#and for whatever reason he just latched on and kept it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

salem-s · 2 months ago

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CONFESSIONS UNDER SHEETS THAT SMELL OF YOU ── RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT

SYNOPSIS you’re drunk. Rafe’s drunk. after spending the entire night stealing glances across the room whilst the other isn’t looking, it’s time to go to bed. and you simply can’t say no when he, your best friend, asks you to stay the night.

WARNINGS language, fluff, suggestive content but no actual smut. hope you enjoy. another jock!rafe au bc i can.

WORD COUNT 5.2k.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER goodnight n go by ariana grande

Rafe's tongue burns once again after a tequila shot, his fifth? Eighth? He's lost count.

But who cares? Certainly not him.

All that matters is that he's finally letting loose, having fun, forgetting his troubles for just one night so he can spend quality time with his friends.

Well, all of his friends plus you.

(His favorite person, no doubt.)

Granted, he's been trying to go up to you all night and sling his signature arm over your shoulder as normal, but he tends to be the life of the party on every occasion and alcohol seems to make him a social butterfly.

Rafe's the guy all the girls want to linger on, who latch a talon around his bicep and make their indented mark on his smooth skin. He's the guy that's always down for a round of shots, or the guy who's eager to participate in drinking games (and the guy who wins them all, for some reason that the other people cannot fathom, especially you, who refuses to play against him in beer pong anymore after you kept betting away your Saturdays to accompany him for whatever event he wanted you at that day).

Sure, each drink he consumes piles onto his list of problems he's going to have to deal with tomorrow, but the wavy feel of the rhythmic bass, the moody lights hovering over him and sweaty bodies cheering and singing quite poorly, Rafe can't help but say fuck it and keep going.

Life at university has been quite the trip for him. Luckily, all of his friends managed to snag a spot at the same college, all majoring in separate topics and studying concepts that run circles in his head, but he could care less about how much he understands their fields of study and rather focuses on the fact that all of them are here. With him.

Especially you.

Because if you had gone somewhere far?

Well, Rafe would've had to follow you. Just to keep a close eye on you.

So, with his closest people by his side, every night is a goddamned trip. Especially whenever they all congregate in his apartment almost all the time, which seems to be the ultimate magnet for parties. Not that he or his roommate, John B, mind that much.

With a drink in hand, Rafe roams the confinements of his living room, making small talk with his basketball friends, with girls eyeing him from across the room, hoping to be the one who ends up with him at the end of the night.

Yet, contrary to popular belief, Rafe isn't into hookups that much anymore.

Hookups with anybody that aren't you, that is.

You. The pretty girl with cherry chapstick stained lips who's smiling so bright at something Kiara said in the kitchen, a sight he wishes he was close enough to really see. But it's a smile that makes Rafe fall in love with you all over again, the kind of smile that's reserved for your close friends only, (and a smile that often comes out when you're piss drunk, because despite the reserved and mysterious persona you put on is nearly a facade for your incredible sarcasm and sense of humor, and frequent blithe personality).

Rafe doesn't understand how he didn't fall for you sooner, especially when you dress straight out of one of his dreams.

You. You. You.

You who could genuinely wear anything and it would have him utterly speechless regardless. You who love to peer up at him with those doting eyes of yours whenever you're trying to get something from him, whether it be another coffee or the mug on the top shelf or to binge another show he could care less about but will indulge in as long as he can make you happy. You who are the only thing on his mind nearly all the time, easing in and out of his consciousness like a fog he can see and feel but can't quite catch.

There's nothing to prohibit his feelings. He's tried so damn hard to forget you, to try and ignore the pull you have on him without even realizing, to accept the fact that you'll only ever be friends.

Even when you always find each other by the end of the night after stealing glances through the kaleidoscope of fog the party lights provide. Even when your hand slips into his as if it's molded to fit. Even when his heart thumps exceptionally loud whenever you're near, or when he smells your signature perfume before he even sees you.

Even when he's been wondering what it'd be like to be yours for years upon end.

Rafe pines from across the room, blinking out of his trance to see which girl wants a selfie with him this time.

Being a star basketball player and all has it's perks (who's he kidding? He's on the club team, but he likes to think he's a celebrity at times). He grins widely in his well known charming-persona, and knows to expect his face over a few Snapchat stories that he'll find in the morning (or afternoon, given how much more he drinks from here on out).

All these girls pining over him and the only person he wants is uninterested. Truly a shame. Rafe-0, Universe-a million and counting.

Though he lets it slide because having you as a friend is better than having you as nothing.

He values your relationship for what it is and it would hurt like hell if Rafe somehow managed to ruin that. Knowing his abysmal track record of infinite fuck ups, he wouldn't be surprised if he ended up doing something to jeopardize you.

Despite being a relatively smart person, Rafe can be pretty dumb when it comes to other people's feelings. He's the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, and he's never had a problem with confronting people about his feelings (i.e. letting girls down easy, standing up to his father when he lashes out at his sisters, that sort of thing), but for some reason he bites his tongue when it comes to you.

Who cares about Rafe's sulky feelings when there's a party to host?

He shakes his head at himself, getting back into the zone of the room and taking a generous swig from his solo cup, the liquor burning his throat and coating his eyes with water, and nonetheless he grins and shouts to the music.

Rafe spares another glance at you, taking in all your pretty before downing the rest of his drink.

You watch Rafe from across the room, thanking the higher beings that Kiara's gotten drunk enough to not see straight, so she can't relentlessly bully you into oblivion.

The two of you are in the kitchen along with a few other classmates who make pretty good small talk that even you join in, surprising people that you're actually pretty friendly behind the stoic expression you normally wear around strangers. You manage to laugh and tell a few anecdotes and let people see slivers of the real you, although you can't help that your gaze flickers to the six foot something life of the party who lingers on the opposite corner of the apartment.

His smile is so fucking pretty that it hurts to not be on the receiving end of it.

You really try to pay attention to your friend's story. By the way the rest of the group is laughing, you're sure it's comical enough to be worth listening to.

But the only consistent thing in the back of your mind is Rafe in that fucking black t-shirt with his hair falling over his forehead in messy nonchalance, contrasting his normal pristine look.

You force yourself to look away.

You also decide that whatever is in your drink needs to be stronger, because the sight of Rafe taking selfies with girls and genuinely enjoying it just sets a fiery pit in your stomach, which you know is abhorrently irrational given that:

A. You aren't even dating, for starters.

B. Rafe's friendliness never dies down, even if it's to people he doesn't know all that well.

Annoyingly, you can't blame him for paying attention to girls and giving them the time of day. Rafe deserves the attention. He does, truly. You just wish some of that attention could be for you, and only you.

Oh well, you think pitifully. It'll never happen so might as well drink even more than planned.

It seems that whenever Rafe's looking at you, you're not paying attention.

And when you're looking at Rafe, Rafe is off talking or doing something else.

Sarah's nearly going to kick everyone out, push you two in a room and lock you in.

This absurdity has been going on for years and it's honestly exhausting watching you dance around each other so timidly. Everyone in the group knows it, hell, everyone in the goddamned world knows it, except for the two of you.

If stupid and oblivious were people, it would be you and Rafe, rightfully so.

For Christ sake, the two of you fall asleep next to each other every single movie night, heads leaning on the other, and other times it'll be your head on Rafe's lap or vice versa. Sarah can't count how many times you've ended up with limbs entangled on numerous couches, chairs meant for one person, or even once a beanbag.

You sometimes walk into the apartment just to take a nap in Rafe's bed, regardless if he's home or not, and if Rafe is home he just lets it happen. Sometimes he joins you.

Most nights, Rafe and you will spontaneously leave in the middle of the night to take a stroll around campus or get 24 hour cookies from the bakery on the other side of campus. You stay up late in Rafe's room watching WWE Smackdown every Monday night while eating popcorn and commentating like you're literally twelve years old. Sometimes you reenact fight sequences that almost always end up with you pinned to the ground.

One time Rafe planned a whole day to take you to the museum and dinner after you mentioned you wanted to see a specific piece of art once. You bought 37 packages of beef jerky for Rafe after he talked about a crave for it once.

As if it means nothing.

Like Sarah says: Idiots.

With John B's arm hanging over her shoulder, she darts her gaze between the two of you standing at opposite sides of the apartment, noticing Rafe's warm gaze on you that immediately gets interrupted by someone wanting to talk to him, and then cue you sneaking a glance at him with almost pitiful eyes.

She rolls hers, knowing your pining is based on hidden feelings while Rafe's is based on uncertainty. Sarah genuinely wants to smack both of you silly. You're so goddamned stupid.

"So do you think tonight's the night?" says John B quite loudly even though the music's too blaring for anyone to hear. Her ear tickles from his hot breath.

Sarah sighs, watching her brother talk to his basketball friends. "I fucking hope so. Twenty bucks it happens tonight."

John B scoffs playfully. "I doubt that's gonna happen. You're on."

Rafe is almost upset that he's such a heavy weight because it takes drink after drink after drink for him to feel buzzed. It's a blessing and a curse at the same time.

It's a blessing for times when he wants to have fun and remember the night, or when he has serious shit to do the next day but still wants to get drunk. Sometimes he likes to sugar coat it so you'll tend to him in the mornings, although you've always been the one person to always see through his bullshit and call him out.

(You still dote on him, anyway.)

It's a curse for times where Rafe's in his feels and just wants to be drunk enough for forget his own name. Or your name, since you're the pinnacle for his mopey personality.

Tonight, he's grateful for being a heavy weight, especially since he has to write an important paper tomorrow. The fact that he's already heavily buzzed which means he's on the right track.

After two in the morning people gradually weed themselves out of the apartment. Of course, the core group pledges to stay behind and emotionally support Rafe and John B tomorrow morning when they elect themselves to clean up the mess they made the night before. You usually end up making breakfast while everyone is scrubbing counters or cleaning sticky alcohol off the floor. One time, the group let JJ attempt the cooking and the house smelt like burnt toast for days, so now it’s solely you who take the reins in the kitchen.

It’s typical for everyone to crash at John B and Rafe’s apartment after a hangout, so it’s nothing out of the ordinary when Kiara or you or JJ crash in Rafe's room, sometimes all four of you are squished in his queen bed. It's a tight squeeze but comfortable, nonetheless.

Soon enough, it's just the core group with the exception of a hand full of friends on the couch, and it's finally become that time of night where the upbeat EDM is replaced with something softer, slower, more intimate that’s reserved just for them. Kiara's passed out on the carpet while Pope props her on her side to make sure she doesn't throw up (if she ever were to, Kie's held the record for longest amount of time without puking). Cleo and JJ have been drunkenly debating the semantics of Hobbit feet for the past hour. John B and Sarah are snuggled on the couch, the girl forcing her boyfriend to massage the knots in her shoulders.

However, the only two people not in the huddle of friends in the living room are you and Rafe, leaning a little too closely together against the counter, watching the scene in front of you with lingering smiles.

You're slightly swaying, humming to the song while Rafe just dreamily stares at your friends, and then drops his head on your shoulder while he gazes.

"I missed you tonight, Snaps," Rafe murmurs softly, compassionately, genuinely heart felt.

Despite the lurch in your heart at the nickname he's been using for years (you choke on a ginger snap one time), you manage a small laugh. "I've been here the whole time?"

He doesn't take that for an answer. "Didn't talk to you, though."

"Talking to you now, actually."

All Rafe does is hum in response, feeling warm in his embrace and caged in but in the best way. His cologne has probably imprinted on your scent at this point, given how your life always seems to smell like him, even when he's not around.

There's a moment where you think he's going to say something else, something deeper, based on the way his breath evens and how his hand that has been tracing the fabric of the end of your shirt slows down, as if in calculation.

Your breath hitches.

But he lets out a drunken laugh. "Re-remember when Sarah tripped in the parking lot yesterday and-and-and John B's drink went flying because he screamed so loud?"

You match his drunken laugh, shoulders slightly bouncing from it to mask the thumping of your heart. "And then we nearly pissed ourselves laughing while Kie complained she couldn't picture it herself because she wasn't looking."

As if it's second nature, you find his hand and trace your fingertips over his calloused knuckles, mapping the ridges and grooves you've grown to memorize. At this point, you could create a constellation map based on the markings on his body alone.

Rafe snorts, taking the last swig of his drink before throwing it over his shoulder, the cup landed hazardously in the trash-warzone of a kitchen.

"That was a good day, Snaps. Good...good day."

Rafe's lean is a little too strong to the point where you have to steady yourself just to keep the both of you upright, your hands stabilizing him on his chest and lower back. You take this as the normal cue that he's ready to start getting ready for bed, or else he goes on a drinking rampage until dawn or goes missing.

(That happened once and it wasn't very fun for anyone, except for Rafe who had the time of his life at the 24 hour karaoke machine at Jimmy's down the road).

"Alright, Rafe," you say with a knowing smile, "you're done for the night." And before he can whine and protest, you add, "You have your engineering paper tomorrow and it's Jen's birthday, so you can't be too hungover or missing."

Rafe slumps in your grasp, gutting his lower lip to emphasize his reluctance even though his eyelids are all of a sudden growing heavier and heavier-

"Fine. But you have to come with me."

"That was the plan."

You shoot Sarah a look, gesturing to her brother (who's nearly asleep and limp in your grasp) and she nods back at you, but not without a wink and a thumbs up from John B.

Thank god it's dark in the room or else you'd never hear the end of the heat that you feel rising to your face, no doubt flushing your features.

Despite your hot cheeks and slightly fogged vision, you lead Rafe to his room, the last door on the left at the end of the hallway.

His room has scattered clothes and school supplies (???) all over the floor and you feel like Indiana Jones trying to avoid them as if they're boobie traps. You don't have time to admire the movie and TV show posters coating Rafe's walls, especially the wall of photos of the people who are important to him.

You always felt flattered that your picture is up there more than once. More than that, maybe try almost all of them. But you're just friends.

Good friends.

You gently let Rafe down on the bed and his bleary eyes nearly make you melt on the spot, and it takes a lot of self restraint to not kiss him right then and there. His blue eyes are dull and dilated when he looks up at you, but also warm and inviting. It doesn't help that his grin is sleepy and charming at the same time, or that he's waiting for you to curl up right next to him in your designated spot.

You slip off Rafe’s sneakers and socks before stripping your own shoes, socks, and jeans (not before snagging a pair of his boxers) before turning on his LED lights, the automatic setting set to the color red.

Great.

You ignore the mood behind the color and climb over Rafe to get in your designated spot, making sure there's nothing under the sheets like his laptop or a chicken wing (which you found once, and nearly yelled his ear off about how disgusting it was. Rafe, who was drunk, ended up crying and you had no choice but to hug him and tell him it was okay, even though it was really gross).

Settling into your spot on the bed, it feels more spacious without Kiara or JJ squeezing in next to you, resulting in you and Rafe being smushed together almost every time, not that either of you essentially minded.

But now there's more room and it feels almost empty without so many people in it.

Oh, how you wish Rafe would move closer to you, perhaps lay his head on your chest or-

Rafe says your name quietly, eyes trained on the ceiling.

"Rafe."

"I have a question for you," he slurs.

Your heart skips a beat, but nonetheless respond quietly with an: "Okay."

Rafe turns to face you and you now realize that the bed isn't that spacious after all, and your faces are mere inches away from each other. His blue eyes look grey in the red light and the shadow casted upon his face nearly sends electricity through your veins, but perhaps that's just the alcohol buzzing through you or the few hits of a joint you had earlier. Either way, you don’t want to admit that you’re feeling so anxious because of six stupid words that can lead to anything.

What if he asks you about your feelings? What would you say, and what is Rafe going to remember the next morning? Just so many uncertainties with-

"Do you think Mongo has feelings?"

Wh- Mongo? John B’s cat?

You nearly burst out laughing right in his face, but take note of the serious undertones of his gaze, blue eyes slightly etched in something teetering before curiosity and worry, as if this question is the deciding factor of his mood for the rest of the night — or morning, that is.

Furrowing your brow, you can’t help but answer with a slanted smile.

"I think he does. I mean, he gets happy when you pet him and sad when you don't feel him at exactly five in the afternoon," you explain, voice hoarse from all the singing and yelling.

Listening to yourself in such a quieter environment is almost shocking, even though you can feel the vibrations of the music from down the hall.

Despite your inner turmoil, Rafe almost looks relieved, sighing. "Oh good. I was worrying about that."

“For how long?”

“Like, three hours,” he answers quietly, intently. “At least. It was really bothering me.”

Now you can’t help but laugh.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ask, refraining from brushing away the hair on his forehead. “You could’ve saved yourself all the anxiety if you just asked.”

Rafe only shrugs as much as his horizontal position will allow him, his gaze returning to the ceiling in sudden seriousness.

