#I don’t even know if it makes sense to the rest of u all how funny this image is to me but I’m having a grand time
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bloomzone · 2 days ago
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2025 : #18 THE ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT BURNOUT
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i feel exhausted. And I don’t mean like "Oh, I need a nap" exhausted y'all know exhaustion that sits in ur bones that makes even the smallest tasks feel like moving a mountain Even when I do get some rest like sleeping for 8h do breathing techniques I still wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck. And not a small one I'm talking an 18-wheeler, full speed (call it whatever u want) . I was tired all the time yet somehow also restless. I wanted to do something, but I also didn’t want to do anything. I was stuck in this weird, miserable limbo where everything felt pointless, but at the same time, I was stressed about not doing enough. Like, how does that even make sense?And honestly, it got to a point where I wasn’t even living anymore I was just existing. Just floating through days waiting for the next one hoping I’d feel better but never really doing anything about it. Because when you’re that deep in burnout, it’s hard to even believe that you can feel better.
But you can. And I know that sounds cliché as hell but listen to me for a second. If I could drag myself out of that deep, dark hole, you definitely can too. And I’m not saying it’s gonna be easy, but I swear to you, it’s possible.
ᡣ𐭩 sᴛᴇᴘ ᴏɴᴇ: sᴛᴏᴘ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟғ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴀ ғᴀɪʟᴜʀᴇ
If someone talked to you the way you talk to yourself you’d probably wanna fight them Like imagine your younger self sitting right in front of you. If they were struggling, feeling drained, feeling like a failure, would you yell at them to “get their shit together” and call them lazy? No, right? You’d probably comfort them, tell them it’s okay, tell them they don’t have to be perfect.
So why the hell are you so mean to yourself?
Burnout doesn’t happen because you’re weak or lazy but it happens because you’ve been pushing yourself too hard for too long bu experience cuz when I study every single day like NOO stop wake up early,homeworks,school and the same loop go for 1 month I burn out for maybe 15days after (like rn) And let’s be honest, most of us don’t even realize it’s happening until we’re knee-deep in exhaustion. You keep telling yourself, “Oh, I’ll rest once I finish this” or “I just need to push through a little more,” until one day, your body and brain just quit on you.
So the first step? Start being nice to yourself. Start talking to yourself the way you’d talk to a best friend who’s struggling. Because you are not the problem burnout is.
ᡣ𐭩sᴛᴇᴘ ᴛᴡᴏ: ʀᴇsᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪғᴇ ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅs ᴏɴ ɪᴛ (ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ɪᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴅᴏᴇs)
I know resting sounds like the most obvious advice ever, but do you actually do it? Because scrolling on your phone for five hours doesn’t count as rest. Lying in bed while spiraling about everything you should be doing? Also not rest.
Real rest means giving yourself permission to slow down without feeling guilty. It means doing things that actually recharge you so don't force urself to do ur hard tasks like intense workout at 6am saying yes to extra tasks or project ... But say yes to take walks , listening to music, watching a comfort show DO ANYTHING THAT MAKE U HAPPY not everyone have the same (happiness detox) so yeah . And most importantly, it means not punishing yourself for needing a break.Because pooks you’re not a machine. You weren’t built to be productive 24/7. Even your phone needs to be charged, and you’re out here expecting yourself to run on 2% battery every day? Yeah, no wonder you feel like shit.
ᡣ𐭩sᴛᴇᴘ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ: ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴀᴍɴ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ғʀᴏᴍ sᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ
i know. "But I just use it to relax." Do you? Do you really? Because last time u checked, scrolling through Instagram or tiktok for hours and comparing your life to a bunch of people who only post their highlight reels doesn’t exactly scream relaxation.
Social media is draining u .fr u don’t even realize it half the time, but it’s constantly feeding your brain unrealistic expectations. One second you’re watching someone’s “That Girl” morning routine, and the next, you feel like a failure because you don’t wake up at 5 AM to drink matcha and do yoga on a balcony.
And don’t even get me started on doomscrolling. Like, do I need to know every bad thing happening in the world the second I wake up? No. But do I do it anyway? Also yes. And then I wonder why I feel like shit before my day even starts.
So hear me out pookie log off. Even for just a day. Delete the apps if you have to limit time . Go touch some grass. Read a book. Hell stare at the ceiling if you want. Just give your brain a break from the constant noise. Trust me, you’ll feel a million times lighter.
ᡣ𐭩sᴛᴇᴘ ғᴏᴜʀ: sᴛᴏᴘ ᴍᴇᴀsᴜʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛʏ
I used to think that if I wasn’t being productive, I wasn’t worth anything. Like, if I wasn’t working, studying, or doing something “useful,” I was just wasting my life. And if I had a day where I didn’t get anything done? the self-hate would kick in.
But fr your value is not based on how much you do. You are not just a machine made to produce work and complete tasks. You are a human being who deserves to exist without constantly proving yourself.
Think about it .. do you judge your friends based on how productive they are? Do you stop loving someone just because they took a lazy day? No. So why do you do it to yourself?Taking a break doesn’t make you a failure. Resting doesn’t make you lazy. And slowing down doesn’t mean you’re falling behind. Sometimes, the most productive thing you can do is give yourself space to breathe.
ᡣ𐭩 ᴛʜᴇ 𝟷-ʜᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇᴛʜᴏᴅ: ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪғᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ʙᴜʀɴᴏᴜᴛ
U feel exhausted, unmotivated, and even simple tasks feel like a challenge. You know you need to do something, but damn you can’t even bring yourself to move. I get it.
So here’s the deal We’re not fixing your whole life in one day buuuut Instead, we’re using the 1-Hour Method—because when you’re burnt out, committing to an entire day of productivity feels impossible. But one hour? That’s doable.
Step 1: The One-Hour Reset
You don’t need to “fix” everything. Just commit to one hour of doing something that will make you feel 1% better. That’s it.
⏳ The Rules:
Set a timer for 60 minutes.
Pick 2-3 small things that will make you feel lighter.
Do them with zero pressure. Imperfect action > no action.
Examples:
⏰ Minute 0-10: Get out of bed. Wash your face. Brush your teeth. You don’t need a full “that girl” routine, just refresh yourself.
⏰ Minute 10-20: Make your space 5% cleaner. Not a full deep clean—just clear the trash, fold a blanket, or open the window. Small changes, big difference.
⏰ Minute 20-40: Do one small productive task—answer an email, write one sentence of an essay, organize one folder. Just something that reminds you that you can do things.
⏰ Minute 40-60: Move your body. Stretch, walk around, dance to a song—anything to shake off the mental fog.
One hour down, and I guarantee you’ll feel even slightly better than before.
Step 2: The 1-Hour Rule for Self-Comparison
Nothing drains your energy more than constantly feeling behind in life. Comparing yourself to others? Yeah, that’s a fast track to burnout.But the people u’re comparing yourself to? They have bad days too. They feel lost too. They struggle too. You just don’t see it.
So for the next hour try this:
Write down 3 things you’ve accomplished last days or months No matter how small. Maybe you learned a new skill, took care of yourself on a rough day, or simply kept going when you wanted to quit. That counts.
Unfollow or mute accounts that make you feel “less than.” If it doesn’t inspire you, it’s draining you Simple.
Shift your mindset. Instead of “Why am I not there yet?” ask “How can I grow at my own pace?”
You’re doing better than you think. You don’t need to rush. Your journey is yours.
Step 3: The 1-Hour Rule for Overwhelm
Burnout often comes from having too much on your plate. So, instead of drowning in to-do lists, use this:
→ Pick 1 hour a day to focus on just ONE thing. No multitasking. No distractions. Just one task that actually matters.When you train your brain to handle things one at a time, everything feels less overwhelming.
You don’t have to “get your life together” overnight. You just have to start.
ᡣ𐭩sᴛᴇᴘ ғɪᴠᴇ: ғɪɴᴅ ᴊᴏʏ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ (ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴍᴀʟʟᴇsᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢs)
I know what you’re thinking “ I don’t even remember what joy feels like.” And I get it. When you’re burnt out, everything feels dull, like life lost its color.But you can bring it back. And no, I’m not saying you need to go on some self-discovery journey. Sometimes, it starts with the smallest things listening to a song you used to love, rewatching a movie that made you happy, making a dumb inside joke with a friend, buying yourself a little treat just because , go through ur old photos, remember ur high grades or whatever makes u joyful and full of love
Joy isn’t always some big Sometimes it’s just a tiny moment that reminds you life isn’t all stress and exhaustion.And the more you find those small moments, the more you start to feel alive again.
ᡣ𐭩 ʟᴀsᴛ sᴛᴇᴘ : ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ, ɪ sᴡᴇᴀʀ
If you’re reading this and thinking, “Damn, I don’t even know where to start,” that’s okay. Just start small. Start with one thing whether it’s being kinder to yourself, taking an actual rest day, stepping away from social media, or just reminding yourself that burnout does not define you.Because you will get through this. You’re stronger than you think. And one day, you’re gonna look back at this version of yourself and be so damn proud that you kept going.
Until then? Take it one step at a time or even an hour at the time be gentle with yourself pookie and remember: you are not alone in this.
@bloomzone
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chimivx · 20 hours ago
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gimme gimme gimme 6 -> mingi x fem!reader -> nice for what
wc: 6.2k warnings: 18+, sexual content and alcohol consumption in every part, infidelity themes... if i missed anything please let me know! posted: 2/13/25 8:48 pm est.
masterlist ~ <- previous part - next part ->
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“And what the fuck am I supposed to do with her?”
“Put her down, she can stand on her own.”
“Tori, she just got sick on the side of the street, and you want me to just put her down?”
Groaning, driving a hand through your hair, you trudged over the sand toward him and helped him lower Aurora onto her feet. She moved as if her body was made of liquid. Lifeless blinking eyes looked over at you. Yunho kept one arm around her back, your best friend clinging onto him for stability. 
Sanity, you thought, and wanted to giggle.
She couldn’t stand on her feet for long, Yunho was scooping her back up in seconds.
“Who knew you were so strong,” you said to him, following him over the sand, further from the dunes and buzz of nightlife, closer to the water and the rush of the waves. Giving you a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, he sighed when Aurora adjusted herself on his front, her whole face nuzzling into his neck. “Or, you don’t wanna put her down,” you added quietly, and he huffed, focusing forward. 
Reaching the edge of a hill on the beach, Yunho paused and looked out over the ocean. Waves crashed, water rushed up the coast, but it didn’t reach your feet, it only blew salty mist your way, the breeze grazing your skin, cooling it. 
He could’ve let her go. He could’ve sat her down, laid her down, or something, anything other than what he chose to do, sitting down on the sand with her in his lap. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you sat down beside him, about a foot of space between you. Folding your legs, you opened your messages and internally rolled your eyes.
[ITZ]: don’t u wanna know who i am tori
He sent the message a half hour ago.
[you]: yes.
He started typing immediately. Then, the bubbles went away. Aurora stirred on Yunho’s lap. He started typing again.
[ITZ]: maybe if u tell him abt me, i’ll tell u who i am :)
[you]: and how the fuck does that make any sense?
[ITZ]: because…
[ITZ]: maybe i’ll get invited in ;)
[you]: what
[ITZ]: u aren’t with it tonite, what’s wrong with u
[you]: my best friend saw my messages, idiot. 
[ITZ]: aurora?
[you]: yes. and i named you something that made her mad at me. so stop texting me.
[ITZ]: you texted me back first
[you]: whatever
[ITZ]: u were so interested the other night… telling me to come over… inviting me to that party… couldn’t even figure out who i was.
[you]: w h a t e v e r .
[ITZ]: that game aurora plays with her man
[ITZ]: it doesn’t intrigue u at all tori
[you]: what are you talking about
[ITZ]: the way they invite ppl into bed with them
[you]: and what the fuck do you know about that?
Aurora sat up, taking Yunho by the shoulders, glancing around like she’d just woken up.
[ITZ]: plenty.  ;)
[ITZ]: u tell boyfriend abt me maybe we can make a playdate
His texts sent a shiver down your spine, and not a good one. Leaving your phone in your lap, locked, his notifications silenced, you sat backward and rested your hands in the sand, letting the breeze blow your hair off your shoulders. 
“Hey, Ror,” you said, giving her a smile. 
Yunho had his knees propped up where he sat, she was cradled perfectly between his thighs and his torso, her legs straddling his waist. He sat like you, hands backward in the sand, watching her. She lifted her hands, limbs shaking, raking her fingers through her hair. From side to side she looked, at you, at the sand, at the ocean, then at Yunho.
They did the thing again.
Yunho, tilting his head ever so slightly, Aurora, eventually wearing a pout on her lips. They stared. They spoke through blinks and lash flutters, until she actually spoke.
“You suck,” she muttered, and he laughed, glancing away for all of two seconds shaking his head.
“I know,” he said with all the care in the world.
“You really, really suck,” she said again, louder.
He bobbed his head, the softest smile on his lips as he looked at her. “I know,” he whispered, and somehow it worsened her pout. 
Thrusting a hand at him, she tried to shove his shoulder, but barely got a valid hit in. Taking the miniscule blow, Yunho sucked in a breath. She threw another hand, and he took it, blinking up at her, letting her do this. Each push grew somewhat stronger, accompanied by a sound, or a you suck or a fuck you, and eventually the words turned to tears. Her hands took on speed until he snatched them, holding onto them, sitting forward to look at her, and then she sobbed. She fell into his chest, wrapped her arms around him, and sobbed.
He held her. Hands sliding over her back he took a long, deep breath and released it, staring out into the ocean, allowing Aurora’s cries to drown out within the crashing of the waves on the shore. 
You wanted to move. You felt like you should move, like this was their moment and you were in the middle of it, but she wasn’t sober. And her and Yunho, they weren’t okay. As much as you wished that this could be it, that this would fix it all, it wouldn’t.
Your phone lit up on your lap, the little buzz against your skin pulling your attention away from the two of them, thank god.
[loverboy]: where are u?
[you]: we left wave, i’m on the beach with aurora and yunho… she got fucked up, we couldn’t stay there.
[loverboy]: i just showed up with wooyoung san and seonghwa…
[you]: at wave??????
[loverboy]: yeah. wooyoung is looking for rora
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh fuck,” you muttered, scrambling to your feet. Yunho, startled though he barely moved, looked up at you in a panic. “They’re at Wave.”
His brows settled over his eyes in a straight line. “Who?”
“Exactly who you think,” you sighed, and he laughed out of pure dread. Glancing around, both hands on Aurora, he lifted one and pointed at her, looking at you, mouthing, “What do I do?”
“Um,” you drug out the word and let it will thoughts into your brain. This was your thing, this was your expertise, quick thinking, problem solving, it was the position you were voted into at ITZ last year, legit the problem solver. “I mean, if no one’s in the house we can get her in there and you can get out, like nothing happened. It’ll be like I brought her home.” 
“No, no,” Aurora mumbled from his chest before she lifted her head. “No,” she pouted. Taking her hands to Yunho’s cheeks, his eyes shot open wide, her thumbs dragging over his cheekbones. 
“Aurora,” you said with some oomph, and she whined.
“No.”
“Yes,” you snapped back. “Let him go.”
He didn’t want her to let go, but he still said, “You’re mad at me.”
Aurora shook her head, her body still resting over his chest. “No, ‘m not”
The way his body reacted was lost on her. “Yes, you are. You’re very mad at me. I’m not allowed to talk to you unless you talk to me first, that’s how mad you are.” 
She sat up. She sat backward, her back against his thighs, and she watched him.
And he watched her.
And somehow, it still felt better than seeing her cozied up next to Wooyoung, or under his arm.
She took in a breath, but you saved her from saying anything incriminating. 
Dropping down at her side, you rested a hand on her shoulder and said, “Let’s go home. We can have a sleepover. The spare room between ours, we’ll stay there, we can talk all night, ‘cause I know you have a lot to say right now.” 
Her head turned slowly. “And sleep next to a liar?” Yunho pressed his lips together and looked elsewhere.
“Ror-”
“I’d rather go to his house,” she pressed a finger into Yunho’s chest. “You know what I could do with him?” 
Half a laugh came out of him, one that made him gasp.
Rolling your eyes, you took her hand off of him and returned it to her own lap. “Aurora, I am not a liar, and you are not going home with Yunho, we need to go home, now.”
She leaned toward you and squinted her eyes. “Why?”
“Because, you were already sick, it’s time for bed.”
“Why?”
Sighing, you forced a smile onto your lips. “Good god, this was not the time I was hoping Aurora would come back to us.” Yunho laughed to himself. “The boys are at the bar looking for us. Wooyoung and San are there. So, that means it’s time for us to go home.”
Her eyes drifted toward the sand. “Wooyoung and San,” she mumbled. 
Yunho blinked toward you. “Oh, yeah, what happened by the way? I meant to ask you, or Mingi, but…”
Shifting your brows, tilting your head, you gave him a look, one that made his lips part.
“Oh,” he said, looking off somewhere behind you before he took a look at Aurora and glanced the other way. Quiet surrounded you all for a moment before he asked, “Why was it… weird earlier?”
Taking in Aurora, how she watched the sand, blinking through nothing, you shrugged. “She…” Yunho looked at you. “I can’t talk to you about this. It’s hers to tell.”
The tiniest laugh came out of her, both of you sparing her a glance. She lifted her chin and smiled at you, then smiled at Yunho.
“Bye,” she said, hoisting herself off of his lap, slipping out of his grip more gracefully than she could when she was sober. Trekking up the sand, teetering to the right, she sauntered away.
“What the fuck?” Yunho was quick to jump to his feet, you following him soon after.
Sharing a look, you offered for him to take the lead. “Shall we?”
Peering between Aurora wandering further up the sand and you, Yunho started to follow her, mumbling, “I guess so.”
Down the wooden planked walkway designed to get you from the promenade to the beach and back easily, you and Yunho walked in silence, eyes on Aurora stumbling every fourth step. He flinched each time he thought she’d fall, his chin jerking, or his hands tightening at his side.
“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly, taking him by surprise. Pausing halfway down the planks, he turned to you. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this.”
Smoothing his hands over his shorts, he shrugged the matter off. “It’s okay, you wouldn’t have been able to get her up here. Or home, for that matter. She was deadweight.” Looking her way, both of you, she’d reached the end of the path and waltzed over the concrete of the promenade now, following lines in the pavement with her head down. 
“You’re pushing this,” he said, focusing back on you. “Why?”
Pursing your lips, you met his gaze and shook your shoulders a bit. “I want you together.”
He scoffed. “After what I did to her?”
“It’s Aurora,” you groaned. “She slept with Seonghwa, did she not?”
Yunho cringed and walked a small circle around himself. “She did, but they weren’t like…” he paused, softening his brow, “I was worse. I did worse. You said he’s good with her, leave them be.” Voices sounded at the end of the pathway, Aurora’s laughter ringing aloud amongst the commotion. Yunho broke first, peering down the planks, his softened expression hardening quickly. “Example,” he muttered.
His arms were around her waist, holding her close to him. Rocking her back and forth, in a way that seemed she wanted, Wooyoung shot glares your way over her shoulder. Slipping her hands into his hair she pressed kisses to his jaw, and he started to smile. San lingered behind, speaking to her, speaking to them both. In blue jeans and a white tank with a leather belt strapped to his waist, he wore a smirk that grew as he slid his hands into his back pockets. 
 Mingi ignored them, walked around them with Seonghwa in tow, headed your way.
Holding out his hand for Yunho to slap, he turned to you as they bumped shoulders. “I couldn’t stop him,” he said, half a frown dancing on his lips, “He was gonna find her either way.”
“Did we not want him to find her?” Seonghwa asked, greeting Yunho similarly to how Mingi did. Yunho didn’t take it nearly as inviting as he did when Mingi did it. “I don’t get it.”
“Don’t worry about it,” you breathed, taking hold of Mingi’s hand, curling your fingers around his. He gave your palm a squeeze, dipping his chin to brush his lips over your cheek. “She got really drunk, got sick, I kinda just wanted to take her home and not bother anyone.”
Seonghwa quirked a brow. “You ended up here,” he said, nodding toward the beach. Facing Yunho, he added, “With him.” 
“What’s the word on Soul?” you asked, switching subjects.
The curiosity in his dark eyes went unchanged. “Can’t find him. Untrackable.”
“Damn.” You leaned into Mingi, wrapping your other hand around his bicep. “Hope he turns up soon.”
Seonghwa was a rock. “Could you ask Jongseob?”
A sinkhole opened up beneath you on the sand, taking you under. Mingi could feel it, he held onto your hand a little tighter.
“W-What?” you stammered, tilting your head.
Seonghwa blinked. He glanced at Mingi, then his eyes burned through yours. “He’s been following you around this whole time, no?” 
What the fuck was he doing?
Mingi focused down on you. Nighttime air blew by you, an ocean breeze, one salty and cool that did nothing to lessen the heat that built into your cheeks, that coursed through you.
“I try to not talk to him, Hwa, no matter what it looks like,” you said after a breath. “It may seem like he’s hanging around me, but he’s not. He’ll try to get under my skin, but I won’t let him.” He waited a few seconds, took another look at your boyfriend, then nodded. “I mean,” you started, giving Mingi a glance yourself, “If it’s okay, I will ask him, for Soul’s sake?”
Mingi shrugged. “You don’t need permission,” he mumbled. 
“Okay,” you said, sharing a small smile with him. Setting your eyes over Seonghwa and his lengthy dark hair, you flattened your brow to tell him not to say anything else. “I’ll shoot him a message, or something. I’ll let you know what he says.”
“You have his number?” Seonghwa asked, humour in his tone. Mingi tensed beside you, not even a reassuring squeeze of his arm could relax him.
“Instagram is a thing,” you said smoothly, laying your head against your boyfriend.
“Not to be that guy,” Yunho spoke up, directing everyone's attention to Aurora walking away in Wooyoung’s arms, the two accompanied by San, “But, where are they going?” 
Seonghwa tried to keep his laugh to himself but ended up with Yunho’s elbow in his chest anyway. His eyes found you, his knowing eyes, and they now asked you for help, like you’ve both formed some sort of secret Aurora Alliance within the hours of this night. Behind the need for assistance, the need for this to be squashed and over with lingered. It had to be set aside. It couldn’t and shouldn’t be touched again, for a while, until something needed to happen. He asked you to do that for him. For her.
Wooyoung locked eyes with you. Aurora talked to him, between kisses slapped onto his cheek, she spoke to him, and his stare traveled to Yunho unintentionally shielding himself behind Seonghwa. Then, he looked back at you, and that nasty grimace returned. Behind them, San kept his eyes to himself, but the smirk on his baby pink lips told you plenty.
“Great,” you sighed. Mingi held onto you a little tighter. “I’m a liar,” you shared a look with Yunho, “You’re in deeper shit, and we’re all gonna get written off.”
Seonghwa tossed his hands up with a smile. “I’m excluded from the narrative.”
Yunho side eyed him. “What do you know about the narrative?”
Mingi’s hold loosened around you as he took a step toward his best friend. “Don’t listen to him, it’s-”
Yunho’s eyes popped open wide with a tilt of his jaw, cutting him clean off. “Finish that sentence.”
“No,” you said, stepping around your boyfriend, inserting yourself in the middle of the suffocating testosterone circle. Placing a hand on Mingi’s chest, you looked up at the other two, pointing at them directly. “The narrative does not exist,” you said to Yunho, turning to Seonghwa, “And even if one did exist, you would not be excluded.” You shut the two of them up, both of them looking down at you like a pair of brothers who’ve been grounded by their big sister.
It took a few seconds within the silence to realize, but Mingi had let go of you completely. He stood behind you with his hands in his pockets, his eyes soft, and his chin tipped low. 
“Why are you a liar?” he asked quietly, the deepness of his voice almost drowned out by the crashing of distant waves. Turning to him, trying to hold onto him somehow, he wouldn’t let you. 
“Mingi, can I-”
He took a small step backward, out of your reach. “Why are you a liar, Tori?”
Jaw agape, a singular laugh came out of you. “I’m not…”
Don’t go there, he heard you call yourself a liar.
Extending a hand toward the promenade where the others stood, you said, “She called me a liar. I am not a liar, but Ror called me one.”
“Why?” he asked, unmoving. The boys behind you were silent.
You can’t tell him about the texts. It’d be nice if you could, but look how far they’ve gone.
Would it be better to admit it? To flat out tell him they were happening, that you’ve entertained it for over a week? For what? Because you were bored? Because you were envious? You were not envious. You knew Mingi, you knew what it would do to him. To make him feel like he wasn’t enough, like he wasn’t giving you enough, doing enough for you, that you were unhappy in your relationship, that you were unsatisfied, you couldn’t do that to him. None of it was even true.
Why were you doing it?
“The ITZ thing,” you said, and you swore you heard Yunho sucked in a breath. Mingi crinkled a brow. “Last year. We all know her trust is fucked up. She got messed up tonight, we were talking about stuff, my words got taken the wrong way, she called me a liar.” His cheeks softened, yet your stomach twisted. 
He believed you.
“She’ll be okay tomorrow,” you said. With the smallest shake of your head you stepped toward him, and he let you. Your arms wrapped around his waist, his found your shoulders. Rising to your tiptoes you gave him a kiss. “It’ll all be okay.”
All was not okay.
Aurora remembered everything.
“I just don’t understand why you would do something like that to me,” she spat, pacing the length of the painted deck on the back of the house, the one right outside the kitchen. Both of you in swimsuits, the sunshine beat down on your bare skin, aiding in the boiling of your blood. 
You smacked your hands together and bounced in your seat, one of your legs propped up against the arm of the wicker chair. “Do something like that to you, Ror, I didn’t do a thing to you!”
It’d been twenty minutes of this. The back and forth. The volley of you did this, and, well you did that. Seconds after she’d come down the stairs ready for the day, freshly showered like you, you took one look at her face and knew you’d have to talk it out before anything else happened.
“Yunho,” she hissed like the word tasted awful, whirling herself around, nearly bending in half. She kept her voice quiet. “Why’d you do any of that?”
The first sober conversation about him. Yesterday it’d been shut down. Telling her about him, about what she’d said about him while she showered, it nearly made her sick all over again.
Shrugging, you shook your head. “I’m not gonna sugar coat shit. I want you and him together.” 
She balled her hands into fists. “You know he-”
“Yeah, I fuckin’ know, Aurora,” you snapped, and she sharpened her glare. “I was there. Did you forget that? Seems-”
“What,” she said within a breath, her eyes narrowing. “Tori, why would I forget that?” Folding your arms over your chest, you sat back in your chair and rolled your eyes. Aurora took a step toward you. “No, finish that sentence.”
“You’ve just been so busy,” you kept your tone calm, tightening your jaw. “Wooyoung, keeping up with him, listening to him, Soul, taking care of him…”
She loosened her fists, her shoulders drooping as she let out a laugh. “You can’t be serious,” she said, some sort of smile growing on her lips.
“I’m very serious,” you said, and she laughed.
With another step toward you, she said, “Tor, I tried to get it through to you. About any of this. Soul needs help, and he-”
“Then let him get help from someone else!” you shouted, slamming a hand onto the glass of the table you sat in front of. If the boys were in the house, in the kitchen mere feet away, they surely heard you both. “It is not your responsibility, and it sure as hell isn’t good for you to be around him if he does crazy shit, look at what you did last night, that’s not you.”
Her aura calmed tenfold. Pressing her hands to her thighs, she took a deep breath, then nodded her head. “If I’m with Yunho then I’m closer, right?”
