#What are the dots on your neck babe? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luveline · 1 year ago

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kbd —Steve helps an emotional you downstairs to sate some late night cravings. pregnant!reader, 1.3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Steve stirs at the top of the bed to the sound of pinging springs. He rubs his eye, feels sleep free itself from his lashes as he pushes onto an elbow.

“Honey?” he asks.

You turn to him with a frown. “Sorry.”

Steve doesn’t want you to be sorry, he was just figuring out which of his best girls it was moving around. He forces himself to sit up and turn on the lamp, unveiling the sight of you at the end of the bed in your maternity pyjamas, flowy blue fabric with white polka dots you’d bought to match Beth’s.

“You need help?” he asks.

You sound like you’re having a hard time breathing. “I’m trying to put my socks on.”

“Yeah? You wanna go downstairs?”

You always put your socks on before you go downstairs at night or in the early morning. The floors get cold no matter what you and he try to do to prevent it. He promises one day you’ll have enough money for heated floors. He’s not sure where he thinks that money is coming from.

“I’m gonna go have some ice cream.”

Your night time cravings lately are unstoppable. Steve pushes the sheets back and round the bed to the end, giving your face a short touch, and then getting down on his knees in front of you with his hands held out for your socks. He’d offer to go get it for you, but you’ll say no, he’s too tired. The only loophole he’s found for this is coming with you.

You give him your socks and a sorry smile. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. You know what I say.”

“Can’t sleep without me.”

He bunches your sock up and rolls it over your toes and up past your heel, your ankle. He does it gently like he’s rolling them onto one of the kids’ feet, he can’t really help himself. He likes being gentle with you. You can’t see your toes, so you might as well have him be kind to them.

“Can’t sleep without you,” he agrees, again bunching up the fabric of your sock to roll over your toes and heel.

He tugs it up straight on your calf and leaves his hand there for a selfish squeeze. “There, now you’re ready. Want your robe too?”

You frown suddenly, a familiar twist of your mouth and nose, eyebrows pinching down as your eyes fill with tears. He shakes his head at you before you can talk, his hand moving to your knee for sympathetic rubbing. “Don’t cry.”

“You’re so nice to me.”

“I love you,” he says, pushing himself up to stand and hug you. “Please don’t cry, Y/N, it’s just socks. I love putting your socks on for you.”

“You treat me like a princess,” you say with a sniff.

“You deserve it,” he promises. He wraps his arms around your head and neck, kissing your forehead with a loving sigh. “You do. Please don’t cry.”

Once you start you can’t stop. Steve doesn’t mind calming you down, it’s not like it isn’t exactly what he signed up for, but getting upset is never good for the baby or your extremely stressed body. “Please,” he murmurs, “let’s go downstairs, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, voice thick with tears.

Steve wraps you in a blanket and ushers you through the master bedroom door. Your pregnancy hormones are as off the charts as they’ve ever been, though last month you’d been quite snappy. This week you’re crying multiple times a day every day. Steve keeps waiting to run out of patience, but he has a good few kids, and you’re not doing anything wrong anyways. So what if you’re crying all the time? He can’t imagine how stressful it is to be that tired and heavy like this, or how many hormones are pumping through you at the moment. He got you pregnant. It’s his job to mitigate the symptoms to the best of his ability.

You sit down at the table, knowing without asking that he’s going to get your ice cream. He grabs it from the freezer with your favourite spoon (not so big, not so little), and passes you both with a smile.

“There, honey.”

Before he met you, Steve wasn’t used to pet names. He’d say baby and babe, he was a player, then heartbroken, and they’d come out weird because he didn’t really mean them, or he didn’t get what they meant in the first place. He calls you honey and he feels at once like the husband he is but it’s more than that. You’re his honey. You deserve to know how much you mean to him with every sentence he says, and there’s no easier way to do that than to pester you with pet names.

You use them just as much as he does. “Thanks, handsome.”

“Do you want anything else?”

Again, your frown, tears in your eyes as you peel the lid off of pint and pick up your spoon. “I’m fine,” you say tearily.

Steve scoots a chair as close to yours as is physically possible and sits, his hand falling to your knee. He’d squeeze your thigh if it wasn’t impeded by the round hill of your bump, the biggest it’s ever been. From the start of next week onward you can expect to go into labour. Within the month, you’ll have had the baby.

Steve can’t wait for it, and he’ll bet you can’t wait to be done. He says your name softly, giving the side of your leg a great massage, “Y/N, it’s okay.”

“I know, I just love you,” you say through a mouthful of ice cream, the spoon still on your lips.

“I love you too, honey, don’t worry about it.”

“Do you want some?”

He knows saying no won’t help. It’s probably four in the morning and he can’t imagine anything less appetising at the late hour, but he says, “Yeah. Just a little bit. I’m watching my figure.”

You laugh, still full of tears, and scoop up some ice cream to feed him. When he’s had it, he presses forward for a kiss, to your delight. Steve doesn’t mean to brag, but he knows you well. Cheering you up is easy. He steals a second kiss just for him and beams at the reaction it invokes, breathless laughter that doesn’t fade as you scoop up another spoonful of ice cream.

“How come the baby never wants something we can keep in the bedroom?” Steve asks.

“She’s like her sisters.”

“Yes she is,” Steve says, moving in for another squeeze of your leg. “Can’t wait to meet her.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, ice cream dripping from your spoon. “She can’t wait to meet you, Steve. She’s kicking every time she hears your voice. I think she knows how good you are to me.” You clear your throat. “She can tell you’re the nicest guy ever.”

He shushes you tenderly. “Come on, honey, no more crying. I’ll have to start being mean to you instead, nobody wants that, I don’t want that.”

“Please don’t be mean to me.”

Your hurt voice startles him. “I’m just kidding.” He kisses your temple. “You think I’d do that? I can’t do that to you, babe, I don’t want to.”

He spends twenty minutes convincing you he was just kidding while you weep into his shoulder.

Poor girl, he thinks sorrily.

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kousanosgf · 5 months ago

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men, minors dni

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

councilor!sevika x assistant!reader

you and sevika have to attend a banquet. and yes, sevika is wearing a dress

part 2

tags: sfw

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

"behave. promise?" you look up to sevika, finishing your work of smoothing out the wrinkles on her dress and brushing off little dust dots.

she is basically pouting, the prospect to waist the night at some rich folks banquet seems hellish to her.

you spent hours convincing her to go. "you have to go, we worked so hard for the council to like you, gotta uphold the image." eventually, sevika agrees and you're surprised that you didn't have to butter her up more.

it appears to be she just wanted to save energy for further arguments. because as soon as you suggested her wearing a dress, she enthusiastically refused, which led you to more bickering.

you won, of course. as soon as you started dating, sevika was never able to say no to you. so when you came to the last resort of "please, babe, you'll look so hot", when all the logical arguments of "you'll seem more aproachable", "they'll notice your effort to try and fit in" etc. didn't work.

you understood, though not fully since your backgrounds were so different, how hard it was for sevika to be on the council, fighting for her people's right to live happily, at times bending her temper and swallowing harsh words said her way. but piltover's elites are a bunch of snobs and you have to make them tolerate you before you can do anything productive.

"we need to get the budget for exchange programme and for that you need the votes." your recent project to help zaun's teens study abroad that both of you've been fighting tooth and nail for several months now.

sevika huffs out and brings her head down, nuzzling in the crook of your neck. "alright. promise."

finally getting the confirmation, you pat her head gently, to not ruin the wet hairstyle you've done yourself, practicing for days in advance.

"remember what i told you?"

"be nice, let you do the talking." sevika raises her head to look at you again.

"good girl" you smile and turn to grab your clutch from the vanity. you look over yourself in the mirror one final time and make your way to the door, not bothering to check if sevika follows you.

"will i get something as a reward?" she asks, her voice deep, as she catches your arm and presses your body into the corridor's walls, towering over. and, gods, she looks divine. the black fabric hugging her body in all the right places, highliting her curves for your eyes to feast on. your hand runs up her bare spine, fingers lightly touching the muscles. "is the prospect of helping your people not enough of a reward, councilor?"

both of you giggle, and you get this buzzing in your stomach as you feel sevika's body shake slightly from laughter against yours. gone were the days when you avoided her for that exact feeling, making you two miserable. you found that sedating your conscience and work ethics was very easy around her, in her arms. hiding your relationship wasn't much of a trouble since sevika didn't seem to like explicit pda, the most you got is a peck on the cheek or a stroll hand in hand, when you knew you're away from any colleagues. and sevika definitely doubled down behind the closed doors, basically attached to your hip, unable to keep her hands off you.

"come on, time to head out." you push sevika lightly on the shoulder to head to the door.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚˚⁺‧͙

the evening was going smoothly so far. you and sevika arrived fashionably late to attract enough needed attention. people were starring, you knew that much even though the glances were not addressed your way. they were in awe, looking sevika up and down, taking in her broad shoulders, crosses by the black straps of the dress.. you had to hide a smirk every time you noticed, knowing you were the one to dress her up in all the nicest things that suited her so much.

your time was mostly spend by sevika's side, floating between this and that groups of people. the wealthiest merchant's family. an ambassador, seemingly finally able to return to piltover and enjoy his home's elite life. some carefree and arogant flock of politician's kids.

sevika was growing bored and restless by a minute. the best you could do is snatch a glass of champagne from the waiter's tray and push it in sevika's hand. "give me half an hour. an hour at most." you promised her.

"i don't know how you do this." she sipped her champagne and rolled her eyes.

"it's fun really, if you know how to play-"

"councilor sevika! wasn't expecting you to join us tonight." a cheery man interrupted you, making you take a step back from sevika for a more appropriate distance. you looked the man over and recognized him as pavle peric, the owner of the biggest precious metals mines in piltover, he didn't seem to even adress you.

"my conscience wouldn't let me stay away from this." sevika answered and smiled, sharing a look with you.

"yes, yes. great you're finally taking time to fit in the society." it looks like pavle took sevika's smile as his accomplishment as his smirk widens. "we all were wondering when you finally open up to some local culture."

you notice sevika tense slightly at the comment, as she catches the jab. a way to ruin a perfectly fine evening, you sigh inside your head.

"a new position, especially such as a councilor can take some time to get used to the new responsibilities." you're quick to smooth out the situation before the disaster happens. your hand touches sevika's lightly, asking to let you handle it. she stays silent.

pavle finally seems to notice you. his face scrunches, the man isn't happy that you dared speaking to him. "well, i suggest councilor expand her social circle. my advice to you, you can't always drag servants with you at events like this." he laughs cruelly, looking you up and down.

"she's my assistant." sevika cuts out, immediately starting to boil with anger.

"a servent, an assistant, same thing really. my advice to you, councilor sevika. first thing you gotta do is meet right friends. you're in piltover now, time to find people your level."

it all happens too fast. one second sevika stands by your side, the other she launches for the man, grabbing him by the lapel of his suit. your group gets couple of surprised gasps, the only thing that saves you is that you're standing behind a massive column, which hides you from the rest of the hall.

"do you think the same of the workers in your mines?! some consumable material to fill you pocket, while they lay their health and lives for their families to have a chance to survive?!"

you're panicking. sevika's right of course, pavle is a real scum and doesn't hide it. the way he runs his business, the way he treats his employees. but such an outburst can cause you and sevika months of hard work. you approach sevika, feeling guilty for your next words.

"councilor, please. mister peric is only giving his feedback as a more experienced man in these matters."

"no." her brows frown more, she doesn't spare you a glance, still fixated on the man. yet she gives in a little, letting go of him but still towering over pavle's figure. "you will apologize to my assistant."

"no need. mister peric didn't offend me in any way."

sevika persists, waiting for men to speak up but he's definitely too scared by her force now to say a thing.

"we still need to meet councilor shoola, councilor sevika." you try again, your hand carefully touches her back, and you just hope that the gesture would go unnoticed by others. it seems to work, goosebumps rise up sevika's spine as she relaxes a little, her expression still furious though.

a silent moment passes between the three of you before sevika turns with a low growl and storms away, heading for the massive glass doors which lead to the manor's gardens.

you take your time to say sorry to the man and hurry outside after her.

it's dark already, the hours come closer to midnight. still it's not hard to find sevika outside, she chose a place for you to notice her immediately when you walk out.

"say it." she huffs out and crosses her arms on her chest.

"what do you want to hear?" you smile slightly as she reminds you of a pouty kid. only to you though, if someone would see sevika in a mood like this, they'll think twice before even coming closer.

"i ruined it."

"you didn't ruin anything, vika."

you chew on your lip for a moment, thinking what to say next while sevika just stays quiet.

"i'm thankful, really." you look around for the unwanted witnesses and, after making sure no one is watching you, put you palm on her cheek.

"there were no person in my life before, who would've stand up for me like you did there."

"cause all of them have their head up their ass." sevika's anger seems to calm down, words less harsh. she covers your hand with hers, pressing her face deeper into your touch.

"but you need to understand-"

"here it comes." she rolls her eyes but doesn't let go.

"-i'm able to handle people like him." you continue, putting pressure into your words.

"your people's well-being is more important than my honor."

sevika just sighs, neither denying nor agreeing with you. you just stand there, waiting for her to process what she needs.

finally, something in her face shifts, she takes a deep breath and hits you with a quiet "i love you."

it's not the first time you hear it, you say that to each other almost every day. but this time just feels different, like it has more meaning to it. you have not much to say in the response except for simple "i love you too, vika."

both of you hear footsteps somewhere near, making you let go of each other, an intimate moment between you not ruined completely, bit it reminds you that you're not alone.

"i think it's time to head home." sevika suggests and you can't do anything but to agree.

—————————————————————————

tbh wanted to write this as oooh sexy sevika in a dress but it took completely different turn. but i guess still gonna write sev in a dress smut (i feel like she definitely needs to be strapped for being so good), cause that's what sevika stans deserve 🫦

#arcane #arcane netflix #sevika #sevika x y/n #sevika x reader

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solbaby7 · 2 months ago

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Slipping Away

pairing: azriel x reader

[ masterlist ]

[ part one ]

warnings: mentions of poor mental health, probably swearing, underlying sexual themes, angst babe

summary: You've been drowning for a long time and finally someone notices

—

There’s a rooftop garden just above the townhouse in Velaris and you’re not quite sure why you’ve never bothered to visit it until now.

A blissfully unaware city lives just beyond it, past the stone walls and dense privacy fence made of cypress trees. The residual sounds of their freedom hits your ears, nothing more than distant chatter that carries along a brisk breeze.

Even that is enviable—the way they exist with no regard of the space they may take up.

Makes you try a little harder when you apply paint to canvas; desperate to feel what they must when mimicking the light reflecting from their souls.

The city twinkles, stars shining so bright that they seem to just hang from the sky like pearls, some pulsing with rich ruby tones and others glimmering with amethyst. Bridges and buildings glow from the marbled sheen of the moon, its beam breathing life into everyone but you.

“Been out here long enough, don’t you think?”

You startle at the voice, its honey smooth rumble shattering the little bubble you’d built around yourself. Azriel stands there in the doorway, unceremoniously leaned against its framing with arms crossed and a brow raised. “I’m not finished.” The words seem to snap you back into reality, limbs a little shaky from the recoil that takes place when a tethered soul hastily returns back to its meat suit.

You close up like a clam, all but throwing your paintbrush into the water dish and body blocking the entirety of your canvas.

Surely he notices the change in body language, he’s kind enough not to mention it. Wings shuffle in a touch closer to his form, subconsciously retaining heat from the bitter chill in a motion so natural you can’t help but be reminded of how many centuries he’d endured in such weather. “Maybe so, but it’s cold out and you don’t even have a coat.”

He’s not wrong and at the mention of it, you finally seem to notice the goosebumps dotting your flesh. Bare arms and exposed ankles, feet with no shoes and fabric too flimsy to properly stave off the effects of such elements. “Guess I was just too focused to even notice.” Maybe it’s the calm way he just lingers there that allows your body to unfurl from its tense stance, shoulders drooping and spine less rigid as you ease back down in your seat. “I’ll make some tea when I’m done.”

He moves like smoke, inaudibly despite his massive physique but his presence is unmistakable. It forces the hairs on the back of your neck to raise at attention, encourages your heart-rate to rise and you struggle to decipher if the feeling that emerges is fear or attraction. “Stay out here as you are much longer and you’ll become a permanent fixture.”

