#He is seething behind that screen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

criminalamnesia · 6 months ago

Text

Traitor part 8

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

here it is everyone :)) took me forever but it’s finally here! now I can disappear in peace lol. I’ll proofread everything later, but I hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations. thank you all for the love you’ve given this series. I hope this gives you some closure.

let me know if you want any drabbles from the series <3

thank you again!

after kyle finally leaves you alone, you slink back against the door, shutting your eyes so tightly stars dot your vision.

it never ends, does it?

apologies. worry. sympathy. pity.

it was in each of their eyes— the one-four-one. each of them trying to mask their pity for you behind sickening sympathy. you were exhausted of that look— not just from them, but from everyone you had walked past or looked at since everything had happened.

you open your eyes, scanning the room. what once had been a haven had become a hell. shattered glass sprinkled the floor near the mirror. clothes were still strewn about. you hadn’t bothered picking up what had been disturbed.

you’d be gone too soon for it to matter.

your phone rings then, the screen lighting up in the dimly lit room. you let the ring tone play for a second longer before you’re moving, reaching for the device on your nightstand.

it’s kate, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“hello?” you say as you answer the call.

“it’s kate,” comes the woman’s familiar voice through the speaker. “im on my way to base. should be there by tomorrow.”

you startle, eyebrows raising in confusion. “you’re coming here? why?”

you hear her sigh. “we can talk about it tomorrow. I need to meet with john, anyways. two birds, one stone and all that.” she tells you.

“can you at least tell me if the paper work is all set for my transfer?” you ask.

she doesn’t answer for a moment, and then:

“we’ll talk about it tomorrow, sergeant. get some rest. you sound like you need it.”

you hear a click, and then the line goes dead. you furrow your brows as you look down at the phone in your hand.

why on earth would she come all the way here just to talk?

your mind is moving a mile a minute, and suddenly, it clicks.

laswell is coming here to do damage control.

you huff a mirthless laugh, dropping your phone as your hands come up to run through your hair.

you weren’t being reassigned. you were being discharged.

but was it at her insistence, or someone else’s?

you whip around, wrenching open the door and storming down the hall to price’s office. those you pass in the hallway give you bewildered stares, and suddenly you’re aware that you’re still in that damned robe, but you’re on a mission.

and when you start something, you see it through.

you don’t bother knocking as you reach price’s door. instead, you barge into the office, effectively interrupting an argument between price and simon. their voices die off, heads turning to appraise who had barged in.

price’s eyes widen at the sight of you, but simon’s face is as unreadable as always. the door clicks shut behind you, and you stalk towards the two men, your fists clenched as you seethe.

“you motherfuckers,” you hurl the words at them, “you fucking knew. you knew.”

“love, what are you talkin’ about?” price questions, his brows furrowed as he turns to you.

“laswell,” you say, and price’s eyes widen. he knows. and now he knows you know.

“whatever she told you—”

“she didn’t tell me shit,” you huff. “I figured it out. why the fuck else would she come here just to talk? she’s playing fucking babysitter, isn’t she?”

price doesn’t speak. your gaze flits to simon’s.

“I’m sure you were rooting for this outcome, weren’t you? couldn’t finish me off in that fucking room, but hey, this is just as good, isn’t it? sending me back to fucking nothing.”

“this job is my life,” you turn your attention back to the captain. “and you fuckers just can’t stop ruining it, can you?” your voice is raising, and tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’re becoming hysteric.

“all because of a fucking lie!” you’re yelling now, jabbing a finger into the chest of your former captain.

“calm down,” the sound of simon’s rough baritone leads your head to snap toward him. your eyes are wide, fury and terror blazing in them.

and he expects you to let loose. scream and hit and scream some more. but you don’t.

you stand there and you stare at him with those wide eyes. the rest of the room— hell, the world falls away— and it’s just him and you.

like it was on patrol during countless nights, your bare fingers dancing over his gloved hands as you prattled on about a show you liked.

on countless nights curled up in his bed, your back to him, pressed so close he could feel the beat of your heart in his own chest. his arms wrapped around you, one of your fingers lazily tracing the ink on his forearm. no words spoken, yet so much said.

in the field, when you and johnny bicker over comms and he takes your side. when you take a bullet to the shoulder and he holds pressure on it until evac arrives.

when he makes eye contact with you as you pin kyle to the training mat, finally able to overcome his strength. when price tells him you’re the rat and he doesn’t want to believe it.

it’s just him and you. a lieutenant and his sergeant. but it’s more than that.

it’s a deep understanding of this job being your life. of losing everything and everyone you hold dear. of finding family again in this team, and doing whatever it takes to keep that family safe.

and he fully realizes, then, what you have been condemned to.

what they condemned you to.

what he condemned you to.

he breaks from his thoughts as you slam your fist into his jaw.

price’s eyes widen, his feet carrying him forward to intervene, but simon waves him off as he cradles a hand to his jaw.

“let ‘em,” he grunts out, and price looks bewildered, but he nods. he takes a step back, his hands falling to his sides, and he lets you strike again.

“fuck you,” you seethe, and despite your best efforts, your voice cracks. emotion seeps in, and your eyes are wet as you swipe a leg out from under him, forcing him to his knees.

he falls with no grace, knees hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. you’d cringe if this were any other circumstance.

instead, you deliver another blow, cracking his nose with the force of it. blood sprays out and wets your robe.

“ghost—” price begins from somewhere off to the side, but simon just shakes his head.

“fuck you, simon! fuck you!” you scream at him, and your fists are flying blindly as tears cloud your eyes.

and he just takes the hits. you subconsciously register the sound of the office door squeaking as it opens and quickly closes. price didn’t want to be a bystander any longer, it seems.

but he still didn’t jump in. was it because of ghost’s insistence? or because your captain didn’t want to watch one of his soldiers finally snap?

you finally stop yourself when blood drips from your knuckles. unsurprisingly, they’ve split again. there’s no doubt in your mind that there will be little scars between each of them once they’ve healed.

more to add to the reminder of everything. god, at this point you knew you’d never forget it even if you wanted to. even if you tried to. even if you did for a brief moment, those little white lines— discolored and jagged skin in the place of what should be smooth and unmarred, would be your reminder.

blood pools on the floor, a mix of yours and simon’s. you pay it no mind as you wipe the backs of your hands on your completely ruined robe. good— now you had a great excuse to throw the damned thing away.

you would’ve thrown it away anyways.

you bring your hands to your eyes, wiping away tears that had freed themselves their cage. you see simon clearly then, his face bloodied and yet still beautiful in that way of his. his nose is obviously broken. lacerations above his eye and on his cheekbones.

his eyes are staring back you, the icy blue of them never more intense than now.

you heave in your breaths as you look at him. his split lip cracks further as he opens his mouth.

“done?”

and you don’t have anything left to give, so you nod. then you slump to your knees, down onto his level, and you don’t look away from what you’ve done.

it’s no different than what you did to the doctor, or to countless enemies in the field. but, at the same time, it is different.

because it’s him, and he let you do this. he could have easily stopped you. he’d shown his strength against you numerous times on the sparring mat, picking you up and tossing you around with ease.

and yet he didn’t stop you.

“why?” you ask him, and it’s a loaded question. your voice is a watery tremble, and the word comes out as a whisper, but he doesn’t shy away.

he shrugs. “you needed it.”

he’s focusing on one aspect of the question— on why he let you hit him. you open your mouth to respond, but he surprises you by speaking again.

“least I could do,” he says.

you close your mouth, your chapped lips pressed into a thin line. why is he doing this now? saying this now? what changed?

“is it your fault, then? that I’m being discharged?” you find yourself asking, and you’re not sure if you want to know the answer.

maybe you just want a reason to hate him more.

“no,” he says, and you know he means it.

he never lied to you, regardless of any pain it may have saved. it was one of the things you had loved about him.

he sighs. “I didn’t want you to go.”

that surprises you. simon was never one to freely speak on his feelings. he had opened up to you during your relationship, but it was as if there was always an invisible line he could never cross. never did he utter the complete truth to his thoughts or feelings. and you had accepted that— because that is who he was.

and you would take him with all his walls if it just meant that you could have him.

“I don’t want you to.” he corrects himself.

the room falls silent around you. the part of you that still holds love for him yearns for his embrace at this moment. but you push that side of you down. you will not go crawling back, not after what happened.

“you’ve been an asshole,” you say, and he gives a curt nod.

“probably.” he concedes. “but I wouldn’ take anythin’ back. I told you, I meant what I said.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask. god, he has a horrible way with words.

“no,” he tells you. “nothin’ I can say can do that.”

you snort. you fall back on you haunches, your hands in your lap as you look at him.

“I am never going to forgive you,” you tell him, words full of so much hurt.

he nods again. “I know. I don’ blame you. don’ expect you to, neither.”

“but I’m…” he starts, and his lips crease in a frown. “im sorry.”

you just look at him. perhaps you had wanted an apology at one moment in time, but now? now none of it mattered.

“I hope so,” you tell him. you move to stand, and he remains still. he hasn’t moved an inch since you’d finished your assault.

“I hope you feel this way for the rest of your lonely life. I hope that you never forget what you did to me, and I hope that it keeps you up at night. because I can tell you with certainty that I will never forget. and I hope the others remember, too. I hope it tears you all apart from the inside. that it follows you around for the rest of your career.”

you breathe in, then out. “and I hope no one ever gives you the chances I did,” your voice is soft. “because I would never wish what you did to me on the next person you think you love.”

his face conveys no emotion other than the small frown still on his lips. his eyes, so cold, have softened the tiniest bit. you used to love when you could bring out that softness inside of him. when it was just the two of you, your hand in his, his eyes on you.

those memories would suffocate you if you let them. what could’ve been will suffocate you. you refuse to let it.

you turn and stalk towards the door, not bothering to spare him another glance. you open it, stepping out into the hallway, coming face-to-face with the rest of the one-four-one.

their eyes are all wide as they take you in. your bloodied hands and robe. the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. you pull the door shut behind you before you speak.

“i don’t care to speak to kate,” you say to price, your eyes meeting his. “fuck her for not giving me a chance. and fuck you for laying down like a damn dog and not fighting for your fucking team.”

you turn to johnny next. “you shove your sorries up your ass, mactavish. I don’t want your sympathy, and I don’t want your pity. I hope your regret eats you alive.”

finally, kyle. “and you,” you glare at him. “if anyone other than simon should’ve defended me, it should’ve been you. I met you first, kyle. you were my closest friend, my brother. and you turned out to be just another fucking lap dog.”

you shake your head, blinking away hot tears. “I want you to get me temporary housing and a car because that’s the least you owe me, after ruining my life. and I don’t want to hear from any of you ever again. if I do, I guarantee you I will not show you the mercy you think you showed me when you had me tied up in that chair.”

none of them spoke, and you didn’t give them a chance to as you pushed past them, heading back toward your room to change.

a yellow cab retrieves you from base the next morning before kate arrives. it’s still dark outside when you leave the shelter that had once been home. rain pours down around you, a raging storm hanging overhead as it had all night prior. perhaps it was a reflection of your mood. you liked to think that it was.

you toss your duffle bag into the trunk, shutting it before climbing into the back seat. you hadn’t bothered to pack anything other than a few pairs of clothes you’d recovered from the floor of your room. everything else could be trashed, especially anything the boys had given you.

the driver doesn’t speak— price had given him all the information he needed— and paid him— before he’d fetched you. it seems your final outburst— and beating simon to a pulp— had finally put some urgency in his movements.

none of them had seen you off, per your request. you thought it was the least they could do for you after continuously disrespecting your boundaries.

(unbeknownst to you, simon had watched you leave through a window.)

the driver turned up the music— some pop song you didn’t know the name of— and you slumped in your seat, your head turned toward the window as you watched the rain race down it.

you found yourself drifting off quickly, and you didn’t try to fight it. you’re finally free of that place and the men you thought were your family. free of the anxiety of seeing them around every corner. free of the hate that sparked in your heart every time you heard their voices.

you sleep, and for the first time since before everything, it’s peaceful.

you wake to the taxi driver talking to you.

“we’re here,” he says, knocking on the glass separating the front and back seats. “can you get out now? I gotta get home. it’s my wife’s birthday.”

you blink the sleep from your eyes, nodding before you even register what he’s saying. “sorry,” you mumble as you fumble with the seat belt.

you slip from the car, your boots splashing in a muddy puddle. you grimace as the murky water seeps in, wetting your socks.

you trudge around to the back of the car, opening the trunk and retrieving your bag. you’ve just shut the trunk and stepped back when the car is driving off, kicking up mud that further dirties your boots and jeans.

you pay it little mind as you look at the small cottage before you.

nestled between some trees, it’s beautiful. a shingled roof. light blue paneled siding. a small front porch with a rocking chair and a bench swing. a beautiful dark blue door.

your favorite flowers live in the flower beds surrounding what you can see of the house. it makes you wonder if its a simple coincidence or if simon or price planned it.

how long have they known that you would have to come here? that you would have no where else to go except for where they put you?

you vowed that this house would just be temporary. you would get away from it as soon as possible, putting the rest of the one-four-one behind you. you didn’t want any of them knowing where to find you.

the rain slows to a sad drizzle. drops prick your skin as you make no effort to avoid puddles, splashing carelessly to the front door. you can hear birds beginning to chirp, slipping out of their hiding places as the sun’s rays begin to illuminate the earth once more.

a new beginning, you think.

you reach a hand toward the door knob, twisting it open and pushing inside. it’s a cozy little place with wood floors and a brick fireplace. it’s furnished, but there’s no personality to it. it clearly hasn’t been somebody’s home.

the door clicks shut behind you as you toe off your boots and drop your duffle by the door. as you nudge your boots out of the way with a foot, you notice an envelope on the floor.

eyebrows scrunched in confusion, you lean down and scoop it up. your name is written on the front in a scrawl you don’t recognize.

who else knows you’re here?

perhaps you’ll need to leave sooner than you thought.

you push your thumb under the seam, ripping it open with little finesse. inside is a typed letter. it’s an offer, you realize. a job offer.

its got an american stamp on it, and its signed by a phillip graves.

a new beginning indeed.