Taking a hand to your forehead, you sighed. “What?”
“To you,” she almost whispered, and your stomach flipped. “If I'm with Yunho, I’m closer to you, I’m closer to Mingi, it goes back to us four, always.”
Your arms made their way back over your chest, your skin warm from the sun. Giving her a look, one you didn’t want to hurt her with, but wish you could, you said, “That’s not it.”
She laughed again, throwing her arms out to the side. “Then what is it, Tori? I’ve tried, I’ve been trying. Before we even got here I tried to talk to you, I wanted to get rid of whatever animosity there was.”
You raised a brow. “Animosity?”
She nodded once. “Yeah, animosity. Ryujin taught me that word.” Silence, for three seconds. “Did I… Did I use it right?”
Tilting your head side to side, you curled your lip. “Kinda, but I wouldn’t say that’s what’s going on. That’s how I feel about Wooyoung.”
The words left you before you could stop them.
Aurora pointed at you, her eyes shooting open wide. “I knew it. What’d he do to you?” You answered with a shrug, but it wasn’t enough for her. “Tori.”
Springing forward, you held up a hand and counted on your fingers. “He gets pissy with me whenever you tell him things about us, he’s rude to any human being you aren’t cool with, he got into a physical fight with Intak, he’s silencing you, and he’s making you do things that you don’t want to do.”
Aurora’s turn to cross her arms. Sitting in her hip, she thought to herself before she spoke. “You tell Mingi things about us.”
“Mingi’s my boyfriend.”
She cringed and glanced away. “Whatever,” she muttered.
The ocean, blue and visible from the deck, rolled in the distance. Beings were scattered all over the sand, umbrellas in view, towels littered here and there. The air was fresh, the breeze calming, the sounds of the seagulls squawking and the waves crashing and the wind blowing, all of it, serene. None of it matched this scene. None of it matched how the two of you felt.
“Intak disrespected me,” she said, looking back over at you, her face a lot calmer than it had been. “He was drunk, they both were, he did what he knew. That doesn’t mean I condone that, though. When he told me, I cried, Tori. Laying in bed with San, they both told me what happened, and I cried.” You parted your lips to speak, but she continued. “And as for that, Wooyoung and San, leave it alone. They didn’t make me feel that way, I made myself feel that way.”
“Aurora, you-”
“No,” she smiled. “I don’t want to talk about it. I know what I’m doing.” 
Screwing your face up, you let her know without words that you wanted her to talk about it. But, then somehow, she managed to twist up everything you wanted to say, fry it in your brewing, boiling anger sprinkled with frustration, and forced it to erupt.
“I’ll talk to Wooyoung,” she breathed. “I’ll tell him to cool it with you, with everyone, and he will.”
You couldn’t swallow your grin. “Of course he will,” you grit your teeth, “Because whatever you say, goes.” Her gaze shifted. “Aurora’s fucking world.”
You hated that you didn’t regret it once you finished.
Her hands fell to her sides, arms dangling in shock, the very feeling apparent on her face. Lips parted, eyebrows flipped over, she stared at you. She waited for you to say anything else. To change what had come out of your mouth. To take it back.
Snapping her jaw shut, she bobbed her head and pursed her lips. “Animosity,” she whispered, and turned on her toes.
“Go tell him everything,” you called after her, jumping out of your seat. Following behind her as she thundered down the stairs to the sand, you stopped at the top. “Does he know you wanted to go home with Yunho last night?” She whipped herself around mid-staircase, her hands grabbing onto the bannister. “Oh, yeah,” you laughed, “You wanted to do that. You gonna tell him that part, too?”
“Don’t you dare,” she grilled you, then hurried on her way.
“I’m ready for him to hate me more now! I’ve caught on!”
Hot July air suffocated you. Laying on the beach over a blanket stitched with patterns of pastel blues and hot pinks, the teal bathing suit you wore contrasted against it perfectly. Hair thrown up on top of your head, dainty gold sunglasses perched on your nose, you had your arms and legs stretched out above you, below you, your heels digging into the warm sand. 
Eyes closed, you paid no mind to the chatter around you. Taking deep breaths, focusing them down within you, you kept calm. You were on vacation. You were here to relax, to unwind, not to stir up new drama that honestly should be left in the past. This month was meant to bring you all together, not rip you apart.
You would talk to Aurora.
As much as it pained you, you would apologize to her.
She kept so much from you last year, thinking that she couldn’t tell you things, that she couldn’t let you in on her life. You didn’t want to move backwards. Aurora, she’s family, more of a sister than the very one that grew up with you in the neighboring bedroom of your house in Tamoe. Sitara, your movie star of a sister, one who couldn’t give two shits if you were having a bad day, and if you were she’d judge you for it, something Aurora wouldn’t think twice about doing. 
She said the words herself, she tried to get through to you. She tried to talk things out with you, she even tried on the plane here. That’s something sisters do. They understand if you’re having a bad day, they stick by your side when things don’t feel right, even if they don’t understand it themselves. They try. 
Aurora knew your secrets, and you knew all of hers. Nights you’ve spent dishing familial trauma to one another, understanding one another even if it wasn’t a life you came from. You grew up with a sister, one distant, raised by a completely different set of parents than you were handed, and Aurora, she grew up alone. She didn’t have sisters, she didn’t grow up around kind women in her life. You needed each other.
Sitting up to your elbows, letting your glasses slide to the tip of your nose, you blinked in the blinding sunlight and scanned the sand. Mingi sat up to your left, shirtless, half dried salty blonde hair a mess on his head. He talked with Seonghwa, the ATZ President on another blanket with his legs crossed and Hongjoong laying down flat on his stomach beside him with his nose in a book. They spoke gently to one another, something about organizing the week long back to school rager in a way so it held more purpose, created more of a statement. 
Slightly in front of you, in chairs who’s bottoms touched the sand, Yuna and Jongho sat, facing one another. Cold cans dripping with condensation lived in their hands, the droplets of cool water dabbling their bare skin when they brought the drinks to their lips. On a blanket in front of them, almost out of view behind Jongho’s broad, bronzed muscled shoulders, Aurora sat with Wooyoung, the two on a towel. She laid between his legs, half of her draped over his front, leaning back on one of his knees propped up to support her. 
Down by the water, Ryujin leapt through waves, Jeongyeon watching from the shore, her ankles kissed by the ocean with every crashing wave. Yeosang swam around with Keni, the two hanging around Yunho, suspiciously accompanied by San.
Sitting all the way up, pulling your legs beneath you, Mingi placed a hand over your thigh and drew circles over your skin, not letting his attention falter from Seonghwa. The president looked at you, sharing a mere glance that meant nothing aside from acknowledging your presence. Grabbing onto Mingi’s hand, Seonghwa’s eyes flickered down to them, his lips never missing a beat, keeping up with your boyfriend in discussion. 
Leaning forward ever so slightly, Aurora in view, you hoped to get her attention, like her subconscious would know you were looking for her, looking at her, but she didn’t move. She smiled with Yuna, the boys around them simply happy to be there. Her smile weighed heavy on your chest.
“Hey, Ror,” you called out, turning Jongho’s head, and Mingi’s. Yuna looked your way too, but it didn’t last long. Wooyoung spared you a glance behind his Ray Bans, but let it linger on Seonghwa before he turned to the water.
She didn’t move. Smiling at Yuna, it was as if she didn’t hear you. Their conversation continued on like you hadn’t spoken a word.
Mingi’s hand tightened on your thigh. You didn’t tell him what happened, not yet, but you knew he’d question it after this. Her words hung in the air, the fact that you tell Mingi everything. Rightfully so, though, right? He was your boyfriend, you shared everything with him, you shared life with him, there wasn’t anything you’d want to keep from him…
Blinking, you swallowed hard, averting your eyes to the sand.
The text messages. The mystery man. One who suggested you tell Mingi about him so that the three of you could orchestrate a playdate. Thinking about him, where all the signs pointed to, you wondered if it could be anyone you sat around at the moment, or if it was someone brand new. Jongseob had a house full of people down the street, it could be any one of his minions, like that boy from the party who knew about you because Jongseob talked about you.
It could also just be Jongseob.
But, then again, it could also be-
“Shota!” Seonghwa leapt from the sand, hauling ass to a group of boys walking along the water many, many feet away. How he even made him out amidst the group of ten or so boys was lost on you.
Aurora lurched forward, scrambling out of Wooyoung’s lap who flew to his feet soon after he had the room to do so. She didn’t run, she walked, with purpose, with Wooyoung right behind her. Seonghwa had made it to the group first, towering over the underclassmen, speaking to them with his jaw clenched and his teeth grit, but as Aurora approached them, the attention turning to her, she pushed them each out of the way like they weighed nothing. They parted for her. And there was Soul, with an arm thrown over Jongseob’s shoulder.
He smirked toward Aurora, her lips sealed as she took hold of Soul’s wrist and yanked him off of him, and then, he scanned the beach. His eyes drew over your friends, toward where the group of you sat, your friends stumbling out of the water, and then he found you.
And he smiled.
Mingi slid his hand further over your thigh, nearly between your legs.
Jongseob, shameless, didn’t look away.
Seonghwa and Wooyoung stood behind Aurora, ignoring the other boys remarks, their confidence having grown somehow, without a care for how they spoke to their seniors, some of them legitimately in a binding contract with one another. Intak sized up Wooyoung, rocking back and forth beside him, his chin tipped backward, a small smile on his lips, as if to ask for round two. 
Aurora talked to Soul, both of her hands on his shoulders, holding him so close their chests pressed together. Her lips moved a mile a minute, and he watched them. She wrapped a hand around the back of his head and pulled him down, their foreheads touching. 
Giving Jongseob the nastiest look, you squeezed Mingi’s hand and scooted closer to lean into him. With a tilt of his head, Jongseob’s grin deepened, then he reached out for Soul, grabbing him by a fistful of t-shirt, and pulled him backward, Aurora nearly falling forward as the boy was ripped from her grasp, both Seonghwa and Wooyoung reaching for her somehow.
Starting to wander off, the boys cackling, leaving your friends behind with rude remarks, sarcastic smiles and utter disrespect, Jongseob made sure to leave you with another look. Some sort of glare. One that said plenty. One that made Mingi tense up, and your heart rate skyrocketed.
They didn’t go after him, the three down by the water, instead they watched him walk away. Wooyoung laced his fingers with Aurora’s, Seonghwa stood tall beside them, and none of them said a word. Soul didn’t even turn around, Jongseob had him pulled into his side tight.
Turning to Mingi, nestling yourself further into his side, he returned your look and pressed his lips together.
“That was nothing,” you started, “Don’t let that-”
“Did that not upset you?” he asked, his voice quiet. When you didn’t move, he scoffed, turning away to watch your friends wander back up the sand.
“It’s not my fight,” you said, keeping your own voice down.
He shot you a look. “You know what this means. If I’ve heard about it, I know you have, too.” He studied your face, you felt your cheeks warm. “You’ve been ignoring each other all day.”
“She’s been ignoring me,” you mumbled.
“Why?”
“I may have said something not too nice to her.”
Mingi sighed, looking up at the group that returned to the circle of blankets and towels, the four from the water returning with them. “I thought you guys were good, Tor, why does this keep happening?”
Because, like Sitara, Aurora gets what she wants.
Like Sitara, Aurora gathers attention without even trying.
Like Sitara, Aurora does as she pleases without a thought of the consequence, of the aftermath.
Like Sitara, Aurora moves carelessly when she needs to care.
Nausea filled you. It rolled through you in waves but didn’t crash as beautifully as the ones down on the shore. 
She sat on the blanket with Wooyoung, wedging herself between his legs like she once had been sitting. Gulping, taking in her teary eyes she tried so desperately to blink away, you wanted to feel bad. You yearned to feel bad, to reach over to her, to give her a hug like Wooyoung did now. She started to cry, in front of everyone, a rare sight. Tears were for you to share. Something Yunho has seen before, even Wooyoung. But, never anyone else.
She didn’t get what she wanted.
She was hurt. In such a way that the vulnerable pieces of her came out where they never would.
And beneath the nausea, the lump in your throat because her tears triggered your own, the rushing course of blood in your veins- it felt good.
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read it on ao3 | talk to me | my masterlist
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you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.
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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 day ago
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Omg omg pleaseeee more grumpy ii x sunshine reader 😭😭😭 I am OBSESSED (thanks to u)
Rain cloud
It’s one of those things where he’s not sure why and what is happening. Quite frankly II doesn’t even notice that he’s behaving any differently when it comes to you. To him, it feels as if nothing is out of the ordinary but it’s the look his friends are giving him that says otherwise. “You are a rainbow cloud with her”, iii points as the rest of the tokens nodding along. “Oh get lost you lot”, ii grunts. “No, see, have you heard him use a tone like this with her, ever?”, ivy chirps in too. “It’s because she knows what boundaries mean”, ii sighs, picking up his things. “Did you teach her your boundaries”, and it’s a death glare that iii is met with. “Don’t. You. Ever. Talk about her in that sense”, a warning finger is jabbed into iii chest and even if he is way taller than ii, the drummer looks scary. “Yeah, he’s in love”, Vessel sighs, making ii curse beneath his breath.
You however are pretty clueless to this too. Never really understanding why people call ii an old grump or a rain cloud. Yeah, he kept his expressions pretty cool but the hints of emotions were always there. A little smile, a cheeky smirk. And there was never really any sign of actual frustration in his eyes. When you don’t find him in his usual spot on a Friday evening when the band usually rehearsed you couldn’t help a slight frown yourself.
“Hey, Ivy”, you mutter, as the guitarist flashes you a bright smile, “Hey, sugar cakes”. “Have you seen ii?”, a knowing smile spreads over his face, “missing your boy?”, he teases making you roll your eyes. “He’s mopping outside they fought…ishh”, he sighs, “you know how he gets with iii”. You cross your arms over your chest, shooting him a glare. “Fine, we teased him a bit too much”, ivy admits. “Idiots”, you point a finger at him. “Helping the cards play out”, he winks walking away.
You slip outside with ease instantly spotting ii. His eyes are closed, head tilted to the sun. You tap a can of Red Bull onto his shoulder and his head instantly snaps to you. “I did hand them their asses back there”, you hook a thumb over your shoulder. The corner of his lips tilts upwards. “Want to tell me what happened?”, you mutter sitting on the chair close to him but ii just frowns, pulling at it till you sit right next to him and he’s pulling your legs over his lap.
“Sometimes I feel like they are teenagers not grown men”, ii sighs, cracking the can open. “Well… you fall into that category too at times”, you shrug making him roll his eyes. His fingers draw soft circles over your ankles. “It was about you”, he admits after a moment of silence. “Me?”, you shake your head.
“That’s I’m different when it comes to you”, he sighs, “soft and all”. You bite your lip to hide your smile, “Is that a bad thing?”, you ask. “No, I mean… I don’t feel different”, ii shrug. “well you don’t cuss me out”, you chuckle, making him snort, “well you never do anything to make me want to do that”. You reach out, brushing your fingers through his hair, “Just be you, I like that the most”. Ii’s met yours, “funny, I’m always me when I’m with you”, his blue eyes look right through you and for a moment you two just look at one another.
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buttered-toasty · 1 month ago
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This image is endlessly delightful to me. The first instinct is to say, as my friend put it, he has handfuls. But waist is lower down. Tits are a smidge higher up. Celebrimbor you have handfuls mostly of ribcage. Also he is yapping as if this is a normal part of conversation. Annatar looks like the colony rats in his lab just developed new, never before seen behaviors. If I walked into a room and saw this I would audibly say “that’s enough of this room for today” and turn around and walk back out. Clearly I am interrupting something, though what that something is is anyone’s guess.
Also there is obviously something queer going on here but it doesn’t even matter. We have transcended the use of queer in reference to sexuality and gone back to its original meaning. They are so fucking strange.
.
.
Goes without saying this image has boundless template potential and I WILL be doing this to my OCs
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night-triumphantt · 2 years ago
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Happy Birthday @cashweasel beloved, have a soft kiyazan non confession confession, love you and these two idiots sm and I hope your day was amazing
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seattlesellie · 4 months ago
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ೀ spoiled. ( part one )
📞🕯️🎀 ₊˚⊹♡ “ baby , can you call me back ? i miss you … it’s so lonely in my mansion … “ 🧸🪽🍬
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pairing: ellie williams x rich fem!reader
synopsis: the mansion you live in is getting too cold , the silence is way too silent , and not even reruns of sex & the city can help … long story short , you’re feeling lonely . wonder if you can think of someone in your contacts that can help and warm you up , a certain classmate perhaps ?
warnings: girly reader , kind of desperate loser ellie , bratty spoiled rich reader so don't read if that annoys you , allusion to smut , actual smut will be in the second chapter , this is dirty so mdni as usual !
an: i wrote this such a long time ago and it wasn't supposed to be two parts but well now it is !! i will start writing the second part if u guys want to so don't be shy in my inbox. not proofread unfortunately ♡
A perfectly manicured hand rests on the fluffy white and silky smooth duvet. the Egyptian cotton, to be exact, is nothing but lavish, a sanctuary of indulgence in the realm of your own private luxury. Then, you tap your nails atop it, and the fabric crinkles. You gently sigh, but it's more so a grumble, and reach over for the ‘Dunkin’ cup standing on your wooden bedside table. It perfectly matches every single one of the furniture in your extravaganza of a walk in closet, and the bed-frame as well. You take a slow, indulgent sip out of the icy cold drink, take an ice cube out with a straw, and gently suckle on it. You place the drink back on the table, shifting your gaze back over to the flat screen television.
Carrie forgave Mr. Big again, and now she’s seen frantically pacing around the streets of New York City in her shiny Manolo Blahniks. You arch your brows, humming in high pitched amusement. you have the exact same pair!
Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda always seem to bring you a sense of comfort. Usually, your bed brings you a sense of comfort as well, and so does an icy drink with specifically eight cubes of ice. Your room smells like French vanilla, a tinge of cinnamon, and the sweetest pie you’ve never learned how to bake. Most of the time, you’d bask in the scent and feel nice, and cosy, and your nose would scrunch and your nostrils would flare out, then you’d open your favorite food delivery app and order a nice ol’ package of nine chocolate chip cookies. Then, you’d pop open a bottle of champagne and indulge yourself in the sweets deliciousness.
But your appetite is less existent than snow in the middle of August.
You’re also freezing cold, fuzzy socks and all — goosebumps rising on your skin and feeling sharp like Japanese knives.
Your best friend of a white home cat, Toodle, elegantly extends his supple frame, his lithe form gracefully ascending to nestle within the cradle of your neck. His bell gently dingles, he yawns and mellifluously meows. Right now, it sounds more like an old mans groan.
“I know, Toots… m’bored too. And cold, Jesus…” you mutter towards Toodles, who, in his usual aloof manner, closes his eyes and surrenders to the soothing hum of his purring. You puff some air out of your mouth, brain wheels turning as to find out what’s the cause of this blue mood. The air conditioning is completely turned off, you’re sure of it, and the fireplace crackles with warmth. Your entire moisturized body is covered up by a ridiculously expensive thick blanket, and it’s not the short VS nightie that makes you feel freezing, you’re convinced of that. For some reason, the frosty sensation persists. You smack your lip-glossed lips before bumping your head against your mountain of pillows, emitting a low grunt of exasperation.
You don’t know the reason for your boredom, or for this bum mood, because albeit you’ve seen this episode about a gazillion times, it never fails to entertain the shit out of your brain.
Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re entirely alone (except for Toddles, of course, can't forget him) in a 10,000 square feet mansion. or perhaps it’s because the only lit room inside the mansion is your own.
But then you roll your eyes, because your parents are always away (at St. Tropez this time), so feeling alone isn’t a new and strange concept.
Alas, being alone isn’t the same as being lonely.
Your face twists at the depressing thought, ew. You’re not lonely, just… bored, and unamused, and the icy drink isn’t sweet enough and Carrie’s getting on your last nerve, and the 1,000 dollar blanket is starting to itch the hell out of your hyper-sensitive skin.
Which is why you get up from the bed in a moment of eureka, landing your feet against the fuzzy carpet and slide them into your Ugg’s. “Uh huh!” you chirp, you finally got it.
You’re experiencing an old friend of a feeling called (drumroll…) — anxiety, over your unfinished chem project! It must have masked itself in the form of frigidness and discomfort and loneliness.
But the project isn’t even due till next week, and you rarely get stressed over college stuff unless they’re due the next day and you’re sitting, staring down at your laptop screen, trying to communicate with it through telepathy or something of that sort.
Somaybeit’snotanxiety and maybeyou’rejustloney.
You shake away that uneasy and irritating thought, and sit your pretty butt down on the rolling chair. You click your shiny glittery pen (that always sheds some glitter onto your hand) and open up the thick as brick textbook.
You read the first question out loud.
The correct formula for aluminum nitrate is…
Valentino’s Lòco Toile Iconographe shoulder bag in hot pink?
Nope.
You shake your head, you have got to focus. You place your chin atop your palm and click the pen once more.
Al(NO2)3? or maybe it’s Al(NO3)3…
or maybe you’re so far off you need to close the book shut and throw it out of the window. You’ve always sucked at chemistry.
Which is why you were assigned to be tutored by that auburn haired, green eyed, slightly sullen, tatted up girl who went by "Ellie" — or "El", but you didn't know her like that.
Ellie, is the one who stuttered out your name as she realized you weren’t paying attention to her tutoring, as you had your gaze fixated on the black ink etched on her forearm, a half-covered flannel and a canvas of delicate veins. A bug, adorned with intricate botanical details, unfurled its wings across her skin.
“S’uh… A moth, with ferns around it n’stuff. It’s kind of faded now though”
Her voice was raspy and husky, and she stuttered out your name. Usually, you’d hate it when people got nervous around you. It made you feel odd, ostracized, and you always insisted — you were so damn sweet, there’s nothing to be nervous about. You wore sweet perfume, sweet as goddamn cherries and cupcakes, and your voice was soft and you always smiled brightly, and so what if your purse cost more than a college tuition?
But her nerves didn’t annoy you. In fact, you found them charming, and you found her sweet. You found that all of her “Uhhh” ‘s, and her “Mhhm” ‘s, all of her stammering and her lack of ability to keep eye contact with you to be… infatuating.
Then there was that rich voice, and those eyes, that smile, those hands, those damn toned arms, those biceps and the haircut, the way two short strands of hair always framed her face perfectly and her scent — that you could tell was just a cheap cologne, but mixed with her unique fragrance, proved nothing short of intoxicating.
It was also the fact that she seemed to damn know everything — and that she was always ahead of you, and that her face always bore that coy little smirk when you got a question wrong (which you seemed to get more often than not), and that she would grab your Swarovski pen out of your hand and scribble down the answer for you, just to explain it in detail later.
The way she licked over her bottom lip and bit as wrote down.
With her long fingers and all.
When she spoke, her breath smelled of mint and the faintest tinge of weed, which made you think of how lovely it must be to be able to transform into a damn joint just so she could place you in her mouth and suck —
now you’re sticky, and god now you really are distracted, and not by a cute purse or the sound of rain pouring down on your window. Toodles stretches his tiny limbs and you hear his bell faintly dingle again. He climbs down from your princess bed and jumps up to sit at your lap. You caress down his white fur and he purrs.
You wonder if Ellie likes cats.
You know she likes pussy.
You have got to get a grip.
You massage your temples, attempting to focus on the written down questions again, but the words and the numbers seem to mix into a cacophony of odd symbols and letters, and you’re still so goddamn cold.
Albeit your eyelids droop down slowly, eyes spazzing out of focus, the assignment must be done today.
“Just, finish the damn work and go to sleep. Yup.” You mumble to yourself, a habit you picked up as a result of being alone for most of your childhood, and having to opt for the help of imaginary friends to keep you comfort. Alas, you’re older now and only have yourself to talk to.
You try and follow your command.
The problem is, you don’t know jack shit.
You wish Ellie was here, with her hair sticking to her forehead and your pen in her hand and her old chuck’s glued to her feet, as she sits down on the spare chair aside you with her jaw resting on her knees.
You wish you could hear her faint chuckle as you get another question wrong.
As a tutor, of course.
Not even as a friend, because she’s not.
Definitely not as a lover, obviously, because that would truly be so far fetched from reality — although… right now, you can’t help but think of the way her eyes fall down to your chest as a crimson blush creeps up her cheeks.
And you keep thinking about the time you purposely let your bra strap cascade down your shoulder, just because you wondered how she’d react — Which was with averting her gaze to the side and clearing her throat. Now you think of the time you wore an extra short mini skirt, not that different from the rest of them although a bit tinier, and how you kept rubbing your thighs together just to see whether she’d notice or not, which she did…
You groan and slap your palm against your forehead.
Then, you stare at another question and then at your phone. Toodles chimes in with a high-pitched meow.
“Oh my gosh Toots, so true! I should text her the questions, duh”
You’re not delusional at all, by the way.
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So you send her your address.
In the meantime, you make sure your studying environment and your room are as tidy as possible. You grab your sparkly pink pen and place it near the textbook, and you grab a matte black pen for Ellie as well, a thoughtful gesture.
You also apply some strawberry scented moisturizer on your body, and spray your sickly sweet perfume on your pule points.
You slip your feet out of your slippers, and you wear your favorite heels. However, you keep your little nightie on. You’re supposed to feel comfortable, this is your house after all, and the heels — are just a courtesy, you are expecting company, and opening the front door with house slippers is entirely rude, and the silky robe… It’s long enough and proper. Ish.
You stare at your reflection down the mirror, and for some reason, you feel utterly nervous. You’re all dolled up for a person who isn’t a stranger, but who also isn’t a friend. When you coat your lips with some minty gloss, Toodles stretches his tail upwards and meows.
“Psh. Do not judge me, Toots. This is normal, I do this all the time”
Which again is a total and complete white lie, because if it was a regular friend coming over, you wouldn’t have even bothered to fix up your makeup, and you’d barely even get up from the comfort of your own bed.
As a matter of fact, not many people come by your house at all. You have your fair share of friends, but you’d much rather hang out by the mall or at one of their mansions, yours always feels just, utterly suffocating — as giant and spacey as it might be. And sure, you’ve had hook ups before, but you always went rigid when they tried to slip past your panties, and you were always… dry, as an autumn leaf.
Ellie makes you feel anything but dry.
Physically — you shake your head and try getting rid of the thought by giving yourself some good old whiplash.
You find yourself pacing around your room, until you manage to cascade downstairs as soon as you hear the bell ring. With each step you take, your heel taps the lavish ceramic pavement.
“Stay”, you gesture towards your fluffy feline companion, who responds with a squinting of his eyes. “Don’t freak out our company”
You look at Ellie’s face from the intercom’s shiny screen. You look at it so hard you nearly forget to press on the button that’s purpose is to let your tutor-guest in. A couple of strands of her auburn bangs stick to her forehead. Ellie scratches her eyes with the back of her hands and she straightens up her spine. As she waits for the gate to open, she puffs some air from her cheeks. She attempts to fix her eyebrows with the tips of her fingers, and seems to be murmuring something underneath her breath.
You’re not the best at lip reading, but your gut tells you she just whispered a “Hi”, and added your name, then — “Hey” adding your name once more.
It’s absolutely impossible for her to not be aware of how stupidly and irritatingly cute she is.
You press on the button and clear your throat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t practice your greeting in front of a mirror as well. Your robe cascades down your shoulder, you fixate on it and contemplate pulling up the fabric.