Every move he makes is done with such intention, shadows slyly distracting you when playfully nudging at the edge of your paint palate. They steal your attention—forcing you to lurch forward to prevent the array of colors from falling—long enough for Azriel to conjure up a sweater, one soft and warm and distinctly his.

The action is done so naturally it robs you of words, eyes widening in surprise while confusion scrunches up your features. Your brain scrambles for a feasible explanation, subconsciously stretching your arms into the thick cashmere sleeves until you’re moving on autopilot and shoving it over your head.

A content smile ghosts overs the corner of his mouth. “I had a feeling you were good,” Azriel confesses softly, directing the conversation with too much ease and there’s no time to feel out of place when he’s nudging you aside, putting you exactly where he pleases to take in the painting in its entirety. “But, this is remarkable.”

Every inch of you screams to reject this, to pack up your supplies and scurry off in search for solitude because the longer Az’s stare lingers on the softly blended shades of rich dandelion and warm ochre; admiring the gentle shine from metallic golds, it feels like he’s reading straight from the most intimate pages of your journals. Flipping through private confessions, evaluating personal entries and reading them aloud to a crowd of observers for judgement.

Two fingers trail the line of your collarbone until the cool chill of metal can be felt against your fingertips, nails tracing the contours of the key dangling from your neck. The action is repeated once, twice, a third times before the anxiety of anyone going through your things finally disperses.

Arms cross over your chest, words distant and clipped in attempts to create space. It doesn’t help, cloaked in his clothes, the only thing your brain can seem to focus on is the fact that last time you and Azriel had been alone—he’d almost kissed you. “It’s incomplete.”

Azriel hums, a low sound; not agreeing or disagreeing but still acknowledging. “What do you do with them when they’re done then? Can’t imagine you’d be the type to hang them up.”

Music plays from within the city, delicate strings and soulful drums. Even from where you stand you can see the faes and faeries dancing idly along the cobblestone. They saunter out of cafés and shops, stumble out of bars and clubs. This moment in time forever frozen on canvas, your eyes flicker back and forth—so close and yet still something is missing. “I throw them away.”

“What? Why?”

A jerky shrug is your only reply, trying to see whatever he could within the brushstrokes but all you find are flaws. Lines where your hands had been shaky, shading that no longer matches as the muse constantly shifts.

“There must be a reason?” He prods. “No point in spending so much money on supplies just to toss what you make with them like trash.”

“Not sure why you care—it’s not your money being wasted.”

You expect something like irritation to grace Azriel’s features but all you can find is amusement. He doesn’t bristle at the thorns you prick him with, only chuckles at the blood you draw. Not deterred in the slightest by your bite, he continues to poke and prod at your restraint; all but scruffing you like an unruly cat until all the fight has been wrung out. “Suppose not, it’s just very telling.”

Eyes roll so hard you can feel the strain. “Don’t tell me we’re doing this again? I’m not particularly interested in another round of your evaluations.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so easy to read.”

“Sure,” you shrug, fingers digging into soft cashmere. “But, it’s definitely a you issue when it comes to being so fucking nosy.”

A beat of time passes. A scream sounding from within the city; this playful, jubilant noise that feels like a blade being sliced through your sternum. Cutting through bone and embedding itself in squishy soft tissues until iron eviscerates whatever’s left of your neglected heart.

“Is it really such a crime to care about you?”

Azriel watches every inch of you go still. Can see the exact moment your defenses go up—those walls you keep, growing taller and taller. It’s reinforcements suiting up and taking their post with weapons readied; waiting for the word to attack. “It is if I can’t figure out what you want in return.”

He sighs, breath shuddering from his lungs as though the answer physically pains him. “I just want you to be happy.” Bare palms wipe at the thighs of your dress, wet paint smearing against pale material but you don’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It’s not exactly concerning but Azriel finds it very telling, acknowledging your lack of concern for material items. No personal affects to hold you down. The way you wander around so detached from reality as if you were a ghost existing around mortals.

Cracks fissure along the brick wall of a barricade you’ve placed up. The foundations wavering. Gates crumbling under the pressure of his eyes boring into the side of your face as if he could see the destruction within. “They never really feel good enough to keep.”You finally confess, voice softer than Az had ever heard it before. “Like something about them is missing.”

He keeps staring at it, scanning and scanning the shapes formed in wet paint. One finger hovers over a spot near the corner, a small slice of the balcony from your point of view. A perfect replica of the iron railings, flourishing flora, even the quaint little seating arrangement. “You. It’s missing you.”

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 months ago

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Taking care of you now || SCB

WORD COUNT: 1.6K

PAIRING: Changbinx Fem!Reader

GENRE: you're sick and need help, caring boyfriend, looking after reader, drabble, something cute, established relationship

SYNOPSIS: When you fall sick, you refuse to ask your boyfriend, Changbin, for help, not wanting to burden him. But Changbin, unable to ignore his worry, shows up at your apartment unannounced, determined to take care of you

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - December 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

Changbin frowned at his phone, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he debated sending another text to you. It had been hours since your last reply—uncharacteristic for you, even on your busiest days. You hadn’t answered his good morning message, nor had you responded to the memes he sent to lighten your day. The reels sat there in your inbox unseen and it was starting to bug him a little bit.

Normally, he’d brush it off, assuming that you were caught up with work or resting, sometimes you napped most of the afternoons since you were up so early. But this time, something gnawed at him, a persistent unease he couldn’t ignore, a small voice inside of him telling him to at least go over there and check in on you.

Finally - unable to ignore the unease - he grabbed his coat and headed out, stopping by your favourite bakery to pick up the warm pastries that he knew you loved and were never able to resist. If I’m wrong, I’ll just be the overbearing boyfriend for a day. Better that than leaving you alone if something’s wrong.

When he arrived at your apartment, he let himself in with the spare key you'd given him a few weeks ago. The two of you had been togetyourfor a while but since he was an idol you couldn't exactly live together, so a key to your house was the next best thing.

“Yn?” he called softly, stepping into the quiet space. There was no answer, only the faint hum of the heater running in the background. Slowly he walked further into the house, glancing around for you and wondering why you had the heating up so damn high.

"Babe-" He stopped his words short and his heart sank when he saw you. You were curled up on the couch, a blanket haphazardly draped over your trembling frame. You looked like you'd been through hell and were still going through it, your lips dry, and beads of sweat dotted your forehead. Some of your hair clung to your face, damp with fever and he cursed himself for not coming sooner.

“Baby,” he whispered, crouching down beside you. Gently, he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead and winced, quickly pulling it away as he looked at you. You were burning up.

“Why didn’t you call me?” He cursed softly under his breath and you stirred faintly at the sound of his voice, your eyelids fluttering open as you caught a glance at him.

“Didn’t…wanna botyouryou,” You managed to get the words out, your voice barely audible and he shook his head at you rubbing the back of his neck. He sighed, brushing a strand of your away from your face.

“You’re impossible.” He smirks a little and shook his head but you were already out cold before you could hear him.

Setting his things down, he rolled up his sleeves and glanced around at the flat. It was a mess but he would never judge you for it. If she wasn't going to ask for my help, I'd just have to take matters into my own hands.

For the four hours, Changbin moved through your apartment like a man on a mission. He started in the bedroom, stripping the damp, crumpled sheets and replacing them with fresh ones he found in your linen closet, spraying it with some fresh fabric spray so it would smell amazing for you.

Once your bed was made, he returned to your side with a basin of warm water and a clean cloth.

“Sorry, love,” he murmured as he wiped your face gently, trying not to wake you up. You shifted a little but didn’t protest, too weak to fully register what was happening and that he was even there with you in that moment. He worked carefully, wiping away the sweat and changing you into a clean shirt he’d dug out from your wardrobe.

After settling you back on the couch for the time being, he turned his attention to the kitchen. He rummaged through the cabinets, gathering ingredients for chicken soup, and texted Minho to double-check that he had everything he was going to need for the recipe. The scent of simmering broth soon filled the air, a comforting aroma that made the apartment feel warm despite the chill of your fever.

As the soup cooked, he tidied up the living room, folding the discarded blankets and tidying up the clutter. He threw out empty water bottles and tissues, cleaned the coffee table, and fluffed the pillows on your couch. By the time he finished, the room looked spotless.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was how cool and fresh the sheets felt against your skin. Your head still throbbed, but your body felt a little lighter, the fever sweat no longer clinging to you.

You blinked groggily, your surroundings slowly coming into focus. Did I get up and change the sheets? You wondered. That didn’t seem right—your muscles felt far too weak for you to have managed that, and they didn't ache like they would have done if you had been the one to change the sheets.

Dragging yourself out of bed, You shuffled toward the living room. The sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks.

The space was immaculate. The coffee table sparkled, the blankets you'd thrown around earlier were neatly folded, and even the pillows were arranged perfectly on the sofa. From the kitchen came the faint clinking of dishes, followed by a warm, savory aroma.

“Changbin?” You called out weakly, your throat dry and scratchy causing you to cough into your hand. Seconds later, he emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup, crackers, and a glass of water. His face immediately hardened when he saw that you were out of bed.

“What are you doing up?” he demanded, crossing the room in quick strides. Your eyes studied how quickly he was walking toward you.

“I…” You swayed slightly, and he was by your side in an instant, steadying you with a hand on your arm.

“You should be in bed,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “Come on.”

“I just wanted to see—”

“Yn, you’re sick. You need to rest,” he insisted, steering you back toward the bedroom.

“Do you have any idea how hard I worked to make sure you’re comfortable, and now you’re up, walking around like nothing’s wrong?” You let out a small laugh, despite yourself.

“You sound like my mom.” You grumble at him, trying not to be mad that he was looking after you since this was something that was supposed to be sweet of him.

“Well, your mom’s not here, so you’re stuck with me,” he quipped, settling you back into bed. Once you were tucked in, he placed the tray on your lap, sitting on the edge of the mattress to make sure You ate something, even if it was only a little bit. You stared down at the soup, your chest tightening with emotion.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked softly, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” You admitted, avoiding his gaze.

Changbin sighed, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Baby, you’re never a bother. I don’t care how busy I am—if you’re not okay, I want to know. I want to be here for you.” Your eyes filled with tears, and You quickly blinked them away, focusing on the soup instead. You weren't exactly used to asking people for help or relying on others so it was nice to have him around.

“Thank you,” You murmured.

“Always,” he replied, watching you with a small smile.

As You took your first bite, the warmth of the soup spreading through your chest, You realized just how lucky you were to have him in your life. Changbin wasn’t just your boyfriend—he was your safe place, your home, and the person who always had your back, no matter what.

A week had passed since Changbin had cared for you through your fever, and now, as You walked through the bustling streets toward his apartment, You couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry.

Your throat was still a little sore from the lingering effects of your illness, but You felt far better now. Still, the nagging feeling that something was off had kept you up last night, a sense of unease You couldn't quite shake. Changbin hadn't answered your texts all morning, and though you'd tried calling, the phone rang without an answer.

You knew he wasn’t the type to ignore you —especially after everything he'd done for you the week before. Something didn’t feel right.

As soon as You arrived at his door, You knocked softly but firmly, calling his name.

“Changbin?” You asked, your voice tinged with concern. “You in there?”

There was no response.

You tried the handle, and to your surprise, it was unlocked. Without hesitating, you stepped inside, your eyes immediately scanning the living room. It was quiet, eerily so.

“Binnie?” You called out again, your worry escalating.

Then, You heard it. A faint cough from the bedroom and your heart sank.

You hurried down the hall, knocking on his bedroom door before opening it gently. Changbin lay in bed, his usually bright eyes dull with exhaustion, his face flushed with fever. He groaned softly as he shifted under the covers, clearly feeling miserable.

“Changbin!” You exclaimed, rushing to his side. “Why didn’t you call me? What are you doing up? You’re sick!” He barely lifted his head, his voice hoarse as he spoke.

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Your eyes softened, but You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped you.

“You really are impossible,” You said, though your voice was filled with affection. You quickly set your bag down on the chair beside the bed and grabbed his hand, gently pulling him back down when he tried to sit up.

“Stay,” You ordered, your tone softer but still firm. “I’m taking care of you now.” You mumble, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead as you set to work on taking care of him just like he had done for you, the week before.

#skz #skz x reader #skz imagine #skz imagines #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #seo changbin #changbin #changbin x reader #changbin imagines #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin imagine #seo changbin imagines

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pearlcigs · 4 months ago

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⋆ waking up on christmas morning ft. ellie, abby, and vi — tlou discord server

the air is cold, snow sticking to the cloudy window. the sky outside was pure, the wind sneaking into the cracks of the window. ELLIE kept you close, hands wrapped around your waist with your back pressed against her chest. the blanket wrapped around both of your frames to shield you from the barren cold. you both know there's presents to be opened but neither of you really find it in you to care. they'll still be there later. you stay there for an hour or so, with her soft kisses along the back of your neck and her stupid christmas puns.

"hey babe," she snickers before she can even start the joke. "what do you call people who have a fear of santa?" she grins widely, laughing to herself knowing she had been planning on telling you this joke for weeks now. you laugh at her silliness, shaking your head, imagining the stupid grin she had on her face. "what?" you inquire. "claustrophobic." she tells eagerly, waiting for your reaction. "god, that's— that's stupid." your laughs beginning to mix with hers.

small snowflakes fell down from the sky, painting the ground white. the sun had just barely rose when you stirred awake, excitement immediately flowing through your veins. the covers are thrown off you by your own accord, the chilly air nipping at your skin. you couldn't help yourself, pulling the blankets off ABBY just as you had done to yourself. she groaned, pulling you against her in an attempt to keep herself warm with no blanket. you giggled in her ear, kissing her cheek with too much energy for her liking.

"wake up, wake up." you kiss her cheek between each word. "what time is it?" she questions, face still pressed against her pillow. "who cares, it's christmas!" you exclaim, pulling on her arm to get her up. "it's time for presents— ooh! i know exactly which one i want you to open first." you continue to pull on her. "alright, alright, i'm coming..." she lets out a small 'oomph' as she sits up, pulling you into her lap. "merry christmas, my love." she gets sweet and sappy for a moment, kissing your forehead. "we're making coffee first." she demands and you just roll your eyes.

the fire crackles, blankets askew on the floor, barely covering both of your bodies. you slept in front of the fire place, VI insisting she just had to stay up all night to catch santa. you couldn't recall when you both fell asleep, only knowing you felt safe in her arms the night before. vi was the first to wake, eyes wondering to the tree that she was just sleeping 10 feet from. presents littered the skirt of the tree, a smile forming on her face as her eyes flickered between your sleeping form and the presents.

"santa came!" she shook you awake, eliciting a groan from your sleep deprived lips. she wore a toothy smile on her face, knowing it wasn't really santa who put those presents under the tree, but you. "come onnnn. these presents better be opened by 7 am on the dot." she threatened emptily. she leaned down, kissing your face, your shoulders, your stomach, anywhere she could. with each kiss, the grogginess vanished just a little. you had to admit, seeing her this excited made your heart warmer than hot cocoa.

finished this at 10:53pm 😅 better late than never i suppose..

#🍄 ⋆ the last of us #⚙️ ⋆ arcane #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #the last of us #the last of us x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie x reader #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson #arcane x reader #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi smut #vi

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mintyys-blog · 5 days ago

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SCREAM FOR ME | mark grayson variant x reader

MINI SERIES LIST | WARNINGS: kidnapping, mention of cannibalism

During the Invincible War

The world was on fire. Smoke blanketed the sky in a suffocating haze as bodies littered the ground—broken, bleeding, or already gone. You didn’t have powers. You didn’t even have a weapon. But your hands were raw from dragging injured survivors into cover, from holding pressure on wounds, from doing something.

That was until he landed.

You didn’t hear him at first. The air had already been filled with too many sonic booms and explosive crashes, and when he did touch down—right in the middle of a street soaked in blood—it was quiet. Too quiet. The fighting had stopped. No more screaming.

You looked up, panting, hand still clutched around a stranger’s forearm, only to see him. Standing among a pile of crushed corpses and barely-standing wreckage. The blood on him wasn’t his.