3K notes · View notes

poguehearted77 · 4 months ago

Text

Between The Lines

Summary-> It's the little things that go on behind the scenes between you and Drew that makes your chemistry electric.

Belongs to my: OBX Season 5: Payback for Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

"Park place." Maddison narrates where Drew lands his dog piece across the monopoly board. "I'll buy it." He says but your hand is in his face, "Not so fast. I'm sure you would love to buy it if I didn't already have a hotel on it. You owe me $1500. Pay up." You show him your open palm, ready for lots and lots of cash.

"He's so cooked. Look at that pathetic stack of cash Drew has. I've got piggy banks with more than that." Jonathan's comments send the four of you erupting into a fit of laughter which eventually dies down to a patient silence. "Sometime today would be great." Madison clears her throat.

"Josh is coming!" Drew points, appealing to your gullibility and you all fell for it. By the time you realized he was bluffing, the board was tossed and the pieces were all out of place. He gets up and runs off as if he already knew you'd be hot on his heels.

Your outburts left JD and Madison alone to pick up the pieces, but not without an interesting conversation. "50 bucks they're together by the time we finish the season." Madison says it so casually as she reaches underneath the couch for the pieces.

"So I'm not crazy? You see it too?" He looks almost relieved. "Trust me, I've got a knack for these things." JD seems skeptical about the timeline of the bet. "I dunno, we finish filming in four months. That might be too soon, I say by the premiere."

The both of them look up to Carlacia who seemed to have been streaming live on her istagram. She enters the room mumbling something about getting winded by you and Drew sprinting past her.

Madison scoffs, "That's like nine months from now. They could get together and break up by then, but you know what-- If that's what you wanna bet, then be my guest." She holds out her hand and JD shakes on it. "You're on."

"We're ready for you guys." One of the assistants notifys them that it was time to head to the screening room where the weekly table reads were held.

Today would be your first look at the script for the second episode, and to say you were shocked was an understatement.

Script Summary:

Eventually the pogues put their trust in Piper and she gives them a fair exchange of some arms that they can handle, while she opts for her weapon of choice, a steel pipe.

"How do you think I got the name and the scar?" She says and it puts an odd sense of comfort among the group, minus a skeptical Rafe, to know you were confident enough in your skills that you didn't need a gun.

They beleived they were in good hands, until they realized they weren't. There was movement coming from the bushes and it made the pogues stand on guard, beckoning them to come out. Soon, the figures finally revealed themsleves. More mercenaries.

"Nicely, done Piper. It seems you can still make yourself useful after all." The red-headed woman speaks up, tossing you a pouch of money that you caught with one hand effortlessly.

"Never doubt my capabilities, it's insulting." You warn, tucking the pouch into the bag strapped across your back. The british woman continues, "Y'know, Mr. Finch could use your talents again. Once we're done tying up loose ends, we're headed back to home base in Lisbon."

Rafe is livid. He knew he couldn't trust you. It couldn't be by pure coincidence that the mercenaries popped up in the middle of this oasis when you were leading. "Lisbon? You told us Finch was here-" Kiara exclaims and Rafe interrupts.

"It was all a lie, from the very beginning. Mr. Alami, the merchant from Agapenta, he was working with you, wasn't he? You knew he'd send us to you, and now you got your sad little payout from these dipshits for bringing us to them." Rafe seethes.

"I'll neither confirm nor deny that claim, love the enthusiasm though." Your attitude remains unbothered throughout the ordeal until Pope demands, "What do you want from us? We don't have the crown! Groff took it." The red head shrugs casually, sharpening her blades as she approaches the group.

"Don't you worry, Groff will get what's coming to him. For now, it's time to repay the debt that is owed. You get blood on your hands, I get blood on mine." Your eyes bulge, "Hang on, you never said you wanted to kill them." You step in and the woman pays you no mind.

"Perhaps because It's none of your concern. You've got your cut, now's a good time as ever to leave. It's about to get messy." She retracts her hand, about to plunge the blade into Pope when she's knocked out cold by a flying piece of steel.

The group looks over to you in shock, fear, and a hint of gratitude, but there's no time to gush about it when there's suddenly a brawl that breaks out between the mercenaries and the pogues.

You all hardly take them out before escaping.

"Piper, what the hell?!" John B yells and his anger is heavily agreed on in the group, you take it on the chin before offering the most sincere apology you could come up with. They're unconvinced. "I deserve that. Everything you heard back there is true. Finch's Fortress is in Lisbon. If you find him, you'll find Groff," You trail off, reaching into your bag, handing Cleo the pouch of money you'd just gotten.

"Take this. It's more than enough to get you a boat big enough to get across the atlantic and even have some leftover for food for a few days. When you arrive on the coast of Cascais, you'll need to head north in-land."

There's silence.

A long silence, nervous glances between the pogues and Rafe's eyes roll. "You guys cannot seriously be considering trusting her. She almost had us killed! Am I the only one who cares about making it back home?"

"Just shut up, Rafe!" John B silences him, and Pope speaks up. "Listen, I don't know about you guys but Piper just saved my life when she didn't have to. We've already lost someone. Going after Groff could be a suicide missison for all we know. But we all know this isn't about our safety, it's about revenge. For JJ." His speech is moving, the expressions agree.

"For JJ." They all agree.

"To Lisbon we go." Cleo chimes, and the group moves on.

End of Script*

You had just finished reading the script and you were blown away. The cast never knows what to expect whenevfer a new script is dropped in front of them.

"Wait a minute... If the pogues are going to Lisbon in the next episode then," Madison trails off and the director ties in, "So are we. Pack your bags, flights are booked for Saturday morning at 5am, please do not miss these flights, we're not opposed to writing you out!" Josh jokes and there's excited and shock all around the table.

You knew that the last season of the show had implied that the pogues would be on their way to Lisbon but it never dawned on you that it would be so soon, even though it made sense.

"You ever been to Portugal?" Drew leans in, a soft whisper in your ear tickled your skin and made the hairs on the back of your neck at attention. "Never, have you?" He thinks about it, "If a layover counts then yes, yes I have." You're not sure if the joke was funny or if it just left the mouth of an incredibly attractive man, nonetheless, it made you giggle.

Madison kicks JD from under the table, jutting her chin towards the two of you giggling in secret and he rolls his eyes. "Patience." He says it calmly, but Madison is impatient, she knows she'll reign triumphant by the end of it all.

It’s a Friday night—or, more accurately, the early hours of Saturday morning. The world outside your accommodations complex is still cloaked in sleep, and you should be too. But no. The responsibility of making your flight in two hours has ripped you from the warmth of your bed. Groggy but determined, you scrambled to gather your belongings, knowing you wouldn’t be back.

After a last sweep of the room, you opened the door with a flicker of confidence��only to jump at the sight of a six-foot-two figure standing in your doorway.

“Drew! Oh my god, you scared me.” Your hand flew to your chest in a theatrical gesture, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

A small smile tugged at his lips, his eyes crinkling slightly. “Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were actually up. Everyone else already left. There’s one driver still waiting downstairs.” His voice was smooth, annoyingly easy to listen to this early in the morning. Too easy.

“You sound oddly refreshed for 3 a.m.,” you quipped, your own voice still husky from sleep as you grabbed your suitcase.

“That’s the beauty of insomnia.” He shrugged, gesturing to his temples with a finger like it was some kind of genius life hack. “You can’t wake up tired if you never really sleep.”

The elevator dinged open, and the two of you stepped inside. The silence that settled was heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite define. It hung there until you both spoke at once:

“So where are you—” “How did you—”

You broke into quiet laughter, and Drew’s mouth twitched with amusement. “You first,” he said, giving you a slight nod.

“How did you know I hadn’t already left with the others?” you asked, tilting your head curiously. For a moment, something flickered across his face—an emotion too quick to name—before a light blush dusted his cheeks. He masked it with an easy tone.

“I did some askin' around,” he replied, the answer short and almost vague. It was just enough to spark your teasing instincts.

“Ah,” you said with a smirk, “so you missed me?”

Instant regret settled within you. The elevator seemed too small, too still as Drew turned to look at you, his gaze steady and disarming. For a heartbeat, he didn’t respond, and your cheeks grew warm under his stare.

“You could say that,” he finally said, the ghost of a smirk curling the corner of his lips. His attention shifted to the elevator doors as they slid open, leaving you to wonder if you’d imagined the whole thing.

The ride to the airport was longer than expected thanks to roadwork that forced a detour. You should've been annoyed, but at some point, your head found its way to Drew’s shoulder, and your eyes fluttered shut. The fabric of his hoodie was soft against your temple, and his warmth lulled you into a half-dream state.

Drew didn’t dare move. The weight of your head against him was almost too perfect, and he fought the sudden urge to reach for your hand resting on your lap. Instead, he focused on the ticking clock in the back of his mind and the quiet hum of the car.

When you arrived, he sprang into action. “C’mon, we don’t have time to waste,” he murmured, grabbing your suitcase and his carry-on in one hand while ushering you toward the terminal with the other.

You barely had to lift a finger. Drew handled everything—tickets, baggage check, even navigating customs—with practiced efficiency, his jaw set and his movements quick. He wasn’t just organized; he was determined.

“Do you always walk as fast as a drill sergeant?” you teased as you reached the gate, breathing a little easier now.

He shot you a look, his lips twitching. “I'm not a huge fan of being late,” was all he said. But the way his eyes lingered on yours for half a second longer than necessary told you there was more to it than that.

Finally, you made it to your seats in first class. You settled across the aisle from Madelyn, who flashed you a bright smile.

“I was starting to think you two wouldn’t make it,” she teased, leaning toward you with a glint in her eye. There was an underlying subtext to her words but you were too tired to decipher it.

“Drew made sure that didn’t happen,” you replied with a soft laugh. The words were simple, but they carried a warmth you couldn’t quite suppress.

From behind your seat, Drew caught the sound of his name on your lips--and god did he love the way it sounds. He didn’t know what you’d said, but it didn’t matter. The fact that you were talking about him stirred something in his chest.

As the flight began, you glanced back once, meeting his gaze. He held it for a fraction of a moment before looking away, his expression unreadable.

And yet, for the rest of the flight, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop replaying the memory of the weight of your head on his shoulder—or wondering what it might feel like to hold your hand in his.

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza, @wearemadeofstardust0, @cadhlabear, @thepopcultureaddict, @citr0us, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account, @madi44444,

1K notes · View notes

2tarbell · 7 months ago

Text

MEAN SOMETHING — KOOK!READER

only one person knew how to handle your drunk best friend…

(drabble. © 2tarbell 2024)

you were going to end rafe cameron.

on the one night, the one night, you wanted some alone time and to be away from the boys, he decided to get sloppy drunk. of course, your other best friends have no idea how to take care of a drunk person and you honestly wondered how they even took care of themselves. which left you to slide on some slippers and drive over.

now as you stood before the front door in your victoria’s secret yoga pants and pink sweater, waiting for topper to answer it, you wonder why you let yourself get pulled into shit like this.

it’s rafe, that’s why. that’s always the reason why.

the door swings open to reveal a frazzled topper and kelce, you would’ve laughed at them if you weren’t so pissed. they took in your attire, the prissiness still evident even your pajamas. but you looked slightly disheveled, something they didn’t see often. both boys snorted at the sight of your bunny slippers but you quickly cut them off.

“say anything and i’ll chop your dicks off. where is he?” you seethed.

your tone brooked no argument and they both stepped aside to let you sashay in. kelce had his keys in hand as he mumbled something about rafe being ‘in his room’ and ‘on the floor’.

god was really testing you tonight.

you shooed them away, locking up the door behind them and stomping up the stairs. just praying he wasn’t choking on his own vomit or something.

the sight that greeted you literally made you pause and take out your phone, nails tapping the screen as you took a picture. rafe cameron, laying on his back and seemingly enthralled by the ceiling fan. it was genuinely amusing and kind of adorable. but the bottle of whiskey sitting next to him reminded you of your duty.

“rafe. sit up.”

his head snapped up at your voice, a boyish grin on his lips. he looked younger when he was drunk, stress and age having melted away.

“heeey, baby, whaddaya doin’ hereee?” he slurred, a low rumbly version of his voice.

you stepped closer, standing over him. hands on your hips as you looked down at him. his eyes were hardly open but you didn’t miss how they trailed down your figure.

“making sure you don’t die — get up.” the words were sharp in attempt to make him seriously listen.

he giggled and sighed, pushing up to rest on his elbows. the movement had his head spinning but he didn’t give a shit. just needed a better look at his pretty best friend.

“oh, y’know it turns me on when y’talk to me like that…”

you poked his side with your foot a bit harshly. patience wearing thin, you glared down at him.

“you’re such a pain in my ass—“

“mmm, love your ass,” he hummed but then groaned when you kicked him again, harder.

