#So much kindness in his eyes I just can't

[er1nne]

fix this

⸝⸝⸝ ⑅ —໒ྀི ִֶָ rafe’s impulsive actions and failed attempt to fix things with a ignite a heated argument, leaving you feeling unseen and misunderstood.

word count 1.7k

warnings : yelling & arguments so angst but ends on a good note / fluff

AN: the problem is left ambiguous & left to the imagination so you can make up the problem, you guys loved the last one lol :) i have plenty more in the vault so let me know if y'all want them. enjoy!

(please do not copy or plagiarize, this is my original work subject to copyright)

Rafe knows he’s in deep shit. He can tell he’s in deep shit. And he barely knows how he got here...nope he totally know how he got here.

The weight of it presses on his chest like a cinder block, a suffocating reminder of the mess he’s made. It’s the first thing he feels when he hears your footsteps stomping up the stairs on to the porch. The tightness in his stomach churns, and his hands instinctively find the edge of the counter, gripping it hard enough that his knuckles pale.

He rubs his hand over his jaw, rough and restless, staring at the front door like it might swallow him whole. It doesn’t. The door swings open, and there you are—eyes already blazing with fury, every bit of it directed at him.

You slam the door behind you with a force that makes him flinch. The sharp crack of wood echoes in the silence before you speak.

“I can’t believe you, Rafe!” you snap, your voice trembling, sharp enough to cut. “Do you ever think? Like, at all?”

The way you look at him—like he’s the worst kind of idiot—makes him stiffen, though he leans back against the counter, trying to feign some level of calm. It doesn’t work. He hates that look, not just from you but from anybody.

“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” he says, shrugging in what he hopes comes off as nonchalant. But his voice falters just slightly, betraying him. He knows it’s the wrong thing to say, even as the words leave his mouth. Way to put a foot in your mouth.

“Oh, my God.” You throw your hands up, your movements jerky, overwhelmed. “You didn’t think it was that big of a deal? Of course, you didn’t. You never think!”

The accusation hangs heavy in the air, sharp and piercing. He runs a hand through his hair, yanking at the strands in frustration. There you go again. Can't you tell he's sorry. Why'd you have to go there of all places. Why’d you have to say it like that? “Alright, just—calm down for a second,” he says, his tone already edging into defensive territory. “You’re making it sound worse than it is.”

“Calm down?” you repeat, and there’s a bitter edge to your voice that makes his stomach twist. “You think I’m overreacting?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” he fires back, the words snapping out of him before he can stop them. His shoulders are tense, his movements jerky as he gestures vaguely between the two of you. “I’m saying I didn’t mean for it to be—whatever this is.”

You scoff, shaking your head as if the audacity of his explanation is too much to comprehend. “Unbelievable. You don’t even get it, do you? You don’t care how this makes me feel. You just do whatever you want, and I’m supposed to just—deal with it?”

“That’s not fair,” he says through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching as he pushes off the counter. “I didn’t do this to hurt you.”

“But you didn’t care enough to stop and think about me, either,” you shoot back, your voice rising with each word. “Do you have any idea how that feels? To know that I don’t even cross your mind when you make these dumb, impulsive decisions?”

The words hit him hard, like a gut punch he didn’t see coming. He exhales sharply, his frustration boiling over. He paces a few steps, his hands restless, like he’s trying to find an outlet for the tension coiling in his chest.

“Look, I—I’m trying, alright?” he says, his voice rough and strained. “I know I screwed up. That’s why I got you this.”

He gestures toward the counter, where an expensive box sits, perfectly wrapped with a crisp bow. It’s something he picked up earlier, certain it would fix everything. Now, standing here under your fiery gaze, it feels like a monument to his failure.

Your eyes flick to the box, then back to him, your expression darkening. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“What?” he says, his voice rising with confusion and a touch of defensiveness. He throws his arms out, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I was trying to—”

“It’s not about the damn gift, Rafe!” you yell, your voice cracking slightly under the weight of your emotions. “This isn’t something you can fix with money. Do you think I’m that shallow? You think you can throw a couple of thousands at me and it'll make my feelings go away?”

Your breath stutters for a moment before continuing, “Do you think I’m like all the other girls you’ve bought? You can’t do that with me. You can’t just throw money at this and expect it to go away. You have to be a person—a human—with me.”

He flinches, the words cutting deeper than he cares to admit. “No, that’s not—I’m just trying to fix it, okay?” His voice rises in desperation now. “I don’t know what else you want from me!”

“I want you to feel something!” you snap, the tremor in your voice betraying the raw hurt beneath your anger. “I want you to stop throwing money at everything and actually care about how I feel. But I guess that’s asking too much.”

The accusation lands like a blow, and he’s left staring at you, at the tears brimming in your eyes. The anger drains from his face, leaving something raw and uncertain in its place.

“I do care,” he says quietly, his voice rough and uneven. “I just—I don’t know how to… do this.” His hands move in an awkward, aimless gesture, like the words he needs are somewhere just out of reach. His voice is low, almost a whisper. It’s the kind of vulnerability he doesn’t like showing—doesn’t know how to. But he can’t bring himself to look away from you as he peers at you with those icy eyes.

You scoff, shaking your head again, but you don’t storm out. He notices this, clings to it like a lifeline, grateful in a way he doesn’t know how to put into words.

“Look,” he says, stepping closer, his movements hesitant, cautious. His hands twitch at his sides like they’re drawn to you, but he doesn’t touch you—not yet. “I’m not good at this, alright? I screw up—a lot. But I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I hate seeing you like this.”

Your shoulders sag, and for a moment, you look just as tired as he feels. “Then stop making me feel like I don’t matter,” you murmur, your voice softer now, but no less weighted. “Stop acting like I’m just… an afterthought.”

“You’re not,” he says quickly, his voice firm and insistent. He steps closer, his hands finally settling on your arms. “You’re not an afterthought, okay? You’re—you’re everything to me. I just don’t know how to show it sometimes.”

For a moment, you don’t respond. You just stand there, his hands warm and solid against your arms, the tension between you palpable. Then, slowly, you look up at him.

“I just need to know you’re willing to change, I need you to try...” you say softly, your voice thick with emotion.

The room feels smaller now, the space between you charged but quieter. His hand moves, almost hesitantly, until it settles lightly on your arm. “I don’t know how to do this,” he repeats, his voice rough and uneven. “But I want to. For you.”

You search his face, your gaze lingering on his eyes like you’re trying to find something—sincerity, maybe. And when you finally nod, your body relaxing slightly in his grip, it feels like the first breath he’s taken in hours.

“You better,” you say, your voice quiet but steady now.

“I will,” he promises. Rafe’s lips twitch upward, his own smile soft and unsure. He leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. His arms wrap around the entirety of your body, holding you in his warm embrace like he never wants to let go. You feel his heartbeat against yours as the remenants of his anger fade away.

It’s not a perfect fix. Not even close. But as he holds you close, he feels like maybe, just maybe, he’s finally starting to understand.

divider by @crazyfrm!

[irisintheafterglow]

itoshi sae has no idea how you do it.

classwork, homework, midterms, exams, two jobs, and a lively group of friends? it all sounds so unnecessary to him, these things that would be distractions from his dream. but for you, it sustains you and encourages you to keep going. how differently our minds work, he thinks to himself when he has a rare day to spend on your couch and you're typing away at some assignment on your laptop.

"why do you do that?" you don't respond the first time he asks and he gently calls your name, even though you're barely three feet away. you turn to him with a tired look and something pangs inside his chest. "why bother doing that?"

"bother doing what?"

"whatever it is you're doing right now." he nods at your glaring laptop screen filled with words he can't even begin to understand, some final before your university goes on winter break.

"because it's part of my degree?" there's no malice in your words, just genuine confusion, just like there's no accusations in his words, just concern. "if i fail this class, i don't graduate."

"why do you need to graduate, or have a degree in the first place?"

"because i need a job, my love," you explain patiently. "we've had this conversation before. going to school means i can get a well-paying job to sustain myself."

"why do you need to sustain yourself when you have me?" you blink at him and his blank face. the only sign of emotion is the slight pinch between his eyebrows; he was truly puzzled why he couldn't just set you up for life. dating itoshi sae is like being an unwilling sugar baby.

"i'm not going to leech off your earnings," you chuckle in disbelief. "i'm not going to use you to make sure i have a comfortable life. i love you, and my kind of love stays whether we have money or not." he shifts awkwardly in his seat and his mouth pouts the tiniest amount. he obviously didn't like your reply.

"whatever i'm doing, it isn't enough for you," he states quietly.

without another word, you exhale through your nose and shut your laptop. you place it on the coffee table before crawling over and maneuvering your way into his arms. he gladly accepts you, sliding down the couch's armrest so that you're nearly lying on top of him. it's quiet for a few moments, not in an uncertain way but in a way that said both of you were figuring out how to articulate your thoughts.

"i just think that--"

"you don't need to--" you both begin your explanations at the same time and the huff of his laugh vibrates against your cheek. "you go first," you tell him.

"i was saying that, if you wanted me to," he inhales and tries to tiptoe around what he wants to say before deciding to just crush it with his foot, "i can take care of you without you needing a degree." a certain selfish part of him wanted you there for every single victory and ladder rung he ascended, not because he thought you owed him, but because he owed you. you, who weathered his darkest of moods and harshest of snaps. he owed you for dealing with his bullshit, so he figured, why should you need to lift a finger when you've already done so much for him? "i owe you that much for everything that you've seen me through."

"you don't owe me anything, itoshi sae. loving you is not transactional, nor have i ever wanted it to be."

"everything is transactional, mi amor," he argues and the pet name makes your heartrate increase. "give and take, it's how the world flows. shouldn't your university classes be teaching you that?" your eyes have fluttered shut on his chest, but you still hear the smirk in his joke.

"believe it or not, mister 'fame is the only thing that matters to me,' there are transactions beyond material goods."

"i know that," he says indignantly. "i also know that you're wrong."

"am i?"

"yes," he affirms. "i don't only care about fame. i care about you too, obviously."

"see, sae? give and take. i give you all i am--"

"and you take all i am."

"body and soul?"

"and everything in between," he finishes, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before settling into the pillows. "rest, mi amor. you've paid more attention to school than to me lately, and that's an unequal transaction."

[4ngelfawn33]

Inexperienced 𓇼 Bsf!JJ x Inexperienced!Reader

summary: Your lack of experience is something you've always been embarrassed about, lucky for you, you have a best friend who's willing to teach you everything <3

You, for lack of a better word, are inexperienced. Not in the "I don't know what the word sex is," way, but in the "I haven't even kissed a boy," kind of way. It was something you always felt a bit ashamed of, when your friends have conversations about their intimate lives, you can never add anything interesting to the conversation. You get teased about it of course, and though it's all in good fun you can't help the way your cheeks burn whenever the topic of sex comes up. The person who gives you the hardest, no pun intended, time about your inexperience, is of course your best friend, JJ Maybank.

It's a discussion point you actively try to avoid with JJ just because of how… vulgar he is. He is, for lack of a better word, a giant whore. Even if you don't like JJ Maybank, you want JJ Maybank, and you unfortunately, are no exception to that rule. That's what makes conversations like these doubly embarrassing. Talking about sex with your crush who has way too much experience under his belt is, at best, awkward.

That's why today, when you invited him over, you really tried your best to avoid talking about the very mediocre date you when on the night before. Unfortunately for you, that's all JJ wanted to talk about. You lay in your bed, JJ sitting right next to you, shamefully trying to avoid every sex related question he asks you.

"Look! I'm just sayin' it wouldn't be hard to convince him to ya know… " JJ eyes you up and down for a moment before smirking. "hit that."

Your cheeks heat up at his comment, and you playfully smack at his chest.

"JJ, not everything is about sex!" You groan, turning you face away from his in embarrassment. "Besides, I don't want him to hit anything. It was just one date."

"Well mama, what do you want? Cause' I know how embarrassed you get when someone mentions that un-popped cherry of yours." You gasp at his crude wording and he chuckles beside you.

You sit up, turning to him with your mouth agape.

"JJ you are so gross! Can you not just call me a virgin like everyone else?" He shrugs at you before averting your gaze and picking at your comforter.

"Nah, like' seein' how embarrassed you get." You roll your eyes even though he can't see it, gently shoving him.

"You're an ass JJ."

"Sometimes." He shrugs again, his voice uncharacteristically soft. You turn to him, his brows furrowed together as he is very obviously lost in thought.

You take a moment to admire his features, strands of blonde hair falling into his face, his eyelashes kissing his skin when he blinks, lips slightly parted. His head suddenly turns to you, the air suddenly thick with tension. You think of saying something, anything to cut the tension, but before you can speak JJ does.

"What if— like I dunno, what if someone you trusted showed ya how to like, do things?" Now it's your to furrow your brows, head tilted in confusion.

"What are you talking about? What things?" He sits up, running his hands through his slightly matted hair, attempting to grapple his thoughts.

"Like, sex stuff ya know? Maybe someone you trust could like— show you." Your face heats up once more and you quickly avert your gaze from his, attempting to casually shut down the conversation.

"I— I mean maybe? I don't know! Why are we even still talking about this…" You move to get off your bed, when you feel JJ's hand gripping your wrist, pulling you back towards him.

"JJ…" The tension in the air is disgustingly thick, your heart pounding against your chest.

He pulls you back on the bed and towards him and by the time he's done basically manhandling you, you're nearly on his lap. For a moment the only thing the both of you can do is look at each other, heavy breathing with your mouths agape. You try to speak but the words feel heavy on your tongue.

"I'm gonna be honest— I really want to kiss you right now, like really fucking bad." The heat you feel in your cheeks intensifies at his words.

"JJ you can't just like, I don't know, I can't just do that kind of stuff casually! Everything would just be awkward after and I-"

"Who said it had to be casual?" Your eyes widen at him.

Oh. Oh.

Before you have a chance to overthink things, you press you lips into his, clumsily attempting to kiss him. You feel his fingers gently grip the back of your neck as he takes over the kiss, his tongue licking into your mouth. His kiss consumes you, taking the air out of your lungs. After a few seconds, you pull away, your forehead pressed against his while you attempt to breathe again.