He looked like Mark. But you knew—he wasn’t your Mark.

You froze.

And he noticed you.

In one breath, everyone else around you was gone. He moved like lightning, a blur of violence, twisting necks and crushing ribs. You were too stunned to scream.

Then he was in front of you, shoving you back—gently, almost mockingly—into a wall. You barely had time to flinch. His arm pressed beside your head, boxing you in.

His face was so familiar. Mark. But with a rougher edge, a cocky curl to his smirk, and a bloody mohawk standing tall and defiant.

“Mark—” your voice cracked, barely audible over the sound of distant fires. Your Mark—your childhood best friend. The boy who used to walk you home. The one you liked before Amber. Before Eve. Before the world shifted under your feet.

You swallowed hard, eyes wide, heart racing. This Mark wasn’t him. But he had his face.

And this Mark was talking. His mouth moved, but all you could hear was the roar of a nearby explosion. The people he killed. The ash raining from the sky.

Your head snapped up when he tapped your cheek twice with two fingers—playful, like you weren’t surrounded by corpses.

Like this was funny to him.

“You listening, babe?” he chuckled darkly. “Don’t zone out on me. I know I look like your boyfriend—just… better.”

Your nose scrunched as you glared at him, voice cold, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

He blinked. Then barked out a laugh. “What? He didn’t bag you already?” He leaned in closer, eyes glinting with something twisted and amused. “Lucky me.”

Before you could react, his arms wrapped around you like iron bands, and the ground dropped from beneath your feet.

You screamed as the wind tore past your ears, city blocks becoming blurs below you. He held you like you were light as a feather, his hand gripping your waist, your legs dangling uselessly.

“Put me down!” you shouted, slamming your fists against his chest. It was like punching stone.

“Save your voice for later,” he whispered, lips close to your ear, “you’ll need it.”

And then he laughed again—loud and cruel—as the sky swallowed you both.

You beat at his chest until your knuckles stung, but he didn’t flinch—didn’t budge. The altitude climbed with terrifying speed, the world shrinking beneath you, flames now just tiny orange dots flickering across the ruined city.

You didn’t know where he was taking you. You didn’t care. You just knew you had to get away.

“Let go of me!” you screamed again, struggling harder now, nails dragging across the blood-streaked ‘I’ on his chest. “What do you want?!”

His grip tightened slightly—just enough to make your ribs ache.

“I told you,” he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re interesting. All those people on the ground, begging for their lives, crying like broken toys—but you…” His eyes slid over you slowly, like he was picking you apart just by looking. “You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. Not right away.”

“I was helping people,” you snapped, heat rising in your voice. “And you murdered them.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah. That’s kinda the point. They were useless.”

His words made your stomach twist. “So what? You spared me because… I didn’t cry?”

“Mm, partly,” he said lazily. “Mostly because you looked at me like he would matter. Your Mark. You saw him when you looked at me.” His grin sharpened. “And for a second, that hurt. So now I wanna see how long it takes to change that.”

You hated the way he looked at you—like a game he’d already won. The way he said your Mark, like he knew everything about you. Maybe he did. Maybe he was just sick enough to dig through his other self’s memories and pick out every soft moment he shared with you.

Suddenly, the flight stopped. You gasped as he hovered above a destroyed skyscraper, landing hard on the rooftop and dropping you without ceremony.

You stumbled, nearly falling to your knees. He watched you with his arms crossed, still smirking.

“I’m not going to beg,” you said through gritted teeth. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”

He crouched in front of you, one hand lifting your chin. “Nah. You don’t die today, sweetheart. You’re coming with me.”

Your heart thundered. “What?”

He leaned in close, breath warm against your ear. “I want to see what makes your Mark so damn soft when it comes to you. I want to see if I can break it—break you.”

You shoved him away, trembling with anger. “You’ll never be him.”

His jaw clenched, briefly. And then that smile returned—twisted and mocking. “Good. Because he let you slip through his fingers.” And in a blink, he grabbed you again, lifting off into the sky as your scream was swallowed by the wind.

The clouds split as he soared higher, the air thinning, colder now—like your lungs didn’t want to breathe anymore. Your nails dug into his forearm, but he didn’t react. He was too busy staring straight ahead with a wicked grin on his face.

“Where are you taking me?” you shouted over the wind.

He tilted his head slightly, still flying with that terrifying ease. “Somewhere quiet. I want us to talk.”

You scoffed, voice tight. “Talk? You just slaughtered dozens of people in front of me.”

“Yeah, and you’re still alive,” he said, looking down at you with that grin. “I’d say I’m being pretty generous.”

You turned your face away, trying to stop the tears from falling. Not from fear—but fury. You were furious at the way he held you like he owned you. Furious that he had Mark’s face but none of his soul. Furious that deep down, part of you still wanted to believe this was a bad dream and that your Mark would come flying in at any moment.

As if he heard your thoughts, Mohawk Mark’s grip tightened just a little. Just enough to make you look back at him.

“I want to see,” he said, voice dropping low, dangerous, curious, “how much he truly cares about you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I know how I’d feel,” he continued, eyes scanning your face. “If someone had you. If someone took you. And he hasn’t shown up yet. No rescue. No screaming your name. Nothing.”

You flinched.

“He must not care that much.” He smirked. “That, or he’s just too slow.”

The next thing you knew, he was diving—dropping like a bullet—until the rooftop of another crumbling tower slammed into view. He landed hard, boots cracking concrete, and tossed you forward like a ragdoll.

You hit the ground, scrambling back until your spine hit the edge of a rusted air vent. Mohawk Mark didn’t approach. He just stood there, watching you. “I’ll give him a reason to come,” he said, voice almost casual.

Your heart pounded in your ears. “You’re using me as bait.” He smirked, “Exactly.”

And then he crouched in front of you again, fingers tilting your chin once more. “Let’s see if you’re just a childhood crush… or something worth bleeding for.” Your lip trembled—but your glare didn’t fade. “He will come. And when he does… he’ll end you.”

He leaned in, nose nearly brushing yours, his voice a low whisper: “Let’s hope so, sweetheart. That’s half the fun.”

The minutes blurred into hours. You tried everything. Every contact you had—your trembling fingers scrolling through your cracked phone. William. Mark. Eve. Debbie. Even Cecil. Nothing.

No one answered. Only static, silence, or dead signals greeted you back. You left message after message, voice breaking with each desperate pled. You told them where you were. Told them what happened. Begged them to be alive Begged them to come. But the sky stayed empty. The rooftop quiet. And you were helpless.

Your nails were chipped from trying to pry the rusted door open. Your throat raw from screaming. You didn’t even know if you were more scared for them… or for yourself.

Then, just as the sun began to dip behind a wall of smoke-choked clouds, the wind shifted.

He was back.

Mohawk Mark touched down in a slow, lazy descent like he had all the time in the world. His boots hit the concrete with a crunch, ash trailing behind him like a cloak. Blood painted across his arms now—fresh. Someone else hadn’t made it. He looked… bored.

“Well,” he exhaled, brushing imaginary dust off his arms, “I searched everywhere for that little shit.”

You didn’t move, sitting huddled where he left you, knees drawn to your chest, phone gripped like a lifeline.

Mohawk Mark leaned down, squatting in front of you until his face was right there. His nose gently bumped yours—mocking, intimate.

“He’s not here,” he said, lips twitching. “And you know what that means?”

You turned your face away, refusing to look at him—but he just followed your movement, keeping the space between you nonexistent.

“It means he doesn’t want to be here,” he said softly, eyes gleaming with venom. “Doesn’t want to save you. Isn’t that something?” He pulled back just enough to roll his eyes.

“Some hero he is.” Your throat clenched, your fingers tightening around your phone. “Shut up,” you rasped. He raised a brow, amused. “Oh?”

“Just shut up.” He clicked his tongue. “I’m just saying what you’re already thinking. You did everything. And he left you to rot.” He tilted his head. “But not me. I’m still here.”

You glared at him, forcing strength into your voice. “You’re only here because you want to break me.”

He grinned, teeth sharp, cruel. “And it’s working, isn’t it?” He stood up, towering over you again. “But don’t worry. I won’t leave you like he did. I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

And with a low chuckle, he turned his back to you, walking to the edge of the rooftop, arms crossed as he stared into the ruined skyline. He didn’t see the way your lip trembled. He didn’t hear the whispered words you said beneath your breath—so soft, so broken: “Please… come find me.”

“Tsk. Geez.” Mohawk Mark muttered, glancing over his shoulder at you. “He’s not even a good friend—leaving you alone in this kind of situation. Makes me wonder what the hell he was doing this whole time.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your voice was buried somewhere between anger and heartbreak.

He let out a lazy yawn, stretching like he wasn’t the one who destroyed half the city an hour ago. “Anyway. Let’s go. Gotta meet some… others.”

Before you could question him, his arm looped around your waist, and in one motion, he threw you over his shoulder like a sack of flour. “Hey—!” you yelped, fists pounding weakly at his back.

But your breath hitched when his hand smacked your ass, fingers lingering for half a second too long. “Easy, sweetheart,” he said, smug, “gotta keep you in line.” You glared daggers at his back, seething. “I’m going to kill you.” He just laughed—and then the sky blurred again as he launched into the air.

The air around you shifted, then you were flying again—up, over the burning skyline, until you landed with a rough thud on the floor of a place that twisted your gut the moment you saw it.

Mark’s house. And then the others came into view.

Eight. A total of eight versions of him. Each one different. Some older, some younger, some scarred and masked. But they all had that face—Mark’s face.

You went still in Mohawk’s grip. He felt your body tense and only adjusted his hold, keeping you tight against him, like something he didn’t want to lose.

“Wait… is that…” the one in the full black mask said, his voice distorted. “Y/N?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Their eyes were on you—some curious, some hostile, others unreadable.

“She’s with me,” Mohawk announced proudly, like he’d won a prize. “Found her while I was cleaning up. Thought I’d keep her.”

“She looks terrified,” muttered another one— dressed in yellow and black, with a bad attitude with his arms crossed.

“She should be,” Omni Mark muttered, eyes already scanning the house like he wanted to blast through it.

“Where the hell is this guy?” Mohawk Mark growled, pacing with you still in his grip. “I didn’t fly here to wait like a damn intern.”

Right then, green light pulsed. A portal hissed open, and Angstrom Levy stepped through. The sight of him made the air crackle with tension. Every version of Mark stiffened.

“You took your sweet time,” Omni Mark said, stepping forward. “We had a deal.”

“Yeah,” added Prisoner Mark, a brutal-looking version with chains hanging off his belt. “And you’re late.”

“I came as fast as I could,” Angstrom answered, cautious, watching all of them like they might tear him apart at any second. “The portals weren’t stable yet.”

“I don’t care,” Sinister Mark said with a grin, cracking his knuckles. “Open them now. Or we start tearing pieces off you.”

Angstrom hesitated. “You don’t understand. There’s risk—”

“You think we care about risk? You brought us here. Now keep your end of the deal.” Mohawk mark didn’t care for his response.

“And if you don’t…” Full Mask Mark finally stepped forward, calm but lethal. “We will make you talk.”

Angstrom’s jaw clenched. His hand shook.

Then—without another word—he held out his arm and forced the portals open.

“You want your dimensions?” he snapped. “Take them.” The green vortexs roared to life. Eight balls pushed each variant inside the portal.

⸻

You landed hard on dry, cracked ground. The air burned your throat. The sky was an ugly orange. A desert. Dead and endless.

You pushed yourself up on shaky arms, turning to see the eight versions of Mark scatter across the sand, dust rising around them.

You looked… trapped. Alone. Surrounded. Eight versions of your childhood friend. Eight men who weren’t him. You were so far from home now, it felt like a memory. And you had no idea if you’d ever see the real Mark again.

The desert was quiet—eerily so. Nothing but dunes stretching into the horizon, a faded orange sky above like a sealed dome, and the weight of your own breath filling your ears.

Mohawk Mark finally let you down, his grip lingering just a little longer than necessary before stepping back. “Stay here,” he said, flicking sand from his gloves. “I’ll be back soon.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t know if you wanted him to come back. As soon as he left, the other Marks scattered like wolves released from a cage.

Sinister Mark took to the skies in a violent blast of speed, tearing through the atmosphere with a primal scream. Viltrumite Mark launched himself higher, piercing the clouds. Omni Mark hovered silently, scanning the terrain with sharp eyes, arms folded behind his back like a war general. No Mask Mark moved with calm, detached focus—more interested in scanning tech ruins buried beneath sand. Striped Mark disappeared over a ridge, muttering about coordinates. Prisoner Mark stomped off, dragging one of his broken chains behind him, the metal scraping like nails on your nerves. Full Mask Mark simply vanished—no sound, no motion—one second there, the next gone like smoke. They were looking for an exit. A way out. But Angstrom had tricked them.

Thirty minutes passed. Long, heavy, blistering minutes. You sat under the only patch of shade you could find—a ruined piece of metal half-buried in the sand. Your throat was dry, your lips cracked, and your skin burned.

There was no sign of water. No food. Not even life. You hugged your knees, pressing your forehead against them. You tried to breathe slowly, to think, to survive.

But it hit you. You were trapped. With them. Punished for a war you had nothing to do with. For a version of a man who didn’t even know you were gone.

Your fingers clenched in the sand. Your chest ached. Tears burned behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t fall apart. Not here. Not yet. Especially not when Mohawk Mark might come back. And a part of you didn’t know if that was a relief… or a threat.

They regrouped beneath the same slab of warped metal, the only patch of shade on the entire godforsaken planet. The silence between them was oppressive, broken only by the shifting sand and the sound of strained breathing.

“There is nothing—absolutely nothing,” Sinister Mark said, arms crossed, his tone half-laugh, half-spite.

Then that twisted smirk returned. “Well, if worst comes to worst, we can always eat the girl.”

You gasped, stumbling back—instinctively moving behind Mohawk Mark. His body tensed the second you touched him. “Very funny,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous. He wasn’t amused. Sinister just chuckled, licking his teeth. “Relax. Just making conversation.”

“So what the hell do we do now?” Prisoner Mark grunted, cracking his neck as he dropped onto a chunk of rock. “Starve?”

They all looked at each other. No one spoke.

Viltrumite Mark paced in the background, jaw locked. Omni Mark stood motionless, arms folded, eyes scanning the horizon again like something would magically appear. No Mask Mark sat cross-legged, deep in thought, muttering equations under his breath. Striped Mark was chewing at his glove, frustrated.

You clutched your arms around yourself, staying quiet, watching them all. Predators without a plan. And no one—not one of them—had a way out.

They sat in a loose circle now, boredom drawing them together like moths around the only flickering flame—each other.

The sand had begun to cool beneath you, but the weight of the dry heat still clung to your skin like a second layer. You sat beside Mohawk Mark, knees hugged tightly to your chest, trying not to think about how surreal this all was. Eight versions of the same boy you grew up with. The same boy you once had a crush on. The silence dragged on.

“So… what—uh—made you guys evil?” you asked, voice tentative, almost too quiet to hear. To your surprise, no one laughed.

Prisoner Mark broke the silence first. His voice was hard, flat. “My father betrayed me. After I refused to follow the plan, he beat me within an inch of my life… then tossed me into a prison meant for war criminals. I killed my way out.” Your breath caught in your throat.

Mohawk Mark chuckled low beside you. “I didn’t get the sob story treatment. I had a normal life. But humans? They’re weak. Dumb. Selfish. Someone had to set them straight. Who better than me?” You didn’t reply. Your fingers dug into your sleeves.

Striped Mark gave a lazy shrug. “Bloodline privilege. Born to lead. Became Emperor after the old one croaked. I did what I had to do to keep order.”

Viltrumite Mark scoffed. “Try being born on Viltrum. My father took me before I could crawl. I was trained to conquer. Kill. Obey. And I did. I still do.”

You turned your head as Full Mask Mark spoke, his voice muffled but cold. “Debbie died. My father killed her. I killed him. Now I rule. Because if I don’t, someone worse will.”

No Mask Mark rubbed at his jaw. “Everyone I cared about died. William. Mom. Eve. I stopped pretending to be human after that.”

