#SORRY IT'S LATE! THE JAM ALREADY STARTED | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chuluoyi · 1 year ago

Text

the secret wife

- nanami kento x reader

follow the first years’ misadventures as they find out that apparently, the infamous 7:3 sorcerer is also a dutiful and loving husband in private!

genre/warnings: crack, fluff, the first years are simply chaotic, an attempt at humor, gojo cameo (he’s so insufferable), mentions of pregnancy, nanami being the best husband there is

note: based on an anon's suggestion, this is a spin-off to love entries' wife (so gojo is married to love entries reader naturally!) this is full chaos and crack omg so sorry and isn't proofread bc i’m kinda tired so pls forgive any mistakes and my dry humor :')

general masterlist

On one fine, sunny day, which was supposed to be a calm and relaxing afternoon...

“Hello? Yuji—”

Megumi could've sworn, they weren't usually this nosy.

“Gojo-sensei! It's urgent!”

Call it indulgence, because Nobara's curiosity just got the better of her.

“Oh? What's—”

“Does Nanamin have a wife!?”

And Yuji... well, he just needed answers, because the three of them were now in the ‘Mom and Baby’ section of department store, having just witnessed a monumental sight of their esteemed mentor, Nanami Kento—

—with a remarkably stunning woman hanging onto his arm.

“Huh?” Gojo's confusion was evident from the other line. Oh, yeah. Yuji had decided to cut to the chase and call him too, hoping for a swift clarification.

Okay, so why were the trio—plus Gojo on the speakerphone—hiding behind a pillar just to spy on Nanami and his very possible wife? Let us rewind 30 minutes before...

Yuji considers himself to have an exceptional eye and taste for women.

And 30 minutes ago, when he fell on his butt on the rough, hard asphalt in the jammed Shibuya crossing after accidentally getting shoved by the crowd, and encountered a kind, vivacious older woman—you, who extended a hand to help him up, he was even more convinced of that.

“Are you alright, Itadori-kun?” your soft voice entered his ears, catching him off-guard, and Yuji was certain of two things then.

One, that you were just like a literal angel descended from skies above, all dolled up and pretty with your flowy sundress.

“Ah, uh—” he stammered, eyes darting everywhere and anywhere at once as his palm started sweating after clasping your hand. “I-I am…”

And two, for the life of him, he had no idea who you were.

But it registered late in his mind to ask as he was busy controlling his ragged breathing and instant crush, and before Yuji knew it, you graced him with another kind smile and went on your way.

And did he feel so miserable afterwards.

. . .

“She’s sooo hella pretty, Fushiguro! And she knows me! Me!”

Megumi sighed, eyeing his friend in disgust. Truthfully, all he wanted was to return to the dorms and collapse onto his bed, and not listen to his friend’s incoherent ramblings.

"You sure you weren't imagining things?" Nobara questioned with slight irritation. "After you embarrassed us in front of Gojo-sensei's wife a while back, please think more before you act."

"I'm not, I swear! She said my name!"

"Itadori, can you please just not?" Megumi grumbled, having enough of this ruckus. "I want to walk back in peace."

And so tucking away his pout, Yuji walked in silence just as his best friend asked, and he was really going to leave it at that when suddenly he caught the sight of a familiar pristine coat and the sundress from earlier. “Oh?”

"Isn't that Nanami-san?" Nobara also spotted him, her eyes widening when she saw you, who was happily beaming as well as Nanami's light chuckle. "And wait, who is—?"

"That's her!" Yuji burst out, pointing decisively in your direction. "That's who I was talking about!"

Oh, no. Megumi dreaded it already. He could already see the utter catastrophe—

"I'm going after them!"

"Wait, Itadori! Me too!"

Too late. Before he could stop them, Nobara and Yuji had followed the pair. Reluctantly, Megumi trailed behind them too, albeit wearing a vexed scowl. Yet despite his misgivings, he couldn't deny that the things he saw over the next 30 minutes were genuinely unexpected.

Nanami consistently led you to a quieter spot away from the bustling crowd, his hand holding yours firmly. He would occasionally throw you a smile, or when you didn’t hold hands, then he’d wrap an arm around your waist. And to the trio's bewilderment, they also saw him tenderly brushing his lips against your head while on the escalator.

Soft and gentle. It was a side of Nanami Kento they had never witnessed—either with anyone else or even himself.

The two of you ventured through home appliances, visited food stalls, and eventually... the ‘Mom and Baby’ section.

"Do you want to rest for a bit?" Nanami's voice held a touch of concern as his hand settled on the small of your back, and seeing that, Nobara positively swooned.

"Oh, no, I'm fine," you responded with a reassuring smile. "Let's head over there. I'd like to see that next!"

Watching you and Nanami meticulously going through strollers and cribs like a pair of would-be parents was apparently too mind-blowing for Yuji and Nobara, leading to the decision to call Gojo right then and there. And, as they say, the rest was history.

"Last I heard, Nanami wasn't married," Gojo answered resolutely. "If he is, then it's the ultimate betrayal because he never told me!"

"But we see him with a woman! At mother and baby care section!"

Gojo hummed in thoughtful manner. "Okay, students. Now I'm tasking you to see this to the very end! Keep me on the line!"

With that, Operation: Uncover Nanami's Wife was officially underway, and frankly, the way the three of them were clumsily tailing the 7:3 sorcerer made Megumi want to facepalm. How was it that Nanami hadn't noticed their rather conspicuous attempts at all?

Now you were fawning over baby clothes, cutely trying not to squeal as you picked a little blue and yellow overalls. "Kento! Kento! Look, how cute!"

And all of them were floored once again when the expression on his face softened, as a warm smile adorned his lips. "Yeah, they are."

"Is she pregnant? She doesn't look it..." Nobara remarked, squinting and frowning, still watching the two of you like a hawk.

"Or maybe they're shopping for someone else?" Megumi suggested, earning teasing grins from Yuji and Nobara, to which he quickly rolled his eyes, as they chorused, "Looks like you're curious too!"

After a while, you moved from the clothes to sections stocked with mother's necessities. Yuji leaned against one of the racks, pressing his ear against it, with Nobara and Megumi crowding behind him, attempting to catch a snippet of your conversation with Nanami.

"I think we should get some heat packs and these pillows—"

"Oh, Kento! You're such a worrywart, I still won't need them for a few more months—"

"Wait, what?" Yuji whipped his head around in surprise, causing Nobara, who was leaning on him, to stumble and inadvertently collide with the racks.

"Eh? Huh!?"

Unfortunately, the racks weren't sturdy enough, and the force caused them to sway dangerously. Nobara, sensing her imminent fall, instinctively grabbed Yuji's arm to steady herself. However, he got tugged instead and their combined weight exacerbated the situation, leading to the racks quickly toppling over and a deafening commotion ensued—

Crash!

"Careful!" Nanami immediately pulled you behind him, a protective arm around your shoulder, sensing your shock from the sudden crash. He was on high alert, expecting some sort of attack of cursed spirits, but instead, he was met with the most astounding sight of the bickering culprits amidst the fallen racks.

"Kugisaki! What are you doing!"

"You dumbass! Why didn't you stop me from falling?!"

"Itadori-kun...?" Nanami called out in utter disbelief, his mind couldn't fathom as to why the first years were here. However, his attention quickly shifted to Megumi, who was seething and sending his friends a glare so hard it could drill a hole into them.

Then, the boy swiftly fixed himself into a low bow in front of him, ashamed, disregarding Yuji and Nobara's groans altogether. "Nanami-san, I'm very, very sorry on their behalf."

"What are the three of you doing here?" he inquired, and poor Megumi seemed at a loss, huffing as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of where to even start.

Meanwhile you were full of worry for the fallen kids. "Oh my gosh, are you alright?"

For the second time today, you tried to help Yuji to stand on his feet, and this time, he really had a good look over you.

It wasn't exactly noticeable due to how loose your dress was, but now he could see that under it, your belly was slightly rounded—an unmistakable baby bump.

Amidst his shock and pain, Yuji couldn't bring himself to take your hand as he inadvertently let this slip, "N-Nanamin! You knocked her up!"

Nanami blinked. You gaped. Megumi and Nobara went pale in sheer horror, ready to murder their friend on the spot for his extreme height of rudeness.

“Itadori-kun,” Nanami cleared his throat then, and if he was offended, then he chose not to show it. “First of all, I’m sorry for not introducing you sooner. This is Y/N, my wife, and yes,” his tone hardened slightly, “She’s carrying our first child.”

“S-so you are married!”

“Yes, that was what I—”

“What the hell?! NANAMIIII!”

Oh, the freaking phone. After his fall, Yuji’s phone ended up on the floor, and of course, Gojo did hear all of the entire madness, evident from how his voice blared from the phone.

Nanami frowned, unwittingly reaching out towards the phone. “Who—?”

“NA-NA-MI!" Gojo screeched in righteous exasperation, and the former immediately pulled away from the phone with a cringe. “How could you?! I invited you to my wedding! Are you a hermit or something—how could not tell anyone!? Didn’t you say I can officiate—”

“I said no such thing. Please refrain from saying outrageous things, it’s both annoying and misleading,” Nanami stressed, growing more irritated by the mere sound of Gojo's whining voice and feeling his patience waning rapidly.

"Aren't we friends?! How—!"

"Should I find you instigate one more of this... shenanigans with the kids, I won't hesitate to report you to Yaga and your wife," he interjected then with clear irritation, and right that second, Gojo shut himself up.

Yuji, Nobara and Megumi couldn't help drawing that one conclusion in wonder: So, that's what Gojo-sensei is afraid of.

Nanami swiftly ended the call with a flick of his finger, returning the phone to the still mystified Yuji. Turning back to the trio, Nanami's irritation simmered as he glanced at the mess of broken goods on the floor, as well as noticing the approaching clerks.

"You three..." Nanami started, his voice rising slightly, unfaltering even as the three of them flinched. "Do you realize what you've done? Are you so idle that you can ditch your assignments?"

"Kento, don't be too harsh," you rebuked, placing a hand on his arm with a frown on your face. Nanami sighed, looking over the situation once again. It was a whole rack of baby necessities destroyed; plates, glasses, and whatnot scattered across the floor.

Nobara bit her lip in anxiety. “Oh my god, who's going to pay for all this damage?” She could already imagine the staggering amount this mess would cost. This is worth millions, anyone can go bankrupt.

There was only one person who can and will. Immediately, both Nanami and Megumi turned to her with a shared resolve.

"Gojo," Megumi blurted.

"He will be charged for everything," Nanami added with spite.

Epilogue

"You just love those kids, don't you, Kento?"

That night, when both of you were ready for sleep, Nanami had one hand caressing your still growing belly, and you teased him with a chuckle.

"Huh?" your husband looked at you in mild confusion as he stopped stroking you. "What do you mean?"

You giggled again. "You said to put it on Gojo's name, but in the end, you were the one who covered the damages first."

Nanami huffed lightly. "That's because I can't get the kids in trouble. But mark my words, I'll make sure Gojo pays up later, by force if I need to." He made a face when he remembered just what a massive bill it was. "That's too much money to be spent carelessly. We have our child and our future to consider."

"You're always like that," you sighed fondly, taking his hand and placing it back to the swell of your belly. "Always on the first line of defense for the students." Your smile widened. "It makes me think... just how lucky our kid will be with you as their father."

"On the contrary, I'm counting my blessings that they'll have someone as soft as you for their mother," your husband retorted with a smile, kissing your temple. And your heart melted into a puddle by his affectionate gesture.

"That's too sweet... ah, yeah," suddenly, you were reminded of a critical thing. “Kento, have you ever considered telling everyone else that we're married? At least to people at school?”

Nanami always wanted privacy for safety reasons most of the time, and you understood that, but seeing that Gojo and the first years knew already, you thought it might be the best time to let everyone know.

"I honestly don’t see the need to, why?"

"People like Gojo are confused—"

Your husband rolled his eyes then. "Don’t worry, dear. People like Gojo exist to spread the word so we don't have to."

#nanami kento x reader #jjk fluff #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento #jjk x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento fluff #kento nanami #jujutsu kaisen #kento nanami x you #nanami fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff

11K notes · View notes

skeltnwrites · 5 months ago

Text

Bad Cop - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You wake to a call from your boyfriend Eddie who asks you to bail him out of jail.

Word Count: 2.2k

TW: interactions with police, mild injury, talk of fighting and bullying, sexual innuendos

A/N: I might be a little late to the Eddie Munson party but I’m here now! :D

“This is a collect call from Edward Munson at Hawkins Police Station. Will you accept the charges?”

You clear your throat but your voice still feels raw when you speak, “Yes.”

“Please hold,” the operator says.

A trilling sound as you wait, twirling the phone cord anxiously. You’d been tucked in bed a minute ago, dead to the world. The phone rang loud enough from the kitchen to startle you awake. You caught the time on the alarm clock on the nightstand as you kicked the blankets off, just after one in the morning.

“Y/N?” His voice is soft under the crackle.

“Edward.” It’s not angry per se but you never use his real name which is telling.

“Please don’t be mad.”

“Are you okay?” you sigh, tipping your head till your forehead meets the wallpaper.

“I’m sorry— I’m fine. I just, can you bail me out please.”

“What happened, Eds?”

“Just a stupid fight. Nothing serious, I promise.” He pleads like you won’t believe him and doesn’t give you a chance to press for details, “There’s cash in a shoebox on the top shelf of the closet. On my side, all the way in the back.”

You want to scold him but you're still kneading sleep from your face, irritated now that you know he’s okay. You bite your cheek, considering the possibility of an argument. Knowing that it shouldn’t take place through a phone.

“You’re sure? It’s enough?”

“Swear.”

“Okay, on my way.”

He apologizes again before the line clicks.

You shuffle through the band tees he’s grown out of and have since been neglected to the back of your shared closet. You make a mental note to remind him to drop some off at Goodwill. Under a stack of vinyls, you locate the box with a rolled wad of twenties held together by a rubber band. You snap the band, biting your lip. It’s enough to buy something expensive, really expensive. You jam your heel into a laced sneaker and do not bother to change out of your pajamas. The money is pushed deep into your pocket along with the house keys. You shake away arising questions as you start the van.

Cold air smacks your bare arms as you push open the station door. You blink rapidly at the fluorescents. An officer hands you a clipboard, you sign two dotted lines, and fork over most of the cash. He retreats to a separate room without a word, presumably to retrieve your boyfriend, leaving you alone in the lobby.

Your arms pillow your head on the counter until a familiar set of steps rounds the corner. His eyes, big and sorry, find yours instantly. But your attention quickly shifts to the marbled purple and blue highlighting the arch of his cheek. The stern speech about bar fights and bail payments you’d rehearsed on the way flees your throat. He brushes past the counter to hug you and you spot a split lip too. Your shoulders deflate as you meet him halfway.

“Thank you,” Eddie mumbles into your crown.

You give his waist a quick squeeze before pulling back. His hands chase the goosebumps from your skin as you scan his face. His curls are frizzy which is typical but more disheveled like he’s been running his hands through them. Your nail traces his lower lip where it was clearly cracked open but is now glazed over with a layer of dry blood. “Lose any teeth?”

He smiles, pearls still intact, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad. His breath smells faintly of alcohol as he says, “You look tired.”

“I am so tired,” you admit.

He grits his teeth guiltily, “I’ll make it up to you.”

An officer clears his throat and passes Eddie a brown paper bag with ‘Munson’ scribbled on the front. He snatches the bag with a wink. The man offers nothing but a blank stare, maybe mild disapproval as Eddie pivots and jogs toward you, already at the door. He fishes for his lighter from the bag, kissing and pocketing it as you step outside.

“Can I drive?” Eddie reaches for the keys in your hand. You always let him drive.

You snatch the carabiner to your chest, elbowing his side, “Are you trying to get a DUI too?”

“I had one beer,” he scoffs as you unlock the door.

You believe him but pretend not to as you hop in the driver's seat. “You’re a criminal now. Can’t be trusted!” You yell playfully before slamming the door as he jogs around the hood.

“Very funny,” he mutters as he climbs in.

You sling your arm over his seat to back out. The streetlight accentuates the bruise when you glance past him.

“Does it hurt?”

“Hmm?”

You point at your own cheek.

“Oh, no. It’s fine. Should’ve seen the other guy,” he chuckles.

“We’ll ice it when we get home,” you pull out onto the main road before settling your gaze back on him. “So who was the other guy?”

His eyes roll in your peripherals, “So Shelly Watkins was there—“

“You hit Shelly Watkins?”

“Jesus! No! Her stupid boyfriend Rob Perry.” He groans in disgust. “You remember him? He was such a dick in high school!”

You shake your head, trying to recall.

“He’s a couple of years older I think. Well anyway, Shelly was blabbing her big mouth, as usual, about Robin and her new girlfriend.”

“What was she saying?” You interrupt, curious but inferring already.

“Nasty shit. And she’s talking so loud the whole bar can probably hear. I mean, I couldn’t not say anything, babe. And hey,” he throws his hands up in surrender, “All I said was ‘Seems like what other people do in their spare time isn’t your business.’”

You smirk, knowing it was not as polite as he made it out to be.

“And Rob is all ‘What did you say?’” Eddie teasingly lowers his voice, foot hiked up in his seat to face you with a finger curled under his nose like a mustache.

You steal glances from the road to watch the theatrics as he retells the story, making sure to emphasize when he punched Rob square in the nose so hard it broke.

“Did you win?” You ask, attempting to hide your proud grin by checking your blind spot.

“Oh yeah.” Eddie crosses his arms, accidentally nicking the wound on his lip with his nail as he retracts the faux finger stache. He winces, tapping the cut to assess the damage. Fresh blood coats his finger; he’s quick to press his whole hand over his mouth as he fumbles through the glovebox with the other. A deck of fast food napkins you’d organized spills out. You catch one before it falls, crumpling it into his free hand and swerving back into your lane. He replaces his hand with the thin sheet, wiping his fingers on another napkin off the floor as you pull up to a stoplight.

He tips his head like a puppy when he catches you staring. You lick your thumb, smearing a stray drop crawling down his chin. Your palm lingers on his skin, rubbing circles behind his ear as the light flicks green.

It’s not long before you pull into the driveway and unlock the front door. Eddie holds a third napkin to his face. You consider going to the ER for stitches as you toss the keys on the counter and snatch a Ziploc bag from the cabinet.

Two lines of light form a skewed L in the hall from the cracked bathroom door; A silent message that you are allowed to come in. It squeaks familiarly loud on its hinges but Eddie doesn't acknowledge you.

He focuses on his reflection as he peels the napkin away hesitantly. The blood has stopped but his lip looks swollen and angry. You hook a finger through his belt loop, tugging him until he turns. You nudge the bag of ice to his cheek and he flinches grasping your hand to pull it away.

“‘s cold.”

You tug the hand towel off the sink and wrap the plastic, pushing it back to his cheek. You hold it there caressing his lash line with your pointer. He leans into the touch, rubbing his eyes with ringed fingers. Eddie pulls the thick silver off one by one, setting them on the counter.

“Sit,” you tell him.

He perches on the edge of the toilet lid obediently. You pick a washcloth from the drawer and run it under the sink. He parts his knees as you approach him, hands snapping into place at your hips. You cup his chin, pushing up until he tilts it toward you. Cool water cleans his lips where you brush. He doesn’t flinch, even when you accidentally dig too hard. You progress down to his jaw, where blood is smeared dry, and flaky.

“Think I’ll have a cool scar?” His breath fans your chin as you work cautiously.

“No,” you say. He toys with the strings on your pants, happy to be taken care of. “But you don’t need it. You’re cool already.”

The corners of his mouth lift fondly. He fights the urge to smile, hoping you’ll work longer if he sits still. You swipe in slow strokes, also secretly loving the time and touch.

You give his face a once over before tossing the rag to the counter. He searches your expression for a diagnosis. But words are slow to find your mouth, too enraptured with the long lashes that bat his cheeks sweetly. “I love how eager you are to stick up for the people you love,” you start.

“But?”

“But, we can’t afford you getting arrested over something like this.”

“I know,” he groans and headbutts you gently in the stomach. His hands cup the backs of your thighs and his hair drapes around his face like a curtain. You comb a handful of it over his neck and he tilts his head so you can see his eyes. “I don’t regret what I did, though. He’s always been such a bully. He deserved it, you know?” He sighs, gaze drifting away, “I felt like I could finally stand up to him after all these years.”

Your fingers trail down his shoulder to smooth out the tee riding up his back. “I don’t doubt that he deserved it. I know you just want to do the right thing. But still, he can probably afford it, we can’t.” You hesitate to ask, “Where did you get that money anyway?”

He hugs your middle, muttering into your belly, “Been saving.”

“For what?”

He shrugs and says what you believe to be, “Something special.” You are curious but lean on your trust rather than insecurity. He most likely intended to surprise you with something if you didn’t know.

“Sorry, you had to spend it.”

“Not your fault.” He peers up at you as if to ensure you know that and you brush his bangs back.

“Still, sorry.”

He blinks slowly up at you like a cat waiting for more pets. Then, he shoots up, back stiff, eyes wide. “You have work tomorrow,” he realizes out loud.

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” you pull his arm until he stands. “I actually have come down with a real nasty cold,” you force a cough into your fist.