Toodles meows once more.
Yup. You should keep it down.
It takes Ellie a good five minutes to walk the full distance from the front gate to your huge white door.
Then she knocks three times on the wood, and you squeak like a mouse although you really were fully prepared.
Your tutor wears a blue flannel with a white undershirt tucked beneath. The first button is opened, revealing a tiny piece of her pale skin. Below, her legs are covered with tight skinny jeans with a tear on the knee (you’re not sure if she fell or if it’s done purposely so), and to your surprise — no Chuck’s, but Doc Martens.
Noted. She has more than one pair of shoes.
When you greet Ellie with a cheerful — yet ever so relieved and breathy “Hi”, you kiss her on the cheek like you do all of your friends, and you can smell that cheap cologne again.
Amber, citrus, musk, lavender.
There’s a hint of actual Ellie in the mix as well — smoke, herbs, sweat… did she run here?
When you hug Ellie you focus on her scent.
When you hug Ellie she focuses on absofuckinglutely nothing — Her body goes rigid and stiff and she doesn’t hug you back until two way too long seconds pass, and she finally manages to place her hand on your waist.
But she doesn’t hug or squeeze, she rests it there.
Then she coughs.
“Hey”
You take a step back and you can tell she’s a bit flushed, or flustered — but you take it as her just running. You lean your hand against one of the thick pillars. Her orbs travel frantically from your eyes down to your… legs, that are completely bare and smooth and shiny, then they run down to your feet, which are covered with heels…
You think she might say something about it, about you, how ridiculous you look, so you’re washed up with self consciousness and shyness which is something you rarely get to feel, unless you’re with that damn girl for some reason.
Then her eyes hyper-focus on… the ceiling?
You grant Ellie a half smile and you really yearn to break the silence — but she’s ahead of you. Again.
“It’s… you have a really high ceiling” she says, then immediately glues her eyes on to the floor.
“Uh, shiny floor…” she chuckles so freaking awkwardly, grazing the bottom of her left legs doc’s on the floor so it squeaks. Immediately, Ellie apologizes.
“Shit, sorry, my shoes fuckin’ muddy. I uh, ran here”
You gingerly smile and furrow your brows. You theory has been proven correct. “You ran?”
“Walked, like, not ran ran”
There’s the tiniest droplet of sweat on Ellie’s forehead, which she wipe’s swiftly and clumsily with the back of her hand when she notices your eyes scan it. Oh, she ran ran alright. You do feel a little bad, picturing Ellie’s shoes hitting below her ass as she runs through the streets of your city, with a packed and awfully heavy mauve backpack — smacking against her back with every step she takes. You almost pout, you’re still leaning against the pillar and you smack your lips together — gloss and all, out of habit.
“Could’a given you a ride, y’know” you light sweetly. Ellie’s scarred eyebrow arches up in response. “You have a license?”
You so want to shove her shoulder playfully, but you’re convinced it’ll make her go absolutely rigid again. Physical contact bricks her up — noted.
“Why is that such a surprise?” you flash her a teasing smile. She smiles back at you.
“S’just, thought you’d have a personal driver. Can’t really imagine you driving that monster of a Rover back there —“
You nod in complete amusement. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Ellie teases, followed by a throaty chuckle. “Plus, took you more of a passenger princess type of girl”
And that sentence shouldn’t make you stutter the way you do next. It shouldn’t, but it does. You back away slowly and Ellie follows your footsteps.
“T-that’s, awfully presumptuous” you chirp. Her boots stomp on the floor and your heels click clack. “Plus, I don’t drive that Rover. My car’s in the garage with the rest of ‘em” you say matter-of-factly.
Ellie scoffs impishly behind you. You walk up the stairs and she follows suit. She’s confident when she teases, you think, which is a tad different than her usual awkward self, but if only you knew she nearly slipped down one of the steps as she noticed the tiniest, delicious, most precious piece of your flesh that was just exposed behind you as a result of your incredibly short nightie.
“Psh, so presumptuous”
As you walk towards your room, Ellie walks behind you although she has more than enough space to walk besides you. You get the feeling that she's nervous, even after her teasing and all, and you don't have to wonder why too much. Your house is huge, intimidating, filled with strange sculptures and paintings by obscure artists regular people have never even heard of. You don't have just one living room, you have three, and in each and every one of them stands a different technology piece of some sort. Also, your heels cost more than her outfit, could be more worth than the entirety of her damn closet, and most importantly — you're walking with a pink robe and some heels on.
When you reach your room, Ellie awkwardly smiles and straightens her muscular back. Then, she holds on to the straps of her backpack.
"First of all" you sigh, and now it's your turn to feel coy. "Thank you for coming over so late. I know it's like, absolutely ridiculous, and you know, you don't get paid for this so...", you flash Ellie an endearing smile, the apples of your cheeks rising sweetly as a humble thank you. "And, second of all... jus'... brace yourself?"
Ellie's brows arch up, but before she has time to ask — oh.
You both step into your lit room. Toodles follows by closely, entering the room as well, whilst rubbing his furry back against Ellie's calves.
"Yup..."
Ellie's fingers instinctively clasp onto the straps of her backpack once more, her eyes widening ever so slightly, but she fights to seem as unsurprised as she can — she fails miserably, because she gasps a little.
Your room is nothing but a... cotton candy dream world. A wall that's painted in pretty dusty pink, a princess bed that's nothing but a regal centerpiece. Above the bed, a canopy of gossamer silk drapes from a custom-crafted wrought iron frame, And the final sophisticated touch, a grand crystal chandelier, suspended from the ceiling. There are also clothes everywhere, empty water bottles, used sheet masks, a stack of books — some half-read, others forgotten, teetered precariously on a random corner. Ellie sticks out like a sore thumb. She stands out like a neon sign in a library, a skateboard at a black-tie gala.
You like it.
She clears her throat, stepping further into your room. "I take it black is your favorite color?" she titters sarcastically.
You giggle.
"Mhm, also I'm clearly very organized, and I hate clothes" you murmur and point out the pile of dresses haphazardly bunched in the corner of your room.
She should feel out of place. She should probably laugh, even sneak a pic — tell all her "cool" friends about how mindblowingly ridiculous the prissy rich girls room is. Instead, she thinks about how cute you must look cuddled up in a bed this big, how adorable it'd be to see your bed-head poking through the sheets at 8am, how sweet it must be to watch you skip around your room, trying on your shitload of clothes, throwing them in the air and huffing like a medieval brat of a princess. She wants to place a fucking tiara on your head. She sees your sticker collection from the corner of her eye, your vinyls, your candles, your crystals and Toodles' sofa.
And she likes it.
You take a deep breath. You shouldn't even care if she likes it or not, you shouldn't be bothered by it at all — you rarely are, but something inside of you yearns for... something.
"It suits you" she murmurs.
And that's certainly good enough, because it does.
You gesture Ellie to sit on the rolling chair next to yours, and her eyes still roam over the space of your room. “My room looks exactly the same, by the way… same uh, size too�� n’stuffed animals… Shit, I like the elephant one”, she sarcastically remarks as she sits on the chair and hunches down, manspreading as she often does. Your eyes can’t help but roam down, because her damn thighs flexed under those jorts and you heard her, but you also kind of didn’t.
Ellie clears her throat and narrows her eyes. Jheez, she thinks, you must be absolutely exhausted since your eyes don’t seem to be able to focus.
“Huh?” you say, startled. You’re still standing up on those heels. Ellie sniffles and chuckles and her voice goes all quiet.
“Said pink nauseates me, that I hate those stuffed animals and that your elephant doll’s ugly as shit”
You roll your eyes and your tongue swipes over your glossy bottom lip. You bite it and you sit down on the chair. Ellie’s eyes scan over your chest and she averts her gaze like a deer caught in headlights.
“Hate you, chem tutor” you huff, resting your head on the palm of your hand. Ellie doesn’t maintain a second of eye contact but she chuckles and it’s cocky.
“You need me, and you need an A in chemistry”
You like that side of her.
You let your eyes blink lazily at her, a cheeky little smirk forming on your lips. When you open your mouth again, just to smack it on your glossy lips, you brush your leg ‘accidentally’ against hers, and rigid she goes. “Mhm, I definitely need you, Ellie…”
The apples of Ellie’s cheek shine in bright crimson and her hand flexes. She grabs her pen and clicks on it once. You didn’t mean it like that, she so obviously knows or believes, but it matters nonetheless. You like that side of her so much more.
You cross your pretty legs and let the tip of your heel graze her chair. “So, you want a drink before we start studying?”, you’re way too damn close, she nods — but she doesn’t need a ‘drink’ she needs a damn water fountain that directly flows onto her mouth and satisfies that damn drench. Is it possible for her damn knee to feel hot? Why is her knee feeling hot?
“Anything specific?”
“Jus’ waters fine” Ellie manages to murmur, lips forming a teeny tiny, shy, crescent smile.
“I was thinking more… like, wine? I have a wine cooler n’my room… if you wanted water i’d have to like, go downstairs and… It’s so lonely in there” your voice is saccharine, delicate, and it and coaxes Ellie’s mind.
“Wine’s perfect, I love wine” says Ellie.
She hates wine.
“Mhm, red or white?” — Your question comes when you lift your butt off the chair and walk slowly towards the cooler.
“Uh, r-red. S’much… richer” Ellie falters, remembering vaguely the time Joel had mentioned white wine’s for pussies. When she tried a red one, she gagged.
“Impressive” you note.
Ellie rolls the chair with the help of her heavy Doc's, and watches as you pour the red liquid into two delicate glasses. Your leg, she notices, is clad with a shiny, delicate golden piece of jewelry. Her eyes scan upwards, towards your bare thighs — the flesh is glistening, almost appearing as if it's covered with oil. Her mind drifts elsewhere, to a world in which your nightie is nothing but nonexistent, and those thighs...
Her stomach grumbles, she firmly holds onto it. Why NOW.
"Hungry?" you place the glass on the table, slightly nudging it towards Ellie.
She's starving.
you flash her a devilish smirk, cocking your head to the side.
"Oh, uhh... nope"
Famished.
2K notes · View notes
reidsworld · 6 months ago
Text
Patience Wears Thin
Summary: Logan’s flirty behaviour has you thinking he’s just being sarcastic. But when his attitude changes and his grumpiness intensifies, leading to him avoiding you, you confront him, only for him to finally snap. Based on this request.
Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Mutant!Reader
Category: Smut
Content Warnings: Reader’s oblivious, mild language, sexual tension, slight jealous!logan, making out, hickeys, oral sex(m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), creampie, (semi) public sex (you’ll see what I mean), no use of Y/N, pet names (darlin’) — you are responsible for the content you consume, if you are not comfortable with any of these warnings or are a minor, DNI!!
Word Count: 2.9k
Mars speaks… It's been a while since I’ve posted but here we are!! Thank you for the request, this was kinda tough for me to write and didn’t really turn out how I wanted it but I hope it meets your expectations! The reader is a mutant but her powers aren’t specified. Any and all feedback is always appreciated!
Masterlist
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You were used to Logan’s gruffness, but lately, something had changed. At first, it was little things—him hanging around more often, offering to help with tasks that didn’t need his strength, or staying close by even when you were just making coffee. You noticed the way his hand would brush against yours when passing you something or how he’d rest his hand on your shoulder a little longer than necessary. Despite all of his actions, he was still cold around you, seemingly never able to escape his own grumpiness.
One evening, as you were getting ready for a date, Logan wandered by your room. His mood was clearly off as he knocked leaned against your door frame, his eyes closed and head tilted down. When you greeted him, he slowly looked you up and down. His expression shifted from frustration to shock as he took in how stunning you looked.
“Damn,” Logan said, his voice cold and deep, if you didn’t know him, you would’ve sworn he hated you. “You look incredible. Got a big night planned?”
You glanced up from the mirror, surprised by his comments. “Oh, I have a date tonight,” you replied with a smile, still adjusting your dress.
Logan’s eyes darkened slightly as he processed your words. “A date, huh?”
“Yep,” you said, focusing on your reflection. “I’m just trying to pick the right outfit.”
He pushed himself off the door frame, his gaze still fixed on you. “You don’t need to be worried about impressing anyone tonight, darlin’. Trust me, you look incredible.”
You laughed, thinking he was just being his usual flirtatious self. “Thanks, Logan. But it’s just dinner. Nothing too serious.”
Logan’s jaw tightened, and he took a step back, his demeanour now distant. “Right. Well, have fun.”
You smiled at him, not noticing the shift in his attitude. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”
As you left for your date, Logan watched you go, his face a mask of frustration and disappointment. The knowledge that you were going out with someone else hit him hard, and his mood darkened.
You were left puzzled by his sudden change in behaviour. However, in Logan’s mind, if you were going out with someone else, you clearly didn’t want him, so why should he put effort into a losing game?
But you didn’t think much of his compliments, chalking it up to Logan trying to be supportive. Until one day, you noticed something different—he started avoiding you.
It began with him skipping out on the usual training sessions you shared. Then, he stopped joining you for movie nights in the common room, always coming up with a vague excuse that didn’t make sense. He’d disappear for hours, not even leaving a trace of his familiar scent behind. The final straw was when he didn’t show up for your breakfast dates (well… that’s what they were to him), a ritual he never missed. It was confusing, and you couldn’t figure out what had changed.
You asked him once, in passing, if something was wrong. His answer was clipped, dismissive. “Nothin’ for you to worry about, darlin’.”
But you were worried. His behaviour was off, and no matter how much you replayed your interactions in your mind, you couldn’t pinpoint what had triggered this sudden shift.
A few days later, you walked into the kitchen to find Logan grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Relief washed over you—this was the first time you’d seen him in days without him immediately bolting. But when you greeted him, he barely grunted in response, not meeting your eyes.
“Logan, seriously,” you said, trying to sound casual but unable to keep the concern out of your voice. “What’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me.”
His jaw clenched, and he didn’t respond right away, his eyes fixed on the bottle in his hand. “Just been busy.”
“Busy?” You frowned, crossing your arms. “Too busy to even say hello?”
He looked up at you then, his eyes hard. “Yeah, busy. I don’t have time for games, alright?”
“Games?” you echoed, thrown off by the accusation. “What are you talking about? I’m not playing any games, Logan.”
He let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head as he pushed past you, brushing your shoulder as he went. “Forget it.”
That was it? He was clearly upset, but he wouldn’t talk to you about it. It didn’t make sense. You stood there, staring at the spot where he’d just been, confusion and hurt swirling inside you. Logan was the last person you expected to act like this—especially toward you.
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A few more days passed, and the tension between you only grew. Logan’s avoidance became more blatant, and every time you tried to approach him, he’d find a way to leave before you could say anything. You started to wonder if you’d done something to upset him, but every time you asked, he brushed you off with a noncommittal grunt or a sarcastic remark.
It was driving you crazy.
Now you were sitting alone in the common room, you and Logan somehow being the only two in the mansion with everyone else out on various missions and overnight school trips. As you attempted to watch a movie to take your mind off things, Logan’s absence gnawed at you. He was always here for movie nights, even if he’d just sit silently in the corner. The emptiness of his usual spot was glaring, a constant reminder that something had shifted between you.
You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to confront him, to find out what the hell was going on.
When you walked into the gym, your eyes immediately found Logan, his muscular form sitting on a raised bench, sweat glistening on his skin. He didn’t acknowledge your presence, focusing on his workout with an intensity that made your stomach twist.
“Logan,” you called out, your voice firmer than you felt.
He paused, setting the dumbbells down with a heavy thud before finally looking at you. “What?”
“What is your problem?” you demanded, stepping closer, not giving him a chance to escape this time. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague, and I want to know why.”
Logan’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat off his face. “Maybe I’m just tired of tryin’,” he muttered, his voice low.
“Trying what?” You crossed your arms, frustration boiling over. “Logan, you’re not making any sense. You’ve been acting like I did something wrong, but I don’t even know what that is!”
His eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite place—anger, maybe? But there was something else too, something deeper that made your heart race.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” he growled, stepping closer to you, his presence overwhelming.
“Get what?” you shot back, refusing to back down even though his proximity was making it hard to think straight.
Logan huffed, his hand running through his hair in a rare display of frustration. “I’ve been tryin’ to show you, but you’re too damn blind to see it.”
“Show me what?” You were at your wit’s end, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.
His eyes bore into yours, intense and unyielding. “That I want you, darlin’. I’ve wanted you for a long damn time, and I’m sick of you not seein’ it.”
You stared at him, stunned into silence. This was the last thing you expected him to say. Logan—gruff, no-nonsense Logan—wanted you? The thought was so far from anything you’d ever imagined that you couldn’t even process it.
“You…you want me?” you finally managed to ask, your voice barely a whisper.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the frustration in his eyes palpable. “I’ve been tryin’ to show ya, but you keep thinkin’ I’m just bein’ a grumpy bastard.”
You blinked, completely floored by his confession. “Logan, I…I didn’t know. I thought…”
“Thought I was messin’ with ya?” he finished for you, his voice rough, almost bitter. “That’s why I’ve been avoidin’ ya—figured if you couldn’t see it by now, I was just wastin’ my time.”
The weight of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. You hadn’t seen it, not because you didn’t want to, but because the idea that Logan could feel that way about you seemed impossible. And now, standing here, with him staring at you like you were the only person in the world, you realised how wrong you’d been.
“Logan, I’m sorry,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. “I didn’t know. I never thought…”
“Don’t apologise,” he cut you off, his voice softer now, but still edged with frustration. “I’m just done waitin’, darlin’. I can’t keep doin’ this—dancin’ around it, hopin’ you’ll figure it out.”
You took a shaky breath, the intensity of his gaze making it hard to think. “What do you want, Logan?”
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a way that made your knees weak. “You, darlin’. I’ve always wanted you.”
Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, rough and demanding, as if he was trying to make up for all the time lost in that one kiss. The force of it stole your breath, your hands automatically reaching up to clutch his shoulders as you kissed him back just as fiercely.
Logan’s grip on you tightened, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing your lips until you parted them, letting him in. The taste of him—smoke, whiskey, and something unmistakably Logan—filled your senses, making your head spin.
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breathing ragged, his pupils blown wide with desire. “Still think I’m jokin’?”
You shook your head, your heart racing, your thoughts scattered. “No,” you breathed out.
“Good,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours before he started kissing his way down your jaw, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin. “’Cause I’m gonna show you exactly how much I want you.”
His mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin before he bit down gently, making you gasp. Your hands fisted in his shirt, needing something to hold on to as his hands moved to your thighs, lifting you and moving to sit on the bench. Your legs desperately straddled him, pulling him closer.
Logan’s hands were everywhere—sliding under your shirt, tracing the curve of your waist, skimming up your ribs, his touch igniting a fire in you that you hadn’t realised was there. He was careful, almost reverent, despite the rough edge to his movements, as if he was holding himself back from completely losing control.
When his hands found your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric of your bra, you arched into him, a whimper escaping your lips. He growled, the sound low and primal, as his mouth found yours again, his kiss fierce and demanding.
You could feel the hardness of him pressing against your core, the friction sending waves of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t help but rock your hips against him, seeking more.
Logan’s response was immediate, his hands gripping your hips as you ground against him, his mouth devouring yours as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You were lost in the sensation, in the heat and the intensity of him, and it was all you could do to hold on.
Just when you thought you might lose yourself completely, Logan pulled back, his breathing ragged, his eyes wild as he looked up at you. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his voice strained, as if it was taking everything in him to hold back. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
But the last thing you wanted was for him to stop. You shook your head, your voice breathless as you whispered, “Don’t stop.”
Logan let out a low, feral sound, his lips crashing against yours again as he ripped off your shirt. His patience had worn thin, and now there was no turning back. As your lips roughly moulded together, tongues battling for dominance, your hands slid under his tank-top, brushing over his abs. You pulled away, taking off his shirt, jaw dropping at the sight of his glistening body from the sweat of his workout.
“Holy shit, you should be shirtless more often…”
He didn’t respond, his hand grabbing the back of your neck to pull you into another kiss. Your hands trailed down his chest, fingers sliding down his happy trail. Climbing off him, you dropped down to your knees in front of him. He raised his hips as you pulled down his sweatpants and boxers, his dick springing out and slapping against his stomach.
You didn’t give him time to process what was happening as you immediately licked a stripe up his dick before taking the head into your mouth, tongue brushing against the tip, making him throw his head back against the bench and groan.
Your hands gently massaged his balls as your mouth focused on the head of his cock, gently sucking as his hand moved to gather your hair into a make-shift ponytail. You lowered your head, taking more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks.
Looking up through your lashes, your eyes met with his while you began to move your head up and down faster, your hands touching whatever couldn’t fit into your mouth. You continued this until your jaw was aching and his dick was twitching in your mouth.
He began to gently thrust into your mouth, making you gag as he hit the back of your throat. One of your hands slid down into your shorts, rubbing your clit before pushing a finger into your dripping pussy.
“Fuck, so good darlin’,” he grunted as you moaned around him, slipping another finger into yourself.
“If you don’t stop now, m’gonna cum, wanna feel you ‘round me.”
He pulled you off of him, revelling in your dishevelled appearance. You stood up, and pulled off your shorts and panties. You reached behind you, unclipping your bra, letting it slide off your body. His eyes trailed up and down your body admiring you. You bit your lip at the way his eyes shined with something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on but you never wanted him to stop looking at you like that.
You silently moved to straddle him, pulling him into a slow kiss as your bare core grinded against his cock. One of his hands wrapped around you, trailing up and down your back as you both sat there, grinding against each other. His other hand reached down and grabbed your hip.
You raised your hips as you reached for his cock, positioning at your entrance before slowly sinking down onto him. You leaned forward and he fell back against the bench and buried your face in his neck, letting out a simultaneous moan as you stretched around him. You stayed still, adjusting to his size, panting into his neck, making him harder than he thought possible.
Once you were ready, you slowly raised your hips before sinking back down onto him. His hands moved to grip your hips as you began to ride him, gently helping you. You kissed him roughly, moaning into his mouth as his hips thrust up to meet yours.
The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin and the loud moans and groans coming out of your mouths. In that moment, neither of you cared where you were— that there was a chance someone could easily walk in on you even though it was just the two of you in the mansion. All you two cared about was the feeling of him inside of you and how you wrapped so tightly around him.
He let out a rough groan as your lips met his neck, biting into it when his hips met yours. Bouncing on his dick, you clenched around him, making him let out an almost feral sound.
“Oh fuck don’t stop, wrapped so tightly ‘round me, s’like you were made for me.”
“‘M all yours, Lo.”
“Shoulda never avoided you, shoulda just manned up and kissed you, ‘stead of waiting ‘round for you to realise that I want you.”
If you weren’t so desperate for him, you would’ve laughed but all you could do was moan and nod into his neck.
“‘M gonna cum, Lo.”
“Give it to me, darlin’.”
His hand reached to roughly circle your clit, sending you over the edge. You moaned out as a feeling of ecstasy overcame you and your vision went white. Your body slumped against his but his thrusts were relentless. As they got sloppier, you could feel his dick twitch inside of you, making you moan.
“I’m so close, need to cum inside you.”
His mouth pressed against your neck, marking you like a blank canvas for everyone to see later. He pounded up into you, his hand still rubbing your clit causing you to cum for a second time. You tightened around him, making him shoot his cum deep inside you.
His thrusts slowed, fucking you through it as you both panted, trying to catch your breath. His movements came to a stop and he titled his head back, letting out a deep breath.
You raised your head, looking into his eyes and laughing,
“I can’t believe I could’ve had this so much sooner if I wasn’t so obvious.”
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Mars speaks… (again) woah that got… 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂
Tags… @pastelpinkflowerlife
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rafey-baby · 4 months ago
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outlaw!rafe x pogue!reader
c/w: mentions of murder & violence, barry making an appearance, closure on the hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, slightly suggestive, 18+ mdni!
wc: 3.3k
sooo this is the actual last part! (might write some blurbs for them at some point idk) thanks for reading love u <3
also him getting jealous was inspired by this ask
series masterlist
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Consciousness drags her out of the comfort of her slumber, forcing her to blink her leaden eyelids open to Rafe’s heavy and very much naked body weighing her down against the couch cushions.
She can feel his chest expanding with each lethargic inhale he takes and she’s momentarily disconcerted while her entangled thoughts desperately try to make sense of her current situation.
However, all too soon, the memories of last night cause her to let out a tired groan. What on earth was she thinking? Why would she let Rafe of all people fuck her? And more than once. She can’t even recall how many times she— 
Suddenly, she’s reminded of the reason she stirred from her state of dormancy in the first place when she feels Rafe’s sturdy abdomen pressing down on her bladder. 
“Ugh,” she lets the back of her head hit the armrest before trying to pry him off, albeit to no avail. “Rafe? Can you...” she shoves at his shoulder once more. However, he merely takes in another sleepy breath.  
“Rafe, wake up,” she tries again, this time pushing at his face that’s resting comfortably in the crook of her neck, which causes him to let out a drowsy hum before he’s pasting a palm over her lips to make her go quiet. 
“Shh.” he silences her and she feels like slapping him because she’s about to pee on her couch and he’s hushing her.
Therefore, she has no choice but to wrap her fingers around his limp wrist and yank it away from her mouth with a huff. “I need to pee, can you get off me, please?”  
He lets out a dozy grunt before groggily raising his head to look at her—squinting due to the daffodil-colored rays of sunshine peeking from the windows and appearing just as foggy as her a few minutes ago. Then, he rubs a hand over his face while mumbling something incoherent under his breath before finally removing his limbs from restraining her capability to move.  
She merely mutters a quick thank you before getting up and scurrying off to the bathroom—hearing him slump back down immediately after.  
- - - - - - - - - - -
After rinsing off the stickiness of last night in the steaming shower and changing into something comfortable, she realizes she’s starving. Hunger is eating away at her insides and along with the graphic recollections of her and Rafe’s late-night activities vividly jumping around her skull, she can already feel a headache lurking around the corner. 
She’s in the process of cracking eggs on a pan when she hears Rafe entering the shower—the pitter patter of water droplets hitting the tiled floor following soon after. She then begins to cut up some tomatoes to add into the mixture, when all of a sudden, the doorbell rings.  
She doesn’t think Rafe hears it since the water is still running in the bathroom, which is why she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do. She figures that if it’s the police again, it would seem suspicious if it took her longer than normal to open it twice in a row now. Therefore, she turns off the stove and takes tentative steps towards the door.  
Fleetingly, she wonders if she should simply act as if no one’s home since opening doors for strangers was what got her into this mess in the first place. However, at this point she doesn’t necessarily have the mental capacity to care.
She gingerly unlocks the door with her lip worried between her teeth and behind it, stands a guy with dark hair and eyes as brown as coffee beans. 
“Where’s Rafe?”
And he doesn’t seem like a cop. But wouldn’t Rafe have told her if he was expecting someone?  
“I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s, um, he’s not here,” she decides to play it safe, the lie clumsily rolling off her tongue. She can tell he’s not buying it. 
“You sure? You, uh, you tellin’ me he gave me the wrong address then?” he wonders with a lazy furrow of his brows.  
“Um, I don’t—” 
“Told you to call before you get here Barry,” Rafe’s low rumble suddenly interrupts her—making a shiver trickle down her spine because him being right behind her, freshly showered, reminds her a little too much of his first night here.  
“Country club! Was sure they got your ass already, good to see you not in jail,” Barry exclaims loudly and takes the liberty of inviting himself in as if her home has turned into a public building free for anyone to just come and go as they please. At least he had the courtesy to close the door.
