#why do i have the feeling that usually when they would be alone he would keep her in his arms
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All In 7
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)
based on the winning option for this poll
Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes
Note: another week...
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
When Bucky leaves, you feel less than relief. It’s easier to breathe without him around but your heart continues to race. You don’t move until you see him drive away. You steel yourself with the manufactured lie before you go back inside.
As you do, you’re surprised to find Roxie beside your mom, both of them close to the front window. You sigh. Were they watching? You guess you can be thankful Bucky hadn’t done more than talk.
Your mom faces you with a sheepish grin, “so... did you get it?”
You look between her and your sister. Roxie has her phone in hand and an arch in her eyebrow, “I’d die for a boss like that.”
“I...” you glance the screen before she can hide it. Oh. She had a picture of him pulled up on Google. So, they both know exactly who he is.
“He must be really hands on if he came all the way down here to offer you a job,” Roxie tilts her head.
“That’s the sign of a good boss,” your mom insists.
“Really, I think his eyes were the kicker. So blue.”
“Rox,” your mom nudges her. “A man like him, he’s got line ups, I’m sure. Besides, she’s too young for him.”
“Well, I’m older,” Roxie smirks, “maybe she can get me a job too.”
“Er, uh,” you wring your hands, “I should start dinner.”
“You didn’t say if you go the job,” Roxie challenges.
“Yeah,” you utter softly, “I got a job. Just cleaning.”
“Hey, it’s better than nothing,” you mom assures as she comes to you. She puts her hands on your shoulders, “I’m so proud of you.”
“Mom,” you try not to look pained as you return her smile, “it’s nothing. Really. A cleaner.”
“We all gotta start somewhere.”
“Yeah,” Roxie scoffs, “most of us a lot sooner.”
“Oh, don’t be such a downer,” your mom lets you go to spin on your sister, “don’t rain on her parade.”
“Whatever. I’d rather hand out flyers than clean toilets,” she rolls her eyes.
You purse your lips and shy away. You feel worse that they believe you so easily and why wouldn’t they? No one would think that someone like you would merit such a preposterous offer from a man like Bucky. You still can’t really believe it.
Maybe it’s just some twisted hallucination. You could wake up tomorrow and be just like you were before. You never thought you would long for that but now, being alone, being the loser, that feels safe. Being noticed, being someone, that’s terrifying.
🃏
You take your time making dinner, a brief escape from reality. The distraction keeps you busy enough that your chest stops thrumming, yet your nerves are still spastic. You’re not very hungry once it’s done but you make yourself eat.
Roxie heads off for work shortly after you gather up the dirty dishes and your mom goes to change into her pajamas. She startles you as you scour the pan you used to bake the chicken. You splash yourself and hiss.
“Sorry, hon, I was just coming to check on you,” she leans against the counter, “you’re nervous, aren’t you?”
You shrug, to fraught to answer.
“You get restless, I can tell. You do everything just to keep from fidgeting,” she says, “it’s going to be okay. You’ll be just fine and you’ll see, it’ll be nice to have your own money.”
“I know, mom,” you murmur, turning your face down to the sink, “it’s not that I don’t want to work, I just... I guess it’s the change that freaks me out.”
“Change is good, even if it’s scary,” she says. “You’ll see.”
“Mm,” you hum and try not to shatter, “I just want to help out.”
“Hon, you worry about yourself. Please--”
“No, I owe you.”
“Owe me? I’m your mother. I just wish I could give you more,” she smiles and squeezes your arm. “If you’re not some busy working girl, we’ll celebrate on my day off.”
“Sure,” you accept grimly.
She leaves you and you’re silent as you finish up the dishes. You put them away and wipe the counters. When you finish, you shut off the lights. You say good night from the doorway and retreat into your room. Tomorrow. That’s all he said. That’s the only detail you go before he strolled off.
You grab your phone and fall back on your bed. All you want is to lose yourself in a fic or a discussion board or even just scrolling mindlessly. You can’t. It’s like he’s taking over everything. There it is, that little icon you rarely see, a new message.
You pull down the menu and stare at the preview. Two hours ago. You’re surprised he didn’t show up to check why you hadn’t answered. Again. You will at least need to send something before the night is over.
‘Hey doll. I’ll send a car tomorrow morning at nine. Just bring yourself.’
You shudder and stare at the blue bubble around the text. Oof. Nine? That’s early for you. You suppose it’s about time you break that bad habit.
‘Sorry. I was making dinner. Nine is good. Thank you.’
You hit send and put your phone down. You slide your laptop across the bed and open it up. You’ll watch something. That old BBC drama you found on the free streaming service has been pretty interesting, but you think you only have one episode left. That’s good, you can’t be up all night.
Your phone buzzes. Shoot. Alright. You can do this. You have to get to it. You swipe up your phone again, surprised to find it’s still shaking.
Oh no. He’s calling!
You panic and nearly hit decline before you manage to drag your thumb the other way. You put the phone to your ear, unable to muster even a squeak. What do you say?
“Hey, doll,” Bucky’s voice drawls from the speaker, “hope I didn’t interrupt dinner.”
“No, er, we’re done.”
“Ah, and are you alone?”
You frown, “yes?”
“Good, good. Isn’t that sweet of you, cooking dinner for your family. That’s what I like about you. You take care of those you love.”
You gulp. You don’t know what to say.
“What was for dinner?” He asks as you hear a soft rustle.
“Um, chicken and potatoes,” you answer bluntly. It’s an easy question.
“You’re not busy or something?” He wonders.
“Uh uh,” you shake your head even though he can’t see, “I’m just... in bed.”
“Early night, huh?” He asks.
“I guess, I was going to watch a show.”
“Right, right,” he clicks his tongue as something taps followed by other indiscernible movements, “you in your pajamas? Bet those are cute?”
“Not... yet,” you croak.
“Mmm,” he purrs, “I just got out of the shower.”
“You... did?”
“Getting ready for tomorrow,” he explains, “gotta admit, I’m a bit impatient. You’ll see that about me, doll. When I want something, it’s hard to wait.”
“Uh, oh...” you stutter out.
“For you, I can,” he vows, “doll, do me a favour.”
“A favour?” You echo thinly.
“Mmm, yeah, I want you to get in your pajamas and send me a picture. Just to tide me over,” he coaxes.
“A picture?” You open your eyes wide and gape at the wall.
“Sure, just a taste. I wanna know what I should imagine next to me when I lay down.”
“What?” You squeak, shocked by his insinuation. Imagining you?!
“I can’t help myself. It’s lonely here.”
“I...” you pick at your lower lip, “one sec. I... I gotta...”
You put the phone on the bed and push yourself off the mattress. You trip on your own feet and hope he can’t hear you stumbling around. Your pajamas are kind of silly. You don’t really have any sexy ones. Maybe if he sees them, he’ll change his mind.
The only matching pair you have have snoopy on the top and a large check bottom on the pants. You fish them out and change. It’s okay. He can’t see you at that moment. Still, it feels like he is watching you. Just as his presence has lurked around you all day.
You go back to your phone and fumble around, “sorry, I... just... figuring out the camera.”
You hear his timbre but can’t make out his words from the small speaker. You open the camera app and flip the camera. You move around, trying to take the pic, and lean the phone on the top of your dress. You angle it and mutter to yourself as you struggle to set the timer.
You take several pictures before you’re not entirely discontent. You look awkward in all of them. The pants, like all your pants, are too long and gather around your feet. You don’t know how to pose either. Quite frankly, you look frightened in every single one.
“Alright, I think...” you babble and find your way into the conversation and choose the least egregious frame. You hesitate and close your eyes as you push your thumb down on the arrow.
You bring the phone back to your ear, “are you still there?”
“Always, doll,” he assures and once more, the phone shifts around noisily. “Mm, Snoopy? I like it. More of a Woodstock myself but... Mm mm mm, you look good.” He pauses as you wriggle and your cheeks burn hotly. “Sexy.”
“No,” you burst out without thinking.
“No? You don’t think I’m telling the truth?”
“I didn’t... say so, it’s... just pajamas,” you sniff, “sorry, I didn’t mean to argue.”
“Doll, relax. Thing about you, you don’t even have to try.”
You don’t reply. You have no idea what to say or even if you should believe him. You saw the picture, you look in the mirror every day, you know what you are. It still feels like some weird game.
“Here, gimme a sec,” he says from his end.
More rustling and the noise of a digital shutter. Your phone vibes shortly and you pull it away from your cheek. You squint at the screen as it lights up and an image buffers in the conversation.
“Huh, uh, it’s not loading. My phone is--” you nearly swallow your tongue and gasp.
Oh gosh. It’s a picture of him in almost nothing. Just a towel. His long hair is damp and pushed back and his dark beard contrasts his bright blue eyes as he aims the lens of his phone at himself in the mirror. His stomach is ridged with muscle, his chest trimmed with hair that trails down, and the towel hangs low, giving a generous hint of his pelvis. The vee above the fabric feels overly salacious.
“Doll?” You hear the low tone of his voice and make yourself look away. You raise the phone again to your ear. “Everything okay? You got really quiet.”
“I...”
“You like what you see?” He asks coyly.
You put your hand to your forehead, your flesh is fiery. It’s so much so fast. Just that morning, you’d convinced yourself you would never see or talk to him again. And now he’s sending you pictures like that and... flirting with you?
“Yes,” you eke out then cover your mouth. He snickers and you clear your throat before you peel your hand away, “sorry, I mean... you’re... you... you must work out.”
“Doll, you’re too adorable,” he says.
You don’t say a word. You’re mortified. He knew you saw that. He knows you’ve seen him like that. He sent it!
It’s all too much. You’re lightheaded. You rub your chin and shiver.
“I should... sleep.”
“Mm, me too,” he says, “hopefully I dream of you.”
You giggle nervously, “really?”
“Sure, doll. All I can do is dream. Until tomorrow,” he sighs, “and what about you? You gonna dream about me?”
You squeak and stammer, “I... I... I...”
He laughs again, “you really are so cute in those pajamas.”
“Please,” you blurt out, “delete it.”
“Now, why would I do that?” He challenges.
“I don’t... know.”
“I love it,” he insists, “you’re not deleting mine, are you?”
“N-no, no, I’ll keep it.”
“Hm, good,” he intones, “it’s all for you so don’t you go showing me off to all your friends.”
It’s your turn to laugh. “Promise, I won’t.” If only he knew you don’t have any friends to show.
#bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#series#au#casino au#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#all in#mcu#marvel#captain america#avengers#winter soldier
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Taste on an Image: New neighbor
Eddie Munson x female reader
a little longer than my usually one of these! just a fluffy blurb! no warnings!
“Why don’t you go say hi instead of standing there gawking.” Wayne shook his head, closing the door to the trailer as he gave his nephew a once over.
Eddie jumped, surprised by his uncle’s appearance. “I’m not gawking.” He swallowed. “I’m observing from afar.”
“Well whatever it is you’re doing is probably freaking her out.” Wayne pointed to you outside in the yard, a few trailers down the road as you hung clothes outside on your line.
“She doesn’t even know I’m here.” Eddie rolled his eyes, leaning against the mailbox. “Geez, she sure is pretty, ain’t she?”
“Yeah.” Wayne gave a gruff nod. “Go talk to her. Be neighborly. God knows no one else around here will be.” He patted his nephews shoulder and went inside, leaving the boy alone with his thoughts.
You’d moved in just a few days ago, gaining the attention of Eddie like bees to honey. You were gorgeous, and by the looks of it, single. He readjusted his jacket and slicked back his hair, wiping his mouth with his sleeve to make sure no absent crumbs were festering on his mouth. Last thing he wanted was to embarrass himself.
Eddie walked down the gravel road, waving awkwardly at the neighbors he past that were halfway drunk for the weekend.
“Hello.” He called out to you, standing near your mailbox.
You spun around, smile on your face that nearly made him fall flat on his back, and took a step forward. “Hi!”
God, he was in love already.
“Hi.” He repeated again, lifting up a hand he wasn’t sure what he was doing with. “Hi, I’m Eddie Munson. We’re neighbors. I live just a few trailers down.” He pointed down the road to his house, blushing as he did so.
“Oh, how nice!” You beamed, setting down your laundry. “I’m y/n.” You quickly walked toward him, extending your hand for him to shake. “Nice to meet you. It’s sweet of you to come introduce yourself. No one has yet. I was starting to think I wasn’t wanted.” You laughed, tucking your hands in your pockets.
Your authenticity of casualness made his nerves settle. “Yeah, well, the people are weary of strangers.” He shook his head. “There’s a lot of kids around here, too, so be careful when you leave. I almost run one over every time I pull out of my driveway.” He chuckled, brown eyes crinkling under the sun.
You laughed and he swore it made his heart swell. Two minutes in and he was already whipped.
“Is it just you?” He asked, peaking over your shoulder and back at your home.
“Just me.” You pursed your lips. “I’m from Chicago. I used to work in the news paper office downtown but decided I needed a change of scenery.” You shrugged your shoulders, the wind barely whistling over your words.
“I run the mechanic shop here in town with my uncle.” Eddie pointed over his shoulder down to his home. “I live with him. Have ever since I was a boy.”
“Well I’d love to meet him sometime!” You smiled. “Maybe you can show me around town later this week? If you don’t mind, of course.”
“I’d be honored to escort you.” He smirked, giving you a wink that made you snicker. “Just give me a day. There’s a great diner that I can sweet talk the waitresses in giving us free desert.”
“You seem like you’re good at sweet talking.” You give him a playful look, crossing your arms.
“Well, I don’t like to brag.” He held out his arms, closing his eyes briefly in a smug look.
You tucked your hair behind your ear, looking back to your clothes line that was blowing in the wind. “I’d invite you in for something to drink but I’m afraid I’m not quiet finished unpacking yet.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He held out a ringed hand. “You need any help? Wayne and I would be happy to assist.”
“No, thank you.” You shook your head politely. “I’ll be finished soon. It’s mostly just my clothes and some decorations. I really don’t have that much.”
He could almost feel his uncle’s eyes searing into the back of his head.
“Well, I just wanted to introduce myself.” He stepped back. “Let us know if you need anything. Oh! And remember,” He pointed to your car. “You’ve got a mechanic for a neighbor if you ever need one.”
He left while he was ahead, feeling confident that he hadn’t embarrassed himself. He smiled the whole walk home, fists clenched in a celebratory manor as he practically skipped inside.
“Well?” Wayne asked, leaning against the fridge.
“What do you mean well?” Eddie snorted. “Like you didn’t stare at us the whole time through the window.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man hid his smirk behind his mud of coffee.
“She’s nice.” He plopped down on the couch. “She smiles a lot. She’s beautiful. I don’t know, Wayne, this might be the girl of my dreams.” Eddie laughed, shaking his head with pursed lips.
“Uh-huh.” Wayne rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t start planning a wedding yet, son.”
#taste of an image#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x female reader#stranger things#stranger things season four#joseph quinn#eddie munson imagines#eddie munson fluff
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How do you think Jason Todd sleeps, like sleeping positions
I'm so glad you asked
also i'm treating this as x reader hope you don't mind
actually i'm going to go off on a tangent first
jason is trained to be as silent as possible. not to draw attention to himself when he doesn't need to. he may be built like a fucking unit/ a militarized fridge, but he knows how to be quiet
that's why i don't think that when he has nightmares that he's waking up screaming/flailing around/punching air. Sure, he's panicking, but he's so used to keeping that under wraps that the most he'll wake up with in a small gasp. maybe a jolt.
after he's awake, of course, is when the panicking starts, the heavy breathing, the sitting up, the pacing, the crying, what not.