“I have a lot of things I wanna ask but can’t.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, how casually they roll off his tongue as if they don’t carry such a tumultuous backbone to it.

He’s drunk, you think.

And you are too. Nothing can be taken to heart right now.

You push the implications down and manage a small smile. “Well, it’s funny you say that because I’m the all-knowing higher god trapped in a woman’s body for the next, er, ten minutes.”

Rafe lulls his head to the side to look at you, a smirk ghosting his lips. “Only ten minutes?”

“Yeah, so ask away.”

And then he pauses. "So, twenty questions, you and me?”

"I thought it was twenty one questions?"

"What? I mean, if you want to know more about my life, Snaps, then you should've just said so. No shame in wanting to know all about the Rafe Cameron experience."

"Okay, I’m taking it all back."

Rafe laughs drunkenly and you drunkenly grin. The soft R&B echos through the hallway and causes a low bass thrum in your eardrum. Yet all you can really focus on is him.

"Okay, okay," he says, adjusting himself so he can fully face you, hiccuping twice. "You start."

“Wh— I’m the all-knowing one here. You’re supposed to be the one asking the questions.”

“Well, what if I want a higher being trapped in my body, too?”

With an eye roll, you decide to indulge and mimic his movements, facing him the exact same way, wondering if the heat in your cheeks is from your close proximity or the alcohol buzzing through your body.

You want to believe the latter but it's utterly obvious that that's not the case. You can't help it - Rafe’s hot, especially when he looks like this: dazed and unguarded and almost in love.

"Alright," you start, "uh, would you rather live only in the sky or only in the ocean?"

"Yes. Are you into anyone?"

Your eyes widen and so do Rafe’s, you both not really expecting those words to come out just like that, so blatantly.

He places a hand over his mouth to suppress his nervous laughter or more drunken words that'll get him in more trouble, while you stupidly blink back at him, hoping both your inebriated natures will be able to mask the truth in the morning.

Fuck it, you’re both going to lose memory of the night anyway, so why not add fuel to the fire? You aren’t very logical, but you’ve got the spirit.

"Just one guy, in particular," you respond slowly, watching his unchanging expression.

Rafe removes his hand from his mouth and curses. "It's that tool from your chemistry lab, isn't it?”

Wh—?

You go to respond, to dispute that obscene theory, but he continues.

“I mean, I don't blame you, the guy's hot, but he won't shave that godforsaken-"

Blinking stupidly at him, all you can do is tune out his conjectures and stare at him as if he suddenly started speaking a different language. Does he really have no idea? No postulate? Are you really that subtle in the way you love on him?

"-Not that it should matter, but I guess it makes sense that-"

You roll your eyes at his rambling and don’t think twice before pushing yourself forward and pressing his lips to his.

It immediately halts his words and stupid conspiracies, and after a moment of holy shit is this happening, Rafe finally understands and kisses you back, a little hesitantly, but still passionate.

But the kiss comes and goes when you pull away and slowly open your eyes to see a very, very shocked and confused Rafe Cameron ogling back at you as if you've grown three heads.

Can't take it back now, you think.

"I'll understand if you don't feel the same way, and I won't mention it ever again and we can go back to normal," you assure with a small smile even though every bit of you is shattering inside. "But I just... I had to."

You start to think about what therapy ice cream to purchase this time, and how much to indulge yourself in to pretend to get rid of the crippling depression of getting rejected by the guy you've been pining over for several years now. Based on the befuddled look on his face that hasn't gone away, he's either trying to come up with how to let you down gently or still computing the past minute of his life.

All he does is blink, darting his gaze between your eyes and back down to your slightly puffed lips, offering no words or confirmation after your declaration.

Thank god for tequila so you can blame your lack of inhibitions in the morning when this blows up.

"Say something," you urge quietly.

Eventually, after another agonizing moment, he does.

"Wait," says Rafe, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion and looking like someone just told him the most complicated math equation to exist, "you like me?"

You roll your eyes. "You're so fucking stupid, Rafe."

"I'm the guy you're into?"

"Yes."

Rafe immediately brightens, grinning so wide that his cheeks make those dimples that you love and so wide until it physically hurts for him to stretch even further. Despite the lighting, he feels a massive blush coating his cheeks and a warmth in his heart that is reserved for the pretty girl laying right here with him.

"Holy shit," he exhales breathlessly. "This is the best day of my life."

You roll your eyes at how he states that like it's a fucking fact.

"Oh, shut up."

"No, I'm not kidding." Rafe can't stop grinning. "Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this?"

Your stomach flips at the thought of him wanting you, too. Too. Mutual.

"You have?" Your voice is smaller than you would like, tentative, unsure if he's just saying this to indulge you or if he's actually telling the truth.

But Rafe gives you no indication that he's messing around, instead peering at you with such certainty that it makes your head spin.

"I have since freshman year. I thought everyone knew that."

Your mouth drops. "Wh- You- I didn't know that. You mean this could've been done sooner?"

Rafe contemplates that for a moment, understanding that he could've been with you much much much earlier than right now, but then shrugs, concluding that it's important you found each other in the end despite all those years of what felt like useless pining. He likes to think everything happens for a reason, and maybe all this time has just been a sign to further progress your feelings.

"It's being done now," he murmurs, bringing his hand to your soft cheek and gently soothing your cheekbone, "that's what matters."

This time, Rafe's the one who leans in to kiss you, a soft and reassuring kiss that doesn't last very long but still means so much to you.

Your hand meets Rafe's warm skin, pulling his waist just slightly closer to yourself (to which he reciprocates). He pulls away because he can't stop grinning into your lips, which doesn't really help when he's trying to kiss you, still not over the fact that you literally confessed and made the first move after Rafe had been so adamant that you weren't into him like that.

"So, are you my girlfriend now or what?" he asks quietly, breath fanning over yours.

You tilt your head to the side as if Rafe just said something absolutely ludicrous. "Uhm, maybe —stop grinning — take me out to dinner first and we'll see about that."

"Baby, I'll get you anything in the world if I get to call you mine."

The saccharine words automatically make your eyes roll, a teasing smile hinting your lips at you pull back, watching him lean forward to essentially chase them.

You almost laugh at the way he nearly pouts, but it dies in your throat when you feel his hand smoothing over the cool skin of your waist and eventually snaking over the bare skin of your spine. You're no stranger to his touches, but now it implies a deeper meaning, a possessive one, that has you nearly losing your breath.

He's so close. You can make out the beauty marks on his skin and the faint scar on his lip from when he busted it as a kid. His eyes never leave yours, shamelessly staring and taking in your features as if he hasn't done it a thousand times before.

It feels like eons before Rafe moves, leaning in slowly to test out the waters and see if you'll tease and pull back again. But you don't. You lie still, ready for him and blinking at him with your doting eyes, and he doesn't waste another second before he's kissing you once more, pulling you impossibly taut to his body as if it was molded to be there.

Your hands brace themselves on his toned chest, gingerly feeling the ridges and grooves of his body as you'd feel the topography of a map, nearly sighing into his mouth when his other hand comes up to cradle your jaw.

In an instant, his lips move to your neck and one of your hands nestles in his hair, stomach flipping at the sensation of him sucking and kissing the soft skin, no doubt hard enough to leave a mark. Not that you really mind, anyway.

You let out a quiet sigh and Rafe groans against your neck.

"You can't- Don't make that noise."

You snort.

He hums. "Yeah, that one's fine. Make that one."

"Rafe."

He continues sucking and peppering kisses on your skin, offering another low hum of nonchalance, as if he has all the time in the world to be right here, to do what he's doing, to be unbridled to your beck and call.

And you stay like that for a while.

After a few more kisses and conversations of disbelief about how this hasn't been done sooner, Rafe passes out in your arms, sleeping soundly and deeply with a permanent hint of a smile ghosting his (swollen) lips. His arm is tightly wound across your stomach with his head on your chest, the lull of your heart beat dragging him to sleep.

You hold him more tightly than other nights, because you did it, you're finally his person after years of dreaming of this.

Sure, you've held Rafe plenty of other nights, but those nights haunted by the fog of fear instilled in your head about the fact that it could be just platonic to him. It could mean nothing.

And now it's...you're sure that he feels the same, even though he's drunk, you just know. Sarah's wink makes sense, John B's thumbs up makes sense. All the hand holding and late night adventures make sense.

Everything Rafe's done for you, it makes sense.

He claims he doesn't care about your dating life but will make you text him once an hour as a proof of life. He massages your back and shoulders without you asking him to after you've had a long day sitting in front of your computer. He'll randomly drop by with your favorite snack or flowers or craft because he was simply in the area. Once he stayed up all night with you so you didn't have to binge the last season of your favorite show alone.

Selfless. Careful. Doting.

You sleep soundly, entangled within a mess of Rafe and not even bothering to set an alarm, to let yourself enjoy the moment for as long as you can. Because you normally rise before him anyway. You usually leave the room whenever you sleep in the same bed just to avoid the early morning pillow talk that you really aren't a fan of.

But now you don't need to worry about that. None of it.

Because you know you'll wake up and still be his.

"They're not up yet, do you think they're dead?"

"John B, they're not dead just probably asleep."

"Or worse. Someone's ass will be in the air."

"Kiara!"

"I'm not judging. They're both freaks anyw-"

"I- Oh fuck it, I'm opening the door. Shut up."

Sarah gently twists the knob of Rafe's door open, all three eagerly peeping their heads in to get a good look at what's happening and if she really owes John B (another) twenty bucks. She's been losing a lot of money because of her brother, but this morning is already raising alarm bells because you aren't up yet making breakfast for everyone as you normally do.

And as she peers in, she understands why: you're still in bed with Rafe, both sound asleep and tangled in each other.

The sight is so natural these days, so it barely fazes any of them. Usually where Rafe is sleeping, you're there with him. Usually where either of you are missing in any scenario, the other is accompanying. You're like yin and yang. Rum and coke. Plant and dirt. Hard to coexist without the other.

That's why your friends don't think twice about your otherwise compromising position.

"Typical," Kiara mutters.

"Should we wake her?" John B says quietly, darting his gaze between you and his girlfriend eagerly. "I'm starving."

Sarah rolls her eyes and slaps his chest with the back of her hand. "C'mon, let her sleep. This is probably the latest she's slept in in months."

"It's barely ten?"

"John B, make your own damn food if you're that hungry."

He goes to plead again, but Sarah scoffs at his selfishness, nearly ready to slam his head in the door to get him to shut up.

"Zip it," she says. "We'll give them thirty minutes, and if they're not up yet, then you can wake her up, okay?"

That seems to relatively satisfy him, as John B begrudgingly nods (not that he was ever going to win that debacle, anyway).

Sarah hums in contentment, slowly starting to shut the door and takes one last fleeting glance at you and her brother, sleeping soundly. "So, now we just-"

Her words immediately halt notices something that makes her heart drop.

"Is that a hickey?"

John B's eyes widen. "What?" he whisper shouts eagerly, eyes rapidly searching and pushing the door open more. "Where?"

Sarah breaks out in a mile long grin, eyes wide as she finally wins her twenty bucks back. She faces her boyfriend triumphantly and he groans silently, tipping his head back as he shoves a hand in his pocket and hands over a crumpled up twenty dollar bill.

He shakes his head and takes another fleeting look at his two friends. "I'd say I'm upset to be out of my fast food money, but holy shit, what'd that take, three years?"

"Four, more like."

"Goddamn," he mutters under his breath, then sighs in relief. "I almost don't want to wake them now-"

"I do," Kiara deadpans. Then, she screams. "HEY!"

Practically immediately, Rafe springs awake, nearly falling out of bed with a yelp. His eyes are wide yet bleary and coated with sleep while you just peek your eyes open, turning towards the noise and rubbing your eyes calmly.

Once you regain your vision, you see your three friends eagerly watching you in the doorway and can't help but suppress a grin as Rafe gets his shit together, trying to calm down from the abrupt wake up call.

"Good morning," you say nonchalantly, yawning and reaching your arms to stretch, almost cat-like. "Is it time for me to make breakfast?"

"Fuck," Rafe whines, rubbing his temples while completely draped over your body. "Fuck, Kie, you're a terrible alarm clock."

John B is about to answer your question with enthusiasm (because he is very hungry) but Sarah jabs him in the ribs and puts on a smile for you two.

"As much as we love your cooking, I think we'll go out this morning." She ignores her boyfriend's frown and looks to you. "You have your makeup here, right?"

Confused, you nod. "Yeah, why?"

Sarah's gaze flickers to something below your eyes. "Good. I'd use it in case you want to leave the house at all today."

Rafe grimaces at his headache but also tilts his head in confusion, while your eyes widen just slightly before your cheeks burn, gingerly brushing your fingers over your neck, remembering the events of last night.

You can't find your voice, instead offering a tight lipped smile and shrinking into the mattress as much as you can.

"By the way," Sarah jabs with a whisper, "I totally called it. Okay, bye."

Sarah closes the door with a knowing smile, while you can hear John B's protest of your lack of cooking while Kiara just ponders all the obscenities aloud, listing potential positions you could've been in and making lewd comments that shamefully reach your ears.

All you and Rafe can do is laugh.

Last night hadn't been a mistake or some drunken mishap, but rather a renaissance of feelings that can finally be told.

Rafe settles back in bed next to you, feeling almost shy (and irritated at his pounding headache, god), but that feeling almost instantly goes away when you brush some of his hair out of his face gingerly, a small smile lingering on his lips as your eyes don't leave his.

"Hi," you whisper, barely audible.

"Hi."

Rafe melts into your touch, feeling himself lure his mind back to sleep (as it seems pretty early, to which you can confirm since his friends are normally early risers), and he hums softly and shuts his eyes in content, loving the way your hands were always warm but not hot, welcoming but not sweaty.

Everything is just right and he cannot be bothered to do anything else with his day besides this.

“Jus’ wanna stay here,” he mumbles, his baritone voice giving you goosebumps. “C’mere.”

You chuckle sweetly. “I’m already here.”

Rafe utters something incoherent, eyes already threatening to flutter shut. For a moment, you believe he’s fallen back asleep given his prolonged stillness. But there’s a flicker of hope, his fingers twitching against the hem of your top.

You’re about to say something else, but Rafe’s palm butterfly splays against your spine and pulls you practically on top of him.

You oomf against his chest, bracing your hands on his tummy and shoulder to reposition yourself to something resembling comfort. But there’s not much moving you can do because his hand holds you down, pressing you impossibly closer to him. Eventually, you cave and lay limp, burying your face in the crook of his neck and shamelessly inhaling his scent.

His chest jerks when he snorts. “Baby, d’you just smell me?”

“I have to breathe through my nose sometimes, too.”

“You totally just sniffed me.”

You — very gently — playfully bite the vocal cord on his neck, nearly smirking when he tenses underneath you.

“And now I just bit you.”

His cool hand feels like ice against your hot spine, especially how his fingers are feather light, almost ghosting your skin, teasing up so achingly slow.

“Easy, Snaps,” he says low, voice still gravely with sleep but more drawled out, almost in warning. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

You grin. “I plan on finishing. I’d like to. That really depends on you.”

The laugh that Rafe lets out is nothing nice. It teeters between disbelief and offense.

“How’s three sound?” His other hand ventures low, well beneath your spine, groping what’s rightfully his now. “Fuck you right back to sleep, yeah?”

You — somehow — press yourself closer to him, letting one of your hands trail gently on his shoulder, down his bicep, and soon lacing your fingers sweetly with his.

“As long as you’ll stay,” you say gently.

He squeezes back, once, twice, three times, then brings the back of your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss against the soft skin of your knuckle. You find the courage to tilt your head up to look at him, his grin lazy and his eyes soft, peering down at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. Really seeing you.

Not as a friend. Not as his best friend.

Something beyond that.

“Always,” he mumbles against your hand. “Never leaving your side, actually.”

“That so?”

“Mhm. ‘M obsessed with you.”

“Are you now?”

Rafe hums again, eyes flickering down to your lips. “Been for a while, believe it or not.”

Your breath hitches at the intensity of his gaze, especially at the way he looks so sure of himself, of his words, of his intentions, as if they’re set in stone regardless of any shroud of doubt you may still have lingering in the back of your mind.

There are so many things you want to say right now to him, wishing you have an ounce of the ferocity you had last night when you let confessions spill under sheets that smell of him, but with the anticipation of his touch roaming all over your body, it’s almost impossible to form a coherent thought right now.

You figure your questions, qualms, and curiosities can wait.

“Let me show you, yeah?”

Yeah, they can wait.

notes writing loverboy!rafe is actually so much fun because it's the furthest thing from canon and it's awesome. also thank you for 700 followers????? that's actually insane????