“Oh yeah?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, not only that but there's this criminal that won’t leave me alone. Think I might have to file a report at the station tomorrow.”

He laughs, flicking the light off as he follows you to the bedroom. The ice pack is left to melt in the sink and the stained washcloth to dry on the counter, a mess for tomorrow you’ve decided. You’re quick to crawl under the covers and he’s even quicker to shed his clothes and join you.

Eddie pecks the sliver of collarbone poking out of your shirt, making his way up in a dotted line. He presses gently to your lips, and you break away mindfully, aiming for the corner instead.

“You know?” Your eyes are closed but you feel his stare.

You hum.

“I think it’s kinda sexy when you call me a criminal.”

“Oh my God!” You throw an arm over your burning cheeks, “You are so horny.”

He laughs into your wrist but moves it aside to cradle your cheeks firmly. He pulls one eyelid open gently with his thumb when you refuse to engage. You release the smile you’ve been keeping. He mirrors it, teeth bright in the moonlight spilling in. “Think about it, I already have handcuffs so you can play bad cop and—“

You grope for a pillow to push into his face and then another when he chucks it off the bed, giggles overlapping.

“I’m going to call the police on you, have them arrest you again. Take you to horny jail.”

“Now you get it,” he releases his grip on your wrists to sit back on his heels and in a voice that is not his own he fawns, “Oh, officer! I promise to be a good boy from now on!”

You roll over, groaning wildly into your pillow. “Go to bed!”

He settles behind you, his heart races where it's thumping against your back. Yours isn’t far off. A final kiss is planted on your nape where he tickles you with his hair as he wishes you a good night.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fic #joeseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #stranger things

2K notes · View notes

giuliettagaltieri · 5 months ago

Text

Not Your Girl

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: You opened your eyes

Warning: Angst, fighting, injuries

Word Count: 2209

Inspired by this ask

“God, Y/N. I’m fine.” Rafe pulls your hand from his collar. But you click your tongue at him.

“Come on, I promise you look better with it folded properly.”

Rafe glances at his watch. “We’re running late.”

“Who cares?” You mutter as you straighten the creases of his shirt.

“I do.” He snaps before grabbing hold of your wrist and dragging you out of his room, not letting go until you are standing right next to his car. He opens the door for you and taps his foot as he waits for you to get inside but your steps are too slow with you checking your bag for necessities.

“Tylenol. Mouthwash. First aid kit.” You look up from your bag. “You still have our extra clothes in your trunk, right?”

“Yes.” He spoke impatiently, his bored stare sharpening.

When you finally get inside, he slams the door extra loud, startling you, but you shrug as you fasten your seatbelt.

Rafe jams the key in and ignites the engine. He’s about to step on the pedal when you place a hand on his chest.

“Seatbelt.” You smile sweetly and he bites back a retort, only choosing to roll his eyes and fix his seatbelt.

“Happy?” He spoke sardonically and you scan your eyes over him and grin.

“Yes. Just remember not to go over the speed limit.”

This is why he didn’t like to invite you to parties. You act like a mother hen, and him, your baby chick.

You are glued to his side the whole time. He understands this behavior back when you were six, but you’re fucking adults now, when are you gonna grow out of this?

With you by his side, he can’t score on some chicks. Them thinking that you’re his girl, thus extending his dry spell.

But there’s that new girl by the punch tables. Standard hot girl, lean, tanned, long legs, and bleached hair. She’s shyly looking at him, but she’s not exactly being discreet either.

“I’ll get us something to drink.” He pries your fingers one by one from his arm.

“I can come with you.” You suggest hopefully but he’s already heading to the punch table. You head to the side, sitting on an old and broken down cobblestone wall as the night breeze nips your skin. Just smiling and nodding at the people you know while watching the rest of them have fun.

The party is in full blast. There’s a lot of Tourons joining the party too.

You wonder what’s taking Rafe so long.

Deciding it was best to go look for him, you get up from your seat. You brush the dust off your shorts as you tighten the button up that you stole from Rafe’s closet around your body.

Just as you start looking for him, you notice hurried footsteps and cheers from one side of the party. A guy bumps into you but he quickly hooks an arm on your waist to keep you from falling.

“Oops.” He laughs. “Sorry, Y/N!” It was JJ and you watched him run with the others.

“What’s going on?” You mutter.

You hear a sigh next to you and you turn to see Sarah and Kie, looking at the gathered crowd in disappointment. Sarah turns to you with a tired face. “Rafe got in a fight with a Touron.”

They look at you in pity as horror crosses your face. As you run to the fight, they shake their heads. You’re too good for this world.

You run as fast as your legs can carry you, hands pushing people away just to get through.

When you finally do, you see Rafe with a busted lip, his chest squared up and heaving as he looks at his opponent who is barely standing, leaning his weight on some girl you don’t recognize. His face was red in certain places, his eyelids swollen, two nostrils bleeding. Is he missing a tooth? Good God.

Rafe was yelling insults, how this is his island, he’s about to march over when you throw yourself on him, arms tightly wrapping around his torso to keep him from moving.

“Y/N! Fucking let go!” He grips your arms tightly, adrenaline clearly coursing through his veins.

“No! That’s enough!” You say sternly as you bunch his shirt on your fist. “We should go. Please!”

Rafe scoffs. “I said, let go!”

When you only tighten your grip, he curses and throws the guy one last glare before dragging you with him back to his car.

“What were you thinking, beating up that guy?” You say in disbelief as you make him lean against the hood of his car while you dig through your purse.

He curses at you when you dab a wet wipe on his lip.

“If you don’t get in stupid fights, I won’t have to clean you up now, will I?” You reply angrily before slapping his hand away and dabbing gently. You play oblivious to his searing glare. Trying to ignore his hisses when you accidentally dab too roughly.

“Why’d you decide to make that guy a punching bag, anyway?” You ask while smearing a disinfectant ointment on his wound. Your heart beating wildly at your close proximity.

Rafe clicks his tongue. “His girl was flirting with me.”

You look at him in disappointment, making his blood boil. He hates receiving that look, it reminds him of how he constantly fails his father.

“You must have encouraged her too.” You really don’t know when to stop.

“Shut up, alright?” He pushes past you. “It’s not like I knew she had a fucking boyfriend.”

You sigh as you tidy up your kit. Rafe opens the door for you and you take your time in getting in.

“Why’d you have to flirt with all the girls at every party? Can you think with your mind next time and not with your dick?” You mutter under your breath as you glare at nothing in particular, upset that he’s got himself into trouble, and upset that it’s because of a girl. Again.

“That’s it.” Rafe slams the door before you can take a step in, the impact makes you gasp, your fingers nearly crushed by the door. Your eyes are wide and afraid as you look at him. He backs you up until your back is flushed against the door. He rests an arm over your head, as he points a finger dangerously close to your face.

“Rafe-”

“I’m fucking done with your bullshit.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “If you think you have the right to speak to me this way, let me tell you something. You don’t.”

You bite your lower lip, eyes turning glassy as you fight the urge to cry. “I’m just concerned.” Whatever immunity you thought you had from his anger crumbles like sand on the palm of your hand. You’re no exemption from his outbursts, apparently. You’re just like everybody to him.

“I didn’t ask for your concern.” He laughs dryly. “And I don’t care about your stupid crush on me, either.”

Your lips part as you blanch, looking at him in embarrassment and frustration. Your palms sweat as your fingers twitch, wanting nothing else but to get swallowed by the earth.

“Yeah. You think I don’t know about your feelings for me?” He laughs at you before he slams a fist on his car, making you scream and cover your ears in fear. “It’s kinda cute, you know. Watching you chase after me, clean after me, do everything I say like a pathetic puppy waiting for a treat.”

Something inside you snaps. “Stop talking.” You hiccup, tears dripping down your cheeks.

Huh, it’s been a while since he saw those tears.

“Why?” He asks in feign concern. “Am I hurting your feelings?”

“Yes.” You say shamelessly, making him scoff. “I just wanna go home, please,”

Mascara has ruined your pretty makeup, tears wetting your cheeks as your hair sticks on your temples, making you look disheveled and wrecked.

Rafe looks at you blankly as he runs a tongue on his tooth. “Fine.” He runs a hand over his face as he attempts to calm his breathing. He’s tired of your bullshit for today, he’ll deal with you tomorrow. “Let’s get you home.”

He opens the door for you and you get in without sparing him a glance, your shaking hands quickly fastening the seat belt. Rafe looks at you in silence but your eyes are dropped to your feet, adamant on not looking at him.

“You crybaby.” He spoke lowly and you closed your eyes. “Get it through your dumb head, alright? I don’t fucking like you.”

You whimper, arms wrapping around yourself as you shrink away from him.

“Stop doting on me like we’re dating.” He continues. “You’re fucking embarrassing.”

“Just take me home, please.” You sob and for a moment he feels the need to wipe your tears but he stops himself, a frown creases in his brows.

“And don’t fucking boss me around. You’re not my mom.” He slams the door and the rest of the drive is filled with nothing but your sniffles.

The thing about Rafe Cameron is that he’s impulsive. Always speaking his mind without thinking of the consequences. He is very quick to anger yet very quick to calm down after the stimulus vanishes from his line of sight.

You can’t keep up with the shift of his emotions throughout the ride. With him honking at every driver in front of him then suddenly nudging you and pointing at something down the street, laughing like he didn’t just murder you inside. He really doesn’t understand what he’s done. He’s a child and you wanna strangle yourself for ever letting yourself love a man like him.

“Shit, Y/N, calm down.” He groans as he parks outside your house.

You attempt to open the door but he clicks the lock in place.

“Let me out.” You whimper.

He rests his elbow against the door and scratches his chin. “Not until you calm down.”

“I’m calm.” You respond in a shaking voice.

“Uhuh.” He hums as he rakes his eyes over your face. “Can’t take a rejection, princess?”

You don’t respond, hands tightening over your bag.

“We’re not in fucking elementary school anymore.” He props his head against his knuckles as he grins at you. “And I’m not Rafey anymore.”

“I know.” You spoke harshly as your bloodshot eyes stared forward.

He chuckles. “Good, that’s good.”

“Yes. The ‘Rafey’ I know would never hurt me like this. You’re not him, not anymore.” You stare at him blankly. “He’s gone and I can see that now.”

Rafe straightens up in his seat, biting his cheek as he nods at you, though his mind is still trying to wrap around your words.

“Right. It’s good that you get it now.” But why does he suddenly regret all this?

He’s been trying to get you to understand this for the longest time. And now that you finally do, all the challenge between you is gone, and he is lying if what is going to happen after this does not make him anxious. Is this another one of your reverse psychology tricks? You know it always worked on him.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and he clears his throat, swiftly opening his door and races to your side but you beat him to it. He swallows thickly as he shoves his sweating palms in his pocket.

Rafe walks you to your gate but you don’t acknowledge him, even if he pushes the gates open for you. He tries to catch your eyes but he starts to bleed with the background around you, no longer relevant enough to be looked at.

When you lock the gates, he leans on it and watches you turn away and head to your house. Leaving without the usual cheek kisses and “see you laters”

He clears his throat. “Uh…so, tomorrow?” A desperate attempt to keep you with him a little longer.

You pause and you turn to look at him with your face cold and hard, so devoid of emotions. He never thought you’d be capable of holding such a look. “What about tomorrow?”

He grips on the thin metal of your gate, the weathered paint chipping and clinging to his palms. “You said you wanted to check out the ice cream parlor that just opened?” He adds the charming smile he knows you like but your face remains blank.

“I changed my mind.” You start to walk away again but he calls your name and you look at him with a small frown on your eyebrows. You really wanted nothing to do with him anymore, huh?

“I’ll call you later?”

“What for?” You cross your arms and for the first time, he is rendered speechless, his tongue heavy as he racked his brain for a response.

You’re right, what for?

Rafe shrugs while he tugs at his collar. “I don’t know. Don’t you like it when we call?”

You sigh. “Goodbye, Rafe.”

He watches you leave and he tightens his grip on the gate, making the metal dig on his palms.

“Goddammit!”

He messed up. He messed up real bad. And he’s not sure he can still fix this.

Not Her Man • His Girl

#rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #outer banks #outerbanks rafe #obx #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey #rafe angst #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #childhood friend!reader

2K notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 4 months ago

Note

Okay I’ve been thinking of request ideas for Thawing Out all day while I was at work 😂 What about if something happened with her on the way to practice (nothing serious but maybe it shook her up a bit) and she was late and clearly acting off? Obviously her boys are going to notice…

Love you as always, hope you’re doing amazing! 💖💖💖

Thank you Amber my love!!! Hope you like it <3

collab with @ellecdc

cw: modern au, chronic pain, mention of harassment

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.6k words

You come into the rink with quick, determined steps, blitzing past every door in your path until you get to the bleachers. Sirius is already on the ice, Remus leaned against the boards while he watches. Both boys turn when you sit down.

“Hello,” Sirius calls, clearly chuffed to have you here as a buffer between him and your bristly coach. “Where’s my latte?”

“No time today,” you say back. You jam your foot into a skate.

Remus gives you a scrutinous look. “You alright?”

“Fine. Sorry I’m late.”

You get your skates on in record time, laced up tight enough to hurt. Sirius is ready for you in your starting position, his hands firm on your shoulders. He gives a little squeeze, meant to coax a smile out of you, but you’re in no mood.

“I was just fucking with you about the latte,” he says lowly. “I don’t need it to get through practice, though he has been especially insufferable this morning.”

You glance at Remus. He looks the same as always, half relaxed and half watchful. He and Sirius have fallen into a routine of petty spats that you suspect don’t exactly make him look forward to practice every morning, and yet he seems to be getting used to the both of you. He’s less curt than he had been during your first few days together.

“You only say that because you were here alone with him,” you say.

“It didn’t help. Without you here he’s in his most unfiltered, fogey form.”

Your skating is as near to flawless as it’s been in weeks. You throw yourself into each jump with everything you have, using the hot emotions simmering beneath your skin to your advantage. And it works. Remus looks caught offguard but directs several nods of approval your way, whereas Sirius is all untempered joy. His grin widens with each flawless landing, and when you finish your most difficult move in the routine he actually whoops. You think you see Remus’ lips twitch at that.

“There she is!” Sirius grips your hand, squeezing tight as you go into a synchronized arabesque. His hair is pulled back into a bun, but a couple of loose pieces flutter around his face as he skates backwards. He looks so happy for you, and some of that tight feeling you’ve been carrying around all morning dissipates. You smile back at him.

You both go into a lutz. It’s a jump you’ve done half a million times. It should be a given, perfect every time. And yet you catch your mistake in midair.

You land on your hands and knees.

You pant a couple of times, and your next breath scrapes on the way in. Tears press at your eyes horrifyingly fast, like they’ve only been waiting for their chance. You press your nose to the ice.

Skates hiss until they’re next to you, Sirius’ hand on your back.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

You shake your head, humiliated by your fall and even more so by this fracturing, how easily it came on. You feel pathetic.

“Where is it?” Sirius’ voice climbs, growing shrill with panic. “Let me see. How bad is it?”

He’s trying to sit you up, hands cold and gentle and frantic, but his touch stills when a warmer one meets your shoulder.

“Are you hurt?” Remus asks.

“No.” You finally find your voice, but it’s pitchy and awful. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck. Fucking hell.” In the next second you’re smushed against Sirius, who hugs you tight as soon as he knows he doesn’t have to be delicate with you. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry.” Your face feels hotter than hot in the cold rink. You push into your eyes with your fingertips. “God, what the fuck! I thought I fixed it. I don’t understand why this is still happening.”

You’re sobbing now, tiny explosions that start in your chest and ricochet all the way through you, but fuming all the same.

“You were both right, I’m holding myself back. I thought I could stop, but it just keeps happening, and I can’t do this. I’m so incompetent I can’t even do a fucking lutz. We need to find Sirius a new partner. I can’t hold us back anymore, I—”

“Hey.”

Remus’ voice is harsh, but not as harsh as Sirius’ grip on you turns at the sound of it. Your partner’s face goes sharp and cruel in an instant, an animal bearing its teeth.

Remus pays him no mind. He keeps his eyes on yours, firm and unrelenting. “Don’t speak about yourself that way,” he says.

You feel Sirius’ hold slacken in surprise.

Another tear trudges down your face, and Remus’ expression gentles. “Everyone falls,” he tells you. “You have been improving, faster than I thought was possible, but you can’t expect it to happen all at once. You’re still going to fall sometimes. It’s alright. We’re working on it, yeah?”

You sniff, wiping underneath your eyes. “Yeah,” you squeak out. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. Just give yourself some grace, yeah?” His lips press together in a little grimace that’s likely meant to be a smile. “It’s my job to be hard on you, not yours. You’re allowed to fuck up. It doesn’t make you incompetent, or unworthy of competing with Sirius. You are the best person to be his partner. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here, understand?”

“Yeah.” You take a deep breath in. “Thank you.” It stutters a bit on the way out, catching on another tiny sob you can’t help. This one comes from a place of relief, but Sirius’ cold fingers dig into your arm anyway and Remus’ brows twitch slightly as though it hurts him, too.

“No problem,” he says softly. “Are you sure you haven’t hurt yourself?”

You nod, closing your eyes to will yourself calmer.

“Good. Do you want to leave off early today?”

You swallow and start to stand. “No. I’m okay.”

“No.” Sirius’ voice is bemused enough to sound like a question. He rises beside you, looking at you like he’s trying to puzzle you out. “No, something’s up with you today. We should stop.”

Remus seems to go along with him, starting back towards the opening in the boards, and you think wryly that if one good thing comes from all this it might be those two finally starting to get along. You also realize for the first time that Remus is out here with you on the ice. It’s the first time you’ve seen him so much as think about coming off of the bleachers, even if he is only in regular shoes and leaning heavily on his good hip as he makes his way back towards them.

“I’m okay,” you repeat to Sirius.

He shakes his head. “You’ve been weird since you got here. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Something did.”

You push out a frustrated breath. “Nothing relevant.”

“But something did happen.”

He’s steering you towards the exit now. It feels petulant to rip away and stay on the ice even if no one else will, though that’s what you’d really like to do.

“Are you actively trying to piss me off?” you ask him.

Sirius shrugs, stepping onto the floor. “If that’s what’s going to work. I only want to know what got you so upset.”

“Nothing.”

“Here we are again. Back to ‘nothing.’”

Remus is watching you both like you’re a show his TV has randomly flipped to. Tentative of where he stands, but definitely entertained.

You hate that this has become such a big thing. “It’s really nothing,” you say, planting yourself on the bench with a force that perhaps belies your claim. “It was just some git on the way here this morning.”

Sirius’ eyebrows go up while Remus’ come down.

“And what did this git have to say to you?” Sirius asks.

You sigh, starting to unlace your skates since apparently practice is over. “It’s not what he said. He only asked me out, which is fine, but then he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He, like, grabbed onto my arm and wouldn’t let go for a bit.”

Sirius’ expression goes stormy. It’s almost as bad as the look he’d given Remus earlier, only without a target to be directed at. “Are you fucking joking?”

“It was fine,” you say. “I made it here, didn’t I? It just freaked me out a little. And pissed me off.”

“Yeah, you should be pissed!” Sirius starts pacing, mindless of the indents his blades are putting into the rubber flooring. “Who does that? Did he think—what, you were just going to have to go out with him if he took you captive?”

“I don’t know.” You give him a dead-eyed stare. “I didn’t ask him.”

“God, you should be able to walk to fucking practice in the morning without being accosted by—by some—”

“Do you need someone to walk with you in the mornings?” Remus seems uninterested in waiting to hear what creative insult Sirius comes up with for the git. He looks at you steadily, his jaw tight but ready to accept whatever answer you give him.

“No,” you say. “Like I said, it was really nothing.”

“It upset you,” he says matter-of-factly. “That’s not nothing.”

“I can walk you.” Sirius plonks down beside you on the bench, seeming to have come to a decision. “Just wait for me inside tomorrow morning, and I’ll come pick you up.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “If I leave it to you, we’ll never get here. There’ll never be another morning practice again.” Remus’ tongue pokes into his cheek like he’s repressing a grin.

“Wha—so little faith!” Sirius sputters, straightening before he’s so much as touched his laces. “I’ll be there, okay? We will be needing to pick up my coffee on the way here, though.”

You give him a skeptical look. “You realize I wake up a half hour earlier to have time to get those?”

“Fucking hell! Do you really?”

748 notes · View notes

osamucide · 1 month ago

Text

BITCHBOY ⊹

ALL I WANT IN THIS WHOLE WIDE WORLD IS TO BE YOUR BITCHBOY . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: ~6.8k

cw: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. icky pervy stoner roommate!Dazai <333 also pathetic wet cat mess of a man Dazai, afab+gn!reader, established roommate relationship, no established romantic relationship, implied bi!Dazai if you squint, referenced whore!Dazai, weed smoking+intox/noncon (reader says "stop" once and he does not stop), dubcon (becomes 'consenual' but Dazai's coercive+they're high), noncon elements can be interpreted (esp at the end) to be roleplay with prior consent! dirty talk, shotgunning, fingering, squirting, kissing, penetration, creampie, insulting nicknames (Dazai receiving), biting, this is depraved and I will answer for it on judgement day

reid: he’s all i think about.

tags: @kalsplace

You’re grumbling under your breath when you’re about to cross the threshold to your apartment because, as if the rest of your day hadn’t been annoying enough, your stupid key decides to give you extra trouble—as of late, it’s not working unless you jam it in the lock at a very specific angle and jiggle violently until just before you’re sure the knob will fall off, all whilst cursing your landlord’s neglect of the crummy old building like some enchantment or spell that ties the whole rage-inducing, access-granting ritual together.