(i'm speaking from my own experience. I have consistent nightmares. I've been raised to never make a sound as to not bother others. At most I wake up with a deep breath and pushing myself up onto my elbows.)
now that we have THAT out of the way.
jason, by himself, DEFINITELY spreads out wide on whatever surface he's sleeping on
that man is only sleeping when he's on the verge of passing out.
most times, before dating you, he would get back from patrol, shuck his helmet and armour off, then just belly flop onto the nearest, softest surface and be OUT for a minimum of six hours
sometimes it was the floor. safehouses aren't always furnished
poor guy would usually forget to brush his teeth, too
he meets you and within the next few days goes to the dentist for the first time in a while because he wants to look and be good so you'll like him back
baby had 16 cavities :(
ANYWAYS
with you? good luck moving
he's gotta be touching you in some way. whether he's fully wrapped around you, spooning you, head tucked into your hair/the back of your neck when it's cold, trying to both keep you warm and steal some of your warmth
or a simple hand on your stomach/back/arm/thigh when it's too hot to be fully cuddling
he just needs to know you're still there and that you didn't leave him in the middle of the night
he's insecure :( leave him alone
actually do the opposite marry that man and never let him go
occasionally will let you spoon him, but he doesn't necessarily like it because he feels like he's very closed to being suffocated
loves when you lay on his chest though! he can easily push you off if it gets too much, but for some reason it feels more weighted blanket than suffocation by pillow to the face.
let him lay on your chest as well.
maybe not all the way. he'll keep only half of his weight on you when doing so.
he's SUCH a stomach sleeper. only sleeps on his back when in unfamiliar places. easier to get up that way.
y'all have any kind of animal? you're coming home to find him napping with them wherever. bed? check. floor? more than once. if it's a dog, dog bed? you're chiding him because you now how filthy that thing can become.
he's a sleeperrrrr
let him sleep
help him get rid of his eyebags by giving him some warm milk and tucking him in
100% played with your hair one night while falling asleep and now needs to do it every night otherwise he has a hard time
#jason todd#jason todd x reader#dc#red hood#jason todd fic#red hood x reader#jason todd x fem!reader#jason todd x you#red hood x you#ask missy#jason todd x male!reader#jason todd x y/n#jason todd headcanons#jason todd fanfiction#jason todd x gn!reader#red hood x male!reader#red hood x gn!reader#dc x reader#dc x you#dc fic#dc comics
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BREAK HIS COMPOSURE — NANAMI KENTO.
SYNOPSIS. gaining the title 'duke' not only came with the prestige, but came along the lonely days you spent yearning for your husband as he toggled the new duties and responsibilities he had to face. it was only a matter of time before you decided that you could only have so much patience, deciding that it wouldn't hurt if you played around a little – watching as your husband who held himself in great temperance and sangfroid fall into pieces the more you attempt to break his composure.
DETAILS. duke!nanami kento x reader
TAGS. 18+ content mdni. breeding kink, explicit language, rough sex, cunnilingus
WC. 4.1k
SORA'S NOTE. reposted another one of my works from my old writing blog. please enjoy! <3
© shusora — do not copy, modify, or translate any of my works.
NANAMI KENTO, no doubt, was a powerful young man who earned himself the title Duke from the royal king after his contribution and victory in the most recent war. Of course, now that he was given the new title, he was given a whole lot of responsibilities and duties that he’s got to fulfill now that he had plenty more people to protect. Nowadays, the young duke would either be found training his lot of knights, hunting, or cooped up in his grand office busying himself with myriads of documents. Despite being incredibly proud of his achievements, you still couldn’t help but yearn for the affection of your beloved husband.
Many nights were spent alone, staring up at the tall dark ceiling while you silently counted sheep – hoping that once you had reached a hundred, he would arrive and join you in bed (he’d often fall asleep on the sofa in his office). And, many nights were spent with you fending for yourself when you longed for his touch, arching your back when you’d climax on your fingers – however, you never felt fully satisfied. Your fingers could never compare to his larger and thicker fingers, nor his…
You shake your head rapidly, feeling your cheeks growing redder by the lewd thoughts of your husband swimming through your mind. The last time you had intercourse with the male was when you both consummated the marriage, which was almost half a year ago, and then a month after that, the war happened – and two months later, he’d come back with a new title, Duke. Everything else after that was a blur. He was just within your reach — residing in the same manor and all, could almost reach for him but always got farther and farther away. You miss your husband, desperately.
You stroll through the hallways of the manor, taking small strides towards the familiar giant door with a board of your freshly baked bread balanced in your hands. You continue to hum a gentle tune as you got closer and closer to the door. Although, it may appear to other people that his wife was innocently barging into his office thus surprising him with baked goods made with love – However, unknowingly for them, you had other plans hidden up your sleeves.
“Kento,” your voice gentle as you call out his name, “I brought you something that I think you’d love!”
You open the door further, revealing your husband — as per usual — busying himself with his documents. Fatigue was plastered all across his face, though he tried his best to mask it, but the dark circles underneath his hazel eyes were of no help. You could tell that even his muscles had gotten sore from training and staying seated for long periods of time. You placed the bread tray in front of him, and you walked around the desk to stand next to your husband.
“Thank you, honey,” He quickly thanks you, sending you a quick nod of acknowledgement. Your husband was in pure autopilot mode, his hand continuously signing the documents despite him slowly losing focus — desperately trying to keep them open rather than succumbing to slumber.
“You should take a moment to relax, Kento.” You say. Just as he is about to come up with some type of excuse as to why he shouldn’t take a break, you lean in closer to his ear. “Let me help you.”
Your hands travel up to his back, and you applied some pressure on his shoulders while you massaged him. Your husband releases a low groan when you apply even more pressure on a stubborn muscle knot on his shoulders. You smile when he relaxes into your touch, closing his eyes while he leaned closer into you as you massaged into his sore muscles until those pesky knots disappeared. “How do you feel now?”
“I feel much better,” Kento sighs, humming pleasantly, “ Thank you for the bread, too. I’ll make sure to finish it while I continue working.”
“Can’t your break be a little longer?” You probe at him, pouting softly. “I missed you.”
A sudden wave of boldness and confidence overtakes your consciousness, and you bring yourself down on his lap, your arms snaking around your husband’s muscular shoulders. Kento looks completely taken aback, and you eat that expression up as if it is candy.
“Kento,” you begin, “can’t you see that your cute and loving wife misses you?”
You press your lips against his ear, before whispering: “I’ve been thinking about you so much, putting a baby inside of me.”
Slowly, you thrust your hips against his thigh, watching your husband in pure amusement as he attempts to keep his composure; his hand tightening on his pen, knuckles white. Almost immediately, you can feel him hardening underneath you, and you grin almost immediately. Something about his reaction swells your heart with pride, knowing that despite being busy you still, somewhat, had an effect on him. Even more, Kento is taken aback, completely speechless (and undeniably turned on) from his wife’s bold ministrations.
“B-baby inside..?” His voice comes out as a dry rasp, his eyes wide .
Before your husband can process anything else, he felt the weight on his lap disappearing, and he quickly stares up to watch you getting ready to leave. You fixed the wrinkles on the hem of your dress, trying to fight back the grin on your face after having just teased your usually stoic husband. He had always appeared so cool and composed, so watching him try so hard to keep his composure undeniably gives you some type of thrill.
“Y/N?” He calls out your name, looking visibly confused. Your eyes travel down to your husband’s trousers, smiling innocently as you caught sight of the large tent growing between his legs.
“I almost forgot to mention, but the marchioness invited me to her manor for a tea party.” You say, attempting to stifle the giggle bubbling in your throat while your husband appears flustered. “I won’t be back until tonight.”
You lean in to give him a quick kiss on his lips, not before licking his bottom lip as you pull away. You are being far too mean with your husband, but you can’t help it — watching him slowly crack beneath your manipulation sends a shock of arousal straight between your legs. “Until then, promise me that you’ll finish the bread and take breaks when you need it, okay?”
Before the man can even muster a single response, you walked out of his office. Only two could play at this game, you think to yourself as you close the office door behind you.
Hours have already passed and you finish catching up with the noble ladies, exchanging your goodbyes and letters before parting ways. It has truly been a while since you had last caught up with your friends. Nevertheless, the time spent at your friend’s manor is enjoyable, listening to all the spicy gossip while enjoying desserts and tea.
The ride back home in the carriage is silent — the only sound present were the continuous patters from the horses’ steps. You stare outside the window, quietly watching the manor eventually disappearing as the carriage goes further away in distance. It is already a quarter past nine, perhaps the latest you have ever stayed out, and it is safe to assume that your beloved husband is probably resting on the sofa in his office again.
You lean your back against the seat, pressing the side of your head against the window as your eyes begin to grow heavy, the distant sounds of the horses’ steps gradually lulling you into a short slumber.
“My lady, we’ve arrived.”
“Oh my, we’re already here?” You ponder to yourself out loud, groggily opening your eyes. You place your hands atop the coachman’s guiding you down the carriage, and you stare at the tall manor before you. Once you enter inside, you are automatically greeted with your maids ushering you to the bathroom with a change of clothes. Undeniably, you felt a little disappointed, as you believe that your husband had unknowingly proved your point from earlier — you, at least, hoped that he’d stay awake a little longer. You sink lower into the tub, blowing bubbles as you scrunch your brows together, the water hiding pouting lips. The maid had left you alone earlier, telling you that she’d return with a towel soon, but it’s been moments.
You glance around the bathroom, trying to decipher the exact location of your nightgown. Ah, it was on the stool, next to the door. If anyone had walked in on you grabbing your nightgown from the stool, the only thing they’d see is your wet and bare body. It shouldn’t be too bad, though —after all, it’s always been your maids coming in. Slowly, you stand up from the large tub, and you immediately shiver from the wave of cold air rushing to you,, cool beads of water dripping down your body. With careful steps, you make your way across the room, your hand reaching out towards your nightgown.
You suddenly hear a knock on the door, and you instinctively grab the gown to cover the front of your body. It must be the maid, you think to yourself and you try to mimic that of a stern face — however, you can’t bring yourself to be too harsh on a new maid, after all. You watch the door open slowly, and you tap your fingers against your elbows. “Hana, where were you all this… Oh.”
Almost immediately, your face is sent aflame and you scurry away from the door, your failed attempt of a stern persona pathetically crumbling away as the space revealed no one other than your husband standing in front of the doorway with a towel in his hand. Hazel eyes travel up and down your frame, his jaw tensing at the sight of your bunched up nightgown barely covering your body — hell, it didn’t cover anything, he stares longingly at your left breast deciding to slip out of the covers. He steps into the room and closes the door shut immediately, his eyes still locked into your frame and he stays silent.
You press the nightgown against your body even more and you look away from his gaze, as if it could help hide your insecurities that are growing the more he stared and stayed silent. However, all that stops when you glance back at your husband and he gives you a come hither motion with his index finger. “Kento,” you say his name softly, “I thought you were asleep—”
“Come here,” is all he says to you, his voice low and baritone. You easily comply with his words, taking small strides to get closer to the male. “Hand me your nightgown.”
“I thought it was Hana that knocked,” you say quietly as you hand your husband your nightgown, further revealing your naked body. You can hear Kento’s breath hitch for a mere moment before he quickly regains his composure — however, it is already so fragile. He swiftly wraps the towel around your body before pulling you closer to him, his hands resting on your hips while he leans closer to your face with stern eyes. “You’re lucky that it was me, then. What were you thinking about going out of the bath like that? What if it wasn’t Hana or I that walked in?”
“I didn't want to stay in the bath anymore, and I genuinely believed that my maids would be the only ones to walk in. Because of that, I didn’t feel too worried.” You answer your husband softly, squeezing his shoulder ever so slightly. “Despite you giving me a bit of a surprise, I can’t say that I’d rather have Hana come here instead of you.”
“Is that so? That’s a relief, then. I did tell her that I’d take care of the rest and she could rest for the night.” He hummed, before lifting you up in his arms without any warning, immediately eliciting a surprised gasp from your lips.
“W-what are you doing?” You question your husband, stammering as you instinctively place your hand onto his chest.
“You know, after you played your little game earlier, I wasn’t able to do my work properly.” says Kento, opening the bathroom door. “I believe you should bear some sort of responsibility, no?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter under your breath, masking a soft grin as you nuzzle your face into your husband’s neck.
“Putting a baby inside you,” he says, a slight strain present in his baritone voice as he continues walking down the hall with your towel-covered body in his arms. The walk down to your shared bedroom feels like an eternity has passed, the sounds of his footsteps resonating across the quiet hall. You want to question him where the rest of maids and butlers had gone but you relented, your body tense under the man’s carnal gaze.
“If fucking a baby inside of you is what you want, then it’s what you’ll get. It’s what my sweet wife asked for, after all.”
“H-Honey, what are you—?”
With one hand, Kento swiftly opens the bedroom door. You let out a small shriek when he throws you on the soft mattress of your king-sized bed, his large hands pinning your hands above your head. He has this carnal glint in his amber eyes as he stares deeply into yours, it was as if all his self-control was beginning to crumble right before your eyes — you’ve never seen him like this; a cool, composed and reserved man looking so disheveled above you—his dress shirt buttoned loosely, revealing his collarbones and the evident incarnadine flush radiating onto his cheeks. Truly, it is a delicious sight to behold, and the wetness dwelling between your legs only seems to grow the longer you stare at the man.
“What a lewd woman, you are.” He mutters, his grip on your wrists tightening while his other hand trails down your chest, slowly pulling the towel down. “Was my sweet wife having fun playing teatime after leaving me to take care of this?”
Before you can even utter a word, a sudden gasp leaves your lips when Kento grinds his hips against yours; the delightful friction of the erection growing in his trousers rubbing against your clit, your back arching in hopes to get more. “I missed you,” you say between heavy breaths, “I missed you so much—Ah! Y-You’ve been so cooped up in your o-office lately and ngh..”
Your words were cut abruptly by his lips, teeths clashed and tongues intertwined while his rough and calloused fingers trail up your torso, towards your bare chest in a teasingly slow pace. A muffled moan leaves your lips, only to be covered by your husband’s lips, as he teases your already erect nipples.
“Tell me more,” said your husband, his lips leaving yours.
With heavy eyes, you watch Kento’s lips trail to where his hands once rested. His tongue swirls around the mound before sucking on your skin harshly, and you rest your fingers tangled in his blond locks as he continues to elicit those cute sounds coming from your swollen lips.
“You’ve been so busy with your duties as the duke, and—Mhhm..!—I-I’ve been feeling so alone these many nights while I longed for you, so so desperately. I love you so much Kento—Ah!” You mewl out those words in unadulterated wanton, your voice all shakey, it almost sounds embarrassingly pathetic when your husband is doing nothing more than teasing your breasts rather than fucking you relentlessly in the mattress. You can barely care less about how you sound though, because his lips and touch alone are enough to send you into ecstasy. You want him to touch you more. The needy ache between your legs continuously grows more intense the longer he teases you.
“H-Honey, ‘want more. Please.” You beg your husband, your fingers desperately trying to unbutton his wrinkled dress shirt. “I need more of you.”
Kento doesn’t reply back, continuing his little ministrations on your neglected mound. It is adorable seeing him so focused on pleasuring you, but the heat you feel in your pussy feels too overwhelming. You push your husband’s head away from your mound, his lips leaving your skin with a soft ‘pop!’ He glances at you questioningly.
It was a bold and sudden decision that you had made on a whim out of sheer desperation, but his reaction made it all the more worth it. As soon as your fingers leave his half-buttoned dress shirt, you hook your arms underneath your knees and spread your legs open, revealing your cunt drenched in your desperate juices. “Kento, I mean it when I told you that I wanted you to put a baby in me.”
His mouth is left agape at your sudden boldness, his eyes fixated on the juices slowly dripping out of your hole — his breath gets stuck in his throat as he watches your small fingers spread your pussy lips apart. “Kento, touch me. Please.”
“Shit.”
It is almost as if the string has finally snapped inside of him, because before his mind can even start to think properly, his hands are on your thighs, keeping your legs spread apart as he begins the merciless assault on your dripping folds; his tongue lapping at all your wetness as if he was animal thirsty for water. Kento almost groans at the way his finger stretches your pussy, his finger sliding in almost immediately due to your juices. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, “you’re so wet for me.”
He slides his index finger in and out before adding a second finger to the mix. He starts off slow, but his pace gradually quickens to that of which is considered merciless. The sounds of your wet cunt getting demolished by his fingers echoes in the grand room, along with your cries of pleasure. Your hips thrash against his fingers, and you can feel the sensation of pressure that was building up in your abdomen intensifying the more that he pleases you with his large fingers. Within less than a second, you cum intensely around his fingers, a loud moan erupting from your throat as your body slumps against Kento.
‘His fingers feel so much better compared to my fingers,’ you think to yourself as you try to recover from your first orgasm.
While you attempt to catch your breath, you glance back to Kento only to watch him undress with your mouth salivating. It’s already a given that your husband would be incredibly fit as he often trains with the knights and hunts (while not forgetting the night you had consummated with him in the dark the past few months ago — you felt every crevice of his muscles) — but now, seeing it up close and so clearly — he is truly a sight to behold. You reach your arm towards his chiseled abdomen, your fingers drawing hearts across his skin, and your eyes travel lower past his abdomen; staring intently at the huge tent growing beneath his underwear. You want to get fucked by this man already, so so bad.