“rafe, i am so serious right now—“

with a childish huff of annoyance, he lifted himself off the ground but then immediately flopped face first on his bed. small victories, small victories.

you were happy to see dumb and dumber had enough brains to leave a water bottle with him. you grabbed it off the nightstand and perched at the edge of the bed next to the drunken 6’2 baby. a delicate hand rubbed his back; despite being annoyed at him for getting this drunk, you were still worried.

“hey, babe, c’mon — turn over. you need to drink some water…”

rafe unceremoniously flipped over, long legs dangling off the side of the bed. he sat up slowly and groaned at each movement. the room was nonstop spinning, so he decided to focus on one thing: your face. a smile worked its way onto his lips before he could stop himself.

you looked so beautiful, all worried and doting on him. blue eyes stared at your features (like he didn’t already have them committed to memory). the tent in his pant caught your eye and he watched as your eyes rolled. despite the memories of nights spent tangled up with him, you couldn’t believe the audacity he had.

“no way you’re seriously hard right now—“

“mmm, can’t control it around you.”

his smirk was frustrating you, in more ways than one. no, you wouldn’t do anything while he was this drunk. he knows that. yet he still tries to lean up and—

the water bottle presses to his lips, you trying to ease him into drinking and ignoring the bulge you’ve become all too familiar with. his betrayed expression made you snicker. this wasn’t the time to let fantasies run wild. kicking off your slippers and tucking your legs beneath you, you leaned closer.

“c’mon, rafe,” your voice was sweet, so sweet. he couldn’t do anything but take large gulps of water, trying to please you. he was a dumbass but you smiled at his eager approach.

“okay, okay — slow down before you jus’ throw it all up…” the giggle you let out settled right into his bones. rafe found himself wondering why you were just friends. he thought that a lot lately.

“go out with me.”

he definitely thought he sounded more debonair than he did. in reality, half of the words he spoke just flowed into each other. but he kept that low drawl that always sent you reeling. you couldn’t do this, couldn’t approach that territory. not now. you’d be happy if you never did.

“rafe—“ you tensed up.

“no, seriously. you’re— you’re gorgeous and y’put up with me. i mean, c’mon—“

the deep sting to your heart wasn’t something new. but it felt stronger this time, more painful. with a sigh, you set the water back down on his nightstand, brushing his hair back as he continues to rant.

“i think we get along great. y’know y’ten times better than— than any other chick i’ve been with— shit, any chick on the island—“

a bittersweet smile graced your lips. rafe noticed they were devoid of any pink or gloss. you really got out of bed just to come and take care of him? that’s gotta mean something.

“c’mon, doll face… gimme a reason y’shouldn’t.”

his words trailed off into contented hums when you started to scratch his scalp. boys are so easy. but boys aren’t rafe.

“i’m a bitch.” the resignation in your voice was telling. being a bitch, being called one wasn’t something new to you. these days you accepted the word with pride, reclaiming it in a sense. but you knew rafe, kook boys, and hell even pogue boys didn’t want a bitch. you were too much for most people.

the scoff he let out made you smile, cheeks dimpling and fingers twisting his hair. he shook his head with a frown and rested a large hand on your waist.

“nooo, y’not.” the words punctuated with a squeeze.

“i am—“

rafe reached up and cupped the back of your neck, silencing any chance to speak or protest. you know what that touch meant: ‘i’m talking now’.

“you’re beautiful. and— and smart and good.” his whispered words are drunken and mumbled. but you felt like your heart might explode, a heat pushing through your veins and replacing the blood with rafe.

rafe, rafe, rafe.

“best girl i know... yeah?” he urges, squeezing the back of your neck. your heart thumps faster at the pressure. you nod, because what else can you do when he speaks to you like that?

with a satisfied hum, he smiles. the action completely softens his face and it blows you away every time. you’re pressed closer, leaning over him, and he’s staring at you like he can’t believe you’re real.

“that’s my girl…”

you can’t tell who leans in first, but soon you’re locking lips with your best friend. something that shouldn’t be familiar and exhilarating as it is, but continues to be every single time. the kiss that you share is more gentle than you two have ever been with each other. in your complicated relationship, it was always hot and rough.

but this… this was slow and comforting. he tasted like whiskey and you let your lips part just slightly, a tentative lick of his tongue into the warmth of your mouth made you feel weak.

rafe was alight with want. he’d always wanted you. wanted to be in your presence. wanted to hear your voice. wanted to have you beneath him. wanted to be beneath you. he wanted it all. maybe it was the whiskey talking, but nothing had ever felt more right than when your hand cupped his cheek and your lips where on his.

“you should sleep…” your voice was hardly recognizable, soft and hesitant against his lips. he didn’t have to to ask, you knew he wanted you to stay. and you know you couldn’t have left if you wanted to.

so, you let him wrap his arms around you and nestled into his neck. and when he starts to snore like he always denies he does, you felt like things might be okay. despite it all, he was gonna be your rafe.

#kook!reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #fanfic #outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #obx smut #obx x reader #obx fanfiction

3K notes · View notes

allthingssteddie · 25 days ago

Text

Steve adjusted the headphones on his ears, scanning the control panel in front of him. He and Robin had just started their new job at the local radio station, and they were still getting used to the equipment.

As they went live on air, Steve’s eyes scanned the request list. One name kept popping up Eddie Munson.

“Another request from Eddie,” Robin said, raising an eyebrow. “He’s really got a thing for sappy love songs, huh?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he read out the request. “All my loving by the Beatles . Dedicated to ‘My sweet heart’

Steve's gut twisted with a pang of jealousy. Who was this "sweetheart" that Eddie was so fond of? He couldn't shake the feeling that Eddie was secretly pining for someone.

As the song played on, Steve's mind wandered. Eddie would confide in him if he was seeing someone, wouldn't he? They were inseparable, after all.

But with each new love song request from Eddie, Steve's irritation grew. Robin raised an eyebrow, noticing Steve's simmering anger. "Someone's jealous," she teased, but Steve just scowled, his eyes flashing with annoyance.

As the days went by, Eddie's requests kept coming in, each one more romantic than the last. Steve's jealousy simmered just below the surface, making him irritable and snappish.

Robin raised an eyebrow as Steve read out yet another request from Eddie. " 'Love Song' by The Cure. Dedicated to 'My sweetheart'," Steve growled.

Robin's eyes sparkled with amusement. "You got it bad," she teased, nudging Steve with her elbow.

Steve's scowl deepened. "Shut up, Robin," he muttered, trying to compose himself.

But it was no use. Steve's anger and jealousy were getting the better of him. He couldn't understand why Eddie was being so secretive about his love life.

Didn't Eddie know that Steve was his best friend? Didn't he trust him enough to confide in him?

As the song played on, Steve's mind seethed with questions and doubts. Who was this mysterious person that Eddie was pining for? Every time Steve asked Eddie about his love life, he would just become nervous and change the subject. It was infuriating.

Why was why didn’t Eddie trust him enough to confide in him? The more Steve thought about it, the more his anger and hurt grew. He felt like Eddie was shutting him out, and it stung. He really was starting to feel depressed about this and was not looking forward to going to work the next day, but something surprised him..

Steve's eyes widened in surprise as he stared at the request on the screen. " 'Head Over Heels' by Tears for fears his favorite song.. Dedicated to 'My Stevie'."

He felt a shiver run down his spine as he processed the words. Could it be? Was Eddie's mysterious sweetheart... him?

Steve's eyes darted to Robin, who was trying to stifle a grin behind her hand. "Is that me?" Steve mouthed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Robin's eyes sparkled with amusement, and she nodded.

Steve's heart skipped a beat as he turned back to the microphone, his voice shaking slightly. "Well, it looks like we have a special dedication... to 'My Stevie'."

As the song played on he heard a knock on the glass. Steve's eyes widened in surprise as he saw Eddie's goofy grin and enthusiastic waving through the glass. He couldn't help but laugh at Eddie's antics, feeling a warmth spread through his chest.

"Looks like we've got a special fan out there," Steve said, trying to compose himself, but his eyes kept drifting back to Eddie's joyful face.

Robin chuckled and nudged Steve with her elbow. "I told him to be more obvious," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Steve's cheeks flushed, but he couldn't deny the flutter in his heart as he waved back at Eddie, the song's lyrics taking on a whole new meaning.

Side note I just know Steve and Robin are going to be working at the radio station on season five.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie idea #steddie prompt #steddie headcanon #Steve and Robin radio host #robin buckley #steddie fandom

781 notes · View notes

rafecameronssl4t · 8 months ago

Note

Can you write something where Rafe falls for a girl in a committed relationship but the guy she’s with (who is a kook) just isn’t nice to her? Lots of angst plsssss

Please, please, please || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: thank u for the request 💗

Warnings: smoking, reader having alochol problems, swearing, reader x toxic!bf

Word count: 1,168

MASTERLIST

divider by @yoonitos

“And please, please, please, don’t bring me to tears when I just did my makeup so nice. Heartbreak is one thing, my ego’s another, I beg you, don’t embarrass me motherfucker.”

“Trouble in paradise, three o’clock,” Topper mutters, letting out a low whistle as he leans against the porch railing. Rafe turns his head to see the source of the commotion. “Stop being so selfish!” Jacques, your boyfriend, shouts as he storms out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

“I don’t want to do it,” you retort, spinning around to face him on the other side of the vehicle, your eyes blazing with defiance. “How many fucking favors have I done for you? And yet you can’t even do one for me?” Jacques rages, his voice rising with frustration.

“I don’t care. I’m not doing it, Jacques,” you snap back, your voice cold and resolute as you slam his car door and start to walk away. In a fit of rage, Jacques slams his hand down on the roof of the car, the sound reverberating through the tense air. “Don’t slam my car, you fucking selfish bitch!” he yells, his words dripping with venom. You fight back tears, your vision blurring as you refuse to look back.

“Shit,” Topper mutters under his breath, watching the scene unfold with a mix of concern and disbelief. Rafe’s eyes follow you as you hurry up the stairs and disappear into the house. “I don’t know how she’s still with him when he treats her like absolute shit,” Topper says, shaking his head in dismay.

Rafe had his eyes trained on you the entire dinner, even though you were seated at the far end of the table. His gaze was intense, unwavering, and concerned as he watched the tension between you and Jacques escalate.

As the bickering between you and Jacques grew more heated, Rafe’s expression hardened. You pushed your chair back abruptly, the legs scraping loudly against the polished floor, drawing the attention of everyone around the table.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jacques hissed, his hand shooting out to yank your arm down with a grip that made you wince in pain. “Let go of me, Jacques,” you seethed through gritted teeth, your voice low, trying to maintain a composed facade as your parents and a few other guests turned their heads in curiosity and concern.

“Don’t make a scene, okay?” Jacques warned, his voice dripping with irritation and a hint of desperation. “I’m not making a scene, you are!” you snapped back, your voice rising slightly as you yanked your arm free from his grip. With a final glare, you grabbed your purse and stormed out onto the verandah, the screen door slamming shut behind you with a resounding bang.

Rafe’s eyes followed your every movement, his jaw clenched in anger. “Excuse me for a moment,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the murmurs of the other diners. Pushing back his chair, he rose from the table, his movements deliberate and controlled, and followed you outside.

As he stepped onto the verandah, the cool night air hit him, and he saw you standing by the railing, your back to him, shoulders shaking slightly. He approached you cautiously, his footsteps soft on the wooden planks. “You good?” Rafe’s voice was gentle, filled with genuine concern as he reached out to touch your shoulder.

You flinch at his touch, turning your head slightly to the side. Quickly, you raise the back of your hand to wipe the spilt alcohol from the corner of your lips. “Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you stutter, hastily shoving the flask back into your purse as Rafe watches with a curious gaze.

“You sure? ’Cause you and your boyfriend don’t seem fine,” Rafe remarks, pulling a lighter and a cigarette packet from his pocket. He lights a cigarette with a swift, practiced motion, the flame briefly illuminating his concerned expression.

You stay quiet, the awkward silence stretching as you wonder if he saw the earlier confrontation. “Jacques just has a short temper sometimes, no big deal,” you chuckle awkwardly, your back pressing against the verandah railing. Rafe scoffs, exhaling a cloud of smoke, his eyes fixed on the dark, rippling water below.

“Why are you defending him? He’s a fucking prick, y/n,” Rafe says, his voice tinged with frustration and disbelief. You knew Rafe was right. The truth of his words stung, and for a moment, you felt exposed and vulnerable. Your mind raced, replaying the countless times Jacques’ temper had flared, leaving you feeling small and insignificant.

“I… I don’t know,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s complicated.” Rafe takes a deep drag of his cigarette, then flicks the ash away, his eyes never leaving yours. “It doesn’t have to be. You deserve better than that bastard,” he says, his tone softening. “You don’t have to put up with his shit, y’know that right?”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you look down, unable to meet Rafe’s intense gaze. The weight of his words, the truth in them, felt both comforting and overwhelming. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, the cool night air filling your lungs.

“I know,” you whisper, finally lifting your eyes to meet his. “So then, why are you still with him.” He retorts, his face hard as he intensely stares at your face. You look out over the verandah, a small sigh escaping your lips.

“I’ve been with Jacques for so long, it’s hard to remember what life was like before him,” you confess, your voice trembling slightly, “I keep hoping he’ll change, but it never happens.” Rafe lets out a scoff as he shakes his head.

“Wake up y/n, people like Jacques rarely change. They promise they will, but it’s just words. You deserve someone who respects you, who doesn’t hurt you.” You nod slowly, the realization sinking in. “I know. I guess I’ve just been afraid to admit it. Afraid what my parents would say.”