Couldn’t your good-for-nothing roommate hear you struggling with it?

“Hey, sorry,” he chirps too brightly for the evening hour, floating out of his room as you shut the door behind you with a sigh—ever the mind reader. You forego your eye-roll this time; you’re convinced that one of these days they’ll get stuck in your skull what with how much you do it. You hear Dazai sauntering toward you as you’re shrugging your jacket off, hanging it up, tossing your bag on the table. “Was busy.”

You’re ready to turn and scowl at him, but when you face him, he’s waggling the little pipe in your face—the green one with blue flecks in the glass, undoubtedly what he was busy with while you broke into your own home—and you won’t admit that you already feel your irritation start to melt away when it slides from his fingertips to yours. You clutch it, latch onto the mouthpiece, and watch as the brunette flicks the flame out and lights you up.

You exhale gratefully, take one more pull, and hand the glowing bowl back for him to catch the remainder of before he lights it again. “Thank you," you croak before short cough leaves you. “Was real close to bitching you out for not leaving the door unlocked.”

Dazai blows his smoke directly back in your face with a small grin. “Redeemed by my weed once again.”

You chuckle and wave it away, making a point of sliding by him and toward your room to change. You need to unwind a second before dealing with him for the rest of the night. “‘S’all that ever redeems you. Crack a window, will ya?”

It’s really not a bad arrangement to have a live-in pot dealer—that’s basically what Dazai is and has been as long as you’ve roomed with him. Sure, he's also a pain in your ass; the man can hardly cook, you had to show him how to use the washing machine in the common area when you first moved in, and only a bit ago, after almost half a year of sharing a living space, have you convinced him to keep his mess of discarded socks and food packaging contained within his bedroom. It took a lot of harsh reprimanding about how you're not his parent and he's not your teenage son for you to realize it'd be a little of his own medicine to get him to start taking you seriously. Leaving your empty takeout box on the coffee table right where he liked to eat his, tossing your sweatshirt over his spot on the couch and refusing to move it for days—he took the message, albeit smugly, after that, and hasn't given you trouble since.

Even despite being a pain in the ass, though, especially now that he at least cleans up after himself, you have to admit you don't hate his presence in your home and in your life. You chalk it up to how infuriatingly charming he can be—you know he's a detective, and he's certainly got talents for sniffing out your emotions, solving your day-to-day problems, and smooth-talking, but all of that falls under being nosy and weird when he tries to guilt you into praising him for it. If he was any less annoying, you'd maybe even admit to yourself that he's kind of attractive; only physically, of course, which you've known since the day you met him, but any other way he might be—retaining a heavy air of mystery in spite of how bubbly he is, occasionally inviting you out drinking (mostly so you can drag him home once he overdoes it), smoking you up without asking for money—is just so overshadowed by what a fucking weirdo he is. You can’t separate it.

He certainly keeps you on your toes.

That’s really the worst thing about him. You know you’ll exit your room to grab your leftovers from the fridge and he’ll be pestering you to watch some movie with him—probably one of his cringy rom-coms (the fact that he watches and unironically enjoys them serving only marginally to make him a little more of an interesting character) during which he'll sling his feet across your lap or curl up into you so he can pinch your side once or twice just for your reaction, leaving you red in the face and mildly irritated while he giggles condescendingly at you. But as you always do, you think as you sigh and lift the hem of your sweater to curl it over and off, you’ll concede.

Your head’s caught in your sleep shirt when you hear your door creak open.

“Um, privacy?” you half-yelp—something you’re still figuring your way around with him. You jump out of line of the door as you poke your head through the neckline to shoot him that glare you saved from moments earlier.

Dazai just snickers, eyes wide and innocent. You're naked from the waist down. “Could’ve locked it.”

“As if that would stop you,” you snap back, stretching the hem over your thighs and ass as you skitter awkwardly back over to the edge of your bed where a pair of comfy shorts lay. “Get out!”

“Will you hurry up and put your pants on? I got My Big Fat Greek Wedding locked and loaded.”

“Yes, yes, just get out.”

He’s still snickering when he disappears behind the door. He doesn’t shut it all the way, and you mutter freak beneath your breath, secretly hoping he hears you.

You tug your shorts on and meander back out as the intro rolls, set on your leftover homemade tonkatsu; as you settle cross-legged with your plate on the couch, Dazai reaches over and plucks a piece of cabbage off it.

You side eye him as you chew. He’s already occupying himself with packing another bowl—he must've finished the first one himself. You'd half-expect him to reach for one of the prerolls he keeps in the coffee table drawer so as not to have to go to the trouble again, but he does.

“You eat yet?” you ask carefully.

He shakes his head as he uses the butt of the lighter to press it down. Of course not. Even weed doesn’t make him eat. You’ve expressed concern over his eating habits before, but he always dismisses you with a hum and that smug smile.

You make a point of tearing the remainder of your cutlet in half with your utensils. When he reaches out to pass you the pipe, you reach back, chopsticks pinching a hefty piece of pork.

Dazai raises his eyebrows at you.

You raise yours in reply, as if to say, take it, or I’m not smoking anymore with you.

So he does, reluctance veiled thinly by amusement. You know him well enough by now; or, you think you do, at least. As he chews, he balances the chopsticks back on your plate and turns to you with the lighter, curling his own legs beneath himself.

Only satisfied when he swallows, you set your plate aside, face him, and press the pipe to your lips again, looking to him. To his pretty brown eyes that search you owlishly, that you swear sparkle with a little more vigor after even the smallest bit of sustenance enters his system. Maybe you should just leave him to starve, but then where would you get your weed? You’re an idiot, you’d say if you weren’t waiting on his flame.

But before he can light it for you, he pulls the lighter away, and you chase it with a soft hey—he’s grinning at you again, like a devil, like always.

“You always do that, you know?” he asks.

“Do what?” you mumble impatiently against the piece.

He gives in and dips the flame down into the bowl; you inhale deep, flower crackling softly as you do, and he only answers when the smoke’s halfway down your throat.

“Look up at me all cute like that every time I light it for you.” Those brown eyes bore into yours and you become aware all too quick of the fact that you do—you do indeed peer up at him through your lashes; your eyes water as smoke burns your throat and you blink away, trying not to cough out your hit at how he’s gazing at you, but he doesn’t stop there.

He would never stop there.

“Makes me think bad things.”

So you cough out your hit anyway.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask, choked, face red from more than just the sting of the weed. You busy yourself with pulling another hit while it’s still lit.

“Mhm,” he agrees. “Lots of ‘em.”

Your head swims now—you’ve built up a decent tolerance from living with him, but forgetting to breathe at his words and zeroing the huge puff you take next surely doesn’t help. You cough again, and nothing leaves your lungs this time as you debate whether to take his challenge.

Another thing you’ve learned about Dazai—he loves to fluster people. If living with him wasn't enough proof, you’ve seen him do it millions of times to pretty bartenders, or on the off-chance his partner from work joins you drinking; off-chance, truly, because Kunikida already has to put up with Dazai all day at the office, and anything more than what’s required of him might be better off called torture rather than fun. And beyond loving it, Dazai demonstrates it like a long-honed skill—the exploitation of people’s humiliation, the monopolization on people’s most sensitive spots. He had previous work in it, he’s said, but you can’t imagine what job could possibly entail all that. You think he just doesn’t know when to shut his mouth—no, he’s smart enough to know when to; he just doesn’t like to. He’s what most people would refer to as an asshole.

And yet, you find yourself torn between feeling disgusted and entertained by him all the same. Although you often find yourself the victim of his little mind games, you’re not above jabbing back at him. What does that make you, you wonder? The question briefly crosses your mind, but you shake it off as, in your buzz, you swat away the bait; decidedly, you’d rather watch My Big Fat Greek Wedding in peace, finish your tonkatsu, and then go to bed tonight.

“You’re gross.” The scoff you let out sounds more like a chuckle.

Dazai tilts his head, flicking the lighter for you again; he sparks the bowl as he watches you, as if in exceptional contemplation, and you make a point not to do it again—you inhale and gaze straight down at the flame.

“You don’t wanna hear what it makes me think about?” he asks cutely, unwilling to let you get away just yet.

You ignore the slight flush undoubtedly on your own face as you slip the bowl back to him; doubly so, you try not to watch the way his lips wrap around the mouthpiece.

But right now, you can’t seem to help that your bleary-eyed attention is on him. Just as he exhales, you remember you haven’t replied.

You’re not quick enough. He doesn’t take your silence as an invitation; it’s an opportunity. You see it in his smirk, just a second too late.

“Makes me think about how pretty you’d be looking up at me like that from your knees.”

He’s good at his games—he invents them, after all. But you’d be damned if he thought you wouldn’t shut him down when you weren’t in the mood.

“Yeah, no, don’t particularly wanna hear about it, thanks.”

This might be a new low, even for him, you think. Who the fuck just says shit like that?

When you think about it a second longer, though, he really hasn’t brought anyone home to fuck obnoxiously (a boundary you were quick to set with him) in at least a couple weeks, so maybe he’s just pent up. Either way, his comment makes you wrinkle your nose, furrow your brow—hopefully negating the pink inevitably tinting your cheeks. Fucking weirdo.

“N’ now you’re blushing all cute, too,” he observes; you scoff again, more pointedly this time. “Thinkin’ about it?”

As if, you want to say, but the words get stuck against the roof of your dry mouth, so you conjure up some of your spit, swallow it down, and hope he doesn’t notice—but it’s Dazai; he will—that your high's settling onto your shoulders swiftly. He’s pointing the bowl back at you, and as you grab it robotically, you’re still trying to speak—a sure sign you should both shut up and keep your places on opposite ends of the couch and watch the movie and finish the tonkatsu, but instead you just balk. No matter what you do, you play right into his hands—that’s how it happens all too often, and you certainly won’t learn now or anytime when his weed’s coursing up to your brain and back down to your thumping heart. Dazai lights your next hit for you, laughing like it’s all some big joke, and maybe it is—maybe you’ll blow your smoke in his face this time and pick up your tonkatsu and shut up and just watch the damn movie.

As if you’d ever be so lucky with his antics.

You’re shaking your head in near-awe when you pass it back to him once more.

“I mean, we basically kiss through this thing all the time,” he says like it’s relevant, waving the pipe about. “I don’t think it’d be so weird if we fucked. Or if you sucked me off, at least.”

“It—it would totally be weird, Osamu,” and when you speak his name so lightly, blinking at trying to muster up your own laughter as a defense mechanism, his sight flickers up to yours. “That doesn’t even—I’m not sucking your dick.”

“Shame,” he purrs. “‘Cause I know how pretty you’d look. Your lips all wet and pouted against my t—”

“Oh, my god, shut up.” Now you laugh, out of pure disbelief at how far he’s taking it. He pokes at the tail end of what’s left in the bowl and chuckles, too, seemingly ready to let it go now that he has you laughing. "You're horrible."

The more you let him talk about it, the more you entertain him, maybe you can let it peter out.

“What about me? Do I look pretty when I do it?” he asks, batting his lashes as he pulls another hit off the pipe.

“Sure, yeah, whatever,” you let your laughter idle as he doesn't tear his gaze away from you. He looks pretty. Whatever. You cross your arms as you feel the familiar tingle of your high behind your eyes.

“Would I look pretty on my knees?” he prods.

You could slap him—if nothing else, just to make his face burn half as much as you know yours is. When he sets the bowl and lighter aside and goes back to observing you, eyes low-lidded and red, chin rested on his hands, propped up by his elbows on his crossed legs, you have half a mind to shrink away from him—but you keep cool, even if the way you're at eye level with his searing stare feels a little too intimate.

You mirror his position. “Hmm, I don't know.” You steal his thoughtful tilt, too, and tack on, “Maybe if you were begging like a little bitch.”

You're prepared for him to laugh tauntingly again and then let this die where it stands because he got a reaction out of you, right? That’s always what he’s looking for, so it’s about time he goes back to his corner of the couch where you'll bully him into a few more bites of tonkatsu.

But he stays locked onto you, quietly.

And then he's shifting forward off the couch and down to the ground.

“Osamu—”

“Uh-uh,” he chides you softly, crawling to situate himself directly in front of your figure. Looking up at you all cute. “I’m gonna be the one begging, remember?”

Your disbelief swirls with refusal as he paws at the hem of your shorts as if to say, turn, please, and fuck—what can you do other than turn red as a rose as he grabs your ankles, unfurls your legs, and props his chin on the cushion between your thighs? You feel alarmingly higher, blearier when his fingers creep up beneath the fabric, slowly, looking at you as if for reassurance.

“We're not—you can quit fooling around, seriously.” You want to laugh again but it comes out deadpan, strict; you feel heavier with each landing of his fingertips against your skin, and he just keeps looking up at you. Cute. Pretty. Taking it too far.

“I want to,” he mumbles, retracting his hands only for them to find your hips, your waistband. “Come on. ‘Wanted you so bad for so long. I know you want me, too,” he speaks your name slyly, quietly, and it prompts your breath to quicken a little; he traces circles into your hipbones with his thumbs, toys with the elastic at your waist, snapping it softly, and you squirm. “Please?”

For so long? you think. How long?

“I—I'm not high enough for this, Osamu,” you try to joke, but he just twists around to the coffee table drawer for one of those prerolls and his lighter.

“I can get you higher,” he offers—tone still much too innocent, motives still haphazardly veiled by what a big jokester he is, and he sticks the joint between his lips and lights it.

Before you can coherently protest, he rises, supporting himself on your thigh with one hand and removing the joint from his mouth full of smoke; when he leans into you, you catch his wrist to keep him from ashing on the back of the couch, grab his face in a half-attempt to stop him in his tracks—but ultimately, when his mouth meets yours, you open for him.

The plume of smoke he shotguns into your mouth is thick; you breathe it in. His palm like a brand against your thigh.

And he doesn’t stop.

“Osamu,” you whine against his lips, still mushing his face away and hating how your dry throat roughens your voice. He just kisses you, kisses you, and your fingers find the pulse point in his wrist—he’s a decent kisser, you think, at the very least. You have half a mind to let your fingers slide to the mess of brown hair beyond the apples of his sharp cheekbones, and—

You backtrack in your mind. You’re actually probably too high for this.

You have to detest the way it feels so heavenly when he squeezes the fat of your thigh, dodges your lips, and works steadily in a line from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, all tongue and teeth in his pursuit. You have to detest it. Fucking weirdo, you repeat in your mind. The joint burns between his fingers. You snatch it from his grasp and pull your head back, raising your feet to kick him weakly in the abdomen, and he relents—your toes feel asleep when they hit the carpet again, and you hoard the joint between your fuzzy fingers when he reaches for it back.

“Osamu,” you say again, stern, eyes wide. The weed. You're high. You're both high, and this is weird. He’s just your weirdo roommate and you got home wanting to end your stressful day without complicating anything else in your life today.

So why, when he looks at you like you’re a caged animal that’s just as afraid of him and he is of you and works the joint from your fingers to take another drag, do you let him cup your face and exhale more smoke down your throat?

Why do you chase his lips when he blissfully, needily, sinks to his knees once again and starts to traverse beneath your shorts?

With the right focus of mind, like staring at your hand when you’re spinning and convincing yourself that the world around you is actually moving and you’re staying still, you can almost pretend he’s a stranger—some sexy, enchanting stranger that you met on the train home after your shit day, meant to relate to you with docile nods and hums as you air your grievances about work or school or whatever, meant to kiss it off you like it’s just a little bit of dirt.

Getting out of your shorts is like getting out of second skin. You're taking another hit, unwise or not, because it's back in your hand and you don't know what else to do; you watch him in your haze with a mix of anticipation and distrust, but right now, anticipation is winning by a small margin. You’re high, you tell yourself—twitching already, in that way that has nothing to do with desire but rather just means you've smoked a little too much too quickly, and the idea that Dazai might still fake you out and send you to bed feeling half-hot and bothered, half-violated, with no pants on and a near-empty stomach bobs around in your inhibited brain—again, you expect him to laugh, say you’re fried, clap you on the shoulder and tell you it's a joke but he doesn’t, he cranes for a hit from the joint and you hold it to his lips shakily and he touches you on the exhale, the pads of two of his fingers nestling carefully between your folds over your underwear and when he brushes your clit it’s—

Fuck, it’s electric.

“Osamu, stop,” you say, hoarse and abrupt, grabbing his wrist. "I'm—"

“What?” he asks, teasing lilt to his tone. Beneath your hand his thumb comes up to replace his fingers, to loop circles around you, and you're shuddering, back bowing, and he's grinning at you wickedly.

“I—I'm high,” you admit, voice feeling thick, soupy as it leaves your throat.

“So? Me too.” He blinks at you, slow like a cat, in a way that you're pretty sure he's still mocking the way you apparently always flutter your gaze at him when he lights you up. “‘S the best way to do it.”

“Yeah, but—”

He doesn't interrupt you with but what?

And yet, you still don't finish your sentence.

You glance down to where he’s rubbing you gently, where you hold him at bay—where you could yank his arm and twist it uncomfortably if you really did want him to stop but the longer he circles over the fabric that’s growing increasingly, alarmingly wetter, the more you melt away from yourself and you think, fuck, he really is gorgeous as he’s resting his cheek against the inside of your thigh.

“Scoot forward f’me, please?” he almost whines; his voice changes, stricter when he says, “And stop letting that burn. Smoke it.”

And you comply, shuffling your hips forward and placing the filter between your teeth.

Dazai looks up at you. All cute. Heavy-lidded, red-eyed. Hungry.

And you look back, apprehension sparking but then fading with each drove of smoke you inhale. Heavy-lidded, red-eyed. All cute.

“Let me taste you, please,” he almost whispers. You almost find yourself a little endeared by his pointed pleases.

“This is fucking absurd,” you croak, but your resolve is leaving you. He’s a little blurry. “You’re such a sicko.”

His smile widens against the word. Sicko. Almost like he’s pleased to hear it leave your mouth. “Surprised it took you this long to figure out, baby.”

His touch is impatient and restless and crawling as your underwear goes, too—and you don’t appreciate how good it felt when his thumb was on your clit until it’s back again and you’re slipping the joint out of your mouth to let you jaw fall slack; you tangle a hand up in that messy hair that is much softer than you could’ve imagined and all but yank him back toward your cunt.

“Please,” you echo him, finally. “It felt so good—do it again.”

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages you in your whimpering, fingers prodding at your hole and tongue landing a feather-light lick to your wetness. “I know you want it.”

The sounds are lewd. Disgusting, really—fitting for how he’s acting. Dazai swirls his tongue in circles around your clit as he works his middle and ring fingers into you; cracked gasps leave you at the intrusion, and you can’t keep your eyes open when he curls them upward ever so slightly as he makes out with your clit. If you were sober you’d, of course, be embarrassed at how you’re already gushing for him, but all your mushy brain can think about right now is the sparks bolting to your otherwise-numb fingers and toes with each suction of his pretty pink lips against you—isn’t this wrong? Shouldn’t you feel weird? Yeah, probably—but you’re forgetting why, and you’re forgetting to care.

He hums against you and it sends a shockwave throughout your already-vibrating body; the moan you release into the air is like song, even to yourself. Is he really good at this, you wonder, or is it the weed?

Oh right, the weed. The weed, the weed, the weed.

You pull his mouth off you, almost dropping the joint that’s not much of a joint anymore—only the filter remains.

“I don’t think this is—”

Fuck, you keep going back and forth. You keep breaching the surface just for him to tug you beneath the water again and convince you the drowning feels nice. And it does, for a few seconds—until it starts burning your lungs to a crisp again, at which point you tear away from him kick up, and in the moments you spend sucking in air you don’t get how he stays beneath for so long, like it’s nothing, how he doesn’t stop—he doesn’t stop, his fingers still curling inside of you, and you’re going under again to the sound of his voice.

You feel suffocated. More delirious by the second. It’s nice.

“You already told me it feels good,” he mumbles against you, lapping at you, and you’re letting up on his hair, letting him become a weight again where you should float.

And the lack of oxygen must be getting to your brain because, even though you still don’t think you want to drown, you cease your kicking. For the last time.

“Osamu,” you cry. It sounds like a moan. It might be.

“I know, I’m such a sicko.” There’s no remorse in his words; there can’t be, not when he’s still curling up into your g-spot in just the way that makes you croon his name again—undoubtedly a moan this time—but when he comes into focus again, he looks so apologetic. “You can say it again, baby. It’s okay.”

“S—sicko,” you mutter disapprovingly, but rolling your hips all the same.

He smiles. Soft, kind, apologetic.

You’re scared to move. You know if you do, you’ll both be able to see the wet stain collecting beneath you on the cushion. You feel it.

So you barrage him with more.

“You—you’re a fucking pervert. You’re disgusting.” You feel wetness on your face, too. You deduce that it’s from how perfect his fingers feel inside you, goading that warm slick out of you and into his palm, onto the couch; regardless, you don't stop berating him, your tone harshly contrasting your wriggling hips. “You disgust me.”