“Kento,” you say his name softly, tracing your fingers along the outline of your husband’s clothed erection before trailing back up to the waistband, tugging it down slightly to expose more of his v-line. He tugs his boxers down completely, and your mouth immediately waters at the exquisite sight. He is a lot bigger than you had remembered.
When he slowly rubs the tip of his dick against your folds, shivers trickle down your spine as you raise your hips to meet his, attempting to get him inside.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He mumbles, his voice hoarse. “Look at you all spread open for me, desperate to get a taste of my cock.”
He slips his tip in, eliciting a sharp breath past your trembling lips, and then he pulls out. You whine out his name in a bated breath, your cheeks flushed in an incarnadine hue. Kento spares you a soft smile, almost as if it was mocking you, before he fills your hole up to the very brim — splitting your pussy open.
“Oh fuck—Kento!” A scream slips past your lips, your eyes scrunched shut as a huge wave of pleasure rushes through your veins, sending goosebumps on your skin. Your husband is relentless with his movements, your legs spread apart by his strong grip. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours along with cries of his name resonates across the bedroom, coupled with the intense squeaking from the mattress. “F-Feels so good—Ahn! Please—Please don’t stop—Oh!”
“You dirty woman,” Kento sneers, “we’ve just started and your pussy’s already so greedy for my cum by how tight you’re squeezing me. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to get my sweet wife pregnant—filled with all my cum.”
With that, he spreads your legs even wider and leans his torso closer to yours; his face merely centimeters away from yours. “I can feel you getting tighter,” He says, his hot breath fanning against your skin, “you’re getting real close, hm?”
He doesn’t give you a chance to properly reply though, as he trails his one hand down to your clit and rubs rough circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting a silent scream—your mouth agape and eyes rolled back as you ride out your orgasm, arching your back against his chest.
You are barely given enough time to recover when Kento returns to work, his lips instantly connecting to yours while he thrusts his cock inside your sopping hole with a stuttering pace. His hands travel up to your breasts and gives them a harsh squeeze, the pace of his thrusts quickening. Your husband looks utterly delectable, his face scrunched up as he focuses on your pleasure, small beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. Pleasure fills your veins, and your cries only increase in volume the closer you are to reaching your second orgasm.
Thoughts of you being all plumped up and pregnant play repeatedly in his mind, and it merely ignites his desire to pump all his cum into you. Breaths ragged, he stuffs his head into the crook of your neck, nails gripping into your hips as he continues to plummet into you. “K-Kento—!” You wantonly whine out his name, wrapping your legs tightly around your husband’s hips. “Cum inside me—please. Want your kids so bad.”
How can he not cum? Especially when the sight of his sweet wife being drunk on his dick is right before his eyes. With a groan (combined with a growl) of your name along with a string of curses leaving his lips, he stiffens up inside you; warm ropes of his cum coating your walls white.
Upon pulling out, he watches large beads of white leaking out of your hole and he sticks his finger inside, pushing his cum back inside. You released a soft sigh in pleasure, your legs slightly twitching at your husband’s touch.
“How are you feeling now?” Questions your husband, Kento. You reach your arm out to his face, your thumb tracing light circles on his cheekbones.
“I’m a happy, happy wife,” you reply to him, laughing softly before leaning into his lips, giving him a soft peck. Kento chuckles lightly into the kiss. “Was I too rough with you?” He asks you once more, and you shake your head immediately.
“I think I’ve realized just now how much I enjoy being manhandled by you,” you reply back to him, giggling. “Rather, I enjoy seeing this new side of you.”
Your giggles quickly gets replaced by a slight gasp when your husband suddenly adjusts your position, your face and chest now pressed against the mattress with your husband behind you, his hand lightly rubbing his erect cock. Swiftly, you turn your head to Kento, your mouth agape as you are just about to question him but the sting of his hand on your ass immediately erases all rational thoughts in your mind. Heat immediately rushes to your face once more at the foreign, yet pleasurable sensation.
“K-Kento,” you are able to utter your husband’s name, your arms already feeling weak from holding yourself up from the mattress. A shaky breath leaves your lips when he slowly rubs his cock against you from behind, your ears picking up a hoarse chuckle.
“I never said I was done with you,” Kento tells you, “not until I’m sure that you’ll get pregnant with all my cum.”
interactions + reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! thank you for reading <3
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kanthony thoughts: rivals to lovers done right
I usually prefer Enemies to Lovers to Rivals to Lovers. What is the difference I see there, you might ask? Enemies are on opposite sides of a serious, life and death conflict, and rivals have issues with each other, but their rivalry takes place within the realm of everyday life. For me, I can forgive bad behavior within a serious conflict more easily than if the Rivals to Lovers couple goes over the top in a less serious situation.
I said all that to say: Kanthony is Rivals to Lovers done right. Below are the reasons I see for why.
1- The writers keep putting them in situations where everyone around them is feeling competitive - horse racing, the yearly Bridgerton pall-mall game, the hunt. If everyone around them has their blood up and is vying with each other, it's understandable that the situation brings out the competitive energy and Belligerent Sexual Tension they're both feeling for each other. They don't seem to be going over the top because of some inner excessive pettiness; they're caught up in the spirit of the thing and it's unleashing their repressed feelings for each other.
2- They are both competitive but also "good sports" - they conduct themselves honorably in these scenarios. No cheating, no getting too personal in their swipes at each other. They both love to compete and to win and hate to lose and they're bubbling over with repressed passion for each other, but they'll accept defeat without being childish or over the top mean. They maintain a sense of perspective, even when they're being passionate.
3- Their banter is either sincere or appropriately artful. Example: at the soiree, after Kate hears Anthony talking about ladies as chattels to the other men, she takes a huge risk in confronting him about it- this is a very rich and powerful man and she is a smart person, she knows keeping her secrets close is the safest and best way to do things in her situation. But she cares about him and hates that he'd talk like that - so she speaks up. She longs to connect with him, to understand why he could say such a thing. For his part, he cares that she's so hurt by what he said, he cares about her opinion of him. They matter to each other. This is the "sincerity" category of banter.
Kate saves her sharpest words for when they're alone, communicating two things (1) she likes this man enough that she's willing to risk being alone with him and tell him her truth and (2) he's eager to interact to the point of being willing to take that from her. He's willing to say "why do you hate me?" and truly want to earn her good opinion.
The other kind of banter, the appropriately artful kind, is told indirectly through the competitive games they play. For example: at the horse race she uses talking about horses--and how Anthony has simply chosen the one everyone is choosing--to criticize him for seemingly choosing Edwina simply because the Queen has named her the diamond of this season. But their byplay is all indirect - neither is aiming to wound or publicly humiliate the other. They want to win, but not destroy.
Good "Screwball Comedy" era films (1930s-40s) did Rivals to Lovers this way too - the couple would banter *over something* with subtext going harder but the surface not being too personal - that's the art to good Rivals to Lovers, the delicate balance. It can't feel too much, too mean, or too little.
4 - They are quick to have empathy and compassion for each other. They try to truly listen and see things from each other's point of view. The best example of this, to me, is the end of the pall-mall game - sure, they've been competitive. But Kate shares that she sees herself as a guardian for Edwina, like Anthony is for his sisters. And Anthony not only respects that - he says he sincerely wishes to earn her good favor. For her part, when her parting shot of the ball goes awry, landing near Anthony's father's grave, Kate senses something wrong and cares - she tries to understand how Anthony is feeling and why. She regrets if she "crossed the line" and went too personal - she's aware there IS a line and their rivalry doesn't justify wounding him deeply, even unintentionally. Anthony treats her with the same consideration as well.
This point is VITAL to cross from rivals to lovers - they both want to understand and have compassion and empathy for each other. As they learn more and connect more, the rivalry part wanes (though they'll always love being competitive together - in a sportsmanlike way!) and the desire to connect and understand intensifies. It feels organic as the shift happens because both components have been part of things all along - the urge to compete and the urge to care and understand.
5- They are explicitly paralleled as similar people who have hurt the same way (and tried to cope with that pain similarly). This is true of my favorite EtL ships: the baddie is often symbolically representing part of the goodie or a dark mirror of them etc. RtL often foregoes this so the rival is, like... just some random jerk?? But when they're mirrors or connected on a deeper level, compassion and empathy for the other is compassion and empathy for themselves too - vitally important with two people who don't "listen" to their own hearts like Kate and Anthony. They've buried them deep - but they can "hear" by listening to each other and caring. They can process their own feelings that way and learn self-compassion and self expression.
It's really good and if more Rivals to Lovers was done this well I'd love it! The writing here is certainly a template I'd turn to for inspiration if I ever write an RtL pairing.
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eyes wide open
pairing: theodore nott x f! reader
summary: you discover that there is so much more to theodore nott than you thought.
content: gryffindor! reader, semi-nsfw (characters are 18+)
word count: 5.46k
You have never spoken to Theodore Nott before. You’ve him around a lot, usually with Mattheo Riddle or Lorenzo Berkshire, and he is a regular on the quidditch team — a chaser — so you’d see him zoom by during matches. He’s also in a majority of your classes for this year, which lets you observe him from afar. But past that, you’ve never really had much to do with him beyond seeing him with Malfoy and witnessing how he stands quietly — with either a small smirk or a look of complete apathy on his face — while Malfoy and your friends argue back and forth.
Having class with Theodore Nott has let you learn three things about him: he’s quiet, whip-sharp, and unbelievably handsome. You didn’t need classes with him to know the last one is a well-known fact; he’s constantly noted as one of the most attractive of your classmates. “Shame he’s a Slytherin,” Lavender Brown once said to you, which had made you roll your eyes and retort, “And what’s wrong with that?” It had gotten you into a big fight and you don’t think she’s spoken to you since, not that you’ve really wanted her to.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Ron asks you as he, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny stand at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. “Mum would love to have you. She’s always banging on about what a lovely girl you are and how polite you were.”
“And I’m sure Fred would love to see you,” Ginny adds.
You snort, “I’m really sure. But please give my regards to your mother and Fred.”
“Will do,” Ginny says with a two-finger salute.
Your friends say their farewells as they leave through the portrait hall. You flop against the plush velvet of the couch, staring at the roaring fire. Your parents were on a months-long that brought them to see famous wizarding landmarks so you’re stuck at Hogwarts for the holiday. You’re a little disappointed that you won’t be with your family but another part of you is excited to be in the castle when it’s less populated. You’ll finally get to make your way through the massive pile of books you have at your bedside since you’re usually caught up in listening to and gossiping with your roommates.
You head up to your room, empty except for you and your owl hooting in his cage. You wiggle your fingers inside, Ramses rubbing his feathery head against them. You grab the first book from the top of your pile, turning the leather-bound edition over in your hand. Hermione gifted it to you for your last birthday: William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. You shimmy into your gold and red striped sweater and tuck the book underneath your arm, walking down to the dining hall for dinner.
Students are scattered around the Great Hall, some chattering with their friends while others eat silently. The ceiling has shifted to depict a clear night sky, floating candles casting an orange glow. You spot Mattheo Riddle alone at the Slytherin tables but the way he keeps looking to the door makes you assume he’s waiting for a friend. You settle down on a bench all to yourself, piling your plate with the mouthwatering selections available to you.
You rest your chin on your fist, cracking open the play. You get only a few pages in when you hear a familiar low voice. “All alone, little lion?” His eyes examine you and you suddenly feel too exposed despite your layers.
You come face-to-face with Theodore Nott and his sea blue eyes. He regards you coolly and you ask, “Can I help you, Nott?”
He points at your copy of Romeo and Juliet. “Where’d you get that?”
You furrow your brow in confusion. Why in Godric’s name is Theodore Nott of all people interested in a Muggle book. You respond, “Hermione gave it to me. Why?”
“It’s hard to find Muggle books here,” he says. His eyes linger on the play. “Think I could borrow it when you’re finished?”
Your brain stalls, questions floating around your head. “Sure,” you finally answer. He nods and neither of you say anything more. The quiet that falls between you two makes you tense and you say, “Is that all, Nott?”
He considers and then says, “I think so.” He heads to the Slytherin tables without another word, sitting beside Mattheo, who’s been watching on keenly. You catch his stare and he smirks, raising a hand in a casual wave. Theodore smacks his shoulder and pulls Mattheo’s hand down.
You sigh, shake your head in disbelief, and go back to reading the play.
It’s been a few days since your encounter with Theodore, but the interaction sticks with you. Every time you open up the play, you’re reminded of it and your curiosity returns tenfold.
It’s odd being at school when it’s this empty. You’ve managed to occupy yourself by playing Wizard’s Chess with some fifth years, helping Professor Flitwick organize his classroom and the Frog Choir’s practice room, and working on knitting gifts to give you friends when they return.
You’re sitting in the Gryffindor common room, working on Harry’s scarf, when you spill a cup of tea one of the house elves had made for you. Cursing, you move your knitting out of the way and survey the damage to your sweatshirt. With a groan, you gather your things and bring them to your dorm, blotting out the growing stain with water and letting it dry over the edge of the bathtub.
You slip into a forest green sweater and throw a brown corduroy jacket over it. You grab your copy of Romeo and Juliet and head down to the Black Lake. The cold breezes nip at your cheek and carries the scent of pine trees, which you inhale gratefully. You plop yourself underneath a tree on the shore of the lake, reclining against the trunk and cracking open the book.
You’re not even a page in when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Your hold on your book tightens but you peer up, watching Theodore approach. He’s in a dark wool overcoat and similarly dark trousers, hands tucked into his coat pockets. His strides are leisurely and long, reaching you in only a handful of steps.
He stands tall in front of you, shadow cast long in the afternoon sun. His gaze roams over you and he says, “Isn’t wearing green considered treacherous for you?”
You’re confused for a second before you follow his line of sight and glance down at your own sweater. Right. You reply, “No more than it would be for you to wear red.”
The corner of his lip twitches up in a small, half-smile and he says, “High treason then.”
You echo your words from earlier in the week: “Can I help you, Nott?”
He ignores your question, instead choosing to tip his chin at your book. “What part are you at?”
“Mercutio’s died in his duel with Tybalt.”
He nods and recites, “‘A plague o’ both your houses. They have made worms’ meat of me: I have it, and soundly too: your houses.’”
You don’t bother to hide your surprise. “You’ve read it?”
“Haven’t most people?”
“Sure, most people know the story but they don’t usually read it.
“I’ve read it a couple of times,” he admits. He adds, “My mother’s favorite book.”
“I see. Is that why you want to borrow it from me?”
“Yeah.”
Silence falls between the pair of you. Distantly, there’s a cry of crows. Theodore is still standing above you, gazing down, and you squirm a little. He then says, “I always liked Benvolio.”
You’re reminded that Theodore’s half-Italian in the way he says ‘Benvolio,’ accent smooth and lilting. It suddenly feels a little too warm under your coat but you ignore it. You instead blurt out, “Of course you would. You’re kind of like him.”
Theodore raises one eyebrow and you feel your face heat even more, embarrassed, and you hope he doesn’t take it as a bad thing. He doesn’t seem offended though and asks, “Oh, how so?”
“I mean,” you say, “you are— well, you seem like the most reasonable of your friends. A mediator of some sort.”
“That sounds about right,” he says. “You remind me of Juliet.”
“Really? Why’s that?” You’re not sure if you should take it as a good thing or not.
“Well, she has a solid set of beliefs and stands up for them. She knows herself; she tells her parents that she doesn’t want to marry Paris, not just because she’s in love with Romeo but also because she knows she’ll be unhappy. What is it she says? ‘Now, by Saint Peter’s Church, and Peter too, he shall not make me there a joyful bride! I wonder at this haste, that I must wed ere he that should be husband comes to woo.’”
Theodore’s mouth lifts in a tiny, lopsided smile again and he says, “Plus, she’s the one most of the guys fawn over, right?”
You’re left to gape at him in shock and awe, processing what he just said as he turns and walks back to the castle along the shore, just outside the gentle lapping of the water. You watch his retreating figure, watch as he grows smaller and smaller and eventually disappears.
You don’t get much reading done, the book remaining open in your lap and your eyes fixed on the spot where Theodore once stood.
You sit there until the top curve of the sun is just peeking out over the horizon and you stand, still a tad dazed, and make your long walk back to Hogwarts.
It’s just past one in the morning and you can’t sleep, tossing and turning fitfully. Theodore Nott and his long shadow and his blue eyes keep appearing behind your eyelids, no matter how much you try to shove the thoughts out. You want to bang your head on one of the wooden poles holding up the canopy of your four-poster bed, but you opt for sliding on your slippers and going down to the kitchens to see if the house elves have any leftover brownies from dinner. Maybe they could warm up a mug of hot cocoa for you too.