"So…" He says after a few moments. "I could like— teach you some other things… If you wanna."

You giggle, nose brushing against his.

"You're unbelievable."

[bbina]

women in male dominated fields | nct dream

about: giving 7dream a taste of their own medicine pairing: situationship!dream x fem!reader notes: bbina writing about situationships again.. what's new? first attempt writing for 7dream again! if u guys have any reqs (can do texts too!) do let me know hehe

mark - hittting him up after ghosting him because he posted on his instagram story

mark realized that he got ghosted by his "situationship" as haechan likes to call it and decided to write a song about it thus prompting him to post that selfie on his instagram story not expecting that you were going to see it

after posting the selfie, he shuts his phone off as he continues to produce his new song inspired by your actions. not a little while later, his phone dings. it was a notification from instagram. mark's eyes widens reading the notification on his phone. it was from you, the one who ghosted him

[yourname] y/n (♡) Replied to your story: 😍

mark fought every demon he had inside him that was telling him to not reply but for some fucking reason he just can't resist you. he inevitably replies much to his own dismay and thus, the cycle repeats

your phone vibrates in your hand. it was a notification that mark had reacted to your dm. you can feel the smile creep up on your face when you swiped up to see him typing

[onyourm__ark] hahaha thanksss [onyourm__ark] is typing...

your smile widens when you take a wild guess what his next message was. you already knew deep in your bones what his three lettered reply

[onyourm__ark] wyd?

and so mark is back in this vicious cycle. what he gets out of this? bangers after bangers of songs of course. now there he was in his studio, eagerly waiting for your reply this time around. hopefully you won't ghost him again but who knows

renjun - not replying to him despite being online

renjun constantly sent you updates throughout his day. from what time he woke up to what he had for breakfast lunch and dinner but only to be left on delivered all day

he would try to call you but it would just go straight to voice mail and that got him worried. did something happen to you? were you busy? why aren't you replying to him?

as the day finally comes to an end, there was still no message from you

that itself should've been the message but renjun thinks otherwise. when his phone lights up, he instantly jumps on it and checks if it was you

it was

you: hey i was out with ningning today. wyd?

that was a lie. you weren't out with ningning all day. you were at home, watching movies and the such while reading his messages from the notification wall on your phone. you had put your phone on dnd just because

renjun frowns at your message. you didn't even reply to any of his messages or let alone read them?

renjun: did you not get my messages? i was texting you all day

you were on your 7th movie when your phone dings again. you let out a loud sigh, seeing that it was. from renjun and not from your friends. quickly, you typed a short reply before turning your phone back on to dnd

you: srry, my bad

and with that, renjun notices the little "y/n has notifications silenced" on the bottom of the screen renjun can only wonder how much can he take from this kind of relationship. if he says something, would you finally change your ways?

jeno — hiding things from him because you knew he'd get mad

ever since that you and jeno started hanging out more and more, things have become a little weird between the two of you. you were too afraid to ask where you were at you just ignored it despite the signs being there

if jeno isn't going to say anything about your evolving "friendship" then why should you?

now here you two were, arguing in the middle of the street after he had accidentally read a text message from someone he doesn't know about some date you two are having in the next following days

"seriously? you're going on a date and you didn't tell me?" jeno argues, throwing his hands up in the sky like you had just done something illegal

your eyebrows furrowed as you feel the anger rising. why was he acting like this if you two didn't even have anything going on?

"and why will i? it's not like we're together" you argue back

jeno stops in his tracks when your words hit him like a truck

"this is why i didn't tell you. because you're literally mad at me for no reason!" you bark, grumbling about he's being irrational as you walk away from him

your words repeat in jeno's head like a broken record "it's not like we're together"

right.. you two aren't together... is it too late for him now?

haechan — "what are we?" "im not looking for anything serious rn"

being with haechan is a constant play of tug of war. yeah you're friends. friends who kiss, who make out, who go out on dates, friends who may or may have not fucked in the backseat of his car but yeah! you're friends. best of friends even

you were on his couch, straddling his lap when haechan looked at you different for the first time

"what's with the long face?" you giggle, leaning on top of him with your hands propped on the sides of his head, trapping him in between you

haechan resisted the urge to kiss you right then and there. which was incredibly rare for the man. if this was just any other normal sleepover, he would've pounced without a second thought

"nothing" haechan suddenly stands up, pushing you off of his lap

you pout but disregard it. you grab your phone to scroll on tiktok now that the mood was kinda ruined

haechan turns to the side to take a good look at you. you look so pretty just sitting there next to him. he racks his brain up for anything he can say just to break the silence but his mind wanders about your whole being in general

how you're so nice to him, how you just click flawlessly, how you just somehow make his day better with just a quirkly little message

maybe making sure we're on the same boat wouldn't hurt.. haechan thinks to himself

you were laughing at some dumb tiktok when haechan suddenly clears his throat. you look up to see him looking back at you in the eye

"what are we?"

and it's silence after that. you were too stunned to speak. for a second there you thought he'd ask you if you wanted to play some league with him but no

you laugh awkwardly, diverting your attention back to your phone. oh look, jaehyun just posted a new cover

"y/n" haechan calls your name out, now leaning closer to you

"what?"

"answer me"

you've never heard haechan sound so... desperate? and its looking like you've stayed your welcome with how the atmosphere had severely changed in his living room. you abruptly stood up from the couch, heading towards the front door

haechan immediately follows. he grabs your hand before you could hold the door knob, forcing you to look at him

"listen hyuckie, i don't know what you want me to say.. i'm not looking for anything serious right now" you mumble, avoiding his eyes

oh.

you don't hear it but haechan's heart breaks a little. so all those intimacy were just casual for you?

"i'll see you tomorrow okay? winter is asking me to come over. see you"

with that you leave haechan's apartment, leaving him alone with his thoughts. maybe he shouldn't have asked that

jaemin — telling him that you don't want to be posted

you knew jaemin had a photography account. it was linked to his profile when you first checked his social media accounts when you guys first started talking

every time you guys would hang out, jaemin always brought a camera with him. snapping photos of whatever and posting them almost immediately on his photography account

and of course he takes photos of you whenever he could. may it be scripted or candid, you will always have a photo taken by jaemin

so when he thought that you two were going somewhere, he was ready to finally post you to his account til you say some words that shook him to the core

"can you not post me just yet? i feel shy"

jaemin was alarmed with this. did he do anything wrong for you to be shy? he was almost certain that he made sure that you had the constant assurance of being with him despite not being exclusive just yet

"why? what's wrong?" jaemin asks, worried

you shrug, "i just don't want to be posted"

jaemin had to double check if he heard you right. because from all the other flings he had in the past, they were borderline begging him to post them on any of his socials til you came along

"are you sure?

"yes jaems. i'm absolutely sure" you smile, reaching over to hold his hand to convince him further. jaemin's not 100% convinced but fine. if you say so. though if it was any other person, they'd jump on the opportunity from the get go but jaemin can only guess that you were different from the rest

what jaemin doesn't know that you're not about that commitment life for now

chenle — telling him that you're still friends with your ex

it was already rare that you and chenle go out especially with your unique (for lack of better word. chenle's words, not yours) "relationship" with him, of course you just had to run into your ex in the middle of it

"y/n, is that you?" sungchan chirps, walking closer to your table to take a closer look. your eyes widened when you realize that it was sungchan who called out your name earlier

"channie!" you greet a little too excitedly for chenle's liking. you stood up from your seat, giving sungchan, who you haven't seen in so long a quick hug

chenle's eyes narrow at the way you are so enthusiastic about reuniting with sungchan after a long time. he watches you like a hawk the way your eyes are sparkling whenever sungchan makes an attempt to make you laugh

he (chenle) coughs to catch both of your attentions. sungchan is a little startled and greets chenle

"oh sorry man, i didn't see you there. my bad" sungchan sheepishly apologizes before he tells you that he'll be on his way and that he was happy to see you again. you laugh again as you bid him goodbye, watching him walk away from your table

when you sit back down, you were met with a sulky chenle

"what?" you ask, taking note of the way chenle's eyebrows were furrowed

"what was that about?" chenle murmurs

"who? sungchan? oh, he's just a friend" you brush him off like it was nothing, taking a bite of your burger

"yeah. but he's your ex, is he not?" chenle questions, frowning at the mention of your previous relationship status

you raise a brow at the latter

"we're literally just friends and i can't just let him go. i don't know why you're so bothered about it" you click your tongue in annoyance

chenle simply shakes his head, jaw clenched. the way you just dismissed him is beyond him but he guesses he deserves it for not putting a label on whatever you two have going on

guess he'll just suck it up for now

jisung — telling him not to worry about your other friends

you and jisung had a lot of common friends than you two initially thought. so much that he himself is in disbelief that you know sion out of all people

"y/n? didn't think i'd see you around here!" sion greets, coming near you with his arms open

"sion!" you smile, hugging him back

jisung looks between the two of you. since when did you know each other?

sion catches jisung's curious stare and laughs out loud, wrapping an arm around your shoulder

"y/n and i go way back! we went to the same highschool!" sion tells jisung

you giggle, head falling back to sion's shoulder as you nod your head yes in agreement

"we were in the same friend group too" you coo, poking sion's sides

jisung can only smile awkwardly at your skinship. so you two are close? like close like that?

"alright i gotta find the others. i'll see you around?" sion says but the last bit was directed towards you instead of jisung. jisung catches a look in sion's eyes that he can't pinpoint what it was

does sion have a crush on you or something?

"okay. see you around" you wave goodbye as sion walks away. you sit back next to jisung who was now fidgeting in his seat. you two aren't exclusive but you had already confessed your feelings for each other in the past

"what's wrong, jwi?" you ask, looking over at him with concern

"... you and sion?" he asks lowly, so low that you barely caught it over the sound of the music playing on the speakers

"what?"

"you and sion" jisung says seriously, finally looking at you with sad eyes

"oh!" you gasp, catching on, "me and sion are just friends, jwi" you laugh, patting his head

"... are you sure?"

you wrap your hands around him, leaning your head on his shoulder

"i have my eyes on you, dummy" you coo, poking his nose. eventually jisung does wrap his arounds you too, hearing your words. though there's a part of him that doesn't buy it. he could've sworn that sion looked at you like that. but if you said that you two are just friends, then you two are just friends.. right?

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

Simon Riley x Bartender!Reader

Title: 15 Minutes to Blow

Synopsis: You and Simon spend your 15 minute break away from the bar together.

Warnings: This is a blowjob fic. It's heavy smut. Could be considered mild praise?

AN: oml I adore this fic. I'm so proud of it lmao

As soon as it's 13:30, your break starts.

Simon? Well.. he's there pretty much constantly. Oftentimes he doesn't drink, just... Providing you with company and a menacing glare for the more confident of guys who think they'll get lucky. He doesn't work there, but he's paid during your break.

How is he paid? Well.. you both sneak into the pub's bathroom, and he gets a quickie.

Like today, for example. You're in that tank top that shows off your cleavage in a way that makes his predatory glare even more predatory. He gets... *Almost* violent towards anyone who stares at what he's practically claimed as his. 

And sure you're not "dating," but he lives in your house, sleeps in your bed, he cooks you dinner, and he spends all the time he has while not deployed with you--you *are* his family now. It's kind of nice, really.

Regardless you're both in the pubs bathroom and immediately you're lifted up into his arms, pressed against that sticky, piss stained wall that never seems to stop reeking. His lips are on yours in a matter of seconds, crushing and pushing just the way he wants. Your hands are on his shoulders, unable to do much else. His hands? One is holding you up (his body is doing the rest of the work) and the other has a grip on your jaw. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, twirling around in the sluttiest way.

He pulls back just when you're starting to enjoying it, looking at you with a smirk.

"Not wastin' m'last 14 minutes," Simon says, setting you down on the ground. He starts unbuckling his belt, "Knees.. c'mon."

And of course you get on your knees, after all--generally when you suck him here, he returns the favour at home.

Once he's freed himself from his pants and boxers, both of which are at his ankles, his hand is on his shaft, pumping it a few times over your face.

You open your mouth, tongue slightly sticking out, and he settles the tip on your tongue.

"Gonna take it, huh baby?" He asks with a chuckle, leaning into your mouth slowly. 

And you take it, letting him ease himself into your warm, gooey mouth.

Your tongue swirls around as soon as it's touching cock, "Eager f'me, yeah?" He chuckles darkly, letting out some beastly growls and groans. Once he's fully down your throat, he can't tell you anything; not if your cunt squeezes tighter, not your name, not his name--he's a man possessed by sheer lust and pleasure.

"'Ere we go... Take i' all," he growls out, slowly thrusting in and out of your mouth, each thrust in hitting the back of your throat and making tears more, and thrust out leaving you feel useless and like a fucktoy. He's growling *filth*, telling you about how good your pretty little throat feels, how he wishes he could be fucking you over the counter.

Your hands are shaking, but one makes it up to Simon's thigh, gently holding onto it for support, especially when Simon's hand comes down and starts to use your hair--styled back into a half up-half down bun/ponytail--as a way to keep your head up, pulling and pushing on your head like his own personal fleshlight. You're gagging, mouth sputtering pre and saliva. 

He lets go to give you a moment to breathe, staring down at that pretty face, how tears well in your eyes from the gagging, how saliva is dripping down your face. He checks his watch, and it's 7 minutes left.

He strokes your hair in the hand that was grabbing it originally, his other starting to pump his cock over your face. Your mouth is open, tongue slightly sticking out, your eyes only on his.

He smirks a little, "How eager f'my cum are ya, birdie?" He grunts a little, readjusting his footing and letting go of his cock, "C'mon.. jerk m'off if you're so damn eager."

You hesitate for just a moment, before sitting up slightly and starting to pump your soft little hand. You spit on the tip, lathering it up and staring with those eyes that make Simon melt.

He leans against the wall on his forearm, starting to groan, "Open wide, dove," he growls out, putting his hand over yours, making you pump faster and faster. He stumbles a little, his hand stifling as cum sputters out his angry tip, dropping into your open, eager mouth.