He greets Rafe with a heartfelt pat on the back and she’s momentarily stunned when Rafe’s mouth twists into a smile that would be considered warm and genuine; something she’s never had the luxury of receiving. 
“Why you didn’t tell me you were stayin’ with a princess?” Barry pushes at his chest playfully. 
“Leave her alone, man,” Rafe rolls his eyes in annoyance.  
“I didn’t do nothin’ just stating the obvious here,” Barry raises his hands up in defense and the unexpected compliment makes her suppress a smile. 
“Whatever, jus’ get your ass here, I need your help,” Rafe grumbles while walking towards her bedroom—not even asking if they can go there because why would he? 
“Ain’t nothin’ new about that,” Barry chuckles, revealing a golden tooth that glints under the light when he grins at her. And the familiarity in which they interact makes her figure they’ve known each other for a long time.
“We have to, uh, talk about some shit. So, go do somethin’ else, yeah?” Rafe looks over his shoulder at her.
“Right, um, okay,” she mumbles before turning around to return to the safety of her kitchen.  
“Damn, Rafe. That how you talk to her even though she’s lettin’ you hide here?” Barry questions as he follows after him. 
“Shit, man, can you just— let’s jus’ get this over with, alright? Don’t have all day,” Rafe merely mutters in response. 
“Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, huh?” Barry’s humorous tone is the last thing she hears before the door closes—leaving her to continue preparing her breakfast with a weary sigh.  
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
A few days later, she hears Rafe’s voice from the living room while she’s thoughtlessly reorganizing her closet; folding shirts and pants and taking out clothes she no longer wears, since he still doesn’t allow for her to leave the house without him. 
“Hey, come watch this for a second?” his tone sounds almost excited when she pads over to stand next to him before looking over to him for an explanation. However, he merely nods towards the television screen and turns the volume higher.  
“And then onto some more interesting news. The charges for Rafe Cameron, owner of Cameron Development, have been dropped due to no significant evidence found to prove him guilty. However, the investigation is still open and the police are doing everything they can in order to find the criminal behind the devastating murder that has shaken up the entire island for weeks now. In order to ensure everyone’s safety, we hope that you keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary and…” 
Everything after that turns into muffled background noise when her jaw drops.
“You’re lookin’ at a free man, puppy,” he turns to face her with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 
“How did you even…” she’s momentarily stunned, words withering away while she blinks up at him in surprise. 
“Don’t want you t’worry about it, alright?” he’s quick to dismiss her before clicking off the TV. 
“I’m, uh, happy for you…even though you did kill the guy and—” 
“Already told you, he wasn’t a good person ‘n an even shittier cop, remember? And m’gonna need you to never mention that shit again, you think you can do that?” he turns serious all of a sudden; looking into her eyes with a warning.  
“Y— yes,” her voice falters when he steps closer.   
“Cause if you can’t, I’m gon’ have to do somethin’ you won’t like, you understand?” he gazes at her with such intensity, she can’t do anything but nod with tense shoulders.  
“You sure? Cause you’re kinda my only loose end here ‘n we wouldn’t want anythin’ to happen to you, now would we?” his tall frame hovers over her when he leans down to mutter out the words, causing her to flinch.  
“No, I promise. M’not gonna say anything,” she squeaks out and means it.  
Who would even believe her? After all, she doesn’t have any actual proof and even if she did, she thinks Rafe could easily just pay himself out of it—and she’s not particularly keen on finding out how far he’s willing to take his vengeance.  
“Good,” he seems to relax some but a sense of dread washes over her anyway.  
“But what if…someone threatens me or something?”
“Tha’s not gonna happen. You always worry so much, just chill out for a bit, yeah?” he shrugs it off with an air of indifference she wishes she could possess.
“But it’s a possibility. How do you know someone didn’t see us together when people were looking for you?” she asks with caution.
“Listen, if someone threatens you…you come to me ‘n I’ll fuckin’ kill them for you, okay?” he says with complete seriousness.  
“What? No! That’s not what I meant at all. I don’t want you to—” 
However, she’s interrupted by amused laughter bubbling from his chest. “M’joking. Stop being an annoyin’ pogue for one second, yeah? Think we should go out for dinner, hm? Let me, uh, thank you for your hospitality ‘n shit,” he says, smoothing a palm over his buzzed hair. 
“Like at a restaurant? You and me?” at the notion of them spending time together outside all this, confusion tangles up her thoughts—making her forget all about her previous concerns.  
“You’re so fuckin’ weird. Yes, you ‘n me. Who else? Can get whatever expensive shit you want too, how’s that sound?” he coaxes her to agree with the mellow tone he adds.
“Um, okay…sounds great?” she can’t really grasp onto his motives in the headspace she’s currently in, merely assumes he wants to be on her good side so she wouldn’t change her mind about opening her mouth.  
“Great. Need to, uh, take care of some things over at Figure Eight first, but be ready at seven,” he almost makes it sound like a threat, even if he’s not trying to scare her with a gun anymore.  
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
She doesn’t think she’s ever been at a restaurant this high-end, everything on the menu more than she could ever afford. Rafe practically demands her to not pay attention to the price and get anything she wants, however, it’s proving to be quite challenging while she scans over the list of dishes in front of her.
“You ready?” he asks with a hint of impatience.
“No, I can’t decide. There’s so many options and I don’t even know what half of them mean,” she mumbles out in distress. 
“I’ll just, uh, order for you, yeah?” he suggests with a raise of his brows.
“Okay, thanks,” she graces him with a grateful smile, feeling out of place with rich Kooks all around nearly suffocating her.  
Being here with Rafe, of all people, still feels strange. Not even a day ago, she was still practically held captive by him, even if the leash of his strict rules around her throat had loosened up considerably, and his overly aggressive tendencies had dwindled down to grumpy mutters and displeased glares over the course of the few weeks they’d known each other. Now, she’s only bound to him by this muddy, grimy secret that she’ll probably take down to her grave.  
And despite everything he’s done to her, in some peculiar way, she’s beginning to understand him. Because against all her morals, in a killer, someone who other people would consider a monster, she sees someone simply trying to survive in the harsh world with the crumpled cards life has dealt with him. And she isn’t all too sure how far her feelings of care towards the man branch out but what she does know, is that she doesn’t want him to go to prison. No matter what he’s done. 
And she’s never even met Rafe’s father, but she has this feeling that to be so violent and hostile, has to be learned from someone. Because no one is born evil, even if she wouldn’t necessarily describe him as that. In Rafe, she sees a boy who was forced to grow up too quick—someone with the burden of his father’s legacy weighing down on his shoulders with every breath he takes. Therefore, she can’t find it in herself to be entirely too upset with him for the way he treated her, thinks she can live with it, even if it was wrong.
“Are you guys ready to order?” the server’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts and makes her look up at a familiar face slightly covered by sand-colored curls.  
“Y/N? Long time no talk! How you doing?” Lucas, a guy she had a fling with last year meets her eyes with his surprised ones. 
“Oh, hi. I’m good. What a crazy coincidence, didn’t even know you worked here,” she forces out a strained laugh because had she known, she would’ve asked Rafe to pick another place.
“Actually, just started a few weeks ago. But since when do you eat on this side of the island?” he gives her a curious look.  
“I don’t. Just a…special occasion and stuff,“ she steals a glance at Rafe who’s quietly observing their interaction with narrowed eyes.  
And him talking to her right now feels entirely too humiliating because when she told Rafe about him, she assumed the two of them would never meet.  
“Right…anyway, haven’t seen you at the surf shop in a while, you still work there or?” Lucas continues with an enthusiasm she can’t quite reciprocate.  
It’s not like they ended up on bad terms—they weren’t even officially together to begin with—she just sort of withdrew from him because despite being an overall nice guy, she kept feeling like there was something missing.
“Yeah, yeah, I do, just had a little, um…family emergency and it was this whole thing, you don’t even wanna know the details,” she lies through her teeth, picking at the corner of her napkin as a distraction.
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Is everything okay now?” his jade eyes are sympathetic as he peers down at her.  
“Yes, everything’s good. Think I’ll be able to return next Monday,” she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and tries to appear nonchalant.  
“Cool…hey, I was actually wondering if you’d wanna catch up some time?” he scratches at the back of his head; seemingly nervous about her answer. 
She blinks. “Oh, um—” 
“You gon’ take our orders at some point or jus’ flirt with her for the next hour?” Rafe invites himself into the conversation with a scoff, tilting his head in intrigue.  
And at that, Lucas finally turns towards him. “Wait a second, weren’t you just suspected for murder?” he asks with slightly wide eyes.  
“Nah, they dropped the charges cause they were tweaking, I didn’t do shit,” Rafe huffs out, the lie rolling off his tongue far too easily.  
“Oh, right, right. That must, um, suck.”
“Yeah, yeah, it does,” Rafe mutters, and him clearly trying to fight off a roll of his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by her, even if she’s not entirely sure why his mood has suddenly turned sour.  
Lucas is quick to fill in the silence that follows. “Right, so, what would you two like to eat?”
And after he’s left with their orders, Rafe turns to look at her with an annoying smirk crossing his features. “That the guy who couldn’t make you come?” 
“Rafe! He can still hear you,” she hisses and looks over her shoulder; relieved to discover he’s already out of earshot.  
“Don’t really care. That shit’s just embarrassin’ for him. What’d you see in him anyway? Seems like an ass,” he furrows his brows at her.  
“You’re talking as if you’re any better?”  
“At least made you come, no? Multiple times, may I add. Or you need a reminder?” he nudges her foot under the table—the self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face making her subtly kick him back. However, he merely wraps his fingers around her ankle, ceasing her futile attempt at bruising his leg with a chuckle. “You seriously jus’ tried to kick me? Didn’t seem to be complainin’ when you were beggin’ me to—”  
“Rafe! Why are you talking so loud?” she whines, trying to release her foot from where he’s captured it. However, his grip is strong and she’s not getting free until he decides she is.  
“Calm down, no one here cares. You pogues never know how to relax, do you?” 
“I am relaxed!” 
“Yeah, I can see that,” he taunts before finally letting her go.  
- - - - - - - - - - - -
“Can I ask you something?” she swallows something akin to sand in her throat—disrupting the sound of the silverware clinking against the ceramic plates while they fill up their bellies.  
“Yeah?” his eyes flicker over to meet hers. 
“After this, um, are we just gonna go back to our sides of the island and never talk again?”
“Tha’s what you want?” he raises his brows and she blinks; slightly taken aback by him not immediately answering with a yes.  
“Um, I don’t…know. What would we even do?” she takes a sip of water to appear indifferent. However, she’s failing miserably. 
“I mean, could think of a couple of things…” he trails off with a smug grin, causing her to huff out a soft laugh. 
“Thought you didn’t hang out with pogues?” she narrows her eyes, trying to figure out if he’s even taking this seriously. 
“Yeah, well, guess I could make an exception. After all, you did help a kook, so you’re not really a pogue anymore, are you?”  
“Okay first of all, that makes zero sense and I only helped you, cause you were gonna kill me,” she states, lowering her tone towards the end.  
“Stop saying that shit,” he hisses, looking around to ensure no one heard her. “Wasn’t gonna kill you, jus’ needed you to listen, alright?”  
“Well, you could’ve been a bit more polite about it,” she rests her elbows on the table, tone accusatory.  
“Listen, m’sorry, okay? That what you want me to say? A lot was goin’ on ‘n I wasn’t thinkin’ clearly. Sometimes it’s, uh, hard for me to control my anger ‘n shit,” he mutters out the last part, as if it’s difficult for him to admit.
“Yeah, I figured,” she’s smiling now, her attempt at making him feel guilty going down the drain because him trying to defend his behavior for once, is sort of entertaining. 
A scowl covers his face at the realization that she’s merely trying to make him sweat for her own enjoyment. “You know, I still think I should’ve picked another house,” he grants her a lighthearted glare.  
“Yeah, me too,” she nods in agreement.  
And at the sight of her barely contained grin, he can’t stop his mouth from curling up as well—both of them quietly giggling at the entirely too bizarre of a situation, that for some reason, feels far too much like a first date. It’s almost as if they’re meeting for the first time all over again.
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hyunebunx · 3 months ago
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˖˙ ᰋ ── you, blanket forts and heated kisses
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﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff!! (and some heated kisses lmao)
﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: hiii! this is a continuation of this fic right here! you don't need to read that one to understand this, but they're taking place in the same universe. enjoyy and let me know what you think!! <33
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“Let’s build a blanket fort.”
Said Hyunjin randomly on a stormy day, right after kissing you stupid and taking away your ability to think.
Unfortunately for him, you later engaged in an activity far different from the one he suggested, so different that he forgot all about his initial idea for the remainder of the week.
Until now, when you’re found in the same predicament – your beloved has come over with the biggest smile, elated to see you after spending the past month apart. Everything was fine and dandy until the sky suddenly darkened and it started pouring, trapping you both inside the apartment and cancelling all plans you might’ve made outside.
At least this time, the harsh weather took pity on your unfortunate soul and allowed the power to stay on.
“Alright, so it says here we can use chairs, a table, or even the couch for our fort.”
“Did you seriously pull up a wikihow article?”
You turn to him, a little embarrassed at being caught, his genuine laughter making heat rush to your face at an alarming pace. No words escape you and he coos, dropping the big pillows he got from your bedroom before stepping over them to hug you from behind, holding you close while his lips pepper sweet kisses from your cheek down to your neck.
“That’s adorable, baby.” Hyunjin nuzzles your neck, placing one last kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder. “What else is your little article recommending?”
“Don’t make fun of me.” You whine, attempting to turn around in his arms with no success, quickly settling on hiding your face and embarrassment in your hands, just so he won't see them.
He’s laughing again, tenderly spinning you around by your hips so you’re face to face. “I’m not, baby. I’m just curious why you thought I don’t already possess all the knowledge we need.” He points to his temple, after prying your hands away from the beautiful face that has started to appear in his dreams almost daily.
“Alright, Bob the builder, knock yourself out.” You nod towards the mess he’s made on the floor, to all the pillows, blankets, and sheets he’s stolen from your room. His wish to build a fort made a lot of sense if you take into consideration his ferret nature he always denies. The tiny animal thrived on alone time, hid away in a secluded place away from everyone.
He gasps, bringing his hands to his chest as if he could really fool anyone into believing he’s actually offended. “I’ll have you know I’m an artist! An architect if you will! That guy has nothing on me.”
Giggling, you can’t help but get closer to kiss his pout away, bringing his smile back instantly. “Of course, you are love. The best of them all.”
“Are you making fun of me?” And just as it disappeared, his natural pouty lips can’t help but jut out.
You shake your head, amused at how the tables have turned. “Never.” Then, with the softest touch, you intertwine your fingers and begin dragging him along to the materials he abandoned in the middle of the room. “I’ve never built a fort before.”
“Never?” The look on his face is incredulous, pulling you by the hand to his chest to tenderly kiss your temple, feeling clingier than usual. “Let’s get down to business then.”
Turns out, building a blanket fort is as easy as reading a wikihow article, especially when your Loverboy does most of the work and knows exactly what to use to make it all happen. With the tripod he left at your place, you balance the sheets, keeping them up and creating the perfect opening to your little den of comfort and secrets. Your U-shaped couch was sturdy, assisting your building activities with the many ornamental pillows that became trusty pillars.
You don’t know how much time passed, absorbed into your current task, laughing away with your beloved and teasing each other in good fun. At some point, you get distracted and as he’s ranting away about something that happened at practice, one of your soft pillows collides with the side of his head. Hyunjin stops dead in his tracks, words dying on his tongue as he slowly stands from his crouched position while you try everything in your power to not burst out laughing in his face.
“What was that?”
“What was what?” You feign innocence, gingerly hiding the pillow behind your back like nothing has happened.
Hyunjin stares you down, the intensity in his gaze almost making you confess. Almost. The obvious glint of mischief in his eyes tells you he has an unused card under his sleeve, one you should not ignore.
Without another word, he stretches his arm and beckons you closer with two fingers, obviously expecting surrender. And the pillow that has now become his number one enemy.
When you shake your head and smile brightly, he pauses for a total of five seconds before stepping closer to take matters into his own hands. That’s your cue to flee, so you run in the opposite direction, laughing loudly when he follows and you begin chasing each other around the apartment like little kids.
He’s letting you get away, pretending to be slower and clumsily stumbling over his feet just so your laugh can continue warming his heart, providing the flowers in his chest with the sunshine needed to bloom to maturity.
Then, out of nowhere, he manages to sneak behind you, arms circling your middle and pulling you to his chest with ease, lifting your feet off the ground as both of your laughter blend beautifully. Hyunjin begins attacking you with kisses all over your face and you stop pretending you want to get away, melting into his embrace and fully accepting your fate.
“Caught you.” He says in a sing song voice, over the moon at having you in his arms once again.
Your hands move over his, pillow falling to the ground with a soft thud as you lean back, head on his shoulder to reach his plump lips and press numerous kisses over them. When you move to pull away, one of his hands instantly comes up to cup your cheek to keep you there, tongue sneaking past your lips cheekily. The air shifts instantly as he hugs you closer, kissing you as he needs it to keep living, strong arms serving as an anchor while your body’s buzzing like you’re intoxicated, tingling all over.
Summoning all of your willpower, you manage to pull away from him for the briefest moment. “Just because I let you.”
Hyunjin smiles but you have a feeling it’s an automatic response, his brain not actually processing any of your words as he dives back in, impatient to feel your lips on his once again.
Kissing Hyunjin was always an experience, full of love and passion that had you weak in the knees – but kissing him after not seeing each other for a while felt like the air in your lungs was running out and him, out of the kindness of his heart, kept you alive by sharing his breath with you.
You turn in his arms, just like earlier, but oh so different, one hand gripping his tank top while the other sneaks its way into dark hair, pulling lightly to deepen the kiss which makes him groan lowly. Hyunjin’s grip on your hips burnt, your whole body on fire as he explored it to his heart’s desire, handling you in the exact way one would a priceless sculpture, a work of art he couldn’t look away from no matter how hard he tried.
He tasted divine, and his cologne made you dizzy, just like everything about him did. Without warning, he begins moving, pushing back and guiding your body expertly, biting down on your bottom lip right before breaking the kiss, to your great disappointment.
“Baby.” His voice is hoarse, breath shaky, a nervous laugh escaping him at the look on your face. “Our fort.”
With a groan, you ignore him in favour of placing sweet, open-mouthed kisses up his neck. “You have been driving me crazy with that fort of yours, Hyun.”
His grip on your hips is a warning, sending you mixed signals as he can’t resist but connect your lower halves, needing you as close as possible while he tilts his head back with a heavy breath. “And here I thought that was my irresistible personality.”
You grin, looking up at him while holding onto his biceps for support. “Nope, only your blabbering mouth.”
The tension dissipates as he laughs, eyes wandering and pupils blown even as you tear yourself from him and exhale, trying your best to calm down before going back to the fort you’ve both worked so hard on.
In the end, after weeks and weeks of waiting, you and Hyunjin are finally in your very own blanket fort, giggling like two children who have somehow forgotten what has just transpired a few moments ago.
“This is nice.” You hum, resting your head on his shoulder, glancing at the fairy lights he somehow managed to hang up. You’re both sitting cross-legged on some pillows, surrounded by snacks and blankets.
“I told you I got this. I didn’t need any help or tutorial.” He puffs out his chest, obviously proud he impressed you.
You nod, eyes almost fluttering shut, his bare shoulder surprisingly comfy. “Good job, Bob.”
The words barely have time to escape before you get a pillow to the face, the soft feathers getting into your mouth and startling you awake. You’re frozen in place, not realizing what happened until Hyunjin starts laughing next to you, delighted at the stunt he just pulled.
You push his shoulder, biting back a smile and he laughs harder, toppling over while hugging the pillow to his chest. A part of the sheet gets caught under him and before you know it, the whole thing collapses on top of you, trapping you under along with all the decorations and food neither got to enjoy.
It’s silent for a second before your laughter joins his as you reach to help him sit up, only for him to lose his balance and fall over you, feeling a little claustrophobic under the restrictive sheet. Holding himself up above you with his bulging arms, eyes two crescent moons and engulfing the whole room in a light that could only be produced by him, you move to squish his cheeks together. Lovingly, of course.
“I love you so much, my little liar. But I’m revoking your architecture license.”
Fortunately, Hyunjin didn’t look disappointed in the slightest.
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that-sarcastic-writer · 5 months ago
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Hi can u please write about domestic life with Bills Eric Draven? Can there be fluffy and smutty moments? Tyyyy
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Boy can I??? I’d be DELIGHTED. His domesticity is all I think about. He’s the sweetest, kindest and most loving bf and you can’t change my mind. I got a little carried away! Hopefully this is what you were wanting! Enjoy doll!
Bf!Eric x gf!reader. Explicit sexual content under the cut, minors dni, oral (f receiving), p in v. brief mentions of drug use, mostly fluffy relationship stuff
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It wasn’t entirely easy. You and Eric. The circumstances under which you met and the nature of the both of you was quite dysfunctional. You were chaos, and he was a mess. But it worked. The two of you. You worked perfectly. You weren’t sure what it was, you had never been able to maintain a healthy relationship with anyone. But it was almost like you were meant to be together. If you didn’t believe in the whole soulmates thing, you started to believe it when you met Eric.
He was so unreal, so out of this world. He was always by your side, fingers laced with yours, arm thrown over your shoulder. He always had to be touching you, whether it was something as little as holding your hand, or going as far as putting you in a matting press when he fucked you, because he hated the idea of not being as close to you as possible. He never meant to, he didn’t even know what it was. He just did it one day. Your knees damn near next to your head, your body nearly folded in half as he draped his body over yours. You didn’t even know your body could bend this way. But god this you like it. How deep he could be this way. And you had him so close you could hear his little sounds, his hard breathing and his soft grunts.
He always felt a little bad, manhandling you around like you were nothing. If he wasn’t bending your body in ways you didn’t think were human, he was putting you in a headlock as he took you from behind, one arm draped around your neck from shoulder to shoulder. He just wanted you close, afraid you’d run away. But he sometimes forgot to take it easy on you. You always assured him you were more than happy with him, that he wouldn’t hurt you. Deep down it made you all kinds of earn to know you could arise such passions from him. For someone so morbidly quiet and nonchalant, Eric was very intense and passionate lover.
“It’s okay, baby. I got you. You’re doing so good.” He would tell you, his voice soft and quiet in your ear, grounding you as his cock fucked you into nothing. “I just want to make you feel good, hm? Just want to make you feel good. That’s what you deserve.”
“I don’t deserve this. You’re too good for me.” He would say, his lips on your cheek as quiet moans spilled from your lips. “You’re just so… I can’t believe you’re all mine.” His name falling from your lips would be the end of him. So soft and desperate for him. He didn’t have much experience before you, but now he just can’t get enough of you. He wanted to be all over you at all times it actually upset him when you had to leave or when he did.9
But he was also oh so kind, so gentle and patient with you. He always followed you around like an oversized puppy, quietly listening to whatever tangent you would go on about. You could be cursing up a storm (albeit not directed at him) and he would take it with a straight face and big eyes. And it was often that nothing more but his presence would calm you down, center you.
“How do you do it?” You asked him one day, hot tears staining your face after a day of one stressor after another. Eric had managed to get you on the couch where he silently sat you down on his lap. You almost immediately curled up into his lap, legs tucked under you and your head on his chest. You felt an almost instant sense of relief and peace fill you, and you were sighing deeply, feeling your heart slow its fast beating.
“Do what?” He asked you softly, his fingers massaging your head calmly. You rested your hand on his chest, eyes closed.
“This. You calm me down. I was crying two minutes ago and now I feel… okay.” You felt him shrug under you and when you looked up he had a smile on his face. That smile could make you forget any grief or sadness you might have, because none of it really mattered.
But it wasn’t just him who could bring you peace, you were his, too. His lows weren’t as intense or visible as yours, but when he was at his low, he was at an all time low. He wouldn’t speak, he wouldn’t eat, he would just go about his day like a corpse, eyes dead and empty and his mind elsewhere. You understood he had his issues too, so you tried to be there for him without pushing him. You were more subtle. You’d make him dinner, you’d invite him to watch a movie with you. And you’d tangle up with him on the couch as you all but forced him to eat, and you’d talk to him about your day. But something so small always meant so much to him. He couldn’t help the way he felt, he couldn’t help his negative thoughts that drove him to do drugs in the first place, but having you around to remind him someone in this world loved and cared for him, it made it all a little bit easier.
Eric started to bring you flowers one day. Every week once a week, he could come home with your favorite flowers. He alternated colors. With a sheepish smile he’d stand in the doorway with his hands behind his back. And the way he would look at you when gushed about how pretty they were was like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world, the only one that mattered. And to him you were. Seeing that smile on your face was the only thing he ever wanted to do.
“You like them?” He would ask as if it wasn’t obvious, but he’d do it just to hear you giggle and watch you all but skip to put them in water. “Yeah? I saw them and thought about you.”
He always thought about you. There wasn’t a single waking second where he didn’t. You were good for him. And he knew that. He didn’t need anything else to fill the emptiness in his chest because he had you. You had filled that hole and he made sure you knew that everyday.
Eric had many ways to show his love and devotion for you. He wrote you poems, he drew for you, you had so many sketches you have started to run out of places to hang them, but this one was by far his favorite. He could spend literal hours between your legs. He absolutely loved it. He was absolutely obsessed with it.
“E-Eric.. Please.” You were shaking, sweating, incoherent as his tongue circled on your clit, his long fingers fucking you through your, fourth, fifth? You stopped keeping count. He had been down there for an eternity. He just kept asking for one more, just one more and he’d leave you alone. But it wasn’t enough. He was quite obsessive with the things he wanted.
But he figured he’d have to give you a break eventually. He was also painfully hard.
“I’m sorry baby.” He muttered softly as he crawled up your body, using the back of his hand to wipe the mess you had made, but his plush lips were still bright red and glistening. “You know I get carried away sometimes… You’re just so..”
He would kiss your face, brush your hair, soothe you back into a functioning human being. It wasn’t often that Eric vocalized his thoughts, but in moments like this when he felt safe and comfortable enough to be vulnerable, he would tell you all about how pretty you were, how talented you were, how much he loved you.
Eric was always full of surprises. He was quiet and nonchalant, but he was impulsive. You learned that very quickly.
“Baby?” You heard Eric call out to you as he came into the loft. You sat on the computer as you listened to one of his recordings. He had asked you to help him out since he really wanted to start pursuing his music and art now that he actually had someone that supported him.
With a smile, you took your headphones off and went to greet him, but you immediately frowned when you saw him hold something wrapped up in his hoodie.
“Hey, whatcha got there?” You stood up, approaching him with narrowed eyes as he broke out a smile.
“I’m sorry. I just found it, I just.. I felt bad.” He pulled down his hoodie to reveal a precious little kitten. A black ball of fur coating its little face. Your heart immediately sank and you wanted to cry.
“Oh my god, Eric.” You took the kitten into your hands and your eyes started watering as you hugged it. Eric wasn’t sure what to make of your reaction. Did you hate it? Were you upset?
“No, baby, I’m sorry. I found it outside, it’s kinda cold and it was drinking from a puddle. I didn’t want a car to hit it. We don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to, we can take it to a shelter or something.” He started to mumble, a hand coming to rub the back of his head and his lips fell open when he saw a tear fall down your cheek. He approached you, reaching to grab your face. “Please don’t cry.”