You shuffle through the hallway, the chill of the castle waking you up. You rub your hands along your arms, wishing you had worn something over your pajamas. Since it’s break, restrictions about when and where students could go are essentially non-existent. You pass Filch, who scowls at you, clearly aggrieved that he can’t punish you for being out of bed, and Nearly-Headless Nick, who greets you cheerfully and questions you as to why you’re up at such a time. “Can’t sleep,” you explain. “I’m checking if the elves have any midnight snacks for me.”
He chuckles, “An excellent reason but don’t stay up too late, or you’ll wind up like me!” He laughs hard at his joke and you can’t help but giggle, bidding him a goodnight as you descend into the basement.
You nearly run right into Theodore as you approach the kitchens. You jump at least a foot, clasping your hands over your chest. “Merlin’s beard, you scared me!”
“Could say the same for you,” he says. “Nice pajamas.”
You forgot you were in a tank top and shorts. You cross your arms and say, “You seem awfully fixated on my clothes, Nott.” You try to look as threatening as you can but the slight tremble to your body takes away any effect.
Theodore rolls his eyes and slides the robe he donned over his striped pajamas off, holding it out to you. When you don’t take it, he just throws it over your shoulders, the weight comfortable and warm. You say, “You keep popping up out of nowhere. Are you stalking me or something?”
He snorts, “You would never know if I was. But no, Mattheo’s snoring kept me up. I figured I should take advantage of my insomnia and grab some brownies from dessert.”
“Great minds think alike then,” you say.
You and Theodore walk down the corridor towards the kitchen when he asks, “Have you finished the book?”
“No, didn’t get a lot of reading done after you left.”
“Did I distract you that much?” He looks smug, smirking, and it’s your turn to roll your eyes.
“In your dreams.”
“Yeah,” he says. “When do you think you’ll finish?”
“Bloody hell, you’re impatient,” you groan, rubbing your temples. You’re not sure what possesses you, if it’s your sleep-deprived brain or something else but you suggest, “How about this? You grab brownies and cocoa for us and I’ll get the damn book and we’ll meet in the Clock Tower and read it together.”
Theodore considers it for a moment before he says, “Alright. I’ll meet you there in fifteen.”
“Perfect.” You scurry back to the Gryffindor dorms. Nearly-Headless Nick queries as to where your snacks are but you don’t answer, moving swiftly. You enter your dorm room, only pausing for a moment to catch your breath. Your heart is pounding but you can’t tell if it’s from the journey or from the thought of sitting alone in the Clock Tower with Theodore Nott. You don’t let yourself dwell on it and you pick up Romeo and Juliet and climb the stairs to the Clock Tower.
Theodore has beaten you there, already sitting up against the glass of the clock. The frost on the glass obstructs some of the moonbeams streaming in but it’s just enough light to read. In the moonlight, Theodore’s hair looks lighter and more burnt golden than brown. He takes a sip of his cocoa and holds out a ceramic mug to you as you settle next to him. You accept it gratefully, plucking a brownie from the plate between you two.
You flip through the play to find where you left off, the page dog-earred. Theodore makes a sound at the back of his throat. “What?”
“Don’t you have a bookmark or something?”
“No. Leave my marking choices out of it.”
He snickers and leans over you to get a better look at the text. Your shoulders brush and you’re all too aware that he smells of chocolate and sandalwood. His smell is clean and distinct; his robe smells like that too.
As you two begin to read, Theodore tells you to turn back or move forward. You eventually figure out a rhythm, knowing exactly when to do so. You’re about ten minutes into reading when you feel Theodore’s gaze on you. You remain still, wondering if he’ll stop but when he doesn’t you mumble, “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Staring.”
“Does it bother you?”
“It feels like you can see into my soul.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Does it bother you?”
You pause. “I don’t… I don’t know.” A beat. “Why are you?”
“Why am I what?”
“Staring at me.”
His voice drops, somehow deeper than you have ever heard it. “Because I like to.”
Your head whips to him but no words leave your mouth. He regards you carefully and asks again, “Does that bother you?”
You hesitate. Then, “No, it doesn’t.”
He hums and you think he’ll do… something but he just ducks his head back down to read and you let out of the breath you didn’t know you were holding, disappointment pooling in your stomach. You don’t know what you wanted him to do. You don’t know why you’re disappointed.
You two read until your eyes grow heavy. You struggle to keep your lids open, head jolting up when you realize you’re drifting off. Theodore taps your shoulder and says, “We can stop here. Pick up another time.”
“Yeah,” you murmur, standing and stretching. You stifle a yawn and remember you have his robe on. You begin to take it off but he says, “Keep it. You can give it back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, tomorrow. Same time, same place?”
“Okay.”
It doesn’t take you long to finish the play with Theodore only two days later. You noticed that Theodore read slower than before, telling you multiple times per session to go back a couple of pages.
Your eyes follow the last line: For never was a story of more woe / Than this of Juliet and her Romeo, and you close the book with a dull thump. You sit in silence with Theodore, listening to the clock hand turn to the next minute. You stay like that for a while. You sip on the spiced hot chocolate the house elves prepared for you. You share sugar cookies with Theodore that are shaped like snowflakes.
“So,” you start, breaking the silence, “this is your mother’s favorite book?”
He nods. “I think she read it a lot when her parents arranged for her to marry my father.”
“Oh.” You don’t know what else to say, adding lamely, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Silence.
“Can I ask you something?” you ask.
“Yeah.”
“Why did you stay here over break?”
He stiffens, expression unreadable. He glances over at you and finally sighs. “My father’s trial is happening right around now. My family doesn’t want any of the kids around this so…” He motions to the Clock Tower, adding, “My siblings are either at their own schools or with my grandmother.”
Your heart aches at the frown on his face and you bite the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to proceed. You’re thankful when Theodore moves on. “What about you?”
“Oh, my parents are on a sight-seeing cruise so they’re not home. I got a postcard today, though, they’re in Japan now.”
“I’ve never been. How’s it look?”
“Pretty. They said their tour guide told them the best time to come is when the cherry blossoms bloom. I would like to go.”
“We’ll go together then.”
He says it with a finality that makes you shy. “When?” is all you can ask.
“Someday.”
You haven’t seen Theodore in a couple of days, an odd thing to try and get used to when you’ve just adjusted to him popping up wherever you are. You assume that he’s done with you now that you finished Romeo and Juliet.
It all makes your heart sink.
You’re alone in the common room, wrapping up your gifts for your friends. You stack Harry’s scarf on top of Hermione’s mittens, Ron’s socks, and Ginny’s hat, and you lean against the couch with a huff.
You think about the spare red yarn sitting in your room. You think there’s just enough to make another scarf.
Theodore’s face flashes in your mind’s eye and you run a hand down your face in frustration. Whatever weird thing you had with Theodore is over. He’s probably out with Mattheo at the Three Broomsticks or something. You’ve seen them there before along with Enzo, Blaise, Draco, and Pansy as well as just with each other, usually flirting with girls there.
You didn’t used to think much of it — just scoffed along with Ron and Hermione — but now the thought makes your stomach churn.
You think about the extra yarn in your room again and you almost can’t believe that, despite his disappearing act, you’ve decided you’ll knit a scarf for Theodore Nott.
Almost.
You’re greeted with a delicious Sunday roast for dinner on Christmas Eve: tender roasted beef, warm Yorkshire puddings, fluffy mashed potatoes, and a side of jus from the beef. You sit by yourself once again, the loneliness threatening to swallow you whole as you plate your dinner.
Theodore seats himself right across from you and places a parcel wrapped in brown paper in front of you. You look at it in confusion and he says, “Open it.”
“What is it?”
“Christmas present.”
You raise a brow. “You got me a present?”
“Yes, now open it.”
“Shouldn’t I wait until tom—” The sharp look he gives you makes you set your fork aside and tug on the string of the bow. There are two books inside. The first is a copy of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, similarly leather-bound like Romeo and Juliet, and the second one is an ornately-decorated collector’s edition of Romeo and Juliet.
Your jaw falls open and you whisper, “Theodore…”
He says, “Figured that we can read Macbeth together. It’s a personal favorite of mine.”
Your fingers trace the golden embossment of Romeo and Juliet, swooping down to follow the curve of the ‘J.’ “Where did you even get this?”
“Sent a lot of letters and had Mattheo help me pull strings at Flourish and Blotts.”
Your face is on fire but you grin at Theodore and say, “Thank you so much.”
“Happy Christmas,” he says and you catch the pink at the tips of his ears.
“I actually have something for you too,” you say and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I’ll get it to you after dinner.”
“I’ll come with,” he says and you nod. You wonder if he’ll get up but he stays put, taking a plate and serving himself dinner.
You two talk quietly in between bites and something dawns on you halfway through. “Where’s Mattheo?” You look over your shoulder and can’t find the other Slytherin boy.
Theodore smirks. “Might’ve slipped him a couple of galleons to leave us alone.” Your cheeks heat pleasantly.
You two finish dinner after that and Theodore walks you to the Fat Lady’s portrait. She eyes him suspiciously, glaring at you. “You know students from other Houses aren’t permitted in the Gryffindor dorm.”
You disregard her and give her the password. Begrudgingly and with one last glower at you and Theodore, the portrait swings open and you step inside. Theodore peers around the common room and says, “Never been in here before.”
“Some Gryffindor girl hasn’t taken you back with her?” you ask but you instantly regret your teasing words. The thought of Theodore with someone else (Lavender Brown comes to mind and you scowl internally) makes you queasy.
“Can’t say that it’s happened,” he says, shooting you a cocky smirk. “You’d be the first.”
“I’m honored. Wait right here.”
Theodore flops on the couch and sighs in satisfaction. “So much more comfortable than Slytherin’s.”
“Yeah?” you ask as you retreat up the stairs. He shouts after you that Slytherin’s couches, while not wholly terrible, are stiff whereas your common room’s are plush and cushy.
Theodore’s scarf, knit in a red cashmere, lays innocuously on your bed. You’re abruptly self-conscious of it; Theodore got you two beautiful and likely expensive books and you knit him a measly scarf in colors that aren’t his House’s.
Merlin, you think, what if he hates it? Only one way to find out, you suppose. With a deep breath, you pick it up and hide it behind your back. You peek into the common room, where Theodore lounges on the couch, his figure long and relaxed. His shirt has ridden up a little and you spy a sliver of the toned muscle of his stomach.
“Close your eyes,” you say. You watch his eyes shut, unfairly long lashes brushing his cheekbone. You creep into the room, halting in front of him. The flames dancing in the fireplace are the only excuse you can come up with for why you’re so warm. “Hold out your hands.”
He sits up straight and does as he’s told. You say, “It’s not wrapped.”
“That’s alright.”
You inhale, exhale, and gingerly place the scarf in his hands. He opens his eyes and inspects the scarf, rubbing the knit yarn in between his fingers. You hold your breath.
His face breaks into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him. He looks—
He looks beautiful. He’s always handsome, yes, but he’s beautiful here.
“This is really nice. You make it yourself?”
You hum in affirmation and he loops it around his neck, standing and spinning around playfully. “How do I look?”
“I think red’s definitely your color,” you tell him, your own cheeks hurting from how widely you’re beaming.
Theodore takes a step closer, his shoes nearly knocking into yours. The glee in his expression morphs slowly into something different. It’s not anything bad, but it’s somehow more intense and softer than before. “Thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome. Thank you again for the books.”
“You’re welcome.”
The fireplace crackles, embers spitting.
You’re not sure who moves first. Your mouths crash against each other like waves against a bluff, all lips and teeth and tongue. Your hands are everywhere, in his hair, clutching his shoulders, cupping his face. His hands are just as frantic, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing you tight against him.
You two come up for air but you don’t surface for long. Despite the way he’s worked up, he’s careful in unwinding the scarf from his neck and draping it over a nearby arm chair. Then, he’s on you again, pulling you flush against him.
He guides you to his lap as he sits back on the couch, lips never leaving yours. You straddle his thighs, tugging lighty at his curls. He moans into your mouth. Your hips move against his. His fingers, long and cold, creep under your shirt and send a shiver down your spine.
His mouth only leaves yours to latch onto your neck, sucking and licking and nipping. You whine and push yourself against him harder, your hands clumsily trying to undo the buttons of his shirt. He helps you, flinging it off his shoulders, and pulling your own off your torso.
“Fuck,” he groans, chest heaving as he takes in the view of you. He’s staring at you like you’re some sort of goddess. “Fuck, you’re beautiful, amorina.”
You melt under his gaze. His ocean blue eyes are a little glazed and his mouth is kiss-swollen and ajar. Godric, he’s one to talk. You lean in closer, tracing his jaw and letting your hand trail down his neck, his chest, down to his stomach. You graze the top of his trousers and lightly scrap your nails over the skin just above. He hisses, hips bucking, and before you can say anything to him, he’s yanking you down for a kiss.
It’s slower, no less passionate but less frenzied, and you only break apart to whisper, “Bedroom, Nott.”
He doesn’t say another word, springing from the couch, grabbing the scarf you made him, and dragging you up to your dorm. As soon as he’s inside, he sets the scarf on your bedside table and pushes you down onto the mattress, climbing on after you.
You squeal as he peppers kisses along your neck. “Theo,” he murmurs against the skin of your collarbone. “Call me Theo.”
“Okay,” you say, testing it out. “Theo.” His hips slot against yours once more and you cant your up. He slips a hand down your pants and when he presses his palm against you, you whine, “Theo!”
Another rumbling moan, “Amorina, you don’t know what you do to me.” Another long, hard kiss. Your hands move to unbutton his trousers.
You don’t care how sweaty and sticky you are as you lay panting against Theo’s chest, feeling the way it rises and falls in rapid succession. You listen to his racing heartbeat and he places a sweet kiss to the top of your head.
As you two catch your breath, Theo says, “I think Juliet should have gone with Benvolio.”
You look at him like he’s crazy. “That’s really what you’re thinking about?”
He winks at you. “Of course not. I’ve been thinking about it since we finished the book.”
You slap his chest playfully and ask the obvious question: “Why do you think so?”
“Well, you said I’m like Benvolio and I told you you remind me of Juliet.”
“Huh?” You think for a couple of seconds and then it clicks. “Oh!” You take in Theo’s half-lidded eyes staring at you. “Oh…”
He dips down to kiss you again.
Over the break, you’ve expanded on what you know about Theodore Nott. One, he’s quiet because he’s thoughtful, always observing, always analyzing, and storing away information for whatever purpose he’d like to use it for.
Two, he’s whip-sharp — you see it in the way he can quote Shakespeare plays like second-nature; in how he easily banters with you, always coming back with a swift reply and a cheeky smile.
Lastly, he’s unbelievably handsome. You knew this before but it’s different now. You admire the way he holds himself with an unflagging confidence, how he has these rare full-bellied laughs that make you crave the sound. But you think he’s most handsome when you sit together, cloistered away in the Clock Tower, reading Romeo and Juliet and now Macbeth together. You’re so close, you can smell the peppermint on his breath from the candy canes the house elves snuck you. You can see all the shades of blue in his eyes. You can count the beauty marks on his face.
This close, you can lean over and kiss him and delight in the way your heart thrums when he reciprocates, cradling your face and coaxing you into him.
You spend the majority of the rest of the break wrapped up in Theo’s arms. By the last day, you’re sure you have snuck each other into your dorms more times than either of you can count. You hang out a few times with Mattheo, who turns out to be not as bad as your friends make him out to be. He’s sharp and quick-witted like Theo with a tendency towards the dramatics that makes you laugh.
You’re sitting at the same spot underneath the tree at the Black Lake, Theo relaxing between your legs. He’s swaddled in the same black overcoat you saw him in before, only this time, the red scarf you knit is starkly bright against the coat. You card your fingers through his soft curls, ducking to peck his forehead. He tilts his head upwards and smiles boyishly at you and it makes you giggle, planting a kiss on his mouth. He brings your hand down to his lips, kissing each fingertip.
You relish the quiet with him, knowing that tomorrow will be a flurry of activity with students and faculty returning from winter holiday. It makes you sigh, the thought of leaving the little world you and Theo have created. Your relationship is only a couple of days old and you can’t deny that you’re anxious about your friends coming back.
As if sensing your nervousness, Theo sits up and spins around to face you. You attempt to plaster on a reassuring smile but it’s wobbly and uneasy. He cradles your face with one hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “What’s wrong, cara mia?”
“I don’t know,” you mumble. He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow with an expression that tells you he knows you’re lying. “What are we going to do when everyone comes back?”
“What do you mean?”