He guides your hand, continuing to ride out his orgasm. Cum spills all over your eager little mouth, a large grin on your face. You swallow and he just chuckles, grinning weakly.

He bends over, picking his boxers and pants up, getting his belt redone as you stand back up and adjust yourself.

"C'mon, dovie, let's get you cleaned up," he says, stroking your cheek. He wipes your face with paper towels, and he kisses your forehead when he's finished.

"You feelin' ready f'work now?" He asks, holding your face--more cradling it--with a tender expression.

"Yeah, I think so," you mumble, leaning up and kissing his cheek.

"Alright, go on, dovie," he says, giving your ass a little slap as you leave the bathroom.

[soft-beams]

could i have a fic where reader tries to avoid telepathic!vi in an attempt to hide their feelings for her pls?

telepathic!vi x reader

you don't want vi to read your mind–it could fuck things up.

You've been avoiding Vi for days now, slipping away before she can see you and running off before she even gets a chance to say hello.

It's sad; it's heartbreaking, really, because every time you leave, you manage to catch a glimpse of Vi's confusion. Which is much better than the following sadness you don't get to see but you, unfortunately, hear about.

"You can't keep on avoiding her," Ekko tells you one evening, both of you hidden away with beers and some wraps. "Every time you leave, she turns into an upset puppy dog and when I tell you it's the most heart-wenching thing I've ever seen—"

"Shut up," you groan around a mouthful of chicken wrap before you swallow it down. "It's not like I don't know, alright? I'm highly aware of how sad my avoidance is making Vi." You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "It's just...her telepathy doesn't make it easy to be around her."

Ekko raises a brow. "Her telepathy?" He says, surprised. "That's kind of odd, I just thought you never had anything to hide from her. You two are as thick as thieves, Vi being able to read your mind would sound like a dream come true."

You take a swig of beer, relishing in the slight bitter taste, before saying, "It would be a dream come true if..."

"If...?" Ekko pushes after you go silent for a long moment.

"If... I didn't have a giant crush on her." You reveal, cheeks warm as you avoid eye contact with Ekko.

Ekko, who stares at you before going, "Ooooh. Yeah, that's a problem."

"No shit," you say with a roll of your eyes. "It's so annoying because It'd be fine if my mind knew how to shut up when Vi's around, but it doesn't! Every time she's around, my brain goes dumb and all it thinks about is how hot Vi is and how I wanna hold her hand and kiss her stupid face—"

"Whoa!" Ekko interrupts, raising his hands with a laugh. "Too much information. I see where those words were going, and I don't like it."

"I know, I'm sorry," you say, laughing weakly. "It's just...I like her so much, Ekko. And I don't want to freak her out with my dumb brain. So I'm just going to avoid her until I can get a better hold of my thoughts."

Ekko nods. "Sounds like a good idea in theory but what about Vi?" He asks, smiling sadly. "She's miserable without you, y'know? And she's worried that she's done something wrong. Thinks that her powers have freaked you out."

You groan, hiding your face in your hands as your heart shatters at that.

"It's not her, it's never her," you say firmly. "It's me—"

"Ekko?"

That's Vi's voice.

"Ekko, are you here?"

Shit.

"I gotta go!" You whisper, knocking over your beer as you hurry to stand up. "Don't tell her I was here!"

"Like she couldn't just read my mind but sure," Ekko says, deadpan, and you roll your eyes before waving goodbye, making your escape.

"Were they just here?" You hear Vi asks Ekko the moment you descend onto a rooftop, and break into a run.

Inwardly, you curse.

Why does this all have to be so complicated?

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari curled up a bit, getting comfortable as best as she could. Her body still screaming at her in pain, but she was too tired and was just out cold.

As the child slept the chaos outside kept going on. Screams of terror filled the streets as demons and angels and humans fled to safety.

It was all bitter sweet as sinner and winners alike reunited with loved ones they left behind but the situation was worse off.

-----

A few days passed since Kari hit her breaking point. One winner was running for his life as quickly as he could, frantically looking around. "It's gotta be here. I haven't been gone too long. Then again a lot has changed." He muttered, ducking to hide behind some rubble to catch his breath, brushing some silver hair so he could better survey his surroundings. "... I remember these stores..." He whispered, giving a grin. "I'm almost there." The boy's blue eyes sparkled in joy as he stood up and dashed off, large cream feathered wings fluffing up in anticipation as he swerved around obstacles and enemies. "Home, I'm almost home!" He chuckled, eventually making his way to Kari's home, panting and wheezing. He dashed to the door and knocked in a certain way he knew only him and his found family knew.

----

The day had been fairly peaceful, Kari was relying a bit more on Moxxie and Adam recently due to her body just not wanting to work due to all she had been putting herself through. She had to get some help eating sometimes but was trying her best to get better, maybe pushing it a bit but she was always scolded by either Moxxie or Adam, usually both.

Currently Kari was sitting on her bed, drawing up some new trap ideas when she heard something. A knock. A very specific knock. One she hadn't heard in years.

"No... No it... It can't... but maybe..." She whispered softly and shakily stood, stumbling a bit as she limped to the door quickly before she could be stopped. Her eyes locked on the door, she whimpered and kept moving, even as she was yelled at to stop and go sit down. The child eventually managed to stumble to the door, leaning on it and catching her breath then moving to open it. There stood one of her found family from before all this happened.

"KITEARO!" Kari yelped in joy and moved to let go of the door that was supporting her to rush and give the boy a hug, only to loose her balance and for Kitearo to pick her up.

"Hey, hey, easy there. It's been a while." He said, holding her close, immediately noticing the wings and horns that were still growing in. "You've gotten bigger. Not that little girl I last saw." The winner stepped in and closed the door behind him as Kari began to sob. "Ive missed you so much... you've... changed a lot..." He muttered, trying to calm Kari down who had begun to weakly clinging to the boy. Kitearo looked around, seeing Moxxie and Adam he was immediately on guard for a brief moment, only to notice they were not a threat and relaxed and went to sit Kari down.

"KITE, I--" Kari sobbed, still clinging to Kitearo as he tried to put her on her bed. "I M-M-MI--ISSED YOU SO MUCH!" Kari yelped, tears and snot dripping down her face.

The sinner sighed softly and patted Kari's head. "Kari, you're getting snot all over me."

"I DUN CARE! IM NEVER LETTIN GO!" Kari's speech was slurred as she just cried it all out and Kitearo just resigned himself to his fate at being covered in tears and snot for a bit. But it was worth it to see Kari again.

"Sorry for the intrusion. I just... I knew this was probably gonna be the best bet to find Kari again and maybe the others so we could keep eachother safe as best as we could." Kitearo hummed, looking at Moxxie and Adam. "Oh! Uh, I'm Kitearo Argentum, and you two are?" He asked kindly, giving the two a kind wave with a nervous smile.

//I hope this is ok and isn't too hard to follow ^^;

Moxxie’s heart clenched as Kari leaned into him, her small, trembling body finally starting to relax under the weight of exhaustion. When she whispered the word “Family,” his crimson eyes softened, filling with a mixture of warmth and sorrow.

“Yeah, Kari,” he murmured, his voice as gentle as a lullaby. “You’ve got a family. Right here. Me, Adam… we’ve got you.” He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close as her body sagged against him. “And we’re not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

As she pulled them into a weak hug, Moxxie let out a soft sigh, his small hand gently resting on her back, careful not to aggravate her injuries. He felt her grip loosen as she drifted off, her breathing evening out into the soft, peaceful rhythm of sleep.

Adam, who had been watching silently, reached out to steady Kari as she passed out, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. He exchanged a glance with Moxxie, a rare flicker of concern in his usually stoic expression.

“She’s out,” Adam whispered, adjusting Kari so she could rest more comfortably against them. “Poor kid finally hit her limit.” He sighed, his tone softer than usual. “Guess even the toughest need to crash sometimes.”

Moxxie nodded, carefully shifting Kari to a more comfortable position. He gently stroked Kari’s hair, his voice low and soothing. “Sleep, Kari. We’ll keep watch. You’re safe now.”

(Feel free to skip if you like. :)

[dalliancekay]

Aziraphale, misogyny and the female character treatment

I don't know if anyone wrote a post about this but I see from time to time comments to this end - that Aziraphale is treated like the female leads in films often are, obviously especially romantic films. So I'm gonna try to point how I see this. I welcome further insights of course.

Say we take a basic premise of a romantic film: A girl is wooed by a bad boy for example. And she is a good girl, from a good, proper family and everything so she refuses his advances. This goes on through his various ploys to entertain and romance her, do things for her etc etc and frustrates us as the audience because we can see the bad boy is actually good, her family is oppressive and holding her back and that she (deep down) cares for him (if only she was brave enough to admit it to herself) and so we want her to open her eyes and say she is actually in love with him cos her life will be so much better should she (finally) give in and run away with him.

Familiar? Reasons Aziraphale is not her and the analogy does not fit (but that I so often see in metas and takes about her):

Aziraphale always knew her family is shit. Or at least longer than Crowley did. She was already anxious in Before the Beginning about what she thought Angel!Crowley could and could not say or do without getting into trouble.

She knows Crowley is good. She never doubted him. Whatever he says or does or pretends to do or must do for his job. Aziraphale knows he's inherently good and would always do good if he can.

She knows she's in love - I mean we can argue about when each realised this and also when each realised the other loves them back just as fiercely, but they both know. And they both love. And they both long to be together. Aziraphale is not ashamed of her feelings nor hiding or suppressing them for fear they are wrong or immoral or other BS like that.

Aziraphale doesn't need to overcome her love for her family/employer and finally make the leap to be with Crowley. They simply can't leave their bosses without punishment. Neither of them. They live in a dictatorship with nowhere to go. And just because Crowley experienced both sides, doesn't give him some huge insight that Aziraphale completely lacks. Both places are awful. Their separation isn’t about fear of societal judgment (or Aziraphale's unwillingness to give up Heaven, being seen as good, being an angel - and to what end, to Fall? I really don't know what takes like this want from her, it would not work anyway), it’s about survival in a system that won’t let them be together.

Aziraphale doesn't want to change Crowley. She never did. She asked for Crowley to come to Heaven as an angel because that was THE ONLY option she had for them to be together in any capacity at that point. It was NOT an attempt to “fix” him—it was a desperate bid for a way they could be together at all.

One thing I don't see as much anymore is the call for Aziraphale to change. Obviously she's pretty but she would be prettier if she lost those century old clothes maybe and started listening to something made after 1950? Be more cool to match Crowley? Less stuffy?

These kind of film premises are already pointless, offensive and make me roll my eyes, but to stick them all over Aziraphale and huff cos she doesn't do what the clever sexy man in dark clothes and sunglasses says she should - well that makes me angry.

And so do takes and mischaracterisations that ignore Aziraphale as silly, her worries as pointless, sometimes excessive - maybe she's just hysterical, you know? The one time she shows more emotion, in F15, she is so often completely ignored in her obvious distress just because Crowley is trying to confess his love at the same time and seemingly 'not getting through,' because Aziraphale is not reacting the way everyone expects. So many takes that always assume Crowley is right, no matter what. Even when he calls Aziraphale an idiot. If Crowley says that, it must be true. No matter that the book spells out in Terry's voice that the angel is extremely clever.

Aziraphale’s charm lies in her kindness, her love for books and knowledge, her whimsy, and her quiet courage. These qualities don’t make her naive—they make her resilient. She often hides how she truly feels, hides her grief, her pain, her true desires, hides what she really thinks; always always to protect herself and her beloved. She is often forced to say stuff she doesn't mean. Again. To keep the one she loves and their fragile relationship safe. But where people seem to catch on with that on Crowley's side, they don't with Aziraphale. She is fierce when pushed and will defend the defenceless (humans) and the ones she loves (Crowley) to her last breath (whether she needs to breathe is irrelevant right now okay).

She loves her bookshop. She built this home, full of knowledge for herself and her demon and you can take this HC from my cold hands. That she was forced to leave it, only emphasises how little choice she had in Final 15. Good Omens has two main, equal characters; who are both gorgeous and complex and deep and neither is right or wrong or in need of saving or learning some huge lesson to get to their goal and be together. What needs to change is the world, the system they live in. And they will change it.

Just look at her!! Anyway. I love her. P.S. Just to add, many, many (if not all) bad takes on Aziraphale are also bad takes on Crowley. They mischaracterise and misunderstand just how deeply and unconditionally he loves Aziraphale. How he adores her and understands and accepts her just as she is. He does not expect or want Aziraphale to change in any way. He knows why they are not together. And it's not Aziraphale's fault, it's because of circumstances, not because of her choices. Crowley would never ever want Aziraphale to suffer, he wouldn't expect her to come back from Heaven saying how sorry she is for what happened, how stupid and blind she was and how he was always right. That's just not going to happen. ------------------------------------------ @tenok I simply must highlight the awesomeness you put in hashtags!! EVERYBODY please read:

Thank you sm for this!!

[iris-in-the-rain]

Stede, who works in a regular office job, nothing too exciting, but he still tries to make every day count. He brings baked goods to the office and offers them to his coworkers, some of which are nice to him and say 'Thanks!' as Stede starts to explain how he tried a new recipe, and he's so happy with how his muffins turned out, and he's gonna try this next one, but yeah, no, they're not really listening, so he just takes the empty box and tries to be happy that he at least got to give others something. And when he comes back from a few days' holidays and he's so happy, because the seaside was so lovely and he found some awesome shells and would anybody like to see the photo of the dog he's thinking of adopting and... and... But as people nod absentmindedly and their eyes glaze over and they stop paying him any attention, Stede's smile gets dimmer and he gets quieter, and sure, nobody is actually rude to him, but he's too much, he's always been, he just keeps talking because it's so nice to talk to somebody, but not when people don't say anything back, so he just walks back to his desk and gets to work, and if the lump in his throat is just a bit bigger (again) so what. And yeah, his eyes shine a little, but he's good at his job, he doesn't need friends, of course he'd like a friend, but maybe he's just not the kind of person that people want around them. So he keeps working, and his lip wobbles occasionally, but he's fine, of course he is, he just needs to stop bothering people with his stories and his presence and his muffins, because he's just annoying them and he's being stupid and...