“No… No Eric I’m not..” You sniffled, laughing softly through your tears as you leaned into Eric’s chest while still hugging the now purring black ball of fur. “I’m not upset at all. It’s just… I’ve never had my own pet before. And it’s so cute, can we keep it, please? It’d be our little child.”
The way you looked at him with big pleading eyes made him feel so warm, he never thought he’d feel something like this. He smiled, nodding as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Of course we can keep it. He’s kinda cute, right?” Eric chuckled as he scratched the little one’s head.
“Or she.”
Your little ball of fur wasn’t the only thing you and Eric shared. You got so many matching tattoos it was concerning. Your friends and family had even told you it was odd to get tattoos with a guy you had been dating for only a few months. But it didn’t matter to you. You didn’t know why, but deep down you knew your connection with Eric was out of this world. So what were a couple tattoos? You loved that you had a physical reminder of your connection with him. The feelings deep within your souls were forever marked on your skin, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Truth was, Eric loved tracing each and every one of your tattoos. He traced his fingers over the fine lines, traced the words, he traced his lips over them too. He particularly loved the ones on your back and on your stomach, the ones no one but him could see. They were his little secret.
You matched each other perfectly, in every way.
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1-800-kami · 1 year ago
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R U MINE? feat. gojo satoru
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gojo satoru has got to be the picture definition of a stereotypical college frat boy. he’s cocky, loaded with his daddy’s money, and dangerously handsome. it seems like common sense to stay away from him since you’ll never get more than a one-night stand out of it. 
that’s why you choose to turn a blind eye once you’ve come to the horrific realization: you’re in love with him. and you’re just itching to ask…
“are you mine tomorrow? or just mine tonight?”
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IMPORTANT: part two is out! read here :)
content: 8k words, afab!reader, angst! fluff! heartbreak! n everything in between! implied smut, rich college frat boy gojo and hellcat driver geto 🤑, emotional rollercoaster, reader has a toxic ex, trust issues (?) gojo is absolutely insufferable, misunderstandings, use of words hoe, slut, etc., mutual pining, some jjk character cameos (wink wink) me writing very unfunny dialogue, no bc wtf is this, cheating implications, emo gojo (the worst warning of them all)
author's note: hello hello! my name is kami, i've been reblogging fics on tumblr for a while now but i've recently figured out how to work this hellsite, so i'm going to start posting fics that i write! thank you to those who enjoyed my nanami drabble <3 kisses 4 u all.
this fic IS split into two parts and there is smut in the second part. so just. prepare yourselves for that ig.
reblog and interact for a kiss ;)
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“so… let me get this straight.”
“go ahead.”
shoko takes a deep breath, and you just somehow know that she’s pinching her nose in exasperation right now. “utahime dragged you out to a party in hopes that you would hit it off with somebody. you wander off on your own and later, she sees you and gojo–THE gojo satoru–giving you his number?!”
“uh, yeah. that’s exactly what happened.”
“do you even understand what you’re getting yourself into?! that man bags hoes like they’re pokemon!” you readjust the phone against your ear and sigh at shoko’s comment. 
“okay, first of all, never say that again. second, i rejected all of his advances. i didn’t even save his number.” you stare at the crinkled-up note in your hands, which proudly displays his number and a slick call me if you change your mind ;). you wonder if you could sell this paper to his fangirls–you’d surely make a little bit of cash out of it. “i’ve seen gojo around. i know that i shouldn’t mess with him. plus, he was drunk as hell at the party; i doubt he even remembers my name. to him, i’m just some chick that he’s frustrated at because she didn’t want to fuck him the second she saw him.”
“do you… do you share any classes with him?”
“i don’t think i do.. just, don’t worry about it, okay? i’ll throw away his number and we can put all of this behind us. here, i’ll do it right now.” you rip up the paper into a few pieces before tossing it in the garbage can. hopefully, you did it loud enough that shoko heard it through the phone. “i get that you’re worried for me. and i appreciate that, but i can handle myself.”
“just… no more mention of gojo anymore, okay? you’re right, y/n. let’s just put this all behind us.” shoko sighs, and you smile at that. problem solved. you threw away his number, and he’s most likely moved on to the next girl by now, so that was that. now, you just have to forget about satoru gojo.
all to never let yourself get hurt ever again.
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it’s hard to forget about gojo.
not because of those dangerous blue eyes of his–getting anyone lost in them if they stare for too long. not because of his stupid silvery white hair, which makes him look like a mop, and sometimes like a paintbrush. not that stupid cocky grin of his, either…
...but because you’ve recently found out that he sits next to you for physics.
the revelation was truly disheartening. you thought you could avoid him for the rest of the year because as far as you knew, you shared no classes with him. however, you completely forgot about the fact that gojo never attends class in the first place, and you don’t even know what classes he’s in… because he’s never there. so finding out that the seat next to you in physics wasn’t just an empty seat, and it was gojo’s assigned one, was truly an experience.
“gojo.” the name alone makes your heart stop, and you drop your pen to look at the man your teacher was addressing. “finally choosing to attend class for once?”
speak of the devil.
there he was, in all his glory–the man you’d never thought you had to deal with ever again. the man who tried to butter you up with his corny sweet talk so that you would go home with him for the night. the man who persisted with talking to you, even though you were barely interested. the man, who, at the end of the night, insisted on writing down his number for you in case you changed your mind about him and gave him a chance.
you wanted to shrink into your seat and never resurface. 
“good morning, yaga!” he says rather loudly, with no regard to honorifics at all. a few giggles could be heard across the classroom–though geto suguru’s voice was prominent–satoru’s equally as infamous bestfriend. “and yeah! it’s surprising, isn’t it?”
what’s also surprising is how gojo took a seat next to you. you thought that there was a mistake, that your teacher would scold him for sitting somewhere he isn’t supposed to sit and relocate him elsewhere. however, yaga just grumbles and begins the lesson, leaving you helpless and unable to look at the man next to you.
you swear he’s burning holes at the back of your head.
pleasdon’tremembermeisweartogodpleasedon’trememberme-
“you’re that girl from the party, right?” he whispers, and you’ve never wanted to disappear so badly in your life. you slowly nod your head, turning to look at him, and he pouts. “y/n l/n. you never saved my number. hmph, i was looking forward to a text from you, too.”
“i’m surprised you even remember me, 'cause you were fucking wasted that night.” you twiddle your pencil, averting your gaze from the man. “and i never saved your number cause i threw the paper in the trash. it’s probably at a landfill somewhere, y’know.”
your words catch him off guard, and you laugh at how surprised satoru looks. it seems that’s definitely not an emotion he shows often. despite his initial reaction, satoru swears he could feel butterflies with the way your laugh sounds.
“not a common problem for a womanizer, huh?”
“what did you just call me?!-”
“y/n and gojo, do either of you have something to share with the class?” a dark blush of embarrassment covers your face, and somewhere in the back, you could hear geto snickering. gojo just smirks at yaga, seeming completely uanffected. “then i’d suggest you stay quiet the rest of this lesson. don’t make me separate you two.”
“i’d prefer that, actually…” gojo huffs at your comment, thinking of this as a lost opportunity if the two of you get separated. he does a once over at your appearance. you’re cute, but definitely not the party kind. you’re playing hard to get, and gojo finds it adorable–not a lot of girls go that way with him. however, gojo thinks you’re not just like any girl. there’s something different about you that intrigues him.
“did no one ever tell you that it’s rude to stare?”
“how could i not? you’re so cute.” 
“i thought you already learned from the party, gojo. i’m not interested in you.” 
the light blush coating your cheeks says otherwise. he smiles cheekily at the way you tried to hide your reaction to his words. you’re an enigma to gojo… and he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame. he thinks he’s made his decision.
he’s gonna do whatever’s possible to get your number.
when the bell rings 30 minutes later, you shove your notebook into your bag, eager to finally leave the class that you had with that stupid paintbrush. that is, until he stops you with a question. “what class do you have next?”
he’s relentless. “why do you care?”
“i want to walk you to your next class,” he says, and smirks before saying his next words. “it doesn’t really matter if you tell me or not. i’ll just follow you anyways.”
you sigh, absolutely exasperated with him. he’s like a fly who keeps invading your personal space—always coming back no matter how many times you swat it away. he’s right, though. damn him for being stubborn. “i actually have this period free.”
“oh, sweet!” he chirps, walking with you out the door, making sure to greet geto before he leaves the classroom. “let’s go to the courtyard. i’ll buy you a drink from the vending machine-“
“i was gonna do that regardless if you were here or not.” you give him a look, and you can’t help but tug on your sleeves when you see people whisper to each other as you walk the halls with gojo. of course you’ve heard the rumors. the man next to you is the most popular guy on campus. girls glare daggers at you and the guys call his name, although he barely even acknowledges them. 
some common things that you’ve heard about gojo around the school are: “i heard he only talks to girls for sex,” “apparently his best friend geto is just as much of a player!” “i mean, who wouldn’t fuck a guy like gojo, though? he’s hot and loaded.” “that’s how he reels you in, though. he gets his hand in your pants and never calls you back again.” you know you should stay away from him, it’s common sense, but it’s hard to stay away from him when he’s the one who glues himself to your side. 
“well, now you’ll get a free drink and we’ll get to know each other! isn’t that great?” he smiles and you just grimace at his words. 
“i don’t need your money…”
“don’t care! can’t hear you!” he says, and you’ve seriously considered just making a run for it. at least you’ll lose him, and you’d finally be able to find peace for a bit. although, it would cause a scene, and gojo would probably end up finding you again somehow. 
“what can i do to get you to leave me alone?”
that piques his interest, even though he looks slightly hurt by your question. he thinks for a bit, and smirks. “i really do want to buy you something from the vending machine.. and i want you to spend your free period with me. i’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day if you do.”
“do you promise? like, actually?”
“mhm! pinky promise!” you feel like you’re talking to a prepubescent boy.
“then sure-“ you’re about to agree, but he cuts you off with one more condition.
“i also want your number.”
you feel like you’ve been cursed by a god, because having the most popular guy on campus be interested in you has got to be the most chaotic thing to ever happen in your life.
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“what do you have me saved as?” 
the question comes from out of the blue, and you look up from the book you were completely absorbed in. you and satoru were at the school library, on a “study date” as he calls it, although it was more so just gojo inviting himself to wherever place you go, as per usual. this time, you have an exam to study for, and you explicitly told him not to bother you unless absolutely necessary.
you do have to say, though, he’s not annoying as you thought he was. he just nagged you way more the first day he sat next to you in physics so he could get your number. it’s been a few days since then, but still, you’d definitely be more efficient in your studies if you didn’t have him attached to your hip all the time.
“satoru, i told you not to bother me-“
“unless absolutely necessary. yeah, i heard you, and this question needs an absolutely necessary answer! contact names really say a lot about our relationship, y’know.”
“relationship? nobody ever said we were even friends-“
“don’t break my heart like that, babe. plus, you don’t call me gojo anymore! it’s satoru to you now,” his heart warms at that realization, and you scoff, especially at the pet name. “we are friends, unless you’d like to be something more...”
“if you say anything else i’m calling you by your government name. gojo satoru.” he looks especially wounded by that.
“ah! don’t do that, please. it feels like we’re a married couple and you’re really mad at me.” he cries and you can’t help but giggle at his words. you decide to entertain him a little bit, fishing through your pocket to find your phone. 
he almost passes out at what he sees on your screen.
“it’s just my number? you didn’t even save my contact?!-“
the shushes from your fellow students and the librarians aren’t even enough to calm gojo’s agony and despair. it also does nothing to stop your laughter, either.
from that day on, gojo’s contact was forcefully changed from his number to “satoru” (he initially added a heart, but you deleted it, much to his disappointment) and one of his many selfies from his stupid instagram account. how the hell can a college student even have thousands of followers?! you think. 
gojo just says that nobody can resist his shirtless post-workout selfies. you’re surprised that you didn’t slap him at his words.
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you push him away.
everytime gojo buys your favorite drink, (it’s always on him, despite your genuine insistence in saying that you could pay for your drink just fine.) everytime he walks you to all of your classes each day, (he memorized your schedule just so he could do this) everytime he buys you your favorite foods on the rare instances that you let him take you out for lunch, (usually, this requires a lot of begging, and you mostly relent during class when you’re just exasperated and wanted to get some notes down.), and everytime he calls you by those stupid pet names of his, you think back to what the entire student body says about him, and you think back to your phone call with shoko, where she warns you to not associate with him so you don’t get hurt by anyone ever again, and you push him away.
you push him away even when you realize that if he just wanted you for sex, he would’ve stopped chasing after you when you didn’t text him after that night at the party.
and that thought alone scares you.
still, you’re not heartless. satoru’s been asking to take you out for a while, and you finally agreed to go today. he’s especially chipper about your agreement right now, walking with a slight pep in his step as he bit around his ice cream cone. 
the park boasts some beautiful scenery today, and little children are out and about. still, you underestimated the weather, and the cold uncomfortably nipped your arms as you internally cursed yourself out for wearing just a shirt. you crossed your arms as a subtle way to shield yourself from the cold.
“don’t play coy with me, y/n. are you cold?” satoru says with a cocky grin, and you huff at his question. surprisingly, he drops the teasing act and unzips his sweater, handing it to you. “here, take it.”
“satoru-“
“i’m not doing this to flirt or whatever you’re thinking right now. you’re shivering, and i’m just concerned for you, so please wear it.” he deadpans, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him be so… upfront? you kind of like it. it’s not him teasing you or him being flirty. it’s just him showing that he genuinely cares for you as a friend. you take the sweater with a nod and put it on, ignoring how your heart is thumping as you take in his signature smell. cedarwood with a little bit of musk. it’s not an overpowering scent, but it still envelopes your senses.
“nevermind. you look so cute with my hoodie on. i feel like we’re in a j-drama right now, y/n!”
you take back everything you just said.
a few minutes later, you two are near the kids playground when you decide to take a break from walking, sitting on a nearby bench with gojo. the chirping of the birds and the wind passing through the trees is quickly overpowered by loud crying. crying from the child right in front of you, in fact.
you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but satoru beats you to it. he kneels in front of the kid, and coos, “hey, buddy. what’s your name, hm?”
he stops crying for a moment to look at gojo and shakily responds, “gumi-um, megumi fushiguro..” 
“megumi, huh.” he clicks his tongue for a moment. “why are you crying, megumi?”
“i-i don’t know where my dad is!” he cries, and satoru looks to you for help. you just shrug, unsure of what to do with the lost kid, until gojo’s face lights up, assumingly with a great idea.
“he’s most likely just around here somewhere. you can wait with us, and we’ll help you find him! say, do you want an ice cream to help you feel better, megumi?” the boy hesitantly nods, and satoru gives him a thumbs up as he takes him to the nearby ice cream stand. you’re watching this entire scene unfold, absolutely enamored with gojo for the first time. you didn’t think he had a natural talent with kids—but the way he’s making megumi laugh while he happily snacks on his ice cream says otherwise. an outsider could look at you three and assume that you’re just a happy family. 
you try to ignore how that makes you feel.
and as you wave goodbye to megumi once he eventually is reunited with his father again, (an intimidating man who gave you two an appreciative nod as he walked away with his son.) you realize something as you tug on the sleeves of your-satoru’s sweater. 
you’re in love with gojo satoru.
and fuck, that revelation scares you more than anything. the last time you had given your heart to a man, he had crushed it repeatedly until you decided that you would never let yourself be vulnerable like that ever again. 
and now, you're in love with your school’s notorious playboy—and it feels like you’re setting yourself up to be heartbroken again. you want disregard those rumors and shoko’s words so badly, but they still eat at the back of your mind even though the real gojo satoru is right in front of you, and he doesn’t match the characteristics of the gojo satoru in those rumors at all.
you also remember that he has one real best friend, geto suguru. you like to think that this is also what geto sees in gojo. the reason why he’s stuck around.
the reason why you want to stick around too.
you’re so busy in your head that you’ve just noticed gojo frantically waving his hand in your face. “earth to y/n? oh, good! i thought you had, like, a shock reaction from seeing megumi’s father. he looked a little scary, no?” 
“he looks like if a muscle came to life and started talking.” you whisper, and he laughs in agreement. burying your hands into the pockets of his hoodie, you smile. you don’t want to think about your current revelation with gojo right now. instead, you’ll stick with the present. and right now, you like the present.
you just don’t want to think about what this means for your future.
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it’s the weekend, and you’re doing some work at the local cafe, gojo-free for once. only god knows what the man is doing at three pm in the afternoon on a saturday. not like you should be thinking about him right now, though. his presence alone has caused you to be behind on your studies, and you need to make sure you catch up.
you have to admit, you were a little unused to the silence. usually, the silence would be filled with gojo’s endless banter with you, as well as his terrible, corny jokes that are so stupid you can’t help but laugh. his seemingly never-ending presence was annoying at first, but now, you’re starting to yearn for his company.
it further fuels the pit of uncertainty in your stomach, and you hate it.
shaking your head with a sigh, you take another bite of your pastry and continue typing up the report on your laptop. the looming thought of this report’s impact on your grade and the need to pass this class helps you forget about satoru for a while. once again, you get lost in your academics.
the ring of the cafe bell breaks you from your trance. it was a natural impulse of yours to glance at everyone who entered the cafe, but once you did this time, you felt your heart drop down to your knees.
it was your ex. 
your ex boyfriend who destroyed the notion of love for you, because he made you feel it for a short time, only to throw it all into a pit of fire and leave you scrambling to find nothing but ashes. 
if you had to find the true roots as to why you’re so afraid to pursue a new relationship–you always find your ex in the center of it. and now, he’s right in front of you. you have to face him again when you refuse to shamefully admit that you’ve barely even healed from the emotional scars that he’d left behind. 
you feel as if an invisible hand has wrapped itself around your throat, blocking your airways and your ability to speak.
out of all the days satoru wasn’t here with you, it had to be this one.
“y/n? is that you, sweetheart?” you wanted to vomit at the way he said your name. he had no right to say it so sweetly, when all he’s ever left behind is venom. 
“i don’t want to talk to you.” you cringe at the way your voice cracks, and you avert your gaze from him.
“please, just hear me out for a minute, baby..” he coos, and you hate the way he talks to you as if you were a child. “i know i fucked up, and i can’t change our past… but i can change our future together. if you take me back, i’ll show you how much i’ve changed-”
you don’t know how many times you’ve heard that stupid line before.
“god, you sound like a broken record with how many times you’ve pulled that bullshit on me.” you spat, loud enough to draw commotion in the cafe. your ex has surprise written all over his face–most likely due to your non-compliance to his words. “what, do you say that shit to all your hoes?”
your ex looks around, shrinking a little when he sees all eyes are on him. “now, now, y/n, no need to be like that-”
“be like that… be like that?! you’re telling me to be civil when you’re the one coming in here wanting me back, spouting some bullshit saying that you’ve changed, when i told you to leave me alone already!” you scream, and you could feel the tears bubble up in your eyes. you look down, so you aren’t able to see how everyone’s staring at you with pity. god, you hate pity. it makes you feel weak and vulnerable. the two emotions you absolutely loathe. “i just want you to leave me alone, god. i hate you, why won’t you just-”
“you fucking bitch-” he makes a move to lunge at you, and you instinctively take a step back, pure fear enveloping your senses.
you never feel the impact, though, as you see your ex being restrained by the cafe worker.
you remember him. the man who took your order earlier. he was an older man with a warm smile on his face, although you noticed how his cheekbones were slightly sunken, and he looked a little overworked. you jokingly quipped earlier that he should get some sleep before thanking him for making your order. he just replied, i get that quite a lot.
the size difference between your ex and the man is enough to discourage him from fighting back. he makes quick work your ex, dragging him out the door while he hysterically screams profanities to you on the way out. you assumed the worker threatened to call the police, because your ex scrambled up from the ground and ran away. you hoped this was the last time you would ever see him again.
“are you okay, ma’am? he didn’t hurt you, did he?”
you didn’t even realize that the worker was back inside the cafe. everyone was gradually returning to their own businesses, with the eerie silence being replaced by casual chatter once more. you also didn’t realize how much your hands were shaking, and you huff out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “y-yeah, i’m alright, and he didn’t hit me. i just… need a minute,”
you decide that you aren’t gonna get anymore work done like this, so you pack your laptop into your bag and slump onto the seat with a sigh. you bury your face into your hands. “is it a long story?”
“oh, don’t even get me started.”
he laughs at that, and you ease up a little. “i told him i’d call the police if i ever see him around here again.”
“that’s good to hear. though i’d prefer if i never see him in my life ever again.”
he hums at your words, and he turns to look out the window. “it’s getting dark out. do you want me to call you a cab?”
“no need, i’ll call my boyf–my friend. i’ll call my friend. he’ll uh, pick me up.” you’re still so shaken up you barely even register what you said to him. your eyes are frantic as you turn your phone on and look for gojo’s name in your contacts. you don’t know why you want him to pick you up out of everybody. you could ask utahime or shoko right now, but you just wanted nothing more but to see gojo.
the bell rings again, and you flinch at the sound. thankfully, it was just another customer. the worker sighs. “well, these orders aren’t going to be done themselves. just wave me over if there are any other problems, okay?” 
you nod absentmindedly, and he turns to leave, but you stop him. “wait, sir, what’s your name?”
“kento nanami.”
“thank you so much, nanami. i appreciate it.” 
“i’m just doing my job.”
“your job is restraining crazy exes of college girls and kicking them out?”
“‘it comes with the job description.” he teases, and you laugh lightheartedly. “and your name is?”
“y/n l/n.”
“anytime, miss l/n. again, just please… call me over if anything happens.”
“will do…” you say, pressing the “call” button on gojo’s contact. the anxiety is hitting you again, and you take a shaky inhale. you’re surprised at how he picks up almost instantly. “hey… satoru? yeah, can you come pick me up, please? i know i don’t normally ask you to do something like this but-”
“did something happen?”
“a lot happened, actually… i’ll text you the address. please, just come soon.”
“of course, y/n.” you could already hear him running out the door, hearing the roar of his car engine coming to life. “i’ll be there as soon as possible.”
he gets to the cafe in five.
you wave goodbye to nanami, thanking him once more as you get in the passenger seat of gojo’s car. 
it’s not your first time inside here, but you still can’t help but admire how… expensive everything looks. or maybe you’re just looking around because you’re stalling, and you have no idea where to begin with satoru. 
however, you notice that he’s not asking you what happened, and he’s not forcing you to explain anything to him. instead, he switches the gear shift out of parking and says, “do you want me to take you home?”
your eyes widen at his words, and you shake your head no profusely. the last thing you want to be is home alone right now, mainly because your ex knows where you live. you know he most likely won’t go that far with you, especially since nanami knocked some sense into him… but the possibilities still scare you. you take a deep breath before saying your next words.
“...can you take me to your house? i-i’m sorry for asking, i just don’t want to be alone right now cause i’m terrified and-” 
“y-yeah. i’ll take you to my house.” he says, and you’ve never seen him so nervous in your life. it almost makes you laugh.
“i’ll explain everything later. i just… wanna be somewhere safe first.” somewhere safe. you find his house as a safe place. gojo doesn’t know how to react. his heart is thumping wildly out of his chest, but he makes sure to put your own comfort before his feelings.
“you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” he says, maintaining his cool by keeping his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift.
“but i want to, satoru…” you say. you can’t believe you’re doing this again. you’re crossing so many territories that you were so afraid to cross because of your ex. now, you think you aren’t that afraid anymore. not if you have satoru by your side. 
you place one of your cold hands on the gear stick, interlocking it with his. is he… shaking? “thank you for this.”
still. there are so many things you can’t say to him yet. you don’t know when you’ll be able to… or if you’ll ever be able to.
i love you. i love you but i’m too afraid to say it. i just hope that you’ll be able to wait for me.
“god, you’re killin’ me here, y/n.” 
that pit of uncertainty in your stomach has grown so large you feel it's about to consume you whole. you don’t think you mind much, though.
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the two of you are lounging at his couch after satoru insisted on telling you to make yourself at home. there’s a movie playing, with neither of you paying attention at all, takeout on the coffee table, two glasses and a bottle of wine after gojo didn’t know what drinks to serve, and freaked out by pulling the first expensive drink out from his parents’ alcohol closet. has he never properly invited someone to his home before?
“so in short, you had a crazy ex who saw you at the coffee shop… and he was begging for you to take him back, and when you went off on him he called you a bitch and tried to hit you…” he recalls, a huge grimace on his face. “tch. the cafe worker shouldn’t have let him go like that.”
“i’m sure he learned not to mess with me after getting humiliated in public.. and nanami did more than enough for me.” you retorted, and he gave you a sour look. 
“oh, so you know the worker’s name now?” he says, and you could feel the tension build up in the air. oh. so he wants to do this with you? “what, is he your knight in shining armor?”
“he looks like he’s in his late thirties, satoru. i’m not into older guys,” you roll your eyes at his absurd questions and add, “what’s it to you anyway?”
“what’s it to me, y/n?” he repeats your words, and you could feel an argument coming, like you already didn’t have an exhaustive one with your ex. “you know how i feel about you-“
“what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” your voice is getting louder, all to hide your fear behind the implication of his words. you distance yourself from him on the couch.. much like how you distance yourself from letting satoru get too close to how you truly feel. “we’re not even together, satoru. you don’t get to control the guys that i talk to- hell, have you even seen yourself?”
you’re rambling, and all you want to do is shut up, but you can’t bring yourself to. “i’ve heard what our school says about you. y-you’re a playboy, right? and you only ever talk to girls because you wanna fuck them. i’m not stupid, satoru. i’m not different from any of them, right? you only chase after me because i’m playing hard to get and that pisses you off-“
“what… what are you even saying, y/n?” he asks, and it stops your rambling for a moment. you don’t know what you’re saying. you’re pouring out all the reasons why you’ve tried to push him away, the reasons why you were so afraid to give your heart to him. but now that you say them out loud, they sound outright stupid. 
“i started coming to class just to talk to you, i memorized your schedule just so i can walk you to class every morning. i buy you all your favorite food and drinks… i had to memorize your favorites too, by the way. and i have shit memory.” he’s screaming at this point, and you’ve never had satoru scream at you. there are unshed tears in his eyes, and it’s all overwhelming to watch this unfold. “and when you called me, i drove as fast as i could to you because you never call like that and i was fuckin’ worried!”
“so let me ask you a question, y/n… would i do all these things for you just because i want you in my bed?! i’d do anything for you, and you know that!” he’s crying. the gojo satoru is crying, and it’s all for a girl. if you told this to someone in your school, they’d call you a shit-faced liar. gojo satoru doesn’t cry for a girl. he makes them cry.
“i’m sorry for being skeptical, satoru! i just can’t help it when there’s so many rumors about you wanting to fuck girls just for the shit of it – and i’m conflicted on whether or not i should believe them because i want you so bad and i’m scared you’ll end up just breaking my heart and i don’t want that to happen again-”
he cuts you off. “you… what?”
you’re confused at why he looks so surprised, but then you backtrack on your words and you gasp. fuck. why did i say that? you cover your mouth and look away from him, refusing to meet his eyes.
those stupid blue eyes that you know you can’t get enough of.
“y/n… can you please say that again? i don’t want to do anything if i didn’t hear you right.” his voice is soft now, and you swear that you’re dreaming. this isn’t real. right? i’m gonna wake up soon. you dig your nails into the palms of your hands, leaving half-moon marks in their wake. it doesn’t work, and you don’t wake up, and you know you have to accept the fact that this is very real and it’s happening.
this is the worst leap of faith you think you’ve ever had to take in your life.