“Theo, our friends all despise each other.”
He replies, “So? Just because they don’t like each other doesn’t mean we can’t.” He kisses the back of your hand. “And I happen to like you very much.”
You smile weakly at him. “I know, and I like you very much as well. It’s just…” You can picture the dawning horror on Ron’s face and the grimaces on Hermione and Harry’s.
Theo’s mouth turns downward and he asks, “Why do you care what they think?”
“Don’t you care what your friends think?”
“No,” he says firmly, adding, “Plus, Mattheo likes you so who’s to say everyone else won’t?”
“Theo…”
He repeats, “Why do you care?”
“I just don’t want anything to ruin this, ruin us.”
“They can only ruin it if we let them and we won’t.”
“You don’t know that for sure! We’re still in the early stages of our relationship.”
“Do you not have faith that we’ll stay together?” he asks.
“I do! It’s—” You sigh in frustration, brow furrowed. “I just want to preserve what we have without outside influence. Please, can we just wait a little to tell everyone?”
You wish you didn’t see the way Theo’s expression falters, hurt passing across briefly before he wipes it away. He’s studying your face, eyes dark and unreadable but he nods. “Fine. But you have to promise me that it’s just for a little while.”
“I promise.”
“Alright. I’ll tell Mattheo not to open his big mouth.”
“Thank you, Theo,” you say. This time, you reach for his hand and peck his knuckles. His shoulders lose their tension and he bends towards you, mouth ghosting against your neck. You squeal and giggle and you feel him smile against your skin.
author's note: at long last, the theo nott fic i teased months ago... this fic was supposed to be a lot longer but i when i went back to college and hit a major writer's block, it just languished. i'm proud of what i've written, which is why i want to post it, but please excuse the kind of abrupt end. there is a potential continuation in the future <3
#theodore nott x reader#theo nott x reader#theodore nott#theo nott#theodore nott fic#theodore nott imagine#theodore nott scenarios#theo nott imagine#theodore nott x you#✶ nove writes
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Only an Almost (XIV)
Chapter 14: Heartbreak
Hi! Here comes a new chapter!
Alright, buckle up! We’re up for a wild ride! We are reaching the heights of the angsty mess, from this chapter all the way to chapter 17. Is our girl going to be an asshole? Yes, I’m afraid she’s about to fuck up big time...
Apologies for all the damage that is about to be made in this chapter.
It’s also the first chapter I wrote for this fic! It all started with this mess…
I hope you’ll like this chapter! Please, tell me what you think!
*************************************
Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU
Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!
Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
Word Count : 3450
Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist
It was 11pm, which was early for a night owl such as Andrew, but late for his friends. Neither Sam nor Daphne were nocturnal creatures, and so Andrew answered his phone in a hurry when Sam’s name appeared on the screen. Something had to be wrong. He suddenly wondered where he had put his car keys, in case he needed to leave in a hurry.
“Hello? Andy? It’s me. It’s Sam.”
“Yeah, I know, are you alright?” he asked with worry making his voice deeper than usual, pausing the tv-show he was watching, lounging on his comfortable sofa.
“Yeah, yeah…”
“It’s 11pm, is there something wrong? Is Daphne okay?”
“What? Oh, no! Don’t worry, we’re both fine!”
Andrew heaved a relieved sigh.
“God, don’t scare the shit out of me like that ever again…”
“Did I wake you? I thought you never went to sleep before dawn.”
“Vampires tend to do that indeed.”
“Whose blood did you drink this week?”
Andrew wanted to answer, but he heard Daphne pestering Sam about not having much time, and he merely frowned instead.
“Right… sorry, darling…” Sam mumbled through the phone. “Are you alone, Andy?”
“Erm… yes…?”
“Okay, erm… it’s… it’s about Y/N.”
Andrew sat straighter this time.
“Y/N? Is she okay? Did something happen?”
“No, no… I mean… she’s fine, but…”
“For fuck’s sake, Sam! Spit it out! What’s going on?”
“Look I… I know that you said that I couldn’t tell Daphne about you and Y/N… but Y/N told her, so we’ve talked about you two together…”
Andrew rolled his eyes, lying back down, resting his head on the armrest of the couch.
“It’s alright, Sam… I knew you’d break it to her sooner or later anyway.”
“No, Andy… look… have you talked to Y/N lately?”
Andrew frowned.
“Erm… I don’t know… about… three days ago. Why?”
“I think you should talk to her.”
“Why? Sam, what is it?”
There was a short silence, while the couple exchanged a glance, no doubt.
“Daphne thinks she might take a terrible decision,” Sam answered.
“What kind of decision? What are you talking about?”
Andrew was growing annoyed at this game of riddles. If something was wrong, he ought to know what it was…
But even if he insisted some more, Sam refused to speak.
“Just… call her, and tell her you love her. Tell her to choose you.”
“’Choose’ me? What do you mean?”
“Just… do it tomorrow, will you?”
“Alright, alright. I’ll call her tomorrow.”
“Good… good…”
When he hung up, Andrew stared at the ceiling for a while.
Choose me?
Andrew didn’t need to call you the next day. You were the one to call, and ask him if he was free tonight. You didn’t offer an activity, like you usually would: a movie on Netflix, the cinema, a walk, going to the beach, eating together… There was little ambiguity to the reason behind your demand, and Andrew wasn’t sure whether he was flattered or vexed by it.
He warned you that he wanted to talk to you about something tonight though, and you agreed. You had something to ‘discuss’ with him too. His heart dropped as you spoke those words through the phone. It ought to be some kind of bad news. Or maybe not. Maybe he was reading too much into this, and you meant… to talk about the upcoming wedding, or your job, or… something else entirely. He wondered if you knew that he meant to tell you that he felt more for you than what he had let on.
He parked his car in front of your house, but didn’t climb out just yet. First, he ran through his speech one last time.
I know that you are not looking for a relationship at the moment. But I want more than just sex when it comes to you. To us. Our arrangement can’t go on like this. Again, I understand that you are not in a position now where you want to be in a relationship. And that’s okay. If you tell me that you could give us a chance, I will wait for you. I’ll wait until you’re ready, until your job is more stable and you’ve figured things out in your life. I’ll wait until you want a relationship with me. I have feelings for you, feelings that go beyond a casual fling. And that’s the reason why I’m asking you now to give me a chance. To give us a proper chance…
No l-word yet, you might freak out if he used it. But this speech seemed good enough. Short, to the point. He had written six versions of it this morning.
He took a deep breath, before finally climbing out of his car and walking up to your house.
You were quick to unlock your door and welcome him in. You looked lovely tonight. But then, you were always beautiful…
You went through some meaningless chit-chat while Andrew took off his coat and shoes and followed you down the hall to your kitchen.
You offered him tea without asking if he wanted one. It was late afternoon, but not quite dinner time yet. He could have used some alcohol, but it would have been impolite to ask for some, so he thanked you when you handed him his favourite mug with two teabags plunged in warm water. He leaned against your kitchen counter, his back to your tiny window and your sink while you were facing him, a couple of steps away.
“You… you wanted us to talk about something,” Andrew reminded you, taking a sip of the warm beverage. “And I wanted to talk to you too, so… who should start?”
You were growing nervous, the signs were obvious. In your modern kitchen, there was a window above the sink that let in some golden light. The photons embraced your form, in a way that made Andrew’s heart skip a few beats.
You pushed back some hair behind your ear, pulled on the sleeves of your jumper. Andrew frowned at the sight.
“You’re alright? I can start…”
“No, I… I reckon I should start.”
“Okay.”
He was nervous beyond reason and measure. Andrew dried his clammy palms on his jeans, tried to breathe deeply through his nose, but his heart kept on pounding and his stomach was turning into knots…
You stared at each other for a moment, him expectant and you hesitant. He raised an eyebrow as a silent encouragement for you to speak, but you merely bit on your lower lip.
But then you heaved a sigh, crossed the distance between your bodies in a hurry. Andrew barely had time to blink, and you had grabbed him by the collar, pulling him down to you while you rose to your tiptoes so you could slam your lips to his. But kissing you was a habit by now, and a delicious one too. Andrew’s body was reacting on instinct as he kissed you back, messy and passionate and breathtaking. Your teeth bumped into his in your passion, but he didn’t mind. It was easy to deepen the kiss instead, cradle your face in his hands while you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, closer, always closer.
You were making his brain short-circuit, despite the important talk he wanted to have with you. You were everywhere, blurring his senses, making all traces of reason disappear…
Only when he felt your fingers travel down his chest and towards his belt did he stop you, pulling away.
“Wait, wait… stop…”
You immediately took a step back, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“You’re okay?”
“Yeah… yeah… I… look, we… We wanted to talk, like… I think we should, erm, talk before we…”
“Or we can have sex, and talk after that.”
“Is that wise?”
“Do we really need to be wise?”
It was tempting. Too tempting to resist. God, he couldn’t think about anything else but your lips, how inviting they looked, how he wanted to kiss your neck too, he could feel his fingers tickle at the thought of touching all these places of your body, entire landscapes of bare skin…
He blinked a couple of times, struggled to swallow, trying to calm down. But blood was pulsing in his ears, and when he tried to remember his carefully-crafted speech, he couldn’t remember a word…
Fuck all of this…
“Alright,” he nodded. “But we talk tonight… cause it’s important…”
“Deal. Deal. Can I kiss you now?”
“Yes… God, yes, please… please, kiss me…”
You were back in his arms in a second, hands in his hair at first, while his travelled along your frame, from chest to hips and arse, feeling your shape through your clothes. You detached your lips from his to take his hand and guide him to your bedroom.
“We should get dressed to talk,” Andrew proposed, his breathing finally settling back into a regular rhythm.
He threw his condom away in the tiny bean next to the door of your bathroom. He grabbed his underwear as he walked back to your bed and handed you your large jumper.
“You’re too beautiful not to be distracting,” he chuckled, only half-joking, while you put on the piece of garment he was giving you.
He noticed how you looked away, how you seemed uncomfortable, all of a sudden. Instead of joining you in bed once more, Andrew sat down on the edge of the mattress, right next to you.
“So… who should begin?” he asked, voice soft and a little timid. “I… like… actually, I think I should…”
“Andy, I… I think you should get dressed.”
He frowned at that remark, or rather… he frowned at the tone you used. Cold and distant, whispered, and your eyes were still fleeing his.
“Why? Am I distracting too?” he asked with a charming smile, forcing a chuckle out. But you didn’t laugh, merely brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.
Andrew’s nervous smile soon crumbled.
“Right,” he let out in a breath, blushing hard now, heart racing.
He grabbed his undershirt, slowly put it on while trying to swallow back the lump in his throat.
“Look, I… We should talk about… this arrangement of ours…” he started, but you interrupted him, blurting out words he wasn’t expecting so fast he second-guessed if he had heard you right.
“We need to stop sleeping together.”
He was half-bent to grab his pants when you spoke. He froze, looking up at you, cursing at his long hair when it fell before his eyes and hid you away. He stood back up in a jolt.
“What?”
“We… we need to stop this arrangement. Things have changed.”
And all of a sudden there was hope again, brighter than a sun and blinding every bit of reason in him… And he fell for it. No matter the odds, he fell for it, flew straight to it like a moth ready to be burned at the pyre of your flames…
“Right… things have changed for me too. So, actually, I do think that we need to change things between us…”
“I have a date next week.”
He froze again. Stared at you, too stunned to say a thing, too stunned to protest or ask any question or even comprehend what you were saying.
“I… I have a date with a coworker, Maggie. Next week. So… we should stop this… We said we would if we wanted to try something with someone else…”
A date? Next week? Maggie?
You… you wanted to date again… just… not him…
“But… we’ve just had sex,” breathed Andrew.
It sounded stupid and he knew it, and yet these were the only words he could summon now. The first that came to mind, the only protest he could find.
There were too many emotions all at once. It felt… like falling… falling forever… like the ground being stolen from under his feet. He had no air left in his lungs, and he had forgotten how to breathe.
“Yeah… it wasn’t planned. But I… I just… Maybe I shouldn’t have done that…”
His lip trembled, but his cheeks were still dry.
You were regretting him now?
“I think I just… wanted one last moment with you. Before we’d stop and I would date someone else.”
“So… you… you have a date?”
“Yes, I have a date with Maggie.”
“What do you mean, you have a date with Maggie? Who the fuck is Maggie?”
Andrew stared at you as he was about to cry, and he couldn’t help it. He blinked tears away, but they lingered at the edges of his eyes, ready to fall at your words.
“She’s nice. She works at HR, she’s a secretary. She asked me out, and… I don’t know, I said yes. So… I think we should stop this arrangement.”
“Oh…”
At long last, the information was being recorded in his brain. Andrew shook himself back to earth, turned around, fleeing you and your beautiful eyes, hurrying to put his trousers back on. He almost fell in the process, already looking for his shirt. He felt so exposed like this, so vulnerable, so flawed…
You were going on a date… with someone else… because you didn’t want to date him… he was the fucking problem. He was all along…
“I just… it was… good.”
He nodded, but didn’t let out a sound.
He couldn’t look at you. He would start crying if he did. He needed to run away as fast as he could…
“And she’s nice, you know? And… just… easy. Not like, easy to sleep with, but…”
“I understand.”
Of course, he did. Same argument all over again. And he couldn’t blame you, how could he?
But what if he dropped everything? What if he stopped touring? Stopped the whole music thing?
He thought about what you looked like right now, perfect and dishevelled and still gently glowing after the efforts of love-making. Absolutely perfect. Yeah… yeah… You deserved better than him, no matter the touring or the staying…
“Andy… are you angry?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t start acknowledging his feelings now. He would start crying if he did.
Where the fuck was his sock?
“I loved the nights we had together,” you went on, apparently unaware of the daggers each of your words planted through his heart, and for the first time in the long years the two of you had known each other, he wanted to stop hearing your voice.
You seemed to need to fill up the silence that Andrew was trying to maintain. Perhaps it was a way to reach out, perhaps it was a way to keep him at bay. He wasn’t certain about that.
“It was nice.”
Where was that fucking sock?!
“Andy?”
He put on his jumper, abandoning the thought of his black sock. He couldn’t lose any more time, he couldn’t breathe properly anymore…
“You’re okay? Can you say something?”
Silence. Only the rubbing of fabric against fabric as Andrew was getting ready to leave. He only had to grab his shoes and jacket in your hallway.
“Andy, wait!”
But he was already outside of your bedroom.
“You can’t be mad at me! We agreed about this, Andy! We agreed that… that… this was nothing but sex! It didn’t mean anything.”
He was blinded by tears when he reached for your doorknob, unlocking the door without seeing the keys he was turning in the lock.
“Andy! Where are you going? Stop! We need to talk about this!”
He shrugged you off when you reached for him.
“Andy!”
But then he was shutting the door behind him, his movement so harsh it shook the doorframe. He hurried to his car while he dried his eyes, refusing to crumble now, in the alley leading to your house.
He drove blindly, unaware of a destination, of a will behind the turns he took and the roads he chose. The words kept ringing in his ears, he couldn’t shut them out, they played on repeat in his busy mind…
This was nothing but sex.
It didn’t mean anything.
Did it not? The way you touched him, the way you kissed him, the way you held him… did it not mean something?!
His hold tightened on the wheel. His jaw clenched until it was painful, until he could hear it.
Nothing. The tenderness in your touch, the fondness in your gaze, the sighs on your lips. The way you held him after it was done, like you needed him to land again gently on the ground, like you held onto a dream before it faded. How you stared into his soul when you connected in the most intimate way possible. How you laughed together until none of you could breathe, how you talked for hours about the most meaningless things and the most intimate parts of your lives. How you let him be yours, how you almost let yourself be his…
Only an almost…
He parked the car before a house he had always called home, and it was only then that he realised where he was. He stared at the familiar door of his parents’ house, the curtains behind the windows, the light that came through them.
So, you had let him love you, and it meant nothing at all?
He turned off the engines, stared at the house for a suspended moment. What would he do now? He couldn’t possibly face you again after this. He was about to lose you for good; because after having a taste of what loving you felt like, he couldn’t go back to being a mere friend. No… no, he wasn’t strong enough for that. For seeing you happy with someone else, knowing that you held him close for a moment only to let him go, because he wasn’t enough.
He picked up his phone, ready to do something stupid, something he would regret the second his thumb would press send. He typed the text under your name.
If I gave up on touring, if I stayed home… would you give me a chance? Would I be enough if I weren’t just a ghost?
He heaved a sigh, resting his head against his seat, head tilted upwards in his exhale. He blinked tears away, staring at the dark ceiling of his car.