...And a few desks away an IT technician working on a computer is building up the courage to say hello, because he's never met anybody so fascinating and colourful and full of life and joy. And Ed swears, today *will* be the day he will introduce himself to Stede Bonnet, because he can't keep watching him lose his spark day by day. And when he says, 'Hey mate, I love your cravat, is it silk?' and Stede's face brightens and he hears 'Oh! Thank you! Do you fancy a fine fabric?' the spark is there to stay.

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

panic attack comfort: Nanami x Reader

“Go back to sleep, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Tell me what’s wrong.” Nanami’s voice is sleep-rough and groggy, but he can tell something’s going on and you know he won't let it go that easily.

“It’s just some panic. I’m handling it.” You flash him a strained smile in the darkness but he sits up, frowning.

“You’re having a panic attack?”

You nod your head, fisting the blanket in your hands. You breathe in slow and try to hold it before exhaling raggedly. There are techniques to help ease the attacks, but they never seem to work quickly enough. The room feels too small and enormous at the same time. Adrenaline prickles along your arms and legs with a nauseating heat.

Nanami reaches out to you but pauses just before his fingertips brush your skin. "Do you want to be touched?"

As soon as you nod he gathers you into his strong arms. "You're safe. I've got you. This will pass." You cling to the familiar affirmations and concentrate on the steadiness of his heartbeat against your cheek. Your stomach churns with a bone-deep nausea, and you feel Nanami's firm hand on your back.

"Are you feeling ill?"

"Sick to my stomach," you grit out. Your limbs are beginning to shake, and you feel helplessly angry. No matter how many times you experience this, it always feels like the first time. Like maybe, just this once, you'll die right there in bed.

Without disentangling from you, Nanami slides open the drawer of your nightstand and comes up with a plastic-wrapped sour candy. You hate the things, but the vicious flavor sometimes helps snap you out of it. He unwraps it and holds it up with an apologetic look. "Desperate times, desperate measures, love."

You close your eyes and open your mouth, cringing as the taste hits your tongue. The lemon short-circuits your brain for a moment, briefly distracting from the pounding of your heart and the shortness of your breath. You use the respite to curl tighter against Nanami, and he shushes you gently.

Frustrated tears burn behind your eyes. "Why is this happening to me? What if it never stops?" These are the fears you always have in the midst of it. Nanami takes them seriously no matter how many times he's heard the same questions.

"This will pass. I promise. It's awful, and it's frightening, but it will end. And I won't leave you alone."

You wrap your arms protectively around yourself and recite reassurances in a whisper. "My body is doing it's best. It thinks I'm in danger, and it's protecting me." Nanami picked up where you left off, his deep voice rumbling against your chest.

"Your body is so powerful. It's trying to keep you safe. And we're safe here, my love." As he talks, Nanami taps his hands against your shoulders, a grounding technique your therapist had taught you. He'd seen you doing it to yourself before and did his best to recreate the soothing motion, alternating gentle pressure on each side.

You still feel breathless and dizzy, but your mind is beginning to clear. The ruthless urgency of the initial panic is fading to a dull ache in your chest. "Can you keep talking to me, Kento?"

"Of course." He hums, thinking. "Have I ever told you how brave you are?"

"Sure, this is really brave," you huff.

"I'm serious. But it seems I haven't told you enough, so allow me." Nanami places his palm over your heart. "You genuinely feel like you're having a heart attack, don't you?" His voice is low. "As painful as it is for me to watch you suffer like this, I can't imagine how difficult it is to live through." He cups your face in his other hand and strokes his thumb over your cheek. "But you do live through it. Every time, you make it through and keep going. You find the strength to keep working, keep helping others, keep being kind to yourself, even with this weight hanging over your head."

It's true, though you don't feel particularly proud of it. It's just what you have to do. But Nanami looks at you so earnestly, with so much admiration, that you almost believe him. Hearing someone acknowledge how difficult it is, that your panic disorder is a genuine burden- it loosens the knots in your chest.

"Thank you," you murmur. He kisses you on the forehead and smooths your hair.

"I'll keep reminding you forever. How are you feeling now?"

"The worst of it is over." You slowly stretch your limbs, still shaky and weak as the adrenaline fades. Nanami slips out of bed and returns with a cold glass of water. He passes it to you and tucks the blanket in tighter as you drink.

"I've still got you, love. I'll be right beside you all night." He pulled you against his chest and you snuggled in gratefully. "And all day tomorrow." His words trailed off as he began falling back asleep. "And the next day, and the next, and the next..."

"I love you, Kento."

Even in his dreams, he would say it back. A tired smile crosses your lips as you feel more than hear his answer against your neck. "I love you too."

an: I have panic disorder and it's fucking awful! So this is a very self-indulgent little snippet of Nanami helping Reader through it- maybe not the most realistic depiction but one that gave me some comfort.

[mx-pastelwriting]

First Round

- 3K Follower Post Celebration! This fic is one of three! Thank you guys so much again for enjoying my writing! Definitely worth the long nights of tears and sleep deprivation! K LUV YOU BYE!!! NOW ENJOY THIS HUNK OF A MAN!

Vander x GN!Reader

Summary: With the last drop closed for the night, no one is in sight to witness you flirt with your longtime friend Vander, nor watch you straddle his lap, taking your relationship to the next level.

Warnings: Friends to Lovers, Smut, Flirting, Drinking, Lap Sitting, Booth Sex, Oral Sex (GN! Reader Receiving)

Minors do not interact!

Drink in hand, throat burning from the liquor held in it, paying close attention to one of Vander's stories. Though more focused on him than the story. Zoning out on his features, the way his lips stretched to a smile and brows furrowing along with the story, almost painting more of a picture than his words. A picture you were too distracted on the hunk of a man to see.

"Are you listening?" Vander's voice rips you from that thought. Coming back down to the booth chair, you two sat drinking away the night with no one around to witness your nightly ritual.

Smirking at the hunk of a man, looking down at your drink half finished. "What do you think? You shoot back before taking a sip, looking up, locking eyes with Vander. Watching as they flicker with understanding. It's going to be that kind of night.

"You just can't help yourself. Can you?" He says, flashing a smirk of his own while setting down his drink on the small side table.

"You know I can't. Look at you," you flirt back, tilting your head back, still keeping an eye on him with a smile staining your lips.

Laughing shyly, avoiding your eyes, knowing he would cave just by a glance, but just as the air started to loosen up, Vander's face dropped, looking at you with an uncomfortable seriousness.

"Why do we keep doing this? This never goes anywhere." He says, leaving the air in a piercing silence. He was right; your flirting and dancing around the bush for the past nights never went anywhere. As much fun as it was watching him squirm just by words alone, it was time to finally reward his patience.

Breaking that silence with the sound of your glass, almost throwing it down on the same side table, then throwing your leg over his lap. Sitting atop Vander's lap, looking down at his surprised face before kissing his lips.

Vander's eager hands cupped your face as his lips grew rough with hunger. Long heat moments, the only sounds being your rapid breath trying to find some ground in the kiss. Hands engulfed in his beard, hearing him groan as you lightly dug your nails into it.

Breaking the kiss, catching your breath, not ready to let him go loose without a bit of teasing first, "You just had to be patient," you tease, looking down at his hazed state. Quickly feeling his hands hold your hips, pressing them down, making you feel the outline of his cock that painfully pressed against his pants.

"Does that feel very patient to you, love?" he groans. Smiling widely, never having taken notice of the growing bulge that must have been staring back at you all those nights, waiting for you to cross the fine line that you danced around.

Kissing Vander's lips once again, rolling your hips against his clothed cock with fingers trailing into his hair, lightly tugging at the dark locks, pulling more moans from him. Feeling Vander's big hands squeeze and pull at your clothes, trailing up to your back, allowing him support to lay you down on the worn booth.

Quickly wrapping your legs around Vander's hips, locking him in for a long night. Kisses no longer on your lips, feeding your hunger, now dancing along your skin, having pulled your shirt up, loving the skin that it covered.

Vander's hands sparking contrast against your hot skin, the hands once feeling arms against your cheek now cold as they glided down to the hem of your pants. Moving quickly to undo them, almost ripping them from your body before throwing them to the floor. Hand on his head as feeling as Vander leans down, needing a taste of you while hushing the whines to escape from you, annoyed at his insistence on making you wait.

Moans crawl out of your throat, echoing throughout the bar as Vander's tongue works away at you, chipping away at the feral impatience that ate away at you. Hums of enjoyment vibrate against the wet skin that he sucked and licked, hands gripped onto Vander's hair as he explores every curve and crevice of you before he gets to happily stretch them to fit around his cock.

Finally satisfied, pulling away, leaving you feeling empty, but not for long, pulling you by the hips towards him with the growing mass in his pants staring back at you.

Swiftly undoing his own pants with a loud pop, groaning in relief, his cock finally freed. Drooling at the sight of him stroking his cock to harden it further, starting to sit up wanting to have a taste of your own, but gently he pushes you down, replacing your whines with moans as he enters you.

Nerves sparked through you like a flood, slowly working their way up your spine to the back of your head that dug into the booth's worn leather. Grabbing onto his arms, working through the slight discomfort, starting slow, hearing as he whispered praised encouragements.

"That's it." "Just a bit more. Fuck," he whispers, as his thighs slam against yours, slowly painting them red. Heat prickles across your skin, melting away every piece of your mind.

Taking the velvet moans that rippled from your throat as a sign to move faster. Quickly working off of each other's songs of pleasure, the booth rocked against the wooden floor. The sound of it competing with your harmonized moans, singing of all those nights of pent-up tension now being released in heated actions and moans. Stringing a long night for the both of you, with Vander after the first serving round after round.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI, or reposted on any other platform without permission.

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Taglist: @sophieissleepy @birbita @joretgasbf @committingcrimes

[twopoppies]

So, you know how this fandom kind of trains us to see signs and codes in clothing? At the same time, we're always at risk of reaching and seeing too much in too little... and so we gotta stay prudent.

I don't really have mutuals and nobody in real life to share the thoughts that pop into my head when my eyes see things that my brain connecs... So, at the risk of being called a clown, can I share a thought? Let's just say that if it's a coïcidence, it's a sweet one...

On his very first show, Zayn wore a red snapback. Many people, myself included, immediately saw it as a (possible) nod to Liam, a way to honour him and have him onstage with him.

When Zayn had his show in Wolverhampton, Liam's actual hometown, he didn't bring back the red snapback, though he did have red on his jacket. He wore a black snapback.

The next day, Zayn was in Manchester. He wore the same snapback, but in green. And I thought "Oh! He's wearing Harry's colour in Harry's town!" I know Harry's not directly from Manchester but I remember at least one interview or two were the boys (Louis in one, at least) said that, in the band, playing Manchester was playing Harry's home gig. So I thought then that wouldn't it be funny if Zayn wore a blue version of the cap close to Louis' hometown?

Imagine my excitment now, that I see Zayn playing Leeds, 45 minutes from Doncaster, talking about how it's good to be back up North wearing a blue snapback !!! Am I loosing my mind alone in my living room, here?

So now I can't help but think that the original plan was to wear : Red in Wolverhampton, Green in Manchester and Blue in Leeds. Zayn just throwing a playful wink at his band brothers. However, Liam's passing made him rearrange the order to Red - opening night Wolverhampton : black for mourning Green in Manchester Blue in Leeds. And of course the next question is : where and what colour would Niall's snapback be?

😭😭😭😭

You really didn’t have to hurt me like that.

[delulustateofmind]

Long Distance III - Don't Go

Sometimes you just can't say goodbye

Gojo x Reader

Blurb, Part One, Part Two, Part Three

CW: ANGST/FLUFF- I've been too kind on the last few with the fluff. Satoru crying, switching to Japanese and English.

WC: 7.7k (Holy...shit I think this might be up there with my longest)

A/n: I did do less Japanese this time to kind of showcase that his English is getting more confident. I don't know if there is going to be another part or not. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them! (I might do an epilogue, who knows)

You sat on Satoru’s couch, listening as he paced back and forth across the sleek living room, his voice sharp as he spoke in rapid-fire Japanese on the phone. His frustration was palpable, each clipped word bouncing off the spacious walls of the penthouse.

Your gaze drifted over the room for what felt like the tenth time since you’d arrived. A penthouse in Shibuya. A penthouse. You didn’t know much about professor salaries, but the last time you checked, astrophysics didn’t exactly pay this well.

Satoru ran a hand through his already-messy white hair, ruffling it further until it stuck up in every direction. He cast you an apologetic glance, his blue eyes still managing to sparkle despite his irritation. Your lips twitched into a shy smile as your eyes flicked to your luggage sitting near the door.

Apparently, the hotel had overbooked and lost your reservation. And now, here you were—in Satoru’s impossibly fancy apartment.

You sighed softly, turning toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed a breathtaking view of Tokyo’s skyline. The sun was just beginning to set, the city’s dazzling lights coming alive in the distance.

Behind you, Satoru muttered something under his breath in Japanese, and then you heard the couch creak as he flopped down beside you.

One thing you’d learned in Chicago was that Satoru had no concept of personal space. Before you could so much as glance at him, he leaned his head against your shoulder, his silver hair brushing lightly against your neck.

“Smells nice,” he murmured, the words half in Japanese, half in English. Then, just as quickly, he sat up, burying his face in his hands with a groan.

“This was supposed to be perfect,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. “I can always stay at a hotel nearby,” you offered hesitantly, “or maybe one of those capsule hotels?”

That earned you a sharp look from Satoru, his lips tugging into a pout that was as dramatic as it was annoyed.

“Not safe, Y/N,” he said with a slight whine, his English faltering as he pointed at you for emphasis. “You stay here. My place is better. Safe.”

His tone was final, like there was no room for argument, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly at his overprotective streak. “Okay, okay. No capsule hotels.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back against the couch with a heavy sigh, his eyes flicking to yours with a faint grin. “You’ll like it here. My place… very comfortable.”