“i want you so fucking bad, satoru. and i’m realizing that you’re not just the stereotypical rich playboy that everyone talks about on campus—you’re a really great guy, and i guess i’m just scared to face that-” you don’t even realize that satoru’s got you cornered on the couch, and you can’t finish your words as he slots his lips against yours. hard. it’s the most passionate kiss you think you’ve ever had in your life, and it’s got your breath taken away in seconds. holy shit.
you quietly moan against his lips as you kiss back, cupping his face with your hands and wiping his tears away. you wish this moment would last forever, but you pull away so you can breathe. you meet gojo’s eyes, and they’re clouded with lust and desire, but you could tell he’s still a little uncertain. “we’ll talk later… just take me to the bedroom already,”
gojo doesn’t need another confirmation from you, and he lifts you up to carry you to his bedroom, practically tripping on his feet the way there.
a few hours later and a noise complaint from the neighbors, it’s safe to say that gojo satoru was the best one you’ve ever had.
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“god, i’m never letting you go, baby.”
he’s tracing hearts onto your bare back. it’s littered with bruises and red scratch marks just from a few minutes ago, but you’ve never felt better in your life. you stare at the man who invited himself into your life just from an encounter at a party, and you thank your lucky stars that you agreed to go with utahime that night. “is something wrong? you’re starin’ again.”
“i’m sorry it took me so long to trust you. i’ve just been scared to open up my heart again, especially after him.” you don’t have to name “him” for satoru to understand. 
“i’m sorry too. i just got angry about the rumors and i also disregarded the fact that you’re scared to love again after your ex did all of that shit and-” he pauses, and sighs. “sorry. i’m rambling again.” 
he pulls you into another kiss, and this time, it’s sweeter, lighter, and full of love. “i’m going to show you what it looks like to really be loved, because it’s definitely not the shitty picture that your ex painted in your head. there’s way more to it than that.”
“i love you, y/n.”
“thank you, toru.” you whisper. maybe, one day, you’ll be able to find the courage to say it back. and it’s okay, because gojo is willing to wait an eternity for you. 
he’ll wait an eternity for you to teach you how to love again.
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“look at how beautiful you are…” gojo says, appearing out of nowhere as he wraps an arm around your waist. you yelp, staring at your boyfriend through the mirror. he’s wearing a classic black tuxedo, with no doubt it being very expensive. it compliments the glimmering rolex on his wrist, and the thoughts running through your head about him and his outfit sets fire to your stomach.
“look at yourself first, toru… god, we should just stay home,” you tease, turning around to pull him into a deep kiss. it’s a friday, and gojo’s taking you out to attend geto’s party tonight. the two of you are going for several reasons. he wants to introduce you to his bestfriend, since you realized that you’ve never actually formally met geto before. it’ll also be your first formal “couple appearance”, as if gojo being attached to your side all the time doesn’t say enough about the two of you already. 
gojo pulls away, which surprises you. you pout at the expression on his face. “as much as i want to, suguru’s been bugging about you all week. i really do think it’s time for you to meet him,”
“hmph. alright.” 
“i’m tearing that dress off of you the second we get home, though.”
“satoru!”
“what?! not my fault my girl looks so damn hot all the time!”
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this night is going amazing.
when satoru walks with you through the front doors, arm wrapped around your waist and the dress you picked out for tonight glimmering, you feel a little shy. the guys all whistle at the two of you, and the girls whisper amongst each other, but you and gojo don’t care. in his eyes, you’re the only girl he sees. the only girl worth being with here. 
“wanna go get drinks?” he asks you, cerulean eyes showing underneath his sunglasses. you nod, walking to the kitchen with him. you’re getting severe deja vu… you can’t believe you met gojo at the last party you were at. and now you’re at another party, with gojo as your date. you scan the crowd for utahime or shoko, wondering what you would say to them if they saw you with the man they specifically told you not to mess with.
it’s alright, though. shoko was wrong about those rumors, and gojo’s proving it to you.
“satoru!” the playful voice greets your boyfriend, and you turn to see geto suguru. you’ve seen him around campus, and he sits somewhere in the back of your chem class. you haven’t really had the opportunity to talk to him, though… and he looks a little intimidating.
“you must be y/n,” he says, offering you a freshly opened smirnoff from the drinks on the countertop. you thank him and grab the drink, taking a swig.
“yup! my lovely girlfriend,” gojo lets go of his arm around your waist to grab a drink. 
“you probably don’t know this, but i’ve been his wingman.” he smiles at gojo, who’s pouting, like he’s preparing himself for what suguru is about to say. “he’s batshit crazy for you, its insane.”
“oh? do tell.”
“when the two of you got together, he left me a voicemail at like… four in the morning? anyway, he was screaming about how he was the happiest guy in the world… or something.”
“that’s because i was!” you’re laughing at how unashamed satoru is about this.
“yeah, yeah, whatever.” geto clicks his tongue, pulling out his phone. “and he’s reposted you on insta to like, every drake song-”
“alright, me and y/n are gonna go dance.” he interrupts suguru, and drags you away from his best friend with a yelp. “nice talkin’ to you, suguru!”
“hey, i wanted to know more!-”
“shh, you don’t need to know about all of that.” the two of you are in the living room, in the midst of all the bodies dancing and grinding against each other. he pulls you close to him, and you feel his hot breath against your neck. “you look so beautiful tonight, y/n.”
“same for you, handsome. let’s dance, shall we?” you wrap your arms around him and just sway to the beat. you’ve never been much of a dancer, but everything feels natural as long as gojo’s with you. 
suddenly, the music changes, and one dance starts playing. you two look at each other, and you both burst out laughing at the same time. “have you reposted me to this song?”
“duh. it’s a classic.”
“can’t disagree with that.” you say, finding yourself grinding against satoru while wizkid’s part plays in the background. it feels like such a perfect night–you’re pulling satoru into a deep kiss, and he shoves his tongue down your throat while he’s leading you to a nearby couch. you’re seated on his lap, mimicking practically every couple in this party tonight. 
suddenly, you pull away, and you whisper, “i need to use the bathroom.” 
satoru smirks at your words, thinking that it’s a hint for something else, and you give him a sour face. “want me to join you-”
you hit his chest playfully. “that’s not code for anything, you perv. i actually need to piss.” 
he’s pouting at your words, but he lets you off his lap anyway, and holds your drink for the time being. “it’s at the second door in the hall to your right. be quick, please.”
“no duh. i’ve got a cute date to come back to,” you say, walking away and traversing all of the bodies that smell like sweat and alcohol. you’re a little unused to this environment, but it’s alright. you fix up your makeup in the bathroom and freshen up a little, walking back to the living room to find satoru again. 
you wish you never did.
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you were gone for four minutes. five minutes max. you come back to satoru, and your breath hitches at the sight.
on his lap was a random chick that looked like every other girl at this party. she was practically naked, since her outfit didn’t do much to cover her skin at all.
fuck.
you remember the first time you saw gojo at the last party you went to. the sight wasn’t that different compared to the one now. there were girls all over him, all fighting for his attention. and yet, it seemed that night, his attention was focused solely on you.
what bullshit that was.
your eyes are blurry, and the music is muffled in your ears. white noise fills your senses, and all you want to do right now is run.
so you do.
you run, not caring if gojo saw you at all or not. you run out of the party, eternally grateful that you didn’t pick out heels for tonight and settled for much simpler shoes. you run, despite the fact that you drew geto’s attention. you were already out the door before he could ask what was wrong. you run, just wanting to get away from everyone and everything. you run with no particular destination in mind. you stop running when you almost get run over on a red light, the car honking at you–screaming profanities as it drives by. it breaks you from your trance, and you sit on the curb of the sidewalk, letting all of your tears out on what was supposed to be a perfect night.
of course gojo didn’t think that you were different. you were just like every other girl to him.
stupid. stupid. stupid. you’ve never felt so stupid in your life.
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when geto sees you running out the door with unshed tears in your eyes, he immediately panics. what the hell happened?
he goes through every room of the house, trying to find gojo, when he hears a bunch of commotion in the living room. he runs there, pushing past everyone, only to find a total disaster inside.
he sees gojo screaming at a girl dressed like a stripper, who was on the ground with tears in her eyes. satoru looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel with how pissed he looks. there’s a crowd forming at this point, and geto knows he needs to intervene, so he drags his bestfriend away, who looks so distraught that geto could just wonder what the fuck happened.
they’re outside now, and its significantly a lot more quiet out here compared to all of the chaos inside. all the noise is coming from gojo—who won’t stop crying, and geto has no idea what to do or where to even begin. “fuck!”
“dude, what the fuck happened!?” satoru looks like he’s feeling every emotion at once. he looks pissed, pissed enough to punch a wall, and geto’s a little afraid that gojo might actually do that–or worst-case scenario, punch him. he’s crying, and geto hasn’t seen gojo cry ever since he fell off a swing in pre-k, so what happened must be really fucking serious.
“i don’t KNOW what happened, goddamnit! y/n went to use the bathroom and some slu- some girl came up to me and threw herself on my fucking lap! i was gonna tell her to fuck off but y/n saw before i was able to and now she’s gone and she probably thinks that i’m just some cheater when i’ve worked so hard to get her to trust me and-FUCK!”
he stops, trying to calm down a little, and gojo takes the shakiest breath he thinks he’s ever taken in his life. the red in his vision starts to fade, but he still feels helpless. “i just don’t know what to fucking do, suguru.” 
“i just saw y/n run out of my house a few minutes ago.” he says with a grimace, and he’s trying to figure out what to tell his bestfriend. “i’ve never seen you like this over a girl before. holy shit, you really love her, do you?”
geto thinks that gojo’s bloodshot eyes, the brutal names that he called that girl at the party, and the tears he’s shed for you are already an answer.
“this is your last chance to prove it to her, satoru.” geto fumbles through his pockets and hands him the keys to his challenger. gojo snatches them, hearing the car engine rumbling itself to life. the white-haired man thanks his best friend as he steps into the drivers’ side, with geto reassuring him, ‘ill deal with the chaos inside, you go ahead and explain yourself to your girlfriend’.
gojo swears that he’s never driven so fast in his whole life.
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part 2 :)
4K notes · View notes
meracyn · 3 months ago
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heyyy could u write a one shot of kwon x reader where they weren't able to see each other for months (reader travelled to a different country and he had to go to the tournament) but reader finally had the chance to go to the sekai taikai and surprises him? maybe suggestive ;) But fluff is ok too, thank youn!
UNSPOKEN DESIRES || kwon jae-sung
a/n: LMAOOO SNEAKY ANON but yk what ill do it (hes too fine). crazy how i wrote the bf hcs of him yesterday and now i got 3 reqs lmao, not complaining tho. also i want to find good icons to put on my kwon reqs but I CANT CHOOSE,,
warnings; SUGGESTIVE, cursing (only like..once), uhh thats all i think
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Kwon stood up along with the rest of the Cobra Kai members, barely paying attention to the announcements being said at the moment— too deep in thought— thoughts of you.
The past few months were hard. Not just for him, for you too. You had to travel to another country for a while due to a family emergency regarding a very ill relative. Although you both facetimed and texted everyday, the distance was still there. It wasn’t the same.
The Sekai Taikai was able to get Kwon to focus on the tournament, but even so it wasn’t enough. His mind kept drifting off to you. He never thought your absence would affect him that much, but ever since you told him you had to stay there longer, he felt the ache in his chest deepen with each passing day. He probably wouldn’t say it out loud, but he missed you. A lot.
As everyone was allowed to leave, Kwon let out a sigh, head tilted a bit low as he walked with the rest of his dojo. What was up with him? He won every match he had, why did it not fuel him up with satisfaction anymore? Even messing around with other dojos wasn’t becoming as fun. It frustrated him.
“Hey, wanna go with us to a bar nearby later?” Yoon went up to him, slightly nudging his shoulder with his elbow.
Kwon snapped out of his thoughts, and stopped walking. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea, he could forget about the emptiness in his heart. “..Sure, why not. I could use some distraction.” He replied. Without saying anything else, he walked away.
· · ·
You let out a sigh of relief after managing to get inside the building where the tournament was being held. You may or may not have lied your way in by saying you were one of Cobra Kai’s backups and Sensei Kim requested you come here as an emergency.
Those at the desk were a bit skeptical, but thankfully didn’t question any further and let you pass.
You walked past the big hallways, trying to think where the rooms were, thinking he was probably resting. You couldn’t wait to see him again— his eyes, his hair, that stupid yet charming smirk he had on his face.
Suddenly, you passed by a teenage guy scrolling through his phone. Maybe he knew Kwon, it was worth asking.
“Uh..excuse me,” You started, a bit nervous as you walked up to him. “Do you know the room number Kwon Jae-Sung is staying in?”
Demetri looked up, an eyebrow raised at the..random question. Out of all the questions you could have asked, this one didn’t cross his mind. He glanced around the room, noticing how it was only you and him. “I don’t think..I can give out that information.” He replied.
“Oh, no. It’s not like that—” You said quickly. “I’m his partner. I wanted to see if he’s okay.”
“Partner?” Demetri repeated. “As in, sparring partner? Then you should kn—”
“No!” You exclaimed, interrupting him. You cleared your throat before continuing, “I meant..I’m his partner..romantically.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” Demetri said, before nodding slightly. He leaned in to whisper the room number, then sat back down. “I’m sure he’s doing very fine.. but that’s the number.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it.” Relief washed over you, as you quickly left, going to the elevators.
Demetri watched as you left, before his eyes widened. “Wait. What if they’re not his partner?”
· · ·
Kwon got out of the elevator, laughing along with his team members who were all drunk and held onto each other for support.
Being at the bar did help him be distracted for a while, drinking along while the rest were doing bets on who could drink the most without getting drunk at all.
“Hey, why don’t we go out again for some more fun? It isn’t too late,” One of them suggested.
“Not a bad idea. Let’s go,— Kwon, you comin’?”
“Nah, I’m good. You guys go ahead.” He said. The others left, leaving him alone.
He opened the door to his room, shutting it behind him and turned on the lock. Walking over to his bed, he began to take off his shirt and draped a towel around his waist. Just as he was going to enter the shower, a finger tapped on his shoulder.
As he turned around, he was taken by surprise.
You were standing there, with a mischievous smile.
How did you get in his room? Was he dreaming? Was he too tired after training? Did he drink too much? Did he—
“I got you~!” You said with a chuckle.
He couldn’t feel his heartbeat— he couldn’t believe it. You were here, in front of him. After months of longing, of only talking through a screen, you were standing right there, your bodies’ mere inches away from the other. Without thinking, he closed the distance between you two, pulling you into his arms.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he mumbled into your hair, his fingers tracing the curve of your back, feeling the warmth of your body against his.
You laughed softly, pulling away slightly to meet his gaze, “I thought I’d surprise you.”
“Yeah..and you did,” He replied. “but now that you’re here..” His eyes trailed over your body up and down, voice low. The tension built between you both was obvious, the look in his eyes said it.
His lips twitched into a smirk, pulling you close to him again, “Tell me my love, did you miss me a lot?” He asked, in a teasing yet flirtatious tone.
“Maybe, who knows?” you mumbled, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Want to find out?”
Kwon didn’t reply, his lips crashing on yours as his hands instinctively held onto your waist. The kiss deepened, hinting at the need that every inch of his body begged for. It was obvious to you—he wanted more.
Your fingers went up his chest, your other hand pulling him even closer to you–if that was possible.
He pulled away for a second, as your eyes met. His dark eyes were full of lust, but also shone with a hint of mischief. Before you knew it, Kwon leaned in again, kissing your jaw and trailing down to your collarbone. Removing a hand that was on your hip, he held onto your leg, lifting it up as you curled it around his waist.
Kwon kept kissing your body, the sounds that left your lips only fueling his desire. He had your back pressed against the wall, and began to take off your shirt.
“Fuck..” He silently cursed to himself as he looked up to see your expression— cheeks red as you tried to steady your breathing.
“Looking like a mess, how cute. And just for me, right?”
You nodded frantically, wanting him to stop teasing and continue.
Knowing you were desperate, Kwon chuckled. “Don’t worry love, after so many months apart, I’m not done with you just yet.”
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HELP I FEEL SO EMBARRASSED I FEEL LIKE I DID SO BAD ON THIS 💀 well it was definitely interesting to do lol..time to work on those other requests now
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pearlessance · 7 months ago
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Moral Modification
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Summary: When you decide to pierce your nipples, Joel Miller breaks his moral code to lend a helping hand.
Pairing: JacksonEra!Joel Miller/reader
Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, seduction, age gap(undefined), piercings and needles, nipple play, moral ambiguity, oral sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, size difference
NOTE: this one shot was written for my bff joelmillersgirlfriend and all of the bolded words are titles of her fics over on AO3!! if you haven't read any of her work i def recommend going over there to check it out she's incredible. we also have a 3-part co-write we did on AO3 called False Pretenses! thank you to everyone for reading, love u all <3
[cross posted on AO3]
[masterlist]
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You find it on a scouting mission.
Maria had sent you and Joel out in search of books to fill the shelves of Jackson’s overused library. It was a leisurely mission, moving slowly from house to house, searching through broken shelves and dressers and nightstands.
The blistering summer heat has you feeling exhausted by midday, and so the sun hasn’t even set when you pick a still-standing apartment complex and settle in for the night.
You drop your pack and flop onto the moth-eaten couch while Joel triple-checks every exit and every entrance in the tiny apartment he’d picked on the very top floor. He’s going at it again, glancing out of the wide windows with his rifle in hand, when you say, “If there was a way in or out, I think you would’ve found it the third time.”
He doesn’t say anything. Not a man of many words, Joel Miller. But he was certainly fun to torture with lewd suggestions. 
“It’s real hot today,” you say. And it’s the goddamn truth—your skin is warm and your shirt sticks to the small of your back, and even though you’re wearing jean shorts the fabric chafes at your thighs. 
He does nothing but grunt in agreement as a reply. Few words. 
Though you try, you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you tell him, “We’d be a lot cooler if we took off some of these clothes, you know.”
Joel Miller is a good man. A really good man. This is why he pretends you don’t get to him, why he pretends to shrug you off as just a naive little girl whenever you brazenly flirt with him.
But you see it. 
The way his calloused hands tighten around his rifle, the flush that creeps up his neck, the way he turns his head just enough to keep that smirk from out of view. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. But he leaves his spot at the window and joins you on the couch instead.
You set your legs in his lap and when he rests his hand on your calf you half expect him to push you away. But he doesn’t—his fingers linger, pressing into the tender muscle. “How am I ridiculous? It’s only common sense, Mr. Miller.”
His eyes catch yours at the name. He’s never directly said it, but you have a hunch that it does something to him, speaking to him as an authority. A part of you wonders if he ever thinks of you in the way you think of him, wonders if his mind is often filled with sinful, raw images. “You know why.”
“No, I don’t.” You do. Of course, you do. But you’re out here all alone and he’s sitting beside you and you can feel the heat of his skin against yours and he’s so big and warm and masculine. You want him, need him in a way you’ll never even try to understand. “Explain it to me,” you urge.
Joel leans his rifle against the arm of the couch and reaches up to rub the tension from his jaw. He smiles, one of those all-knowing smiles that makes your heart flutter. It’s a secret sort of smile, meant for just you and him. “You got any idea how old I am, girl?”
You shrug and say, “It doesn’t matter.” Because it doesn’t. “I like that you’re older. Besides, I’m not talking about that.” You are. “I’m talking about the weather. The heat. I’m going to take my shorts off.”
Slowly, carefully, you trail your fingertips over the curve of your chest, down the center of your abdomen. His eyes follow your every movement, pupils blown wide and jaw set firmly. His hand flexes around your calf, squeezing softly.
When you slip the edge of your pinky beneath the denim waistband his lips part. You trace the seam, from one hip to the other and back again, real slow. Joel watches you and you watch him, transfixed, thighs pressed together to abate the ache that forms between them.
For a moment, a single moment, you think you have him. You can see the temptation on his face, clear as day. You think you’ve finally cracked the eternal goodness and strength of one Joel Miller…but his hand covers yours the moment you reach for the silver button.
Embarrassment flushes your cheeks and you feel a little like you’ve been caught red handed. 
His fingers squeeze yours, but his touch is so sudden and electrifying that the faintest whimper erupts from your chest. You want him to touch you with those hands, to touch you everywhere. You want him to take all that you offer and more.
But he’s just so good. “Stop,” he says, breathless. 
The hesitance is palpable. The strain in his voice. You know he wants you, can see the growing erection pushing at the metallic zipper of his jeans from the other end of the couch. You know it’ll only take a little more convincing, a little more of the delicious chase…but you want the final decision to be his. You want him to need it, too.
So you relent.
You stand to your feet and move towards the staircase in the abandoned apartment. But when you step between his thighs, you linger. “Did you check for any books upstairs?”
He shakes his head. “No. Don’t think whoever lived here before were much the readin’ type.”
“Yeah, well…didn’t think you were much the reading type, either. But here you are.”
Joel shrugs. “Not much to do at the end of the world. Helps pass the time.”
You knock your knee against his playfully. “You even know how to read, old man?” He chuckles softly and it feels like a victory. “Never seen you in the library.”
He spreads his legs further to give you more room, settling into the couch with his head tilted back. You know he doesn’t mean to look that fucking good doing it, but he does. Taking up all that space, commanding without even trying. It makes your mouth water, makes your skin prickle in every spot he allows himself to look. And then he says lowly, “I’ve seen you.”
It gives you pause. Because if he’s seen you in the library back in Jackson but you haven’t seen him, it means he notices you. Even when you’re not out here alone, even when you’re not urging him to touch you, even when you’re not trying. A seductive smirk finds your lips. “You gotta crush on me or something, Mr. Miller?”
Joel scoffs and shakes his head, turning away from you to hide the redness on his face that has nothing to do with the heat.
You giggle softly and decide to grant him a little reprieve. “I’ll be back,” you say, escaping the growing tension and focusing instead on the task at hand. “If they don’t have books, maybe they have something else that could be useful. Clothes or shoes or batteries or something.”
It only takes a few minutes before you realize what he meant when he said the past inhabitants of the apartment don’t seem much like the reading type. There’s not a single bookshelf to be found. Nothing on the walls, nothing standing in the spare room. There are three computers, though. Not that they’re worth anything now. 
Still, you try your damndest to find something. Anything. You rifle through drawers and find nothing but a cracked and weathered bible, of which you have a thousand and one copies in Jackson.
The closest thing you find to a real book is a stack of magazines in the cluttered bathroom. All are covered in a thick layer of dust and most have images of sports cars on the front, but they’re worth grabbing, anyway. You’re sure Tommy or Greg or someone wouldn’t mind skimming through them, so you grab the whole stack and return downstairs to Joel. 
You’re halfway down the stairs when the magazine on the bottom of the stack tumbles from your hands. And it’s not a sports car on the front page.
Instead, it’s a woman all dressed up in leather. She wears platform boots that reach her knees, adorned with heavy silver buckles down the front. Even though you were born not long after the outbreak, you’re not oblivious. You know what pornography is, but you’ve never seen anything quite like this.
You pick it up and put it on the top of the pile.
When Joel sees the small stack in your hand he asks, “Anything good?”
“Mm. Not sure yet.” You set the pile onto the floor beside your pack, nestle back into your spot in the opposite corner of the couch, and flip open the magazine with the leather-clad woman on the front, reading the title aloud. “Have you ever heard of a porno mag named Dreadnought?” 
“What are you—is that—?”
“I’m just curious, Mr. Miller. Relax.” You lift your feet and put them back in his lap and discover he is anything but relaxed. You can feel the stiffness in his thighs even through the thick soles of your high-top sneakers.
“No, what? No, you shouldn’t—you should…”
You ignore his stuttering, flipping quickly through the pages. Most of them are filled with erotic images of women dressed similarly to the one on the front page. They each have a man in a curious, submissive position. But none of this interests you, none of it even surprises you, in truth.
Near the end of the magazine is where you find exactly what you’re looking for. The woman on the front page is in different outfits, one in leather, another in red lace. But it’s the third page of her feature where she’s completely naked. Her breasts are full and sit too high on her chest to be real, but they’re beautiful. Not for any reason other than those pretty silver barbells that are pierced through her nipples. 
You lean up, tucking your legs beneath yourself, and show Joel the image. “Was this common? You know, like…before?”
His face is red and you think maybe he’s forgotten how to speak. Because no words come out, he just sputters. “Is…what…which part—are you…I don’t—”
“I’ve never seen anyone with pierced nipples,” you interrupt. “That’s what I’m talking about. Was it common?”
He seems to find himself. “Uhm…no. Not really, I guess. Why do you ask?”
You shrug and find yourself leaning into his side, flipping to the next page. There’s another image of the woman, and though she’s back in that red lace again, you can see the piercings pushing against the thin fabric. “It’s pretty,” you say. “I like it. Do you think you could do something like that still?”
“Well, back then they had people who’d do that sorta thing professionally,” he says. “But as long as you’re careful, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”
You let it go, and the two of you ration what food you have left, deciding to head back to the commune within the next day or two. You fall asleep leaning up against him, head resting on his shoulder. And you know Joel doesn’t rest much outside of Jackson’s walls, always too worried about being found or threatened in some way. But halfway through the night, you wake covered in a thin layer of sweat, scorched by the warmth of his head against your belly.
At some point in your sleep, you’d shifted, laying on the couch on your back, and Joel must have followed you. His arms are wrapped around your waist and his torso covers your legs, body heat warming you to uncomfortable temperatures. 
But you don't dare move. Instead, you slide your fingers through the soft tendrils of his hair and scratch softly at his scalp, smiling in the dark as he moans in his sleep.
Your luck the following day is much better. You stumble upon an old strip mall, and inside there’s a small, indie bookstore. Joel picks through the science fiction section, stuffing his pack with everything he thinks might be interesting. He finds a few children’s books and pockets those, too, while you browse the romance section.
Half the books are crumbling dust in your hands and the others have so much water damage they’re hardly legible, but you pick up what you can. While you’re rifling through the horror books, stashing anything written by Stephen King or H.P. Lovecraft, Joel comes up behind you and says, “You really read that kinda thing?”
“What, scary stuff?”
He nods, takes the copy of Carrie from your hands, and flips it over. “Yeah. Ain’t we got enough horror out there already?” 
You roll your eyes dramatically. “It’s not the same,” you explain. You flick the corner of the book in his hands and go back to browsing the shelves. “ This you can turn off,” you try to explain. “If you get too scared you can just close the book. Have you ever read anything scary before?”
Joel shakes his head. “Not really.”
“Try it one day,” you say. “The best time is in October, though. Under the sheets with a flashlight, scared out of your mind. It’s so good, Mr. Miller.” 
His jaw feathers as if there’s something he wants to say. But the words never pass his lips. He simply slips the book into your pack and remains silent as he watches you. 
It takes a while, but eventually, you’re satisfied with your haul. The day is still early, and so you say, “If we head back now we could save some time. Get home before dark tomorrow.”
To your surprise, he agrees with you. The extra weight of the books has you feeling sluggish an hour into your journey back home, but you persist. And even though it’s significantly less hot today than yesterday, at least once an hour Joel’s passing you his plastic bottle and urging you to drink water.