Did you really feel nothing now? Did it not hurt at all for you? Not even a little bit? Not at all?
Andrew didn’t press send. He deleted the text, opened the door, climbed out of the car and into the street bathed in an inky darkness and orange streetlights. His feet guided him to the safest place on Earth while he tugged his phone into his pocket. His right foot was hurting in his shoe without a sock on. He didn’t even notice.
It took his mother a moment to open the door, nothing surprising at this hour. She saw him through the glass of the backdoor, and her eyes grew round. Andrew finally noticed he was crying.
The door opened in a hurry, bumping into Raine’s foot in the process.
“Andy? Honey, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
His lower lip trembled as he stared at his mother, hands digging further into his pockets, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His throat was too tight to speak.
“Honey, what’s wrong? Tell me. Tell me what’s wrong?”
She narrowed her eyes a little as she guessed, aiming straight for his heart.
“Is it Y/N?”
He opened his mouth to answer but all that he could let out was a sob. His legs were shaking, he could feel all of his strength leaving his body. He barely registered his own moevements as he bent into his mother’s arms, folding around her frame.
“Oh, Andy… here, it’s alright. It’s gonna be okay, darling. It’s okay. I’m here, I’m here…”
She rubbed his back, in this soothing movement that had never failed to appease him ever since he was a child. His voice was a hoarse whisper when he let out the most painful words he had ever pronounced.
“She doesn’t love me, mom. She doesn’t feel anything… What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do without her?”
She let him cry for a moment longer, his father calling from the living room to know who was at the door. Raine merely answered with her son’s name, and gently pushed him upwards so he would stand straighter again.
“Well, for a start, I’m going to make you a cup of tea, with a lot of honey. And then, we’ll figure out the rest.”
#hozier#andrew hozier byrne#the hoziest#hozier x reader#hozier x you#hozier x y/n#hozier x fem!reader#hozier fanfiction#hozier fanfic#hozier series#series#fanfiction#fanfic#writing
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The Craving
Sammary: Nanami's a pervert and he can't deny it any longer. Porn with plot.
Note: English is not my first language, so if there's an error don't doubt on correct me ♡ crossposted on my AO3
WC: 1.9K
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You and Nanami had been working together for a couple of months. Although your interactions were limited, you made an effort to connect with him. He often worked late, rarely mingled with other colleagues, and preferred having lunch alone, so your relationship remained strictly professional. However, since you shared the same workspace, you endeavoured to build some rapport. You would engage him in small talk, bring him coffee when he looked particularly exhausted, and occasionally leave some bread on his desk, knowing he often skipped meals.
And that was it. Yet, Nanami couldn't help but be drawn to you. It wasn’t just for how hard you worked that captivated him; it was also the way you made an effort to build a relationship with him. Also, despite your exhaustion, you always came to work looking impeccable. Like today, that your baby blue blouse revealed just enough, your pencil skirt perfectly hugging your curves and how your ponytail swayed gracefully with each step you took.
The problem was that Nanami was a gentleman who firmly believed in keeping his professional and personal lives separate. But on days like today, he found it impossible not to notice you more. Even the smallest touches sent his heart racing.
He despised it when his desire as a man overshadowed his manners, but he couldn't help but notice the growing bulge in his pants as he watched you work so diligently. He tried to conceal it himself under his desk and using the towers of papers to hide his blushing face. Just as he was beginning to regain his composure, you touched his shoulder, causing him to jump slightly in his chair.
"Sorry for disturbing you, Nanamin!" you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, using the nickname you had once heard an intern call him. "Could you help me with something?" you asked, holding some papers in your hands, your eyes meeting his with a soft, expectant look.
Nanami turned to face you, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of surprise and something you still couldn't put your finger on. His gaze lingered on you a moment too long before he cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. "Of course," he said, his voice slightly huskier than usual. "What can I do for you?"
"Could you check this report? I feel like something's wrong, but as an assistant, I'm not entirely sure," you say, placing the documents on his desk and leaning in to point out the issues.
"Of course," Nanami replies, his eyes briefly flickering with appreciation as he notices your exposed cleavage. His breath catches, and he shifts slightly in his seat, now keeping his gaze firmly on the papers in front of him. He maintains his composure, his voice low and steady. "It seems there's a slight discrepancy in the numbers here."
"Oh, but why? Is it an error in the calculation or the writing?" you ask, standing up straight. The subtle scent of your perfume enchants him, and his mind races with indecent thoughts as he struggles to focus on the task at hand.
"I believe there may have been an error in the calculations. I'll need to double-check the figures," he says, trying to regain control of his thoughts and remain professional.
"Sorry for troubling you," you apologize, realizing the task is more complex than you initially thought.
Nanami's eyes flicker up to yours, a small smirk forming on his lips. "No need to apologize. It's my job to ensure everything is accurate."
"Thanks, you're the best," you say, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze before returning to your desk.
Nanami's eyes follow your every movement, his mind filled with indecent thoughts. He adjusts himself awkwardly in his chair, trying to hide the growing bulge in his pants. He hates feeling this way, the sense of being a pervert gnawing at his conscience, yet he can't help but be captivated by you. He couldn't work like this. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the report, he found himself reading the same sentence for the fifth time. Frustrated and distracted, he realized he needed a break. Standing up abruptly, Nanami decided to go to the bathroom to wash his face with cold water. He hoped the brief respite would help clear his mind. With four more hours of work ahead, he knew he couldn't continue in this state of distraction.
Nanami locks the bathroom door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing mind. "She's driving me crazy," he mutters to himself before making his way to the sink.
Nanami splashes cold water on his face, letting out a breath as the chill cools his heated thoughts. "What the hell is wrong with me," he groans, shaking his head in frustration.
Just as he opens the door to leave the bathroom, he's startled to find you standing outside. Your eyes dart around to ensure no one is watching, and before he can react, you push him back into the bathroom, your hand firmly on his chest. You turn swiftly to lock the door behind you.
"Y/L, what are you—?" he begins, but his words falter as he sees the determined look in your eyes. The confined space and the intensity of the moment heighten the electricity between you two, making it impossible for him to ignore the pounding of his heart or the heat rising in his body.
"You think I wouldn't notice?" you say, pointing at his chest with your finger, making him back up into the small bathroom. "How you kept looking at me with those beautiful eyes of yours, full of desire? Did you think I wouldn't notice the bulge in your pants?" You grab him by his tie, pulling his face down to your level, your faces mere inches apart.
Nanami's breath hitches, unable to deny the desire coursing through his veins, his body responding to your touch. "You... noticed?" he says, his voice thick with longing.
"Tell me if I'm reading this wrong, Nanami..." you whisper, your eyes searching his for any hesitation, waiting for his response to close the distance between you.
Nanami looks deep into your eyes, his gaze burning with intensity. He slowly nods, closing the distance between you two. "No, you're not reading this wrong," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. "I want you—" His words are cut off as you throw your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply.
Nanami eagerly returns your kiss, his tongue quickly exploring your mouth with a hunger that matches your own. His hands wander over your body, pulling you even closer as he deepens the kiss. "You have no idea how much I've wanted this..." he murmurs between kisses, his voice low and filled with desire.
Nanami groans in pleasure as you begin to trail wet kisses down his neck. One of your hands gently grips it, giving you more access, while the other roams over his toned body beneath his shirt.
He eagerly assists in loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, his lips hungrily finding yours again. "God, you're driving me crazy..." he breathes against your lips.
After a few minutes of passionate kissing, your hand moves to his growing bulge, caressing it over the fabric of his pants. Nanami's breath hitches, a low moan escaping his lips as he responds to your touch. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you even closer, his desire evident in every movement.
His hands travel to your backside, pulling you firmly against him as he grinds his hips into your touch. "You're killing me..." he murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip.
Nanami's eyes widen in surprise and desire as you drop to your knees in front of him. You deftly unbutton his belt and pants, freeing his throbbing erection from its confines. He eagerly assists you, his breath hitching in anticipation.
"Let me make you feel good, Nanami," you say, your voice sultry as you caress his cock. Nanami lets out a low moan as you place small, tantalizing kisses around the tip.
He runs his fingers through your hair, gripping it lightly as he thrusts his hips forward into your hand. "So good..." he breathes out, leaning his head back in pleasure. The sensation of your touch and the sight of you on your knees for him sends waves of ecstasy through his body.
Nanami lets out a low growl as you take him into your mouth, your other hand massaging his balls. The pleasure building inside him is palpable. "Oh god..."
You briefly release him, but continue to stroke his shaft. “Nanami, try to stay silent. You're going to get us caught,” you say with a teasing smile. Nanami nods, struggling to stifle his moans as you continue your ministrations. He bites his lower lip, his eyes fixed on you as he fights to keep quiet.
Nanami's breath hitches as you teasingly run your flat tongue over his length, your eyes locked onto his. He groans softly, "You're such a tease..." Then, with a sudden intensity, he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you closer and thrusting his hips forward. Your mouth opens in surprise at the sudden intrusion, and he groans as your lips wrap around him again. "Suck it..." he orders, his voice deep and commanding.
You respond eagerly, taking him deeper into your mouth. Nanami's grip tightens in your hair as he guides your movements, his breathing becoming more ragged. The sensation of your warm mouth and skilled tongue drives him wild. "You're incredible," he mutters between heavy breaths, his body trembling with pleasure.
You obey, stroking his dick hard as he thrusts into your mouth. His other hand tenderly tucks away strands of hair that escape his grip behind your ear, then cups your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he pushes deeper. "You're so good at this..." Nanami leans against the wall for support, his thrusts becoming rougher and more desperate. His hand tightens in your hair, gripping it firmly as he whimpers.
Nanami's thrusts grow faster and more frenzied, his saliva-covered dick hitting the back of your throat with each movement. His breathing becomes ragged, his body trembling with pleasure. He moans loudly as he nears his climax, spilling his seed down your throat. "Ugh... fuck..." he groans, his body shuddering as he reaches the peak of his ecstasy.
Nanami smirks as he watches you swallow his seed and as you clean the saliva that escaped your mouth with your thumb. You brush the dust from your skirt and fix your hair with practiced ease before heading towards the bathroom door. "We'll continue this at my house after work," you declare, leaving no room for argument. It wasn't a question; it was a promise.
You wink at him and step out of the bathroom, leaving him half-naked and breathless as he tries to recover from one of the best experiences he’s ever had. He takes a moment to adjust his clothes, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. Just as he is about to leave, he feels a weight in his pocket. Curious, he reaches in and pulls out your panties, smirking as he shakes his head in amusement. “What a fucking tease…” he murmurs, pocketing the panties and heading back to his office, his mind consumed with thoughts of you and what the rest of the day might bring.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#kento nanami#nanami kento#nanami x reader#jjk x reader#jjk nanami#nanami x you#nanami smut#nanami x y/n
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Between 7:00pm and 8:31pm | gojo x you
TW/CW: mentions of death/dying | shibuya arc | misanthropic thoughts | just angst | strong language
"For the greater good? Fuck that."
Four pairs of eyes simultaneously darted towards you, devoid of judgment. More or less, they understood what you were getting at, but you knew what they meant without words. You weren't supposed to say that. Such was your duty and purpose as a jujutsu sorcerer. But you did anyway, giving a voice to the white elephant in the room, acknowledging what everyone was afraid to even give a single moment's thought.
The greater good? Who does it serve anyway? At whose expense? Your friends' lives? Why? Because you were stronger than the rest of humanity? The strongest for the preservation of the lives of the weak?
You were strong. That should be the end of the conversation. You didn't owe anyone for it. You chose to be strong, and those who were born like you weren't there to play the role of anyone's savior just because they have the means.
Fushiguro Megumi was right: you weren't heroes. You may choose whom you want to save. Your addition to that was the fact that you can choose whether to save others or not. That's the cold, hard truth you wanted to live by without having to apologize for it, but that would shake the very foundations the jujutsu society stood for.
You looked towards Gojo. You knew he was looking at you even with his blindfold on and the lack of physical indication that his attention was on you. And somehow, it seemed to weigh more than any of the looks every one else in the room gave you. It angered you that he was resigned to it all when he was the best out of all of you, the strongest, the honored one. He can do whatever the hell he wants and yet he was there with you, wholeheartedly accepting orders to deal with whatever was happening in Shibuya at the moment.
Alone.
"Now isn't the time to –" Nanami spoke, and you usually wouldn't dare with the degree of respect you held for him, but you interrupted him.
"No, seriously. What does this have to do with us?" you asked, stunning them further. You looked at Nanami who was able to escape this life but came back anyway, confusion and rage glimmering in your eyes despite your calm manner. He could have a good life away from everything, but what the hell was he doing there?
And now they're thinking of sending Gojo alone to play along with whatever schemes the enemies are brewing? They're letting him walk into something that – although he was possibly capable of putting an end to – was, by all means, a trap? You refused to stand for it.
You didn't understand. Ever since you were a child, you were taught and trained to become what you are: a jujutsu sorcerer before you were a human; a tool for this greater good – whatever that meant – before you're a feeling, living being. But as time passed by, watching all the people you knew, good ones, lose their lives for this one-track cause, the less you knew. Why do you have to save them? Lives begin and end. It's just there. Why should those people's lives matter more than yours did? Because they're good? On whose standards?
"Y/N," Yaga warned, evidently seeing the ghost of someone he thought he knew well from last year. "This has already been decided by the higher-ups."
"And nobody dared question it?"
"You're treading dangerous waters there," the principal stated, raising his voice. "This is what we do. It's what you chose to do. Have you come to resent it?"
"There lies my mistake."
Shoko placed a hand on your shoulder. "You don't mean that."
"Geto was right." There, you said it, distabilizing the very principles you all stood for.
"Don't go there –"
You gave everyone a sweeping glare, silencing even Yaga. "His methods will never be right, but he knew what he was talking about." You chuckled bitterly. "He always did. And now he's gone."
You started walking out of the room but paused by the bench where Gojo was seated, still looking unbothered. "I never cared that you were the strongest. To me, you're just Satoru."
You looked behind your shoulder. "That applies to you all."
"Where are you going?" Nanami asked.
"You will excuse me if I do not wish to have a hand in murdering my friends or myself for that matter."
**
"You underestimate me."
You blew the cigarette smoke you were holding in as you stared at the clear signs of veils laid out over the busy streets of Shibuya from where you stood on a building rooftop. Without acknowledging the presence behind you, you finished the last drag of smoke, the burn in your throat and lungs feeling better than all your bitter thoughts and feelings towards the world you've come to know.
"'Just Satoru', eh?"
"You're purposefully being an idiot if you didn't understand what I meant by that." You glanced at Gojo when he came close enough. "Even more so if you think I'll ever underestimate you."
He chuckled. "So, you don't want me to go?" he asked in that melodic, carefree voice, slightly bending down towards the side as if he needed that to take a better look at you. "You have so little faith –"
"Faith, I have too much in you, not because you're strong, but because you are you. What I don't have is sympathy or trust for anyone who thinks they can rely on you all the time to straighten things out."
"And proud?" You let out a humorless laugh. "There's nothing to be proud of in death. There's never any ounce of dignity in it whether you die saving others or if you get snuffed out meaninglessly. It all ends the same way."
His weirdly glossy lips protruded at your sentiment. "Aren't you proud that people are able rely on us?"
"This is wrong." Everything was conveyed in those three words you uttered without any need for elaboration. Gojo merely smiled.
"So, you're scared of dying?"
"No. Dying is easy. That's all where we're headed at one point. You know what's terrifying though?"
"What?"
You finally looked at him. "Giving your life to this cause knowing it changes nothing."
"How very nihilistic."
You shrugged. "A hundred years from now, curses will still be around, kept alive by the very beings we're fighting for at present. And for what? For future generations who will produce curses, stronger and harder to fathom and defeat? All because they can't accept they're just products of a chance in their search to have higher purpose and superiority in life.
We ourselves are cursed. We control that very form of energy to prevent it from evolving into monsters, but it eats us up for the very same reasons."
"Those reasons being...?"
"We're stronger so perhaps we should be responsible for protecting lives around us. Whoever thought of that was fucking cocky, but really, who are we kidding, Gojo?"
He snickered, no doubt thrilled by your unfiltered thoughts. After him, you were probably the biggest thorn on the higher-ups' side with your radical thoughts, at least by their standards. But he still wanted you to jump all the hoops. "Thus your belief that Suguru was right?"
"I'm worse than him. I just don't act on it. I'm super sold on the fact that humans are the scum of the earth, sorcerer or not."
"You're human and a sorcerer?" he pointed out, trying to vex you.