As the tension in the room began to ease, you found yourself smiling, the surreal absurdity of the situation starting to settle in.

Satoru sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair as he sat back against the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His pout deepened, and he glanced sideways at you, his brows furrowed in thought.

“でも、本当に大丈夫？(But, is this really okay?)” he asked, his tone quieter than usual. “I mean… you, here, with me?”

You tilted your head at him, confused. “Why wouldn’t it be? You’re my friend, Satoru. And it’s not like I had anywhere else to go tonight.”

His lips twitched, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remained serious. “Friend, huh?” he muttered under his breath in Japanese before switching to English. “But… I’m still a man, you know. 男だし。(I am still a man.)”

You blinked, taken aback by his sudden admission. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. “Ah…何て言えばいいか分からない…(I don’t know how to say it…),” he mumbled, his voice muffled. Then he peeked up at you, his blue eyes uncharacteristically hesitant. “You… staying here. It’s… how to say… difficult? For me?”

You frowned, your heart starting to race. “Difficult? Why?”

He hesitated for a moment before sighing dramatically and flopping backward against the couch again. “Because you’re… you,” he said, switching to Japanese for the last part. “君が…君だから。”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked again, your voice more flustered this time.

“It means,” he said, pausing to search for the right words, “that I… ああもう! (Ah, forget it!)” He waved his hand in frustration and sat up straight, his expression more serious now.

“Look,” he continued in a mix of English and Japanese. “I… care about you, okay? Like, a lot. More than… ah…普通の友達。(Just a normal friend.) So, having you here, in my home, so close…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair again as his ears turned pink. “It’s hard.”

Your breath caught, his words sinking in slower than they should have. “Satoru…”

“I know, I know,” he said quickly, waving you off. “I’m being weird, right? Strange? What’s the word? Uh… creepy?”

“You’re not creepy,” you said softly, your voice steadier now despite your racing heart.

He glanced at you, his eyes wide with surprise. “Really?”

“Really,” you assured him, though your cheeks burned. “I mean, I get it… kind of. But you don’t have to worry. I trust you.”

Satoru blinked at you, and for a moment, his usual teasing grin faltered. His gaze softened, his lips parting like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Finally, he let out a long sigh, leaning his head back against the couch as a small, wry smile tugged at his mouth.

“You’re too trusting,” he muttered, his voice low. Then, in Japanese, he added, “君が思ってるよりもっと。俺がどれだけ君に落ちてるか分からないでしょう。(More than you think. You have no idea how hard I’ve fallen for you.)”

“What was that?” you asked, catching his tone but not the meaning.

“Nothing!” he said quickly, straightening up and forcing a grin. “Just saying… you’re stubborn.”

“Look who’s talking,” you shot back, though your heart was still pounding.

He laughed, the sound a little too loud to be natural, and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. You stay. But—” He turned to face you, his expression more serious again. “If it gets… too much, you tell me, okay? I’ll sleep somewhere else. I don’t want to…” He trailed off, searching for the words again. “What’s the word? Cross line? Break… uh… rules?”

“I’ll tell you,” you promised, smiling despite your nerves. “But you’re overthinking this, Satoru. It’s just one night.”

He nodded, though the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed his lingering awkwardness. “Right. One night. Just… one.”

As the night wore on, you tried to push the conversation out of your mind, but Satoru’s words—and the way he’d looked at you—kept replaying in your head.

When it was finally time to settle in for the night, he stood in the hallway, awkwardly gesturing toward the guest room. “Bed’s there. You sleep. I, uh…” He scratched his neck, his gaze flicking anywhere but at you. “I stay here. Couch is fine. Perfectly fine.”

“You’re really not going to sleep in your own bed?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” he said, his grin returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Too dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” you repeated, laughing softly.

“For me,” he muttered under his breath, switching back to Japanese.

You stared at him for a moment, the pieces slowly clicking into place. Your chest tightened, and you quickly looked away, not trusting yourself to say anything without your voice giving you away.

“Goodnight, Satoru,” you said finally, your voice softer than usual.

“おやすみ、Y/N,” he replied, his tone equally quiet.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but lean against it for a moment, your heart racing as his words echoed in your mind.

I care about you, okay? Like, a lot.

Little did you know, Satoru was still standing on the other side of the door, running a hand through his hair as he muttered to himself in Japanese.

“バカだな、俺。(I’m such an idiot.)”

The smell of coffee lingered in the air as sunlight streamed through the massive windows of Satoru’s apartment. You had just finished your shower, wrapping yourself tightly in one of the fluffy white towels he’d lent you. Your hair was still dripping slightly as you stepped out of the bathroom, hoping to make a quick dash to the guest room before running into anyone.

Of course, luck wasn’t on your side.

The door to the apartment swung open just as you stepped into the hallway, and Satoru walked in, a gym bag slung over one shoulder. His hair was damp with sweat, his cheeks slightly flushed, and his fitted workout shirt clung to him in a way that made you immediately regret leaving the safety of the bathroom.

He froze mid-step when he saw you, his pale blue eyes widening as they flickered from your face to the towel wrapped around you.

“Oh,” he said, switching to Japanese instinctively. “あの…(Um…)”

You stood there, rooted in place, your face growing impossibly warm. “Sorry! I didn’t think you’d be back so soon!”

“I—I didn’t think you’d—uh…” His English faltered as he struggled to piece together a sentence. “I came back early. Gym close… uh, towel! You…” His hand shot up to cover his eyes, though the way his fingers splayed slightly made it less than effective. “ごめん! ごめん! (Sorry! Sorry!)”

You clutched the towel tighter, trying to will the heat away from your face. “It’s fine! I’m going to my room!”

He took a step back, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried to give you space. “Right! Yes. Room. Good idea!” He turned his head, his voice dropping to a mutter in Japanese. “落ち着け、五条悟。(Calm down, Gojo Satoru.)”

You dashed into the guest room, shutting the door behind you with a quiet groan. Great. Just great. That wasn’t awkward at all.

By the time you emerged, fully dressed and slightly less mortified, Satoru was in the kitchen, his hair damp from what you assumed was a lightning-quick shower of his own. He was pouring coffee into two mugs, his movements unusually quiet.

“Good morning,” you said cautiously, your face still a little warm.

“Morning!” he said, his usual grin plastered across his face, though the faint pink on his ears betrayed his earlier embarrassment. “Coffee? I made some. Very good. You’ll love it.”

“Thanks,” you said, sliding onto one of the barstools.

He placed a mug in front of you, leaning on the counter as he watched you take a sip. “Better now?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You glanced at him, confused. “Better?”

“You looked…” He hesitated, searching for the right word in English. “Uh… embarrassed? Before?”

Your cheeks heated again, and you quickly looked away. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Me too,” he said with a laugh, though his tone was tinged with nervousness. He switched to Japanese, his words coming more easily. “でも、正直言って…少しドキドキした。(Honestly… it made my heart race a little.)”

You choked on your coffee, your eyes snapping to his as he grinned sheepishly. “What?”

“Nothing!” he said quickly, waving his hands in front of him like he could physically erase what he’d said. “Forget it! Stupid joke! Bad English!”

You narrowed your eyes at him, your heart pounding as you tried to figure out if he was serious or if his words had just slipped out in the heat of the moment. Either way, your cheeks burned, and you couldn’t quite meet his gaze for more than a few seconds.

“So!” he said, clapping his hands together in a sudden burst of energy, his voice a little too loud. “Today, we go to bunch of places! We eat breakfast at my favorite cafe… and then we walk. A lot. I show you the university I work at! Very impressive.”

“The university?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course!” he said, leaning forward on the counter, his blue eyes sparkling again as he regained his usual confidence. “You see my office. Very cool. Best professor office in the whole building. And I give you tour!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “You’re really proud of your office, huh?”

“Not just the office,” he said, tilting his head with a teasing grin. “The whole thing. Students love me. I’m very popular, you know.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling all the same.

“Good!” he said, standing up straight and grabbing his phone. “Now, we go eat. I pick best breakfast spot. Trust me, you’ll love it. But… you ready?”

“Almost,” you said, glancing down at your still-damp hair. “I should probably finish drying this.”

He gestured toward you with a dramatic flourish, his grin wide. “Take your time! I wait. Very patient.”

Patient? Yeah, right. You shook your head as you disappeared back into the bathroom to finish drying your hair. Satoru wasn’t exactly the patient type—not with his energy or how often he seemed to invade your personal space without a second thought.

Still, you couldn’t help but wonder how someone like him—charming, funny, and total boyfriend material—was even single.

When you finally emerged, he was already at the door, holding it open for you like a perfect gentleman. Or at least, that’s what you thought until he casually reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“You hold my hand, okay?” he said, his tone almost offhand as if it was no big deal. “Busy streets.”

You blinked down at your joined hands, your cheeks warming. “Uh… okay.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you swore you caught the faintest tinge of red at the tips of his ears as he turned away, leading you toward the elevator. His grip was firm but careful, and he didn’t let go even as you stepped out onto the busy streets of Shibuya.

The cafe he chose was tucked away from the bustling main streets, a cozy spot that smelled of fresh bread and coffee the moment you stepped inside.

“Mmm, everything here is good,” he said confidently, gesturing to the menu as you both sat down at a small table near the window. “Pancakes are best!”

You glanced at the menu, noticing immediately that there was no English. The pictures helped, but you hesitated, your Japanese still a work in progress.

“No English menu,” he added, tapping the table with a satisfied grin. “But you can ask me. Anything. I translate for you.”

“Why do you sound so proud of that?” you teased, earning a laugh from him as he leaned back in his chair.

“I am very helpful,” he said, his grin widening. Then, his phone buzzed, and his expression shifted slightly as he checked his emails.

You watched him for a moment, noting how serious he looked when his attention was on the screen. He wasn’t the carefree, teasing Satoru you’d grown used to seeing—here, he seemed… important.

“Are you just a professor?” you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you as you scanned the menu, trying to decipher the items from the pictures and your limited knowledge of Japanese.

“Hmm?” He glanced up at you, setting his phone down as he leaned forward. “Mmm, yes… and no.” He shrugged, his tone lighter now. “I’m supposed to take over my family business soon.”

You raised an eyebrow, setting the menu down. “Family business?”

He nodded, his grin softening slightly. “Big deal. Very annoying. Too much responsibility.”

“Then why do it?”

He hesitated for a moment before answering. “Because it’s… important. To them.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten, but before you could ask more, he added, almost as an afterthought, “Have to be married, though.”

That caught you off guard. “Married?”

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed, taking a sip of his coffee like it was no big deal. “Part of the deal. No marriage, no… inheritance, I guess.”

You blinked at him, your brain racing. “Wait, so you’re… looking for someone?”

His lips quirked into a small, mischievous smile as he leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly. “Why? You interested?”

Your face went red immediately. “I didn’t say that!”

He laughed, the sound light and teasing. “Relax! Joke, joke. You’re too cute when you get embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed!” you said quickly, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Sure, sure,” he said, still grinning as he leaned forward again. “But really, I don’t think about it much. Right now… I’m happy. Here. With you.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. His blue eyes held yours, soft and warm, and you had to look away, focusing back on the menu to avoid the growing flutter in your chest.

“Pancakes,” you mumbled, your voice quieter now. “I’ll have the pancakes.”

Satoru chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “Good choice. See? I knew you’d trust me.”

As he called over the waiter to place your orders, you couldn’t help sneaking another glance at him, your mind swirling with thoughts of what he’d just said. Married. Satoru. How does that even fit together?

But the moment passed quickly, his easy smile and lighthearted jokes pulling you back into the present. And as you sipped your coffee, you found yourself thinking that maybe—just maybe—you didn’t mind being here with him a little longer.

The day passed in a blur of activity. True to his word, Satoru took you to his favorite places in Tokyo, showing you hidden gems you would never have found. From a tiny shrine tucked between buildings to a bustling street market filled with tempting food stalls, every stop felt more magical with him by your side.

At one point, he stopped to take a photo of you in front of a lantern-lined alley, insisting, “Memory! Very important!”

“You just want a new photo for your phone,” you teased as he held up his camera.

“Maybe,” he admitted, his grin wide. “But still cute, right?”

By the time the sun set, painting the city in hues of orange and pink, you were exhausted but happy. Satoru led you to a quiet park overlooking the skyline, where the two of you sat on a bench, sharing a bottle of water as the city lights began to twinkle below.

“You had fun today?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, glancing at him with a small smile. “Yeah. A lot of fun. Thanks, Satoru.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back and looking out at the view. His expression softened, and for a moment, he looked almost… shy. “I’m glad.”

And as the quiet stretched between you, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking the same thing you were—how this day felt like something out of a dream you didn’t want to wake up from.

As the day began to wind down, Satoru’s energy remained as...boundless as ever. Seriously, how does he do it?

“For the final stop,” he announced proudly, hands in his pockets as he led you through yet another bustling Tokyo street, “we go somewhere very special. My second home.”

“Second home?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He glanced back at you, his grin wide. “The university. You’ll see! I give you very special tour. Labs, classrooms, my office… very cool. You’ll be impressed.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help smiling at his enthusiasm. “If you say so.”

The university campus was sprawling, with modern buildings mixed seamlessly with traditional Japanese architecture. Satoru walked you through it all, pointing out everything from his favorite vending machines to the quiet corners he claimed were the best for napping.

“This is where I teach,” he said as he led you into one of the classrooms. It was a sleek lecture hall, equipped with the latest technology. He hopped onto the desk at the front of the room, grinning down at you. “Pretty nice, huh?”

“You sit there like that when you’re teaching?” you teased, gesturing to his relaxed posture.

“Sometimes,” he said with a shrug. “The students love it. I make science fun.”

“Of course you do,” you said, laughing as you playfully pushed him off.

Next, he took you to the labs, which were pristine and filled with high-tech equipment that made your head spin.

“This is where the real magic happens,” he said, gesturing broadly as he explained what some of the equipment was used for. His voice grew more serious as he talked about his research, his passion evident in every word.