“I think you like it.” He presses up, hard, and you gush, gasping. A short, clear spurt narrowly misses his face; he leans back down to lick it off, off the cushion, off your thighs, off your crying cunt. “I think you like how nasty I am.”

“Disgusting,” you whisper. “Disgusting. You're disgusting.” It’s a little chant you hold onto as he rises again to kiss you, messily—a means to replace his lips with his wet fingers, shoving them past your lips and against your tongue where you lap at them instinctually, like you’ve been waiting for it. It’s so wrong to be tasting yourself on his fingers, but your eyes roll back anyway, just to lurch forward as his hand retracts and you find him grinning once more as he slips his sweatpants and boxers down in one swipe. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting,” Dazai mocks, giggling. “You just tasted how fucking wet you are.”

“Osamu,” you whine as he kicks his garments aside; you begin to draw your feet up, your knees to your chin, but his hands, stronger than you anticipate, pry you open and flip you to your back and he grins, biting into his bottom lip all the while. Why, you wonder, when the dim living room light glints off his teeth as he situates himself between your legs and leans down to cage you in between his arms, do your hips hitch toward his? Why are you so adamant to deny him?

“You gonna say it again? C’mon, I love hearing my name,” he breathes, ducking down to lick across your jawline. “But I love when you call me those words. Say it again. Tell me how nasty I am.”

“You’re the worst,” you groan, but it sounds comical, even to your own ears, because you’re scratching at his shoulders in a way that draws him closer to you rather than further away.

“More, baby,” Dazai hums into your neck, reaching down to swirl his tip against your wetness. When you feel him, you jump.

It feels good. It feels even better than his thumb and you don’t know if you’re still on your way up but you feel higher and higher by the second and the instinct to push him off is slipping further beyond your grasp. When he pulls back to watch your mouth fall open as he rubs himself into you, you almost let the word pretty slip past your lips—he looks so pretty, tongue flicking, eyes dark, and you catch yourself with your lower lip between your teeth, reflecting the desperation he conceals in everything but his words.

Pretty isn’t what he wants right now, though—and suddenly you feel compelled to give him what he wants, if only it means he’ll keep touching you like this.

“S’fucking nasty—degenerate fucking freak—” you eek out; you don’t know much longer you can tiptoe the line between repulsion and sheer need, but you’re tilting further and further with each circle of his dick and you can tell he’s getting off on the way you’re lurching into him now, running toward his touch instead of away from it.

You think you need him to fuck you, now, or you’ll cry.

“Osamu, please,” you continue, sounding on the verge of tears now—where you should’ve been before, when you genuinely wanted him off you, yes. You wanted him off of you before. Didn’t you? There was a time, a mere few minutes ago, when his fingers in your skin and his animalistic gaze were revolting. Right?

“What’re you beggin’ me for?” Dazai asks like he doesn’t know. He knows. He knows what you don’t want to admit to yourself and he’s going to dangle it over your head, he’s going to rub it in your face, he’s going to make you answer through your hazy high that he never should’ve come onto you through to begin with, and you’re going to give him what he wants—you always give him what he wants, even if you don’t mean to, even if you don’t want to, but now you think you want to. You want to, because it feels so good, and he’s slowing down, he’s stopping and when he takes his hand away to swipe his thumb across your chin, pull your lip from between your teeth and work your mouth open with his fingers again, the loss almost hurts. You want it. You want to.

It’s going to hurt even more to say it, but you want it. And before you can even get it out, before the words even hit what little air is between your lips and his, Dazai looks thrilled at what you say next.

“Please, fuck me,” you whisper.

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely—” He reaches back down, but the smugness doesn’t waver; his tip catches on your entrance—emitting a lewd squelch that should make you cringe but instead prompts your lip to fly between your teeth again—and you hook your tingling feet behind his back, legs astride his waist as you're pushing his bangs from his face all in one motion. “I guess I’ll fuck you, pretty baby.”

"Yes," the dreaded word falls from your lips when he finally works his way into you, past that tight ring of muscle, to nestle snugly inside you until the head of his cock kisses your cervix.

The noise you draw from him—something between a sigh and a moan—is heavenly. His nose nuzzles the trail he licked across your jaw before and you find your hands linked behind his neck, urging him down, onto you, into you—and when he recoils his hips to thrust back in again, quick and short, you keen against him, pathetically, in a way your past self—the one from four or five touches ago—would hate you for.

You should hate how gross this is. How gross he is for this.

But you don't, and you're not going to torture yourself with asking why anymore.

The friction inside you doesn't feel comparable to anything; for the first time in a second, you feel grateful for the weed pulsing through you. You let your eyes roll back and flutter shut without consequence.

Dazai moves against you like water. Water you're content to drown in this time; his touch doesn't crawl anymore as much as it seems to soothe and as he picks up his pace, brings a hand to your cheek to wake you back up, pull you back above the surface.

"You sound s'fuckin cute," he sighs; those eyes, predatory before, are now just brown and melty, honey-colored backgrounded with red fog, not so searching as much as they seem attentive, not making you feel so uncomfortably vulnerable as they do softly seen. He thinks you sound cute. You giggle through the unrivaled pleasure, giggling through your own moans which hit your ears and do sound cute—sound especially cute woven through his.

"Y'sound... so," you start, "so fucking—unh, Osamu, don't stop!"

He chuckles now, low and breathy, and you push his hair back from his face again; his eyes roll back when you do it, and you just do it over, over, over, drawing clipped groans out of him, stealing the words from his throat as he steals yours and you tug, you tug on his hair and the moan he lets out, broken between thrusts, is so raw and laced with need that you moan in reply, clenching around him because, fuck, he sounds so cute, too. "Wanted this for so long, baby. Pussy feels s—so much fuckin' better than I could've imagined."

"How long?" you finally poke back—you want to know. You want to know how long he's been holed up in the mess of his room, jerking off to the thought of his cute little roommate finally falling between his fingers—you want to know how bad he's wanted this, and if getting you high out of your mind just to get it was worth it. You focus your voice to ask him. "How long you wanted this, 'Samu?"

"So long—since—" he gasps, fucking into you harder, faster, deeper; you tug his hair again, exposing his neck, and yank him down to sink your teeth into his neck. You need the reprieve as he starts hammering against the deepest parts of you, eliciting wet smack! after smack! from between your writhing bodies. You jostle beneath him as he finds his breath; "Since I fuckin' met you. Always wanted you."

"Yeah?" You mean it to be a teasing little rhetorical question but it comes out more like encouragement amidst the bliss radiating from your cunt throughout your whole body, but you find it in you to continue— "You been—you been thinkin' of me under you like this? Like the sicko you are?"

Unbelievably faster and harder. You choke on a scream; Dazai's grunting above you, and it hits you that those names really do spur him on. You're far from offending him—you're bringing him closer and closer to filling you up with each and every insult and jab you throw his way and if you were any less cockdrunk you'd be hurling even more barbs at him about how that makes him so much worse, so much more gross but it just spurs you on, too, right now—and you realize, when he looks at you with those fucking eyes again how bad you want him, how bad you've wanted him, too, for so long; you couldn't—wouldn't admit it because he's just your weirdo roommate but really, maybe that's what you love about him. You certainly love the way he makes your toes curl when he reaches down to play with your clit again. You cry out against him.

"Osamu, fuck!"

"Say it again," he begs you, pretty brown eyes glassy as they fall shut, as the tip of his nose touches yours. "Say it again, please, baby."

You know what he wants.

"F—fucking pervert," you huff, doing everything you can to hold onto the rope that's uncoiling rapidly inside you, coming further and further undone with each slam of his hips into your ass. "Ah—you're disgusting. Disgusting."

You fall back on your mantra and it has his thumb moving faster, harder, just like his thrusts, just like his voice, even if it sounds unconvincing through the shockwaves of pleasure; you feel it, the unraveling, it's washing up on you so quickly, so much quicker than it should be at the hands of your weirdo roommate.

"Don't stop," he pleads like he's not the one fucking you to orgasm; you see white, you feel as light as air—god, has cumming always felt like this? Shouldn't you hate it? Shouldn't you hate that it might never feel like this again?

You do, you do—you hate weed and you hate sex and you hate your weirdo roommate Osamu Dazai for coaxing the most mind-blowing climax you've ever felt out of you, but you don't hate any of those things, not really; you hate that it's never felt like this before, and that it can again if only you can push your pride down for a few more moments and call him a—

"Freak—gonna—gonna cum in me?" you goad, breathless, lucky for speech as he fucks you through the otherworldly high, as you clamp down on him and screw your eyes shut until you can keep going. "Gonna fill me up like the nasty motherfucker you are?"

"Ngh—yeah, yeah, yeah...!"

Dazai, in all his depraved beauty, fucks his fat load into you mercilessly; you twitch, shake beneath him, driving strained sobs from his chest and talking him through with soft yeahs, want y'r cum, filthy fucking sicko freak, you disgust me. He loves it. He falls apart, and you tug on his hair once more as he slows, as he spills out of you, as he looks at you with so much adoration in his eyes.

"You—" Dazai's breathless, heaving. "You're amazing."

You giggle again, wiggling a bit and trapping him further close to you, fingers in the hair at the base of his neck. Soft. You don't feel any less high; just blissed out. "You're cute."

"Knew you thought so," he sighs, lopsided smile coming back; you don't know where in the pleasure he'd lost it, but its return has you tilting your chin up to kiss him once more. Soft. Gentle, sweet, no tongue; not gross, not hungry, just sweet. Satisfied.

"But you're still weird," you tease against his lips. Sly.

When Dazai pulls back, the hunger in those eyes sparks again.

"Want me to show you how weird I can get?" he threatens.

"I dare you," you taunt back.

And he grins, fully and wickedly, once more; you can count on it. He'll show you, alright.

#i want to first thank italics. id be nowhere without italics #dazai x reader #dazai smut #bsd x reader #bsd smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs smut #nnnsfw.ᐟ #mdni #with love—reid

713 notes · View notes

xo100 · 3 months ago

Text

Collisions and connections - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: While mountain biking in Germany with friends, you accidentally fall and cause none other than Lando Norris to crash into you. Though he's frustrated at first, the tension quickly turns into playful banter as you ride together. By the end of the day, Lando invites you to go karting with him, leaving you with an unexpected, flirty connection.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 2535

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

Germany was always on your friend group’s list of adventure destinations, and today was no exception. The sky was a vibrant blue, with a scattering of white clouds drifting lazily above the dense woods. You had rented mountain bikes for the day, ready to tackle the scenic yet thrilling trails that cut through the forest. The air was filled with a crisp freshness that begged to be explored, and you and your friends were more than ready to answer the call.

After renting the bikes, you all gathered around the man who ran the rental service. He looked rugged, like someone who had spent countless days in the wilderness, and his experience showed. He gave a quick but detailed briefing on how to handle the trails, adjust the gears, and keep balance on uneven terrain. It all seemed straightforward, and the excitement in your group was palpable.

“Medium parkour it is, then!” your best friend, Mia, had announced with a grin, gesturing to the map of trails. It wasn’t the easiest route, but definitely manageable. A perfect mix of challenge and fun, with paths winding through the thick woods and just enough obstacles to keep things interesting.

So, there you were, cycling through the forest with the adrenaline pumping through your veins. The cool wind whipped past, making the trees blur as you sped through the trail. You were at the back, lagging a bit behind, but you didn't mind. You were enjoying the ride, taking in the sights, the sounds of nature mixed with the whirr of bike wheels over dirt and rocks.

Everything was going perfectly, until it wasn’t.

Out of nowhere, Mia slammed on her brakes ahead of you to avoid a tricky curve. You reacted instinctively, jamming your brakes hard, but it was too late. The sudden stop sent you flying, tumbling over your handlebars, and before you knew it, you were on the ground, tangled up in your bike. A dull pain shot through your leg, but it wasn’t unbearable. The worst part was the embarrassment. You tried to quickly untangle yourself, hoping no one had noticed—your friends were already too far ahead to hear the commotion.

But someone did notice.

Before you could fully recover, a loud thud sounded behind you. The weight of another body landed just inches away, and when you looked up, you were met with the sight of a guy sprawled on the ground, his bike fallen to the side. His face was hidden beneath his helmet at first, but his groan of frustration was unmistakable.

“What the hell?” His voice was sharp, laced with irritation.

You scrambled to get up, wincing as you did, and turned to apologize. But when you saw who had fallen behind you, your heart nearly stopped.

Lando Norris. The Lando Norris, the Formula 1 driver. You’d recognize him anywhere, even with the helmet.

“Oh my God,” you stammered, eyes wide, “I am so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to—my friend, she just—“

He stood up, dusting himself off, and as he removed his helmet, his expression was nothing short of annoyed. His messy brown hair was slightly damp from the ride, and his hazel eyes met yours, sharp but surprised. He was about to say something, but then he paused, his anger seemingly dissipating as he took in the sight of you, flustered and apologetic.

“You—“ he started, but stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“I didn’t either,” you admitted, wincing as you tried to stand. The fall had left you with a few scrapes, but you were mostly fine. “Are you okay?”

Lando glanced down at himself, and then at his bike. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit of a... surprise collision.”

You couldn't help but let out a small, nervous laugh, despite the situation. “I didn’t expect to cause a Formula 1 driver to crash. That's definitely not on my bucket list.”

His lips twitched at that, a faint smile appearing. “Well, at least it wasn’t in a car. That’d be much worse.”

Before you could respond, another voice cut through the scene. “Lando, mate, you alright?” A group of guys, his friends no doubt, appeared just behind him, all dressed in similar biking gear.

Lando waved them off. “Yeah, yeah. Just a little hiccup.”

One of them gave you a sympathetic look. “That looked like a rough fall. You alright?”

“I’ll survive,” you replied, still feeling a bit mortified.

Lando glanced at you, and there was something softer in his eyes now, like his frustration had melted away. “Need help with your bike?”

“I think I can manage,” you said, but as you tried to lift it, a sharp pain in your ankle made you wince.

Lando noticed immediately. “You sure? Looks like that fall did more than just bruise your pride.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, but there was a playfulness to his tone that eased your nerves. “Fine. Maybe a little help.”

He knelt down, making quick work of untangling the bike and helping you to your feet. As he steadied you, his hand lingered on your arm for just a moment longer than necessary. The warmth of his touch sent a little flutter through your stomach, and you couldn't help but feel a bit flustered under his gaze.

“There,” he said, standing back up. “Good as new. Well, almost.”

You laughed lightly. “Thanks. I’m really sorry again, though. I didn’t mean to ruin your ride.”

He shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips now. “Guess it wasn’t all your fault. These things happen, right?”

His friends, seeing the situation was under control, started riding off slowly, leaving you and Lando a bit of space. He glanced back at them before turning to you again. “You sure you're okay to keep going?”

You tested your ankle, wincing a little but feeling mostly fine. “Yeah, I’ll be okay. Just might take it slower from here.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? Because I’m already going slow, and you still managed to take me down.”

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes now, and you felt your cheeks heat up slightly.

“Hey! You were the one right behind me,” you shot back, smiling. “Maybe you're not as fast off the track as you think.”

He laughed at that, a real, genuine laugh that made the tension between you fade completely. “Alright, I’ll give you that one.”

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence, the sounds of the forest surrounding you. You could hear your friends further down the trail, but for some reason, you weren’t in a rush to catch up.

Lando tilted his head slightly, studying you. “So, what brings you and your friends out here? Just looking for some adrenaline?”

“Yeah, pretty much. We’re always up for an adventure,” you replied, leaning against your bike. “And Germany seemed like a good place to do that.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Good choice. Though, maybe next time, avoid taking out unsuspecting riders.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again. “Noted.”

There was something easy about being around him now, even though moments before, you had been sure he’d be furious. But Lando was clearly the kind of guy who didn’t let things like this get to him for long. In fact, now that the initial shock had worn off, it seemed like he was enjoying the banter as much as you were.

“Well,” he said, glancing down the trail, “if you need someone to keep an eye on you so you don’t wipe out again, I’m happy to volunteer.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s in it for you?”

He grinned. “I get to say I saved the girl who made me crash.”

“Saved me, huh? Pretty sure I would’ve been fine without you.”

He leaned in just slightly, his smile turning a bit more teasing. “Maybe. But where’s the fun in that?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the subtle flirtation, and you found yourself grinning back. “Alright, Norris. Try to keep up.”

With that, you pushed off, slowly starting down the trail again. And this time, when Lando followed, he stayed right beside you.

Lando stayed close by your side as you both navigated the trail at a slower pace. The tension from your earlier crash had dissolved completely, leaving behind an unexpected sense of ease between the two of you. It felt strange, like you had known him longer than just a few moments. You had expected some awkwardness, given that he was famous and you had, quite literally, knocked him off his bike. But instead, the playful banter flowed effortlessly, and you couldn't help but enjoy it.

“So,” Lando said, breaking the silence as you both rode through a section of the forest bathed in dappled sunlight, “is this what you and your friends do on a regular basis? Traveling the world, causing accidents?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, not usually. We're always up for an adventure, though. This time, it just happened to involve bikes... and, well, unplanned collisions.”

“Right,” he replied, his voice laced with teasing. “I’d say it’s a memorable introduction.”

You looked over at him, catching the smirk on his face. “Is that your way of saying you’re not mad about it anymore?”

He shrugged playfully. “I mean, it’s hard to stay mad when you’ve got someone as charming as you apologizing.”

You shot him a look, pretending to be skeptical. “Charming, huh? I’m sure you say that to all the girls who make you fall off your bike.”

His grin widened, and he slowed his pace to match yours as you hit a steeper incline. “No, just the ones who make me laugh afterward.”

Your heart fluttered slightly at the compliment, and you couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at your lips. It was a bit surreal to be here, biking through the German woods with Lando Norris—flirting, no less. But as surprising as it was, it also felt strangely natural.

You reached a flat part of the trail, and Lando nudged his bike a little closer to yours. “I never caught your name, by the way,” he said, glancing sideways at you.

“It’s y/n,” you replied, looking over at him. “And you’re Lando. Not that you need an introduction.”

He chuckled. “I figured you knew that part. But hey, I like hearing it from you.”

There was a brief pause as the two of you continued, and you noticed the distant sound of your friends’ voices up ahead. You probably should’ve been catching up, but the longer you rode alongside Lando, the less you cared about rushing back to your group. The trail wasn’t too crowded at this point, giving you and Lando plenty of space to continue at your own pace.

“So, what’s next for you and your adventure squad?” Lando asked, throwing a glance toward the path ahead. “More mountain biking, or something less... crash-prone?”

“Definitely not mountain biking again,” you joked, laughing. “At least not for a while. I think after this, we’re headed to Berlin. You know, something more touristy, less likely to involve hospital visits.”

He laughed along with you, shaking his head. “Probably a smart move. Though, if you want to keep the adventure going, I’ve got some suggestions.”

“Oh yeah?” You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Like what?”

“Well, you seem like the type who’d be into karting,” he said, a playful spark in his eyes. “And I just happen to know my way around a kart track.”

You gave him an exaggerated look of surprise. “Wow, what a coincidence! I bet you’re really fast too, huh?”

He grinned, leaning a little closer as you both slowed down again. “I’ve been known to have a bit of speed. Think you could keep up?”

You pretended to think it over. “Maybe. Or, I’ll just make you crash again.”

Lando chuckled, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe your audacity. “You’re ruthless, aren’t you?”

“Only when necessary,” you shot back with a grin, feeling the easy warmth between you both growing with each playful exchange.

The two of you rode in comfortable silence for a few minutes after that, the trees and sunlight providing a calming backdrop. You could hear the birds chirping and the wind rustling through the leaves, and for a moment, it was just you and Lando, side by side, enjoying the simplicity of the ride.

Eventually, though, the voices of your friends grew louder, and you spotted them waiting at a clearing up ahead. Mia waved when she saw you, her expression a mix of concern and relief.

“There you are!” she called out as you approached. “We were about to come back and look for you!”

You smiled sheepishly as you stopped beside them. “Yeah, sorry. I, uh, had a bit of a fall.”

Lando, who had pulled up beside you, shot Mia a look. “More like she caused me to fall.”

Mia’s eyes widened in recognition as she took in who was standing next to you. “Wait... are you—?”

“Lando Norris,” he confirmed with a small smirk. “Long story, but yeah, she took me out on the trail.”

Mia’s jaw dropped, and your other friends looked equally stunned. But before anyone could freak out too much, Lando waved it off. “It’s all good. We both survived.”

You laughed, giving your friends a reassuring nod. “Yeah, no major injuries. Just a little pride lost.”

“Wow,” Mia muttered, still processing everything. “This is insane.”

Lando just grinned, glancing over at you. “It’s been... interesting, for sure.”

As your friends began gathering their things, preparing to head off again, Lando turned to you, his voice lowering slightly. “Hey, before you go...”

You looked up at him, curious. “Yeah?”

“How about that karting I mentioned?” His eyes twinkled with that same playful glint. “I’m sticking around in Germany for a few more days. I could give you a proper lesson—on a track, where we won’t crash.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion, and you couldn’t help but smile. “You really want me to embarrass myself again, don’t you?”

Lando shook his head, his smile widening. “No, I just want to see if you can keep up this time.”

You bit your lip, considering it for a moment. “Alright, fine. You’re on.”