"Who cares what your parents think?" Rafe scoffs, his tone dismissive. You exhale slowly, feeling the weight of their judgments. "They've got plenty to say about my drinking," you admit, shrugging. Rafe studies your side profile, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"They'll get over it. Jacques is a prick anyway," he replies nonchalantly, taking another drag from his cigarette before handing it to you. "Thanks," you mutter, accepting it and taking a long pull, watching the smoke swirl and dance in the air.

"I should probably head back," you say suddenly, passing the cigarette back to him. Rafe nods, stubbing it out. "Yeah, me too," he says, clearing his throat and smoothing down his shirt.

"Thanks, Rafe. For being here for me," you say sincerely, meeting his gaze. "Anytime, y/n. I'm always here for you," he replies with a warm smile, his hands tucked into his pockets. You nod, offering a small smile before heading back inside.

1K notes · View notes

c0s-lettuce · 3 months ago

Note

I love your Sergei story. Can you please do a Sergei x female reader story where he sees her taking a shower? He sneaks up on her in the shower and they have passionate sex? Ty

flattery - sergei kravinoff x fem!reader

word count: 1405

warnings: smut, 18+ only, minor dni, shower sex, breast play, oral sex (f receiving), swearing

a/n: thanks for the request, nonnie! i'm glad you like my previous fic! this is my first time writing smut so i'm very sorry if it sucks 😭

Sergei used to ask if he could come over. Then, it turned into him stating he was coming over and no longer requesting permission. Soon enough, he started showing up unannounced. At first, it would be at your front door. But if you were ever home late, or if he was just bored, he would make his way inside. He would get comfortable on your couch or fix himself a drink in your kitchen. And he would laugh when he scared you half to death.

"You left your window unlocked," he would say.

You seethed, mainly because of the audacity of this man. But also because you live on the third floor of your apartment building. Not long after, you relented and gave Sergei a spare key.

At this point, it was almost like he lived here too. He was getting very comfortable, and you weren't sure how to feel about it. You considered charging him rent. Or, at the very least, telling him off. But before you ever got around to it, his mouth would find its way to yours, his hands to your waist, and the rest would become history.

It's another regular evening when Sergei comes over. He arrives to a quiet apartment, with only the hum of household appliances, distant traffic and, most noticeably, the sound of running water from the shower.

After locking the door behind him, he kicks off his shoes and discards his jacket on the back of the couch. He heads over to the bathroom, carefully opening the door and peeking inside. Warm steam and the fragrant scent of your shampoo waft through the air. And through the foggy glass of the shower screen, he sees you.

He smiles to himself as he enters, recognising the potential of this situation. Your back is facing him, and you're blissfully unaware of his presence. The running water helps mask his actions as he shuts the door and approaches the shower.

He pulls the shower door open and reaches to pinch you on the waist, making a sudden noise to scare you. You flinch and let out a yelp. As you turn around, your startlement turns into anger when you see the culprit.

"Sergei? What the fuck is wrong with you?" you yell at him.

Sergei chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help it."

You grab the door and hold it closed, creating a sort of barrier between the two of you. "That was not fucking funny. What are you even doing here?"

"I came to see you," he answers, unbothered by your reaction.

You stare at him incredulously through the glass. "You really couldn't wait ten minutes?"

Sergei just laughs. "Of course not. Who do you think I am?"

You let out a huff, unimpressed by his antics. "Okay, well, you've seen me. You can go now."

"Aw, don't send me away," he pouts. "Can't I join you?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "Join me? Are you being serious?"

"Dead serious," he replies. "Please?"

You continue staring him down, but he disarms you with a charming smile. You groan. How could you say no when he's looking at you like that?

"Alright, fine," you say. "But this doesn't mean I forgive you."

Sergei nods, still smirking. He begins to undress, leaving his clothes piled on the floor. You turn to face the water again, ignoring the man and refocusing on washing yourself.

Meanwhile, Sergei remains fixated on you, finding your aloof demeanour amusing. Once he's unclothed, he steps into the shower behind you. Almost immediately, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

"Don't be mad," he murmurs, as he presses his lips against your neck, "I missed you, that's all."

"That's a sorry excuse," you mutter in response.

He hums, smiling against your skin. "But it's true, baby. I've been thinking about you all day."

He continues peppering kisses on your neck. You try not to make a noise as he begins to caress your body. His large hands wander up to your breasts, and he starts kneading them while his fingers brush over your nipples. After a while, he spins you around to face him, smiling as he meets your gaze. He takes a moment to admire you.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he says.

You give him a pointed look. "Don't try to flatter me, Sergei."

"Oh, come on," he pulls you closer. "You know I wouldn't lie to you."

Before you can protest further, he leans in to kiss you. His lips are fervorous against yours. His beard tickles your skin, and his fingers squeeze your hips. Unable to stay annoyed, you loop your arms over his shoulders and kiss him back.

He holds you close, and you do the same, your bodies flush against each other. Your fingers play at the nape of his neck, and he moans into your mouth when you tug his hair. He deepens the kiss, brushing his tongue against yours.

He guides you towards the wall. The cold tiles press against your back, making you jump slightly. Sergei must have noticed because he smirks, breaking the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw.

"So beautiful," he whispers, repeating his earlier sentiment.

He starts moving lower, peppering more kisses down your neck and over your chest and stomach. You let out a sigh as you lean back, watching Sergei get on his knees.

Now situated on the shower floor, he grips your thighs and holds you steady against the wall. He kisses a trail along your hip, slowly moving towards your inner thigh. Carefully, he guides one of your legs to rest over his shoulder. He looks up at you as he places a gentle, teasing kiss over your sex. You gasp, hands finding their way back to Sergei's hair.

He grins at your reaction before moving in fully. Using his tongue, he parts your folds to reach your entrance and licks a stripe up to your clit. You moan as he lavishes attention on the bud, licking and sucking as if his life depended on it.

Sergei's euphoria matches yours. Engulfed by your sweet scent and surrounded by your soft skin, he knows this is where he belongs. On his knees, worshipping his goddess. He groans into you as you tighten your grip on his hair. Pressing one last kiss on your clit, he begins moving his mouth lower and teases your hole with his tongue.

A string of moans and curses leave your mouth, and Sergei relishes the sound of your pretty voice as he fucks you with his tongue. The bridge of his nose nestles against your clit, only adding to the overwhelming sensation of him making out with your pussy.

You squirm as the tension builds, and your legs start to tremble. Sergei holds onto you tighter, his mouth not letting up. Your breath becomes unsteady as you feel yourself become light-headed.

"Sergei, please," you whimper, barely able to form words.

"I'm here, baby," he murmurs. "I have you. Let go for me."

The last few words are all you need. You cry out as pleasure washes over you, consuming you in a moment of ecstasy. Sergei doesn't stop, letting you ride out your orgasm. He moans as you come on his tongue, eagerly tasting you.

As you start to come down from your high, Sergei slows his ministrations. He plants a few final kisses before gently placing your leg down and standing back up. His arms wrap around your waist again, and he holds you securely. You rest your weight against him as you catch your breath.

His cock, now rock-hard, nestles against your sensitive cunt, making you whimper. He's aching for you but needs to know you're feeling alright first. He brings a hand to cradle your face, coaxing you to look at him. Your unfocused gaze meets his, and he smiles as he looks over you.

You really are so very beautiful.

"You're not still mad at me, are you?" he asks, resting his forehead against yours.

His question annoys you. You want to roll your eyes or hit him or fuck him, but you're still a bit out of it.

"No, of course not, you idiot," you mutter instead.

"Good," Sergei chuckles, kissing you on the cheek. "Come on then. I think we've showered enough. Let's take this to the bedroom."

➸

#sergei kravinoff #sergei kravinoff x reader #sergei kravinoff smut #kraven the hunter #kraven the hunter x reader #kraven the hunter smut #kraven #kraven x reader #kraven movie #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel smut #aaron taylor johnson #atj

928 notes · View notes

bratbby333 · 1 year ago

Text

it's just a game, my love

gamer!bf sukuna x fem!reader ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ nsfw mdni warnings: language (duh), rough sex, mild degradation, creampie, established relationship, sukuna is his own warning summary: sukuna can't stand losing, so he takes his anger out on you in the best way possible author notes: this my first request, courtesy of @youliveincassisworld !! i hope u love it, thank u so so much for sending this in. this was so fun to write. my reqs are open! send a message here♡

“No FUCKING way!” You jump at the deep, booming voice that resonates through your apartment. You sit upright, hoping to hear more.

“You’re trash. Scum of the earth.”

You peel yourself off the sofa and walk down the hall, pausing in the doorway of your boyfriend’s office.

“Stupid bitch.” He spews out. You see him leaned forward, headset adorning his unruly pink locks. The rapid clicking of buttons and the soft sounds of gunfire that escape the padded circumference of his headphones let you know he was playing Call of Duty. This game always gets him so worked up. You don’t understand how it’s still enjoyable at this point.

You watch from the doorway, his body mimicking the movements he’s making in the game. An amused smile dances across your face. He’s so cute when he’s focused.

“Fuck!” He shouts, throwing his controller down and sitting back abruptly in his chair. He’s enraged. You walk up behind him, placing your hand on his shoulder.

Placed 5th displays across his screen.

“Sukuna, baby, you alright?,” you ask, rubbing your fingers into his shoulder blade.

“Does it sound like I’m fuckin’ alright?” he bites back at you, rubbing his fingers between his eyebrows. You don’t take his anger personally.

“It’s just a game, my love. Why not take a break and try again later,” you suggest, attempting to calm him down.

“It’s just so fucking stupid,” he seethes, his eyes covered by his large hand.

He finally meets your gaze. You expect to see anger plastered across his face. Your heart drops when you’re met with a different, unexpected look; arousal.

A coy smile spreads across his face.

“Bedroom. Now.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Laid on your back, Sukuna smirks down at you. Positioned in the center of the mattress, knees pressed against your chest, ankles on either side of Sukuna’s neck; the mating press. Deep, powerful strokes cause your head to bounce around. The pressure of your legs against your ribcage makes it hard to breathe.

Sukuna’s lustful red eyes gaze deeply into yours. “C’mon, brat. Give me your cum.” His large, firm hands dig into the backs of your thighs, pushing you deeper into the bed, his cock reaching unimaginable depths. You can’t help but cry out for him.

“I-I don’t think-ahhh-I can c-cum again, Kuna,” you stutter out, overstimulation raking through your body, hands pushing against his stomach.

“Do you think I care? Move your fucking hands.”

Frustration is still painted across Sukuna’s face as he plows into your pretty pussy. He’s taking all his rage toward the game out on you, and you couldn’t be happier. His strokes are mean and demanding, eliciting such crude noises to fall from your lips.

“You better take that shit…let me fuckin’ break you.” His thrusts are unrelenting, the head of his cock bullying your g-spot.

You can barely keep your eyes open, undeniably falling apart on his cock. He feels you tightening around him, and he grins back at you.

“Let it go. C’mon.” he rasps, his hand grabbing your throat tightly.

“Mmmph, Su-Sukuna…I-I…” you gasp out. You can’t form a coherent sentence, his rough hand constricting your windpipe. Your wide eyes stared into his as if you were pleading with him to give you a break.

“Shut the fuck up. You better cum for me. Now. Make a fuckin’ mess on my cock.” His coarse, demanding voice was all you needed to lose it. Your eyes roll back, body shaking violently. Sukuna growls at how tight you’re gripping him, the warm squirt of your release painting his abdomen.

“That’s it…I knew you had another one in you. Such a good girl for me” he groaned out, hand still tight around your throat. He shifts his position, sitting back on his knees, one arm straightened out and pressing your folded leg against your chest, the other holding your extended leg flush to his chest, your ankle resting against his neck.

“Takin’ me so fucking good…want me to fill ‘ya up?” he cocks an eyebrow at you, seemingly amused at your fucked out expression.

“Mhmm,” you hum out, eyes low and head foggy.

“That’s not how you ask. Beg for it, brat.” he bites back at you, still stroking deeply.

“P-please…Sukuna. Please fill me with your c-cum.” You gasp out. He fucks into you, his strokes never losing momentum. He repositions again, leaning back over you, pushing both your legs back into your chest with his hands. He bottoms out inside of you, thick ropes of his cum painting your walls. He stills, his cock twitching as he empties himself completely. He remains deep within you, his pelvis pressed firmly against your aching core, ensuring you take every drop of him as you both struggle to regain your breath.

“Sucha good fucking girl for me, baby,” he says, voice softer now, his hand cupping the side of your face, the rough pads of his fingers dragging down your cheek. He pulls out and lays beside you, his hands rubbing your stomach, as if he was massaging his cum deeper into you.

"You feelin' better, my love?" you ask lazily, eyes low and breath labored, shifting your body toward him and propping yourself up on your elbow.

"No," he replies simply, "I think I need another round." His eyes follow the curves of your body hungrily.

As much as he hates losing, you can't help but love it.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

author notes: have a request? drop it here♡ thank you all so much for the support on my stories,,i appreciate it more than you know.

more gamer!bf sukuna here and here

#—written by jade 🌿#jujutsu kaisen writing #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk oneshot #jujustu kaisen smut #sukuna smut #bratbby333 #jujutsu kaisen

2K notes · View notes

hazelfoureyes · 1 year ago

Text

Besties get Banged

Angel Dust x FemReader Smut

➽─❥Angel Dust x MaleReader Smut version

You didn’t think Angel liked you the way you did him, how could you? While sharing a profession, he was nothing like you. He was the star in every room he entered. After being booked on a shoot together, you find maybe Angel wasn’t so ignorant to your existence.