You found yourself staring at him, not just listening to what he was saying but also noticing how his eyes lit up when he spoke about his work. He wasn’t just charming or playful—he was brilliant.

Finally, he led you to his office.

“This,” he said dramatically, pushing open the door, “is my kingdom.”

The room was neat and organized, with shelves lined with books, journals, and small trinkets. A large window offered a stunning view of the campus, and his desk was adorned with a few personal touches—a photo of him with what you assumed were his colleagues- one of which he seemed rather close to a man with long dark hair, a small model of a rocket, and a mug with a sarcastic science joke printed on it.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to the walls, where several framed awards and certificates were displayed.

“You weren’t kidding,” you said softly, stepping closer to get a better look. “You really are impressive.”

Satoru, who had been leaning against the doorframe with his usual grin, straightened slightly at your words. “You think so?” he asked, his voice unusually quiet.

You turned to him, nodding. “Yeah. I mean, look at this. Awards, degrees… You’ve done so much.”

He scratched the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Ah, it’s not a big deal. Just… work?”

“It is a big deal,” you insisted, smiling at him. “You’re really amazing, Satoru.”

He stared at you for a moment, his usual playful demeanor softening into something more vulnerable. “You really think that?”

“Of course,” you said, your voice sincere.

His grin returned, though it was softer now. “Well, I’m glad you think so. But…” He stepped closer, his blue eyes holding yours. He almost said something...but stopped tucking a hand into his pants pocket.

“Anyway!” he said suddenly, breaking the moment as he stepped back with a laugh, his ears tinged pink. “Enough about me. Let’s go! Dinner next! I show you another great spot.”

You blinked, the sudden shift leaving you momentarily dazed. “Uh… yeah. Sure.”

As you followed him out of the office, your thoughts raced. No matter how much he joked or teased, there was something unspoken between you—a warmth that lingered in the air, making every moment with him feel more significant than you wanted to admit.

“Actually… since I’m staying at your place for more than one night… why don’t I cook you dinner?”

Satoru froze mid-step, turning to look at you like you’d just suggested something outrageous. His usual grin faltered, his cheeks tinging pink as he muttered under his breath in Japanese, “ほんとに？(Really?)”

He nodded slowly, his expression softening into something almost shy. “You… cook for me? ありがとう。(Thank you.)”

The grocery store was a mix of playful banter and quiet touches.

Satoru’s hands lingered as the two of you walked through the aisles, occasionally brushing yours as he reached for items. Every now and then, he’d grab something off the shelf with an exaggerated flourish, holding it up as if it were a prize.

“This one,” he’d say in English, grinning like a kid. “Good choice, right?”

When it came time to pay, you insisted on covering the bill, refusing to let him even pull out his wallet.

“No way,” you said firmly, holding your ground.

“But I am host!” he whined, leaning his head against yours dramatically. “You can’t… uh, break tradition.”

“What tradition?” you teased, nudging him away.

“My tradition,” he muttered in Japanese, his tone half-serious. “君は頑固だね。(You’re stubborn.)”

Back at the apartment, the atmosphere shifted into something quieter, warmer.

The faint hum of your voice filled the kitchen as you worked, preparing one of your favorite comfort meals. Satoru sat at the dining table nearby, a stack of papers in front of him as he graded with a red pen. Occasionally, he’d glance up to watch you, his blue eyes soft as he listened to you hum.

At one point, without looking up from his papers, he spoke in Japanese, his tone low and thoughtful.

“君は僕の人生に光をもたらす。(You know, you bring so much light into my life.)”

You glanced at him briefly, thinking he was just talking to himself, and continued chopping vegetables.

He paused, his pen hovering over the paper, before continuing, his voice quieter now.

“僕は結婚しなければならないんだ。(I’m supposed to be getting married.)”

That made you stop. Your hands stilled as you turned to look at him, but his gaze remained fixed on the papers in front of him.

“Before you came here, before Chicago,” he continued, his voice steady but tinged with something deeper, “I went on one hundred and fifty-two dates.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?” you murmured, the word slipping out without thinking.

He looked up then, his eyes meeting yours. “People my family thought were… ‘worthy.’” He switched to English briefly, his tone flat. “Rich. Beautiful. Perfect. All fake.”

You didn’t know what to say, your mind racing as you tried to process his words.

“That night,” he said softly, his gaze distant now, “when you joined that server… I had just come back from another terrible date. Some woman only interested in money. Power.” He paused, his lips curving into a faint, humorless smile. “You see, in Japan, everybody knows who I am. But you… didn’t.”

His voice softened further, and he switched back to Japanese, the words carrying a raw honesty that made your chest ache.

“それが僕に特別な何かを感じさせた。(That made me feel… something special.)”

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping the counter as you tried to steady yourself.

“When you texted me, ‘I paid the town rent! Welcome back!’” he said, switching seamlessly to English, his grin returning briefly. “It was stupid. Funny. But I needed that. Someone to play with. And then…” His voice dropped, almost a whisper. “I started to fall for you.”

Your breath caught, your heart pounding as he leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

“I lied,” he admitted, his tone quiet and unsteady. “No conference in Chicago. I… I needed to see you. It was physically hurting me, wondering if I was falling for you or just… the idea of you.”

You stared at him, the words sinking in like stones.

“And now…” He gestured toward the room, his hand falling back to his lap as he looked at you with a raw, vulnerable expression. “This. You cooking. Me here. It feels so… domestic. Like it could be real.”

“Satoru,” you started, your voice trembling.

But he pressed on, his gaze locking onto yours, his next words spoken entirely in Japanese, each one cutting deeper than the last.

“僕は君に帰ってほしくない。(I don’t want you to go back.)” His voice cracked slightly as he added, “自分勝手になりたい。君を引き止めたい。(I want to be selfish. I want to keep you here.)”

Your chest felt tight, your breath shallow as Satoru’s words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. “僕にも夢があるんだよ。(Can’t you see? I have dreams too.)”

The faint sizzle of the stove was the only sound filling the room as you tried to steady your trembling hands, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. You turned back to the pan, desperate to focus on something tangible, something that wouldn’t pull you deeper into the whirlwind of emotions his words had stirred.

“I…” you began, your voice faltering, the weight of everything catching in your throat.

Suddenly, you heard the scrape of his chair as he stood, his movements quiet but deliberate. A warmth radiated behind you, the kind that sent a shiver down your spine before you felt it—his arms wrapping carefully around your waist, his chest pressing gently against your back.

You froze, your breath hitching as he nuzzled his face into the curve of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, and the tension in the air seemed to thrum louder.

In Japanese, his voice came low and trembling, each word slipping out as if it pained him to speak.

“もし君に結婚を申し込んだら、答えてくれる？(If I asked you to marry me, would you?)”

Your pulse quickened, but he didn’t stop, his voice cracking slightly as he continued.

“君の人生を捨てて、ここに移ってくれる？(Would you give up your life and move here?)”

You felt his arms tighten ever so slightly around you, his vulnerability pressing against your heart like a weight.

“そんなにわがままを言ってもいい？(Can I be that selfish to ask that of you?)”

Even though your grasp of Japanese wasn’t perfect, the emotion in his words was unmistakable. You didn’t need to understand every word to feel the raw desperation behind them.

And then you felt it—soft, warm tears that brushed against your neck.

Your chest ached at the realization. Someone so confident, so effortlessly charming, was crumbling in your arms.

“Satoru…” you said softly, your voice as gentle as you could manage. You placed the spatula down, turning the stove off as you carefully rested your hands over his. “Are you…?”

His grip didn’t loosen, and he didn’t lift his head. Instead, he whispered, his voice trembling, “Just… let me stay like this. A little longer… yes?”

Your heart clenched, and you nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Okay,” you whispered.

For a while, the two of you stood there, enveloped in a quiet intimacy that felt far too fragile to break. His breathing slowed, and the tension in his arms softened, though he didn’t let go.

“I lied again,” he murmured finally, his voice still muffled against your shoulder.

“About what?” you asked, your own voice quiet, as if afraid to shatter the moment.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes glassy with unshed tears. “When I said this was selfish… I meant it.” He hesitated, switching back to Japanese. “でも君に嘘をつくことはできない。(But I can’t lie to you.)”

His hands lingered at your waist as his lips curved into a small, bittersweet smile. “I’m falling for you, Y/N. Actually… no. I already fell.”

Your breath caught, the words sinking in as your gaze held his.

“I thought I could just…” He trailed off, laughing weakly. “Keep it inside. Be cool. But I can’t. You make it impossible.”

You swallowed, your throat felt dry, unsure how to respond, your emotions swirling too fast to catch.

Satoru seemed to notice your hesitation, his hand brushing against your cheek gently. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his voice soft. “Not now. I just… needed to tell you.”

The air felt heavier as his words lingered between you. Finally, he stepped back, running a hand through his hair and forcing a grin. “Dinner smells good,” he said, his tone lighter now, though his eyes still held traces of vulnerability. “We eat, yeah? Before it burns?”

You nodded, your voice caught in your throat as you turned back to the stove, feeling the weight of his confession settle deep in your chest.

Dinner passed quietly, the usual playful banter replaced with soft glances and unspoken thoughts. Satoru tried his best to act normal, throwing in the occasional joke or complimenting your cooking, but you could feel the shift in the air—something had changed.

When the plates were cleared, and the kitchen was tidied, he lingered near the window, staring out at the city lights.

“You know,” he said suddenly, his voice carrying a faint smile. “I used to think I had everything. Money, success, whatever. But now… it feels empty without you.”

You froze, the vulnerability in his words once again taking you by surprise.

He turned to you, his blue eyes soft but steady. “I meant what I said earlier. About wanting you to stay. But…” He chuckled weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t want to force you. I just want you to know… you’re welcome here. Always.”

“Satoru… I…” You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. Of course you hesitated—this handsome, wonderful human was being so raw, so honest, and you had no idea how to match that level of vulnerability. “I’ve never dated before, so… I don’t know how to react.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the city outside. His blue eyes widened slightly, shock flashing across his face. “You…?”

You shook your head quickly, your cheeks burning. “I mean, I’ve never been in a relationship. Ever.” You fiddled with the edge of your shirt, avoiding his gaze as your heart pounded. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say or do. This is all so new to me, and you’re just…” You gestured toward him vaguely. “You’re so you.”

His lips parted slightly, and for once, he seemed at a loss for words.

“I’m sorry,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “I know that’s probably weird to hear. I mean, look at you—you’ve probably had… a lot of experience.”

He blinked, and then, to your surprise, a faint blush crept up his cheeks. “A lot of…?” He switched to Japanese, muttering under his breath, “そんな風に見えるのか…(Do I really seem like that?)”

When you gave him a questioning look, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Okay, maybe I’ve had a few… dates,” he admitted, his voice hesitant, as though he was treading carefully. “But they didn’t mean anything. Not like this.”

Your breath hitched, and you finally looked up at him. “This?”

He nodded, stepping closer. “You. This… connection we have. It’s not like anything I’ve felt before.” His voice softened as he switched back to Japanese, his tone more earnest. “君といると、本当に生きていると感じる。(When I’m with you, I really feel alive.)”

Your heart ached at the raw emotion in his words, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through every defense you had. Tears threatened to spill as you stared at him, your chest tight and your thoughts swirling.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, his voice trembling slightly. “Can I… can I hold you tonight? You have the rest of the week left here, and if…” He paused, swallowing hard, his eyes searching yours. “If anything, I’d want us to act like a couple. Even just for now. I want to know everything about you. I want you to be engraved in me because when you leave… I already know it’s going to hurt.”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping as he muttered in Japanese, “行かないでほしい。(I don’t want you to leave.)”

The weight of his confession hung between you, heavy and fragile all at once.

“Satoru…” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I know it’s selfish,” he said, stepping closer, his hands twitching slightly as though he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “But I can’t help it. You’ve already taken over my thoughts. My dreams. And I—I don’t want to regret not telling you.”

It felt like you both kept going in circles.

Your chest felt impossibly tight, your heart pounding as the world seemed to blur around the edges. All you could see was him—the way his usually playful expression had softened, the vulnerability in his eyes, and the way his lips trembled ever so slightly as he waited for your response.

“You can kiss me,” you said softly, your voice barely audible. “And you can hold me tonight.”

His breath hitched, his blue eyes widening slightly as he looked at you, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice shaking. “I don’t want to push you—”

“I’m sure,” you said, stepping closer until you were just inches away from him. “I want this too.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his eyes searching yours one last time for any sign of doubt. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his hands lifting to cup your face gently as if you were something delicate, precious.

When his lips finally met yours, it was soft, tentative—like he was afraid of crossing some invisible line. But as the kiss deepened, the hesitation melted away, replaced by a warmth that spread through you like fire.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered in Japanese, “君は本当に特別だ。(You’re truly special.)”

You didn’t have the words to respond, your emotions too overwhelming to articulate, so you just nodded, your hands resting lightly on his chest.

Later that night, the two of you sat on the couch, the city lights casting a warm glow through the windows. Satoru’s arm was wrapped around you, holding you close as you rested your head against his shoulder.

“This feels… nice,” he murmured, his voice soft as his fingers traced idle patterns along your arm.

You smiled, tilting your head to look up at him. “It does.”

“I don’t want this week to end,” he admitted, his eyes flickering with something vulnerable again. “I don’t want you to end.”

You placed your hand over his, squeezing gently. “I don’t want this to end either. But…”

He tensed slightly at the word, his gaze sharpening as he looked at you. “But?”

“I don’t know how this works,” you said honestly, your voice trembling. “I don’t know how to leave and not feel like I’m leaving part of myself here with you.”

His grip on you tightened slightly, and he switched back to Japanese, his words quiet but resolute. “僕が君のところに行くよ。(Then I’ll come to you.)”

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“I’ll come to you,” he repeated in English, his voice steady. “If you can’t stay… I’ll visit. As much as I can. Or maybe…” He hesitated, his lips curving into a small, hopeful smile. “Maybe you’ll come back here. For me.”

The idea made your heart flutter, the thought of him waiting for you, of building something that spanned the distance between you.

“I’d like that,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smile widened, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as he murmured, “Good. Because I’m not letting this end. Not yet.”