His grin was contagious, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he stepped back, ready to rejoin his own group. “I’ll find a way to contact you,” he said, flashing one last look over his shoulder as he rode off. “Don’t think you’re getting out of it.”

You watched him disappear down the trail, a mix of excitement and disbelief swirling inside you. Meeting Lando Norris had been completely unexpected, but now, the thought of seeing him again—this time on a kart track—was even more thrilling.

Your friends were buzzing with questions and comments as you all started riding again, but your mind kept drifting back to Lando. You had started the day thinking it would be just another adventure with your friends, but somehow, it had turned into something even better.

And if you were lucky, it was only the beginning.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

475 notes · View notes

thecowboykatsuki-anon · 2 years ago

Text

Barbarian! Bakugou who loves to torture you, the eldest child of one of his parent’s advisors.

As a kid, he loved to pop up behind you, out of bushes, around corners, just to hear you shriek and then he’d run off laughing. Tug on your hair until you’d bat at him.

As a teen, he was no better, galloping his horse entirely too close to you as he passed, jamming a chair in front of your door so you were late to the lessons you shared with him.

And as an adult? God, he was insufferable. His pranks weren’t so physical anymore, not aiming to make you shriek. He just liked bothering you, loved getting a rise out of you as you tried to study, his heavy boots sprawled across your desk as he sat in your chair. He loved your sharp tongue, grinning widely when you’d mutter our complaints over being his advisor one day.

You never understood why the women around the palace and kingdom fawned over him. Sure, he was handsome, with his golden skin and blonde locks and eyes the color of your favorite wildflowers… but he was an ass, and you both knew it.

But despite all his torturing and pestering, you never fought back, a fact that had him amping up his antics, getting bolder.

It’s how you end up in your current situation, pinned up against a shelf in the library, Bakugou’s hulking figure closing you in as he smirks down at you. He’s entirely too close, and you hold a book clutched to your chest to try and create a sort of barrier between you and his roaming gaze.

He looks entirely too comfortable like this, licking his lip before he speaks, his voice low and teasing. “Yknow my parents keep telling me that eventually I’ll have to settle down and start producing heirs. As my future advisor, I think it’s only fair you help me practice, for the good of the kingdom.”

Your eyes widen and cheeks heat at what he’s suggesting, and panic trips in your chest as he begins to lean in closer. You react without thinking, lifting the heavy book in your hands and swinging.

You didn’t really mean to hit him, only hoping that he’d dodge the swipe, but there’s a harsh smack as the leather makes contact with his cheek and his face is shoved sideways.

You gasp, the book dropping from your grasp with a clatter as your hands cover your mouth in horror, already babbling out apologies as he straightens, rubbing his cheek.

You can’t see his face from this angle, but you can see all your hard work and parent’s legacy crumble before your very eyes, sure that you’ve doomed your entire family with one accidental strike.

Tears begin to bubble at your lashline, blurring your vision as he turns to face you. You’re quick to cover your face, horrified to let him see you like this. You jump when a hand circles around your wrist and tugs it down, calloused from years of wielding a sword.

A moment later, he’s pressing the book back into your hand, quiet as you stare up at him in surprise, lip wobbling. He’s still silent as he cups your cheek, swiping away a tear that’s rolling down your skin, and you’re surprised to see that his ruby eyes are gentle, a sharp contrast to the usual glint he usually dons when looking at you.

“Shouldn’t tease you so much, ‘m sorry,” he murmurs, and your mouth falls open in surprise at his apology, especially since you can already see his cheek purpling where you hit him.

Before you can speak, he’s gone again, and you’re left staring after him, wondering what the hell just happened.

#mha #t writes #cowboy anon writes #thecowboyanon writes #bakugou #barbarian! Bakugou #Bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou

5K notes · View notes

notquitecanon · 11 months ago

Text

Call Me... // Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen's favorite late night nurse, but he's been avoiding your fire escape since an unfortunate accident. You both miss each other just enough for some emotions to slip through the cracks. You don't even know his name, but you'll settle just to know he's alright.

TW: blood, canon typical injuries, kind of hurt comfort, Matt's a self sabotaging martyr as usual, kinda sunshine!reader??? maybe if you squint

Bolded line is from a prompts list from several months ago so I lost the link. If it's yours let me know and I'll link it!

"I haven’t seen you in weeks… I’m worried you’re in another dumpster somewhere. Just call me back…please?" You whispered harshly into the phone’s receiver, burner cell jammed between your ear and shoulder as you fumbled with your keys.

It was true. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen hadn’t graced your apartment in weeks after three months of near nightly visits. At first it was serious stuff, stab wounds and splinted bones. It took two weeks for him to crack a joke. But once that stone cold exterior cracked, it was shattered. He was kind, sweet even. Every few visits, he’d bring by supplies to replenish your kit and, usually, with a bottle of wine in the bag. Emergencies turned to what he called ‘urgencies’- wounds just barely deep enough to justify stitches and dislocated joints. Which then turned into stopping by at the end of his nights for a ‘check up’, where he took advantage of your central heating, warm beverages, and warmer presence. Then, some Yakuza jackass appeared on your doorstep three weeks ago, fortunately your devil hadn’t been far behind. He took care of him, and you figured the thug, now minus fifteen teeth, would have a hard time telling anyone where to find you. Nevertheless, you found the ‘available apartments’ section of the newspaper taped to your seventh floor window. That had been the last night ’the devil’ had paid you a visit.

"Anyways… I guess I'm asking for a sign of life? Something? Please? Bye." You pleaded, voice kinder this time as you managed to finally unlock the door and slip inside. Locking the knob, deadbolt, chain, and newly installed jam that had been mysteriously delivered not too long ago. With a huff, you discarded your keys, and bag in the entry way before delving deeper into your dark apartment, flicking lights on as you went.

"You really need to start locking your windows." A deep voice sounded as you rounded the corned into your living room. Heart jumping to your throat and stomach dropping, you let out a yelp as instinct took over. The familiarity of the voice didn’t register as adrenaline flooded your system.

"SHIT!" You shrieked, flinching backwards so fast that the hallway runner rug caught under your feet, sending you careening into the wall. Without thinking, you put the Yankee’s starting pitcher to shame as you pitched your phone at light speed towards the voice. Of course, the shadow effortlessly caught it.

"Shit!" The intruder mirrored at your fall, and it was then that you realized who it was. As you collected yourself a slew of curses slipped out, looking into the dim living room to find the Devil of Hell’s kitchen slowly rising off the couch, he was already sans black shirt and mask, "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you."

"Yeah, well, mission failed." You muttered, pressing a hand to your chest as if that would still your pounding heart. Slowly, you finished your shuffled into the living room, flicking on the overheads as you went. "Shit, you could have called. Sit back down."

You could have used the heads up, the gash across his chest looked serious, and not in the cute excuse to see each other way ’serious’ had meant last month. He breathed a sarcastic laugh, tossing your phone back to you before producing a shattered burner cell with a… bullet hole?

"You have a funny way of saving my skin when I least expect it." He tried a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes, picking up your pace as you retrieved your first aid kit from under your kitchen sink, "Consider this a sign of life?"

"A sign of barely alive, more like." You answered, rounding back around the couch to sit across from him. Harshly pulling on a pair of rubber gloves and splaying out an array of supplies both his lap and yours. "You’re unbelievable. Almost a month of no contact and then you just appear and leak blood on my couch."

"I’m sorry." He breathed, face angled to where your knees now touched. You rolled your eyes, ripping into a packet of gauze and setting to work dabbing the blood. And he sounded sorry, pitiful even, looked it to. His unseeing eyes stared straight past you and yet somehow straight through you at the same time, mouth settled in a puppy like frown. He told you once that he was catholic, and you now wandered if that’s why he was so good at looking guilty.

"If it wasn’t for the newspapers, I would have thought you were dead." You drove your point home, with a small voice, too angry to be a whisper and yet too concerned to be a hiss. The evidence of his activities was written across his bare torso in older cuts, new and fading bruises, and a couple of bandages that he’d obviously applied himself, "And you’ve obviously been busy."

"Figured out how the Yakuza found you. Handled it. Didn’t want to lead anyone else back here." His explanation was strained, pushed through gritted teeth as you applied antiseptic to the largest, freshest gash. You cooed small apologies, irritated as you were with the vigilante, you hated being the source of his pain. You picked up a suture kit, quickly threading the needle.

"Well, as far as excuses go, that’s not the worst." You muttered, half joking and half touched he’d go through this for you. You’d known he was a walking martyr from the moment you’d met him, but still. He’d taken the beatings so you’d sleep safe.

That was something else, "Lean back, gotta stitch you up."

He complied as you stood, using your shoulder to nudge the floor lamp so the light was better for you. Even then, you position on the coffee table wasn't cutting it as leaning forward cast a shadow over his chest. Neither was kneeling in front of him, as the gash was too far up his chest for your position to be adequate. You muttered a quick apology as you flitted around him, trying to find the best place to plant yourself. Beside him on the couch might work, but you’d be straining to hold yourself up at that angle and keep your hands steady.

Bloody-knuckled hands found your waist with amazing precision for a blind man, easily lifting you and placing you over one thigh after he spread his legs a bit wider. He held you steady, angling his eyes to the ceiling to give you the broadest view of his chest. One of your knees pressed into the couch cushion between his legs and the other pressed into the outside of his thigh, caging the his black-clad thigh between your own like a seat. If your weight bothered him, he gave no indication. He did however turn his ear ever so slightly towards you and smirk ever so devilishly, "How’s that?"

"Very convenient, thanks." You forced your voice to be flat instead of the breathlessness you felt. Stupid charming vigilante. To his credit, it gave you the perfect access without blocking the light. And if you got to feel ever twitch of his insanely muscular thigh between yours? Added benefit. The devil, even bruised and bleeding, was insanely warm and smelled like something out of a terribly sinful romance novel. The manly small of musk and sweat should have been revolting, but the way it mixed with a fading aftershave would have been distracting if you weren’t so focused on the drip of crimson down his toned abdomen. Before your train of thought could derail again, you gave a quiet warning watching your patient steel himself before you began running the needle and thread through the torn skin. Other than an initial hiss and the clenching of his fists against your waist, he went silent as you worked.

The two of you sat in an almost tense silence. He could feel how close your face was to his chest, the waves of breaths washing over his skin, the smell of shampoo in your hair faint enough to know you’d put off washing it, the sound of your heartbeat slowing back down after he’d gotten you excited, the slight sound of your teeth worrying the inside of your lip. He knew he shouldn't be here, Claire could have patched him up, probably would have if he asked really nicely. He probably could have if he really tried, but he’d just missed you. Between Fisk and the Hand and the law firm… everything was messy. You were still simple and sweet and far more caring than he thought he deserved, a balm just to be near you.

"Could you talk to me?" He asked, so quietly you almost missed it in your focus. You tied off another knot, seeing him wince.

"Hmm?" You hummed, pausing to look up from the half stitched wound. His eyes lowered to your face, his clenched hands at your waist loosening to rub the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. You always wore such soft things, he wondered if you’d be so soft underneath. You took opportunity in the pause to wipe some of the blood from his skin.

"I’ve missed your voice, even if you want to yell at me or be upset with me, just let me hear it." His voice was like a prayer, so sincere it made you shift on his leg. What was in the holy water at his church?

"I’m not going to yell at you, honey. I’m not going to kick a man when he’s stabbed." You shook your head, rearranging yourself to get that optimal view again, grazing a gloved finger over a purple bruise on his ribs, "Besides, someone beat me to it."

He chuckled at the lame joke, leaning his head back against the back of the couch again as you began stitching once more. Instead of scolding him, you caught him up on all the details and minor drama that he’d missed over the last few weeks. The funny things and annoyances from work, things your family had sent you, what your friends had been up to, your opinion on current happenings in the city. He listened to you like it was the most interesting thing he’d heard all year, chiming in with questions and quips of his own. You’d missed his voice too, not that you’d boost his ego by telling him that.

"There." You finally finished, tying the last stitch and taping a bandage over it. The vigilante under you didn’t make a move to leave, instead his hands kept you still on his lap. You breathed a laugh, moving on to everything else. You removed the old bandages, giving half healed wounds a thorough cleaning. You applied comical Disney bandaids to the more minor cuts on his hands and were even brazen enough to kiss his split knuckles. The vigilante seemed to preen under you attention as you cleaned and applied Vaseline to his busted lip. As if it was too good to be true, his lip twitched downwards as his eye brows furrowed. His face angled away from yours, his unseeing eyes falling on the window he’d come through.

"You know, the burner phone's been broken for two weeks now. Took the bullet not too long after the yakuza paid you a visit. Couldn't bring myself to throw it away, a little piece of you." He admitted, a pitiful smile twitched up before pulling downward again. He groaned, starting to shift you off his lap, “I shouldn’t be here, it’s not right.”

You allowed yourself to fall to the cushion beside him, but snatched the black shirt away from him before he could make a move for it. He’d been too busy letting his hands linger on your waist.

“Why not?” You asked sternly, tucking the shirt behind your back as if the vigilante in front of you couldn't probably drop you six ways to Tuesday if he wanted to. Not that he could ever consider raising a hand to you, “You got hurt, I patch you up. Seems right to me.”

The devil tensed, first leaning away and then leaning really close. His freshly bandaged fingers tapped your knee as if to emphasize his point, “I don’t deserve this kindness. And even if I did, if I could, if I was good, I would stop coming here so you could live in peace.”

You were a silent for a moment, wanting to make sure your response was exactly how you wanted it to come across.

“The third time you fell through my window, you told me that if I ever wanted to be left alone, all I’d need to do was change the candle I keep by the window.” You recounted his words. You hadn’t known about his senses at the time, he was still cryptic and mysterious. But you’d never changed the candle, buying new ones of the same scent when it would burn out, “You warned me what might happen. You gave me an out, one that I continuously chose to ignore. You did everything in your power to protect me when that choice had consequences. That was good, because you are good. And good people deserve kindness. You put too much on yourself, honey.”

As you spoke, you laid your hand over his on your knee, giving it a slight squeeze to convey your own point. The crimefighter listened to your voice, your heartbeat, the quickness of your breath, finding no deceit and even if he didn’t believe you words, it was nice to hear them. Your kindness washed over him, letting him relax for just a second before he shook his head, laughing sarcastically to deflect the dangerously sappy emotions you stirred. You called him honey like it was his name, and part of him wondered that if you knew his name if you would still call him honey.

“You barely know me, sweetheart.”

His own nickname slipped out by accident, usually just something he called you in his head when he allowed fantasies about telling you everything, coming home to you as the vigilante and the lawyer, seeing just how far your good grace could take him. His lips quirked up in time with the uptick of your pulse and the way your breath caught for a moment.

“I know enough to know you deserve some good.” You whispered earnestly, reaching up to graze the Star Wars bandaid you’d stuck across his the cut on his cheekbone. Almost instinctively, he leaned into the touch. You smiled softly, maybe you’d both missed each other a bit. The combined concern for the other and the time between his last visit making you both a little sappy, or at least more honest about it, So, you breathed a laugh, making another lame joke just to earn one of those chuckles you loved so much, “Besides, I know you well enough to have your blood on my hands.”

But he didn’t laugh, instead, he pulled his face from your palm, his own bandaged hands taking your bloodied gloved hands in his own. Gently, he pressed your hands together, your loose fists creating almost heart like shape as he pressed reverent kisses to each bloody hand. The vigilante was kind always, flirty and joking, occasionally flirtations bordering on something else. But this? This was different, it was new. Intimate. You’d almost feel like a voyeur for watching the scene if it you weren’t playing a starring role. Your mind flashed to those romance novels you’d thought of earlier, this put all of them to shame. So much so that your hands started trembling against his lips.

He held them tighter, but not in a constrictive, cage like way. More in a ‘let me hold you together’ kind of way before gently peeling the dirty gloves off and, again, kissing your clean hands underneath. His face angled to yours, nothing but sincerity lacing his features.

"You know my blood better than my own heart does.”

“God…” You whispered, letting your head fall against his shoulder, your nose nudging his collarbone and your eye lashes fluttering against his neck. His stubbled cheek fell to the crown of your head. You cleared your throat again, "I know your blood, but not your name. For someone I care so much about, that’s kind of sad.”

It was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud in such certain words. The vigilante ran gentle hands up and down your arms, silent as a million thoughts went through his head. You heart was racing, not from lying, but in anticipation. Despite your racing pulse, you seemed almost totally at ease with you skin against his, one of your hands pressed to a bandage on his ribs and the other holding purchase at the waistline of his black pants. Nothing sexual, just the perfect place for your soft hand to land.

Despite the million thoughts, he really had two options. Keep his secret, and keep you at an arms length, to keep things sweet and simple and not too deep. Or. Let you in a little deeper, he'd swim oceans to keep you afloat. Enjoy your sweetness, even if things were complicated. He kept still, holding you as gently as you had touched him, a promise to himself that he could be gentle and soft, just as he could be lethal and ruthless. Two sides of a balanced scale.

Your heart had slowed down again, the soothing motion of his hands on your arm lulling you. You had been worried about his response. You’re confession had gotten too real, you were worried he’d jump out the window and disappear again. And you’d be left with nothing but bloody gloves and the thought that maybe you’d just imagined the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

"Matt.” His voice was quiet, just barely above a whisper, “You can call me Matt. Just don’t stop calling me."

#matt murdock x reader #Daredevil x reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil x you #daredevil x female reader #matt murdock x y/n

719 notes · View notes

megumiluvv · 3 months ago

Text

Trouble

A Five Part Sukuna Series

Part One: Some Dumb Project

Masterlist

Part Two (will update when posted!!)

Synopsis: You switched majors and meet this annoying guy in your new history class, now you have to work on a project with him. Not only that, he goes to the place you work at! Ugh, how annoying, hopefully he won’t cause any trouble…

〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎ ♛ 〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎

Sukuna is nothing but trouble. Everyone knows that. All your life, you’ve attracted nothing but trouble. Whether it’s a traffic jam, your coffee being too cold or spilling all over you, or somehow locking yourself out of your apartment, you just can’t help but find trouble.

Like right now.

You’re late. To your first class of your new major. It’s not like you slept in late or anything, your door jammed, meaning you had to bust yourself out of your own apartment. Talk about annoying! Luckily, the professor hasn’t entered class, so when you walk into the lecture hall, you get up to a row with good acoustics and sit next to a boy with pink hair. He smiles at you and taps your shoulder.

“Hey! I’m Yuji Itadori! Are you new? I haven’t seen you here before, and most of these people are familiar faces.”

“Yeah, I switched majors over break. Nice to meet you, Itadori.”

“Hey, who’s the person in my seat, brat?”

You think you have double vision when you see Itadori twice, but this second one has tattoos on his face.

“Um, there aren’t assigned seats.”

“You’re one of those people, aren’t you?” He huffs with his gruff voice, a frown permanently etched into his face. He’s like a polar opposite of Yuji.

“Sukuna, just sit on the other side of me, it’s not that big a deal.” Yuji rolls his eyes.

“Maybe not to you, idiot.”

“Um, who are you?” You tilt your head.

“I’m this brat’s twin brother, isn’t that obvious? Now get out of my spot.”

“Still not your spot.”

“I will carve my name into the desk. Then will you move?”

“Isn’t that vandalism?”

“Even better.”

You scoff into a small laugh and look at Yuji with a “can you believe this guy?” look. You still refuse to switch seats as the professor enters.

“Alright, take your seats, class has started.” He says in a bored tone.

Sukuna scoffs at you and sits on the other side of Yuji, glaring at you the entire time. He can already tell you’re going to annoy him. Especially with your stupid attitude, your dumb clothes that fit you so well, your stupid good looks, your annoyingly attractive body… He needs to not stare. He shakes the thought away as the professor talks about some dumb project he could care less about.

“You all are going to be assigned a group of three people, so just look at the person next to you and on the other side, that’s basically your group, just for simplicity.” The professor looks up and starts writing groups down. “Mkay, so the Itadoris anddd… got it.”

Sukuna almost audibly groans with his eye roll, now he’s stuck with you? What a pain… The end of class couldn’t come sooner. He glares at you as he leaves, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and smoking in the bathrooms. You look at Yuji in confusion.

“That’s your twin brother?”

“Yeah, I think he was dropped.”

You laugh at him and shake your head, he’s definitely funnier than his moody counterpart. You head to your next class after exchanging numbers. The rest of the school day goes on like normal. Luckily, you don’t have any other classes with Yuji’s brother, but you do share a math class with Yuji, which is fun. You leave to work, a cafe run by a tired old man, but he’s a nice guy. You get there early somehow, changing into your work clothes and heading to the front to take orders.

You didn’t think the day would be worse, but who else enters the cafe but that annoying tattooed guy? Oh, and Yuji, but he’s not the issue here. There’s a third guy too, he doesn’t look much like them.

“Hey, customers are here, stop staring and take their orders, please.” Nanami tells you.

“Right, sorry.” You mumble and take their orders, Sukuna purposely picking something difficult. Yuji smiles at you and sits at their normal spot.

“This history project makes no sense, we haven’t even been taught this thing and he’s assigning us a project! Can you believe this, Choso?” Yuji groans and sips his drink when you set it in front of him.

“It’s like a research project, and we need to sort out who's doing what.” You say and hand who Yuji called “Choso” his black coffee. You set down the difficult order Sukuna made and he examines it.