#rafe cameron #salem-s works #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe x you #rafe cameron fluff #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron outer banks #obx rafe cameron #outerbanks #rafe fic #outerbanks rafe #reader insert #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe x female reader

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shroomyv · 17 days ago

Text

Stop N’ Swap

f!reader X sir Jimmy crystal (one shot…😔)

(I have a huge feeling I’m gonna regret this post later but I’m tired asf rn so idc||also go see this movie is 5/5 in my eyes)

Warning: smut, slight tooth description, spit kink (at some point 😭), sex in dangerous settings?, kinda PWP, may be mischaracterized (I js saw the movie once yesterday pls guys pls), got carried away, not proof read (im sorry bruh)

You tried your best not to make noise—you just couldn’t risk that out here.

But Jimmy just kept moving himself into you. You had always found yourself in these situations when you went out with him and the group.

“Quick supply hunt, just me and her. We’ll pop in and out.” Those lies constantly slipped out of Jimmy's mouth whenever you joined him on hunts. The others knew by now that “supply hunt with just you and him” meant you two were going to take awhile having “fun”.

He had them stay on zombie watch whilst you two fucked time away.

Anyone in their right mind wouldn’t be doing this—not here, not now. But never once have you seen Jimmy in his right fucking mind, and you clearly loved it if you kept allowing these “quick supply hunts” to happen. Besides—he had people outside keeping watch for any zombies.

And if any came, he could pull himself out of you as quickly as he put himself in you.

“God you're disgusting” you huffed

You always said that yet you continue to let him bounce you up and down on his cock like you needed it to get through the day. He couldn’t care either way.

He kept smacking his skin against yours was only making it worse. It was the sweet sound you needed to hear daily to satisfy you—the only reason youd come on hunts instead of staying back actually.

“You know, you say that a lot—but you keep coming back again, and again, and again.” He whispered as best as he could.

He loved to tease but he couldn't get too loud. He was struggling to keep his own self quiet with moans and whimpers while teasing you for doing the same thing. He didn’t want either of you caught but god did he love to fuck around.

He was insane, and it was a terrifying turn-on for you.

Your hands wrapped around his neck for balance like a second necklace for him. You loved latching onto him like he was some sort of tree whenever he had you like this. And god—you loved to climb.

He hit every spot in your pussy just right. He knew his way around your temple—made it easier for him to go quicker. He loved the sound of the squelch from your slick and his precum mixing together.

It just riled him up even more. The noise of your passion got his arousal to hit new peaks everytime.

You had to do little work—just keep as quiet as you could and sit pretty while he tried his best to get you both off before zombies came.

He was practically trying to melt his hands into your ass—he held onto it for dear life, squeezing at the skin. He enjoyed the warmth of your insides just as much as he loved the warmth of your outsides.

“We gotta get a move on in a few seconds, so you’d best hold on.” Jimmy said “This isn’t the end though—just something to hold you up for now.”

You just nod agreeing to whatever he had to say or wanted because you needed to finish. He had been going too slow for your liking—bothering you on purpose as much as he could to get something out of you…

“Hurry up then.” You murmured.

He slapped his hips into you hard and a moan escaped your lips. He gave you a disgusting smile—smirking at the noise he had gotten out of you.

“Don’t rush—you’ll have your fun. Let’s try to keep quiet while we finish up though?” He teased.

You gave him an annoyed glare, he tried to act like he wasn’t the cause of the noise when he was the reason it happened.

“You annoying fuck.” You huffed.

“Oh you love it.” He purred—licking at your neck as he enjoyed you shivering on his tongue.

He just kept rushing into you harder like a mad man. You had to keep yourself quiet—he could see you were slipping, you felt it become harder to keep the sounds of pleasure and gratitude from leaving your mouth.

He was gonna make sure to fill you up but you two needed to be alive for him to give you the seconds he promised for later.

“My mouth is a bit lonely, needs company from yours.” He muttered.

You rolled your eyes at his ��charisma” but you knew deep inside it was working.

If he wanted to kiss you he could’ve just done it. But he wanted you to do it.

He wasn’t gonna make the move for you, but he suggested it. Besides, he wanted something in return. He was fucking you, all you had to do was kiss him a quick few times to save yourself from making noise.

You were just gonna let him do it, you knew he would eventually like he always did—especially since this time, you two were right on the edge. You could barely hold on as he kept ramming his hips into you faster and faster.

He wasn’t budging like usual this time. He gave you a glare telling you to get on with it but you didn’t. So he sped himself up as he was right near the edge to finish inside of you.

His own breath started to pick up and you still wouldn’t budge. So he’d offer some help to your body to bring your lips to his.

“Here—I’ll give you some motivation don’t worry.” He teased.

His hands gripped at your ass tighter, pulling at the skin like it was dough being molded. You felt yourself coming apart as he finally brought you to the edge.

You two were about to make noise—get yourselves killed just for a quick bit of action.

Luckily—something in your brain finally clicked as your mouth snapped shut onto his. You both sucking onto each others tongue like it needed to be tied together.

He held you tighter to him—he just couldn’t let go so long as your lips were locked to his. His mouth was absolutely filthy—someone who was so against filth like yourself should’ve been disgusted by him.

But your mouth found comfort in his—you loved every bit of it.

Because you knew that only your tongue could stay in his mouth. His mouth was only yours to swap spit with.

“God-“ Jimmy groaned, just out of the side of his mouth before you to kept it up

Your hand latched onto cheek squishing at it tight. You kept him in his clutches as your tongue just kept going deeper. You already knew your way around his mouth—but you loved to act like you didn’t just to keep your lips latched to his. Once he got you started you usually never stopped. But you were in hiding this time—you were out in the open with zombies lurking.

You wanted to keep it up forever but you knew you two had to end it off. Your tongue prepared to depart from his as you and him shared much saliva as you could with each other.

It was like your brain had left the room for a second and let arousal take over control of your tongue for a second.

Right before you pulled away from his mouth—you grazed your tongue over his teeth, like there was something on them that only your tongue could clean.

You finally pulled away from his face—though your lips had departed from each other a line of spit kept them connected in a way before you finally wiped it off.

“Your mouth is fucking disgusting, jimmy.” You were absolutely right.

“Yet yours always finds a way back to it.” He said “it’s like a routine at this point.” He was absolutely right about that part too—you hated when he was right in these moments.

“I’m well aware” you groaned.

He basked in your complaints like they were compliments. He knew you didn’t mean it—and even if you did, you were right back to swapping spit the next day or next second.

He helped you off of him as best as he could before your feet hit the ground to pull up your pants.

“Are you gonna swap more with me later when we pick this back up? I can fill you up there better than I did here.” He spoke as he was fixing himself up.

“I’ll consider it.” You knew just as well as he did that you were just gonna say yes.

He just gave you a toothy grin—flashing the yellow of them at you. You loved every bit of filth in that smile. It was like a perfect defect in your eyes.

You saying “I’ll consider.”, was an automatic yes in his mind because that’s what it always turned out to be. Besides, he wanted to keep swapping with you.

He’d swap his seed—you’d swap your saliva.

Fair trade in his eyes—and in yours as well.

#ITS BEEN ONE DAY IM SO SORRY DUDE.#sir Jimmy crystal smut #sir jimmy crystal #jimmy crystal x reader #jimmy crystal #I have to stop and be dealt with #shroomyvfics #shroomyvpost #jack oconnell #jack o’connell x reader #please somebody put me down

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noorpersona · 2 months ago

Text

Rivalry: Atsumu Pt. 6 (NSFW)

The last thing you needed was to entertain whatever ridiculous emotions Hana had planted in your head. This was nothing—casual, meaningless, irrelevant. So what if Ayumi had her sights set on him? That wasn’t your problem. That wasn’t supposed to be your problem.

You tightened your grip on your bag as you pushed through the thick crowd flooding the hallways after the final bell. Students jostled past in waves, the air thick with chatter and the slamming of lockers, and you kept your head down, determined to get outside, to breathe fresh air, to put as much distance as possible between yourself and whatever stupid feelings were currently threatening your sanity.

You almost succeeded.

Until you caught sight of him.

There, just a few lockers down, leaning lazily against the wall like he didn’t have a care in the damn world—Miya Atsumu.

Your feet slowed before your brain could tell them not to. And when you lifted your gaze, your stomach dropped.

Of course she was there.

Ayumi Tanaka.

Standing far too close, laughing far too brightly, her hand reaching out to graze his forearm like she had every right to touch him.

You should have looked away. You wanted to look away. But your gaze locked onto the scene like a car crash—horrifying and impossible to tear your eyes from.

Atsumu, for his part, didn’t seem bothered. If anything, he looked downright amused, his trademark smirk tugging at his lips, golden eyes glinting with some private joke as he leaned in just slightly, replying with something you couldn’t hear but Ayumi clearly found hilarious.

Your jaw clenched.

It was nothing. You told yourself that firmly. You had no claim, no right, no reason to feel anything other than mild, passing irritation.

And yet—your fingers curled tighter around the strap of your bag, knuckles whitening.

Because he didn’t move away when she touched him. He didn’t look annoyed or uncomfortable. He looked entertained.

And that hot, bitter feeling you refused to name burned a little brighter.

You stood frozen for a moment longer than you should have—long enough that Ayumi’s laugh floated through the hallway and Atsumu’s eyes, lazy and unbothered, drifted up—

And met yours.

The second your gazes collided, it was like being struck.

His smirk faltered. Just slightly. But enough.

Your breath caught.

You whipped your head away, face burning, shoving your way through the crowd with sudden, frantic urgency.

God. What the hell was wrong with you?

You ducked your head and walked faster, heart pounding in your ears, as if you could outrun the flush creeping up your neck. As if you could outrun the way your chest was tight, painfully so, with something ugly and irrational you refused to name.

You weren’t jealous. That would be stupid. Ridiculous. Absolutely insane.

And yet, you could feel the slight prickle of irritation rising beneath your skin, your jaw tightening as you watched their all-too-pleasant exchange. It was short—nothing more than a few words, a soft laugh from her, an amused smirk from him—but it was enough.

Your feet carried you toward the gym building, the familiar path offering some sense of normalcy. Volleyball practice was soon, and you just needed to focus on that, not whatever unnecessary emotions had latched onto you.

But just as you stepped onto the school grounds, a voice cut through the air.

"Hey!"

You barely had a second to react before Atsumu jogged up to you, his usual smirk in place, golden eyes flickering with something far too amused for your liking. His easy stride barely looked like he had exerted any effort catching up to you, as if he knew you wouldn’t be able to outrun him even if you tried.

"Damn, ya bolted outta there fast," he said, tilting his head, watching you closely. "Didn’t even wait for me."

You barely glanced at him, keeping your face carefully neutral. "Didn’t think you’d notice."

His smirk widened, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "I notice a lotta things about ya."

You rolled your eyes, fighting the sudden prickle of heat rising up your spine. "Don’t start."

Atsumu ignored you completely, falling into step beside you, rocking back slightly on his heels as if he were debating something in his head. Then, with an air of mock innocence, he said:

"So, I’m free tonight. If ya wanna hang out."

Your jaw clenched before you could stop it.

"Maybe not tonight, I'm a little busy," you bit out, the words tumbling from your lips before you could think them through. Then, before your brain could stop your mouth from making an absolutely catastrophic mistake, you added, "Why don't you ask if Ayumi Tanaka is free?"

Atsumu blinked, his smirk momentarily faltering. "Why on earth…?" His brows furrowed in genuine confusion—until something in his expression shifted.

And then, his smirk stretched into something completely insufferable.

"Are you jealous?"

Your spine stiffened. "What is there to be jealous of?" you scoffed, but you could already feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

Atsumu wasn’t buying it. "Oh, I dunno," he mused, tilting his head, watching you like a predator playing with its food. "Maybe ‘cause ya got a front-row seat to Ayumi flirtin’ with me and now ya can’t stand the thought of someone else takin’ your place?"

Your teeth ground together, a sharp flash of irritation lancing through your chest. "You're absolutely delusional if you think I’d ever feel threatened by some 2nd-year girl batting her eyelashes at you."

Atsumu let out a short laugh, full of nothing but mockery. "Right, ‘cause ya definitely didn’t look ready to rip her head off earlier."

You exhaled sharply through your nose, turning your gaze forward like you could force this conversation to be over. "Believe whatever lets you sleep at night, Miya. I don’t care."

"Oh yeah?" His voice was taunting, relentless, as he stepped in closer, his shoulder nearly brushing against yours. "Then why’re ya actin’ so weird? Feels like someone’s a little… bothered."

You whirled to face him, scowling. "The only thing that’s bothering me is you and your incessant need to make everything about yourself. Not everything is about you, Atsumu."

"Nah, see, that’s where yer wrong," he shot back, his smirk widening, his eyes flashing with something dangerous. "When it comes to you, sweetheart, I think everything’s about me."

Your hands curled into tight fists, your nails digging into your palms, irritation crawling beneath your skin. He was impossible.

Just as you opened your mouth to snap back, another voice interrupted the moment.

"Oi! What are you two doin’ over there?"

Aran��s voice cut through the air, sharp and expectant.

Your heart lurched as you immediately shoved Atsumu back, blurting, "Nothing!"

Atsumu barely stumbled, laughing as he shot you a look that screamed this isn’t over before turning toward Aran. You, on the other hand, were left standing there, pulse thrumming, trying desperately to ignore the heat still buzzing beneath your skin.

Aran’s eyes flicked between the two of you, his brows furrowing slightly before he shook his head. "Well, practice is startin’. Get a move on."

"Yeah, yeah," Atsumu muttered, still too damn smug as he turned back toward you, the teasing look in his eyes shining.

You glared at him, lips pressed into a thin line, before storming ahead, putting as much distance as possible between you and the walking migraine that was Miya Atsumu.

Practice went on as usual, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished gym floor, the rhythmic thuds of volleyballs being set and spiked filling the air. Yet, beneath it all, something felt off.

Atsumu, despite his best efforts, was being completely ignored.

And that was entirely intentional.

You were still fuming from earlier, his words grating against your skull like nails on a chalkboard. When it comes to you, sweetheart, I think everything’s about me.

Fine.

If he thought it was all about him, you’d make it impossible for him to think that.

You knew exactly how to get under Atsumu’s skin, how to piss him off in the most excruciating way possible. It wasn’t yelling, it wasn’t fighting—it was silence. He thrived on your reactions, fed off your irritation like it was oxygen. And you were going to starve him of it.

He tried everything. A few jabs at your form when you walked past, some pointed remarks meant to get a reaction, even purposefully setting the ball too high and glancing your way to see if you’d scowl at him.

Nothing.

You didn’t so much as spare him a glance.

The rest of the team noticed. It was impossible not to.

"Since when was she too high and mighty to bite back?" one of the first-years muttered, watching the scene unfold like it was some strange phenomenon.

"Are you honestly complaining?" Hitoshi responded flatly, shaking his head as he bent down to pick up a stray volleyball. "If anything, this is the quietest practice we’ve had in months."

Suna watched with mild amusement, his sharp eyes darting between the two of you. Atsumu, visibly simmering, and you, acting as if he didn’t exist. Fascinating.

By the time practice ended, Atsumu was pissed—more so than usual. The tension rolled off him in waves, his usual post-practice confidence completely overshadowed by the frustration bubbling beneath his skin.

Osamu, ever the observant twin, didn’t miss it.

As they left the gym, Osamu glanced over, catching the permanent scowl etched onto Atsumu. "What’s with your face?" he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, expecting the usual smart-ass response.

But Atsumu wasn’t even looking at him.

His gaze was locked ahead, fixated on you, watching as you took the keys from Kita, nodding as you prepared to lock up the gym. His jaw tightened, fingers curling into his bag strap.

"Don’t wait for me," he muttered, voice clipped.

Osamu blinked, looking between him and you—you, walking away, completely unbothered. And Atsumu? Absolutely bothered.

Osamu exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression shifting into something vaguely amused before he shrugged. "Alright…?" he said, but his voice held a knowing edge.

He didn’t need to say it out loud.

He had a pretty good idea of what was about to happen.

Atsumu stormed after you the moment Osamu walked away, his footsteps heavy, purposeful, his irritation practically radiating off him. You had just slipped into the supply closet, stacking away the last of the gear, when his gritted voice reached your ears from outside the gym.

"Are ya fuckin’ kidding me?!"

You couldn’t stop the smirk that pulled at your lips. Oh, he was livid.

Taking your time, you walked out of the closet, not bothering to acknowledge him right away. He stood at the entrance of the gym, chest rising and falling, his golden eyes sharp with anger, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was barely holding himself back.

"I’m talkin’ to you," he bit out as you stepped past him toward the doors.