As the week unfolded, Satoru made sure to fill every moment with something, as if he was trying to show you that Japan could be your home.

He brought you to his family estate in Kyoto, a sprawling property steeped in history and tradition. As he guided you through the serene gardens and ornate halls, his playful demeanor softened, his pride in his heritage evident in the way he explained every detail.

“This,” he said, gesturing to a centuries-old stone lantern, “is where I used to hide when I was a kid. My mom would call for me, and I’d pretend I couldn’t hear her.”

“You sound like a handful,” you teased, earning a sheepish grin.

“I’m still a handful,” he admitted, nudging your shoulder. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

In Okinawa, he took you to the famous Churaumi Aquarium, where you marveled at the massive whale sharks gliding gracefully through the water.

“They’re amazing,” you whispered, your face pressed close to the glass.

“They are,” he agreed, though his gaze wasn’t on the tank but on you.

When you turned to look at him, you caught the softness in his expression, and your cheeks warmed. “Satoru, stop staring. You’re going to miss the sharks.”

“Hmm.” He tilted his head, a teasing grin spreading across his lips. “I think I like my view better.”

He even took you to Disneyland, insisting on matching outfits—a pair of silly Mickey and Minnie sweatshirts that he picked out with way too much enthusiasm.

“You know people are staring, right?” you said as you walked through the park hand in hand.

“Let them,” he said, grinning as he adjusted the ears on your headband. “We look good. Best couple in the park.”

Each moment had been perfect, almost too perfect, and now, as you stood in the airport, the weight of goodbye threatened to crush you.

Satoru walked with you to the security gate, carrying your bag in silence. His usual grin was gone, replaced by an expression of heartbreak that you’d never seen on him before. His steps were slow, deliberate, as though dragging out every second could somehow delay the inevitable.

When you reached the gate, you turned to him, the lump in your throat growing unbearable as you saw the raw emotion swirling in his pale blue eyes.

“Well,” you began, your voice trembling as you tried to keep it light, “this is it, huh?”

But Satoru didn’t laugh, didn’t tease you like he usually would. Instead, he dropped your bag by his feet and stepped forward, pulling you into a hug so tight it felt like he was trying to merge your soul with his.

“Stay,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Please… stay.”

You froze, your chest aching as you felt him bury his face in the curve of your neck. The warmth of his breath against your skin, the dampness of his tears soaking into your shirt—it was too much.

“Satoru,” you said softly, your own tears starting to spill, “you know I can’t.”

“I don’t care,” he muttered, his voice muffled and trembling. “I don’t care about anything else. I just want you here.”

Your hands clutched the back of his hoodie, holding him as tightly as he held you, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had faded away.

“I don’t want to leave either,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “But we don’t have a choice, do we?”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, and the sight of his tear-streaked face shattered what little composure you had left. His usually bright eyes were glassy with unshed tears, his lower lip trembling as he struggled to hold himself together.

“I can’t do this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t say goodbye to you.”

You reached up to cup his face, your thumbs gently brushing away his tears. “You’re not saying goodbye,” you said, though the words felt like they were ripping you apart. “This isn’t goodbye, Satoru. I’ll come back. I promise.”

He shook his head, his hands tightening on your waist as if anchoring himself to you. “It’s not enough,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t want promises. I don’t want ‘someday.’ I just want you.”

Your tears spilled over, your vision blurring as you leaned your forehead against his. “I want you too,” you said, your voice trembling. “More than anything.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, clinging to each other like the world might fall apart if you let go.

Then you felt it—his hand slipping into his pocket. Before you could process what was happening, he took your left hand in his, his movements trembling but purposeful.

When he slid a delicate ring onto your finger, the perfect fit, your breath caught in your chest.

“Satoru,” you whispered, your heart pounding, “what are you doing?”

“Marry me,” he said, his voice raw and pleading. His blue eyes locked onto yours, shimmering with tears. “Not now, not tomorrow. Just… someday. Marry me. Please.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out as he continued, his voice cracking as he stumbled through the words.

“In Minecraft, we’ll put our beds together,” he said, a watery smile tugging at his lips. “We’ll get married in Stardew Valley, I'll buy the stupid ring recipe. I’ll move next to you in Animal Crossing—or I’ll just live in a stupid tent near your house. I don’t care how. I just… I want you to be mine.”

Tears blurred your vision, and you felt like the world had tilted on its axis. Gojo Satoru, confident, brilliant, and larger than life, was standing here in front of you, completely vulnerable, begging for you to stay.

“I…” Your voice broke as you looked down at the ring, delicate and simple yet impossibly perfect. “You’re making this so hard, Satoru.”

“I know,” he whispered, his lips trembling. “But I can’t stop. Not when it’s you. Please, just… think about it. Think about us.”

You nodded, your chest heaving with emotion as you threw your arms around him, holding him tightly.

“I’ll come back,” you whispered, your voice thick with tears. “I promise. And we’ll figure this out. I swear.”

When you pulled back, he placed a trembling hand on your cheek, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll wait,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “For as long as it takes. I’ll wait.”

With one last shaky inhale, you stepped back, your hand lingering in his before you forced yourself to turn away.

“Y/N,” he called after you, his voice trembling, and you stopped, looking back at him through tear-filled eyes.

He stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body shaking as he tried to keep it together. “Don’t forget me,” he said, his voice raw and desperate.

Your heart shattered at his words, and you nodded, unable to find the strength to speak. With a final, shaky smile, you turned and walked through the gate, your tears falling freely now as the distance between you grew.

But just before you disappeared into the crowd, you glanced back one last time.

Satoru was still standing there, his tear-streaked face illuminated by the harsh airport lights. 

You blew him a kiss and he grabbed it. A smile gracing his lips before he wiped his tears. 

This wasn’t goodbye, but it felt like it. 

[strrykais]

───〃★ his royal duty

contains mature themes (S)

♯┆pairing - bodyguard!changbin x princess!reader

♯┆summary - when rebels break in overnight into your castle, your personal guard changbin has his duty to keep you protected. hours locked in, in one of the safe rooms, you decided to take it upon yourself to finally jump on the chance to finally get him under you.

♯┆word count - 1.1k

♯┆author's note - heya guys finally put this out for ya! if you have any requests for written stuff dont be afraid to send in any asks !!

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

you could feel the way changbin was sneaking glances at you. it got you thinking maybe just maybe you can finally get him right where you want him after months of trying. you weren't sure if he was just ignoring you because of your status or he was just oblivious.

you disliked when your parents at first told you that you were going to get a personal guard, as the rebel attacks were starting to become more frequent. your parents were scared for your safety.

but when you first laid eyes on changbin you were almost thankful that the rebels were attacking. you did everything to get his attention, but your favorite was asking him to help you out of your dresses.

"don't you have maids for this?" he would always ask as his fingers lightly grazed the soft skin on your spine, sending shivers down your back. "i've sent them off, it's just you and i." you almost smile as you watch him shift behind you from the mirror.

now you watch him avoiding your intense eyes while you both wait out the rebel attack happening up above. at first you were upset that you didn't grab anything to completely cover up, but changbin quickly reacted by giving you a thin blanket to cover up.

you could help but smile at the situation he always tries to get out of, you alone with him.

"changbin, i'm pretty cold. maybe we should huddle for warmth."

watching him squirm in his seat across from you, "i'll let you take mine." he gently lays the blanket over the table for you to grab.

"do you repulse me that much, where we can't even touch?" now you were kind of pissed, you were clearly obvious with your intentions.

changbin rolls his neck, "look princess, that can't happen so whatever scenarios you got going on in that pretty little head, it's not gonna happen." leaning back on the chair crossing his arms.

you smile, you stopped listening "so you do think i'm pretty."

"is that all you got from that?"

"come on, one time. i obviously won't tell anyone, and nobody would know. you literally have a princess on her knees asking to have sex with her."

"it doesn't look like you are on your knees." he says, spreading his legs further as if telling you to get there.

you were on your feet in an instant, walking over to him. he stops you before you kneel down, grabbing the blanket on the table and placing it down for you. "i can't have a princess on the hard floor."

positioning yourself between his legs, you were buzzing your whole body vibrating with anticipation. you knew you wanted him badly but you both have even begun and you could feel the wetness pooling in your underwear. you slowly reach out pulling at his pants, eager to take them off.

as changbin lifts his hips to help you lower them, his dick slaps against his abdomen, which brings a smile to your lips. "looks like i'm not the only one who is feeling excited."

before letting him get a word out you reach out to grab the base of his dick, kissing at his tip. licking the pre-cum dripping out from his tip. he sucks in a breath as you slowly lick the vein from his base to tip, engulfing him whole as he reaches the back of your throat.

changbin was trying so hard to not hurt you, letting you bob your head as far as you can, while using your much smaller hands to rub the part that could not fit. changbin could take it anymore, mumbling a sorry gripping your hair shoving your face further down, while completely standing up now thrusting hard into the back of your throat.

"fuck, its so nice having you shut up for once. just s-stay there and take it, princess."

gripping the back of his thighs, moaning out around him. changbin never talked back, or even questioned you, always so submissive, but now you were seeing this different side of him. the ache between your legs was getting to be too much, reaching down to try to relieve that pain, changbin pulls you completely off of him. you gasp, eyes shooting open staring up at him.

"did i say you can touch yourself, princess. hands behind your back before i punish you." following his orders. "open up pretty." you did exactly what he asked. changbin didn't even give you time, as he shoved himself down your throat. your nose hitting his lower stomach, changbin hearing you gag around him only fueled him to speed up.

"fuck baby im gonna cum." changbin starts to pull out of your mouth only for you to reach out and pull him back in, sucking and bobbing your head. "fuck." he moaned out as he came.

changbin slumped down onto the chair, head leaned back, eyes closed. taking this opportunity you climbed into his lap, position yourself over him as you sink down. his eyes pop open when he feels your warm walls sucking him in. rocking your hips slowly against him, you start to bounce on him. changbin groans, wrapping his hands around your waist, helping you bounce faster on him.

"fuck you are tight baby, sucking me in so nicely." he says lifting his hips up to match your movements.

you lean down to plant a kiss on his lips, chanbin leans up to meet you. moaning into your kiss, changbin kisses down your jaw, planting kisses onto your neck, lightly nipping at it, scared to leave marks for your parents to see.

you could feel your climax approaching, burying your face into changbin, legs getting tired. "i'm gonna cum."

"cum for me baby, god please cum for me." he says breathlessly trying not to lose himself in how perfect you fit around him. like you were made for him.

"fuck changbin oh my god." you screamed out, legs becoming jelly as changbin holds you up,, the feeling of you pulsing around him, brings him over the edge as his movements falter and with his last stroke he buries himself deep into you. you can feel his cum filling you up, causing you to moan out.

"damn if i knew your pussy was this good, i would've taken your advances long ago." he says out, patting your hair softly as you come down from your high.

you laugh out loud lightly hitting his side, "so you were playing dumb." 

permanent taglist: @hyunestrella @spicy-sawdust @charlieg1rl @gnabnahcbby @totheseok @mystverse @jisungs-iced-americano @kimseungminpabo @bookswillfindyouaway @puppy-minnie @katchowbbie @night-storm7 @auroratiseee @goldenmellow @sellomaybe

[a1ecmcdowell]

dean winchester x angel!reader — it's okay, it's okay.

or, dean breaks everything he touches, including himself. or, the first time dove has to use her grace.

cw, angst, injured!dean, he walks you through it kind of, dean whimpers but at what cost

word count: 2k

notes, this doesn't count toward my vote. if dean x angel wins u WILL get another i am loyal to my word!! i just got this idea n needed to get it out before i forget < 3 sorry ahead of time if it is 1) sad or 2) sucks it's late ok </3

★ ˚⋆

everyone always says the same thing when the worst comes true, but it reigns true every time - this was never meant to happen.

sure, dean could have been more careful. sure, he could have spent more time worrying about his mortal, breakable body, and not the ageless angel who'd attached to his hip. he'd gotten... used to it, more than anything, because accepting it wasn't the right word.

no, he did not want you at his side at every turn. that gave him another body to fuss over, to make sure didn't get hurt, no matter the cost. even if it was irrational. but dammit, it was you.

you were resilient. he was certain you could take care of yourself, but he panicked when he saw the claw emerging from the pitch black, heading right for your direction. dean knew, logically, that you sensed it coming, that you could have protected yourself-

he took the swipe of gashes to the shoulder anyways. a long swipe. shoulder to sternum - couldn't feel it through the daze of adrenaline, but he could feel the blood. so much blood, and so close to his heart-

"dean!"

your voice pulses in his ears like its own heartbeat. is he losing consciousness? fuck.

your footsteps pound on the dusty dirt trail in the forest, running up to where he was slumped against the nearest tree. dean coughed, blood staining his bottom lip, metal and copper clashing violently on his tongue.

"hi, dove," he whispers, trying to breath life back into his voice, falling just short. "little worse for wear, aren't i?"

"now is not the time for jokes." you kneel next to him, your eyes flitting quickly over his body until they land on the wet crimson slashes across his chest. "you bleed."

his lips quirk, even as the adrenaline is wearing and he's starting to feel the stark pain of the extent of his injuries, because he can't help it. "i do bleed," he says, wincing as the huff of laughter falls out of his mouth rips at his already ripped skin. "s'what happens when you get hurt."

"why did you get hurt?" you demand, fierce and defiant even when he's facing death. good god, he adored you. "i will live. i heal. you..."

dean knew. he knew this. how did he explain this to you, when you didn't even understand what his feelings meant?

"i've heard i look pretty good covered in blood," he says instead. "that true?"

your nimble fingers clamp hard on dean's jaw, forcing him to turn and look at you. so much feist in one ageless body. "now. is not. the time."

"you're so pretty," he breathes, his eyes melting in and out of focus. "so damn pretty when you're mad at me."

your face contorts in a mix of confusion and outrage. this, he thought, is why he doesn't tell you the other things he's been dying for in his mind. as much as dean loves your furious pout, as much as he loves the way you take that damn lip between your teeth again as you think how to stop his dying, it's better to keep you at a distance.