“Hmm…”

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure it was made correctly.”

“I didn’t poison it, dude, it has everything you asked for.”

“Hmmmmm…” Your eye twitches.

“You’re not getting a refund, Sukuna, she made it exactly like you asked, you’re such a pain in the ass.” Yuji rolls his eyes and looks at you. “Just ignore him. We need to plan the project anyways. Sukuna isn’t going to do anything, I already know that.”

Sukuna, who doesn’t deny it, opens a bunch of straws, rips small parts of the wrapping paper, balls them up, and throws them across the table. One hits Yuji, one lands onto the floor, one lands in Choso’s coffee, and one hits you while another lands in your hair. Choso glares at his younger brother and rolls his eyes, moving the ball out of his coffee before taking a sip.

“Every day, I wonder how I am even related to you.” Choso mumbles.

“Oh, you say that about me but not the idiot next to you?”

“At least Yuji isn’t a literal menace like you.”

“Can we please focus on the project?” Yuji sighs.

“Whatever.” Sukuna grumbles and keeps tossing trash around.

“I’ll research the start half if you research the end half.” Yuji says to you.

“Mkay, I can also make the presentation.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Sukuna asks.

“Don’t act like you plan to help, idiot! The school already caught you for vandalizing the bathroom stalls! You’re gonna be busy cleaning all that up before you can even work on the project, and I know you’ll take your sweet ass time cleaning everything up!” Yuji argues with Sukuna.

“Really? First day back and you’re already in trouble?” You tilt your head.

“Don’t act so surprised, everyone knows he’s trouble.” Choso says pointedly.

“Oh, I guess you’ve never met him before today, huh? He gets in trouble quite a lot.” Yuji grins. “Anyways, we should let you get back to work, so have fun!”

Yuji leaves a tip for you and you start cleaning the table, not seeing the way Sukuna’s gaze lingers when you bend to pick up the trash from the ground. You hit your head standing back up and swear you can hear someone snicker.

You drive home, though leaving the parking lot of the cafe takes you almost an hour since your key wouldn’t work. When you get to your apartment, you enter through the front door and cook yourself a simple dinner. You count your tips and see a piece of paper you didn’t notice before.

“Don’t sit there tomorrow or I’ll key your car.”

Wonder who that could be from.

The next day, you head to class, getting there early, and Sukuna is already in “his seat”, giving you a glare as his eyes trail down your body. He really can’t stand you, he decides again. Your outfit today sits a little too perfect, being just tight enough that if someone was looking hard enough (which Sukuna was), they could see the outline of your bra.

You chew on the end of your pencil, a bad habit you’re yet to break, and Yuji shares the research doc to you. You split the work between the two of you and Sukuna just sits in the doc typing the same three phrases over and over.

“Stop that.” Yuji smacks his brother’s arm.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re typing ‘death and destruction’ as if you’re manifesting it, stop.”

“I’m not just typing that…”

“Don’t get me started on ‘the despair is endless’ and ‘this class shouldn’t exist’. What are you, twelve?”

“I’m twenty-one, like you, dumbass!”

“I’m not the dumbass writing edgy shit on the doc!”

“Oh my god, you two, just let him type his edgy shit and continue researching.” You groan.

Yuji huffs in frustration and continues his research while you check the doc to see what Sukuna is doing. There are fire emojis in the middle of your typing, the words “you work tn?” near the bottom of the page. You sigh and humor him, talking through the document.

“No, why?”

“So I don’t get to throw trash at you later?”

“Nope.”

“How sad.”

You look at him and he has a smirk. You roll your eyes and leave when class is over, tripping over your own feet. He laughs at your misfortune and grunts when Yuji smacks him in the head.

“What was that for?!”

“Don’t go flirting with her, she’s a nice girl who doesn’t need someone like you to fuck up her happiness.”

“I’m not flirting with her!”

“I saw the fucking doc, dipshit. You’re not slick.”

“I was asking if she’d be around for me to torment.”

“You and I both know what your intentions were.”

The tattooed twin grunts and walks off, lighting a cigarette and tripping some nerd who apologizes for being in his way. He wasn’t flirting. He can’t stand you, he tells himself. He can’t stand your quick remarks to his words, can’t stand your stupid doe eyes, the way they squint when you’re focused on typing after the third typo in a row, can’t stand the way you purse your lips and the slight smile on your face when he and Yuji are arguing, definitely not wondering what it’d be like to feel them against his own. Because he wasn’t flirting. Yuji doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Sukuna smokes and half-ass scrubs the stall he vandalized yesterday. His thoughts are not focused on you, your stupid face, or your dumb words. Totally not. He wasn’t flirting, he reassures himself again. He’s not interested in you. Even if he was, he wouldn’t admit that. You’re just some girl in his class. Not important at all.

He’s late to the cafe and Yuji is fixing the mistakes in the research document. Choso sips his usual black coffee and scrolls on his phone.

“You’re late.” The elder brother points out.

“Had to clean the bathrooms.”

“I see. Your barista friend isn’t here.”

“She’s not my ‘friend’, Choso.”

“She’s Yuji’s friend.”

“Doesn’t make her mine by default, she can have the brat.”

“Says Mister Flirts With Her.” Yuji grins.

“I wasn’t flirting dammit!”

“Why are you getting so defensive, huh?”

“I am not! You’re just a pain in my ass and annoying the hell out of me!”

“Stop screaming, Nanamin will kick us out!” Yuji frowns.

“I still don’t get how you’re so buddy-buddy with the old man.” Choso mumbles.

“He’s pretty cool. Kind of mean, but he makes delicious bread.”

“Literally how the hell are you even aware of that?” Sukuna scoffs.

“Unlike you, I actually talk to people, and get along with them!”

“Whatever…” He scoffs.

Sukuna seems bored. He taps the table to a catchy tune and just waits until it’s time for him to go home. He watches a few groups walk into the cafe and at Yuji working diligently on his laptop.

“At least she does her work. I’d hate to do this project alone.” Yuji says to no one in particular.

“Do you do anything else besides complain?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sukuna. Let me think out loud. And you complain more than I do.”

“Liar.”

“How the hell is that a lie?”

Choso chuckles at his younger brothers. “Sukuna, you do have a streak for complaining more than Yuji.”

“Oh, dare I bring you into this, Choso?”

“You’re right; withdrawn.”

“Let’s just go home already.”

“Yeah, fine.” Yuji frowns and shuts his laptop.

When they get home, Sukuna feels a buzz in his pocket. He checks his phone. There is a text from Gojo, the university’s pretty boy.

Party at my place next Thursday.

This should be fun.

Taglist: @jinxiewritings @midnight-138 @sukioyakio @toffeebrat @hypothetical-hypocritical

@sh0ot1ngst4r @tojideckmuncher @sterzin @theirlgarfield @mikari73

@watyousayin @cherriee-ee @kyojurokoibito @xwhatiams @notsocherries

@ohohcandy @aruraa @samaraxmorgan (Comment or ask and I’ll add you!!)

#I think writing sibling dynamics are my favorite thing ever because I’m an expert when it comes to having brothers #♛trouble #brothers au #modern au #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #ryoumen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #yuji itadori #yuuji itadori

189 notes · View notes

bitchlessdino · 1 year ago

Note

okok i'm here for a request

wonwoo as your coworker who you've been having an office romance with - which you have been taking as a joke. everyone thinks you'll get together, and you play along with that. but wonwoo is very serious.

so late night booty call from coworker!wonwoo? or maybe drunk dial to wonwoo and the aftermath the next day (fucking in the office)

Pairing: wonwoo x afab!reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 3.9k

tags: office au, feturin bartender!chan and coworker!mingyu, mentions of alcohol, exhibitionism, manhandling, unprotected sex, creampie, pet name

author note: hi bee ily bee, you're messed up for this bee. but im worse for producing it gdjgwkjg. anyways enjoy wonu rot

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @wonuhour @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro

Wonwoo is a handsome guy and it was clear as day to everyone in the office. You like having a bit of his attention. He’s funny and quite friendly with you, but that is perhaps because the first time you met you had the courage to fight with him over the last jam-filled donut in the break room. Since then, there’s never not been a reason to talk as if you’ve known each other forever.

You admit some of the socializing you’ve been having with Wonwoo is more than what you do with any other coworker, let alone friend, but you were just playing along and it was too late to go back. Besides, both of you know what this is. All this talk was simply harmless flirting, playful jokes, and lively banter. You make it clear at the end of it all that there is nothing between you and Wonwoo, that things are as platonic as two subordinates can get.

You can’t say the rest of the office believes that though, seeing as so many of them with jealous glares in your direction or the nudges from the suspecting coworkers that ‘lowkey ship’ you two together as if you were some characters in television.

“Ugh, you two make me sick. Just get together and have beautiful children already.”

You and Wonwoo shared a harmonious chuckle together, one louder in humor and it wasn’t the man dashing in a silk silver necktie.

“I wish I could, but they like to sleep on the left side even though I also sleep on the left side and I don't know how that would work,” Wonwoo knocks against your shoulder

“Not to mention he likes cats way more than dogs and the fact that we could never really be together because we’re just good coworkers.”

“Right,” he lightly punches, indicating agreement. “It’d be a really bad idea if we were actually together.”

You raise your brows, almost offended. “Woah, woah. I never said it was really bad.”

“But you were thinking about it.”

“Lover quarrel I hear?” Mingyu butts in after getting his morning joe. “They’re always at it at this time of day.”

You roll your eyes at the giant. “All I’m saying is. I and Wonwoo are good together at work. Just work. Dare I say he’s a good work husband, even if he steals the last of the pastries—“

“Will you ever let that go—“

“No—and that’s all there is everyone. Sorry to disappoint.”

The crowd gives their share of snide smirks before dispersing. Mingyu is the last to stay behind, a Cheshire smile on his face. “Sure, you two. Just keep your hands to yourself around here…if you can help it.”

You were about to throw a light kick at the man before he started scurrying off, leaving you and Wonwoo in your lonesome as always.

“They mean no harm by the way,” Wonwoo points out, “but if it bothers you that much, I can tell them to lay off.”

“Nu-uh,” you reply, shaking your head, “and make me look like a buzzkill? I don’t mind the back and forth. Just don’t anyone get the wrong idea that our jokes are actually serious?”

“Yeah, because it’d be just awful to be caught dating someone like me.”

You groan at his choice of words. “That is not what I said. Stop putting words in my mouth. This is why we wouldn’t work together.”

Wonwoo shrugs, a smile on his face that truly does brighten up a whole room. God, no wonder people think you’re dating him. What single man smiles like that? “Alright, sweet face. Fine. Who cares what they think? We know left from right, okay?” There’s a hint in his tone that says otherwise but you decide to ignore it.

“Okay, good. Anyways, what are your plans tonight? Up for another night of Valo queue?”

“I actually have plans tonight.”

“Oh?” You say wiggling your eyebrows. “Hot date?”

“Maybe? Haven’t met them yet.”

You’re playful expression fades. “Oh, actually? Wow. You must be…excited.”

He shrugs, freshening up his mug. “It’s nice to have plans outside of binge-watching TV at home, so a little bit.”

Your smile can’t seem to reach your ears until you’ve found a way to find the humor out of it. “That sounds nice. I wanna be set up—Wonwoo don’t you have any hot friends?”

Wonwoo feigns thought, clicking his tongue, now noticing the watch on his wrist. “Well, would you look at the time? Back to work.”

You sneer at him leaving you unanswered, following after him to continue the rest of your day. This is how most days went. Outside of work, you shared your personal interests with him, such as video games—perhaps adding to the assumption that you both seem very couple forward—but otherwise, that was all. There was nothing else that made you more than people who work in close proximity together, and not by your own fault either.

Despite this dynamic, Wonwoo is a private person and you only know what he lets you know. Perhaps, that’s why you are so dead set on keeping the formality the way it is. Who knows the type of person he is behind doors?

You try not to be curious about him for the sake of your circumstance, but the thought of Wonwoo and his date stays in the back of your mind, pestering you like an insect well into the afternoon until after work. That’s when you decide to hit up the local bar, grab a drink—or 5–and catch up with your favorite bartender, Chan, to see what he’s up to. He’s normally a good distraction, seeing as he can talk circles around any subject while jumping from one to the other, and you think it starts to make you forget why ever you came in the first place.

However, ‘drunk you’ does whatever the fuck they want, even if ‘sober you’ says otherwise. You seem to forget that every time you go out, perhaps because you think you’ve overcome that part of you after a while of not drinking. Truth was you haven’t.

“Hellooo…”

The dial tone plays on the other end and you continue your incessant greeting until you’re met with a familiar and confused sound. You automatically grin, clutching the device close to your ear in hopes of hearing his voice again.

“Wonwoo…are you and you having fun…”

You hear shuffling in the background, unaware it was Wonwoo checking caller ID to make sure it was you. “Are you doing okay?”

“Me? I’m great…how are you bud? Buddy? Companion? Bestie?”

“Okay. Where are you right now?”

You chortle, glancing back at Chan who is preoccupied with other customers but watching you from the corner of his eye concerned. “Hehe, I’m with a friend. A very handsome friend…”

Chan lets out a light chuckle before finishing up the drink and handing it to the person waiting. He strolls out to you, listening in on the rest of your call as he pretends to clean up glasses.

“Handsome friend?” Wonwoo repeats.

“Very handsome.”

You aren’t sure what’s going on with you, but you feel the urge to simply narrate everything around you, making sure the man on the other line hears every word.

“Is there a reason you’re calling me, Y/n?”

You hum against the phone in pondering. “Just…because. It’s you.”

“Me?”

“You.”

Chan lightly scoffs at the scene, almost seeing the pink in your eyes as you speak to whoever is on the other end and politely asks for your phone. You pout at him, denying him the device, but with a stern look, you melt into mush and soon obliged.

“Hi, you must be Y/n’s friend right? They’re at the Carat Club right now and it looks like they’ve had enough to drink.”

Wonwoo hums into the phone before responding back cautiously. “Are you the handsome friend?”

Chan grins hearing the hint of jealousy. “Why yes, I am.”

“You don’t sound that handsome.”

“Well, you can judge for yourself because I’m also the bartender here. If you aren’t too busy, I’d really appreciate you getting them home. I’ll keep an eye on them but I can only do that for so long with the rush we’re having.”

There’s a moment of silence on the phone that makes the young bartender think the calls have dropped until the gravelly voice on the other end begrudgingly agrees, quickly hanging up right after.

Chan sets the phone back to your side, doing what he’s promised to do. After some time, he recognizes Wonwoo right away by his frantic arrival and the bartender waves him over. Wonwoo scans your current state with a frown creasing his eyes. He tries shaking your sides, and see how little effect it makes.

“How much have they had to drink?”

“A couple of cocktails but by how early they’ve gotten here I assume they haven’t eaten. Best to take them home before it goes right through them.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo, picks you up by your limp arms and supports your side in the direction of the door. When he’s out of sight, he quietly curses to himself about the accuracy of the bartender’s appearance before settling you in his passenger seat.

His goal is to get you rested and safe. Seeing as your driver's license is doctored from the city several hours from where they are, he assumes it is in need of an update, and tries to pry your address out of you. To no avail, nothing useful comes out from your drunk slurred lips and he ends up taking you to his home, dumping you on his bed, and tucking you in.

You don’t remember anything after the third drink: making that call to Wonwoo, or the debacle of trying to get you home, or his persistence in climbing up the flight of stairs in his own home with the extra body weight. You can only assume the worst when you wake up the following day in a foreign bedroom; your internal alarm was clock accurate as always. You jump from the sheets in pure fear, scanning your surroundings for an owner, when you realize you still have the clothes you wore to work the day before.

Promptly, Wonwoo walks towards the bedroom you occupy from the wide open door and greet you, a smile on his face. “Good, you’re up. Work is in an hour, I’ll get you there.” “Wonwoo, where am I?”

“My place. I would’ve taken you home if you had been more cooperative.”

It takes your eyes some adjusting but you soon realize the lack of clothing on his body, warranting the smooth, broad, and muscular appearance of a Jeon Wonwoo you wouldn’t dare dream of. You gulp at the sight taking it in before hearing him chuckle as he crosses his arms to obscure the view, forcing your eyes on his face that was bare of the thick pair of metal frames you are used to. Instead, you see his eyes, overflowing with warmth you worry you’d stumble upon seeing them. “Extra bathroom at the other end of the hall. I can lend you a shirt.”

“T-thanks.” You say before he disappears in order to get ready for another day.

You quickly finish what needed to be done, taking advantage of the oversized shirt Wonwoo left you behind and somehow making it work. Soon enough you’re off to the office, in his passenger, only time sober and a lot more self-conscious.

“Did I do or say anything weird?”

He lets out a deep, familiar chuckle. “Depends. What’s your definition of weird?”

You try thinking of an answer but none would come up, having you change your mind about getting his prompt response.

“If it’s any consolation, you didn’t get sick like I thought you would, and you were mostly asleep.”

“That just means I was a mess,” You whine.

“Perhaps, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Wait, what about your date? Don’t tell me you—“

“She canceled and I had nothing going on. You called at a good time.”

“I called you?” You question him in bemusement.

“Like I said, nothing I couldn’t handle.”

His repeating that phrase does something the chemical in your brain, retracing the dents of his torso as if they’re right in front you, glistening against the sun rays peaking out of the windows. The smile on his face makes your heart pound a little harder than you’re used to, and now you’re noticing the veins on his hands as he grips the wheel.

You feel yourself swallow. Hand to heart, you pat down as if trying to manually regulate it, but ultimately fail as Wonwoo continues to speak. This must be the embarrassment talking.

“For a second, I thought you called me to confess your undying love for me or something.”

“What?” You ask laughing a little too hard, for once grasping the humor in the situation with difficulty. “Why would you think that?”

“For one, you were drunk. It seemed likely.” He clears his throat, trying to focus on the road. “And maybe that’s what I wanted to hear.”

Those words settle into you like hot cement, frustratingly slow, and before you finally answer, you’re already back at work, following Wonwoo as you leave the car. When both obviously arrive together, the usual attention has multiplied by tenfold, and the treatment feels different than normal. More flustering a suffocating after the night you’ve had. Wonwoo is the only one to notice as he calmly escorts you to your cubicles, leaving the questions of your coworkers unanswered.

You aren't sure why they’re comments are getting you like this now, making you feel hot, hands clasped against your cheeks like a bashful child, but it bothers you throughout the day, forcing you to keep mostly to yourself. Its then Wonwoo, sends you a note, meeting him for lunch alone knowingly while everyone else planned a meal out. You hesitantly oblige to his request and when the time came around, it’s unexpectantly timid, awkward, and nerve-wracking. That’s not how monets with Wonwoo are supposed to go.

“You’ve been quiet.”

You bow you head. “Sorry.”

“Why are you being sorry?”

“I didn’t think I was bothering anyone.”

You don’t see it, but he rolls his eyes.“Well, you were bothering me. Talk to me, joke around with me, be mean to me I don’t know. The silence is annoying me.”

“...I’m sorry.”

“Apologizing again? Look at me.”

It was difficult given the predicament you’re in, but he forces you to anyways by lifting up your chin between his fingers. You watch a dark storm brew in his eyes and now you can’t bare to tear away.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?”

You don’t get it. For the past year, you’ve known him, there's only ever been amicable looks or gregarious smiles at a maximum, but in the deep pit of your stomach bubbles a new sensation that has finally festered enough to rise to the surface. You clench your legs in instinct, eyes fluttering back at him as you let each breath take a slow turn.

Intuitive as always, Wonwoo sees that shift in your eyes. It’s disturbing, daunting, and tempting all at once and he decides he can’t take it anymore.

With the break room wall behind you, he pushes you against it, claiming your lips and body until there is no way of escaping. His lips are soft against yours, but moves languidly and impatient, and the grip of his hands on your hips drains the energy out of your lower body. You attempt to chase his vigor, hands against your neck as you suppress your moans at how he kneads your flesh through your slacks only to press your thigh to his side.

“So I’m what’s wrong?” He asks in a low rasp against your lips.

You naturally hold him by the back of his neck, his nose nuzzling against yours. Wonwoo feels your lips part to speak, but he is in a daze by how soft they felt only seconds ago. “You are far from what’s wrong,” you finally answer.

Ridding of inhibitions and doubt, Wonwoo opens the storage closet behind you and shoves you in to lock you both inside. His hands run up your body needily, desperate to taste the skin underneath the shirt you’ve borrowed. You help him undress the same way he does to you, and your pristine pressed Van Hausens fall near your feet like rubble.

His lips then fall underneath your chin, trailing your neck, he refrains from leaving too much pressure but is almost swayed by your natural scent mixed in with his shampoo. He roughly plants you against a mostly empty shelf, the ice cold metal somehow burning your skin. He helps you tug off your slacks finding that sopping cunt that’s been dying to have him discover them since this morning.

“For me? Just for me?” He wastes no time shoving his hand down the frail fabric of your underwear and gliding his thick digits over your wet slit. “I don’t know if I can keep my hands to myself this time.”

Your voice reveals itself, saying his name in a way you wouldn’t dare let another person hear as long as you lived. He repeats the action, watching you crumble in front of him like award-winning cinema.

“I never heard you speak like that to me. I could get used to it.” He find your ear, his cat-like smile forming before his lips closes around your skin and his whispers cause the ripples of chills down your spine. “Say my name like that again for me, darling.”