It’s a sweet gesture, in truth. Joel’s got this innate instinct to provide for others, you know. You’ve seen it a hundred times, the way he just silently takes care of the people he cares about. Ellie, Tommy, Maria, you. You’ve observed him for long enough to know that he’s a protector, a nurturer.
The only problem with Joel taking care of you is how much you like it. It makes you feel soft and gooey on the inside, producing sordid images in your brain of repaying the favor on your knees. You think about Joel’s big hands on you often—in your dreams, even. 
But…today is different because you can feel the weight of the magazine at the bottom of your pack. You can’t shake the image of the woman on the cover and that metal through her breasts, can’t get over how elegant and edgy and bewitching she looked. You begin to wonder how it would feel to have Joel touch you if you had the same body modification—would his calloused hands feel more intense, sensations heightened with the sensitivity? Would he be gentle and slow-moving? How soft would his tongue feel against your skin over the adornment? 
He seems to sense your distracted thoughts. “You okay? Seem quiet.”
“Fine,” you answer a little too quickly. “I’m just…just hot is all.”
Joel reaches behind him for his water bottle again but you shake your head. 
“No, no. Not like…not like that.”
“Oh.” He clears his throat, and you can feel his eyes on the side of your face but you don’t have the energy to tease him about it. Not when you can’t stop thinking about his fucking hands. “Let's, uhm…let’s find someplace to rest for the night. Sun’s startin’ to set anyhow.”
“Yeah, that’ll be good.” As long as you stay six feet away from him. As long as you can keep your godforsaken hands to yourself. As long as he doesn’t look at you too long or ask too many questions or grunt an answer.
You find yourself praying, hoping to keep yourself from any further embarrassment, hoping to fight off that ache that seems to have made a home inside your belly. You cross your fingers at your sides and hope God’s got a private channel open for young girls with an insatiable desire for rugged, older men. 
It feels like divine interference when you crest the hill of the street you're walking on to discover a run-down tattoo parlor. It still stands in perfect condition apart from the crumbling siding. Windows dirty but intact, door closed and stagnant.
A distraction will work.
And it looks sturdy enough to rest for the night. You know Joel will circle it a hundred times before he’s satisfied, but you think eventually he will be satisfied with it. “Didn’t people do piercings at tattoo shops, too?”
He nods slowly. “Yeah, they did. At most of them, anyway.”
The thought seems to cross Joel’s mind the second you look at him. “Do you think I could…?”
“Maybe. Let’s see.” 
You follow behind him as he approaches the building. He uses his knife to wedge the door open, and the two of you wait and listen for any approaching sound. 
There’s nothing, though. Nothing but stale, empty air, and a whole lot of dust. You stick by his side for the first two rounds of inspection, as is your routine. But when he goes back in for a third, you decide to take a look around yourself. 
In the front of the parlor, there’s a big, circular desk that sits atop the black and white tiles on the floor. The walls are painted maroon, and there’s a neon yellow leather couch near the door. You can only assume it’s where people would sit to wait, but the leather is smooth beneath your fingers even after all this time sitting unoccupied.
There are six smaller rooms behind the desk, each set up similarly with a blackout curtain and a medical-looking chair in the very center. In one of the rooms, there’s a binder flipped open, and as you begin to turn the pages you realize it’s an art portfolio. 
For a moment, you wonder about the person who’d drawn all of these designs. How old were they when they drew them? Did they have tattoos themselves? Are they still alive, out there somewhere still creating art?
People in Jackson still get tattoos, you know. But not as often as you think it might have been before the outbreak. You trail your fingers lightly over the next page. It’s an image of a glass half-filled with amber liquid, some sloshing out of the side. Below it, the words Tennessee Whiskey are written in cursive.
“Should be good.” His voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. When you turn to face him, Joel’s got his rifle slung over one shoulder and he’s leaning against the doorframe, curtain pushed to the side. “Help me barricade the door?”
The two of you spend the next ten minutes moving furniture around the parlor, setting it all in front of the entrance. It’ll be harder to leave in the morning, you know. But you know, too, that a barricade like this means that Joel’s feeling too exhausted to spend another night pacing and you’re happy to give him the assurance of safety he needs. 
When you’re done, he spreads out on the leather couch and you put your pack beside his. “Joel?”
He turns just his head to look at you.
You sift through the books in your pack and reach towards the bottom, pulling out the magazine that’s plagued your every waking thought. “I’m going to pierce my nipples, I think.”
For several seconds, he doesn’t say a word in response. He just swallows hard and when his eyes leave yours, trailing down your neck, he squeezes them closed before they reach your chest. But you know, you know, even without any words, that he’s thinking about it. That he’s thinking about you, forgetting his morals for a single second.
It isn’t until you stand to your feet and start towards the closed-off rooms, magazine in hand, that he finally speaks up.
“Be careful,” he says. “I don’t want you hurt.”
You smirk at him over your shoulder. “Is that the Mr. Miller version of saying, I care about your tits?”
He snorts incredulously, but a chuckle follows shortly after, erasing all of your earlier embarrassment.
It doesn’t take you long to find the materials you need. In one of the cases you pry open with your knife, you choose two matching silver barbells with dainty, white diamonds on each end. You use a cloth to clean off a tall mirror in one of the rooms, and there’s a bottle of isopropyl alcohol that you use to disinfect both a steel surgical tray and your hands. 
You discard your shirt and bra, laying them in the chair in the middle of the room, and flip the magazine open to further observe the woman in the image. Thankfully, you find a drawer full of individually packaged needles and take out several just in case. 
Sterilizing your hands with the alcohol again, you align the jewelry over your nipple, inspecting the placement and maneuvering it until you’re satisfied. You rip open one of the packaged needles with your teeth and sterilize it too for good measure.
Carefully, you orient the needle just right, inhale until your lungs ache, and when you exhale—
“God fucking dammit!”
You can hear his footsteps before the sound of his rifle, and then comes his voice. “You alright? What happened?”
Your exhale is somehow shakier than your hands. “I’m okay, Joel,” you say quickly. You knew it was going to hurt, you’re literally piercing a needle through your flesh. But you didn’t expect it to be so excruciating. It stings even now with the needle pushed through, completely still.
He stands in the doorway, rifle lowered and pointed at the ground. Through the reflection of the mirror, you can see him glance around the room, looking at everything but you. “Are you sure? Maybe you shouldn’t. This could be dangerous, you can wait until we’re back home and—”
“And have someone else pierce my nipples? Yeah, Joel, I’m good on all that.” You pick the jewelry up, sterilize it again, and breathe slowly as you push it through. This part, while uncomfortable, is a world easier than the piercing itself.
You twist on the tiny diamond ball at the end of the barbell and admire your work. It’s perfectly straight, much to your surprise. And though it’s just a small change, it makes you feel as entrancing as the woman in the magazine. 
There’s no blood, which you take as a good sign. And as the seconds tick by the pain subsides and is replaced with a dull throbbing instead. It hurts, but it’s bearable. The only problem is that as you try to line up the second needle, your hands tremble too much to keep it straight.
Even though you try to take deep breaths, try to shake the tremors from your hand, nothing works. And you can’t just have one, can’t just leave this task unfinished, and so you gather your courage and turn fully towards him. “Joel? I need your help.”
You’ve never seen him quite like this, you think. There’s no flush to his face, no chagrin or hesitance or resistance. All of his morality seems to be replaced with a dark desire, a need unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. 
Immediately you know this is the Joel Miller he’s tried so hard to hide from you. Only glimpses of this terrifying man have slipped through the facade, each one smothered quickly by restraint.
Yet here he stands, hungry eyes swallowing you up, tracing the outline of the jewelry without remorse.
“I can’t…my hands are shaky. I need you to do the other one.” 
His hands twitch at his sides. And even though you now know he longs to touch you just as much as you want to touch him, his words tell an entirely different story. “I shouldn’t,” he says. “It’s not…it’s not right. Shouldn’t even be seein’ you like this. Too…too young. Too sweet.”
The southern accent in his voice is thicker now than you’ve ever heard it. Deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. “Please, Mr. Miller.”
His eyes snap up to meet yours. He pins you with that intense stare of his and you suddenly can’t move, can’t breathe. Flickering flames gather low in your belly.
“I promise I won’t try anything. I’ll just stand here. I just need you to…to push the needle through. That’s all.” 
It takes him a second, but he nods. “Alright…alright. I, uhm…okay. Yeah.” He nears you slowly and you feel crowded. You can smell the salt and sweat of his skin, can feel that warmth even though he doesn’t yet touch you.
You pour the alcohol over his hands and hand him another packaged needle. “Here,” you say. “Just do it as straight as you can, and once the needle’s in I can do the rest.”
Joel peels apart the packaging and takes the needle between his fingers. He discards the plastic and you can hear each of his ragged breaths echo in your ears. Slowly, experimentally, he reaches out and presses his fingertips just below your ribcage and it makes you moan. 
He pulls away immediately as if he’d been burned by your skin. “You said you wouldn’t—”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. Hold on.” You try again to catch your breath to no avail. “Let me close my eyes. I’m sorry.”
Joel nods, jaw feathering as he clenches his teeth. But you do as you say, closing your eyes and trying to convince yourself it’s not Joel touching you. It’s someone else. The same person who drew everything in that portfolio.
But when he does touch you again, his hands are warm and calloused and big and familiar. You know it’s Joel. Your Joel. The brooding man of few words. The too-good man who cares about you, who lets you sleep even though he never does, who gives you his water to guarantee you stay hydrated.
His hand moves upwards, palm pressed flat against your ribcage. It stops just below your breast as if he’s feeling the weight of it in his hand and you wonder if he can feel the hammering of your heart behind your sternum, too.
You don’t have time to think about it for long, though. Because his thumb slides across your nipple, hardening it into a peak, and all you can think about is the fact that he’s touching you. He’s touching you and you want more, want to feel him on every inch of your skin.
This time you’re able to hold back your moan, but only barely. It’s more like a whimper that gets caught in your throat instead. But he doesn’t pull away, and soon his other hand joins in. “Should I…uhm,” he clears his throat. “Should I count, or…?”
You shake your head. “No, no. Just…just do it. Please.” The words are desperate for a whole new reason. Your hands tremble even more at your sides.
The biting cold of the steel reaches you before you feel the pain. You try to breathe through it but the second one is somehow even worse and obscenities fall from your lips at the agony. It hurts so badly that you don’t even register as Joel slides the jewelry through and screws the diamond onto the barbell.
Ultimately, it’s his voice that cuts through the fog.
“Hey, hey. Shh. Hey, c’mon. Finished. Look at me, pretty girl. Open your eyes.” You do because that thick, southern drawl is more enticing than anything you’ve ever heard. You’d follow it anywhere, you think. Do anything it asks. “There you go. Atta girl.”
His words make your mouth water. You want to taste them. Joel’s hands are still on you, holding your hips, pressing into the exposed flesh. It’s all you can think about until he turns you away from him, forcing you to look into the mirror on the wall. “Oh my God.”
It surprises you a little just how much you love them. It makes you look powerful, like you are the one who belongs in a magazine.
“They’re perfect, Joel.”
“Did it hurt too bad?”
The question is so insane that it makes you laugh. “Are you kidding? It was awful. I don’t even know what to compare it to to try and explain it.”
He laughs too, a deep, throaty chuckle that brings a smile to your face. “Well, you have my sincere apologies, little lady.”
When you turn back to face him, you ask, “What do you think? Do they look good?”
You know you said you wouldn’t torture him, but the look on his face is so sweet that you can’t resist. “They’re real pretty,” he says. “They, uh…they suit you.”
“Think so?” You look up at him through your lashes, trying your damndest to look as desperate for him as you are. “Hurts a little,” you tell him, pressing your thumb gently over the center of your nipple, the one you’d pierced on your own. “Right here.”
He sees right through your false pretenses. You watch him swallow, watch his eyes darken. “Careful, little girl,” he warns, voice low and gravelly.
The name makes you squirm beneath his catastrophic gaze, thighs pressing together. He catches the movement—and you realize you want to be anything but careful with this terrifying, powerful man. Of course, you don’t heed his warning. “Might help if you kiss it better, you know.”
“S’that right?” You nod and a sinful smirk pulls at the corners of his full lips. He leans down and you can feel the scruff of his beard brushing the side of your face. Against your ear, he whispers, “You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, sweetheart.”
You know you shouldn’t. You know it, and yet you can’t fucking resist. You’ve never been able to resist him. “Then show me.”
And just like that, his resolve withers. The cord snaps and the good Joel you know vanishes into thin air, leaving nothing but this hungry, desperate man behind. He grabs your waist and hauls you up against him, legs wrapping around his hips on instinct.
Your chest presses against his but the pressure is bliss, fighting off both the ache in your breasts and the one between your legs. He swipes everything off the metal table in the corner. Alcohol and needles and portfolio all crashing to the floor. 
Joel sets you atop it and his mouth hovers an inch above yours, breath fanning across your cheeks. “Last chance, little girl,” he says.
He’s giving you an out, you realize. One last opportunity to escape him. You lean up and press your lips tenderly to his instead.
It’s answer enough for him.
Joel’s mouth moves greedily against yours. One hand rests against the small of your back, pressing you against him, and the other holds the nape of your neck. His tongue slips into your mouth. He tastes like honey and whiskey and sunlight. You could drown in it, you think. But Joel doesn’t linger for long. 
He trails open mouthed kisses down your neck, your chest—-and when he flicks his soft tongue across your nipple, your back arches and you forget how to breathe. 
“Joel,” you say, voice needy and desperate. “Touch me. Please touch me.”
His hands flex against your skin, still holding himself back. You don't understand—can’t he feel how much you want it? Can’t he see it on your face, in your eyes? “I want to,” he admits.
You grind your hips against his and the sensation of the bulge in his jeans against your center has you shaking. “What’s stopping you?”
A self-deprecating laugh bubbles out of his throat. He presses his forehead against yours, kisses the tip of your nose gently. “You make me crazy, pretty girl.” His hand comes around your throat, cradling your face. With the rough pad of his thumb, he traces the outline of your lips and says, “You make me feel like I’m eighteen again.” His hand travels lower, down your neck, knuckles dragging between your breasts. “Like I’m some little boy who gets a hard-on over a bra strap.” Lower, down your belly, between your ribs. “Or these fuckin’ shorts, baby.”
Everything aches for him. Every cell in your body has been lit aflame beneath his touch, longing to feel his hands, his tongue, to feel all of him. “Joel,” you say. “Please.”
He kisses a trail that follows the path of his hand, but this time he stalls at your breasts. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you beg,” he mutters against your skin. And then he’s kissing and sucking and biting marks into the softness of your breast, leaving proof that he was here, evidence of his affection. “If I touch you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”
“I want you to,” you say. “ I think about it all the time.” Your head falls back, hips rolling against his, seeking out any sort of friction you can find. “God—I dream about it. I want you inside me.”
His eyes darken as he looks up at you. 
A man of few words. This time it’s him who reaches for the metallic button. He pops it open in one smooth movement, tongue lapping over the metal barbell through your nipple. You can feel each pass over the sensitive flesh down to your toes. 
He wriggles his hand into your shorts, deft fingers finding your clit easily. You let out a lewd moan at the commanding way he just takes —as if he’s right where he’s always supposed to be. Right where you want him, right where you’ve needed him for all these years. 
Joel kisses a path across your sternum, mouth giving the same tender care to the opposite breast. He slides his fingers through your wetness, gathering your slick and using it to circle your clit. “M’gonna take care of her, sweetheart,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, s’that alright with you?” 
His words are filthy and obscene and you love it. You’re nodding quickly and saying, “Yes,  Joel, yes.”
A cold shiver passes through you as he rises back to his full height, towering over you when he takes a step back. “Let’s get these off,” he says. Joel helps you shimmy both your shorts and your panties down your legs until you’re sitting there in front of him completely naked. He’s still completely dressed and it makes you feel small and minuscule beneath the weight of his predatory stare.
He places both hands on your thighs and pushes them apart, spreading you open. And then he drops to his knees and lazily strokes his fingers through your wet heat. You can feel the chill of his breath against your clit and your fingers find the outgrown tendrils of dark hair on instinct, trying to pull him closer, wiggling your hips to the very edge of the table.
“Needy girl, hm?” He laughs softly. It’s not malicious but rather adoring, and you wonder how it is that someone so strong and authoritative can make you feel powerful and cherished in the same breath. “S’okay. I’ve got ya.”
And then his tongue is on you and it feels like heaven. So much better than you’d ever imagined, ever dreamed. His scruff scratches at the inside of your thighs as he slides his tongue through your pussy. Joel groans against you like this is more for him, and the vibration of the sound pulls staccato moans from your mouth.
He slips two fingers into you easily, encountering no resistance. You’re too wet, too eager to have him inside you. You whimper his name as he sucks your clit into his mouth, hands pulling tight in his hair. It feels so good it’s almost too much—but he seems to know what you can take more than you do. 
Joel looks up at you from between your thighs and you can see the palpable hunger on his face. You think maybe he’s wanted this for longer than you, maybe he’s somehow been even more starved for this than you once thought.
You can feel your orgasm creep down your spine, inferno building and building, settling low in your belly. You try to tell him, to warn him—but then he hooks his fingers inside of you, pressing against that sweet spot and—
“Oh, God—God, fuck—Joel, I—!”
“S’alright, baby, go’head. Cum for me, oh—yeah, that’s it. There you go, sweetheart.” His voice is so gentle, a stark contrast to the assertive way he moves his hands, pulling from you everything your body can give. The southern accent is thick as he talks you through it. “Feels so much better now, huh? Y’look so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby. So pretty when you’re all full’a me.”
Your thighs tremble even as you begin to come down, trying to catch your breath, holding onto his arms to ground yourself as he stands back to his feet, thick cords of muscle sturdy beneath your shaking hands. And he’s right—it does feel better now, but as he eases his fingers out of you and you watch him lick them clean, your pussy clenches at the sight. It’s better, it is… but when it comes to good and moral Joel Miller you are insatiable.
A deep, rumbling groan reverberates in his chest when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you. Your slick stains the bulge in his jeans, darkening the denim material. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, big hands running slowly up and down your smooth thighs. “Shouldn’t be doin’ this…shouldn’t be takin’ advantage of you. Such a little thing, don’t know what you want.”
The answer comes quickly. “You, Joel. I want you.”
You reach for his belt and he watches your nimble fingers undo it, pulling the leather through the metal fastening. He hisses when you reach into his jeans and pull him out. 
He’s bigger than you thought, and wrapping your hand around him completely is a troubling task. You’re not sure he’ll even fit but it makes your mouth water, makes your swollen clit pulse with need. “Please.”
“I can’t, baby. Believe me, I want it, too, but I…you’re too good for me. Too—” He stops when you slide the head of his cock through your pussy, coating him in your slick. You watch the movement together and this time it’s Joel’s hands that shake. He curses under his breath, admiring the way he fits so perfectly. 
“Just a little?” Your own voice is hardly recognizable in your own ears, needy and deprived. You slide his cock back up towards your clit and it catches at your entrance. You both gasp in tandem. You love Joel and all his goodness but right now you want the worst of him. You want all of him. 
He nods and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Okay…okay,” he says to himself. “Just a little. You sure? You’re positive you want—?”
You line him up and shift your hips forward, words fading into nothingness. It’s just a little like you promised, but the stretch is so delicious you find yourself wanting more. More, always more—you think you could die without it.
Joel pushes in further, a little less than halfway, and then pulls out slowly. He groans and you feel like crying. His cock is covered in your wetness and when he pushes back in you think this just might be enough to make you cum a second time. 
It’s filthy and obscene and you love it. You love him. He reaches down and circles your clit with his thumb, fucking you slowly, eyes locked on the place you’re joined. “You’re so big,” you whimper.
You can feel the tension in his shoulders and you do your damnedest to smooth it out with small, massaging motions. He touches you just right but you want it to feel good for him, too.
That heat of an orgasm begins to build again. A low, incessant thrum between your hips.
“I have to,” he mutters so softly you hardly hear him the first time. “I have to, baby. I’ve gotta feel you. I’ve gotta…” And then he eases his cock into you to the hilt without any warning, filling you so full it hurts. The invasion stings but your body adjusts quickly, making room for him in the same way your heart has. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel him shudder as he breathes the word fuck into your skin. 
“Oh my God—it’s too much, too much—!”
“You can take it, baby. C’mon, spread your legs wider. I know s’alot,” he praises, circling your clit a little faster now. Your slick drips down your thighs, into the dark hair between his hips. “You got it, sweetheart. See? There you go.”
He pulls out just to sink into you again. This time there’s less pain and more divinity and your nails dig into his shoulder through his flannel as you adjust to the size of him.
Joel uses his free hand to tilt your chin up, pressing his mouth to yours and kissing you deep. He sets an unrelenting pace, hips grinding against yours with each thrust. It’s so much and you’re so full of him in all the best ways. When you moan into his mouth you can feel his lips turn up at the corners, a predatory grin saved just for you. 
The sounds are filthy and echo in the room, an obscene symphony of devotion. You’d let him do anything right now—anything. 
He picks up the pace, hips snapping against yours. All you can think about is how right this feels, how you were made for him, how well he fits inside you.
A low grunt filters through his teeth and he says, “Fuck, baby. You look so pretty. How’s it feel? Tell me. Use your words.”
“S’good,” you whimper in response. Your brain is mush and your thighs become a vise around his waist, pulling him in impossibly deeper. “So good, Joel, don’t stop. Please don’t stop, I’m—I’m close.”
“Yeah? Gonna cum again already, hm?” He pushes his palm against your belly, thumb still gently stroking your clit. And the pressure of it feels so intense you let out a whine of bliss. “Yeah, you are,” he whispers. “Can feel her squeezin’ me. S’alright, baby. Wanna feel it.” 
His words send you tumbling over the edge of bliss, and he fucks you through it. Stars blind your vision and your ears fill with static. But you can hear Joel though, can hear him and feel him deep inside you through it all. 
“Ohh, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Pretty little thing’s just fuckin’ dripping all over me, feels so good. You feel so good.”
Before you even realize what’s happening, his rhythm falters. You can feel his cock pulse inside of you as Joel falls off the precipice. His head rolls back and the muscles in his forearms flex around the prominent veins. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you know you’ll never see anything as beautiful as this big, powerful man weak for you.
He’s panting when he slowly pulls out of you with a hiss. Sweat dots his hairline and that flush on his neck certainly seems like it’s staying for a little while longer. He’s beautiful, you think. Crafted by the hands of God himself, made with imperfect grace.
When he looks up at you he smiles in the way he always does, like the two of you share a secret. And maybe now you do. A sinful, dirty secret that’s all yours. You laugh softly and he mirrors the sound, helping you back to your feet. 
You hold his shoulders for balance as he helps you back into your shorts. And when he hands you your bra and t-shirt, you’re starkly reminded of the dull throb in your breasts and think better of it before putting them on. “I think they might be too tight. I’ll look around and see if I can…”
Before you finish the sentence, he’s unbuttoning his red flannel and tossing it to you. He wears a light brown tshirt underneath, the arms just a little too tight on his biceps. He looks so good that you want to take him between your legs again even with the sweet ache that lingers. “Here,” he says. “Take this.”
You do. He helps you with the buttons and it’s too big but gives your new body modifications room to breathe and heal. You ask him how it looks. 
“Better on you,” is his short response.
When you begin to fall asleep on the yellow leather couch later that night, all wrapped up in his arms, Joel presses his lips to your forehead and says, “When we get home, I wanna read that book of yours. Carrie, was it?”
You shift at his side, turning your head up to look at him. “You’re not gonna wait till October, like I said?”
Joel shakes his head. “You got any idea how old I am, girl? I’ve got no time for waitin’ till October.” He’s quiet for several seconds. And then his voice is nothing but a whisper as he says, “No time waitin’ on this to be right in the eyes of others, either.” 
And you can feel the heat behind his words, can almost hear the unspoken meaning. No time for waiting until you’re older, no time for waiting until the perfect moment. Your mouth pulls into a wide grin. “Are you asking to go steady with me, Mr. Miller?”
With a scoff, he runs his hand playfully down your face and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. 
When he kisses you, you make a promise against his lips. “I’m yours, Joel.” 
He doesn’t say much in the way of a reply, your big man of few words. But he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.
It’s more than enough.
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betterthanyalls · 3 months ago
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Can u do a Reader x epic various where y/n is apart of Ody's crew and during the end of thunder bringer Zeus kidnaps y/n and takes them to Olympus instead of letting them either drown or get washed up onto Calypso's island?🥰🥰🤩🤩 It'd be cool if during God games or something Athena finds out what Zeus did and now instead of the games being just to free Ody from Calypso's island, it's ALSO about freeing y/n from Olympus and reuniting them with Odysseus?? Sorry if this doesn't make sense or if it's too much work lol, just write this however you want if you even wanna write it at all teehee ^^"
blinks i think i went through 37 different emotions while writing this, most of them were bad. Ok so, I'm not sure how good this is but please don't kill me😇 TW: Zeus gives reader Ganymede treatment
Part 2
Masterlist
Stolen Soldier
Various (kind of) x Reader
EPIC: The Musical ~ Oneshot ~ Angst
Words: 1.6K
Published: 11-4-2024
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Thunder roared, winds whipped, and waves rocked the lone ship back and forth. Standing on the bow of the ship was a figure of divine power and presence, waiting with a wicked grin. “Choose,” the king of the gods demanded harshly.
“Choose?” Odysseus muttered, looking at Zeus in fear. “Someone’s got to die today, and you have got the final say. You,” he pointed to Odysseus before gesturing to the rest of the crew, “or your crew.”
The captain looked to his crew, locking eyes with Y/n—his best friend, his rock, his shelter. He took a shaky breath, looking back to Zeus in desperation.
“Please don’t make me do this; don’t make me do this,” Odysseus begged. His mind seemed to be playing tricks on him. Looking back at his crew, he saw a range of emotions: anger, hurt, terror, grief, and more. Taking a daring glance at his closest friend, the soldier felt his heart shatter. Holding back tears, Y/n gave him a hesitant nod to show it was ok.
Then, a new voice tore his gaze away from his crew. Looking out over the sea and to the clouds, a figure of familiarity seemed to take place within the clouds. Illusion or not, that was his wife.
Penelope. Odysseus took staggering steps across the shaking boat and to the edge. Both of his hands latched to the wooden railing, his eyes never moving from the clouded position of his partner. Memories flooded his judgment, from his crew and Y/n, to his family waiting for him. “Captain?” A voice of uncertainty spoke up. Eurylochus. The said captain couldn’t even dare face his right-hand man as the sky darkened and Penelope faded back to the clouds.
“I have to see her," Odysseus whispered, tears brimming in his eyes as he finally looked back at his crew. The general saw all of the hurt and betrayal in his men’s expressions. The fear hurt the most to see. “But we’ll die,” Eurylochus pleaded. Odysseus knew he would regret this option until his final breath. Once he got home, how would he tell Ctimene he was the cause of her husband's death? “I know,” Odysseus’ voice broke, a few stray droplets not belonging to the storm washed down his cheeks. 
At the end of those words, the thunder roared, and Zeus grinned evilly. Zeus rose above the clouds, lightning moving to gather in his raised hand.
“Thunder, bring her through the wringer.” The crew drew their weapons in defense, charging towards Odysseus with murderous intent. Y/n stood away from the fight, not daring to lift any sort of weapon against her best friend.
“Show her I'm the judgment call. The one who makes her kingdom fall. Lightning, wield her, use and yield her.” 