"the bag," dean nods to the duffel he'd dropped in his haste, a couple of feet from you, "get the bag for me, sweet girl."

he can sense the why? on your lips, and smiles, just slightly, when it doesn't come. too detrimental of circumstances for you to question is every ask and call, it seems. how bittersweet it is to be a priority only when he's dying.

you clamber back over with the bag, all but dropping it on his knee in your hurry. dean didn't even tell you what to look for before you'd unzipped it and started digging. "there's bandage wrap in there, somewhere," he rasps out, nodding his head toward you, even though you're not looking at him, "need it. to stop the bleeding."

your hands are shaking. he has nothing else to look at but you - wouldn't look anywhere else regardless - but it's the first thing his eyes lock on. "hey," he says, a little more firmly, even as it makes him wince, "s'okay. it's okay."

"you are dying, and i am useless." you snatch up a small square of shiny wrapping, and he has an explanation for why, exactly, he carries condoms everywhere, but you don't even question it. he forgot that you were too focused on him to be your usual, curious self. "this? will it protect you?"

dean pauses. now is not the time, your words echo in his head, and still, he can't help it. "protects a part of me."

you scoff, and he's upset, for a second, that the joke goes over your head. another thing he should have taught you about. upset again when you the condom also goes over your head and into the dirt with your dismissive toss.

should have. how dramatic was that? already thinking in past tense, because the pain has ebbed again, and that's never good. he was relatively calm before when he could feel it, knowing that, at the very least, it meant he could feel, but-

your hands pluck out the little roll of bandage, shaking fingers tugging at the loose end and starting to unravel it. "yeah, you've got it. not useless, dove," he mumbles, shaking his head like he vehemently denies that bogus claim. "never useless."

"what do i do with it?"

dean lifts his shirt up and over again, wincing again with a deep rumbling whimper as he feels the tear again of his skin, his muscles. a wave of nausea renders him dizzy and speechless. his arms stay raised, his vision swimming.

your irritation is so evident on your face that he's certain, right then, he's never seen you so frustrated. dean wanted to ask why, especially after all of the times you've asked him that. he didn't understand your irritation with yourself. all he needed from you was to cover up the wounds so that you could heal him without risk of him bleeding out.

"you want picked up?" you ask, tilting your head in front of dean's to force his eyes to focus on you again. "now is not the time, again."

"no-" he says, lips twitching in the corners. at the very least, you were keeping him present and conscious, what with all of your adorable attitude. he licks his dry, cracked lips and tries to ignore the copper taste on his tongue. "take that end and wrap it around. like..."

dean doesn't know if you know what a vest is, or a sash, because you don't seem to know half as much as castiel does. maybe what cas meant when he brought you into the winchesters' lives was that your naivety ran so deep because you were a new angel, a fawn trying to catch its footing and stumbling along the way.

he watches as it clicks in your mind, what he means. you are so much smarter than he gives you credit for. he leans forward, mouth falling open in a shuddery, whimpering gasp. luckily, you don't stop what you're doing and ask if he's okay. your care, it seems, either doesn't extend that far, or extends farther due to the gravity of the situation.

you straddle him as you wrap the gauze around and around, and it's damn distracting, having you this close to him again. "do it until you don't see any more of the claw marks, yeah?"

your head moves in a nod but your eyes never once leave him, focused on the task at hand. winding and winding, the gauze tightening and tightening, until his chest feels stiff with it.

"s'good," he says, raising his hand to rest his fingers on your wrist. "great job, sweet girl. here-"

his fingers walk their way down your hand until he takes the roll of gauze between them, moving the strip to his teeth and tearing until it ripped free from the roll. "there we go."

again, you stare at him expectantly, only this time, he's staring right back at you with the same anticipation in his eyes. "go on, dove. do your divine thing."

a blink. a second blink. "i don't know how."

his heart, he thinks, falls down to his ass. bypasses the gaping wound in his sternum and drops.

"that would have been great to know before i took the fucking-" he can't even be mad at you. he's dizzy, starting to shiver, and yet the idea of hurting you made him feel worse than all of those things combined.

"i did not ask you to!" no, you didn't, but what was a man who was used to jumping in front of the bullets to do? "i did not ask, and you were not supposed to be stupid."

dean forces a strained smile. "sweetheart, s'kind of my thing."

you bend down, still straddling, close enough that your nose brushes his. fuck. he was going to die without knowing what it was like to close that gap. "not the time-"

"for jokes, yeah, i- i get that," he grumbles, throat thick, spluttering on a cough. blood splatters in a hapless pattern on his shirt, on yours. "think i'm- allowed t'joke when i'm dyin'."

"you are not." your eyes stay locked onto his. there's so much passion in them that they glimmer and glitter even now, in the dead of night. "not, to either of those things. i will..."

dean hates your expression. the defeated, helpless panic in it a stark contrast to your resilient eyes. he wants to comfort you. wants to smooth the pinched skin between your brows with his thumb, but everything's starting to feel a little heavy. "cas-" his head thumps back against the wall. "uses his hands. touch."

your expression softens. there it is again, that determined gleam overtaking every other emotion on your face. there's my girl, he thinks, even though it's a thought he's never allowed himself to think before, about you. his inhibitions are lessened now, though, and who is he to hide a thing from you?

slowly, your hands lift to his cheeks, cupping his face between your palms. your skin is so warm, and his is so cold, and he can't look away from your eyes. dean's never believed in someone as much as he does you, right now.

your eyes close, and he's still looking. his head leans forward and knocks against yours, like he can't get close enough. he'd do anything to know what your lips tasted like. if they were as sweet as you were, or as furious as you tended to get.

"it's not-" you growl, and he opens his mouth to say something to counteract the rush of heat your gravelly voice shoots through his icy veins, when- "fuck it."

two beats of shock wrack through him, and he has no time, not a split second at all, to prepare for the way your mouth crashes into his. his eyes blink wide in shock before a wave of warmth starts in his chest and spreads like roots through his blood and deep in his veins. he sees the blue-white flash of your grace as it spreads around the both of you.

you pull back so suddenly that your lips pop, staring at him expectantly. no, not dean, his red soaked bandages on the outside of his torn shirt. you give him no time to process it before you're clawing at it, tearing it down the center. "jesus, dove-" his eyes drop down to follow your gaze.

the only remnants of his injury were the dried streaks of blood running down his chest, pale red and shiny in the areas still drying in the cold night air.

you laugh, soft and hesitant, and it's the prettiest noise dean has ever heard. "if i'd known i just had t'almost die t'get you to kiss me," he says slowly, "i'd have done it a lot sooner."

even if it was hardly a kiss - more of a collision. he'd just have to teach you how he liked it, later.

tags,

@figthoughts, @jasvtsc, @titsout4nicholas, @deanswidow, @whyyouegg,

@bombarda-babe, @whisperingwillowxox, @underground-secret,

@bitchykittenconnoisseur, @jensenacklesantidote,

@keira-kaz2y5, @ostaramoon, @depressionbarbie2023, @ultravi0lence14, @loverslantern,

@bleuatlas, @minettacreekk, @sthefferrete

[vezpr]

_________________[ smile]

HUMAN SUKUNAxF!READER ☽☾ NO POWERS AU ☽☾ONESHOT ☽☾ AO3

☽☾ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Sukuna hates it when you smile... it makes him feel funny.

☽☾ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+MINORS DNI, smut, fluff, oral sex, piv sex, nothing crazy, no angst (!)

☽☾ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k

Sukuna hates it when you smile at him like that.  Don't you know he eats girls like you for breakfast? Aren't you even a little bit scared? Intimidated? Doesn't seem like it, when you look up at him, glossy eyed, and grin that way.

In line for coffee, walking to work, at the gym. Seems like everywhere he looks, there you are, smiling, dropping your eyes when he looks your way. Following him around like a curse. He certainly isn't following you. So, don't get any ideas. 

He hates the odd, swollen feeling he gets in his chest, when he sees you. Hates how he started to look for you, even. How he notices when you aren't at your usual place at your usual time. 

It's annoying.

"What the fuck are you smiling at? Something funny?"

The first thing he ever says to you.

And you giggle. Giggle. 

Seriously?

He couldn't have known that's something you do when you're nervous. What kind of nonsensical reaction is that? Makes about as much sense as anything else about you, though.  That's true enough.   

Soon, he realizes it would probably be harder for you to smile and laugh at him with his mouth pressed hard against yours. His tongue between your lips, perhaps some other parts of his, too.

He has to buy you a coffee first, he knows how these things work. Something sweet and creamy with ice in it. Typical. 

You don't smile when your lips are wrapped around the straw, he notices. Which gives him a few ideas. Things he thinks about when he's alone in his bed with his dick in his fist.

He notices your deadlift form is a little off, so he helps you. He knows how these things work. He crowds in behind you, rasping commands into your ear.

"Hinge, it's not a fucking squat. No! Are you doing it wrong on purpose? I saw you do it perfectly last week."

"Oh, you saw that?" You smile. 

Such a brat. So annoying. He really can't stand you. 

So, he walks you home. After all, you don't seem to be very smart.  You require supervision, obviously. You prove the point when you invite him inside. He grins. He's about to finally wipe that smile off your face.

But you don't stop when he towers over you. When he leans in, he kisses your stupid, grinning teeth. When he scoops you up and presses you against the wall, you giggle and squirm.

God, it is getting him worked up.

You know, pissed off. Frustrated.

Even when he bullies your lips open with his tongue you are giggling into his mouth. That's alright. He can be persistent. He has a few more techniques.

"Bedroom," he says.

"Yeah," you smile.

"I mean where is it, dumbass? I've never been here before."

More laughing. Everything is hilarious. Well, not for long. 

Finally. Finally. When he slips his hand into your panties, your smile falters. You bite your lip and sigh out his name as he draws slow circles around your engorged clit. When his tongue replaces his fingers your jaw slackens, your lips an 'O' as you sing a chorus of instructions and affirmations. Faster, not so hard, right there, yes. 

Even now, you're infuriating, thinking you can order him around. He grinds his rigid, weeping cock against the mattress.

Fuck.

At least you aren't smiling. Neither do you smile when he drags your feet over his shoulders and sheaths himself inside you in a single thrust.

"Wait, ohmygod, it's too much," you groan and arch your back. You do your best to squirm away but he holds you fast, lets you adjust. Then you're lifting your hips, trying to fuck yourself on his cock. More commands. Move. Fuck me. Please, please, please.

Fickle creature. So demanding.

When he finally relents, he does it with agonizing slowness. Just to torture you. Not because you feel so fucking good that he thinks he might come the moment that your warm, wet walls clamp down on his aching length. God, he hadn't realized how bad he needed this. 

It is impossible for you to smile as he fucks stupid you with his thumb hooked into your mouth.  You drool and moan vibrations into his skin as your eyes roll back. That's much better. He almost likes you like this.  Almost. 

Afterwards, he can feel you smiling into his chest. 

"What are you smiling about?"

"Are you kidding?" You actually laugh.

He grunts. So exasperating.

Over time, he tries different ways to vex or terrify you, to make you feel something besides vacous bliss. Sitting in your darkened living room, waiting to startle you when you get home. Sneaking up on you in the shower. Tore the shower curtain down the first time, flailing at him. It is satisfying to coax a genuine scream of terror out of you. But, then you ruin it by laughing, saying something absurd like, "Oh, it's just you." Just. Irks him to no end.

Only once, so far, has he managed to banish that smile from your face for more than a couple of minutes. Only once has he managed to evoke pure, unadulterated rage in your sweet little soul.

He creeps up behind you in the kitchen while you are prepping your lunch for the week. You don't hear him over the music. He slips his hands around your waist and pulls you tight against the hard slab of his body.

"Jesus, you scared me!"

"You should be scared," his teeth graze your neck.

"Hm," you lean into him.

His hands slip under the waistband of your sweats, kneading your ass and thighs.

"Not now, I'm busy," you whine, squirming under his touch, but you sigh as he sucks and nips at your neck. His hand slides into your panties.

"'Kuna," you groan, as his finger curls inside of you, dragging out your slick. "Mmm... god." He grinds his stiffening cock against your ass. "Stop! I'm cooking! It is really time sensiti-"

He pulls your head back by your ponytail and eats the rest of that sentence, soon making you forget it altogether. Your sweats are pooled around your ankles, hands gripping the counter for leverage. His swollen cockhead nudges your clit as he ruts against you from behind, coating his length with your arousal. 

His hand finds your breasts under your t-shirt, rolling your nipples one after the other as he eases into you. You're looking over your shoulder into his wide-blown pupils, encouragement in the form of broken moans falling from your parted lips. 

"Gonna fuck you nice and slow," he growls as he sinks all the way into you and stills, smacking the fat of your ass with his free hand. Time sensitive. We'll see about that. 

You grind your ass against him, stretched and impossibly full, but seeking friction. So impatient. He sets a slow pace that has you begging.

Finally, he relents. Picks you up and turns you around to lay you on the floor, manhandling you just the way you like. He slots himself between your thighs and sinks deep into you with a snarl. Fucks you through a couple of orgasms. Folds you in half to push up your shirt to lick and suck all over your tits as he does so.

The smoke alarm is going off, but you barely notice as you come around his cock for the third time or so. 

"Messy," he smirks as he gathers your cum on his fingers and licks them clean. The taste seems to do something to him. He growls deep in his throat, eyes rolling, pulls out and pumps his dick with his fist, coating your stomach and heaving chest with thick ropes of cum. 

Heedless of the mess, he collapses, panting, on top of you, pressing his mouth to yours. You taste yourself on his tongue.  Your hips grind against his, prolonging the aftershocks as your tongues slide against each other. 

Gradually, the shrill alarm bleeds through the haze of lust that blankets your brain and you wiggle wetly from beneath him. "Goddamnit, motherfucker!" You're exclaiming as you open the oven and cough at the smoke that pours out. "They're all burnt!" You round on him, scowling.

He smiles. Laughs a little, even. His turn, at last. 

You look up at him, pouting. You say he has to take you to lunch every day this week.

Yeah.

We'll see about that.