looked at the black figurine in Cassian’s hand. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was quite certain that nobody else would buy it. It did look like a blob with wings.

Even if Azriel ended up hating it, at least buying it would be for a good cause. “Maybe we should. I can add some siphons.”

Cassian’s face lit up. “Perfect.”

“But this can’t be the gift from Elain,” she added quickly.

“Why not?”

Feyre stared at him. “Does it look like something Elain would buy him? Elain, the person who gives people the most thoughtful gifts?”

He shrugged, “This is a very thoughtful gift. It was made with love and the money goes to a great cause.”

“Are you just tired of shopping?” she asked, already knowing the answer. She was also tired and wanted nothing more than to go home and let Rhys do all the things he had shown her earlier.

“Very,” Cassian sighed. “Seriously, it’s not like we’ll find anything better. We have visited every single shop in Velaris and this is the best thing we could find,” he gestured to the black thing. “He is impossible to shop for.”

And wasn’t that the truth. Azriel had always been the one Feyre struggled to find presents for. He was very private, and very particular about the things he bought himself. She didn’t even dare to buy him socks since he probably had a special kind he preferred. She knew that this was their last hope, so with a sigh, she relented.

“Fine, let’s get it. At least one child will be happy to find that someone bought their art.”

Cassian threw his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry. If there’s anything left at Solstice, I’ll buy it all.”

“Really? Even the twelve legged horse-spider?”

“Especially the horse-spider. It’s growing on me.”

–-------

Solstice evening

Cassian was seated on one of the green velvet sofas, Nestas legs draped over his lap, her head leaning against his shoulder. He had always loved spending Solstice with his family, but spending it with his mate was even better than he could have ever imagined. Last year, Nesta hadn’t been ready to accept the truth yet and the days prior to Solstice had been full of jealousy and anxiety for him. But then, on that fateful night, things had finally changed between them. It had been a Solstice miracle, if he ever saw one.

And now here they were, with friends and family, just like it should be. Azriel and Mor had arrived around midday, which meant that Azriel didn’t have time to fix their decorations before the rest of the guests arrived. If it hadn’t been for the annoyance so clearly painted on Azriel’s face, he might have actually regretted how ugly they made the house this year since they now had to look at it all evening.

But their decorations luckily seemed forgotten when Elain and the twins presented them with this year's feast. During this past year, Elain had definitely taken her cooking skills to a new level. Cassian couldn’t even remember the last time he had ever been this full.

Because of his and Feyre’s little excursion earlier that week, Cassian couldn’t help but to pay extra close attention to Elain and Azriel. Every time Elain was near, Azriel’s shadows seemed to lessen around him, yet they never once talked to each other. Elain didn’t even look at Azriel when he complimented the food. He had no idea what he was witnessing, but he was starting to realize that something might have actually happened between the two. He just wished he knew what.

During dinner, he caught Feyre’s eye and he could see his own confusion mirrored there. If he had been a better man, he probably would have removed the two gifts he had placed in the gift pile in the living room earlier that day. But he was not a better man, and he was frankly annoyed at Azriel for not telling him anything about his life. If something had happened with Elain, Azriel should have told him. Sure, Az was private and didn’t like to talk about his life, but this was family. Whatever bothered him, he should know that Cassian was there for him. So Cassian decided to go forward with his and Feyre’s plan. His decision was even more solidified when he snuck off to the living room to read the notes on the presents there.

No gift from Azriel to Elain.

No gift from Elain to Azriel.

After dinner, they had all gathered in the living room. Cassian, Nesta and Mor in one couch and Elain, Feyre, Rhysand and Nyx in the one opposite. Varian and Amren occupied the two armchairs.

Azriel had decided to stand by the fire, a good distance away from the rest of them.

Since Mor had taken the place closest to the gifts, she was the one who picked them up one by one and handed them out. So far, Cassan had received yet another awful shirt from Mor and a book from Rhysand. Elain had given Nesta the latest Sellyn Drake book and Cassian could see how much she itched to get home so she could start reading it.

“This one's for Elain,” Mor called out and handed the gift to Elain. “From Azriel,” she added and Cassian felt his own body go tense. Azriel, though, didn’t seem fazed in the slightest, his face neutral. Though his eyes followed Elain’s every move, just as they had done most of the evening. There was something charged between them that Cassian couldn’t decipher, but for just a moment, he regretted this drunken idea. Would this make things even more awkward between them?

Elain said nothing when she took the gift from Mor. She didn’t even look at Azriel, or any of them. Her eyes were glued to the gift, her eyebrows furrowed. Cassian dared a glance at Feyre and she was looking right at him.

For just a moment, she invited him into her mind. Maybe this was a bad idea?

Well, there’s no turning back now.

And there wasn’t, because Elain had started to unwrap the gift. Cassian’s eyes drifted to Rhys, who was staring at Azriel with an expression he hadn’t seen on his High Lord’s face before. Whatever he was trying to convey with his eyes, it wasn’t anything positive. What the hell?

Elain let the paper fall to the floor and they all watched her turn the small book over in her hands. “A notebook,” she murmured, her eyes still not meeting Azriel’s, but Azriel was watching her, his hazel eyes soft and careful, shadows retreating. In 500 years, Cassian had only seen him look at one other person like that and for the first time since they decorated the house, Cassian wondered if they might actually have made a mistake in buying these gifts. This was supposed to be funny; a joke, but right now, that was the last word he would use to describe this situation.