Still, you said nothing.

You pulled the doors shut with a slow deliberation, the sound echoing through the empty gym, and locked them behind you. Then, finally, you turned, meeting his gaze.

Atsumu’s face was furious, his lips slightly parted as if he was trying to rein in everything he wanted to say. His hair was tousled from practice, damp at the edges, his skin flushed from exertion. The way his arms tensed, his stance rigid, the way his breathing came a little too sharp—all of it sent something thrumming hot in your stomach.

The heat only grew when you noticed the way his jaw ticked, his fingers flexing at his sides, like he didn’t know whether he wanted to shake you or pin you to the nearest wall.

You smiled. Sweet. Taunting. "Night. See you tomorrow."

You barely took two steps before his hand caught your wrist, yanking you back toward him. The movement sent you stumbling slightly, your body colliding with his, the force of it stealing the breath from your lungs.

His voice was low, rough, his breath hot against your cheek. "You think I don't know your game?"

You arched a brow, playing it off as coolly as possible, though instinctively, your spine straightened, your back arching slightly, pushing your chest forward. You hated how your body reacted to him, the heat swirling deep in your stomach, and for a split second, the thought flickered through your mind—why am I so turned on by this?

"What game?" you said, your voice smooth, controlled. "I told you I wasn’t free tonight."

Atsumu let out a sharp scoff, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to make you hyperaware of how strong his hands were. "Bullshit. You’re pissed at me for flirtin’ with that girl."

Your jaw locked, your teeth clenching. But you refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting, so instead, you blinked up at him, expression unreadable, and said, "Are you going to let me go?"

Atsumu didn’t flinch. If anything, his hold shifted, his other hand coming to rest against your waist, fingers digging in just enough to pull you flush against him.

"Do you want me to?" His voice dropped, dark and teasing, and before you could snap back, you felt it—the hard press of his arousal against your stomach.

You gasped, a sharp inhale betraying the last shred of control you had. Fuck.

Atsumu smirked, catching the way your lashes fluttered, the way your body momentarily tensed before you steadied yourself, fighting the reaction. But it was too late—he felt the shift.

Without another word, you glanced around, ensuring the coast was clear before grabbing his wrist and dragging him toward the back of the building.

"Take your pants off," you ordered, voice tight, breathless, already unraveling.

Atsumu didn’t need to be told twice. His fingers worked quickly at his belt, the sharp clink of metal and the rustle of fabric loud in the quiet night. You turned, pressing your palms flat against the rough brick wall, heart hammering against your ribs. Your breath came in uneven bursts, every inhale feeling too shallow, too hot. His body heat was suddenly right there, an overwhelming presence against your back, making your skin prickle with anticipation.

His hands found your hips, large and possessive, squeezing once before slipping beneath the hem of your skirt, his fingers grazing the soft skin of your thighs. With one swift motion, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and dragged them down, the night air rushing against your exposed skin, sending a sharp shiver up your spine. The contrast between the cold air and the heat pooling between your legs made you suck in a sharp breath, pressing your forehead against the brick, trying to steady yourself.

"You thought I was gonna fuck that other girl?" His voice was a low growl against your ear, hot, dangerous, all-consuming. "This pussy is mine. Mine alone. You're mine."

Your breath hitched. A spark of indignation flared in your chest, instinct demanding you push back, to scoff, to tell him to fuck off—

But then he was pushing inside.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your body jolting forward, hands splaying against the wall as he filled you slowly, deeply, completely. Your nails scraped against the brick, legs trembling as you adjusted to the overwhelming stretch. The sensation was too much, his cock pulsing inside you, pushing against that perfect spot that sent white-hot pleasure sparking through your veins.

Fuck.

Atsumu let out a low, guttural groan, one hand wrapping tightly around your waist while the other braced against the wall beside your head. He was breathing hard, his forehead nearly pressing against your shoulder, like he was barely holding himself together. His fingers flexed against your waist before gripping tighter, his hips pulling back only to slam forward again, forcing another cry from your lips.

"You feel that?" he rasped, his voice rough, unsteady, his pace already picking up. "Ain't nobody gonna fuck you like this. Ain't nobody gonna make you feel this good."

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out except a strangled moan. His hands were everywhere—gripping, branding, making sure you felt him in every possible way. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoed into the night, mingling with your breathless gasps and his sharp groans.

He set a brutal rhythm, pounding into you with a desperation that left no room for thought. Every thrust sent you higher, pleasure knotting too quickly, your body already struggling to hold itself together. His fingers dug into your hips, dragging you back against him, making you take all of him, forcing you to feel just how much he was losing himself in this.

"Shit—" he groaned, his voice nearly breaking. "You fuckin' love this, don’t ya?"

His hand slid down, fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing tight, punishing circles that had you whimpering, your body jerking forward from the intensity. Your hands clawed at the brick wall, nails scraping against the rough surface as heat coiled in your core, winding impossibly tight.

"There—right there—fuck, don’t stop," you gasped, voice ragged and desperate, each word punctuated by his relentless pace. Your legs trembled beneath you, your entire body taut with anticipation, every nerve on fire.

Atsumu groaned, low and guttural, his hips snapping forward harder, sharper. "Yeah? That’s the spot?" His grip on your hip tightened, holding you in place, refusing to let you squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure. "Feels so fuckin’ good takin’ me like this."

Your head dropped forward, eyes squeezing shut as your body burned under his touch. Every thrust, every flick of his fingers, sent you spiraling closer to the edge. The pressure in your stomach coiled tighter, tighter, until you were gasping, eyes rolling back.

"Tsumu—I’m—" You barely got the words out before your body seized up, pleasure detonating inside you, shattering through every nerve. A sharp cry ripped from your throat, your walls clenching tight around him, milking every inch as your climax ripped through you.

Atsumu cursed sharply, his thrusts stuttering, becoming frantic and sloppy as he chased his own high. His grip on you tightened, his pace desperate, his breath coming in uneven groans until finally—

He buried himself to the hilt, his entire body shuddering as he spilled inside you, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, muffling the wrecked moan that ripped from his throat.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your bodies pressed together, trembling, still trying to come down from the high. Your own breathing was ragged, your forehead pressed to the wall, your legs barely holding you up. His grip on your hips slackened slightly, but he didn’t pull away—instead, he leaned into you, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, his lips brushing the back of your neck as if he was too lost in the aftershocks to fully regain himself.

And then—

Reality hit.

Your eyes snapped open, your breath still ragged, heart still hammering in your chest. But something was wrong.

A sudden wave of realization crashed over you as you felt the sticky warmth between your legs. Your stomach dropped.

"You came inside me, asshole!" you blurted, twisting your head to glare at him over your shoulder.

Atsumu was still holding onto you, his forehead resting lazily against your back, his grip loose but unwilling to let you go. His chest rose and fell in heavy, sated breaths, completely lost in his own bliss.

It took him a second to even register your words. When he finally did, all he managed was a dazed, "Huh?"

You groaned, your forehead knocking lightly against the brick. "I swear to god—" You sucked in a deep breath, willing yourself to stay calm. "You're buying me Plan B."

Atsumu, still catching his breath, let out a low, breathy chuckle, his lips curling into a lazy smirk. "Babe, I'll buy ya anything ya want if ya let me do that again."

You sighed, exasperated, exhausted, and somehow still too weak in the knees to shove him off you properly. His hands lingered on your hips for a moment longer before finally releasing you, but even as you adjusted your skirt and tried to gather yourself, you could feel his gaze burning into your back.

You refused to acknowledge the way your body still thrummed with heat, the way your legs still trembled, the way your pulse still jumped every time he spoke. Instead, you turned, fixing him with a glare.

"You’re taking me to the pharmacy.”

Atsumu grinned, looking way too pleased with himself. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever ya say, sweetheart."

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unlovablelover · 24 days ago

Text

sick reader x tomura

fluff + nsfw hc of tomura i think

i) dubcon (?) ⚠️

- he wouldn't notice that you're sick

- he spends his time cooped up in his room, trying to grind on whatever game that currently has his attention

- his phone's probably somewhere after he threw it due to rage quitting

- and of course the only way you could tell him you were sick was through that same phone

- let's say you were waaaaaaay too sick, like mushy body burning flesh or whatever idk sue me i never get sick

- "tomura im sick asf pls help me"

- the message isn't read until he gets bored of his game

- when he finally finds his phone and sees your message, instant panic

- doesn't even read the other messages cuz he went to the nearest pharmacy as fast as possible to get u ur meds

- yells at kurogiri (or at least any lov member whoever can cook) to make some soup or something while he goes

- feels very bad but also very focused on getting you back to full health

- slams your door open to find you bundled like a burrito on the bed trembling but also burning up

- instant feel bad attack but he doesn't show it

- he can't actually

- just sucks it up and takes it as his responsibility to take care of u now

- awkwardly shuffles his way to you

- tries to remove the layers you got cuz you're sweating and shit but you just won't budge

- isn't the slightest bit annoyed, he just panics internally (silently too) cuz MAN WHAT THE FUCK IS HE SUPPOSED TO DOOOO

- the soup gets delivered, he shoots the person a glare before dismissing em

- tries to get you to sit up, will probably fail with how you keep falling over

- "man did they get so much worse cuz i was late :(( man fuck this shit"

- enter awkward attempts at getting you to drink (eat? man idfk im not a native english speaker) soup and the meds and also change you outta your sweaty clothes

- he can feel how hot your skin is when he presses his hands over your sides, ribs visible after what he assumes maybe two days of not eating properly

- he makes a mental note to monitor over your eating habits more closely, can't have one of his league members out of commision

- your puffy hot breaths against his neck as he holds you are doing things to him, but he grits his teeth and manages to get you out of your shirt

- lays you back down...maybe stares at your half naked bod for like 5 mins before forcing himself to look away

- was abt to get up when you grabbed his wrist soooo weakly (and it actually tugged at his heartstrings)

- "don't go away...please stay..."

- he doesn't even try to explain he was just going to get you a clean shirt, it's not like you're in any place to actually understand reason or whatever

- sits back down, slings his legs onto the bed, pulls you just a littleeeee closer

- an arm of his slung behind your back, your tits pressed against his side (he's already spiralling from the contact) maybe a leg of yours over both of his

- he pretends like he's trapped but he's actually enjoying this

- you're sooooo hot both literally and figuratively in his eyes

- no he doesn't see the way you kept sniffling, barely able to breath with your nose half blocked, greasy hair sticking to your skin and making you all in all, disgusting looking

- he doesn't see all that, he can only see the pretty blush dusting your cheeks, the way you kept panting hotly for more air and how you're looking at him with your eyes that are clearly in a daze, sparkling with tears

- oh my god you look soooo cute

- but oh no...something's rising....

- he swears he tried to move away

- he swears he tried to move YOU away

- but being the cuddlebug you are, you whine and latched onto him even more

- determined to not let him escape, what do you do?

- of course, trap him by climbing on top of him, using all your strength to move and "crush" him under your weight

- (he knows he can lift you off easily - you're weakened and you're not at all heavy to him)

- but he doesn't do that cuz he's already melting from both your cuteness and well, heat

- is it clear the main topic here is about the heat

- yeah he didn't even try, he keeps you there

- even secures you in place with his hands holding the back of your thighs, moving you just a teensy bit closer so he can...you know, feel your breath on his neck and your softness on his hardness

- i'm sorry that was bad

- he doesn't want to take advantage of you

- he never would unless you've talked abt it with him before this

- but he's soooo curious if you're just as hot internally as you are externally

- he swears he'll just feel you up a little, his fingers finding their way to slip into your panties...

- he presses on your clit, rubs circles over it and is surprised by how quicker you got wet

- he gulps, deciding to gather the hot liquid along your folds

- the sweet surprised sound you made almost had him stopping

- but you were silent after

- so he thinks you're okay with it

- (you really are but you were too sick and tired to properly register what was happening)

- slips his fingers inside you only to pull them out immediately

- GODDAMN YOU WERE BURNING

- he brings his hand up to look at the juices sticking to his fingers, can't help but taste it a little

- warm, sweet

- he's already loving it too much to stop right now...oh no...

- slips his fingers inside you again, moves them for a few minutes just to get you started

- eventually pulls them out to replace em with his dick

- tries not to move you around too much cuz he knows you're probably knocked out, trying to rest

- dunno if you're getting much rest with what he's about to do tho lol

- pushes inside you slowly, geeeeently

- can't risk breaking something already so fragile

- and the moment he's inside you fully he can't help but let out a string of curses, his own cheeks heating up

- WAAAAAAY TOOO HOOOOTTTTT

- has to hold onto you, arms tightly wrapped around your back as he adjusts to how tight and warm and good it all feeeeels

- doesn't move for like 5 minutes, even debated on just letting you cockwarm him like this but then he realizes he doesn't want you waking up to him inside you

- so he moves slow, dragging his thrusts just to experience the burning sensation a lot more clearer and longer

- he's panting and trying to keep it silent

- and it doesn't take long for him to cum

- he pulls out just seconds before he cums, stroking his reddened cock frantically before he loses the lingering warmth from you

- hot spunk spurts high, staining the surfaces it lands on (mainly on your back)

- he bites back a curse, shoving his dick back into his pants while he tries to clean you up

- after like 10 minutes and making sure you were knocked out cold, he removes you from him

- finds some proper clothes for you and helps you wear them

- leaves like nothing happened

- when he's in his room, he's crashing the fuck out... i'll let you imagine how that goes, but just know he's probably berating himself over it

- (he's replaying the whole thing in his mind endlessly)

- secretly hopes he'll be able to do more than just a quick fuck the next time

- and maybe next time you'll be awake and take the lead

- oh no, he's already bricked up again 🫡

#mha #shigaraki #mha shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura x reader #tomura x you #shigaraki x y/n #tomura x y/n #shigaraki smut #smut #mha smut #tomura smut #is this how you write headcanons actually?#i dunno man i js hope it's readable

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spacecowboyy0 · 5 months ago

Text

crumbling

summary: you and peter go to the avenger's tower on a field trip and you have a breakdown, then get comforted by buck and nat! angsty then fluffy

notes: autistic!little!reader, you and peter act like siblings and i envision them in their last year of highschool, peter’s field trip is a huge trope on Ao3 idk if tumblr people are aware of that

tony stark isn’t in this because i hate him, he’ll never be in any of my fics, i don’t care!!!

1.6k words

When it was dark, you would sometimes show up at Peter’s window, and stay the night. The habit started in middle school, when things at home were too much to bear alone. After the first few times, the window remained unlocked and May told you that you were always welcome, even if no one was home. Peter knew how important it is that you could rely on him to be there during rough nights, so he felt bad when he started sleeping over at the Tower. Peter also knew how intimidating the Avengers are, but he was sure that you would get along with them. He would talk about you so much that the team kept asking when they could meet you. He knew that you would be welcome to stay over whenever, not only when you were in crisis mode.

On a regular Wednesday after school, Happy picked the two of you up from school, and drove you to the Tower. That night, despite your intense anxiety, you had a wonderful time. You played card games and ate delicious food that Bruce cooked. It ended with Natasha telling you that if you ever needed help, you could call her. This was the beginning of unconditional love and support from people who could’ve never imagined getting close to.

Out of everyone on the team (excluding Peter), you latched onto Bucky very quickly, with Natasha coming runner up. You know an autistic person when you saw one, and after one movie night with that man, you knew. Bucky became a huge father figure/big brother role in your life; you just seem to click. It’s Bucky who understands your aversion to certain foods, why you need things to be a certain way, why you can go to loud concerts but want to sob at the sound of chewing.

You can’t really explain why you’re so close to Natasha or when it started. Nat is secretly a huge softie, and you’re one of the lucky few who is shown her warm heart. She feels motherly, in a way that warms your bones and calms your mind. No one can give head scratches as well as she can, or braid your hair as perfectly.

You were sitting in Mr. Anderson’s class when the field trip to the Tower was announced. You whipped your head around, meeting eyes with Peter, who sat a few seats behind you. For you, it wasn’t that big of a deal, somewhat funny if anything, but you had a feeling that there would be some special appearances from the team during the trip. Fortunately for you, with the protection of Bucky and Natasha, you knew that whatever shenanigans were pulled during the trip, they’d be targeting Peter rather than you. Peter, judging by the grimace he sported, seemed entirely less enthused by the announcement. Shifting your eyes over to MJ’s (evil) smirk and Ned’s delighted grin, you knew those two were excited for different reasons.

When school was let out, you followed Peter to Happy’s car, and drove to the Tower together. There, you handed the permission form to Nat, who had been forging your mother’s signature for a while now. You shoved the slip into your bag and forgot about the trip for the next two weeks.