Sinister Mark grinned, head tilted. “Humans are fragile. It’s natural selection. I just got there faster than the rest of them.” His smile widened, manic and sharp. “Dad didn’t take it well. So I put him down.”

Omni Mark was the last to speak, quiet and solemn. “I killed my father too. But I didn’t want to. He made me choose… and I couldn’t forgive him for what he did. I wear his colors to remember who I was before I lost him.”

You sat there, listening to every word, your throat tightening with every story. Your Mark could’ve ended up like any of them. One twist, one tragedy, one shift in fate. It made your stomach twist into a knot. You stared down at your hands, suddenly cold, even under the desert sun. You felt like you didn’t really know Mark at all.

The silence returned, but now it was heavier—soaked in memories and blood and grief. Eight versions of the same boy, twisted by different choices, different losses. You didn’t know what to say. What could you say?

Mohawk Mark glanced down at you, noticing your silence. “That freak you out?” he asked, voice low, almost teasing—but there was a thread of something else beneath it. Curiosity, maybe. Or challenge. You shook your head slowly, staring ahead at the sand. “No… just sad.”

Sinister Mark barked a laugh, loud and sharp. “Sad? What are you, a guidance counselor?”

“She’s not wrong,” No Mask Mark muttered, arms resting on his knees, eyes unfocused. “We all ended up here because we broke. Not because we wanted to be monsters.”

“She called us monsters,” Sinister Mark sneered.

“She didn’t,” Omni Mark corrected calmly. “But she should’ve.” You hugged your knees tighter.

“I knew our Mark,” you said quietly. “The one from my world. We were childhood friends. He used to help old ladies cross the street, cried when his cat got sick, and read comics way past his bedtime. I had a crush on him once.”

That made a few heads turn. “Had?” Mohawk asked, smirking. “Yes. Had— past tense.”

You ignored him. “He got powers and everything changed. But he never lost himself. Not really. Hearing all this… it just makes me wonder how close he came to being you.” Your voice broke near the end.

The wind picked up, blowing sand across the circle. They didn’t speak for a long while. Viltrumite Mark stood, arms crossed. “That version of me is weak.”

“Or strong enough to stay good,” Full Mask said.

Striped Mark scoffed. “Good doesn’t keep you alive.” Prisoner Mark muttered, “Neither does being soft.”

Mohawk Mark leaned closer to you, elbow resting on his knee. “Maybe he didn’t bag you, but he was smart enough to keep you around. That’s gotta mean something.” You didn’t look at him. You didn’t know if it was meant to comfort you or mock you.

They all sat there, the quiet stretching again. The desert offered no reprieve—just heat, sand, and silence. You realized then: you were stuck here with eight broken mirrors of the same person. And you were the only one left who still remembered what the original looked like.

The wind settled again, and the desert fell back into that unnerving stillness. Eight sets of eyes flicked toward you now and then—some curious, some indifferent, a few unreadable. You kept your gaze on the sand between your feet, tracing small circles with your finger to distract yourself from the pressure building in your chest.

You were grieving something you hadn’t even lost yet. Your Mark.

“Why’d you stop liking him?” Full Mask Mark asked suddenly. You blinked, surprised. “…What?”

“Your Mark. You said you had a crush on him once. What happened?” The others quieted, actually waiting for your answer.

You exhaled slowly. “He started dating Amber. Then Eve. I knew I wasn’t… the right kind of person for him. They understood him in ways I never could. I didn’t want to be jealous, so I let it go.”

Mohawk Mark let out a dry laugh. “Let me guess. You smiled through it, cheered him on like a good little friend?” You looked away.

“Pathetic,” Sinister Mark snorted. “She’s braver than most,” Omni Mark said, not even looking up.

Striped Mark leaned back on his elbows. “So you waited in the wings, played the long game, and now you’re stuck with eight versions of him who’d probably level a planet for a drink of water.”

“That’s not what I wanted,” you whispered. “But it’s what you got,” Prisoner Mark said, flatly.

No Mask Mark finally looked up. “Maybe you’re lucky. You get to see who he could’ve been.”

“Or unlucky,” you replied, staring ahead again. “Because now I can’t unsee it.”

The conversation died again. The heat was making everyone irritable, but the truth sat between them like a loaded gun. You weren’t just a tagalong anymore. You were a reminder—of the version they could’ve been, and the one they could never go back to.

Mohawk Mark shifted beside you, nudging your arm with his. “Hey.” You glanced at him.

His voice dropped low, almost too soft to believe it came from him. “He probably would’ve loved you. The right way, I mean.” You opened your mouth to say something—but nothing came out. “Too bad he’s not here,” he added, and just like that, the softness vanished.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the sand. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, surrounded by eight versions of someone you used to trust… and now didn’t know at all.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep, but exhaustion crept up on you like a wave—your head resting on your knees, body curled in on itself, heart heavy from everything you’d heard. Your breathing evened out, soft and slow, lost in the background of the desert winds.

Mohawk Mark watched you for a moment. His arms were propped on his knees, sweat clinging to his skin. He glanced at the sun, then cursed under his breath.

“Fuck, it’s hot in this place.” With a grunt, he reached up and tore off the remaining sleeves of his already tattered suit, balling them up and tossing them into the sand. “Screw this.”

Full Mask Mark, sitting not far from him, nodded. “Yeah,” he muttered through the voice modulator, “Feels like Viltrum’s core out here.” He slid his helmet back slightly to let some air in, his expression still mostly hidden. “Why did we even come here again?”

“To kill Angstrom,” Sinister Mark replied lazily from a distance, arms behind his head as he laid back in the sand. “Which… we almost did.”

“He tricked us,” Omni Mark said darkly. “He knew exactly what he was doing. This isn’t just exile. It’s a grave.”

Striped Mark sighed, flicking a pebble across the sand. “We need food. Water. Shelter. Anything.” Prisoner Mark leaned against a tall rock, arms crossed. “There’s nothing. Space is empty. We’re stuck.”

No Mask Mark looked toward the sleeping form curled up beside Mohawk. “She’s human. She’s not gonna last long without help.”

“Then she’ll have to be kept close,” Mohawk Mark said, his tone even but vaguely possessive. “Not gonna let any of you psychos eat her.” Sinister Mark cackled at that. “Told you I was joking.”

“Were you?” Full Mask asked without looking at him. They fell into silence again. The wind kicked up more sand, and a dry heat shimmered across the horizon. Mohawk Mark looked down at you again—at the peaceful, exhausted way you slept, your hair stuck to your face, your arms trembling just slightly from the drop in temperature as night crept in. He muttered to himself, more annoyed than anything, but maybe… something else too. “I swear, the things I do for you…”

You woke slowly, blinking against the harsh brightness of the twin suns hanging high in the sky. Your throat was dry—parched beyond anything you’d ever experienced. Sand clung to your skin and clothes, the wind kicking small grains into your lashes. Around you, the variants were scattered in the shade, some resting, others silent and lost in thought. A strange sort of stillness had settled over the group.

You sat up slowly, stretching your sore limbs. Your body ached, your clothes stiff with dried sweat and grime. The heat was suffocating. You looked at the Marks—each one dangerous in his own right. They were quiet now, but earlier… their stories haunted you. Each version of Mark was twisted by grief, rage, or ideology. And yet, here they all were—together. And you, a human girl stuck in their orbit.

You stood carefully, brushing the sand off your clothes, and began to walk away. Just a little distance, just to breathe. “At least they didn’t eat me while I slept,” you muttered dryly, glancing over your shoulder one last time before rounding a dune.

The silence felt heavier when you were alone. The vast emptiness of the desert surrounded you like a vacuum. Every step you took felt strangely freeing—until the ground crumbled beneath your feet.

“Wait—no, no—AHH!” you screamed as the sand gave way and you fell, plummeting into darkness.

The drop wasn’t too far—maybe ten feet—but it was enough to knock the breath from your lungs when you landed. You groaned, your limbs aching as you sat up, brushing sand from your face.

“What the hell…” you whispered.

You looked around, and your eyes widened. You were inside a partially buried structure. It looked like a house—or what remained of one. The walls were cracked and ancient, overtaken by time and sand. Broken furniture, rusted metal, and shattered glass littered the floor. The air was thick with dust.

Cautiously, you moved through the strange ruin, heart pounding in your ears. Every creak, every shifting board made you flinch. You turned a corner and froze.

Two glowing red eyes stared back at you from the shadows. Your heart stopped. The creature let out a low growl and lunged at you.

You screamed, stumbling back, your hands scrambling for anything. Your fingers closed around the base of an old lamp. With a cry, you swung it as hard as you could, the metal cracking against the creature’s skull. It staggered, but didn’t go down.

You hit it again. And again.

Adrenaline surged through your veins, blinding rage and fear guiding your actions. You didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. You slammed the lamp down until your arms ached, until the creature stopped moving, until blood soaked your clothes and your breath came in sharp gasps.

When it was finally over, you dropped the lamp, hands trembling. You leaned back against the cracked wall, panting. “What the hell is this place…”

Then, a thought struck you. If there’s a creature here… then there must be water. Food. Life. Your heart pounded with a new kind of hope.

You ran back to the hole you’d fallen through and looked up at the steep, crumbling edge. There was no way you could climb back up on your own.

“Guys!” you yelled, your voice hoarse. “Help! I found something!” Your throat burned, and your voice cracked at the end. But you kept shouting.

Back at the camp, the variants sat in the same patch of shade. The quiet was beginning to wear thin.

“It’s been a while since she left,” Prisoner Mark grumbled, arms folded tightly across his chest.

Sinister Mark sighed dramatically. “Well, I guess we gotta find her—need something to eat, right?”

“Stop joking about eating her!” Mohawk Mark snapped, glaring at him. Sinister just rolled his eyes.

That was when No Mask Mark straightened suddenly. “Did you guys hear that?”

They all fell silent. A distant, desperate voice echoed on the wind.

Mohawk Mark was already on his feet before the others reacted. He flew toward the sound without hesitation, kicking up sand behind him.

“Hey!” he shouted when he found the sinkhole. He peered down, squinting against the light. “Uh—she did find something!”

The others arrived moments later, Striped Mark landing beside him. He dropped into the hole first, eyes scanning the strange structure, then landing on the mangled corpse of the creature.

“Hm,” he muttered. “We could eat this.”

Sinister Mark dropped in next, grinning as he stepped past you, still smeared in blood. “Count yourself lucky, girl.”

You shivered. “Thanks?” you offered, voice still weak.

The group worked together with an eerie sense of purpose. Mohawk Mark helped you up and wiped some of the blood off your cheek without saying a word. Sinister and Striped got the fire going. Viltrumite Mark and Omni Mark began cutting the creature into manageable chunks, while No Mask Mark scavenged the ruins.

It was the first time you’d seen them cooperate.

You sat by the fire, the warmth battling the cold inside your chest. The meat was rich and surprisingly tender. Your hands were shaking as you ate, but you didn’t stop.

Mohawk Mark sat beside you, chewing slowly, his eyes on the fire. “You surprised me back there,” he said quietly.

“I surprised myself,” you replied, not looking at him. “You got fight in you,” he continued. “That’s… good. Means you’ll last.” You turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes. “Is that what this is? Survival?”

He leaned in, the space between you crackling with something unspoken. “Sometimes,” he murmured. “Other times… it’s about taking what you want.”

Your breath hitched. Across the fire, Sinister Mark smirked, eyes glittering. “Careful, girl. You might start liking us.”

You snorted, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Unlikely.” Striped Mark raised a brow, his expression amused. “You sure? We’re growing on you.”

“I think you’re all insane,” you muttered. “No argument here,” Prisoner Mark muttered, tossing a bone into the fire.

But despite the unease, the fear, the danger—you sat among them. And they let you. You weren’t prey anymore. Not just baggage. And that realization scared you more than anything else. Because maybe… you were starting to belong.

That night, you curled up in a ball near the dwindling fire, the warmth finally offering some comfort after days of fear and hunger. Your stomach was full, your body exhausted, and for the first time since being yanked into this dimension, sleep came easily. The rhythmic crackle of the flames lulled you deeper into unconsciousness, unaware of the conversation unfolding around you.

Sinister Mark leaned back, his eyes glowing faintly in the firelight as he picked at a bone, popping the meat from between his teeth with a satisfied grunt. “You know… without her, we’d probably be eating each other by now.”

Mohawk Mark rolled his eyes, arms crossed over his chest. “Okay, seriously—what is it with you and eating people?”

Sinister shrugged, smirking. “I’m just saying. Girl’s got instincts. She found shelter. Found food. She’s more useful than half of you.”

Viltrumite Mark, sharpening a blade with a rock, didn’t look up. “She killed that thing without powers. That’s not nothing.”

Striped Mark grunted in agreement, arms resting on his knees. “She didn’t even flinch when it bled. She was pissed. Like one of us.”

Full Mask Mark tilted his head slightly, watching your curled-up figure from across the fire. “She’s still human. You’re all acting like she’s a Viltrumite.”

“She’s surviving,” No Mask Mark added, voice low. “That makes her dangerous. Or valuable.”

“Or both,” Prisoner Mark muttered, eyes closed, but listening.

There was a pause, the fire popping in the silence. Then Sinister Mark grinned again. “Think she’s warming up to us?”

Mohawk Mark glanced at him sharply. “Don’t push it.”

“Oh, I’m not. But if she does…” He dragged his tongue along his teeth. “She might not wanna leave.”

Omni Mark had been quiet until now, arms folded, eyes narrowed. “She’s a distraction.”

“She’s a catalyst,” Striped Mark corrected. “Something about her brings the worst—and best—out of us.”

“She brings out the human in you,” Sinister snorted.

Mohawk Mark didn’t respond. He was staring into the fire again, jaw tense. They all fell silent after that, the crackle of the flames the only sound in the still night. One by one, the variants drifted off into a half-sleep, all within reach of the fire.

And without realizing it, they’d all positioned themselves around you—like a protective ring. Or a cage.

comment if you wanna be added to this series tag list

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #invincible variants x reader #invincible variants #maskless invincible #sinister invincible #sinister mark x reader #mohawk mark x reader #prisoner mark x reader #maskless mark x reader #full mask mark x reader #striped mark X reader #target mark x reader #omni mark x reader #viltrumite mark x reader #viltrumite mark

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eevees-hobbies · 10 months ago

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Talk You Through It - NSFW (Fem!Reader x Hajime Umemiya)

Author’s Note: The number of attractive characters from Wind Breaker is a problem.

Content Warnings: Fem!Reader x Hajime Umemiya. A thirst. Sex is implied through quotes but not specifically described in the manner that I usually do. But, still, sex. Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 470 (so short!)

Dividers by Saradika. Requests are as open as my legs are for Haruka Sakura's dick.

Thinking about Hajime Umemiya, who likes to talk you through anything and everything. He has such a penchant for teaching, breaking down complex topics to the point that they seem so simple. As a leader and mentor, he likes to help people connect the dots. He loved it when Sakura’s eyes got wide, and he finally understood why fighting could be a conversation—an opportunity—to understand someone. He loves speaking to Hiragi about the impact fostering children can have when they’re brought up in environments filled with unconditional love and care.

Most of all, he loves it when you join him in the garden, and he can sit behind you, his large hands nestled over yours, as he physically shows you how to replant a tomato plant so it has the best chance of thriving. Are you taking his words to heart right now? Maybe not.

You’re a little too distracted by the way his chest, only covered by the thin fabric of his white tee, feels against your back.

You’re a little too distracted by the way his breath tickles the nape of your neck and how much deeper his voice sounds in your ear.

You’re a little too distracted by the overwhelming sound of blood rushing in your ears at being so close to one another. You can smell his body, the smell of the earth mixing with his sweat, and it gives you those old-fashioned schoolgirl crush butterflies.

It’s flustering because Umemiya knows precisely what to say and how to say it, so you feel a slight burning sensation in your core over the most mundane topics. Who knew succulents could be so sexy?

And he’s no different in the most intimate moments you share. When you’re straddling his lap, leaning over his frame, with shakey arms barely keeping you up, he’s also taking the opportunity to talk you through your pleasure.

“You like that, don’t you? I can tell by the way she's squeezing me.”

“Mm, baby girl, ride me just like that. Nice and slow, yeah, roll your hips.”

“You feel that baby? That’s your special spot. See what happens when I keep hitting it…just…like…this.”