Warning/Promises: Angel x Reader do not fuck but they do get banged, Val is going to ruin shit but I ain’t writing that part, Foursome but no one cares, handjob, cum countdown 💦, masturbation, making out, porno, vaguely threatening ending from Val

minors dni (👁️👄👁️🔪)

When Angel Dust slipped into the dressing room of Val’s ‘sex dungeon’, you struggled to keep your smile down. You’d never actually worked together. The two of you had attended the same awards shows, frequented the same clubs, danced the same stages. But never graced the same screen. Every encounter left you more and more enthralled. Always the life of the party, but when the crowds would die down Angel would become so sweet, talking with an emotional intelligence many sinners seemed to have lacked or intentionally abandoned at death.

Angel threw himself at many people, sometimes jokingly, sometimes not. But you’d be lying to say it didn’t sting he’d never propositioned you.

“Mornin’,” he plopped into the make-up chair beside you, hand lazily combing through his bedhead.

Angel hoped you hadn’t seen him pause when he saw you. He didn’t get butterflies often, but you always managed to make his stomach flutter. He felt so silly, a kid with a crush.

You knew Val wasn’t going to let it be just the two of you. He enjoyed watching you both get fucked too much. ‘Besties get Banged’ was written on the clapperboard. Angel gave you a wink, “Ooh besties! Is this work or just another Friday night?” His elbow hit a soft spot in your ribs, making you laugh.

“Stop— st-stop that. Get on the bed.” Val used all four arms to separate you, “Bitch number 1 on the left side, Bitch number 2 on the right.” He sat in his chair, arm angrily motioning for the large demons to enter the set already.

It was a standard enough shoot, until you and Angel found yourselves both on your knees, eye to eye from across the pink heart shaped bed. One yellow and one black eye looking back at you, hazy with pleasure as he was fucked dumb by some piece of muscle with a dick attached.

He looked so beautiful when he felt good. You reached out your hand to him, then the other. Fingers laced together, you both moaned into the space between yourselves. Angel’s eyebrows rose up, tongue coming out. His face was so flushed, cheeks pink. You weren’t sure it was an invitation, but you pulled yourself to him and ran your tongue over his. The demon behind you followed your body, trying to maintain contact.

Angel’s eyes rolled closed, tongue pushing into your mouth. The kiss interrupted again and again as the repeated pounding into your holes pulled your lips apart, your entire bodies moving in rhythm.

“Hey!,” Val yelled, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Angel smiled at you, “Whats the matter Val?” He strained forward, capturing your mouth again.

“Stop kissing! You’re ruining it!”

“You never kissed a bestie? Awww,” Angel kept his lips near yours. “Val’s never had a real good friend before.”

Val’s antennae bristled, “Pull em apart, they’re making googly eyes at each other. Killing my fucking hard on. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Your bodies were slid away, fingertips still reaching out to each other. You were flipped onto your back, pacing brutal as if making up for lost time.

Angel watched you, mouth lonely. His cock leaking from just a kiss. Reaching down, he began to stroke himself while enjoying his own personal show. Your body bouncing with the thrusts, eyes watery. He arched his back, looking across to where your body connected with the other demon. You looked so wet, so inviting.

“Angel!” Val seethed.

Angel’s closed his eyes, imagining you around his cock and not his fingers. His eyes shot open when he felt hands on his face. His fear dissolved into relief as he saw you had scooted back towards him, pulling him down for an upside-down kiss. Breath hot, he moaned into your mouth.

“Uh Boss, should we stop em again? It’s kinda hot.” The shark demon behind Angel slowed.

Your fingers slipped through his hair, bringing him deeper into your kiss. There was nothing else in the room anymore but you and Angel. Tongue rolling over tongue, breathy moans exhaled and inhaled.

Val shook his head, “Let the little sluts kiss. If they wanna ruin my shoot so badly, be my guests.” His eyes aglow, Valentino exhaled his toxic smoke throughout the studio, sinister grin spreading across his face.

The demons continued as directed, you and Angel not having noticed the interruption you had caused. Angel’s mouth left yours, head resting on the mattress.

“Val’s going to kill us,” you tried to remember the name of the wolf demon pounding into you, knowing you had some sort of lines.

Angel’s teeth nipped your ear lobe, “He’s gonna do that anyway.”

You moaned, “Feels good when you do that.”

“Yeah?” The wolf asked. You wanted to kick him in the neck.

“Uuh, yeah. You… fuck me so good, Daniel.”

“Donny.” He corrected.

Angel got back on his elbows, “Literally no one cares, David.” Whispering now, “Roll over and come ‘ere.”

Douglas didn’t seem bothered, you using your feet to stop him and twisting around his cock to get back on your knees. The demons whose names neither of you cared to learn followed you again. Angel was pressed into you, two arms holding you against his body, one arm on your cheek, a fourth finding its way to your clit.

You gasped, Angel licking up your neck and chin as his hand expertly rubbed you. Regaining some bit of your brain, you reached down a hand to his cock. It was slapping against this stomach in time with the thrusts. Your hand only need to grip him, the other actor basically fucking him into your grasp.

Angel’s head craned down, sucking bruises into your collar bone, “I wanna fuck you so bad, it hurts.” Another whisper into your skin.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” your words faded in and out, volume jumping as your pussy took hit after hit. Angel’s hand electrifying every part of your body.

Angel pulled you as close as he could, bringing your hand from his cock to hold in his. Now him and his pre-cum were rubbing along your stomachs, pressed together tightly. “Wrong. So wro-uh.” Eyes rolling back, Angel’s words fell apart.

“You close?”

He nodded.

“Want me to count you down?”

A more frantic nod.

“Five”

You leaned in to kiss at his neck.

“Four”

A long drag of your tongue up to his ear.

“Three”

A kiss to his cheek.

“Two”

You bit at his lip, pulling it with you before letting it go.

“One”

Angel clenched his eyes, grip on you tightening as he came across your stomach, thick and hot. You heard the other actor moan, Angel’s ass tightening with his release.

You took the chance to kiss Angel again, lips soft and swollen from the long shoot. His cum dripped down your stomach and found its way to his hand, adding more lubrication to your wet pussy. Angel’s fingers eagerly used his seed to slip and slide over your clit.

The feeling pushed you into your orgasm, legs shaking as you tried to stay up. “For fuck’s sake,” Val could be heard shouting just past the studio lights.

Drawing him in for another kiss, less deeply now, lips sometimes on lips, and sometimes the chin and the cheek.

You stayed, holding each other, through the shoot. The other actors finishing their parts, cumming and making some puns about bosom buddies. When everyone else left the scene, and you two broke apart your hungry mouths to consider getting cleaned up and dressed, the air grew thick around you. Heads swimming now, a horny haze fell on set.

“Bravo, bitches. You ruined my shoot, only fair I get to ruin something now.” You both turned to see the lights gleaming off Val’s glasses. “Where should I start?”

༻Masterlist༺

My general tag list is called the Horny Little Deer Cult! To be tagged, you are more than welcome to ask to join

#angel dust #angel dust smut #angel dust x female reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel angel

1K notes · View notes

always-just-red · 6 months ago

Note

I wanted a slightly suggestive fluff with the twins if that's alright👁️👄👁️

A scenario in which they're finally done with Sylus's tasks for the day and get to spend some time with MC

CRYINGGG anon I low-key did deviate from the brief but I had this idea and I just ended up running with it. I hope you enjoy, regardless! I went into this ambivalent towards Luke and Kieran but something just possessed me honestly. Also dragged Sylus into it because there's no way in hell I wasn't subjecting him to this dynamic!! 😇 (I made MC here separate from canon MC for plot reasons, but if you want a fic with the twins and canon MC, just let me know!)

Onychinus' Finest

Luke and Kieran x Reader

Summary: All in a day's work for Sylus's loyal and committed worker bees crows

Genre: fluff & shenanigans

Warnings/Additional tags: MDNI (not smut but it's a lil spicy and I'd rather play it safe tbh), f!reader, nonMC!reader, platonic Sylus x reader, humour, swearing, suggestion, kisses, the twins are just obsessed with your legs honestly and who could blame them

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Your call connects almost instantly.

“What?” Sylus hisses from the other end, and you get the impression he’s disappointed.

“Oof,” you groan, smiling, “what’s the matter, boss? Waiting on a call from a certain Deepspace Hunter?”

There’s silence in your ear, but not far from you, Kieran snickers. Your smile broadens. “You have three seconds,” Sylus seethes, with the precarity of a pot that could boil over at any moment, “to tell me what I want to hear.”

Three seconds is a bit of a push. You’re sat on a desk and Kieran is tapping away at the computer beside you, the light of the screen catching the sharp features of his mask; he looks like something from a horror story. You nudge his knee with your foot. He glances at you.

Wrap it up, you signal with a twirl of your forefinger.

His mask tilts downwards, almost imperceptibly, and you know he’s glaring at you from behind it. He flashes his middle finger back and you chuckle, watching him return to his work. “Files should be on their way shortly,” you explain to Sylus, because you know when to stop pushing your luck. “Ever’s upped the security on these damn computers. The device that guy sold you didn’t do shit.”

It’s also now pieces of a device, shattered against the floor from when Kieran had thrown it down and stepped on it in frustration. You’re not gonna mention that.

Sylus sighs impatiently, but there’s a hint of regret. “I knew there was something off about that deal. Do you think he tipped them off?”

You glance around the room and it’s littered with bodies. Not dead! Just… unconscious. At least, most of them, you think. “Yeah…” you muse. It was a lot more security than there should have been in a high-rise office in the middle of the night. “You might be onto something there, boss.”

Another sigh from Sylus. You watch Luke as he finishes looting— wait, no— checking the last of the security guards for anything helpful. He’s found a phone and he’s staring down at it, head tilted, reminding you of Mephisto. You briefly wonder what came first: the crow masks or the crow-like behaviour. Maybe you’ll ask Sylus one day.

Luke lifts the phone, holding it at arm’s length, and you realise he’s taking a selfie. He pivots until you and Kieran are in the background, and you lean into the frame, making a peace sign with your free hand. The moment is captured. Luke tosses the phone over his shoulder and it hits the floor with a crack.

“Are you all alright?” Sylus checks, and you know his eyes are burning with frustration, even though you can’t see them. He wears a mask too— most of the time— it’s just a little more figurative than yours or the twins’. You’re an expert at reading past them by now.

“Yeah,” you say, “we signed up for this, remember? You’ve got the best of the best, right here.” You glance between Luke and Kieran. “Well, the best of the best and her sidekicks.”

“Hey!” Kieran interjects. “You wanna have a go on this computer?”

“No,” you lilt back sweetly. What’s he gonna do— make you? Sure enough, he goes back to tapping away, his head sagging slightly, and you can tell he’s pouting.

Luke has wandered closer to the pair of you. “How much longer?” he whines, throwing himself into a wheely chair, setting it on a slow collision course with Kieran’s. You stop it with your leg.

“Shut up,” Kieran snaps. “At least I’m doing something.”

“I can do something,” Luke retorts. He captures your ankle, pulling it away from the leg of his chair, and rests a hand on your shin.

“Something isn’t in the mood right now.” You lift your foot from his grasp, inching it up his lower abdomen, and he groans as you plant it against his chest. “So unprofessional,” you tut.

You’d stifled your phone against your chest, but you can hear a deep voice leaking out of it. “Say that again, boss?” you request, bringing it back to your ear.

“How long is this going to take?” Sylus repeats.

“Not long. You know what they say, though…” You meet the eyes of Luke’s mask. Your tone drops: “All good things to those who wait.”

Luke’s chair squeaks, rolling back as you push him away with a soft kick.

“Fine,” Sylus murmurs, “Mephisto is with me. Stay on the line, and send the files through when you can. I’ll check them before you leave. If they knew we were coming, there’s a chance that—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the picture,” you interrupt. You get Kieran’s attention again, then gesture between the computer and the phone. The beak of his mask dips as he nods.

Luke has used your lapse of focus to draw himself close to you again. He takes your ankle once more and guides it to rest in his lap, one hand tight— holding you in place— and the other deftly undoing the buckles on your boot. After a few clinks, he pulls it from your foot, the leather dragging down over your skin and leaving it cold. He throws the boot at his twin’s leg.

Kieran huffs as it tumbles to the floor. He doesn’t look away from the computer, but you know he wants to. Now that’s professional.

Decidedly committed to another priority, Luke draws shapes on your lower leg, his finger grazing over your shin and ankle. He’s staring down, fixated, and maybe they aren’t shapes— maybe they’re letters. Every stroke of his finger is deliberate. You could ask what he’s writing, but you really don’t care so long as it’s more than a word or two.

If it is, he doesn’t have the patience for it. His fingers walk higher, stopping only as they reach your knee. The fabric of your dress is draped over your leg and he pushes it aside, letting it slink closer to the floor. He looks up at you, head angled like a question.

“Any progress?” Sylus asks.

You’re holding your phone between your ear and your shoulder, both hands splayed on the desk beside you so you can lean slightly back. “Getting there,” you say, lips curving. You’re not looking at the computer.

You could swear you hear Luke laugh, but it’s ever so faint. He rests his whole hand on you, warming your lower leg with broader strokes, and whatever he wrote has been erased. Your breath catches as his touch moves above your knee, and it’s a tiny sound; no-one would notice.

Kieran’s mask turns towards you. “Oh, come on,” he sighs. “No fair.”

It’s an intimate art: seeing behind a mask. You have to notice everything.

“So hurry up,” Luke answers, his voice heavier than the last time he spoke. His chest rises and falls with every breath, just a little slower, a little deeper.