Now it’s the morning of the field trip, and you’re already tired of everything. You don’t want to talk. It’s not that you can’t talk, you just don’t have anything to say. You had such a high anxiety week, and now masking is too difficult to keep up, and you really want to feel small. You want to feel a nice fuzzy instead of the anxiety fog you have been feeling way too much of recently. Your brain is buzzing in a way that probably means that you’re very very close to crumbling. While you don’t want that to happen at the Tower in front of your classmates, you know Peter would handle it. You just hope that Bucky or Nat will be around to rescue you.

Everything was going smoothly, you made it through the loud bus ride to the Tower, survived all the beeps at security, and now you’re onto your first activity after getting a tour of R&D. In a group of four, with Peter, MJ and Ned, your group is tasked with coming up with a small robot that would fulfill the two slips of criteria you randomly selected out of a bowl. You got “rainbow” and “do a flip.” As you fold the paper of your 3d prototype (something to keep your hands busy more than anything), you nick your finger on the edge of the sheet. You rip your hands away from the model on instinct, letting it drop onto the table in front of you. There’s a pause as you stare at the tiny bit of raised skin on your thumb. There’s no blood but your eyes well up with embarrassing tears. Peter, who is sitting beside you, stops scribbling for a moment when he sees you still out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s going on?” To your hyper-sensitive mind, you’re convinced his whisper could be heard from across the room. It’s not helping. You turn to him, and you see his eyes widen when a tear slides down your face. It’s all crumbling down just like you had anticipated, and now there would be nothing stopping your dysregulated, tired mind from exposing your very not-neurotypical needs to anyone who asked.

“Hey, what are the tears for, bug?” The whimper he got in response, caught the attention of Ned and MJ. While you love them to bits, more eyes on you is not what you need. You put both of your feet on your chair so that you can shove your face into your knees, and hope that it muffles your quiet sobs. Peter pulls out his phone, he had also anticipated this breakdown, so he sends a text to put his plan into action.

With a nudge from Peter, and MJ’s arm around your shoulders, you walk towards Mr. Harrington where he’s talking to your tour guide. MJ leads you past where Peter stops to talk to your teacher, and into the hallway. Even in the hall with less people around, you’re so in your head that you’re mortified by your red face and the stimming you tried to suppress. After what feels like ages, Peter appears and replaces MJ’s grounding touch, and takes you to the nearest elevator. It’s only a short wait before you step into the elevator, and when the doors close behind you, you both let out a sigh of relief. Although yours is more of a shudder with how fast your breathing is.

The ride is fast and soon you’re stepping into Bucky and Steve’s living room, where Bucky is waiting for you. Peter watches as you run into Bucky’s awaiting arms and collapse in his embrace. You sob without restraint and bury into his neck. Peter slips back into the elevator and heads up to your room, which is next to his own. Bucky walks around the room, rocking you in his arms as you wait for Peter to come with your stim basket. Peter returns with the basket, picking out a few he thinks you might need before going down to the floor where your class is.

Now it’s just you and Buck, the sounds of crying and the noise of the city coming from the open windows. Reaching down for a moment, he picks up a squishy for your hands, and a chewy for your mouth that is gnawing on his shirt. He sits down on a couch, and creates a little bit of space between you to draw your attention to the toys. You take the squishy, but reject the chewy after a moment of contemplation. You return to your cozy spot pressed against him, but switch to chewing and sucking on your fingers. Bucky, now trapped with you on his lap and confused as to why you didn’t want the stim toy, signed to FRIDAY to get Nat’s help.

After a few minutes, the elevator doors slide open silently and Nat walks over to the pair on the couch. Buck points to the basket on the side table, and finger spells “soother.” He suspects that you would have one, considering how much he catches you almost chewing on your fingers on a daily basis. Nat finds a light blue soother in a case near the bottom, takes it out, and hands it over. Buck gently removes the thumb in your mouth and slips in the soother before you realize what he had. He can feel your muscles relax and your heart slow to a natural rate.

As you wait for Pete to return from his tour, Bucky puts on The Princess Bride, and the three of you enjoy the slow, quiet peace. You, drained from your emotional day, rests your head in Nat’s lap and your legs lie across Bucky’s lap. With your eyes closed, soothed by Nat’s fingers stroking your hair, you listen to the movie and savor the comfort of the moment.

Interrupted by the noise of footsteps, you lift your head to see Peter walking towards you. You smile softly, slip out your pacifier and greet him quietly. “Hi Petey.”

“Hi baby, how are you feeling?”

“I’m ok, mostly tired.” He stops in front of the couch, looking down at you. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a can of cherry Coke. “Stopppppp, thank you!” You smile and take it from his hands.

“No problem, figured you could use a treat.” He looks at your water bottle and empty bowl on the coffee table. “You don’t need anything else? You’re good with just relaxing the rest of the day?”

“Yeah, this is perfect.”

this might turn into a series??? idk! i'd love to write more, gimme some prompts!

#peter parker #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #reader #autistic!reader #peter parker's field trip to the avenger's tower #little!reader #sfw agere #cg!bucky barnes #agere fic #little reader

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thestorycomesalive · 11 months ago

Text

I Wish I Was

Din x Reader

Based on the song by the Avett Brothers

SUMMARY: While living on the Razor Crest with Din, he finds even your most simple acts to be the complete perfect declarations of his love for you.

Din was always pretty quiet. Before you and Grogu came along, there was never any need for him to voice his thoughts or actions. He would simply just do. Do whatever he thought he needed to, letting the silence seep into every crevice of the Razor Crest, until the inside of the ship itself became naturally soundless. The only sounds echoing off Din’s helmet came from outside the ship. The engine and the hum of hyperspace.

That was until you came along. If Din gathered anything, it was that you were much more willing to talk and fill his noiseless space with sounds of your own. The idea once annoyed him. But now, rather, he finds himself searching out for the small sounds you made. Whether from your own voice, the blabbers of the child, or the signals of either of your simple, daily actions. The sounds became a comfort. Where he once craved being alone, in his silence, he now craved the reminder that he wasn’t. He craved the everyday knowledge that the sounds that came from you or Grogu gave him. They were the sounds that reminded him that you were near. Although, he would never admit this to himself… and especially never to you. He told himself he sought out these sounds simply to ensure neither you nor the child were getting into trouble. But every great once in a while, he found his mind trailing down a path he often labored so hard to keep it from.

...............................................

He wasn’t sure precisely when it started. But he became familiar with the tug he felt when his heart pulled his ears and his mind towards the sound of your existence. The very first time he noticed it, was a night that Din sat, resting in his pilot’s chair of the Crest, staring out at the quickly fading streams of light that were tied to hyperspace. The lights had blown on the Crest, earlier that day, leaving the ship pretty dark and hallow. Din had mumbled out, alerting you that he would find the right repairs on Nevarro when you landed. For now, you and Grogu had spent most of the day searching the ship for any source of light. You kept Grogu latched to your hip, so not to lose the small green baby. He had a streak of curiosity, and you knew the moment you let him out of your sight, it would be a riot finding him once more. So there he sat, attached to your hip, as you distracted him, turning your search into a small scavenger hunt for the doe-eyed baby. Din had heard the muffled sounds of you opening doors and cabinets from the cockpit all day. He had sworn to himself that your mission was going to be fruitless, considering he had never found any reason for flashlights or candles since his helmet provided all of the visibility he needed. That was until he heard the shuffling stop and the creak of the ladder to the cockpit start.

He didn’t turn to look at you when your footsteps stopped next to his chair. Instead, he knew that if you had something you needed from him, you would undoubtedly voice your concerns aloud. But you stepped in front of the line of view, next to his chair, the child on your hip, and a small lantern with a tiny flame in it, held in your other hand. This did catch his attention. He was surprised that your search had been successful, but he was even more surprised that he did not recognize the small lantern or the candle within it at all. He figured he must’ve plucked it off of a random bounty years ago, when disarming them before flushing them through the cryofreezer. He watched as you gently placed the lantern next to him on the dashboard, ensuring the lid was on safely, once more. He bit back a small smile under his helmet, recognizing your anxious tendencies as you ensured the flame would stay within the small lantern under any circumstances. Once it was settled in front of him, you took the child and moved to your passenger’s chair, placing Grogu happily on your lap, as your arms wrapped around him. Once you were seated, you simply turned your chair towards Din’s as you routinely did, with a soft smile gracing your face as you studied his T-shaped visor. He watched the flame dancing being the tiny glass shields with curiosity, his attention breaking from it when you started.

“I know you have your helmet, but I thought we could share it anyway…”

He turned to look at you, taking in the sight of you and the baby bouncing on your lap. Your gaze held his, the soft smile lingering. Once you felt his eyes on you, you felt all confidence drain from your body, your eyes faltering to the side, studying the carved, plated glass that held the small flame. He tilted his head slightly. You hadn’t always done that. In fact, you had been so bold, so outgoing when he met you. It wasn’t until recently that your gaze would falter after meeting his. And it was more often than not. He began to wonder if he made you uncomfortable. He knew you weren’t scared of him, although he thought you likely should be. Or perhaps you truly just were so entranced by the beauty of the small trinket, that your gaze had been true and purposeful, though, deep down, he knew you better than that. So his eyes lingered as he contemplated where your possible sudden timidness had originated from. After a second, his eyes shifted back to the candle. And as you three sat in the warm glow, he too let his eyes study the small trinket. Not the glass, nor the candle. But rather, the flame itself.

He let his thoughts take over once more, as the sounds of the crackling whisp filled the air. With you so close to him, under the warm, romantic glow of a single, small fire, he couldn’t help but feel his brain take him away to that place that he so desperately kept himself from. He couldn’t help but find beauty in the small fire… but what truly tore him apart, was that the small fire made him think of you. You were much the same. A small flame, contained like this, lights up his ship, warms the pit just enough to keep them happy. But if he truly let go, let it in, and rid himself of the glass. He was sure he would burn. Consumed in the flames of you, setting him alight, burning his every being. But once he let it burn, should the flame ever go out, he was sure he would never be able to live without it again. Cold, dark, alone once more, the remnants of everything he once had, lost to the fire, obliterated… So, he would have to keep it small, confined in its beautiful cage. He would have to ensure he had just enough of the light and the warmth to not be alone, but not so much that he risks it all.

But then his thoughts shifted. Did you look at the flame and think of him too? He thought he’d prefer it if he were the flame instead. You would light him, give him your attention, as you did every day you were with him. And then one day, you would leave him, put him out, when you were done. He figured it would save him the pain. It would protect his glass walls so that he would never burn. You would give him a glimpse of a life with you, just enough to enjoy it, and allow him to return to his confinement and solitude. He figured that would be the best case for both of you. He let his mind trail to all of the times that he felt your eyes falter under his in the past weeks. He wondered if you thought this might be the best too. If one day, he might get his wish, and his candle would return the hollow of whatever cupboard you found it in, never to be plucked out again.

He pulled himself out of his trance and stole a glance at you from the corner of his visor. You were in a trance of your own, studying the flame in your own way. Your eyes concentrated, and a small, gentle, beautiful smile silked to your face. Tiny snores sounded out from where Grogu slept on your now steady lap. He turned back around, trying to push away his own smile he felt creeping up his face, like an unwanted visitor.

...............................................

The next time he recalled his thoughts taking a path towards the heart of you, he had been on a bounty for a few weeks, and he had wanted nothing more than to find his way back to the Crest and Grogu… and begrudgingly, most of all, you. But he reminded himself he just longed for the sounds echoing through the ship instead of your actual presence. The thought itself made his betrayed heart push against his chest plate with a vengeance.

He walked up the ramp of the ship, quickly tucking the bounty away in cryofreeze as he always did, away from where you would be, ensuring the safety of you and the child. His heavy, tired footsteps trudged up the small, indoor ramp to the tiny living space where his pace stalled. His breathing hitched once he heard it. It was a sweet song, echoing off the walls of the ship, a pure, melodic voice, tracing over every inch of the room. He’d know that voice anywhere. And for a moment, he thought he might head straight to the cockpit, avoiding you and your siren song all together. He wasn’t sure his walls could withstand the sweetness of your singing. But as if a hypnotized sailor, his footsteps carried him through the doorway, his mind racing with what visual he might find.

And the reality was nothing short of his fantasy. There you were, standing in a beautiful sundress, Grogu on your hip. You were swaying your body as your hair nestled around Grogu’s face, that held a toothy smile. The song came soft and sweetly from your honeyed lips, as you nestled the side of your face into the top Grogu’s head lovingly. The sight nearly brought Din to his knees. He stood there and let the syrupy sound taint his ears and fog his brain, his mind going to the place he dared not go. That sweet song. How he longed to be the words and the notes flowing from your lips. He felt a pang of envy. They were awarded the taste of you… the feel of your lips upon them, and that was something he would never have. If given the chance, he would gladly trade his life for the life of your song. He would trade his long, lonely, broken life, for the short life upon your lips, ending whenever you’d choose, at your mercy of quieting down. It was the sudden silence that pulled him from his mind, clearing his throat slightly, pulling himself back down to reality.

You stood in front of him with wide eyes, Grogu still on your hip, your movements frozen, as you breathed for a beat and that familiar gentle smile lifted those same lips he had longed to inhabit. He could hear the sound of your small exhale, your face flushing pink at having been caught.

“You’re back,” you murmured through your smile.

He just nodded his head, swallowing thickly, trying to remind himself that he cannot afford to let his mind linger on you the way it so terribly wants to.

“Yeah,” was all he was able to mutter out.

He couldn’t stop the warmth he felt when he saw your smile grow bigger.

...............................................

Din was scheduled to abandon the hearth of his home for a bounty on the cold, torturous climate of Carlac. He worried about leaving you and The Child, frightened that his absence would leave you vulnerable and weak to the frigid air around you. He knew, sensibly, the ship was heated, and you would be safe, but he could not stop his wandering mind from fearing all of the fatal possibilities. What if the ship’s heat broke while he was gone? What would he come back to? His two great loves frozen in peril, his own heart freezing once again with their deprivation. No. He wouldn’t let that happen. When you next saw him, he was digging frantically through his collection of unwanted things for anything that could keep you warm, should any impending dangerous circumstances occur in his leave. He plucked a large sweater that looked like it once belonged to a creature the size of a Bantha, and a woolen blanket, just as big. You stood, giggling at him. And that’s when his ears were hit with your sweet melodic sound.

“We’ll be fine, Din.”

He practically grunted. You were too naive. How could you be so sure? No. He wouldn’t take any chance. He couldn’t afford any chances.

“You don’t know that. Carlac is a dangerous place… Here, take these. I want you to wear it. No questions asked. The blanket is for the baby.”

He handed you the large sweater and blanket, your warm fingers brushing his gloved ones, the contrast making him shiver. Your sweet gentle hands that tended to The Child, daily. They ensured life and prosperity. His gloved hands prepped to deliver death and violence, ready to end the same things you nurtured. He watched as you took the objects, knowing better than to argue with him, sensing it would be futile. You lifted the sweater over your head, without even placing The Child down. Simply shifting Grogu in your arms, Din watched the sweater linger over your fingertips, falling tranquilly over your knees. The whole sight was much too domestic for his heart, watching as you wrapped the baby in his own blanket. Din scanned the sweater with a hum of approval. It would be suitable enough to sustain your warmth. To protect his heart’s very owner. And once again, he found himself longing to take the place of the sweater. Wishing to stay on the ship with you, to hold you, to be the one to provide you warmth and shelter, protection. He wanted to swaddle you in love and fortification forever. And although he knew, in reality, he must abandon the ship and leave you to the confines of your knitted pattern, he found himself internally promising to be your sweater, the moment your little clan left Carlac. He would surround you, guard you, always.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a pink tinge on your cheeks. Why were you blushing? Had he been staring? He was thanking his Maker that his helmet was forever glued to his face so you would have no way to guarantee. Perhaps the sweater was uncomfortable.

“Are you alright?” he worried.

You took a breath, murmuring, “Yeah, sorry. It’s perfect, thank you.”

He just nodded, hesitating. He turned to trudge, leaving awkwardly, bluntly, his thoughts filled with images of you.

Maker, he was in deep.

#din djarin #grogu djarin #mando #din djarinxreader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian #the mandalorian

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redflagshipwriter · 10 months ago

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Check yes ch 11

masterpost

Jason repressed honest to god giggles until Danny phased them out of the building and to ground level. Then they started running back to where he had left his bike, laughing with adrenaline as Jason’s footsteps beat down on the pavement. They ran through a thick cloud of smoke outside a barbeque place, bathed in spice and meat essence. “The look on his face!” Jason gasped. “Why did that looney tunes plan work?”