“Please don’t look embarrassed; yeah, look at me with those pretty eyes.”

“I need you to look at me, babe.”

“You’re stunning, pretty girl.”

“Here, let me take over, baby. You’ve done such a good job riding my dick.”

“You gonna cum for me? You gonna cum on this dick, baby girl?”

“Nnngh, lose yourself on me. I don’t care. Make a mess. I want messy. I need messy, baby.”

As you reach your climaxes together, gripping one another with the tenderness of familiar lovers, foreheads pressed against one another, your fingers tangled in his sweat-drenched hair and dissolving into one another, you’ll look into Umemiya’s storm-blue eyes and see the look of someone with resounding pride—and it’s all for you.

“You did so good, my girl.”

#windbreaker x reader #wind breaker x reader #hajime umemiya x reader #umemiya hajime x reader #umemiya x reader #hajime umemiya #umemiya fluff #windbreaker umemiya #umemiya smut

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caxasy · 9 days ago

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caleb realized pretty quickly in his life that he had an oral fixation. he would often bite his lip, chew on the chain around his neck, let it dangle from his lips, or even just biting the inside of his cheek. he couldn't pinpoint and tell you where it exactly came from, but he did know he had one.

caleb x male reader : caleb having an oral fixation and using you to relieve that itch in his brain. not meant to be read as something suggestive or sexual, since oral fixations are not inherently either of those things. this was a random thought, but the more i thought about it the more it made sense to me idk. as i said before, not meant to be suggestive or sexual, if you interpret it as so, i can't stop you lol but that wasn't my intention.

hickies are mentioned, but that is its own thing, not entirely connected to or related to the oral fixation aspect...if that makes sense. once you read, i hope it makes more sense and can be intepreted easier than what im trying to say here LMAO ok enogu ramblings, have fun reading about puppy caleb!

— he tried finding ways to curb it, keeping any other part of his body busy to distract from that need to put something in his mouth. but nothing really hit the same as simply sucking on something, like a lollipop or piece of candy.

— so he began carrying around those exact things. and it did work, leaving his mouth constantly busy and putting his mind at ease.

— when the two of you started dating, you noticed that he almost always tasted like apples whenever you kissed. you brushed it off, thinking that it was natural that he’d want to have apple flavored things in his routine (apple flavored toothpaste?, you assumed), but when you caught him popping an apple flavored candy in his mouth, the dots connected.

— you vaguely recalled a conversation you had with him earlier where he told you, “i like to keep my mouth busy.” but he had said that before giving you several hickies, so you just assumed he wasn’t being serious, saying it to set the mood. turns out, him saying that was entirely true and that was him secretly outting himself on his favorite way of keeping his mouth busy.

— caleb found out that there was no better way to keep his fixation satisfied than kissing, sucking, and marking you. this often translated into deep hickies scattered over your neck, even your chest, arms, and stomach. it was not intentional, finding out that way, but once he did find out, oh, he would not stop. it was just a win-win situation!! for him, at least. you had to deal with awkward explanations to everyone you knew why you were so marked up on a random tuesday, when the reality of the situation was never as dirty or naughty as people that saw the markings would think.

“caleb-” you whined, running your hand over your face. you peaked past your fingers and saw that the sun was just rising and shining through the curtains, “what the fuck are you doing?”

“wanted you,” he murmured into your neck before continuing on with his very important task.

it was an amazing plus that whenever he would satiate his oral fixation it would leave you marked up by him. he smirked at the idea and image of you parading his marks around. it only encouraged him to keep going.

too bad you weren't as welcoming to the idea as he was. he pouted when he felt you tug at his roots, forcing him to back off.

“babe,” he whined, swollen red lip jutted out pleadingly, “i was almost done,”

“hell no, last time i went into work with those damn hickies they thought they had to call someone to save me from you,” he rolled his eyes at the explanation.

“okay, not my fault they're idiots. c'mon, i just want my handsome boy to show me off. i worked extremely hard, by the way!”

“nope, not idiots — rightfully concerned individuals are what they saw,” you correct, ignoring his attempts at flattery and begging at the end of his sentence. without giving him a second to think, you were pushing him off of you so could wipe your neck clean of his saliva.

“heyyy, don't leave, i wasn't done yet!!”

“you are now, you blood sucking puppy,”

he just pouts, hugging a pillow as he watches you stress over his markings. then a dreamy smile comes onto his face, “so handsome.”

— starts sucking your fingers. it was a curious part of him that wondered if it’d be like sucking a lollipop. it was genuinely pure intentions behind it.

you two were laying on the couch together, his head on your chest as you scrolled through your moments feed to entertain both you and him.

your hand was resting in front of him and he noticed how well kept your fingers were. cuticles clean, fingernails just trimmed, and hands soft. they were in his mouth before he even realized it.

you blinked at the warm sensation around your fingers. but then you saw how calm and serene his expression was, settling on just smiling at him.

“cute little puppy,” you commented, momentarily dropping your phone on the cushion and petting his hair down.

he leaned into your touch as he held your other wrist captive in his tight hold.

“i’m taking my fingers out of your mouth in five minutes though, no way you're gonna prune me up,” he pouted around your fingers but just rested his head back on your chest.

you pulled your phone back up to entertain you both, the fingers that were resting in his mouth pressing down on his tongue ever so lightly every now and then to throw him off.

hey, if he was going to suck on your fingers as if they were a lifeline, you could mess with him for a bit.

— caleb’s kisses are almost always slow, sensual, and intimate. he likes actually feeling you against him. to him it’s not only a display of his affection for you and vice versa, but also the opportunity to truly feel your presence. closing his eyes and starting off slow, he pecks your lips softly with his own. it’s cute, innocent. then he becomes concentrated. genuinely concentrated on you and the feeling of your lips against his. from there he becomes eager and when caleb gets eager, it turns messy.

he had been straddling your lap for about twenty minutes now. making out the entire time he was situated there. one of his hands was on your chest and the other carded through your hair, keeping you right where he wanted you. yours were resting on his thighs, squeezing every now and then.

the kisses by now were messy. drool glistening on both of your lips and a string of saliva visible each time you broke away from each other. and each time you pulled away, you’d smile seeing the cutely concentrated look on caleb’s face before he too opened his eyes.

“stop laughing at me,” he says, words coming out slightly sputtered due to his breath being uneven.

“’m not laughing at you, pretty boy,” he practically melted at the term of endearment, forehead falling onto your shoulder, “you’re just so cute,”

“shut up, stupid,” he says quietly, feeling uncharacteristically bashful.

then your palm went to his check, forcing him to look at you. your thumb traced his bottom lip, making him even more pliant to your touch. gently, you pressed your thumb inside of his mouth, smiling as his lips closed around you. the rare times caleb was obedient to your touch.

“love you,” you say, smiling when you feel his teeth dig into your skin. not enough to be painful, but hard enough for you to feel the physical affect your words have on him.

he swirls his tongue around you, mixing in the soothing feeling of his tongue gliding over on your digit with the sharp ends of his teeth. then, he’s dropping his jaw and moving his head to draw your wet thumb across the side of his cheek. an act that screams how loudly this man yearns for your touch.

“i love you more,” he says in a raspy tone that makes your grin only grow wider. naturally, your passionate kiss resumes and he's eager to feel you as intimately as possible again.

— caleb loves keeping his mouth busy and his favorite ways of relieving that itch always involved you. no matter how, he wanted to feel you in his mouth. it was an otherworldly satisfaction that he couldn’t even begin to describe in words.

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cameronsprincess · 8 months ago

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CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS — R.C

— summary: When Rafe gets home from a night out to find you drunk off your ass and pouting, he finds a way to make you feel better.

— CW: smut! 18+ only! alcohol consumption, dom!rafe, praise and degrading, blowjob, slapping, spitting, choking.

Rafe Cameron masterlist | Taglist form

You pick up your phone, checking the time yet again. It reads 11:15 pm and you sigh. Rafe should’ve been home hours ago.

You’re not the kind of girlfriend to say he can’t hang out with his friends, you want him to enjoy himself whenever he wants. But with all the rumors that float around about your relationship with him, and all his past flings putting things in your head, you can’t help but wonder— is Rafe cheating on you?

Sighing, you grab the neck of the half drank champagne bottle, bringing the top to your lips and tipping it, letting the now room temp liquid slide down your throat.

“Oh, God.” you groan as you set the bottle back on the table in front of you.

Your face tingles, body on fire from the amount of champagne you’ve drank in the last hour and a half. Your eyes flit to the empty bottle of Dom Perignon and then to the half drank bottle you’re currently working on.

The sound of the front door opening and closing softly catches your attention, making you stand on unsteady feet and stumble toward it.

“Rafeeeeee, where,” hiccup. “have you been?” you slur out, stumbling closer to him.

He catches you in his arms when you fall forward, his blue eyes burning into your face as he stares down at you.

“Are you drunk?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

You push out of his hold and storm back into the living room, your body stumbling into the wall on your way. Why the fuck is he ignoring your question? You plop back down onto the couch, gripping the neck of the champagne bottle again and taking another long swig.

“You- You fucking drank two of my Dom Perignon bottles? Babe! Those were for tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, bringing the bottle to your lips again, but before you can take another sip, Rafe snatches it from your hands.

“What the fuck, Rafe!” you shout.

Rafe sets the bottle down on the table, the force he uses causing the table to shake. You open your mouth to speak, but his hand wrapping around your throat has you gasping instead.

He tightens his ringed fingers around your neck, squeezing at your pulse points tightly and taking away your air before he yanks you to your feet. His hard blue eyes search yours. “What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Why the fuck are you pouting and drunk off your ass?”

He loosens his grip, allowing you to suck in a breath of air. His eyes narrow on yours, waiting on your answer. You lift your chin the best you can, his hand still wrapped around your throat just not as tight, “Are you cheating on me?” you ask, wanting to finally get the one question that’s been eating you alive off your chest.

Rafe scoffs, his hand tightening around your throat again. You wrap your hands around his wrist, clawing and trying to pull him off, but it’s no use.

“Why you askin’ dumb fuckin’ questions? Huh? Because that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”

You continue to claw at his hand. Dots line your vision, your eyes fluttering shut. Just when you think Rafe is going to choke you out, he releases your throat, tossing you back onto the couch. Your hands fly to your neck, rubbing at the tender spot where his rings and fingers dug into your skin.

“I— ‘m sorry..” you mumble, your tear filled eyes lifting to meet his.

“You’re sorry? Why the fuck do you think I’d cheat on you, huh? Tell me. Why the fuck do you think that way?”

You open your mouth to speak but quickly shut it. If you tell Rafe you’re letting what others say get to you, it’ll piss him off, if you say that him being out so late had your mind wandering, it’ll piss him off. It’s a lose-lose situation for you.

Rafe steps toward you and your back presses further into the couch. You watch him, your mind racing at what he’s going to do to you. You know you’re going to be punished for asking such a stupid question, and then add on refusing to answer why your mind was thinking that way or why you asked the question in the first place? Yeah, you were being punished.

Rafe tsks, reaching down and grabbing the neck of the champagne bottle. He brings it to his lips, taking a sip before he says, “What’m I gonna do with you huh? I mean, you asked a dumb fuckin’ question, and can’t even tell me why.” He takes another sip, his eyes staring at the bottle when he brings it back down.

A smile spreads across his face, and you swallow the knot that’s formed in your throat.

“I got an idea.”

Rafe quickly sets the bottle down, his fingers moving to work off his belt and jeans. You watch him intently as he slides the rough denim and his boxers down his legs. His hard cock springs free, slapping him just below his belly button and you swear you start drooling. You’ll never get tired of seeing him like this.

“Come get on your knees f’me, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, sliding off the couch and falling to your knees before him. Rafe smirks, his right hand reaching out and running his knuckles down the side of your face. You lean into him, whimpering when he pulls his hand back and slaps your cheek.

“You gonna be my good little whore and do whatever I ask, right?”

“Yes.”

He slaps your cheek again. “Yes what, sweetheart?”

“‘M gonna be your good little whore.. Gonna do whatever you ask.”

“Good girl.”

Rafe reaches out, gripping the neck of the champagne bottle again. He tilts it, allowing some of the liquid to spill over his hard cock. You gasp, watching as it coats his thick shaft and run down his thighs.

He sets the bottle back down, tangling one hand in your hair while the other grips at his cock, slowly stroking it. He pushes your head forward, running his swollen tip over the seam of your lips. “Open up, sweetheart. Gonna fuck this pretty face and show you how much I love you.”

You obey, opening your mouth wide and letting your tongue fall out. Rafe brings his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes darkening as he stares down at you. He rubs the head of his cock on your tongue and you moan when the taste of champagne and precum coats your tongue.

Rafe slowly pushes himself into your mouth. You close your lips around the tip, sucking and swirling your tongue around it. Rafe groans, “Goddamn, sweetheart. That’s it, show me how much you love having my cock in your mouth.”

He pushes more of himself into your mouth before slowly pulling back out. You keep your mouth wide open, drool running down your tongue and chin as you stare up at him.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous, and all mine.”

He shoves his cock down your throat without warning, causing you to gag around him. The hand in your hair tightens as he begins to thrust his dick in and out of your mouth. Drool drips from your mouth and down your chin, coating his cock and balls in the process. The sounds of your gags and slurps fill the room, Rafe groaning when you try to swallow, your throat tightening around his cock.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Such a good whore f’me, yeah? Love fuckin’ this pretty face, love hearing you gag f’me and seeing the tears in your eyes,” He pauses, grunting as he harshly thrusts himself into your mouth, pushing your head down and holding you there. Your nose is pressed against his lower stomach, tears streaming down your face from the force of his thrusts.

He quickly pulls himself from your mouth, spit flying from your lips. He releases your hair, grabbing the champagne bottle before his free hand grips your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. You watch as he brings the bottle to his lips, tilting it and filling his mouth with the alcohol. He tosses the now empty bottle to the side and leans forward, spitting the champagne into your mouth, some of it missing your open mouth and hitting your face.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to avoid any getting into your eyes. Rafe releases your cheeks, tapping at your face lightly, “Good girl, such a good girl f’me.”

You whimper, opening your eyes to see him stroking his cock again. He slaps at your face again, free hand tangling into your hair and you gasp. He takes the opportunity to shove his cock back down your throat, and you gag. Tears flow freely down your face as Rafe brutally fucks your face, his grunts and groans of pleasure bounce off the walls.

“Ffffuck… Gonna cum, sweetheart. Shit!”

Rafe’s cock swells in your mouth, pulsing as hot ropes of cum fill your mouth. He pushes himself down your throat, forcing you to swallow every last drop of his cum.

He slowly slips his softening cock from your mouth, releasing your hair. You slowly sag onto the floor, trying to calm your heavy breathing. Rafe crouches down, his face inches from yours before he softly kisses your lips.

“Never, question me again. I would never cheat on you, and I’ll prove that to you every goddamn day if I need to, alright?”

RAFE TAGLIST: @oceandriveab @princessslutt @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @rafesthroatbaby @sturnioloshacker @starkeysprincess @rafescurtainbangz @atorturedpoetx @redhead1180 @jjsmarijuana @romaescapes @kisses4angel @maybankslover @bellbottombaby @rafesgiirl @urbimom @antagonize-me-motherfucker @chaneydoll @bi-zowee @zrm004 @ijustwanttoreadlols @hyperfixationgirl @justheretoreadthestories @chiaraanatra @chimindity @juniebugg @unsaidjaelinrose @momoewn @spid6y @wearemadeofstardust0 @daydreamrafe @mattyskies @fallrafwe

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe x you #*ೃ༄ my works

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companioncute · 19 days ago

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Hold me, console me, and then I leave without a trace

Pairing: Mark Grayson (Invincible (2021)) x f!reader

Summary: You feel hard to love, you’re avoidant and ghost anyone interested in you, and you don’t want to put effort into a relationship. Mark, however, is determined to love you regardless.