Kieran rolls his eyes—you guess, from the listless way his attention goes back to the screen— and you detect a huff. “Not fair,” he says to himself. He repeats it as he punches keys with his fingers: “Not fair. Not fair.”

Luke shakes his head gently: a fond exasperation rather than anything serious. He rolls his chair closer until he’s framed by your legs, then lifts your ankle to rest on his shoulder. His fingers curl, the pads of them brushing over the top of your foot idly, but it tickles, so you try to pull away. He grasps your ankle again. “Nuh-uh, kitten,” he teases.

It’s one of your favourite in-jokes; you laugh. Sylus can still hear you, and you’re glad he doesn’t know it’s at his expense. “Something funny?” he asks. Maybe he does know.

“Yeah,” you say. He could string you upside-down with his Evol and you’d still never tell him what.

Luke is chuckling to himself, and the sound changes as he lifts his mask just enough to free the lower half of his face. It’s not the first time, but it sobers you instantly. He turns to press his lips to your ankle, leans in— kisses further up. Leans in again— his mouth moves higher.

“Why so wriggly?” he speaks into your knee. “Stop.”

“You stop,” you counter, reaching forward to grab one of the horns peeking out of his hood. You use it to pull him away. Make him look at you. “Your little book on conquest doesn’t work on me.”

His lips widen into a smirk.

“What book?” Sylus’s voice echoes.

You smirk as well. “Ask your pet hunter.”

You’re interrupted by a thud and your head spins. Kieran is standing up, slapping the top of the computer in frustration. “C’mon, work!” he urges. “So freakin’ slow.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” You shoo him away from the computer like you would a too-friendly pigeon from your lunch.

He flaps back in answer, his hand engaging yours in a brief slap-fight before he backs down. He slumps into his chair, defeated. “It’s almost there,” he groans, folding his arms. “Hey, Luke? Wanna swap?”

“No.”

“Do it,” you prompt.

Luke’s head rolls begrudgingly. “Yes ma’am. Jeez.” He plants a warm kiss on your leg again before clambering out from underneath it, pulling his mask back down over his face.

Another moment later and Kieran is in front of you instead. “You ok?” you wonder out loud.

“Bored.” He rests his head sideways on your thigh. His fingers find your bare lower leg and he runs them up, down, up, down, but it’s soft and purposeless. Soon, his head lifts— thin, red eyes staring up at you. The gaze doesn’t waver as he leans back in his chair and starts to unfasten your other boot.

“She’s gonna get cold,” Luke quips from the computer.

“Nah. She’s not.”

Your skin prickles as Kieran pulls away your boot, like a reflection of his brother, but tortuously more slow. He lets the cool air of the room set in. “Huh,” he corrects himself. “Maybe she is.”

You get the sense you’re being punished; both of them are petty. You’re pettier, though. “Sylus?” you speak into the phone.

“Mmm?”

“Did I ever tell you about the time that Kieran— ah!”

In a heartbeat Kieran has lifted his mask— not enough, but enough— and planted a kiss above your knee. His hand is around your leg, pushing it further from the other, and you can’t help but gasp again.

“What are you…” Sylus starts to ask, but then he changes his mind. “No. I don’t want to know.”

“You sure, boss?” you chuckle breathlessly. “It might surprise you.”

“Nothing would surprise me at this point, sweetie. Those files had better be on their way.”

You tear your gaze away from Kieran to glance over at Luke. He’s sat, propped on an elbow, his chin in his palm, and he’s definitely not looking at the computer. He sits up straight under your scrutiny. Turns to the screen. After a few more drums of the keyboard, he gives you a thumbs up.

“Got it,” Sylus chimes in, no doubt perusing the files already. “Nothing seems amiss. Nice work.”

“Thanks, boss,” you grin. “I’ve been working very, very hard.”

The phone is snatched from your hand. “She has, sir!” Kieran speaks into it. He stands, putting it on speaker before setting it down beside you. “I think she deserves the night off.”

There’s a crash as he shoves the computer from the desk, and Luke leans back, swinging his feet up onto the now empty space. He lifts his mask marginally to put two fingers to his lips, whistling in celebration. There’s a slow clap for good measure, too.

Kieran bows to him with a flourish. Then to you; you bow your head back.

“I’m hanging up,” Sylus states plainly.

“Ok,” you chirp, distracted. “I hope she calls you soon, boss!”

“I don’t… I’m not…” your leader stutters. He reconsiders. “Thank you. Don’t think, however, that I’m—”

He doesn’t get to finish the warning, threat, or whatever else it was. Luke’s finger stands proudly on the phone, still connected to the ‘end call’ button. “What?” he dismisses as you and Kieran look at him. “I slipped! If boss asks, you saw me slip.”

“I did see it,” Kieran nods.

“I saw it too,” you add solemnly.

There’s silence for a single moment, and there’s never silence with you three around. It lasts as long as it usually does.

You all burst into laughter.

#🖋rach is actually writing #luke and kieran x reader #luke and kieran #love and deepspace #platonic sylus x reader #sylus #lads #lnds #l&ds

584 notes · View notes

reidsdimples · 6 months ago

Text

“I gave your girlfriend cunnalingus on my couch”

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Smut & Fluff (if you squint) 18+❤️‍🔥

Your cheating ex gets what’s coming to him when Spencer shows you what you truly deserve.

Just a little fantasy I had based on this song

Spencer opens his front door just barely after you finish knocking. You rub your arms as you hug yourself tight, trying not to cry anymore. When you see those sympathetic doe eyes though, you feel apart and collapsed into your best friend’s arms. He was warm, solid, unwavering. He always has been.

He closes the door behind you and gently guides you to his couch. You sniffle and wipe your tears. You’d been here before. Somehow you always end up in Spencer’s arms after your boyfriend cheats on you.

Even though you and Spencer no longer work together, the two of you have always been close. So when you took a new job in a different department, it didn’t affect your friendship.

“What happened?” He asks gently. He sits a mug of warm coffee on the table in front of you. Of course it was sweetened to your liking.

“Got off of work early, they were in my bed,” you seethe.

“Same girl?” He stares through you, his anger clear in the flexing of his perfect jaw.

“Nope,” you sigh. “I kicked him out. I don’t care anymore. He better be gone by morning,” you shake your head.

“So you wanna crash here?” He grins and nudges your arm playfully.

“Please,” you pucker your lip. His eyes linger on your mouth for a moment then he stands.

“You are always welcome,” he retrieves his phone which pinged with a text. He’s leaning on his counter casually with his long legs crossed at the ankles, looking unreal in a hoodie and pajama pants.

You and Spencer had never gone there. But you had thought about it… a lot. Now, sitting on his couch, heartbroken again, you find yourself wanting him closer than ever.

Your phone finds.

Leon

You ignore it, a fowl taste in your mouth. He calls again which becomes Spencer over with a pillow and a blanket.

Leon: come on babe, we both know you’ll get over it. Just come home

You scowl at the screen and drop your phone on his coffee table.

“I can’t believe I’ve put up with his shit for two years. Every time I say I’m done, I take him back,” you drop your head into your hands.

“I know you don’t like it when I profile you…” he starts.

“Give it to me doctor,” you tell him. No way you could feel worse.

“He’s carefully worn you down slowly. He has destroyed your self esteem and made you subconsciously believe you’re worth nothing better than him. He relishes in the power he’s taken from you. You crave intimacy and fear being alone so you take him back, you can’t help it,” he takes the seat next to you. The couch dips slightly.

You know he’s right, he’s always right.

“How do I… not do that,” you’re feeling vulnerable.

“Prove to yourself that you can do better,” he pushes and gently grips your hand.

You scoff in a disbelieving ‘yeah right’ manner and turn look away from him. You can’t bear his intense stare at the moment.

“I’m serious… you…” he pauses on a groan as if he’s fighting not to say something. His thumb brushes over your skin gently, sending chills up your arm.

“What?” You urge him.

“You are gorgeous, and powerful. You own a room when you walk into it and somehow you have no idea that all eyes are on you. You have the ability to drive a man to his knees but you keep letting Leon bring you to yours,” he shakes his head. Anger has crept into Spencer’s demeanor. “It’s not fair.”

“Fair?” You ask because his words have rendered you nearly speechless. He his squeezes your gently, he look away and looks back into your eyes.

“It’s not fair that he’s treating you this way. If I had the chance, I’d worship you.”

You’re pretty sure your jaw is on the floor. Spencer… Spencer Reid didn’t say those things, Spencer didn’t fantasize about you the way you do him. It’s impossible.

Your sheer lack of give a shit about anything spurs you to grip the collar of his hoodie and pull him towards you. He collapses to his knees before you and stares up into your eyes. He’s torn between astonishment and amusement.

“Worship me how?” You tease him.

He grins, his tongue darts out to moisten his bottom lip. His strong hands rest on your thighs and squeeze. You inhale a sharp breath.

“It doesn’t even have to mean anything. But you need to know that you can do better,” he implores and situates himself between your still clothed legs.

“And you’re the better I’m assuming?” You poke his nose and lean back on the couch. You lift your hips when he locks his fingers in your waistband and tugs. You silently follow his lead.

“I’ll let you be the judge of that,” he gently kisses your ankle as he tosses your jeans on the ground.

He props that same ankle on his shoulder and begins kissing up your leg. You want to tell him he’s the better man in every way, that he always has been.

But his fingers are fire against your skin, his lips soft and teasing as he plants soft kisses on your thighs.

Your phone rings again. Spencer looks up and laughs a breathless sort of laugh against your skin.

A text comes through and you look at it lazily while you play in Spencer’s hair. His fingers dig massage your thighs as he starts to nip at your soft skin.

Leon: where are you?

You smirk as an idea flies to you, one that would exact the perfect revenge. You place your hand on the crown of Spencer’s head and snap a photo from your point of view.

He laughs when you show him the picture. His identify is concealed and Leon doesn’t know Spencer. You send the photo of the “mystery man” between your legs to your cheating ass boyfriend. You finally toss your phone away, eager to focus on said man.

“Are you using me?” He tutts and tugs on your lace panties with his teeth. His breath fans across your pussy and causes goosebumps to trail up your skin and harden your nipples.

“Is that okay?” You playfully pucker out your bottom lip and bat your eyelashes.

“Mhmm,” he answers mindlessly because he’s tugging your underwear aside.

He gets a glimpse of you and you’re perfect and he’s amazed. He kisses your pussy lips softly, eliciting a soft moan. You want more of him, you need more friction.

You put your other leg on his opposite shoulder and pull him closer. That’s all the prompting he needs. He holds your underwear out of the way completely and dives into you as you open up for him.

Spencer’s lips are warm, his strong tongue pushing and prodding against your most sensitive areas. Your clit is given special attention but he notes how much you enjoy his tongue inside of you.

“Spencer,” you cry.

He holds girls your thighs and laps at you like a man starved.

“So perfect, angel,” he praises and slips his tongue back into your entrance.

He drags it upward and flicks it against your clit causing you to twitch.

“Mmm right there,” you beg and push his head closer.

He obeys and keeps his pace steady and unrelenting against your clit. You inhale deeply as your climax builds and you don’t remember the last time you’ve felt so wanted, felt so good.

He moans into your cunt when you start to greedily grind against his face. He masters the pace you need and tilts you right over the edge. Your orgasm seizes you all at once and your legs shake. He eats you through it and your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh god,” you shudder.

He looks up at you as though asking if he did good and wipes his mouth.

“Woah,” you pant.

He grins and you pull him up to kiss him. You had never kissed Spencer before but doing so felt so … right. He leans against you and cradles you softly, his hands on either side of your face as though he needs to keep you close.

Your lips slot against each others perfectly as if in tune to one another already. You savor the taste of him and how it mixes with your arousal already on his tongue.

Somehow you both moan into the kiss at the same time. It prompts a small laugh from the two of you and he rests his forehead against yours. He’s still leaning between your legs, well, more like lazily resting there as though beyond content.

You hear your phone buzzing and you think it must have been the whole time.

You scoff.

“For the record, Spencer, you’ve always been the better man. I just never would have thought you’d be interested,” you admit. He furrows his brow and moves up to set beside you. He faces you with his legs crossed.

You note his messy hair, crooked collar, and doe eyes which give him a boyish kind of charm.

“You’re so far out of my league that I never pursued you,” his voice notes the irony of the situation. “You don’t have to choose me. Or anyone. Ever. I just want you to be happy,” he says honestly.

Your phone vibrates again. Spencer stares at it and hands it to you.

6 Missed Calls

8 Texts Messages

4 Voicemails

“Thank you,” you smirk. “Right now I want to get over this asshole and spend time with you. In equal measure.”

“We can do that.” He leans back in the couch and you crawl against him.

You play the most recent voicemail which is just Leon blubbering and sobbing about “how could you do this to me” despite him cheating for your entire relationship.

You and Spencer get a good laugh out of Leon misery and then he reaches for a book.

“Read to me?” You sigh contently.