As the crew closed in on their captain, the air started to become tense and electrified. Y/n took a step back from the chaos, looking up to see a phenomenon of heavenly power. “Show her what she can’t conceal; her true nature will be revealed.”
A bright light enclosed the surrounding sky, ripping down to the center of the ship. In an instant, a deafening crack sounded, and all light faded to black. Y/n felt like her soul was being ripped apart as she opened her mouth to scream her pain, but no noise came out. Then she felt a drop, only to be brought into a suffocating embrace of cold. Finally, her mind cut out. ~~~~~ Y/n felt different. She didn’t sense the shivering water anymore, but instead a subtle warmth. It took a few minutes, but eventually she managed to peek open her eyes. Y/n wasn’t on a ship in the middle of the sea with the night sky above anymore, but instead there was a grand painting on the ceiling of white marble overhead. Looking around slowly, the young woman saw an unfamiliar scene.
A lavish bedroom surrounded her, furnishings a king could only dream of sitting like average decor in each nook and cranny. Moving her hands, Y/n felt the silk sheets of a glorious bed below her. Ivory blankets fell from her body as she slowly rose up from her position. Placing her feet on the cold marble flooring, the mortal stepped through the room. It wasn’t long before she found herself in front of a floor-length mirror. 
White and gold fabric draped down on her body—a dress fit for a goddess of divine origin. Confusion clouded her eyes as she scanned her new attire. That puzzlement was quickly replaced with fear as two wooden doors opened, revealing an even more confusing sight.
A tall man wearing a white toga entered the room without a care of knocking. Striding to where Y/n stood, she instinctively took steps back from him. “My dear, why do you back away?” The smile on his face was unnerving, especially with the nickname. Y/n recognized that voice immediately, terror coursing through her veins as her lips parted to let out a gasp.
“Zeus.”
The god in question continued to walk towards her with that two-faced smile until he backed the mortal into a wall. “Mmm, you’re as smart as you are beautiful,” he took her hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles. Y/n shuddered in disgust and fear; her heart raced faster than a chariot racer's steeds. She wanted to push him away, but her body felt locked in place. Y/n tried to speak, but her lips were closed tightly like a stone wall. “Hm, dear, I think I know a dress that’d fit your body much better. Let me help.”
~~~~~
Within only the second morning of the Heavenly Palace, Y/n had the overwhelming urge to jump off. But she wouldn’t be allowed such a pleasure with the god at her side. Zeus had taken it upon himself to guide the mortal on a tour through Olympus, which only influenced her thoughts. 
Y/n kept her eyes on Zeus every second. Not out of intrigue or anything of that sort, but of apprehension. Each movement of his that was near her direction, the mortal would tense up and pause everything. Soon enough, the king of Olypmus noticed and grinned with faux comfort. “Dear, you seem tense. Allow me to ease you.” ~~~~~ Day after day. Weeks after week. Zeus never let Y/n leave his side, threatening any god or goddess who even dared to give her a sympathetic glance. The woman was a shell of who she once was. Her eyes sunk and her soul depleted; she felt her life draining by the day. Not in mortality-wise, no Zeus would never let her perish. But in consideration of her spirit.
Each night she would cry until no more salt would leave, leaving only choking sobs. Each night she was infiltrated by the king of Olympus. Y/n would stare at herself in the mirror, vomit building in her throat as her eyes trailed down to every mark on her body. No spot was untouched. No matter how hard she tried, Y/n could never wash off the sin. The mortal would scrub her skin until she was raw and bleeding, but the phantom touches remained.
Each night she missed her home and friends more and more. Where was Odysseus now? Did he forget all about her when he returned to Ithaca? What about Penelope? Would she miss her best friend? 
Seven years. Seven years of misery, force, and agony. Seven years of physical and mental torture she endured to no fault.
But soon, like all stories, her savior arrived. ~~~~~
Athena stood in front of her father, spear and shield in hand, while staring into the king’s eyes murderously.
“I’ve played your game and won. Release them,” the goddess of wisdom demanded, shifting her gaze to where Y/n stood anxiously beside Zeus’ throne. The mortal had gone through so much, and Athena was determined to save her. 
Zeus glowered down at his daughter, rage covering his expression. “You dare to defy me? To make me feel shame?” He growled, his fists clenching so tight that his knuckles turned a bright alabaster. “No one beats me; no one wins my game!”
The lightning god stood up threateningly, his hands glowing a static yellow. “Thunder, bring her through the wringer!” The air was caught in Y/n’s throat at the familiar words, her eyes wide in horror. Zeus rose up, the electricity in his hands growing as the woman noticed the alarmed looks on the other god’s expressions. “Show her I’m the judgment call, the one who makes her kingdom FALL!” With a vociferous burst, he threw the lightning at his daughter, forcing her back onto the floor. Once the light faded, everyone looked to see the warrior lying face down, her body still as ice. “Is she dead?” the voice of her brother Ares asked hesitantly. Y/n thought back to every moment her and Odysseus had been with Athena. They were an unstoppable force together. Now though, Y/n only wanted to rush to the goddess side.  Before anyone could do anything, Athena struggled to her feet, holding her aegis in defense while pointing the spear tip to her father.
Zeus’ look of utter shock soon turned to rage at her defiance. In response, he sent a barrage of bolts towards his favorite child. Against this attack, the war patroness held her shield strong and pushed against the force, making her way to her father.
Finally, at the feet of the king, she grabbed his arm and fell to her knees.
“Let them go, please. Let them go.” Her plea was finished as the goddess collapsed, her breath slowing to a stop.
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mooooonnnzz · 6 months ago
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Can you PLEASE write about being stans daughter!!!! I read about being ford's and now I need to know about having stan as your dad 🩷🩷
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Love You Forever and Forever
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Stanley Pines x child/teen!reader
ᥬ✿ stanley goes by his actual name instead of stanford
ᥬ✿ 3,7k words oops
ᥬ✿ fem reader!
ᥬ✿ requests r still oppennn :3
ᥬ✿ book of bill website spoilers kinda? would u consider one of stans shame a spoil?
ᥬ✿ tw stans drinking alcohol is mentioned but in past tense!
ᥬ✿ mention of fords dad fic it makes sense when u read it
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Stan wasn’t typically someone who wanted kids. He would have occasional drifting thoughts about how he’d have stories to tell for days if he had a little kid of his own. Those thoughts didn’t hold much meaning to them, they were just a little fantasy he would delve into whenever he had the chance. It seems like the universe heard his "calls" and being the reckless fool he is, he managed to get a woman he briefly fooled around with pregnant. 
How did he find that out? 
One day during the slow hours of the Mystery Shack, a knock was heard. Stan groaned, who could be knocking at his door? Shoving the newly counted dollar bills in his pocket, he grabbed his 8-ball-themed cane, in case he had to beat someone with it, and walked to the door. Pulling it open, there before him stood a beautiful woman. A moment of recognition sparked in his brain, but he was quickly blinded by her beauty and that feeling was instantly forgotten. The smell of her rich perfume filled Stan’s nostrils. Upon smelling the potent perfume, four words circled his brain. ‘Pretty Babe Who Has Money’
Leaning on his cane, he flashed a smug yellow-toothed smile at the woman. “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing this deep in the woods?” 
“That won’t work on me a second time, Stanley Pines.” She growled, glaring at him so deeply he could feel her glare in his soul. Stan’s relaxed attitude was quick to dry up. “S-Second time? Do I know you?” 
“As expected,” She mutters to herself, rolling her eyes. “I’m just going to cut to the chase here, Stan.” Shifting the baby that was settled on her hip, she cleared her throat. “I don’t care that you stole money from me, that’s fine. Whatever,” she says with a shrug. “But as for karma, I give you back your baby.” 
The color drains from Stan’s face. “Hah, baby?” Stan uncomfortably chuckled. He opened his mouth to question where the baby was when it was quite literally right in his face. His jaw goes slack at the sight of his supposed baby sleeping soundly on her shoulder. “Look, lady. You got the wrong guy!” He pushed the door, but before it could fully close the woman shoved her foot in between the door. “Don’t do this to me, Stan. Or I will leave this baby on your porch and leave.” She threatens, kicking the door open with her heel. “Take the baby so we’re even.”
“I don’t even know who you are. For all I know, you could be lying to me.” Stan said, closing his eyes and lifting his chin up in defiance. 
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.” She scoffed. “Barbara, Barabara Smith.” 
That’s when the dots started connecting for Stan. Memories of him and Barabara resurface in his mind. That's why he felt that twinge of familiarity when he saw her. “It’s all coming back to you now, huh?” She rested a hand on her hip, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. 
“Barbara!” Stan smiled awkwardly, finally remembering the woman who stood before him. “H-How have you been?” He uncomfortably laughed, trying to alleviate the tension that swallowed them whole. “Oh, I’m just swell.” Her eyes narrowed angrily at him. 
“So, about the baby…!” He leaned towards her, pulling a roll of cash from his pocket. “Why don’t I pay you a few hundred bucks and you can take the baby, how’s about that?” 
“You’re despicable, Stanley Pines.” She said with a deep scowl. 
Shoving the baby to his chest, she slammed the door shut. A blubbering mess of words spilled out of Stan in shock. In a quick flash, he opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. The woman was already in her car and sliding her keys into the ignition. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep the baby?” He yelled over the loud rumbling of her car, covering the baby's ear to block out the loud noises. 
As she backed out of her parking spot, she rolled down her window and stuck a middle finger to Stan before driving off; leaving a cloud of dust behind her path. Stan sighed. What just happened? 
Walking back into the shack defeated, he looked at the baby who awoke in his arms. “Guess you're stuck with me, kid.” 
ꨄ︎ Having no knowledge of how to take care of a baby surely did make taking care of you hard. Unlike Ford, he doesn’t spend countless hours researching and reading books about babies to gain at least some understanding. Instead, he faces the situation head-on with little to no insight on how to take care of you. “Alright, kid.” He says, slapping his hands together. “Let’s figure out a way to take care of you.” He stares at you sitting on the sofa chair for a minute or so, waiting for you to cry, laugh, or even let out a sound. Unfortunately for Stan, all you did was stare back at him with your big eyes. “Are you gonna do anything…?” He scratches his cheek. Moments go by and still nothing comes out of you. Stan is left stumped, completely and utterly stumped. But does this convince him to finally grab a book and actually do something that benefits him? Absolutely not! He instead forms a plan in his head. He leaves the living room and has you all by yourself for a second. You don’t budge. All you did was stare thoughtlessly at the doorway where he left. Peeking his head into the living room, he saw your face brighten up. “Huh,” He says, surprised. He wasn’t expecting that to work. Drawing his head back, out the corner of his eye, he saw your smile falter. Peeking his head back in, you smiled, laughing in joy. Needless to say, Stan was amused and continued this game of peekaboo with you until a herd of customers crowded the front porch. 
ꨄ︎ Feeding you wasn’t too hard! He did consider feeding you brown beef, but after reading the ingredients that were on the can, he decided against it. What he chose to do was to feed you what he had for breakfast. He had eggs for breakfast? Then he’d make scrambled eggs and give them to you. He didn’t have a high chair so he just sat you on the table and let you eat from his plate. He didn’t mind that you made a mess with your food. He found it rather endearing. “Good food, kid?” He’d ask you after every meal. “Yah!” You gurgled out, mouth full of breakfast. “Woah, careful. Don’t want you choking on your food.” At some point, during a quick run to the grocery store, he found some baby food and a high chair. He purchased them and when he arrived home, he couldn’t stop blabbering to you. “I completely forgot they had baby food at the stores,” Stan said, smacking his head with the underside of his hand. “Did you know?” He looks over to you. You responded with a smile. “Good to know I wasn’t the only crazy one here.” He walks over to you and picks you up, setting you down on the high chair. “Does this make you feel fancy?” He grabs baby food and with the spoon that came with it, he scooped it up and fed it to you. Luckily for him, you weren’t extremely picky on your food. You’d eat just about anything he would hand you. “You like my cooking better than this junk,” He would say after feeding you the baby food. “Right, kid?”
ꨄ︎ He would be lying if he didn’t find himself completely attached to you by the second day. He thought it couldn’t get worse, but during work, when he was showcasing all these different fake monsters to the tourists; all he could think about was your little chubby face and your cute laugh. There would be times when he’d close the shack early, just so he could spend some time with you. “A little birdie told me that you were missing me.” He said, picking up from your crib. “Isn’t that right, sweet pea?” He worked around this issue by implementing you in his museum of mysterious monsters. “Behold!” He pulled back the curtains, revealing you in a little sheep costume. “Half human baby, half sheep!” The crowd aw's at your cuteness. “The baby baa’s like a sheep when you throw money at her!” 
ꨄ︎ Picking out clothes was something he prided himself in. He would deck you down in the cutest dress and purposefully stroll down the street with you in his arms for people to coo and aww at you and him. “Your daughter is so cute!” Someone would say and you’d be sleeping on his shoulder, rocking a cute bow on your head that he bought you. “Oh, I know. She has my cuteness.” Stan proudly said. He meant that sentence with all of his soul. Yes, you do have his cuteness and if anyone else told him otherwise, he will argue back. 
ꨄ︎ Teaching you how to walk was one of the many prideful moments he had with you. Slightly crouched down, he held onto your little hands. You wobbled around, not accustomed to using your feet. “This is gonna be trial and error, kid. But as long as you’re with me, it’s going to be easy peasy.” Taking a cautious step back, he watches as you lift your leg up. Stan’s lit up, your foot stomping down on the ground. “Good, good. Now your other foot.” With your other foot, you raised it up. Shifting from side to side, you let out a scared babble. “It’s okay, sweet pea. I got you. No need to worry.” He assured you. Hearing his soothing words motivated you to continue on. With a deep breath, you moved your foot forward and stomped down. Pure delight and joy drummed through Stan’s body as he scooped you up from the floor and carefully embraced you. “That’s my girl!” he cheered happily.
ꨄ︎ The first time you called him Dad was when he was watching TV and you were on your playmat, playing with all the toys Stan bought you. The TV displayed a daughter and father, and you took notice of how she kept calling him Dad. Connecting two and two, you flipped back and forth to Stan and the TV. For a few minutes you were humming out words and Stan would smile at you and call you a cutie. At some point, he figured out what you were trying to say and picked you up. Putting you on his lap, he looked at you expectantly, hanging on to every single noise and gurgle you made. “What are you trying to say, sweet pea?” Chewing on your fingers you finally managed to say Dad. “Dada!” Stan is solid as a statue. Did you just call him Dad? He doesn’t process it fully at first but when you decide to say it again, tears begin to well up in his eyes. “I’m not crying, pea. I just got some of your baby spit in my eye!” He gave you extra snacks that day, and maybe every other day after that. 
ꨄ︎ Your first birthday was one to remember, for him at least. Initially, he was going to invite the whole town over to celebrate such a big milestone, but he was rudely reminded of a memory when he tried to celebrate his own birthday and no one even bothered to show up. So he kept it between you and him. At first, he attempted to make your cake but when that ended in shambles he chose to go to the store and buy you a cake. Bringing you along, he buckled you into your car seat. Starting up his car, he started driving into the road. While driving Stan couldn’t remember the last time he was so excited to do something. How long has it been since he’s felt pure joy in his life? Since he had company that was equally happy to be around him. He can’t remember a life without you and that scares him, but just a quick glance at you calms his nerves and he feels at peace. He never knew how much of an effect you’d have on him. Stepping out of the car and into the supermarket, he searched. Pushing the cart that had you in it, he looked at you when he reached the cakes. “Which one do you want, pumpkin?” With a back-and-forth conversation that had him do most of the talking, he decided on a small vanilla cake that had strawberry frosting slathered on it. He placed it inside the cart and continued strolling on. At some point, he picked up some balloons and candles. “Should I buy you a happy birthday banner?” He said as he put the packet inside the cart. After purchasing all of the birthday items, he left the store and drove home. Setting up the decorations for him was a blast. And soon enough, the whole kitchen was gorgeously decorated for your birthday. Placing you in the high chair, he gave you a tiny piece of cake. “Happy birthday, sweetie.” His party hat was drooping sideways along with yours. “Thank you for showing me unconditional love.” He planted a kiss on your forehead. 
ꨄ︎ Years went by and suddenly Stan was crouching down on the floor, slipping your backpack on you for your first day of school. “You ready for school, sweet pea?” Stan asked. You spun around, a small pout sprouting on your lips. “No,” You kicked a rock that was on the floor, fear and anxiety crackling through your small body. “I’m scared.” You admitted. Your vision was blotted with tears, your heart breaking at the thought of being separated from your dad for such a long time. “I’m gonna be so far away from you.” You sniffled, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. “Oh, come here.” A frown is so deeply etched on Stan’s face he worries that after this, he’d have a permanent frown on his face. Encasing you in a hug, he slowly ran his hand down your hair. “You’re gonna be okay, pumpkin.” He pressed a kiss on your temple. “You’re a Pines for Christ's sake, and we survive anything, don’t we?” You pull away from the hug, wiping off your tears with your sleeve. “Remember that I’ll always be there for you, okay? No matter the distance.” His hand cusps your cheek and on instinct, you lean your hand into his palm. “Mhm,” You sniffle, your hands wrapping around his finger. “And hey, if you don’t like it there, you can fake being sick and I’ll pick you up, alright pumpkin?” The idea of faking an illness just so you could be back in the comforts of your home made the anxiety of going to school die down a bit. You had an escape plan! “When I get back from school can we rob people of their money?” A surprised laugh bellowed out of Stan. “Sure, pumpkin. You can make me a sea monkey and make them believe we actually caught it, how’s that sound?” You nodded your head with a smile. And with that, he drove you to school. When he reached the school, saying goodbye to you tugged at his heartstrings. He couldn’t bear to see you go. With a tearful hug and a kiss on the head, you were off. Stan cried on the way home. The whole day, he was so distressed he didn't even bother to open the shack. When he picked you up from school, he asked you about your day. "I don't like school."
ꨄ︎ Stan could never say no to you, it was practically impossible to muster out the word. So when you asked to stay home from school because you weren’t feeling well, he said yes with no hesitation. You want this doll you saw at the mall, of course! Everything you wanted, you’d get. And did it hurt Stan’s pocket from time to time, but after getting over the initial shock of how much he spent on you, your reaction to getting what you wanted was enough for Stan to look past that. 
ꨄ︎ Summerween was creeping and soon the houses were decorated with skeletons and zombies, melon lanterns littered the town at night and kids were rushing to the nearest costume store to snag a costume of their own. Originally, Stan spent his Summerween scaring children off one by one with a multitude of tricks up his sleeve. But ever since you implemented yourself in his life, he hasn’t done that tradition in over 8 years. Instead, he’d dress up with you. You wanted to be Boo from Monsters Inc? Then he’d be Sully to match with you. Beauty from Beauty and the Beast? Then he’ll be Beast. Photos of each costume were plastered on the billboard in his room. His favorite costume was when you were a baby, he dressed you up as Rapunzel and he was the tower. The compliments he received from that costume were insane. It was enough to fuel him into entering a costume competition and shockingly enough, he won! 
ꨄ︎ Snowball fights in the winter is an activity you and Stan can never pass up on. You could be innocently building a tiny little snowman when you feel a snowball hit your back and slide down your jacket. Looking behind you, you could see Stan whistling to himself as he pretended to occupy himself with the snow. When he clumped the snow together, he shot a glance over your way. What he wasn’t expecting was to see you gone from your spot. His stomach drops, were you snatched by some rando in the woods when he wasn’t looking? Dropping his snowball he called out your name. Each time you didn’t respond, his heart sank more and more. “Pumpkin? Answer me plea—“ A snowball pelted right into his face. Sputtering out in disbelief, he wiped his hand down his face. A burst of laughter came from you and you happily clapped your hands together. “Did I get you?” Stan rolls his eyes playfully and before you knew it, a snowball was being shot towards you. You tried running away but you were too slow. The snowball hit you straight on the back causing you to fall face first on snow. Popping your head up, you laugh loudly. “Dad, that’s so unfair.” He scooped you up, wiping the snow off your face with his mitten. “Get used to it, I play unfair, pumpkin.” 
ꨄ︎ When Soos came along, it was a playdate every day at the Mystery Shack. He was just ten and you were eight, not too far apart in age, you and him got along fairly well. When Stan would be wasting his time away on the TV, he’d get a gut feeling something was amiss. All the time. And whenever he’d go looking for you and Soos, he would either find you and Soos taking apart some part of the house or making a mess of things. However, there would be times when he benefited from the mess. It was crazy enough that he was able to convince people that a monster had come into his house and wrecked the entire place. That gained him a few hundred bucks while it lasted.
ꨄ︎ Soon enough, you were old enough to work alongside Stan and help him with tourists. Back then, you used to create the attraction by gluing taxidermy animals together. Now, you do both! You lead people around, show them a few tourist attractions, scam them with their money, and get away with it. On the side, you work together with Soos to create new abominations that keep more people coming into the shack. After a while, Wendy tagged along and the three of you ruled the shack, kinda. On slow days, you and Wendy chilled on the roof, drinking pit colas and sharing stories with each other. Sometimes Soos would join, but most of the time he’d be too busy fixing something that broke. “Dude,” Wendy began, closing the magazine she was reading and setting it down on the table. “I sometimes like, completely forget that you're Stan’s daughter. How’s that for you?” She asked, resting her chin on her palms. “Eh,” You swiped the mop you had in hand back and forth. “It’s not so bad.” You said with a shrug. “It’s actually pretty fun.” Leaning on the mop, a memory from early childhood sparked in your memory. “You know, back when I was like, what? one through three? Dad had me as a tourist attraction.” You say with a fond smile. “What! No way.” Wendy chuckled out. “What did he disguise you as?” You thought for a moment, tapping a finger on your chin. “I think a lamb?” Another laugh leaves Wendy. “No way, that’s actually so cute.” 
ꨄ︎ “Dad, do you ever wonder how different life would be if Mom never came over here to give me to you?” Stan, without hesitation, replies, “Yeah. Sometimes I do.” Scratching his back, he locked the front door of the shack. You and Stan were currently closing up the shack for the night. “Like, what do you think about?” You ask, closing the blinds. “How calmer my life would be.” You scoff, shoving him. “Be serious, Dad!” You huffed out, walking over to the kitchen with him following. “You want me to be honest?” He plops himself on the couch that has his buttcheeks indented in them. “Yeah, duh. That’s why I’m asking.” You open the fridge and grab a pit cola. “Honestly, you were a gift in disguise.” He says. “Without you, I don’t know where I’d be.” He scratches his chin, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I’d most likely be drinking myself to sleep.” You frowned. “You don’t mean that, do you?” Stan looks off to the side, he’s never admitted that to you before, or to anyone. “That’s what I used to do before I met you, sweet pea.” Walking over to Stan, you wrap your arms around him. “Well, I’m glad you opened the door that day.” You hold him closer. “Me too, Pumpkin, me too.”
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i absolutely love writing dad fics for stan and ford ohmg
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imliterallyf7ckin9crazy · 23 days ago
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“𝔐𝔶 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔰𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡… 𝔥𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔩𝔶 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫’𝔱 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔣𝔲𝔠𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔞𝔭 𝔫𝔬 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔢… ℑ’𝔪 𝔤𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔞 𝔩𝔬𝔱” (hope yall get this ref)
Nam gyu x reader x thanos
Smoking weed with thangyu :3
Warnings: weed, smoking it, I don’t think they are crazy toxic in this one actually, kind of a poly relationship but not like officially in words? Idk, pre game/ no game AU bitch I have no clue. If you don’t like weed/aren’t comfortable pls don’t read and pls don’t judge 🙏
A/N: this is for me basically. I just thought this would be funny and I haven’t written in like 2 or 3 days and I wanna get back into it bc I miss it IDK😭 and these two are my favorites. America is geeking out and I’m stuck with it for 4 years so to cope imma write abt smoking zaza w squid game characters.
Also these are head cannons I just wanted to have that lyric as the title lol
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- dream and nightmare rotation somehow.
- I feel like smoking with them starts out chill ASF. Maybe yall start back at home and roll up, the three of yall cramped together on the couch.
- thanos is chilling at the arm rest end of the couch, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he meticulously distributes the goods evenly on the paper and rolling it to perfection. He even knows how to make those cute pattern filters. He repeats this process a few more times
- you are in the middle, crushed between him and nam gyu. Your head is nestled right on his shoulder blade as he works, and your right arm is looped through his left. No matter how many times he does it, you still always comment on how he’s “faster than last time” or that he’s done a great job. If he had a tail he’d be wagging it
- and then nam gyu is PRESSED up against you. One arm is clutching your torso as he practically lays on you, and the other is reached all the way behind you to rest on thanos’ back. His hands are never ever still so he’d be lightly tapping a rhythm on your skin as he waits impatiently
- once thanos is all done it’s time to smoke 🙏 now here’s some actual stoner HCs. I’ll make it short
Thanos: I wouldn’t say he’s a light weight bc he can get super high and be SET. But he just gets super high every time. Somehow he glitched out of high tolerance hell. Also he is a joint hog >:( ik it’s infuriating to try and get him to pass the fucking joint. Prolly uses it as a mic. Smh.
Nam gyu: has to smoke a lot to get high. Like eventually he gets there but he has to smoke one together with yall (bc he wants to be included) and one for himself. Bro gets sleepy, HELLA. Don’t matter indica or stativa. Honk shoo mimimi. I would say it makes him not keep his hands to himself but when has he ever??? Be prepared.
Together: world’s most stoppable duo. Literally whatever brain cells they had die. They are hanging off each other, laughing at genuinely anything, they don’t make any fucking sense, and to make it all worse they reek but tell each other they don’t. Once they’ve smoked they like to hit the streets together, maybe go clubbing :3 ends in 14 arrests idek
- they don’t skip you in a rotation EVER. They take their system serious asf. It’s always been thanos, you, nam gyu, repeat. And they will be dammed if you don’t get your hits in. They insist on shot gunning it to you (and each other but you ain’t hear that from me)
- they will never say no to more, three joints is just TO START. They got bongs, pipes, carts, brah everything
- they are extra sweet to you when smoking weed. Very cuddly, keeping you between them and then holding each other. You are literally trapped that way. And they keep looking at you with hazy eyes…
- hungry bastards. Usually they get food to eat before and then they can partake after. Sometimes they take you out to like a street vender for a cheap munchie session.
- not often tho. They like you keep you inside and away from other people. They like having you curled up between them, looking at them with glassy eyes, smoking the weed THEY bring you. Thanos and nam gyu are really possessive guys so they like moments where it’s literally just you three chilling.
- they be talking about the most random shit if all time. If yall remember the shower thoughts trend, that’s just the shit they say.
- they the typa guys when high to ask if you’d still love them if they were worms
- (you said yes and that you’d make a little compost bin for them to live in. They liked it)
- compliment city!! “Baby you’re so pretty” from nam gyu and a “don’t look away señorita, i wanna see you” from thanos.
- they hold hands with you.
- if you happen to green out they are with you in the bathroom. Nam gyu will hold your hair if you throw up and thanos is getting water and setting up for bed.
- tbh not all smoke seshs end in getting freaky, but it’s high in likelihood. Bc like cmon. They are freaky. And sometimes the weed be weeding. And they love you, and each other.
- but sometimes they end in just yall cozied up together in bed, rambling abt random shit, holding each other tightly as smoke clings in the air.
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Idk I just thought this was funny. I think the world would be much better if politicians talked shit out over a fresh J imma be real. America is hell.
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