Notes: No use of Y/N, reader wears makeup and consumes alcohol, I haven’t posted fics since I was 14 so bear with me

Tw: Very brief mention of mental health and disordered eating

Come on, don’t leave me, it can’t be that easy, babe

Mark doesn’t get it. He truly, genuinely, from the bottom of his heart doesn’t understand how he could’ve misread you. You’d been all over him last Friday—three days ago. All pathetic, too (your words, not his), when you’d drunkenly sobbed into his neck about the gaunt and hollow feeling in your heart and everything in the whole wide world that had led to it. He’d made you laugh. A quiet, weak laugh, maybe, but you’d smiled crookedly up at him with furrowed brows and smudged eye makeup. He told you how beautiful you were (not how beautiful you looked, because no ‘look’ of yours changed the fact that you were, in your natural state of being, beautiful to him. Always), and you laughed a little louder and smiled a little brighter. Then you had excused yourself, kissed his cheek and left a shimmery smudge on his warm skin, but he’d grabbed your hand before you could leave to press a soft, almost chaste, kiss to your lips on your way out the door. You had grinned simply, squeezing his hand before stumbling out into the car of whoever was picking you up from the frat party William and Rick had invited you both to.

He had sent you a goodnight text with a red heart emoji (which, in turn, earned him a smack to the back of the head from William because he was apparently ‘coming on too strongly’ and ‘should’ve at least just asked if you made it home safely’), but you’d responded quickly and added a heart emoji of your own (such a stupid thing to have an increased heart rate over).

Following William’s advice, he had waited. He hadn’t texted you immediately when he was up to begin training again Saturday morning, but by the time afternoon rolled around, he hadn’t been able to help himself.

His thumb had hovered above the ‘send’ button for two long minutes after he’d rewritten a stupidly simple message 7 times. He had wanted to text you something disgustingly sweet and pathetically down bad, but had forced himself to keep the light and humorous tone that had kept your friendship afloat for the past few years.

Still alive? Haha

Send.

Fuck. No. Delete? Who says ‘haha’? That was stupid. He should’ve just asked if you were okay or if you needed anything or—

Fuck it, no. You knew him, you knew how to read his tone. He’d just to wait for a reply.

Which had never come.

This then brings him to Monday night where he’s staring emptily down at his phone. Are you embarrassed? Do you never want to see him again? Mark likes you, he’s decided. Long ago, actually. Really likes you. You’re silly and unserious and lighthearted in a way his everyday life can’t be. He’s not good at romance, he knows that. He always messes everything up because ‘work-life balance’ isn’t afforded to superheroes. But you get it. You’ve never berated him for being forced to choose the greater good over your planned Mario Kart game night or another one of your movie nights (you’d then console him with the knowledge that while Doug Jones is wonderful in everything he acts in, The Bye Bye Man actually wasn’t worth his time).

He loves you, yeah. He just doesn’t know what he’s done wrong.

It takes William texting you to get your shit together before Mark hears from you.

I’m sorry.

Mark can’t remember the last time his heart beat this fast.

You freaked me out. What if something had happened?

He watches the three little dots dance for a few moments before he gets a new reply from you.

I’m really sorry. I know that sucked. I panicked.

He furrows his brows.

Why? You can talk to me. I’m sorry if the kiss was too much.

Your reply comes instantly.

It wasn’t!

It’s me

God that’s so cringe, I’m sorry

I don’t know how to do these things

I always tuck tail and run lol

A shaky breath leaves his lips.

I know. I used to laugh at the poor guys trying to hit you up. Didn’t think it’d ever happen to me though.

Listen, can we talk? At least just to clear the air.

No pressure though.

A single beat passes before your text bubble reappears.

Sure.

* * *

“Hi,” you say sheepishly, smiling crookedly, and Mark knows he’s fucked because all he can think about is how beautiful you are.

“Hey,” he responds, sitting down on your bed like he’s done a million times before. “You okay?”

Your hands find their way across your scalp, then settle interlocked behind your neck as you exhale and deflate.

“Yeah… I think. I feel horrible.”

Mark smiles reassuringly.

“No hard feelings. Just don’t ever ghost me again, please.”

You laugh softly, nodding.

“Deal,” you say with a smile. “I really am sorry, Mark. You didn’t— it’s not that you did anything wrong, I just… I don’t really do the whole… ‘follow up’ on drunken mistakes—“

“So it was a mistake,” Mark interrupts with a pointed look.

You whine, burying your face in your hands.

“No! Yes? I don’t know.”

He laughs softly, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders.

“Relax. Take your time.”

You sigh, slumping against his chest.

“It was… nice. Really nice.”

“That’s good,” he says, pulling back slightly and pressing his warm, rough palm against your cheek. “I’m serious, you know. No pressure, but… I— I care about you. Deeply. And— and I think if it’s something you’re also interested in, um, I’d like to explore something more than friendship with you.”

“I’m not exactly… girlfriend material,” you mumble, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m— I’m quiet—or really loud—and weird, and I get into weird moods, and I keep secrets and draw away from you, and I have a horrible relationship with food, and my mental health is like a fucking pendulum, and—“

“—and I think you’re lovely,” Mark finishes softly. “C’mon. I’ve known you for years. I know how you get. I’ve dealt with it. And, for the record, I’m prepared to deal with it. Because you’re worth it.”

“Oh,” you whisper, feeling a newfound warmth in your cheeks.

“Yeah. Oh,” he repeats, smiling warmly. “Again… No pressure.”

A shaky breath leaves you and you nod.

“You’re too good for me.”

“Entirely untrue,” Mark snorts. He gives you a look when you open your mouth to argue. “I mean it, you know. You’re incredibly sweet and funny, you’re so kind, not to mention the coolest person I know.”

A sheepish smile makes its way onto your face.

“And I think I’ve already made a fool of myself telling you how beautiful you are.”

You grin softly.

“Maybe a little bit,” you whisper. “But… I liked it.”

“Yeah? You did?” He murmurs, swiping his thumb across your cheekbone.

“Only— only a teeny, tiny bit,” you murmur back, pinching your thumb and index finger together for emphasis.

Mark laughs, nodding.

“Copy. Only a little bit.”

While your face still feels hot, your heartbeat slows to a more comfortable pace.

“So?” He prompts you softly.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Okay. I can’t promise that you won’t be disappointed, but… we can give it a shot.”

“You don’t need to promise me anything,” he says, taking your face in both his hands. “Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t thank me,” you whisper, the smile disappearing as you look up at him with tired eyes. “I’ll bring you nothing but heartache. But if that’s what you want… your call, I guess.”

“You give yourself too little credit,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “I believe in you.”

You suck in a sharp breath, tears stinging your eyes.

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely.

“You shouldn’t thank me,” he mimics you with a playful smile, though his eyes remain soft. The pad of his thumb catches a stray tear by the corner of your eye.

“Oh, fuck you,” you laugh breathlessly, dropping your head against his shoulder.

“Love you, too,” he chuckles, because he knows what you mean. He gets it.

And you think you love him for it, too.

#invincible #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x fem!reader #invincible x reader #invincible x fem!reader #invincible x you

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seiwas · 10 months ago

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contains: suggestive, slight mentions of alcohol, a lil bit cheesy but when is love not, unedited happy birthday, my love 🥺

hajime doesn’t care much about his birthday.

at least, not as much his mom and oikawa do, with lit up candles and striped party hats in his rumpled godzilla pajamas. it's greetings at midnight, on the dot, no matter what—even through the crackling sound of static over ocean waves.

he definitely doesn’t care about it as much as his college friends do, with them slapping his back and elbowing his side until his ribs hurt just so he can down another shot for the 'nth' year of his existence.

(they try with all their might to get him past the 5th, but he's driving tonight; and if there's anything about hajiime stronger than his tolerance, it's how resolute he is—firm in his beliefs and even more with his principles.)

so, hajime doesn't care much about his birthday.

but you do, and when he says things like—

"it's not that important, we don't have to."

—all you hear is, 'bla bla bla, it's important, bla bla bla we have to.'

you prepared a picnic for him, among all the other activities you planned for today.

this morning, you served him a hefty stack of pancakes with a rice bowl full of his favorites (that he took a bite from oh-so-sweetly, only to push it to the side before gripping your thigh, deciding that he wanted something else for breakfast instead).

then, you went on a hike. just a short trek up his favorite spot an hour out of town. hajime likes being under the sun; he loves the heat, the sweat that trickles down the divots of his muscles because they mean hard work. a good effort. a sign of trying.

he loves tackling you the most in this state—sticky and sweaty, a little slippery. you hate how it mixes in with your sunscreen, but love how hajime feels against your skin, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, and chin tucked sloppily against your neck.

so you let him.

(and even though you tell him he gets a pass because it's his birthday, he knows that isn't true. you always let him do this, anyway.)

his favorite roast beef sandwich, then a shower and dessert (yes, together) later have found yourselves here, at the cusp of sunset, a drive up at your favorite spot overlooking the city.

you prepared a picnic for him, packed all his favorite snacks and berries; made a small chocolate cake with the letters 'hbd hajime ♡' in even smaller fondant cut-outs. simple and minimal (because you know he would prefer it). you intended to watch the sun go down cuddled up in the few blankets you brought, but the weather’s been gloomy for the past 30 minutes, and even worse than that—it's begun to rain.

hajime can sense your stress, he always does, and when he rubs circles on your back telling you, "it's not that important, we don't have to."

you only feel the need to prove him wrong.

if you push forward the chairs in the middle row of his suv, you'll have enough space at the back. and if you park the car to face the view, you can still catch the twinkling of city lights when it turns dark.

the cogs in your brain turn and your brows scrunch as you remain silent, so much so that it begins to worry him.

rain patters against the windshield, and hajime leans over the center console, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"it's okay, babe, you've done so much for me already. we can go back—"

"no," you look him in the eye.

because, it is important.

hajime, the man you love and have loved for the past 4 years; the most hardworking, determined, and considerate man you've ever known was born today, 26 years ago.

and hajime might not care about his birthday because he doesn't think it matters all that much, but it matters to you, because this has been the most important day of the year to you since first meeting him.

"give me a bit," you twist to face the back, "excuse me," urging hajime to move to the side as you cross the center console to the seats at the middle row. you push the seats forward and bend over the backrest, hauling your picnic basket, blankets, and pillows to the now vacant and spacious trunk.

"i can help—" you hear his door handle click.

"no!" you shout from the back, "remember, we agreed! birthday boy relaxes and enjoys!"

he isn't happy about it, and you know he'll insist that he can only relax and enjoy if you're relaxed and enjoying, but you work quickly enough that he doesn't get to argue.

when you call him to the back, you've set up the entire space. the picnic mat is laid out, pillows placed comfortably in areas you both can cuddle in. a bunch of berries and crackers are laid out in a makeshift food section, along with a few bags of chips and the small chocolate cake you stayed up last night making. you serve water as your drinks because hajime prefers it that way.

the sight that greets him is more than anything he thinks he deserves, but what truly takes the cake is you, sitting on the palms of your feet with your baby hairs matted to your forehead and the sweetest smile reaching your cheeks. you hold up your phone to show a live youtube video of a setting sun in some place, somewhere in the world, and amidst the rain pattering against the roof of his car, hajime thinks he would rather have this over a real sunset, somewhere in the world, without you.

he crawls over to where you are, careful to avoid the food you set up. his cheeks hurt from smiling, eyes crinkling as he takes your cheeks in the palms of his hands, squishing them together before kissing you with all the love he can't put into words.

hajime doesn’t care much about his birthday.

but as he parks the car in reverse, positioning the trunk to view the city lights down below, he sees the twinkle in your eyes and can’t help but love how happy his birthday makes you.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hajime x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #shotorus.bubble #happy birthday hajime #i love him so much 🥺🥺🥺🥺

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tsukimefuku · 6 months ago

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that's spooky af, honey :: jjk characters

They’re not the biggest fans of horror movies, but they might make an exception just for you - feat. Gojo, Toji, Nanami, Higuruma, Kusakabe, Shoko

cw: gender neutral reader, crack, comedy, i’m flexing here so some ooc, and a lot of fluff. roughly proofread. notes etc.: happy spooky season, guys 🎃 Entry for the spookinky event.

⛧ GOJO SATORU

(The Exorcist - 1973)

It was a very hot night. The type of night in which even mosquitoes could drop dead from the heat at any second. It felt like you were in an oven, so surely, it made no sense that your boyfriend, Satoru, kept you in the death grip of his hug like a koala hanging from a tree.

A pretty desperate koala latched with his abdomen to your back.

“Toru, please, I can’t breathe,” you insisted, trying to move his hands from your waist just to get a few inches back of freedom. It backfired, and he tightened all around you.

“You don’t, babe,” he cooed, nuzzling around the sweaty nape of your neck, “you just need to be here.”

He sounded cuddly, definitely a little clingy, but you thought it was cute how after you both turned off the classic rendition of The Exorcist, Satoru gripped you and didn’t let go since.

You huffed, accepting defeat.

“Okay, but I need to at least drink some water and I also need to go to the bathroom,” you told him, shuffling around over the bed sheets.

Satoru didn’t flinch, still gripping on you like you were the last flatscreen on sale during a Black Friday.

“Satoru.”

Your voice contained a warning (a warning coming mostly from your bladder).

“Go in the morning! It’s so cozy,” he whined, letting go from you just enough for you to slightly turn back and look at his messy white hair covering his playful blue eyes, which decorated a remarkably adorable pout.

It would be cuter if you weren't on the verge of peeing yourself on the bed.

“It’s not! Satoru, it’s searing hot, we’re both drenched and I need to pee!”

Satoru pressed a quick kiss to your lips and rested his mouth over your hair.

“No, you don’t.”

“Sir, you’re not the boss of my pee.”

He chuckled softly and made it abundantly clear he wouldn’t let you go willingly.

“Oh, I’m not getting a urinary tract infection because you’re too scared to be in the room alone after a cheesy horror movie!” you protested while chuckling back, starting to wrestle around with him, failing miserably to free yourself from the giant’s grip, “I have to go to the bathroom now!”

“Then I’ll go with you!” he conceded, finally freeing your waist and jumping himself up off the bed with a grin.

You sighed with a half smile on your face at his antics.

“Dear Lord Almighty.”

—

⛧ FUSHIGURO TOJI

(Hereditary - 2018)

You had barely managed to get around the second isle in the grocery store before your phone started blowing up with calls. You had left Toji watching a horror movie while Megumi was napping in his own room as you took a quick run to the shop. You had forgotten to buy a few things for dinner earlier that day.

Your phone had already vibrated a few times, the tell-tale sign you got fired up with quite a few text messages.

“Yes, Toji?” you said while answering the phone, “I left you watching a movie and just came down quick to get some groceries, what’s up?”

“The movie is finished,” Toji answered in his characteristically nonchalant way, but offered no further explanation.

“I still have some things to grab around here. How’s Megumi?”

“He’s fine, I’m in his room. He’s still sleeping.”

“Oh, good.”

You had committed to memory the way Toji would every night sit on little Megumi’s end of the bed, and silently look at him before smiling and leaving his room. He never connected the dots of how you would always, somehow, need something from the kitchen during that same time, just to walk by the door and see them both.

However, this was too early for his nightly ritual. Megumi was sure to wake up from his nap soon.

Then, a thought crossed your mind.

“Toji.”

“What?”

“Are you scared? After the movie? That’s why you’ve been texting and calling me like crazy?”

He scoffed on the other side of the line.

“Of course not, I’m not a little kid.”

You kept silent for a few moments, and he didn’t say anything else, still lingering on a bated breath.

“Well, if that’s the case, then I think I’ll just run to the convenience store quickly and get us some-”

“No! Just come home already,” he complained, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

Toji groaned.

”Please, babe, come home and let’s eat dinner.”

“Fine, I’ll be back in ten.”

—

⛧ NANAMI KENTO

(It - 2017)

A ritual you and Nanami had after you broke your leg — and got prescribed lots of bed rest for that — was watching a different movie every night before sleeping.

You’d usually doze off shortly after while your husband would keep reading his books by himself, in his own personal nightly routine. He’d make good use of that extra time he was always awake to get a water jug from the kitchen and leave it by your side, just in case you felt thirsty during the night (which, to be fair, you always did).

This time, however, after watching the “It” remake of 2017, you weren't feeling quite sleepy, so you decided to doom scroll on your phone while your husband read.

You did notice a funny thing, though.

An hour had passed, and he hadn’t moved from the bed.

“Kento,” you called, blocking your phone’s screen and looking at him.