He was watching Elain intently, silently praying that she wouldn’t be upset. Her fingers traced one of the roses on the cover and Cassian wished that he could read her mind.

When Azriel spoke, Cassian prepared for the worst.

“For your poetry,” he said and for the first time all evening, Elain turned to face him.

Cassian had no idea what Azriel was talking about. That male could really pull a lie out of his ass. Elain liked flowers and baking – since when did she enjoy poetry?

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. It felt as if the entire room was holding their breath together. Finally, after what felt like a small eternity, Elain lifted her gaze and looked at Azriel. “Thank you.” She lowered her gaze just as quickly, but Cassian didn’t miss the small smile on her lips.

“You’re welcome, Elain.”

She didn’t put the book in the pile with her other gifts, Cassian noticed. No, she kept it in her lap, as if hesitant to be away from it. Then, for just a second, her eyes met Cassian’s, and the knowing look he found there had him wondering if she had seen this. If she, somehow, knew exactly who had bought her that gift.

Shit. How could he have forgotten that she was a freaking seer?

He dared another look at Feyre, and from the way she was looking at him, he could tell that she was thinking the same thing.

“And this one is for Amren,” Mor said cheerfully and held up the gift Cassian had wrapped this morning, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. But Cassian knew her better than that. She wanted to bring the attention back to herself. Wanted people to stop staring at Az and Elain. He didn’t blame her.

Amren took the gift, unwrapping it unceremoniously and Cassian had to bite back a laugh at the expression on her face when she held up the horse-spider painting in front of her.

“What is it?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowed as she beheld the colorful painting.

“A horse-spider. I think.”

She glared at him. “There is no such thing as a horse-spider, Cassian.”

“I am aware.” He had to force himself not to look at Feyre because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold back his laughter if he did. “I bought it at Feyre’s gallery.”

Amren held up the painting in front of her again, a disgusted look on her face. “I hate it.”

“Hey, a child made that,” Feyre interjected.

“I can tell. There is absolutely no real craftsmanship behind this painting.”

Mor continued handing out gifts until there was only one left and Cassian held his breath when she read the note Feyre had attached to it. “For Azriel, from Elain,” Mor read, her voice softer now, as if she knew that this meant something, even though she didn’t know what.

Elain was staring at Mor, her mouth slightly agape as Azriel took the gift from Mor’s hands. But she stayed quiet. Said nothing about the fact that she hadn’t bought him anything.

She was still holding the notebook in her lap and Cassian’s heart softened just a bit at that. Maybe their plan hadn’t been so awful after all?

The tearing of paper was the only sound in the room apart from the soft snores coming from the small child in Rhysand’s arms. Azriel, who had barely shown a single emotion during this entire ordeal, looked surprised at the small figurine he was now holding in his hand. He turned it over a few times, as if that would make him understand what he was holding.

Finally, he looked at Elain and asked, “What is it?” His voice was gentle, as if to not startle her. Elain opened her mouth but promptly closed it again, clearly having no clue what Azriel was holding.

Luckily, Feyre was there to save her sister. Thank the gods. “It’s an illyrian warrior,” she explained matter of factly. “She got it at the studio. One of the children made it. She was very proud of her creation.”

“Was she now?” Azriel asked, his mouth turning into a smirk. “And it just happened to have blue siphons?”

Again, Feyre smiled sweetly and spoke for Elain. “No, I added those.”

Azriel hummed and turned the black thing over in his hands once more. Cassian could see the shadowsinger’s mind working, trying to make sense of this entire situation. If Azriel ever found out what they had done, he was certain that there would be hell to pay.

“And what about this pink thing in his hands?” Azriel pointed to the same spot Cassian has asked about days prior. “Or, well, I assume they’re his hands.”

Cassian expected Feyre to explain this too, but someone else spoke before she even had the chance to open her mouth.

He had been so focused on Azriel, he hadn’t noticed that Elain had now fully turned towards Azriel, her gaze meeting his. “A rose.” It was barely more than a whisper. “He’s holding a rose.”

And with that, Azriel’s features softened, his shoulder’s relaxing just slightly.

“Thank you. It’s a lovely gift.”

A blush spread across Elain’s cheeks and Cassian had no idea what just happened, he was just glad that they seemed to have gotten away with their drunken plan without anyone getting hurt.

“You’re welcome,” Elain said with a gentle smile directed at the shadowsinger.

–-

A while later, when Amren and Varian had left and Rhys had disappeared to the nursery to put Nyx in his cot, Cassian found Feyre in the kitchen. Elain was still in the living room talking to the Mor and Nesta. And Azriel.

As soon as Feyre saw him she whispered, “I can’t believe we did that,” her eyes wide and full of humor. “I really thought that Az would call us out on our bullshit.”

“I know…” Cassian murmured, careful to keep his voice low. “When Elain opened that notebook, she looked so sad. I almost told her that it was a stupid joke right then and there.”

Feyre nodded. “Yeah, me too.” She looked past him into the living room. “At least we didn’t make things worse.”

Cassian shrugged and smiled at her. “If I do say so myself, we might have actually made things better between them. I mean look at them,” he gestured to the living room. “They are smiling. In each other’s presence.”

“That, they are.”

“Maybe I should quit my job and become a matchmaker.”

Feyre laughed and patted his arm. “Well, you’re definitely better at matchmaking than decorating.”

“Right back at you.”

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #cassian #feyre archeron #acotar fanfiction

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