You tremble under his touch, feeling his fingers dip into your heat enticingly. “Won…wooo…”

He lets out a soft and gentle moan, and the heat of his breath fans your pebbled skin. “Such a pretty little thing. I’ve dreamt how you’d be like this for me so often.”

“You…have?”

He presses a lingering kiss on your neck. “More than I can be proud of.” He curls his digits before taking light jerks, his thumb rubbing your arousal around the circumference of your clit. He drinks in your pretty pants, teeth grazing back at your skin. “You like me touching you? Aren’t I being such a good work husband?”

Your eyes screw shit, mouth etching open to give him a well-deserved praise, “So goo—“

“Where are my keys,” a voice breaks outside the door.

Wonwoo seizes his fingers from you and clamps them over your mouth, your arousal basically coating your lips and his eyes staring back at you intently.

“Where did they go anyway?”

Wonwoo shushes you with pursed lips. “Better be quiet.” His tone is stern but his actions say otherwise as his zipper comes down in a fraction of a second. “It’s in our best interest not to get caught, right?”

His name muffles under his palm, squeezing the life out of your cheeks as he exposes the bulging cock that’s been fighting away at him since he kissed you. Your eyes dart in their direction, beading perspiration across your forehead, and you feel yourself clench around nothing as his cock draws closer to your fluttering heat.

Your eyes double their size and then shrink to half the size once he’s inside you. His raw, long heat pushes into your core inch by inch, and you feel the necessary evil to bite down his palm. If Wonwoo was bothered by it, he doesn’t show it as he claims you with deep strokes, having your hands rest against his firm pectorals in reluctant trust. His low grunts can only be heard by you and the slight fog in his glasses is apparent the closer he thrust into you, even in the dim closet lighting,

Outside these walls still is a confused Mingyu, not foreseeing the event occurring behind a door mere feet away. “Maybe, they went somewhere else for lunch.”

You audibly squeak within the tight space and Wonwoo shushes you again, knocking back into with a curt but harsh slam before forcing your walls to hold his cock inside you like a natural plug. “You’re gonna get us in trouble, darling. I’m not done with you yet.” An accumulated thrill runs through your veins at the thought of being caught, taking every thrust with pressure and liquifying at the devious smile on your rumored boyfriend’s face.

“No they’re not here,” the intruder says to a voice unheard from their distance. “…Coming!”

His footsteps noticeably scan the perimeter once last time before they retreated further and further away.

“Finally,” Wonwoo breathes out, “now I have you all to myself.” Although he states that, he doesn’t let go of your mouth, in fact, you swear his hand is getting tighter and now his face closer, finally processing the spearmint on his breath “We should still be careful. Can you be quiet for me?”

You quietly nodded, grasping at his body desperately, gesturing for him to keep going.

He scoffs. “My darling being impatient?” He pulls out almost his entire length before shoving back into you, earning a feeble tremble. “My. Cock. Making. You. Needy. Hm?”

You nod back at him, holding back your tears, nails digging into his shoulder blades.

“Eyes on me, darling. Your work husband is need of your attention while I fuck you senseless.”

Shallow breaths escape your nostrils, finally meeting his eyes, which seemed to have lost the thick barrier of his glasses somehow already set on the shelf behind him. “Would you like for me to cum in you?”

You gingerly nod.

“Will you listen to everything I say when I let go of your mouth?”

Like a glitch, you nod the same exact way.

“Such a good little darling.”

His cock fills you up as naturally as breathing does. While his lips are home against yours, tongue entangling to the point it becomes sex itself. Your hushed moans are music to his ears and bear motive as his cock plunges deeper and harder inside you. He doesn’t mind how you bit his lips, nor how your nails drag against his back, rather he revels in it, doubling over you to push his cock inside you deeper until you're unable to contain your screams and he’s forced to silence you again.

You whisper how you’re close and it’s a natural drug, encouraging him to only ram inside you and claim the sweet sound of your orgasm coating decadently around his cock. He handles it rather gentlemanly, fairly as his cock is next to ripple in climax, shooting his thick over churned honey until it fills your heat until the point of fully occupancy. His arms come around you in a firm grasp, bruising your lips until you’re imprinted with the memory of him.

You let out light pants, awkwardly thanking his promptly done tasks before you’re whisked away again by his perfect, salvia-sheened lips. “That was very…superb.”

Strange adjective but it’s done the job, you think.

“I’m glad you think so,” he chuckles in a way that tells you things are far from over and you’re proven correct when he brings up your legs, thighs crushing his cheeks that splays the most impish smile. “But we still have 15 minutes of our lunch and a man’s gotta eat.”

Part of my 3K Follower StayCation!!!

#svthub #seventeen smut #wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo smut #wonwoo #seventeen wonwoo #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x you #wonwoo x y/n

2K notes · View notes

themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 7 months ago

Text

Heavy

Summary: Reader's having a depressive episode and needs some comfort from her mate

Content Warnings: Depression

Author's Note: I should be finishing my Vamp!Rhys fic but I got sad and wrote this instead

------------------------------------------------------

Velaris is beautiful at night, from the glittering stars overhead, to the soft gurgle of the Sidra rushing over time worn stones beneath the city’s many intricate bridges. The music makes the whole city feel full of light and laughter, couples often dancing and humming in the streets. It’s one of your favorite places to be.

Usually.

Tonight it’s just… there. Though you stand in the heart of it, everything moves around you, never quite touching you. It’s as if you’re suddenly a stranger in the place you love the most, the emotional distance between you palpable.

You jam your hands in your pockets and keep walking, though you’re not really sure where you’re going, your body moving on autopilot. It’s been like that for a couple weeks now, if you’re honest, you’ll be half way through the day sometimes before you realize you’re not sure how or when you even got out of bed, or gotten dressed. Did you even eat? Kiss your mate good morning? Rhys has been working long hours in Illyria lately, most nights you’re already asleep before he’s even tumbling into bed, but, now that you’re thinking about it, that could also be because you’ve been going to sleep earlier too.

You frown at your boots as you walk, trying to remember when this happened. It’s not new, you’ve had bouts of this since you were a teenager, but they’ve been better thanks to regular sessions with Madja and some other healers. Art therapy in the Rainbow has helped too. Usually you can tell when you’re starting to slip into the darker places in your head, but it crept up on you this time.

By the time your mindless wanderings bring you back to the Townhouse, the light from your upstairs bedroom is already on, meaning Rhys somehow finished his business and beat you home. You’d only planned to grab some takeout so you wouldn’t have to cook, and yet, here you stand, hands as empty as your stomach.

The door opens before you can even reach for your key, soft light spilling out into the entryway. “There you are!” Rhys says by way of greeting, as if he’d been waiting by the door for you. Your mate leans in to place a quick peck on your lips as he guides you inside.

“Did you go to Rita’s with Mor?”

He should be able to tell you hadn’t, since you’re wearing the same sweatpants you had been for a week, but then again, he also hasn’t been home enough to know you haven’t changed out of them.

“No I…” you hate talking about this stuff, hate feeling like you’re burdening anybody with the weight you feel pressing down on your chest. “Uh, went to get dinner.”

Rhys stares down at your empty hands, eyebrows raised teasingly. “Did you forget to bring it back?”

You run a hand over your eyes. Cauldron they’re so heavy! Why is everything always so heavy? Your whole body feels like it’s made of bricks, just the effort to kick off your boots feels like it takes every single drop of energy you have left. “Sorry.” Even speaking feels like too much.

Rhys frowns, “Darling, are you ok?”

“Just tired,” you say, avoiding his eyes now.

He steps forward, placing a knuckle under your chin and tilting your face towards him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired,” you repeat, but your eyes are watering now.

He stills, violet eyes roaming over you, assessing for the first time tonight how you look, the dark circles under your eyes. He knows you haven’t had trouble sleeping, he’s barely been able to wake you when he comes home at night. “It’s getting bad again, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears falling in earnest now.

Rhys’s features soften as he lifts you into his arms, the bond flooding with warmth and understanding as he says, “It’s not your fault. You can’t help it.”

You rest your head on his shoulder as he carries you upstairs. “I thought I was doing better… but everything just feels heavy again.”

He kisses your forehead gently as he climbs into bed and settles you down against his chest. Twisting, his wings unfurl so he can curl one around you, cocooning you in the warmth of his body. “What can I do to help?”

You wrap an arm around his waist as you settle your face against his chest, his heartbeat steady and even beneath you. Madja had said once that this was helpful if you got overly anxious, the steadiness of his breathing helping yours level out, and it helps now too, gives you something to focus on. It’s grounding and you let your breathing sync up, your chest rising and falling against his own. Madja hadn’t been able to stress enough how important it was to find something to ground you in the present when you got like this, lest your thoughts start to spiral deeper and deeper into the dark.

“Just need you to hold me for a little while,” you say.

Rhys pulls your favorite blanket up over the two of you before wrapping an arm around your waist. “I love you,” and the bond floods with more warmth than you think you deserve, but it doesn’t let up when those thoughts sneak in. “I’ll do anything you need me to.”

You place a gentle kiss to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replies, fingers tracing shapes in your back. “No one has all good days.”

“But nothing even happened,” you protest. “I just woke up one morning and it was just so heavy to be awake.”

He kisses your temple. “We can see Madja in the morning, if you need, but you can’t beat yourself up. You have no control over it.”

You press your temple into his chest and breath in the jasmine and citrus scent of him. “I hate it.”

He places another kiss to the top of your head. You know he hates it too, hates that it’s a battle he can’t fight for you, no matter how much he wants to. “It will pass.”

Rhys is warm, his presence soothing, the darkness that seeps from his skin on the days he hasn’t had the time to expel enough of it, drifting over your body in soothing motions. This is safe and quite and peaceful. Your body starts to settle more and more as time goes on.

“Do you really believe that?” You whisper. “That it’ll pass?”

“Yes,” he says. “It has before, and it will again.” Knowing he’s had the experience himself, you’re inclined to believe he’s right.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” you admit.

Rhys holds you a little tighter, “Till all the stars fall from the sky, my love.” He holds you all night, whispering all the things he loves about you as you start to fall asleep.

You let yourself fall into it, hoping tomorrow will be better.

#rhysand x reader #Rhys x reader #Rhys x reader fluff #rhys acotar #acotar fic #acotar fluff #my writing #my fanfic #fanfiction #Rhys fic

269 notes · View notes

poppadom0912 · 2 months ago

Text

Jay’s Masterplan

Summary: 5 times Jay's plans failed and 1 time it kind of worked out.

A/N: @desimarie12 who asked for a part two of Sylvie’s Masterplan. But, this can also be read as a standalone. I changed and expanded on your idea a lot. I got a little carried away and wrote 3.7k words

I’ve got a few more asks in my inbox left to finish for this 1k celebration so they’ll be coming out very slowly by the end of this week. I’m considering this to be part of it. I hope you enjoy!!

🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐

It had been two days since your birthday, two days since Sylvie had been incredibly sneaky and achieved one of her biggest accomplishments in life: getting you and jay to finally go on a date.

Said date was today and the past two days had been filled with nothing but anticipation and excitement and endless teasing and cheesy smiles from your sister who seemed as happy as you.

Jay claimed that he had everything under control. He was going to take you out and he would be in charge of everything. You had nothing to worry about – he insisted.

Your first date was going to be perfect.

Sylvie came over to help you get ready. She sat cross legged on your bed as you skimmed your closet and the possible dresses to wear, giving her input when needed. She helped do your hair when time was running out and you were close to running the risk of being late.

Then the doorbell rang and before you could worry any further, she was pushing you out the door, quelling all your worries with the promise that she would clean up the mess that was your bedroom before she went back home.

You didn’t miss the sly smirk on her face when you opened the door, and Jay couldn’t take his eyes off you.

“Be good and have fun kids! Make sure you use protection!” Sylvie smiled, waving you off like a mother.

You could hear her cackles after you let out a weird, almost unattractive noise, embarrassed at her words. “Sylvie!”

“I’m so sorry about her, she’s…”

“She’s being Sylvie.”

Jay was very chivalrous, opening the car door for you before he got in himself. The entire car ride had been filled with comfortable chatter and your pre-date jitters had started to die down.

His story was suddenly cut off by a traffic jam. Cars were beeping and drivers were shouting out each other. You had to roll your window to try understand what was happening.

You heard the words 9-1-1 and ambulance being shouted by numerous voices and both of you were already getting out, sharing a quick glance, exchanging no words.

You followed Jay towards the crushed cars, the smoke piling up was now a cause for concern.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" Jay asked a woman who was stumbling out her car. She held her bloodied head and tripped over her feet disorientated.

"Come with me please. I'm a nurse, I can check you out." You said, moving towards the woman, offering an arm for her to hold onto which she did without question.

Leading her towards the pavement, you looked back at Jay whose eyes hadn't left you, making sure you were safe and had everything under control.

Smiling, you nodded slightly, giving him all the assurance he needed to leave you and do his own thing.

🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐

So the first date was a bit of a flop.

You ended up going to the hospital with one of the victims involved in the crash and at the end of the night, it had gotten too late to continue with Jay's original plans.

All that was possible was a small takeout at you apartment. In your opinion, this had been one of your most memorable first dates ever.

But, Jay wasn't satisfied. He was committed to taking you out on a proper date, he wasn't taking no for an answer.

It was now two weeks later, both your afternoons lining up together perfectly.

Due to a small timing problem, you would be meeting Jay at the park. He had to sort something out at work really quickly but that gave you enough time to set everything up to your exact preferences.

You knew Jay would have wanted more of a say in the set up but you wanted to contribute something. You brought a cute picnic blanket and a few small foods to nibble on.

Bored, you started picking on the mini charcuterie board you made, eating the cracker as you surveyed the park.

It was nice and peaceful. All the kids were in school, most people at work and only a few people were in the park, walking their dogs or going for a quick midday run.

All of a sudden, you were brought out your reverie by a light tapping on your shoulder. Looking over, you saw a small chubby hand retreating from your shoulder.

Following it, you found yourself looking at a child who couldn't be any older than two.

"Hello." You smiled softly at the little girl, her hair in two small pigtails that held just enough hair to tie up, the tiniest purple trainers and the cutest dungarees. "Honey are you lost?"

She shook her head, her finger pointing at the cracker in your hand. "I have cracker please?"

You swooned, internally aweing and cooing at her voice. Despite being a labour and delivery nurse, you could never get over your baby fever.

"Oh! You want a cracker?" You replied, already picking up a cracker to give to her which she took with the cheekiest smile on her face, her dimples almost blinding you.

"Thank you! Thank you!" Her pronunciation was slightly off but that only made her cuter.

Without any further prompting, she sat opposite you, her legs crossed as she started to eat.

You were so confused and caught up in this little girl that you hadn't seen Jay entering the park. You unfortunately missed the moment his face lit up the second he noticed you.

Walking towards you, his smile slowly turned into a confused frown as he caught sight of the toddler sitting with you.

"Sylvie never mentioned you were a mum."

You jumped, head whipping up to look at him in alarm. "Jay! Hey!"

You stood up, wrapping him in a quick hug and pressing a light kiss on his cheek before pulling away to look down at the toddler who was now on her second cracker.

"Yeah I have no idea where she came from but she asked very politely for some crackers." You said, your smile soft as watched her take a grape.

"No parents in sight?" Jay asked. Both of your eyes were stuck on her as if hypnotised.

"Literally no one is here but us Jay." You rolled your eyes, pointing out the obvious. "She literally appeared out of thin air."

"Cool." Jay hummed, nodding as if it was completely normal to have a random child come up to you and start eating your food.

You sighed wistfully, sitting back down in your spot, the little girl looking up as you did so.

"Is it yummy?" You asked, unable to stop yourself from smiling at the way her head titled to the side.

"Yes, yummy!" She nodded eagerly. "Thank you!"

"Your welcome darling." Gosh you were so gone for her and Jay took notice of how captivated you were of her.

"Gosh I just want to eat her." You said in an almost aggressive manner.

Jay totally didn't feel anything watching how you interacted with her. His heart definitely wasn't going all soft and gooey, his mind definitely wasn't wandering.

For a split second, Jay could envision a future with you.

🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐

Third times a charm, at least that's what they say.

The two previous attempts of a first date hadn't been very successful. Your last date almost was, you didn't mind the company of the toddler but her parents needed to be found, a task that took over two hours.

Todays date was fool proof. Nothing, and Jay guaranteed it this time, nothing was going to go wrong.

On both of your days off, you both decided on lunch again. This time, unlike the past two, you were successfully able to sit and eat an entire meal without anything going awry.

Just like Jay said, nothing had gone wrong and it was almost the perfect first date.

The only thing left to make this perfect would be-

Gunshots.

Wait, that wasn't right. Gunshots were the opposite of perfection, they would ruin everything.

Gunshots?

Screams echoed in the distance and instantly, Jay was running, his hand tightening its grip around yours.

You mentally cursed yourself for choosing to wear heels.

Jay was shouting some words down his radio that he conveniently carried on him at all times. You could recognise him calling his team for backup.

Turning the corner, you were almost away from the direction of the shooting when all of a sudden, something whizzed past you and Jay groaned.

"Oh my God!" You reacted on instinct.

With the hand still holding his, you pulled him towards you and immediately inspected and gingerly held his bleeding bicep.

"Okay good, you'll be fine, it's just a graze." You sighed in relief as you took off your cardigan, wrapping it around the wound, ignoring Jay asking for you not to ruin such a nice pattern.

"I'll be fine, I can wait for an ambo-"

Jay stopped himself when you looked up at him deadpanned, mouth closing as he petulantly let you tighten up your knot.

"I'm the professional here Jay Halstead so you listen to me." You didn't break eye contact as you tightened it even more to the point that he let out a miniscule wince. "Just wait till I tell your brother about this."

"Wait, Y/N, you don't have to tell Will. Don't tell him please."

🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐

Fourth time around, you were slowly starting to lose hope at ever having a successful first date with the man.

At this rate, you were becoming kinda desperate to the point where you were contemplating getting Sylvie involved and having her plan everything since she was clearly much better than both you and Jay combined.

You left the house with your expectations very low and you were right to have done so because not even ten minutes after leaving your house, you suddenly found yourself bagless.

The man had been so quick with it that you had no time to even react.

You weren't even surprised, just disappointed that you hadn't been holding your bag tighter. You should've known better.

Damn. Your phone was in your bag too.

Sighing, you turned around. Your destination changed now. You needed to go to the 21st precinct now.

One thing was on your side today since the walk was under ten minutes and you had worn the appropriate footwear this time too.

Entering the precinct, you smiled and waved at Trudy. You had been well acquainted with the older woman through Sylvie and Mouch.

"Hey Trudy, do you by any chance know if Jay's already left?" You asked nervously, now realising that this all could've been a waste of time if he already left to go to your date.

Trudy studied you closely, eyes squinted as she tried to figure out what was happening. "You two still haven't gone on a date yet? You want me to have a word with him Brett?"

You chuckled, appreciating her protective nature. "No it's okay but I think I was just robbed."

Trudy wasn't laughing with you. Her face dropped, eyes wide at your confession.

"Then why you standing around here for?" She huffed incredulously as she rounded her desk and started pulling you towards the Intelligence gates.

"Come on, we're going to confront lover boy."

She gave you no time to answer back as you were already in the bullpen, everyone staring at you with lots of confusion.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" Jay asked, eyes going to the clock when a wave of fear crashed over him. "There's still twenty minutes till our reservation-"

"Brett 2.0 has been robbed." Trudy said, not wanting to waste any more time. "What a boyfriend you are huh?"

Both of you ignored that last part, everyone's eyes widening at the statement.

"Shit- are you hurt?" Jay asked, chucking his file aside and striding towards you, taking you in his arm and inspecting your body for any visible injuries.

"I'm completely fine, untouched." You assured him, taking hold of his hands to stop his unnecessary worrying. "It's just my bag - phone, wallet, keys, cards all that stuff."

"We'll find it." Jay stated, no hesitation or doubt in his words. "I'll track your phone and hopefully we'll find this man."

"We'll need another rain check." You said sadly, trying not to show too much disappointment.

"It's okay, don't worry about that." Jay shook his head.

"As long as your okay and safe - that's all that matters."

🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐

The night had started off without a hitch and you were trying not to think about it too much.

This had all been very last minute. Jay had randomly called you, inviting you out to the very fancy restaurant that neither of your salaries could afford.

Apparently, he helped someone out at work and they owned the restaurant. So as a favour, they wanted to let him and a friend have a free dinner.

Jay wasn't going to pass on this opportunity, especially if he could take you on a date.

You were both dressed up the most fancily either of you had been for any of your failed attempts of dates. It was safe to say that Jay was even more attractive, if that was even possible, when he put a little extra effort in.

All your food had been ordered and your conversation had been flowing smoothly from one topic to the next. You had to cross all your fingers and toes to not jinx yourself.

Before the food could come, you quickly excused yourself to the restroom. You needed to go really quick and maybe touch up your face a little bit too.

The women's side was empty and so you wasted no time, quickly doing your business, washing your hands and fixing yourself in the very bougie mirror.

Reapplying your lip gloss and fixing a few stray hairs, you took a quick picture of yourself in the mirror, sending it to Sylvie before leaving.