He put his hand over your thigh softly, not to disturb the cast under the knee that was already propped up comfortably by a pillow, and kept reading, holding his book with his other hand.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Aren’t you going to get the jug of water for the night?”

“Soon,” Nanami replied, his eyes making the quickest glance down the dark corridor, so quick you barely noticed, “soon.”

“Ken, honey, I’m getting thirsty,” you cooed, resting your hand over his.

He looked over to you and put his book with open pages down on the nightstand.

“I apologize, darling,” he replied, leaning over and planting a soft kiss on your lips. “Would you mind if I just finished this chapter?”

His voice sounded so velvety and sweet, honestly, how could you say no?

“No problem,” you replied, and he smiled before sitting back and pulling his book into his hands again. However, once more, his eyes glanced down the dark corridor.

“Kento, I have a quick question, though. I promise not to keep interrupting your reading.”

“You can interrupt me whenever you want. What is it?”

“Why do you keep staring down the corridor?”

Nanami was clearly taken aback, even if he attempted to feign nonchalance.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.”

“Oh, come on, you do…” you began, right before the realization dawned on you.

“Kento, did you get spooked from the movie?”

Nanami turned his head to look at you, but his expression was not exactly surprised. He seemed more like a kid who had been caught stealing cookies from the jar before dinner time.

“Excuse me?”

“Light of my life, you never take this long to get the jug, and also, you are staring at that dark corridor. I’m sure of it.”

“I will get it, right after I finish the chapter,” he replied with little to no conviction in his voice, “and you’re always fast asleep when I do. How do you know how long I usually take?”

You stared at him, in all his 6 feet tall glory, and bit down a chuckle.

“I didn’t know you were afraid of clowns,” you said, trying not to grin.

“Darling, I’m not afraid of clowns,” Kento replied sounding slightly offended while he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, let me go get your water.”

Nanami put his book down, walked towards the room’s door, but didn’t fail to take a second before turning the corridor’s light on prior to walking towards the kitchen. You heard the kitchen’s light being turned on too.

Shortly after, he was back. Nanami put the water jug accompanied by a cup on your nightstand, and laid down.

“Thanks, Ken. Good night, I love you.”

“Good night. I love you too, darling.”

There was still something off, though.

“Ken, why are we sleeping with the night lamp on?”

He pretended to not hear you.

—

⛧ HIGURUMA HIROMI

(The Shining - 1980)

You had noticed it happening for the past hour of the movie you were both watching, The Shining. Hiromi wasn’t someone very vocal about his discomforts, but his body would occasionally betray him.

With each passing twenty minutes or so, you noticed your fiancée had inched himself closer and closer to you, with the feeble excuse that he wanted to be closer to the popcorn. His hand was diving in the pot, picking a single popcorn at a time, as the rain tapped violently against your windows.

His eyes were glued to the screen, and for a second, you couldn’t quite remember the last time he had blinked ever since the movie started.

“Hiro,” you whispered at him, “are you enjoying the movie?”

Hiromi simply nodded, not looking away from the screen.

“Are these actual ghosts or is Jack just going insane?” he asked just below his breath, putting another single unit of popcorn in his mouth.

“I mean, going from the book, the Overlook Hotel is haunted,” you whispered, “but Kubrick wanted to dive more into that psychological aspect of the horror. Stephen King really hated this movie,” you concluded, shoving a handful of popcorn in yours.

“Did he? Why?”

“Mostly because the hotel should be the corrupting factor, Jack wasn’t supposed to be cuckoo crazy from the start like Kubrick made him to be,” you replied with your mouth full.

Hiromi huffed, blinking for the first time in God knows how many minutes.

“I guess no one is, truly.”

You smiled and laid your head on his shoulder, cozying up against Hiromi’s body warmth.

“Oh, this one’s good,” you stated, heightening his already sharp attention to the events unfolding in front of him.

This was the scene where Hallorann, the cook, went back to the hotel after Danny managed to ask him for help. By this point, Jack was already roaming through the Overlook with his signature axe and well, what would happen was pretty obvious, but still.

Hallorann came walking down the corridor, his steps against the linoleum floor being the only sound filling the space. The tension grew, Danny’s face in the dark showed up, and you propped yourself for the big jump scare.

However, at the very moment Jack jumped into the frame bearing his axe…

The lights in the entire house went out.

You didn’t get a second to process it, though. Before you knew it, the popcorn bowl flew over, meeting its fateful end on the ground, popcorn spread all over you both and the floor, the blanket you and Hiromi were both under became a crumpled messy ball while falling over. He yanked you over with his arms around you so violently your lungs struggled for a second. To call that a hug would be sugar coating it (a lot).

Hiromi was holding onto you for dear life.

The power took a few seconds to come back, and when it did, you realized he had his eyes sewn shut, opening them softly as light hit his eye lids.

It took you a few labored breaths to ask,

“Do you want to watch something els-“

“Yes.”

—

⛧ KUSAKABE ATSUYA

(Cabin in the woods - 2011)

“Get up!” was the only thing you heard before falling off the side of the bed in utter disorientation. Seconds before, you had been sleeping peacefully, and your boyfriend, Kusakabe, should’ve been by your side.

However, as you regained your senses, you saw him standing with his back against the wall beside the bedroom door, in the dark, holding onto his katana.

“Atsuya, what happened?” you inquired, still half dazed, but adrenaline definitely kicking in from the way he was carrying himself. Alert signs went up in your mind.

“There’s something in the house,” he whispered urgently, signaling for you to pick up your weapon too.

Your sorcerer instincts came fully awake and you pulled your dagger from the bedside table, walking towards him in a crouch.

“What grade do you think it is?” you asked, looking up at him.

Apart from him being like this, though, you didn’t sense anything. Not yet.

Before answering you, he darted himself out of the bedroom — something considerably uncharacteristic for him — and you followed him, alert and confused.

“The assistants, and the lab, they-“ you heard Kusakabe mumbling to himself as he was walking around the house, “always giving me more work. Them and the teens, no one can do their work right, shit.”

… What now?

“Atsu, what are you talking about? Where’s the curse?” you insisted, “what grade is it? What is it like? Should I call Gojo?”

You were now definitely starting to feel the pain in the back of your neck and the base of your back from falling off the bed.

“No, we can handle it ourselves, we always have to, no one knows how to do their job and-“ the senseless mumbling ensued, “and the merman…”

Oh, no. You finally realized what was going on.

Irritation instantly hit you, and you walked towards Kusakabe, yanking his katana from his hands, looking very seriously at the sorcerer before chastising him.

“You gotta be kidding me! You woke me up in the middle of the night and scared me half to death because of a nightmare?!”

He blinked multiple times, shaking his head, and looked back at you.

“You’re not listening, the merman-“

”There is no merman, love of mine,” you replied, sighing and pinching the bridge of your nose, “this was one of the monsters in the movie we watched before going to sleep. The one where there is a lab, and monsters, and young uni students going on a trip, being idiots and getting killed… Don’t you remember?”

After a few seconds, the realization finally dawned on him, and he put his hand on his forehead.

“There is no merman?”

“There is no merman, Atsuya. I promise.”

You had to hold down a laugh before leading a very confused Kusakabe back into the bedroom, tucking him for a — hopefully — calm night of sleep.

—

⛧ IEIRI SHOKO

(The Autopsy of Jane Doe - 2016)

Your girlfriend had the pokerest of poker faces. So you didn’t expect her to be jumping around from fright or anything of the sort.

However, the cigarette she let burn out completely untouched, still hanging from her mouth, betrayed just how scared shitless she was. The entire thing had become one continuous trail of ashes that ended on her lips, and funnily enough, it hadn’t fallen.

Yet.

Discreetly, you picked up the ashtray from the coffee table and hovered it under the cigarette, just in time for the tube of ashes to fall perfectly down in it.

Still, no movements from your girlfriend.

You waved your hand in front of her face, but she just stood there, sitting down in the exact same position she had been ever since the movie started, like a marble statue.

“Shoko, sweetheart, are you okay?”

Shoko only hummed what could be interpreted as a “yes” in return, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft giggle. Trying to ease her out of the fear, you tried joking a little.

“So, this cursed corpse is kind of different from the ones Principal Yaga makes, hm? His are cuter, for sure.”

Another soulless mm-hmm came out, and you wondered if you had maybe taken this horror night a little too far. She did autopsies for a living, after all. Perhaps this was too close to home.

“Honey? Love?”

No response.

“Do I have to call Gojo to pull you out of this?”

This finally elicited a you can’t be serious right now response from her, and it eased your worries, even if just a little.

Picking up the remote, you paused the movie, and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Shoko, would you like to watch something else?”

She sighed, seemingly relieved, and turned her face to yours.

“I want to watch my actual autopsies videos. Like, ones without curses in them.”

You chuckled softly before planting a tender kiss on her lips.

“You’re weird. Of course, love you.”

written by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost. copycatting is for losers.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #toji x reader #nanami x reader #Higuruma x reader #shoko x reader #kusakabe x reader #jjk fluff #jjk crack #jjk drabbles #jjk fic #jjk comedy #jjk comfort

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lightseoul · 6 months ago

Note

im surprised no one asked for this yet but please do no. 17 for the 2k milestone 💌 your works are amazing!!!! 🥰🫂

hello, elle! this ask gets a fast pass because SAME i was just waiting for someone to request this number, so thank you!!! and i just want to quickly thank you as well for all the love you've shown my works, i see and appreciate you sm <3

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

17. "DID YOU BUY ME FLOWERS?" (1.3k)

ping.

you startle ever so minutely at the chime that just reverberated across your car, briefly interrupting that one song that’s been on repeat for the last few days. as your speakers resume playing the familiar melody, you glance at the phone held in place by your handy mount, and you can’t help the smile that creeps up your face when you see the notification.

(6:54 PM) katsuki🧡 : Will be down in a sec.

you kissed him goodbye and called out a ‘take care’ just this morning before he left for work, but it feels like it’s been more than 24 hours since you last saw each other.

maybe you can chalk it up to your own workday being brutal and full of mishaps, but you’re lucky enough to have been able to leave on the dot instead of working overtime like the man who just texted you.

you were set to go on a dinner date, what with today being a friday and there being a new sought-after ramen shop that just opened earlier this week downtown. the plan was to meet back at your shared apartment so that he could drive you both to the restaurant, but a message from him at 4 in the afternoon saying he had to patrol overtime required you to do a little bit of adjusting.

which explains why you’re now parked right in front of the ground riot agency, essentially picking up your boyfriend.

tapping your fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, you peer through the window to your right, eyeing the entrance to the building. true to his word, #4 pro-hero dynamight emerges from the glass doors, now wrapped in casual clothes instead of the hero gear he left home in this morning.

you barely make out him scanning the parking lot with that signature scowl on his face, but the angry expression instantly morphs into a look of recognition when he spots your car.

the man starts jogging toward you, and as he gets closer and closer to where you’re stationed, that’s when you notice he’s carrying what suspiciously looks like a bouquet of flowers.

but you don’t even get to react because, in a matter of seconds, he’s already opening the door to the passenger’s seat.

as he slides into the spot beside you, you’re instantly hit with the comforting smell of burnt caramel and that signature perfume of his that never fails to make you just a tad bit light-headed and, quite frankly, dumb.

“hey, babe,” bakugou greets you, before leaning over the console and placing a firm hand on the crook of your neck, bringing you in for a kiss.

despite yourself and the sheer number of times you’ve done this, you still flush when you feel his tongue brush over your lower lip just ever so slightly, which you’ve long identified as his way of asking for permission.

you’ve never been the type to deny him, and so you relent.

you barely stop yourself from groaning when the wet muscle enters your mouth, and for a moment you just sit there—brain empty—as he kisses you fervently, his grip on you unrelenting as ever.

bakugou katsuki doesn’t half-ass things, and that includes kissing you.

eventually, when you think he’s satisfied enough and aptly satiated, he pulls away, and it takes you a moment to ground yourself back to reality. he must’ve noticed, because the cocky son of a bitch only smirks to himself before moving again.

dazed, you watch your boyfriend as he stirs in his seat and grabs the bouquet you completely forgot about from under his feet, thrusting it toward you.

“here.”

your eyes dart back and forth between the bunch of pink tulips and the man, “are you being serious, right now?”

his eyebrows instantly furrow. “what? ‘course i am. picked them up during patrol. knew you’d like ‘em.”

at his mention of the item, your gaze drifts to the thing that’s been sitting in wait in your backseat.

bakugou studies you for a beat, probably wondering what the fuck is going on, before following your line of vision.

you brace yourself for his confusion or maybe even stunned silence in reaction to it.

but neither of those comes.

what does come, is something close to indignation.

“…who the fuck gave you that?”

you feel your face contort in confusion. “what?”

at that, bakugou turns even more toward the backseat, staring down the poor bouquet of orange lilies that absolutely hasn’t done anything wrong to be met with such disdain.

“which dipshit gave you those, hah?” he spews, evidently miffed. “was it that stupid coworker of yours who’s calling himself your fucking work husband?”

“what? no!” you exclaim, because why the hell would he think you’d even accept in the first place?

even with your denial, though, bakugou isn’t looking too pleased, now closely resembling a petulant child.

a cute, jealous, petulant child—

—holding a collection of tulips.

you try to tamp down the grin that’s fighting to take over your features, knowing better than to make him feel embarrassed for getting riled up over the idea of other guys being around you. reaching to the backseat, you take the assortment and quickly fix the areas that inadvertently got folded during the drive over, ultimately handing it to the man.

only the said man looks at you like you just grew horns.

it takes him a second to reply, voice gruff and low when he asks, disbelieving: “did you buy me flowers?”

you really don’t know how else to respond, so you nod. “got them on the way here. they were on display and they reminded me of you.”

at that, bakugou doesn’t say anything, eyes unwaveringly fixed on the bursts of orange.

but he doesn’t move to take them off your hands or something.

you feel your smile faltering just a little. “you don’t like them?”

he looks up at you, like your voice just brought him back from where he was deep in thought. “yeah—no, they’re nice.”

before you get to dwell on what nice means and if he really meant that or was just being courteous, bakugou wordlessly coaxes the flowers from your grip and sets them alongside the ones he got you.

once they’re secure in the tiny space beside him, he then leans over the console again, before planting a lingering kiss on your lips.

one that tells you all the things he can’t bring himself to say—at least at this exact moment.

one that’s definitely saying thank you and i love you.

and maybe, if you read into it close enough, an i love it—give me more in the future.

you eagerly return it before he can pull away.

you don’t think bakugou noticed, but on the silent drive to the restaurant (after you spent ten more minutes in the lot making out), you stole a glance just in time to catch him sniffing the flowers (the ones you got him) and seemingly fighting the upturn of the corners of his lips.

he also brought the bouquets with him to the restaurant, which he absolutely didn’t have to. when you playfully called him out on it, he told you off by saying you can’t just leave flowers in a car for various reasons. you listened to him as he went on and on about why that’s so, but the redness of his ears sort of gave him away.

and when you got home, the first thing he did when he thought you weren’t looking was grab two vases and get to work arranging the tulips and lilies together, placing them side by side at the center of your dining table.

it wouldn’t be until two weeks later, however, that you accidentally bump into his bedside table, causing the book he’s about halfway done reading to fall on the floor.

and when you stoop down to pick it up, you see that he’s on page 280, to be exact.

and marking that halfway point is a dried lily.

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fanfics-i-find-here · 19 days ago

Text

Do I know you? Part 19

Synopsis: the family comes to visit, and Jason is over it.

Note: I am currently on vacation for a wedding and this is the first time I’m using a tablet to edit and post. If it’s rough that’s way, anyway here you go!

masterlist

You’re not sure how long you sleep, but based on the dim light out your window, you think it's early evening. It had been cloudy and dark all day; now, it was just slightly darker but not pitch black. An overthought-out guess, but it was probably dinnertime if your rumbling tummy had any say in the matter.

Jason was still on top of you. Your body ached a little from not being able to move freely, but it was okay. There was something comforting about him being there, holding you (crushing you). It calms any wacked-out anxiety that usually comes to you when you first wake up.