He does, until you fall asleep peacefully in his arms.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #mgg pics #mgg #dr reid #spencer reid one shots #spicy spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid ai

446 notes · View notes

sosasturns · 1 month ago

Text

bad ideas & good distractions - c. sturniolo

fic, part one of bed chem… next door neighbor!chris x beauty influencer!reader

the first time you notice the moving boxes in the hallway, you don’t think much of it.

it’s a nice apartment building, and people come and go all the time. besides, you’re too busy editing a new video to care about whoever’s moving in.

then, later that night, it starts.

the music.

so loud it rattles your walls, pulsing through your head as you stare at your laptop screen. you try to ignore it, try to focus, but the bass is relentless.

eventually, you sigh, shut your laptop, and crawl into bed, hoping it stops soon.

it doesn’t.

this continues for the next few nights—loud ass music, doors slamming, voices in the hallway. annoying as hell, but not enough to make you confront your new neighbor.

until one night, around 1 a.m., when it’s actually a full-blown party.

laughter, shouting, people stumbling up and down the hall like they pay rent here.

you lay in bed, glaring at the ceiling, seething.

what the hell is his problem?

but instead of doing anything about it, you toss and turn, forcing yourself to sleep.

the next morning, you’re filming a get ready with me for an upcoming event, sitting at your vanity, blending concealer under your eyes.

“i did not sleep last night,” you say, “my new neighbor—who, by the way, i have not met yet—thinks my apartment complex is a frat house, apparently.”

you shake your head, dabbing in more product. “anyway, i’m going to this event later, so let’s fix my face and act like i’m not sleep deprived as hell.”

you post the video and go about your day, shoving the whole situation to the back of your mind.

but that night, when the music starts up again, you’re done.

at first, you try to ignore it, sipping on a glass of white wine as you edit a brand deal video, but then there’s moaning. loud, exaggerated, fake as hell.

you slam your laptop shut.

this motherfucker has lost his mind.

you storm into the hall, crossing your arms as you knock on his door, loud as hell.

the music doesn’t stop, but the door swings open a moment later.

and that’s the first time you see him.

low sweats. shirtless. hair slightly messy.

he leans against the doorframe, eyes dragging over you—your heartless hair curlers. pink pajama set. silk robe. fluffy slippers. the sleep-deprived glare on your face.

you looked like you just woke up from a slumber on twenty mattresses and still felt the damn pea.

then he smirks. “cute pajamas.”

you shift your weight onto your hip, unamused. “most people on this floor are in bed sleeping right now.”

his smirk deepens. “clearly, i’m not most.”

your eye twitches. “turn the music down. and the fake ass moaning, too.”

he chuckles.

you wait. “so?”

he shrugs, barely moving. “i’ll think about it.”

oh, you hate him.

“whatever.” you spin on your heel, stomping back to your apartment and slamming the door behind you.

the next morning, your head is pounding, but you push through and meet your girls for brunch.

“babe,” one of them says, stirring her mimosa. “you look rough.”

you sigh, stabbing your eggs. “my new neighbor is a fucking menace.”

they lean in. “spill.”

so you do.

you tell them about the loud music, the party, the smug ass smirk.

they listen, nodding along, sharing their own bad neighbor horror stories.

but one of them grins. “he’s hot, though, right?”

you hesitate. “that’s not the point.”

“but he is, isn’t he?”

you purse your lips, sipping your mimosa. “whatever.”

they laugh. “oh, you so think he’s hot.”

you don’t answer.

but you don’t deny it, either.

a few days pass, and you avoid him.

not hard to do.

but the thought of him lingers, especially late at night, especially when you’re in bed, mind wandering.

he’s just a guy.

just your annoying ass neighbor.

but you can’t stop thinking about his voice, his smirk, the way he leaned in the doorway—

get it together.

except you can’t.

and eventually, you come to terms with it.

it could just be a singular fuck. nothing more.

just something to scratch the itch.

so, one night, against your better judgment, you grab your keys, take a breath, and step out into the hall.

heading straight for his door.

@ sosasturns

part two 02.14

sosa mafia taglist: @submattenthusiast @sophand4n4 @secretlocket @mrsdillonx @ch6rm @sweetrelieef @gabri3la-sturns @inspiredangel @sturn777 @et6rnalsun @faiyaz555 @whore4mattsturniolo @courta13 @katie-tibo @ifwdominicfike @raesturns @adoremattsturns @conspiracy-ash @chrisslut04 @ily-tothemoonandback

+ @riasturns @angelic-sturniolos111 @cinnqmonsw1rl @blushsturns @fratbrochrisgf

#sosasturns #next door neighbor!chris #beauty influencer!reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo au #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets

293 notes · View notes

pseudowho · 1 year ago

Text

Raising You

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

When the reader is de-aged by an unusual Curse, Nanami Kento is forced to raise her, and grieve the absence of his fiancée at the same time.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The girls (twins, affectionately nicknamed the 'Nanaminis' by Satoru) played with a painted wooden truck and other cars around your feet, hampering the already limited view you had with your bump, big and still growing. Trying to cook dinner, you were flustered with sweaty strands of hair in your eyes, overstimulated by the noise from the cars, the casual bickering of the girls, your aching back, the steam from dinner, and--

"Girls, I'm home!"

You were nearly taken out by two frantic little girls tangling through your legs to run to the front door-- "Daddy! I've got two cars but she's got three and that's not fair" -- and you smiled to hear Kento, low and reassuring, tackling toy diplomacy with your daughters.

Kento walked into the kitchen and living room, loosening his tie, still having his ears talked off by his daughters. He stepped over cars, before scooting them to the side so you wouldn't slip, and hugged you warmly from behind, peppering loving kisses along your sweaty cheeks and neck.

"Daddy, rough play!" One of your daughters cried, and the other shouted her approval, both descending on Kento with screams and tiny punches. Kento dropped to one knee, dramatically groaning, feigning a fatal wound and pretending, with his head stooped, to have been beaten.

Your daughters paused their assault, and approached Kento slowly, "...daddy?" Kento stood and roared, taking one daughter under each arm and they squeaked with terror and delight, being tossed onto the sofa. Kento rolled over the back of the sofa to them, nobly defending himself in battle.

Pausing for breath while you watched affectionately, Kento hung one daughter behind his shoulders by the ankles, jumping lightly up and down while she squealed, and the other daughter held onto his ankle, yelling.

"They're just like you at this age, you know," Kento pondered, pretending to choke slam a child onto the sofa as she laughed, completely uninjured and thrilled. You wrinkled your nose into your tea.

"You make it sound so creepy when you say it like that...cradle snatcher."

Kento scoffed at you, gravely offended, continuing to defend himself against his daughters, "Behave. You know it wasn't like that."

You smirked, memories flooding back to you.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Seven years previously...

"So what you're saying is...she went on a practice mission with Inumaki and Gojo, and now-- she's--" Nanami Kento gaped, reeling.

"...a child, yes." Shoko took a long drag of her cigarette. Behind her, in the treatment room, came the happy squeals of children playing. Kento delicately reached towards Shoko, clearing his throat. Quietly seething, and without breaking eye contact with her, he squeezed the embers at the tip of her cigarette with his thumb and forefinger, snuffing it.

"There are children around, Shoko," he hissed, darkly sarcastic. Shoko swallowed, but smiled fondly at Kento.

"It seems the Curse preferred to hunt children," Shoko purred, "obviously easier to catch, I suppose. Gojo dispatched it, but not before it had already de-aged those two in there." Shoko flipped through a pair of charts, "They're both in good health. I imagine this will wear off within a couple of days. But in the meantime...congratulations. You have to be a daddy until then."

Kento lifted the screen covering the small window in the door to the treatment room. There you were, roughly five years old, bouncing a blown-up rubber medical glove between yourself, Inumaki, and an amused-looking Satoru. Kento was filled with dread; what if you didn't come back? What if his fiancée was...gone?

Satoru beckoned Kento in. Taking a deep breath, Kento stepped into the room. You and Inumaki stopped in your tracks, round-eyed and stunned as this man, enormous and cross-looking, stepped over the threshold. You and Inumaki both shuffled closer to Satoru, who laughingly reassured the children.

"Now kids, I know Nanamin looks scary, but he's not. At all. I promise," Satoru urged, mouthing furiously at Kento; smile, damn you! Kento caught himself, dulling his own Cursed-energy, and kneeling down to the floor. He smiled at you, crinkled eyes warm and honeyed. You gave him a nervous smile back.

"We should introduce ourselves," Kento spoke softly, "I'm Nanami Kento, and I'm your-- I'm..." Kento swallowed thickly, trying not to cry, "I'm your mum and dad's friend. They've had to go away for a few days, and asked me to look after you." You stared at Kento, uncertain, tearing up.

"So, I was wondering," continued Kento, "could you help me do my shopping today? We need to make a list. You see, I don't know what treats you like, and I'm not sure what to make for dinn--"

"Eggs," you chirped, "I like eggs. Can we have eggs with dinner?" Kento smiled, heart melting, delighted by you but missing you desperately at the same time.

"Eggs. We can do eggs. And maybe we can bake something tasty to eat after?" You were warming to Kento now, your eyes sparkling, becoming more animated. You were dressed in just an adult t-shirt, all that Satoru could find in his locker, and Kento realised that he suddenly needed...everything. He had nothing child friendly in his house.

"Nanamin?" You asked him, tugging on the front of his shirt, "I've got an important question." Kento raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

You continued, "When we do baking, can I lick the bowl?"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The old women in the supermarket were full of delighted whispers for this tall, handsome man doing the shopping with his cute daughter. Kento overheard them all, trying not to blush, as you chattered to him, stood in the trolley. Nobara had taken her mission seriously, and you were now very much appropriately dressed, albeit in very designer clothes, Nobara having taken full advantage of Kento's generous card limit.

You had, in your hand, a pen and some paper, and had written a shaky-lettered shopping list. You pointed down aisles, directing Kento.

"Eggs!" You commanded, a little dictator, "Flour! Sugar! Chocolate! Sweets!"

"Those last two definitely aren't on the list, young lady, nice try."

You huffed, dramatic and pouting, giving Kento the side-eye. Kento raised his eyebrows at you, gently chastising. Continuing round the shop, Kento had left you in charge of the barcode reader. Twice, he had needed to wrestle it off you and put items back on the shelves-- adult incontinence pads, a large bottle of bleach-- and once, he had had to stop you from trying to scan an old man, hastily apologising to the man and putting you back in the trolley.

He had allowed you to push the trolley, full of regret as he knelt, rebuilding a mountain of cans of beans-- "I'm sorry Nanamin, it was an accident, I'm sorry," you had sniffled, wiping your snotty nose on your sleeve before Kento could get to you with a handkerchief. The shop assistant supervised Kento's efforts with a tapping foot.

You had disappeared for five minutes, and Kento couldn't find you, panicking so badly for a moment that he considered knocking all of the shelves over to make it easier to spot you. Kento gave a description of you to several women, charmed by this flustered father, when you reappeared with a toy; "Nanamin, can I have this?" and Kento knelt, one hand on his chest and the other on your shoulder as his panic fizzled away.

At the tills, you packed the bags haphazardly as Kento hurriedly tried to correct the bags and be polite to the cashier and pay for the shopping and keep you from disappearing again and--

Back in the car with a sigh, Kento sat, head hitting the head rest hard, flicks of sweaty hair looping forwards over his brow. Frazzled, he let out a slow breath, until your little voice piped up in the back.

"Nanamin. You didn't do my seatbelt. The police will get you in trouble."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"So you tap the egg here-- not there-- here-- GENTLY, gently...ahhh." Kento slapped a dishcloth to his cabinet doors as egg dripped sadly down them. You looked to him for answers, hands covered in crushed shell and raw egg. Lifting you to the sink under one arm, he washed your hands off under the tap. Putting you down, he washed his hands.

"-- then the eggy goes in there--"

"Yes, the eggy goes-- NOT THE SHELL--"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Make sure you eat the broccoli too."

"No. Don't like it."

"It's tasty. And it's good for you. Eat up."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

Kento sighed, a deep, weary sigh. Rubbing his fingers against his temples and counting to ten, he looked back to you with a smile.

"I'll give you some chocolate if you eat it."

Kento had never seen broccoli disappear so quickly.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"IT'S IN MY EYES, IT'S IN MY EYES--"

"Calm down, it's not in your eyes, I'm washing it out--" Kento tried to hold you, naked and wet and thoroughly uncontrollable, still, as he poured water over your head. You stamped, spitting water away dramatically, and Kento considered he may as well have just got in the bath with you, his shirt now drenched.

"Come on," Kento huffed, trying to sound upbeat but feeling absolutely exhausted, "let's get you out and brush your teeth--"

"--I don't want to brush my teeth--"

"Well you've got to brush your teeth--"

You ran, streaking away out of the bathroom as Kento stumbled, reaching for you and missing, then chasing you down with a towel and a toothbrush.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You padded to Kento, damp and pyjama'd as he stripped his wet clothes off and got dressed into his own pyjamas. Your teeth now brushed, and your hair neat and tidy, you looked mollified, a new book under your arm.

"Can you read?" You asked Kento suspiciously.

"I-- of course I can read."

"Good," you stated, chin out, "we can do my bedtime story then."

You plodded away to the spare room, while Kento placed both hands over his face and screamed into the void for a few moments.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Was the bear hungry? Or did he just want to be friends?"

Kento pondered, closing the book thoughtfully, "I think...he just wanted to be friends. He was lonely in his cave."

"Or hungry."

"Or hungry," Kento agreed, "but if he were that hungry, he'd have run faster, don't you think?" He asked, tickling under your chin as you squirmed and kicked, giggling.

You rolled over to face Kento, your little hand on his cheek. He rolled over to face you, taking in your little nose, round cheeks...all you, but so far away from the you that he was in love with, and so unable to share that burden with you, that he felt his nose sting with tears again.

"Nanamin?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Ah, "I do. We're going to get married soon."

"Ooooh!" You squeaked, your hands coming up to cup your own cheeks, before your little face dropped. Kento peered at you, one eye open.

"But where is she?"