As you went to pull the door handle, you recoiled, hissing and shaking your hand from the burning heat.

Hesitantly, you slowly moved your finger, wanting to touch it again really quickly to double check you weren't hallucinating.

Hissing again, your fears were confirmed. There was a fire.

Just great. This was perfect. Exactly what you wanted.

You had nothing on you to protect yourself. The shawl you brought had been taken by the hostess, the only sort of extra material you had on your person were the glasses cloth for your reading glasses.

But it wasn't nearly big enough to cover your face. It was good enough though to pull the door handle without inflicting too much damage on your hand.

Blowing out a puff of air, you psyched yourself up, bouncing a little in your heels. You had no idea how bad the fire was but either way, you had to be prepared to move.

Just as you pulled the door open, your phone started ringing. But you were already on the move now and answering the phone wasn't a part of the mini plan you just formulated.

So, like the smart individual you were, you ignored your buzzing phone and tried to make your way out of the smoke.

It was quite thick considering the time frame. You didn't think you were gone for too long but you were struggling to see through the smoke, let alone make your way through it.

Trying to keep ahold of your breath, you squinted to try make out the corridor and the walls. The restaurant was the type of fancy that all the walls were identical and in this disorientated state, it was even harder to distinguish where you were going.

You were starting to struggle with your breath, you'd have to inhale soon so you had to get out of here fast.

Tripping over your feet, you caught yourself on the wall, coincidentally another metal handle that was hot. Without thinking, you pulled your hand away and you fell to your knees.

You weren't able to overthink everything like you normally would.

Wincing, you quickly pulled yourself up and this time, you couldn't avoid breathing and inhaling the smoke. Your coughing fit was expected but that didn't make it any less pleasant.

Ignoring the tingling in your knees, you dragged yourself to stand straight, cloth back over your mouth and moving again towards any sort of exit.

"Call out!"

You paused. Did you hear that right?

"Call out!"

No, you were actually hearing it. If you had to guess, that sounded like the man your sister was deeply in love in. If it wasn't Matt that was shouting then you were truly losing it.

Deciding to risk it, you called out. "Matt?!"

There was a pause before you heard a commotion. "Y/N! Call out again!"

Stifling your coughs, you listened, calling out again as you moved towards the sound of his voice.

If it wasn't for the adrenaline flooding your veins, you would've deflated in relief at the familiar sight of the firefighter, a few men behind him who you couldn't recognise as the smoke was getting thicker.

Without any further word, Matt pulled you towards him and started escorting you away, shouting a few words at his men. "Y/N was there anyone else back there with you?"

You shook your head, coughing again. "No, it's only me."

It took a moment but as soon as you were outside, relief could've drowned you.

Despite all the beautiful fresh air, it welcomed you with an even more wonderful coughing fit.

In a blurry of motions, you found yourself being gently moved to sit down on a stretcher.

"Y/N, oh my gosh, thank goodness." You recognised Sylvie instantly without even looking. You could hear the tears wanting to escape in the thickness in her voice. "We were so scared."

Sylvie was multitasking, talking to you as she started fretting over you, checking for any visible injuries before starting to treat you for smoke inhalation.

"My hand." You rasped out when you realised she hadn't taken note of your trembling hands just yet.

"Shhh, don't talk." Sylvie gently caressed your arm before disappearing back into what you think is her ambulance.

You started blinking to get rid of the blurriness and the first thing you saw when you finally gained your somewhat clear vision was a harried looking Jay.

"Oh, hey."

"Hey you." Jay replied, a small smile that fell when he saw the breathing mask being put over your face and Sylvie beginning to bandage your hands. "Don't ever scare me like that, ever again you hear me?"

Just as you were going to reply, Jay shook his head, moving his hand back so that he wouldn't touch you. "Please, don't say anything."

The look on his face made you wish you still couldn't see properly. Looking into the smoke was less painful than looking at his face drowning in hurt.

"And don't you dare say sorry either or else this fire will be the least of your problems."

You sighed in relief, from both this newfound oxygen and from being reunited with Jay.

🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐

Luckily for you, your injuries weren't too bad, just some smoke inhalation and third degree burns but you did have the stay overnight for observation.

The adrenaline was slowly starting to die down now that you were in the hospital. The room was silent and you could finally start to relax.

Before your thoughts could spiral, Jay re-entered the room, weirdly with a tray in hand.

"Don't talk, I asked Will and he advised you try not talk too much but if you must, then whisper please - for my sake."

You could only nod, your eyes trained on him as he made his way across the room towards you, placing the tray on the folding table.

As if knowing what you were going to ask him, a smile broke out on his face as he moved the little table towards you.

"Well, our date didn't go to plan, again, so I thought we'd do it here." He revealed, as he uncovered the tray of what you now knew was food from the hospital cafeteria.

"Now I know this wasn't the food we were going to have tonight but, you eat it everyday so there must be something to it." He shrugged, very smooth as he opened the individual packages.

"All the main dishes were gone but this can't be too bad."

Looking back at you, Jay was caught off guard at how you were staring at him. Despite everything that happened tonight, there was this softness and longing in your eyes that made his heart skip a beat.

The corner of your eyes were crinkling as they squinted. Even under the oxygen mask, it was so obvious that you were smiling, as bright as you did on your first failed date.

Jay wanted to make you smile that like for however long you allowed him to.

"Thank you." You whispered to him, blowing him a kiss from under the mask.

Jutting your head towards him, he didn't need any words to know what you were asking of him.

Taking off the oxygen mask and putting on the nasal canula, Jay made sure he was doing everything right, Will's words replaying in the back of his mind.

His touch was feather light, fingers much more colder than your way too warm cheeks.

"Okay so, sandwich first?" He asked, surveying the options again, waiting for your nod or shake of your head.

When you nodded, he opened the package and held it out to you so you could take a bite. Your hands were both bandaged making you incapable of doing anything yourself.

You smiled at him with your mouthful, your cheeks puffing out to express your gratitude for him.

As you chewed, he opened his own and also started to eat his dinner, alternating between feeding you and himself in comfortable silence.

This definitely wasn't what Jay had planned for your first date but it was definitely a memorable one and he wouldn't have you either way: happy and safe, well fed and content.

If this just the first date, then Jay couldn't wait for a lifetime full of them.

#one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #one chicago fic #jay halstead x reader #onechicago #chicago med #chicago pd #jay halstead #chicago fire #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead oneshot #jay halstead fanfiction

104 notes · View notes

marleyybluu · 1 year ago

Text

Piercings

Spooky x f!reader

Word count: 925

Warnings: Spooky being a cute daddy, talks of piercings, brief description of a child's ear being pierced, tears from both baby and dad (lol), fluff, Spooky gets a lil freaky at the end. (had to), allusions to smut. reader is not race-coded, reader speaks/understands Spanish

(not my gif. hes so fucking hot.)

“Spooky, baby, come on she’s six months. It’s easier to do it now, they say the pain won’t last as long.” You pouted at your husband. You’d been talking about piercings and earrings since you found out you were having a girl. Spooky hated it. Said you could just give her your moms old ass clip-ons and call it a day but you were not about to do your daughter like that. Plus you maaay have jumped the gun and bought lots of studs and little hoops for her.

Your husband scowled at you as he held the child in question in one hand and pushed the stroller with the other. “Pleeeease.” You begged. He huffed and rolled his eyes. “Fine,” He complied. “But I’m gonna be so pissed at you if something bad happens.” You rolled your eyes, you were sure she’d be fine. “She won’t even cry.”

“Have you seen her get a needle at the doctors? Yes she will.” He argued. But it was too late he already said yes and so you led them over to Claire’s. You browsed around until the piercer was done with her current client. Spooky smiled as his daughter’s tiny hands reached for the bow he was holding. “You already have too many bebita…. But what’s one more? Right?”

Spoiled.

While they were distracted you conversed with the piercer who assured you that the pain would be quick, she’d cry for a few seconds but she’d be completely fine after. “Yeah, try and tell my husband that. He might fight us both.” You joked. She laughed and shrugged. “All the dads are like that,” She leaned in to whisper. “Sometimes they cry more than the kids.”

Oh, you’d pay to see that.

“Just let me finish sanitizing every thing and I’ll get to you guys.”

“Alright, thanks.”

You wandered to find your little family, your daughter snug as a bug in her fathers big arms. You poked her side and she squirmed flashing you a toothless smile. “Are you ready, mi amor? We’re gonna make you look extra pretty.”

Spooky groaned. “Say Mommy I’ll always be pretty and that this idea is estúpido.” You flicked him on the back of his bald head."

"Stop teaching my child bad words."

He mocked you and flipped you off, you grabbed his finger, about to twist it off if you could but the piercer had called you guys over. You firmly planted your hand on his back and pushed him to the chair, he sat and glared at you. "Okay, so you'll sit her on your lap, one arm over her torso... like this..." She arranged his arm for him, "And hand... here." His large hand engulfing your child's head, she turned her small head to you and smiled again. "Are you ready?" You asked in your baby voice which always got her excited.

The piercer picked up her piercing gun, you cringed starting to remember what that felt like when you got your nose pierced so long ago. She gently picked up the small lobe of your daughter's ear and let it hang between the end of the earring that was jammed inside the white gun and the hole it would come through. You heard one quick click and your baby's smile turned into a frown, her tiny lip quivered and she blinked out a few tears. Her calm before the storm. Her head was turned away from you and the same thing happened, a fast click, and soon a wailing baby.

Your heart sank, maybe it was a bad idea. Your eyes met Spooky's, in them held sorrow for his baby and disdain towards you-- they were glossy and slowly reddening from his own incoming tears, he rested her head in his chest and bounced her up and down with a comforting pat on her back.

"Ohhh, mi bonita flor, I'm sorry. We're not talking to mommy anymore." He cooed kissing the top of her head. Your jaw dropped. "Oh, come oooon, Spooky."

No response. Just a look that could kill. You half-smiled. "I love you. Thank you."

He sucked his teeth and walked out of the store with your bawling baby.

-- --

The silent treatment continued when you got home, even after your daughter calmed down and forgot the whole ordeal. You held her in your arms as she slept peacefully, milk drunk as usual. Her ruby earrings sparkled as they complimented her skin tone and face shape, you smiled drawing faint circles on her arm. You felt those warm brown eyes boring into the back of your skull.

"Still mad?" You mumbled turning toward him. "Yes." He huffed. You nodded your head at your baby. "Look how fucking cute she is. Just say I was right."

Spooky leaned over to get a better look at her, her small nose twitching in her sleep. He swooned resting his hand on her little leg. "Qué bonito. Ella es hermosa." (How cute. She is beautiful.)

"Exactly." You looked down at her. "Always knew we'd make some cute ass babies."

He delivered a soft kiss to your neck, his teeth nibbling at your skin and you could feel his smile against it. "Speaking of," He kissed the back of your ear. "When we gon' start trying for another."

You gasped as he pinched your thigh with his free hand. "Oscar Diaz!"

"I got my own milf walking around, you think I can control myself?" You playfully rolled and carefully eased off the couch so as not to wake your baby. "Let me put her in her crib."

"Yes!"

something quick cus i'm high asf and I've been seeing a lot of men crying when their daughters get their ears pierced and idk I just imagined spooky lmao couldn't think of a title but if yall come up with one and i like it I'll use it

if you liked this fic feel free to like this fic, comments and reblogs are appreciated.

Peace and love see you in the next one✌🏾

🏷: @darqchilddaydreamz @realhotgurlshit @skyesthebomb

#oscar diaz #spooky #spooky x reader #oscar diaz x fem!reader #spooky fanfic #spooky fanfiction #on my block fanfic #on my block #on my block fanfiction #marleywrites #marleysfanfictions #fluff

666 notes · View notes

sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 year ago

Note

Hii you dont have to do this but can i request a part 3 to ethan x camgirl where they start talking and meet up. Thanks🫶

The ending kind of sucks, but it's already 1.8k and I'm tired of writing this fic so I'm posting anyway

Warnings: 18+, smut, p + v, virgin!Ethan

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

What were the odds that you and Ethan both lived in New York? You didn’t attend the same college — he was at Blackmore and you at NYU —, but it was still a damn good coincidence. It was also almost unbelievable that you never bumped into each other when you visited friends at Blackmore.

After weeks of messaging back and forth — a few late night sexting sessions —, you decided to finally meet in person. It was nerve-wracking and exciting at the same time. You couldn’t wait to see those sweet dimples and bambi eyes…and kiss the hell out of him.

When Ethan got to the party, he felt dumb for asking you to meet him there because these frat houses were always jam-packed with people, but you were already on your way. It was too late to change the plans.

He stood in the room, deep brown eyes glancing around at the sea of faces, trying to spot someone who matched the beautiful girl he saw through his screen. What he hadn’t thought of was that looking for someone at a part could be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

‘’Ethan!’’ Chad called out, walking up to his roommate with a red rub in his left hand. ‘’We’re missing a player for beer-pong, you in?’’

Chad must be truly desperate to ask him to be his beer-pong partner because he knew how terrible he was at the game.

‘’Sorry, but I have to decline,’’ Ethan said. ‘’I’m waiting for someone.’’

A teasing smirk curled at Chad’s mouth. ‘’Someone, uh? You mean a girl.’’

Ethan rolled his eyes, fighting the blush on his face. ‘’Shut up.’’

The night went on, the frat party roaring with energy, and he finally spotted you in the midst of the crowd. You had on more clothes than he was used to seeing on you, but you still looked gorgeous — you always did.

He made his way over to you, a shy smile drawing on his face as he got closer.

You pulled Ethan into a greeting hug, feeling like you were past formal greetings. He saw you stuff your fingers in your cunt as you moaned his name, shaking his hand would feel strange.

‘’You smell good,’’ Ethan said, your sweet perfume enveloping him, a nice change from the strong weed odor that filled the living area.

You chuckled. ‘’Thanks.’’ You pulled back and raised your eyes. ‘’I didn’t expect you to be this tall,’’ you remarked in turn, surprised by Ethan’s height.

Being around you felt surreal to Ethan. He had to pinch himself a few times to make sure he wasn’t in one of his wet dreams. But you were really there, sitting beside him on the couch, your knee brushing his leg every time you laughed.

‘’You okay?’’ you asked, noticing Ethan shifting in his seat.

‘’All is good,’’ he lied, his face forcing a smile.

‘’You sure? We can go and get some air if you want.’’

‘’I don’t need air, it’s just— I don’t want you to think I wanted us to meet so I could use you for sex, but my dick has been rock hard since that hug and it’s getting really uncomfortable.’’

You looked down to see the tent in his pants and laughed softly. ‘’Why didn’t you say so?’’

‘’Because it’s embarrassing...’’ he mumbled, wishing the couch would swallow him.

Leaning closer, you said quietly. ‘’Would it be less embarrassing if I said I’ve been dying to leave and have you to myself?’’

No other words were spoken. Ethan just stood and you grabbed his arm as he guided you through the bodies of partygoers. He kept his head down and smiled at the ground, the feeling of your hand curling around his bicep sending butterflies in his stomach. If a simple touch ignited this kind of reaction from him, what would happen when your hands will be touching lower on his body?

The walk to Ethan’s dorm felt like a thousand miles away. The chilly night air nipped at your bare legs as you strolled through the dimly lit campus pathways, holding on to his arm the whole way. You couldn't wait to be inside and finally kiss him.

You barely made it inside the building lobby that you had pulled Ethan down by the front of his polo shirt and captured his lips with your own. He gasped against your mouth in surprise, not expecting that kiss, but quickly recovered and kissed back until he was out of breath.

Grabbing his hand again, you hurriedly took the stairs to the third floor — as instructed —, and watched with amusement Ethan unlocking and shutting the door with a clumsy eagerness.

‘’Come here, pretty boy,’’ you said, pulling Ethan down and kissing him again, gentle but deep.

You could kiss him all night and never get tired, but the elephant in the room was nudging at your thigh and you just had to give it some attention. Without disconnecting the kiss, your hand wandered south down Ethan’s body, pausing right over the lump in his jeans. He let out a strangled moan at the contact, and it made you smile into the kiss.

‘’Should we take care of that?’’ you asked, dragging your mouth to his jaw while you rubbed him over his jeans, touching him where nobody's ever touched him before, where he'd only dreamed of you touching him.

Ethan’s head tilted back and you only saw it as an opportunity to kiss a line down the side of the neck, adding to the new sensations. You kept on stroking him slow and long until he couldn’t take it anymore, pleading once again.

He peeled off his jacket, leaving it in a lump on the floor while you did the same with your sweater, leaving you in your lacy bra. You had picked it meticulously, hoping Ethan would be the one to take it off you tonight.

‘’Fuck, you're gorgeous,’’ he murmured to himself, watching you closely.

You pulled at his polo shirt, and when he raised his arms to discard it, you looked at him appreciatively. He was hiding so many good things underneath those preppy clothes. You ran your hands along his chest, the smooth muscles that spread across his stomach and his chest and his arms.

‘’You’re not bad either,’’ you replied, triggering a light blush on his cheeks.

The rest of your clothes came off in a disordered fashion, trying to get naked as fast as possible. Once the goal was reached and everything was on the floor on the chair, you glanced down and smirked, admiring what you had only ever seen through a screen. Big enough to make you feel full, and pink and leaking at the tip.

‘’Looks even better in person than on camera.’’ You wanted to kiss it, but instead wrapped your fist around his cock, slowly going in up and down motions. Moans and pleas fell from his plush lips, causing more pre-cum to leak from the tip. ‘’Please what, baby?’’ you asked, gently caressing the line of his happy trail with your other hand. ‘’Just tell me what you want.’’

‘’I want you.’’

You leaned in to kiss him again, and this time the kiss was hungry as you guided him back to what you assumed was his bed — the letterman jacket on the other bed gave it away. You moved back and brought Ethan down with you as you lied on the typical college boy dark blue sheets. Some curls were falling in his face, reminding you of the shy boy you met months ago during a private session.

You tucked his hair behind his ear, smiling softly at him. ‘’How do you want me?’’

On top.

Connecting your lips for a quick kiss, you then grabbed a condom — which he had bought for the occasion — and switched positions so you were straddling him. Pushing up on your knees, you gripped the base of his cock and lined him up with your entrance. You could tell that Ethan was nervous, his breathing pattern faster than a few minutes ago.

‘’It's okay. I got you.’’

You pressed gently, the tip barely sliding in, making Ethan grab the sheets and throw his head back from the overwhelming rush of new sensations. Slowly, you sank down onto him, inch by inch until he was all the way inside of you, and sighed. He felt so much better than you imagined.

Ethan’s grip on the sheets tightened as a long moan drew from his mouth. ‘’Fuck, that feels good,’’ he whispered, his eyes still shut, scared that if he open them and see you sitting on his cock he’ll burst.

Taking a small pause to adjust, you tilted his face down to yours and leaned down, capturing his lips with your own as your breasts pressed against his chest. His eyes snapped open, only to close again and release the sheets to run his hands everywhere he could reach on your body.

Once it was comfortable enough, you started moving your hips the same way you often did in your videos. Except this time, it wasn’t a dildo.

Ethan groaned, squeezing your thigh and moving his other hand to your chest as you moved on top of him. He cupped your breast, and then tentatively squeezed your nipple. It sent a bolt of need through your core, settling right between your legs.

‘’Do that again, baby,’’ you encouraged, and moved your hips again, a long languid movement. ‘’You can be rougher.’’ You gasped, pressing your fingers over his, pinching and twisting your nipple the way you liked. It hurt in the best way.

You continued moving your hips as Ethan played with your body, his mouth soon replacing his hands on your nipple, causing more mewls to ripple through.

It wasn't long until Ethan began getting sloppy and whiny, silently letting you know he was close. Virgin men didn't last long — you knew —, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t use your own hand to speed your orgasm instead of making Ethan feel bad for finishing fast.

You rubbed at your clit until you started to feel that coil tightening in your belly, getting close to the edge and, by some miracle, successfully reached your high closely together, echoes of your pleasure mixing as you clenched around Ethan’s spurting cock and milked him.

When you were finished, you rolled off him, falling back on the mattress. You should get up and go pee, but Ethan curled up next to you after disposing of the condom, wrapping an arm around your middle and you didn't want to get up yet. He pressed his face against your soft breasts, a beaming smile on his lips as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him close.

‘’I’m really happy I spent my dad’s money on that private session.’’

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn @bt.oliana @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @michaelangdonsslut @byhrxb @kamthecoolest @kattybug @ravenstrueluv @landryslxys @die4niyahhh @sl4sh3rfuck3r @radiant-whore @Meadzy21 @luci1fer @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @depthsofdespairr @bellysbeach @wilmalovegood @loupiotesworld @wenvierismycomfort @t-candy @s-al-em @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @adaydreamaway08 @johannelis2302nely @aqshua @lynbubble @luiise @planetkt @vampyrgoff @adrluvh @mymultiveres @miqi-16 @not-liah @lovenats01 @doestalker @lonelywitchv2 @lausley336 @arinexeisnotworking @halforangecuts @l3ndryz @ilovelandry @your-platonic-gay-lover @Danniackerman @angelxxrose @lottiefromsam @thecrowdedstreetin1944 @cinnamonbun222

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1 @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @grxnde-dwt @lexasaurs634 @teeeree13 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x you #scream 6 #scream #scream imagine

419 notes · View notes