He had shifted upwards just slightly. His head no longer pressed under your chin but more so laying on one of your shoulders. You turn your head to look at him as best you can. He’s still slightly lower. Your eyes meet the crown of his head, and your lips line up with his nose (it takes a stupidly long time to stop yourself from dotting a kiss there).

One of your hands comes up to thread through his hair, intent on waking him, your other hand moving up and down on his back, nails dragging along the fabric of his shirt lightly. With no luck, as usual, he shifts an inch and stays asleep. Your eyes follow the hand gliding through his hair, and both your hands pause. Your other hand comes to meet at his head, and you push his straggly bang hairs back to stare at the roots at the peak of his crown. You rub your thumb over it in disbelief.

White hair? That can’t be right. Jason wasn’t old; at least, he didn’t look it. The notion that Jason was old made you laugh quietly but you stop when Jason shifts again. Yes, you had wanted to wake him up earlier, but now you have a different plan. Your hands form a part in his hair, and you start scanning the roots before repeating the process. You hear that some people with dark hair can grey very early in life, assuming that’s what’s going on with Jason, you’re on the hunt for more white hair.

A forced puff of warm air against your neck makes you pause. Sensing no other movements, you continue. You’ve about come to the decision that the only place the white was on the top of his crown when you feel another forced breath across your skin, Jason's back moving with the press of it. You smooth back his bangs again so you can look at his face more.

“Are you awake?” You whisper. There’s silence for a moment before he responds in a weak, gravelly voice.

“No,” the answer makes you giggle. Your hands go back to what they were doing. You part the hair at the top of his head and follow the white till it disappears. It’s such a strange growth placement.

“What’re you doing, Monkey?” he grumbles, and you pull your hands from his hair. He lifts his head to blink at you. You notice his eyes are less green than they were earlier and think that they had been the wrong green.

“Why’d you stop?” Oh, how you love his voice like this. Deep and sleepy, just a little pleading, which was new.

“You called me a monkey.” You want to tell him that it’s rude and uncalled for, but you were picking through his hair. He snorts at your comments and shifts so he’s leaning over you, face to face. You’d squirm by the position if you didn’t think he’d notice.

“What? Not good enough for you? You want the other ones, Sweetheart? Babe? Honey? Sugar?” you can feel your skin warming everywhere with the way he coos at you, so sweet it’s nearly condescending. You do wiggle this time, just slightly, unable to stop yourself out of embarrassment for how easy you are. You see his eyes flit across your face, and you think he’s going to kiss you.

Then, there’s a loud banging. Jason is off you and heading for the door of your room before you can stop him. A shaky breath escapes you once you’re alone, one you didn’t know you were holding. The banging is still going, so, after you’ve calmed yourself, you follow Jason. He’s standing at the door, glaring at it with his hands on his hips. You get distracted staring at his back, well-defined by his t-shirt, before maneuvering around him.

“What is it? Are we being robbed?” You ask as you look through the peephole on the door. You see three warped heads, two black haired and one blonde. You have an easy guess as to who it was. Your hands start to undo the locks on the door. Jason's arm curls around your waist, and you’re tugged away from the door and turned to face him.

“I’m sure it's just a salesman or something. Let’s go back to bed.” You give him a questioning look.

“It’s literally your family.”

“Even more reason to leave them out there.”

“Jason,” you scold lightly and pull out of his hold and finish unlocking the door. An aggravated huff escapes him, and you glance at him. His arms are crossed, and he’s pouting. You laugh.

“Play nice,” you say, opening the door. The banging stops, and you’re greeted with a screechy “Hello!” from Steph as she drags you into a hug. Your eyes met Tim and Cass’s.

“We come bearing gifts,” Tim says as they both hold up bags of take-out food. Steph lets you go to welcome herself into your apartment, Tim and Cass follow.

“Jason?” You hear Cass question as you lock the door. You hear Tim speak up as you turn.

“Aren’t you supposed to be home?” the question sounds accusatory, nearly a threat. Jason glares at them, and you’re stuck glancing between him and his siblings. You shuffle around the staring contest to pull out plates.

“He was sick,” you say, setting the plates on the counter.

“Oh, we know all about that,” Stephs says with a teasing lilt that has you confused. “Doesn’t explain why he’s here?”

You glance at Jason because that was a good question. Why was he here? He doesn’t offer you anything, apparently having a silent debate with Tim. Cass is staring at you with a knowing look that nearly makes you panic.

“I needed his help with something,” you say, rushed, “or I thought I did, and it turned out I could’ve done it myself.” You don’t know why you’re covering for Jason. Maybe it was the way Cass was looking at you and now Steph, too. Like they knew that just minutes prior, Jason had been on top of you, speaking to you in ways that made you shiver.

“This is a nice jacket.” You startled out of your panic staring with the girls by Tim’s voice. You glance to see him holding up the sleeve of your leather jacket, the one Jason had gotten for you. It makes you smile and miss the pointed tone directed at Jason. Jason rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything.

“Thanks. Jay got it for me.” You say, and Steph chips in

“What could you possibly need a leather jacket for?” This time, you do catch the pointed tone, like this is a well-crafted joke that you’re not in on. Something you’ve noticed happens a lot if you have more than one of the siblings present. Although, you note that this is the first time you have been around all of the siblings you knew.

Jason huffs again and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so irate before. He moves around his siblings and into the kitchen pulling out glasses and the lemonade you had made with him a few days prior. You watch him thinking he’s going to hop into the conversation, but he stays silent. At the sight of the lemonade pitcher, you open your mouth to tell him to stir it.

“Don’t forget to-” You stop when he’s already pulling out a wooden spoon and popping the lid. “Thank you.” Finish instead and return back to the conversation. Cass is eyeing you again.

“It’s for when I go on his bike with him.” The cacophony of takeout being served on plates halts and suddenly all three of them are staring at you and Jason, eyes flickering back and forth.

“What?” you ask, feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable, like you’ve done something wrong. Steph is the first to talk, pressing a dished out plate into your hands.

“It’s nothing; we’re just happy is all.” You glance over at Jason as she pulls you out of the kitchen and to the dining table. She pulls you into a conversation about something else, and you forget the whole thing.

****

As soon as you're mostly out of hearing, Tim and Cass are on him in whisper rage.

“Why didn’t you tell us you liked her that much?”

“I thought you had an ego issue over the jacket, but you’ve been taking her on your bike?”

“Are you dating?”

“We’re you two getting frisky before we got here?”

He shuts them down at the last question, even if it was semi accurate.

“We are not dating.” Is the only answer he gives them, finishing stirring the lemonade and pouring it into the glasses. He can feel their silent conversation, can feel their stare, and he hates it. He knew his family cared, but their sudden investment in his life was not something he wanted. He preferred it when they were standoffish, his presence making them uncomfortable because then they wouldn’t pry like this.

“Jason,” Cass speaks, “you need to tell her that you at least like her.”

He shrugs her off. “I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“Dude, you don’t let anyone ride your bike unless its an emergency,” Tim adds, and it makes Jason freeze. He wanted to argue that that wasn’t true; he let plenty of people ride his bike with him, but then he would be lying.

“Whatever,” he says as he hands them each a glass of lemonade, “just don’t say anything to her.”

They share a look before nodding, “Okay.” For some reason, their agreement makes his shoulders relax. He fills two more glasses and brings them to the table, setting one in front of Steph and the other in front of you. You pause in the conversation to look at him, grabbing at his hand to squeeze it.

“Thanks, bubs,” you say quickly before returning to your conversation. As he walks past Steph to go back to the kitchen, she gives him a look that he ignores. He makes his own plate, and when he returns to the table, Cass has already dragged a stool to the table to sit next to you, leaving him to sit by Tim and, regrettably, across from you (he would much rather be sitting next to you).

Steph is finishing telling you a story about the skiing trip she went on (a cover storyish; she and Tim had actually been on a mission with the Titans but still went skiing). Once everyone is settled at the table and eating, you broach a question for Tim. You don’t spend much time around him, but you want to be polite to your guest.

“So, Tim. How’s work? Data entry and all that, right?” you ask before taking a bite of food. Tim was stunned for a moment mid-bite. Steph giggles but settles down easily, and you assume she’s laughing at something else. Tim finally clears his throat.

“Right, yea, Work is good, just stupid bureaucracy stuff, you know.” He shrugs. Before anyone can add anything else, Jason gives Tim a disgruntled look.

“Data entry? What bullshit are you telling her?” His accusatory tone astounds you.

“I didn’t tell her anything! She just filled in the blank, and I didn’t correct her.”

“So you lied to her.”

“Like you don’t know all about lying.”

“I’m going to murder you.”

“Boys!” you cut in because you don’t think Jason was lying about the murder thing. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“Tim’s the CEO, kind of,” Cass offers nonchalantly, despite the important information she just shared.

“What? CEO of what?” you feel increasingly confused.

“Wayne Industries,” Steph says slowly. You eye her, waiting for more information. It never comes.

“What is that?” you ask, and they all stare at you. You shift in your seat, not loving the attention.

“Babe,” Jason’s voice is much softer than it had been when he was arguing with Tim, “You’ve lived in Gotham for nearly four years. You don’t know what Wayne Industries is?” His tone doesn’t fault you for not knowing. It’s just curious.

“You know, I didn’t know there was a zoo in Gotham until two weeks ago.” You remind him in confusion.

“Okay! Time for a breakdown!” Steph claps her hands, and Jason groans, “Wayne Industries was started, like, a bajillion years ago by the Waynes, ancestors to Brucie Wayne. It’s a billion-dollar company that has its fingers in everything. Bruce is Daddy Warbucks for these three, adopted them and all that. Nobody else wanted to stay in that family business, but Tim already had some experience because his parents, before Bruce adopted him, had a multi-million dollar company, so he took up the slack and is now like co-CEO or something like that. That being said, there is a Wayne Foundation Charity brunch coming up, and you should totally come; it would be so much fun.” She finally stops to breathe, taking a sip of her lemonade.

“I- huh?” you say, not out of confusion but out of shock. How did you not know that the few friends you had were the children of a billionaire?

“Sorry, we thought you already knew,” Cass says apologetically and honestly that’s fair. You should have at least put a guess out into the universe. Your mind goes back to the day a month or so ago when the girls took you out shopping. The lady had called one of them Miss Wayne, and you had gone to Tim’s car at Wayne Tower and heard all the random facts about the building from them because their DAD owned it. You really should have connected the dots.

You press your face in your hands. “Oh my god,” You groan.

“It’s okay. Now that you know all that, it makes the real reason we came over much easier.” Steph says as she pats your back sympathetically.

“The real reason?” you and Jason question at the same time. You peak through your fingers to meet his eye.

“Yeah, the real reason,” Tim confirms as he settles a white envelope on the middle of the table. Jason eyes it with disgruntled suspicion. You pick it up and open it to find an invite.

You are formally invited to the WAYNE FOUNDATION SPRING CHARITY BRUNCH

“Oh?” you say it as a question because you don’t know what else to do. You’ve never been invited to charity anything. You meet Jason’s eye again, and there’s a comforting look across his features, like he wants to reach out across the table.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Cass tells you, and you break contact with Jason to meet her eye. She actually does reach out hand calmly placed on your shoulder.

“Totally, but it could be so much fun,” Steph adds.

“And you don’t have to worry about the charity bit; that’s just for all the richy people trying to make themselves look good,” Tim assures you, which is what you were actually worried about. Living in the area of Gotham you do was on the cheaper side, but not enough to be throwing donations at people.

“Okay,” you say with a finally nod, “I could use something different in my life.”

“That’s rude,” Jason scoffs and gap at his tone, but once you look at him, you think its out of jealousy. Cass’s hand had moved from your shoulder to hold your hand on the table, which you hadn't thought much about, but Jason was glaring at. You choose not to comment on it. You turn back to Steph and Tim; they have far too smug looks that you also choose to ignore.

“This is, like, a rich people thing, right? I don’t think I have anything to wear that would fit the setting.” At your words, Steph's smug look turns into a mischievous grin.

“Don’t you worry your little heart about that. We have the perfect spring dress for you, don’t we, Cass?” You turn to the other girl, and she’s sharing the same look. You so do not like it when they do this.

“What did you two do?” They both shrug at your question.

“I just told you not to worry about it.” Steph states before she goes back to eating. You once again met Jason’s eye. His eyes have a touch of sympathy, but overall, he genuinely seems amused, which makes you tap his foot under the table. He just rolls his eyes and taps your foot back.

If you had been paying attention to anything else in the room, you would have seen the look the other three occupants shared. One of agreements that what they had initially teased their brother about in a lighthearted manner was real. You two liked each other much more than friends, and if they try to help things along the way in the future, that's nobody’s business.

****

The rest of dinner went on with out much fanfare. A couple of stories shared (and a few more eye rolls from Jason) before they decide to head out for the evening. Tim and Steph make some lighthearted jabs at Jasons’s “sickness” and that he “needed to be careful not to spread it”. Jason had flushed lightly and smacked them both on the back of the head as he leaded them to the door.

“No violence in the apartment!” you had scold, and they had both given Jason a smug look about it. You had walked with Cass to the door, your elbows latched together. She spoke lowly as Jason argued with Tim and Steph.

“I know Jason’s been staying with you,” she says and your cheeks warm. Before she can continue, you throw in your own comment.

“We’re not doing anything,” she quirks a brow at your statement, “We just sleep better together.”

“It’s okay. Your good for each other. Just…” she hesitates and you don’t think you’ve ever seen Cass unsure in the time you’d known her, “don’t get too mad at him.”

The statement makes your brows furrow. You don’t ever get mad Jason. Well, you did once, and it was when he had left the seat up in the bathroom. You had woken him up in the middle of the night to get on him about it. He hadn’t done it since.

“Yea, sure. Unless he deserves,” you joke but her face is serious, “I won’t, Cass. Jason would never do anything to make me angry.” She purses her lips together and pulls you into a hug. She pulls away and follows Tim and Steph out the door, pausing to give Jason a kiss on the cheek. He seems startled by it but pats her on the shoulder with a smile. You give everyone a wave and Steph blows you kiss over her shoulder as Tim drags her away. Jason shuts and locks it. He sags and you hadn’t realized how tense he had been with his family around.

“You’re a saint, you know.” The comment makes you snort.

“What’s that make you, hmm? A devil?” he grins at you, and you suddenly remember what had been happening before his family first showed up. You feel warm again, heart pounding.

“Something like that. Can we go back to bed?” despite your own thoughts, there’s nothing salacious in his tone. He still looks tired.

“We just woke up like an hour ago and,” you glance at the now full kitchen sink, “there’s dishes.”

“There’s always dishes. I’ll wash them in the morning. Now please.” You nod in concession, and he doesn’t hesitate. Five steps forward and your suddenly over his shoulder. A screech escapes at you suddenly being hoisted in the air.

“Jason! Put me down!” he just laughs and carries you back to the bedroom. He unceremoniously drops you on the bed and you bounce. A moment of panic flushes through you that, maybe, he did want to continue whatever you two had going before everyone got there. Panic not because you think he’ll do something, but panic because you're not ready if he does do something. I need to shave, you think. All that washes away as he scooches you to your spot on the other side of the bed. He clambers back into bed and tugs you close. You throw an arm around his waist and nose at the base of his throat. He sighs, a nice quiet thing, and relaxes down into the mattress. Like before he’s out in a manner of seconds.

You stay awake longer, contemplating literally everything. You can’t tell if Jason is putting moves on you, if this is just how he is with all his friends, or if he has poor spatial awareness when it comes to your relationship. It’s fine, you reckon. You’ll still wait for him to do something. If he does you won't stop him but if he doesn’t, you’ll just keep doing what you're doing. He hasn’t shunned your affection so part of him must at least like it. It will be fine and everything will work out. Hopefully.

Additional note: I’m literally over them. This is one hundred percent a case where the characters are doing whatever they want. The bunch episode will probably be broken down into at least two chapters because I have a lot planned for that. The next chapter is not that. Next chapter is with the old lady, and I want to apologize now for it because I made her Italian who spoke very little English, which is fine, but I speak no Italian, so I used google translate. So, yea, sorry about that.

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369, @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @penguimlover23, @herodedicatedblog, @dearghostling, @automaticplant, @alma-ru3, @13fresh, @anuttellaa

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #do i know you?#kandywrites #fanfics-i-find-here

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