“That’s how my battles go,” Danny defended himself, grinning so hard he glowed under the yellow tinted streetlights. Jason wasn’t sure he was actually running, per se. Was he touching the ground? “I do shit like enter video games and physically fight firewalls. You people are not prepared for me.”

“No shit, Bugs Bunny.” Jason snickered and wiped tears of laughter away before he unhooked his helmet from his bike. Danny shied away like he was worried Jason would force him to take head protection. Jason had fought enough of those battles for today, so he let it go when he never would for a normal passenger. After a moment Danny skittered back into grabbing range and Jason jokingly snagged his arm to reel him onto the back of the bike. “Where to, Prince Charming?” he teased.

Danny went stiff and cold behind him, which was really on brand for a corpse. But it also made it very obvious that he was trying to suppress some kind of reaction.

Okay. That nickname was either really good or really bad. Jason kept his body language loose and open, not really concerned but very aware that he did have an interdimensional monster guy on the back of his bike. “Brr,” Jason complained mildly. For real, it was like having a big ice pack pressed up against his back. How did it permeate his leather jacket and layers of tactical material so easily?

“...Sorry,” Danny said, voice flat. He reached out and gripped onto Jason’s front pockets. “Please don’t call me that one, for mysterious reasons.”

“...Alright.” Jason took that on board. He’d stepped near some kind of trigger. He made sure to remember it. “I have questions that are answered by the ‘mysterious reasons’ clause at the end of your sentence. Fair play. Let’s go to the arcade. It’ll take him a while to follow us.” He latched his helmet and kicked up the stand. “Hold on.”

Danny snorted. “Hang on,” he said scathingly, but there was a teasing lilt under the words. “You cannot possibly throw me off. Grungier men than you have tried.”

Grungier? Not bigger or meaner or whatever? Jason choked down a laugh. Danny sounded so serious about it, too.

“Odd flex.” Jason turned on the engine and started off before Danny could do more than sputter at his deadpan response. They weaved between heavy Gotham traffic, protected from car fumes by Jason’s breathing filters and Danny’s nonchalant attitude regarding reliance on oxygen.

Click

Danny jerked behind him, a clear indication that he heard the tiny sound of Jason’s helmet mic turning on.

He hadn’t done that, so the list of suspects was very short. “Hello, Barbie,” he drawled.

Her unfiltered voice rang out in his ear. “Let’s go party,” she dead panned. Danny pressed his palms a little harder into Jason’s stomach in what might have been proprietary. Was he jealous? “Terrible of you to set a fox in the henhouse when I am off work.”

“Dick started it,” Jason whined honestly. He hit the brakes as the light ahead turned a yellow that cast eerie shades across lingering puddles. “I’m just trying to have a nice night out, and he wants to bother us.”

A female voice faintly floated across the background of Barbara’s call. “Poor baby,” Babs cooed mockingly. “Are you really so innocent? No instigation?”

“Not a word,” Jason lied. He put his feet down to brace the bike. Danny was the weirdest passenger he’d ever had, by virtue of being weightless and having no wind resistance. It was like driving alone except that there were hands on his front and a face pressed against his left shoulder blade.

Someone laughed in the distance. “I want to play,” Barbie sighed. It came across crystal clear into his ear.

“On my team?” Jason asked hopefully.

She snorted. “Depends on how the chips are falling when I’m done with this presentation. Right now, it’s two to one, isn’t it? Dick’ll look for someone to play on his team before too long. It won’t be me, at least for an hour.”

Information was never free. “Thank you,” Jason said, already mentally allotting a couple hours next Saturday to moving heavy things around the Clock Tower. “Damn decent of you. Wanna say hi to Danny?”

Babs paused. “He’s not wired in, is he?”

The light turned green. Jason kicked up and breezed through the intersection. “No, but he can hear you.”

Danny’s chest became a little more solid against Jason’s back and he- slithered? Was he slithering?

“Hello, Barbie,” he said, politely and somehow inside Jason’s helmet.

Jason was very still. Wow. Bad. His hindbrain did not like this.

“Call me Barbara, please,” she said. “Danny, right? Are you boys having fun at Dick’s expense today?”

“I dumped water on him,” Danny said happily.

There was a long moment. “How?” Barbie was hiding it, but she was a little disturbed. Jason got it. Dickie was one of the best in the game.

“I phased through the ceiling when he was distracted, talking to a waiter.”

“Ah, you can fly. That’s pretty ghostly.”

Danny made a grunt. “Well, yeah, but actually I went zero gravity and made it look like I was lizard-crawling on the ceiling with glowing eyes.”

“...Can you hand the helmet back to Jay?”

“I’ll just back out,” Danny said, and slid back down Jason’s back. He suppressed a shiver. It was like- it was like being partially overlapped with some kind of cooled gel. It wasn’t just on his skin, it was sliding easily against the first layers of muscle or something underneath.

‘Interdimensional monster,’ Jason reminded himself. ‘Hot interdimensional monster.’ He put his questions away for later. “He’s fabulous, right?” he drawled. “We’re about to our destination, if it’s alright to get off the line.”

“Stay safe out there, loverboy.” Babs cut the call abruptly.

“She seems nice,” Danny lied. Or maybe he was just a bad judge.

“She will become our enemy real quick if it’s more amusing to her,” Jason corrected. “She’s a terrible enemy to have. I hope her date goes so well she doesn’t check in.”

Danny sulked against his back and slid his cold fingers through Jason’s jacket to rest of his skin directly. Jason suppressed a yelp, barely. “Boring,” he moaned. “If she’s powerful, she should fight me.” “Don’t buy that trouble,” Jason muttered. Jeeze. This dead guy had no self preservation instinct.

#red check yes #dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main

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phantasmique · 8 months ago

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Summary: it's moments like these where you can hardly recognize Sukuna as the terror that he is. But you aren't complaining.

Warnings: some mentions of violence but overall, just a bunch of fluff. Short and sweet.

Clingy.

It isn't a term that you ever could have imagined using for Lord Sukuna, but as of late, you've been struggling to apply a different word. Possessive certainly comes to mind. And it's definitely fitting for a man like him.

He doesn't share. He doesn't allow other people to so much as entertain the notion that he'd be willing to let another soul touch you - or any of his other concubines for that matter.

But it wasn't a secret, that for whatever reason, you are his favorite. It was a well-known fact in the estate. A truth that was aware to each and every servant housed among his staff. The details of your relationship with the King of Curses are exchanged quietly amongst the laborers and servants. Spoken in confidential hushes within the cover of darkened hallways and private corridors as they all speculate what you might have done to captivate the attentions of the man - an entity, more like. Hardly human anymore.

So it was odd that a beast as sadistic and self-serving as he would allow himself to be fascinated by someone as lowly as you. Even with your own cursed technique, you were hardly anything to gawk over, especially not by the likes of Ryomen Sukuna, a being that could rip you apart in the blink of an eye.

And yet, he does just the opposite, often demanding that you keep close to him. Always ordered to trail after him, expected to be just as consistent and loyal as a shadow.

You aren't ignorant to the glares that it earns you. Mostly from the other courtesans. Not that you could entirely blame them.

In this world, Sukuna's attention equals protection, and if you were in their positions, to him so entirely focused on another person, would feel like a death sentence.

But their desperation leaves them to try too hard. Coquettishly batting their eyelashes and swinging their hips in the hopes of enticing him. It was all too heavy handed. Their desperation was all obvious, and some of the most skilled amongst the harem are crumbling beneath their attempts to keep him intrigued.

He pays them little mind. Nights are still spent with them yes, a hedonist like him always indulging in the pleasures of flesh and life in any facet he can, but he doesn't request for any of them to trail after him in the way you're commanded to.

They are all free to wonder about the estate unrestrained, but you are to have your movements under constant scrutiny. If on the off chance you aren't at your position at your lord's side, you're accompanied by an escort in some capacity. It doesn't matter if you're safe within the estate grounds, you're to be monitored.

He keeps you guarded. Kept hidden like some sort of relic. Some sort of revered treasure that's been contained and bound down tight for his eyes only.

But you'd be lying if you didn't find some pleasure in it.

There's something empowering about having a man - a monster - as infamous as the King of Curses entranced by you. Even if he vehemently denies such a notion.

A displeased scowl always mars his features whenever the idea of it is implicated. A scoff puffing from his chest as though he's equally amused and offended, but you know that you have him.

His affections aren't sweet or docile. He doesn't care in a way that's light, delicate or embracing. He's all teeth and hunger. An endless chasm of want and greed that latches on like a parasite, sinking his claws into you until they're bone deep, rooted into your marrow to consume you from the inside out. Until there's nothing left.

It would be so easy to trick yourself into believing that he's some sort of old god. A deity of discord and avarice that's been written out of history, smeared from ancient scrolls and bygone texts by the very mortals that were meant to fear and worship him.

But he was human once long before he had become twisted and gnarled by his own corruption. Many see his existence as a blight on the earth. Sorcerers deeming his being as a blight on jujutsu. A disfigurement. A creature. More monster than man.

But to you, his horror only made him even more bewitching. There's a beauty in his violence. It's a temptation that you can't ignore. It draws you too him like a lure. A fly foolishly gliding into a vat of honey, willfully weighing down its own wings in the adhesive glimmer of gold and amber, drowning itself in the rich saccharine pools. A moth fluttering closer and closer to an open fire - not a single ember, not a delicate flame, but a full inferno; a pyre scorching its path across a forest, carving its destructive mark across the earth in licks of blazing, molten heat. And you long to burn.

You'd die a thousand times to gaze upon him.

Fortunately, you don't have to.

He wants you alive. Safe and secure regardless of how indifferent he expresses himself to be. You can see past the slivers in his facade - well, it's not quite a facade. He truly is callous. Apathetic and cold. He's an entity that deals in extremes. That lives to satisfy his own hubris and hunger, but you think that's why you've managed to slip past his rough exterior and nestle a place for yourself near that motionless, dead heart of his.

It was your determination. Your own unyielding pride that would endear you to him, as much frustration and sadistic glee that it had caused him in the beginning. He had delighted in trying to wear you down. Prodding and clawing at you in the hopes of seeing the head that you always held high hang down in defeat.

To snuff out the confidence in you that had been fostered and inherited from the generations of sorcerers that have come before you.

He's yet to succeed, and you think that is what has drawn him to you. Your refusal to roll over and bear your belly merely because he ordered it. It took years for you to yield to him without rebuttal or open annoyance; for him to know that you weren't simply a dog taught to heel, but you think that he takes pride in knowing that you've fallen to his violent allure.

You doubt he realizes how subdued his become with you. Blind to the extent of his own affections - as edged and barbaric as they often are. But every once in a while, he grows lax underneath your hands. Turning malleable and warm like melted wax. The sharp edges that make him shifting and softening just enough for your palms to glide over him.

He's so different from the beast you had met all those years ago, forced to kneel in order to save your throat while scrutinized you from the height of his throne, all arrogance and cruelty.

And now here he is, face cradled in your palms while you both lounge about, shielded from the gentle golden light of the evening sun by the roof of the yuka. Using your lap as a makeshift cushion while he reclines fully on the floor, his long legs stretched out, a pair of his limbs limp on either side of him while the other set are clasped together by their fingers, resting on his sternum.

It's not exactly the image that you would associate with a king. Much less the King of Curses. Yet here he is, all four of his eyes shut while he draws deep, steady breaths into his lungs.

It'd be easy to think that he's asleep, but you know better. Still, it doesn't keep you from allowing your gaze to dart across his face, taking note of his placid, almost peaceful expression, free from its usual scowling or sneering. The shape of his lips no longer pulled back into a taunting smirk, but neutral and almost soft.

It's a state that not many are honored with seeing, and you can't help but to indulge in it now that you have him here.

You nearly feel like a glutton as you sweep your vision over him in a shameless observation. Letting your focus trace over the tattoos that decorate his body. Slashes of black against the pale shade of his skin.

You've always wondered the meaning of them. You know that some sorcerers will get tattoos that represent aspects of their technique; it bonds them closer to their cursed energy and makes it more fluid to wield. But you can't help but to be reminded of the tattoos forced upon criminals. The markings on his arms are suspiciously similar to the same ones you've seen stamped upon the flesh of delinquents - the lowly men and women that you had been warned about by your mother and escorts while within the city. People who had been branded for their crimes as punishment.

The dark bands encircled around his wrists and biceps share somewhat of a similarity to the tattoos given to thieves, though the placement of them is a little off to be considered truly alike.

With how demented he is, you wouldn't be surprised if he intentionally made them look similar as some sort of twisted way of honoring his many crimes.

It has one of your hands lifting, your fingers slipping from the delicate grip they had on his hair to slip along his chest, feeling his muscle rippling beneath your palm as you brush your fingertips along the ink imbedded into his skin.

A low rumble reverberates from the depths of his ribcage, rising somewhere from within his lungs. It seems like a warning almost, one that anyone else would have heeded, but you keep your hand fixed in place, caressing your thumb just beneath his collarbone.

His eyes peal open then, squinting just enough to glare up at you from his place cradled between the plush of your thighs. Searing red, but the irritation reflecting from them is lazy. An echo of the languid way he's positioned himself within your space.

"I don't recall permitting your hands to wander." It comes out like he's berating you, but he makes no effort to correct your apparent error, remaining motionless and relaxed as you continue to card your other hand through his hair, lightly scratching your nails along his scalp.

You don't miss how his lashes flutter when you do it.

It makes a smile long to pull at the corners of your lips, but years of self-restraint and etiquette keep it from showing. Though you're sure that your mirth is revealed in your eyes.

"What's with all the staring?" He complains idly. His brow raising to further pronounce his question.

"I'm simply admiring my lord," you answer. A truth, and yet the playfulness in your voice is clear.

"As you should be."

You'd scoff if the hand on his chest wasn't so close to the mouth on his stomach. You wouldn't be surprised if he decided to snap it between those massive jaws to reprimand you.

You've seen it yawn open to gnash at limbs, massive teeth sinking into flesh to tear and rip, drinking down blood and shattering bones as easily as brittle branches.

It makes you mindful of how close you allow your fingers to drift, not allowing them to slip past the swell of his firm chest and down near the indention that slices across the width of his abdomen. A hint at the starved chasm that lurks behind it, the rows of fangs that wait to bite and eat.

He's used that mouth against you many times, none of them in such a malicious manner, but you still can't help but to be a little wary of it. You swear that it has a mind of its own sometimes, and you'd hate to be on the receiving end of a more violent kind of appetite.

It still can't keep you from your previous musings, and now that you have him focused you can't ignore the questions that are gathering in your mind.

"Your tattoos - are they amplifiers? I've seen a few sorcerers apply them to ground their technique."

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I would. That's why I asked."

He glares at you then. Eyes narrowing in a way that makes you feel like a target. It nearly forces you to brace for a sudden rush of cursed energy, the instinctual part of you warning that he might lash out as punishment, but nothing comes.

There's no prickle that bite across the air, stinging and sharp before it strikes you down, only a delicate brush of a summer breeze as it glides along your skin.

"Are there no bounds to your insolence? I should kill you for that." He grumbles, baring his teeth as though he means to ward you off.

"I apologize, my king. " It sounds like a bluff, even to you, so you're certain that he isn't convinced. The clipped hum you get in response only confirms that he doesn't. "I was only curious."

"Keep your musings to yourself."

It's said sharply. A clear command for you not to prod at him further. Such an ornery, brash creature. You have to fight off the urge to roll your eyes at his curt behavior lest he chastises you more.

He acts as though it's a chore to be in your presence. As though he wasn't the one who had sought you out during your private time - a brief respite from the harsh nature of his courts and the routine of your daily schedule - to crowd himself within the structure of the gazebo, fitting himself along the wooden floor to rest the weight of his head within your lap.

Despite his apparent annoyance, he still doesn't tell you to cease touching him, and you know that one of the easiest ways of coaxing him back into a calm state is to give him attention. Regardless of how that attention is bestowed. Usually it's fear and dread that feeds into his ego the best, the screams and blood of others fueling that sadistic emptiness in him.

But you'll settle for touch for now.

He doesn't command you to halt your movements as you continue to sweep your hands along his body, messaging his chest and gently scratching along his scalp. If possible, it has him relaxing even further, going boneless on the floor with a heavy sigh, but his eyes don't slip shut this time. His lids fall heavy, nearly closing but staying open just enough to continue observing you through his lashes.

It's a cruel juxtaposition that someone who commits so many hideous atrocities is so beautiful.

The sun has crept a little lower in the sky, drifting downward in its course to reach the horizon and it allows glints of light to pour in past the small roof of the yuka. Traces of it catch in his hair, spilling along the soft shade of his hair, sketching over his features in gold. It puts fire in his eyes, glints of light flickering against rich red.