"Exactly."
Gojo patted your head. "And yet you're still here for the very purpose you dare spit on."
You smirked at him. "I don't want you to have to kill another one of your friends for insubordination and subscribing to the ideologies of our realm's Lord Voldemort."
"Suguru had hair and a nose though?"
"He's prettier, too, that cult-leading fucker, but not the point, dumbass."
It was both funny and sad how you speak of the fallen Geto Suguru so fondly as if he didn't kickstart the most massive chaos in recent jujutsu history. But like Gojo, to you, he was just Suguru.
Just then, Gojo pulled you into his long arms, giving you a bear hug that annoyed you more than anything. "You've always been our sweetest Y/N even if you act like Ryomen Sukuna's spawn."
You pushed Gojo off of you, straightening your hair out in irritation. "He's my ancestor after all."
You both made disgusted faces at that little detail about you, but as always, Gojo was quick to recover into his cheerful façade. "Don't worry. I'll be back."
He said that, but not even an hour later, you were hearing Itadori Yuuji screaming from the top of a building in the middle of the deserted Shibuya.
Gojo Satoru has been sealed by none other than the very person – or at least whatever now resides in him – whose beliefs you agreed were right.
#gojo x you#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#jjk#jkk x reader#jjk x y/n#gojo angst#gojo satoru angst#jujutsu kaisen angst#jjk angst
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So there’s this manhwa called Match Made in Bed (no happy ending for the main couple I’m afraid but the premise is very dreamling-coded) where basically this woman is recently dumped because of how stiff she is during sex so her friends decide to hire some hosts to cheer her up. Among the hosts is this one guy who’s actually a swim instructor doing a favor for his friend but he’s actually really reserved and haughty (sound familiar?) and kind of looks down on the whole practice of escorting. Eventually the woman gets hammered and he ends up taking her to a hotel room where she entices him into sleeping with her to prove she can be a good lay and surprise surprise, their sexual compatibility is off the charts and they have sex nine times. But afterwards they don’t know how to move forward because she can’t imagine dating a host (even tho he’s not) and he can’t stand rich women who go around flaunting their money and hiring escorts (she was lying about her job as a stewardess too). But at the same time, they can’t keep their hands off each other. And so, shenanigans and misunderstandings ensue. I can totally imagine Hob and Dream in this scenario where they keep saying tonight will be the last night but then in a turn of events they keep running into each other like it’s fate, like Hob unknowingly signing up for Dream’s swim class, and who can resist a good fuck? Hob has literally never met someone who can make him cum so many times before and Dream has never had so many wet dreams. And it’s good for both of them. They’re both getting better sleep and relieving so much stress. I imagine eventually one of them will get their act together and come clean about their true job so they can finally be happy and fuck without anything holding them back.
I am now extremely obsessed with the concept of host!Dream. Or how about, Desire is actually the host, but for some reason they've persuaded Dream to fill in for them! Probably so they can have a vacation, lol. Anyway: host!Dream.
Hob is super intimidated by the gorgeous hosts that Jo organised for him, and he ends up drinking waaayy too much. He's pretty sure that the gorgeous guy with the blue eyes is actually disgusted by him (Dream is just struggling to keep smiling for hours and hours 😭) and it makes Hob feel so discouraged. When the pretty guy escorts him to the hotel room, Hob doesn't even mean to seduce him - he literally stumbled and fell into Dream’s arms. The kiss that followed just felt natural. And after that... Well. Hob usually hates drunk sex but with Dream, he feels... incredible. He doesn't even feel intoxicated. He just feels like he's floating, encased in a shroud of total pleasure.
Dream doesn't even know why he slept with the sad drunk guy, but. Even he has to admit that it was amazing. Hob might be awkward and dumb, but his body is everything Dream has ever wanted. He can hardly believe that it wasn't all just an amazing fantasy, but sure enough he wakes up with Hob the next day. And Dream IMMEDIATELY leaves. He doesn't like rich finance guys (Hob lied about his job, he's actually a teacher) and it's not like this host gig is even HIS job.
Hob wakes up alone, feeling physically amazing but emotionally devastated. Even though he's probably too jealous to handle dating a host, he can't help wishing that Dream stayed. At least for a morning blow job...
Of course the universe brings them right back together. Hob promised that he would finally learn to swim this year; Dream turns out to be his instructor. They fuck down in the shallow end of the pool after Hob learns to float (who needs to swim when you can cling onto a sexy man while he fucks you?), Dream shows up to pick his nephew up from school and runs in to Hob as he comes out from teaching a class. They don't have time to do anything but make out messily in a supply cupboard, but it's still incredible...
They still refuse to talk about their obvious perfect physical compatability. Hob still believes that Dream isn't really into him. Dream still can't pluck up the courage to actually speak to him. Every other week they end up in some kind of compromising position - Dream has memorised all the little scars on Hob’s body, and he's kissed every single one of them. Hob can't get off by himself anymore, not without Dream inside him.
The only consolation: Desire is back from vacation, soon. If anyone can get the idiots together, they can. But Desire isn't always inclined to be helpful... and they might just make everything worse!
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Worship
a/n I won’t say anything because what is there to say… Also, this is fiction idk why but I just feel the need to wave that flag here.
Summery: Just on stage shenanigans between you, the back singer, and the boys.
warning: no full on smut because there’s so much of that as it is but they are sex on legs so this does have sexual implications. I’m just a girl. And I feel like I should go confess my sins to someone.
All of them x reader
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Nothing truly beats the feeling of the stage lighting beaming on you. The radiant atmosphere and the beating of the crowd in front of the stage. It got addictive fast. And the rush of both adrenaline and freedom you never truly got over. Most of the time, it still felt like a dream. Like you weren’t there. There weren’t four other people. A whole band that people swooned over.
You still remember the notification of the private message in your DMs. “We’ve seen your videos. The voice is to die for. Up to back us up?” You had stared at it for hours. Pressing the profile over and over again, convinced that one of the times it would take you to some scammy account, but it didn’t. So you took that leap of fate, and the roller coaster that unfolded still made your skin tingle at times.
“How you don’t break an ankle in these is beyond me," II grumbled, gesturing to the high heels you were strapping around your legs. Before throwing the towel he had just used to dry his hair with, at you. You huffed back, “Of course you wouldn’t know; you sit and look pretty the whole show." You shot him an overly exaggerated smile before flipping him off. “Put the claws away, baby," he said, lifting his hands up, “I would love to keep my eyes for some time longer." You lifted both of your hands, making sure to flex the black coffin-shaped nails, only earning a chuckle in return from II.
“No form of violence is allowed backstage," III cut in, putting the mask over his face, “Unless it’s consensual, of course." The three of you snickered. There was never a dull moment with them. You weren’t sure exactly why you imagined them to be all cold and unapproachable, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. From the silly hats they happily took from the fans to messing around on stage barking. “We’re out in thirty," IV's voice cut through the snickering. “Vess?”, you questioned, standing up only to still feel tiny among them. It was unfair how even killer heels had you feeling minuter. “In his element, ready to go," the usual then. You turned to the mirror while doing the last checkups. Fiddling with the straps of your dress.
“Headset feels good?”, warm hands slipped up your beck, fidgeting with the wires as if he even knew what he was doing. “You just needed an excuse to put your hands on me, sir," you said, pushing back against IV’s chest. He already had his mask on, but from the way his blue eyes flickered, you knew he was smirking at you. “You can’t call the man guilty if you haven’t caught him red-handed, darling," he muttered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “And to my defense, the wire wasn’t plugged in," he snickers before pulling back. You shook your head as you watched him follow after the boys out. Reaching for your mask, you take a couple of deep breaths to steady your heartbeat. It was going to be a night to remember. You could just feel it.
And your gut wasn’t wrong. The crowd was wild tonight, and that always set the bend into a different kind of frenzy. For most of the shows, you were usually up there on your pedestal. Looking like a vision cloaked in both light and darkness, there were some songs that Vessle liked having you down there with him. But you always felt almost guilty. You didn’t want the fans to feel like you were there to change the dynamic. Let alone take up a spot that wasn’t yours to take.
So when you noticed Vessel striding towards you, you couldn’t help but silently shake your head. They had already all been all over each other all night. But you don’t get to run through all of your reasons as to why this was a bad idea before Vessel was in front of your pedestal. Hands reaching up for your ankles before he pointed for you to get down. You shook your head at him, continuing to sing your part. Not wanting the interaction to seem odd, you sank to your knees so you can touch his face, only realizing how wrong this move was once Vessel's hands grip the sides of your hips and you’re airborne before you can even blink.
A small shriek slips past your lips as you hold onto his shoulders. But no matter what your reaction to this was, he was all smug about it. His white teeth bright against the black paint covering his body. “I don’t like it when you put on unnecessary fights," he mused before turning back to the crowd. So, you let the thrill of the beat take over. Playing into the role of the masked goddess. A siren. That was the beauty of the mask. Such little thing making the biggest difference. Giving one the chance to feel way more confident.
And it’s II your legs take you to first. His eyes follow your movements all across the stage. With the drum set taking most of his platform he was sat on, playing games with this man was tricky. But it wasn’t impossible. So you slither behind him. Placing your hand on top of his head, you carefully make him look up at you. That same moment, the heel II was so found off finds its way between his parted legs. Without missing a beat, his face is pressed into your upper thigh, fingers dipping beneath the mesh overlay of your dress. And you know there will be hell to pay later on from the way he’s gripping your ankle. You push his face away from your body, throwing him a lighthearted kiss as you hurry down the platform stairs. The roar of the crowd filling all of your senses.
III is left to your mercy next. And since his eyes were all over you, you knew that even if you were to walk right past him, he would follow you across the stage. So you stand there, motioning with your fingers for him to come to you. Right as your part of the solo vocals came. Ones that boys even called your siren song. You let the melody pour out of you. Watching III sink to his knees in front of you. Your brain blanks for a moment as he leans forward, and you just know why the crowd erupts in chaos. So your fingers find his head, pulling him even closer. Let him paint the picture of devouring you. Worshipping you. And you’re yet again so thankful for the mask covering your face because you know that your face would be as red as the paint on his skin. Especially after he stands back up. Fingers moved to brush over his lips as if he was cleaning them.
You can feel someone’s eyes burning holes in your body, and you’re not even one bit surprised to see IV with his eyes blazing. He was the one you flirted the most with backstage as well. Since day one, there was just that mutual fire you both shared. So the back and forth between you both was never-ending. But if there was one thing IV avoided, it was making any move towards you while everyone was on stage. And while boys took their sweet time being lunatics when it came to you. His play pretend ended with his bandmates. Yet you didn’t miss the glances he threw your way. Or how he would find himself close to your pedestal, close enough to touch but never leaning in.
And while your head was telling you that maybe he just didn’t want to get involved, your heart was telling you to take yet another leap of faith. So you two stood in front of each other for a heartbeat. And right as Descending’s you came crawling back to me, filled the stage. Your finger hooked beneath the bottom of his mask as you pulled him closer. No matter the blast of sounds around you, you could still make out the growl that slipped past his lips. And since his eyes promised hell, you threw all caution to the wind as you leaned in, smashing your lips against his. You didn’t let it linger for too long; there was little fun in having two masks between you both, but it got the point across well enough.
IV’s hand reached for you as you moved back away. A freaked-out giggle slipped past your lips as you darted towards your last victim for the night. Well, and shelter now, considering that you had to get away from IV. Vessel was someone you knew had to be worshipped in front of the fans. You weren’t living under a rock. His hands and fingers had separate fan blogs, not to mention his carved-out chest muscles. So you slipped behind him. Letting your fingers trail the sides of him. Finding the sweat-drenched skin. Dragging your nails over the paint, no doubt leave claw marks in its way.
You rested your head against Vessel’s beck for a heartbeat, hoping to slip from behind him with ease. But you couldn’t have been more wrong because the moment you took the reassured stride away from him. A firm hand gripped your hair as he carefully, yet rather possessively, dragged you back to him. Pulling your head back so he could look down at you, shaking his head. But the smile gave his controlling demeanor away. “Whatever will we do with you, little Vixen?" You bit your lip, shrugging slightly. Playfully pushing at his chest, you slipped out of his grip. Swaying your hips as you slowly climbed back to the steps of your pedestal. Not letting your brain think of the hell you just set ablaze.
#sleep token x reader#sleep token imagine#sleep token x oc#sleep token fanfiction#sleep token ii x reader#sleep token iii x reader#sleep token iv x reader#sleep token vessel x reader
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☆༉ — CHRIS STURNIOLO. The Unwritten Rule.
about. Everyone knows the rule, don't fall in love with your best friend's boyfriend.
author's note. This is the chapter 6, I hope it sounds interesting to you. My first language is not English. masterlis!
Anna's house is quiet and empty, and I stand hesitantly in the kitchen as I check her messages.
Anna's house seems normal enough. Anna drops things on the floor, his mother leaves half-eaten cans of peppermint candy that she always has with her everywhere. But I still haven't felt comfortable here.
I don't think Anna will either, but I feel even more uncomfortable than usual. I can't believe Chris is coming. I can't believe I'm here. Why did I agree to this?
Because I want to see it.
I'm not here for Anna, I'm here for me and I'm a horrible friend.
I can't help it. I still want to see it.
Anna threw her cell phone on the table with some anger, clearly she wants me to ask her what's going on. So I do it.
"What's happening?"
"The usual, mom is working late and dad doesn't call," she rolls her eyes and sighs frustrated. "Why do my parents hate me?"
"They don't hate you" This talk again? "Your mom is... she is what she is, and your dad is not always far away if it seems that there will be something else legal."
"There is always something else legal" it seems obvious to me. I'm like this bone that he and mom fight to get. Sometimes I think it could be a dog or a vase and they would still act exactly the same." I look away." “I would be lying if I said it wasn’t true.”
"They know you're not a dog or a vase" I'm not lying. I think Anna's parents know she exists and that she is their daughter.
I just don't think any of them care, it's not important to them, like it should be and I know it's really hard for her.
I walk over to where she is standing and put my arms around her to hug her. “You are better than them.”
"You think?"
"Completely."
"I would never treat my son like they do, when I have my children, I will make him love me more than anything."
"You shouldn't have to make them love you, Anna. They always will."
"No, sometimes you have to make people love you."
"You can't make someone love you" I laugh.
"Of course you can. Just know what they want it to be and eventually they will" basically manipulation...
"That's... horrible, I mean, but the look on Anna's face was a mix of rage and helplessness. "And what about being yourself?
"Tell me, what's so good about that?" He looks at me seriously. "Look at you for a second, you're small and quiet, so guys never notice about you. That's because they're stupid and only think about looks and things, of course, but still."
"Okay" I remove my arms from around her and return to my seat.
"Don't be sad" I bite the inside of my cheek. "It will be different in time, I'm sure of that. Besides, your parents love you in a crazy awesome way, and you know I love you. If I could have a sister, it would totally be you, but I like to think that we are already sisters. You do not believe it?"
"Yes" Does she try to soften it with a friendly comment every time she says something hurtful to me? but what I really wonder is if there are sisters where one feels like she is the shadow of the other. Yes there is a girl with a sister who sometimes makes her feel like nothing. In that case it would be Anna and me.
"Oh shit, Chris will be here soon" he changes the subject. "Will you wait down here and let him come in for me? I have to go get ready."
"But you look good" I admit that, if I wanted to see Chris, but I didn't want to be alone with him, not yet.
"I have to be Perfect" she smiles. "All you have to do is talk to him for a few minutes.
"Anna…”
"Okay, don't talk. Just do homework with him. You can do that right? We're going to do homework tonight anyway."
"Anna" I repeat, but she ran up the stairs.
"You are the best, you are great Adi!" He yelled at me as I went upstairs.
I grab my notes and look for a place to sit waiting for Chris.
I ended up sitting at the kitchen table, and when the doorbell rings I jump. I go to open the door knowing that I would meet Chris.
"This is new, I always have to ring the bell more than once before..." he finally looked at me and smiled "Ada, hello."
"Hey," he greeted, looking at the ground. "Anna is upstairs getting ready. She will be with us in a few minutes.
"Well," he runs his hand through his hair, combing it back. I could see how the strands of hair were messy. Jamás lo observó tanto, But I've been waiting and regretting that he shouldn't see me here and now he blushes, I want to touch him so much that my stomach is boiling and shaking because of it, my fingers tremble.
"We should sit down" I spoke at the same time he said 'Do you want to sit down?', we both sat down, we smiled at each other at that.