"She's...away working at the minute. But she'll be home soon. I hope."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The next morning, the sunlight glinted in past the curtains, the room warm and comfortable. Kento slept the sleep of an exhausted parent, never quite enough to catch up. You were draped uncomfortably over him, head in his armpit and legs stretched out across his tummy.

Kento woke, a warm feeling spreading over him as he reached out a sleepy hand, patting you on the head. This was a really warm feeling, a bit wet--

"Nanamin. I've had an accident."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The days had ticked by, and you seemed a little bigger every day, growing up at an accelerated rate. Kento settled into this bizarre, unwilling parenthood, wondering where this left you as a couple once this was all over. Fear twisted like thorns in the pit of his stomach, wondering if the romantic love you'd shared would be sullied by this paternal love he had been forced to convert to.

Kento met often with Satoru, now inadvertently raising a tiny Inumaki, talking-shop together as unlikely new fathers. Aside from Satoru having to occasionally put out fires caused by Inumaki's Cursed-speech, the playdates were soft, sweet even; babyccinos-- "marshmallows please, Nanamin!"-- in little cafés, pushing-- "higher, Nanamin, higher!" -- on swings, teaching-- "like this? Or this?"-- you both how to control your Cursed-techniques.

It was only at night, when you were asleep, and Kento was decompressing from the eternal labour of mealtimes, laundry, and emotional regulation, that Kento allowed himself to cry. Your little voice called out in the dark. Kento wiped his eyes, fixing a reassuring smile on his face, as he went to resettle you-- "It's alright, you're safe. I'm here."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The days turned to weeks. The curse was wearing off, but slowly. By Shoko's estimation, you were about thirteen years old now. You had been raised by the motley crew of Jujutsu High-- being taken to theme parks by Yuuji and Nobara, running through the woods with Maki, helping Shoko organise her medical equipment-- around Kento's work days. He went to work now with new trepidation, having you to consider if he was injured, or killed, and overtime was a thing of the past. Kento's tie only ever came off when he walked through the door to your warm welcome.

Shoko kept thrice-weekly checks on your growth and progression, reassuring Kento constantly that you were on your way back to yourself. You both did and didn't retain memories of the previous days and weeks. Some days you treated Kento as if you didn't even know him, a stranger to you, wondering where your parents were. Some days, you seemed to recall events from days (years?) previously where Kento had cooked something special for dinner, or bought you a new outfit. Some days, you seemed haunted by memories that were yours, but not, too big for a child of your age to handle-- losing friends in battle, fighting Curses and Curse-users, failing tests and exams-- and Kento reassured you through your screams and cries in the night.

Raising you had been a confusing, tender whirlwind. Now that you approached your teens, you would see fit to argue with Kento over the barest of insults or inconveniences, pushing boundaries and being hurtful without true intent or realisation of its effects. Kento stayed outwardly calm throughout, an unshakeable presence in the turmoil of your bizarre second childhood.

When Satoru had suggested you come to live in the Jujutsu High dorms and attend classes, as you would have done at this age the first time, Kento found himself bitterly protective.

"No missions, Gojo," he threatened to Satoru one day on a park bench, you and Inumaki swinging and chatting idly in the play area that you both suddenly seemed much too big for.

Uncharacteristically serious, Satoru agreed immediately, "I wouldn't do that to her, Kento, you know that. The way I see it, these two," he gestured to you both, sipping his coffee, "are...recovering from injuries, I guess. But Inumaki's nearly caught up to where he should be...she's got a bit further to go. Shoko can watch her more at Jujutsu High. She can have peers. And maybe you need a bit more separation as she gets closer to your version of her."

And so, you went to Jujutsu High. Kento dropped you off like a concerned father, carrying your suitcases to your room, helping you unpack and put up shelves. His heart clenched with fear, waving you off, and you acted as if it was nothing, making it so much worse for him. He loitered by your room, in case you called him back...but you didn't.

At home again, Kento folded and packed away little clothes, smoothing them over with his big warm hands, musing how you really had only been tiny, what felt like yesterday. He gave you some distance, but gave Shoko none, her phone pinging at all hours, asking for updates, asking her to check on you.

Within a few days, Inumaki fell asleep. When he didn't wake after 24 hours, he was carried to the treatment room. Kento hung around the corridors of Jujutsu High when he heard, hungry for news of Inumaki's condition, deeply concerned about how you would be at the same stage. Shoko was cool and collected, certain that Inumaki would wake up his own self again. Kento worried he wouldn't wake up at all.

Shoko, as always, was right. Inumaki woke as if from a long dream, after two days. Kento visited him, bringing gifts of manga and sweets, while Inumaki recounted his odd half-memories of having been raised by Satoru, alongside his true memories of his first childhood.

Fighting the urge to go and see you, knowing that you were traversing your teenage years again in a way that was too intense for him to offer help with, Kento swallowed down his guilt, his longing to see you, and left. He passed your room reluctantly, his gut wrenching as if caught on your door handle, and remaining there, stretching, pulling, as he walked away from it.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Another week passed. Shoko was sure your long sleep was close. She recounted tales of you to Kento, seeming excited that her old friend was nearly back to the her that Shoko knew. Kento's voice seemed tight and reluctant as Shoko suggested he come and see you. He declined, feeling awkward about seeing you in almost the form that he knew you.

Passing through the ground of Jujutsu High, ready to drop off a report to Yaga, Kento rounded a corner and bumped into a young woman, reaching out to grab her wrist before she fell to the ground.

"Oh, I'm so sorr-- Nanamin!" Kento stuttered, flustered, resisting pulling an eighteen year old you into his arms. Before he could step back, you threw yourself into his arms with a happy squeak, hanging on around his neck, flush against him and clinging for dear life.

"Oh Nanamin, it's been so long," you breathed, flushed and excited. You gripped his hand, somewhere between a little girl and the you he was still madly in love with, "come on, let's go and get coffee! My treat." You pulled Kento's hand, bright eyes full of delight.

"As if I'd let you pay," Kento grumbled, straightening his suit and tie with one strict hand, his other still clasped by you. Reluctantly, trying not to blush, Kento took you for coffee. He was done-for within thirty minutes, reminded of exactly why he had fallen in love with you in the first place. He restrained himself easily, remaining kind and fatherly, but...distant, in a way you found confusing.

You looked at him through new eyes, wondering how you had ever seen him as a father-figure as a child, lost in thought as to how he still looked so young. His huge, warm hands, the way he was built, so much of a man beneath the confines of his suit, and you felt something stir in you that you never had before, an alluring obsession, a delicious agony of needing to know him differently. Kento's stoic distance was magnetic.

When he drove you back to Jujutsu High, you were full of blushes, unable to take your eyes off his hands smoothly turning the wheel, the sharp cut of his nose and jaw in profile, the stretch of his tan trousers against his thick thighs.

Kento had bricked a stone wall around his affections rapidly. You remained, to him, a little girl under his guardianship. You were the girl he had fallen in love with, but not the woman he was in love with now. His mathematical mind found separating the two of you easy. Grown men did not fall in love with little girls.

As he walked you back to your room, he asked you if there was anything you needed. He pulled you in for a gentle squeeze. He kissed you on the forehead. He bid you to call him for anything. He waited until you were safely home before he left. You were besotted. Completely smitten.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Kento sat in the staff room, legs crossed, reading his newspaper. The door clicked open, and he heard a satisfied "ah!" as you slipped in, locking the door behind you.

Kento looked over his glasses at you, eyebrows raised in questioning. You smiled at him, demure, curious, before idling over to him. As you sat beside him, Kento felt a strike of dread through him like ice, and he tensed, frowning at you.

You made light conversation with Kento, thigh to thigh on the sofa, your heart fluttering with anticipation. You spoke about the news, his insight so mature and informed, and you hung onto every word, desperate to be closer and you leaned against him, pretending to read the newspaper with him. He remained sincere, measured, neither pushing you away nor pulling you closer.

Kento turned to you, your face centimetres from his now, and you leaned in eagerly, his lips brushing against yours as your fingers grazed his jaw--

"No." Kento grabbed your hand, turning from you and pushing you gently away by the shoulders.

You froze, stunned. Cold embarrassment crept through you as if you'd been kicked in the stomach by Kento's immediate, categorical rejection. Kento folded his newspaper, standing and putting distance between the two of you. His back was to you, one hand clasped over his face and mouth as he sighed. Was he angry? Disappointed? Disgusted? You couldn't tell.

Hot tears of rage and mortification rushed down your cheeks, your vision blurry. Your hands twisted together in your lap. You heard Kento clear his throat lightly, and looked up to see him knelt in front of you, his face smooth and unreadable. He gently pressed a neatly folded handkerchief into your hand, and clasped his hand firmly around yours to close it.

"I'm sorry you feel this way about me, and I'm flattered. But I don't feel this way about you, and you shouldn't trust any man my age who pursues a girl your age."

Anger coursed through you as you stared furiously at him, still crying; "I'm not a girl," you snapped, standing and tossing his handkerchief to his feet. Kento sighed, collecting his handkerchief, rising from the floor beside you.

"I thought we had something-- I thought we were--" you stammered, your throat thick and constricted with humiliation. Kento nodded, understanding.

"You are special to me, and always will be," he assured you, the unspoken words remaining apparent as he shattered the pretences of any romance between you. You seethed with embarrassment.

"Like this fiancée of yours?" You shot, cruelly, with intention to wound, "You told me about her years ago. Where's she, all of a sudden? Did you shove her away, too?"

Kento's stern face gazed down at you, impassive, unreadable, and he spoke to you with measured coolness, "I appreciate you're upset. I don't believe my fiancée has any further place in this discussio--"

"Well I doubt she's coming back!" You spat, furious tears still threatening to overspill, "And I'm not interested in you either. Stay away from me."

You rushed from the room without looking back. The door slammed, a sudden waft of air ruffling the pages of Kento's newspaper. Speechless and devastated by how he had failed you, Kento sank onto the sofa, his elbows on his knees and his fingers sinking into his neat hair.

Kento sat like this until the sun went down, oranges and reds glowing like embers against his suit as the day died away.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento threw himself into work immediately. Working overtime for any distraction, his days were long, and whiskey soothed him to sleep as it had before he had fallen in love with you. Another week passed, a blur of Curses and liquor. He sprayed your perfume onto your pillow. He had kept your pyjamas, unwashed, sleeping with his nose in them and terrified as the smell of you slowly faded away. He still cooked for two, just in case you were to come home, fearing you never would.

It was late, when Kento received the phone call. He was already three large drinks deep.

"Hello?" His voice blurred with exhaustion and drink.

"Nanami. She's...asleep. Has been for nearly two days now. Why haven't you answered your phone?" Shoko chastised. Kento swirled the glass in his hand, the smooth amber roiling in the glass like a little whirlpool. Kento couldn't answer, his throat constricting with unspoken fear- because what if she never wakes up? What if she does wake up, and doesn't know me? What if she does wake up, and doesn't love me?

Kento swallowed thickly, and opened his mouth to talk, words failing him. He heard Shoko sigh.

"Just...come. And bring her some clothes."

A click and a dial tone as Shoko hung up. Kento's hand shook as he laid down his glass, and dialled for a taxi.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Inumaki is exactly as he was before this Curse," Shoko pressed, walking with Kento to the treatment room, "and she will be too. I mean it." Kento looked tired, dishevelled, grieving. His tie hung loose, his shirt partly unbuttoned, smelling of whiskey and unwashed from his day's work. Shoko walked him into the treatment room, and pressed him down by the shoulders into the chair beside your bed.

Kento laid eyes on you, drinking you in, hope trickling into him as he studied you, looking exactly like you had when you had left for work that day, just a month ago but feeling like so much longer. With a trembling hand he reached out for yours, examining your hand in his own. He stayed this way until you woke up.

"...Kento?" You woke from your strange, long dream to your fiancé, bedraggled and teary-eyed, and smelling like a dirty bar, looking at you like you were a gift made just for him. Kento's shoulders heaved with sobs, the dam breaking as he gripped your hand in his and pressed it to his eyes.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You curled on the sofa with Kento, warm and familiar, as he finished recounting the events of the previous month. Stroking his hair the whole time, with his head in your lap, you felt like this was therapeutic for him, and you leaned down to kiss his forehead. His eyes drifted closed, reaching a hand up to keep your lips against his forehead for a little longer.

Pulling himself up, Kento grunted as he felt something hard press into his back. Reaching past the sofa cushions, he pulled out a painted wooden truck. You laughed, embarrassed and charmed.

"Did you actually keep everything?" You asked, touched. Kento hummed to himself, rolling the truck's wheels, his trauma still bearing faintly whimsical overtones.

"I did. I just...couldn't bring myself to get rid of them."

"Well, that's good. It will probably come in handy, one day."

"Really? Why--...oh. Oh," Kento bent over you, blushing and delighted, leaning into your love and promises for the future that he had missed so much.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento sat up, swinging his legs deftly out of his daughters' bed, and left the room, pulling the door closed to a pair of soft snores. He made his way to the living room, passing a dresser covered in photo frames. His eyes paused on an image of one sunny day seven years ago, a smile crinkling his eyes as he passed by on his way to you.

He hadn't yet explained to his daughters, who this other girl was who looked just like them, feeding the ducks with their daddy, one fine summer's day.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

#jjk #kento nanami #jjk nanami #kento nanami x you #nanami fluff #jujustu kaisen #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami x reader #jjk fluff #satoru gojo #jjk inumaki #inumaki toge #jujutsu kaisen inumaki #shoko ieiri #jjk shoko #jjk angst #nanami kento angst #pseudowho

1K notes · View notes