You can't help yourself this time when you allow the hand you have threaded in his hair to shift further down, sketching your fingertips along the structure of armored skin that rests over the right half of his face.

His eyes open a little wider then, latching onto your form with curiosity, and the hints of something more guarded present in them.

It doesn't stop you though. Perhaps a little foolish of you while it feels as though you're wandering into dangerous territory. A hare darting in front of a wolf's maw. Inviting itself to be bitten.

You feel possessed as you continue to cradle his face in your palm, struck by an emotion that is far too tender and enthralling for a being like him, but you have no desire to resist it.

The almost mask-like structure on his face is hard beneath your fingers, softened only slightly by the layer of calloused skin that's molded over it. The only comparison that you can make is if you were to touch a bit of bone poking out beneath the skin, like the jut of someone's hip or the point of an elbow. Rigid and tough, but also smooth in a way that's organic.

You make sure to be light, to keep your fingers from accidentally slipping close to his eyes and possibly irritating them. Surprisingly, he doesn't order you to remove your hands, allowing you to continue your exploration, letting your fingers sweep over the harsh edges and the divots of the natural armor.

You aren't sure how long you remain that way. Sweeping your hands over him, feeling the soft tufts of his hair on your palm and the rigid texture of his face along your fingers. Time slips away from you like this, and the delicate hiss of the wind threading through the trees and the perfumed scent of blossoms that it carries all fades into the background.

It all seems so unimportant. Useless as he stares up at you with something conflicted in his gaze. As though he's torn between lashing out or sinking further into your warmth.

"You're beautiful." It leaves you so naturally. The ease of it catching even you off guard. It's as though your soul is admitting a truth, one that you've been aware of but never had the courage to speak.

Suddenly you feel so bare. As though you've accidentally shed a meticulous piece of armor from yourself and allowed him to peek past. And the captivated look that you can feel weighing on your features certainly isn't helping.

He's equally as surprised. His eyes widening just the slightest in his shock, but it doesn't take long for him to recover, masking the expression with a scowl. You're certain that it's the exact look that many of his victims have been pinned by just before their death comes, delivered to them in a serrated rush of cursed energy or the lethal cut of his talons. And yet you can't bring yourself to be afraid. Not while he's cradled in the shape of your lap. Lazy and content despite his flaring.

"I'll cut out your tongue if you mean to insult me."

"I wouldn't think of such a thing." You promise. You're being entirely honest. The sincerity in your voice is as alive and burning as a fire. You can hardly place exactly when you've grown fond of him, just when exactly he had managed to bury beneath your skin to make a home for himself within your chest.

It's worrying just how much you've come to care for him. A development that your past self would have denied vehemently; you would have seen it as an ultimate betrayal to yourself, to your lineage and purpose. But you truly can't be bothered to worry about any of that now.

Not while something that nearly looks vulnerable passes through the rich shade of his eyes. A brief, defenseless show of emotion that he's quick to snuff out and hide with that typical brand of cold indifference; so quick that you hardly register it at all.

A hum leaves him them. More of a grumble. As though he's unconvinced of your assurance. But he doesn't bother with a verbal comment, only a sigh as he somehow settles further into your lap.

"Some of them are."

"Hm?"

"Amplifiers." He practically growls it out. Like clarifying is something tedious. A personal affront. He's glaring again. Squinting up at you like you're an annoyance - a gnat buzzing around his ear even while he's all but invited himself into your personal space.

It doesn't take you long to reconnect to your previous line of questioning. You can't help but to be a little surprised that he's bothered to circle back and answer them. Of course he has to do it on his own time. When he feels like doing so, dragging it out for the sake of keeping you from being in control - even in regard to something as simple as a couple harmless questions. Such a bullheaded bastard. Not that you'd tell him that.

A part of you longs to ask him just which ones specifically are amplifiers, which technique they belong to. The concept of such tattoos has always been fascinating to you. You've crossed paths with a fair share of sorcerers who have marked their skin with charged ink, rituals and their cursed energy directed to bind with the dark pigment.

Like a chain used to tether a wayward dog. A binding used to manage energy that's often too potent, too volatile otherwise.

With how practiced Sukuna is now with his abilities, wielding it with ease, bearing it like a second skin, he must have gotten the tattoos when he was still young and learning. Still a little disconnected from the cursed energy projecting from his body, simmering through his veins like the blood of a demigod, but too inexperienced to properly control it.

It makes you wonder what he may have been like way back then. It nearly seems impossible to imagine him as a child, with him being more beast than man. You're just barely able to visualize it, a much younger version of his current self, the sharp contour of his jaw much more rounded and youthful, shaping into chubby cheeks. Plump with stubborn baby fat.

He's probably always had that glare of his. Now it's an expression that induces fear and panic. The lethal hue of red that seems to burn in his eyes turning some of the bravest of sorcerers into pale comparisons of themselves. Back then that fearsome scowl must have been little more than a pout. A petulant furrow between his brows as glared up with wide, peevish eyes.

He must have been a handful for whatever soul had the misfortune of taking care of him, not that he's any easier to please now.

"You've got that stupid expression on your face again. Get rid of it." He snaps, fangs glinting from past his lips. "And did I tell you to cease touching me?"

You hadn't realized that your hands had slipped a little from crown of his head, fingers lifted to hover of his hair. The command doesn't annoy you as it probably should, as it would have in the past, it has a smile perking at your lips instead. Amused and soft. A reflection of the warmth blossoming inside the pit of your chest; a drop of sunlight burning and thriving.

You'd love to point out to him that he was complaining earlier about you doing just that, and now here he is, ordering you to touch him like some kind of spoiled house cat.

You'll keep your comments to yourself for now. All snide remarks and annoyance aside, he seems to be in a fairly good mood today, and you'd hate to ruin it now that you've got him rested in your lap.

Your hands seem to have minds of their own, muscles shifting to thread your fingers back through his hair, scratching your nails along his scalp. You don't miss the minute way his neck twitches, the movement nudging his chin back just the slightest to press his head into the gentle glide of your fingers. Subconsciously seeking out the comfort they provide.

He looks calm. At peace, eyelashes fluttering lightly before they slip shut. He sags down fully. Going lax and almost boneless. The weight of his head in your lap is nearly crushing, but you can't be bothered to voice complaints or to try and shift him into a more comfortable position.

You'll gladly bear the weight of him regardless of how much discomfort it might bring. And in moments like this, with him cradled by your body, relaxed and content from the warmth of your skin and the sun, you think you'd do anything for him. You'd kill for him.

You think you'd die for him too.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna fanfic #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna jjk #jjk x you

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womanofwords · 14 days ago

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Darling Demon (Part 19)

Yandere!batfam x betrothed!neglected!male!reader x yandere!demon!spouse

TW: public humiliation, consensual non-consent.

Azrir had won. They'd taken your virginity at long last, and it felt like fireworks were exploding in your head the whole time. Yeah, being married to them for eternity would be pretty damn good. Most demons would then parade their human around while tormenting them in whatever ways they wanted for the rest of eternity, but Azrir couldn't afford to do such a thing. A prize like you had to be kept safe, after all.

And definitely bragged about.

"Little prize, I have an offer for you," Azrir said. "I've been meaning to show you off, but I had to wait until your virginity was taken so the other demons could smell the sex on you."

"You guys can smell that?" you whimpered.

"Yes, darling. In order to show you off, I'll need to doll you up, and that means bathing you."

Gently, Azrir took you to a bathtub and drew water for you. "I am only going to use unscented soap on you so the scent of sex can still be detected," they explained, as sweat was scrubbed off you. Their hands were thorough, but not sexual, which felt like a relief. Thick, clawed hands rubbed shampoo into your hair. "You will be clean for this demonstration," Azrir said.

"Azrir, who are you going to show me off to?"

"Some of the lower demons. Winning a human spouse is a high honour for us. I want to show them what they will never have."

Humans were a status symbol? Well, that got you thinking. "Azrir, if human spouses are a status symbol, does that make me a trophy husband?" you asked.

Azrir paused, their hands temporarily freezing while soap suds latched onto their claws. "Technically, yes," they admitted.

"Well, Azrir, if I'm really going to be paraded around as your little trophy, then I should get some sort of reward. After all, I have to be actually tempting for this to work."

Azrir forced themselves not to laugh. Here you were, negotiating your way through their own display while being bathed like a show dog. "Very well, Y/N. What are your demands?"

"First, I want to be able to shapeshift on command, too. My family has a tendency of looking for me, and I don't want to be recognisable. Second, curse Damian into compulsively sucking his thumb explicitly while he is trying to be intimidating or cause pain."

"Consider both of those things done, little prize," Azrir said.

"Also, when we get back, I'm going to drink a cup of sex potion, tie you to the headboard, and top you like it's my only reason for existing."

Azrir's mouth curled into a large smirk. "Deal, little human. Now, put on this outfit and let's go taunt some grunts."

*_*_*_*_*_

The outfit Azrir picked out for you was merely a shirt that went halfway down your thighs with the words "AZRIR'S PRIZE" written on the front. "I don't have to remember lines, do I?" you asked.

"No, Y/N," Azrir said. "I must warn you, little toy, that my hands are often going to . . . have a little fun with you, but nothing too far. Just enough to torment those peons."

"I can live with that," you said, as Azrir hoisted you over their shoulder and began to take you to the ring of lust.

You were ogled a lot. You grew up not drawing much attention while with humans, but here, you were drooled over. You really were a prize.

"Give us a piece," a demon growled, reaching towards you. Azrir grabbed their hand between theirs and squeezed it, hard.

"Touch this human, and I shall eat you," they hissed. Demons fled. Azrir took you off their shoulder and cooed at you. "You poor thing, that must have been a nasty thing to see. There, there, I'm here."

You arrived in the ring of lust and met two demons that were significantly smaller than Azrir. "Azrir, what brings you to us?" one of them asked.

"Bringing you motivation," Azrir said, showing you off with pride. "I used to be a lowly and weak demon such as yourselves, but then I toughened myself up and fought for a human spouse. This is what you can have if you work hard. A little human to do . . . this to."

Azrir's hands went up your shirt, and you stifled a yelp. "This is a bit much!" you whimpered.

"I know," Azrir taunted, grinning as the hand over your crotch got more adventurous and audacious. "Want it to stop?"

You felt dizzy, head spinning. "No, Azrir. Please keep going."

"That's what I like to hear."

"So you brought your human spouse here to . . . taunt us?" the first one asked, notes of disbelief in their voice.

"No, of course not!" Azrir lied. "This is what you could have if you applied yourself."

"If that's the case, why are you blatantly pleasuring it in front of us?"

"Because I can and he's mine. And if you just put in the effort to be stronger, you could have one."

You were going crazy. If Azrir kept going, you would legit go insane. You weren't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed when they stopped and put you back over their shoulder.

"I'll see you around, peasants," they laughed, taking you back home to your bed while groping your behind.

Once you were alone together, you were glad to remove that damn shirt. "Honey, you did so well," Azrir said, smothering you in kisses. "And now, your rewards." Azrir snapped their fingers, and changes occurred.

Your body tingled, but only temporarily and it was over so quickly. That had to be the manifestation of your powers. You only really needed to change one thing, really.

"My love, you have shapeshifted your loins," Azrir said, looking down at your dick with alarm.

"All the better for pleasuring you with," you said, as you got yourself the lube and a cup of aphrodisiac.

Your mother screamed with pain as the scoreboard went up again. "WHY ISN'T THAT DEMON GETTING OFF OF MY SON?" she screamed.

"They can't. Your son is on top of the demon, and having a lot of fun with it," one of the demons said.

Limbs were sawed off again, and your mother screamed. "MAKE IT STOP!"

"We can't. It's honestly entertaining," another demon said. "Azrir knows what they're doing."

The numbers on the scoreboard spun again, and your mother's blood spurted in celebration.

Taglist: @tinybrie, @bunniotomia, @c4xcocoa, @darkmoka, @fightmebissh, @bloobewy, @chi1lllb, @cqerrz, @heart-cream, @noone1233nobody, @type-ink, @sonyboos, @atlasbatman05, @eyeless-kun, @zomqiez.

First

#creative writing #my writing #writing inspiration #writers #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #yandere #platonic yandere #yandere batfam #batfam #batfamily x neglected reader #romantic yandere

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mattslvrxo · 2 months ago

Text

first series!!

{secret addiction}

part {1 }

꣑ৎ { insta famous user x chris sturniolo } ꣑ৎ

{ ! } contains: sex, stalking, nsfw content, adulatory , only fans, swearing, .. etc

based on the song

╰┈➤ ❝ . ۫ . my strange addiction . ۫ . ❞۫

by billie eilish

{your pov }

a few years ago, i kind of blew up without really meaning to. it started with a few instagram posts — random selfies, outfit pics, nothing groundbreaking — but for some reason, people latched on. called me an “it girl.” an “instagram model.” whatever the fuck that even means.

i didn’t fight it. i leaned into it. posted more, gained more followers, brands started reaching out. next thing i knew, i was verified, making money just for existing online. and when the offers came to start an onlyfans… i didn’t even hesitate. it wasn’t some deep, complicated decision. i had the face. i had the body. people were already staring — might as well make them pay for it.

the money was stupid. the attention was overwhelming. but i couldn’t lie — i loved it. the attention i got from it. the way it made people lose their minds. the thing is, i barely dipped into youtube. maybe a vlog once a month, if i remembered. nothing serious. i wasn’t trying to be an influencer. i was just me. so when i was mindlessly scrolling on tiktok one night and a random edit popped up — my face mashed next to some guy i’d never seen before — i was confused as fuck.

“omg they would be SO tea tg.”

“they match each other’s energy so bad.”

“manifesting this.” the comments were insane. i didn’t even know who the hell this guy was.

curious, i searched his name. “chris sturniolo.” apparently, he was a youtuber. a triplet, which was… weirdly hot. i clicked through his instagram, half-expecting to be unimpressed.

nope.

he was attractive. way too attractive.

the kind of boy you try to convince yourself isn’t your type just so you don’t have to deal with the consequences.

messy brown hair, effortless smirk, not too tall but not too short, great style , kinda broad shoulders but still looked like he didn’t take himself too seriously. only one tattoo — clean skin, sharp jawline, heavy-lidded blue eyes that looked like they could ruin your life without trying.

i hated how quickly i was interested.. i hated how i scrolled back months on his profile without even realizing. seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours.

i told myself it was just curiosity.

just research.

but every time i posted a new story, every time i dropped a new set, i’d wonder would he see it? would he care?

i never followed him, never liked a post, and never commented. i just watched, silent, invisible,like a fucking coward.

and what i didn’t know — what i couldn’t have known — was that he was doing the exact same thing.

{chris’s pov }

saturday night, absolutely nothing to do.

i was half-dead on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through tiktok, thinking about how much i fucking hated social media.

everything felt recycled lately. nothing new. nothing exciting. i was looking at my mentions until something caught my eye, i kept getting tagged in one specific video,

a fan edit.

me… and this.. girl?

the caption was some dumb shit like “soulmates fr.” what the fuck? how the fuck would i be soulmates with a chick that i don’t even know. i almost scrolled past it, almost.

but something about her face — the way she looked at the camera like she already knew how attractive she was, her smile wasnt bright.. her sharp eyes stared into the camera — made me pause.

who the fuck was she? i clicked her account that was tagged in the caption.. next to my @ , and before i could even blink, i was on her instagram page. 2.5 million followers. verified. full-blown star.

she was gorgeous. not just pretty — dangerous. the kind of gorgeous that makes your chest hurt a little. i saw the link in her bio. clicked it without thinking.

onlyfans,of course. because why the fuck would anything ever be simple?

i didn’t subscribe, but it didn’t matter, her posts were enough.

bikinis, short skirts, tight tops, sometimes baggy pants, her style was fire and it was fucking torture. i hated myself for not being able to look away.

i stalked harder than i should have, found her tiktoks. her youtube. even her pinterest.

it was bad.

i knew it was bad.

but i couldn’t stop.

i never followed her. never liked her pictures,

never commented.

i just watched,quiet,obsessed,paralyzed.

it became a sick routine, open instagram. check her page. close the app. pretend i didn’t just waste another twenty minutes memorizing someone i’d never met.

i told myself it was harmless, but deep down, i knew.

written by adeline!

part 2 coming soon..

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august-anon · 3 months ago

Text

Submission - [Untitled] Headcanon turned drabble By Moody!anon

You can copy and paste this into a better format if you want!

Definitely not a fic but a hc/turned Drabble lol. I’m working on writing for Damian, I still struggle a lot with his dialogue which is why this is pretty short and sweet lol.