It's Chris, it's just Chris. I can do this, I've known him forever and we're friends, he's dating my best friend. I have to do this, be normal. Stop looking at him so much, stop wanting him Ada.
He pointed to the room in which no one in Anna's house ever sits, and cocked his head.
"I'm really a little scared about that room."
"Me too," I admit, still smiling openly at each other. I can't seem to stop smiling, and he seems happy, like he's glad to be here. I could reach out my hand and touch his. He's so close, I could just touch his hand and slide my fingers up his arm so he'd lean toward me and...
"I'm coming down!" Anna shouted.
Of course, he's happy because he's here for his girlfriend. What were you thinking, Ada?
I walk towards the living room, blinking several times to avoid the tears that burned my eyes, I hear his footsteps behind me.
I sit on the reclining sofa, so he and Anna can sit together, so then they can say 'Ah, my books, I have to go get them', go to the kitchen and avoid seeing them. I will come back and be clean in heart and mind, I swear, I just need a second or two.
In the kitchen, I gather my things and then head over to the refrigerator, resting my head against it. Then I had some cans of grapes and a beer for myself.
I'm calm, I'm relaxed. This will turn out fine.
Although I know it won't be like that.
Silence falls when I give him his soda, a silence I am familiar with, a silence I know. I look at him and notice that he casts his gaze into the distance as if he were looking at me, his throat passing saliva. Anna finally comes down. When she does it I'm sure she must see how hard I try not to look at Chris and how hard he tries not to look at me.
Taking a sip of my beer, my throat feels closed making it harder to pass the intoxicating liquid.
"Hello," he greets us both. "That's what you say when someone comes in, you know that? Why so silence?"
“me” Chris clears his throat “Is that the only beer?” ask.
"That's progress," Anna smiles. "Just for that you earned a kiss!" I notice how Anna leans towards Chris.
But the moment Anna intended to join her lips with Chris's, he stood up and Anna froze.
"I'm going to get a beer," his voice was firm, I rarely heard him speak that way.
"I'm going with you," Anna is quick to say.
"Okay, I'll be right back" then I see him walk past me and into the kitchen.
"Hurry up!" Anna's voice sounded bubbly. “Did you see it? Did you see that?" She approached me, whispering irritably.
"I'm sorry" I wasn't saying it because of what she believed, I was saying it because I regretted kissing Chris, but not that much.
"Don't do it, I'll fix this myself," she stretched her lips and walked into the kitchen.
A few seconds later he heard some sounds, her voice being soft and Chris's voice calm. Followed by a long silence.
Silence of kisses.
I left my beer. I see Chris return, his gaze connects with mine and I notice that in his hand he was holding a can of beer like mine.
"I like this more than grapes," he had something in his eyes, something that made me take a breath.
"Me too, obviously," I responded almost obligatorily, looking at my notes.
"I know" then I look up and see him smile at me. Damn it Chris don't make it so obvious.
Where the hell was Anna? Why does it take so long in the kitchen?
"Did you start reading history?" he asks me, like he's trying to make this all normal, but he knows it's not, it's not normal at all.
"No, I don't have it yet," I replied. "Did Anna call you last night?" I opened my eyes wide looking at him. “The things that happened, I didn't think would happen. But I'm serious..."
"Why are you two looking at each other so intensely?" Then my best friend appears, my gaze almost unwillingly moves away from his and looks at Anna. She was standing in the doorway looking at us. "And Ada I was only gone for a few minutes. Did you think I was gone?" true I called her.
“We were just waiting for you,” I shake my head. “You should sit on the couch.”
"You mean with my own boyfriend?" Chris rolled his eyes. Did he like her saying that? “Are you ready to pay attention to me now?” He sits next to Chris and kisses him.
I concentrate on looking at my history book and open it. I'm not even on the right page, but I didn't care about that. What really matters is not looking at Anna and Chris kissing.
I try not to wonder what he was going to tell me before Anna interrupted, I try not to think about how his mouth feels.
He looked up and Anna was looking bad, but her eyes were worried, Chris isn't kissing her, he's opening his own history book. He gives me a look and then looks away.
"We should get started," he tells his girlfriend.
"I should have known that Ada here would manage to embarrass you and put you in 'studious boy' mode. Ada, you really owe me for taking away my real boyfriend.
"Yes," I held that history book tightly in my hands. "I know I do."
author's note. If you want to be part of the taglist leave a comment below and I will add you. Thanks for reading, remember to like, share with your friends and leave a nice comment ^^
taglist. @l34n @jetaimevous @jnkvivi @loveyoumatthewbernard @d1tzy-bl0nde @laxbabe131147 @slut4chriss @dontellaf1lms @surniolozzzprincess @sturnlova @inlovewithchriss @whicked-hazlatwhore @mattsgirlsblog @nsjsnshey @always-reading @y-s-a-p @h3arts4harry
#sturniolo triplets#﹙𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬. 𝐒﹚🦌 ，#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#matt sturniolo fanfiction#chris sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo x reader#chris smut#chris sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo smut#chris x reader#christopher owen sturniolo#chris sturniolo soft#christopher sturniolo x reader#nick sturniolo#sturniolo#matt sturniolo imagine#matthew bernard sturniolo#matt sturniolo fanfic#nicolas sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo fluff#sturniolo triplets smut
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Sanguinius being secretly guiltily down bad for you, Horus’ beloved??? Now that’s a very fun scenario. Especially considering how Horus starts behaving during the heresy. Don’t you think that Sanguinius would feel the need to rescue you from such a terrible situation? Keep you somewhere where you’re completely safe and far away from the forces of chaos (somewhere right by his side)?
He’s aware of his feelings towards you but would never want to burden you with them, considering the emotional pain you’re in right now. But that doesn’t mean he can’t hold you for a little longer than usual, or linger around you for more than is necessary, or wrap a wing of his around you as a loving friendly gesture. He lets himself indulge in these feelings sometimes, just a small amount, because if he doesn’t he feels like he might explode. The guilt hasn’t gone away, in fact it’s even gotten stronger. You see him as a friend and a confidant, but nothing more, and it’s obvious to him that your heart still belongs to Horus (why should it? Why not him??). And if you weren’t under his protection there’s a high likelihood that you’d probably get assassinated, so he can’t be taking advantage of you like that (despite how badly he wants you to love him as much as he loves you.). He’s content with just being close to you, he’s okay with just being your friend, if he starts getting too emotional about it he’ll cry in the shower about it. He’s fine. He won’t try anything but he also won’t let anyone else near you. He’s normal about it, he’s sooo normal
I love this plotline so much, I'm so excited people like the Horus/Reader/Sanguinius idea. This is really good and I really like this particular idea, so here's a little thang separate from the main fic i'm making.
No warnings other than Horus falling to chaos obv
"She is very lucky."
Jaghatai Khan speaks plainly, looking to Sanguinius.
"A few days longer travel, and Horus would've beaten you there."
Sanguinius brushes a piece of his hair away from his face that had fallen from his crown braids. He was glad they managed to make haste so quickly. The Red Tear had burned almost everything it had just to make it there in time to defend the planet before Horus and his Black Legion desecrated it all.
"We have the planet's surface until control. We'll need it's infrastructure for the coming battles." Jaghatai gives him a look, and Sanguinius knows why.
All the talk about strategy, infrastructure; They both know Sanguinius went there for you.
He still avoids mentioning it, wings tucked firmly against his back. It hangs between both primarchs as true intentions left unsaid. Jaghatai was one of the only three primarchs keen on how Sanguinius felt about Horus' lover. It's obvious in the way he's looked at you since you first entered Horus' life. But Jaghatai doesn't bring it up.
"Then I wish you good fortune in the coming battles."
Jaghatai leaves Sanguinius alone, and it isn't long after he can no longer hear the warhawk's footsteps that he rushes to return to you. Air whistles in his feathers as he briskly walks, hearing the clanking of his armor pieces striking against each other.
He has an entire squad of Blood Angels guarding the room you're in, of which he passes with gentle acknowledgement. They have taken to you just as much as he had; And voiced no complaints about protecting you from what once was your lover's legion.
Once Sanguinius sees you, the room dark and cast in privacy, he watches you rub the corner of your eye as you turn his way. You must've been crying, though you do a remarkable job of hiding it.
"Oh, Sanguinius; Do you need something?"
You speak to him so formally still, the way you did when you were still on Horus' arm. He so desperately wishes you wouldn't.
"I wanted to come see how you were doing. I don't wish to leave you alone in here for so long."
He comes closer, gently lowering himself onto the edge of the bed to sit beside you. Your hands fall into your lap as you look down at them, trying to find the words. It's then he finally hears the cracking in your voice, as you can no longer hold back your grief.
"How... How couldn't I have seen what was wrong with him?" You look up at him, tears welling at the bottom of your eyes just about to break and stream down your cheeks. "Am I really that blind?"
Sanguinius unfurls one of his wings, it wrapping behind you. It's not close enough to touch other than the light brush of his primary feathers, but it's close.
But most of all he wants to cup your face in his hands and kiss away your tears, to be there for you as you grieve the loss of a lover who is something worse than dead. Sanguinius dreads to hear the things you saw as Horus fell to ruinous powers, but he wants to be the one you come to; To protect you from everything.
But he can't. The love you have for Horus hasn't faded, and you're with the Blood Angels for as long as this war wages. Sanguinius will protect you, but his love for you just can't override the guilt he would feel if he swept in to kiss you as you cried for someone else. No amount of yearning desire is enough for him to take advantage of you in such a way, as you technically sit here indebted to him for rescuing you.
"He hid it from us all. We were all blind, same as you."
You sigh, and your posture seems to soften with his reassurance. His wing inches closer, daring to take just a bit more as it gently cradles you. It's only to make you feel better. One of your hands reaches to brush along one of his long primary feathers for a moment, and he bites the inside of his cheek.
Sanguinius reaches a armoured hand towards you and instinctively he wants to set it on your knee, to pull your towards him, but he hesitates- and moves to your shoulder instead. You lean into it, and hold the necklace that Horus had once given you in your hands. You clear your throat and blink your eyes, a few tears dripping down your face that you haphazardly wipe away with your palm. He wishes to wick them away with his knuckle, to brush his fingers across your skin, but he can't.
"Thank you, Sanguinius. For all of this. I appreciate you being so friendly to me."
Sanguinus softly smiles down at you, and attempts to ignore the way your words stab him directly in the heart; Bleeding all over your hands.
"Of course."
#sanguinius x reader#primarch x reader#warhammer 40k x reader#reader insert#reader#mywriting#Sanguinius/reader/Horus plotline
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“Cloud are you alright?”
The blond squeezed his eyes shut, biting back the whine building in his throat before grunting quietly. It took another second but the static faded, allowing him to see the faces of Tifa and Zack, both of them looking worried as they stared him down.
“‘M fine. Don’t worry about it.”
Tifa hesitated for a moment before shrugging, nodding once before turning on her heel to keep going. Zack, unfortunately, did not do the same. Looking at Tifa in disbelief before turning to Cloud, a hint of anger in his features as he spoke.
“What the fuck? You are obviously not ‘fine’ Cloud. What the hell was that about?”
Tifa spun on her heel, looking wide eyed at the black haired merc as he continued to stare down their blond friend. She went to intervene, tell him to leave Cloud alone but the blond pulled her up short. He looked to the side, borderline pout in his features as he crossed his arms.
“It’s nothing. Just a… thing, that happens sometimes. It’s fine Zack.”
Zack softened significantly at the sight of Cloud while Tifa was stuck standing awe struck. He’d never acted like this before. Always so ready to brush everyone off and push people out. It was why he didn’t have friends in Nibelheim, always pushing the other kids away and doing his own thing.
“Hey, it’s ok if you’re not fine. You don’t have to do this alone now. I’m here for you.”
Cloud leant into the hands that came up to cup his face, sighing softly as his eyes fluttered closed and Zack rested their foreheads together.
“I’m sorry… I don’t know what it is. Just happens sometimes when memories start coming back. Hurts like a bitch.”
The taller man chuckled softly, leaning away to kiss Cloud’s forehead softly. Tifa had to avert her eyes at the action, feeling like an intruder at the sight of this new side of Cloud.
“Don’t worry about it. Just let me know if you need a break or something yeah? I’ve got your back.”
Cloud gave him a small smile, light pink tinging his cheeks as he nodded. They pulled away from one another after a moment, the blond quickly adopting his stoic look before making his way past a still stunned Tifa. He only offered her a brief nod, either too embarrassed to look at her long or not really wanting to. It didn’t matter though cause she wanted to talk to Zack anyway.
The older man was staring after their blond though, affection and exasperation shining bright in his eyes as he smiled, “Where did he get that attitude from. I swear…”
Tifa frowned at that, raising a brow as she spoke, “Clouds always been like that.”
It was Zack’s turn to frown this time, looking at her in confusion as he shook his head, “No he hasn’t. Cloud was always happy back at Shinra. Yeah his social skills were abysmal and he flustered as easily as he does now. But he wasn’t that… aloof and cold before. Especially not around us.”
Tifa didn’t know who us was referring to but she couldn’t help but feel more confused. Cloud never smiled in Nibelheim. Not unless he was with his mum and even then, he’d usually steer them both clear of Tifa and the other kids.
“Tifa… Maybe you should talk to Cloud about this. I’m not sure he’d be alright with me being the one to talk to you.”
Said woman frowned all the more with those words, wondering what they meant. What did Zack know that would apparently be bad for him to share? Yeah Cloud had secrets but they were mostly about his days at Shinra. Nothing from their childhood…
#fic prompt#prompt#fic#final fantasy vii rebirth#final fantasy vii remake#final fantasy vii#zack fair#cloud strife#zakkura#clack#zack fair x cloud strife#tifa Lockhart#tifa and Cloud and their nebulous childhood memories#self indulgent#comfort for Cloud!!!#and Zack’s gonna do it!!!
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/ I've noticed that at this point I'm not even writing on any blog anymore, I just come and yell about some blorbo and leave. Rinse and repeat my lieges
#;ooc#ooc#me: -sleeps-#also me: -SUDDENLY JOLTS BACK AWAKE- I haven't expressed my love for x in some time#/usually i would feel pretty guilty about this! but lately i've been zoning out in the sense of just vibing#/im not dropping writting; im just doing something else ! when i feel the inspiration i'll drop by#would like that to come soon; i do miss writting hehe#the power a blorbo can have on a person can be a very profound and moving energy truly-#recently one of my 8376733 m.octezuma fanarts got reblobbed from some artists from aaaall across to japan and#it made me feel so giddy like!!!! no way you also like this one character that isnt even on the game!?#i haven't seen other artists being obsessed over him! he's kind of forgotten in the lb cast; it was so fun reblobbing each other's posts!#we may have a language barrier but we all love m.octe and i find that to be a lil heartwarming moment#it made me thonk;; there are so many ways to bond with people; of connecting in general#even without speaking to someone directly; there is a bond there#like i knew this existed; but experiencing it again makes u go like waow! im not alone ! not in at least one (1) way!#that there are other people out there in this big big world that would enthusiastically talk to you about the same fictional character you-#like; with a lot of love and interest#i've seen people making their own t.ezca and d.aybit plushies and putting them in cute lil clothes#or people posting about museums they got interested on visiting bc they've done a collab with f.go#its all very cute to me#its like the same energy i saw from this tktk where two girls randomly met on the street#and saw that they both had the same ita bag and they got all happy and started laughing together#or that time i was selling my stickers and someone came in and said how glad they were to find h.ypmic stuff!#if hy.pmic is quite niche nowadays; its even more from where i live!#or how excited i get if i meet someone who also plays id.v#its all a cycle of fangirling; pure joy; connections are so important!#important to know that whatever you are facing; that no matter how 'weird' you think you might be; there are a lot of people out there that#are like you and me; and its also why i like roleplaying#its like we all pull our blorbos and talk about them and get excited about it all like dolls#the sweet thing about rping is precisely the part where u connect with others
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Enjoy 41 seconds of THAT clip. Slowed done, a bit sharpened. Enjoy all the sweet, little moments.
#im still screaming#im still dead#there is so much to spot when its slowed down#LISTEN I WILL NEVER BE OVER THIS#❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️#everything i had to say was said under the other post#i love that you can see him smiling for a tiny second#also didnt realize olena hugged him with both hands arms#its so sweet how he pulls her close#AND THAT KISS ON THE CHEEK#why do i have the feeling that usually when they would be alone he would keep her in his arms#not stopping to giving her kisses while telling her how much he loves her and saying all kind of sweet words#making her giggle and blush while they cuddle with each other#before looking at each other eyes full of love#and kissing for real sweet and gentle and loving
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