-Moody

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

Jason Todd does NOT ask for affection. That would be way too vulnerable. Instead he just drapes his big ass self over his siblings so that they have no choice but to cuddle.

Jason has the strength and power of Thor’s hammer. He can not be moved. He is a statue of concrete.

He uses his powers for evil.

Damian’s laying on the couch, head on a pillow, book closed beside him and fully engrossed in whatever program was on the tv.

Jason just couldn’t resist. He was on his way to the kitchen to help Alfred with dinner prep, but he didn’t actually need Jason’s help.

But Jason needed to pester Damian.

So he doesn’t hesitate to climb over the back of the couch and drape himself across Damian, fully engulfing the 12 year old.

Tiny fists were immediately beating into his sides, knees trying to curl beneath him to jab him in the stomach.

A muffled and disgruntled, “Todd!” Filled his ears while he shifted to get comfortable. “You’re crushing me!”

“Oh sorry, Demon spawn. Didn’t see you there.” He’d smirk.

“You certainly did!” An elbow caught him in the ribs before Damian managed to squirm enough to stick his head out from under his brother. He quickly realized it was the only think he was going to be able to free. “Remove yourself! I was here first,” his hands pulled at the fabric of the couch to try to gain another inch of freedom. Jason seemed to make himself heavier in response. “Ugh! Get off of me!” Damian’s frustration was music to Jason’s ears.

“Well someone kept me out all night on a wild goose chase.” Jason shuffled slightly when he felt Damian getting close to freeing an arm. “I’m catching up on missed sleep.”

“It was a Rottweiler, and you know it.” Damian jabbed another elbow in Jason’s side in his escape attempts. Damian would not be apologizing for returning a little girl’s lost dog. He just wouldn’t.

“Stop squirming, or I’ll give you a reason to,” Jason narrowed his eyes, jabbing blindly under him.

“Todd!” Damian yelped. It was an immediate mistake, and he knew it. Never show weakness in front of an adversary, his struggling increased tenfold.

“Perfect,” Jason ignored him. Instead putting a little weight on his knees so he could lift up just enough to get his arms under himself better. He latched one hand onto Damian’s knee and the other steady on his ribcage.

Damian was curling in on himself, trying to block the hands but unable to maneuver his own arms much. “Nohoho!” Leapt from his throat when Jason’s hands started pinching and prodding.

“We could have taken a nice, quiet nap, but you had to ruin it.” Jason shrugged squeezing Damian’s kneecap.

A yelp came from the boy and a grunt from Jason when Damian managed to knee him in the gut with his non captured limb.

“T-Tahaha-odd!” Damian let out another scream. “I wihihill d-DAHAHA-destrohohoy you!”

“That was right in my ear, brat,” Jason acted like he needed another to take his little brother apart. His hands kept prodding and squeezing and Damian continued protesting and cursing at him. Trying hard not to let all out laughter consume him. “Tell ya what,” Jason mused. “If you can keep quiet for the next 60 seconds I’ll let you up. Deal?”

“Fine!” Damian huffed, easy enough. He’d been through worse.

Then Jason sat up, letting Damian fill his lungs fully with air, Jason still sat across his midsection, knees planted on either side of him.

Without speaking, he immediately started fighting for freedom, tiny fists pelting his brother.

His wrists were quickly snatched in one hand and his eyes went wide with horror, having no time to prepare as Jason scooted down a bit and bunched Damian’s shirt up at his chest.

Damian wanted to scream, to beg, to curse, but he let his expression speak for him.

Jason grinned down at Damian. “Huh, definitely thought you would have slung an insult by now,” he chuckled before leaning down and pressing his mouth to Damian’s ribcage.

Damian managed to yank one of his hands free but it didn’t matter, because Jason was blowing a raspberry into his side and he couldn’t form a singular thought other than, “NOHOHOHO! STAHAHAP! Y-yoHUHUHU i-imbehehecile!”

That wasn’t a thought. It was a sound. He had lost.

“Oh-hu-ho,” Jason grinned as he pulled away. “You wanna snuggle that bad, kid?” He started to lay back down, not giving Damian a moment to recover before he yanked his shirt back down and collapsed.

“Yohohou’re a-an asshohole!” The residual giggles leaving his brother vibrated into his chest.

“Not breaking news or anything,” Jason mumbled curling up and getting more comfortable. Damian tucked half under him, tucked into his chest with Jason’s arm boxing him in. “Now quiet down, it’s nap time.”

“Is there nothing I can say to get you to leave?” Once Damian had finally regained his breath, he was limp, done fighting and resisting.

“Nope.” Jason already sounded half asleep.

Damian let out a long sigh and resigned to being stuck in place for the next few hours.

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

August's Thoughts: Copy/pasted this one into his own post just for readability due to the length -- but DUDE, this was so cute??????? i remember reading it before work the other day when it came in and i was almost late because I re-read it like 4 times skjdfhdf. This is ADORABLE, i love the idea that Jason just Flops onto people for affection (kind of like some of my pets tbh sdkjfhf, but also relatable because i always want affection but never want to ask), and uses tickles as a weapon if they dont concede quickly enough. this drabble hc is like. little shit vs little shit: who will win sdkjfhdsf

#tickle fic #tickle headcanons #dc tickle headcanons #batfam tickle headcanons #moody anon #dc tickling #batfam tickling #lee!damian wayne #ler!jason todd #ticklish!damian wayne #dc #batfam #damian wayne #jason todd

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hobiebrownismygod · 1 year ago

Note

miles 42 x touchy reader?

im on a trend of writing 42 rn I love him so much 😭 anyways I hope you like this!! Wasn't sure if you wanted fem or gn reader so I made them gn! <3

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ --> MASTERLIST ---> TAGLIST

Miles was never the touchy type. Ever since his dad died, he'd kept to himself. He stopped giving and receiving hugs (unless it was from his mother), and he absolutely refused to let people touch him.

That was...until he started dating you. That was a whole different story. Sure he didn't like being touched, but how could he say no to his adorable partner?

When you got close to someone, you were always touching them in one way or another, whether it was your finger hooked through their belt loop, your hand holding onto their elbow, or just your hand on their leg. You needed to be holding onto someone.

You weren't sure why you were like that, if you had some sort of unsolved trauma, or you were just really touch-starved, but you knew you loved being close to people.

So, even though you knew your boyfriend didn't like being touched much, and he wasn't the touchy type, you made sure to shower him with all the physical love and affection you could.

It was your love language!

"Milesss" you dragged his name out as you interlocked your fingers with his, pulling him into yet another store. "Come on! We've only been here for an hour!"

He groaned in response, shaking his head and letting you lead him into another clothing store. "I'm tired" He grumbled, letting go of your hand and folding his arms over his chest like he was having a tantrum. "Haven't you bought enough clothes?"

"We both know that's impossible" You scoffed, your hand latching onto his elbow to hold him down as you walked through the shop, already shoving some new shirts and items into your bag.

"Hey...do you like these?" You asked, stopping in front of a display of matching bracelets and oogling over them while he stood back with an unamused look on his face. "Yeah, they're nice babe" He said absentmindedly, eyes wandering elsewhere.

"We should get them! Matching bracelets, isn't that cute?" You asked, taking his hand and pulling him in a little. He scowled slightly, looking down at them and giving you a forced half-smile. "Sure. Whatever you want."

Your expression faltered slightly but you pressed on, looking through them for a pair that you thought would suit the two of you. "We could get blue and red...or we could get purple and green. Which do you like more?"

"Purple and green, probably" he said, taking his hand out of yours and shoving it back in his pocket.

You raised a brow at this. "You okay?" You asked a little softly, feeling your heart drop slightly. "I'm fine." He said normally, giving you a little shrug. "Why?"

"No reason...you just seem a little distant today." You said quietly, folding your arms over your chest. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just one of those days, I don't know" he mumbled, looking away.

"Do you not want me to hold onto you?" You asked automatically. The first thing you always asked people when they acted off was whether you'd made them uncomfortable. You knew you were touchy and you knew some people didn't like that, but the fact that your boyfriend might've been getting sick of your touching was off-putting and made your expression fall.

"What?" He asked confusedly, putting his hand down. "Of course not. I'm fine with you holding onto me" He said half-heartedly.

You shook your head, looking away from him. "You're lying, I know you don't like it. I'm sorry, Miles...I just like holding onto people" you apologized awkwardly, starting to feel bad.

He shook his head at you, a smile forming on his face. "Hey, you know that's not the reason" He reassured you, taking your hand in his. "I'm just...not used to it much. But I like when you hold onto me, really."

"Really?" You asked glumly, looking up at him. He nodded, pulling you a little closer and kissing the palm your hand gently. "I love you, and I love how touchy you are." he said with a smile. "I'm just being a dick. Don't worry about it." he joked.

When he saw you didn't respond, his smile faltered slightly. He sighed. "Would you feel better if I gave you a hug?" he suggested, holding his arms out slightly.

Your face immediately lit up and you nodded shyly, walking into his outstretched arms. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace and kissing the top of your head gently. "You know I love you right?" he murmured.

You nodded, a quiet laugh escaping your lips. "yeah, I know Miles" You whispered back, looking up at him and giving him a quick peck on the lips. "I love you too." His expression brightened in response.

He put one arm around your waist to hold you against him while he picked one of the bracelets up. "How about these ones hmm? I'll take purple, you take green?" He suggested while you adjusted your head against his chest. "Okay."

"Mm, okay. Let's go get them then. My treat."

"Your treat?" You laughed, looking up at him. "Miles, you're broke!"

"Uh, for your information I can afford a pair of ten dollar bracelets" he said with an eye-roll, inspecting them in his hands. "But yeah actually, I am kinda broke."

With a snort you took them from his hands, taking a step back and twirling them between your fingers. "I'll pay for it." You said, shaking your head.

"That's why I love you" he teased, gently putting his arm around your shoulder as the two of you walked towards the register. "And I know you love spoiling me"

"Hah! You're lucky I'm nice."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Tags: @therealloopylupin2099 @l0starll @daydreaming-en-pointe @itsparis-07 @vileviale @puff-hugs @d0uble-tr0ubl3 @choccymilkdrinker @breadglasses @sunasslut69 @a-cinnamonbunny @ask-1610-miles @axels-garden @miniaturesuitfox @spotconlon55 @s6onder

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anantaru · 2 years ago

Text

— cuddles after work

including heizou, alhaitham, ayato, scaramouche x gn! reader

genre: fluff, cuddles, sleepy boys

— heizou

the wind outside was cold, the night pressing, and as you had just finished getting ready for bed, you hear the kind, alleviating tune of your boyfriend's voice from across the room.

"come here, come here."

heizou couldn't wait any longer to branch his arms around your frame and cuddle you for what he'd love to be an eternity, it's a given for him, because the moment he steps inside your shared home, he had already decided to act like a little, whimsy baby, for whatever reason, theatrically whining and singing to you, so you'd hurry up in the bathroom and come back to bed.

without pretense, you make him wait on purpose and heizou knows, he always does.

but in the fullness of time, finally, you roll into the puffy, silken bedsheets before sloping into his chest, surrendering in that fleeting moment. "i'm here, i'm here." you giggle, banteringly rolling your eyes at him but by now you can certainly tell that he's at ease, of course when you cuddle him, accept his touches, quite flustered when you kiss him in time.

heizou adds on to his previous words, "i was waiting for hours." and latches his arms around your entire body. he observes himself now, and his heartbeat on the face of it kept a steady rhythm until the touch of you arrives, then its tempo rises into a new genre all together.

but it's pleasant, and kind.

your boyfriends countenance turns slightly more soft, blending hand in hand with his handsome, tired face.

you hope he's not trying to be this cute on purpose, because heizou was surely aware of the great, bristling weaknesses he'd inflict on you whenever he did it.

interesting, how fast time flew now, with the entire room being pitch black, and you swing one leg over his body before using his chest as your own, personal pillow for your head, "i'm here now."

heizou sighs against your ear when you say it, keeping his eyes closed, "yes, finally." and his slender hands, careful as always, touch you with such matchless, unequaled lightness, rolling down your sides and ultimately settling on your hips.

— alhaitham

alhaitham's eyes close at the leisure, watchful strokes of your hand gyrating over his scalp, with his head cushily drowsing on your lap— his breathing slowed, from his chest coming the first guttural snore.

he sighs, sputtering and struggling to find the right words, "this, this is good." and you touch his face repeatedly, whether it was neatly squeezing his cheeks or patting his head, in the present moment— alhaitham felt like he truly arrived home, something that wasn't a daily occurrence for him.

"we should get ready for bed soon." you attempt to reason with the man, but only get greeted with a half enthusiastic groan, rumbling from his chest, as if he was trying to voicelessly tell you that no, in fact, he was quite comfortable now and wanted to remain this way— quick to note that he'd absolutely love to read a book while resting on your lap like that, if only his eyes weren't so damn heavy right now.

he blames his work, the night, maybe the heavy food he consumed earlier as well.

moreover, he pulls his arms around your body, breath holding, so he could briefly slump you into him and share your rising body heat with each bother.

none of you speaks at first, it's not necessary and in the face of the night approaching, your frames had gradually gotten more fatigued and tired— but you are also content with each other, exchanging everlasting glances, the lightest of touches that melt on your warm prickling skin, lovely jokes and closeness, no more was needed.

you are the match for the scribe, you are his flame. that's love he never experienced before, like a blessing and challenge all in one.

for alhaitham, you're it, you're all.

— ayato

"I certainly could get used to this."

from the warm tones of ayato's cologne, to those of his soothing voice and well chosen words, he truly was easy to listen to— in addition to being unbelievably cozy while you closed your arms around his chest.

your boyfriend still hasn't undressed himself off his work garments to change into something more comfortable and light, because the second he rushed home, stepped into the secure place of your bedroom, there was no other way for him than to pull you into his chest, and never let go, or at least it felt that way.

you do not complain though, if things would only be so easy to be hidden for eternity, in the arms of the love of your life.

an unexpected kiss was placed on your forehead as you watch ayato's sleep stricken face under your doused lashes, "what was that for?" you're teasing him, asking as if there was supposed to be a deeper, more meaningful revelation for adding a small, not to mention sweet kiss on your face.

"i missed you." he admits blatantly, humming in thought, "and i crave you."

you cuddle yourself in, feeling the rise and fall of your lover's chest, the rhythmic tune slowing his own breathing and your emotions rise in all ways when his words embrace you, you can feel the love in your chest, spreading like the butterflies in your garden— how it sits on top of your heart, everything was perfect;

the air sweet, the weather outside calming, you can hear birds sing in the sky but also behind the windows of the room, and you can hear him, whilst silent, you listen to whatever ayato said.

humming, you reply, "i missed you too."

— scaramouche

the word you searched for was luscious, perhaps, because for something that was a fixed point in your daily routines, even you struggle to know on how to properly describe an intimate moment such as the one following.

yet it‘s also uproarious that you can, on the spot, detect whenever scaramouche was particularly worn out and beaten from his work, how he's keeping his eyes open with the last abutting power of his body.

"is this comfy, kuni?" he grunts at your words, especially the way you said it, how come you utterly loved to tease and pester him like that, especially when he had just melted into your arms, in accessory to the smell of the freshly washed sheets brimming over his nostrils.

little fun fact if you don't mind and he'd never admit it with a straight face but something about being the little spoon was very alleviating and consoling to kuni, the pure feelings can barely be described in one sentence, or so he saw it.

but scaramouche scoffs at your gentle teasing at last, he'd even search for a great rebuttal in his mind if he wasn't in such condition right now, sensing the shuttering of his synapses, the quite lure into sleepiness, all his energy slipping over his hands, but he doesn't grab it.

"hmpf." he closes his eyes, and for some reason he thinks that it would be possible to escape your sweet and flustering words with something so simple.

"what an insightful answer." you remark and cock a brow, squeezing your arms relatively strong around him while stretching your body to get the stiffness out of your shoulders.

"i'll answer tomorrow." scaramouche lightly opens his eyes again to look at you, arching himself into you more, just a little, "—way too sleepy." he's almost full asleep, his head lolling back and forth to find the most comfortable spot and the muscles of his face relaxing.

personally, he thinks he needs to savor this, because even though you were in a relationship, he still believes that one day you might be gone for good. granted, he was getting better at handling such thoughts, stopping himself whenever he realized he was too clingy, but you do not mind it, obviously treasured it whenever he showed you clear signs of love and trust.

"of course." you whisper, "sleep now." and watch him through the darkened room, shutting your eyes while finding unmatched relaxation by the soft breathes and pitched up sounds of your boyfriend.

the world can be dull, monotonous even, that much you were aware of, but with scaramouche by your side, it made the presumably small moments such as those in particular— simply coming home from an engaging day full of working, all the more unique in your eyes.

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